tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83075854781609037622024-03-12T21:51:21.352-07:00Jenny BaioJenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.comBlogger160125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-2369765130419136332014-11-11T13:23:00.002-08:002014-11-29T10:24:38.691-08:00Turkey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dFOEunq9u4Q/VGJ9rwtQ-6I/AAAAAAAABG0/2ReFPXIBmRk/s1600/WhiteBoardTurkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="510" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dFOEunq9u4Q/VGJ9rwtQ-6I/AAAAAAAABG0/2ReFPXIBmRk/s640/WhiteBoardTurkey.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I love my job for numerous reasons: drawing on the whiteboard is one such reason!Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-62399676339875494242014-09-03T20:20:00.002-07:002014-09-04T09:30:08.036-07:00My Friend Gary<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nWaINYdwYNA/VAfVpG2yYAI/AAAAAAAABEM/hgYsLG5NoiU/s1600/Gary3a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nWaINYdwYNA/VAfVpG2yYAI/AAAAAAAABEM/hgYsLG5NoiU/s1600/Gary3a.jpg" height="500" width="640" /></a></div>
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My friend Gary died 5 years ago today.<br />
I was there when he took his last labored breath.<br />
My hand was on his bare ankle. It was the first time I ever felt Life leave.<br />
Mysterious. Glorious. Heartbreaking. Beautiful.<br />
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Gary was a significant part of my life for 17 years.<br />
But grief can glamorize our memories. I don't want to do that.<br />
Gary was not perfect. He drank too much, ate too much and was highly, and sometimes, annoyingly opinionated.<br />
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But he also loved deeply. <br />
Gary loved me more that I ever knew. He loved me like a daughter.<br />
I learned how deep his love was just a few days before he died.<br />
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You know you have lived, and died, well when people can remember the good and bad about you, but instead they choose to move to Love, then and now.<br />
<br />Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-66835816946076134712014-08-20T20:59:00.003-07:002014-08-20T20:59:59.917-07:00People Have Asked<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6ZVPvZM1RxA/U_Vtvo_1YMI/AAAAAAAABDY/iznmPdepn-4/s1600/KNIT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6ZVPvZM1RxA/U_Vtvo_1YMI/AAAAAAAABDY/iznmPdepn-4/s1600/KNIT.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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A handful of people have asked what I have been creating lately. <br />
I'm knitting a new purse.<br />
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Knitting is good therapy for me. <br />
I have to slow down. <br />
I have to accept process. <br />
There is NO instant gratification in knitting. <br />
One stitch at a time is the only way I will get to the end.<br />
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<br />Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-7498269563710779872014-08-13T19:17:00.001-07:002014-08-13T19:17:26.913-07:00These Are My Thoughts In Color<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6jSwfk4WesQ/U-wb9ZN-lMI/AAAAAAAABDA/je6m9fNgKi8/s1600/MyThoughtsColored.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6jSwfk4WesQ/U-wb9ZN-lMI/AAAAAAAABDA/je6m9fNgKi8/s1600/MyThoughtsColored.jpg" height="320" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-12226801074756596012014-08-12T18:08:00.002-07:002014-08-12T18:09:02.645-07:00These Are My Thoughts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TZnk5pVBrA8/U-q6fiisPTI/AAAAAAAABCw/xsAi3Hf0zz0/s1600/MyThoughts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TZnk5pVBrA8/U-q6fiisPTI/AAAAAAAABCw/xsAi3Hf0zz0/s1600/MyThoughts.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-56152535016859879552014-08-10T17:47:00.000-07:002014-08-10T17:48:48.605-07:00Art Journaling<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rj-ZH71Rq4s/U-gPL2EUE-I/AAAAAAAABCQ/nJ4cgFzHhD8/s1600/IMG_0318.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rj-ZH71Rq4s/U-gPL2EUE-I/AAAAAAAABCQ/nJ4cgFzHhD8/s1600/IMG_0318.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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For many years, I have been intrigued by art journaling. It's fun. It's therapy. And there is no wrong way.<br />
For many years, I have been intrigued by art journaling. And it always made me angry. What are the cool pens, the right pens, the pens you can't afford...the wrong paper, the crappy paper, this technique...that technique! No. I'd throw my soul into an internal arms-crossed-eyes-closed-head-turned to-the-side pout. "Humph! No. I WON'T play!"<br />
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Friday, a coworker was kind enough to show me her latest art journaling book.<br />
I was inspired! <br />
"Hey, I wanna play, too!"<br />
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I did! I played.<br />
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THANK YOU, She-Who-Likes-To-Remain-Under-The-Radar.<br />
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<br />Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-30518250307081271602014-08-09T09:21:00.000-07:002014-08-09T09:21:16.397-07:00Only Good Thing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-naLeIanZVRI/U-ZJitcRCEI/AAAAAAAABB0/Ac9EkfPgb4U/s1600/Snowman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-naLeIanZVRI/U-ZJitcRCEI/AAAAAAAABB0/Ac9EkfPgb4U/s1600/Snowman.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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The ONLY good thing to come out of a crappy night's sleep.Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-90523395728899842532014-08-04T18:20:00.001-07:002014-08-04T18:20:40.242-07:00A Cold In August<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5EMIYSD15GQ/U-Aw6YPirRI/AAAAAAAABBk/IdUUfmxU3ck/s1600/ColoringSick.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5EMIYSD15GQ/U-Aw6YPirRI/AAAAAAAABBk/IdUUfmxU3ck/s1600/ColoringSick.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Stayed home from work, napped...twice, drank tons of water, watched a movie. At the closing of the day, sometimes you just have to COLOR!Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-63929443516331695202014-08-02T15:38:00.001-07:002014-08-02T15:38:40.298-07:00Late Night<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vnQgKXZMEao/U91oHghw1nI/AAAAAAAABBM/JqTQtUI6mFg/s1600/whale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vnQgKXZMEao/U91oHghw1nI/AAAAAAAABBM/JqTQtUI6mFg/s1600/whale.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Drawn late at night while talking to my daughter on the phone. Happy.Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-54144721340442661562014-07-30T22:11:00.001-07:002014-07-30T22:11:33.080-07:00Completed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iTE7HmZt3Wo/U9nPlmorouI/AAAAAAAABA4/R21VKNaF74w/s1600/ThreeLadies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iTE7HmZt3Wo/U9nPlmorouI/AAAAAAAABA4/R21VKNaF74w/s1600/ThreeLadies.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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My latest non-dominant hand drawing is complete - a good balance of realism and wonkiness.Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-88089769765025817522014-07-27T12:26:00.002-07:002014-07-27T12:26:45.701-07:00Twelve Years Ago<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--jNJfL9ihL8/U9VPrIAN_1I/AAAAAAAABAU/ssOHKi178WU/s1600/WinterSawdust2002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--jNJfL9ihL8/U9VPrIAN_1I/AAAAAAAABAU/ssOHKi178WU/s1600/WinterSawdust2002.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Taken in 2002, Winter Sawdust Festival, Laguna Beach, California.<br />
'Twas my first non-hometown art show. I was terrified but I did it.<br />
This particular art show was a tremendous amount of work.<br />
I did the show one more time in 2003. After that, I vowed never to do an art show again.Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-53503378994199844332014-07-25T20:33:00.000-07:002014-07-25T20:33:19.673-07:00Unexpected Hearts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YragBWmDM5w/U9Mg5qGjWnI/AAAAAAAABAE/T_UOoef23AU/s1600/TreeHeart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YragBWmDM5w/U9Mg5qGjWnI/AAAAAAAABAE/T_UOoef23AU/s1600/TreeHeart.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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I love finding hearts in unexpected places!Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-15936120168440056552014-07-21T20:37:00.001-07:002014-07-23T07:07:39.320-07:00Hand Drawn Envelope<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F3qH-3ywU8M/U83cMs2rbHI/AAAAAAAAA_w/U26dtN0CXI0/s1600/Envelope.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F3qH-3ywU8M/U83cMs2rbHI/AAAAAAAAA_w/U26dtN0CXI0/s1600/Envelope.jpg" height="454" width="640" /></a></div>
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Ready for mailing...as soon as I figure out who to mail it to.Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-52525646335019438272014-07-14T22:00:00.002-07:002014-07-14T22:00:59.119-07:00Carrot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9GgMRwEkPUw/U8S0f2mOFvI/AAAAAAAAA_Y/gfuXgVKBmNg/s1600/carrot2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9GgMRwEkPUw/U8S0f2mOFvI/AAAAAAAAA_Y/gfuXgVKBmNg/s1600/carrot2.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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My husband grew it.<br />
It's minuscule...and it's the only one. But I was excited!<br />
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'Tis pretty amazing that a tiny seed knows how to grow into a carrot...even if a rather wee carrot.<br />
<br />Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-15006523812129260452014-07-08T20:13:00.000-07:002014-07-08T20:13:00.230-07:00Progression<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-73346191595667486292014-07-06T18:28:00.001-07:002014-07-07T17:36:07.825-07:00Before We Say Goodbye...I once read that before we can say good-bye you must first say thank you.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5uMkqLJSYKA/U7n0apSaCvI/AAAAAAAAA8o/NyupTRPQhfQ/s1600/PaulLenl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5uMkqLJSYKA/U7n0apSaCvI/AAAAAAAAA8o/NyupTRPQhfQ/s1600/PaulLenl.jpg" height="321" width="400" /></a></div>
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Thank you for telling me that if I ever tried speed, you'd cut my nipples off. I never did try it.<br />
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Yes, you tortured me with boogers and you farted on me often, but you never spoke unkindly to me. Thank you.<br />
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Thank you for letting me wear your denim, skull jacket at the Billy Idol concert. I actually felt cool.<br />
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Remember that time you pulled up on your motorcycle just after my mom had backed over our two new cats. They were alive, but terribly injured. Thinking you could quickly put them out of their misery, you put them in a brown paper grocery bag and grabbed a hammer from the garage, disappearing around the corner of the house. You weren't gone but a minute, returning with the bagged cats and a look on your face of tender despair. "I can't do it."<br />
We drove to the vet. You held the bag on your lap. And that look on your face...<br />
Thank you for showing me you have a compassionate heart.<br />
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It is because of you I have one of my dearest friends, Shannon. On the first day of school in 7th grade, she came up to me and asked, "Does your sister date Paul Baylink?" Thank you.<br />
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Thank you for trusting me to keep Tim's medical school skull for a wee bit.<br />
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Thank you for your beautiful photography.<br />
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Thank you for sharing with us all your tremendous love for your daughter.<br />
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In the wee hours of the morning, when your heart continued to ache beyond methods of self-medicating, I am grateful to have been one of the people you'd reach out to. Thank you for trusting me with your pain and vulnerability.<br />
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Thank you for asking me to draw a picture for you when you grieved Tim's death.<br />
Thank you for offering me one of your photos in return. And thank you for giving me a CD of over 500 photos to choose from. Because of this, we have some of your photos to remember you by.<br />
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Even after saying thank you I still really don't want to say goodbye.<br />
You. Are. Missed.<br />
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Thank you for reminding me that even in our pain we can't take things too seriously. Remember the poem I shared when you were hurting? I thought it was quite profound. Your email reply was PFFFFT! Thank you for the laugh.<br />
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. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . <br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;"><br /></span>
<a href="http://homernews.com/homer-news/local-news/2014-07-01/police-identify-victim-of-house-fire" target="_blank"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">Paul Baylink</span></b> </a>dated my sister for 5 years, long ago in their teens. He was with us most of the time, a member of the family. Thankfully, we kept in touch over the years.<br />
<br />Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-17959637631928132312014-07-03T21:01:00.001-07:002014-07-03T21:01:56.728-07:00New Coloring<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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'Tis my first colored pencil drawing in a long time.<br />
2.5 x 3.5 inchesJenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-34610464866942915622014-06-30T22:54:00.000-07:002014-06-30T22:54:21.534-07:00Pulled<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-a9cu3IPyoKI/U7IhB1CXyaI/AAAAAAAAA8E/M7BSI685Qqo/s1600/Dream.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-a9cu3IPyoKI/U7IhB1CXyaI/AAAAAAAAA8E/M7BSI685Qqo/s1600/Dream.jpg" height="640" width="520" /></a></div>
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I am being pulled to do something.<br />
But with the soulful pull comes Resistance, which rears its ugly head as self-doubt - the easiest hook.<br />
"You are not educated enough! You don't have the proper credentials! Why would the world want you? You couldn't help because you don't TRULY understand."<br />
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Blech.<br />
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But I have agreed to pursue it anyway.<br />
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I believe in the power of creativity.<br />
Creativity is a place to pause and a place to discover, a place to move through.<br />
It has helped me muddle through grief and lead me depression.<br />
It has helped captured moments of great joy and allowed my mind to rest by simply watching a colored pencil move back and forth on the paper.<br />
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I am being pulled to provide creative opportunities for people in grief, particularly mothers grieving miscarriages, stillborns or infant loss.<br />
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It's huge. 'Tis more than I can get my head and heart around.<br />
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"God, you must have gotten me confused with someone much more qualified."<br />
Nope. The signs keep pointing which way I am supposed to go.<br />
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I shall go.<br />
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<br />Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-70009657259230056462014-06-29T17:46:00.000-07:002014-06-29T17:46:12.517-07:00May My Fear...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">...be changed to love.</span></b>Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-12926947147387369342014-06-26T22:21:00.000-07:002014-06-26T22:21:28.657-07:00My Grammie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L2QlbQdZoz0/U6z8AzPYCkI/AAAAAAAAA7Y/VN0ZIE6tCyg/s1600/GramRollers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L2QlbQdZoz0/U6z8AzPYCkI/AAAAAAAAA7Y/VN0ZIE6tCyg/s1600/GramRollers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L2QlbQdZoz0/U6z8AzPYCkI/AAAAAAAAA7Y/VN0ZIE6tCyg/s1600/GramRollers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L2QlbQdZoz0/U6z8AzPYCkI/AAAAAAAAA7Y/VN0ZIE6tCyg/s1600/GramRollers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L2QlbQdZoz0/U6z8AzPYCkI/AAAAAAAAA7Y/VN0ZIE6tCyg/s1600/GramRollers.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
Last weekend, while visiting my family in California, I made sure to take time to visit my Grandma. <br />
When I arrived, her dusty-blue jammies matched her dusty-blue upholstered furniture and her brand new dusty-blue carpet. Her pink socks were the only thing that stood out.<br />
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My visit was heartwarming and heartbreaking.<br />
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At one point she asked, "What do I do with the rest of my life?"<br />
What do you say?<br />
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Over her shoulder, I noticed her box of hair rollers; the same box she has been using since I was a little girl. Getting to stay up late and watch her put rollers in her hair was a childhood favorite!<br />
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Once in my late 20's, during a round of depression, I was able to watch my grammie roll her hair. It was the only thing that made me feel sane for a wee bit.<br />
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<br />Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-20331589171327670102014-06-25T22:57:00.000-07:002014-06-25T22:57:54.007-07:00ORANGE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qR7iSu4_h-U/U6u1lOQW4II/AAAAAAAAA7I/opEvx9oqGDw/s1600/OrangeHoney.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qR7iSu4_h-U/U6u1lOQW4II/AAAAAAAAA7I/opEvx9oqGDw/s1600/OrangeHoney.jpg" height="552" width="640" /></a></div>
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Orange ya glad I didn't say <b>Orange Things In Heather's House</b>?<br />
Ar-r-r-r-r-r-r-r...<br />
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Well, these are. And orange is my favorite color...most of the time.Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-71345148871588786742014-06-24T20:58:00.000-07:002014-06-24T20:58:04.782-07:00Blue Things In Heather's House<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s8SRGg6TlHk/U6pIe8CSopI/AAAAAAAAA64/gLrIpxH_M9Y/s1600/HoneyBlue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s8SRGg6TlHk/U6pIe8CSopI/AAAAAAAAA64/gLrIpxH_M9Y/s1600/HoneyBlue.jpg" height="500" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-52083104745563924412014-06-19T05:00:00.000-07:002014-06-19T05:28:55.126-07:00I Will Comb Your Hair<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I adore my sister.<br />
We are like Ernie and Bert: quite opposite.<br />
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She is cool. I am a nerd.<br />
She's social. I'm a home-body.<br />
The list goes on.<br />
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One deeper difference is I am not afraid of sad. She is.<br />
She won't let me sing Old Shep or Puff the Magic Dragon.<br />
She didn't understand the feelings I shared when a friend was dying.<br />
"Have you ever had something be so sad it is beautiful? Or something so beautiful is breaks your heart?"<br />
"No," she replied.<br />
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Last January, my sister spent a week in the hospital was a very severe case of double pneumonia.<br />
I arrived on day 4 of her stay. And for 4 days no one had brushed her long mane of thick hair.<br />
It was a tangle mess!<br />
She was on oxygen, exhausted and felt like absolute hell.<br />
I grabbed the unused fork from her lunch tray and told her I'd comb her hair while she lay there.<br />
It took a long time but it worked! Once finished, I braided her hair and she smiled-ish.<br />
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I didn't think much more of that moment in time until a few days ago.<br />
Via Facebook, she was commenting on an image and using words that don't usually come from her, regarding HappySad.<br />
With predictable teasing, I replied, "Is that you?"<br />
She typed: <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;">heartbreaking+happy=your sister brushing your hair with a fork.</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4e5665; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span></b>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #741b47;">She gets it.</span></b></span>Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-39969267028985842052014-06-18T06:45:00.000-07:002014-06-18T06:45:11.448-07:00What I Do When... ...I wake up in the middle of the night. ...I have a headache. <br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">Coloring is good medicine.</span></b></div>
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Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8307585478160903762.post-21533647270312710162014-06-14T21:25:00.001-07:002014-06-15T12:44:40.207-07:00Fitting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cLiujpF8EII/U50ezSBjXPI/AAAAAAAAA5c/Z6F3drh00BY/s1600/SomeSadness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cLiujpF8EII/U50ezSBjXPI/AAAAAAAAA5c/Z6F3drh00BY/s1600/SomeSadness.jpg" height="640" width="500" /></a></div>
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Although drawn 3 weeks ago, this is fitting for this evening.<br />
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One minute you are talking about someone at dinner.<br />
Then next minute you receive a text that they are gone.<br />
House fire.<br />
<br />Jenny Baiohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01494293786825579996noreply@blogger.com2