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I don't want to be the lie you tell someone else.
August 2007
 
 
 
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Wed, Aug. 1st, 2007 07:01 pm
Holy shit.   The 35 W bridge near downtown collapsed within the last half an hour.  During rush hour traffic.  Four lanes, bumper to bumper. 

http://www.kare11.com/news/news_article.aspx?storyid=261140

Please leave a comment if you are in the twin cities to let me know that you are ok. 

Current Mood: shocked

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Wed, Apr. 25th, 2007 01:48 pm
Hi everyone,

I *hate* mass emails sent to an entire address book full of folks, so I hope you can see that this  is incredibly important to me! 

From the first time I heard about the Breast Cancer 3-Day, I wanted to walk. I talked about it, planned for it, told others about it...

But I was terrified. Terrified that I wouldn't make it, that it would be too hard, that I wouldn't be able to raise enough money. But most afraid that what I would do wouldn't be enough, and that we'd all have to keep living in fear for ourselves or those love.

Fear comes into play alot for me when I think about breast cancer. Each month when I reach my hand up to start my self breast exam, I'm afraid. Each year when my grandmother goes in for a mammogram, I'm afraid. Every time a friend tells me of her family history of cancer, I'm afraid.

But wait! What right do *I* have to be afraid when so many courageous women have gone through hell and come back fighting this disease? What right do *I* have to be afraid when friends and family have sat by a hospital bed watching a woman they love fight for her life? What right do *I* have to be afraid when partners and children have sat at the funeral of their loved one wondering how they would survive this pain?

That fear has now become anger at a disease that is taking so many of our beautiful and amazing women. That fear has now become motivation to fight this fight for those who can't, and to hold the hand of those who have to.

I'm still scared. The blisters alone terrify me. But I'm not letting that fear hold me back. I'm going to walk.

I am going to be walking (or crawling) 60 miles over the course of three days.   As a condition of participation, I must raise at least $2,200. Proceeds benefit Susan G. Komen for the Cure and the National Philanthropic Trust Breast Cancer Fund.

So, yes, this is a plea for your emotional and financial support. A dollar for every mile that I'll be walking would be wonderful. I thank you in advance for whatever you can give.

Just click the link below to go to my personal fundraising webpage and donate online. This certainly promises to be an unforgettable challenge.

http://www.the3day.org/twincities07/ameliamiller

Feel free to pass this email along to anyone you know who might be interested in offering their support. 

With Love and Hope,
Amelia

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Wed, Dec. 27th, 2006 05:42 am

Read this tonight again and felt an undeniable urge to share. I know that a number of people who can relate in great detail to the emotions that flooded over me as I read. Please remember to breathe. Keep talking. Keep telling. Keep healing.

The Courage To Heal

A Tribute

by Ellen Bass

We were five in a plaid dress with a sash and a little white collar.

We were nine, it was after school in the garage, the smell of motor oil and cut grass through the open window.


We were twelve, fourteen, sixteen in our own beds, in seersucker pajamas the rain pelting down and running through the gutters.

It was a neighbor, a priest, a stranger, our father, our mother. It was every day. It was when he got drunk.
It was before our class trip to the state capitol.
When our mother was in the hospital giving birth. Just once.

We were left for dead.
We were barely scratched.
We were found in the coal bin, so wild they couldn't catch us to wash, to comb our hair.
Nothing showed.

We lay at the bottom of the stairs.
We found ourselves looking down from a corner of the ceiling.
We found ourselves out in the limb of a maple tree, in the night sky, up in the stars, where it was cool and there was so much space.
We found ourselves in our beds. It was morning and our clothes laid out neatly on the chair, our mothers prompting us to come to breakfast.

We told an English teacher with straight brown hair clasped at the nape with a silver barrette.
We told our mother who slapped us once across the face and closed herself like a fist.
We told by carving our skin like a pumpkin.
We never told.

We slept clutching a plaster statue of the Virgin Mary.
By day, we couldn't concentrate.
The long division on the blackboard smeared in our minds.
We memorized everything.
Our handwriting an exact replica of Palmers cursive, only smaller.

We ate to erect a bulwark.
We wouldn't eat.
We didn't want our bodies.
We didn't want to be a part of the food chain-eater or eaten.

We took enough pills to kill a horse.
We were in a coma for a month. And we emerged in rage.
We smiled.
We smiled.
We were drunk.

The first six years of our daughter's life.
We held our sons hand over a candle.
We somehow knew how to mother. That gave us joy.

Deciding to heal was a choice.
The first one we ever clearly made.
We didn't decide.
The alternatives just became too painful.

We cried every day.
We only cried once but it went on for a year.
We never cried.

We gave up and drove a motorcycle into a guard rail.
We threw a chair through the window.
We stood on the steps of the psychiatric unit weeping about something we couldn't remember. We remembered everything it seemed, each detail etched into the soft organ of our minds.

We blamed ourselves because he gave us a bicycle.
We blamed ourselves because we didn't stop it.
We blamed ourselves because our bodies responded.
We stopped blaming ourselves.

We beat a hundred pillows and tore up a year's worth of the Sunday Times.
We filled forty notebooks with writing that dug through the pages like a plow.

We said once in a quiet voice, I'm angry.
We told our stories and we were believed.
We told our stories and our families denied it.
Never were we left alone like that. It couldn't have happened.
We told our stories and the faces that listened told theirs.

Once, we held our fingertip up to a woman with kind eyes and she touched the pad of her finger to ours-for a moment.
Once, we were rocked in a safe lap and someone smoothed back our hair with a tenderness not even we could deny.

But that wasn't the end of it.
It went on and on beyond what we'd imagined, beyond what we'd signed up for.
We sat in fear like it was our own urine.
Our hearts aching in our hollowed out chests and down our empty arms.
We thought we would not survive.
Like stroke patients we had to learn everything anew.
We saw how it seeped into the corners our lives like smoke.
Nothing was untainted, except the tough kernel we were born with, the seed of who we could have been, could still be.

We reclaimed our bodies, inch by precious inch.
Feeling our own skin, astonished, like touching a newborn.
We tried our trust, like experimenting with drugs.
We went back to school.
We took a vacation.
We spoke the truth.
We did what we wanted.
We learned to sleep.
We ate when we were hungry.
We woke in the morning, willing.
We wanted to be alive.

We were hungry for all we'd missed.
We took it with eager, patient or tentative hands but we took it.
We made a cup of tea in our own kitchen and drank it a blue table on which we'd set a small bouquet of daffodils.


Current Mood: contemplative

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Sat, Dec. 2nd, 2006 11:23 pm
Places to Travel
- Buenos Aires
- NYC
- Dublin
- Nice
- Moscow
- Oslo
- Tel Aviv
- Tanzania
- Kenya
- Reykjavik
- Hanoi
- Tokyo
- Machu Picchu





Classes to Take
- Lefse
- Rosettes and Krumkake
- Hardanger
- Glass fushion
- Glass blowing
- Poi
- Pottery
- Mosaic

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Mon, Sep. 4th, 2006 01:08 am
FREE CHOCOLATE!

http://nestlechocolatier.fromthefan.com/?C1853_562130

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Fri, Jul. 7th, 2006 06:20 pm
Amy and I had a fantastic time last night.  We went and had a cider at Grumpy's and giggled and laughed.  When we went to hop in the car to go home, the battery wouldn't start.  So Amy went and worked her girly ways on a group of college boys at the bar and came out shortly thereafter with Anthony Michael Hall's long lost twin brother.  She and he worked on getting the jumper cables hooked up while I sat in the car giggling hysterically about her crazy flirtatious personality.  He kept reminding her not to touch the cables together and she would just giggle at him.  This amazing woman has a Masters in math, and is now working on her doctorate in conservation biology.  So, to top it all off, when they were finishing up and she was thanking him, she for some reason felt it necessary to say, "I'm a  physicist."  HUH?  *GIGGLES MADLY*  A Masters degree and a soon to be doctorate, and she feels the need to embelish it!  I teased her the whole way home.  It's funny what a tall, skinny red headed boy driving a beamer will do to some girls!  We got home and sat and laughed some more.  At one point talking about how funny it would be to start a fraternity in Greece that required togas all the time except at our weekly parties where we would all wear khakis and polo shirts.  Great when senses of humor match up.   All in all... a fantastic date

After an incredibly stressful day, and a nice long nap....I'm now wide awake and though I'm still feelinga little stressed, I'm doing much better now.  It was a rough day.

Now I need to finish the last two paragraphs of a paper and then figure out what I'm going to do for the rest of the weekend.

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Mon, Jun. 19th, 2006 08:57 pm
Lost my cell phone like a week ago. Got a new one today. But in the process I lost everyone's phone number.

If you want to go into my cell phone contact list, leave your number here.

Comments are screened.

Promise I won't drunk dial you in the middle of the night, but I might make some occasional booty calls! *grin*

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Thu, Jun. 15th, 2006 10:32 pm
Is anyone's life *really* this fucking beautiful? Those are models right? Fancy, chip eating British models, yes?

I'm trying to convince myself that it's just a good camera. I have to start saving up to get me one of those cameras with a "make your life and all of your aquaintences look like actor/models, and even the people in the background look like extras in an over budgeted advertisement for European travel" lens.

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Tue, Jun. 13th, 2006 05:01 pm


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Mon, Jun. 12th, 2006 12:40 pm


Holy good gods. This made me laugh soooo hard!

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