tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54828702024-03-14T05:50:21.781-06:00The Myth & The MajestyWell ... Here we are.Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.comBlogger1966125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-56430784799549773312022-12-26T19:09:00.002-07:002022-12-26T19:09:51.109-07:00Let's Talk.<p> No, no. I mean, "I'll talk."</p><p>It's been awhile, and for that I'm sorry. Not, like, REALLY sorry -- I doubt very much I've been missed -- but a little. But let me tell you a little about my 2022 regardless.</p><p>The fun actually began in 2021, as calendar days mean nothing to the universe at large. December 18th, to be exact. That day -- just a bit after noon -- I received a text message from the Tall One.</p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><i>Had an accident heading to the hospital may need you to find out where ********s dad lives and get my truck</i></blockquote><p></p><p>Yeah, not exactly the kind of thing you want to receive. Ever. Ever ever. And particularly not in text form.</p><p>Over the next few minutes it became slightly more clear. Bad burns on his legs. Talk of heading to Denver. By the time I'd retrieved said truck and gotten to the hospital, they were packing him up for the flight down.</p><p>It had been a bit of a freak accident -- a boiler, a can of primer, a spill, and thirty seconds that changed things drastically. Stop, drop and roll was insufficient but running outside and shedding <i>[what was left of]</i> his pants worked. (Try... not to imagine what that would be like. Seeing an apparent neighbor running out of the house on fire?) He ran back in to make sure the house was okay. The resident and his daughter were both there and she happens to be a nurse; they made sure the ambulance was called. Within five hours of the incident, he was in a room in a proper burn ward in Greeley, a city north of Denver.</p><p>Then ... well. Let's just say I don't recommend burns. There was a cleanup that had to have been excruciating. Two separate grafts (one allo-, one auto-). Staple removals. (*Shudder.*) 18 total days in the hospital. And weeks of daily washes to keep the burn and graft sites clean. </p><p>2022 did not start well ... but it was better than the last few days of 2021.</p><p>Now, a year later, there are some takeaways:</p><p></p><blockquote><p>1. The Tall One recovered -- is still recovering -- very well. It was rough for him to stay still for as long as he did and the road continues on, but he was able to start working bit by bit starting in March.</p><p>2. His sister was awesome. She dropped everything for a few days and got to Denver before I could -- which was huge, considering I had also just started a new job (egads). Whether or not he was fully aware of it, she saved me from imploding ... particularly since she is a nurse who Knows Things.</p><p>2b. For instance, hospitals often have hospitality houses where families can stay for a very reasonable rate. The one in Greeley is top-notch.</p><p>3. You never really know what kinds of things you can handle until they're in front of you. Including wound care in a hotel bathroom in a blizzard like some kind of B-movie.</p></blockquote><p></p><p>Here's to 2022. May it stay in 2022.</p>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-65620369048054295842022-12-22T10:25:00.001-07:002022-12-22T10:25:42.156-07:00Fred<p>I read <i>A Christmas Carol </i>every year.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOyDpHAlnRoueEEWOSM1MF4qrwWLMGis3X0MR9MKPwOYOZPdV6PgfOddkLRLfuyH0XkCOvvb9E1R3wlSRj8Xl2kJL5cMHG6F7hJXgsdTQ-osNMSROyz-vvhBkjlDdF8O_ywXHvjbEaf8Kgu7ta7LA6VJy_O1RD5_ti7zZ1MEtDdCVKqVGX1w" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1112" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOyDpHAlnRoueEEWOSM1MF4qrwWLMGis3X0MR9MKPwOYOZPdV6PgfOddkLRLfuyH0XkCOvvb9E1R3wlSRj8Xl2kJL5cMHG6F7hJXgsdTQ-osNMSROyz-vvhBkjlDdF8O_ywXHvjbEaf8Kgu7ta7LA6VJy_O1RD5_ti7zZ1MEtDdCVKqVGX1w=w288-h400" width="288" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: sans-serif; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"Marley's Ghost", original illustration by John Leech from the 1843 edition<br />Found on Wikipedia</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table>That's not entirely accurate. The last few years I've listened to it; Audible has a lovely version read by Tim Curry. This means that my brain does it's association thing and I get to picture the story as read by Long John Silver, because why not?</p><p>The bottom line is that this year I listened to it over the course of a few commutes (by the by, I have a job in Spearfish these days, and what do you mean I don't write often enough here to keep you up to date? I know, I know...) and this year, for no clear reason, I found myself wondering so much more about Fred.</p><p>For those who don't remember the story, Fred is Scrooge's nephew. We only learn a few things about Fred -- he is the son of Scrooge's only sister and his only living kin, he's not particularly rich or well off, and he is unendingly kind. We don't know his age, last name, his past relationship with Scrooge, or really anything else.</p><p>When we first meet him, he appears in Scrooge's office to invite him to dinner. Pre-ghost-Scrooge scorns the invitation and calls him a fool and he makes his exit. The end.</p><p>Sort of. Later, while Scrooge is hanging out with the Ghost of Christmas Present, they stop in at Fred's place. And this is where my brain took a turn this year.</p><p>Fred appears to be well-off, or at least enough that the building isn't remarked upon and there's no word of things being particularly shabby or run down. Dickens is excessively clear about that with the Cratchits, so it's worth mentioning; moreover, Scrooge called him poor in the first encounter but for a man worth millions, anyone middle class looks poor. Fred as a house full of friends over for dinner and when Scrooge and GoCP appear, he's telling the story of how he'd invited his uncle and how said uncle responded.</p><p>He's not insulted. He pities the man that kicked him out and says he'll be back every year to give him the chance to join in. It's that simple -- he's going to enjoy himself, and he'll give Scrooge the chance to do so as well.</p><p>Later, when the Ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Come is terrorizing Scrooge, we hear from Bob. Tiny Tim has died and he came across Fred somewhere in town, who offered his condolences and assistance despite barely knowing the family.</p><p>The movie versions (even my own beloved Muppets) tend to minimize an already minimal character; Fred is portrayed as a bit of a goof-off who makes fun of his uncle but not much more. In the book his kindness is on display and all I can think this year is, "Gosh, I'd love a sequel story about Fred's life."</p><p>Or maybe I just want to know more Freds in my own life. I suppose the real moral here is to be more like Fred so that you can have more Freds around you.</p>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-50091367113021045422020-04-24T23:42:00.004-06:002020-04-24T23:42:53.670-06:00What's Keeping Me Awake Tonight<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>or "Why my birthday actually scares me"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Okay, so the alternate title doesn't really apply. My birthday doesn't scare me. As of now, I don't really fear aging and this year in particular it doesn't seem to mean much. (I was supposed to be going to space camp. Sigh. The full disappointment hasn't hit yet.)<br />
<br />
However, the sudden realization that my birthday is only a couple weeks away scares me, and it does this every year.<br />
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Allow me to explain. I made you a chart.<br />
<br />
See, it has everything to do with the eventfulness of it all...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdK2LrCjruqCi6gw4lLmpn1OfrZ1AFmDQ_G7QdmCJpWC87ADZMYCAnvqSFWClIBkAdxv0FNLOvqm4DaQedJPoT1u6EWZqPbgI-MolXs445-fIxLP8u7ipiH0rl8boZx5zywl5-/s1600/SFE.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="436" data-original-width="706" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdK2LrCjruqCi6gw4lLmpn1OfrZ1AFmDQ_G7QdmCJpWC87ADZMYCAnvqSFWClIBkAdxv0FNLOvqm4DaQedJPoT1u6EWZqPbgI-MolXs445-fIxLP8u7ipiH0rl8boZx5zywl5-/s400/SFE.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Mind you, this only includes immediate family members -- no aunts or cousins -- and I only threw in the holidays where family gathering would normally occur (so Mother's Day is in there but I didn't count Halloween).</div>
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The real catch? Those April and May events happen almost entirely in a 21-day period. In that single three week chunk, there are four birthdays, an anniversary, and a holiday. Then, just for fun, we get June -- which is another 21-day chunk for three birthdays, two anniversaries, and a holiday. Oh, and Memorial Day is between those two as a little break.</div>
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And so tonight I found myself freaking out because this time of year is once again upon us, and once again I forgot until about 5 days before. Perhaps it's time for me to do some kind of shopping, or at least find some gift certificates to send... Self-quarantine takes a big chunk of the fun out of birthday presents.</div>
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-28250537229859193202020-04-11T20:34:00.000-06:002020-04-11T20:34:18.874-06:00AiE: Summer Camp, Part 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1lXIzWOTfh3CwegGGb4Q4jXhKbTy3cYK6xH-WwQxJ6RQkcC1hKMEHCVXcsnfH4_Bchu8XTkobMckUyX1A9PPSvMjXZyCJDTOqs4t0muVgnh7-EplhuNweXCjmEDFvqgNppvYk/s1600/DSC_0033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1072" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1lXIzWOTfh3CwegGGb4Q4jXhKbTy3cYK6xH-WwQxJ6RQkcC1hKMEHCVXcsnfH4_Bchu8XTkobMckUyX1A9PPSvMjXZyCJDTOqs4t0muVgnh7-EplhuNweXCjmEDFvqgNppvYk/s320/DSC_0033.JPG" width="214" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">It was April and my sophomore year
was wrapping up. I was in a relationship that was on the rocks, although he
wasn’t yet aware of that little fact. I had applied – and been rejected – for
an undergraduate research position. I had no idea where I was going to land for
the summer; all I knew for sure was that I needed a job and I was not
interested in staying in Sioux Falls.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Remembering a conversation I’d had
with an acquaintance earlier that year, I found myself searching for an email
address. “Mr. Jensen: Hi, I’m a friend of Nate…”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">It would be the first of
approximately four times I was that formal. Scott admitted to having a couple
more spaces open for summer staff and agreed to meet me – after he got back
from an Easter trip. A couple weeks passed before we met for a burger at Hardee’s; I brought my
resume like I’d been taught. He didn’t so much as glance at it while we talked but
gave me an application to fill out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Two days later, he was back in town
to collect my application and offered me the job right then. Just like that, I
was lined up to spend my summer at Storm Mountain Center.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Sixteen years later, it’s amazing
the things that stand out. I still remember how relieved I was to have
something lined up (and just in the nick of time). I remember how excited I was
to be going back to a place that had been central to my summers in middle
school. And oh, I was so happy to be staying in the Hills.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">The job? The job was unlike anything I had pictured myself doing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">To start with, there was our cabin, housing 11 of us in about 1,200 (old and broken down) square feet with two bathrooms. It was a lot to ask -- packing us in there, then expecting us to live, work, and play together for three months. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">Friendships and romantic relationships bloomed, forged by the kind of togetherness not even found in our college dorms.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman", serif;">Mysteriously, we mostly got along. I didn't realize at the time how rare we were; later years would tell me it was insane that we all still liked each other by August, and even stranger that we stayed in touch for years afterwards. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The summer itself was... I won't say life-changing. I was at an age where most big things were life-changing (as opposed to now?) and that summer was no exception. We worked hard, sometimes with slightly insane hours. Then, we packed as much fun into our off hours as we could manage -- we hit every tourist attractions that was even mildly interesting, went to every single play at the Black Hills Playhouse, and had so many late night hikes that I lost track inside two weeks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Those three months would eventually lead to two more summers and a full-time job, but as that summer ended I had no idea. I left instead with an entirely new outlook as I headed into my third year at Mines.</span></div>
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-69167328052837144692020-04-08T13:16:00.000-06:002020-04-08T13:16:07.237-06:00Maintaining Sanity<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I don't know about you guys, but I'm learning a lot about myself these days.<br />
<br />
For instance, I'm perfectly happy to be alone ... for about nine hours after I wake up in the morning. Right about then I start getting twitchy, which makes for a lovely mood come supper time. I'm not sure what would cure this. Sleeping till noon? Nah, that causes too many other issues. Maybe an afternoon nap?<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNeriFY1COdAtPlIFHwlG96iuSIU2CeLhfS_oPtq1NEnRctsSUkeGOYhcymwv5wwCkQE4sg08NAPCOCqFIQk61EQF4VMNRbwd_DJSJVDRanLB3SpyM9h2cXaQVzLLL2GGqQF0C/s1600/DSC_0998.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1072" data-original-width="1600" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNeriFY1COdAtPlIFHwlG96iuSIU2CeLhfS_oPtq1NEnRctsSUkeGOYhcymwv5wwCkQE4sg08NAPCOCqFIQk61EQF4VMNRbwd_DJSJVDRanLB3SpyM9h2cXaQVzLLL2GGqQF0C/s320/DSC_0998.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Landscape aside from my first trip to Moab in 2013.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I've learned that if I'm a millennial, I haven't completely committed. Case in point: twice this week I've tired of texting and just called the person I was chatting with. It was easier.<br />
<br />
I've learned that in the current climate, true crime podcasts are actually a better distraction than they are depressing.<br />
<br />
I've also learned that it's still nice to break things up with something completely different. (Need something short and sweet? Check out <a href="https://www.wnycstudios.org/podcasts/anthropocene-reviewed">The Anthropocene Reviewed</a>.)<br />
<br />
I've learned that I enjoy the National Park Service Instagram page an awful lot.<br />
<br />
And I've learned that instead of reading to avoid cleaning, I will clean to avoid writing. That was an interesting twist.<br />
<br />
Speaking of which, there are things to get done and the day's still young(ish). Stay safe, all.</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-17491571694752129982020-04-06T12:10:00.000-06:002020-04-06T12:10:14.827-06:00Adventures In Employment: In The Beginning<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><i>You know, I've had a lot of jobs. Boxer,
mascot, astronaut, imitation Krusty, baby proofer, trucker, hippie, plow
driver, food critic, conceptual artist, grease salesman, carnie, mayor,
grifter, bodyguard for the mayor, garbage commissioner...</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">If someone asks, how do you
describe your first job?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Not shockingly (if you’ve known me
at all in the last </span><strike style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">three or four years</strike><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> decade</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">) I’ve been thinking rather hard about the
road to my current point, as far as the professional (or at least employed)
realm goes. And I don’t know how to describe my first job.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Well, okay. I suppose what I don’t
know is what to consider my first job.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">There’s the first non-chore thing I
did to earn money, which involved putting together bridge reports for the
family company. They’d give me an envelope of photos and a photo log from the
day’s inspections and I’d sit on the floor in my mom’s office, gluing photos
onto sheets of paper and carefully writing out the descriptions. My penmanship
was impeccable and it kept me occupied; as a result, I was pretty young when I
learned to identify bridge sections and differentiate the damage.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And then, of course, there was the
babysitting. I was the oldest kid in the neighborhood and the only willing babysitter-aged
teen within walking distance. It was good, steady income for a middle schooler.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">But as for real jobs – ones that
required tax forms and everything – there was a summer at Subway.</span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE0S_Iz9ygOgHELmBunByN5eTwkTxg9J1FcZznk7sdHywnd-6Sqq7qViQqbXp1AGYOsRRo6DeVVpvJNW7Mgi9ltB5YdR4-rD-ONy_cNZPmrRE0i9TCXPobkOsUs6tU2cssVwyc/s1600/aerostar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="384" data-original-width="512" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE0S_Iz9ygOgHELmBunByN5eTwkTxg9J1FcZznk7sdHywnd-6Sqq7qViQqbXp1AGYOsRRo6DeVVpvJNW7Mgi9ltB5YdR4-rD-ONy_cNZPmrRE0i9TCXPobkOsUs6tU2cssVwyc/s320/aerostar.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This wasn't ours, but ... yep, there it is.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Quite frankly, I don’t have much of
anything to say about that. Those memories are two decades old and it was a
three-month span of my life. It was fine. I didn’t much care for it at the
time, but it probably had as much to do with the job as it did with the grey
Aerostar I had to drive to get there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">It didn’t last. I didn’t like it,
they didn’t like my schedule, and the after-school commute would have been too
far to be economical or reasonable. One and done with Subway.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">With that first out of the way,
high school continued. The following summer I got to go out on real bridge
inspections as they converted the old paper files to spreadsheets. (Guess who
was recruited because she liked Excel and could type at a reasonable rate?)
Just a handful of outings for each of three summers around soccer tournaments
and band camp, but enough to keep me in gas money.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Then, that first summer after high
school, there was the daycare.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Oh, the daycare.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">As jobs go, it wasn’t too bad, and
I appreciated the hours – a 7AM shift would give me a mostly-free afternoon to
be a somewhat normal-ish 18-year-old. I would return there the summer after my
freshman year at Mines – which, as it happens, is also when I started this
blog. Longtime readers (reeeeally longtime readers – so, you know, hi Mom)
might remember <a href="https://musings-of-a-demented-mind.blogspot.com/2010/07/ashley-files-gerbil-story_7756.html">the gerbil story</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Note: I wonder how she’s doing now.
I mean, it’s been almost 17 years. She could very easily have kids of her own.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">College was, of course, the turning
point, just as all those nineties movies promised...</span></div>
<br />
<br /><br />
<i style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">...mountain climber, farmer, inventor, Smithers, Poochie, celebrity assistant, power plant worker, fortune cookie writer, beer baron, Kwik-E Mart clerk, homophobe and missionary. But protecting Springfield, that gives me the best feeling of all.</span></i><br />
<i style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">- Homer Simpson</span></i></div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-56407703926976824542020-04-05T08:52:00.000-06:002020-04-05T08:52:04.566-06:00---<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Check it out. Report findings back here. (It's been out for a few days, but... whoa.)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/collectors_edition.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="555" data-original-width="740" height="240" src="https://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/collectors_edition.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://xkcd.com/2288">Go here.</a></div>
<br /></div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-75809576239018255892020-04-04T11:44:00.001-06:002020-04-04T11:44:41.036-06:00Best Laid Plans<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWi37pYdPryeKPZ9aIcLUjTIeZItz2IF1TJEuv-k8wYl1O4Ot9kq0HZntWtJ4IpdBrUSWGNGV-gdLWg6LEKRcfGxe12aVoArY_kkPx3qnAl42nlKJcpeAuWAdAZYFeyR9mY1aD/s1600/wtf2020.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="261" data-original-width="500" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWi37pYdPryeKPZ9aIcLUjTIeZItz2IF1TJEuv-k8wYl1O4Ot9kq0HZntWtJ4IpdBrUSWGNGV-gdLWg6LEKRcfGxe12aVoArY_kkPx3qnAl42nlKJcpeAuWAdAZYFeyR9mY1aD/s320/wtf2020.png" width="320" /></a>So, um...<br />
<br />
Here we are?<br />
<br />
I guess?<br />
<br />
...<br />
...<br />
...<br />
<br />
I think we can all agree that this was not what anyone expected out of 2020. At no point in time were we expecting weeks of schools closing, businesses shutting down, stay-at-home-orders, and a shortage of toilet paper. Planes grounded. Borders closed. Social distancing, but on purpose.<br />
<br />
That being said, I highly doubt there's a single thing of value that I could add to the coronavirus conversation.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure where that leaves me. This poor thing has been languishing here for the last year, unwritten, unread, and irrelevant. Skipping out on the only real topic of the day doesn't exactly help with any of that.<br />
<br />
But then again, neither does adding one more voice saying, "Stay home, and for the love of Pete, wash your hands!"<br />
<br />
Instead, now that I'm finding myself home with an excess of time, perhaps I can finally buckle down and write all of those other things I've been thinking about. Nothing like a little insanity to give you time for reflection and maybe even the ability to find the right words.<br />
<br />
No promises, of course (not that anyone will notice for awhile...). But hey, if I can add at least a minor distraction, I may as well, right?</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-47077375863458980472019-12-31T17:55:00.000-07:002019-12-31T17:55:02.733-07:002019 Year In Review<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It was awful.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Fine. It wasn’t all bad. I have a niece now. My job is pretty awesome. I like my residence fine. I … avoided all parking tickets? But wow, was there a lot of garbage in the meantime.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
An unexpected funeral for a friend who died decidedly too young. Family members in and out of (and back into) the hospital. And throughout the last third, the specter of cancer hanging over everything.</div>
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<br /></div>
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While a part of me keeps saying, “There is no need to dwell on all the crap, Ashley,” the rest of me is almost too exhausted for optimism. 2020 has potential, yes. Buckets of potential. Oodles of it. 2020 is chaotic neutral staring us in the face. Switzerland with anger issues. Taunting us with its possibilities.</div>
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<br /></div>
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RIP 2019.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
2020... Please don't be a jerk.</div>
</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-46164691664630385082019-09-10T14:51:00.006-06:002019-09-10T14:51:51.802-06:00For The Moment...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
.... <a href="https://waitbutwhy.com/2019/08/story-of-us.html">Check this out.</a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://waitbutwhy.com/2019/08/story-of-us.html"><img border="0" data-original-height="732" data-original-width="292" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdzB_IUYhS213yMbBbdt7UM9DicCoAr4hNz651wnHZGeG-eHxy3SVxTz8-4nTMKPEMfod77GudHiFYPeBwHc4FoAyiUt09GyOw9n68krdYeXUUqgVUS5OUoLRIxOnM-1HB7EHb/s320/1.1-elbow.png" width="127" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-74140070793400808132019-09-09T17:00:00.002-06:002019-09-09T17:00:42.482-06:00Re-Start<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
How on earth do I start writing here again?<br />
<br />
I'm serious. I have a pile of partially written posts (many of which will never see the light of day, or only will if there are a dozen other changes in the world and/or my life) but for over a year now I've been absent.<br />
<br />
Okay, so my parenthetical explanation there might explain that year. A little.<br />
<br />
In the year since we last talked, there have been new jobs (yes, more than one), new apartments (yes, more than one... sort of) and friends have moved back and away. Birthday parties. Engagements. Hospital visits. Car repairs. Not many vacations. Hikes. Somewhere in there, sling backpacks became stylish. The third stage of the MCU reached its conclusion. Hopper might be stuck in Siberia.<br />
<br />
And I became an aunt, for crying out loud. (My niece is officially into the "adorable" stage now.)<br />
<br />
Through it all, I've had plenty to say and absolutely no desire to say it here.<br />
<br />
A month or so ago, I started to evaluate the why of this. Why did I let this site go silent? Other hiatuses (hiati?) were resolved by a redesign or a name change, but this time I found I didn't want to change much. It seemed instead the problem was simple: I didn't feel much like writing.<br />
<br />
I wanted to <i>want </i>to write. Not the same thing.<br />
<br />
It would be easy to blame an increasingly hostile online environment, a dearth of good ideas, or a lack of time. (Okay, one of those is a legitimate reason for me. I'll let you guess which one.) The real truth is that there are certain mindsets from which I can write and a couple from which I cannot. I have been stuck in the latter for a long time.<br />
<br />
Things have changed. Hello again. My name is Ashley. With any luck, we can talk books in the near future and perhaps I'll even start writing a series about job searches. (If there's one thing I've mastered in the last three years, it is how to apply for jobs and somehow still not find one for a very long time.) Post some pictures from upcoming trips and hikes.<br />
<br />
And hey, I'm sure I'll be re-posting comics. It's what I do.<br />
<br />
Hi. It's good to be back.</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-49772367304065654152018-07-13T14:23:00.002-06:002018-07-13T14:26:29.255-06:00My Week<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Like this, except I'm waiting for Landsat imagery to load.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://xkcd.com/303/"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="413" src="https://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/compiling.png" /></a></div>
<br />
Also, my chair doesn't roll.</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-34177685054853991522018-07-08T16:20:00.003-06:002018-07-08T16:21:59.972-06:00Hey!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hillfolk!<br />
<br />
This is a thing!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSac4J_KnzPkvpogIx6fmYbozy0kR0SY358-hdOdMgG0Yd-BRYrqlqhIeV9Z_FNATWYvfA6otPTK0gz49QJ-CcU3szRSBsqJAs2Pz05X1cDq2IddLILOH7Pl4GYqajuLNb97wh/s1600/Signature+color.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="308" data-original-width="1600" height="122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSac4J_KnzPkvpogIx6fmYbozy0kR0SY358-hdOdMgG0Yd-BRYrqlqhIeV9Z_FNATWYvfA6otPTK0gz49QJ-CcU3szRSBsqJAs2Pz05X1cDq2IddLILOH7Pl4GYqajuLNb97wh/s640/Signature+color.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Tours, talks, activities, and all sorts of fun next Saturday (July 14). More information <a href="https://sanfordlab.org/neutrinodayx">right here</a>.</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-79278247297019159822018-07-02T19:35:00.000-06:002018-07-02T19:37:56.982-06:00This Month's First Read<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5y276VdMm515eD1wNg-JIpfL3sET_8UK3wge97Ej4bFt66YAF_DnTLFsnkLyeQqTqYpE-AW5WE8OH35jViaYVeEyTEwPAAzECpyBRS8kVuJxD_N2xQ6YRRD1bdPwurpV7Devq/s1600/astrophysics.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="308" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5y276VdMm515eD1wNg-JIpfL3sET_8UK3wge97Ej4bFt66YAF_DnTLFsnkLyeQqTqYpE-AW5WE8OH35jViaYVeEyTEwPAAzECpyBRS8kVuJxD_N2xQ6YRRD1bdPwurpV7Devq/s320/astrophysics.jpg" width="194" /></a></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<i style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Consider an adult who tends to the traumas of a child ... Children do not yet know that the world does not revolve around them.</span></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />"As grown-ups, dare we admit to ourselves that we, too, have a collective immaturity of view? Dare we admit that our thoughts and behaviors spring from a belief that the world revolves around us? Apparently not. Yet evidence abounds. Part the curtains of racial, ethnic, religious, national and cultural conflicts, and you find the human ego turning the knobs and pulling the levers."</span></i></div>
</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-36647105939750067572018-06-30T11:19:00.000-06:002018-06-30T11:19:22.005-06:00June: A Summary<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/rock.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="539" data-original-width="477" src="https://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/rock.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>As usual, <a href="https://xkcd.com/2013">thanks, Randall Munroe</a>.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-35446592478859908562018-05-27T14:28:00.000-06:002018-05-27T14:28:19.470-06:00---<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hopping on Facebook today has been strangely heartbreaking because of this.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxV0J6RmsfIYIKgUbUmN5Cqwpf0B7BTwLBEkD8kq_P3_u7zHIszxXZIgE253EcFFycJosNkF8H8PjkIn3-FG2YgrlVtlNLLbzi5lX4TaE3Xg72yQiBKTKYuM2yM_k04iNd_ogQ/s1600/33720271_1677508462365505_1857015855880077312_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="540" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxV0J6RmsfIYIKgUbUmN5Cqwpf0B7BTwLBEkD8kq_P3_u7zHIszxXZIgE253EcFFycJosNkF8H8PjkIn3-FG2YgrlVtlNLLbzi5lX4TaE3Xg72yQiBKTKYuM2yM_k04iNd_ogQ/s320/33720271_1677508462365505_1857015855880077312_n.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
As far as I can tell, there are exactly two acceptable scenarios for the disappearance of Poet's Table:<br /><br />1. Forest fire, because there's no ultimate control there.<br />
<br />
2. A park decision. I'd be pissed about that, but as they are the official landowners, they would ultimately have the right to pull things out. (And in theory, would be willing to preserve the history of the area in an appropriate fashion.)<br />
<br />
This, though?<br />
<br />This is just plain wrong. Besides being confusing as hell, it goes against the very idea of the table itself as a peaceful destination in the woods. At the heart of things, it's disrespectful, shortsighted, and just plain mean.</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-48600246211501638482018-05-26T15:34:00.002-06:002018-05-26T15:34:38.319-06:00IT<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
An xkcd from a week and a half ago is speaking to my soul this weekend.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/repairs.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="476" data-original-width="702" height="433" src="https://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/repairs.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
This has something to do with my role as various people's personal IT guy, a couple of fun phone calls, and the brakes on my bike (which, luckily, fell into that under-2-hours section). I do, however, fear for Sophie's air conditioning, knowing how long that one might take.<br />
<br />
Never a dull moment.</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-57077744194746661402018-05-21T18:16:00.001-06:002018-05-21T18:16:15.589-06:00---<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Actual decades have passed since I started school (almost three of them) and I have, at last figured out how I prefer to study.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh73QkqfNyBb5os28IOWDidB0-MFILrSbUOOR9sefz-c_BuDuU0gaeuL8g748dpa5sEY9Zzx0vqNWHtSR2mmFFpvMfLqx4B1S3pSBVBbseOdncsDjQ_0WFkPKozMR5T8GvdVgES/s1600/20180521_180737.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh73QkqfNyBb5os28IOWDidB0-MFILrSbUOOR9sefz-c_BuDuU0gaeuL8g748dpa5sEY9Zzx0vqNWHtSR2mmFFpvMfLqx4B1S3pSBVBbseOdncsDjQ_0WFkPKozMR5T8GvdVgES/s640/20180521_180737.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
<br />
Yeah, that works.</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-81884893733928035162018-05-07T15:41:00.001-06:002018-05-07T15:41:12.822-06:00Well, Hello.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"So, Ashley, what are you up to these days?"</i></div>
<br />
It's a question I've come to dread. The expected answer seems to be, "Oh, not much," since I lack Big News. But that answer is also a blatant lie. That's the answer that implies nothing of interest.<br /><br />
Allow me to fill in a few blanks. Here are some things I haven't been doing:<br />
<br />
- Moving to Denver. Actually, I now have an apartment in RC with the other Ashli since the previous Denver gig fell through. Thanks to multiple circumstances -- like Ashli, The Plumber, and Daz's move to SLC -- Denver is no longer in the cards. This decade, anyway.<br />
- Staying caught up with whatever show you're watching.<br />
- Riding my bike enough.<br />
- Travelling. This one makes me sad.<br />
- Robbing banks.<br />
- Writing here.<br />
<br />
... I should work on a couple of those.<br />
<br />
What I HAVE been doing is feeding 80 tiny humans on a daily basis for a few months now. It's not glamorous, but it leaves my afternoons open to pursue a bunch of other things. And while I have plenty of amusing stories to tell in person, I'll refrain from telling them here because this is the internet and they're small children.<br />
<br />
My afternoons have been full of a fun collection of things. Job searches. Classes. Occasional hikes. Books. My biggest topics lately:<br />
<br />
- Changes to South Dakota's Title 35 (the full text of government bills should be in everyone's reading lists).<br />
- Long-range Mars things, like learning a new language (I love Duolingo).<br />
- Sewing and other craft projects, often for specific purposes. Like these.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMFL-HZe0A7iWbKUSuC1naCIoKRvEs6QI3wkD-4ACzHnF8mPdApvvSz50Fj5Lrcf8iUUCg5OzDDiRr8kYX8j0cgw0bDiKod50CZVmWUlu0wpdFv66h3nNZfPCcIHMttoZ4Kmwy/s1600/20180507_151043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMFL-HZe0A7iWbKUSuC1naCIoKRvEs6QI3wkD-4ACzHnF8mPdApvvSz50Fj5Lrcf8iUUCg5OzDDiRr8kYX8j0cgw0bDiKod50CZVmWUlu0wpdFv66h3nNZfPCcIHMttoZ4Kmwy/s320/20180507_151043.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A very, very specific purpose.</i></td></tr>
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- An ArcGIS specialization on <a href="http://www.coursera.org/">Coursera</a>.<br />
<br />
Here's the thing: I cannot figure out why it took me this long to pay attention to GIS. I've been fascinated by maps and blueprints since I was about 6 (I adore P&IDs) and here's this massive tool available for me to build my own maps. It's just plain silly I haven't tried before.<br />
<br />
When all else fails, there's always something going on in Rapid.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure if this means you'll be seeing more of me here. Coming back after an accidental hiatus is always a little awkward and I have some things I might be moving around on here. But I figured I should stop by and say hi.<br />
<br />
Now, back to my map...</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-35783400530935168102018-03-23T14:39:00.001-06:002018-03-23T14:39:35.422-06:00This.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.xkcd.com/1970/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="627" height="640" src="https://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/name_dominoes.png" width="500" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://xkcd.com/1970/large/">Click through to view the extra large version...</a></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-83602505860476249842018-01-03T14:53:00.002-07:002018-01-03T14:53:27.547-07:00---<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Backing up a couple weeks, because I'm even behind on my <a href="https://www.xkcd.com/1930/">xkcd reposts...</a></div>
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-89455773614267756082017-12-30T21:09:00.002-07:002017-12-30T21:09:31.034-07:00So Here We Go Again<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjni3LRpVyyGhH_ZUR-wt5XbMPwzm7zJs4Fblw-FfOeliC3I6120vbsD3yQOnwYpY-jnlB6r6HIDFbCi8jPml8hn0UsRra5lK_5s18tr1ywcsv3tbkTYpWQ1C_piOjzijrpez5y/s1600/20171228_162946.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjni3LRpVyyGhH_ZUR-wt5XbMPwzm7zJs4Fblw-FfOeliC3I6120vbsD3yQOnwYpY-jnlB6r6HIDFbCi8jPml8hn0UsRra5lK_5s18tr1ywcsv3tbkTYpWQ1C_piOjzijrpez5y/s400/20171228_162946.jpg" width="221" /></a>It's been awhile, hasn't it?<br />
<br />
I'd love to blame the holidays for my lack of posting -- after all, it was a bit before Thanksgiving when you last saw me here -- but the truth is simply that I don't wanna.<br />
<br />
Yep. Don't wanna.<br />
<br />
But as it's the end of the year -- the end of a very long, very strange year -- I figured it was time to reappear.<br />
<br />
How are you?<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
Yeah, that sounds about right.<br />
<br />
Had you asked me a year ago, I would have said that by now I'd be in Denver, maybe even back to living alone and enjoying what my early thirties have to offer with a full complement of health benefits and a 401(k). I'd have gone on a couple of road trips and perhaps I'd be saving up for a big trip overseas.<br />
<br />
As I've mentioned previously, however, this year has not gone as expected.<br />
<br />
First, of course, was the job situation. When the initial change didn't take, I ended up with a temporary gig ... that just keeps reappearing. Then a few months back, my Roommate-For-Life moved back to the area. As luck would have it, just this last week we acquired an apartment not far from downtown Rapid City.<br />
<br />
Which means I'm finding myself with a very different job in a very different place than I initially expected.<br />
<br />
With very different people.<br />
<br />It hasn't been all bad. It's nice to walk into a job and have people be so darn happy to see you. And I'm actually quite excited about the apartment. (I'll be thrilled when the snow lets up and I can actually fully move in.)<br />
<br />
And did I mention the people?<br />
<br />
There's the RFL, of course, along with Ms. B, who <i>also </i>moved back to the area. And then there's the Tall Guy, who has been one of the brightest spots.<br />
<br />
All of this means that although I'm not particularly sad to see 2017 go, I have to admit that it wasn't entirely awful.<br />
<br />
High praise indeed.<br />
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I have hope, though. I think. Maybe. 2018 holds some promise, in the form of potential travel and all sorts of shenanigans with the RFL and the Tall Guy. There are things to be found and new challenges to tackle (and yes, perhaps a bunch more job applications in my future).<br />
<br />
It's going to be a one day at a time kind of year, but those days look pretty good.<br />
<br />
Provided, of course, it gets back above freezing in the near future...</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-41170498200276013342017-11-12T12:38:00.000-07:002017-11-12T12:38:27.872-07:00This Week's Things<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
1. So I finally jumped on the "Stranger Things" bandwagon. After a week and now 1.22 seasons in, I'm trying to learn to pace myself so that, among other things, I'll stop being followed by dark tentacle creatures through dreams.<br />
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2. I appreciate Black Hills winters greatly.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCsLAy18AyQ_T4reFTbbP4ENXEzJpYx6ega_A3yqgeHWxJ8pJoNgNgRAYfYJgrZgW3-83pJJB6ko6HQwkA7ENVRxiQAQ66TuJhElsrj5VEdaYvdfdomU_mxooOJVrZw0zNxOl-/s1600/20171106_095327.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCsLAy18AyQ_T4reFTbbP4ENXEzJpYx6ega_A3yqgeHWxJ8pJoNgNgRAYfYJgrZgW3-83pJJB6ko6HQwkA7ENVRxiQAQ66TuJhElsrj5VEdaYvdfdomU_mxooOJVrZw0zNxOl-/s640/20171106_095327.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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3. Still wouldn't argue with a <i>little </i>snow, though. A little.<br />
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4. Looking at a weird week ahead. We'll see how it all goes.</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-39981828694614346902017-10-26T12:59:00.000-06:002017-10-26T12:59:06.549-06:00Sourdough<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A year ago, I gave a not-quite-a-review for a book.<br />
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I read <i><a href="http://musings-of-a-demented-mind.blogspot.com/2016/11/penumbra.html">Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore</a> </i>in a Denver hotel room while preparing for a life that ... as it turned out, never quite happened. It was a weird place and time in my universe and on some level, I wondered if my deep, abiding love for that book was inextricably linked to that almost-life.<br />
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Six months later, I read it again. Turns out this was a book that had nothing to do with where I was. I still loved it.<br />
<br />
Then, something crossed my radar in September. <a href="http://www.robinsloan.com/">Robin Sloan</a>, the hilarious and brilliant author of <i>Penumbra</i>, had a newly released novel.<br />
<br />
... About bread. Kind of.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkdHysQl6vgqvJrhVCdX6HG3PAgO1Y_63p5tTyGn1eORFuT3hevWHy5rgDaLXWiYDNd3Je1jkqIlltnE6gNQZY4YIRyPcxYEKEAoRqk50xbmM_bjOy1_UUI7tvkfTkd_3D-FRc/s1600/20171025_145417.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1429" data-original-width="1600" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkdHysQl6vgqvJrhVCdX6HG3PAgO1Y_63p5tTyGn1eORFuT3hevWHy5rgDaLXWiYDNd3Je1jkqIlltnE6gNQZY4YIRyPcxYEKEAoRqk50xbmM_bjOy1_UUI7tvkfTkd_3D-FRc/s320/20171025_145417.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
I finally acquired it last week, and then this week I opened it up. And the next day, I was done.<br />
<br />
Here's my review:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Sourdough-Novel-Robin-Sloan-ebook/dp/B06XC41K6G/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1508965717&sr=8-1&keywords=sourdough">Go read it</a>.</div>
<br />
The thing that gets me about Sloan's books as a whole is that they are rather hard to describe. They're not directly mysteries or love stories or anything quite that easily classified (well, not yet). They're worlds colliding with a hint of something fantastic -- a bookstore and Google and a secret society, or a robotics company and a yeast culture and an underground market.<br />
<br />
And reading them, I feel an awful lot like I'm hearing a story from a friend that started with, "You'll never believe what I did last month."<br />
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It doesn't hurt that so far, he's talked about two things I love dearly -- namely, books and bread. Following the current path, his next book (in a couple years) will somehow involve space and/or beer.<br />
<br />
Now, to get back to my own sourdough starter. The book was more than inspirational...<br />
<br />
<i>[Yes, that second book in the picture is now getting my attention. Yes. It is very, very good. No, I'm not done with it yet.]</i></div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5482870.post-91832918259605595002017-10-25T12:36:00.002-06:002017-10-25T12:36:31.141-06:00Massive Data Cleanse<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I'm finally hitting that thing on my to-do list that I've been casually delaying for, oh, about six months now.</div>
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<a href="https://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/making_progress.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="348" data-original-width="220" src="https://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/making_progress.png" /></a></div>
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Of course, it immediately went awry.</div>
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Like most of you, I carry a smartphone that at any given point in time contains hundreds of photos I've barely perused since they first appeared on the screen. Sure, every once in awhile I'll thumb through them, trying to remember what day that hike was or when exactly that aunt visited, and occasionally I'll trip over something oddly memorable.</div>
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Like this.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOn-0ZatT7NWLikUyLllUnSuLRsvTfUUGRymeAHhTk78UwWczFUOVzkn6KCqB7QL8HrmXVoV-39jZESHwTlu6eqhXzLwClXVyc6S2511xpB32UNDk28QFA2zrpAE8bljRg2y_L/s1600/20170916_205605.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOn-0ZatT7NWLikUyLllUnSuLRsvTfUUGRymeAHhTk78UwWczFUOVzkn6KCqB7QL8HrmXVoV-39jZESHwTlu6eqhXzLwClXVyc6S2511xpB32UNDk28QFA2zrpAE8bljRg2y_L/s640/20170916_205605.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
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Or the day I took this.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzS5KW9vngbDc47LPpLeuSiTM6XEnhsTH3PmK0fQP0htZ7iPrGBGgrGDqO6mGyjOc1RYCh3Inf1sO8X_f85AIaorCjkG_GuERKrcFjX8i4w5Seuy-Gewtv3ue8lTHA2bO4zivV/s1600/20170706_204015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzS5KW9vngbDc47LPpLeuSiTM6XEnhsTH3PmK0fQP0htZ7iPrGBGgrGDqO6mGyjOc1RYCh3Inf1sO8X_f85AIaorCjkG_GuERKrcFjX8i4w5Seuy-Gewtv3ue8lTHA2bO4zivV/s640/20170706_204015.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Or ... Seriously, how many cat pictures do I have?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyI-b8zkm1627qk4-ex2qawRw0w6-mSv5ymrE6rWNYY6zWwrSboz_sHKatKe6MhvyWN5fJvoXnN4K1NqoRIwNqZbkiz2ceI3WBjPPB957-jpp-oiWYIlVkxaCrPVZJh_4jJfvU/s1600/20170705_124224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyI-b8zkm1627qk4-ex2qawRw0w6-mSv5ymrE6rWNYY6zWwrSboz_sHKatKe6MhvyWN5fJvoXnN4K1NqoRIwNqZbkiz2ceI3WBjPPB957-jpp-oiWYIlVkxaCrPVZJh_4jJfvU/s320/20170705_124224.jpg" width="180" /> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9YSPXzgx59Rjt7-nSOmOxnPhNYl-oOhfE5zqsJ4Y62v0MSWW9j8CWTkvjjgpH1XAb0Y1053wTq2t_-yuzhMhQLsMQy2D-y5PkFLTEomOy9AoqmnuUeM_aF-Te8Fg_JUKGOADu/s1600/20171008_110749.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9YSPXzgx59Rjt7-nSOmOxnPhNYl-oOhfE5zqsJ4Y62v0MSWW9j8CWTkvjjgpH1XAb0Y1053wTq2t_-yuzhMhQLsMQy2D-y5PkFLTEomOy9AoqmnuUeM_aF-Te8Fg_JUKGOADu/s320/20171008_110749.jpg" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7OGshWJ4Uzmn7foRAzbZN3FFoRQ2b47DubqLx1wp9Hf1wBRQxWLUUiKVSo8tY-NlrhHXlywgJX46minQ9Z2YNGQ21gOZau-40wM62rIHp2MU4d0svZUFm1riFPSmu3rg9rld5/s1600/20161225_095839.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7OGshWJ4Uzmn7foRAzbZN3FFoRQ2b47DubqLx1wp9Hf1wBRQxWLUUiKVSo8tY-NlrhHXlywgJX46minQ9Z2YNGQ21gOZau-40wM62rIHp2MU4d0svZUFm1riFPSmu3rg9rld5/s320/20161225_095839.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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This one caught me a tad off guard.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSryDo2BnKyea_r0tRpJAcQBdy8GrUJG35GnIgV8kYD94qe6O5ICeI1MTejvVL_dVnC7ydAlLP9FZKuIMPbw9TanMxAhhiWnOwMnU3mxUeli28Ktgk9gSeXhW-6Ng0ThRtJCqO/s1600/20170721_120012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSryDo2BnKyea_r0tRpJAcQBdy8GrUJG35GnIgV8kYD94qe6O5ICeI1MTejvVL_dVnC7ydAlLP9FZKuIMPbw9TanMxAhhiWnOwMnU3mxUeli28Ktgk9gSeXhW-6Ng0ThRtJCqO/s640/20170721_120012.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
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And of course, there are the food photos.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibN98NLP0mdi0edxVHo2Ha7bvwPRvp8C55g-6BXp52lzEFhdEx6gT1nt6Ay3h230FfJH4v_AJmcukLGGGAei1j_zWWHzmXaDq5iftWC01NW8vg1buSUjF3afzCRrEnJXowZGnY/s1600/20170904_152350.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibN98NLP0mdi0edxVHo2Ha7bvwPRvp8C55g-6BXp52lzEFhdEx6gT1nt6Ay3h230FfJH4v_AJmcukLGGGAei1j_zWWHzmXaDq5iftWC01NW8vg1buSUjF3afzCRrEnJXowZGnY/s640/20170904_152350.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
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I seem to be a digital hoarder.</div>
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Well, no longer. In the midst of my data cleanse, after I'd pulled everything from the last two years off my memory card and while I was sorting through it, I got The Message.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Card Corrupted. Formatting Required.</span></b></div>
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What?! NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!</div>
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Several minutes of angry ranting and flailing followed.</div>
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Note: That first part was important. I'd managed to get two years' worth of photos (pulled from a phone I've only had for a year, which was nice). Shortly before offering a sacrifice to the tech gods, I found that almost everything from before then had been backed up already, too.</div>
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Which meant, perhaps, that what I'd really done was an overzealous cleaning.</div>
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A few deep breaths and a reformat later -- along with the finding of a new card adapter because the first one apparently couldn't be trusted -- the rebuilding began. As with many of these tasks, what should have taken an hour ended up spanning eight. (Luckily, I could start a data transfer and walk away.) And while I'm going to have some glitches while I retrain various apps, I've mostly just re-learned a couple valuable lessons.</div>
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1. Back-up often.</div>
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2. For the love of Pete, don't trust an adapter with a cord.</div>
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3. Maybe consider deleting extra photos as you go this time, you weirdo.</div>
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.... Yeah, that sums it up.</div>
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02244574485921586879noreply@blogger.com0