tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31965568385364996502024-03-12T21:19:54.175-07:00Photography FascinationAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04761598062899015963noreply@blogger.comBlogger80125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3196556838536499650.post-64099793119572373682013-09-14T22:00:00.000-07:002014-01-16T13:41:57.093-08:00Oh, Shenandoah I Long to See You<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwflLOJ5gGogAjGnxMDMklfzHTJb73fFCAyEFhrYaF1bAI-uj5mkdwm9mji9FCD-6edASthyphenhyphenZPjS5yRi9TL_raFDhncMpKSYUFuP9eyPVetrUulIWGzYGF_TFJS4jZwxL5hT51SITpqo1n/s1600/IMG_8547.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwflLOJ5gGogAjGnxMDMklfzHTJb73fFCAyEFhrYaF1bAI-uj5mkdwm9mji9FCD-6edASthyphenhyphenZPjS5yRi9TL_raFDhncMpKSYUFuP9eyPVetrUulIWGzYGF_TFJS4jZwxL5hT51SITpqo1n/s1600/IMG_8547.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a>It is a goal of mine to visit as many national parks as I can (in addition to every state, country...it's a long list of To Dos). This fall I was able to check off one that has been looming, well within reach, since I moved to the East Coast. Unable to excuse this grievous oversight any longer, some friends and I made our way down to the Shenandoah National Park for a camping and hiking adventure.<br />
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I won't clutter this post up with attempts at cataloguing all we said and did. Instead, I'll let the pictures speak for themselves. Please enjoy, some snapshots of the Shenandoah.<br />
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Oh, and you can be sure I was singing Oh, Shenandoah the whole time in my head. Hope you do too.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04761598062899015963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3196556838536499650.post-9099747246159948652013-05-11T17:30:00.000-07:002014-01-07T09:23:04.838-08:00What a Colorful World! - Color Run 2013<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtqRjkgW7JRj2B8waOy-aeFAhIinPazLZkefquefGF8na2ypwPWb_Wt91AkZpoBvbhJvzmvgOYNCBVeU7nx23Lo4vOhbNOLg2KFL8aMEijJHdemtFC0eXq_y6B5o20sdIxRMZgFc2sck3/s1600/DSCF1991.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtqRjkgW7JRj2B8waOy-aeFAhIinPazLZkefquefGF8na2ypwPWb_Wt91AkZpoBvbhJvzmvgOYNCBVeU7nx23Lo4vOhbNOLg2KFL8aMEijJHdemtFC0eXq_y6B5o20sdIxRMZgFc2sck3/s1600/DSCF1991.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj69FUw6zxtV1nzhJzFeDdNTPE_VhdYgyL4W8SrlVK7RhSbUdOIod999U2e5bhQ-HymEjD7tR1c1mf7xd2tewikjHbbDd7JlyQt_9x-iLEhZmwKC2ywRRl8g6Ocb7BjwPOg65FmBoBSNIrK/s1600/DSCF1938.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj69FUw6zxtV1nzhJzFeDdNTPE_VhdYgyL4W8SrlVK7RhSbUdOIod999U2e5bhQ-HymEjD7tR1c1mf7xd2tewikjHbbDd7JlyQt_9x-iLEhZmwKC2ywRRl8g6Ocb7BjwPOg65FmBoBSNIrK/s1600/DSCF1938.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a>Another year, another Color Run. This time, in Baltimore, Maryland.
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And it was under threatening cloudy skies that we ran for
our color on May 11<sup>th</sup>. </div>
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After threading through the National Harbor on a beautifully
sunny day last year, it was hard not to feel at least a little disappointed looking
at the weather forecast in the days leading up to the race. How would the
colored powder hold up to the rain? Clearly our only fate was to emerge from
the course as caked, mud colored, powder monsters.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTSpXHgegr_E8VO9nzUoe2MqU_LJTH-ACk8oOs-shbmILE4AegwUiqrXYofdwx8-_oQ6QP2mt2sQ1CmWmCDLQTPmra5qmxe_Vj9sQ2ZpXlTrSZRcUfa4kVG2Lb9vYJubB1dY8gQ4S7FTVb/s1600/DSCF1945.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTSpXHgegr_E8VO9nzUoe2MqU_LJTH-ACk8oOs-shbmILE4AegwUiqrXYofdwx8-_oQ6QP2mt2sQ1CmWmCDLQTPmra5qmxe_Vj9sQ2ZpXlTrSZRcUfa4kVG2Lb9vYJubB1dY8gQ4S7FTVb/s1600/DSCF1945.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>The morning of the 5K arrived and there was no rain. We
climbed into the car armed with coffee and many towels to clean the pending
mess and there was no rain. We arrived, drove in circles till we found the
parking lot. and there was no rain. </div>
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Waiting, corralled in a stretch of open asphalt with an
extremely flexible and enthusiastic Zumba instructor, and there was no rain. </div>
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Every K that passed brought another layer of color, and wonderfully, still, there was no rain. Not until the finish line came into view did the first
drops fall. Light and scattered. Polka-dotting our skin and turning each one of
us into a work of splatter paint. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEherP5IMW8AkWGdqHYuoCMi5MpOqZOCiqs9WrOGL4fGHl3P5cctHSRkInQXTfFTp2j8NjlsITSfpuUvUYadBUx0oXm66RAdTFQA8uvz8ArInKYdMS3jSak-iBKTZnhejJ2iU8hpF4om_vLD/s1600/DSCF1995.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEherP5IMW8AkWGdqHYuoCMi5MpOqZOCiqs9WrOGL4fGHl3P5cctHSRkInQXTfFTp2j8NjlsITSfpuUvUYadBUx0oXm66RAdTFQA8uvz8ArInKYdMS3jSak-iBKTZnhejJ2iU8hpF4om_vLD/s1600/DSCF1995.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8uX0x9MzEIgdpjYf_xkL_6Ix8oXPnTmasmt9vMLGFF_34rNCRpldCLCGPQqplQWP6acaU7p_BH-cIPinAHFkIlWmjUrAKLRGuDZa8tk_adm8B1pohkdVEof3x68JRS2ibk7vjZrnk__cG/s1600/DSCF1947.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8uX0x9MzEIgdpjYf_xkL_6Ix8oXPnTmasmt9vMLGFF_34rNCRpldCLCGPQqplQWP6acaU7p_BH-cIPinAHFkIlWmjUrAKLRGuDZa8tk_adm8B1pohkdVEof3x68JRS2ibk7vjZrnk__cG/s1600/DSCF1947.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><br />
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This made the race-end "mosh pit" celebration party even more fun. Every color packet thrown became a mix of powder, paste, and paint on every fold of clothing and patch of skin. And also, made for some great photos. Coughing through a haze of cornstarch, it was a technicolor world.<br />
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(And also a great place to snap a few engagement photos for our partners in crime!)</div>
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Turns out in the end, the rain brought its own brand of fun.
I suppose any good cliché movie ending could have told me that. Each drop
adding to the texture of color from another wonderful experience with some
great friends.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04761598062899015963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3196556838536499650.post-24587317187169452662013-02-14T08:47:00.000-08:002013-11-06T10:53:31.782-08:00A Valentine's Day ConcertIt has been ages since I've been to a concert. And even longer still since I've stood on the floor at a concert.<br />
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<br />
But the experience is just as I remember it. Jumping and cramped, and filled with the flailing arms and screaming fans. No, not a Bieber concert, a Mumford and Sons concert and the first concert they had given since winning Best Album at the Grammys. And one that I would go back to again in a heartbeat.<br />
<br />
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjizAtqhHQmIXdZfkNptownXbcEDck-nXz1DPNJpGeCknO_jlPBcs_XG3p5JD1CQSH3OBiNA-3LeyrgiAU3jVdHXcrI9McHP6SU8_iHEgxnREEw423JwsUlqZ33IAiHaiH-LOhYiaW-FDwg/s1600/photo-8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjizAtqhHQmIXdZfkNptownXbcEDck-nXz1DPNJpGeCknO_jlPBcs_XG3p5JD1CQSH3OBiNA-3LeyrgiAU3jVdHXcrI9McHP6SU8_iHEgxnREEw423JwsUlqZ33IAiHaiH-LOhYiaW-FDwg/s400/photo-8.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
It was a huge accomplishment to be celebrated, and they celebrated for all it was worth.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0rhi5gg1xDIGGhZfsNELfZZkewDp_GvHd4BvNc3y5mV57OrvxsJcQTm3U2FtGvxekjhs-qvPwK20KR8fVb7jPfKhWH7vxN1yOLhWC44mdHkxFtdDFU4ZKbBdT31wGElgWyx1WX2dZrEGx/s1600/photo-10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0rhi5gg1xDIGGhZfsNELfZZkewDp_GvHd4BvNc3y5mV57OrvxsJcQTm3U2FtGvxekjhs-qvPwK20KR8fVb7jPfKhWH7vxN1yOLhWC44mdHkxFtdDFU4ZKbBdT31wGElgWyx1WX2dZrEGx/s400/photo-10.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
With an enthusiasm and passion often lacking from big touring productions, each member of the band left their musical heart and soul on that stage. From Babel to The Cave, is was a spectical of light, sound, and an experience I'll not soon forget.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1UsLHnogpSH6-6V3RvdYSQEiIkDGwoFzTzHfcTBQQyWrFHCBRr1ToIpklcqohdHt3mMxlRk6cXU2WhE69m-AWfMQFxgEYAYwxK1Nyaqb4WtEUWFnC4Nkd_7Sj6ImXfgKLko_KJjVALXmP/s1600/photo-11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1UsLHnogpSH6-6V3RvdYSQEiIkDGwoFzTzHfcTBQQyWrFHCBRr1ToIpklcqohdHt3mMxlRk6cXU2WhE69m-AWfMQFxgEYAYwxK1Nyaqb4WtEUWFnC4Nkd_7Sj6ImXfgKLko_KJjVALXmP/s400/photo-11.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
<br />
Above that, as one who dabbles in singing myself, to see the love they had for their music, their fans, and each other really was inspiring. Here is a group that has done and will continue to do great things. I can only wish them the best....and for maybe another set of tickets.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04761598062899015963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3196556838536499650.post-54106303723432668252013-02-08T17:35:00.000-08:002013-11-06T10:53:55.955-08:00Paradise Island<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuxwIdIX18H_HPbBlNpGIMbhpwqbAAEmxNaG2Zd-mDFQu1dtsiRaEDdK5aLeVRDTN539T_ccrMAfzfq1pFaNrbrnr7hBEDGOtVDICBjYrJy8WNYPZs7LPBbChJOQE5k6piywWHT-eBhQmq/s1600/IMG_1278.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuxwIdIX18H_HPbBlNpGIMbhpwqbAAEmxNaG2Zd-mDFQu1dtsiRaEDdK5aLeVRDTN539T_ccrMAfzfq1pFaNrbrnr7hBEDGOtVDICBjYrJy8WNYPZs7LPBbChJOQE5k6piywWHT-eBhQmq/s400/IMG_1278.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Who doesn’t love a tropical island paradise? Long, white
sand beaches. The sound of the waves. Big, fluffy clouds.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
My previous trip to this beach seemed like ages ago. The sand was just as hot, the sky just as beautiful, and the water just as cool. My senses told me I knew this place, by my mind was slow to remember. Like waking from a dream, 8 years is a long time from which to pull memories back.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Standing there, in what could modestly be called a paradise, was a perfect moment. Memories of my sisters from last time, present company of screeching cousins being chased by waves this time, and the beautiful backdrop to the start of another wonderful evening.<br />
<br /></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I think one of the best things about the Bahamas, and countless songs agree, is the ability to forget everything beyond the horizon. Money, gadgets, fancy clothes all are nothing to bare feet, wild windblown hair, and not a dime in your pocket. For once to be satisfied to overflowing with what is directly in front of you. Watching the absolute joy of a 6 and 9 year old run from the waves. <br />
<br /></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghqQuGH8-nUhyphenhyphenhHgSUcSZo5Y9Jk-dmXWviUs9xrSM_1vS7Gk0SaimfETFcJ_dUY8ZJWGbgrDM3v5L1j5ly5Drw3yBy21Ct4_CCzCGZDD7jCf6Kj27CsyST4W9QPEy3U8in1u5MaF_VENn5/s1600/IMG_1239.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghqQuGH8-nUhyphenhyphenhHgSUcSZo5Y9Jk-dmXWviUs9xrSM_1vS7Gk0SaimfETFcJ_dUY8ZJWGbgrDM3v5L1j5ly5Drw3yBy21Ct4_CCzCGZDD7jCf6Kj27CsyST4W9QPEy3U8in1u5MaF_VENn5/s400/IMG_1239.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04761598062899015963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3196556838536499650.post-36514935532542033462013-01-01T16:40:00.000-08:002014-01-16T13:42:54.544-08:00On the Road From Vegas to Cali<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
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In the Midwest, there are
no mountains. No really, it’s true. Flat prairie, and miles and miles of farm
land connect one city to the next and are some of the most beautiful sights in
the world to me. But that fact also means that when I do encounter mountains, I
am awestruck. <br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The roadtrip between Las Vegas,
Nevada and Palm Springs, California
provide just such an experience.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /></div>
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Even with terrible traffic, terrible hangovers from the Vegas
NYE celebrations the night before, and terribly cramped conditions for the 5 of
us, I found a retreat in the glow of skyline. <br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /></div>
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Fused between the sunset and the mountains, was just that
perfect sense of awe.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04761598062899015963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3196556838536499650.post-5410936281596818002012-12-08T22:09:00.000-08:002013-11-06T10:57:48.725-08:00The Battle of Gettysburg<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8OGZv1Uqpy1wL0hpbK_oZHwyHb-XfNegE5FVrjaelf7k865Z4JDR3c1aVdvHxGqZ634QwnMCthZlN2sgX5rvPpXvzHvim7jirVsimlb0-AwKOD9GouwZwyEc2i6y55zFzxFc6JAthmhMo/s1600/IMG_0200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8OGZv1Uqpy1wL0hpbK_oZHwyHb-XfNegE5FVrjaelf7k865Z4JDR3c1aVdvHxGqZ634QwnMCthZlN2sgX5rvPpXvzHvim7jirVsimlb0-AwKOD9GouwZwyEc2i6y55zFzxFc6JAthmhMo/s320/IMG_0200.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
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I don’t have a bucket list, but if I did, visiting
Gettysburg would have been pretty close to the top of it. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In 4<sup>th</sup> grade we were allowed to pick our own
books for the big class book report. While my classmates choose books about
candy factories, adventurous rodents, magic castles, and outer space, I choose a
300+ page novel following a young boy through his experiences in the Civil War.<br />
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Far longer and grittier
than any of the other choices, I dove into the narrative. I could smell the gun
powder, hear the drums, and feel the bullets whistle by, a breath between life
and death.<br />
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It was from that moment of opening that book that I wanted
to visit the battlefield. Many years pasted and my memory of that 4<sup>th</sup>
grade book report faded. Its descriptive passages joined by the speech in
Remember the Titans, the documentaries on the History Channel, and a short
lived musical on the Broadway stage. More romantic interpretations of the grit
of war to be sure, but still filled with the same level of reverence and
respect I knew the place, war, and stories commanded.<br />
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One thing I was not prepared for was the actual size of the
battlefield. The clusters of so many separate events, so many days, and so many
lives. To some this may seem like common sense, of course the footprint of the
battle was so large. But even though I knew this to be true, standing atop the hills
and looking down was the first time that it actually registered.<br />
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Even though the time flew too quickly and the winter light
rapidly disappeared long before we reached the end of the maps, I’m glad we
went at the end of the day.<br />
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Dusk brought peace, rest, and a kind of calm that was
perfect for taking in all that the rocks, mountains, and monuments told us.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04761598062899015963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3196556838536499650.post-49863439028631366932012-10-14T22:30:00.000-07:002014-01-17T06:42:24.489-08:00Iceland: Day 5<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
As with all good adventures, they must come to an end. I won't say that I was glad to see the last day arrive, but it had been an exhausting couple of days, with more walking, climbing, and bracing against wind than I was used to. So as my heart and head were not ready to say goodbye, my body could use some sleep. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0mkomu2Z-StuSBQN91r2cWfMbyKCo1bOPhpB5sWxy-9dMNNZJE-drJRwpo8_RmW8ptfI5Jfb35fuUWTAlubEEYtAx-tnV5vQJRVQIbTXZPAr7NLw3MZTRMffeU8aKHDfs5eLgRUpq7IpT/s1600/232323232-fp734-7-nu=3273-25;---6-WSNRCG=384789578632-nu0mrj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0mkomu2Z-StuSBQN91r2cWfMbyKCo1bOPhpB5sWxy-9dMNNZJE-drJRwpo8_RmW8ptfI5Jfb35fuUWTAlubEEYtAx-tnV5vQJRVQIbTXZPAr7NLw3MZTRMffeU8aKHDfs5eLgRUpq7IpT/s1600/232323232-fp734-7-nu=3273-25;---6-WSNRCG=384789578632-nu0mrj.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a>The morning of Day 5 we packed up our bags, had one more hotel breakfast of random Scandinavian delights, and piled on to the bus (which I'll admit is an overused turn of phrase, but it could not be more apt for how our wobbly legs propelled us up the bus stairs).</div>
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This was the day I can safely say we'd all been looking forward to. Not because we were leaving (never!) but because we were going to the Blue Lagoon. A little bit about the Blue Lagoon, it's a geothermal pool and spa located on a lava field that also operates as a research facility to help find cures for skin ailments. The warm waters are rich with minerals, such as silica and sulphur, which give the pool its blue-ish white color. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_V6naDkMJLslc1If_RwFUcKbdg1f4dhlahBH0ZAFyyOFpO8VFTcktLEcJS2TYXLIQQ1zB7xVQcHTDbW3gTzD9ubV67hBfJd_1Ro4XsOp2xZYK1aobmPju4CedZ4kT-1G_Atxafc-_xTo1/s1600/232323232-fp63598-nu=3273-25;---6-WSNRCG=384789578732-nu0mrj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_V6naDkMJLslc1If_RwFUcKbdg1f4dhlahBH0ZAFyyOFpO8VFTcktLEcJS2TYXLIQQ1zB7xVQcHTDbW3gTzD9ubV67hBfJd_1Ro4XsOp2xZYK1aobmPju4CedZ4kT-1G_Atxafc-_xTo1/s1600/232323232-fp63598-nu=3273-25;---6-WSNRCG=384789578732-nu0mrj.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZsnmf_QJSKw2bwFz6BwxsXSddTd0WxWLSwJUORgRXk2UsTwbfrvUshBLP0ojdInrhMdBTCjv-Wxnqqa-Eq2aUprbdA23G2asHbBGElcYBU-N_VCqi9zYWGC8Tr0vBogNdpI4D_83Vf_Er/s1600/232323232-fp63595-nu=3273-25;---6-WSNRCG=38478964;232-nu0mrj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZsnmf_QJSKw2bwFz6BwxsXSddTd0WxWLSwJUORgRXk2UsTwbfrvUshBLP0ojdInrhMdBTCjv-Wxnqqa-Eq2aUprbdA23G2asHbBGElcYBU-N_VCqi9zYWGC8Tr0vBogNdpI4D_83Vf_Er/s1600/232323232-fp63595-nu=3273-25;---6-WSNRCG=38478964;232-nu0mrj.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a>It was easy to tell when we were approaching the complex. Traveling down roads that looked like the surface of a far off planet, we turned a corner and could see steam rising in the distance. Unknown to us at the time, the water in the pool averages around 98-102 degrees, in blissful contrast to the cold, wet 40 degrees the previous few days had delivered. There probably was a tour for those who wanted to go on one, but for Emily and me, we headed straight to the locker rooms and spent the next 2 hours bouncing from the pool to the steam room to the sauna, then back to the pool for a silica face mask and sunshine, perfect for unknotting each tight, spent muscle. </div>
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It was there, floating around in a milky pool (it wasn't really milk though, ew), that Emily met some of the crew of Thor: The Dark World. No, none of the actors, but still. How cool is that? I still to this day have no idea where I was when all of this transpired, but great life lesson right there; you never know who you're going to meet and what singularly unique insight they posses. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvDaV5QGo9KJpeZhqbpbioM9qmw2Bv-Kc4-UAiwfCQqtJTPP1dq5wMR1bqbgYF25IgV8KphKaqfhNuTa1X1yhklV1I8LpYVEiVHXkcHMaDfDFjDbuHZT_w5cmzOwcO-8Vqql_olfZjaELv/s1600/232323232-fp63562-nu=3273-25;---6-WSNRCG=384785;96;32-nu0mrj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvDaV5QGo9KJpeZhqbpbioM9qmw2Bv-Kc4-UAiwfCQqtJTPP1dq5wMR1bqbgYF25IgV8KphKaqfhNuTa1X1yhklV1I8LpYVEiVHXkcHMaDfDFjDbuHZT_w5cmzOwcO-8Vqql_olfZjaELv/s1600/232323232-fp63562-nu=3273-25;---6-WSNRCG=384785;96;32-nu0mrj.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a>The two hours flew by entirely too fast and so, with fingers and toes insufficiently pruned, we ran back to the bus (last ones on...again) and headed for Keflavík International Airport. Those of us that had a few hours till our flights boarded hung around on the far side of customs/security. Even more Icelandic souvenirs were found and one last odd cafeteria meal was had. I was saving my krona though. During our bus rides together Argnr made it a point of introducing all of us to as many pieces of Iceland that she could. Shot of Brennivin, pieces of sheeps' head (cut off the actual head with a box cutter!), putrefied shark (I passed on that one), were all set to the music of an eclectic Iceland soundtrack. From Of Monsters and Men to random names I could not pronounce, I was determined to pickup on of her CD suggestions. With my seatbelt securely fastened, complimentary hot beverage in hand, I picked up an Icelandair compilation mix that is now frequently found in my car's CD player.</div>
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I'll end this set of posts by saying, if you ever have the chance to go to Iceland, do it. It is really one of the most beautiful, exciting, and welcoming countries. Skal!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04761598062899015963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3196556838536499650.post-63799639731843851882012-10-13T21:30:00.000-07:002014-01-17T06:38:25.524-08:00Iceland: Day 4<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidcx7hfVYtVzRctttRuUSRuzp7Y5wUAjE7CvW1QtuTkznQWaXnKl4pi5Fir2XVYbfQ8943uQsNUtZ-UUaFr6k9LSbRiCZqAhaM5REvB-FUe27w-sjjw-pZXJ-dOu9jDQReJ2wp_x83kyM4/s1600/IMG_9498.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidcx7hfVYtVzRctttRuUSRuzp7Y5wUAjE7CvW1QtuTkznQWaXnKl4pi5Fir2XVYbfQ8943uQsNUtZ-UUaFr6k9LSbRiCZqAhaM5REvB-FUe27w-sjjw-pZXJ-dOu9jDQReJ2wp_x83kyM4/s320/IMG_9498.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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Day 4 of our trip was scheduled as a free day from the trip package activities. With 7am till whenever we collapsed into bed entirely open, Emily and I decided on the Golden Circle Tour through Reykjavik Excursions. A 9 hour day of some of the natural highlights of Iceland; namely the Gullfoss waterfall, the Geysir Hot Springs, and Þinggvellir National Park.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr8NUaHqH3uWcBBCK5112yNKi92kk-6bXk5-xa7IY6Ar7Ns87rqKGkwufq7_96qnvClH_PaiblskjvSQFLDmBfMS_tp5N-eZxJw160l4hxuJjf-NSgfW2qdHPPh7iFKxjfkFDFrF-Nnm1u/s1600/IMG_9511.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr8NUaHqH3uWcBBCK5112yNKi92kk-6bXk5-xa7IY6Ar7Ns87rqKGkwufq7_96qnvClH_PaiblskjvSQFLDmBfMS_tp5N-eZxJw160l4hxuJjf-NSgfW2qdHPPh7iFKxjfkFDFrF-Nnm1u/s320/IMG_9511.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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Our first stop, however, was not to one of Mother Earth's sights, but to something entirely man made. Rather frequently off to the side of the highway, greenhouses could be seen. With the abundance of geothermal heat available to Iceland due to the tectonic activities, Icelanders have put this energy to good use; harnessing its power to run year long greenhouse compounds in order to grow those crops that cannot survive the harsh climate. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMUj3ZghYVR1nwmpT5y_JjeERvAhcTtWMblRb0PIXiHJ5GJZmCsK8_48TbHUm6q3LN0MDN1dLv1D_vfIlCpz6rJ5XqM4ObdRgnpVh93TshWORiP5YexY9lKTPG1PDCEkHs5BxeWkyGFEot/s320/IMG_9525.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMUj3ZghYVR1nwmpT5y_JjeERvAhcTtWMblRb0PIXiHJ5GJZmCsK8_48TbHUm6q3LN0MDN1dLv1D_vfIlCpz6rJ5XqM4ObdRgnpVh93TshWORiP5YexY9lKTPG1PDCEkHs5BxeWkyGFEot/s320/IMG_9525.jpg" width="266" /></a> For our tour we visited Fridheimar, a greenhouse cultivation center where delicious, pesticide-free tomatoes and cucumbers are grown. A fascinating example of the man and nature made powers coming together. Our host, accompanied by her camera shy and yet curious daughter, explained their growing process from germination to harvest. Special lights (thus the yellow hue in the photos) were used to simulate the sun, while geothermal heat raised the temperature to a balmy high ideal for farming. </div>
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The most interesting part of the process, to me, though, was the pollination stage. Instead of using machines or another man made device, they order boxes of live bees. Once they arrive, the bees are released into the largest greenhouse to lazily roam from plant to plant, pollinating as they go as they would have in the wild. (I will concede that while interesting, being around that many bees did resurrect a few unpleasant childhood memories so I kept my distance from these fat, floating fuzz balls.)</div>
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On the other side of the main greenhouse was, as you would expect, a concession stand that sold some truly wonderful tomato soup. Nothing fresher or more local than highlighting what they had, they playfully dressed each table with herbs and scissors for each visitor to garnish their soup to taste.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD9c180Gt-4VBhgtUSWi0JdZQtECh53aDBXREaHl9SGcR0RHa3KBqZJJ8veVAO5B2cr886aVwoWC-7LMhD-7djkbSUaT_gGv7qrpmWo3igNuQBRT6SsKhNkKA92G3HgHvzIOx46gplgWcT/s1600/IMG_9536.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD9c180Gt-4VBhgtUSWi0JdZQtECh53aDBXREaHl9SGcR0RHa3KBqZJJ8veVAO5B2cr886aVwoWC-7LMhD-7djkbSUaT_gGv7qrpmWo3igNuQBRT6SsKhNkKA92G3HgHvzIOx46gplgWcT/s320/IMG_9536.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a>Before it had cooled though, we were back on the bus and streaking past some more beautiful scenes. My trigger finger on my camera became quickly exhausted with the amount of photos I was taking. Today's cloud cover was particularly mesmerizing.<br />
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Next stop, Gullfoss. Often called the queen of Icelandic waterfalls, it plunges into a crevice some 32m (105 ft) deep as the River Hvita (meaning "White River") rambles on. While it may not have been as tall as the other waterfalls, it more than made up for that with its incredible breadth. The footprint of this waterfall was massive. You could hear is roar from the moment you stepped off the bus and feel the spray yards before seeing the falls themselves.<br />
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From the first overlook, you could see, well, everything. The two tiered waterfall racing from the top rapids portion into the incredible drop at the end. The wind was strong and the rocks were slippery. So when all that separated you from an incredibly cold and unwanted "bath" was a thin, loose rope, it was best to take caution and keep both hands free. </div>
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Cleverly planned, our tour took us from the frigid water of Gullfoss to the scalding water of the geothermal springs, Geysir and Strokkur. We walked past steaming streams of expelled water is if we were in something of a backwards world. </div>
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First along the path was Geysir, a little bubbling hole in the ground about the size of a manhole cover that was practically frothing with steam. It bubbled and hissed and spat incredibly hot water into the air. Probably in an attempt to be noticed when next to such a show-off other geyser. Strokkur is one of Iceland's most famous geysers and you can easily see why. Every 4 - 8 minutes, the geyser erupts 15-20 meters into the sky, getting sometimes as high as 40 meters (though we were not lucky enough to witness that height). </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCAdyMoICeAk5EghQUNT3i2S50fpsd7h0RF_zyOP67zwcbSSY91uH5GOlxI6T_77k5y41sH8QiPAC9vE7uzs2L7YfaVkIBFUpl1PcXfnALSlVT3cpqkJr2AsvhyphenhyphenFOao7c-6cTyVnqEs_HN/s1600/IMG_9612.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCAdyMoICeAk5EghQUNT3i2S50fpsd7h0RF_zyOP67zwcbSSY91uH5GOlxI6T_77k5y41sH8QiPAC9vE7uzs2L7YfaVkIBFUpl1PcXfnALSlVT3cpqkJr2AsvhyphenhyphenFOao7c-6cTyVnqEs_HN/s320/IMG_9612.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a>When not erupting, Strokkur looked like a pulsing, broken kiddie pool, gradually getting deeper until you reached the black hole at the center. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjepuaC4j2oOVD4semP-5-r1DP1qYBczivZ04hWHaHPgd4qLcdTKzISKdPl_cY1kK9FZS9Ij2QrfKFNQhtUIat1qq9zvzNQGinvBH8fvK5l7RDVccME532UmFgn1UkPtRgtaaETKIVK6ocI/s1600/IMG_9625.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjepuaC4j2oOVD4semP-5-r1DP1qYBczivZ04hWHaHPgd4qLcdTKzISKdPl_cY1kK9FZS9Ij2QrfKFNQhtUIat1qq9zvzNQGinvBH8fvK5l7RDVccME532UmFgn1UkPtRgtaaETKIVK6ocI/s320/IMG_9625.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a>A thick ring of tourists stood waiting for it to go off when Emily and I arrived. Some, you could tell, had been there for quite a while. Their clothes were covered in a thick layer spray from each eruption they had witnessed. Others, like us were new and cautiously peeking over the shoulders of the people in front of us. We didn't yet know the signs of a soon to be erupting geyser. </div>
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I now know that Strokkur liked to gather in its water before shooting into the sky. When the water level got to a noticeably low point, that's when you braced yourself. And up the water shot, not in a single column but in a wide slice of water, like someone below the ground pushing a mountain silhouette through using only the hot springs. I'll sheepishly say it startled me every time no matter how many times I watched or how certainly I knew it was coming. </div>
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The final stop of the tour was to Þingvellir National Park, Iceland's best-loved National Park known for its exceptional beauty and historical importance. The Icelandic Parliament, known as the Althingi, was founded in this valley in the year 930 AD. It is also is a rift valley that marks the crest of the Mid-Atlantic Ridge (the separation of the Eurasian and North American tectonic plates) and one of the only places on earth where you can see such a phenomenon above the ocean. Through the slow separation (2.5 cm/year) of these two plates, the park and Iceland's largest lake have been created. </div>
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One fact I found particularly noteworthy was that the massive cliff walls of the plates provided a acoustic advantage to this site. With the speaker close to the wall, their voice projected off of the rock face and to the crowds of people gathered. </div>
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If you asked me what my favorite part of Iceland was, I would almost certainly say this national park. It was stunning. It was enormous. It was so shockingly colorful. I couldn't take pictures fast enough. The large cliff face reminded me of the Cliffs of Insanity from The Princess Bride, the sweeping valley and streams took me to Middle Earth, and the over-saturated color (I cannot help but repeat that part) practically tattooed its hues on my heart. </div>
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I know people talk about feelings of awe or speechless wonder with casual flippancy, even I in this series of posts may have been guilty, but standing at the edge of the crest really was a settled, perfect, meditative peace.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoiuY9ceospURRJNEV2mXNa71O0L03dKAr1AFBATuwyQEdagAGT2EdiVNZwGQifJhp6zGhM-O3tSMYeHrXt5u0OtdujsszFSd9sCa8idMbBggdaFyfJjixIxEVpQHJD_x-g_pGKTZUUaYh/s320/IMG_9262.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoiuY9ceospURRJNEV2mXNa71O0L03dKAr1AFBATuwyQEdagAGT2EdiVNZwGQifJhp6zGhM-O3tSMYeHrXt5u0OtdujsszFSd9sCa8idMbBggdaFyfJjixIxEVpQHJD_x-g_pGKTZUUaYh/s320/IMG_9262.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a>The morning of Day 3 started much like Day 2 did; an early, cold, and rainy climb on to a bus with some truly beautiful views. Today we ventured east through still more fields, under a beautifully streaked blue sky. Unlike the grassy fields of the day before though, these were the rough and shadowed textures of a young lava field. Maybe a few thousand years old, it was still considered young in the eyes of a countryside so accustom to their presence. </div>
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At what appeared to be the side of the road, our bus slowed to a stop. Argnr told us that we would be visiting a cave today, but there were no mountains near by. Nothing but the jagged youthful lava on either sides from miles. Surely caves were buried deep into the hills on the horizon and not here. But as we waddled off the bus, warmly bundled and ready for our trip underground, there were our glacier guides from the day before; grinning and surrounded by dozens of brightly colored helmets. Well, I seem to have been mistaken. Somewhere around here, close by, was the Leidarendi Cave. Over 2,000 years old and NOT in a mountain. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4oj4myDF41ibdUryc1th1RvqdJXd_EOqOEbSYbn_rXKBDKe6uqYsyS7Kx7TQybYA8memG302S5rbmoTa0LDmapgdhwq1_QvSB9NYYo5kmZCXbC2JJXurvH7ivzo-uu0hZ81U05KfndkV_/s1600/IMG_9278.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4oj4myDF41ibdUryc1th1RvqdJXd_EOqOEbSYbn_rXKBDKe6uqYsyS7Kx7TQybYA8memG302S5rbmoTa0LDmapgdhwq1_QvSB9NYYo5kmZCXbC2JJXurvH7ivzo-uu0hZ81U05KfndkV_/s320/IMG_9278.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a>A short walk through the lava field brought us to the opening of the cave. What appeared at first to be a large, muddy crater in the ground, was actually the mouth of the cave. Here Argnr left us and, with the guidance of our other Icelandic pals, we switched on our lights to begin to walk down below. </div>
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The cave was wet and dark as any of us would have guessed, but also jagged and small. At one point the tunnel got to small that our line of explorers had to army crawl in order to get past an incredibly large "boulder" suspended from the ceiling. The opening reminded me of the Cheshire cat's crooked smile from Alice and Wonderland. If only he would have laughed a little wider at the thought of all of us climbing through his front teeth. </div>
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Our crawl brought us to a large open pocket, what could be considered the cathedral of the cave. A rock ledge ringed the outside of the space and provided the perfect place to stop and share some local legends. After making sure all of us were securely seated, the guides had us turn off our head lamps. In an instant, the world went black. Not the black that you experience when you first turn off the lights at night. Not the black of entering a movie theater or even of shutting your eyes in the dark. This was dense, solid, void of light, black. Dark enough to make you loose your balance if you were standing (even sitting for some of us). So black that you could place your hand on your nose and still not be able to see even a shade of difference as to where your fingers were supposed to be. Just a thick, velvety curtain of nothing that your eyes tried to convince you was not real. </div>
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It was in this black that our lead guide told tales of people "saved by the bell" in graveyards after having been supposed dead because of being frozen in a storm, of lovers running away to the caves to escape unwanted marriages only to be pursued by an irate father or uncle. One of the guides then posed this question. When we all turned on our lights, would we rather one person be missing or one person be added?<br />
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Chilled by each option's implications (I believe most people chose to have someone join rather than be lost, but even that could be sinister), we moved on through the cave and eventually back up to the surface. The sky still blue, the cold still biting, we made our way back to Reykjavik for our free afternoon.</div>
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After a brief rest in the hotel, Emily and I decided to explore some of the sites Argnr walked us past on the first day. Armed with more breakfast buffet "sandwiches" and skyr, we trekked up to Hallgrímskirkja, the tallest church and sixth tallest structure in the country.</div>
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From the top of the 244 foot bell tower, you could see the entire capitol. Short, colorful buildings stretched out around the church as if it were the center of a clock. In one direction, expansive fields, sky, and faint mountains. In the other, the harbor and still more beautiful snow topped peaks. I can easily say that Midwestern me was confused and delighted to have such flat and spiked places all together. </div>
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It was so peaceful up there. I completely forgot I was (am) afraid of heights and just stood there at the window's edge. Face pressed into the bars and leaning into the sky.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTNadymWJyqMXE1MozwreR8vaLEQI_l5udu-a7fTvnQgHo-q71yrMyAU3sIz0SOAvFGnP87MinSvmeUPODF9_7N3Bif_JrI1RnfGj0dSs7t62m3__zgWG5qf2VfCV6Xt4UNlpSjQzhi5Q/s1600/IMG_9417.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTNadymWJyqMXE1MozwreR8vaLEQI_l5udu-a7fTvnQgHo-q71yrMyAU3sIz0SOAvFGnP87MinSvmeUPODF9_7N3Bif_JrI1RnfGj0dSs7t62m3__zgWG5qf2VfCV6Xt4UNlpSjQzhi5Q/s320/IMG_9417.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a>More wandering and some souvenir shopping later and it was time to head back for the night. Dinner at a local tapas place brought us to try some odd and all-together not that tasty local "catches of the day," bringing another wonderful day to a close. </div>
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What better way to combat jet lag than waking up very verrry early on a Thursday morning? I, the perpetual sleeper in-er, was not happy about this. But with glaciers and waterfalls awaiting, I lumbered down to breakfast in our hotel. A cup of strong black tea and a sandwich of what I presumed to be Scandinavian deli meat later and we were on the bus headed south. </div>
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Like the day before, this morning was a rainy, windy one. Clouds hung low over the horizon as our bus glided along the highway, enough to make you feel held between earth and sky. Quite like the feeling of waking up in the morning under a mountain of covers. Not wanting to move...only this was much colder. </div>
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It was in that misty bus ride that Argnr said my favorite quote about Iceland, "if you don't like the weather, just wait 15 mins." And sure enough, we didn't have to wait too long though for it to prove true. The weather did change in those 15 mins and the rest of the 2 hour trip was a lovely mixture of rain, sun, and the largest canvas of clouds I'd ever seen. We passed fields and sheep, barns and greenhouses, which should all have struck a familiar chord with me, but instead pulled me further into awe with the countryside that stretched out before me. </div>
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These fields were more expansive, the wind more twisting, the sky more colorful, and sun more dazzling than I'd seen at home. It was then that my inner fan-girl had an epiphany, this was Rohan. This was Guilder and Florin. True, Hollywood has carved them out of different physical places than this, but for my mind's eye, this landscape rang true. </div>
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Taking a left after our second rainbow, Seljalandsfoss came into view. An incredible, 200 foot waterfall with water so pale blue it matched the sky. What I was not expecting, however, was the immense roar coming from the water. A display of pure power, it filled the air. (By the end of this trip I would become accustom to the incredible sound of waterfalls, but in this first time, it was particularly deafening.) </div>
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Shielding cameras and phones from the heavy spray, our group followed the trail around the back of the waterfall. From there, you could see for miles. The brave among us crept close to the edge, bracing against the slippery, green rocks for a truly breathtaking photo opportunity. </div>
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Climbing back down, Emily and I decided to stray during lunch and take our picnic to the base of the waterfall. Lunch of diet coke, sandwiches we snuck out of breakfast, and skyr (kind of like yogurt), was hosted by a magnificently peaceful view.<br />
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Rain soon drove us all back on to the bus however and we headed towards are next and final activity of the day: a glacier walk on Sólheimajökull. The rain continued through our ice pick and steel spike foot-ware fittings, then changed to heavy sleet and hail as we made our way to the base of the glacier. (Side note, four of the gentlemen from New York City had seemed to have forgotten they were in Iceland, several without hats or gloves to fend off the onslaught of water. I pitied them as I shivered from inside my gloved, scarfed, hatted, hooded, and ski-jacketed cocoon.)<br />
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But just as it had started, the rain, sleet, and hail ended as we placed our slightly scared, hastily safety briefed, and cautiously forceful first steps onto the ice. Shuffling into a single-file line, we snaked past ice sculptures, ridges, and got far too close to several deep crevasses. The part I remember being the most surprising, though now thinking about it, foolishly so, was the amount of pebbles and rocks, dirt and silt the glacier picked up as it flowed through the valley. Black bands of AstroTurf-like grains not only showed the glaciers age and strength but also protected the ice from the heat of the sun.<br />
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There were several times on this walk where I had to stop (mentally, not physically, that would have slowed up the line. Once we all got moving, we did not want to stop until the next place the guides wanted to point out. Trust me) and remember where I was. This was not a snowed in street in the Midwest, I wasn't anywhere close to the ground. I was walking on ice, hundreds of years old. Kind of, wickedly cool. </div>
<div>
<br />
<br />
The hour long hike ended far too quickly and soon it was time to get back on the bus to start in on our, now, 3 hours drive back to Reykjavik. Exhausted from the day and perfectly content to watch the countryside fly by, I drifted. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04761598062899015963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3196556838536499650.post-81562635766791358282012-10-10T22:15:00.000-07:002014-01-17T06:10:07.523-08:00Iceland: Day 1<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Tuesday was a very long day at work. Not because of the
endless e-mails, or the training issues, or even the looping water cooler talk,
but because that evening, I was going to Iceland.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTzk-4QCBDBH0D3vPg4-z3cc7Of3rc_CmvAVhAjl9ygmDEKLLV0bGKXlyAtLtEP1QbCakD0mE5UfNTzEy42cslpZ-GEUpnUxxM020IZ4CIffVM-sk-SduYsZEQ0_sQUWOTaZkKZcy7oWhy/s1600/IMG_8759.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTzk-4QCBDBH0D3vPg4-z3cc7Of3rc_CmvAVhAjl9ygmDEKLLV0bGKXlyAtLtEP1QbCakD0mE5UfNTzEy42cslpZ-GEUpnUxxM020IZ4CIffVM-sk-SduYsZEQ0_sQUWOTaZkKZcy7oWhy/s400/IMG_8759.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a>A spur of the moment purchase landed me a 5 day, 4 night
trip to Iceland
through Livingsocial. The words, “airfare included,” made the deal too good to
pass up for me and my friend, Emily. </div>
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An overnight flight to Iceland’s
Keflavik airport had us landing at the pitch
black hour of 6:30am on Wednesday and in proper Iceland style, it was raining. Our
group of now DC, NYC, and Boston
flights was greeted by a bright yellow parka and blaze orange hat. Her name I
cannot spell, but sounded like the title of a pirate manning the cannons:
Arrrrr-guuunner. (she shall now be known as “Argnr”)</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDCKg7ABw7daN9wqqKUwvP1gJPZsIifNERWpFrxyL4C8dU_PzPsW-voS27l1RuGi3FodIoEekUpaiZqeui2zZAp40SiAO_Vl0-H5VTP_dE2Lttk_veYlAuX3S8lB7bAUYSgvLT7foC0FIh/s1600/IMG_8766.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDCKg7ABw7daN9wqqKUwvP1gJPZsIifNERWpFrxyL4C8dU_PzPsW-voS27l1RuGi3FodIoEekUpaiZqeui2zZAp40SiAO_Vl0-H5VTP_dE2Lttk_veYlAuX3S8lB7bAUYSgvLT7foC0FIh/s400/IMG_8766.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a>In that early and beautiful morning, we raced through the
darkness; past what Argnr told us were lava fields, on the way to our hotel in
downtown Reykjavik.
By the time we arrived, the black sky and rain were replaced by a light grey sky
and rain. From there, we had two hours to check in to our rooms, eat breakfast, and, for some,
take a nap. The rest of us, on the other hand, set out on a walking tour of the capitol city. </div>
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The hotel and center of town were located just a few blocks
from the harbor. In no time we were walking past Icelandic coast guard ships and
little fishing boats, clustered along the docks. In the distance you could see a
pillar of light from the recently lit Imagine Peace
Tower, a memorial to John
Lennon by his widow, Yoko Ono. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCapF6dLWAIMCpWeJrwPX6amAb3MQrYhovlxjB8NhgYQxZ4u2h8cxyTG8gUiBvimaIhyALdZvdQo2amKY18dEvuF82EjKNlEjYfe0CW9mA7Z-byTVwGI6IJYhMWJJ1rTI6kMhXkr3Sin8/s1600/IMG_8784.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCapF6dLWAIMCpWeJrwPX6amAb3MQrYhovlxjB8NhgYQxZ4u2h8cxyTG8gUiBvimaIhyALdZvdQo2amKY18dEvuF82EjKNlEjYfe0CW9mA7Z-byTVwGI6IJYhMWJJ1rTI6kMhXkr3Sin8/s400/IMG_8784.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a>But to me, the most impressive sight on that harbor was
Harpa, Reykjavik’s
Concert Hall. The massive structure of metal and glass seemed suspended over
the harbor itself, past the edge of its pier. Inside, the massive foyer spanned all 3 floors with tables
and cushioned chairs circling up to the ceiling. </div>
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From the back of the hall, out some fantastically geometric
windows, you could see the entire bay and to the mountains beyond before it
opened to the ocean. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNCAJz55wMzfbuPqA6m2qS9_Hg5n_Zzhvvy2XAvmP-tXwG_gA6ba1P0N7g5VCaZEzqjbnWeps3Owp9mHdCirkhgdZ61ImCDlhJYWZuxk4nU2Cl142iiu2IAhnLKpE9fPI97s6Hlqj0OqqL/s1600/IMG_8804.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNCAJz55wMzfbuPqA6m2qS9_Hg5n_Zzhvvy2XAvmP-tXwG_gA6ba1P0N7g5VCaZEzqjbnWeps3Owp9mHdCirkhgdZ61ImCDlhJYWZuxk4nU2Cl142iiu2IAhnLKpE9fPI97s6Hlqj0OqqL/s400/IMG_8804.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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After the music hall, it was back out into the rain and up
to Hallgrimskirkja, the tallest cathedral in Iceland. </div>
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<br />
Once the tour came to an end and it was back to the hotel to book
optional excursions for our free day and a happy hour with our fellow
travelers. With our excursions booked and feet exhausted, Emily and I sat down
to be properly welcomed to the country, a Viking beer and a shot of Brennivin.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04761598062899015963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3196556838536499650.post-6361213538884387172012-09-09T19:39:00.000-07:002013-11-06T11:15:22.362-08:00The Color Run<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfZ1jdWOsN4jNq-c2h8ak8JxF04vjqGgv-LIvZJtAiv5IsKte_KYGhrjKuJwj9jf-fR1bJizOWTdTME1k5igAVhk5f8tPQo8VqXqXXiZuV2PMhftjEvvVOnAt0H254O2VI9n7BJMrPMJX7/s1600/CIMG5641.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfZ1jdWOsN4jNq-c2h8ak8JxF04vjqGgv-LIvZJtAiv5IsKte_KYGhrjKuJwj9jf-fR1bJizOWTdTME1k5igAVhk5f8tPQo8VqXqXXiZuV2PMhftjEvvVOnAt0H254O2VI9n7BJMrPMJX7/s400/CIMG5641.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I am not a runner. But some how my friends convinced me to sign up for the Color Run this fall in DC. And I cannot tell you how glad I am they did.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjOWeAJe2jE46MfK4PeNG2Xn5Rngwey2ZTNVr4fW_PxtMR6CSirItlsgvVnbtoHsR1zziP459gTBDixQSZEqeC265_TkBCQxnVg1hotbGUVLtogNSg11-xVquGa66n792UQsLeSFE_OUWC/s1600/CIMG5505.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjOWeAJe2jE46MfK4PeNG2Xn5Rngwey2ZTNVr4fW_PxtMR6CSirItlsgvVnbtoHsR1zziP459gTBDixQSZEqeC265_TkBCQxnVg1hotbGUVLtogNSg11-xVquGa66n792UQsLeSFE_OUWC/s400/CIMG5505.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
Marketed as the Happiest 5K on the planet, they couldn't be more right. At the Color Run, it isn't about your time or where you place, it's about the experience of walking or running or skipping or dancing the 5 miles through checkpoints of color with your friends. All the while for a great local cause, or in this case, Washington's Children's Hospital.<br />
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<br />
The end of each K was marked, literally, with an explosion of a different color. Orange, topped red, which was covered by yellow and blue, till you literally love like you stepped out of a crayon box.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwoVAYHg5ZNz6DBAHiSIajNUAwzo-IDWlMgsN3wEDIEpN2WZjmcROV4PiDbaMXwZiEowz4m9_9VKV7ySog24212qNBCZw_VGxPFuskbpKHvL7src3TCZZepl1LG8Hk0_iFKGjrLc25tK00/s1600/CIMG5615.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwoVAYHg5ZNz6DBAHiSIajNUAwzo-IDWlMgsN3wEDIEpN2WZjmcROV4PiDbaMXwZiEowz4m9_9VKV7ySog24212qNBCZw_VGxPFuskbpKHvL7src3TCZZepl1LG8Hk0_iFKGjrLc25tK00/s400/CIMG5615.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Triumphant participants grin across the finish line and are greeted with even more color as an after concert dance party of powdered people celebrate their endorphin high.<br />
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<br />
The sea of white tshirts, bandanas, knee socks, capes, tutus, and yes, even wedding dresses turned into a canvas of color highlighting a thousand smiles.<br />
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<br />
I am so glad I was able to experience such an event and, even though I was getting green and orange powder out of my ears for days to come after, I cannot wait till next year's chance to run again.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04761598062899015963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3196556838536499650.post-24068080718520632302012-08-10T19:18:00.000-07:002013-11-06T11:15:31.667-08:00In My Grandmother's Hands<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My Grandmother is a beautiful, loving woman to whom I owe much of who I am. My Grandfather is a strong, lively man who has set an example of hard work his entire life.
<br />
<br />
Some of my fondest memories are with my Grandma, walking out to her in the backyard. Her arms covered up to the elbow in dirt as she tended to her garden. Lilly of the valley, roses, irises, and violets. Garden statues, stepping stones, and bird baths. These were what she used to create her world.
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With time and age, some things had to change though. She can no longer kneel to the earth and prune and trim to make her flowers grow. Some days she can barely remember what birds she used to love to watch hopping at the back window or chase from a patch of seed newly bedded. But it was easy to see that when we set this dirt in her hands she remembered the feel, even if for just a moment before it flitting away.
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It was there. That comforting known touch of earth in her hands. That familiar, lingering brush with countless memories before letting it all fall slowly into the wind. That moment of clarity dissolved into a determination to brush of her clothes from the mess we caused her. Curious in what we were up to, my Grandfather walked over. Took her fretting hands in his as he bent to sit beside her. There was a flicker in that too. A steady, creeping smile in his hands around hers.
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On her face was a kind of calm contentment. Though fading once again, to realize that even towards the end, there will always be a touch that can bring you back.
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04761598062899015963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3196556838536499650.post-809991241230313082012-07-14T17:59:00.000-07:002013-11-06T11:15:51.590-08:00Eastern State Penitentary One of the highlights of my recent trip to Philly was definitely the Eastern State Penitentiary. Not only was it yet another aspect of a new city to explore, but it was one of the coolest compounds I've ever been inside.<br />
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The prison, which has been falling further and further into disrepair since its closing in the mid-20th century was dark and eerie. Dust from the crumbling walls clouded the air and coated streaks of sun breaking through the cracked ceiling.
My penitentiary wanderings, directed by a self-paced audio tour was chillingly and creepily fascinating. Not only did the tour provide facts spanning the space's entire history, but they added a soundtrack and personal testimonies. Bring the halls I was walking further to life.<br />
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There were many times when I paused and a cold wave washed over me. While I didn't have a supernatural encounter there, the stories of prisoners and guests alike were enough to keep me on my toes and the back of my neck tingling.<br />
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With the active imagination of a creative writer, I will proudly claim the title of World's Biggest Wimp when it comes to the horror, thriller, or supernatural genres. My mind does not need any help taking a haunted possibility and turning it into a "What's behind me?! Hello?"<br />
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I admit that there were a few moments when the tingles on my neck turned into involuntary jerks of the head. Luckily, whenever the spook was getting too much, I could retreat to behind my camera lens and view the buildings for the great photography backdrops they were.<br />
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The shadows, the textures, the sheer expanse of each row of solitary confinement cells was more than enough to keep my composing eye and trigger finger occupied.<br />
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If ever you visit Philly, make sure you stop by for an unforgettable afternoon of sights, sounds, and chills.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04761598062899015963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3196556838536499650.post-48849376843372191072012-06-24T17:12:00.000-07:002013-11-06T11:16:18.439-08:00Mount VernonWhile my heart truly and forever belongs to Chicago and the Midwest, I love living in Washington, DC. The access to history alone is enough to keep me busy for the next 10 years. I want to visit every monument, every battlefield, and every museum the city (region, eastern seaboard) has to offer.<br />
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A tall task, especially since my heart truly and forever belongs to Chicago and the Midwest. But I checked off another historical site on my ever expanding nerd list today with a visit to Mount Vernon.<br />
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Sitting a stone's throw from the Capitol and on the banks of the Potomac, Mount Vernon really is stepping back in time and pace. One foot in the gate and you can feel the second hand of the clock lag.<br />
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Armed with the Visitor Center's map and a full afternoon, my Dad and I laid out a plan. Wander down across the front lawns of the house, visit the blacksmith shop and the stables, hike to the grain storage bins and the far fields where the house grew everything from wheat to berries.<br />
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I am also just that brand of history geek where I love when the sites are living history sites. Volunteers from the area, eager to share all they know, dress up in period costume and roam the grounds. The blacksmith made nail after nail and answered question after question about the techniques used in that time. And the poor house maid had to deal with a million questions from my overly-time-period-committed father. Somebody get that made a three pointed hat, a walking stick, and call him James Madison.<br />
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The timing of this trip was also opportune for me personally. Aside from it being a beautiful, sunny summer day, I had just finished reading a biography about Martha Washington. The life, drive, and senses of her story can to life in front of me. Different facts from the book popped into my head as I collided my present with her past. This was her study where she managed the house during her husband's long absences.<br />
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George and Martha Washington were an extraordinary couple for their time and yet they were just the same as couples when we think of them today. It was truly a pleasure to be able to "step into their shoes" for an afternoon and wander the trails they knew so well.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04761598062899015963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3196556838536499650.post-25239176079842336372012-05-19T06:58:00.000-07:002013-11-06T11:17:58.104-08:00A Graduation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Those of you who are oldest siblings will understand the need for this post entirely. Those of you who have a younger sibling will understand the need for this post mostly. Those of you who are proud of your sibling no matter their age in relation to you will understand. That hits the majority of us, doesn't it? To put it plainly, my oldest, younger sister graduated from college this weekend and I am glowing.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk1Ql0mzMiwfSRuDGYHZMgFoqeskCElEWFWyVccL2P9AuDotJnlxX4KbUdPhklEFfGwnjA44uWJj8ulDk0rJUtT6RSiiRuXWNMKvbDjSsBNYA1aXMI4TPcFoU_5CcMVVyC6LDBtS77yZ2F/s1600/IMG_6678.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk1Ql0mzMiwfSRuDGYHZMgFoqeskCElEWFWyVccL2P9AuDotJnlxX4KbUdPhklEFfGwnjA44uWJj8ulDk0rJUtT6RSiiRuXWNMKvbDjSsBNYA1aXMI4TPcFoU_5CcMVVyC6LDBtS77yZ2F/s400/IMG_6678.jpg" width="267" /></a>My family has always been a huge part of my life. And just like every family, we've gone through our own tests, difficulties, and moments why the roof comes crashing down. But the older I get, the more I understand that those trails not only show you the extent and depth of your strength but to make those moments of joy and celebration, like a graduation, that much more potent. A reminder of why we keep fighting, what the payoff can be, and how in this case, even though you are not the one striding confidently across the stage to take a piece of paper, tears of elation are running down cheeks that hurt from smiling.<br />
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In a family as close as mine, and with sisters as passionate as we three, every accomplishment is reflected and magnified by the others. We are the happiness with which we surround ourselves, the strength with which we fight, and the accomplishments we reach whether together or individually, but never alone.<br />
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Congratulations to my dearest oldest, younger, middle.<br />
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These are for you.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04761598062899015963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3196556838536499650.post-24844391319679903592012-05-06T18:25:00.000-07:002013-11-06T11:18:13.016-08:00The Broad WayNew York City, center of the universe.<br />
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In this town, you never know what you're going to find.<br />
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And that's part of what I love.<br />
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It's up to you New York, New York<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04761598062899015963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3196556838536499650.post-18578142418149502972012-04-19T23:47:00.000-07:002013-11-06T11:20:27.325-08:00Playoff Hockey FeverHockey is my favorite sport. I love it, could talk for hours, could watch for days. Everything about it, good, bad, fights, bogus calls, breakaways, all of it. <br />
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Admittedly, my love started late in life, in college where it was the school obsession...I mean sport...nah, I really mean obsession. Then moving to a new city with a new job with both access and means to attend NHL games, made it grow stronger. And now, attending my first playoff game has sealed my fate. There is no cure, not even cowbell. And even if there were, I wouldn't take it. The energy, the speed, the physicality, the skill, the tradition, all are elements that fascinate me to the core.<br />
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It speaks volumes that this pivotal game of deepening hockey love wasn't even one for my team (though the Hawks were playing halfway across the country and I was wearing my colors with pride), but the thrill was infectious and I was on the edge of my seat, or off it as the case may be, the entire game. You could feel the desire and the desperation of every single Caps fan in attendance. Bruins too, though they were out numbered 10 to 1 at least. The game had every high and low of a regular season battle, only intensified by the opportunity to tie the series or to start to run away with it.<br />
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Each team had their heart stopping moments, each goaltender sacrificed
it all, and each of us held our breath for what seemed like hours,
watching that puck fly. That is hockey. That is honor. That is my love. <br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04761598062899015963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3196556838536499650.post-25216468984690968322012-04-17T10:05:00.000-07:002013-11-06T11:21:12.122-08:00Space Shuttle Discovery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The Space Shuttle Discovery was retired today. On it's final flight, it circled the DC area and headed to Dulles for an untested landing. I was not one of the lucky to be on the Mall or in the heart of DC itself, but I am lucky enough to work close to Dulles airport. And with that fortuitous work location came 3 flyovers and 1 successful landing at the airport.<br />
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To say it was mesmerizing would be an understatement. The sheer size of the shuttle and the even larger plane that it was bolted to was incredible.<br />
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It was absolutely a once in a lifetime experience. The ending of an era that, even though it falls outside the range of my memory, is one that grew with our country for so long. Leaps, launches, orbits, and explosions, it certainly has been quite the ride. I'm glad, for its sake, the shuttle was able to have a final flight.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04761598062899015963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3196556838536499650.post-12410479711338177662012-04-14T16:11:00.000-07:002013-11-06T11:23:24.474-08:00Photography Field Trip<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHC6A075VnFb4A_ASYryCpcvN1KIML288ZLKuX9m8u5xduTaM0IAOk8fMew58H25CDCOkeqA3yoDvKaBTIFVbTzED4sl5c3F3oMbgahmQa5lkDWYSBVQB70gPdT6HEn8naduaXw-N4sXjN/s1600/IMG_5868.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHC6A075VnFb4A_ASYryCpcvN1KIML288ZLKuX9m8u5xduTaM0IAOk8fMew58H25CDCOkeqA3yoDvKaBTIFVbTzED4sl5c3F3oMbgahmQa5lkDWYSBVQB70gPdT6HEn8naduaXw-N4sXjN/s400/IMG_5868.jpg" width="400" /></a>Even before I clicked "Buy" for my lovely new camera, I knew I was outmatched. Years of point-and-shoot experimentation piggy backing on high school black and white film photography classes was not enough of a background to be able to operate such a multi-dialed, mutli-buttoned piece of equipment. I will unabashedly say I was intimidated by the heavy, long lensed SLR now in my possession. Like the latest smartphones and facebook timeline, I had a sneaking suspicion it was smarter than I was.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaQB7Rkw9yWn2D_S0mH9dxXrhF6RBV7sIfw2FANdRH4CAg_YYtKrIKMi3Tuc7m6kA6k3fjYi6chCLh2cESYd5cExdN9l-3zGvfU3-Elhd8ojSS3PtLkH0ihqGyXNGg58YXh22AJbpXkDmr/s1600/IMG_5927.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaQB7Rkw9yWn2D_S0mH9dxXrhF6RBV7sIfw2FANdRH4CAg_YYtKrIKMi3Tuc7m6kA6k3fjYi6chCLh2cESYd5cExdN9l-3zGvfU3-Elhd8ojSS3PtLkH0ihqGyXNGg58YXh22AJbpXkDmr/s400/IMG_5927.jpg" width="267" /></a><br />
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But I wasn't about to take that defeat lying down. My favorite daily deal site, Livingsocial,...or was it Groupon..., had a deal for a 4 day Beginners photography course for people with digital SLRs. Specifically targeted at those who had a basic understanding of the fundamentals of making a photograph but are woefully lacking in understanding how to take a photograph with these new super cameras.<br />
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I'd never been a photographer who gets into the technicalities of aperture and focal length and shutter speed, especially not with a point-and-shoot where that was entirely out of my control anyway, but I did recognize that if I was going to be able to make this camera my friend (screw mastering it, I know that's impossible), I was going to have to go back to school.
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Day one on a dark April evening, my roommate and I entered a sketchy building, climbed some sketchy stairs to an even sketchier industrial door and found a photographers haven among the backstreets of Bethesda. A small classroom with 10 students and an instructor, who looked like Santa Claus before he found Mrs. Claus and before he had abandoned his youthful artistic hopes for something more practical, was my reintroduction to the intricate and essential components of what makes a camera work.<br />
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Another classroom session followed the first before we took to the
streets for a field trip 3rd class in DC. These are a few of the over
200 shots that I took while wandering the Portrait Gallery/American Art
museum and spinning dials/pressing buttons like a newly acquired
knowledge apprentice.
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I have to say it was a great experience. I love the slow shuffled pace
of museums so to pair that with actively engaging a photographer's eye
was a wonderful exercise in patience. It also brought a unique
appreciation for the exhibits, as they provided not only an arena for
learning (yes, I am one of those who reads every sign) but a canvas for
my new chapter of photography.<br />
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Two thumbs way way up for the Washington School of Photography. I had a
great time and learned a lot. Hopefully these photos reflect that.
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Enjoy!
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04761598062899015963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3196556838536499650.post-29556191464245983662012-04-07T22:16:00.000-07:002012-04-22T19:00:59.324-07:00DC United<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A really quick post on the DC United match this past weekend. A chance to relax on a beautifully sunny day and enjoy the first game of many I'm sure this season.<br />
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Even though there was no score, it was still a battle filled with dramatic tackles, faked injuries (what soccer game is without a few), and some contested cards. Sounds like a perfect Saturday afternoon if you ask me.<br />
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Vamos United!
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Despite my best laid plans this year of seeing the cherry blossoms in full bloom, Mother Nature had other plans. It was such a mild winter and unseasonably warm spring, that the trees became confused. So what would have been the peek of blossom time here in DC, turned out to be the slowly petering end of the last of the blooms. There was perhaps one tree still in full bloom that everyone flocked to in attempts to get that one beautiful photo of a full spring. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I honestly feel bad for the people who came to visit specifically for the blossoms, and for the planners of the 100 year celebration. By the time the parade and festival comes around, there will be little but a memory to celebrate. Perhaps they can look at these photos and take away a small measure of beauty to redeem the loss. :-) Ha. But I digress, while it was unfortunate at the lack of trees fully in bloom, I was able to capture a few nice shots.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Nothing like petal carpets, little kids enjoying outdoor freedom, and buds right off a trunk, right?
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Enjoy.
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Not sure how many of you have been to DC, let alone the National Aquarium, but if perchance you happen to be able to visit DC…don’t bother with the National Aquarium. My friends and I, fresh off the metro and ready to see some museums, bought a museum pass pack for Madame Tussaude’s, the Crime and Punishment museum, and the National Aquarium. 3 museums, 3 days that the passes were good, just over 40$, good deal you’d think. Nope, one third of that deal is not worth it. But we’ll get to that in a second. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /><br />How about the good stuff before the bad? Madame Tussaude’s was awesome. Even though it was 1/4th the size of the original in London (that one is wicked awesome), this little DC row house of a museum was a lot of fun. I particularly enjoyed the interactive exhibits in the presidents gallery that allowed me to shake Jefferson’s hand, sit in on a meeting with Grant, watch a play with Lincoln (we tried to overlook the morbid side of that particular display), disembark Air Force One with the Kennedys…you get the point. I’m such a history nerd so I loved walking through and picking out the pose references. Also, with it being a museum and my friends and I completely embracing the tourist guise, enjoyed coming up with ways to goof off with said historical pose references. Give Teddy a kiss, lean lovingly into Lincoln arms; all with complete respect and admiration for our country’s leaders of course.
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<br /><br />Skipping over the long line for pictures in the “Oval Office,” we dashed to the celebrities section of the museum, where again, goofing off ensued. Prom photos with Will Smith, lounging with Madonna, a kiss to George Clooney (of course), and a height picture to prove that I, in fact, am around the same height as Tom Cruise. To those of you that have stood next to me…so almost all of you…that means he’s short.
<br /><br />My favorite part of the museum however was the music artist section. I fulfilled a life dream in getting my picture with the Queen of Jazz, Ella Fitzgerald; and, as an added bonus, shared a piano bench with the legendary Duke Ellington. The other highlight for me was strapping on a hockey helmet and sitting next to Alex Ovechkin. The Caps may not be my number one team but, due to them being so accessible, I’ve come to support them and occasionally have been known to Rock the Red.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIp9avR-RSJBSB9tnm2EFM1G_I0ZRelF4zP1pGzVBIhIg6pTd_XNYBkPOhaNxgkmOSOW2acJ537wstbXCzBLAinTxvT-43bkcV2ZvUjFegB02IJ4_lsEorYKN-d7Zmhb5fcPJ8KD5YiP6p/s1600/IMG_4840.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIp9avR-RSJBSB9tnm2EFM1G_I0ZRelF4zP1pGzVBIhIg6pTd_XNYBkPOhaNxgkmOSOW2acJ537wstbXCzBLAinTxvT-43bkcV2ZvUjFegB02IJ4_lsEorYKN-d7Zmhb5fcPJ8KD5YiP6p/s400/IMG_4840.JPG" /></a></div>
<br /><br />Like I said, the wax museum was the fun part. The aquarium left the day on a sad note. (We ran out of time for C&P Museum.) First off, the entrance is not where Google said it was, so wandering the block surrounding 14th and Constitution in the bitter January wind added some extra fun. But once inside, you head downstairs to what looks like a dark basement and pay $10 (I didn’t actually get the 3 museum deal so had to purchase separately) to walk a very small loop lined with very small aquariums set into the wall. It looked like a Zoology professor’s basement with very sad, in most cases, not cute fish.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrfoKgNv-6ZT_eB_kvgbJhkSYc5WHXwCWGyCZR334ptxEx6_8df743oNx5mxcYzaWc4SyLQQlt10z5wR2URsYf0hO8pn1TpJDuphJSREh8x3AohTQjlHfv4FNTeEARrD5-_BsgVw8K0uLv/s1600/IMG_4853.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrfoKgNv-6ZT_eB_kvgbJhkSYc5WHXwCWGyCZR334ptxEx6_8df743oNx5mxcYzaWc4SyLQQlt10z5wR2URsYf0hO8pn1TpJDuphJSREh8x3AohTQjlHfv4FNTeEARrD5-_BsgVw8K0uLv/s400/IMG_4853.JPG" /></a></div>
<br /><br />Maybe I’m spoiled with the aquariums that I’ve been to before in the past and set my expectations too high, but normally it’s safe to assume that something with the word “National,” while in our nation’s capitol, would be spectacular. But alas, it was not. I guess I’ll have to make a trip up to Baltimore for their aquarium, which I have heard from several sources, is amazing. (Plus, they say it has penguins, so win-win there.)
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFnvFyFSi1wztkZ_HEhFqBxfvDnkw3qqLiNTzm3d2bSVhA_i3iaVEtYmk3jAZthmdLiIIVCzckOnweng5ci3xG7UkMMS_lJqcubDvgiHGTVOvUvaLmM7cLhhbcFUIHulokUH0Y1esvniF4/s1600/IMG_4868.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFnvFyFSi1wztkZ_HEhFqBxfvDnkw3qqLiNTzm3d2bSVhA_i3iaVEtYmk3jAZthmdLiIIVCzckOnweng5ci3xG7UkMMS_lJqcubDvgiHGTVOvUvaLmM7cLhhbcFUIHulokUH0Y1esvniF4/s400/IMG_4868.jpg" /></a></div>
<br /><br />Not wanting to end on a negative note and even though the aquarium was less than impressive, I still do really enjoy getting to explore DC. It’s so easy to get into a routine—get up, go to work, go home, eat dinner while watching TV, sleep, repeat—but really there is so much that you should be doing regardless of where you live. Big city, little city, odd suburb, there’s bound to be something to explore and on which to form an opinion.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTL68h8LGv6eZT-vp8Hci0Bq1EDK27tZYP-fLECBEXQo1xcGgN3-8nzOxJq0idUkEm26kT5JLotbjZ9pOePDLQuS9i3nwPIquv564lJxmei8C_mV0Iiqli6etY32Eg69caq7IQx6xb5Iaz/s1600/IMG_4921.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTL68h8LGv6eZT-vp8Hci0Bq1EDK27tZYP-fLECBEXQo1xcGgN3-8nzOxJq0idUkEm26kT5JLotbjZ9pOePDLQuS9i3nwPIquv564lJxmei8C_mV0Iiqli6etY32Eg69caq7IQx6xb5Iaz/s400/IMG_4921.JPG" /></a></div>
<br /><br />So with that, anyone want to go exploring? I’ll bring the camera.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiQ1pFgI8HyntC4AREqYLbLYgu8y9OPPS-eg6_3FP-2GV6Fk62yzge9xwbONs5wGrlTgKWOrT7uD4MrCenyIxjW5xNpsHJXkdz8bipbLQkZb6Hc746wGsS5IaZ7q2dxllDy9_MVUNVaphA/s1600/IMG_4784.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiQ1pFgI8HyntC4AREqYLbLYgu8y9OPPS-eg6_3FP-2GV6Fk62yzge9xwbONs5wGrlTgKWOrT7uD4MrCenyIxjW5xNpsHJXkdz8bipbLQkZb6Hc746wGsS5IaZ7q2dxllDy9_MVUNVaphA/s400/IMG_4784.JPG" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04761598062899015963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3196556838536499650.post-49115440273480007892011-12-29T16:35:00.000-08:002012-04-22T17:04:46.895-07:00Wedding Scouts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiA5eenIVVL-gP58uDBlfwNinJATYpn7TftJ7gdotm2GNuPCpKZN_LT5Tjh8vx8bFilCJAUA_71Q7JO10Zf67AfI7VgQqo1JBzYgsiXwj8eSMBiElINSmC3hPinfrioUnvXfuN3l4bjU3p/s1600/IMG_2230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiA5eenIVVL-gP58uDBlfwNinJATYpn7TftJ7gdotm2GNuPCpKZN_LT5Tjh8vx8bFilCJAUA_71Q7JO10Zf67AfI7VgQqo1JBzYgsiXwj8eSMBiElINSmC3hPinfrioUnvXfuN3l4bjU3p/s400/IMG_2230.JPG" /></a></div>
One of the most terrifying and yet flattering things that can happen to a person is to be asked to be your friend's one and only wedding photographer. Having no professional experience, or really event photographing experience, before, it would be an understatement to say I was a nervous wreck. For months I stalked wedding blogs, read article, and even bought a new, very nice digital SLR in preparation for the event.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHgHv9uK0FngdXdoV9_hEJN4p43qE6_jmipAlzhjYW_w6f5LnpGwSpbrXB_HDO3zowwv_eSDEyd_nDEcIxUFgHjC5dGngdqM4p_1UaRTQRfr3CA0lxY-upU6Qt6xEa8_OpDPfGHeJqfybN/s1600/IMG_2217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHgHv9uK0FngdXdoV9_hEJN4p43qE6_jmipAlzhjYW_w6f5LnpGwSpbrXB_HDO3zowwv_eSDEyd_nDEcIxUFgHjC5dGngdqM4p_1UaRTQRfr3CA0lxY-upU6Qt6xEa8_OpDPfGHeJqfybN/s400/IMG_2217.JPG" /></a></div>
Only one problem remained, no matter how much I researched and prepared, I couldn't be in all the places I needed to be at once to capture each pivotal moment of a wedding. The procession alone has 4 angles that should be covered, at least. That's where my saint of a friend, Justin, came in. With previous wedding recording experience and after some pleading on my part, he agreed to my photographer in crime. And thank goodness he did. I could not have done it without him.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO1Ay5OlcXEG3cUWBLZVDn24H0GuMgrdr7uvW58rHzyxg-orABtfFhw3OKjkh7zt_rKDSTS_QN4IehvWKYF4Zs6jCac8dKtdVF7lLwRQ4vcKMSwkuAG5A-OPmMqFKq0YUE0E-VGLR7PkV1/s1600/IMG_2281.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO1Ay5OlcXEG3cUWBLZVDn24H0GuMgrdr7uvW58rHzyxg-orABtfFhw3OKjkh7zt_rKDSTS_QN4IehvWKYF4Zs6jCac8dKtdVF7lLwRQ4vcKMSwkuAG5A-OPmMqFKq0YUE0E-VGLR7PkV1/s400/IMG_2281.JPG" /></a></div>
For being two non-professional photographers, I think we did rather well. From the location scouting the night before, to brainstorming poses, to scrambling together backup plans in case we got kicked out of the bridal party photoshoot location, I think we covered it all. (photos of the wedding itself are forthcoming on the Events tab. Still editing those....)
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMjEM3zsva8w2w19XJ2MZ0DF97k_p6Kk6swtgW8B0uXb5dNe8kC225GTtenManYLacw2ewWji1SAemVtPrVg9kbaFZ9n45UHboV-gaGxei9WkBliGL_WsDKZURffm8E6LTHLyW35aYeceL/s1600/IMG_2343.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMjEM3zsva8w2w19XJ2MZ0DF97k_p6Kk6swtgW8B0uXb5dNe8kC225GTtenManYLacw2ewWji1SAemVtPrVg9kbaFZ9n45UHboV-gaGxei9WkBliGL_WsDKZURffm8E6LTHLyW35aYeceL/s400/IMG_2343.JPG" /></a></div>
These are some of my favorite shots from our scouting adventures around DC.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6ocRBhs2P-af_fGvvrBbdBLoDN8_ra3oqWLdWIUpuwpOJVkY-92pvgmXl4hx3qp7ivgfmYz0Mc42thp1_kPttcUj4inyGBTv0dQd8zEf6j5xmbwyb5yB1uahuDZU4LyZfU2liedfFtfV/s1600/IMG_2289.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6ocRBhs2P-af_fGvvrBbdBLoDN8_ra3oqWLdWIUpuwpOJVkY-92pvgmXl4hx3qp7ivgfmYz0Mc42thp1_kPttcUj4inyGBTv0dQd8zEf6j5xmbwyb5yB1uahuDZU4LyZfU2liedfFtfV/s400/IMG_2289.JPG" /></a></div>
Enjoy!
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX7BLDm-IUzPq_LVo2UzF7B0hHGNQ0p5bvBfZ1qmxZEev7JPXQFT-4JSo1HnmTlEGS2I6PLr_Caz4pgMcYk7GJ7WbiVNeHGLGrJ5CCOdIIdg7hCxcHDbBxfOjXKasfD5z4F0eXEyZITbOf/s1600/IMG_2344.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX7BLDm-IUzPq_LVo2UzF7B0hHGNQ0p5bvBfZ1qmxZEev7JPXQFT-4JSo1HnmTlEGS2I6PLr_Caz4pgMcYk7GJ7WbiVNeHGLGrJ5CCOdIIdg7hCxcHDbBxfOjXKasfD5z4F0eXEyZITbOf/s400/IMG_2344.JPG" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04761598062899015963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3196556838536499650.post-29195899928325058492011-12-27T12:12:00.000-08:002012-04-18T19:35:11.179-07:00Christmas Time is Here<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi_WaXpiQA1lrNBhPaLg0An4fWw0bOQIyTFFbtRbgMn7SFB3tB7CCpR4kF6PFrpd4gtBoi_oDzyIjoAZebmoejgURGa20zqosmut7r7_l9-jw3uOLMnjH5x8T_H6_FQ2loLx7_lH_Vckhc/s1600/IMG_2117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi_WaXpiQA1lrNBhPaLg0An4fWw0bOQIyTFFbtRbgMn7SFB3tB7CCpR4kF6PFrpd4gtBoi_oDzyIjoAZebmoejgURGa20zqosmut7r7_l9-jw3uOLMnjH5x8T_H6_FQ2loLx7_lH_Vckhc/s400/IMG_2117.JPG" /></a></div>
When the only snow on Christmas you see is on your tv screen while watching White Christmas, something is wrong. The holiday world is off kilter. Things out of the ordinary are happening...my family came to visit me for Christmas and we spent the week wandering a very mild, very calm DC.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6YcNaOSWcDX4baRxLx64Nz0-eN6oOibIkpNVkUrh8mGz_-6a4GwZZvGNHl7eKF8VC7GqergtQU-A64hqSNxd4ZnhPpiPOdKMYOc4xgJHaddO7YeugPJh0DlyPOfXamKiym-1MbR9U8XCg/s1600/IMG_2110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6YcNaOSWcDX4baRxLx64Nz0-eN6oOibIkpNVkUrh8mGz_-6a4GwZZvGNHl7eKF8VC7GqergtQU-A64hqSNxd4ZnhPpiPOdKMYOc4xgJHaddO7YeugPJh0DlyPOfXamKiym-1MbR9U8XCg/s400/IMG_2110.jpg" /></a></div>
Instead of a Christmas eve spent watching holiday movies on my grandparent's couch, we wandered the Mall, Eastern Market, and some of the Smithsonian museums. Some traditions were upheld, my dad made pizza, my sisters baked, my mom played Christmas music, and I flitted between orchestrating logistics and those DC-y things.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKig0TroLHmETAbiA0s_CZ_d7LnQLn1kvVYjspVbn08p7V5Zj_tDTD0ScbVKVgjvxaemikHPXLibt2ZVhvXO9N4FZyOZIoZ38hMMK_btkfSZVbWVXjcW3xvicsR3xczVzg9-GiAu80G_1/s1600/IMG_2069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="267" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKig0TroLHmETAbiA0s_CZ_d7LnQLn1kvVYjspVbn08p7V5Zj_tDTD0ScbVKVgjvxaemikHPXLibt2ZVhvXO9N4FZyOZIoZ38hMMK_btkfSZVbWVXjcW3xvicsR3xczVzg9-GiAu80G_1/s400/IMG_2069.JPG" /></a></div>
So here are a few shots of our DC Christmas wanderings.
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Happy Holidays from my family to yours!
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