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While thinking of the best way to say thank you to the amazing people who came to help me in a time of need, it occurred to me that what I had to be thankful for was bigger than I thought. Not only did a community come together to help a friend, but through their generosity and kindness, they put something even more beautiful into the world. Something that will ultimately change more lives than one.

I’ve always believed that a single act of kindness could live well beyond that one act. That act, no matter how big or how small, becomes a spark of generosity that brings out the best in everyone it touches. It can be left to fade away, or it can find a place in people’s hearts and grow into something brighter. In time, that spark can become something much bigger, and it can live forever.

Whether you perform an act of kindness, receive kindness and generosity from others, or bear witness to other people giving of themselves, you can choose to be part of keeping that spark alive. There are people who think that many of the overwhelming challenges that some people face are too great to overcome. They figure one small act of giving won’t make a difference anyway. Some people give up ever even trying altogether. What they didn’t figure is that one day they may feel like something is missing from their lives. They might try to fill that empty feeling with money, fancypants things, or excuses. The truth is, the only way for them to get what they need to fill that void is to remember how to give. Giving of yourself makes your heart whole again. Basically, what I’m trying to say is that a single act of kindness and generosity, no matter how small, can change lives, give hope, and inspire others to take that spark and ignite something incredible.

This is a story of one woman who needed a spark of hope, just a glimmer of brighter days ahead. Instead, I was showered in an act of kindness that could light the night sky.

Not so long ago, I blogged freely about my neurological challenges. Just before my trip to Mayo Clinic in 2011, the progression of my condition began to accelerate. I found myself in increased pain, neuro-related symptoms, and periods of significant mobility deficit. When I began to notice the beginning of cognitive changes and episodes of memory loss, one of my neurologists insisted on a new EEG. Fucking epilepsy. (For fuck’s sake.) That’s when I stopped writing about all my medical bullshit. These changes were happening too fast for me. I was trying hard to accept the new challenges, and I spent most of my energy hiding my symptoms from the public eye. I had gotten very good at hiding it. Still, many plans were cancelled, many meetings rescheduled, and some days I would work out of my home so no one would have to see me at my worst. I guess I felt that if I shared what was happening, it would make it all very (too) real for me. I wasn’t ready for that yet. Plus, complaining about my shit when everyone has their own shit to go through makes me feel like an asshole.

It took many months for me to make a decision about applying for a service dog. Every time I considered filling out the application, I’d convince myself that I didn’t need it, that I could handle everything on my own, that I was stronger than my disease. It took a long time to decide to do it, but some very good friends reminded me that accepting help is another form of strength. If I do everything in my power to keep myself active and safe, then I win. Then I’m still stronger than my disease. It also gives me the opportunity to show my children that it’s okay to accept help when you really need it, and that everyone needs help sometimes. If you let your pride get in the way, nobody wins.

Due to all of this neurological fuckery, we budget a significant amount of our income to my medical care. We’ve always managed to take care of this expense by carefully managing our finances and tightening our belts, so to speak. Unfortunately, a service dog was not something that we could fit into our budget. Asking for help was uncomfortable, to say the least. When I sent an email to my family and closest family friends, my stomach was in knots. When my friends Kate Barrie, Amy Kant, and Mare Aehlich wanted to fundraise for a service dog, it took me some time to be ok with it. It was their encouragement and support that got me to stop feeling like I was going to barf at the thought of letting everyone know how my condition had progressed. So, on Sunday October 15th, I agreed to let them do whatever it was they had up their sleeves.

On Monday October 16th, I was texted a link to a “Sara’s Sidekick” fundraising campaign on IndieGoGo, and I actually lost my breath for a moment. The fundraising amount kept growing higher, and the words of encouragement and love were overwhelming. Once the fundraising goal had been reached, people kept giving to help other disabled people receive a service dog. I cried. No, I sobbed. (I’m talking big time ugly cry, y’all. Big. Time.) And so, I wanted to share my story with all of you, and try my best to thank the people who helped make all of this happen, even though it is sure to fall short.

To The Amazing People Who So Generously Donated Towards a Service Dog:

To say that I am grateful for your support and generosity (not only for me, but for other people who need assistance) is a gross understatement. I am so fortunate to have such amazing people in my life. I am overwhelmed and humbled. I will never find words to express my gratitude properly, so I’ll do so by carrying the spark you all have created and passing it on to other people who find themselves needing a little help, and I’m grateful for that too. With all of my heart, thank you. xo

To Kate, Amy, & Mare:

The three of you already know how much I adore you. You all inspire me to be better every day. Your unwavering support and friendship is such an incredible gift, one that I never take for granted. The spark you lit has already grown into something amazing. Thank you. I love you. xo

I love you turkeys. All you turkeys.

As ever,

Sara

P.S. I know this post was super long. Sorry. (Not sorry.) You were like, “Oh shit, she’s getting all sentimental and serious again. I should pee and grab a snack before I start reading.” which was quickly followed by, “What the fuck is she even talking about?” and topped off with, “Gross.” I’m totally ok with all of that.

P.P.S. I’ll eat you up, I love you so.

P.P.S. This is my favorite band, (and one of the greatest songwriters, Guy Garvey) singing a song that makes me think of all of you. Thank you for always receiving me with open arms. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for letting my sense of ‘home’ take up residence in your hearts.

Everyone on the internet always seems to be doing an awful lot of talking. Always. We talk about ourselves a lot. It seems we spend a lot of time thinking (talking, blogging) about ourselves, our businesses, our children, our issues… Anyway, there’s just a lot of talking.

Maybe not enough doing (?)

And not just doing so that we can talk about what we did on our blogs.

Just doing.

I get scolded a lot for not blogging frequently enough. I feel really flattered that anyone cares to read what I write. But lately, I feel like doing things more than I feel like talking about doing things, or talking about the things I did.

I think that’s ok. I think it’s ok for you to let your blog go dark for awhile so you can go do things.

To be honest, there are quite a few people that might benefit from taking the time to get out of their own heads for a while. To take it a bit further, there are others that would benefit from taking the time to take their heads out of their asses for awhile too. but I’m not going to talk about that today.

I’ve got some doing to do.

And I’m probably not going to report back about any of it. At least not for awhile. 😉

Later Gators.

Hello. My name is Sara. On May 20, 2010 I had brain surgery. I also have  fancy new titanium plate in my head. I’m feeling relatively badass lately.

Here’s the skinny folks. I have a brain malformation that causes the bottom most part of my cerebellum to grow out of my skull, through the forgem magnum and into/onto my spinal cord. This creates several problems. First of all, it creates pressure directly onto my brain. This causes daily headaches and migraine-like-holy-shit-headaches 2 to 3 times per week. In my case, it also caused double vision, hearing and vision loss and nerve damage. Secondly, the pressure on my spinal cord caused a serious interruption in the flow of spinal cord fluid. This caused a cyst, or syrinx, inside my spinal cord causing additional nerve damage, change in my gait, weakness in my limbs, loss of feeling in my face and partial paralysis. I have had this malformation since birth. The severe headaches began over a decade ago. I have had a headache every day for seven years. In the last 6 months I have had increased trouble with balance. Some days, it was hard to walk or hold my children.

I have been able to hide this very successfully for many years. As neurological symptoms have progressed, it became harder to hide these things. I ruined family vacations. I frequently had to back out of plans. I figured that if I could be strong enough to be a good mom and be good at my job, that it would be enough. I was totally used to it. I still had an amazing family, the world’s best friends ever, and a life that made my heart truly glad every day. Maybe it was a little harder than a healthier person’s life, but it was mine and I still loved it.

Lately, it didn’t matter how strong I was. I couldn’t be the mom I know my kids deserve. I had to put too much onto Augie. I was struggling to accomplish everything I needed to do in a day. Slowly, I was becoming so physically worn that all the positive attitude in the world couldn’t cut it.

I went back to my doctor recently and told that same story. A failed neurological exam led to an MRI. (I wasn’t too worried, it sure wasn’t my first MRI with all these headaches…) A neuroradiologist caught something that several other neurologists had missed. I had a 6mm Chiari Malformation bilaterally. My brain had escaped my skull. (Come on, this is totally badass though right?) I was referred immediately to neurosurgery. Upon further research, an earlier diagnosis of MS was finally dismissed (can you imagine how miraculous this was?!), symptoms were explained, and most importantly of all, my diagnosis was one of “We think we can help you, Sara.” not “Tough break, kid.”

It has been a long long journey. On May 26, 2010 I sat on my bed and cried tears of joy. For the first time in 7 years, I did not have a headache. I had forgotten what that felt like. I was overcome with gratitude.

I am healing now. I am 9 days from surgery and some of my symptoms are gone. (I can breathe so much better without pressure on my brainstem!) Some will stay. Some spinal cord damage cannot be repaired. (YET!) I’m ok with that. I’m ok at 90%, because with gratitude in my heart and all of the beautiful people in my life, I will achieve 125% every day.

So, that’s my story. This is the very first time I’ve told it. I’m glad to be able to share it with you.

P.S.

I very specifically asked the surgeon NOT to touch the Jackassery Lobe. He complied. Fair warning.

Also, FACT: My husband can sneak video ANYWHERE. I plan to continue to share my experience with all of you over the next months. We have captured this entire experience with wickedawesome video, photos and words. Some of it is happy, some scary, some just plain gross. But it’s all part of this journey.

I wanted to share this dailymile post from last week with folks outside the DM community. It was a bad, day, a great run, and getting a little reminder of what’s important in my life. Running does that for me. It gives me the outlet to process information and work things out in my head. It’s also where some of my best thinking (in general) and creative ideas come from. The following was one of those nights that reminded me why I run in the first place.

From dailymile.com (4.7.10):

I needed this run. By the time I got out there, it was late, cold, rainy and WINDY. I set out run off a pretty awful day. It was one of those days when you have to deal with really difficult people, make difficult and maybe frustrating choices, do what you think is right, and stand your ground. I just had a lot going on in my head. I just couldn’t let go of the frustration. And then something happened.

The following track came up on my iPod:
“Building All Is Love” by Karen O and The Kids (From the Where the Wild Things Are Soundtrack)

On the last mile of this run, tears started streaming down my face. I’m talking a real UGLY cry. Because this song instantly makes me think of my daughters. I could hear them singing and dancing around the house sing-yelling this song, as we are prone to do. It all became really, really clear.

They love me and are proud of me today, but that’s easy. They are four and six. But everyday I have to live my life to earn that same love, pride, and respect when they are 24 and 26. I think I do that. I think that if sticking to my personal and professional ethics makes for a hard day, or a disappointment in the short term, that I’m okay with that for the long haul.

Because I can come home and look at my daughters and know that I am someone they can be proud of.

So that’s what I needed. I needed to get out and RUN, and think, and put it all back into perspective.

In my attempt to be honest about things that grind-my-gears on Twitter, I’m really getting under people’s skin. While I’m not SO much of a jack-ass (although I fully admit to being one) to say things just to get people riled up, I put my opinion out there to get other people thinking. I figure, this is what I think. I do not expect everyone to agree. I do not assume I am an authority on, well, anything. I am merely expressing an opinion, right or wrong. If everything I said was agreeable to every person, I’d be a total fraud. It’s not possible to make everyone happy or to make everyone see your point of view. I’m totally ok with that.

You may not always like what you get, but you know you’ll always get me.

Recently, I expressed my opinion on Twitter about whining (and keeping the small things in perspective). I had no individual person in mind. It was more of a thinking out loud type of rant. Twitter is, among other things, a place where people like to complain. A lot. Sometimes it’s funny, sometimes it’s thought provoking, and sometimes it just gets on my damn nerves. I used SEASONAL allergy symptoms as an example in my rant. I can’t even count how many times a day people tweet about their terrible runny nose, how itchy and puffy their eyes are, how very very miserable they are. I get it. It sucks. But, my point is…that’s LIFE. And if you live a life where what you have to complain about is a runny nose, your life is pretty damned easy. Really, the point is not about allergies or any one thing in particular at all. It is about PERSPECTIVE.

I have watched too many people suffer seriously debilitating illness, injury and loss, and do so with such grace and dignity, NOT to realize how precious this life is. And to be grateful for what I DO have, even if it’s not perfect. I mean, good lord, we ALL have stuff wrong with us. Some people have it harder than others, I’m not dismissing that. I’m just saying that each of has a choice to make. You can live your life as a victim, complaining about everything wrong in your life, or you can adjust your attitude, grab a dose of perspective and say, “Hey, maybe this sucks, but I’m grateful for this life. How can I work to improve this situation?”

Be your own hero. Don’t live your life as a victim. If you are lacking perspective, just open your eyes. The world is full of true suffering: genocide, crimes against humanity, poverty, famine, incurable and vicious diseases, the list goes on. If you feel your “First World problems” are too much to bear, volunteer to help someone out who has it worse than you do. Maybe that will help you get off the complain-train and live your life with gratitude and generosity.

And before anyone jumps down my throat about how I don’t understand, blah blah blah… Stop for a moment and think before you type. Just because someone chooses not to complain about their own life, doesn’t mean they haven’t been in your shoes, or worse.

Perspective.

I love Twitter. I really do. But if you tweet on the regular, you cannot escape the gigantic amount of bullshit floating around the twitter-webs. There are many kinds. Luckily, I have found a number of tweeps that are pretty down-to-Earth, no bullshit kind of people. I like them. A lot.

So why are some people so bullshitty? They are afraid of losing friends, losing potential business, losing *GASP* followers. Every single social media expert on the planet has warned them about “damaging their personal brand”. So, they are told to keep it nice, and polite, and well, kind of boring. I’m guilty of it too. I routinely ignore things that I might otherwise respond to because I hesitate for a second and think, “Is that going to be hurtful? Will they read too much into it? Will they be terribly offended?” Then I usually just leave it be.

Even “THAT GUY”. You all known him (or her). Yeah, I have even ignored THAT GUY when what I really wanted to say was, “You irritate every single person on Twitter. Are you okay with that, or do you want to dial it back some?” We all have a THAT GUY in our streams.

NOTE:

If you don’t have a THAT GUY in your stream, it may be you. You’re welcome.

*sigh*

Twitter is one of the very first places I go for feedback, recommendations, fast, real, information. If everyone is just being nice, where does that get me? I will love you MORE for being real! Be funny! Be angry! Be YOU! (Just don’t be douche-y.)

So, in honor of the real, genuine, AWESOME conversations happening all over the interwebs, I will be taking a shotgun to my personal brand once a week.

For one night a week, Monday night to be exact, I will provide honest, uncensored “no bullshit” feedback on a particular topic. Maybe I’ll pick it. Maybe I’ll let someone else pick it. I don’t know. Whatever I feel like. I get to make the rules.

This isn’t to say that I won’t offer up my opinions, unsolicited or otherwise, during the week. This will be more direct question/answer forum.

So there it is, no bullshit.

Oh, and thanks to @TheGlenn and @TeeCycleTim. This is 100% all your fault. 😉

On the recommendation of a fellow Milwaukee beer snob, I recently read Andrew Wagner’s post, My beef with “beer snobs”, on onmilwaukee.com. The following is my response.

Whoa, brah. Dial it back a second. Don’t confuse the term “beer snob” with the term “douche bag”.

As many of my 13 readers know, I am somewhat of an authority on douchebaggery. After all, my mission in life is to stamp out douche-y behavior whenever I encounter it. What Wagner describes in his post is clearly super-douche behavior.

And I totally agree with him.

Why does anyone care what kind of beverage anyone else drinks anyway? How totally weird is that? (Very.) When someone walks into a bar and acts like a know-it-all asshat, it’s clearly done in an attempt to look special, or wicked-awesome, or… something. Sadly, it’s pretty lame and douche-y. THAT is not a beer snob. THAT is just a plain old douche bag. (Related: It’s totally ok to want to kick those people in the nards. I’m not encouraging you to do that. I’m just saying, it’s ok to feel like you want to. We all do.)

I am a self-proclaimed beer snob. I enjoy craft beer. I enjoy the amazing aromas and flavors that have been created by people who imagined a new combination of malts, hops, yeasts and spices and just said, “Fuck it, let’s give it a go then…” I enjoy beer in the same way I enjoy great food. Most real beer snobs do. We bear the title with a lot of love for delicious brew and a little bit of humor. We don’t really take ourselves that seriously, we just like beer.

That being said, anyone who knows me knows that I am a champion of the Pabst Blue Ribbon Tall Boy. *genuflects* I like it. In fact, I can dig the original recipe Schlitz too. I don’t enjoy Budweiser or Miller Lite, however, I do find a shorty High Life acceptable (meh) as a bloody mary chaser. (It is the champagne of beers, after all.)

So Andrew, I’d like to buy you a Schlitz. I’d like to have a few laughs over a few brews and show you what real beer snobs are like. I think you’ll like us when you get to know us, and there are advantages to having beer snobs for friends — we’ve always got cold beer in the fridge. 😉

Two weeks ago, I was sitting in a surgical waiting room wondering if I could possibly be losing the love of my life.

The nurses were sweet. Too nice. I hated that. I know which wives get special treatment. The ones that the nurses feel sorry for. The ones whose husbands are really, really sick. I didn’t want their coffee, food, water, or their warm blanket or their offer to sit with me until the surgeons came out. There were too many hugs. That’s not normal. I didn’t want any of it. I wanted them to be irritated that I was even a little bit worried. I wanted them to blow me off with a “This happens every day, Sugar. Now, you just have a seat and everything will be just fine.” I wanted to be anywhere but sitting in that chair, pretending that I wasn’t ready to crumble into a heap on the floor.

Two weeks ago, I rushed Augie to the emergency room. Two weeks ago, he was down to less than half his normal blood volume. Two weeks ago, no one had any idea where he was bleeding. Two weeks ago, doctors used words like severe hemorrhaging and possible malignancies. Two weeks ago, doctors sat in front of me and “wished they could give me a definitive answer”.

In the last two weeks, a team of physicians and nurses have worked to stabilize my husband and give us back some piece of mind. While we aren’t 100% there yet, Augie is on the road to recovery from this episode, and we are closer to determining the exact cause of his condition. He’s weak and beat up, but I have him back. That’s all that matters to me.

I did realize, throughout all of this, how lucky I am. I don’t need a medical emergency to appreciate my husband, to appreciate the health of my family. I consciously treasure that every day. I didn’t have to waste any time in that waiting room wondering if I show my husband enough love, or compiling a list of regrets for things unsaid or undone if I did lose him. I was able to concentrate on the only task on my to-do list as of that day:

I AM GOING TO GET HIM WELL. NO MATTER WHAT IT TAKES.

I was in full strategic planning mode. I hired and fired doctors in the space of a week. I pissed off more nurses than I can count. My only job was to be the best advocate for his care that I could be. He was weak and sedated a lot. I had to buck up, put on the “medical mustache” and orchestrate a brilliant recovery. I was equal to the task. Why? Because I love that man so fucking much. That’s why.

Augie is home now, resting and healing and ready to continue treatment. I am grateful and thankful to wake up to his face every morning.

Something else happened in the last few weeks.

So many people in our lives have quietly and lovingly come forward and supported us in some amazing ways. There are far too many to name here. Our family and friends jumped in to take over childcare, carpooling, meal planning, and carried out “Operation Keep Augie Smiling” and “Operation Make Sure Sara Doesn’t Fall Apart” with expert skill. My mother in law took charge of the girls. My mom jumped on a plane without blinking an eye. My siblings and neighbors took care of our home and our pets. My work family jumped in to make sure that my clients never felt a thing and simultaneously supported us emotionally throughout all of this. (I even had a “Director of Sara’s Nutrition” appointed.) Our Twitter family wrapped their arms around us with gifts and meals and visits and hugs (virtual and IRL). My dailymile training buddies were incredibly supportive, and continue to support me as I ramp back into a normal life and running routine. Meals have been dropped off, groceries and gifts were delivered, our kids have been doted on and distracted. But the most important thing we received throughout this: L-O-V-E. We are loved. That is the greatest gift we have ever, will ever receive.

From the most honest and vulnerable place in my heart, thank you.

The greatest thing
You’ll ever learn
Is just to love
And be loved
In return.

-Eden Ahbez

A simple formula for living a good life. Are you ready for it? Here it is:

Try not to be a douchebag.

It’s simple. But apparently, it’s hard for some people to put into practice. I would like to offer some help.

So I got to thinking. I’m not a giant douche. My siblings aren’t douchey. Maybe my parents did something right. I’ve got kids. I’d like them to grow up to be decent human beings, and it’s a total bonus if they don’t spend their childhood as tiny little jerks. I started thinking about some of the things my parents did to help prepare my brothers, sisters, and me for this big bad world, and to help us navigate our way through life without being complete d-bags. The following is a partial list of some of Paul and Shirley’s best exercises in anti-douchbaggery conditioning. Enjoy.

The Yellow Notebook.

At the age of 12, each of my father’s children was given a page in The Yellow Notebook. Need a loan? Car needs fixing? Your prom dress costs what?! No problem kid. We will loan you the money and create a new entry in The Yellow Notebook. My Dad kept a 4X6, yellow, side spiral bound, Mead notebook as a ledger of all six accounts at The Bank of My Father. He kept meticulous records, and payment terms were carefully negotiated. I am happy to say that all six children have paid off their Yellow Book loans. A number of lessons learned: live within your means–life is easier that way, some types of debt are worth it, others aren’t (it hurts more to pay back a loan for something later deemed “stupid” or “lame” or “should of thought about that before I willingly surrendered my next 5 paychecks”), and maybe the best lesson of all… appreciate the interest free loan program while you can.

The Consequences, Double Spaced.

If you screwed up in my house, your punishment came in three steps. Step One: My mother offered a verbal lashing worthy of an Olympic category. Step Two: You will wait. You will be stripped of all rights and privileges for several days while your consequences are determined. There is nothing in our family tree about right to a speedy trial. Step Three: Your consequences are presented to you, in Dad’s office. You will be handed a typed, double-spaced copy of your consequences to read along and keep for your reference, so there will be no confusion moving forward. If your behavior moving forward is contrary to the expectations outlined in the consequences, you will apply the said consequences to a period of time no less than one academic quarter. SOOOOO, what did we learn here, boys and girls?

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR ACTIONS. CONSEQUENCES ARE REAL, USUALLY IMMEDIATE, AND IF YOU CONTINUE TO BE A DOUCHEY KID, YOUR LIFE’S JUST GONNA STAY SHITTY LONGER.

Saturday Morning Chores – First Come, First Served.

Simple. Every Saturday morning the weekly chores (different from the daily chores) were posted on the kitchen board. First one up-and-at-em picks first, and so on down the line. Laziest kid gets crappiest chore. No one leaves the house on Saturday until your assigned chore is completed and approved by mom. Lesson learned: Responsibilities come before play time AND if you get your ass out of bed at a reasonable hour, you can vacuum the carpets instead of cleaning the toilets.

So, You’re Too Sick For School, Huh?

An absence during any school week means you clearly need to rest in the house for the weekend. If you are really sick, then obviously, it’s the best and healthiest decision for you. If you are a big fat faker and want to cut class, your weekend is hosed. What’s it worth to you?

This Is Not A Democracy.

I don’t think I need to explain this one.

Let Me Take You Down a Notch. (a little humility is good for you)

We teased a lot in my house, all in fun, never nasty or bullyish, always from a place of love. If any one of the eight of us started acting a little too big for our britches, the rest of our clan was there to make sure no one took it so far as to forget that humility, and open mind and heart are an important part of your character, and that being hot shit and thinking you’re hot shit are two different things. That being said, we were also incredibly supportive of each other’s true accomplishments. Bragging rights, when deserved, were respected.

Family Dinner

Crucial. Nothing in life is more important than our family. No matter how busy we get, we always have time to sit and eat a meal together. It is a regular thread that re-connects us every day. We will eat together, we will pray together, and that’s a tie that binds. Family dinner is a tradition in each of my siblings’ households today.

Does all that sound totally wacky and scary? It wasn’t. Here’s the secret. (Come closer.) In addition to the anti-douchebaggery conditioning, or collecting our paper route paychecks, my parents provided a loving, hilarious, generous, supportive and amazing family environment. All friends and neighbors were welcome in my parent’s home, and they loved coming back again and again. My parents sacrificed a lot to make sure that we had a remarkable childhood, and would grow into adults fully equipped with the tools we needed to achieve our goals — with a wicked sense of humor firmly in place.

My siblings are my best friends, I have my parents to thank for that, I think. My parents were strict, but I never, ever wondered if they loved me. My parents always believed in me. My parents sacrificed for me. My parents are a huge part of who I am today. I’m far from perfect. I’ve been known to dish out my share of jackassery. I’m trying not to screw up my own kids. I’m always afraid that I will. I’m lucky that I still have them around to help me raise their grandkids.

I love my mom and dad. I owe them everything. It is a debt I cannot pay. It’s not something that can fit in a yellow notebook.

Paul & Shirley Engagement Photo

Paul & Shirley Engagement Photo

Paul & Shirley Today

Paul & Shirley Today

Stick around. It’s going to get wacky.