The next vine

I was reading this blog and that blog tonight and realized that a lot of people have been in a "funk." Maybe there is some thing in the air. Some of the pain is physical and some mental and as we know, constant or chronic pain can also lead to depression.

Well after a while, you read enough depressed blogs and you realize one of two things: you're not alone or you have to stop reading because it is exacerbating your own depression.

There is or can be another outcome or two as well. You might find that one person has "dug out." Or maybe that person inspires you to dig out.

That is the way we are. That's what we do...human beings, I mean...we reach the end of our rope. Sometimes time and time again we reach the end of our rope and we tie that knot on the end of it and hang on for dear life.

Then there are also times when the knot just isn't good enough and we begin to slip. The rope begins to burn our hands and we think, "Well, this is it. I'm done. Surely no one would expect me to keep going now." And then right before we drop off the end of our rope, we take a leap and grab the next rope down the line.

We jump to the next rope like Tarzan flying through the jungle from vine to vine. We do it and we amaze ourselves that we could, but the thing is that we do it. We keep going. We keep fighting and trying to make our lives better. We keep aiming for that prize: Peace. Peace of mind, heart, body and soul.

Maybe we feel more often then not that the fight just isn't worth it or that it is just too hard, but that's when you have to belt out that Tarzan yell and take that leap of faith. Our struggles aren't invisible. It doesn't matter whether or not you believe in God, you just have to take that leap for the next vine. Whether or not you have faith, HE knows that you need that vine to be there waiting for you.

Jolly Old St. Nicholas

Lean your ear this way...

I'm glad for Autumn. I'm glad for the cooling temperatures. I'm glad that October is almost here and I'm glad that we are one step closer to winter.

I know that I will complain about the cold-long-six-month winter that we get annually, but this year, maybe more than any other, I long for Christmas.

I long for the gentle soul of Santa-not because of the gifts, but because of the pause and the care that people take in their relations with others-including me. I am longing for Christmas because during that short season, everyone tries a bit harder to be their best self and we surely need more of that in this world.

I do not watch the news. I have allowed myself to skim a newspaper front online, but that is all. I do not read the stories. There must be some good news out there because I hear about the good deeds of people all over the United States who have made donations to hurricane victims. I know that so many clothes have been donated that they do not know what to do with all of them. (I could launch into a rant right here, but I am going to suck it up and let it go.)

I am not disheartened-or sad-I am just lonely for the "feel" of Christmas. The lights and the peace it brings. I think when we learn to live Christmas year round, God will come back and say, "There Child, that is correct. You have learned your lesson well."

Maybe I long for Christmas because in the truest sense, it brings us a bit closer to Eden if only for the short moments. God knows that children bring more of Eden than any other gift of this Earthly life and maybe that's what I miss to. Christmas is a celebration of children. A celebration that we should hold every day. They are what is real and true and so valuable. It's hard to remember that during the 100 m.p.h. days that we live. So let's slow down and bring Christmas today-let's make a child smile or laugh or pull a child close and share a book. If anyone can bring Christmas year-round, it is a child.

A bird in the hand

My first radio personality job was at a little mom and pop station in a small northern California town. Nestled in the Cascade Mountains, it was a nice place to live and work. The owners had a gray and white male cockatiel with a yellow crest. When I was on the air, I would have him sitting on my shoulder. He would chatter and sometimes scream as they are inclined to do at times. If I was on the air and my listeners didn't hear him, the listeners would call in to make sure that he was okay.

Five or six years later, 18 year olds first grade teacher called me from school one day to tell me that he had improved greatly in his work and she wanted to reward him with a hand raised baby parakeet. I said sure and he had his first real pet. She was a sweet heart and we named her Jasmine. She was a beautiful blue.

Over the years, we added Snow White, "Snowy" as Jasmine's friend. Jasmine was the "alpha parakeet" and Snowy's personality didn't really show up until after Jasmine passed away. Snowy was very friendly and as Jasmine had, loved to sit on my shoulder as I went about my day. I loved to wash dishes with one of them on my shoulder.

Snowy died because of asphyxia. We lived in a lower flat and the upper was occupied by a heavy smoker...the smoke poured into our place and killed her. We moved.

Then we got Kiwi. She wasn't hand tame and didn't ride on my shoulder. I tried to work with her, but parakeets' bites draw blood and were very painful. Plus, I had two little kids and they needed my time more than Kiwi. Well, Kiwi passes away. She wasn't very old. Snowy lived for over five years.

Well after Kiwi, I swore off birds. Enough is enough. I mean I love them, but it is just too heart breaking. It has been a year and a half since Kiwi died.

Yesterday, I read the "Pet" section in one of the local shoppers. There was an add for a cockatiel with a cage for a nominal amount of money...$20. Well, I thought and agonized and thought some more...and then picked up the telephone and left a message.

Hannah called me and asked if I was still interested in him last night. We chatted and agreed that I would take him. I told the kids and last night we made him toys with buttons, beads, leather strings and wire. Number One Daughter took the homemade toys to show Hannah.

His name is Joey. He was a resident of an animal shelter 1 1/2 years ago and Hannah rescued him. She has eight cats, so she just couldn't give Joey the interaction and time outside of his cage that he craved.

We have two cats, but they are very afraid of birds. That is because when they were kittens, I let our parakeets peck their noses and pull their whiskers. To this day, our oldest cat Salsa rolls over in the "submit" pose of showing her neck to birds and only wants to befriend them. Snowy used to ride on Salsa's back. That thought brings a big smile to my face.

This morning, G, Number One Daughter and Little Big Boy and I picked him up. The first thing that he did when we walked in the door was whistle like a man does when he sees a pretty woman. Well that just melted all of our hearts and we have been whistling back at him like that all day.

Number One Daughter drew a picture of a cockatiel and colored it the same colors as he is. She cut the bird out, too. She said that it is not a picture of Joey; it is a picture of his friend, so that he doesn't have to be alone. I asked her what it's name was and she replied, "Mrs. Joey." Mr. Joey watched very intently as we taped his paper bride to the wall next to his cage. He seems to like her. Later Number One Daughter drew and cut out another picture of a red bird; I'm certain that it is a cardinal, so the flock of friends is growing. She has longed for another bird since Kiwi passed away, so Joey is a special treat for her, too.

An hour and a half after we brought him home, G opened Joey's cage and shortly there after, Joey flew to G's head. He has done this several times. He is sitting on my shoulder right now as I type. He talks, too. He says, "Pretty boy." But he will only say it to G. Yes, it was love at first sight. LOL.

I have taken him out of his cage several times to hold him and even hand fed him sunflower seeds, which are his favorite. He has a lot of personality, so it is an investment that has brought me great pleasure already. There is something about having a bird that I find every soothing.

He is already happy and has adjusted well to our home. We are all happy to have him hear. Yes, I mean it the way that it is spelled. Some people call cockatiels noisy, but to me, their verbalizations are music to my ears.

Laugh, Little Big Boy, Laugh

The best part about being a SAHM is being there when I need to be. Having access to my children and their needs. There are many, many conflicts with being at home, but I have loved it these past three and one half years.

The increased stress on our budget and the fact that Little Big Boy has begun preschool make it necessary for me to look for work, so interviews abound. It is a heart-breaking part of being a SAHM. I know that I am going to miss being here and being together. (See the teary eyes.)

At precisely 3:12 a.m. this morning, Little Big Boy was laughing in his sleep. He was laughing loud enough for me to hear and I couldn't resist joining in. He has a head cold and had come into our room in the middle of the night and was sleeping next to me, so I had a front row seat as he laughed joyfully in his slumber. I continued listening to him laugh and then he said, "That is so funny." I laughed louder and he laughed again and soon he was silent and his breathing became regular again.

Those are the times that make my heart sing. I realized that I would still have moments with him-even if/when I return to work. I will still hear him laugh and be able to share in his joys. I will still be able to hear him laughing in the wee hours of the morning. God knew that I needed a sign of his understanding of my plight and I have a feeling HE was tickling Little Big Boy at 3:12 a.m. just for me.

Dancing with the stars-dance off

What a farce.

I am sure that there are people who believe that some kind of justice was served up tonight in this 90 minute exploitation of advertising dollars and viewer patience, but I am not one of them.

I did not watch the show during the season. I watched a marathon or rather part of a marathon of it over the weekend. I was ill and not hiding from life...Anyway, I watched Kelly Monaco become more graceful and John Hurley become...Sigh...What is the word that I am looking for...Humorous?

John Hurley is funny. He was elegant during ballroom dancing, but at the end of the series, he just didn't have it. On the other hand, Kelly had it all-style, grace, confidence. It was wonderful to see Alec and Kelly pull off the Cinderella win.

Then there was this "dance off." Yes, tonight John and Christine or whatever her name was were much, much better, but isn't that the whole point of competition in the first place? On the right night, Kelly pulled off the win and then because someone didn't like the results, we had to do it all over again. What if the Bo Bice fans or "powers that be" had demanded a "sing off?" Good grief, the implications are staggering...

If we allowed that to happen with everything, we would never crown a Super Bowl champion, we would be competing and re-competing for everything. No World Series winner. No President of the United States.

I did not enjoy the show tonight. I never did like the co-hosts. I don't even know their names. The judges were fine, but all in all it was just a ratings ploy and a real shame. That's too bad, too, because had it been left alone, I might have watched this season for real. As it is I am sorry that I got suckered into watching it at all.

I do not watch any of the so called "reality t.v." shows. They are so much camera angles, editing and show and tell--watching Bobby Brown or Tommy Lee do anything but go to jail just does not interest me. I know better-Again. From now on, I'll just hit the power button to the off position.

Changing the litter box

This morning began like a real life.

Rise and shine at 5:05 a.m. when 18 year old let me know that it was time for his ride to work. We are sharing one car right now and it is so much fun. I mean I recommend having only one car when you have three licensed drivers, especially when all three work different shifts. It is also a lot of fun to only one car when both six year old and three year old have to be picked up from school within 15 minutes of each other and they attend school in different towns. Yep! One car is fun, but I digress.

I took him to work and then drove home. Round trip is about 35 minutes. Today is trash day, so I emptied the trash cans, gathered and bagged the plastic and aluminum recycling and got it ready to go.

Then I did something that I have only done a few times. I changed the litter box. I did it for G. I did it as a symbol of the way that I want our lives to be again. Sharing in decisions and not walking on egg shells. Sharing chores and me not relying on him to run all of the errands because I can't leave my home...My prison.

I bagged the trash, refuse, waste and recycling and realized that that is living. Life isn't about the little melodramas that we watch on television. The problems that are solved in 22 minutes-allowing for commercials. No television isn't life. Even news isn't life and most certainly "reality shows" are not life.

Life is about getting up and changing the litter box because it needs to be changed. That is as simple and base as it gets. I changed the litter box today and for some reason, it was like dumping the past, too. Right out into the dumpster where refuse belongs. A hurtful past is refuse and it takes a long time to bag it up and tie it up and toss it out.

I took care of a chore that I do not usually perform, so maybe G will take it as a sign that I am ready to get back to living. Anyway, the cat's appreciated it. Immediately after I changed it, they had to try it out. NO, I didn't clean it again.

Looking out the window

When I was in high school, I would sit on the living room sofa and stare out the window. The view was a South mountain on one side and if I sat on the other side of the sofa, the view was of the peaks were Chumash Indians once made their home.

I cannot tell you exactly what I thought about when I was staring out the window. I pondered many things. I have never lost this pastime. I stare out windows. The view isn't very important; I just stare. Of course I would prefer to have beautiful scenery or some beautiful architecture or something worth staring at, but it really wasn't necessary. I just stared.

I was staring out the window today, while fresh corn on the cob was simmering in a pot of water. I could hear the sizzle of the meat in the pan, but I was a million miles away. Exactly where I was, I do not know.

Lately when I stare out the window, I wonder am I watching life. In a way, I think that I am watching my life march by. I am not an active participant in life. I am a spectator. I once participated, but now I watch it happen.

Sometimes I watch television all day long. I can sit glued to the t.v. for five hours straight. I am a spectator in imaginary lives. I don't know why it happened or even when, really, but I have become content in waiting for something that is never going to arrive.

I am awaiting acceptance. I wait for it to come knocking at my door. I wait for it in the characters of the movies or television shows that I watch. I look for this in imaginary worlds. The strange thing is that ever since I discovered the meaning of life: the fact that I have to let go of the past-of hurts so deep and painful that I allowed them to consume several decades-basically my entire life...Ever since I realized that, I have discovered that I have not lived.

I have children. I can be a good mother. I can be a good wife. I can be many things, but while that pain consumed me, I gave up my life. Anger, betrayal, ill-placed trust ate everything that I held dear. Until now, I look around and I do not know how to live.

I do not have one friend. I gave up on friendships in high school. I have never had a friend. And this isn't about having a pity party-I am simply stating a fact. I have no one to invite over for a cup of coffee. No one to invite over for dinner. No one to call on the phone and tell that tears are burning my cheeks.

I have my children and they have been seeing me at my worst lately. Yelling. Screaming. Ignoring. I have a husband and he has been seeing me at my worst lately, too. Yelling. Screaming. Ignoring.

It is like I am fighting mad. I am angry at myself. I gave up. I finally realized the meaning of life and realized along the way that I gave up on it. I decided to settle for the television. I decided to let my kids sit in another room and watch what they want to. All I wanted was silence. No worries or concerns.

I didn't want to leave the house because people outside of my window are mean and cruel. I didn't want someone to yell, "free willy!" at me again. I do not know how to accept myself. And now...This minute...When I realize all that it has cost me to shut down, I do not know how to start living again.

The Mutha of all rants

I am all full up.

I am tired of finger pointing.
I am sick and tired of politics.
I am angry to the point of wanting to scream and if I do I am very afraid that I will look exactly like Piccaso's portrait. Just scream and scream and scream.

Now is NOT the time to point fingers. Now is the time to make sure that rescue efforts are working. It is time to insure that people are getting their food, water, clothes and a place to lie their weary heads.

I'm sick and tired of Jesse Jackson calling everything under the sun racism. Yea, there is racism in this world and it is shameful, but now is not the time to say that the color of a person's skin delayed hurricane assistance.

There was a breakdown. BUT now is not the time to discuss the breakdown. It is time to rebuild or build or house, help, hug. It is time to wrap arms around the tragedies that happened and make it right.

I'm also incredibly sick and tired of the insurance industry telling us how to survive. Telling us what to pay them for their policies and then when we need to use our insurance, they change the rules or invent additional fine print.

Insurance companies make billions of dollars. Their lobbyists are many and powerful. That is because the insurance industry can afford to pay huge sums of money to lobbyists, who wine and dine our representatives.

Well insurance companies are telling victims of Hurricane Katrina that their insurance claims will not be approved because THE HURRICANE DID NOT DESTROY THEIR PROPERTY. No say the insurance companies, a FLOOD DESTROYED their property. Thus anyone with hurricane insurance is kicked to the curb by the very insurance companies that have received premiums for hurricane insurance coverage for who knows how many years. This is nothing short of criminal.

Had there not been a hurricane, there would not have been a flood. Have you seen the cars and houses that insurance executives own? These large ticket items are purchased with money that they are stealing from good people who pay their premiums. Sky high premiums that net NOTHING OF BENEFIT.

Write to your congressmen. Threaten to cancel your insurance policies and find a company that isn't denying Katrina claims. Do this today. Do this NOW.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In 1982, I worked the floods of Marin County, California. Point Reyes was virtually destroyed. Mud and silt and I mean a wave of it flooded that beautiful town and homes were destroyed. It was no where near the devastation of Katrina, but it takes time to mobilize assistance. It takes time to move equipment and crews and supplies to devastated areas.

The crime of the Katrina devastation is that the Office of Emergency Services didn't have a plan in place to evacuate people who did not have transportation. Believe me, that will be discussed long and hard. The residents of the area who elected to "stick it out" cannot complain. There was ample warning-just not ample means for the poor to leave.

These things will be rectified. There will be better processes in place to evacuate people. You must let the system work. We must be part of the solution. Pointing fingers is only adding to the chaos.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Other than helping dig out, provide supplies and assist the victims, the biggest impact that we can have is to take the insurance companies to task for deserting the victims in their hour of desperate need. It is shameful that insurance companies get away with so much. Deny everything is their first line of defense. Then you appeal and reappeal and they hope to frustrate you and make you give up trying before you change the outcome. Well enough is enough.

No more drive through surgeries. No more denying hurricane claims by calling it something else. It is time to stop giving insurance companies our hard earned money. Are you with me? Then take pen in hand or pick up your telephone and hit them where they live-in the premium department.

Show Me the Way

Every night I say a prayer in the hope that there's a heaven
And every day I'm more confused as the saints turn into sinners
All the heroes and legends I knew as a child have fallen to idols of clay
And I feel this empty place inside so afraid that I've lost my faith

Show me the way,
Show me the way
Take me tonight to the river
And wash my illusions away
Show me the way

And as I slowly drift to sleep,
For a moment dreams are sacred
I close my eyes and know there's peace in a world so filled with hatred
That I wake up each morning and turn on the news to find we've so far to go
And I keep on hoping for a sign, so afraid that I just won't know

Show me the way,
Show me the way
Take me tonight to the mountain
And wash my confusion away
And Show me the way

And if I see a light, should I believe
Tell me how will I know?

Show me the way,
Show me the way
Take me tonight to the river
And wash my illusions away
Show me the way,
Show me the way

Give me the strength and the courage
To believe that I'll get there someday

Show me the way
Show me the way
Every night I say a prayer
In the hope that there's a heaven...

The little man

They were on the rooftop of an apartment building. One dozen, two dozen, three dozen-no one remembers how many men, women and children were there awaiting help. No one, not even the people themselves know how long they were on that roof waiting. No one knows how many prayers were said.

The water was a foot below the rooftop itself. Was it still rising? Would it begin to rise again? Would the rats escape the water and climb on the roof with the families? These questions run like a loop in the minds of the parents that are awaiting assistance.

The helicopter(s) were heard and seen many times. How do you prioritize the rescue of so many people? How do you chose which building or home or roof top you approach next or FIRST? There is no easy way to decide. You look for life, first of all and then you look for children. That is the first rule. Children first. And that is as it should be. Sometimes, there isn't room for "women and children first." Sometimes, you have to trust God in these matters.

There were seven young children on one apartment building roof. This was the next building to be evacuated-sort of. The crew communicated with the adults. "Children," they said, "We are here for the children."

The mommies and daddies mustered what little courage that they had left and kissed and hugged their little ones. They told their babies that all would be well. They told their children that they had to go ride in the helicopter alone. They told their babies that they would soon follow. They told their children that they would be there, soon. "Don't you worry, Honey," Mommy or Daddy said, "you go with these people and they will take care of you until I get back to you."

The helicopter lifted the buckets of children and then flew away. The parents huddled together. The parents waved good bye to their children. The wails of the parents were drowned out by the propeller. "Good bye, Baby! Good bye." Mommy called long after the helicopter was out of hearing range...long after it was out of sight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The line was ten miles long or was it 50? It was a mass of humanity walking toward shelter. Families marching along the road. Displaced families with nothing to their name, but the clothes on their backs. A line of refugees that is seen on television in the United States beamed from all around the world. Refugees from Tsunamis, earthquakes, war. Lines of refugees. Yet this time, the refugees in the line snaking its way toward hope is in the United States. Yes, once again images that we do not expect to see of our homeland are beamed world wide for all to see. We hang our dirty laundry out there. We show our weaknesses and our skeletons.

The line is long and it is hot. There is little if anything to eat or drink. Just keep walking, they are told. Keep moving. There is food ahead. Keep going, you will have a place to rest your head. You will have water to drink. Keep going.

In the midst of the line is a little troup of seven. The leader understands and nods his head. He keeps his group moving. "Come on," he says, "we're almost there." He doesn't know where "there" is; nor does he care. He knows that there is food, water and a bed. "They" said so. He took them at their word.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Days later, a helicopter makes it back to the apartment building. Trip after trip is made to the building and eventually all of the adults are evacuated. They have spent countless hours worrying about their children. Where were they? Who was taking care of them? Were they alright? Now finally days later...days that seemed like years later, they would be reunited.

Hours and hours later, the adults arrive in a shelter and begin looking. Their children are no where to be found. There is no record of where they are. There is no record of when they left. Records take time to prepare. There are no records. Survivors are lucky if their names are taken at all. This time, there are no propellers to drown out the wailing mother's misery.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The leader keeps marching and herding his group toward the promise of food, water and a bed. He keeps going. Then suddenly, like God slapped someone upside of the head, an emergency worker asks this little man who he is with and who is taking care of he and his friends. The emergency worker is stunned when the little man says that he is taking care of all of them. The little man is six years old.

Perhaps the emergency worker was clued in because he payed attention to the fact that the little man was carrying his four month old brother or perhaps the little group of children all under the age of five was straggling behind the rest of the line. No one knows for sure, but this little man kept these babies together. He kept them fed and he got diapers. For days, this little man was left on his own to care for these little children and they were all just fine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have not watched the Katrina coverage. It is relentless, heartbreaking and in a way a ratings ploy. When I do catch a glimpse, I burst into tears. The humanity is just too big, but when I did catch this story, I smiled. I looked at the little boy on t.v. and smiled.

There is a lot of noise coming out of Katrina's aftermath. Accusations of racism, slow response, et cetera. And there is this huge media machine latching on to the negativity as it always does. Yes, we are sure to get our daily overdose of "awful" played loud and clear on every major news organization. However, the people involved-the people directly affected by the Katrina's wrath don't need to hear that noise. They need to hear about six year old boys who keep the little kids in his building together until they can get back to their parents. They need to hear the ending to this story-as you probably have heard- The parents and children were all reunited in San Antonio. They all ended up in the same shelter.

I do not know if it was accidental or if records were finally created that made it possible for emergency management workers to locate the families and reunite them, but I know what I know: God had a hand here. He boxed someone's ears so that the little man would get help. He put the parents in a place where they would be evacuated to the same shelter.

Yes, the system is broken, but I can tell you from experience, it is not easy to coordinate assistance during a flood. Nothing moves. Everything shuts down. The system needs to be better; yes! it does and I get that. But the victims of Katrina don't need to hear how nothing is working. They need to hear stories of hope and inspiration. They need to hear about the six year old little man and his responsibility and courage. They need to take action like he did.

The system is broken or fractured, so you have to take steps to force it to work. The six year old little man did. This story of hope will give others the courage to fight to survive. Stop focusing on what isn't working and MAKE IT HAPPEN. Make the rescue effort work. Make the little man's story the lead story and not the last 30 seconds of a newscast.

God bless the victims of the flood. I pray that they will find the hope and courage that the little man has.

During times of trial

In 1970, a music group called the Brotherhood of Man released a song called: United We Stand. A few years later, the Coca Cola Bottling Company used the song in an advertising campaign. I can still see the singers climbing the mountain and singing the song.

I have not allowed myself to watch the events unfold. I cannot take anymore pain in the world. I do a little here and a little there and that is what I can do. But I know that people are hurting and that they need help. My attention right now is being paid to our troops and to fight hunger around the world. That does not mean that I do not care about the flood victims; it only means that my resources are already spread.

No matter what we do to help around the world, the important thing is that we are helping. We are trying to raise the comfort level of people who are not as fortunate as we are. I imagine that an African family from Darfur, Africa would be stunned by the size of our "portions." I have to check myself on this from time to time. I feel guilty for having so much. As long as we share the bit that we can, a child some where will have a better chance.

During times of natural disaster, loss or other extreme challenges to human souls, I recall this song. Some of the visions of the disaster relief effort in the South brought to mind the lyrics. I wish that I could have linked to a video of the commercial.

There's nowhere in the world that I would rather be

Than with you my love

And there's nothing in the world that I would rather see

Than your smile my love

For united we stand

Divided we fall

And if our backs should ever be against the wall

We'll be together,

together, you and I

For united we stand

Divided we fall

And if our backs should ever be against the wall

We'll be together,

together, you and I

And if the world about you falls apart my love

Then I'll still be here

And if the going gets too hard along the way

Just you call, I'll hear

For united we stand

Divided we fall

And if our backs should ever be against the wall

We'll be together,

TOGETHER, you and I

For united we stand

Divided we fall

And if our backs should ever be against the wall

We'll be together,

together, you and I....

Sumi-e defined

Jason was wondering what sumi-e is. This is the art of sumi-e. It is capitalizing on the use of a few brush strokes to make a picture. It is fascinating. My mom studied it when we lived in Japan. I have recently taken an interest in it and hope to become good at it. So far, I can only do little bamboo paintings. It is a beautiful art, no?