tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22542442731417884102024-02-19T02:49:53.537-05:00The not-so-secret life of Katie ValentineKatie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.comBlogger172125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-66021226765678079752012-03-29T22:43:00.001-04:002012-03-29T22:43:11.714-04:00Budget timeI wish I had riotously funny things to write about, but instead I find myself writing around issues, or rather, not writing around issues for months at a time - actively working to avoid talking about the things I'm not going to talk about.<br />
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It's been difficult and worrisome, the culture here in Ottawa - we've all been waiting for today. The Federal Budget - we keep hearing from our Senior Management Team that the Public Service will be much smaller when we're through this - Communication is essential, after all - so plan ahead and keep options open. (What options?? Dude. This is what I do. There's not a whole lotta call for a specialist in F-P/T relations outside of Government. Even if I'm good at it, and have mad, read MAD, people skillz.) I do. I can't even talk about how mad they are.<br />
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It's exhausting, trying to plan ahead for the unknown, with a car that is 21 years old, and a 'good car' that's 11 years old, and a dishwasher with a rack that no longer actually supports the weight of dishes (or the dishes themselves)... I'm just tired.<br />
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I'm tired of the things I can't talk about and the things that I can. <br />
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But as I keep telling myself, I have lots of people who love me, and food to eat, and a warm, dry place to sleep at night, and my kids are healthy and we're happy. So that's good right? It's good. It is, in fact, a best case scenario.<br />
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But you know what would have made this difficult few weeks so much easier? A little bit of chocolate to fill in the cracks and smooth the edges of the anxiety to help me manage and help me sleep. Alas, (and coincidentally) what do you think I've given up for Lent? Lord help me. (no, I mean it. Please, Jesus, help me.)Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-509161128790454282011-12-01T21:36:00.002-05:002011-12-01T22:19:52.951-05:00Ugh.So. <br /><br />Heh. Long time no see?<br /><br />Sigh. <br /><br />I'd love to tell you that I've got a realy good excuse, or I've been sick - been super busy? How about just in over my head. <br /><br />Some days, it just feels like I'm busy rolling the boulder up the hill, and every morning, I'm back at the bottom. <br /><br />Other days are great. Don't get me wrong - I'm ok. It's just that there's no extra for writing. <br /><br />So what's happened over the past four months?<br /><br />Oh lor'. I found out that I needed to pay my taxes in the US. Or rather, I needed to file for them. (because even if you don't owe, you need to file.) And also tell the US government about all of my bank accounts (joint or otherwise) that I and my husband have here in Canada. In great detail, over the past seven years. And there might be some penalties for that. I guess I'll find out when they get around to it. Or not. So that took some time, and continues to take angst.<br /><br />MasterP started kindergarten. MlleL started first grade, and started giving up her naps (yeah, I know. I know.) We're struggling with that. It's pretty exhausting, managing the mood swings of a really tired 6 year old. It feels like I'm constantly on a high wire balancing what's happening between the time I get home and the time she gets to bed. Am I making dinner quick enough? How is her blood sugar? Will we make it through without that awful whining, convulsing stagger she does, dragging around the house to display her displeasure? (Never mind that that's a huge button - I have no idea what makes me so crazy when she does that....)<br /><br />I turned 40. It was pretty great. I've worked on a list, but haven't got far, of the things to do before I'm 50. I'm not sure I'm ready to committ to writing them down. One of them means running a hell of a lot more than I am right now. so....<br /><br />I ran the Rattle Me Bones the fastest I've ever run 10k on October 23. Which was great, but 2 minutes over where I really wanted (sub 1 hour) so I'm working on feeling better about that.<br /><br />MasterP turned 4. I made cake pops, and a cake covered in squinkies. heeee.<br /><br />We went to Target on November 11. We got stuck at the border for almost 2 hours, so ended up having about 1 hour and 45 minutes to shop before tearing north again. LOTS of fun.<br /><br />November was November. I continue to be super funky (in a hateful way) around American Thanksgiving - mad at everyone for nothing. Man November sucks.<br /><br />And here we are! We did our first Christmas Activity tonight - making snowflakes. But both pairs of scissors didn't work well, so MasterP was easily frustrated... And then we hung them, and then while working on French reading, MlleL had a full blown meltdown.<br /><br />I guess tomorrow I'll hope for better.<br /><br />And meanwhile, I'm trying to type my way down from a chocolate craving.Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-79281888269607632522011-08-10T21:13:00.004-04:002011-08-10T21:46:21.879-04:00GlorificusAt the beginning of the summer, a dear friend invited me to share in an organic 'share' from a local farm. I thought that this might possibly be quite awesome, and signed us up.
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<br />Since that time, it's become clear that I don't really know what to do with a wide variety of organic vegetables (especially since it seems that the wide variety is really mostly greens of one sort or another.) My tries to interest the family in these greens, usually by stir frying them in sesame oil and adding soy, are not well accepted.
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<br />So much that when picking up last week's share, Husband tried to convince my dear friend to keep ours. Dear friend's husband offered to help him carry it to the car. (heh. sounds like the greens are equally welcomed at her house.)
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<br />This week's share included beets. Which, to be honest, I first unsucessfully tried to roast to make delicious beet salad. (I know, right? So yummy!) It did not work out.
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<br />So imagine my happiness in having been introduced to <a href="http://www.canadianliving.com/food/glory_bowl.php">Glory Bowls</a>. "No, seriously", I said, putting on the rubber gloves to peel the beets (and changing after getting juice on work clothes, dammit to hell) "You're going to love it!"
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<br />"It's a Glory Bowl! It's gonna be glorious!!!" Husband looked askance at that. I mean, I guess I can understand his hesitancy.
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<br />"It was created in BC! I took out the tofu and added left over turkey!" Not better.
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<br />In fact, until I finished. And put it on the table.
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<br />MlleL declared it yummy. MasterP agreed. And so did Husband. In fact, he went back for seconds, and had so much that we barely have enough for lunch tomorrow.
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<br />Make this. Make it. You'll be thinking how awesome it is - healthy and super tasty. No gluten, for wheat haters, and if you don't want to use all that oil, well, then, don't!
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<br />Then? You too will be sitting around thinking about making this for a dinner party. Too informal? Perhaps. It's a rice bowl, after all.
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<br />Maybe, like me, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glory_(Buffy_the_Vampire_Slayer)">you'll imagine your guests donning black robes and serving your every whim</a>. I mean, it looked great for the first half of the season, right? Focus on that. And look out for a spunky blonde with a fake 'little sister'.
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<br />(yeah, that's right. I linked to explain the joke.....)
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<br />Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-78749082017798230432011-07-23T15:46:00.004-04:002011-07-23T15:53:03.073-04:00Wishlist: A Cleaning LadyList of things I found under the cushions of the couch today:<br /><br />1. 15 raisins, not <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">completely</span> whole;<br />2. 6 crayons, also, not <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">completely</span> whole;<br />3. two pink socks, (matching) in different locations;<br />4. a multicoloured <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">zooble</span>;<br />5. a sound making flashlight designed to assist in the reading of 'Cars: <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Carburetor</span> County'<br />6. countless crumbs. (and I do mean countless);<br />7. 3 pieces of fruit candy, the kind obtained from the Canadian Tire vending machines. (clearing throat and looking at Husband here.); and<br />8. A HARMONICA.<br /><br />Just saying.Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-51154442715215950832011-07-23T15:34:00.004-04:002011-07-23T15:44:20.161-04:00Changes....Perspective is the weirdest thing. <br /><br />It's so variable, so biased.<br /><br />It has, in the months immediately following the half, become harder and harder to see my accomplishments. My waist is once again covered with layers of sloth and pancakes.<br /><br />And so I return to the pavement, at an hour I have only previously vaguely talked about (5:30). Husband laughed at me when I've mentioned it before. I am not known as a morning person. But it's before the heat of the day, and (mostly) before the after work fatigue hits. It allows me a morning that is of my own choosing - and the time to wake up before I am hit by the demands of the day. It is a remarkably peaceful thing, but also, apparently a rather busy time of the day for other runners. <br /><br />I love it. It gives me time to get the work out out of the way. I can listen to my podcasts and have lunch again, with others, and not feel guilty for having not done what I should have.<br /><br />That said, these runs are affecting my perspective. Where once the distance was (a little) easier, they are difficult again. The early morning sun at my back strikes me in such a way as to cause my shadow to resemble a giant fertility figure - a tiny head and giant bottom waggling along the road. No wonder this is so difficult, I think, look at the size of that!<br /><br />Mrs. Maiden has told me the story of her comeuppance as a 40-year-old. She was wearing her blue bikini and feeling rather proud of herself for doing that at her age; "not too shabby," I remember her describing herself. However, after laying on some sun warmed rocks in the North Channel during a cruise on the Maiden family boat, she sat up with a squelching, sucking noise. Her back fat had sealed her to the stone. <br /><br />I remember thinking that was hilarious. Ok, well it kinda was, until the fertility figure thing.<br /><br />And until I raised my arm to wave goodbye after having spent the weekend with awesome friends from my youth and most of our kids, doing really great beachy cottage type things, and caught a glimpse of the bottom of my arm waggling away in it's own fond farewell.Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-33885603026565361812011-06-22T21:39:00.010-04:002011-06-22T21:52:26.116-04:00Conversations with kidsBefore the rewedding, I took them both in for haircuts. <br /><br />"What'll it be?" asked the hairdresser, looking at MlleL. "Short" she says, pointedly ignoring me in the mirror. "No" I say. no. Except that then the stylist suggested donation. <br /><br />She gave me her reasons, involving her ability to do her own hair, to wear her hair down, and the like. And I get it. I'll make the appointment to get her hair cut (which is very, very long) and she can donate it. We've discussed length, and options for donation, and she's given me a deadline. As I brush it at bedtime, I try to take my time now, knowing that these moments are limited.<br /><br />The other night, she watched me in the mirror as we talked and I brushed and she finally got it. <br /><br />"Will you miss it?" She asked.<br />"Yeah," I said, "but this is your hair. It's your body. It's ok."<br />Suddenly, she looked closer. She took the makeup mirror and moved it closer to me, flipping it to the magnification side.<br />"What do the cracks do?" She asked, pointing at the corner of my eye.<br /><br /><br />This morning as I was making my coffee:<br /><br />MasterP "Mama, where does Santa live?"<br />"In the North Pole, buddy. Remember? With the elves?"<br />"Yep. Where dat?"<br />"Where it's winter all the time. Remember?"<br />"oh, yep. It not winter time now. It's rainy day."<br />"Nope - no snow. Which is good, right? Summer time is Mama's favourite time."<br />"Summer time is not my faborite time."<br />"No? Well, when is your favourite time, sweetie?"<br />"Well, not bed time."Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-23106128475464296032011-06-19T07:51:00.003-04:002011-06-19T08:10:58.983-04:00The Ottawa Half - a bit lateSo finally, a round up of what it was like to run 21.1 kilometres, again. Finally.<br /><br />It was, as you well know, the fourth half I've trained for. The second one I've run. It hurt. Oh, lord.<br /><br />I started with colleagues (I mean, who better to spend over 2 hours of pain with than the folks you see every day? And yes, Janey, you better believe I had mascara on.) The pick-up guy, to be exact, was our bunny. And I did my best to stay with him, even though it was my fantasy pace. I had honestly planned to finish. I thought maybe I could do better than last time, but I was prepared to run the same race and figured that'd be ok. <br /><br />It was crowded. So crowded, that I was soon knocked back in the pack - the pick-up guy turning to check a few times for a thumbs up, but soon I could only see his back, and his ears... <br /><br />I ran through neighborhoods, past work, across the bridge I cross on almost every lunchtime run. I experienced unbelievable kindness when my ipod fell and the guy behind me stooped in the middle of the surging crowd to pick it up. <br /><br />I ran past a pirate family no less than three different times, I ran through heat, and drizzle and steady rain, I ran past signs that made me laugh out loud (worst parade ever) and ones I considered stopping to debate (you've done harder things than this), I ran past old colleagues and new, some who recognized me, but most who didn't - I certainly didn't smile the whole time, but there was a moment when I realized that if I stopped to walk the rest of the way, I'd still have finished faster than I ever thought possible. <br /><br />And that moment was pure brilliance.Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-34219185553892061812011-06-15T07:58:00.001-04:002011-06-15T08:01:40.137-04:00Raise a ReaderI am trying so hard to raise readers. So hard.<br /><br />I switched, a few months ago, to reading longer books at bedtime. Buh Bye, Bellybutton book! (ok, we still read those to MasterP, but follow with a few pages of the chapter book for MlleL. She's so tremendously impatient that I'm trying to train her to slow down and listen.)<br /><br />We've worked our way through Pooh (the adventures of and further adventures....) and are starting on the Moomintroll books <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moomintroll" target="_blank">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moomintroll</a>. (I know, right? You've probably never heard of them. I'm not sure why I have, only that Mrs. Maiden loved them - she had been in Sweden as a young person and was taken. We had as many as she could find, and as a weird result - no childhood complete without Moomins - I might also have a bunch as well as a result of an ongoing relationship with rare book sellers in far away places. Or something like that. I've just done a Google image search for little My, and am shocked to find the following they have, apparently, there are plays and maybe a show? [if so, why does it take a rare book seller to get them? Just wondering.] Swedes. I do have to admit, tho, that I am now wishing for Little My paraphernalia. In case you're considering gift shopping or anything like that.) <br /><br />I've talked MlleL into them by explaining that she looks just like Little My. And she does. Nevermind that that was MY nickname as a child. Or that Big Brother sometimes still calls me that.) Little House is next. We got the box set when Mrs. Maiden came up last time. <br /><br />(Me: YAY BOOKS!!! Kids: Where are the toys, Nanny?)<br /><br />Some nights are an exercise in more patience than I can muster, when MasterP wants me to stop reading the long story, stop, stop, stop, and asks at every sentence something unrelated to what is happening. Mama. Mama.... MAMA! What. I love you. Excellent. Thanks for that. Love you too. As I was saying. MAMA! Yep? Will you give me a hug? Yes. Absolutely. When I'm done with the story, just like every night. MAMA!! Do you like my car? (and..... I'm done. Exactly as he had hoped.)<br /><br />Some nights, they both settle in, and have a listen while I read several pages. These moments are my favourite. I remember my mother reading these books to me when I was their age, Mindy and I in the bed together (I remember Mindy in the cradle, actually, as reading was going on, and then later the blue crib, in the big brass bed, and finally on our own...) I remember big brother creeping down the hall to settle outside of our door to hear the story...<br /><br />She sat in the rocking chair and worked her way through Roald Dahl, C.S. Lewis, Laura Ingalls Wilder, E.B. White, Louisa May Alcott, L.M. Montgomery, Frances Hodgson Burnett (the Secret Garden AND the Little Princess), Charlotte and Elizabeth Bronte, Jane Austen, and quite a bit of Dickens. She even got through the first several chapters of Great Ex (to the cemetery scene) before she closed the book and told us if we wanted to know how it ended we should read it ourselves. (Isn't that enough, Mr. Maiden yelled up the stairs, for Christ' sake, the kids are teenagers!)<br /><br />I know MlleL likes it, because every night at bedtime, our book appears on the foot of her bed. But I'm never sure if she's really listening. I'm not sure if she gets the story quite yet.<br /><br />Until this weekend, when she was explaining to me how she managed to get MasterP to go to sleep for his nap.<br /><br />"I pretended I was reading him a long and boring story, and told him to pretend to go to sleep while he listened to it, and he did." (Uh Oh.) Well, what kind of long and boring story, I asked?<br /><br />"You know, like how Owl told the long and boring story about his uncle and Pooh had to listen with his eyes closed and then Owl's house fell over. Like that."<br /><br />HOORAY!!!!Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-50334746842196574802011-05-28T10:48:00.003-04:002011-05-28T14:18:52.638-04:00Again, some more!Wow.<br /><br />Ok. So there was supposed to be some writing about awesomeness of three year olds and their view of the world, and maybe something about six year olds and the continuing drama and what it's like to try to manage child care for first graders (spoiler alert: it sucks; there aren't many choices in my neighborhood.)<br /><br />But what this is really about, what has consumed me, is that half marathon standing between me and all rational thought. It's tomorrow. It's tomorrow; it's tomorrow.<br /><br />My favorite shorts are drying on the rack in the basement. My jacket is currently rinsing. I've stretched and gotten ART (ow) and taken my iron. I've run and run and run and run and run.<br /><br />I don't feel ready in the slightest, but apparently, either I will or won't be tomorrow.<br /><br />Tomorrow.Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-53475595789148381412011-05-02T15:36:00.003-04:002011-05-02T15:56:12.058-04:00Writer's BlockI wake up at 6:15ish each day - and get things ready for the day - breakfasts, coffee, clothes, snacks and then at 7, I shower after Husband is out and down, and get myself ready and then I get us out the door.<br /><br />And then I'm at work and I'm worrying about, oh, tons of stuff, and writer's block. It's with me everywhere. I'm worried at work. I'm worried in runs. I'm worried and irritable at home. <br /><br />I leave a little after 5 and get myself home, racing through the door and cooking dinner, most often in my suit, and from there, I try to change and it's already 7:30, and the kids need to start getting to bed at 8, and I've fought the homework fight and we finally get them to bed and we come downstairs and it's after 9, and writer's block. <br /><br />I have 45 minutes until I go to bed, but there's nothing on to watch (what the hell is wrong with TV execs?) and I go to bed.<br /><br />During runs the thoughts don't flow anymore. I think about my feet pounding and pushing me forward and making the distance. I worry about relationships and people and work. Always work and what's next. What's next? And writer's block. <br /><br />Words won't line up for me. They refuse - dancing just out of my reach. I have flashes before I fall into a fitfull sleep of the amount of things at work piling up that I need to get to that won't come - words finally aligning somewhat, but not in the way I want, but during the first half of the night, before a child wakes me, they slip away again, leaving me disjointed, and anxious and exhausted again at 6:15.<br /><br />I'm running Saturday mornings. Which is hard, brutal, really, to wake up the first morning of the weekend for a growing distance, but then, I've got the rest of the day to hang out, and then Sundays are gymnastics, but at an hour that allows me to a) sleep in a bit and b) have a decent breakfast with the family before we head out. It might be the sweet spot. It's ok.<br /><br />My neighbor came over a few weeks ago and asked me if I was training again - when I replied in the affirmative, she asked abruptly, "don't you think that's too much?"<br /><br />I don't. Is it? Is that the thing that's wonky? <br /><br />I yuv you ma-ma, MasterP says, I yuv you the moshe. (hee. awww. me too!)<br /><br />Things are good. Really. They're ok. I'm ok. The trip to the Dominican was awesome, and I kid you not - resort weddings are fantastic. FANTASTIC. <br /><br />I'm busy now, but what is the thing that keeps the words at bay? <br /><br />I can't help but think that people are noticing by now, but I can't find them anywhere I look. And beleive me, I've tried. I've looked everywhere.<br /><br />Can you think of somewhere I haven't?Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-40871672190238356092011-03-23T22:30:00.002-04:002011-03-23T22:40:47.901-04:00Hey Universe?So you know when there's something that wants to be written sitting at the top of the stack, keeping you from writing anything else? <br /><br />Remember that time I wailed about wanting to be a rocker of boats? Yeah. About that. I'm good. Thanks. I'm good now. <br /><br />I'm thinking what I'd like to wail about right now is a general lack of savings, and umm, ooo. The unfortunate dearth of chocolate peanut butter eggs in the Casa Valentine?Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-62002504688834054802011-02-16T21:16:00.001-05:002011-02-16T21:19:40.363-05:00So many things, really, but all about the love"Hey!" says MlleL as she bursts through the door after school, "Valentine and Valentine are the same! EVERY DAY IS VALENTINE'S DAY AT OUR HOUSE!!!!" <br /><br />"Yep" I grin.<br /><br />I've seen arguments for and against, for and against this celebration, and I most recently saw one that said basically, it's about family. And socks with little hearts all over them. And for kids. Because love is an every day thing. You can't just pull it out and shine it up and have it work once a year.<br /><br />It's as Churchill may have said (I've also seen arguments about this too) 'Never, never, never give up.' Really, that's pretty applicable in all aspects of life. With the laundry monster in the basement, with the never ending plumbing issues at the Casa Valentine, with friendships, and arguments, and work.... And Love and Marriage.<br /><br />With the rewedding so close now (just over a week, y'all) on February 24, at 6PM on the beach in Punta Cana, we've been discussing what real vows you would say to your beloved after 10 years of marriage and a couple of kids: <br /><br />1. I can assure you that I'll go to bed mad at you, but I'll still love you when I wake up.<br />2. I will cherish your mother, and strive to roll my eyes only when you aren't looking.<br />3. I will not try to change you, but will love you anyway.<br />4. I will laugh at your jokes.<br /><br />Many of you know the story of Husband and I, how on the first night we met, in January of 1999, after I had just finished explaining to the entire change room at the gym that he seemed awfully nice, but that I wasn't into Asian guys, how moments later in the hall, as he explained why he wasn't coming out with the group for dinner (he was heading out to see what he could do to diffuse a domestic situation between two friends of his) I heard a click.<br /><br />I did. And it was loud enough to change my life. Later, in that intense period where things are said that never seem corny, but really, really are, he told me that the thing about warriors was that they were there to the end. And so. I am my beloved's, and he is mine.<br /><br />In about a week's time, after months of the WW and training, ten and a half years of marriage and two kids, I'll meet my husband on the sand, just as we promised, and promise, again, to never, never, never give up.<br /><br />Ooooh. And I'll be doing it with a new ipod touch in my bag!!Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-55499985510598287772011-02-04T22:36:00.001-05:002011-02-04T22:38:35.474-05:00One more time for old time's sake....Yo.<br /><br />I don't do this enough.<br /><br />I promise I recognize it and wear that recognition around like a hair shirt. I think we can all tell when I'm training and when I'm not, as these things generally come to me as I'm running.<br /><br />So...... I've clearly not had that many long runs of late. Sorry.<br /><br />I did have a long note qued up and ready to go to discuss the change of the WW over to SOMETHING NEW AND COMPLETELY DIFFERENT, except that it's pretty much the same. Well, I actually had one prior to that talking about how I'd managed to find an extra point (entitled I replace food with tea and gum) to drop to 19 points a day (if this means anything to you...) but then I went to meeting, and all of a sudden I had 29 points a day available to me. So that was a bit of a wash. But on the upside, I'm having fruit as a snack instead of tea and gum, so there's that!<br /><br />Now. During last night's run (SEE?), I was listening to a recent release from that guy who's stage persona sounds remarkably like my favourite candy. But that doesn't completely explain his draw for me, and I was trying to think what it was.<br /><br />We're about the same age. We're from the same state - in fact, the Robotic Engineer's grandmother lived just off of 8th Line, in the Detroit, which, I can promise, was very different from 10th line, in case you saw the movie (which I did. Brilliance, right?). But the streets are really called that, and you can probably tell that the two aren't that far away from each other. <br /><br />But seriously, is that enough? I mean, clearly, we've not that much in common - is it that I'm just drawn to them with an Achilles heel? Feet of clay? Irreparably shattered but brilliant and funny?<br /><br />I don't know. But I can tell you that I am. It's inexplicable. I mean, I remember what it was like to live with an alcoholic, and it's really not that much fun, so I'm pretty sure Husband is safe, but is it my own rage and sorrow, miniscule in comparison, I think, that I recognize in them? <br /><br />Am I the only one? I mean, besides Lainey?Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-21252105013832931812011-01-23T14:59:00.003-05:002011-01-23T15:08:01.058-05:00Mrs. Maiden, political activistNow. Some of you will recall that Mrs. Maiden's wintertime abode is in the middle of a small, south-western town currently the centre of a giant amount of world-wide attention. <br /><br />As you may imagine, I've been receiving updates on the situation from quite a different view point from the at-a-distance news casters here in Canada.<br /><br />While Mrs. Maiden does not live within reasonable walking distance of the intersection in question (that's rather in the northern, more expensive side of town, y'all), she does live about a mile (or a 20 minute walk) from the hospital in which some of the victims, including THE victim are currently being treated.<br /><br />And while steadfastly not an AMERICAN, she does feel as if it is important for her to take action as an individual in the ways she finds possible. <br /><br />To whit:1. She has reported that the Healing touch community (herself included) is focussing their efforts on Ms. Giffords, particularly with respect to minimizing brain swelling. These efforts can apparently work over a distance. She offers as proof of their effectiveness the Doctor's comments that they have no explanation for her success as a patient, but continue to be positive.<br /><br />2. She has been walking, daily, to stand outside the hospital for an hour or so in the afternoons, so as to be able to extend her energies that much more closely. (that's fantastic, mum, I tell her, and well, at least you can feel like you're actually doing something. (and boy, that's not at all creepy) Yes she says happily, I feel VERY powered up...)<br /><br />3. In the lead up to the youngest victim's funeral, this awful hate church announced their intention to attend the event and protest America's increasing tolerance to homosexuals. In response, the Arizona leg made any protests of this nature at funerals illegal. Despite this, it seemed as if the haters were going to appear anyway. Mrs. Maiden had read about groups of opposes to the hate church forming a human barrier between the bereaved and those spewing hate filled messages. So off she went, 65 year old granny, to be OF USE. (I mock, and yet, am so very proud of her.) She described the scene - and you, I am sure, may have read of it, but it wasn't really explained that the 'attendees dressed like angels' were a team of people who have trained to act in opposition to the members of this church, in white robes carrying pvc tubing framed 'wings' to create a visual barrier between the grief and the hate. And hundreds of avenging angels had come from miles around (mostly Phoenix, she thought) on their motorcycles, with their slightly darker robes, in a slightly more sinister fashion, to stand in protection of the mourners. And the rest of them stood, hundreds of citizens of Tucson, ready to 'sing very loudly' when the shouting began.<br /><br />But they didn't. They never came. And so instead, thousands of normal people stood and mourned a child.Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-169988283024160372010-12-15T20:40:00.004-05:002010-12-15T21:33:31.077-05:00Lord.Tonight was the work party. A holiday party for a whole branch full of introverted policy analysts, planned by the older colleague who likes to think of himself as a mad man, and who held as an ideal for the end of the evening the promise of some threats of sexual <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">harassment complaints</span>. <br /><br />So instead of what you'd expect (and frankly, what you'd hope for), say, a gathering at a pub where folks can chat and have a drink or a snack, it was at a dance bar, with a really, really, really loud band playing British pop from the late 60s early 70s. So loud that all we could do was stand there with our drinks, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">surreptitiously</span> checking our watches, which, unfortunately, still read 3:30 PM.<br /><br />During the break between sets, my friend excused herself on a mission to the washroom and left me in the company of two directors. One wondered if there hadn't been some rule broken - a woman going by herself to the washroom. <br /><br />I cast an eye around the room and said that I thought she'd probably be <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ok</span> in this crowd, and then explained that a good part of the reason women go in groups is that as gazelles separated from the herd, we're much more likely to feel others' hands upon us - their eyes watching greedily as we walk past...<br /><br />What? Said the other, Really? This happens? It's times like these I realize I've just not been doing my job as a cheetah. I mean, I'm just standing around like a giraffe. I've really got to step my game up.....<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Hee</span>. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Awwww</span>, eagerly feminist fella - that's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">ok</span>. really. The Mad man would be happy to use up your share.Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-47556491504024222562010-11-25T16:30:00.000-05:002010-11-25T16:31:10.451-05:00Turkey DayIt's Thanksgiving, y'all, and you're lucky I'm wearing pants. (If there were a shirt that said that, I'd totally buy and wear it.)<br /><br />Ok, well, actually, I'm not wearing pants. I've got a tights, and knee high black boots. <br /><br />Anyhow. You're lucky I'm not wearing really large amounts of fleece. And drinking. And planning how I'm going to spend massive amounts of money tomorrow. And basting. Lots and lots of basting.<br /><br />But I'm here. Dressed and in the office. In a previously advertised funk (I told New Boss Guy that I really wouldn't be that effective today.) <br /><br />The problem is that despite the fact that I do love them, boys aren't very perceptive. Or rather, them that’s I work with.<br /><br />So as a general public service announcement: Dude. If I've got an ipod on at my desk, Quit Poking. Figure it the Hell out on your own. <br /><br />It's the one thing keeping everyone here from crying. Ok?Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-8254837108219919622010-11-24T21:46:00.002-05:002010-11-24T21:53:21.544-05:00Conversations with MlleLShe is supposed to be asleep, but she hears me laugh downstairs, and asks her Papa "Is Jennifer downstairs?"<br /><br />"No, MlleL," he says, "Jennifer is not downstairs."<br /><br />"No," she says, "Jennifer my dog."<br /><br /><br /><br />While I am in the bathroom, she starts to open the door without knocking.<br /><br />"This had better be an emergency," I tell her. "Before you open the door, I want you to be sure that this is an emergency. Is this an emergency?"<br /><br />She opens the door anyway, mutely hands me a spool of green ribbon, and leaning on it from the other side, closes the door.<br /><br />"Your caught your hair," I tell her.Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-81501114476041492802010-11-17T21:43:00.003-05:002010-11-17T21:57:30.760-05:00Vow renewalWhen we married, Husband and I wanted a beach wedding, but couldn't live with the guilt of asking our families (then with younger kids) to fly somewhere far, far away from where we were to witness the whole event.<br /><br />We promised each other a lot of things then, things like hanging out till' death came to one of us, being around if the other was puking, well, and some other stuff too. But we also promised that in 10 years, when we were old, you see, and well established, we'd make those promises again. In the sun, with our toes in the sand.<br /><br />The funny thing is, I don't feel that old, and, ironically, don't feel that well established, but the deadline, my dears, is here. It's been 10 years!<br /><br />And so in advance of booking the trip, I'm tying up loose ends - renewing my passport, deciding on a resort and booking it, and oh yeah, taking a good hard look at my own loose end.<br /><br />Let's just say that with re-weddings, came re-spinning today. And I was reminded of the driveway. Oh lord the driveway. This gets better, right?Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-11255088085148383442010-10-13T21:54:00.003-04:002010-10-13T22:23:32.404-04:00Bedtime for grown ups.And yet? <br /><br />I'm sitting with my Berry, and sending emails from my home account. Why? Well, kids, there's a new boss in town, and I'm applying for the position of right-hand man. Go-to-girl. I gets his jokes and he gets mine. We crack each other up. That can only mean good things, right?<br /><br />That, and there's this ridiculous briefing tomorrow morning at 9 with that previously mentioned ADM, and we have no idea of what to say. Ok, well, we've got a plan, but it's hardly detailed, and might just involve one of us looking pretty, and one of us yelling 'HEY! Look over there!' (maybe the same person) while we both run away. (Special note to Dr. Watson: THURSDAY may just come up.)<br /><br />That and I may have received my very first work call on the Berry. After two years. (It's got a really weird ring.) So I'm betting I probably should at some point soon figure out how to access my voicemail. Right?<br /><br />Sigh.<br /><br />New Boss-Man has already noticed distinct lack of technological skilz, y'all - which has been long noted in all who know me at all (Janey explaining web servers "see, there's these little trolls that go and get your information" [<em>p.s. shut up</em>. <em>I'll have you know that just today, I had a very lengthy conversation where I used the words "on-line job posting meta sites" and "wanted" and "crawler technology" to explain to a province how we would be addressing identified job vacancy gaps in LMI and MEANT it....</em>] Wondermom and her step-by-step instructions on Facebook on just how to add fancy buttons to this here blog, Glidinglara on how to use Twitter [<em>ok, that might not be just for me, but I know who you're looking at, and btw, I'm still not convinced that it won't take constant care, like a tamagachi pet, and I'm pretty sure I'd kill one of those. I've got kids, and cats and no smart phone, and I don't think I can do it on my Berry</em>.]<br /><br />But the Berry, despite having been a companion (not a partner like some I might mention, but a companion) for oh, probably at least 4.5 years is still pretty much a mystery to me. Sure, I can pin, kinda, and um, email, sure, oo! and IM!, and of course do my schedule, but for example, I only learned today that I can get to the top or bottom of my inbox by pushing a SINGLE BUTTON! (man, that's useful! Wish I'da known that sooner!)<br /><br />What else am I missing?????Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-44532794233769320692010-10-06T21:19:00.003-04:002010-10-06T22:15:30.001-04:00Fambily ReunionI don't think I've ever mentioned the little known fact that I've graduated from two high schools, have I?<br /><br />There's home town from grade 12, but then, there's also that other place, Parts North from grade 13. Anyhow, the only person I'm currently in touch with from that year is Mindy, and honestly, that's probably more because of the genetic link than it is the deep bond we formed during that year our high school experience overlapped - she in grade 9 and me in 13 - excellent though that time was.<br /><br />Imagine my surprise, then, to have found myself smack in the middle of a Parts North high school micro reunion. Which, really, is strange, considering I had no idea who these people were. Well, except a few.<br /><br />See, Mindy's got a few best friends from her time there, so when she's in North America, she usually tries to get a visit in with them - and luckily for me, one of them is in the Toronto area. This visit, we weren't able to make it to Parts North, so we met up with the fam in Toronto. At Ms. R's place for a wonderful weekend slice of family and kids together time. <br /><br />Ms. R married her high school sweetie. Who invited his high school best friend over to dinner. Both kindly asked if I knew their older brothers. (NO.) They were born in 72? Nope. Still older than that.<br /><br />But Ms. R's awful older sister? (Yep. I said it.) Oh, as soon as she walked in the door, I remembered her. Sigh.<br /><br />As I walked in the door from the drive on that first night, Ms R's first words were 'Hi honey! You look exactly the same as you did in high school!'<br /><br />The thing is, I like to think of myself as rendered near unrecognizable through the urban fabulousness of 20 years of hard work, beautification and polish. True, I wore a bob that year, much as I do now. Apparently, the truth is, I still look like an 18 year old from a small town in the mid-west living on a remote island in Northern Ontario, riding the bus for an hour and a half each way and eating far, far, far too much buttered toast.<br /><br />And Mindy? Mindy is so unrecognizable that I spent the weekend looking into her grown up turquoise eyes (still, stupidly unfair of genetics to do that to me) and trying to see in her the teenager I remember. She is a virtual stranger, my only sister with an incredibly gorgeous blonde German baby - a confident, smart, accomplished and beautiful stranger, pulled together and fabulous, and I am 18 and unchanged to the world.<br /><br />I know it is so unfair to say this, but I am looking forward to the expiration of the Irish visa in 2014. I'm hoping Berlin doesn't make the cut (although I somehow expect that it will), and I'm really, really hoping I get the chance to reaquaint myself with the girl who left 10 years ago.Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-53299732285924517242010-09-22T22:32:00.004-04:002010-09-22T22:47:41.837-04:00FAQsIn response to questions I recieve via the google search terms [actual searches used to view this blog], I'd like to take a few moments to start a new feature and answer what I can:<br /><br /><div>Q) [Can I see] Katie Valentine fotos/petartas?</div><div>A) Aww, sweetie(s)! I'm super flattered. And yes, there are 'fotos' (But no petardas. Come ON!) of me available, but, honey(ies), this isn't my real name. In case you hadn't noticed from the pseudonyms and all.</div><div> </div><br />Q) Does Katie Valentine have fake boobs? <br />A) No. These lying down and taking a nap rapidly disappearing wonders of female magnatism are all natural, baby!<br /><br />Q) [Can I see] Katie Valentine naked?<br />A) Only if you live in the Casa Valentine. Or on really, really special occasions! (Like those fed/prov meetings or yoga classes I show up for in my dreams having forgotten some very important things.)<br /><br />Keep em' coming! You know I'm responsive, if secretive...Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-29042688965207895282010-09-22T22:17:00.003-04:002010-09-22T22:25:53.489-04:00The plagues.Well, hell.<br /><br />Here's a little story about something I wish hadn't happened last week:<br /><br />On Monday night, as the skies opened and Husband stepped out of the bathroom, there came a weird extended pouring water from a bucket noise. (or, in a particularly fitting nod to Mr. Maiden, piss from a boot. Him so classy!)<br /><br />Strange enough for me to raise my head and look at Husband. Who looked right back and opened the basement door.<br /><br />And descended the steps only to begin cursing.<br /><br />Yes, my dears. Yes.<br /><br />Through a process of scientific elimination, it was made clear that indeed, it did rain in the basement when we flushed the powder room toilet.<br /><br />Well, I guess, thank the Lord for small mercies - I've got a little Bissel cleaner to suck all the water up (and scrub), and it had been a 'clean water flush', whatever that is. <br /><br />I managed to convince Husband that it was time for the professionals and perhaps a new toilet (low-flow, natch), and so by Friday evening, and after a fairly hefty investment, I think we'll be able to flush again. With, hopefully, a lower water bill. <br /><br />It should offset the cost in, I'm thinking, roughly 5-6 years, but everything after that is just gravy, right???Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-69741083406672584922010-09-12T21:13:00.005-04:002010-09-12T21:38:17.292-04:00Dreams used and wastedIn update to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">MlleL</span> and the zombies:<br /><br />The concerns came again the next morning, as the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Orkin</span> man was visiting for his two week follow up. You know, I said, even though they're not real, I bet the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Orkin</span> Man can mix some zombie spray in with the ant spray....<br /><br />I'd be happy to, he said, just for you. But, he said, looking right into her eyes, it's just for you. You can't tell everyone because we don't put zombies in our ads. [<em>I kinda wish they did...</em>]<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Hmm</span>, she said, as we drove to care provider's house, He looks like a prince. He has a very nice smile. I'm going to marry him when I grow up, if he's not already married....<br /><br />In my own case, I was running the last few steps of the escalator at work on Tuesday and felt a pull, and have been regretting that step ever since. It doesn't seem to be remitting.<br /><br />I had some ART done on Friday (oh, my hell.), and then some sort of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">laser</span> to help it heal. We talked about the possibility of running this weekend (maybe) and my deadline of next Sunday for the half. I've done all the training. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Ok</span>, well, most of it. Pretty much all of it. I considered myself to be ready.<br /><br />This morning, at a kid's birthday party at the park, I was the first to see a guest put his baby brother in a wagon and start to pull him down a long, steep hill. I shouted, and ran to try to catch him and felt something like <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Velcro</span> in my leg. <br /><br />Thankfully, there were other adults who were able to catch them (husband <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">among</span> them). Because I was trapped helplessly at the top of the hill, watching them and, I suspect, my hopes of next weekend roll away from me.Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-84502635834410053542010-08-16T20:53:00.003-04:002010-08-16T21:13:17.693-04:00Bedtime.It is far, far past bedtime. Especially for one we are trying to wean from afternoon naps before she starts afternoon kindergarten in two weeks.<br /><br />"Mama," she says in a small voice, "I can't sleep because I keep thinking about zombies."<br /><br />"What?" I say, "Zombies? Where did you see them?"<br /><br />"On tv," she says, "they eat brains and make other people zombies too."<br /><br />"Oh," I say, trying to think of a solution, "first of all, that was not great tv for you to be watching. It sounds way too scary. Also, zombies aren't real. They're scary make believe."<br /><br />"But I can't stop thinking about them."<br /><br />Remembering past success with logic - monsters? Not in Ottawa - Monsters have big feet, too big to buy shoes and boots, and you sure can't live in Ottawa without shoes and boots - maybe somewhere warmer - polar bears and Elephants? Well, when they knock on the door, we just don't let them in. Also, they can't really fit through the door anyhow. Witches? We don't let them in either, but because you don't want to offend a witch, I offer them tea and cookies on the deck - I start to think about how I can make her safe.<br /><br />"Well, honey, number one, zombies aren't real. But if they were, did you see them walking around? I mean, number two, zombies are stupid."<br /><br />"And number three," I say, counting them out on my hand, "their fingers don't work all that well. All of our doors are locked, so the zombies, if they were real, wouldn't be able to open the doors."<br /><br />"oh!" she says, inspired, "and they're really old and break really easily!"<br /><br />"Right!" I say. "Number four, they break really easily."<br /><br />"But what about them coming in the windows?" She asks. (S<em>tupid tv show. What the hell was the care provider doing while this was on?</em>)<br /><br />"Well, honey," I say, "remember they're stupid. And break easily, and their fingers don't work. So they really can't climb up anything, and if they tried to get in the windows down here, they'd just break up into zombie bits. If they were real, which they aren't."<br /><br />"AAAAND," I say, moving the party back upstairs, "They're really slow. So if they were real, which they're not, they can't get you inside the house because they're stupid, and slow, and break up really easy and their fingers don't work."<br /><br />"But what's the most important reason," I ask?<br /><br />"They're not real." She agrees and climbs back into bed.<br /><br />"Exactly."<br /><br />Unless, of course, zombies are real, and you took a day off this week to drive one home from dental surgery.<br /><br />And although she wasn't stupid, she was kinda slow, and her fingers didn't work all that well, and if I had dropped her while I walked her crazy zombie laughing self to the car, I bet you she would have broken into pieces.Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2254244273141788410.post-3336449715240656782010-08-12T21:17:00.002-04:002010-08-12T22:00:04.747-04:00ooook.I realized rather late in the game that the extreme efforts I made to minimize the amount of luggage travelling to Points North may have also minimized my access to things I wanted and possibly needed.<br /><br />Despite that fact, I thought outside of the box, found one of the refillable juice boxes in the car, filled it with water and stuffed it down my pants. I took two puffs of the inhaler, laced my shoes and set out.<br /><br />Sure, it wasn't on schedule. It was, to be exact, Thursday morning.<br /><br />This year, I avoided the Worst Run Ever (up hill both ways past the cemetary containing my father's unmarked grave and substanital emotional discoveries) and took a more circuitous route through the village, past the Inn and out the new road to complete the 16k. <br /><br />I would see 7 trucks on my journey, a motorcycle, and one car -my dad's, the Crown Vic, which is now owned by others in the village, and still appears to be in really good shape.<br /><br />Two of these vehicles (NOT the car) would follow the long standing Points North tradition of the wave. One of them, which I saw a happy total of four times during the two hours, merrily waving away before he even passed me, was driven by the man who sold me the first sweatshirt I ever bought with my own money (I was 8), copious amounts of candy (aw hell, it would have been this time if the general store had still been open), countless loaves of bread and my first legal liquor (20).<br /><br />In fact, when I tried to buy that liquor, he asked me to wait a minute and had a whispered conversation with his 'wife'. Having not reached a successful conclusion, he returned, fixed me with a stern look, and said "Katie? Are you over 19??" And then totally took my word for it.<br /><br />Oprah talks about the secret socio-economic indicators that instantly identify your class - vocabulary, teeth, etc.<br /><br />It was like that. The running made me not from there. It was like wearing a suit of away. Not only did they not know who I belonged to, they could not see past the suit to recognize the kid I used to be. <br /><br />It was his wave - each of those four times - that eased that feeling of being different, and helped me remember a time when my vacations to Points North were the stuff of family, of freedom, and of wild amounts of McIntosh's Toffee. Even when I had the braces and Mrs. Maiden asked him not to sell it to me.Katie Valentinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10266631154718787276noreply@blogger.com0