tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23091759219736978312024-03-13T07:50:54.641-07:00BoggyWoggy's CacheA Gal from Oklahoma Who Now Hangs Out in Oregon. and actually finds the meaning of life in small, hidden treasures...BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.comBlogger359125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-27885831558293859472011-02-18T14:40:00.000-08:002011-02-18T14:42:49.530-08:00I truly do believe people do this to us on a frequent basis;<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvSePMVxjHfBux7b0JqudcK5bWc1L7TVcYebXmXYMwgLecLDOnxzjs58O23k_q-DfGL_5o9Yp8BaEkQq82-Symuw7YZg9hd0z5XcIUo7_rnQESf8SLdyN2qkoApf7v83CtAcXvh4FxgRD9/s1600/DSCN6129.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575163352259886450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvSePMVxjHfBux7b0JqudcK5bWc1L7TVcYebXmXYMwgLecLDOnxzjs58O23k_q-DfGL_5o9Yp8BaEkQq82-Symuw7YZg9hd0z5XcIUo7_rnQESf8SLdyN2qkoApf7v83CtAcXvh4FxgRD9/s400/DSCN6129.JPG" /></a> How else could it be possible for us to feel so low at the end of so many hard-working days? Our bosses do it. Our vendors do it. The waitresses do it. Gettin' Quizzed on happens.<br /><div></div>BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com66tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-74564386682028004372011-01-21T21:20:00.000-08:002013-01-02T21:29:47.599-08:00BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-52521981103270133762010-11-29T18:46:00.000-08:002010-11-29T18:51:31.439-08:00We Had to Say Good-bye...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixUgjySuKWxhgLhUPgYtMgJtPYQ-R_8RZ8HrRYq-8ENBBgFOXGHqjsBc_7a3mHRRCsKntBw0JWQMZKCdIucOzbUKqFLC8sejgRpvkmLLCrbkYjQPdls8MLctlvuowSKiioSwP-3Lc1elmE/s1600/DSCN0351%255B1%255D"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545169852962850562" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixUgjySuKWxhgLhUPgYtMgJtPYQ-R_8RZ8HrRYq-8ENBBgFOXGHqjsBc_7a3mHRRCsKntBw0JWQMZKCdIucOzbUKqFLC8sejgRpvkmLLCrbkYjQPdls8MLctlvuowSKiioSwP-3Lc1elmE/s400/DSCN0351%255B1%255D" /></a><br /><div>Our wonderful, beautiful, loving dog, Dood, was put-down last Saturday. We had to do it. He was so ill that he could not stop vomitting. He'd dropped 38 pounds since August and was almost unable to walk. He was just about 10 years old and had lived a wonderful life.</div><br /><div>I will always miss Dood. He was such a happy dog and lived for being scratched, hugged, and snuggled. He made the past 9+years of our family's lives so much sweeter.</div><br /><div>Good-Bye, Old Dood.</div>BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-61095986423903175692010-10-18T11:49:00.000-07:002010-10-18T12:02:43.411-07:00Riding Without Panties<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5JloZ20l44i2z22yKtxLeddgAAUtvYDRKFs8E_rjYBl4su_0r6SLIetIodlLz_VUd_O6cod9us3SOhCpQiqq3tPzRr5wfwJu-4Z40i521o5Nk9nFaS40jbXYxRWDlqVdGArO7ZGOFqknP/s1600/BCP019-26.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 170px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 113px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529463033959869330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5JloZ20l44i2z22yKtxLeddgAAUtvYDRKFs8E_rjYBl4su_0r6SLIetIodlLz_VUd_O6cod9us3SOhCpQiqq3tPzRr5wfwJu-4Z40i521o5Nk9nFaS40jbXYxRWDlqVdGArO7ZGOFqknP/s400/BCP019-26.jpg" /></a><br /><div>When I was a kid, around 10 years old, I was a member of a Girl Scout Troop...the Tarheels...in Greensboro, N.C. One weekend, we were going on an extended bike ride together, after doing an entire unit of study on bike safety.</div><br /><div>I was never able to really "stick it to the man" as I do now when I was a kid. I tried to find ways to be in-charge, but it was never possible, with weird parents. Also, I was pretty conscientious and never wanted to disappoint them (which is why "the man" had so much power.)</div><br /><div>So, once in awhile, I would just go without underwear under my clothes. Yep...power. Besides, I was also never allowed to be lazy, as my children were allowed, so avoiding putting on undies was one way I could experience laziness without trouble.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>However, on this particular weekend, the bike trip excitement turned when the rain began falling. It rained so hard on us as we peddled about town that I was soaked completely. I must have ridden for 10 miles in the rain with my 20 fellow Scouts. Then, after the ride was complete, I was to ride my bike home, alone, which was a few miles from where we ended the trek as a troop.</div><br /><div>When I got home, no one was there and all of the doors and windows were locked. I was wet and cold and miserable.</div><br /><div>So I went across the road to our neighbor's house, the Pages. Their daughter was a friend of mine, even though she was creepy and weird. They let me into the warm home and then told me to put on some of Cathy's dry clothing. I wanted to...truly...get out of the wet clothes, but Cathy insisted on being in the room with me as I changed, which was a problem, because...I wasn't wearing any panties.</div><br /><div>I didn't want her to know. So I froze. I couldn't take off my clothes. Period. She would then know my secret.</div><br /><div>My parents didn't arrive home for at elast 4 more hours. I sat in the Page's house, watching TV, sitting on a towel, shivering, for that entire amount of time. All because I didn't put on my underwear.</div>BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-45103034749068547962010-10-03T07:25:00.000-07:002010-10-03T07:31:19.242-07:00Fall, Beavers, and HomeworkThey are both gone, now. She is back in Colorado attending college. He is just 50 miles south, doing the same thing. When they were here, for years and years and years, the house was a maintenance nightmare. Laundry, dishes, bathrooms. Ugh. Now, the house has a new nightmarish appeal.<br />There are only 2 of us here and, yet, the house is a continuous disaster. Why? Well, for one, when the kids left, I felt compelled to clean out every space. That, in itself, causes disruption, as piles begin forming. Then, we decided to put in some new skylights, therefore tearing up the large entry room, which sets the tone for the rest of the house.<br />Next? Well, every Saturday...the ENTIRE day...seems to get eaten up with Beaver football. Going to a football game is no easy task. Walking, parking, tail-gating, sitting, watching, walking again...it's a full-day's work. So, of course, there is no time nor energy left for housework, which leaves only Sundays for getting things done.<br />Maybe it's because I'm older, but I don't have all of the energy I once had when my kids were little. Now, when I get home from work, I'm able to accomplish a few tasks and then I'm out like a light on the couch. We didn't get to watch TV much in the evenings when they were little, due to dinners, homework, dishes, and laundry, as well as bedtime, baths, and more!<br />It's a love-hate relationship, you know.BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-12117003267062993792010-07-08T11:30:00.001-07:002010-07-08T11:34:04.046-07:00Whenever there is bleach involved...and I'm not doing laundry, my clothing gets ruined.<br />Here's an example: today, while cleaning out the tube in one of my Camelback Packs, I was cautious. Yet, after walking away from the project, there is definitely a whited-out line of ridiculousness along the lower edge of my black tank top.<br />And, this time, a very first, I burned my tongue with straight bleach. Don't ask.BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-62672966783193683172010-07-06T07:45:00.000-07:002013-01-02T21:26:35.365-08:00And so it begins...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbitLbtaVe6Qk9ulI4pd54f25xQa2s-KeKq45jdMmYl096zYXIlv8TOWZljNvsS_5ZYQZTV09rASrsC0o9xUNdjTP303g1eWnIxicWo684y6jq6jenL3yvw1LyCYRAcdTJXNWn8glzB3NG/s1600/DSCN4413.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490809185052729842" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbitLbtaVe6Qk9ulI4pd54f25xQa2s-KeKq45jdMmYl096zYXIlv8TOWZljNvsS_5ZYQZTV09rASrsC0o9xUNdjTP303g1eWnIxicWo684y6jq6jenL3yvw1LyCYRAcdTJXNWn8glzB3NG/s400/DSCN4413.JPG" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 300px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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Having multiple states of new beginnings is tiresome.<br />
Reading the newspaper today, I remembered hearing a story on NPR last week about workplace production drops every 4 years during the World Cup. One man they interviewed from Brazil said something like, "The World Cup is life!"<br />
So, this morning, I'm thinking I need a Personal World Cup; something to lift me, carry me, entertain me, and to celebrate.<br />
I continue to add to my busy-ness: pets, plants, collections, projects, friends, activities, talents, books, music collections, pounds (had to throw that one in), and worries. However, I'd like to create a celebratory-closer so that I feel that something is "done" once in awhile. Gardens and homes are ever-transitioning works of art in my life. Nothing is done. Everything has an edge of "what's next?"<br />
Gardens? Don't get me started.<br />
Pets? Well, the only "done" part we experience around here is when we have to deal with a pile of poo in the yard.<br />
Projects? None are EVER done...they just seem to reach a point of "good enough for now." Friends? Well, the day I quit making new friends will be the day I kiss everyone good-bye. Talents? I like to think I'm good at things, but I also get bored and continually extend my radius of interests and challenges. I played cello for 2 years, but I'm not a cellist (and have no desire to be). Piano? I play every single day in summer, but once school begins, I play once or twice a week, with no desire to perform. Accordion? I do enough to be a part of a group...I am a right-hand player with the occasional left-hand addition. Painting? I am an expert on spray paint. Tile work? I can pick out anything I like. Cooking? I never use recipes and cook way too well...which I can prove with my waistline. Parenting? I think it's a talent. Period. Story-telling? Absolutely. Sewing? I can make anything I want. I have 2 sewing machines and more than $2000 worth of supplies and knick-knacks, but I don't want anything, so what's the point? Knitting? I am an expert at scarves. My attempts to create cool hats was short-lived. I made 4 hats and stopped when I realized that I don't wear them...and no one else around here seems to want them.<br />
Books? I read between 2-4 books/month...only while trying to fall asleep at night. I am currently reading <em>I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell</em>, and am thorougly disgusted, but determined to finish. I challenge myself to read books whose titles give me hope.<br />
Music collections? My son provides me with a continued new venue via iTunes.<br />
Pounds? I have enough weight to create 3 French ladies.<br />
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Worries? No desire to add.<br />
Tomorrow...I will write more about the development of my Personal World Cup.<br />
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<em></em>BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-67001574060402685622010-06-27T23:01:00.001-07:002010-06-27T23:04:13.133-07:00Chicken PowerWhat's that? What do you want?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4EPvAACAhAz1VcGkyeE3wivSTCKqqfAUrvMFurRqLbsZR15hU9lPaFMgazusRkCDzc3CvsrE2Ra77pKZCVPKwUPqlcOX39nF3ffRUBgj1zDhaq2057AX1oAuWKo5S0xOTnOSBtHpSMybV/s1600/DSCN4356.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487701063038996354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4EPvAACAhAz1VcGkyeE3wivSTCKqqfAUrvMFurRqLbsZR15hU9lPaFMgazusRkCDzc3CvsrE2Ra77pKZCVPKwUPqlcOX39nF3ffRUBgj1zDhaq2057AX1oAuWKo5S0xOTnOSBtHpSMybV/s400/DSCN4356.JPG" /></a><br /><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>We shall find a way, ladies...</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCdabpUZIxlxfdvH0gipHAnd6lOV4UGvk9W8W0a8VsAeKi2NmgQhywKbGVlzdPcaV8IWisJTFOIPvB3Jn3yYsnI490Pv6f219MsKnKjPRJTcjGWiKm9iq5PIcDcEPt3DUm_vGrPDNcb-Ms/s1600/DSCN4352.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487701054363885970" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCdabpUZIxlxfdvH0gipHAnd6lOV4UGvk9W8W0a8VsAeKi2NmgQhywKbGVlzdPcaV8IWisJTFOIPvB3Jn3yYsnI490Pv6f219MsKnKjPRJTcjGWiKm9iq5PIcDcEPt3DUm_vGrPDNcb-Ms/s400/DSCN4352.JPG" /></a><br /><br /></div><div></div>BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-59998674438642431292010-02-21T11:19:00.000-08:002010-02-21T11:21:11.981-08:00It's a Happy-Sad Thing, Isn't It?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtLsnpNpzOXaC7vx55TVJPiA1x-eF0bOJrbyysdE3JuniaQRMl4GtUFioPLsVTq2ScezJR8Dh7jyKsLtczTL3Jknqgwcko4vzVVHnwOgLVW1JNucfjEZb9PnrgDWXPev4JShUDWSUcfd_L/s1600-h/DSCN2328.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440778785601478754" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtLsnpNpzOXaC7vx55TVJPiA1x-eF0bOJrbyysdE3JuniaQRMl4GtUFioPLsVTq2ScezJR8Dh7jyKsLtczTL3Jknqgwcko4vzVVHnwOgLVW1JNucfjEZb9PnrgDWXPev4JShUDWSUcfd_L/s400/DSCN2328.JPG" /></a><br /><div>Just figured out my "baby" will graduate in less tha 4 months. He will be busy all summer...then will move away to college.</div>BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-11817939463102405472010-02-17T17:10:00.000-08:002013-01-02T21:31:36.866-08:00As the Sun Shines in the Valley...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg2FJTtQVnnS7f1uI7DendwJGK5HNgSeIjkLYi-h4VHxPX7ajLKeJ79Cy6pev5r7lJkbyOkB4iP8K_-Af8Y_AzFMl7s1lkKLCrdd7_c8nibNMkjM3UAkl-X0e9WAKKbl5rYvff0hcBZpoZ/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439385225926127378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg2FJTtQVnnS7f1uI7DendwJGK5HNgSeIjkLYi-h4VHxPX7ajLKeJ79Cy6pev5r7lJkbyOkB4iP8K_-Af8Y_AzFMl7s1lkKLCrdd7_c8nibNMkjM3UAkl-X0e9WAKKbl5rYvff0hcBZpoZ/s400/images.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 107px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 143px;" /></a><br />
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My fingers remain cold, slightly blue, and stiff.</div>
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No ability to write these days. Takes too long to think about more than 140 characters. Besides, if it can't be said in those few characters, it must not be important.</div>
BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-52484743151012211732010-01-01T15:43:00.000-08:002010-01-01T15:44:49.975-08:00ALCOHOLISM SUCKS<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSR7_9fnjqbSfGKFAzlvg84jhaGp73__2SlGU5Zv8bA-5OeVi3hC2DlEV0eTjDCmDzrxdeF529sZfGrh5FFaCV6OZMfXLnkzo-mJUFdbylSzGVN9eKuDJMcNJpiL0EXYwNX7gZ4ksD0Lde/s1600-h/alcohol-effects2.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 264px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421921546264573330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSR7_9fnjqbSfGKFAzlvg84jhaGp73__2SlGU5Zv8bA-5OeVi3hC2DlEV0eTjDCmDzrxdeF529sZfGrh5FFaCV6OZMfXLnkzo-mJUFdbylSzGVN9eKuDJMcNJpiL0EXYwNX7gZ4ksD0Lde/s400/alcohol-effects2.jpg" /></a><br /><div>It makes me not like certain people I love. It makes me want to scream and run from my own home. It makes me want to pull some hair. It is so nasty.</div>BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-52892389857336521882009-12-10T13:43:00.000-08:002009-12-10T14:02:50.696-08:00OHSU vs. the VA<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRkDHYkB2M1434-ySYIxDPszYUlEbP4pE354VV7Wrh18g8HQ_xkkSUOvFgxryp4BJDvmwQdTz6Mfdjydvn5TQUC9WYXjss8SNFijvvUj_fgy6wNzUJT7OkPzM-MWGjLP5E6ivqzdQuxfYj/s1600-h/PVAMC5.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413731373665604626" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 245px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 265px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRkDHYkB2M1434-ySYIxDPszYUlEbP4pE354VV7Wrh18g8HQ_xkkSUOvFgxryp4BJDvmwQdTz6Mfdjydvn5TQUC9WYXjss8SNFijvvUj_fgy6wNzUJT7OkPzM-MWGjLP5E6ivqzdQuxfYj/s400/PVAMC5.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>If you ever have a chance to walk across the Sky Bridge at Portland's Oregon Health and Sciences University, you'll find yourself walking into a completely different dimension. See, there's apparently a big difference, visually, between OHSU's crisp and clean appearance and that of the classic Federal Government-run VA Hospital next door. As I crossed the bridge this morning, hoping to find some fingernail polish at the VA Retail Store (my mother is awaiting surgery and I noticed her poor toenails could use a little TLC) I found myself stepping feeling classically annoyed. Old, dingy walls. Government-issued information posters. Long lines waiting at the information desk. Toothless, staggering veterans, preparing to leave with their newly polished molars. Dreary old furniture, classic nylon, filled with heavy-set Americans sitting in silence. </div><br /><div>I realized something. I realized that there are times I am relieved I am not and never will be reliant on a government-run medical program. I'm willing to pay a significant amount of my limited income to keep myself out.</div>BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-42003288239687146752009-11-02T18:23:00.000-08:002009-11-02T18:29:07.505-08:00Options for a Professional Educator...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3PX1zrfOGDJTqWomRLkSwUDrJNLDoQJTx-ldy9N-Q70Wd_vUMUNr_MVATAy2avqRndngQjRwylux-BVRte3vjc7BXx81i3Wwz5lGyzL4Q-fnjcUCGdNgoSZx0SyW8IwZdHgAbNPqQWERZ/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 125px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 113px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399698751930134370" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3PX1zrfOGDJTqWomRLkSwUDrJNLDoQJTx-ldy9N-Q70Wd_vUMUNr_MVATAy2avqRndngQjRwylux-BVRte3vjc7BXx81i3Wwz5lGyzL4Q-fnjcUCGdNgoSZx0SyW8IwZdHgAbNPqQWERZ/s400/images.jpg" /></a><br /><div>...when a 5-year old runs from you when recess is over;<br />1. Keep yelling his name.<br />2. Hunt him down like a wild oxen.<br />3. Pay other children 25 cents to chase and tackle him.<br />4. Ignore him, closing the door and pretending you don't notice he's gone.<br />5. Yell out, "There's a kidnapper on the loose in the neighborhood. Good luck with using the 'safety yell!'"<br />6. Call his mother or father at work and say, "I'm not being paid enough to deal with psychos. Can you come and get your psy...er...I mean, son?"<br />7. Give up and just let everyone from the entire classroom run away like wild animals...and forget about teaching, altogether...</div>BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-34448955407986094152009-10-28T18:20:00.001-07:002009-10-28T18:21:24.643-07:00If, Freakin', Only!Ahhh!<br />Laying back is so much better. I wasted too many years stressed out. I still occasionally waste some time on it, but if only...BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-87185436450457065552009-08-06T22:04:00.000-07:002009-08-06T22:08:09.412-07:00Searching for Old Friends and WishingWe've all done this, yet we hate when it creeps in! We begin wondering what happened to folks from our pasts!<br /><br />Nowadays, we have options for finding folks in a way which our grandparents could neer imagine! My favorite quick search site is <a href="http://www.zabasearch.com/">www.zabasearch.com</a><br /><br />Tonight, I'm looking for a friend...but she has remarried and I DO NOT KNOW HER NEW LAST NAME! I've started to even feel a bit of desperation. I know her first name. I know what school district she used to work for. I know her husband works/manages a grocery store. I know she has 1 child of her own with this man and that he had 3 boys from a previous marriage. However, without a last name, it's almost impossible!<br /><br />I'll keep trying, however, just out of ...<br />wait! wait! wait!<br />I just remembered something! I'm reaching for my old address book! YES! THERE IT IS! I have her last name...and I found it with an outdated and low-tech system!<br />Bye...gotta find her online!BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-63260585587889338702009-08-02T22:31:00.000-07:002009-08-02T22:33:21.319-07:00I still don't like him...I just don't hate him...<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim8tUgNG8SW5QDLViGfHxyRiD3mHA3KJuBVL2MJz17tkHNPkKCvoWsNGMbmqyuOTFGy5jZB3DFM-sYqBAK-l9Kdhlb0hfiYMP63nCW7QBfswVVo6w9OS2CtBpj-zajnTtRyK-l-cHevNJQ/s1600-h/204_025.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365606359805194658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 128px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 170px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim8tUgNG8SW5QDLViGfHxyRiD3mHA3KJuBVL2MJz17tkHNPkKCvoWsNGMbmqyuOTFGy5jZB3DFM-sYqBAK-l9Kdhlb0hfiYMP63nCW7QBfswVVo6w9OS2CtBpj-zajnTtRyK-l-cHevNJQ/s400/204_025.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">Ex-husband. </span><span style="font-size:180%;">Enough said.</span><br /><br /><br /></div>BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-29290113864092130982009-07-29T21:58:00.000-07:002009-07-29T22:12:33.788-07:00Havin' a Hell of a Time...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFr7UL1IN7YkNzxsU4i4SRs41i1eoB1Qlk3tBJWPPsvPLcDrUQ-O5xt-oVlJcpBXfB5Z-8iPMbsnUNo03aHDQX2bmK9xS5VET7qxViWzVqpDZS0YCXraRZdIbCbozwKfAdt9Ska5BFx07o/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364115811445612066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 111px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 103px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFr7UL1IN7YkNzxsU4i4SRs41i1eoB1Qlk3tBJWPPsvPLcDrUQ-O5xt-oVlJcpBXfB5Z-8iPMbsnUNo03aHDQX2bmK9xS5VET7qxViWzVqpDZS0YCXraRZdIbCbozwKfAdt9Ska5BFx07o/s320/images.jpg" border="0" /></a> But, not necessarily in the "this is such a great vacation...we're having a hell of a time," manner.<br /><div></div><div></div><div>This is my first summer to basically be kidless. The 19-year-old is establising her own life, living in Colorado. She works. She's going to school full-time and maintaining excellent grades. She's got friends. She climbs mountains on her days off. The 17-year-old is off working far, far away for the summer- for OMSI as a camp counselor in Fossil and throughout the eastern parts of Oregon.</div><br /><div></div><div>I'm proud of them both. For the first week, it was novel. For all of the other moms out there, I'm sure you'll understand what I mean when I say it's pretty nice to know you can just cook an Eggo Waffle for dinner and call it good. You'll know what I mean when I say that there are no clothes lying about...nor dirty dishes...nor ringing cell phones...nor new dents in our cars...</div><br /><div></div><div>But, right now, I'm missing all of those things. Seriously, at this very minute, I wish my son was walking in the door, dropping his shoes and sweatshirt right in the entryway. I wish my daughter were coming in late, past curfew, as that's her schtick (is that how it's spelled?). I actually miss the arguments at 12:13 a.m. I'd even like to wake up in the morning and find a new ding on the driver's side door of my Accord...and have to wonder, "What now?"</div><br /><div></div><div>I love my husband dearly. However, I'm picking on him pretty constantly...about everything! I know it's because I have a longing that cannot be met through quiet, peaceful dinners nor red-hot romantic sex in the living room. (You actually get to DO those things when there are no kids around!!!) He's older and much more settled than me at this time of life. I'm having a massive period right this minute that serves absolutely no purpose...and that really pisses me off! My face breaks out. My hair is a little flat. My boobs absolutely sag and seem somehow deflated. My heels are dry and cracking.</div><br /><div></div><div>And, my house is messier than it ever was with children about.</div><br /><div></div><div>Yep...having a hell of a time.</div><div></div><div>(Coincidentally, while searching for an "empty nest" photo, I found this blog...</div><div><a href="http://open.salon.com/blog/sally_swift/2008/05/31/give_them_wings_but_be_prepared_to_cry">http://open.salon.com/blog/sally_swift/2008/05/31/give_them_wings_but_be_prepared_to_cry</a></div>BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-72066654232883806752009-07-22T16:09:00.000-07:002009-07-22T16:16:21.980-07:00A Perplexion...is that a word?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvukOM2k7rByuxw_x9oIzHvy0J2GltqyWyzCiVB0Pst6OgOC0UaXSA0Vuy6R_EKddX0FWFuvoJSxRl3Ww5IGmcG2LouB6LN2JQztbBoKWacCNx8taglMi8vvEK_rkjiN0xikEAcAZi3S-Y/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361427264643878402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 143px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 112px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvukOM2k7rByuxw_x9oIzHvy0J2GltqyWyzCiVB0Pst6OgOC0UaXSA0Vuy6R_EKddX0FWFuvoJSxRl3Ww5IGmcG2LouB6LN2JQztbBoKWacCNx8taglMi8vvEK_rkjiN0xikEAcAZi3S-Y/s400/images.jpg" border="0" /></a> I want to truly find a way to maintain the lifestyle I live when school is out for summer. Low, low stress, time to complete jobs that have meaning for me, and the luxury of occasionally napping. When school begins, my life, as I know it to truly be, ends. For 24 years I've dreaded the end of August...knowing it was coming. Knowing that everything that is about "me" pretty much comes to an end. This is especially true with this upcoming year, as I'll be back teaching in the classroom. For the past 2 years I've been fortunate to "escape" that realm and spend some time really developing professionally as an ESL teacher and Literacy Coach. There were times during the school day where I could actually get things done; truly completed! That never happens when you are a classroom teacher. It's continuous movement and needs.<br /><div></div><br /><div>I also know that my anxiety level increases so drastically that I sort of lose it for a bit in early September. My family has adjusted to this routine. I am blessed for them!</div>BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-73949450888732762982009-06-26T12:32:00.000-07:002009-06-26T12:33:42.837-07:00My Most Recent Creation<div align="center"><span style="color:#6600cc;">I began building these about 3 years ago. I only have time to work on such projects when school is out and when I neglect all of my other life responsibilities...</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYeml17eIJZd0kw6sBan7UD2L2t4S81icR1IFU0MuvxiStr7t0l7o65FuJ6EHxvfVO4TV1yhdCE-DUMENi6pj4qE4YwbYZfU-SOMCXBb1y-VdQWKm_Gsf0XUBkDPHwQJG1gX2wPntCnWJ0/s1600-h/DSCN1233.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351721547113308754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYeml17eIJZd0kw6sBan7UD2L2t4S81icR1IFU0MuvxiStr7t0l7o65FuJ6EHxvfVO4TV1yhdCE-DUMENi6pj4qE4YwbYZfU-SOMCXBb1y-VdQWKm_Gsf0XUBkDPHwQJG1gX2wPntCnWJ0/s400/DSCN1233.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div>BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-40508530226389329032009-06-04T06:48:00.000-07:002009-06-04T06:53:54.675-07:00On My MindGay marriage should be legal.<br />There are no arguments out there that can justify NOT allowing gay couples to wed.<br /><br />This topic has been on my mind a LOT lately. I am not quite sure why, but I think it has to do with the fact that, of all of the injustices being committed around out beautiful planet, this one is so stinkin' easy to solve that it blows my mind that it's still an issue!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.bidstrup.com/marriage.htm">http://www.bidstrup.com/marriage.htm</a>BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-28906598050214444582009-05-29T23:24:00.000-07:002009-05-29T23:25:43.066-07:00I read this and I agreed with everything written. That's rare for me...Losing my religion. Why I recently walked away from Christianity. By theBEattitude<br /><a href="http://thebeattitude.com/2009/05/28/losing-my-religion-why-i-walked-away-from-christianity/">http://thebeattitude.com/2009/05/28/losing-my-religion-why-i-walked-away-from-christianity/</a><br />I was planning to write up a detailed story about my Christian life and the recent rejection of my faith. But my goal is not to build a case to prove I believed in God or to demonstrate how good of a Christian I was. I did truly believe in God for most of my life and worshiped and prayed to him daily. I believed he was at work in my life at all times and using me to touch other people’s lives.<br />So you might be wondering what changed.<br />The change was a culmination of things that I could no longer ignore. Faith is belief in the unseen and unprovable, but still requires a foundation for that faith. With the countless religions of the world, I began to question why the god of the Bible is more believable than all other gods worshiped on earth. With the mountain of evidence staring me in the face, my faith began to die.<br />Last fall, I finally moved past guilt and admitted to myself that I no longer believe in Jesus or the god of the Bible. Surprisingly it was a relief. Not because I wanted to run wild and sin freely, but because I no longer felt the weight a Christian carries. The weight of guilt, unworthiness and fear of god’s judgement. I continue to spend my days striving to be a good husband, father and son. I help others in need around me as often as I can. The big difference is I do these things today because it brings me joy, not because I believe it brings an imaginary god joy.<br />For those wondering, here is a condensed “Top 20 List” of the things that led to my rejection of Christianity.<br />God is wrathful, jealous, hateful, and kills nations of people like it is a bodily function. He is certainly not just or “holy” in nature.<br />The act of throwing people into infinite torture and punishment for not believing a Jewish guy from 2,000 years ago was God’s son, or unknowingly worshiping the wrong god, is extremely cruel and sadistic.<br />The statements, “God works in mysterious ways,” or “It will all make sense in heaven,” are little more than irrational cop outs. This God allows horrible atrocities to be committed against innocent men, women and children every day.<br />Bloody animal and human sacrifices are illogical demands by a divine god as payment for petty wrong doings. These actions are no different than the rituals of archaic pagan religions. Not to mention the bizarre ritual of symbolically drinking human blood and eating human flesh.<br />If God loves us and wants us to know and believe in him, why be so completely invisible? What is the purpose of being so illusive to those who believe and worship him?<br />God never manifests himself or performs miracles as he regularly did for the Israelites in Old Testament stories.<br />Prayers are never answered. Certainly not in the way Jesus described. Prayer has absolutely no affect on the world around us.<br />Jesus did not fulfill major Old Testament prophesies or even fulfill his own promises and predictions.<br />The authors of much of the Bible are unknown. And of these unknown authors, the men who wrote the gospels likely never even met Jesus considering they were written 40-70 years after his death. A far cry from reliable testimony.<br />The Bible is repeatedly contradictory with itself, reality, and the laws of morality. Couldn’t God inspire a less poorly written book?<br />The Bible is open to interpretation. Everyone interprets it in the way that suits them best or serves their purposes.<br />Throughout history, Christians have justified horrific actions by the Bible and its teaching.<br />The Bible promotes hate and persecution against women, homosexuals and those who worship other gods or no god at all.<br />According to the Bible, nearly 70% percent of the people in the world will burn in hell because they don’t believe Jesus was the son of God.<br />The only reason I was a Christian was because I was indoctrinated into the religion as a child as a result of the culture and region of the world in which I was born.<br />Christianity has no more rational or factual foundation than any other religion on earth that I openly reject.<br />The Christian church is disjointed and can’t even agree with one another.<br />Christians are not at all ethically or morally different from non-Christians.<br />Today, powerful church leaders steal, lie and molest young children. The church repeatedly attempts to cover up these atrocities, only to reluctantly apologize as a last resort.<br />It is absolutely irrational to continue to believe archaic teaching with the amount of knowledge we’ve gained through science and technology. The Bible reads like a book of primitive folklore, not divinely inspired insight into our true reason for existence.BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-15835678828470344062009-05-11T22:49:00.000-07:002009-05-18T06:44:15.683-07:00<a href="http://boggywoggyscache.blogspot.com/2008_04_01_archive.html">http://boggywoggyscache.blogspot.com/2008_04_01_archive.html</a><br /><br /><br /><br />I did a quick search to see if I'd ever written about her. You have to scroll down the page a bit to see my reference to her when submitting a "hush puppies" recipe.<br /><br /><br /><br />Dorothy Pearl Gilmore is one tough mo-fo.<br /><br />She's my grandmother. Born April 14, 1919 in Oklahoma.<br /><br />Lived through a lot of hard times.<br /><br />Raised 4 kids, basically on her own.<br /><br />At one time 6 grandchildren ran through her house. Later, 4 more joined ranks.<br /><br />She was crass and crazy. She was lovnig and mean. She had a good heart.<br /><br />Today, her good heart is failing.<br /><br />She was sent home from the hospital to be comfortable. Her doctor is either a prick or a saint...I'm not sure which. Hopefully, she'll be pain-free.<br /><br /><br />Should I go back to help? I don't know. It will only bring on extreme stress and pain.<br /><br />If I don't go, will I regret it? I don't know.<br /><br /><br />I feel very guilty about everything involving this horrid, bitter, mentally-ill woman. I have geared my own life toward NOT becoming her...including taking DAILY medication in order to make sure I sleep and don't suffer anxiety attacks such as those I had thorughout my 20's and early 30's. I was very ill during those times...just like she is ALL of the time.<br /><br /><br />She would take long walks at 3:30 a.m., peering into neighbors' windows to get a look inside at their decor. She would find pennies on the roadway and mail them to my young son, so he could save money for his next visit out to see her.<br /><br /><br />She began gluing magazine cut-outs on the exterior of her home about 8 years ago and has managed to cover the entire front of her house. Windows, doors, siding...it's all covered. I was embarrassed and amazed, all at the same time. Whenever I assign any collage word as a teacher, it is her I see in my mind's eye. Whenever I feel like picking up a rubber boot and hurling it through a window, (well, I've actually followed through on this act), it was her I saw.<br /><br /><br />I know her voice. It talked with me about sewing, shared horrible stories about other family members, made fun of me for gaining weight, laughed a little too loud at gatherings, forgot to say "thank you" for gifts, rode my mother for all of her shortcomings, and told me I was special. Her hands taught me to crochet. She made me clothes, quilts, blankets, rugs, and clothespin holders. She bought me a pack of gum and then took it away from me before I could open it, because I "wasn't as nice as she thought I should be." She asked if we wanted a Dilly Bar from Dq...and then drove us out to the highway to collect enough bottles to return for the deposit so we could buy our own bars.<br />NEXT MORNING UPDATE: Dorothy P. White-Gilmore passed away on May 12, 2209.BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-80287308442168229742009-04-27T22:07:00.000-07:002009-04-27T22:13:20.241-07:00Venting...like an Alaskan Volcano<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8jTswSnwtxb8Wv53OvkL9q08u43YfrFVi0JvYJuQJauFYSgiV4aP_7Pwb0sVBA_eQP_Eur_pmacwnruThVK6L9N1fBIpXm3R44J0hVnw_hwrmgIm6i3H7tYH7x-HLGPLILOux4xxQjE3H/s1600-h/untitled.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329605502145797634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8jTswSnwtxb8Wv53OvkL9q08u43YfrFVi0JvYJuQJauFYSgiV4aP_7Pwb0sVBA_eQP_Eur_pmacwnruThVK6L9N1fBIpXm3R44J0hVnw_hwrmgIm6i3H7tYH7x-HLGPLILOux4xxQjE3H/s400/untitled.bmp" border="0" /></a>"Never plan ahead more than, oh, 6 months."<br /><div> </div><div>"Okay, sounds like a plan."</div><br /><div>"Training will cost us, oh, roughly $13,000 for that one teacher." </div><br /><div>"It'll be worth it. She'll be a powerhouse for us, moving mountains and setting interventions into play that will rock the frickin' educational world. The people she will have to deal with may be difficult, but she'll manage to find a way to get things rolling..."</div><br /><div></div><div><span style="font-size:180%;color:#006600;"><em>Fast forward approximately 2 years:</em></span></div><br /><div></div><div>"You seem unhappy with your job, so we want to move you somewhere you'll be happy." </div><br /><div>"I'm not unhappy. What makes you think that?"</div><br /><div>"Well, you said things aren't going well in several areas at your school."</div><br /><div>"I'm not unhappy. I am looking for support."</div><br /><div>"Yes, that's why we're moving you..."</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Fuck!</div>BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-64733128844171271362009-04-12T21:05:00.001-07:002009-04-12T21:09:36.758-07:00Springing Spring Springs to Life!The Galaxy Magnolia goes insane!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj83sbsmjBBlI25kuSSnnlZU6S5US0rtkAzXfTxnioDBTwCq_bMb_GmSofGNoly7N-B2bkLjenEIPFdnSjRpR8rRYcIWDOlWdtlZgCoCJEDBazFRJVACq_mO5YPTy5hb4k5dG3Mr0czTdRN/s1600-h/DSCN0308.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324022949630765970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj83sbsmjBBlI25kuSSnnlZU6S5US0rtkAzXfTxnioDBTwCq_bMb_GmSofGNoly7N-B2bkLjenEIPFdnSjRpR8rRYcIWDOlWdtlZgCoCJEDBazFRJVACq_mO5YPTy5hb4k5dG3Mr0czTdRN/s400/DSCN0308.JPG" border="0" /></a> The False Spirea is crazy bloomin'!<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSaxok1u3Vg7PzuFC_LB_vOhwpsvyTGW_WyW3ltIZJTp4XdTaeJqFbY7RWCnmzjku12BXIjrlCZKpIERhp1tnbNicC7gJ0cZn7qjVtt7B4IUZDuyxKRosrPDROJVt_Nv0mQtyr3T6ICb3H/s1600-h/DSCN0032.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324022946801851586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSaxok1u3Vg7PzuFC_LB_vOhwpsvyTGW_WyW3ltIZJTp4XdTaeJqFbY7RWCnmzjku12BXIjrlCZKpIERhp1tnbNicC7gJ0cZn7qjVtt7B4IUZDuyxKRosrPDROJVt_Nv0mQtyr3T6ICb3H/s400/DSCN0032.JPG" border="0" /></a> The front bed is exploding with joy!<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCwlBCqWn_yFwtPciui47IkJ6g7F2PJkLeNhsSjsJ4Y4BptlgMW_875NziapiXHcxRtARuanF-9VvKH4Ydankh5t4NDVjoK3HcmIiLjGyEA2BOHp3vIi4de1awwrFmPy7laO3aPIDM1Syp/s1600-h/DSCN0041.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324022942199794802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCwlBCqWn_yFwtPciui47IkJ6g7F2PJkLeNhsSjsJ4Y4BptlgMW_875NziapiXHcxRtARuanF-9VvKH4Ydankh5t4NDVjoK3HcmIiLjGyEA2BOHp3vIi4de1awwrFmPy7laO3aPIDM1Syp/s400/DSCN0041.JPG" border="0" /></a> The camillia is bursting out of its Winter darkness.<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim1xggTUhr_6ynG-5uHUAIJjDjad4Sm1MAV2wOZPcFs0BBbLJZnoW4tI0h85DaoxHOP67F2qZqyu1E6KcZ5LAdPQtj0ZwkiLakxm9UDHkLUx9VKw2n8UNTEGZ_JE5sqTRtTmJvD6uU-K4i/s1600-h/DSCN0033.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324022936862090914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim1xggTUhr_6ynG-5uHUAIJjDjad4Sm1MAV2wOZPcFs0BBbLJZnoW4tI0h85DaoxHOP67F2qZqyu1E6KcZ5LAdPQtj0ZwkiLakxm9UDHkLUx9VKw2n8UNTEGZ_JE5sqTRtTmJvD6uU-K4i/s400/DSCN0033.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div>BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2309175921973697831.post-74340469804914718212009-03-16T05:58:00.000-07:002009-03-16T06:03:12.155-07:005K Fun Run for Kids<div align="center"> Man, was it chilly on Saturday! I joined a group of co-workers from one of the schools I work at to help Corvallis Public Schools Foundation earn a little much-needed cash! The Fun Run for Kids was a blast! Of course, for me it was the fun "trot" and fun "fast-walk." It was great to get out and burn a few calories with a bunch of local-yocals!<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313769491434673554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu49pPBZtyd-2oW8H1gDirVu71_nPRoYgap2xohP0hdDtfZfWl91OKqa9o0kH-kuftpJFzGrMgaWjK85yN6G7r0aBTdKl7s4G14wF1AesKgr0uJmt3HSeH_ckFRcw3dAlWRLc0WwQa0UwJ/s400/DSCN0568.JPG" border="0" />Me and my peeps!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYs2_-Uks9y_b_6TKqwE7wzawhDREgpA4ixWjJiKwLWCW1x-PJ5CsH2LpZOtEmEcErlOQf6uZZcTYvguNJcEXBF3FwfXpaqOdTemkod46z0RowP6Bd7lpIZeVEvF8Ohv67BcPA_E9mgwcH/s1600-h/DSCN0577.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313769498447863922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYs2_-Uks9y_b_6TKqwE7wzawhDREgpA4ixWjJiKwLWCW1x-PJ5CsH2LpZOtEmEcErlOQf6uZZcTYvguNJcEXBF3FwfXpaqOdTemkod46z0RowP6Bd7lpIZeVEvF8Ohv67BcPA_E9mgwcH/s400/DSCN0577.JPG" border="0" /></a> A couple of great teaching buddies!<br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoviJ3P-7m_b9pE4eV850QjZYgBDeDTCnZFkuO6wXz38VdQNRmKNFAEnBTkyCn0TQXaBbbpFtKDUXJKjCZ6_aPkiSc7y4Dm13Lx8YlJXuVXAo7RsDxzLZVfnsUJv-DE-_yhTMw5HBoEhT_/s1600-h/DSCN0571.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313769492943083698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoviJ3P-7m_b9pE4eV850QjZYgBDeDTCnZFkuO6wXz38VdQNRmKNFAEnBTkyCn0TQXaBbbpFtKDUXJKjCZ6_aPkiSc7y4Dm13Lx8YlJXuVXAo7RsDxzLZVfnsUJv-DE-_yhTMw5HBoEhT_/s400/DSCN0571.JPG" border="0" /></a> Folks from my school!<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313769502519113666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJCvKxo2I8jPPAC7udDczNVJh-nkgSZB60YKxTPuRLf4MtTq1vz4Q890kOh4_657TRVP6EEJu4jreS_sEz2pCRtSJx51tmZzGq_GU6y8VbJs42J1OOHoP9AxgyqE4U4j8A8k0hPCu5ygc1/s400/DSCN0576.JPG" border="0" />Local tagging. Not exactly as fancy as the big-city gets, but very effective in deliving a clear message.<br /><br /><div></div></div><br /></div>BoggyWoggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18348136811460735652noreply@blogger.com1