tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66211309823826181502024-03-06T02:40:41.932-06:00To wherever it may lead...Annabeth Ryderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668412228546331920noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6621130982382618150.post-27727859776217541132011-07-22T05:09:00.000-05:002011-07-22T05:09:53.495-05:00It's 5:00...A.M.There's a cat sitting on the arm of my chair, begging for attention.<br />
<br />
My son's curled up in his bed, sleeping.<br />
<br />
A storm is grumbling outside and raining on my herbs (YAY!).<br />
<br />
I've revised another 6 pages of my novel.<br />
<br />
And now, with only a half-hour until I need to get up, I want to go back to bed.<br />
<br />
Don't you hate when that happens??<br />
<br />
I blame it on the fact that I have been stuck in the house for days on end, the storm outside, the cat that won't leave me alone.<br />
<br />
The real reason I'm up and still tired? I'm restless.<br />
<br />
I have very little going on in my life that constitutes as mental stimulation. Editing is simple to me, like a game of hide-and-seek where everyone jumps up and screams, "Here I am!" I'm not inspired enough to write something new. I grab at new songs I hear on the radio and memorize the lyrics in hope that they'll help pull me out of this funk. I look at my wish list and realize that having no money means I can't do most of the things on that list.<br />
<br />
Damn. I hate depression.<br />
<br />
Okay, so. Best way to counter-think depression is to focus on what I have, not what I don't. So...what do I have that I'm truly grateful for?<br />
<br />
<ul><li>The unconditional love of my Savior, my mother, and my son.</li>
<li>The unending loyalty of my family--those who are family by blood, and family through faith</li>
<li>The doctors who are helping my son with his hearing and speech difficulties</li>
<li>Music--good God, how I love music</li>
<li>Chores--hey, don't roll your eyes. They give me a sense of purpose.</li>
</ul>Alright. That helped a little. I have a busy day ahead, and that will help too. The less time I have to sit around and ponder, the better.Annabeth Ryderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668412228546331920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6621130982382618150.post-2696031256601101932011-07-21T15:49:00.000-05:002011-07-21T15:49:59.913-05:00DreamsI know I'm not the only one in this world who believes that dreams are indicators of things going on your life/mind that you need to process and/or deal with.<br />
<br />
Being a believer that dreams have significance, and a believer in God as the only true Ruler of this world. So how do I deal with things like my recurring dream, where I live on a ranch, I'm married to a man who adores me as much as I love him, and my son is off playing with a few of his friends in the massive front yard? Or the fact that I can see, hear, smell these people I'm with as though I've met them before?<br />
<br />
I've had this dream, in different intensities and at different times of my life, for years. Some people have dreams about dying or winning the lottery. I have dreams about a rancher with dirt under his fingernails and a home full of light and love.<br />
<br />
OK, so it's not hard to figure out what the dream means. But why does it come when I think everything's ok in my life? And why is it always the same people? And...<br />
<br />
Why can't I have my dream?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9S_VBH3G22Bvl-WJXflZX_IQur7gulJDfvG78YTmHJjXXxHFjo_FucNeOsWecFUyuSvQaC3LQhmaipWyZezx9BgOu8vzPy_WELYPyheKtJVDn9eTBNxpxy_Fz2CGaFEK8ljz4QKfJwNo/s640/cowboy1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9S_VBH3G22Bvl-WJXflZX_IQur7gulJDfvG78YTmHJjXXxHFjo_FucNeOsWecFUyuSvQaC3LQhmaipWyZezx9BgOu8vzPy_WELYPyheKtJVDn9eTBNxpxy_Fz2CGaFEK8ljz4QKfJwNo/s640/cowboy1.jpg" /></a></div>Annabeth Ryderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668412228546331920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6621130982382618150.post-14544970177069430232011-07-20T19:47:00.000-05:002011-07-20T19:47:05.304-05:00Shepherd's POVI have recently finished rereading one of my all-time favorite books, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-shepherd-looks-at-psalm-23-w-phillip-keller/1000345823">A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23</a> by W. Phillip Keller. What a journey!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT9bkI3RTA_BIckS5z7NmvwcIDt50lANgD8eZHDfiOkpIgCA0s4wg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT9bkI3RTA_BIckS5z7NmvwcIDt50lANgD8eZHDfiOkpIgCA0s4wg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Keller, as a younger man, was an honest-to-goodness shepherd in east Africa. He worked the land to prepare for his flock, toiled to earn the money to buy his flock, and takes the reader into that world of a selfless, unflinching man who was willing to not only die for his sheep, but live every moment for them. He would have to keep the most careful eye out; a lost or hurt sheep could die within minutes. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.wallpaperbase.com/wallpapers/animals/sheep/sheep_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://www.wallpaperbase.com/wallpapers/animals/sheep/sheep_1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Sheep are stupid. There's no nice word for them. Stupid, stupid, stupid. One ewe Keller talks about was constantly wiggling under his fence to go to another pasture. In Sheep World, that's a big no-no. Even worse, she taught her lambs how to do it. She could have led her own babies to their death, and wouldn't have batted an eye. Another sheep might be reaching for a blade of grass and fall off a cliff in its quest. Still another might bash its brother's head in while competing for a female, and kill both rams. <br />
<br />
Idiots.<br />
<br />
But...aren't I the same?<br />
<br />
The title of the book reminds me that this isn't about a shepherd's woe-is-me-isms. This is to enlighten those of us who don't live in shepherding country about the different aspects of a shepherd--and a sheep's--life. David, when he wrote this psalm, wrote in terms the people understood then. They knew the dangers of being in the hills alone with the herd and facing down a ravenous bear with nothing more than a staff and a stick. They knew how the shepherd had to always be ready to cradle a lamb or force apart two stubborn males. <br />
<br />
And David himself tells us in the first verse, "The Lord is my shepherd." He puts himself in the place of the sheep. There is a Shepherd greater than he. And David is proud to be a sheep under his care! <br />
<br />
I could go on for hours about everything Keller discussed. Suffice it to say, I started this book feeling more than a little lost. And now, I know how weak, foolish, and helpless I am. And I'm so very very glad that my Shepherd is as good as David wrote.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.soulshepherding.org/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/Jesus-Good-Shepherd-guides-me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="253" src="http://www.soulshepherding.org/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/Jesus-Good-Shepherd-guides-me.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Annabeth Ryderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668412228546331920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6621130982382618150.post-63022475359924324402011-04-03T11:53:00.000-05:002011-04-03T11:53:46.701-05:00Trying something newA new way to make cinnamon toast.<br />
<br />
Focusing intently on the positives and blessings.<br />
<br />
Taking my own advice and getting stuff done NOW.<br />
<br />
Dear heavens, what's happening to me?<br />
<br />
I'm getting my work done, and finding extreme contentment in it. My son is going into his terrible two's, and I'm so happy that he's growing and learning. I'm writing and working on the stories that live in my head. I'm teaching and ecstatic about going to work. <br />
<br />
Heck, I barely slept last night since my son was up with a horrible cold most of the night. And I'm ok with that....after all, I made cinnamon toast in a new way and it was FABULOUS!Annabeth Ryderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668412228546331920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6621130982382618150.post-69941911269181336682011-03-30T22:18:00.000-05:002011-03-30T22:18:04.684-05:00CharactersMy closest friends. Guardian angels. Personal demons.<br />
<br />
Yeah, characters can wreak havoc.<br />
<br />
Disclaimer: I'm not schizophrenic. I understand 100% that the characters are fictional. <br />
<br />
I think. I'm pretty sure.<br />
<br />
Anyway...<br />
<br />
Characters come to writers in different ways. My friend, Evie O Aldan, generally comes up with characters by looking at pictures and people-watching. Most of my characters come from song lyrics or asking "what if" a lot.<br />
<br />
Let me introduce you to Tristan. He's a character I'm currently working with, and he's up for an interview of sorts. <br />
<br />
Before I begin talking with him, let me explain what's going on in my head. I picture a room, something like the set of a talk show, minus the audience. I can see different views of Tristan: close up, sitting across from him, even from behind. We are sitting in director's chairs and we simply talk. When I first meet a new character, it's a lot less formal. But tonight I want information on a specific scene I'm thinking of writing. So sit back, enjoy, and please don't call the Funny Farm. They're sick of hearing from me.<br />
<br />
<i>Hi, Tristan.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><b>Good evening, my lady. You've been agitated for hours. How can I help?</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />
</b></i><br />
<i>I want to finish a scene I started weeks ago. If you recall a time that Mia, your student, arrived for a 4:30 AM lesson...</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><b>*chuckling* Ah yes. That lesson was most memorable.</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />
</b></i><br />
<i>I got as far as Mia choking because you walked out with your shirt open and wearing black dress pants. What happened after that?</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><b>*grin* What do you think?</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />
</b></i><br />
<i>I know you didn't take her back to your bed. I know there was a lesson that left Mia wondering at your sanity and hers.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><b>What else do you need to know?</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />
</b></i><br />
<i>I need to know what you taught her!</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><b>*sigh* I taught her the rudimentary skills of flirting. </b></i><br />
<i><b><br />
</b></i><br />
<i>....Ah. No wonder she's all flustered.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><b>Radiant.</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />
</b></i><br />
<i>Humiliated.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<b><i>Merely a difference of opinion. And since I am her instructor, mine is the opinion that carries the day.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br />
</i></b><br />
<i>I'm writing your story. Bow before me.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><b>Or I could send Edmund to distract you.</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />
</b></i><br />
<i>I'll take that. Good night.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><b>Sleep well, sweet lady.</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />
</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />
</b></i>Annabeth Ryderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668412228546331920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6621130982382618150.post-41721714282021446302011-03-29T21:40:00.000-05:002011-03-29T21:40:56.727-05:00ListsI'm a list lover.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.esquire.com/media/cm/esquire/images/making-list-0808-lg-5041854.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://www.esquire.com/media/cm/esquire/images/making-list-0808-lg-5041854.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I love making them.<br />
<br />
I love crossing things off of them.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.stress-management-for-peak-performance.com/images/relaxation_meditation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://www.stress-management-for-peak-performance.com/images/relaxation_meditation.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
It puts me in a Zen like state.<br />
<br />
Oh, I wish I could be that skinny...I mean, relaxed.<br />
<br />
So I make lists, and my head feels clearer. Here's my list of lists:<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul><li>What I'm proud to have accomplished</li>
<li>What I can control in my life</li>
<li>People who unconditionally love me</li>
<li>People who conditionally love me</li>
<li>Traits I like about myself</li>
<li>Traits I like in my friends</li>
<li>Positive traits I look for in a husband</li>
<li>Traits I can deal with in a husband</li>
<li>RED FLAGS</li>
<li>Ideas for writing</li>
<li>Ideas for teaching</li>
<li>Ideas for when my son is older</li>
<li>Things I'd like to buy</li>
<li>Things I need to buy</li>
</ul><div>And my eyelids are falling. Guess it's time for bed. Night all.</div>Annabeth Ryderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668412228546331920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6621130982382618150.post-34681212037823840392011-03-15T11:35:00.000-05:002011-03-15T11:35:12.683-05:00Pretty thingsWarning: this post is total fluff. If you'd like something meaningful and life-changing, look elsewhere for now.<br />
<br />
On one of my favorite blogs, "The Pioneer Woman," the blogger has asked for a submission of photos that show beauty. So I started looking for my own collection of pretty things. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.walkermetalsmiths.com/components/com_virtuemart/shop_image/product/84d738617d48baadc0d0073f48c47fdf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="273" src="http://www.walkermetalsmiths.com/components/com_virtuemart/shop_image/product/84d738617d48baadc0d0073f48c47fdf.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm a sucker for anything Celtic or Irish. Must be my bloodlines calling to me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.mythralthemystic.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/gemstones_magic_powers-300x208.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.mythralthemystic.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/gemstones_magic_powers-300x208.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://shopsueyboutique.files.wordpress.com/2010/08/gemstones.gif?w=358&h=325" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="http://shopsueyboutique.files.wordpress.com/2010/08/gemstones.gif?w=358&h=325" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yup, I'm female. If it sparkles, I can help but stare.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://spottedhorsechick.files.wordpress.com/2008/05/zena-08-foal-7-hours-old-009-2.jpg?w=300&h=232" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://spottedhorsechick.files.wordpress.com/2008/05/zena-08-foal-7-hours-old-009-2.jpg?w=300&h=232" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.myninjaplease.com/green/http://green.myninjaplease.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/12/elephant-mother-baby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.myninjaplease.com/green/http://green.myninjaplease.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/12/elephant-mother-baby.jpg" width="318" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Any mother protecting her baby touches my heart.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://newbeetle.org/forums/attachments/photos-new-beetles/77007d1288800125-sedona-our-red-rock-beetle-sedona_red_rocks3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://newbeetle.org/forums/attachments/photos-new-beetles/77007d1288800125-sedona-our-red-rock-beetle-sedona_red_rocks3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://skvots.net/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/Sedona-Sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="http://skvots.net/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/Sedona-Sunset.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Don't even pretend this doesn't take your breath away.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXeU8hjfVdXWRWNcIwHrsowQoc5-b4MNKun8m5OQKNbq4KFxJuAx2P0EkXOfOh7Z6L787l6MsqiVOPreeo3pP5-04vzGBGrPYWVrvYrHX1-Aw-tNAFSZa7lNQ03NQs1j0SKH5wmH5GPTqi/s400/JoshTurner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXeU8hjfVdXWRWNcIwHrsowQoc5-b4MNKun8m5OQKNbq4KFxJuAx2P0EkXOfOh7Z6L787l6MsqiVOPreeo3pP5-04vzGBGrPYWVrvYrHX1-Aw-tNAFSZa7lNQ03NQs1j0SKH5wmH5GPTqi/s400/JoshTurner.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yeah...Ahem...gotta love that smile. *puddle*</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://vanidades.taconeras.net/files/2008/06/foto-papa-blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://vanidades.taconeras.net/files/2008/06/foto-papa-blog.jpg" width="316" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Oh help.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">OK, it's time for me to pretend to be productive today. I'll try to be inspirational or something tomorrow.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Annabeth Ryderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668412228546331920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6621130982382618150.post-57552953112301718662011-03-13T10:14:00.000-05:002011-03-13T10:14:54.346-05:00Freedom<i>Freedom (noun): </i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><strong><i>:</i></strong></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><i> the quality or state of being free: as</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="ssens"><span class="break" style="display: block; height: 10px;"></span><em class="sn" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">a</em><i> </i><strong><i>:</i></strong><i> the absence of necessity, coercion, or constraint in choice or action.</i></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="ssens"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="ssens">So I have been without my son for three days. FREEDOM! I thought.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="ssens"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="ssens">Never mind that I sobbed for 15 minutes as I drove away.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="ssens"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="ssens">But it left me with options that I usually don't have: sleep in, take random naps, go see a movie, get some housework done.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="ssens"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="ssens"><em class="sn" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">b</em><i> </i><strong><i>:</i></strong><i> </i><a class="d_link" href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/liberation" style="color: #2965c7; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none;"><i>liberation</i></a><i> from slavery or restraint or from the power of another </i><strong><i>:</i></strong><i> </i><i><a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/independence" style="color: #2965c7; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none;">independence</a></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="ssens"><em class="sn" style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">c</em><i> </i><strong><i>:</i></strong><i> the quality or state of being </i><a class="d_link" href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/exempt[1]" style="color: #2965c7; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none;"><i>exempt</i></a><i> or released usually from something onerous </i><span class="vi"><i><</i><em>freedom</em><i> from care></i></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="ssens"><span class="vi"><i><br />
</i></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="ssens">I had no one else's nap schedule to hold me captive, no one screaming for me to feed them. No half-finished projects because I've been summoned by a whining, almost-2-year-old...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="ssens"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPxLzzD0qpY3wMvOjWZlq9hlkr7sKo59ZfvO0GW88ho7KK2RhsuxoWLou2cgle4bTVj5A03oZJWTawvJ7q4BTLo3G6L5yan_rG-ttAgFWvXrYPLVEs25o7wQtm3cscM58_rpKYu4ggl6ah/s1600/100_3468.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix5hQXnewxmnmnwvokpXb-t-IpS5I51fh_GIVVYtuR4YMaGyyn02XGpnTRYEhdaGyshHEBpNrW4Jgy6C3VRB2yEkHYARzkZ1jcWkKnWYsz6_Z5e0Ii2Hnn_lL3c3Uc06c7GKNKK8t4tuUz/s1600/P1010322.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix5hQXnewxmnmnwvokpXb-t-IpS5I51fh_GIVVYtuR4YMaGyyn02XGpnTRYEhdaGyshHEBpNrW4Jgy6C3VRB2yEkHYARzkZ1jcWkKnWYsz6_Z5e0Ii2Hnn_lL3c3Uc06c7GKNKK8t4tuUz/s320/P1010322.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><b><i>*sniff* </i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">I want my baby back!</span></b></span></span></div>Annabeth Ryderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668412228546331920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6621130982382618150.post-20481510358082288852011-03-10T06:40:00.000-06:002011-03-10T06:40:47.998-06:00Busy daysToday's going to be one of those busy, but productive days. My son is beginning speech therapy today (he can understand everything told to him, but can only speak like a 12-month-old--nearly half his age), I have my own therapy, there's a two-hour nap to fit in there, and some cleaning to do.<br />
<br />
I love busy days.<br />
<br />
Seriously. I love days where I'm trying to figure out where I'm going to squish something else in. It means I have a purpose for the day, if not for my life. <br />
<br />
Plus, while I'm doing the job hunt thing, I absolutely NEED to feel like I have purpose. If I'm not productive, I seriously fight feelings of worthlessness. Can I get an Amen?<br />
<br />
*crickets chirping*<br />
<br />
Any way...<br />
<br />
Oh, look at the time. My day calleth. Later, gators!Annabeth Ryderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668412228546331920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6621130982382618150.post-1032709594208315252011-03-08T05:33:00.001-06:002011-03-08T05:35:16.351-06:00Sleep<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://crmc.org/images/j0408908.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://crmc.org/images/j0408908.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
It really is a funny thing, isn't it? Sleep. A simple concept in its most basic form, but so complex when you consider everything that goes into it. <br />
<br />
Simple: Our bodies run down and need a recharge.<br />
<br />
Complex: No one in the scientific community can agree on exactly WHY we sleep. They throw around theories of a lack of ATP, the brain needing to do some housekeeping, and that our cellular system forces us to shut down so it can do some renovating.<br />
<br />
So why is it that some people can run on 5 hours of sleep and be as productive and happy as others who absolutely must get a minimum of 8 hours of sleep? Do the 5-hour people have faster cells that can strip the dead stuff and rebuild new stuff? Or does "slow and steady" win the race?<br />
<br />
And why is it that we need to sleep to deal with all the stuff that goes on in our brains? We dream to filter and process. Why can't we do that during the day? Is it the whole concept of "we can only access about 10% of our brain's capacity?"<br />
<br />
...It is 5:30 in the morning, and I'm pondering the ins and outs of sleep.<br />
<br />
Yeah, I'm one of those freaky 5-hour sleep people.<br />
<br />
Don't hate me. It ain't always that much fun.Annabeth Ryderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668412228546331920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6621130982382618150.post-76666689424138498862011-03-06T11:49:00.000-06:002011-03-06T11:49:15.090-06:00DivorceI see words in color. The word "art" shows me an aura of red, blue, and green swirling around the letters. The colors themselves never mix, but swim around each other like fish.<br />
<br />
The word "divorce" has always held a curious color aura. The beginning and end of the word are dark brown and snot-green. But the middle of the word is brilliantly colored, like sunshine on the first day of spring when you realize that the trees are blooming again.<br />
<br />
Weird, huh? Eh, such is my way of thinking. <br />
<br />
I'm going to take a few minutes and talk about this word, and my story behind it. If you care not to read, I understand. This is a topic that is rarely brought up except by therapists and people who feel the need to threaten their spouse.<br />
<br />
I was brought up in a conservative home with my mother and maternal grandparents. I was taught "old-fashioned" values like, Family sticks together even when life goes south, and Blood is thicker than water, and plain old loyalty and honesty. Even though my parents were divorced, I never once questioned my mother's love for me, and my family's unerring support. As a whole, I saw my cousins once every 4 years or so and heard very little about them in the meantime. But they were always there for me, and I adore them still.<br />
<br />
OK, so we're a clan. And we protect and scold and love and laugh like a clan. I guess it comes from all that Irish/Scottish blood in us.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I met a guy, fell stupidly and blindly in love. We got married. Yet even as I walked down the aisle, I knew it was wrong. I knew, looking at him waiting for me, that this was not the man I'd dreamed of marrying, that I longed to grow old with. He was my "settled-for." (Name that movie, I dare you!) I head my biological clock ticking and I thought we could work through anything.<br />
<br />
Next time you hear a woman say that about a guy, do me a favor. Smack her.<br />
<br />
Three days after I said my vows to be faithful and help him through all the trials of life, the guy I'd given my heart and body to stopped being my husband. He looked at a woman, and lusted after her. And it spiraled downward from there. Nothing I ever did was enough, and every day he reminded me of that. He always cloaked it in concern or pretense, but he never failed to remind me that I wasn't enough. <br />
<br />
I turned to my friends and family, silently begging for someone to tell me it was okay to admit that I was wrong about him, to pick up and leave. Our son was born, and my hope was renewed...for about 4 days. And then it got worse again. <br />
<br />
I got to the point of never looking up, always cowering inwardly, terrified of what I would say or do next to earn one of his scathing remarks or days of the silent treatment. I avoided talking on the phone while he was home, always let him rent whatever disgusting film he wanted, and put up with his childish pouting and tantrum throwing.<br />
<br />
Then one day, after he told me that I had enough fat on me that I didn't need a blanket in the 50-degree bedroom, I'd had enough. I started fighting back. No, I was not going to take his tantrum-ing or his pushing around anymore. He fought back harder.<br />
<br />
Pop quiz: what's the best way to stop a fight?<br />
<br />
Answer: stop fighting.<br />
<br />
So I did. I packed up me and my son and we left. Oh, I made all the noises of wanting to work it out, to make it last. But every time he called, I cringed. When I'd get a letter from him, I'd avoid it like the plague. <br />
<br />
And now divorce papers have been filed. And I've never felt so free, so empowered. He continues his stupid games, and I keep moving forward. My family has encapsulated me and refilled the gaping hole in my soul. I feel loved, protected, and safe for the first time in years.<br />
<br />
If you are reading this and know anyone who feels enslaved or threatened by their spouse, do them a favor. Stick close to them. Be their sounding board. And don't be afraid to tell them how you feel. If it weren't for my dearest friend, I wouldn't have seen the abuse that had been happening. She saw it, and told me. And I thank God more than she knows that she had the courage to tell me.<br />
<br />
And never, NEVER accuse someone of being the problem in the marriage. People told me that since my husband hadn't hit me, it must not have been so bad, and I should just go home already. That I was the wimpy one and gave up too soon. Marriage takes two to make, and takes two to break.<br />
<br />
Every time I see a married couple who have come through the true hardships of life (losing a child, living on the brink of bankruptcy or death) and they're still laughing and holding each other, I'm reminded that there is such a thing as God-pleasing marriage, and that maybe I will get to experience that.<br />
<br />
Until then, divorce will be a rainbow in the swamp, and I'll keep slogging through the muck to find the way through.Annabeth Ryderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668412228546331920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6621130982382618150.post-25335029714753755322011-03-02T06:45:00.000-06:002011-03-02T06:45:47.324-06:00PBRSadness. The PBR (Professional Bull Riders) is coming to Chicago, which is a mere hour or so from where I live, and I can't go. It's been four years since I last went, and every year, I long to go back. <i>Why?</i> one may ask. Simple.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ewpopwatch.files.wordpress.com/2007/10/cowboy_l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://ewpopwatch.files.wordpress.com/2007/10/cowboy_l.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm in the middle of a cowboy obsession. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Wait, this obsession never really goes away...so can I be in the middle of it?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anyway....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ridingforchrist.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/02/prayer-21-292x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://ridingforchrist.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/02/prayer-21-292x300.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Before the riding even starts, the cowboys all remove their hats to pray. And to me, there's nothing more masculine or blood-heating than a man who will bow before his heavenly Father.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://blog.silive.com/entertainment_impact_recreation/2009/01/large_1-8getoutb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://blog.silive.com/entertainment_impact_recreation/2009/01/large_1-8getoutb.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But then to watch the sheer determination of the cowboy to stay on that leaping, spinning bull...it takes your breath away.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Eight seconds never seemed longer to me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And when the riders take that bull to the full eight seconds and they leap off to the thunderous applause of thousands of fans, it's amazing that they don't stand there and bask in the glory. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In fact, most will tip their hats to the crowd and get back behind the gates.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Humility must come from being on the back of a wild, 1800+ pound critter who's only goal is to make you go away. Even if that takes hooves in your chest.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.buckleshop.com/pbr1e_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.buckleshop.com/pbr1e_small.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>*sigh* I'll just have to watch it on TV, I guess.Annabeth Ryderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668412228546331920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6621130982382618150.post-56863060551105661332011-03-01T10:00:00.000-06:002011-03-01T10:25:54.520-06:00DreamsProphecies. Subconscious thinking. Unfulfilled wishes or desires. Dreams have been explained in many different ways, and after years of dreaming, I believe that just about any explanation for them is a possibility. <br />
<br />
But what do you do when you have the same dream over and over? Not only that, but it's so real that you can see, taste, feel, smell everything? Or nearly everything. Faces and names have always been somewhat obscured or hidden in shadow. Most of my dreams I can trace back to what's been happening in my life. But once in a while, there's one that leaves me reeling.<br />
<br />
Like last night. Last night I had a dream as I was half-awake that left me with the sound of rustling leather and laughter, the smell of wood and smoke and horses, the sensation of being kissed on the forehead. It's the first time I've had this particular version, but the man I see is always the same. Tall, strong, sure of himself without being cocky. His entire being seems rooted in the earth even as he walks, and I always see an aura of cobalt blue all around him. He calms me, laughs at me until I laugh at myself, and knows when I need a strong hand to guide me through whatever mess I'm about to get into. He's never changed. <br />
<br />
Now, could this be a real man out there somewhere? Sure. Why not? There's over 6 billion people in this world; I can't deny the possibility. Does that mean I'll ever meet him? Who knows? I hope someday to remarry, and to marry a man like this. But as my good friend Evie tells me, "He could be an accountant with sterling family values who likes listening to country music." <br />
<br />
Or I could just be hallucinating.<br />
<br />
In any case, I never laugh at anyone's dreams. You never know what may come of them.<br />
<br />
Unless you tell me a banana's chasing you. Then it's time to lay off the late-night salsa...or go see a shrink.Annabeth Ryderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668412228546331920noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6621130982382618150.post-11361216099979850782011-02-28T13:20:00.001-06:002011-02-28T13:20:23.721-06:00All my hats<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I am a mom of an adorable, so-sweet-he-makes-my-heart-ache 20-month old boy. I'm a writer who hopes and dreams of being published one day. (Note: I'm not out to write the next great American novel, but to see one of my stories in print is the dream.) I'm a soon-to-be-ex-wife. (More on that at another time.) I'm a substitute teacher/tutor. I sing in choir. I help at my church. I'm looking for a job that provides benefits and decent pay. I'm a child of God; I'm a princess of heaven. (Makes me think of pink frilly dresses and tiaras. *smile* )</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">And I'm content. Some days, I'm downright happy.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Not to mention, I just figured out some stuff lately about me and my roles in this life.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">For example, I'm a mom, but sometimes the Mom hat needs to come off. And I'm learning to be ok with that. I have had SuperMom syndrome for far too long, and it's such a relief to say, "My son's in bed; I'm going to go soak in the tub and read."</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I'm a writer, but I've learned the value of letting myself have writer's block for a day or two.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I am by no means perfect, but I can look myself in the eye and know that I'm honest with people around me, and honest with myself. I know each day is a new chance at my life, and full os possibilities for good things and for mistakes to be made. At the end of each day, as I say my prayers, I know that I'll have lots to tell my heavenly Father--lots of good and lots of bad. It's how life is.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I have many roles, and each and every one of them is a part of me. I may not love each of them every day, but I accept them.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
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</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e2800; font-family: 'Cherry Cream Soda'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Excuse me. My son is trying to put my shoes on my feet. I'm guessing it's time to go!</span>Annabeth Ryderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668412228546331920noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6621130982382618150.post-17234412173926796812011-02-28T08:41:00.000-06:002011-02-28T08:41:45.777-06:00Life is...well, it's just plain weirdBut it is what it is. I'm a full-time mom who's co-authoring with my good friend, Evie O. Aldan. And between being a mom and an author, my life is weird. <br />
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Not that I would change much about it.<br />
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So, here I go with the randomness.Annabeth Ryderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13668412228546331920noreply@blogger.com0