tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-319163112024-03-24T12:27:55.242-06:00In Becky's WordsI dedicate this site to my mother. She was a columnist and an author with the uncanny ability to find humor in the daily ins and outs of life. She faced every challenge with a witty optimism, including the cancer that ended her life too soon.Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.comBlogger561125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-52937710237717905232024-03-24T07:00:00.002-06:002024-03-24T12:27:21.837-06:00Roller Rink Time Warp<div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">A couple of months ago, I went rollerskating at the roller rink in my hometown. Nothing had changed. It still had the same bathrooms, the same concessions, the same late '80s carpeting, and the same smell. And it was still a pretty popular place to be. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">My nephews were attending a birthday party at the skating rink, and my husband, Dan, and I drove down to skate with them . . . kind of. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Our youngest nephew, Benny, made a point of buzzing past me several times. He loved being the fastest; you can see in the picture that he's getting ready to fly off around the rink. So, I didn't really skate <i>with</i> Benny. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Desmond skated about my speed. I hung out with him while Uncle Dan tried to catch up with Benny.<br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <img border="0" data-original-height="845" data-original-width="634" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLw5tiu-20QSbDrJP360G6y1VrQlwyity2LTYdCxf-5v676L_iR3hVd2LnN5hbAC4jg7lYCuhLArW3uaDnuMBOsB1I8zr9QjiMKrPNhziDHu0trWZjgRCROwjlbqkyj7SRpilAuKHC2u6WSu30reitjDIp56NRekSufvQhKUiEL_Yo9V6IMirXow/w300-h400/FB_IMG_1705289394899.jpg" width="300" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">During one of my trips around the rink, the music stopped abruptly, and "Cannonball" started to play. I was wearing my <i>Last Splash</i> shirt, and I wondered for a split second if the teenager in the booth switched the music on purpose. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">We were in the midst of a GenX playlist, including some rather deep cuts from Hole, Smashing Pumpkins, and The Beastie Boys, and just like that I was a middle-aged rocker on my roller skates.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="123" data-original-width="220" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Z9O3cbD6Qzo69NBJu8BMqSHPCu2HsutZKaOvIBVRVtBNfQiI1-vYUSTnxHQHpAIcXg_rUZd7zjliWCNjTlrsAJVsstmED-SJfmsbchYdZayGriJnDpBegsgbwUYSg0akF5ri7odMKg9EsYMHRQDSN1egp16BpQpMXNBSeRIFcRmkmBfg1gEiGw/w400-h224/image2.gif" width="400" /> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The teenager from the booth found me, commented on my shirt, and we fist bumped. Apparently, he knew who the Breeders were (probably from his parents), and my shirt had, in fact, inspired this burst of GenX musical entertainment. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Dan, the kid, and I skated a couple of laps and talked music and concerts, Alice in Chains being the only concert he had been to so far in his short life. I wondered, again, if he went with his parents.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHrIwDTlIGsWy2_7TxnCX1cWR20xhxn5KGiRcrLaYaX5RpIv-IRtmu3JSHi63svo6c58SnUKt0VFwhqgaB4qJDA0V76ewjcjuXiKbaEVSXD20hW0G7WNMhj7aHGTBXv99-hTPPKNzhdazigUcF3GrX0hTQK18AzSR5iiDcG0T1ItAiJyNbjL4NtQ/s320/8972c148d4f6caad8a691246b98e3d5c2bfed9044faabb96a6e5457c468e80bd.0.png" width="320" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;">Dan and I didn't meet until after college. When we first started dating, rollerblading was the cool thing to do, and we did that a lot throughout our early years together. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">But this was our first time "rollerskating" together at a roller rink, which was THE boyfriend/girlfriend activity when you were twelve and growing up in Twin Falls, Idaho.<br /></div> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"You better not be making out in the corner," one of my brother's friends joked.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"Have you seen me skate?" I said. "I would totally fall over and not be able to get back up." <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">That's my rollerskating story. Fun times were had by all. However . . . <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Everyone at the rink caught COVID (except for me, miraculously).<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Hello, Super Spreader Event of 2024 . . . <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="90" data-original-width="160" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFpoZFY4UMdA1RUKNZ1svdKamM9JomKN8kCs4VFHhhtDDiKwH5H7V7501QtFUrL5hZWp8MbfxXyAF_Gk0ORm3yDwpAMcT29yh7Y1ayV7TR2NMxy0ZjVDGTfObhRrCkT0py1FDfzHLs9uMmsszMJ9ZwjVe1fPD8saRFx-JpSUiMND_MTVxahM9h4Q/w400-h225/image.gif" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">
<i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-1195278216311164952024-02-17T07:00:00.002-07:002024-02-17T13:11:49.753-07:00How I Spent My Winter Break and Then Some<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3840" data-original-width="2160" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3yXUFXbf546iT1GoEOeo42XtR24LMV6C0Jz-0uN7XL54xOK59nvTRGV9JHF_1dEdiMihIfdkYyUxQ83WsUU8CFXJGxtfIRIG7AnAgQWTYW2y8ErlufLcxakyLR-ljgfBqceIgM9si57OnkLgVdibWh5ZdwnuJMcvjSgq9_neeXgk9AiPGXUEZQw/s320/PXL_20231225_004020629.jpg" width="180" /> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm almost caught up, only one more <a href="http://injillswords.blogspot.com/2024/01/anniversary-20-or-two-decades-really.html">holiday blog post</a> to go! I mean, it's only February, and I know you're all looking forward to my April Valentine's Day post. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Maybe I'll skip blogging about Valentine's Day this year. Now that I've been married for twenty years, I'm running out of material. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyway, I thought I would take this opportunity to tell you all about the rest of everything else (besides Thanksgiving, Christmas, Twentieth Wedding Anniversary) that happened during the months of November, December, and January.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimd1Pr7IscWeH5Z-iY3Bx8t1yUAIyCdOOaYp0eZw5H7eEQoYJOnZBAtqVEilNdlr_WH87l4KYc5SwSFqPxTo54SvVyb3aeSfOGvBJhwe1OKQDcCDPLXtMr1qh4wBDvZRsQS_QIg8HLyvCeI6l3p5J6gDD9KDc7DcmhJ6Zg5-EjXVvpv9ORilNTsQ/s320/Share-2690535875562784924.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="180" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hadestown in Seattle<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">My husband, Dan, and I had tickets to see <i>Hadestown</i> in December in Boise, but as we approached the date, it looked like I might have a schedule conflict. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">So . . . Dan and I bought tickets to a Sunday matinee in Seattle in November. I had a rehearsal that Saturday. Dan picked me up right after rehearsal, and we drove to Seattle. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">We woke up early Sunday and did some sightseeing in downtown Seattle before the show. Then we drove back to Boise, pulling into our driveway by about 1:30 a.m. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Was it worth it? Of course. #spontaneous #nokids </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Even better, my scheduling conflict worked out after all, and we were also able to see <i>Hadestown</i> in Boise.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="845" data-original-width="1126" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpCTDtxF9YdnseXqi7lSZEfyHvR32z7KnokNqM9yDJvhVbNVc7VeU0s5oTHW2O1tj09fRBFJhmug5nxS-qfhOt9YU_qmaVgfx7zSqOgkhHzOF3TZw_HSIOiBCXvok9kmpKqV0ydlgfeOVW-b_ZUDwqpOkaWkkZBvS2VZhN7u254-I3FlTxVfiU4A/s320/PXL_20231203_024403019_exported_951_1701571464128-COLLAGE.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hadestown in Boise<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg28pTZM8HH3BKDmXnUzDqfZijYBEYLT9mJHVYlnJwqSXYkSV_RI0W9zUTNft2SlOd17eoQNTmFuFbKUpr1aXIFjGjaRCL_GGtGjFKyEgknT3xtliWyvWjd62Lxw1S4IyTUld661rTBq0MFNEuVpFPqtww5AoIET8-vEyaeuDEDp6CiiLY8T270Zw/w400-h225/PXL_20231203_025547413.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hadestown in Boise<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In December, amidst all of the elementary music programs, choir concerts, and Christmas Eve services, I performed in the super duper fun and awesome <i>Elf the Musical</i>. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Next year, I'm going to be channeling my inner Rosemary Clooney in <i>White Christmas</i>!<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="845" data-original-width="845" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhveCCmDk8ve9vDuC0x5F7mgzMpTMvLG2F8C50fzJTqAqt2FVXY9lNXfW_ZbUksuZs7xdz838sLt4wipD35c02i2OWyx1yXZVrfHo2FqO6dPO2uEzN2-kgQl64kxprWcVbZryGeOUrDRyNlvq3cSjnPEA8JYzw75CWz88l5-N9fz5aahwWb_LiDzw/w400-h400/IMG_8139-COLLAGE.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As Emily Hobbs in Music Theatre of Idaho's <i>Elf</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">Dan and I enjoyed a few Greenbelt runs in the snow. However, the snow ended up being pretty light in Boise at this point. Snowpocalypse was still a month away . . . <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="845" data-original-width="845" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVoGLpIS_m8dGXbok5nYwlC-AyJ3pK4-uPO6pPg68AAtFwjdBWVWpYoIPrau0Gz_sgd3Bnpt35pxdeChcWCuMceNgOp34gV5Xij-K8PYJ3-BjY7PuIS610gBaH6SiCympWr2Y6W_bNqWtT7KM0ovwYZDyj4mDC2cflWr6vhDnmELz1Y1Dq7qzk0w/s320/PXL_20231226_164118811-COLLAGE.jpg" width="320" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I spent two days during winter break casting my school's spring musical.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1836" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLRv41NgksYHxHIpo10ra_jaXdnMcreKRJkbbPJslA0MKK0ZTrCTPg4gqoGED_ByPE3YF7CL0SOFAtoA3ut6MuE99DYrfOvgh2m0t8hzQ5oj0dlYBH2XRYJwASU-UfLOFLGdydKitCN4JqCzzVxFN4h9EyMwVDxSbnUtzMHPc51fBwCQvy8bAqcw/s320/PXL_20231227_195018475.jpg" width="180" /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Before the school break, I received some fun Christmas gifts. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">One of my colleagues gave me a Woody Guthrie beanie, and I've been wearing it everywhere. And I received A LOT of coffee cards this year. These kids know me so well. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My neck pillow ended up being my favorite gift from Dan. I'm totally showing my age.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1836" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyx60AnTzQ8k9zTex7X4qcYYB5Pb5Gj3h9fnGBoypB5X0VMGJe4eEUlTtwM5aEa1QKebI8ZdiHIaVN6CVQ2VF42Dglkx-mVQlWDDNruHfpqG1uZDRt3pieeXY_umhyphenhyphen9VFHpLXj_zunVhkEJFKm71t-QVOwmtBaQWrG3EU9iKi2-w25kQ8MkhNFUQ/s320/PXL_20231225_235044986.jpg" width="180" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Dan's favorite gift was a book on how to win at Chess because he has been trying to beat our six-year-old nephew (who is kind of a Chess master) for a while now. You know, life goals . . . <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigl-aKKiMIjJbh75HF0lp-NkjULzpz9Bk4htSAp1yH58HF3gyaGxnD3n7ZTBmDZcF51_fAok4852CTf3rMp4kqsEaieuy34at2MaOjsox0FpFdC0BnZPHXy6CLbzdiOglFNXR88HgzaH1vlmfjRJwfX2sjwnC2ge7WaV-_oxy2lhm14UNbJGbpNA/s320/PXL_20231225_170757065.MP.jpg" width="180" /> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Google sent me a collage on New Year's Eve. My nephews, Dan, and photos from my stint in <i>Tick Tick Boom</i> last summer made the cut. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">My first thought was, "How cool is it that Google knew how important these things were to me this year." </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">My next thought was, "How does Google know how important these things were to me this year . . . ?"<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="2592" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9bEyUjQIGX8ISCJs6tp1SGBHeOwmFipuvQ5pEpE8vIsKCFdYkEtBsjKC80v3FIwEjcxemVJtkMRD8Am-Q5prbQuuptTbzS-dF61ogVXyCcMhySNPCAy1SToYg0QgJWZyFqHwEOgMvP_xGdBvatErv2mir8xpgQlhsxp-HajrIvb0hKCb3-sAeOg/w225-h400/PXL_20230101_151314786-COLLAGE.jpg" width="225" /></div> </div><div style="text-align: left;">After New Year's, Dan and I relived our junior high days at a roller rink while visiting family in Twin Falls. (Everyone, except me, got COVID, but that's a blog post for another time.) <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="845" data-original-width="634" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcvzUFhW2jN4NLqtYWyoyWRdQv-voUsdpZEd0dxn1KRi2M7XkC7TQiSNWAoS2EfGAsDUVHqheNtbyrwvwQmRSVZjsHyNzJDO3PCp4_PNoB89BjPm_r6iFsqKe6z1yVITQK_AW7rI3WZHAC2ydJ5wmVC0ty_5pxFE300HlU6Fe4MnmXZuUWG8nPxg/w300-h400/FB_IMG_1705289394899.jpg" width="300" /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">When I returned to school after winter break, Boise was greeted with Snowmageddon 2.0 and a couple of snow days. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyone remember <a href="http://injillswords.blogspot.com/2017/01/snowmageddon-or-careful-what-you-wish.html">Snowmageddon 2017</a>? (This one wasn't quite as bad though.)<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="845" data-original-width="845" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUkWTta2_tR5E82c6sDaohrl5oq3JG1FLQtWQzblNU9agOC4win9ZeWxU_gfUg9PIuApEtp249sV8nUozJSNAecXdW52f2Wci-BPw-eV3M0b1G2Jz0t4Nt4VFlu3rK4fxCxLkdpALBzVW-vTTiHb5CpKjDYM4V8Q9AA-zTytEOiH9j9I13blWI0A/s320/PXL_20240114_162536626-COLLAGE.jpg" width="320" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">
</div><div style="text-align: center;">
<i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-51777372656591760072024-01-27T07:00:00.001-07:002024-01-27T07:00:00.142-07:00Anniversary #20 Or Two Decades, Really?<div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3840" data-original-width="2160" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMkhT6P6gtHYLThpdYmLIuayBGceEgWEZI1PGCm6xI1X53ID_jP0obfvIXNH67gECuZKuuWMX4JJjMl67lSou79nzCjjp-epFXWBBY37A-9vyZSvZwG0lJWXJXnn0LSDGjcSteJ9gINUun5khqHPFU_wFvtYe4gpeO3AYc4uj6WmuCZgrdijYRdg/w225-h400/PXL_20231231_210921520.jpg" width="225" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;">If you read <a href="http://injillswords.blogspot.com/2024/01/turkey-day-5k-2023-two-months-late.html">last week's blog post</a>, you know that I'm behind in my holiday posts. Today I thought I would write about my twentieth anniversary . . . a month and a half later. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">My husband, Dan, and I celebrated our twentieth anniversary this year. I like to tell people we were married at fifteen. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Our anniversary falls during the Christmas season, and since it's one of my busiest times of year, filled with school concerts and music performances (I am a musician/music teacher, after all), Dan and I often celebrate it in pieces throughout December. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So, how did we celebrate our anniversary this year, twenty years into our marriage? </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Mostly, the same way we celebrate it every year. And that's fine with me.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">BTW, how could it be two decades, already? Oh yeah, we were married when we were fifteen.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Anniversary Activity #1: </b>We visited the Indian Creek Plaza lights in Caldwell. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3840" data-original-width="2160" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT_U6ROgc9eDDq__S54YAl6h3rSo4iABNT4D63mliCso43QKh036_xWtehOqswWNWXoDGpuliOkiu_4VyqAYVfhMzmhPILZpu1KTacHq8GZU-AK-SzqPNssup1-Ia0MceXjkClVi2sWWM_C761-wjAIsmkhWeJIpQ4NGN7vra4m3ueNcLknTE4bQ/s320/PXL_20231222_034456125.MP_exported_66.jpg" width="180" /></div> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Anniversary Activity #2: </b>Dan created a special "Anniversary Playlist," consisting of songs that were popular twenty years ago and songs from "pivotal" (according to us) rock concerts or musicals we attended throughout our marriage. It took us weeks to listen to the whole thing.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjeLq22T0ZTfuTrfG2oLR6cQi069ozE-c9JpDZbx1J810GQ5xzbi6Omagj7W2c9nbQJYhEuUNyKSW8Brt5SnvONfuvsdM6-j1z-VM96LH72B1KvjeAAdHtvSmOvA4mlNJy0mRt9zTEBBTfn6uqhLNMMZqqZtsX1a6oUw81c5q8hh1JDsNcAPH_MQ/s320/c9603f23e4a7d853658b5733adc05a622f28bb72ddd5d03f261cfc9661cf50dc.0.png" width="320" /></div> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Activity Anniversary #3</b>: We used to eat at our favorite downtown Boise restaurant, Asiago's, but it closed last year. This year, we ate at Alavita, another great downtown restaurant full of pasta.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1836" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0AT-FFR66wBSXPFFy6GD9uDLBXMuglA-vFDoWVwpx-0HK5PAX2Kub-w427jUyqQYc6vqXs2KCscoTdyForh2Yi8hzLToYyW_aMxg9uxdtn05EKMcY_l0AmUkAfIKl4uYqDk6f_qwowyCL9xp_g-kG93TrQ8i4B9aJZrH4D-mBYJBeLx9VvV8HdQ/s320/PXL_20231221_023348107_exported_399_1703127501723.jpg" width="180" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Activity #4: </b>We didn't get out to the Botanical Gardens, but we did drive through "Christmas in Color." <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjusuR527D35HW2YZeJcAJHv-WQ4NpjDZypTo8ZN4HRZHZ9G-lSCqI2barN8_7-_E65iEn9V1gyj0r5UXLN1tPhPTcbipupheNF43ImU8rgCMGn_z2kDMWFwZHi8Fr_LYbwbSj3Q4y1SzLaUy_LLpgrg3vPRY0QDT_saLAaAO8novbk2ZiWBFGLiQ/s320/original_a87e57a3-a49e-4b8a-9af6-981f048ec547_PXL_20231221_031522265.jpg" width="320" /> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="1836" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYod5caLZ7zStAEjo3dzzw0sZ-wSZFdHcz6ebxhKGuuPK1pbqvPXLplsAx88OiUIjuSCA9Bp2K8JXzLlKIugufurlL8ysVR6GGN_ecwPSibgtp0sKovGbPBS6KCoz5ILunixaiuAtDDk_5TmAyjpkNmSMLrJm8D2d24XQLwyBqXBcer29C-kaPGw/s320/PXL_20231221_031503048_exported_501_1703129151894.jpg" width="180" /></div> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-rT4r7kSHy38j7Q6Ls7_-wbdeDYCe1PQaxbYWon7ckgIy_05WPwJKRyfFoPzb0NcsJo88PHoxkZg-wpQAqg9Lj3BkbHyiKLM9uFQhWCcJyPZS7uzF0r8-Hc-y2Ydh9CTwaAFGUkYn_z94VfxKT9E3gDmHOkNUdll05CfmH0UGQx-dEaSdUyeMuw/s320/PXL_20231221_031632518_exported_stabilized_1703129924579.gif" width="320" /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYnkKKGvEHqXahwhOo2eXR6cGr73U3a-GPJfet0KEJR17xJNoORoKAKzLoLaVaGs87VMyus9nWoN_qLs-nUHEoDm8HsIUagX63CcISAP3OimQ9KT2ZkP1eBoHoLFvEafmT90-SCgDSz308ISGyAo007ZaZId6NLusblrnhKwJKxNWylJQ2vKlTUg/s320/PXL_20231221_032247174_exported_stabilized_1703129909431.gif" width="180" /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Activity #5: </b>And of course, we spent about a week in Sun Valley . . . before Snowmageddon. As you can see from the pictures, there wasn't a ton of mountain snow at that time. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="845" data-original-width="845" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwn5BIBqshY5rm1AkSYvuluWyzfmD6at1jtGfa15sAQFMOGyinkqHy10s3YtuN1TmN2gf8PgHqJZCyMVfNBniLIq5J4QzELMNytMi_3PZFrTrki8RsUrCWXahoR1589C0o0xMKSrY3qD_wK-_2iJNc49XfOxjd0Cd6DZZH4MovE9edRRZcsjF_ig/s320/PXL_20240101_001027182.PORTRAIT.ORIGINAL-COLLAGE.jpg" width="320" /></div> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Fun Fact: Dan and I spent our honeymoon in Sun Valley twenty years ago. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I guess, for us, it really did happen in Sun Valley. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">And I don't mean that in a dirty way . . . <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzV0id3nFgkRWxOfC4kB-tA-qrF-upipJc_t1mFrNitY81DCYEAztq7WdF9usilsf5N08WAapDTtyA6_XTDkRZS3S1OnxF4ZbSzpdlSEVA_NFqNlzbCElAdaNiPzt4oL1UCH720Ve2uaXV0XHBiNJmXAEFZ0wpTcpF_8NVehkUZQE7r1bD4U44ug/s320/d89daf51de826d3f7cde447548ae9a0fed379c15bdb032293c43fe08139e88be.0.jpg" width="320" /></div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;">
</p><div style="text-align: center;">
<i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-92196635821868053452024-01-20T07:00:00.342-07:002024-01-20T07:00:00.150-07:00Turkey Day 5K 2023 (Two Months Late!)<div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7f1wR4jVgDFekhgFSUlybgpZfQjO66VkgIkfKuiuUYnrLCxmHUOh9RlTKbDSN5N6q5iC1OvxUXMtxPaTDG10TpT2AWnzdRJzWYtDEKYUHMailpDq7FgNlzzz0OPhBiC0S1jFsT8yUMKePqhbGW3vZYVv8GuA6M245Sab8EJBNftaLunwj_QizHA/s320/92ffed44f9a5ae8774556589211f94582bea20cdff64694b6525e71e5d997186.0.png" width="320" /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I am obviously behind in writing my holiday and winter blog posts. Today, I am going to travel back in time to a couple of months ago and tell the story of our somewhat derailed Thanksgiving Day plans. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">(Squiggly finger sounds . . . doodle loo doodle loo . . . #WaynesWorldReference)<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Right around the time my husband, Dan, and I were scheduled to travel to Eastern Idaho for a quick Thanksgiving with family, a winter weather advisory was issued for all of the areas we would be driving through.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXL_odoZ7Dn_8pKKD9DHUyyLNxDHLSG55f3GUKFjbl3K58ycKK0YkRSK_Iop9aa_TjZETIIX9_apIXLCUIBLuP3Mh60Z-uiDGQ6l5dRGAAcpkbTsCPG3IHZ3mYxhBpUwCErDFZr7S6EPF1QCBdAsUhUXu8NxX0WG1sdbzwiTMK1QGhic2oViXGCQ/s320/a4222c2d1f82fb2117823329c496b0b1339d144f28f6847bd62bb6e725aadabb.0.png" width="320" /></div> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The problem was I didn't have any flexibility to arrive earlier or leave later because of my rehearsal schedule for <i>Elf </i> (I was in a musical), and the days and times we could get away and needed to return fell right in the middle of the advisory. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We watched the local weather reports for two days, hoping it would change or that one of the meteorologists would tell us what we wanted to hear. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Eventually, we decided the risk wasn't worth it. When Dan, who usually enjoys driving in the snow, mentioned it was an awful lot of driving in potentially hazardous conditions, that settled it for me.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="808" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisIX_e9MF9Gi02ha9AagrzWKAtiRfy8EkVxf42gjE-P_0izO3AxNEsVulYnEICgaPI5ANWU-Dho_QR4U1jfMhxUVxf-CeKdAGw9bj7639nI0zV0Gu_W91eqyTw9r3zfTBhrx8Jm29aMtqEAljTuQfcp6nVM8fG5TEECGnP03qM17_oJVk6W8uonA/s320/15781157_1567349033289238_2402012079477418114_n.jpg" width="269" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Despite our disappointment in missing the annual Twin Falls Turkey Trot tradition and a family dinner, we managed to have some fun.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I didn't have time to prepare a "real" dinner, but I happened to have ingredients on hand for a tuna noodle casserole.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">And I had already baked some Hello Dollies for the trip, only the best dessert ever. (I should have made them for the <i>Hello Dolly</i> cast when I was Irene Molloy two summers ago.)<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="314" data-original-width="474" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguoLx-UAjYGYJS8uIGsNBAaSz60Eq3KflxAJeHXZHWO4iIOUCpZl1WVwl5eUnRo876BITaX_UZ5Nfm4c6p5EcwEfyxfFhJVroWE_i-MCpA7G2R6X8WSCUcO6Lwmf3rdcaBaqH-X6U51YHJGcEG1Hmqwe9d79_lAAfM7KJBRXxRThjbLdYe0C2tlQ/s320/OIP.jpg" width="320" /> <br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then we signed up at the last minute for Boise's Turkey Day 5K. <br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="845" data-original-width="475" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitNasNvF16StKjXrqF7WlEeiBBUcPzH2vpEikLmRDsXn_V4s56rjTjiN8N1XAve4NNkf95OUwfGR77xy4XVO2AI7XIVLkalZkysEkeCAgEJoZB15TTYYzSo_z4JrBsWjk6awQwju3tnX_6oY1nfEqmEtNacjIgQ16TsHRpEk-MwpOkxdvFdUveCQ/s320/Share-1755528807606294947.jpg" width="180" /></div> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Boise's Thanksgiving fun run is just that, a lot of fun. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This year, 3000 people registered. The run winds around the North End, a really cute downtown neighborhood that we all wish we could afford.<br /></div> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No one dressed up as Native Americans–thank God–something we did, in fact, witness the one time we ran in a Turkey Trot in Eastern Idaho. <br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> <br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What I did see were a few people in turkey costumes and a certain local Pulitzer Prize winning author who ran past me and ended <i>way ahead</i> of me at the finish line. I was a little starstruck by that one. Dan was pretty impressed too. (We might be slightly nerdy, fangirling over an author.)<br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />I also saw some rollerbladers on the route. A few of them were also dressed up like turkeys. Keep Boise Weird . . . <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-sDMWUBv1ezx2KfLwfeTuTy1oAk-SFEfgMDxxx34wsUW_UrXqE4zU8i8GD9ts_iXqlYoRyXtzJ2WvRkAAR-fHjUgztGv2wdjUMv1YngpR0LMX9kaLvc7nQ_lmOHpkDwgsztoRVY2mMFvII57WhxCQbhnXCxXp5hwLtHbdhdTYkColijTvZ1DsPw/s320/5cfdb90f91988c338603ad5e04fc2c8aa7c0436f16579ab42d9304426ece8633.0.png" width="320" /> </div> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Dan and I ended 51st and 87th in our age groups. I am not ashamed of this. I am a middle-aged woman with tennis elbow in both arms. Anything above 2999th place is a win for me.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbJDQhnIyg6bIjF7xdDr5DvE9AbsF30fgjCgrBYnIJ17BgEz4j8WwUeT3mUMS3YWQYRMX6bHHxb6afXFjb4DUSfVnIJ4v7nj4BwPa3WLAYGZf8oImE1YoVqLGyrJRVsFNkvWtBzLF4v4FzqyhJnd28K6nn4yZmp0cAq6GwAOj1SQt8RLOj5yiE5A/s320/2e3da313f83c2ba617813f7a9a0f7ec7a723bd2c217b587286899611776ac08c.0.png" width="320" /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Of course, Dan actually beat me, but a girl can dream (see image above).<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;">
<i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-57794191492621570952024-01-05T07:00:00.001-07:002024-01-05T07:00:00.144-07:00Reading Challenge 2023 (A.K.A. The Year I Failed To Meet My Goal) <div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW9HvYiSO24D2MlzVyqi9EaU9eAQZltoSSQSRJC01J0ZJD6HD27zLFFvzoAnCu-JIHfeQNM6AtZXui6CZ0YMbMD3rlM8xLQ6fdx_Xkt-Ei7aVl2OnFXp-nU5HMAYQ8cyA3qOxmo396b8ZwMh97x55rGkh-euYLvblq1wRJEcyuZJnlx-C35FNB7A/s320/aee3f6632ae852239c0f2a192475c2af43f599e466cc062fc765bb6570e0c6e0.0.png" width="320" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I did not, in fact, read 23 <a href="http://injillswords.blogspot.com/2023/01/reading-challenge-beckys-twenty-two-in.html">books in 2023</a>. By the time my Goodreads tracker told me I needed to read 4.5 books per week for the rest of the year in order to meet my not-very-lofty goal, I decided it was time to scale it back and read a few short stories.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMUNmamSjShcnzd3Hw_l_pAo0W_ixFfXY6k7X3xe57ZhBgJ0TysMlH0L2Xpchn94PIn9g7RePwOYp1mjEXLYy85HmpjwSt9ierrW6tOCvM2jPgb8eAKSSEp5e_mDjjyDIZQGQQDt4UEn8xo5X9aHmg_l-ZM5iEGH2m-1gMpxOI6vW9RphiWyL0MA/s320/9830a7ea3f10593072928ae10621f2bf09cc279beda27f5995ece52dca5bfba3.0.jpg" width="320" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I did, however, read 20 books in 2023. I'm going to aim for 20 in 2024 again and probably for the rest of my life . . . at least until I retire. It was a cute trend while it lasted, the whole match-the-number-of-books-to-the-year thing.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Yes, I know some people read 100+ books a year. Obviously, I am not going to be reading 100 books a year right now. I mean, I haven't even updated my blog since September (<i>until today . . . bwa ha ha). </i> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">My husband, Dan, read, like, two books this year, so I'm still better than him.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikagvl8Bl2juNlDNnUNXm7Qmt4wzLmwaaZMpl1QBRe0tagnLv0Y3TU8ZY8bPA95-TqY9O7FhXyZkqsmVELgQUZT49l_0vGMigkrh3i26_cbKPMs-ga6SsU7WmWzO-B3vCod9YOBlLSUJfb5p8EueaE3tKKc9FjqP5k9ZTmfRG8qo1_cooSWx0F3Q/s320/6994704996074addf7b27f5ef5240d409e801180b054a208c8d0648c37a15589.0.jpg" width="320" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Pity party aside, I did love my year of reading. That's the important part, right? </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Fun fact: I've already finished my first book in my 2024 challenge. You'll have to wait until next year's blog post to find out what it was though.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><h2 style="text-align: center;">Becky's 20 Books of 2023 <br /></h2><b> </b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>JANUARY</b><br />1. <i>Henry and the Paper Route </i>by Beverly Cleary<br />Notes and Favorites: Henry’s enthusiasm over the prospect of getting a paper route brought back memories of the heyday of the print newspaper. It was a nostalgic read for this daughter of a journalist and former newspaper employee (as I worked my way through college).</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />2. <i>The Song of Achilles</i> by Madeline Miller<br />Notes and Favorites: "Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out the sun." Aristos Achaion . . . <br /><br /><b>FEBRUARY</b><br />3. <i>Henry and the Clubhouse </i>by Beverly Cleary<br />Notes and Favorites: I enjoyed that this installment also included several Ramona and Beezus shenanigans.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />4. <i>The Maidens </i>by Alex Michaelides<br />Notes and Favorites: I needed this book at this point in time, such a twisty, dark ride, fun to read, and not too taxing on my brain and emotions. <br /><br /><b>MARCH</b><br />5. <i>Ribsy</i> by Beverly Cleary<br />Notes and Favorites: This clever installment in the Henry Huggins collection switches perspectives between a lost Ribsy and the humans he encounters in order to tell this sweet story about the loyalty and friendship of a boy and his dog.<br /> </div><div style="text-align: left;">6. <i>Barrel Fever and Other Stories</i> by David Sedaris <br />Notes and Favorites: David Sedaris enlists his hilarious sister, Amy, to help read these early stories and essays, making listening to the audiobook especially worth it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="856" data-original-width="685" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXVfrLfm-ZSb_d0Ob42xiiYkPKbm_KOPexW3gSwZyan8e_xv0IET_UIigCUhR3tfmw-ONF8yuXScJmIVH0bEvXKxActgjz3c48Pew_dZFb77ALgbgfQj7jKOxq0zFna8XhngIuMEPtwSKtmBl1BK8waUIUS1-z5wSNjzuEHQA8-lUXMeXsHQLiLA/s320/FB_IMG_1674957356208.jpg" width="256" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><b>APRIL</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">Nothing<b>. </b>I finished nothing<b> </b>thi<b>s </b>month.<b></b><br /><br /><b>MAY</b><br />7. <i>The Mouse and The Motorcycle</i> by Beverly Cleary<br />Notes and Favorites: This one is different from her other books about animal protagonists because the animal and human can talk to each other. It's also a bit more adventurous than Cleary's other books, with some excitement at the end! <br /> </div><div style="text-align: left;">8. <i>Cloud Cuckoo Land</i> by Anthony Doerr <br />Notes and Favorites: A love letter to libraries and books, and oh so relevant in this era of book banning and library vilifying . . . <br /><br /><b>JUNE</b><br />9. <i>Runaway Ralph</i> by Beverly Cleary<br />Notes and Favorites: Still as charming as the first in this series, this sequel could be subtitled "Ralph Goes to Summer Camp."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />10. <i>Ralph S. Mouse</i> by Beverly Cleary<br />Notes and Favorites: If the last book could be subtitled “Ralph Goes to Summer Camp,” this one would be “Ralph Goes to School.” On a side note, I love how Beverly Cleary always portrays public school teachers in such a positive light.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="213" data-original-width="142" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx8xc7CkRSQlWzekix-4IwYeMAg5uMm3e5pgpiX2kwq8TtqmkJ9k2j3cYpeUtkY-BiyzbC8U75KSUO_bTYoDJJ-WXmG0Zv2E0ACnG9-i9VzlKmlGsgtgQVwApEeX0zSfCkqRCcfWCdboF8tG9JwRULuGCHqp63PdrRr7k_TXXOndnxhaPco8PQQw/w267-h400/FB_IMG_1673900054368.jpg" width="267" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>JULY</b><br />11. <i>The Storyteller: Tales of Life and Music</i> by Dave Grohl<br />Notes and Favorites: “We are all indebted to the women who have given us life. For without them, there would be no music” (p 20). <br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">“There is no textbook, no manual to refer to when in need of emotional guidance. It is a process that cannot be controlled, and you are hopelessly at the mercy of its grip, so you must surrender to it when it rears its ugly head, no matter the fear” (p. 185).</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />12. <i>Love in the Time of Cholera</i> by Gabriel García Márquez<br />Notes and Favorites: While beautifully written, I couldn’t get past the disturbing themes of sexual assault resulting in love. Toward the end of the book, the protagonist (who I’ve come to believe we are not supposed to necessarily like) even engages in Lolita-ish pedophilia/incest, after many years of sexual coercion (because women just need a little convincing). <br /> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Of course, I’m pretty sure Márquez is comparing love to plague, sickness, and disease throughout the book, and none of the marital or extra-marital relationships are great, so perhaps we’re not intended to root for the two main characters' reunion in the end anyway. <br /> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Maybe I should have read <i>One Hundred Years of Solitude.</i> I’ve heard that one is less rapey, more magic realism. <br /><br /><b>AUGUST</b><br />13. <i>Make it Stop</i> by Jim Ruland<br />Notes and Favorites: I bought this book from the author, a pretty well renowned rock journalist, at a music festival in Nevada. It was the most fun, fast-paced book I read this summer. And I'm crossing my fingers for a sequel and/or a movie. <br /><br /><b>SEPTEMBER</b><br />14. <i>Reckless: My Life as a Pretender</i> by Chrissie Hynde<br />Notes and Favorites: My favorite part of this memoir was Hynde's insights into the British music scene.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="593" data-original-width="563" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2HPVxUDoQ1N5zqmAX23mrf8ky8Y6Eyw5ECfZP2gMEO15Fz_OnbGBtpRJpkJm3pt0JQG8YjMC0oSxT-z3DGv2AdxJIlEA9dZYqjKYtFxK2wDMW76bmXptnkjanTwau6QFqumwLAdjP6H578qgwgu7W8N7Mx8NqtNqEOTees87nCHEuck9Qt6d5cw/s320/FB_IMG_1676128488737.jpg" width="304" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b> </b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>OCTOBER</b><br />15. <i>The Starless Sea</i> by Erin Morgenstern<br />Notes and Favorites: "As soon as there's an unquestionable truth there's no longer a myth" (p. 542). </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">More modern in some ways than <i>The Night Circus,</i> Morgenstern builds yet another enchanting fairy tale universe. This is the second homage to books, libraries, and storytelling that I have read this year, definitely timely in light of recent book bannings.<br /><br /><b>NOVEMBER</b> <br />16. <i>Charlie and the Chocolate Factory</i> by Roald Dahl<br />Notes and Favorites: I reread this as research for our 5th and 6th grade spring musical. I wonder if anyone else thought Willy Wonka was a little kinder in the book than in other adaptations . . .<br /><b><br />DECEMBER</b><br />17. <i>The Mer-Child: A Legend for Children and Other Adults </i>by Robin Morgan<br />Notes and Favorites: This was a charming and poignant short story by one of my favorite feminists (now a podcaster), very Little Mermaid-esque infused with modern social commentary.<br /> </div><div style="text-align: left;">18. <i>Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator</i> by Roald Dahl<br />Notes and Favorites: This Wonka iteration was more sci-fi than the original. Is it weird that I missed the bratty kids and obnoxious parents from the Chocolate Factory?<br /> </div><div style="text-align: left;">19. <i>Holidays on Ice</i> by David Sedaris<br />Notes and Favorites: This collection includes “The Santa Land Diaries,“ so I couldn't pass it up this time of the year. Some of the other stories are a little morbid for Christmas time–LOL. I still enjoy his nonfiction essays best, and this collection also includes a few of those. <br /> </div><div style="text-align: left;">20. <i>The Grownup</i> by Gillian Flynn<br />Notes and Favorites: I edited my reading challenge goal to a nice, even 20 books and found this awesome short story by none other than the twisty Gillian Flynn. It was a great way to end the year! </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="714" data-original-width="798" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdqCxxsc9pPF3Q6cAlZUIDeRP48Rj175VtCoZcYeQPP9dIZrMasbEvnGxD71nees71QOHGgzTsMOGCVhogVfKEzU76Ey8uYUFBzV1DM5bZ_SV0BIg-L9BaG3kEQiWm3s6tK2OfXlGJQruA3_LgZAkY3Y5PRCF-uSQ-4dh1oyJ_Z17zRCslDBhLcQ/w400-h358/Screenshot%20(4).png" width="400" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="715" data-original-width="816" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs8x4bCH4XasE3BVw61mP-9LDeESElsbJRlMAJ8-7gD4VdRkYZASyKVt4LTRdGqndoPKGqk5nYvCojXvwZpq85pOTKsaarFgVmIKJUyTkMY9zHdzOG8GRU63RMGoqsBZOZkQL7PKwyY1qHojlj5qHKJDsp-c8Hs59cRwFm2uawNj97dz4EqC_t0g/w400-h350/Screenshot%20(5).png" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">
<i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-44897225680207574342023-09-25T07:00:00.017-06:002023-09-25T07:22:57.373-06:00That Time I Was in a Mosh Pit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbvbfq1fzNhCm8T_WivAJPevN1HCHkcvRWa4wovdE1RAb5UQXxcpEVJUKzs5nAK7Urv4PuG15rG4Eq7YQzWc5SizeqI_DqTOXTLyu_o9YalLVugbvs7tUayAvJEg9xDtCHLBdsEBQFSlPmD3NDSyv5MLKLi2t5sr6Lz0DktbqBHgbhK_6O2oUDzA/s320/FB_IMG_1694272465974.jpg" width="240" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I avoided the mosh pit for thirty years. I am a GenX-er, and I never moshed. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I attended many concerts during my college years that had circle pits, mosh pits, pogoing, slam dancing, etc., but I always watched this phenomena from a distance. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There was a reason Kathleeen Hanna popularized the phrase, "Girls to the front!" Women were sick of getting assaulted by dudes at rock shows. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">My moshing window closed years ago. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">However, over Labor Day weekend, I found myself in a pit at a Pixies concert. Weird, because most people who are old enough to remember the band's heyday probably don't mosh anymore. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Case in point—this t-shirt coming to a middle-aged GenXer near you:<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOrDXaXfIYgFvghne_FMC2Y9y0QtdKHQGjxqN2_pnJ9GQlaqlbbbp2Za4pVlGfcd3qG-35c8k0FiBBm9aV0NRHBMkyAoKa8uPQAp5K6LJJJuaYEeGCasq9de4B_8w7TFjZsIo0az5_AAy83Hnd5_dOQc-bgh4CY91XsKiaA_d70iWnVftns4qJ9g/s320/mockup-9ce01ea2_1024x1024@2x.webp" width="320" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;">In a twist of dramatic irony, the Millennial friend who attended with us was asking about circle pits and mosh pits just before the concert started. He had seen a pit at a Metallica concert the week before and wanted to know what the hell it was.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"People just started running around in a circle and slamming into each other." <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Little did we all know, he would experience his first mosh pit that night. And so would I (insert eye roll here).<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div>We found a spot in front, and I figured I would be safe since most of the concert goers looked way past their moshing days.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Toward the end of Modest Mouse's set, a group of young teenagers rushed the stage and started a mosh pit to the left of us. Modest Mouse didn't strike me as a very mosh-able band. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHeorQFL3Mbl9BwBcTB27BMlBThHr75NbVqdRvAVSLcwUMDULD8SHyaDVcqnCi69a9zDzTThSGizxcYqIMgVzk_Z7AlpWEsdgtuShgPucCFA1FPeZx65rghfnNKvkilJpXl0rAawHLW-dYiS7e9U3S9hMtb4JbCCFeml25NIKrMrLucQOXUmN42Q/w400-h225/PXL_20230905_012729966.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Modest Mouse<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;">But, remarkably, GenZ was really there for Pixies. Had they heard about them from their grandparents? </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div>Not that I'm complaining. I'm kind of impressed with these young people's taste in music.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">When Pixies took the stage, the real moshing began, mostly to my left. The right side stayed tamer, although someone made a feeble attempt at a pit once or twice. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I kept my elbows up and my hands out, ready to push people away. I had to survive the night. I was supposed to teach children the next day. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">(By the way, children, I do not condone violence at concerts or any other venue.)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I sandwiched myself between my Millennial friend and my husband, Dan, to avoid a bloody nose or getting hit by the big guys falling into me. Yeah, I used my friend and husband as a human shield. I'm not sorry. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">“Sorry,” I muttered to younger guy I fell into, who wasn't participating in the pit but seemed to be amused by it. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">“It’s fine. It’s a pit!” </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"Yeah, I know. My generation invented pits. I've avoided them for thirty years.” </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Only one guy tried to crowd surf. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">“I’m not catching him,” I told Dan.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">An older guy behind us (who was not moshing) kept leaning forward and saying, “I got you. I got your back." </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Then he added, "This is wilder than I expected."</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">Most of the GenX-ers just stood there, smirking at the youngsters (a totally GenX thing to do). Some of the bigger, middle-aged guys elbowed the young kids away, protecting us older folks. I am eternally grateful. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGhd6N-GgQ42H50TM7N6s3QJe8vkaz04859srGJ5UTKrtUYUR3uRt-YHEbebV-B3fj2kGl991BB2qPU7r0kn8jBHEiSLli3ZIqhdaU6C_u4hdb7Rgzl55YaRvDC1jihjHHx7PTwTRp_PXqOo1RbKwULu6ymEw_JCAN1aWL_CvCl79l_UEB4Yn5uw/w400-h225/PXL_20230905_024935470.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PIXIES</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"></div></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">We were surprised to see so many young teenage girls moshing. Then they dropped their smartphones and spent half the concert crouching on the ground shining a flashlight from someone else's phone in all of our eyes. That was definitely something GenX didn’t have to worry about back in the day.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">After the concert that night (spoiler alert: I survived), Dan said, “I don’t know why they were moshing to some of the slower Pixies songs. I was thinking, 'That's not a song you would normally mosh to . . .' ” </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Kids these days. They're not doing the concert mosh pit thing right.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">
<i> </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/tPgf_btTFlc" width="320" youtube-src-id="tPgf_btTFlc"></iframe></div><br /> </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-75896392476488046102023-08-21T07:00:00.001-06:002023-08-21T07:00:00.187-06:00Here We Go Again: Teaching Year #22!<div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd3KEGkNoOUL65OjOrdA7YUDQ_dF79zdmdEvg5dFPfGapEWLJc55Dza_3S-D_Jmzb38tF3ZrKwTrDi43tY01Xya294uauehTJJJ5e4TUaOVXnXZGCJ05gwGgXMWs14jDsSNOWhObkttbHhiELcE_pqbhoPZHeQxkBmaERRNLv6nZXfarnqWki-zw/s320/PXL_20230816_133211235_exported_1034_1692215552416.jpg" width="240" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">School started last week, and just like that, I found myself in my twenty-second year of teaching music. I am two-thirds the way to retirement. Occasionally, I even have students who are children of former students. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">All of these things blow my mind. None of this seems possible. I don't feel old enough for any of it.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The good news is . . . I still love my job, even after two-plus—gulp—decades. I love my job, in part, because there is never a lack of blog material. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Welcome to Mrs. Duggan's first week of school.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Shorter Than the Teens </b> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The day before the kids arrived, we hosted a sneak peek at our school. One of my former students, who is now in junior high, attended the sneak peek with her sister. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">About halfway through our conversation, my former student sized me up and declared, "You're still short! You haven't gotten any taller!" </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"That's how it works! You keep growing, and I stay the same," I said.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">She added, "You haven't changed at all. You still look young." </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">She knows how to score points, that's for sure!<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Copy Cat is Scary</b> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">For the first time ever, one of the new kindergartners was scared of Copy Cat, my sidekick puppet who teaches kids to sing. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Usually, the kindergartners (and sometimes the sixth graders) beg to see Copy Cat everyday, and I have to think up all kinds of crazy things as an amateur puppeteer.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Copy Cat sits on a cart, which happened to be right behind this kindergartner's dot. I noticed something was wrong when the little boy kept scooting farther and farther away from his dot. A bit later, he put a hand by his eye, like a shield. Then a moment or two later, he started to cry. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">When I figured out what was going on, I moved the little boy away from Copy Cat's resting place, but all of the kids kept begging for Copy Cat to come back out and say "hi." </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I didn't quite know what to do. I mean, I'm not in this business to traumatize children. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Luckily, by the end of class and after a quick chat with his teacher, he left the music room, pointing at Copy Cat and saying, "I like that guy. He's a funny guy!" </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I don't know if he was trying to convince himself or me. He gave Copy Cat an anxious look and a wide berth as he passed by.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgaS4Nfq3IK5qdoQw4PxwjXepC9WYFk67B2qDZWsu8WN4Rbj0ShV-jwIRwm42xim7xjuQ6TZXdEdPGScKNfsqyY2HXdtjvOcyuIaHyQ_rkLdshwU2cNpXa9Kz7-M5u6V2hdpaZ86E7N0vZS-fcmrbs-uRJLzkf35MrRbUXhwjIn_Ie64LtIkrcJw/s320/PXL_20230816_195115396_exported_895_1692215508492.jpg" width="240" /></div> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>My Baby Guitar</b> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In the other kindergarten class, I took out my guitar to sing our school song. One of the kindergartners spotted my ukulele in the corner and exclaimed, "Oo! A baby one!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">He ran over to the ukulele and picked it up, "I have to show you something!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I caught him just before he started strumming. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Students are not encouraged to touch Mrs. Duggan's personal instruments, but "a baby one?" That's pretty cute.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYVzt2XG2C_F0rQlX641_x7sfXnndN0ZM56kBG3rI6g5Ut77BnjZ-Sv52XdDKsIuQDSjyzAvGJgTdSWv4RIgRiShadsHbYx8vka8-vOHzgiwmhtpAsGDNH5T2JfOXp00DklR2wXsAp8BjlTPtQaYSdAMnWyoE2ZNatMexWP93FQ01QTmh_QGh6fw/s320/c78f8aa7914aed376eb3a287073cf781af2a9a40e9a7738c5d4cd5858b9e610a.0.png" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>ROAR!</b> <br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Our school song is a parody of Katy Perry's "Roar" because we're the Jaguars and we have "ROAR expectations" —you get the idea. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">One of my students, who is learning English, lets out a little "Roar!" every time we finish a phrase. I figure it's a good way for him to practice his language skills.<br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Mrs. Duggan Encourages Sassiness </b> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;">One of my sixth graders asked me if Willy Wonka was going to be our spring musical this year. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"I've been practicing the Sassy Girl part with my dad all summer!" she said.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Oh man. I'm sure her father LOVED that.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="249" data-original-width="250" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTAAuYW5MnmKBD66kgAh-PmgLgrtwGeeqOTd3i9aJMY_Kr6gjdRh1h8BNROxsh3gRF9Hgf9iM_Os420AGw2VlEKgIjrzwEb9ZUjfDklwom8QiU7sZJuyMPp9TSunLR2jSaMf0exfVPdscOJwWT23Y7xHUJxWb1XBRwwddoPvjhzaaFnc9s2cNQoA/s1600/9c5a810e4fc302b4e86d0530a8cfbb2b.jpeg" width="250" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Speaking of Veruca Salt, my husband, Dan, sneaks a new album onto my computer the first day of school every year. This year, it was the new Louise Post album. On a side note, we saw her in concert this summer. The 90s live on at my house!<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/F5nJXkgqvJE" width="320" youtube-src-id="F5nJXkgqvJE"></iframe> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Sugar Cravings</b> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Note to self: Never buy Skittles or Starbursts for the prize box again. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I've almost eaten the entire bag. I thought they would be safe because they weren't chocolate. I didn't realize how much I love them. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5XfK4IVTa65sdV-SnnfzGkuSNWpEZnzcWv_6dRvrHXvputjINiExAn4f7sl5Z6J-0PGb2nbp9EXuVNqNVzKrozbcKqIC7xuby_XpDrEk99cRftRH4XfM-hmz9s3Cj7vO5mWc6eIsj_zAJgkzGaJSDhLqMNWQkE50pqDx4hjNN7yYP8G_SPE8xGw/s320/Skittles-Louisiana-2003.jpg" width="320" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>When Students Move On</b> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This time of the year, my former students get nostalgic and visit me quite a bit, and I am always so happy to hear when music continues to be a part of their lives. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">This week, one of my former students, now a teen, told me he was still singing in the high school choir. On the same day, a parent informed me that her daughter had just been accepted into the university music program. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Those are the anecdotes that keep me going (oh, and all the Skittles I keep eating).</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDBe1Bj19rQ3BYJOrX8CfIC2c-w_5ym9bKgYgycB6O0fwzbOFh-6x3S_eIiE3cx4XbY43VzrMaew6OfL-LMsygx3HS0xZA-6RPespebtJODHfRV5K7ESHSblbaUBNjuoDA0ws5WPAPf5z00Ohkg3kOfV3EhCen998MJWV-hNFlK83cH-LPCHw2Eg/s320/d30209e6c5f423a2af25e66deccd1c46bb2952da4723c3130407a83341200916.0.png" width="320" /></div> </div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">
<i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-10435880302004872902023-07-17T07:00:00.001-06:002023-07-17T07:00:00.141-06:00Happy Belated Birthday To Me (and Dan)<div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiCkk1Pd6tT3Sv-17d9rUKxec34HxzFoi2eGar0Y8DAo1H8mhUysi0KXA1SUkMDfbyRuLuo_bHsKTClJQBVsQ4JKw1CCeyRDyqG8LH49iYjn_tv2TDxC-owCbAh6F81m2o3bHEFVYIM357KQHPW6yyrBvkwot6rJhnrDA7OMagEmzohG3HYoAZig/s320/PXL_20230420_021024861.jpg" width="240" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I didn't get around to blogging about my husband's, birthday in April or my birthday in June, so I decided to combine them into one belated birthday post. Here are my favorite birthday images from 2023!<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix7zzIWy3oych0U8X6KsL76MCiwG-l8wN-AOmUuUJo73oJUD4YjXQieR0D9P2Ie5m-bh1MtdyHwUOEla_kP9cS5XEeLorrQInfJAQ0gtNz2zen9u-TUhICD-po_f-TVsvdYmmYIWOi-OYG5ta9qHk2LYCVUKo5FvuABvfblBfT1q-9KRvSAXHc_g/s320/PXL_20230420_022645621.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My husband, Dan, celebrating with one Red Velvet Cake and one German Chocolate Cake<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div>I gave Dan <i>Mario Kart 8 </i>for his birthday. Neither of us are sure who enjoys playing it the most though.<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="845" data-original-width="634" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRjujR4QcjHuLBgQz7p0odRmhNWySWJwq4BIluqJc3BAN1sEKM0YPkdfz89G1h8z6wKcKTPfLCwVyWGz8UspxF5AFN7THiCjw1lf82cKNIBU21AZ5_jznuG7Rnk9b_792yCMfTNZ4h3y-PEA9Qzm98vXFR56I7P3r0vFMlGAuAAWP-qNX4GeHrIQ/s320/PXL_20230607_014727146.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birthday dinner at The Melting Pot<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">We were still on our <a href="http://injillswords.blogspot.com/2023/06/road-trip-2023-national-parks-part.html">road trip</a> during my birthday. We stopped in Twin Falls to visit family before heading back to Boise.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="845" data-original-width="1126" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3QMIGcQ1c3AjOi5ZiNKMixloJCaLsDge38Kf426uvKjnmElzqYtJ4bphPxzXPJWAK5Y2FymhhKMOnHQUdW92NlPEGdtq06yx5Pvekb9dvzURSfvhqu-iiT3zumfKg1e3ANg1VIduh1vv5ohODey-7THBxjbDK4-VK6OLGdq1-ZNpWifv518RsSQ/w400-h300/PXL_20230606_051402789-COLLAGE.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cutest cards ever from the nephews<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-CF5eF98HVJg31s-UewNt3iRXiNcteTuyYSC5ewhRHoUQlF6w0xASwGjLczwouQtFNQYH8OkDIXazo4GPAUNOjoe_j_d26iwkD-KvXEnC8y6W7IMx3LD_wcnlN0_OCvMbmWZa27aw3TRafcb8P6VkQZsru2-ljeek7ZH5GsckezD5Pc3U7SD3Q/s320/PXL_20230605_201249750.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="180" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shoshone Falls<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3840" data-original-width="2160" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGgedsoXdcUU7fDfiYKjAZi2YyF79FOkxEZUfiKVvz9e9jCcTWWWMLfDYkiljHnT-qWtDbezvVC9_JXLDihWC9jwMN00y5HPgyVJWUD_cIg2rHXOTey0EX0tkQrkim1vIUJ0NbYOd1tZLQrKdfgTwJbq73WREuaWPBMNl7kk-5L3crEQqfZv1o2g/s320/PXL_20230605_175030685.jpg" width="180" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="845" data-original-width="845" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOKFv-SMaFe6-TG6s0t-dah3CG2g1rkTdHsKXuFyUkVMlo8f8HssKgmkyu2cmw5mXhwvvEC_YiIs7OGKlocoL53CONhwfdfOwyjoQ5AscxK95EPx4zYT-tHTHr9tCfsaw7RUWlCn9_DeX4xH2jdGWx2AXJGJ1zcjjBxznDgL8gnWsn9tdNglvFug/w400-h400/PXL_20230605_174757697_exported_333_1685991307365-COLLAGE.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birthday hike to Auger Falls<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="845" data-original-width="634" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJUIB1-Ls94T5kCNmc8SFEW7rYLL0aAzbq_BnUzBQ8M6qPeMhsjF4KHkZIXc94s7Z5Fa3tngNheQqLsLZPfovDYTWHn5feCf-cY6I2fqCusp5ekqIOm5Pr_kvji0lJCjg9hfA_gyslr1wCom4PQuyjvNi0Cl1ePBa_IE8e4PWi2fi820NyYwC_0A/w480-h640/PXL_20230606_030844919-COLLAGE.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="480" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quick detour to Camas Prairie<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;">Lately, I've been working on my Sally O'Malley impression. It's only four years away, after all.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"Um . . . I'm not sure I'm looking forward to your 50th birthday," Dan said after watching my totally rad routine.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>I CAN KICK AND STRETCH . . . I'M FIFTY, FIFTY YEARS OLD!</i><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/cG2JDiZFG0o" width="320" youtube-src-id="cG2JDiZFG0o"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;">
<i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-25178838334899639712023-07-03T07:00:00.002-06:002023-07-03T07:00:00.133-06:00Road Trip 2023: The Rock 'N Roll Part<div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz3PKWvTheJRecNMeb3cbQ35sWZ-9vrZKuyel8MANfwsW8ZgYkU80VkAtW6UMe-Xf4ym6wQ-B_Cjem8q3KB_m_5k2M0kZwwWeFE9SwQTiGeV8kD3XF-kOL9t1kNkLAMPR08lls0IGFerYTdjNhA-KJIy3P3hKRFtl9PRVdm_8-2lXZt-RRmwR75Q/s320/PXL_20230602_014801155.jpg" width="240" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I've spent the last couple of blog posts detailing our summer road trip, including our visits to a few <a href="http://injillswords.blogspot.com/2023/06/road-trip-2023-national-parks-part.html">National Parks</a> and a <a href="http://injillswords.blogspot.com/2023/06/road-trip-2023-scary-drive-part.html">scary drive</a> that was, of course, my husband's idea.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We ended our journey at Schellraiser, a DIY-type music festival in the middle of nowhere, in the Nevada desert. Think <a href="http://injillswords.blogspot.com/2023/04/treefort-at-45.html">Treefort</a>, with some of the same bands (Dinosaur Jr.!), but on an even smaller scale. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">There were no metal detectors. The people barely checked our tickets. It was way more chill, with way more (legal, it was Nevada, not prudish Idaho) weed. The shuttle to and from the festival was called "The Cannabus," and it was run by one of the local dispensaries. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">On the way to Schellraiser, my husband, Dan, and I made a pit stop at Cathedral Gorge State Park, where we ate lunch and checked out the slot canyons.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: right;"><div class="separator" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ZT5xaJkr3TX-3OWxtMyFvogDNrjepasHDO0alJukaH4n8KI6lCLbiFqsN7tre3_ZbhlUaoMpKMEeH5JncGl5hoZ_xeQH6uB1sPwFO2U4h0yH2WA65epds1M5hjdESg80_rp6_okNfHEbOaCWOHkxfUJJUeMKzWvDRy3QQ1AZkutq70e5CPmrnA/w225-h400/PXL_20230601_203024377.jpg" width="225" /> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq7DBfGQiEi9SYHYnWqn_auUArLBxp_Wl5KyDkz8MoJowMXPB8R0ITdB2JGfDOYC3PpCSfcLy_jHD_jJQ6wrAvFoxDppiWDu6HuKVDwgZYvazkDE_LqTVlbf8QoXXqxNnRVRS_UQt4v1XYKHGjl0mEohM8c_h7QCSMeB4u-3laS2Knvqac38UtxA/w225-h400/PXL_20230601_203221581.jpg" width="225" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUWuJyXwGTyxk_9j4ppm54G8UNYd-YvbsNFgrcZHBH7gTo1BCk8tdS43rWIkyXd6dn7PIqmXKFI4cbFI1YQ8aBWo73_awr7ge_5wo5pvGtAMT_jIxX4qQIUgFIvZRMFMalofHTKQS4yI9ViX4-gPvPBL2xrv7Ng1BE4QA_DdsFUz7UbJW_QSA6cA/s320/PXL_20230601_203731863.jpg" width="180" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyQobj_06sbUSQ_slwbaK6PotRoFkcm3aMGZ6yis2Qilh0vViAsbDajH-1G2gJWBb9HzWVdSx3lZts' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Then we headed to Schellraiser.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjghazawLIZgxhcShCVQ4ZG7g-mg_fxp3SYf2jNdrjKKKbYisya_LjxdA-b62tJDtA3kW3I9FZGP3etuUzM3ohOtQVy_rUCuz7S8RBlZpGhPO17D3IZSJGatEvB3nxYHyX2OcE1wuxWFqSWENKO18tDY1lXcE5d80VNDC3DE8Ip0yvJuakuSPY-Sg/s320/PXL_20230602_021112034.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blitzen Trapper<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXmLO1i0o5Qj9MD2nYVpKlEFK2HjIRSwcoQu0b5LDa6DIAcsRRdtV-rSVzJwpJNQqh7_4lNGBTg9lXn8RDzff2NtoBRPdQs-EbHG79hSlENB8cYdvZH1zXcLP8Cgk3AxB2do21PISpZMJtKZv2jkz553xq3xbkAKiu_bx6qGr69jAidZ35UW764Q/s320/PXL_20230602_013058215.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Vandoliers <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1tA5yYwLkicHwkpyikV6oUMmMsYH2D_gUxBNglj3OGBnQSHclDaPc0qquynZ5jqiZMSoGK_16XnAYNSaO3FT9PTPxUpzWlZMQaBbemZdTssq579H--QMI3yUsSoK2kUkdD9hejNEnE-ouitipuHrnSIBD1aOYCRM-tZh5CW-VFj2qMBtOFGgJTw/s320/PXL_20230603_203935253_exported_633_1685829513200.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Paranoyds<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwOo5UADYlgthIVcfwcBJR37oNmIL0ye11KRnO1wassxrmjFdg5ossJqF_sknCOdDX23AgIryJTKmJTpK6YDl7h6p7JYoRcDmixwdQYrKNEf58aAxGUMsqyJOXnYBxon5_OW7RYdjtr9fkp3rbw2UwLLUUIpP8RQ983vi7EEWWlkmYQPjYsH7E0w/w400-h225/PXL_20230603_040824062.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blonde Redhead<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBfuUXXpMbFBc-a8C0pG9MKwBD2pxARtP2AnB6UoY5OtPHOYbqECrct8Q0PmLErDeJbrXSVlSRG2KKwD92NHInE9abSzOlRn1uCvuytSK8I9Lusz0NlzgjXdJ7V3ks8vZSn19Pf1JgNy40hwuRT7yoknV-JLU3ofxCmLFiyRw6hTn_0yULd__xdA/w400-h225/PXL_20230603_021058938.MP_exported_833.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Joy Formidable<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;">On the second night of the festival, I ordered dinner at one of the food trucks, and they guy asked for my food ticket. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Then he saw my credit card and said, "Oh, you're paying. I thought you were in one of the bands." </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Okay, that was the most amazing thing I heard during the entire trip. My Sleater-Kinney shirt did, in fact, smell like weed by then (from the environment, not from partaking). </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicRowewso5KAHjJzHSG6u28VOAUXQTyRTeRKHxoNEVEctlIXGcgjq3iOHPlrAobSlL0ONJzBcocn9ixuRemlsj7sxE_APfF-fmKfFr-RchnapPFG5a6g31CrwHCQ8_GV5dtFyVLoba7BmRHQGd7JI_T8QIZX4qjt7N1NhVgSiYQi95Bz9pw2FIwA/s320/PXL_20230603_002750456.jpg" width="240" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizEWUdaBrzWRw7bx5rHZWUG5p6EWAOofyogQwytls4tTapsdjRQYQNBIcBcLJIPSfaeuTZSMyM8mmLbM_5GCDglQmsLNQA1wbos3a7Yy_SFfDMT3EVBBG_8Hiclue_8ReEhxxfhYDeffmcEG9LxWmCCOYJIof9arGR_8HUE6EQbw-kqLF5SAvKWQ/s320/PXL_20230603_231819237.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three-day festival vibes</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Dinosaur Jr. headlined the final night, and just as they were starting to sound check, the power to the entire festival went out. I think everyone assumed it was the eight Marshall amps Dinosaur Jr. had on stage. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Then we heard someone say, "They're bringing in some diesel."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Diesel? Why would that matter?' I wondered.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It turned out the power to the festival was being run on a generator, and they had run out of diesel. Dinosaur Jr. was only delayed by about thirty minutes, and they still played a full hour-and-a-half set.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvsIdTIlF6YGXvCzBwZWGLcKV39iraBRhIuhwM2sEUFk-Tg54F9DGlhqly4iSckzaazqza6uIoCFMP7WfTvX7lhnlK-Ay4EK63gJ2xKYAXQfEbfx_kAqoEagt1U65WT3BdWWqgudHAXihZauLXNmyPc9_IZjUJ6TuqyIAW16TnAaOOclg5sJT4ZQ/w400-h225/PXL_20230604_042100563.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dinosaur Jr.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_0Y-gqMvdoKCawfGGY1HRlnTzbpefXrsZ-VMk_plUB6OIvQonq6uF1RGWFZPw6WsgU3z4bgRtpuMFNNr09XIR87WDZZ7rL26jzk0erLuI3VLl4Runke51yiRcz5hTnVfyEXjqsQCSux9lA0lunNkpLAArvkg1_j75IXLeK0JcM5VZquX-kpIDbw/w400-h300/PXL_20230604_044146631.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dinosaur Jr.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Also, fun fact, I didn't shower for three days. #TrueRockNRoller<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">More Road Trip Fun:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://injillswords.blogspot.com/2023/06/road-trip-2023-national-parks-part.html">Road Trip 2023: The National Parks Part</a><br /></div><a href="http://injillswords.blogspot.com/2023/06/road-trip-2023-scary-drive-part.html">Road Trip 2023: The Scary Drive Part</a> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">
<i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-24544483653848226372023-06-24T07:00:00.302-06:002023-07-03T15:31:46.019-06:00Road Trip 2023: The Scary Drive Part<div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7-ZeNujcfLfC8EupWzcH6DTgA4xMZwiHWkMbCPAaDuSXtvJLMTSYDUVjaqWajmgQBy4cybbXr6dCdTJHcTdx-SurTIu3WUaLbc7Poz0bJ3VKZaNgTWI4m1RzThX0bon5X9QopeQcOEkYSu8je9HWymxmY0mnUV4YZu5yyYlOQsYk0lEBCtQEqqw/w225-h400/PXL_20230530_223553526.jpg" width="225" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"Tomorrow,
Dan wants to take a certain scenic drive that sounds like it might
cause death . . . or possibly lead to divorce. We'll see . . ." </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I wrote this passage in my travel journal the night we took the Mount Carmel-to-Zion Highway.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">In this second installment of my <a href="http://injillswords.blogspot.com/2023/06/road-trip-2023-national-parks-part.html">summer road trip series</a>, I would like to tell you about the "scenic drive" Dan decided to take us on. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBvOcBvgMEe2GOXj_hOwekd2cWmrWgsTeLWJABuF6G54XGN9G3J9aKHlVaolgERSG9Fv0LAcmkO5Gy13bh_4bZle9X9KLTbMGsrZpRPG2UNuIUkxKPM_f6Msq1ArA91xpH9bqVOzeLkUhic6qqkp6nCyJPhlTUNIkrnh9EuUD1PZbMZdSQkrmsIg/s320/PXL_20230530_220412689.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My face when Dan bribes me with candy before taking us on a scary drive <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">After reading about our national parks experience last week, maybe you're interested now in how we get to all of these fun places. Or not. Either way, here it is. You're welcome. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On Tripadvisor, several of the reviews talked about how beautiful this particular drive was, gorgeous scenery, blah, blah, blah.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">But some of the reviews started with, "Hold on to Your Steering Wheel" and "I Almost Crapped Myself!" </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"I'm FREAKING DONE!! I'm NEVER going on vacation with [my husband] again. This is the third time he's pulled something like this on me . . . I'm going to church Sunday and I'm going to change my life. This was too close to DEATH!!!" </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;">This did not sound like something I would enjoy . . . AT. ALL. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuNMa2JIJUJ0UzZJYpHAKszzMhKsa4FLiEpwxq7u4a7ckPCX6kbAhj6uJv_MoxC8It_E4mK3FU4DMCTmAiXQ_o15IvH-5H4uF-CZgzLt2i7TJeSU4zXqV5w5qSXrJUP5vZfBh026WrkyZwVm5yEyEcqIHiuHFi9J_D5WRu84XykLXAnS-xTgOaSA/s320/PXL_20230530_220440966.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When Dan says, "It [the drive] will be pretty. Eat your Twix bar."</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxWd-ALWMlVWcrtH20fI-zwPwpZgzD4A8UcyrHbdNL_rzc-i-N2YHTdIJGS6Es372w_NaZ05NRUVPsY74NRhGRjLmfWjNEgreD15egpnuwRAvwg97MBxLDLygafZGzAj_klYuJvKOGJiBzKeJZtCQ5mTkUyGdNb2xAJZU87WOEQ5Tz2dnUSGgUqg/s320/PXL_20230530_220523912.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When Dan still refuses to let me veto going the "scenic way"</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyKeZTJNCJ-QyHgze9IgvZM4fYEr0ssAlPcI_oyH7FCztly__AGFzeBSVjHXA98sQi0rhz4bIYJCBA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzeFrybELY0Jz3IdqsfQ7OAs3PG-ZkAeYdH-gTW5yMBCQpeh3-N9DIdJXNXtjA-TBsIJi5NK-9yu8Y' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dz9fysW4YfhLITx97GorpD8pCtArWHkEBeYMJE1lJPKumizOQ04m5tymyulGJz-rbnEqUolpX9au3Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So . . . our drive on the Mount Carmel-to-Zion Highway did not, in fact, end in death or divorce. It actually wasn't as bad as some of the mountain roads Dan has driven in the past. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The scariest part was the mile-long tunnel—no running out of gas or breaking down allowed on that stretch.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Dan made me stand on a rock on the edge of the road, I repeat, on the edge of the <i>high part</i> of the road so he could take a picture of one of the windows in the tunnel. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3431" data-original-width="2268" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKLi4WM6l7QlT3KfnWqfP-WsRuQfPLQIH9YXOpyreQxA-cpFiI8JqofSiXtuUghN3s8B5Jo11npZFVpnL3NPGFzZsJjcZezHLUJBi-lZsooCIIV9YwGh9Baa9cjnU1--J8873j0XvawnuvKQc1xh6eu0qAw2rYgH11e0tzZKh9-tsfBryefHvw-w/s320/PXL_20230530_223634149.jpg" width="212" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">And every time we went around a switchback (there were several) we'd yell, "HAIRPIN TURN! AGGH!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDTtFRQqLZ_rUZTCJ4UlTLKL5ftBfUL0-ZOZoKpLNjmFJcjBsB9VTtL4VMof9fR7wcYD6_PYiin2NmsfQJmkhtXAQFVuZVcEDwa8GcAAPvbCghFgbeo89SbQJqC9mgDL6v4mUabuISea-JuMzbYqASM1rF7dyM0x5T0JWrbQb-6ViIT_a6LjTiyQ/w400-h225/PXL_20230530_223736507.jpg" width="400" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But all in all, everything was fine. I'm fine. We're fine. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And still married.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;">More Road Trip Fun:</div><a href="http://injillswords.blogspot.com/2023/06/road-trip-2023-national-parks-part.html">Road Trip 2023: The National Parks Part</a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://injillswords.blogspot.com/2023/07/road-trip-2023-rock-n-roll-part.html">Road Trip 2023: The Rock 'N Roll Part</a> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-25229637480243647762023-06-17T07:00:00.288-06:002023-07-03T15:31:24.999-06:00Road Trip 2023: The National Parks Part<div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgjMlIdm3I4UJjb9hRw1lyzgqnszgDk6mIAcC0ZM8GG2_WxYvjDQk4RcjsfLd0CcNyuHzeF4zgzdx-1mhhShJIXggz9WruJI_O6gbZ7K1QxcDxIl3A0SPey8bQZ2vCBWziWZu-o91AdpGZA01xoY4d6mgNZ_nHU_J200U26mfIYSW9ob3Z9Gc/s320/PXL_20230526_142115027_exported_901_1685110903133.jpg" width="320" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">This year, my husband, Dan, and I took off on our summer road trip immediately after school got out. That may be one of the reasons you haven't heard from me lately. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">One moment it was Maycember. (Yes, music teachers, not just parents, use this term to describe the chaos that is end-of-the-year concerts and music-related activities. I had performances clear up until the final day of school.) </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The next, I was on a two-week road trip that took us through Utah, Arizona, Nevada, and back up through Idaho. We visited three national parks, attended a three-day music festival, and celebrated my birthday in that span of time. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This week I'm focusing on our trek through the national parks, or as I like to call it, "Becky's Exploration of Her Debilitating Fear of Heights." <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">BRYCE CANYON:</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfmntfuksWDhemToJ36eYhMfPU1nfGbwYlbVTkZnSJdVYSMRb_ucYheidXkoLzt1FsR4LaitTaguxE9_RFe1Bkiqlq6N64j0WmM77F4ukAxO3zvsbptqTyRpiCGAsAEgRUORdFylhLLJBJGVmVoeyn4HedJtzf4p21AMVAJrxire_eQqSWwZc/s320/PXL_20230527_160828813.jpg" width="320" /></div> </div><div style="text-align: left;">We thought about hiking into the canyon on one of the trails, described in the brochures as somewhat easy. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I stood scowling at the path. A ranger approached us and asked if he could answer any questions. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"We're trying to decide if this hike would be alright for her since she's scared of heights," Dan said.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Yeah, this probably isn't the park for you," the ranger said with a laugh. He was stretching his quads, like he was limbering up for a zombie apocalypse (reference to Jesse Eisenberg in <i>Zombieland</i>). <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"> <img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYqsj7L2N_pH1RT2qPCacks2_WMFmh8RrXH2vM4UpLwAX1--c1mStBaXyWDQIEaDf7Sa13DzT5YzuHNnW53ZBJ5vz8U7HCZatwqyEwLy7Eczc5UxRTxOQgIPZpBanXtpIPtNkbcwHzy27kDrscz1MQmk1cH0JGMvDqWTRFAw5lJMNcMaaWwgE/s320/PXL_20230527_162833660.jpg" width="180" /></div> </div><div style="text-align: left;">THE GRAND CANYON:</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCYlRpY_Hgf84jYf9JfvTo7iULkiinAILux-AsBR4_IFfS4LVWL7Y0EebG7XeAgpK0Psb_bsd7FE6ALCQQp0cwFAOAlSQ3ukapvXImrCHUyGlhTQg9O5cE9mDy9C8mO8szF-brmg4RLGRHFxI9BmLNScIZwEoeGUB4GKuA-5-GFv7QdXWRPOk/s320/PXL_20230529_180142256.jpg" width="320" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">My first view of the Grand Canyon was at Hopi Point. I will never forget that feeling of part dread, part awe, part frozen in my tracks. I started that weird hysterical laugh-cry thing I do when my acrophobia kicks in. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="3840" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMWIbkxhAkZTfNmPfFLrVoi7wDHtFRGi3b8X0j-HHDKyrdX8PTjWMhx_iRlRPu4zmGbSlSLEzT1OWYt7v9lSKl2e9t2OOyLrneURCocZPyGEnqfEnLe7C3C9VHf1uBP-kfFQDvO6-X28EEe2mm6u_WNI_0rmwhlnTGtyAGBX73cCbni4vXqDo/s320/PXL_20230529_172433366.jpg" width="320" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm not kidding. This is my fear response to heights. Dan thinks it's hilarious. He won't think it's so hilarious when I finally go over the edge of something.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Eventually, I got used to the view. I was even able to hike several sections (wide sections) of the Rim Trail.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLfDrUEhKlj49UC3imAMXmm4LsZngyg7n5dfRu4pi34eEfmxQF1AaUuCccHBRLVUGTmIhyyXmw9zHPYVfX1pkdqza7gVb2hXVu9ypPS8PWcBqAXvj9H29dJ-8TCWQH4ejV1Au9tB0FEcq9spuWrx7mIPmUeYnmgPQpaUR-LlVSewPmZPZ0KfQ/s320/PXL_20230529_212833677.jpg" width="240" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Dan had originally thought we might even be able to hike the Rim Trail from Mohave Point to Hopi Point. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">But as we approached this area on the park shuttle, the voice on the intercom announced, "You should NOT hike this part of the trail if you are afraid of heights."</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCswvO2DoB4sar-e0UJNwQRyUfyS7AWdOVRdnvBIxanVv4-2TIGmy0mGFgkzZc-BY1-eSOGJ0l9RUUW7_eWgYROiLixG-Xp4RStUdH2m-lOKrmsB6c1ilTzWzkvSA2t4b0pBBLxXTdxMhWPNNt4zY6nhxHpqgvTXAH0zCzz2J_rNeOldoZjNk/w400-h225/PXL_20230530_171430154.jpg" width="400" /> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;">ZION NATIONAL PARK:</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG37k-uPfe0QevNi2lY98z39dBNQ1FSpnDDUiAg9gM3IZhr7Q3AyiwUnSPW8TAFzJJv8Bk-QFRLS_21-3vFo0jgjE62mtLFIVbSo6uVgmwOsnYa-7d5R6JeDni-B27thLxS_3FsVfAJoYgDfspm78yZwzv4z2foXjab6-yWgBFhonN-r1wab8/w225-h400/PXL_20230531_155745787.jpg" width="225" /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Zion was my favorite of the national parks we visited. Plus, we didn't have to hike down a trail from enormous heights to explore the inside of the canyon.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw4-La7TGL95TDfaB6jeXixPWH_ivJAqklaUys_VLN8tSxc1woU87y3hLVd4tsie8ea83QQc_EkMJ90tb5fwVTFPGKiVsYDhGCjUiJJEw8xnfm8lYbwwGafjNLsw2Lv0-cAihDy-owcNiCXDNk7eaFXZO-kC6JQynvT9zv1sygg2OlGOWM19g/w225-h400/PXL_20230531_154905772.jpg" width="225" /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The town where Zion is located is a cute resort. Here, we discovered Cactus Candy.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCR4hqZzTNbcOwcJ-JCFEuslvH39vuscd_icDPIkMkV_tmmWSB-WUNlKT6GvtUEYM4HK5T3psxCU-DmyQq2eKNNJ2J3cUs2-HEf-bz7Z_bkohM1LAS0I9lAZ250rgaRVipvR1J5lCWjPmI7p8fNGAZEX7cAEmXGgbrrtulaJd73_VM9r_aFXE/s320/PXL_20230615_213727511.jpg" width="320" /></div> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's a type of jelly made from Prickly Pear juice. We bought something like five boxes of Cactus Candy during our trip (as souvenirs for others too, not just for ourselves—geesh). </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">All of the souvenirs are Prickly Pear themed in this part of the country, the way Idaho is huckleberry-everything.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">One of our shuttle drivers in Zion sang and danced (and sometimes removed her hands from the steering wheel) as she drove through the park. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"Don't mind me," the driver said. "If you don't talk to me, I sing and dance for myself!" <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">We wanted to get back on her shuttle. It was like riding a Party Bus.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb_XRL-Kip8w57EHcH79PpkBS50WyVW-qYlyc9jifsZbxCvUCWRnc7RNEjqShNwomSI5UVxOvRfSofAa6sLMbXV-lLxEqLcRNlhd4mBK0H3PJqg1csFVAeLnVSOOIxQQfi8frViKA9_ZJIoymaqqSbKCm587A2aDGzF3E2_BG_sUwel5Hd1Fo/w400-h225/PXL_20230531_194623907.jpg" width="400" /> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">More Road Trip Fun:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://injillswords.blogspot.com/2023/06/road-trip-2023-scary-drive-part.html">Road Trip 2023: The Scary Drive Part</a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://injillswords.blogspot.com/2023/07/road-trip-2023-rock-n-roll-part.html">Road Trip 2023: The Rock 'N Roll Part </a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i> </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-42272626185971244892023-04-24T07:00:00.001-06:002023-04-24T07:00:00.187-06:00Treefort at 45<div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglIFfSNIY7l6F-hhSMAB4SvrPXCyjhbYf7CUW6EJWEvTvCYuvAGRZ07kdmaBeiqj4rcQmp7wZHBKC8zRx1WlkQL8Z119qXGdbiSMDOrBvHRpcNt-Kz1iTvlwVG-nRKUGKWOcmar1jVuVQnEM890C4LFOKlGlpBssuBYz26Dtq0lkVIqM7Vc1I/s320/PXL_20230322_221153556b.jpg" width="240" /> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm a month late with my Treefort post, but oh well. Just in case you were wondering, I did, in fact, survive Treefort (and the mud and the wind and the freezing temperatures and the snow —yes, snow), and, most notably, I survived it at age 45. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;">Last year, I caught COVID at Treefort. But this year, I've gotten COVID twice, and I've received every shot and updated booster available to humans right now. I was pretty sure I would dodge another bout of COVID this time around. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Spoiler alert: So far, so good.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">A music festival like Treefort, with its 500 bands and other arts-related activities, can be daunting. I worry about my stamina every year, and I voice this over and over to my husband, Dan, for several weeks prior to the event. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">So Dan advised me, "Just set a goal to see one band per day."</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">It's a good goal. I usually surpass it because I'm an overachiever. By the time the day is over, I've seen about six bands and/or performance arts groups, and I roll into our hotel room around midnight. Then Dan goes to one more show because he has to stay out later than me to prove that he rocks harder or something. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">(Yes, even though we live in Boise, Treefort headquarters, we get a hotel room close to the venues because we're ride or die.)<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Recently, I read an <a href="https://www.yahoo.com/lifestyle/went-coachella-29-old-realized-090900921.html">article</a> entitled "I went to Coachella as a 29-year-old and realized I'm too old for it." Give me a break. Obviously, the author is not a tough GenXer like me.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2xDvh6cZkv3_0Dzpg2FmZ7a1UcKDNn5aeAa55ZXuqZ6p-XdhA15xApJV5D4N-sjFx3emhXI7ouGUbOQQedSJUddbOIjR0P6BPBvFSJcIeix5onNaQ6kx407xAf8QBCfAaAFdB0zsmgwLWN-Hz8DskJH4yuIAuvJwzNBt2pZD3gH54gOxvzRc/s320/PXL_20230322_213333327.MP~2.jpg" width="240" /> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">DAY 1</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjczweyCS708On6ix3QANtMvEcaquYVtIQ0qbutvmmkrG9ProKdHphIBAv71lD295WhTDGc1JINe0MbcLdYkGQEHmrwYiX33amiKmQOOXDcd8ulRnwI-BN7ujXOzo6VIeyabBqpSbEmHpy48Hx11fHFGZcQ9vp8ca4MCMHHTF-pFWzjvanOB88/s320/PXL_20230323_021959366_exported_stabilized_1679539812836.gif" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Paranoyds<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Guitarist extraordinaire Doug Martsch (Built to Spill) was standing near us at one concert, stretching out his wrists and hands in a manner that has become very familiar to me as a middle aged musician suffering from tennis elbow (in both arms nowadays). I felt like I was in good company. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDOo1cFiJBZ32XwymL7kVsBWz4Ci1xgnsX6-uJDvKklnP7FJWdyXxk0FvojD_IrUl-c2JngO37CEID4AURVemNP7LBqO-9T1WjFlYxInTO5NiI0OqeJd-dy6ktj-Mpj6VG0jtev8C50AML4ioFrlew6q5radh6DlnG_Q1Cx0QCABX-OF1pNLM/w400-h300/PXL_20230323_010201156b.jpg" width="400" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEC-skJTc9rgJzPbUJ95Ng3Nyj8sGcaUnDIydMfNw5w4gO50bs-TIxgPQkHKlJOksqii7SoNLfM_BiOwgywH9cSBK23kiOc9cVXHnPzmE7BKuFWaFvCJ9MEPTi61xcVFWJx-vbaIYKQKZvZXcNMLUVnex6LWD0HlnRIqQXX-CtxKWZiuR9YxY/s320/PXL_20230323_010521650.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep. Dinosaur Jr. Only the cool kids understand how awesome this is.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2046" data-original-width="1535" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBYLP4vVbDxVjxN3aI135A_wEZaMFyEOwmnBkUlt1jYUYkltPqw12UaUkrgRb7SYc8eDSntTMr9aXUIxBABDzmBvmrLfzsbnMfCZY-njoFsCmd9JcUviJYoO1f2R1eK_XqBWkWwjT_AhniA8JXtWW94sgn8xFdIH3jynV9McUB7MVoqYEGCkI/w300-h400/PXL_20230322_221435331-COLLAGE.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of Boise's Local Scene: WEND and The French Tips<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"> </div></div><div style="text-align: left;">DAY 2</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjewgcyOiWaASllQ2mEZnxmPQlpxM_GswmtJPBXSz-jcSxPd0tAYTqHcZd49Pu_f4YhobUjhyRjgdJs9QQAZm5cFo9nCjXrqTrk7SMbHbZLXWQcE8J-cy5J59Tur7Azy250MEgKPRSzTU_tpkDGwI-Q4RmFNvG6XVjZU1wxIp1Ai0Zuf_7OaMY/s320/PXL_20230323_220330236.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">illuminati hotties<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKDgBuSvMc3Vipl7FH_-Et7x4LOusvxkWaLCZFJlBvfcw0n-DUK6DczdooBxuwemOXQRmWPpSxoAU4CaySF415uRYNIuOBzgQUdGCSgUXP9a3tlDR5t9rrfZ-6zXgxsTVRcuIMrH3O0w3pkKtrusgz9DdZikEnMuCBY0XY8E6I_QBfJDGv1Xc/s320/PXL_20230324_001503992_exported_799_1679625904977.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grocer</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5cLmlXzYIaA0ula5My3X_V2lqvkxHOMjPEqvmXVVFcjjXbgqDFqyENhEIMvYN4U_tw1lO1P_4K-TPAmg0ikesCmiq-z0Vh0MM9EWgrHPPKLhVEiBrnKuWoCLdJUFWUl_mBgxeGM5aFkvxBlOt21Zr-z_fducKmGku-O6xdulxZ-EZBe04lN0/w400-h300/PXL_20230324_014637371~2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Built To Spill. Also only for the cool kids . . .<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> </div><div style="text-align: left;">By the second day, I wore Under Armour and flannel to brave the frigid weather. It was the coldest Treefort I ever experienced. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">One of the highlights of Day 2 was seeing my former student perform at Treefort. Seeing them perform around the valley is always a #proudmusicteachermoment, and I truly admire this beautiful and powerful performer and human. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLaq2u6YXpDqzADbc8QB30jBSoJ76xjRihPZ3W-EYmrGDbsknzsvjFoF_jpCA1att4RfDrcwwdOmcP7CuvrWCqtmA7uAIpM_LOIu_hSvpCZ9vbGV7jTKrvlqvNdUCft3vNiLuSfIrh-xmK_PSaYBmhBqxfyu11yYnEVMmFq_39bCHxE_6rdUM/s320/PXL_20230324_030450212_exported_912_1679764913191.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Madisun Proof<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj_Fa6J8T61I7fLlwx3APP_1BSzkTghTuBWGXnKJq9OAt_pS5FXWfHr5WAGlJ_404SUmIQWyMMDN9-jjgCRIExwh5rUN7KikVabcsw5GWCzOCks6Jz8qcYy_j_tdi-bQIvpps0u-V7M2bPLK1hAx_KzYaFVdmQ4JNsZix0hQM1qMK5FFsBiiM/w150-h200/PXL_20230324_033913850.jpg" width="150" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">DAY 3</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Then it snowed and kept snowing at random intervals. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5irKlCroOMU_efSRATJmz-y6fyvWiMFzrqCBnzpgKba_KBcEKTpxG4jRxFffEVs0pmGh-Y6Nh9cDWwiwXQm_xjYMmZgsv1nz0vkPg1AOuvlKumQSS5sZzx9AZt8p8tXr8kzMO-re7KvS0En3c1MyvEz9oPJLchi-Y0LP_CHgRv_1BOWZF0E0/s320/PXL_20230324_220832573_exported_stabilized_1679701825603.gif" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blvck Hippie<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">On Day 3, we walked by a young guy running a booth in the park on our way to the main stage.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"Whoa! Thom Yorke!" the guy said. "Hey, you look like Thom Yorke!" <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Dan always gets compared to rock star doppelgangers at Treefort. Usually, it's Kurt Cobain or the guitarist from Maroon 5. Thom Yorke was a new one.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"Thom Yorke? I've never heard that one before," Dan muttered. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUfT2nYJYhP63cJl9pZMWYQwgHQi5W-7QGVxheHpXCov0ZmmSUJkCzsIAn6wxmYf0Xzx2izriVa-H9OK7D_KAWt-n4_ORLUdaO-tXMLGCpaLNerVvB3-cHEnyyK0uERxdcZ3349LF3Fa7qJ7HMDy5jKWiJSOvhru5-VmlIK_xFboLN-gADVUU/w400-h300/PXL_20230325_032408751.PORTRAIT.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Margo Price<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">DAY 4</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">More snow. And lots of guitar tuning . . . extra challenging in these temperatures . . . <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfg6py5yX1fjeRXqPnYBHUwhvapxLo-_E2mm7G-7pkT7j5cRVY9zkk03_EM9mCCPif-9KQxWNrUtwM_vndkod6pQqPxSD-pTC9Ej8IFwV8eV0rjybcGd7yj069ECRGUMk9lBtPE8QJTq9o-p6cmonFa9jVy7X4tLbQNSmLKoYvK_MsOsFd-xc/s320/PXL_20230325_212312271_exported_700_1679783367492.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More of Our Local Scene: Blood Lemon<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">That evening, we saw Ani DiFranco. I convinced Dan to see her for nostalgia's sake. She is an icon for us '90s feminists, after all.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"Don't you want insight into college Becky's dorm room days?"</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHxTwDmu9tXdrpcGOikJFCTK7r8n_fTUQh0S0b2HVozEXqVoe_3zWNVAvU7IpvFQdrq3gmSIKs5x42rfl-ANzec9Gp0IeSJRusdnRbFsmpQ5YOIwSrpNwtsP3ZLbR_0L6W08VWJODh0F3zrSjetLy8aKhAkuUtZSLbfnjkmqhqNac6pZQKAtw/w400-h300/PXL_20230326_010145233_exported_900_1679808970899.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ani DiFranco! <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> </div><div style="text-align: left;">By the end of the evening, Dan admitted he was hesitant because he
thought she might be too mellow for him, but (and I quote), "She actually
rocks!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Dan has a thing for short girls with acoustic guitars.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIIwU96Fwd-wDNk5WUJHeO4xCJLuzjIdCkaV6D-kYE0b1a383OXr6_covCHoFkVt2MFciUuMmTnzOAWQoOA7spZxJnRDpuWJ1CK-tHIGCMvQRmFuQ4Bio2WPTlQlKELzhbn2gkUIbqDoTm4v4fe2CHikW4HzhsMR22T7_ZcoMupw59FETJbg/w300-h400/PXL_20230326_010414960_exported_1367_1679808954588b.jpg" width="300" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">DAY 5</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhadp0TaosqopHmLT8nW2DQKE1hhzd6XWvFYmV0N0icednfcGHDNMNj6ClaYzME3ZW5uJKE5cA0E_Hyrd3EsSg7t9VtIxEJSnzo4KhKiLQeH2bvNJVMGOcwoM2QBy38Lg7pHV992f8WWWTkPRRmmnk-TIc7rgfvAlT2sFmRJ96fzYsee7fWMzQ/w400-h300/PXL_20230327_003450164_exported_stabilized_1679877317249.gif" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oruã</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu6E1fggDYRkQicM_LWxx9zBlxFfQPxnEHvg2GTqVCEMTXoGg4PgGY_ezYhZ2PL6KLRvaWRJNWhp4hIYxmklT39pn55gx_puwKDpGYRXuC4LCa6qfHkVGKZQSHu-YO7eGvvfxou07ZNavSM45NTJArDQaogWkKIGgBfjUqPQuslz16F4usi9g/s320/PXL_20230326_181409660.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Interview with Ani DiFranco at the Idaho State Museum<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> </div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">On our final night of Treefort, Dan asked me what I would remember most this year.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"How cold it was," I replied. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"Freezefort," Dan said. (I'm not sure he originated this term.)</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">However, as you can see from this post, Treefort was memorable, and it wasn't <i>just </i>the frigid temperatures.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAD79UVO0yUQlIo9oDU_nu55KY_faXbr4D85U_l98Vs5w_4x9-Uss8kCm8y0TURsXRsGQ4tEqWhlHOmpYmiC4I_feIQY7z5nVDepHSKxNG0yEv_h2U0uElJF7xka4XK7gaWU0EWXPB5OGJya10JG848XuptWxSqHENfRVrvZbL7sKR8pycv8k/s320/PXL_20230324_002750528.jpg" width="240" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">
<i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-89581936557721398282023-02-27T07:00:00.001-07:002023-02-27T07:00:00.168-07:00My Somewhat Unplugged Getaway<div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9kTuc7mHufrQQmamJdXZqsYsrONnOD8O7J4Rd1nHSKuwo5LTU34R2qbtytz4cESXxPSN1alxb1HOQ2I6apZ4oTcL4BhZfNw6lO-k24VgE3nxJaykINSmLsXrCDZLBV0GHG8IMg4PxyHjcXJ7CauOVN08N5gfI8Cx8_yqMJY34P209uOduP54/s320/PXL_20230219_162408497~2.jpg" width="240" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Recently, I went on a somewhat unplugged mini vacation. By "somewhat unplugged," I mean that I still streamed my favorite TV shows and listened to Spotify and took pictures on my phone and turned on my laptop for blogging purposes. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">But I've been thinking a lot lately about not making myself available 24/7. For instance, when I receive an email or a text message, I have always felt like I have to answer it right away. I've found the best way to fight this compulsion is to turn my notifications off. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"I can't wait to get to a place where people can't contact me," I told my husband, Dan, as we packed for our mini vacation last weekend.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"We're staying in a condo, not a yurt. We'll have cell service and WiFi," he said.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"Yes, but I will be on Do Not Disturb," I said. "I'm drawing healthy boundaries."<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">So, I wrote vacation responses for all of my email accounts (especially my work account) and turned off my text message notifications and headed into the mountains.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The snow just happened to be perfect for Nordic skiing that weekend. It was so perfect that I only took one picture the first day while I was getting ready to leave the trailhead. I spent the rest of my skiing days enjoying my surroundings instead of reaching for my phone.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJcD8drXGJOpZ1L0gwDH1Gf6A8m8HfmkNkOVl1RHAjazXMTurIM3cQJgDDf4YC_T3N_BsmACulrA8CUrg9YazHfFj89MgPDpoh9GF3IBs1qKC7xaBZ48QGbW1VIeM4Bfwxao3YmlwbgBedhDqD9HvA0MkgaiCUtXJG1qfYO74ZE_A1pTrGPl0/s320/PXL_20230218_224704435.MP_exported_844.jpg" width="240" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">In the evenings, Dan and I binged <i>Andor</i>. It required WiFi, but my rule was I could use WiFi as long as it was for fun.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="591" data-original-width="1050" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOjwPLb63y7vmKCLwXCAA5pSpjkESpaNbFSzLNpN7vGvQQc6zzjQ96elDytWl6naX36-0zWNaGa8fw4ydDm3FAaaxE2lQoq4t04VetVUJH5XO21pqotRIcVW-rs4_8CmBIpcoN7tYiRkRPh4om3FAsSsdGxyaX4QRFQ-0WJ2xW3KmQBu4lvSg/s320/andor.jpg" width="320" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">We had dinner at one of our favorite restaurants. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Fun fact: The microwave in the condo was on top of the refrigerator (that seems safe). When I warmed up my leftovers the next day, I had to stand on a chair to reach it. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Dan went snowboarding one day during our stay, and I spent the day doing my favorite things, including Yoga. I had to use the <i>Down Dog</i> app on my phone, but, again, it was for fun. It didn't count against my healthy boundaries. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="845" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglNRYHaQLyOk-bKsdCLZfOE8LcY8KBn0bDFpcR_HB5YbAFTzGL6nqidUiXpiU8JVUK5WzCt0l9aixphTx78ms9EQPz8WolfbQS5hmXgYARaQP1j19jU1qXKohDRXVEYiPcxfvghyS41XIDPFl6Aveqay0i-tq4GcxTSZZdcU8dqXxzJg4lLt4/s320/FB_IMG_1676760040547.jpg" width="250" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">Then I blogged while taking in beautiful views from the condo window. (For fun . . . still not breaking my rules . . .) </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLBcirulghbHg8j1QcSQLNarei34kJK49jc5tRhAGEpHmbynF_a0lXKrsZhcKNl0bxvvJmFVF8vFB8qYzZsHHHXBmS3RWBgiAes3QCw1fjgd7RJcXR1GOWdipeJ2m0LUpp0QzKY8pgcZ1Oax_VJSYF9NpylbFMezR9HG11n_xzbReAyYNEf_g/s320/PXL_20230219_174917984.jpg" width="320" /> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_OzSBjglzJTQtJaPoqKzErdwkW1A57sbr__opeb9BV3M9pMDjmMv5PItwYj8W2XiUNFQtWPP7JYZyOBvaGM3RZI2IIZW7PBEMvTg-EXtpXtlpOGhPMEVV8Xpuzds0cG6PALQdZ0daPGAg0adZRCPcrcXWQ7OewjGge1C1SuMeEBt56hVKTQA/s320/PXL_20230219_202222461.jpg" width="320" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjkd3M6CoUU8a-fFSz5HmNi-9Br9Fw_JCHK_aLEPePVbToGdgy5r-g_sgh3ywp6xFPkOHkdpILGCMzehru_htiOUcjEiMhFC5A2I9Eko8rsTwjChvNmlpMWcUyxknm38arOimHTR8ull7WLvnDoGVT4Pdj3KUqBG31KEtiuGfNjlV5NffM8wU/s320/PXL_20230219_185042125.jpg" width="240" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">A snowstorm rolled in around the time I finished my blog post and started reading my spooky book.<br /><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLMBIXxbGS0joZLmfj0O6AGuu0BTlAXtlSMu9tM9VONDFbq33cfL14B2a3xh_ThfOiC9q2a4-NdcuozYaL3yl1FYTCYJMBzHFc1GF0z3Q17ck_3C7J5IvaaAczpV8s4c6EKvVAUYganpRYT3GmiOxD9VN1cLGalfYU_AUzyljBlaAZFGORqvk/s320/PXL_20230219_215243885.jpg" width="240" /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">
<i> </i></div><div style="text-align: left;">Then I finished my day, while Dan was still snowboarding, by watching an episode of <i>The Crown</i>.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="400" height="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgaMDJ9Xr2zhpfOB-k4GHVTGU954sRXIKKFpKEw6MnHB1wL2ULA5tYspQKoHpdHWn4M5z6DG1r70eEplaRH1CIfG6QlvSUn7Y1axqnnBHla50jKsqicmV2BUFPN3TdbOeZwlM4nB8RqD0U6QLXLrLTzffkPGlQkcSgfDRFk3rb_dKbJ9KMGVs/s320/The_Crown_Title_Card.jpg" width="320" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i> <br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">Even though I skied 10 miles during this short getaway, I returned more refreshed than after a major summer vacation. I love going on Do Not Disturb. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">On Tuesday, I was ready to answer my emails again.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-16586065835864149232023-02-20T07:00:00.053-07:002023-02-20T07:00:00.189-07:00School Funnies: Little Kids Edition<div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpTE31lNt61_CpYpstIkxBE61C9ODZM9iS9zRaAAwXtO7TPk72-6K2EXa7etGL2s1n0ewBkwWAZS0oig6H2-HVjavx40KvED2Dzd6-HGcBj8Ju6n7_9RduSj5FRmKRO3srZcOVhtyiHpdqBCcy9uHoOqgWm16DpFxJXg0-l9cBAeDb8rGAxPw/s320/PXL_20230207_211522402_exported_stabilized_1675804545336.gif" width="320" /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">This week, in looking over my notes, I realized I have neglected to tell some of my funny little kid stories from the school year. This is probably because I have been so preoccupied with preparing my 5th and 6th graders for their upcoming musical. But everyone who works with kids knows that the little kiddos are the best ongoing source of entertainment.<br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>The class is GONE!</b> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">At the beginning of the year, when the kids were just figuring out their routines, a couple of first graders ran to my classroom one morning in obvious distress. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"Mrs. Duggan! Mrs. Duggan! We CAN'T find our class!" </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"Where are they supposed to be right now?"</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"We thought they would be at recess! But there's NO ONE there!" </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"Where were you?"</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"We went to the bathroom. We went back to our classroom, and they're NOT THERE!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"They're just . . . GONE!" the other boy chimed in. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Let's go check outside. Maybe you just missed them," I suggested.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Yeah, maybe it was just our imagination," one of the boys said.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">But no one was outside. So I walked them to their classroom. Their class was in the room like they had never left.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Whoa! How did this HAPPEN?!" the little boys said.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The teacher explained they had been outside for a very short time, then came back inside while the boys were still in the bathroom. They had just missed each other due to a shortened recess.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="1920" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj05MLkx8ojIo3aLjTIrWHLtzc9G7awZQqcBn7jR0R62Pg6Ka5JsAfC9qOTFA_GkmepKdkbN1sUqHSN_Kdc5rp5MuKUVnfFtbuvtfXDNMb8JAvlhlSF97SjPLc3wQmga2IsO48S_cfNV4K1HYE-w_lc4r6ZfiUePfjKKv0EB4P8WH5drNjw8dY/s320/scream-cartoon-painting.jpg" width="320" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Help! I Need Somebody!</b> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">One afternoon, during my lunch break, I was busy answering emails. In the back of my mind, I was vaguely aware of a tiny voice coming from the hallway. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">My classroom is right by the bathroom, and I hear all kinds of weird sounds coming from there throughout the day. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I soon realized what I was hearing was, "Help, help!" similar to what I imagine the Whos of Whoville sounded like in "Horton Hears a Who." </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I checked the hallway bathroom and found a first grade boy stuck in the bathroom. The bathroom door, usually held open with a doorstop since it is very heavy, had closed on the child. His face was squished against frame. He had one arm hanging out, and he was waving it around, calling, "Help! Help!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I opened the bathroom door for him and asked him if he was okay, trying not to laugh.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">He grinned, gave me a thumbs up, and skipped down the hall back to his classroom. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="621" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimM8Gs3IJMq_v49twgRWc5gh4Fl8YH6t0gDLGVVf8Pnn8M0hBV74otkPmSmGHeIIeSD3ih3qYgJj2q8Pkd-G86nJWQUwJs3E6CfBoOn72W88_biQ6zUnn5KOmv7vfbo3xZ7Ys-dUKRCDgdG_5qx3r3brPWVJyyCsx7eFnRFJ5mJcNQcG_L1Co/w200-h155/study%20(2).jpg" width="200" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Most Trusted Puppet</b> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The school counselor was giving a lesson on trusted adults. The students were supposed to come up with adults they could trust in their homes and at school. I even received a few notes from students who said I was their "trusted adult" at school. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">However, during her lesson in one of the first grade classes, one of the kids shouted out, "Copy Cat!" </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Copy Cat is the music class puppet who teaches the little kids how to sing. He occasionally shares words of wisdom with the kids via the music class message. Often these messages have to do with kindness, empathy, and (most recently) the importance of silence.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Apparently, one of the first graders considered Copy Cat his trusted adult. All of a sudden, the counselor's lesson was derailed as the kids exclaimed in agreement, "YEAH! Copy Cat! He's my trusted adult!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The counselor tried to bring them back to reality, "Do you mean Mrs. Duggan could be your trusted adult?"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Well . . . yeah . . . but we like Copy Cat as our trusted adult!" <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="855" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAG5bObPxYbBcBjBQEhpcGy2qVQ94ZDlarAcwonWAv3WhyZAzYAB1O9IOANImJegrR17m8iZc4dRmPv_3kHsTgJIKtBpsrvUxrY6Lx3c5Gda8SG3uipa3TQjrsFWsdXqa3CM3Sw32aHEqPyn4eZTF1xVTB0OD-2iQPdcv70ZJXFK4A1o9pkBU/s320/PXL_20230214_145103160~2-COLLAGE.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The many "trustworthy" faces of Copy Cat<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Little Kids Can Be Gross</b> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;">Working with little kids is not all fun and games. They can be pretty gross too. We all know about their snotty noses and throw ups and that they cough and sneeze all over everyone and everything. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">But did you know they also put maracas up their shorts when given the chance? Or sometimes they just start lifting up their shirts or dresses for no reason, and you have to constantly remind them not to remove their clothing.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_26IyDutU6kDbxNl_JfrdX-cY_fkv_NS0-Ak5OHRl71WAMP37-XKWB9C8EwHdkGAJVXKAUcwrArgyeEOVoswVNP9fPObNDDL3XGTuIgjOS4pd2h4NFYv00b_396T_jWJ0bBLLy7ZfbnM5a8f13Uc_pblF4ecwjTUwtUTmP1Jro-j9jRZN3Ck/w200-h200/fa8951dd1956337b8c1c6b84b0fc63f840e493e0bedc40adfd6d378ea0d65d75.0.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: left;">The newest trend, however, is little kids licking other humans.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The first I heard about it was from my nephew. His best friend at school had been giving some kind of caught-you-being-naughty ticket for licking another student. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Then one of my music teacher friends said his entire group of kindergartners spends half of their music time licking each other. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"I've never had to say, 'Susie, stop licking Johnny! Not you too, Mikey!' so many times in one class," he told me after an especially harrowing lick-a-thon. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The next day, in one of my kindergarten classes, an upset little boy raised his hand, then shouted, "Kevin just licked me!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">What the heck is going on?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Oh well . . . at least we do some fun music learning in the lower grades! Enjoy this snowflake dance.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dygcdgYxk7FHa8atVA_dtUVjP5gWo12BTq8QOVOaJ1ztfITDAH-zB_udXw_Y0O_jeCMxlosF58WOhg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">
</div><div style="text-align: center;">
<i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-34095486365808347082023-02-12T08:30:00.003-07:002023-02-12T08:30:00.200-07:00I Can't. I Have Rehearsal.<p></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div>
<img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3FSqNKd6IcRXGYGaIvONN3pQz7jnMp4xlytRQ1Mlw85rZUmNgZXxiE8S8fMtbA0_BrujtVHEs4c4y7XqxEWY9T-WTFIo7nSgDlSD75nCaLHgeAnZyM2frww_sSzWVIV-Ch29whEwQ6-L30INe_XJ2nppZ-6Ab5bxAuiP91lyJ4oh3iWo7d_8/s320/c548e08c500c89482392adc2cae647d347d947584dfdf3d11010c173b7ad2287.0.png" width="320" />
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
A few years ago I posted, "<a href="https://injillswords.blogspot.com/2019/01/the-most-popular-door.html?fbclid=IwAR0J8iTsHKhPQkyyRhBZiti0imyd572oEGm8IRCnEpIdMcoxKshVyyQsgZ4">The Most Popular Door</a>,"
about the excitement surrounding my school's fifth and sixth grade
spring music program. Then COVID hit, and live school performances
disappeared for a few
years.
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Live elementary performances are back, baby! And even though these kids were
only second and third graders the last time we had a spring program, the
students are more excited than ever. <br />
</div>
<p></p>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I didn’t sleep the night before I posted the cast list.
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Yes, I had given the students my "you-get-what-you-get" lecture prior to
auditions. But I still worried about kids being sad or throwing tantrums
outside my classroom (it has happened before) or parents sending me nasty
emails or refusing to talk to me for the rest of the school year (also has
happened).<br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" data-original-height="196" data-original-width="202" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8QF43Wg-pMSwRhBuz4Cf8bpWLeSJrUe8IJXu1BOuqsEEX7aQLCWWJTlMtlsNJwRVIShw5jSqJ3IM3dMsxHf-wtT11jioinEzqUHvHCfF3XsILDMCggNvbOlQ04WHM1_Ttl2tBLCtxuVKkVD-vqPI0UzZX_IgDKnBzsti-XI3z_izGJeSYLbU/w320-h310/Screenshot_20211030-155700.png" width="320" />
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It turned out I had no reason to worry or lose sleep. All of the kids (and
adults!) were excited and gracious . . . at least around me, who held their
casting in my hands . . . <br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The first week we returned from break, students gathered around my classroom
door everyday, checking out the cast list.<br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;"></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Then they started referencing their roles every time they saw me in the
hall.
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
One sixth grade boy walked by with a spoon balanced on his nose and said,
“This is your stage manager."
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
One of the students I had worried about upsetting was the most excited.
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
“I get to wear a bun in my hair and be prim and proper!”
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I kept hearing kids call out, “Mrs. Duggan”and “I’ve got a question!” over and over, whenever I
ventured out of my classroom.<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Their questions were usually along the lines of, "When do I come in for
rehearsal?" or “Do stage managers come in today? Do we ever get to come in?”
or “Can I just watch?”
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<img border="0" data-original-height="220" data-original-width="293" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTvuSUTCkRGAgkVzh8obefPWrBr8eB_SwVe8_L-vT7z2TVfil1Wjqzg36Sa0ETFZ7hHqcovQnsnhEnrcz-lqCZczvlpr3bF-otYxgcgFxItWqyFmh3BQChbqlfx8mynZ81BVRfyl597nFH4BTI0mY-V3GPjTwCzp_MB-S2BZttPKQBUhSaBzo/w400-h300/PXL_20230125_214146392.jpg" width="400" />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Sometimes during that first week, as classes walked by my room to the
cafeteria or gym, kids would say to me, “Can you just stay right there? I’ll
be right back!”
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
As reality set in, and students realized they were going to have to hang out
with me A LOT, I showed them this picture:<br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" data-original-height="935" data-original-width="1000" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin5VzU6E7eS8hQTLAPNGdyhVm7MK8IUsbJwnMxC9tsFdV-Zbl8qvvP4HWvlemePn43G2vaTDrLCmbjicT-cV83ef7cQBBHhux2EvNdY8vwE3zSY6MulZTCs0YZieu8Ii6tsCIMSIf3qIKjXuyUJvHchArfxkVrjAfntWkOdBY5orkb4dj5vfI/s320/A13usaonutL._AC_CLa%202140,2000%2061it+O0OuRL.png%200,0,2140,2000+0.0,0.0,2140.0,2000.0_UF1000,1000_QL80_.jpg" width="320" />
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Every theater nerd knows this saying. We all have the T-shirt.<br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
As we went over the rehearsal schedule in class, I made the kids recite
it back to me.<br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"What if your friend asks you to play in a huge basketball game during your
assigned time? What do you say?" I asked them.
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And they all (in theory) answered with, "I can't. I have rehearsal."
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
One sixth grade boy, my villain in the program, of course, started to joke, "I wish I didn’t
have reh—" and stopped when he saw THE LOOK I gave him.
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
He quickly changed it to, "I wish I HAD rehearsal . . . "
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1520" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwuuWA_ZPPCKAnmKWtLRTEm_axID89CmCg2ETF3qq5eiH5p88ML_rJC6PaB5_qMdGkH1jJkObODMHTkvEYBHh2NLoh0htj6EIEBQfYc-EeGz653VqUDuRNkWmkOabWNS4MZYzdv11rsPM8XppU_xqlDtwemrFEqXlxSJibY-LJGR2MukyPw-A/w400-h225/PXL_20230124_201912297_exported_0.jpg" width="400" />
<br />
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The first time we put the blocking together with the music in class, I
heard several of the sixth graders exclaim, "Today was so fun!"
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">"Friends, theater is so fun!"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1520" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQKITQfikZ9oHGrA6xvKEXBYoVl21I1jr_EWeUnlGX9mAdtYYTFA22wPhqCjqnYTe9ti2IYMaaYb5GsACQM_uI7ZPTRDSZ0VrP0eHAHbYQlAtBYyKkS7zmfBB56kuFLOp8OouORPIDgNsWrCKDWOROSdlAd0T8THXYU8hKueplVQ0CvZlwsfc/w400-h225/PXL_20230203_200245931_exported_172081.jpg" width="400" />
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like"
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i>
</div>
<br />Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-48108911220243324882023-01-15T07:00:00.001-07:002023-01-15T07:00:00.177-07:00The Day I Saved the Shredder<div style="text-align: left;">Up until this year, we had this paper shredder that jammed constantly. You might remember my <i>hilarious</i> post from 2014, "<a href="https://injillswords.blogspot.com/2014/10/the-day-i-killed-shredder.html">The Day I Killed the Shredder</a>." </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">How the tides have turned. This year, I saved the shredder. I bought a new and improved (and much more expensive) shredder for my husband, Dan, this Christmas. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I couldn't lift the box when it arrived at our door. I had to slide it from the porch all the way to the gift-hiding room. Consequently, I couldn't wrap it either because it was too heavy for me. I couldn't find a good place for it, so I scooted it behind a chair in the gift-hiding room. (Dan totally knows where I hide stuff now . . .)</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN5HNK499sU2AyPFKRMVLtDKHaEtMIj_qit8TvKIdgmBeDMoOjiv1h08xf4PgsUX1U3BJWJCTj8hjNhwAPWwPIU7ts8taIG9rikzasPWC5loTVoxTF5Md_NBzQz5uZLdIi8pDIt_mH2QBKTQMtvun4vjt7z6IcUeHBU_jfPHBpOYhFaDI62xA/s320/e1d38a524083e624870e29b2a2507f03a0086a0dc02679cf8785af31faf83b46.0.gif" width="320" /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I left it in the box and put a bow on it. That was the extent of my Christmas wrapping efforts this season. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On Christmas morning, I told Dan to wait by the tree as I disappeared into my gift-hiding room to scoot the box into the living room.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Do you need help in there?" Dan called to me. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Apparently, my struggle was audible.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It was worth it. He was so excited about his gift. I guess I'm not the only one who loves <a href="https://injillswords.blogspot.com/2022/02/i-love-office-supplies.html">office supplies </a>around here. <br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3JwfAhaMmq2twmV2V6-nZlK0HEKEVn-CId1sx7_tEBISeYLsbSUdP4B1_QgwGYXCTFsw_1b8f7s7Uky8o4rZUMgX-k64OYrxoelylpYDayn72Mmz8fzHukePVkukycQ80HK3ttUE4lKm7omWqBWzsC8RT2OyI8fEjx8VnfabsJD7CJJIV25c/s320/f23ff3a60ae960d35f3e3f0f10417ada5b031d15b0592b6d3cc2def23c8c099e.0.png" width="320" />
<br />
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">"It really shreds!" he exclaimed after trying it out for the first time.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">A few seconds later, he returned to tell me, "And you don't have to lift the heavy part to empty it."</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Then a couple of minutes later, he announced, "Also, you can oil it with vegetable oil. You're supposed to do that once a month."</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"Weird," I replied. <br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaLk3L7LCYDRByX2TLT1py0mVzw_VBq2kq4lYyjOr0Y9D8WtmIsuTaI32gP0Cc274fYEkk7NkJNt0hIFPk3Hvf5-rRPakThaUtFUnuP13rzZTIQiqrMfBTq98ioie_iqO_-YmCda-vrWRmguEdhrh61DCGTr80VVzaOiNpP49Qk_TPcDqRsSY/s320/PXL_20230115_000105545.jpg" width="240" />
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-2XGP9QDMd8F1xgx6zr_ncOaOL1xLG9BQ6pMCsvqDwsasoZTkYyIUBUSV8lz5jN3eABi4yqNqW2CajjyURqXPhysh-D7HsTMre2FqQW-9wCAZbBBNNBQ2SDxsn0n1fWgni7UpkiJfmr9kKc6545TTKKx_2VvatYiI3ixpBV6l7erZn_NQgjk/s320/PXL_20230114_235943545.PORTRAIT~2.jpg" width="240" />
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">A few days after Christmas, I had a document to shred, and Dan suggested I trying shredding it all by myself.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"It's a better shredder than the last one, so even you won't jam it."</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"Do I need to unfold the paper?" I asked Dan.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"It can shred up to 8
pages. It's okay to shred folded paper now."
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">"That's how I jammed the old one," I muttered under my breath, as I fed the paper through.<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">The shredder stayed on longer than we both expected. <br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">"Did you jam it already?" Dan said in a brief moment of panic. <br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="396" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWflyo3XLreCFcWd6MMn6AEZUrNXUMGASD_hd8KXfwP1zWY3F397THxjM-aep6aLLnGUSU_veLk_JukB5i5Jra4V4Nu6rj14qCG8L76nXCLMydEk5KIQ85I-lUFBYUanwLlK3kT1icUUd__1M7RcZrQ3XPDtC6Xvq2-ozZLToSIJKW4M28RWw/s320/c465b18fbb6fffb4a809f3d09bbe2ad6f82e9de3e3b6b53249b8184c08e0a17d.0.png" width="318" /> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Then it stopped whirring. The paper was successfully shredded. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">These days, Dan plays with the shredder for fun. We don't really have that many documents to shred. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Occasionally, he will hand me a piece of paper and say, "You want to give it a try?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">"Oh, you trust me nowadays?" is my response. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And then I shred the paper without any operator error. <br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;"> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;"> <i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like"
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i>
</div></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-51801811978527451232023-01-07T07:00:00.242-07:002023-01-07T07:34:07.533-07:00Reading Challenge: Becky's Twenty-Two in 2022<div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrxnfimkb4Uk07BiqZDqPJLT5tTJRrWRGT9n8JvLNFEzR3Co7n0FOSFLOyVlUAXw0nUNcvGI8IDpNXVnJnnl1m4x_4SdOoN56834g3EXrbCkKtMo4ygOxueop0MYj6zngSnPLak77bIjm8at7HUy7gajNL31aJZ8rrAGppVhEYQQmy4Wd9b-8/w200-h200/84886242ed8c40f6d3f26999e19dd5d4776229f8db5b3c82a402357fa6637f84.0.png" width="200" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The end of a year means one thing. Time to check in on my reading challenge! I continued my <a href="http://injillswords.blogspot.com/2022/01/reading-challenge-beckys-twenty-one-in.html">recent trend</a> (began in 2020) of matching the number of books I read to the year. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I am proud to announce that I did, in fact, read twenty-two books in 2022. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">This year, however, you will notice that I ended with reading some shorter stories. That was because life happened.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But I did it. It totally counts, audiobooks, short stories or not. I make up my own rules!</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKWrnp-a36XAFm6ZLxcC1qIa722LcxC0XgJ18EcSRsAGLEP1PHDOZfiJKhSSo5H9awDC55WYKV-46UtJZdm5S9X0vrBHRd8RU0yIHxa91xMlKc2CIIoqemgeaoKhN2lmij3xCVcf5gq17N2sGCsdCkmy1XlWd8s-4HIWXGA1fPZ7iPpQAvgtI/w200-h200/d95e31de9827c76ae5976cdbcfee3e7ff723a2d3f347e358d4ca0472750217b2.0.png" width="200" /></div> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Here are a few stats from my reading journey in 2022:</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1073" data-original-width="863" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBL2NRdbCDMgMb3l1EfPWxtG8s_6z-CE-gZdetqR9qo79GElhLMZ0gQ7ztbyROOEHL_VzzFx-aRqdSonXfKY8HOLHWQHhJwaxOjBvD3ojyF_o-5ddNvd3x5MUgAokUZvZYydFATgESuhxGa97VulzYqgQez3g31LCOrgYNSRpciKBohJlewF0/s320/Screenshot_20230105-075022.png" width="257" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1320" data-original-width="1759" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqYlrk4b06YqMG-NqQjhNuuz-VNi93IGpfL1dXRgwWd7N_IS6zMo7-GJrb6Qt0WxrRiW4Dej6A9whgbOeczEd220ixI_eA_iDvt_e8s7kojoi1HTamR22Edq9-HwyUljiQajzVP4CO-nDQrcr0PElkelHJONw4fuXIeJo_fLOMFE2lfp4KA78/w400-h300/Screenshot_20230105-075040(1)-COLLAGE.jpg" width="400" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And guess what? I am challenging myself to reading twenty-three books in 2023. (As the number in my challenge increases, be prepared for more children's books and short stories. #sorrynotsorry)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><h2 style="text-align: center;">Becky's Twenty-Two in 2022 </h2><div><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>JANUARY </b></div><div style="text-align: left;">1. <i>Emily's Runaway Imagination</i> by Beverly Cleary</div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: I’m starting this year continuing my Beverly Cleary Reread. This particular story is a little more dated than some of her others but still charming.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">2. <i>Cat's Eye</i> by Margaret Atwood</div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: "This is the middle of my life. I think of it as a place, like the middle of the river, the middle of a bridge, halfway across, halfway over. I'm supposed to have accumulated things by now: possessions, responsibilities, achievements, experience and wisdom. I'm supposed to be a person of substance." </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>FEBRUARY</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">3.<i> Ellen Tebbits </i>by Beverly Cleary</div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: I remember really enjoying this story when I was a kid. I think I related to Ellen's experiences in ballet class.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>MARCH</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">4. <i>Otis Spofford</i> by Beverly Cleary</div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: Just like his teacher predicts, Otis does get his “comeuppance” in the end . . . kind of . . . </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzpI_7irPaj5Mtwb0842fN5M8rFEnKJg-LW_ri_5_X53q9iel2mVDR7ZKRMhsVBnffcSXakqaYcCg-ucmgzrn0jp8Tzu9Y_06yTri0r45ZFAtBQFV1bQZ1vNhlD1IV9_xnyYEh2hUVjB2w3FPGGbxYoFL64qUHGJe2tBa5pFR-ArzwNNK2Sls/s320/324020302_537751148293384_6086713813336110406_n.jpg" width="320" /> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b> </b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>APRIL</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">I finished nothing this month. I have no excuse. It just didn't happen.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>MAY</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">5. <i>Mitch and Amy</i> by Beverly Cleary </div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: I always loved stories where the narrator describes the character (especially female characters) as having a freckled face . . . for obvious reasons.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">6. <i>Socks</i> by Beverly Cleary</div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: This is such a cute story, written through the eyes of Socks, a cat. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>JUNE</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">7. <i>Muggie Maggie </i>by Beverly Cleary</div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: Child Becky related to this story (about a little girl who is mostly well-behaved but "contrary" when forced into certain tasks) with every fiber of her being.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">8. <i>Utopia Avenue</i> by David Mitchell</div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: “If a song plants an idea or a feeling in a mind, it has already changed the world."</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">9. <i>Happy-Go-Lucky</i> by David Sedaris</div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: You can’t beat Sedaris’ advice to college graduates. For example, “Be yourself . . . unless you are an asshole.” Even with heavier topics such as the death of his abusive father and the COVID pandemic, his essays are still laugh-out-loud funny.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">10. <i>Little House in the Big Wood</i>s by Laura Ingalls Wilder</div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: As much as I loved the TV show, I never read the Little House books as a kid. I added this book to my queue after watching the PBS American Masters on Wilder. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="241" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi91MiANAqyyvTeT8_Xl9fkFZVtCxb3nOXKMzp4mvQYy2MtMcKT2_0Hdt9E00Limb28wuEecH3u0x4d7tS5V-t4MHEVIMIA3lJJEYJ6-tpmD_g2UKLsDy0q3uN3XnZT8KxjuYWSrbOI0x-M4tWswtzCCuNvHTLaGcNnO-_wQEQoKL-Y-GZk370/w301-h400/FB_IMG_1668795425946.jpg" width="301" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b> </b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>JULY </b></div><div style="text-align: left;">11. <i>Don't Forget Me</i> by Shirley Bahlmann</div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: I may or may not have gotten hired as an Audiobook narrator this summer, meaning I unexpectedly was able to add one more book to my challenge.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">12. <i>The Blind Assassin</i> by Margaret Atwood</div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: I have read a lot of Margaret Atwood. She is one of my favorite authors. But this one wrecked me, such a poignant and heart-wrenching story about family and war and growing old. It's got an air of mystery to boot, a definite plus for me, raised on Murder She Wrote and Columbo.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">13.<i> Lonely Boy: Tales From a Sex Pistol</i> by Steve Jones</div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: So I had to read this after watching <i>Pistol</i>. Oi!</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>AUGUST</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">14.<i> The Candy House </i>by Jennifer Egan</div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: "Never trust a candy house." I loved this one as much as <i>A Visit From the Goon Squad</i>. "Time is a goon."</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">15. <i>Henry Huggins</i> by Beverly Cleary</div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: The chapter on the school Christmas program is priceless.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>SEPTEMBER </b></div><div style="text-align: left;">16. <i>Henry and Beezus</i> by Beverly Cleary</div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: It was so fun to revisit the characters Beezus and Ramona.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="400" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-39SFlbf114hwDxj2FjvoTq2gYXa9RxFTwI9hN8dRS6FcRu_5owJUhygL-0g3NxiJD3E99vGbLwmRBOGfmOVVpshzBvwalm44Thz_tX0JCDhR6HMhPwdONbFUwPcPnKQ-0OFFfk0SoM9ZvKSc9sQ7B4Fu8BpYidPE_zQD2-2Y44TEc9d2zik/s320/323442341_916004772903373_6922401938425323380_n.jpg" width="320" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b> </b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>OCTOBER </b></div><div style="text-align: left;">17. <i>The Legend of Sleepy Hollow</i> by Washington Irving </div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: Even though I have read this one a few times, I just had to revisit it one more time before Halloween this year.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">18. <i>Rip Van Winkle</i> by Washington Irving </div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: It's not quite as creepy as Sleepy Hollow, but it's still a fun, strange tale, perfect reread for Halloween.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>NOVEMBER</b> </div><div style="text-align: left;">19. <i>Henry and Ribsy</i> by Beverly Cleary</div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: Living in the Northwest, I enjoyed the salmon fishing chapters at the end of the book. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">20. <i>Circe</i> by Madeline Miller</div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: This was a beautiful mythological retelling from Circe's perspective. I especially loved her relationship with Penelope, a female connection in a patriarchal society. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>DECEMBER</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">21. <i>How the Grinch Stole Christmas</i> by Dr. Seuss </div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: This was from a series of classic Christmas stories read by Dateline's Keith Morrison. (Yes, it's as awesome as it sounds.) It also included the original Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and Twas the Night Before Christmas. I love how music is the catalyst for the Grinch's change of heart.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">22. <i>I Knew It Would Be You</i> by Shirley Bahlmann</div><div style="text-align: left;">Notes and Favorites: I may or may not have gotten hired as an Audiobook narrator this summer, as I said earlier. It just so happens there was a sequel.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXKgz3lh-ZWYgvApmniBiNE5udGjDfd-MkBIOnRPkrFnJgP69Wt2M8EuD-TFt_-sJMG_7IwZPD9WevR3diasNvS7oncD_9HLax-49ogUgZn4wDyvUfRWmWOol3D9tqr6s53BT2BY2MpsQK-Yg9cz37103BnzYgpIHkgNcOZSk38XANsxDyws4/w320-h320/324332614_2506576726156143_3652244283215313939_n.jpg" width="320" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">
<i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-18270762085540634552023-01-01T07:00:00.001-07:002023-01-01T07:00:00.179-07:00Holiday Greetings 2022 Edition<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDxRYeLHBGdNk3BQIggkHPePJzw9UL9ADbQyuh0JAEVq3lh-V6hkNLJjNn-x5RWT4jdEdyqGkwd6UQW_9GZfZaMBJRnVlKjz4yK1iXbQwy8BKjRLzq03oPxxljSFtS486Ti3IiCq-v5Frx0FFBI4OrlOd99QpXYyQt_5jDSaQ6G5KX6t4q_po/s320/f6faaf1666c95e8ca64172e9f3a3ed79c287a5b054a5fa7976d0cc6b3bd39a59.0.gif" width="320" /> <br /></div></div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;">I didn't send out Christmas cards again this year. Sorry, friends. You have probably noticed I haven't even updated my blog much recently. The end of the year and the holiday season got away from me for various reasons. </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;">The following are just a few highlights from the holidays before we say goodbye forever to 2022.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b> </b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>MUSIC PROGRAMS ARE BACK BABY!</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">After a hiatus due to COVID restrictions, we were finally able to bring school music programs back in full force. We had Veterans Day programs, choir concerts, and holiday programs, and, boy, were they a hit! </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="531" data-original-width="864" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiWEdGh12a0GVN2As2FBmHvmxW1DiVsOpAYk3Bx8XVBEjLu3clTj2O0wpoggmADnnEfJsaGa9-B8lUgZzoeAwNX-JO6sb80wBrxluF3XwpstSebjTsOqdtDfDG_oavgq7DEbQ0ehNub-CMlBzABW9J0EuOGdBKkxY5J4odoNLvP2f656_cjDc/s320/Screenshot_20221120-105051.png" width="320" /> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="559" data-original-width="864" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLwdkI8tQx_uov1IN2zKDjhuS-K2EZzVYO3bybKVYs-GHTauApgYmgBC62_pg7H_SB3j1azQYUMzAidS0mJE5HepjBEhyAhKvlLAkhV_mgzvaDSld6SZwpprsNA6rnUX-v2CRx16qtVK1z20-nGx2crfAYalPJ7SI2gtX1B6vf_H3o31xPWkg/s320/Screenshot_20221220-194406.png" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="377" data-original-width="864" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvQnmoVpAwM0RPLdW5bn0IUOetR__opzY6gRRmr-Wg2W_JGEbdGHkv5Rn2KaHNkLZ34JnpSx2m7VsmLV9Ij_5hxAs-eUPf-vxuGtBIoC5NbRblkZT8tG83gJ7q3lK55zVCIjitdsroJF_KP8ledZ6UMwL9Ul_m5KXJJnNuKfnN-2B1J25ke4w/s320/Screenshot_20221215-172731.png" width="320" /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzLDr-l4bK8nunuCnnJ0KhQ7-h9s9LyZFhx_7VABEhbbgMmQwzD2wtC_h-IxMReS_mN-66ESztV5tQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i> </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>ON STAGE</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b> </b></div><div style="text-align: left;">Back when I was doing a better job of updating my blog, I wrote about being <a href="http://injillswords.blogspot.com/2022/06/on-stage-again.html" target="_blank">on stage again</a><b>.</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b> </b></div><div style="text-align: left;">I was also in a theater production this December. I know, a music teacher who also performs in a musical during the Christmas season. Pretty crazy of me, huh? Still fun though. I couldn't pass up a chance to share the stage with some of my favorite humans.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ_lkN7boDEcKOJLrnVVNE0TUNf3hZntbzFRjoeIRiBg3RNJA5zFz79DTpd_Q88OE_qiUSJtSN0bx-uBFRKVyvtA1SVSuSZN3wu6MMgic29PrY4JlhlEnf7CcOasK46JRbVDUlC-7rLZxV6GNYN__G1TtPCiHPVpga_PRf78gFEeSiRs-oRjk/s320/318348491_10228822569407449_563112097970201850_n.jpg" width="320" /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoX5NX4z0sjKU7N7XPli8dvX0sClWaMs1ycEY_5IX1QnO84wnHGv1sh7X_MzUyG-mjQO1SUMQ8q4atqzjzhvmYjPv3PYfv8C9LUduP0ISE7fnIZI949xE7VIW5Kzt4Z2sWxVdyr0u7eY0RZLtghDO88HOZAjJQu8cXtecHUxYTUXdsJTmvibQ/s320/318438978_10228822568567428_6761400270950075978_n.jpg" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1079" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtYJMx9qg19LrdUz3h25nLiR6x9EcC_MLn-HM8_xegd3ioPHYxSFbPml7RXjsAkfLTNhibe23t_X9SB4Cyz0E0RCoybz0Hr2C9iRFp1Lv5tI4g-QOfSBVlRVbkl0eDBjLrMk-PxPBjiB5fGvxBvzBWIrzJu3U6-virwj4ZMbkiG0A2m03sBGw/s320/318453733_10228822567007389_3669517572569571882_n.jpg" width="320" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1496" data-original-width="1496" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgnDoPZ1MK_5mX2ioI4QbHovS4fYnDvyTgBGJ5NIHskyGOMbIfzh0TCocLSc2rR81OrIfPo6RU2lN5SZRbUaOG4tmdKdUOlmaSJNdcmi93Lk6BoT-Bb5wH4uaBtv-R53OOmRwIhgW02J08AIjMPI-jy6ielxOS6oxdCelWjU1aUemOHneftUQ/s320/IMG_20221210_112741-COLLAGE.jpg" width="320" /><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i> </i></div><div style="text-align: left;">Stay tuned! I'm slated to be in some pretty cool productions in 2023. <i> </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>THE HOLIDAYS</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b> </b></div><div style="text-align: left;">We did suffer a loss in my family this season. As a result, I spent some extra time out of town over the Thanksgiving holiday. Even though it was a difficult time, being with the family, especially playing with the nephews, brought moments of joy. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiffnbesbu2EvwlqKLjjyh3mjwV9EH-bX5EfWDgGDcuTDMOSDV-J79Z1D5knklA1l8K2f_f8aZVgmHEoER4kWR6dxRoDfB6iSymJ9TVNUL2T-vjGqHb97mkeMbUsbhTp4A2kUN_iUr9W_a0Kk608-E4w3LiPamSy_AHtD-jBl_69pK9pp-2kS0/s320/PXL_20221126_014343964.jpg" width="240" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCsSJz4DdGFLRUrqAx1WwapeZpK2Okax9qxJKmubHrm11aR9LlfNiFVIIOczVAKD6EGwxsk8VjCgX6Av_Cf5c4XVhnZFZRsAub6miovbTYeYnym8CsTPzqSSUKOCs0L5x3FXwvz6EKJdTSzAkM6WDWLVwlGHk7nH5DqPh9I3iQS7DUmz_kUmY/s320/PXL_20221125_175830919.jpg" width="240" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2713" data-original-width="3975" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAVISLiTw87zXK4wAdsq_ivtV5fK4X14ka1v8F-QS-a5kLXdW3L8AsdlVJlPWp7d3mf95cx17Ytq9_sSk3h6BSE4aEoD9qs_7CCwXPYTmulKfO2goM1LmtE2a7-0AvormyedBjcL9yKOc50TqQ7JEPLzPxZTwXOjmCT7kG0S_CuyA3QTc-uvw/s320/PXL_20221125_155542705_exported_997_1669391916505.jpg" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnzSehzxYoA_7kb2G1WrK04RzsIjtpNgW-DRZItKT_ml2gSfSohJdh25cvyjFoSJ3tg2k1g0sFWor3fany8Ao7HzoNwOQBFWfghFzvL2L9P6fgqSk34Po2HawkjbElQ9VuZlopvyzinNilAofw2nYMPGHzNBdSSkLeGBNRHechGteS3os2ONk/s320/PXL_20221124_160000801~4.jpg" width="240" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF0F1-2erA-xG_9BPNisIN3ZdmS3K06kToCw1Oz3DzobJhRvW9kC6IyijY_x1Ivrz9KhiQQWf4lth53uTq4PRfhOWKZeOVI5CwLTF5vDG7k5Kw7QfuqH-xghEJCoy4t3t3_LvkpZevC4as9zQYb_YIazPvbpH1NLRgU3xmfZa3Jzw3X9NnCG0/s320/PXL_20221124_155934726_exported_1334_1669322024603.jpg" width="240" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;">I sang in one of our church Christmas Eve services, and then my husband, Dan, and I headed to Sun Valley the day after Christmas to do some cross-country skiing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="481" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8WgVZcra1pWfUxzNwXuR4rKm_itgpEf1BbPsQUFaJ4BllGKB22kSrtgJbust3ebifyLEARrJHAYUQzoI8qeD_1yJ5Tfxa-eMcymEOphxW_kP6pbx6DgvFe2-uJkh7NOLwwCDNiOsGMpo8r9EiIfJ0vT0IGUi5vaLgiXsk61oqe_C916SYIzk/s320/PXL_20221227_180136077_exported_699_1672173397546.jpg" width="180" /><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="481" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8glLqnglP3qq_MMtePKOdpIsv6CrFZAXvflo6-4BTV9mmXpLirok1ZtvXcJz-OLis341dzMviJDxn8qg4NhUzwsZrw1qfHpM_WAKuZZGmJ-W4CiURyvQSAfXtRRBVND4D6kuE9YqYthp6eEjv2aWGN6tB3M8Nb9V4bBOqu0UAIrY7mHMgphs/s320/PXL_20221227_191146502_exported_399_1672173384193.jpg" width="180" /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidoy8YdzWTho5SFERPMEXKqUXm4dak8zFRFeQ9oBvFhPZw-WNd_YzGEipiXt9cGziSW805QanasSmKFeQ2d8cv1MzV5BOgMXIynRRf3smLc0aRXNIew4Qnt8epcAGCGvN1a3yA_DIO5295Bt9jHo4a3B24guYADq_Ns-N-jNJiVzPBYqUopnU/s320/PXL_20221227_191743413_exported_stabilized_1672173424472.gif" width="180" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">We also ate our final dinner at Asiago's, the night before it closed its location in downtown Boise. Dan took me to Asiago's the night he proposed, and we've been celebrating our anniversary there almost every year since. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZndavER1Q2ZWnEPhQUEkvbvFLeysgbFCnfvfMp_IjjQEmIuDHBRVU-L1mXIevuX6aG7ztGADFjmyyeMAke6b_9QfIH3UtXU9asxC00-Z7RAq0zHsgCI0u7PedueqQvl1PgHYK74dgnKs0ckAl44Wvf9UcaNU31pGzVKtB9X_90fgfVSJsvk8/s320/PXL_20221231_012758705_exported_862_1672451856026.jpg" width="320" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Even though it's the end of an era for our favorite restaurant, we're still going strong after these nineteen years. Here's to nineteen (hopefully, nineteen-plus) more!<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="641" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSqxH2RyyxKom3LipT0_9Y5eFSfMx0RCg9bM87kVJKdzUloUrHPTL7U5N8WjLzLxe75NhL1LnEQfdJoukHtkoN3JS26begfuIQ92J3zfclNE24ohIkIwqx3u6iTUY_ZWYZ2QBjkck_aqFDHnfb4IIhvnPeCd9BJND9lJ38IIlfgN5OZXp_Kkc/s320/PXL_20221225_171242968_exported_835_1672182017877.jpg" width="240" /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i> </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-13415678313474005042022-10-04T07:00:00.018-06:002022-10-04T07:00:00.161-06:00#MountainBikingFail<div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1140" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGNb7Nr8s7v8qATwXJVNCqW5Icv0Yu5u3ib6bNXM90vyAKFbot-fMmlKL8Sk81jABepSEcADnpF39Bmv9pAXFcni36hjeZQ2D2HRNx3oAd90I7Mh_UzRJf8d1ANdyu4ss5o_58OQiWbqH9o-WF1ToQeltqugOKjYIxL-YCSo4xhwVgMD9dv90/s320/PXL_20220812_220303281.jpg" width="320" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Toward the end of the summer, my husband, Dan, and I experienced some mountain biking disappointments. It was kind of sad. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The first weekend, we were thwarted by a surprise thunderstorm. To be fair, we were in the mountains. An afternoon thunderstorm here and there is not unusual. But this one was crazy.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We had this grand plan to ride a couple of longer trails. Instead, we were stuck in our car in the state park parking lot, in the most treeless spot we could find, hoping we were out of the way of the Ponderosas that surrounded us. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxi4_y8njsa6cD_IqXcPDRZt46aiFF_Rh33U2Kgvr7Us2z27eLZxsRgWRmIgrAyWTLmQq6iTn6U4zg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">This particular thunderstorm was the one that started the wildfire in Cascade, Idaho this summer. Even in McCall, we saw the remnants of a lightning strike as we drove to an overlook at Ponderosa State Park. (Don't worry. We waited until the storm passed.)<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSVD8DRQMCqyx38K5ep0OMK0u9_2nuX1HN_Xa1NZEwFFR0IaOSls_e0BBh5oT7J32NM_qbvAd4J6UKGp5HHrrt_k3I2R5sLv38k2B40yKWyQCV3CpOVnT3z8Adbig9itx7fOjK2TnjKfzlOGvmQqemZFZ4FCxy4PigIxJHv8GOrLwnYOeEb9U/s640/PXL_20220812_195351348_exported_stabilized_1664664902236.gif" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSVD8DRQMCqyx38K5ep0OMK0u9_2nuX1HN_Xa1NZEwFFR0IaOSls_e0BBh5oT7J32NM_qbvAd4J6UKGp5HHrrt_k3I2R5sLv38k2B40yKWyQCV3CpOVnT3z8Adbig9itx7fOjK2TnjKfzlOGvmQqemZFZ4FCxy4PigIxJHv8GOrLwnYOeEb9U/s320/PXL_20220812_195351348_exported_stabilized_1664664902236.gif" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tree struck by lightning at Ponderosa State Park <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We headed to the Visitor Center to report the lightning strike, but someone must have beaten us to it because we passed two fire trucks on their way up to the site.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Needless to say, we did not mountain bike in McCall that afternoon.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">We were able to ride a flat path around Cascade Lake after the storm had passed. Little did we know, that a forest fire had been ignited across the lake that afternoon.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1140" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzBwn9VA5_TcY9uLwLknOxwxViPBx-g3kiC-9S8HQtnRFBwezgtH22EkCoau4Ut2qIi_3lvuzBmv4yGQBQlQUgR2ZCeoTqd-WwKYHBRUV1RYf4jLZtDXg99IKTZY_HHg_bbl1V-VMLe_xxovXT_R9QNBNXT1BryA3ErUnTWzyh491KJCQfdn8/s320/PXL_20220812_220136209.MP.jpg" width="320" /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The following weekend, we decided to book a hotel room and stay the night. That way, we would have an extra day if a thunderstorm hit one of the afternoons. If both days were nice, we would bike one day and hike the next. We were packed and ready to go.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Then I woke up in the middle of the night . . . with the stomach flu.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Thanks, kindergartners! <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">Finally over Labor Day weekend, we made up for the two weeks of mountain biking fails. Our hiking and biking days were smoky due to the wildfires, but it was worth it.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="481" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwXfjfdZ2687vBZ-gaJQeqN53NQHj_i-rbSVtxMeqXnD_oxx04NUvNaKCvYKH5yzj1RtuAOKgGuaXE5cjDAcyirhEJyEtEbD7aLTrLvm-c7KDcFW5kMt5htbuYHemcfJdfYDeDShzxLaQXu81ZAGiTqQWYIJaF_D0lYInxJ2wNvKhY3i9HBKA/w225-h400/PXL_20220903_192707334.jpg" width="225" /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1520" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdXNtYv3wPOeJzZkLx0qm2cxQvYIYktqCRKk7ZQeLYeBeLhU15u1DqysizXwyKzvgSFnYsF5LpcQfuPY1AapH_4jgrGtIrPo2eaNFdbi87-d8ZAy6i8OCh0HX9Vdrk0zbRgfF5sh1tDxy8g0sYQ0dy4hUsoXBIhMoYaYy3KnGUC4OHA2NGEpE/s320/PXL_20220903_193145689.MP_exported_1332.jpg" width="320" /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1520" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinWOEi-I_4HGVbljfmVJcjJkOZZhArnHnxgrRZcSzZ2iagwld2TtizDPd6yeH6uNram0D5Nf8J6u6YSESptUE7ZnmWpQIlHl5-AVai8p4Fm42Cju88805E0uH103FAWc0C3_N1X-tm03Z5nVR3tWRTGZcTKkeaU_J0kzMyQXv7gxD1wwTD9p4/w400-h225/PXL_20220903_201613841.jpg" width="400" /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="641" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGIYU0OzQhaW8JvqSzCgfzZd_0c1MpuYKbVKiz4PxGhS0b_7vNLaIIyW_c2J_XkBgDqNnTyS22WDd8KFQ3qYlJQ3aGGT-_lSzH62XksOtyuGdPk_tDJNaHmwqLLxx4KDdsplWIE57J69l5QS6HypEVR_-ns5GJdbAyfjbVpm7TmfrV9ZqvBvk/s320/PXL_20220904_220759434.MP.jpg" width="240" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1520" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk0WPZ-m5yYnUEp_K3vRhF3IQYfZ7scr4UmWrbzYvRH7DKk1V9xJ0o6aEtHzNYOCzNhaUZwjHfhMCVGDOaaIIsZfMI0HOZqvkWO_RvaFCejPG203xSaPSq_G8TKlEFRac2mEtJCiSGELvadduYZLHB8xQQRq1KzDuAupTdn0Hm1q-iisqpr6c/w400-h225/PXL_20220905_165445955.jpg" width="400" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">And more recently, we were able to go on a less smoky day trip. #MountainBikingSuccess!<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1520" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWKBBDe4SnNtUvGB1_pRPhpFJyzXZfuIbOrH3a_hu9IMAhGfMYOh1zllAyCPPNb7JcFl1-0lO2SFcRX3itWy2ehuUMtXfal5ZjLnsFFxo6sgDD98ezehxclVo3uQsI270Jcru9ouq_-AUsxrmOzQSBE-uw5flkvIWrhnhUGw_vHGNjSfbI7X4/s320/original_ca95eb89-34a0-465c-8dd2-0df439a6553e_PXL_20220925_210436227_exported_199_1664139902412.jpg" width="320" /></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="481" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8rT5hj_ekiV14JpMCyHR6yctbWeZpsO6ntlPpcfFscH7byrwUI81o-N12TqI7s2sp-7xnBRZmEmSHr8mHbaoqF6UntPRqiev34lbxsJ7ojhYi66IpD5LgGSiA77bMWTh_rWb5rcIa6kQkdUtmID91Enee4f6t_IdaT5Wxf-Z6xI5Nc5vtjqk/s320/PXL_20220925_205953133_exported_1332_1664139814167.jpg" width="180" /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1520" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5c0C54lHcqNXPbhvIDC3OA9ddwI19IXmyUDS6OdCfZzIs9uggJrDmSxjpd3oCAObhFF4-tKK7f0HkeoMwd_oYEj4yCR5MtP_ElyBvvImnqUXzyc1bPZI0KDXNil_0ewh3DwIizXOlSOXZUZ6YxecR9dvf8sojAbxVPgUKGONx9FnV0hV0pQU/w400-h225/PXL_20220925_210245054.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">
<i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-31965135559540514332022-09-06T07:00:00.286-06:002022-09-06T16:53:18.555-06:00Beginning of the Year Funnies 2022<div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1140" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLP1ueCYDeXPJC5gYS1ZJkYPGusr2h1m4bbop6bKEIY8t6Sj1A2qcAPzXxeb7FWBEpIRNDFd48ro-OmDu-Ve3xJ1-Jm81DOX_rHCvR-z24rE3sQaYS_RSr_ASMLiQCLwgH81cAQE5m3d-NkAJC-4o2unTurqzRBxtxS91HfeIjz6ULmW7LHqM/w320-h240/PXL_20220817_142629015_exported_1401_1660746427215.jpg" width="320" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The 2022-2023 school year is off and running, and once again, the kids have provided the best blog material. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We are already starting our third week, and I am late getting my beginning-of-the-year stuff posted due to some recent out-of-town commitments. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Oh yeah, and the first week of school, I caught the stomach flu from the Petri dish I call my classroom, so that was awesome. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="396" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBWV8c-VWluywMtrLn9gCnHW3N9CmTkPtSKaFhot_dx4OTjpSluYlG4Xg2NgFHRKFmXcYEuateektRHVC_v5Ru6Xesn68boWj4qPM1IS0csbSNFhQ2NNS2NIFCEEi32RfTuNinsrc3zChwAGWg7i09068uWvGYrzRZ11Ha7WPG5CcGl3hCGxM/s320/eba081b917b9b4fa26304f4e1e73c365a8049ba9cf017998d888473782f50f3c.0.jpg" width="318" /> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">Other than that bump in the road, the music room has been a fun and funny place so far!</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The kindergartners have loved the songs "The Jellyfish" and “Slippery Fish" this year. At the end of "Slippery Fish," the whale lets out a huge burp (which is probably why it's a favorite), and the kids have added their own, “Excuse you, Mr. Whale!” to the end. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLFWLP5rQwOY0HxF5Gcx-lybjietKma8QA9jUVWk0MI4nNHi3lt-mg8VfIV-hD1HeMpkdmQDV_CyQDIczUY79mtxhcAD020coflKRDl0VrY238BuMrsM6qr9RgwYHfLOauMQYB_DuXH4x9pYw73JoKcyi23USLqOuhcmbaUGyHBb96r2lVy5M/s320/PXL_20220824_174208679_exported_stabilized_1661457815698.gif" width="320" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">All of the younger kids still love Copy Cat. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The other day, one of the kindergartners whispered, "How's Copy Cat doing?" while they were walking by in their silent, single file line. I gave him the thumbs-up sign.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The first and second graders, who have known Copy Cat for a while, have always given him a high five or a hug as they exit my room. This year, some of them have created secret handshakes with him. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm not sure Copy Cat actually knows the secret handshakes, but the kids seem satisfied . . . <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="220" data-original-width="222" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixzvXqbMmkxB4D4WB85VJAWCwdQ4EOsfWShasZYfZ6la0yEbSvsQz70ChEc_deCCys4Gub0pw5FJq42sINYDkNYP1gqd1fUpeQGfWMkNibPGrJLRH-0bWZH3rvsy3aj-1TcQDHkB7YOLQNleQCi5ImYLDn3BzAboXOTy5dYAdHD1rEph-DZ1Q/s1600/Screenshot_20220904-104910.png" width="222" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">We also sing our school ROAR song the first couple of weeks of school. The younger kids, especially, request it every class. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">One afternoon, when we finished singing it, a second grade girl announced, "I LOVE the ROAR song!" </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Then she started belting out, unprompted, "THIS GIRL IS ON FIRE . . . !"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="170" data-original-width="163" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixkpHYXuNFc8m20qF_B-GJjT3TGt_FBEtJd5IMlqhFf9jf6uBTS9ASsr73x0g9yV90hSlnqNnHtE2yuH7gpdeb79iOAM31B3V_5z18acSLC-j-oO24ZVXsEkhzEro2T5p4nKsKdCQ_Xjd72V4BKEJ5fauSCM7pXW6V89Tp3KUgFostiZfdvlA/s1600/k15822334.jpg" width="163" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">Our school has a mascot named Jaggy. Jaggy is usually a teacher or, more often, a student teacher who has been persuaded by the principal to don a costume that is about 100-degrees inside. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">This year, the kids have decided that I am Jaggy and that I have always been Jaggy. They just know it. Maybe it's due to my awesome Copy Cat puppeteer skills, that I must also be the life-size puppet-type creature . . . ?<br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Fun fact: I have never once been Jaggy. I'm usually busy teaching class. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Then there is the third grader who comments on my appearance everyday, in particular, my makeup (of which there is very little). </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Mostly, she likes my makeup, but a couple of days ago she said, "Your makeup . . . it's okay . . ."</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I wasn't sure how to take that. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="836" data-original-width="864" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK_Sb-38_6TrjL5nY14nzhLXmV-IuQqPH4WotA5AUKUKgZnnbaKjhGu5-My9RpcYCvboslaake3Zo1n2l94S91zQnbVhDUDIV6wEjbKt2TsCuAjSXoizFayA2y82uawvDUbhPme1yOeVQyCJUuL9PpQsd6ZmHqxYvmasnHohIfn0qfsI5jM_s/s320/298055195_5897374950324341_1060007061112857282_n.jpg" width="320" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The older kids have their moments from time to time. It has been difficult to get the upper grades to sing because we have been doing so little of it the last couple of years due to COVID restrictions. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Finally, I told my shyest fifth and sixth grade classes that I would give candy to any of the kids who appeared to be singing, even if they were just moving their mouths. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Enter the strongest group of singers I have heard in two years. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Lesson learned: I am not above bribery.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The upper grades tend to be more worldly in their humor. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The kids were having a hard time hearing the bell outside for recess, so it was changed to a slightly obnoxious, old-school, clangy bell that scared the younger kids to death. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">One sixth grader commented, "It sounds like a jail break bell." </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I probably shouldn't have laughed so hard at that statement, but he wasn't wrong.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">But the best moment so far came from a fifth grade game of "Around the World." During this game, the kids try to get around the world by being the quickest to name the treble clef pitches from flashcards. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">One of my fifth grade girls was beating everyone until she came to a boy from a self-contained classroom. He happened to name the note before her, and I'm not sure which kid was more excited. The whole class clapped for both of them, and she gave him congratulatory a high five. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">That kind act of good sportsmanship restored my faith in humanity just a little. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="477" data-original-width="600" height="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaBB_BgN4r33120fMNDIOa-HIaH9BaEnC6qkX6ZxKGGnOvUdlXISCuP8uh4gV3ndjQZRwH4cJLNoi4w9s6qOn36maxjrKP622vJvpRXv3YnvMmtM6YXNhWauFW3AvyrdVKwY61QRsi30x0OBMEzyUB46uR3caCaqAXwFNZx6TOz1xOOIpULT8/w200-h159/8ixKxyrrT.jpg" width="200" /> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1520" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJAylx4DwNaI-pKXGfhWyYo6aLowg10Prc-hefxgqbOHa5GpbWLLWjvHosGsw57EmtcSp22zds0jgdS2D1vNJ8BxCwOwu3MlMoViQ6UVtnghr7EepJGMlnFMkAPo9zLPOxPcSiV62fce3UYH8qyfumpzbPuqS_cKFas0abcZ4z7mpyYWFlJsU/s320/PXL_20220825_194721398_exported_53757.jpg" width="320" /> <br /></div></div> </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">
</div><div style="text-align: center;">
<i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-77483526997991093772022-08-07T07:00:00.206-06:002022-08-07T07:00:00.164-06:00Summer Favorites<div style="text-align: left;">The summer is coming to an end, and I will be heading back to the classroom soon. This seems like an appropriate time to share my summer favorites . . . before the real circus begins in a few weeks. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>The Boise Hawks <br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;">My husband, Dan, and I scored some free tickets to the season opener, and my brother, sister-in-law, nephews, and father were able to join us. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1534" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib1Fq0s9DrNNjpEb1efY9JwvVg5dHZCdS6hf8Mok-hvxjw-bLSNgOQKU5LdA4E0C8xQG0y2HQIJeF0w9Mx0YC2QQeeFnybYnu_OUdAb51FqxzjEj1La-ne6e9Dzm8iC2aD7--q6a_K6uHs_aPjARNG_FwHnX_oT3NuEPTGVsEUQHrseankZS8/s320/284668940_10159221735892955_8237949996200282832_n.jpg" width="240" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicqbQCnQNDqR0Ydg3p-Ms_xegq4QhNnLAvwncQ5mqYKaHUHmqCmN_DgTn0Ns0Wmxhj-LS7QviVFp3H_tE9vjDKnS0ZClrNwIxrw5pkLiweYJ5JHDfAh2L67RVfB9uTAv5Dxj1iqED4qHrhqpBHl4hRkTFEhDM9TMK8CMxYR8O-9tRb9WMjO40/s320/284944261_10159221735592955_7781499266074085796_n.jpg" width="240" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1538" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb6yR8IpzKipVYA2-5uWvqjXVSjSdUdEMv6Zr0DiG6aksELMXcIVNin5vRUxZDaipyDfLdQF_I8e80jrogKWwf-IP4jc7-3Hv2IuVnw42P6lOQbA3jFKgRGuEMNTbo0gadLRW2pC2VkUR_nzjo2CqOtYNs_YLFEcdgqNW2l4cRnEO3LgW3II0/s320/285094499_10159221735847955_7229131086705076600_n.jpg" width="240" /></div><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ7RcG73lyrgJ23xyg7cht7KP_2SPSk9SDRg830mAx5xKO76aYM-i3UeeXz3nc0LM5M9xa0pWKsJ1yF2oJgL8YkvuVWg_CkuSIgvGBmpVJJ4QktEQt_Zo1JndgSgNrbWpip1aPlICNho0aTO-qGBJpFW7iKFQ0HVmuxYYDmLhw1wrNibXRom0/s320/285240100_10159221735257955_6818379368415535429_n.jpg" width="240" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b> </b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>My birthday</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">Yay for summer birthdays! Of course, it would be better if they would just stop now that I've hit forty-five. But I guess it doesn't work that way. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="641" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Y1kJaJPWKeYH0IfQUEHUpT93ZxbPhYaIlco0MXwjgtRBObBoGVJHrs2dark5cfJSdkiMsX7srLMo8PmikNxqKRY2ZjLmNccjbzCrRPhFvdW86CPwGK_QeEgbSy4K8UpONscgjd7eTab33z3SljIUgG1qbsM1Cpvj1Ta9oHRd-0spAQ_UJ3E/w150-h200/286106577_10227591240304991_5942969843979531844_n.jpg" width="150" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="641" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfbXJI7wMuknoA4v6PdsY0PcXHj8LOWHIFX2l-xyPOb3Jyp1iwrJo0Ai7syq0UHvWfHlgu6S3t3ZFpm2xKaaGB-EkqW-b4VAa5jn463WvXvHJZfrWSXi5a69vIhkpJ5u_EWllZWFtp3NrzHD2em_YRMzLRcjvPtDlqe4RteUUvtNivoVxcFsE/s320/285985210_10227591240424994_8236196203831583474_n.jpg" width="240" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><i>Hello Dolly</i></b> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Faithful readers will remember that I began my summer <a href="http://injillswords.blogspot.com/2022/06/on-stage-again.html">on stage</a>. It was my first time in two years, and it was a blast. I'm excited for the next one. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGQ4jCGToRGMhZo80aiVAJsdRNH0u-jyUwF0_oMzDGY-hmQ4yeJPD7WnudSufKYfx_b5_iR_IPQ41NcP0zKzqLGpZ_MGO_4zM7cOdzMTHXNS51Bn8XvurGu6ip8NzJpoziod2qn3QIFonCkkX-I8awpNnKkuovRr4TFZyNG3vhDTovxsfb4Lo/s320/286938851_10227607428309681_2637880070088542342_n.jpg" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqcrgik_Ig9Tkuy690ptPnmFznP7yKwHcXq1UqAc0IwUl13477ymCZUKK4eNY-U7x1WdebcKIuPXfQj5U8iU2a9hwVGwOOSuRv00Y7ijp-y7CBzuBTIPwvbNRRIx5uLXbeGRuq5EYvX3H5x5R3zH6XwI6iFgCy9xpT7wk4JkDS8AmX_8dU8nk/s320/287060512_10227622126197119_1288759189104862671_n.jpg" width="320" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b> </b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>The Boise Foothills</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">Yes, Dan and I escaped to the mountains a lot this summer. But we have a pretty phenomenal trail system locally. It does get hot, so you have to get up early in the summer months. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0DL6X8qNyzsT9fI_iIbQIYW_w4rW8F7ARv15t4AOSNNIGNufXL_Vbc4orr35sD7Iu4N1HYqQIYkl2FZeavL_qW1iZi1_6wQxxOx03RUq8SyZoPa38Q2NMaSoi600NUMpJbuXHJAnVLPgGIn5BRqMxku_xygN4n8lHwTO9rNed_Jb5u130Rn8/s320/281894238_10227489449680289_3984304838417416022_n.jpg" width="240" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ol6TkViff_ctCL_6zEuqt-9TVGMQSbzz3KXRRwIys1NHUkNEpvmWOItAeUTeOoFGehRn2qW2eIhhp_nda3VlErGHVvf5lNQ8EA250kVVtCemGdhJ0xl8H5-3rqucFfesq4wN3RivKEgqj7l1IvyG0MJVNWcWwbnsrxjVRc4fWqUZIl72pUY/w400-h300/294694139_10227836707801525_5575340623917004239_n.jpg" width="400" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSbP_IoOV4or5bdjFDeX_kbRfvGQJCEpiaRJlWxEJA5JeMlxp5dFB46EwWtajERdcjZ-CNlCc6KmSJ6q6bFfYcm_0TO_sk-ylEI_4nZFLJR-ueJsaoVfpi7f3n7G-xZ4iEBWgXv3ZpZX3RT6UAEYzME6Mpg_VMf2iDV6kpYYAYbYbzIAmyBOs/s320/296647134_10227865721566851_5104135721500764208_n.jpg" width="240" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Idaho Shakespeare Festival</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">Attending the Idaho Shakespeare Festival is one of our favorite summer traditions. It has been a little hit and miss with COVID, but we have enjoyed getting back into the swing of it this year.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhudFWj8UwtQKuLQO8gRrtwT6o9s7dcoe3hN78Nvz7QtAl6xLsLahudLEfuH4dJ62hELOb05Y2I49XalTbtIUVGy1m5-fAuZ7oR2f3ewUUJIrgA3AUcIFgFQkUwlx1r0MDTmUZTQxCLICp6UudzFzgfy9xPHBjcegu5zRhej-F991urLuQ6xH0/s320/294050628_10227805752627665_8547157091178915552_n.jpg" width="240" /> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b> </b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Hiking with my brother and my nephews</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">I love <a href="http://injillswords.blogspot.com/2022/07/dan-goes-fishing.html">hiking with my nephews</a> and brother. We were only able to get together once this summer (so far), and it was worth it!</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="641" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdIjUFF5tgZgX6MbQBJU15F-JZ-b7osxOBPCmtnMUzNWLZ-uP1KI7fGWhdHMwD9FBQyp7MsJwQz4kvEq149L15_ZZY7jyQXrF1Kp8jigUrsg_1n40rz1Dj102WsfB_kRANeFnebnZaj3CggzhwsarFXFjqKv_SnLgk23V43xmlU9DQP9qFWjE/w300-h400/FB_IMG_1658614160740.jpg" width="300" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1140" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8zrNWyfe8OkxX9hdN3A6XgWSVCLm2F2SAu2apmJDDr7NMxX-juolTXGYBh4D0JVgEpUQms9WMOlTyhCM9ABLs2G3EPTpI6Zh6AIo7V6qXHdna0yh3I1E8W8j1fGU1m9eFRir1wi-3wRyvOFCITsHFs5n9J5-YA46T4ULiMBaTcQDvdRQNPvg/w400-h300/PXL_20220723_165851475.jpg" width="400" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1140" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjYGmCXTiZA4ePo1XeXbX3hFgZSjuuejIFrpaRTMGmpobUeI1eL03kIQ4ZePqeFR5zPX3TqkO_7HC2ZVzF1p6sneK4QI1yrx8-oCcxcqcUEVVl2gHJwgr1Pa-StoO82EKiSTC8j7g2Mnr9Vo4uYMQ0aEevds0pXDlf_0iVWqhj_5d3WsA-tU4/w200-h150/PXL_20220723_173252941.jpg" width="200" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b> </b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Three road trips to Sun Valley </b> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Dan and I didn't travel far this summer, but we did visit <a href="http://injillswords.blogspot.com/2022/07/july-road-trip.html">Sun Valley</a> three different times. I'm trying to convince him that we should just buy a vacation home up there, like the celebrities. (Spoiler alert: That's highly unlikely.)</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1520" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-pz_O_IK031JpPXVXGljsLejQl3oMX5rmgSUPe6r9S1xw1gPPHFBT-LGi07VN_usM7I1-xh9imfOW-mqqiTf1y76_Az0BcN7P8JVhJ_1yXgBnGjSqegbR9kfEzW7QWzzFSgky0w1cMrN9i3EFExxzvZHqkk1akhzGNb1GWbjvmtilP3uzAiY/s320/PXL_20220621_161714911_exported_1365_1655832779128.jpg" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1140" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnc5mMO2CN_b-coMUYbZQv7lkV4jsoG4AYXmpnJfnauasf1xqxc7vghdnlBezqVmf6Mr5Hir-KosH0B5zy-RTCRIzwMQOwIm2lFFYAhuWi7gJVOx9e1bhOfUk_z3ZcQeLOu4ZhpPJV8Q_Ym2Cf-0rmakI1fl35Z0WGbMrp8ZHe8reVZ6NWD68/s320/PXL_20220730_200604726.MP_exported_1167.jpg" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="641" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKYWvT2qD3M3t-AHTuJS0PLy3x9zLXyrXS5gH4VuNu_hd64HHu83L0DKqnvg09Fd-wBKHh4yzcifHxI60PAOxSmCBspN3RO5_WIde9kVufxT60lYb2u0KmUT3reGNlxISuUKXb9XsyPW73eZT9VKkLH9i2apxrslsEDFMVi9r-Zatav8iAsQU/s320/PXL_20220730_204049643.jpg" width="240" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1520" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLE9DrO9NMywo59_APw0zXJi-4mFcGqqzSrrKRLUEHm8Vy18iGjYfIW8vrAJk7rA3pPJP1WoHIax59reR5FhrjdGHKIUydc2rolYxgsetzyCgOnKoHnTfqiUyzKRW26ZGpMziWzUSliVaoHZjECCmTR-DOQucPP-0KTqEDJkgaoPQiKP6z_kw/s320/PXL_20220731_160030977.jpg" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="481" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7RMlgytWlBRCv-4vZq-S9qXLcjtqaU2Jz-XI_PqsGWmSgYZIxcalitbjCL43bnqozWh92S8iAj-bKmyzNVjpr6iaX1VLiCf1PswY6t4TfThDAjTLCjpFkde8-HM3Xu05OliL3Upfn_DP5iCCtDKc0GSQPV3cUEnrJO5SvO9GPr5D9VW-PAJA/s320/PXL_20220801_165319552.jpg" width="180" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1520" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE2bSLScCZY07cL69axQ-ltc-0Mmy-3rkn5XY0AcuxhdOri1-jMGBFpLZiCHJRcoVa-LXHIM78j03Mj9xUK4yGzUe8mrZ2N_CbclsZIm5b8HjW2tGEfyfltup4XdXKI9n6t03Im3QGciNl2AGYFwV0ycrxx4zIEtNck0NQBgpu1nko71D4aOo/s320/PXL_20220801_174219679.MP_exported_266.jpg" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="641" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Nwkjir16cYsvm4zZ_V1p15KKXpRj7ArwVj0tYAsrKU4ichSl-gzHBicmDbp2_NPAYf5Lv-riV7geKGPqFxNQDP2rsZBs5yiVW-Xi7fOFm-m1y1OuLpYwDExxgjv2TjxugeNfS7OPRa4xJmor-gWkPgXxPc4Ui8iceRFelW-NbCGORKEyH-Y/s320/PXL_20220802_171429692.MP.jpg" width="240" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">
<i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-52133752813547219062022-07-30T07:00:00.310-06:002022-07-30T07:00:00.190-06:00Dan Goes Fishing<div style="text-align: left;">Several years ago, I wrote a blog post about <a href="https://injillswords.blogspot.com/2015/07/when-cats-away.html">how I entertain myself</a> when my husband, Dan, goes out of town. Last weekend just happened to be Dan's annual fishing trip with his father, and I once again filled my days with some fun activities. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYe2vVRK1peq6w-5uin6VEYdoXXc8QDOVWfWAuFVJNxL9jxMmo1S_yOr0613bQm4YExxU-Gzn5p8Y5tKGLAIkRvwrGg16JsXo4QHby1IzMTyaRjUxke8cIQ9K1UwJqLl9c6uQyJw2lE9hL0WaP2n2fNgqeOtKBiV-0GNG-P2-bdu__icXArQU/w400-h300/PXL_20220722_155410500~2.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">One day, I went on a solo hike in the foothills and cooked myself a tuna steak with lots of tomatoes. (If it wasn't already obvious, Dan doesn't like tuna steak or tomatoes.)</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFxAtjbEX_pWQ3CAc3zH6lWrbTWQWu7TcvxBPrXIMBxh0VbwU81UyE0bvb-oEZFfcf7KQf_M7itigHbhKODZKpIXAAy_oPMQ4thj64-2k9yiNy2aBvKeXXKvKBqmweoaoosYSrMkc7CMDJV0W-oAuSYLWkr1ICGYetwnVkTUtNpu1VzP1pvk0/w150-h200/PXL_20220722_155351139_exported_0_1658510577767.jpg" width="150" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="641" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixxxKf6zgAB1xBaEFdIbvjsrm1g-nunQD15jgto3eai3sQWx3Kvv7HAuzjb9_SS9-u3WSBNUQjr0QAKNiBwG9cP-1nszqqOehoD6dypSIplZz59ofE5x4vz57LaN9FDgujKOJjNjhF9veppVH8XSSJjydHRpZfnb_QaJsgMDd8jdtZh_TfMXs/w300-h400/PXL_20220722_154203472~2-COLLAGE.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I saw a hawk and a deer while hiking that morning.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Another day, I drove down to Thousand Springs State Park and hiked with my brother and my nephews. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhenj9ES8mga8jUtWYHtu201uwubyCDOKt5KNcj6PufW_SFpZJwEiwcf3BaZY6hYUeBbGHCEJqWvjF9FcRShWBJDCZA3o1oREVrkvXd0jwIr-NFoZNun3abeXw_lvdK_5xG7YeunyEJGv5zFYh500-uj_1dk1L-KUAV4BS4KGYdjWBrzA-ixpc/w150-h200/FB_IMG_1658614140722~2.jpg" width="150" /> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">My nephews are super fans of the Sonic the Hedgehog and Mario Brothers franchises. They showed up for the hike as several different Sonic characters.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The twenty-something worker at Ritter Island recognized them right away. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"I see we have Knuckles and Sonic visiting us today!" </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixteM0SeefjAl7s4JrYZz0lNFWknCNZ-e45pmGLGCPtbhDIa8AquzJMiTObb0mgIM2bRCICsdQTK-i60_Bp7Inm5VoR7psG-Kpel6CWJ3pJHk0eKOhEaTcfiC14LnG1bQI7tTKwb9YwLUKfSF3SVRk4n7wojsNUqNIYvYK45t1r4p2N7gybRg/s320/FB_IMG_1658614137084.jpg" width="240" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">In fact, we had ALL the friends with us, and they hung out in my brother's backpack. Every few yards, the boys would stop and say, "I want Luigi now" or "I'm going to be Tails now," and my brother, Steve, would patiently dig through the backpack to find the requested mask or stuffed animal.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7P5zKfEi2MF1rRlJyD8Nu91qGAx_Fw_sfUTMot47w1V0ukPmWW5KNChYMzOixJNMbcYwn5Kq66PnmzitO2h1lc3jRcELcGlprB1L3quG6Ik7Eyzj8YUzCPmpcBBfOB-dIkKhRiInq3hXZ4bWWSxPZy_mkoXvChNBFHBUJE-yroUdMlj-ZbQA/w400-h300/PXL_20220723_161820261.MP.jpg" width="400" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"Usually, we only have two friends with us, but they decided to bring all of them today," Steve said.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We also had to stop a few times to help the boys with debris poking them in their shoes. Other than that, we (and all the toys) had a great time hiking. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyqAhA2NT0dN8WzlGltVmdnNAPfMY2jPVWsRq-riE_iTtbyWA6XHl0RVxX42gwsVL23iquwVatPNZ-H_fyrM7oDWUYlVe3tNUIo97LkrWHkLwf3WVJPQxdvqDzoTOSBF7VSG-obKRvr1PoVFyF-Q4sXFpQlVYZ2Ka1W57U4zGnWXMcjgMABBU/s320/FB_IMG_1658614148774.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aunt Becky learns all about Sonic the Hedgehog from Desmond.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh72mnnlonT9selWt710sDMcg20jkV4Cdg8zNV5idLB6kANxJTE4vBAYv8MqWMlP1kc6xE1GTqfcdpy6BJxgdWl9PJiLZpMg_UHsPWWgawliF_M41CjvwB8nNNy9yZFRzjoFD5o5oM7CwWIgrerS32PL41P46mBP2-9Z_sfDNbEgcHBY7JnNQ4/s320/PXL_20220723_162625258.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now we are hiking with Sonic and Shadow.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5a4OpZ5JQlg6E1WXOy1dBVLaZUqQaBa9Tgvoz4Iz1NF9ZKi4zzjT6z6wZICe5-njtGAemDeYXdZBPhZsdy3BSRGwkuFZ3TmwkQ-SzTHEjkLMBZyBMvJ4NZuZFcMYyDT2JiJJq8doryeOMlFpRtnMEBFdP8VPN4Oi_ZCRsa2U_hKUBysoKZJ4/w400-h300/PXL_20220723_163759730.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Osprey in her nest<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKtx5_9UP8v1enf2CKxgdaeiIeWG_EMUWOqkaiKIq2z83Yd0u_Rns7FU0KuPoHdIIWcYqy22rl6L-pd93VyCARKOJH1uLvsuKQIsZhDn7waFwf4Qlg-YV7ECTU7Ne1I1Y_GjjoS57veTF7oJER4Nv6qy0I97EW2xgDB6m33C6lXV_pDoNz8k0/s320/FB_IMG_1658614153858.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Osprey guarding his nest<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTaqcJCv5iJzfvF-DGoqwWBhmI-Y8-2sGgVxVujZUg-bNaCqGN6peBdVLe4UGfNRG9HW4cZ2VSecJJPH8ANQ30Zt0V8ULzl9rAqxw3Pu4jRImUILvA44aNy1b51ZGRfoTLEQJ2mHxhx7nx7fR9JVDFVlDIvtGiBrav_Bu4RxsZbSHalLL7jZ0/s320/PXL_20220723_163615856_exported_stabilized_1658605807114.gif" width="320" /></div> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiumLchzartxHwhyYLBNkH7QqYNxqYYcqWLrWuIQOgOGbWKnU-oNWuZsMziazS9k1XHVbi5rlrpzkMDdz_eiWNAEfFlmiIvm_DT9vBPnsIhe7znWHfYnYTtMEUoIxvhXrSmKdfTVzGfmyGoWBHn90PAWY5jM33eEIYm8f1_Bd4JVxHtBCEGEl0/s320/PXL_20220723_165851475.jpg" width="320" /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx0psY7HIcZLxVng-MEl-Br1bLP82Psa-vH89PoMO6mQA62KT1OW1nC2fGrroU7xQXWubjkyNGl0a07IslJU_k98jgTmlvDG0_Ve_pHICLftvILCQwzpGQNN92jjkV7tVfdED-e-J82zIIZLx8f_Oh79QIrpELwZ3du6mYoi0WgGRxpjcKsIQ/s320/PXL_20220723_172311544.jpg" width="320" /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp40NYxIDzU8VYkoQ484jartUMQxz821GC-qXRccnd_jCj_99feIz5_DFueccG5ygWIyHutjj4tG4sX_n6WLrisQxNXkqzJZLt8abD0VDk3YLAT8R6gDCIqEaVKSdL8hX9NDf4rZnFxAE23CPA1Baske0SawKa5z27nHe5-8nqhZyWPBjb_B0/w300-h400/FB_IMG_1658614160740.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eventually, it got a little hot for the Sonic masks.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9TMrS02ShyqOypoLXd2mbxe2ax3TnHdf9970MkyCBYfx4S8lEp9LHD9YJIkbwUWF-_fnabDBx2xSBYchAlg5L4oJIb2hEP13_5dd_dm8QxP3jvUB2Xj0lzhB79vUEESJl8Q1H1aexAbreF-201GqEGFNROVBMIl_4dTkq7ISdfwRrX61NoyY/w200-h150/PXL_20220723_173252941.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Time for lunch!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <br /></div></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC3Fa5JRWZs-mzEA5CBgBUNDHIsDwcGr3fWhs6va_Yy3d6LZwO1Mpllq63YPRILGfQEygTkl-wdbpLmvZfH56NH6o9NY3swZyCYWSongeaHuGPjBBadjRLkrpbfqEUbEPbSwubPfcOt8xmfXScKZ3XUCaCuwxLZOZpxQQ5zbAM4gYw4ti5RZo/w300-h400/FB_IMG_1658614168649.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aunt Becky counts Benny's freckles. My favorite 💕!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Of course, not everything was fun and games with Dan out of town. I may or may not have watched too many true crime TV shows that weekend. I may or may not have had a little trouble sleeping<i> </i>at night.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrCgiNoNBlm83THaXQ2T0xGb6fS4FAuzMXDP3BswHYpUBiN40aaXYJK0_XR4Z7JTGq604lKqdfS_srW93bLquybXcJPQ-3Zn0X_B-D3hvaxxVpm79mSz0gy3FZV04FnPrIR-SHV2-nItW0F-ceBHGWUOrHZqMXW6Wc2daiIa2CnfirtzUl7go/w200-h200/d4ba0d5d4f7d2d8a09cd02741cbf877be0681a1756f5480ba659f07dbb150d82.0.png" width="200" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i> </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-31073104494505631922022-07-23T07:00:00.276-06:002022-07-23T20:24:06.651-06:00Things I Love Now<div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTCTvS3gUR6uKYt12XNSs0vGVHPqEtC6119MFMoo3QmPDijTRRGkrLb4QZOlkX9hAumlpd0VNexJaJ-R50cQ431X0TKdYhowx7muJRlhbWOXcBT9muuKDq_LKcUNXfWmzXOVpxaRc2HK97wltWVYspJlEOBqARzS4bLhhruPEKvxcMiI8MFkg/s320/d36add6b366b84aa3ce89ec086c20cf96bc12747b0d4920aab3c4914c649212c.0.gif" width="320" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I love some things now.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Your husband?" Dan asked when I mentioned this to him the other day.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"No, silly!" I paused. Oops! "I mean, yes, obviously!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Okay, so he's on the list now too. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibUrwtulPEVfIxDIsMYaCl7WRBfrQ0lmig221_T3rBd96nVp8__fSr_S7QY2q-LN1mdsha-4_YXfzCuFS4h6rCsCUY3cT60fAxqOpDkaIjU06rUX_2KAc094w9DdorcSuCzORb-9USCMu6xZYlC18E2DMCsLOJcb6MEDkJlQv49pUNcvlaucU/w200-h200/892714523a3806f0aea97e2238608a49541cf61deca002c8fd11118acb25cef8.0.png" width="200" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">But as far as "things" I love, let's start with the Neti pot. <br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1280" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-T1pSDc1_-AxdWs1n8piP_kzOz1Xvvjn5otWRlSjPL2kjx7vE5vk9iCW6kUVj5nvOcfE4gNvRJOuN6dVWAcm0rUJhqjBlLmka0-RG7nTDCAj9vkb42obIMksAP-Ybw8D8UNtKbLZrc24cGHir3yg2bJcfPx1gkAw1ZB-0_yqOLbEg2sJPge4/s320/Neti_pot.jpg" width="320" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I've actually used a Neti pot for a long time, but I was thinking about Neti pots a lot when I came up with this list. It was a high pollen week. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Many people won't use them because it involves a weird process. It's. Worth. It. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Nasal irrigation has helped put me out of my misery during countless cold and allergy seasons. It was even useful when I had COVID (I had a breakthrough infection in the spring), although my sinuses seemed to be never ending faucets throughout that ordeal.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQZIZuOtTPbpLWa7k5ZiO-NdYrcyp2x0DS5_N9Kw43rWsibLcdizh6G6OksPmCpGVKqrskXFTADNJqVX_y7ZCqfQg2TVYlWjLN4bG-TvzW01jpMcj-lNGjlYdQWjeJK6b5GDPL6U40o4IMdDRkslJEro60q7TdVD0mD7vZde42elXcZGmnNjY/w200-h200/06fa64c09df170f407faabacbe15c37da937ad262f644c080f0128531d5e8f78.0.png" width="200" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Just make sure you use filtered water, or you might end up with a brain amoeba or something. I learned that from Dr. House. (#NOTamedicalexpert) </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Also on my list: All the many fun phone apps for grownup life! Here a just a few.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd2JWWB6XMJGt1RIcWwfsVbnIwzcG1G7DuF0P0liCSMJy5ATBkfnw_DyQUORxrFzDDaIXlh-wZY9Tt8E0z3pWRMoirmxsjncIJE8SqyYAEHsz0npFmlTYc1ipci7lgPNbwFZokkGJInOHXbhY5lzuaZZCL4rhMYZIEZOOUy50eh7NGk8WSrIY/s320/2825aed4889db5ca82145b105ea50a9b0736ac1f7671b0ac67458765606923b0.0.png" width="320" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Google Pay</b> has made grocery shopping fun. I don't have to dig through my wallet for my credit cards or cash, and the little blue checkmark is quite satisfying when the reader accepts my payment. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEYLnKMz9RvXvaqG10jBr_N6DCcNiuHKVQxZI2K4HKLaxu72-ru26jhwpRF27Gc9Y6xa3N-8g-OZMpDNeNpvhPaarzKeKGJN20P16eE8suB_a9FuwI9jr_R3W3HcpFM5JMvEmem4wy3Ki6CpO4USvL3pprmlI7V4cHmNpsplhhBgfwb3Z2QLU/s320/af5a173e72d99959a7c642f571f04ad3a21bc779f6763335f51b87b0542051df.0.png" width="320" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I recently downloaded <b>Venmo</b>. I know, welcome to 21st century. In my defense, I don't have friends, so I never have to split checks at restaurants or pay people for things. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Then I was in a show, and a lot of the cast was younger than me and had Venmo accounts. So I tried it out. All of a sudden, I could pay for wig rentals, make gift donations, and sell discount tickets without having to figure out where to break a bunch of twenties into smaller bills. Amazing!</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="180" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPVzLrUhX_8YowkM6jt-drLKpdIdTP5lU7Xew9dIsHsM5dh2GQNo-MawvgoEgBwJCvTmk2ljIn3mstQb0FG4MI5vJpJPLtXG8Nd-S5rLetC5ArLsOARKc5VlIzdWEC8ZukJwBkvmj3UYVTCjlBkqCtXMYPs46VG4kdPAWGXwzkrNS-fwyL_Vk/s1600/ff2914c4bd462914e4a9a14e4035ffd5e788daece16f075e24d8e4e2e7c79173.0.jpg" width="180" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I also love the Vrbo and Vacasa apps. I've always wanted a vacation home, and with those apps, you can pretend like you own a different condo every time you go on vacation. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Don't worry, grumpy neighbors. We are good vacation home renters, in bed by 9:00.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Of course, sometimes I just browse through the pictures for fun. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Are you looking at places on Vrbo again?" Dan will ask me in the car, usually on our way to one of our rentals.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I think I love Vrbo, Vacasa, etc. like the Millennials love Zillow. Millennials are fantasizing about being homeowners. I'm dreaming about vacation homes. I already own a house. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Of course, everything I know about Millennials and Zillow, I learned on SNL.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/yEfsaXDX0UQ" width="320" youtube-src-id="yEfsaXDX0UQ"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"> <i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-80414903696738230632022-07-17T07:00:00.221-06:002022-07-17T07:00:00.170-06:00July Road Trip!<div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkq4N2frjmJPA4r9N24ukAWwsbExTo4ti-1HIXttDD3jz-MRpoP3hwjINHKzDgkrfbJGDzGey_dxFjBqqx2jEvYkSEznm2oTk5_eYHJoyz1ntU6K4FbNpBteVwC1TqOU4hhvTyl1pBmpkcCueRULfcdGX0Lj_qjiyS13eJ7qCuqKvkBLL1-s8/s320/PXL_20220703_015332645_exported_0_1656858247310.jpg" width="320" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">My husband, Dan, and I just returned from Sun Valley. Of course, those of you who know me will say that's not really news. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">It's not, but it was still a fun mini vacation. We didn't have a lot of time for travel this summer because I was in a <a href="http://injillswords.blogspot.com/2022/06/on-stage-again.html">musical</a>, and then a couple of other projects came up unexpectedly. Plus, journeying too far, especially by plane, seems annoying right now.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">You know what's not annoying? Being in Sun Valley over the the 4th of July. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnAzuCwM1ahwl5bRIHX2vVvVxnkQN6YypuhihylqNR-kpEKtm_-35s2ywXuZI3yhY6G6Q8nnYeaENse8SS2vU9pkVjcYMpr2I_RHlLpdgaJg6lz-O1b55_MTT4-0_FE5GxVXmePvSlU6rhJchAxcoFQA8XZ5D9pEM3nYD_-8zohtYZgyUrntc/s320/PXL_20220702_201117044.MP_exported_266.jpg" width="320" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Blaine County (which includes Sun Valley) banned fireworks, other than professional shows, this year.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="3840" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpcRuEbCoMgQj03D4nV9imA48jApinTKYy0g-SKVdcptBMKhHPELxwXUFBlJh2j48WTMHLByBXxIN2DfbO1q1u93CqEdAkvaJ8X0ReL7aaReEBQnJYeeWEEZSC-L5srfGjz1_Z3UBmuy_uVBM1YdKEWXV0Mb15Zp9JzuSNpgs9Ra49a0T7EuM/s320/PXL_20220703_171724187.jpg" width="320" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Boise NEVER bans fireworks, and this year was no exception. Our neighborhood sounds like a war zone for about a week around the 4th, and on the 5th of July, a thick yellow, sulfuric haze settles over the city. Nothing like celebrating 'Merica with explosions. Seems appropriate. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In other words, Sun Valley was the perfect place to spend the 4th. We were even able to pretend it wasn't happening, and that was fine with me this year. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7CuZ8_CPzPgKz_Q2Vyfd0MjCeEK3a1rmsVwPvXiMudSFLJ4unxOc1YeFUYp-f05hPmOOrPay9yXcYILs_IkWgfd145_GQ3cnlm6-Odiccn3NG6B1R3p5qCViQO3d4DjsXFqSmTVYvlEKqe7U-Jf9MUJM1vebbzoa3avMm8d0Rq9xQopPba_k/w200-h200/FB_IMG_1656448680387.jpg" width="200" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Yeah, I've already heard it. I should be thankful to live in this country. No other country is better than this one even though it's going through hard times right now. American Exceptionalism, blah, blah, blah . . . </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I mean, sure. Whatever. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="398" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTNFfuZjiHK9hL5gE4PCThD2KGGPxsuh7tr5u3tAZtJB9pX-PUP5RmCAqwUkBW1_4sCUThhNFLxXiNbnLo3-9pgW2I9NyQNnmUPvmzPUTt5DBoBRO6cXZadDyYGlUIYabpz7qv5c8Jcs28sqaoQVDLtKa-9XaZLbAwrUDNc2GALFcu4wQFor4/w200-h200/48d7ee93aa6ac0c9c6824fedddc7beb712112320854ec84777c48c400bccf078.0.gif" width="200" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;">Some countries have universal health care, stricter gun laws that result in less (not "none" but less) massacres, better maternity leave, and protected reproductive rights for women. Those don't sound like terrible places to live either. Remind me why the United States is the best country in the entire world? </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Oh wait. Don't. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anyway, one thing I do love about America is the scenery, and I live in a perfect part of the country for that. So, this year, that is what Dan and I celebrated. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2688" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivTeRKAuv8t9HWrZowP5r28WlxOk2lmn4LodgFMHRxaXMUo-b6oYtKQoA7pb2cVv7eHvvCJrI3wYL0TMFBSHOA4BsM51U9UCeLILyFF6AINYMeDBNryzAvSP0QcLvA2OaNtf1dZhWDE3u1fsN3waeniyP_s70jX_T-uCSUfTnkmmcgT0ieDtU/s320/PXL_20220703_164751490.MP_exported_1099.jpg" width="320" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">By the way, in case you have forgotten, I just turned 45 AND I am extremely scared of heights, as in mental-disorder-level scared. In spite of those two limitations, I mountain biked during our entire vacation.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ0QtPpkt1VhMrQoPhUKqf1RPgxC6KUnyLg7La1n8KsHoTuHTsVC8G6VsZIk73InJerhwYkK5oHLcEKRCfIqcqfDU0I7Omv8S0tYafVPO07i1L7uDBggl69tLFh7stS9zsEe14FFkaEx1W3LIX6ZWz_hE7b2qSM8qZ9mnCTI7R1HzVkl38NUM/s320/PXL_20220704_180753316.MP.jpg" width="320" /> <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I think that's pretty rad of middle-aged me.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="855" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMa3S4ngEjxJ-Vl83vCFD-30OKAh0M-TsrKtrW1oGZBDaolq_XX5VU4UsMm8PekVRQXgoZuGTIFseOcVsQ7UFtAghG8YQCLj69ZRQPd73TrzfIBR9jY2GkJBm1RHPnOG8zO572MdC5FoRzNb_5R_5eK6C7MVfYl5rNc50oNcdFJHKTxe4gJZI/w400-h400/PXL_20220703_161315158_exported_899_1656873229541-COLLAGE.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">
<i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31916311.post-8939206880350671392022-07-02T07:00:00.300-06:002022-07-02T07:00:00.177-06:00The Day I Mowed the Lawn<div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="3840" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgT8vs6n8RkmrqUDTXj3Qm7YDptOcNsWXB5tyrXeQWoZTn5ty_wjuUIZr3Y0z4nc-uRhXR5soZT8sr-LhgnGFDNXYaLXkF7CyItSMBaWVDXsaY_96yLvdyXM28A02e6_Up4fkYiM60fcnRoYZJUhr0KncfVNJwc4n049pT9huq41KFzkA6B24/w400-h225/PXL_20220617_152514066.jpg" width="400" /> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The other day, I was teasing an adult friend who didn't know how to use a lawn mower. Then I realized, neither do I. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Theoretically, I know how a lawn mower works. I just never had the opportunity to mow the lawn. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I lived in apartment complexes during my pre-marriage adult life, and when I was an adolescent, my dad and my brother, once he was old enough, mowed the lawn. It's not like I did nothing as a kid around the house. I had chores, but mowing the lawn was not one of them. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Now here I was, having recently turned forty-five years old, worried that I might have been playing into the patriarchy for almost half of a century. <br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"What if you die?" I asked my husband, Dan. "I need to know how to mow our lawn!" </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Just hire someone. That's what our neighbor does," he said.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"She's like eighty."</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Dan paused. He seemed unsure if he wanted to continue his line of thinking. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"I'm kind of worried that our mower might be too big for you," Dan finally admitted. "It's a tough job, and you're little, and we're not as young as we used to be."</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"Women mow the lawn all the time." </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"I think you might need a self-propelled mower."</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Eventually, I wore him down and convinced him I needed to know how things worked . . . in case he died. (The death thing was also how I got him to share his passwords with me.)</div><div style="text-align: center;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="3840" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVu61vJkTFD4byH9ugbZ79fLxCV1PexC8jvWuFWSj05uW_M9iIieP2Lnf9VB3QRuivnSqdnyzI-pIgiJZuh_o_mdyVIafwaqf0_DuDnP43Kli7a7uyBi-P6GaGBcN7bP49HVEgcEvkT0ppZPyaESxnODkM3cera3TpcfKoyg6QJ0SNFkr_fFA/w400-h225/PXL_20220617_152527566.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wore a mask because my allergies were INSANE while mowing the lawn.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Dan taught me how to mow the lawn in the backyard because I was too embarrassed to learn this brand new skill in the front yard. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I would hate for anyone to the think I am incapable as a homeowner. I already practice the Throw-a-Bunch-of-Seeds-Around-the-Yard-and-See-What-Happens method of gardening.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>"Trust me. The neighbors don't need to see this," I told him. <br /><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="3840" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5gZDE-aCCX-MDwskXaRJnuWecD1O98DLI7g3_QSflKSOg9cpatlqtfoFFiUpcrCY9l3IFXSrRv315gSADdxAuPoHV_Vl7pjUyfjbWMV-CrmxteBHeeJbYIGcPNvXU7mjRTgoiC0fE0vq2oh_Wwo0qS_vISqPqmsj8e56uiDIOBdExiGHJiE/s320/PXL_20220617_153208636.jpg" width="320" /> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My first challenge was starting the motor. Dan stood and watched (in amusement, I'm sure). It took at least five attempts every time I tried to get it to turn over.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibb8g4vkkNAUlvCPBWH773fZCUIXJpZFlfRSCA0BC5Q-BwPwdgfE1nN-hoR3wfnEVhU6psYXb41ewDhqgpA9yosvOK4NHnX24ufFIBeSrEk06btl_bMBvruDeF5y6OggKDgG7HSY9m82zCAd-erZOH8xf3dRYwaPcaWsV_YgcL_esMbPxcqhw/s320/PXL_20220617_152818684_exported_stabilized_1656621462848.gif" width="320" /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"You don't have to mow the whole lawn," Dan said. I had successfully mowed one section.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;">"I'm fine. Maybe I'm not as wimpy as you thought."</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"Yeah, maybe," Dan said carefully. "I might have to go back and redo some of these spots though." <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicdg5bN97q65IY58_6Sw5nvlBIF_EP_TU3GNWwnddpMBG-v_CiySKwUqVJoNdoyb67F07oPRwq-43S4J_-rytki9F7WW--woKp0lEyspHP-Gcy_n0_MY-uq01PiC4ikqVxH7wPMaWEz6AZIFpenm4aXoDJoACUxHMMn-j0-Y7JO-6QEMxG6Ls/s320/PXL_20220617_153132626_exported_stabilized_1656621681145.gif" width="320" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">"I guess this is how I get you to do things for me," I said, okay with ending the lesson early.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"What? You mean, look pathetic?" Dan asked.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">(Down with the patriarchy!)<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaCaJH-e6UEXoL7PfkZJQQuzlQoJd5NCyriMBQXmBftOkrKrpl_TGhTknro3UPUTDlOSp5W1SzCaZCFKhv1nvWQtCWvmQnU_eGfAAkrS6RWE8QY-wCZtkfxSrY1FONnEu2fiD-i6o6ifOIZ-kZAZBV2HbJP4NbJkb2QyfQkbJFRhFnAKCsbRo/s320/PXL_20220617_152751704_exported_stabilized_1656621698359.gif" width="320" /> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div></div><div style="text-align: left;">
</div><div style="text-align: center;">
<i>For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Rebecca.Turner.Duggan">Rebecca Turner-Duggan</a>.</i></div>
Rebecca "Jill" Turner-Dugganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04249857457355954606noreply@blogger.com0