tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64957861399875087382024-03-05T00:12:23.642-05:00Coloring The WorldA Peek At The Life Of A Hairstylist
-Training of a Different Kind-Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.comBlogger157125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-39059428685046536422015-10-17T12:10:00.000-04:002015-10-17T12:16:42.004-04:00I'm going on an adventure<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfDckSPhwDcaQV4ylUkAgzHpdGzbsBfilttubLzdgWqRb8U2VsBPdm6Pvne8LpPbLFd9W82gHlFGtEjlUhOeeI4RtFZ9PXVwziP2prm1nX62k73utnCTa_fkgG-tYCB2r9AOjR2ubrn58/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfDckSPhwDcaQV4ylUkAgzHpdGzbsBfilttubLzdgWqRb8U2VsBPdm6Pvne8LpPbLFd9W82gHlFGtEjlUhOeeI4RtFZ9PXVwziP2prm1nX62k73utnCTa_fkgG-tYCB2r9AOjR2ubrn58/s1600/images.jpeg" /></a>Hey guys,<br />
for those who are still following me somewhat, I am pretty much moving over to a different location. You can continue to follow the adventures of my life as I adapt to being a wife, a kitty mother, a crafter, coffee drinker, and island explorer on my new blog: <a href="http://coffeegrindgirl.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">http://coffeegrindgirl.blogspot.com</a><br />
Hope to see you there.Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-67406953324543350842015-09-19T10:56:00.000-04:002015-09-19T10:56:07.138-04:00Life ChangesSo I'm sitting here making breakfast in my new kitchen thinking about how everything is so different now. Different from last month, and different from when this blog started. Life has changed, big time.<br />
<br />
And though I haven't been on here that much, I think I might make more regular appearances now that there is a little bit more free time in my life. And maybe, just maybe, change some stuff up on the blog, too...maybe...Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-91145555001514865312015-09-15T17:24:00.002-04:002015-09-15T17:26:05.584-04:00By the Sea Mr. Todd...The "Honeymoon" is officially over. This morning the alarm went off at 5am. The work blues, boots, and hat went on and at 5:08 I found myself alone in a dark house that still doesn't feel like home... So dark, so empty, so...quiet...<br />
I tossed and turned a bit until my restless sleep could hold me no longer and finally I left our very empty bed around 8.<br />
It's only been2 days since we officially planted ourselves in Hatteras, and I think I've exhausted the laundry, and the dishwasher. There's a feeling of unrest. We brought just a few things from the wedding with us since we have to move out of our apartment in November and figured the less to move so soon, the better. Because of that it's hard to make this place as cozy and home-like as possible...but we're getting there.<br />
Simply putting on familiar bedding that you actually like certainly makes a difference. We brought a lot of kitchen stuff and having pops of color and gadgets you can call your own makes a place seem familiar, too. I'm itching to get rid of the ugly, boxy, uncomfortable furniture in the rental's living room. There's nothing pleasant or inviting about the scratchy blue fabric and thin cushions on the couch... or the white, plastic, armed chairs around the kitchen table...<br />
<br />
I'll say that I will miss the view from our back porch. Our rental is one of the last on the street, and therefore a bit more secluded. There are no houses behind us, just the old abandoned Coast Guard Station, and a clear view of the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse the shines rhythmically in the dark. These things I think I'll miss.<br />
<br />
Soon, G and I will take a trip to Elizabeth City and get me a Military ID and make everything super official. And if I can manage it, a trip to the OBX SPCA...otherwise there might be some reports by all of our neighbors about missing dogs...(I might be very dog-snuggle deprived right now...and have also seen a fb post saying they have 6 aussie sheepdog/lab mix puppies...my heart can't even right now)Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-60853458084010076212015-07-06T12:46:00.000-04:002015-07-06T12:46:15.342-04:00we have longer than what the calendar says...right?We've barely started summer and already I'm realizing how quickly certain things are approaching. In June we had two weddings in one weekend to plan for and look forward to. Two weeks later we celebrated fourth of July...though I still feel like that shouldn't have happened for another couple of weeks. This Sunday I anticipate hopping on a plane by my lonesome and heading out west where I get to spend the next week driving back east with my dear heart as we move him from a-school to duty station. Once we're back on the east coast there will only be 6 more weeks until our big day.<br />
<br />
And just like that, the realization of just how little time we have left is hitting me hard. The anticipation of getting on a plane by myself (I'm not a huge fan of flying) is giving me a little anxiety...but I know for a fact that my prize at the end of about 9hrs of traveling is worth it's weight 10X over in gold. And the experience of driving across the country is one that I have always wanted to have, and will remember for the rest of my life! And honestly, how can I complain when I'll have his company all to myself for about a week. These will be the last moments we get to spend with one another before another short separation, followed by the hoopla of family descending upon our houses and wedding craziness and then moving craziness.<br />
<br />
My brain is a little on overload right now. Anticipating things such as finishing up at my job and leaving them down one stylist in a very busy salon, putting the finishing touches to all the wedding plans and wondering if we're ever gonna fully be done, getting through the wedding, and then moving my whole entire life down Cape Hatteras, NC.<br />
<br />
To their credit, some members of my family are pretty good at consoling me when i'm on the verge of an overload. But the only person who I really want to be consoled by, and who really can calm me down completely, is on crazy schedules making him mostly unreachable by phone during most of the day, and very much so out of my arms reach all the time.<br />
<br />
I find myself missing silly little things like getting ice cream or driving to wendy's at 12:30am with him, and watching miscellaneous sitcoms we stumble upon and becoming die hard fans! I miss just driving do mundane places like the grocery store, with my feet on the dash and singing along to silly songs. Basically, I miss life with my best friend, and as we get closer and closer to our big day, it gets harder and harder in the "I miss you " department. <br />
Like when you start to picture your significant other as your phone...oops.<br />
<br />
60 more days, and counting!!!!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLCeU-3KbFMDf6mbPDCrOGAttpm8Heeh8Hy7qgldJ9dhq729Bn_blrHnXP_Y8vNMKvvhmnHrB1AAbdQzzTeAIvXYaajtr4D0gZWxISytOCDA0RVRV99y8Lx9w68bfUCf7IYBnR-wc4JSM/s1600/IMG_0747.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLCeU-3KbFMDf6mbPDCrOGAttpm8Heeh8Hy7qgldJ9dhq729Bn_blrHnXP_Y8vNMKvvhmnHrB1AAbdQzzTeAIvXYaajtr4D0gZWxISytOCDA0RVRV99y8Lx9w68bfUCf7IYBnR-wc4JSM/s320/IMG_0747.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-36169911686655300232015-04-14T11:46:00.000-04:002015-04-14T11:46:17.784-04:00whoever told me this would be fun, lied.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4F92z5kN9Drc7cqS50ENVeBq9PsbLniILqQYoNySobI57oySyqoj1rQjAjZuuThquA8SonO5NcJS2Xprx9WtO8l7YPcFAvI6gWA2ksBPzZx-VaBy_KmFRvV-tlc_nOkzDxlC-9bim-k/s1600/IMG_4229.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4F92z5kN9Drc7cqS50ENVeBq9PsbLniILqQYoNySobI57oySyqoj1rQjAjZuuThquA8SonO5NcJS2Xprx9WtO8l7YPcFAvI6gWA2ksBPzZx-VaBy_KmFRvV-tlc_nOkzDxlC-9bim-k/s1600/IMG_4229.JPG" height="400" width="225" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4F92z5kN9Drc7cqS50ENVeBq9PsbLniILqQYoNySobI57oySyqoj1rQjAjZuuThquA8SonO5NcJS2Xprx9WtO8l7YPcFAvI6gWA2ksBPzZx-VaBy_KmFRvV-tlc_nOkzDxlC-9bim-k/s1600/IMG_4229.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha_KYJPMIBSlDqMY-BGhc_ytkzAXknfad6-Bi8l3pumHnUmmfqtFACzQKy00bnYuS9sFnbzDA0YGGHPPw_WXA0Tk4g8uF-BYnKdMJpKewzM9O9k2APBOiyZC_vovlCLwxN4fS9x1brE1k/s1600/IMG_4415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha_KYJPMIBSlDqMY-BGhc_ytkzAXknfad6-Bi8l3pumHnUmmfqtFACzQKy00bnYuS9sFnbzDA0YGGHPPw_WXA0Tk4g8uF-BYnKdMJpKewzM9O9k2APBOiyZC_vovlCLwxN4fS9x1brE1k/s1600/IMG_4415.JPG" height="400" width="225" /></a></div>
<br />
Sometimes I wonder what it's like to actually have fun planning a wedding, to be excited about the whole thing. Don't get me wrong, I'm excited to get married, I really am! It's all these silly little details that I could pretty much care less about. I am opinionated on various things, but for most parts of my life I am very laid back. So I've been feeling a bit overwhelmed, pretty much since the beginning of all of this hoopla, as the flood of questions has hurled my direction.<br />
<br />
Do you have a date?<br />
How did he do it?<br />
What are your colors?<br />
Do you have your dress yet?<br />
Is it a princess fit?<br />
How about your girls?<br />
Will you have a big bridal party?<br />
What do you mean your parties might not match numerically?<br />
Who is your caterer?<br />
Photographer?<br />
Where is everything gonna be?<br />
What do you mean your parents aren't paying for the wedding?<br />
How are you gonna manage to keep the guest list to 100 people?!?<br />
<br />
And then there's all the little details! My mother, sister, and I went over to a friends house last night. My mom has asked her to help make cup-cakes for the little refreshment reception we're having during the receiving line portion of the ceremony. And of course there were more directions and questions.<br />
How are you going to set up? Where are you going to put the receiving line? Have you thought about your timing in all of this? What about gifts, where are you putting gifts?<br />
I get to points where I think most everything has been figured out and we don't have to worry too much...and then this happens and a whole new can of worms is opened up and I go to bed crying.<br />
I finally just handed all of this over to my mother, who loves planning. I said, look, I've made the major decisions about what day, where it's all going down, what every ones wearing, designed and ordered invites, and took care of the menu...other than any of that, I really don't care what anything else looks like. You take care of it, cause I've checked out.<br />
<br />
It was kind of a weird thing...and the more I think about it the more I wish I had eloped and it was all over. The truth of the matter is that I miss my guy. Were he here, on this coast, in this time zone, and preferably in the same state as me, I'm sure that there would be a little more bounce and excitement to all of this. But he's not. He's 3,000miles, and 3 time zones away. And he will be until the wedding, pretty much. In a way, I guess it shows that I'm not a crazy bridezilla. That all this hoopla is not just a showy, hoe-down. It all means that it's the marriage I'm longing for, and not just the wedding. Not the dress, and the shoes, and the hair and make-up, and the crowds, and congratulations, and flowers and all of that attention. I'd be more than happy if everyone just showed up in nice attire and ate pizza and drank homemade cocktails in my back yard and danced under the stars and just had a simple nice time....<br />
<br />
I think of that day and all I see is his face, his smile, his crinkly green eyes. Looking at me with an extreme mix of happiness, excitement, and fear. All I can see is this amazing man that I'm in love with, and all I want to do is pledge myself, give him a smooch, take his hand, and run for it!<br />
Getting married, to me, means finally starting a life with this guy, my best friend of 18yrs,(who I haven't seen much since June of 2014, which has been a painful and strengthening experience)actually getting to go where he goes, and see what he sees, and make a house a home and put both our personalities into it(instead of his mattress on the floor in the corner of a space, white-walled apartment) Yes, that house may only contain me for months on end sometimes, but that is also just part of it. I have no delusions that this will be easy. I can't tell you where we're gonna be living by the end of this year, I have no idea. I can't tell you if he will be out at sea for 3-5 months at a time, or home for dinner every night. But I do know that when he's home, he will be home with me, not home and 3,000 miles away. When he's home, there will be much hugging and smooching and rejoicing instead of now, where there is sporadic texting when he ha time, the occasional phone call when we catch each other at the right time for our time zones, and the even rarer Skype date...wifi service permitting...<br />
<br />
It's gonna be hard, I know that. But being a little closer will be easier on my heart. I know that, too.<br />
<br />
4 Months, 3 Weeks to go....Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-82822215828163285372014-12-01T13:32:00.001-05:002014-12-01T21:46:06.443-05:00DecemberYou know when you've had a very full and exciting couple of weeks and then you hit that wall where everyone just goes back to school and work and normal life and everything seems all too quiet?<br>
That is where my life is at the moment.<br>
<br>
About two weeks ago my favorite man made port back in the good ol' U.S. of A after nearly 3 months of sailing around the coasts of south and central americas. He was able to snag a couple extra days of leave so he could visit with us before he made a road trip across the country (the purpose being to get his car from the east coast to the west coast. 3,100 miles). After being apart for a lengthy amount of time the two of us were pretty inseparable. I cannot even begin to describe the amount of butterflies one might find in their tummy that spread through every inch of one's self. <br>
<br>
Nearly a week after his return, his leave almost up, the two of us went out for a fancy dinner date. It was lovely, seeing as it proceeded a day full of dead car batteries, replacing alternators, and failed front and rear breaks...followed by a trip made up to Springfield College to drop off a car for G's sister. (let me tell you, it is difficult to drive a car in a very fitting sheath dress, stockings, and heels. Even without the heels, my stockinged feet slid all over my pedals.) And pardon me while I say, A POX UPON THE MAN WHO DESIGNED THE HIGHWAYS IN Mass AND HIS DISBELIEF IN ON/OFF RAMPS.<br>
Anyways. By 9pm we finally reached our restaurant of choice...but something was off. It wasn't the food, or the entertaining karaoke, or the service. It was him. What was off, I couldn't tell you, but something was up. And so, despite being absolutely starving on the ride over, I lost my appetite as I always do when something is making me anxious.<br>
Later that night I discovered what all the jitters were about as a band of delicate diamonds was slid onto my finger.<br>
That was Tuesday. Friday he and his dad left for Oregon. Thursday night was probably the hardest and most painful night's I have ever experienced. Most of the evening was spent in silence, just holding each other and wanting to let go, knowing that when we did that meant it was time to really say goodbye. Finally as 3am got closer and closer, we sat up from our resting place and through trickled tears that escaped their confines we said our goodbye. So many goodbyes and "I love you"s. Over and over and over. Anything to prolong the parting. My throat was tight with emotion, and he even had wet trails on his cheeks where rogue tears had found themselves. He was barely out my bedroom door when I exploded and my dam tears broke. It literally felt as if my heart had been torn out of my chest. G told me not much later that he was quite a mess himself. He had been so upset, that he for left his beanie (one that I had made for him while he was underway) behind in my room. And the realization that he had forgotten the hat made him even more upset. From the moment I gave him that hat when he got home, to the moment he sat down in my room for the last time, that hat barely left his head. He loved it.<br>
<br>
It is amazing to me how strong an emotion love is, and how much it can totally wreck you in different ways. My mind is continually blown.<br>
Every reunion becomes sweeter than the last, as equally every goodbye becomes even more heart wrenching.<br>
<br>
Finally, our men were off on their 3,100mile adventure, and the rest of us started to prep for Thanksgiving and the return of college bound siblings. It was good to have them all back just days after my newly acquired Fiancé's depart. As always, his sister and my brother gave us an endless supply of lightheartedness, strange body noises, and side splitting laughter. All that overflowed into the weekend. But that couldn't last forever. Sunday came and went, and so did our college kids. Later in the afternoon, my sister, mother and I went over to my mother-in-law-to-he's house for coffee and a talk about where on earth to get started on wedding planning. This will certainly be an interesting combination of stressful and fun.<br>
<br>
And here we are. Monday. Everyone is back at school, at work, and on their cutters. And here I am at my kitchen table, sipping my cold coffee with a million thoughts whirling around in my head and no one to hold me tight while I fall apart...again. (Which I could've used while writing my silly paragraph about goodbyes.)<br>
<br>
It feels good to have a projected date...but, that date is just under a year away...which feels like eternity, with few visits in-between.<br>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzryhybII6rjgyKBidTaVh0LRPzWVW8eCmmISlvTWWXSHhADH4TFB5GIMipmnvlNY_Lu9Y80Z47iECzTH2_Tav4FYuzdqK27Kdfdm8Nxo7OUyKOTd_Fg2-6vX4XKZeBsZjtlh6KdthJ8g/s1600/IMG_3378.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzryhybII6rjgyKBidTaVh0LRPzWVW8eCmmISlvTWWXSHhADH4TFB5GIMipmnvlNY_Lu9Y80Z47iECzTH2_Tav4FYuzdqK27Kdfdm8Nxo7OUyKOTd_Fg2-6vX4XKZeBsZjtlh6KdthJ8g/s1600/IMG_3378.JPG" height="181" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dead Man's Cove, Cape Disappointment, OR</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7_-Yqy-cgAoMWom14F3uDNyc7iEZW1xCAOMGLtdJaa92rM4cE8e5kmw5tRJv19H6qgS2lXCb7wyf6LW1g5z4ZBzP2TnaGeMjJ-RDGDNgeEyndCxa4YC9-WiBZF88acNBBXknZfmHHiqQ/s1600/IMG_3278.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7_-Yqy-cgAoMWom14F3uDNyc7iEZW1xCAOMGLtdJaa92rM4cE8e5kmw5tRJv19H6qgS2lXCb7wyf6LW1g5z4ZBzP2TnaGeMjJ-RDGDNgeEyndCxa4YC9-WiBZF88acNBBXknZfmHHiqQ/s1600/IMG_3278.JPG" height="320" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bear Lake, Utah</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1N7CWeCQin_3rPdSMuZFnex11cF9LVJmN-VN6ybsVb5ze7402QEtJSsi1owaw75Uhw96BqKqidNkQdqJWs_AFXDHfjAWW0cZsT-umFwz26KCoOXfUNIjp-i5MfE8fzIfg24BfuxrJ4x0/s1600/IMG_3289.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1N7CWeCQin_3rPdSMuZFnex11cF9LVJmN-VN6ybsVb5ze7402QEtJSsi1owaw75Uhw96BqKqidNkQdqJWs_AFXDHfjAWW0cZsT-umFwz26KCoOXfUNIjp-i5MfE8fzIfg24BfuxrJ4x0/s1600/IMG_3289.JPG" height="320" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Melancholy Fiancee, CT</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimZvMHwdOehe9jAJ22V86YWPMRSnYfP7gxGmkO7OEGCSfBG3fNGqIzeCJvUz2mDOtlqs59NVbHrcln3gDorUiYUqg1x8yYcqmB9Kr37DwD3MfzrMMcu17rTVg4hBlpkxcBvd_Nz0p1N60/s640/blogger-image--446408070.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimZvMHwdOehe9jAJ22V86YWPMRSnYfP7gxGmkO7OEGCSfBG3fNGqIzeCJvUz2mDOtlqs59NVbHrcln3gDorUiYUqg1x8yYcqmB9Kr37DwD3MfzrMMcu17rTVg4hBlpkxcBvd_Nz0p1N60/s640/blogger-image--446408070.jpg"></a></div>Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-71898323894151088632014-09-12T10:12:00.001-04:002014-09-12T10:25:12.314-04:00Leaving and cleavingBy now I have been asked more times than I can probably count, if/when I am moving to Oregon. I have to admit that i indulged in the thought quite often but didn't know whether or not it was an actually possibility to consider. <div>These first few weeks of "real enlistment" have been hard. Yes, he's gone just like bootcamp, yes, we have more communication (even If it took a while and is only maybe a short email once a day) but, there is definitely a difference in how much more I miss him now than during bootcamp. Perhaps it's the fact that he's currently thousands of miles away, not even in sight of land. Maybe it's knowing that he will be that far away half of the time and the other half he'll only be...3,100 miles away on the opposite coast as me. I have learned that even though this sucks pretty bad and it's really hard, I am actually stronger than I thought. Not a day goes by that I don't long to be next to him and sharing his adventures on the high seas, but those are the times that I pray ardently for him and myself, as individuals and as a couple. I know what the end goal looks like, and that's what I strive towards, fight for. And I know it's not gonna be easy, even when the goal of finally being together is reached, it's still gonna be tough tough tough! But we're tough, too. And that's how we do. </div>Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-5061802378045588732014-09-08T18:39:00.004-04:002014-09-08T18:39:51.955-04:00Oh, the views I wish I could be seeing in person...<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbZqCKtaPevuxggsTEuex-DWMlD7wwSGQ904lRGcrZrux0AC7OnnGfSh-u5Q7wBmntSA05JvYU-cYGHlU4_yQcZJDehCdmdi37ZuOQs3p8lpBW-luqHxPqvstgwOphTdTUSa0y60LbEFc/s1600/IMG_2482.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbZqCKtaPevuxggsTEuex-DWMlD7wwSGQ904lRGcrZrux0AC7OnnGfSh-u5Q7wBmntSA05JvYU-cYGHlU4_yQcZJDehCdmdi37ZuOQs3p8lpBW-luqHxPqvstgwOphTdTUSa0y60LbEFc/s1600/IMG_2482.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">sunset as seen from the Cutter in Warenton, OR</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_4V37CWv2innCxym1DcYPKXJkwVeAdQSel3W3m97Bh6N5ibtvyijgHwBEPc75vjQnF4wcXQ6_eYkYsR1jkzxqn0g6lVTMigLdsg0Zv8AlgaGkqf8YwJo_rNVvPbY00ILEjnW0H44oERI/s1600/IMG_2483.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_4V37CWv2innCxym1DcYPKXJkwVeAdQSel3W3m97Bh6N5ibtvyijgHwBEPc75vjQnF4wcXQ6_eYkYsR1jkzxqn0g6lVTMigLdsg0Zv8AlgaGkqf8YwJo_rNVvPbY00ILEjnW0H44oERI/s1600/IMG_2483.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrv4mg2VaQyMLl6kqqRJnmqTjQ1i4aPWOYL13L-o5mhIxP8X1rVQGnM4k0EuA7RFqnxTcUaR4RA83gSGmy6zovEOkUq91ZAZ6rRThW-t94Vff-MKYcGa_j2aAxZIkILdOunhaJCoYx57c/s1600/IMG_2484.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrv4mg2VaQyMLl6kqqRJnmqTjQ1i4aPWOYL13L-o5mhIxP8X1rVQGnM4k0EuA7RFqnxTcUaR4RA83gSGmy6zovEOkUq91ZAZ6rRThW-t94Vff-MKYcGa_j2aAxZIkILdOunhaJCoYx57c/s1600/IMG_2484.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0CCI2ZcpwhQGfg6Qn8dtjCji0UBtLQJ98ZrQC4xVh7yJg6bn0R-sb0aOUJPMJ8W3eTFhGLu-Flwrikmtza5agKE22F9EyYkqa5g_X6Tg8y6dP2t0comYLoWNmR-cUpPlpjl0GlQyN1vk/s1600/IMG_2485.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0CCI2ZcpwhQGfg6Qn8dtjCji0UBtLQJ98ZrQC4xVh7yJg6bn0R-sb0aOUJPMJ8W3eTFhGLu-Flwrikmtza5agKE22F9EyYkqa5g_X6Tg8y6dP2t0comYLoWNmR-cUpPlpjl0GlQyN1vk/s1600/IMG_2485.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxR4Zup9bfuSbo51szf9mfeRYvB4a514DqeKN9smXYfwXdNrMNUPccD3nkm7f72txgQAvLUAGdslH1kk177BaZ1Qsxrsegz3Cd3OYZLmu_IP0vD45ICrErEHEUvKqeWX8khyNB00dxAXw/s1600/IMG_2486.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxR4Zup9bfuSbo51szf9mfeRYvB4a514DqeKN9smXYfwXdNrMNUPccD3nkm7f72txgQAvLUAGdslH1kk177BaZ1Qsxrsegz3Cd3OYZLmu_IP0vD45ICrErEHEUvKqeWX8khyNB00dxAXw/s1600/IMG_2486.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpuuMNUgp5OhMVK1bstXuPbJurAsUjnN7dJZx3b1rnDlR96s-Jn1spirMAjGm3FvmvGpCsT8j7Q2idqpLxRUfnqrfnaiFac9kSLOPVUNfPBSFqGtw5qBRlRacAmZLpz08FXGiCkP3tHbI/s1600/IMG_2491.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpuuMNUgp5OhMVK1bstXuPbJurAsUjnN7dJZx3b1rnDlR96s-Jn1spirMAjGm3FvmvGpCsT8j7Q2idqpLxRUfnqrfnaiFac9kSLOPVUNfPBSFqGtw5qBRlRacAmZLpz08FXGiCkP3tHbI/s1600/IMG_2491.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lighthouse off of cape disappointment</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-23595015724521065192014-08-26T13:54:00.000-04:002014-08-26T13:59:00.281-04:00Time didn't stop...<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: magenta;">Yesterday we were up before 5:00am so that we could drop off our Coastie at the airport. Poor guy was supposed to land in Portland around noon(their time. about 3 our time) but got stuck in chicago for like 2hours while they changed a tire on his plane. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: magenta;">I started my summer with goodbyes and tears, and I ended it the same way. Gregory if off on the complete opposite side of the country, getting ready to sail up and down from Alaska to South America and all over, and this will be his life for the next 9mo or so until he leaves for a-school. I really am very excited for him and this grand new adventure. So much of this new chapter is still a bit of a mystery to him. A lot of questions have been answered with "I don't know yet." "They can't tell me." "I'll find out when I get there." And the questions keep coming! Only now that G's gone they are all asked of me to answer on his behalf....and I have no clue. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">
<span style="color: magenta;">I feel barraged and smothered with inquiries from both people who are not close but just curious, and my own family members. No words have been exchanged between us in over 15hrs, and I'm not even sure when they will be. I can not guarantee that the next person to ask me when I'm moving to Astoria, OR, or when I'm getting married will not be punched in the face...or cried at. or both. I'm an emotional time bomb who hasn't yet had a chance to cry this time...so watch out. </span></div>
Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-52077933199839977962014-08-17T11:23:00.001-04:002014-08-17T11:25:30.040-04:00Time can stop now.<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqN8PYa2di2dzwT5JOLCDFiMCQR8P168WNJzRnFbryEKfsW9KJVHl4CuyVWd1x6iYTGoWshdHay8x9HBv7brvAMs_igLWyLfgsD2d2PGJo2XlGm_JLEg9nO3dttsq4gQZZlibNuv5oMQ0/s640/blogger-image-1613104065.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqN8PYa2di2dzwT5JOLCDFiMCQR8P168WNJzRnFbryEKfsW9KJVHl4CuyVWd1x6iYTGoWshdHay8x9HBv7brvAMs_igLWyLfgsD2d2PGJo2XlGm_JLEg9nO3dttsq4gQZZlibNuv5oMQ0/s640/blogger-image-1613104065.jpg"></a></div>I've finally got my heart back. But everyday I get to share with him is another day closer to him leaving again. It's so bittersweet. I'm pretty sure saying goodbye like this will never get easier. I wish I could share this cross country adventure with him, but that is impossible. So I cherish every second I'm allowed with him, because in this next year or so of his adventure, I don't where he'll be or when I'll see him. He might end up sailing through the Panama canal. He might not come home for Christmas. Access to wifi and cell service will most likely be limited. But he is mine. And he is worth it. And God is good and faithful. <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPSvk7N4uDQRck-Ft1z-6aVCkfdu5s9K4GHCK0MpMT5ek8P7segNe4jX5CwC9czkAsRjvHPsAWOgwQSdDyotNZ-EYgzbhpScIEUYhlR0811VGpCmSR8eCOgrvdMOzprI5jpGhnCjMc3Ic/s640/blogger-image--125856974.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPSvk7N4uDQRck-Ft1z-6aVCkfdu5s9K4GHCK0MpMT5ek8P7segNe4jX5CwC9czkAsRjvHPsAWOgwQSdDyotNZ-EYgzbhpScIEUYhlR0811VGpCmSR8eCOgrvdMOzprI5jpGhnCjMc3Ic/s640/blogger-image--125856974.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-40713190980948563892014-07-23T00:00:00.000-04:002014-07-23T00:00:01.069-04:00I like My Body...<div class="poem-part poem-title l" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, serif; font-size: 24px; line-height: 29px; margin: 0px auto; max-width: 100%; padding-bottom: 10px; width: 342px;">
And now, a small break from Coastiness to read a little e e Cummings. Because, yes.</div>
<div class="poem-part poem-title l" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, serif; font-size: 24px; line-height: 29px; margin: 0px auto; max-width: 100%; padding-bottom: 10px; width: 342px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="poem-part poem-title l" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, serif; font-size: 24px; line-height: 29px; margin: 0px auto; max-width: 100%; padding-bottom: 10px; width: 342px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="poem-part poem-title l" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, serif; font-size: 24px; line-height: 29px; margin: 0px auto; max-width: 100%; padding-bottom: 10px; width: 342px;">
<a class="nocolor" href="http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1590/i-like-my-body-when-it-is-with-your/" style="background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; box-sizing: border-box; color: rgb(51, 51, 51) !important; text-decoration: none;">I Like My Body When It Is With Your</a></div>
<div class="poem-part continue-reading poem-body wordwrap" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', 'Book Antiqua', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px auto; max-width: 100%; overflow: hidden; width: 342px; word-wrap: break-word;">
<div style="box-sizing: border-box;">
i like my body when it is with your<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />body. It is so quite new a thing.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Muscles better and nerves more.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />i like your body. i like what it does,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />i like its hows. i like to feel the spine<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />of your body and its bones,and the trembling<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />-firm-smooth ness and which i will<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />again and again and again<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />i like, slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />of your electric furr,and what-is-it comes<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />and possibly i like the thrill<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />of under me you so quite new</div>
<div style="box-sizing: border-box;">
<br /></div>
<div style="box-sizing: border-box;">
e. e. cummings</div>
</div>
Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-65178156298855385722014-07-22T17:09:00.000-04:002014-07-22T17:49:57.130-04:00Puddle Pirate Update<span style="color: #f1c232;">Today, Alpha 190 is nearly half way through week 05. Their latest update, , has been tough but looking up as the recruits have had a higher bar set for them by their CC's and have set the bar higher for themselves as a company as well. It seems they are striving to be a unit and not a bunch of individuals. Going back over past updates it is clear that even though they still have a ways to go and grow, they have coma a far way. Everyday I miss my puddle pirate a bit more, and every day I wake up knowing there are fewer days between us and graduation. In the letter I received last week he mentioned that when we watch him graduate he must maintain a professional military persona during the tour of the facilities and everything that follows. There will be no more than brief hello hugs until we are loading ourselves into cars to drive back home. I will be so happy just to see him graduate after months of missing his handsome face, but knowing that I can't smooch him like a wild woman until very long after we have departed Cape May, is gong to drive me bonkers. Even then, finding time when I am not sharing him with his family and friends will be very difficult, but I am determined to make that happen as much as possible. </span><br />
<div>
<span style="color: #f1c232;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #f1c232;">Twenty-Three-More-Days</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #f1c232;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #f1c232;">"I have been in the Coast Guard all me bloomin' life. My father was King Neptune, my mother was a mermaid. I was born on the crest of a wave and rocked in the cradle of the deep. My eyes are stars, me teeth are spars, me hair is hemp and seaweed. When I spits, I spits tar, I's tough, I is, I am, I are!!"</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #f1c232;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9RVtlJqh9NKVGaUjcDIQ6FDc2pI17NnnKEqLy0WcG0JoR94YD9WKVDHQx2IRAvNhjHJOo9cyLMjJhog-U-T8YxNaLcOUCBnRYnL8xK04oZVDDmknLkEnEmYYiJ7Ync_djvQk46ELooCM/s1600/IMG_0002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9RVtlJqh9NKVGaUjcDIQ6FDc2pI17NnnKEqLy0WcG0JoR94YD9WKVDHQx2IRAvNhjHJOo9cyLMjJhog-U-T8YxNaLcOUCBnRYnL8xK04oZVDDmknLkEnEmYYiJ7Ync_djvQk46ELooCM/s1600/IMG_0002.JPG" height="400" width="266" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #f1c232;">-A-190's week04 Mantra, as given to them by Chief Arseneaux </span><br />
<span style="color: #f1c232;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #f1c232;"><br /></span></div>
Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-3467709106686403982014-07-10T23:28:00.000-04:002014-07-10T23:32:57.680-04:00I always joked I'd end up with a "Pirate"<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjovRgPnRZRo5LKbwO3gHzGTUt1WsikBFZSr1XrW7J6a7naddLsn512gKexk-p7U4ZdQJudO3hxID1e_en1XphT0n3j_3pxoIo_6USmBWkNmbdmWPimXev9JVz8BbWudP5fJ4yIqNvbggU/s1600/431052_10151383501123277_1646798242_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjovRgPnRZRo5LKbwO3gHzGTUt1WsikBFZSr1XrW7J6a7naddLsn512gKexk-p7U4ZdQJudO3hxID1e_en1XphT0n3j_3pxoIo_6USmBWkNmbdmWPimXev9JVz8BbWudP5fJ4yIqNvbggU/s1600/431052_10151383501123277_1646798242_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"SR Logan, G. A-190"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
My "Puddle Pirate", as they're sometimes called, is finishing up week 03 of boot camp. The days drag on, but the weeks fly by. How does that work? I have no clue. But we're nearing the 1/2 way mark. Only 35 more days until the graduation ceremony. Every week or so a recruit from each company writes a short blog post on the events and progress they have been experiencing, as well as stress and yelling. Here is where you can read all about G's company, <a href="http://bootcamp.coastguard.dodlive.mil/2014/07/08/alpha-190-recruit-journal-week-02/" target="_blank">Alpha 190</a>, and the latest "adventures", or misadventures, they are having. This is just the first post...I don't know how these guys get through this...I certainly would never be brave enough, and I am incredibly thankful for them.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Thirty. Five. More. Days.</div>
<br /></div>
Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-22451482035016342632014-07-06T23:28:00.001-04:002014-07-22T17:18:05.870-04:00A pirate's life for me...sorta...<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It amazes me the connection between one's stomach and emotions. Thankfully I've never been a stress eater. I don't binge on comfort food when I'm sad or lonely, or eat a bag of chips and other various junkies when I'm bored. I'd say that's a pro. The con, however, is that I'm on the opposite end of the spectrum. When I'm stressed, sad, or lonely I don't eat at all. My appetite vanishes completely and is instead replaced with imaginary feelings of sickness. Unfortunately, as I finish up week Two of Eight of waiting for my Coastie to graduate boot camp, my appetite hasn't returned. I'm forcing myself to eat. I get excited when I realize that I'm actually hungry but after just a couple bites I feel like I can't eat anymore. (Just so you know, I am not one to usually pass on an opportunity of being fed, so this is an unwelcome circumstance) I am actually a wee bit scared that my desire for food won't come back until I can om-nom a cheeseburger while sitting next to my beloved. I actually am recalling a line from POTC #1: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
"<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">The drink would not satisfy, food turned to ash in our mouths..." -</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">-Captain Barbossa </span></div>
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That's...pretty much it. Everyone tells me that these bootcamp weeks will fly by...and when looking back on these last two weeks, I'm not sure where they went. But it's living through the weeks that seems to drag on. I'm not angry he's gone. If anything I feel guilty and selfish for wanting him to come back now, or to have never left. I keep reminding myself that this is a good thing. This is a challenge, one that we will get through and come out of stronger at the end. 39 more days. I can do this. I'm just gonna set mini goals to make the weeks ly and give myself little projects to work on and look forward to. Who knows, maybe i'll make this one of those projects. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sigh...39 more days...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-12705719235822273082014-06-23T23:29:00.000-04:002014-07-06T23:30:50.491-04:00Of all the days to wear mascara...this is not one.Earlier I was kicking myself for actually applying my make up this morning, now I just don't give a crap and am smudging it all over my face because the one person I try to look pretty for sometimes is out of state on his first leg of the next 4year adventure.<br />
<br />
Yep, my sweet boy left this morning for boot camp. For a couple weeks I have been trying to decide whether or not I should accompany my beloved to the recruiters office for final goodbyes or stay behind and sniffle to myself in my house...well, I had the honor of going with him, shedding tears and saying goodbye. Probably one of the hardest things I've ever done. But I'm glad I went. Now to get through the 8 weeks. They promised me there was an end to this separation. Let's get this over with.Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-31514331897266188612014-06-09T13:57:00.002-04:002014-06-09T14:04:00.476-04:00Lover<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8jaGnXT-eceyJFLjHYToFav5p4QS_EarkJkbVsJr4_rKUvZjM8K43uByLh1WzCl36buhGI9ABDtSqbHyGh_jOL12w3Xm_CaXXiZ4Q-PaCn80ypPWwqBlrnLFuSfldYP-Y4J-HGvn-Us0/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8jaGnXT-eceyJFLjHYToFav5p4QS_EarkJkbVsJr4_rKUvZjM8K43uByLh1WzCl36buhGI9ABDtSqbHyGh_jOL12w3Xm_CaXXiZ4Q-PaCn80ypPWwqBlrnLFuSfldYP-Y4J-HGvn-Us0/s1600/photo.JPG" height="640" width="288" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
One of the ways I would describe myself would be "A lover of words." I am a lover of many things, and words are a big part of my life. They shape the sentences that come out of my mouth, the stories I engulf myself in and refuse to surface from for days, the thoughts that run continuously through my head, and the music I listen to. I am that girl who reads into the lyrics to much, who romanticizes the poetry to be about those in my life. I day dream about somehow catching the eye of an author and having a character composed in my image. Imagine that! A whole literary alter ego, able to do who knows what, living a double life in another world, another time, possibly another dimension. I mean, how utterly marvelous would that be!?!?<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyways, one of the poets that my eyes frequent is the whimsically, bizarrely fascinating e e cummings. I love him and all of his "grammatical injustices". I'm more or less alone in my liking of his way with words when it comes to the people I spend my time with most, but that's ok. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As always I'm thinking of a new tattoo idea and as I was sitting there in a lovely bath reading a wonderful book that was provoking many feels, an idea popped in my brain (totally unrelated to the book in my hands...because my brain wanders most of the time.) In my mind I saw a dainty drawing of an umbrella and beneath it words dripping down like raindrops. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Later I mentioned the little idea to my mom, who like all my family doesn't know who e e cummings is. She wondered what the poem was about and whether or not that would be a good thing to have tattooed on one's self. So, I found her this <a href="http://poetry.rapgenius.com/E-e-cummings-somewhere-i-have-never-travelledgladly-beyond-annotated#note-1459264" target="_blank">explanation</a>. Here you will find the original poem and along side it is what it means. I like it quite a bit. And I'm always tickled that one of the bands I listen to from time to time actually have songs named after this particular line. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://youtu.be/TIIzxeBUqug" target="_blank">Such Small Hands</a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://youtu.be/TIIzxeBUqug" target="_blank">Nobody, Not Even the Rain</a></div>
Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-79260436060830105702014-06-05T21:57:00.000-04:002014-06-05T21:57:00.138-04:00Throwback Thursday... Then and Now<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdjlFaV-dZ-Urh3K89Dqj2LvDWvZ1YbJW4-O2VdPGOCkU7qtYeAJ0BdFErb0APDghcuTbKE72ItfQb-R0CMRCYHb9pfR1HYfeR_wSIwDDRC5j8dXTXI9Pu_JTT7YRQtYCHWU2rT_zRO_U/s640/blogger-image--322635842.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdjlFaV-dZ-Urh3K89Dqj2LvDWvZ1YbJW4-O2VdPGOCkU7qtYeAJ0BdFErb0APDghcuTbKE72ItfQb-R0CMRCYHb9pfR1HYfeR_wSIwDDRC5j8dXTXI9Pu_JTT7YRQtYCHWU2rT_zRO_U/s640/blogger-image--322635842.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKIj7vHBWbidbcvrcrTaJ-KIz9CSCQQNLBV1oEOwjIKhV3iaOD8LEwdVxDMiKbKB1OEhEIDCaWITRTQkv4p1wwJctpFKsA4tKEYxYcuqW_XmLWer8fHJIgw4NjL85SlSu1Xlbami3JuXk/s640/blogger-image--292207817.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKIj7vHBWbidbcvrcrTaJ-KIz9CSCQQNLBV1oEOwjIKhV3iaOD8LEwdVxDMiKbKB1OEhEIDCaWITRTQkv4p1wwJctpFKsA4tKEYxYcuqW_XmLWer8fHJIgw4NjL85SlSu1Xlbami3JuXk/s640/blogger-image--292207817.jpg" /></a></div>
Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-79800501357061116262014-06-02T21:56:00.003-04:002014-06-02T21:56:45.469-04:00Love me some Fettuccini<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Today ended the long winded search for what I have heard called "T-shirt" yarn. I've seen it all over pintrest and the cool-kid-knitting-blogs and have been excited to get my hands on this foreign fabric and craft the crap out of it...I just didn't know where to find it other than online(at prices that made me a little squeamish, TBH). Finally I threw out a plea to fellow crafters on FaceBook as to where to find this elusive yarn, and someone had recently spotted it at one of our local craft stores...Lion Brand's own "Fettuccini" </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Last week I caved and finally bought myself a laptop(yay for new toys!) and found myself with the excuse to start another yarn-y project, a laptop sleeve/case! </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBov0H8lC7_MxoJV-vNi5V6E-gbUww7GupbpMEK80YxFDTqe5MaKTXHKyuPAW8F3uxXho_p8wb5YTmuFuCNQyKLKSEQxcxBR4VOD9pIaMIhAUYXahwAarP4iYzJ-PT6VM2H-3woMWBX04/s1600/Photo+on+6-2-14+at+3.24+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBov0H8lC7_MxoJV-vNi5V6E-gbUww7GupbpMEK80YxFDTqe5MaKTXHKyuPAW8F3uxXho_p8wb5YTmuFuCNQyKLKSEQxcxBR4VOD9pIaMIhAUYXahwAarP4iYzJ-PT6VM2H-3woMWBX04/s1600/Photo+on+6-2-14+at+3.24+PM.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSnbxu7pdIIoB7JfSE4rssxfTMV8_aD7if4dDG-DoHiZPxgdZwMHtiRFNPoasm6SCx25nl6I65ukB-bKowxEtOkoOIp15kuFYCpyKBdpBBx6vAeUeG4GUNVcu8ja5FAePZfR0n5pnNmt4/s1600/Photo+on+6-2-14+at+4.18+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSnbxu7pdIIoB7JfSE4rssxfTMV8_aD7if4dDG-DoHiZPxgdZwMHtiRFNPoasm6SCx25nl6I65ukB-bKowxEtOkoOIp15kuFYCpyKBdpBBx6vAeUeG4GUNVcu8ja5FAePZfR0n5pnNmt4/s1600/Photo+on+6-2-14+at+4.18+PM.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuOLZPtnL58U-7eTpbCRu1riRkuvk7LUX-oNCbjhn66b2dZmAe_DrJ3JUcwzrJv7lwfyR1tqqSSlfNHBZGidBZ0WpITA830EV-sGO3JMj5EuSM-NyaljA9_qQQCyNzv73aS7Qdrgwy3gI/s1600/Photo+on+6-2-14+at+6.44+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuOLZPtnL58U-7eTpbCRu1riRkuvk7LUX-oNCbjhn66b2dZmAe_DrJ3JUcwzrJv7lwfyR1tqqSSlfNHBZGidBZ0WpITA830EV-sGO3JMj5EuSM-NyaljA9_qQQCyNzv73aS7Qdrgwy3gI/s1600/Photo+on+6-2-14+at+6.44+PM.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This stuff has been a pain in the pitutie to work with, but I love the way it looks and feels. I have literally sat for four and half hours straight just working on this thing. My hands are killing me, my right arm feels like it spent the day at the gym, annnnnnnnnd I ran out of yarn a few inches shy of finishing this project. *sigh*</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Guess I'll just have to go buy more. </div>
Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-36541181391761107492014-03-03T22:31:00.001-05:002014-03-03T22:31:25.728-05:00Semi-annual check in...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<u>The Semi-Anual-Blog-Check-In </u></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>IN this chapter we will read about Emily's busy work life, how she's got a bad case of wanderlust and cabin fever, and a little weary with some news she's been waiting for for a long time…</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>*beware: lovey-dovey pics.</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Well, here we are yet again…</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Life has just gotten way to busy to be on here regularly which is good and bad I guess…less time spent on the computer, but that also means that I've had less time to relax, journal, read, write, adventure...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ5IbJEPsKccZ1AlmjMPNOOJ8m_ELYc1-vbp0xJ6FfgGMtyXNk94j70HFQMroDraxKz0pystw_eiA5pf92wuX7KQ7AEgP1qXmUZXe_y0NYHaGCjEmrBcnKdUAjWb_lQ5-ppAZ8LjsFMPM/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ5IbJEPsKccZ1AlmjMPNOOJ8m_ELYc1-vbp0xJ6FfgGMtyXNk94j70HFQMroDraxKz0pystw_eiA5pf92wuX7KQ7AEgP1qXmUZXe_y0NYHaGCjEmrBcnKdUAjWb_lQ5-ppAZ8LjsFMPM/s1600/photo+1.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
It has become just a bunch of mundane exhaustion. Don't get me wrong, it's good to work. My job is wonderful! And my clientele has grown in numbers and consistency. But as much as I love having a solid routine to life's everyday weekly activities my heart gets restless very easily.<br />
<br />
I'm a day dreamer, I always have been. And it is on a regular basis that I find my mind wandering the globe having adventures…while the rest of me is stuck here, usually bent over a sink, washing someone's hair color out. Thankfully some adventures are coming up that will shake the monotony up a bit…but also make my life a little complicated.<br />
<br />
Next weekend is the NYC Hair Show which I shall be attending with my coworkers. Now, I enjoy hair shows, but the thought of not having a break at all from my salon gals (ending the work week on saturday evening, leaving for NYC early sunday morning, and returning home late monday night) is putting a mental damper on the weekend for me.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnY8jNP_lsTp_1Tnnyo2VA2tl42orSR1eWk5REdKhN8SS0l8M8WhDzYwjWCVEd_KwpUKJkHwk-aKPNLDhK2MbmpkpE9_06q6Hfb61QxxxL2XeodfpnjF2yLu01-Vm0bCQXoaTwgMny3cM/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnY8jNP_lsTp_1Tnnyo2VA2tl42orSR1eWk5REdKhN8SS0l8M8WhDzYwjWCVEd_KwpUKJkHwk-aKPNLDhK2MbmpkpE9_06q6Hfb61QxxxL2XeodfpnjF2yLu01-Vm0bCQXoaTwgMny3cM/s1600/photo+2.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Especially (here comes my selfishness) when I know that I now have a limited amount of time with my beloved greek-boy. Today we celebrate the unofficial 2yr anniversary of when we decided that, yeah, I like you and always have, so let's do this. And during these two years while we've been running around being young and growing together we have also been in what seems like an eternal limbo waiting…waiting…waiting…<br />
<br />
Waiting for what? For the coast guard. <i>Always </i>the coast guard. This was a major topic we considered for a good long while before we decided to go forward with a relationship, making it through what could end up being a long distance military relationship. And after much deliberation, and plenty of lovely little tummy butterflies, we walked forth hand-in-hand and said, "It's worth it."<br />
<br />
And so, for the past two years the Coast Guard has always been at the back of our heads sitting very quietly in the corner bothering no one. Gregory had been told that he could leave for boot camp in May or June of this year, but it hardly seemed real. We had grown so comfortable and complacent. Until last friday evening….<br />
<br />
After a very long week of being flat on my back from the pain of a double ear infection (complete with two perferated eardrums), and going back to work on a third round of super strong antibiotics that made me dizzy, tired, and nauseous, I was <i>just </i>starting to feel better. I don't do sick well. I like to be up and moving and busy. I'm very used to being independent, so I don't do the whole letting people take care of me because the life has been knocked out of me, thing. It doesn't come naturally. Yet, I found my evenings to be not so bad. I was constantly surprised with little things like tubs of Ben and Jerry's, boxes of Velveeta Mac 'n cheese (which was a relief cause smoothies were getting annoying and I couldn't fully open or close my mouth), quirky and awkward indie romcoms, and even my very own personal delivery of pink berry piled with fresh fruit! This showering of love and kindness was something that I was not used to, and I can't even begin to explain how much my heart swells with love for this man.<br />
<br />
With my new found ability to chew real food I headed over to the Logan homestead for an amazing greek dinner, and found myself surprised…The mood was loud, full of laughter and that buoyancy of hungry people awaiting delicious food…but somehow I found myself holding papers with dates on them…June 24th…<br />
And with that, my mood changed completely. My heart sunk, and has yet to float back up. It's really happening, and I'm kinda scared. Because after 16 years of having this wonderful friend no more 10 minutes away from me, he'll be taken away from me for 2 months, and then stationed who knows where. To me, he is home, and I'm not too excited about having my home living away from me.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF8R7gdEADRd1zZFWv4I04fLUPYD8HX0sT048jEmq2hihawYaDm6GDI14N6lACGo4WvSn8sP06dqq2KfRD3suAm6d8x_JTM5k-63HIIKxWvzmCQiLcLdX4Km64hN0UYwFdFgcccSVsSx8/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF8R7gdEADRd1zZFWv4I04fLUPYD8HX0sT048jEmq2hihawYaDm6GDI14N6lACGo4WvSn8sP06dqq2KfRD3suAm6d8x_JTM5k-63HIIKxWvzmCQiLcLdX4Km64hN0UYwFdFgcccSVsSx8/s1600/photo+4.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home is wherever you are if there's love there too.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-75200472451533858822013-08-14T12:34:00.000-04:002014-06-03T11:25:48.124-04:00Happy 18 months!<br />
<h3>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="color: #ffd966;">{Warning: relationship post}</span></u></span></h3>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://youtu.be/Nu33rzazIhs" target="_blank">(Current Mental Soundtrack)</a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
It's been an interesting 18 months, that's for sure. And what I've learned is that time is a really weird thing. It still boggles my mind how so little time (in the grand scheme of things) has passed, and yet it feels like forever.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
It boggles me that we can go from being this...</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB7iVCx2wR7K2_ySl4gZmQmgFtPojgHKl47DtYtpl7Wj8dOckavCfd3-Q1L_Ty-s7Q8M4rGWXLkxO-ptt9QI-yx8pj82du9QaxNqz81rWy6M1Sz5-jBHAh5tDkBkN2rzYTEF3VHwHyOXQ/s1600/blogger-image-504799042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: inline !important; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB7iVCx2wR7K2_ySl4gZmQmgFtPojgHKl47DtYtpl7Wj8dOckavCfd3-Q1L_Ty-s7Q8M4rGWXLkxO-ptt9QI-yx8pj82du9QaxNqz81rWy6M1Sz5-jBHAh5tDkBkN2rzYTEF3VHwHyOXQ/s1600/blogger-image-504799042.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pumpkin picking in Oct. of 1999 (8years old)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
To this! in what feels like the blink of an eye. And yet there's so many years, so many memories. And I have to say, this boy has filled many a year and memory of mine and I would have it no other way.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6dhVyrrg9K-mVAtSir3c0bxrISmIRi4GkFU9Un_EP5d4lBjwzMFRtocDfgq2cCE-OhZSmZ36Z-_mGOWYGNHHIvvtpEg6F6H42ngZSpBbyJ7kU_RjnmmCUMiDyl5tcOnkOB3uyF1NpUPM/s640/blogger-image--1511002211.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6dhVyrrg9K-mVAtSir3c0bxrISmIRi4GkFU9Un_EP5d4lBjwzMFRtocDfgq2cCE-OhZSmZ36Z-_mGOWYGNHHIvvtpEg6F6H42ngZSpBbyJ7kU_RjnmmCUMiDyl5tcOnkOB3uyF1NpUPM/s1600/blogger-image--1511002211.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ocean Beach summer of 2012 (21 and 20yrs old respectively)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
He's my best friend and has seen me at my best, and my worst. He's seen me in elegance, and in fits of weeping hysteria and he's still here.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm excited and anxious to say that my beloved has a meeting with his CG recruiter on Friday and I am trying very hard to shush the selfish part of me that wants to scream "Don't go! Stay with me!" I keep reminding myself that this is a good thing for him, and good thing for us. That it's a new chapter, a new adventure. But this silly, grinning face has always lived no more than 10 minutes away from me for 15 years. I've grown accustomed to, and have been spoiled by seeing him so often and not thinking twice about it. </div>
<div>
But I know that once the separation comes it wont be forever.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX-2vv8NGQhThxM5iI5bW2OjMoxg3SNty4dvwFxfWeQ-MVk5mHSRAkm-5OSjRmQG_StuwhZPGqGwF1WLEiRGKCeD6C4uls0aD_-QiXwESkw-sQT8dt9t2eIKTBzaX4dOqeh1bX1tWDBco/s1600/blogger-image--1003800446.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX-2vv8NGQhThxM5iI5bW2OjMoxg3SNty4dvwFxfWeQ-MVk5mHSRAkm-5OSjRmQG_StuwhZPGqGwF1WLEiRGKCeD6C4uls0aD_-QiXwESkw-sQT8dt9t2eIKTBzaX4dOqeh1bX1tWDBco/s1600/blogger-image--1003800446.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harry's place after the beach, summer of 2013 (22 and 21 respectively)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmxodjdZRMWUy7yKhNcgFGkOhWlfYwMb4-3mNgpb57HhBpDZ81vzrnAjFf4ZKSJAvkQNjWi-9k1TToEiI9QQue_oJN0Vh-4K-0eo9XtPjKDi_P1XGmYoD_yRHaIli7TIhTj7g3nPvmXK8/s1600/blogger-image--1573408613.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmxodjdZRMWUy7yKhNcgFGkOhWlfYwMb4-3mNgpb57HhBpDZ81vzrnAjFf4ZKSJAvkQNjWi-9k1TToEiI9QQue_oJN0Vh-4K-0eo9XtPjKDi_P1XGmYoD_yRHaIli7TIhTj7g3nPvmXK8/s1600/blogger-image--1573408613.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">G with the uke on ocean beach. '13<br />
<a href="http://youtu.be/hZ5E0RIm_84" target="_blank">(Current Mental Soundtrack)</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;">
</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLJqgfxR2uB70OxHbFsOgkb-QUjQfC1WOMz1GgAwtClOCSD2Qvt9yqydAvosL6YCHpSkfRaWZlgK0VQsJlXVlDdjbcVJ4cSWT-_B6vfuTPdP1eZQ4vgyaVqYcEGbxCZ_HU0RGvUjMUjCo/s640/blogger-image--1021364675.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLJqgfxR2uB70OxHbFsOgkb-QUjQfC1WOMz1GgAwtClOCSD2Qvt9yqydAvosL6YCHpSkfRaWZlgK0VQsJlXVlDdjbcVJ4cSWT-_B6vfuTPdP1eZQ4vgyaVqYcEGbxCZ_HU0RGvUjMUjCo/s640/blogger-image--1021364675.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset on a lake in New Hampshire. July 4th.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="font-size: medium; text-align: -webkit-auto;">
And it's all the the adventures that are to come after that separation that I look forward to...together. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<i style="font-family: Trebuchet, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 25px;"><span style="color: #ffd966;">"We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain..." Hebrews 6:19</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: #ffd966;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #ffd966;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #ffd966;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #ffd966;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #ffd966;"><br /></span>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></blockquote>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
</div>
Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-7810744200262021732013-08-12T12:20:00.001-04:002013-08-12T12:20:00.443-04:00sometimes I write things too...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://whisperingsoundsofsilence.blogspot.com/2011/12/running-to-find-you.html?spref=bl">Songs that Voices Never Shared: Running To Find You</a>: A poem...Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-71995044508664397822013-08-12T12:14:00.001-04:002013-08-12T12:14:19.654-04:00sometimes I draw things...On occasion I'm struck with the desire to draw. Could be flowers, could be balloons, could be nymph-like creatures...it's always interesting. And yeah...sometimes they get posted on my super-secret, really lame blog...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://whisperingsoundsofsilence.blogspot.com/2012/02/poetry-in-forms-of-pencil-strokes.html?spref=bl">Songs that Voices Never Shared: Poetry in forms of pencil strokes</a>Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-23929207642841639942013-08-12T11:59:00.002-04:002013-08-12T11:59:56.642-04:00Checking in...As I am infamous for, I am checking in for the first time in what seems like forever. <br />
To be honest, I tend to forget that this thing is here. It gets buried under the craziness and stress of my daily life and what not.<br />
<br />
It's been a little over a year since I started working at Capricorn I, and I am constantly reminded that I love what I do. I've gotten to know the girls I work with very well, and sadly I realize I see them more often than my own family. It's been a hard year, though. My boss can be a bit draining to work with/for, and there's always the general drama that comes from being around females all day everyday. I finally am taking my first vacation next week and am super excited to be able to wake up and not have to go into work!<br />
<br />
I had reallllly wanted to go somewhere during my vacation but as it quickly approaches and plans still aren't made, I probably will just wander around being a crafty (or lazy) ne'er do well...because I can :) Thoughts of visiting Gregory's family in North Carolina (his cousin just got back from a year in Peru) or my family in Tennessee (who I haven't seen up close and personal in about 5yrs) were present. As well as ideas of camping in Maine, or visiting a spot in Pennsylvania where there is no light pollution and the sky is unfathomably awe-inspiring. But alas, life was busy and time moved quickly, and I am unprepared for any such trips at the moment...but if a spontaneous opportunity arose, who am I to say "no"? I suppose we shall see....Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-55138971465892325122012-10-17T22:14:00.001-04:002013-08-12T12:00:23.813-04:00Sometimes...I wonder if I'm dreaming...SPOILER ALERT: the following post may contain slight lovey-doveyness...if you don't mind such content, please continue on. If you do mind, well...it's short, and you'll get over it. Sorry ;)<br />
<br />
I'm in love with my best friend. Childhood sweethearts, almost, I suppose. For the past 14 years we've grown up living no more than 10 minutes from each other. We shot cap guns, wore ties as cat tails, played with play mobile, pretended we were star wars characters, ran around in the woods and imagined we owned a chocolate factory, escaped a flock of vicious wild turkeys...the list goes on. Every once in a while, my mind wanders back into our childhood years, and brings me up to the early days when we realized there could be more than 'friends' here. And when this happens, my heart is warmed and the realization that I've fallen in love with my best friend slaps me silly... all over again...a realization thats not getting old, and quite frankly, never fails to put a smile on my face. <br />
I thank God for this peculiar treasure of a man I call "my love". <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg1wXas_QZ1BY1f20F6VZqL4AhY5wZfyxb-5WvdTvGRRdAyAJLCU7f5g0bWZiXYt8uTXYEnt9UlDbd-lnMWmof5vGqqzSMgGBZrw5gtsrYlH12h9VZ3-MRIfWNS-HcU3BQutW-4wJtBkw/s640/blogger-image-220094967.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg1wXas_QZ1BY1f20F6VZqL4AhY5wZfyxb-5WvdTvGRRdAyAJLCU7f5g0bWZiXYt8uTXYEnt9UlDbd-lnMWmof5vGqqzSMgGBZrw5gtsrYlH12h9VZ3-MRIfWNS-HcU3BQutW-4wJtBkw/s640/blogger-image-220094967.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqRBTMEli8_0jJhYsBsD1Dx3yjc0WerC-F1mmveD6Da714VdBjljyMl9dYyBwy6Bi-yuIJgdhjWelJSeBLtjFBDHkut3WkWTNzMhT-aJWBm6syISnIY_pgz4aOiOPoUZa6JI9JU5rpDME/s640/blogger-image-323547177.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqRBTMEli8_0jJhYsBsD1Dx3yjc0WerC-F1mmveD6Da714VdBjljyMl9dYyBwy6Bi-yuIJgdhjWelJSeBLtjFBDHkut3WkWTNzMhT-aJWBm6syISnIY_pgz4aOiOPoUZa6JI9JU5rpDME/s640/blogger-image-323547177.jpg" /></a></div>
Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6495786139987508738.post-2573043727137784132012-08-04T08:00:00.003-04:002012-08-04T08:01:05.323-04:00JOB UPDATE<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisNGtI6XHItMIes2G5btGpb3XTaesC-FeuOBQpzdNIYd1ALCHQUrRJ_Sz4xL1tdSqn_ajBmtRIAgRVCXliwMikqbwAj0eOJXThJyGIzuyz8kQRq35ke9U1dZGj_xP1inN5ruvS01NLCdw/s1600/313630_10151365202643277_1980899689_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisNGtI6XHItMIes2G5btGpb3XTaesC-FeuOBQpzdNIYd1ALCHQUrRJ_Sz4xL1tdSqn_ajBmtRIAgRVCXliwMikqbwAj0eOJXThJyGIzuyz8kQRq35ke9U1dZGj_xP1inN5ruvS01NLCdw/s320/313630_10151365202643277_1980899689_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's Closing Time</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Hey ya'll, it's been a gazillion-billion years. Sorry.<br />
<br />
No longer am I scouting out Cost Cutters...not much scouting to be had there, really. For the past nearly 3 months I have been working -quite happily I might add - at a cute little salon in Hebron called Capricorn 1...Not really sure where the name came from, but I figured I'll ask someday, maybe when I'm more established there.<br />
<br />
In my head, though, I imagine the conversation going something like,<br />
Me: "So...Capricorn 1. How did you decide to name it that?"<br />
Owner: "Well, young one, I read it in the stars. *gazes off like she's looking into the universal abyss*<br />
Me: "Oh....neat..."<br />
<br />
But you should all come check it out. It's reallllly cute. :)Emily Michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00317653721129100058noreply@blogger.com1