tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10989995348332590232024-11-01T04:05:40.320-07:00Millie MuxLoriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01677588485104564266noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1098999534833259023.post-17502435621076108332010-12-04T09:51:00.000-08:002010-12-04T09:51:18.467-08:0002/23/10I have sort of neglected this blog and the idea of this blog for over a year. I guess it is this time of year that I always find a need or desire to say more. <br />
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As I was looking around I found a post that I had started on February 23, 2010. When I opened it, it contained these two pictures:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGaxPuCzaoDbePqBDxK3xDX5Cx0sFxxv7UT3kikUyVvklDmdXWly83kQLJ2v-Sagdd3x9CAnFEM3w9hmJv_TuebIB8HfuogSSYtBcEcXgEejT-Ir1mgfYtmuFCralCcAbTwryIBSgkA8rf/s1600-h/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGaxPuCzaoDbePqBDxK3xDX5Cx0sFxxv7UT3kikUyVvklDmdXWly83kQLJ2v-Sagdd3x9CAnFEM3w9hmJv_TuebIB8HfuogSSYtBcEcXgEejT-Ir1mgfYtmuFCralCcAbTwryIBSgkA8rf/s320/1.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="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo-8rK0LxHhZPllZhLWg8Z6581EscFSoUSNohTCSmsj3v9yyA5y_HH3wLMGX1qMa2DsoJhLVvt07eEjw2O3o2_Q3Nl0sdCgPWKsFodit_Cvwjk2d_RO1ZhSeEKRUyiafESw_mdT1fibYB_/s1600-h/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo-8rK0LxHhZPllZhLWg8Z6581EscFSoUSNohTCSmsj3v9yyA5y_HH3wLMGX1qMa2DsoJhLVvt07eEjw2O3o2_Q3Nl0sdCgPWKsFodit_Cvwjk2d_RO1ZhSeEKRUyiafESw_mdT1fibYB_/s320/2.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I have absolutely no idea what this post was going to say and I can't for the life of me figure out what a picture of a passport and a pair of jeans have in common. At the moment I don't have either, so that is something. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If you have any ideas, please let me know.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span id="goog_1266984587639"></span><span id="goog_1266984587640"></span></div>Loriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01677588485104564266noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1098999534833259023.post-46533936908724249522009-12-16T16:23:00.000-08:002009-12-16T16:26:14.963-08:00MovingI have figured out the moving is a lot like being pregnant. You usually know about it for a while and may not be looking forward to the outcome. In the case of pregnancy, the actual delivery. In the case of moving, leaving everything and everyone you know and love behind.<div><br /></div><div>But there comes a point. There comes a point when you are SO tired of being pregnant that you will do anything, even give birth, to have it just be over.</div><div><br /></div><div>And with moving, there comes a point where you will do anything, even leave your home in Arizona for the unknown of Texas, just to have your life be normal again.</div>Loriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01677588485104564266noreply@blogger.com0