Guilt or Inspiration...

We are always too busy for our children; we never give them the time or interest they deserve. We lavish gifts upon them; but the most precious gift, our personal association, which means so much to them, we give grudgingly.

Mark Twain 1835-1910, American Humorist, Writer

He came to me

And when it really matters...when there is something that could be overwhelming and insurmountable on his own...my 18 year old came to me...to lay his burdens on my shoulder with tears streaming down his cheeks...he came to me for hope and help.

After all of my worrying and it is warranted, he knew that he could count on me. Thus, my boy knows that he wants to be a man, but that he still needs help...we had a good talk....a very good talk...after which, Youngest came upstairs and told Oldest, "I miss you," more tears in Oldest's eyes. Maybe he did "get" it all along, he just needed to come to that conclusion on his own.

Flashing

I was in my robe. It has two ties. Youngest untied the lower one this morning.

This afternoon, I am still in my robe-don't ask-I am letting our Basset Hound outside from our FRONT door. Hello. Hello. Hello. Smile to the neighbor and the people passing by. Then while on my way to the door to let our dog back inside, I realize that my 'glory' is hanging out for all to see. Good morning, America! How are you?

Field trip

Rise and shine!!!!! "Is it today already?" Number One Daughter asked excitedly. "Yes, it is!" I replied. She jumped four feet into the air and began to get ready for school. Okay, maybe it was only four inches into the air, but it seemed like forty feet, come to think of it. Excited? Oh yeah! She was going on her first real field trip. And I was sick to my stomach.

They would board the bus in little over two hours. She isn't usually up this early, but this was a special occasion. She rattled off all of the rules for the hundredth time: No skirts. No dresses. Wear a sweat shirt or spring jacket over a short sleeve shirt. She had them memorized.

They were traveling to the Children's Museum, which was about a one and a half hour bus ride from where we live. That is my problem. She was traveling all that way: alone. Solo. I know that her teacher would be there and she is more than wonderful. She is capable, sweet, encouraging, enthusiastic and loving. All the traits that make a teacher exemplary. She is wonderful and Number One Daughter is lucky to be in her class. Yet, even though I adore her teacher, I cannot shake the feeling that something was bound to happen to my little girl on that big bus. After all, it was a big metro and there would be a lot of traffic.

I needn't have worried. Everything was fine and the real measure of the field trip was when Number One Daughter ran into the house and proclaimed, "It was so great, I didn't know what to do FIRST!" I am giggling as I type it. She was happy and content...until her tiredness took over...long before bedtime. She was out of sorts and I explained to her why she was so tired. I told her she would probably dream about the museum and that was all it took! She was ready for bed so that she could relive her day.

So she sleeps with a smile on her angelic face. All is right in her world. Magic abounds. Isn't it great to be alive!

Lost post

Sigh. I had written this post at 2:30, but it is lost some where in the great void, which is disappointing. I was eloquent and thoughtful. I arrived at revelations. Isn't that the best reason to blog? Well, let me see if I can recall what I had written and I am open to other revelations and realizations.

The post was entitled "Milestones". Number One Daughter is graduating from Kindergarten in two weeks and Oldest should be walking across the senior high school stage to collect his diploma. Alas, summer school is in his future. I have discussed how he is floundering and failing in earlier posts. It is disappointing and sad. However, maybe it is like Lightfeather explained to me. She said that he is pushing me away so that he can get enough distance to leave the nest.

It is the way of it. I remember pushing my parents away. I had decisions to make and a life to live. I pushed and pushed. Sometimes, I look back with regret, but mostly, I think I look at it as spreading my wings.

So perhaps that is what my son is doing. He has gotten off course, but he is trying like crazy to be a man. I cannot fault him for that. And when I think about his actions as getting him off of his true path, into trouble in his classes, it is easier to look at it with perspective.

If he is off of his path, I can try to help him find the wind to refill the sails. I can point him that way over there and try to take a spectators seat instead of an officer at the helm. It is a difficult role to reliquish, but a necessary one.


He is going to have to learn to sail this ship. He is going to have to make his mistakes and live with the consequences of his decisions. I can hug him when he falls, but I can't pick him up anymore. It is time for me to stand back and let him get to his feet on his own. Like a man.

Happiness

If you want happiness for an hour – take a nap.

If you want happiness for a day – go fishing.

If you want happiness for a month – get married.

If you want happiness for a year – inherit a fortune.

If you want happiness for a lifetime – help someone else.

Chinese Proverb

Aurora's babies Part IV

Ah she is determined, this mommy. She is holding on by threads of life that are thin, but very strong. Her maternal instinct is so very strong that not even nine months of starvation can take her away from her hatchlings. No, she will not leave them, not yet.

Mommy octopi spend seven months protecting, washing and defending their young. So Aurora, has gone without any real sustenance for almost nine months. Her eggs began to hatch very slowly; incredibly slowly because after all, the workers thought that the eggs were sterile. Ah, but what a surprise and miracle.

As Aurora continues to wash the unhatched eggs, they continue to hatch. At last count, there were over 1,000 hatchlings and they were beginning to feed on crustations and other food supplied by the Alaska SeaLife Center staff.

According to reports at the Center's website, the hatchlings haven't changed in appearance, but they expect to begin photographing them again this week. I look forward to seeing Aurora's babies. She is still the good mommy; never leaving the eggs unattended. She is doing her maternal duty. She is a mother in love with her babies and she is hanging on to see each and everyone before she passes away.

There is no room for sadness here. Aurora is giving her babies a great start. She is insuring that the eggs are in good condition until they hatch. She is watching, washing and waiting. She is a mommy and a miracle in one breath...defying science to see her young hatch. She is a tentacled miracle giving her babies water wings to carry them on to their motherhood and beyond.

It is hard to be 18

I am unhappy to the core of my being.
Not so much so that I do not enjoy the laughter of my little ones, but
to the point that my oldest is floundering and pushing everyone away in anger.
Hastily. Rudely...unendingly.

I know this pain.
It is hard to be 18.
He wants to be in charge.
He thinks that he is in charge,
but the things that he is in charge of
aren't worth the effort that he is giving them.

He doesn't see this.
He is going to enlist.
How I wish that he wouldn't.
It is his answer to the anger that he cannot escape.
He thinks that I am angry with him all of the time; yet, he doesn't see that he has a role in it.
It is immaturity, I think.

Discipline?
I do not like hitting or spanking for obvious reasons.
There is little that I can do to discipline him now. He won't accept my decisions as a parent.
It's my life. That is the best that he can offer.

I am making him pay rent now.
This made everything worse. Of course it would,
but if he isn't going to listen to me and follow the rules,
then he is a tenant in my house.
I do not know anything else to try. Ever since his 18th birthday, he has decided that he makes the rules and the decisions.
Insert very heavy sigh.

If he could see himself and what I hope for him through my eyes,
he might stop battling me so hard.
He might realize that all I have ever wanted was for him to be happy
and successful.

The world could be at his feet, but he can't seem them.
There is too much darkness escaping his mind. Too much turmoil.
I pray that he finds the light that will lead him out of the black and into the golden possibilities.

71 degrees

Hip, hip hooray!
Time to go and play...
It's gonna be sunny all day!!!
Hip, hip, hooray!!!

Bubbles, kites or helium balloons any thing that flies!!!!
Elvis has left the building!

My nephew...

has been accepted at Texas A & M University!!!!

Shed our skin

I do not know where I am going.
I don't know if I am where I should be or
if I should be moving
forward,
sideways,
backwards.
I do not know.

There are times when I feel like things are as they should be, but more often than not, I am wondering if this is the right place and time.

I am searching for balance. I am wondering when I will be ready.
Ready for what?
I do not even know that, but I have an idea.
Is it fair to want to be first?
Is it better to be last?

I am searching for answers, but only finding more questions. I am looking for my life, but only see the results of the past. I see my first child floundering and wonder how I can spare my little ones the same pain. I look at my husband and wonder what happened to my friend? I wonder if he asks himself the same question.

It's like being a snake...the time rolls by...then we stretch and grow, but we do not grow in one piece. We have to shed our skin...only then can we move on...only then can we truly grow.

She part III

She arrives at work. She says hello to everyone and collects her messages, production requests, etc. She is the afternoon drive radio personality. She sees the office managers and says hello. She stops to chat with one. The one friend notices the deep bruises on her arm and leg. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were a battered woman," she says with conviction. She laughs to deflect attention and then she heads down the hallway to the production room. She sits in the chair before the microphone and turns it on. The "on-air" light is on in the hallway-no one will enter. She rests her head in her hands. She is shaking.

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

Her baby can walk now. She has been in therapy for some time, exercising demons that have been buried in her mind, in her heart, in her soul. Yes, many, many monsters have played a role, but they are not as big or powerful as they once were. There are many flashbacks to experience, many years of therapy ahead of her, but after one session in the middle of the week, she calls an airline. She has plans.

She picks up her phone and dials a long distance number-the one friend has moved to Illinois, too. The one friend answers the phone. She is shaking. She finds it hard to breathe. She takes a deep breath and says, "Remember the time at the station in Wyoming when you said if you didn't know better you would think that I was a battered woman? Well it is true. I am a battered woman. I have airplane tickets. I depart O'Hare at 8:00 a.m. Can you come and get me and take me to the airport?" The one friend says yes, of course! She will be there at 5:00 p.m. the next night.

There is nothing to say. She packs what she can carry and waits for her one friend. She has the carseat, clothes and the little boy. She must save the little boy. The one friend arrives at 5:00 p.m. The one friend loads the baby into the car. She lingers at the front door. She gets into the car and the one friend asks if she is okay, "No," she says shaking her head. The one friend holds her while she cries. Then they roll out of the driveway and she doesn't look back.

The one friend takes her to the airport and she and the baby are at the curb. She looks at the one friend and says, "thanks," as she begins to cry. Yes, thanks for helping me. Thank you. She is crying, but it isn't because she is leaving him. It is because she is grateful to have one good friend. One good friend to help her escape this painful life. One good friend to help her begin anew. She has only just begun.

She part II

She can't remember why he is hitting this time. He is using great force. She retreats to the bedroom, but he follows close behind. She falls to the bed and is actually sitting on the edge. He lands another blow to her head and she falls back, stunned. He is talking to her, but she can't hear the words. There is a huge noise in her ears. She doesn't recognize it, but likens it to "white noise." Loud with no real purpose. It makes everything fuzzy, too. He sits next to her and shakes her shoulder. She doesn't move and closes her eyes. He cradles her head and call her name, but she keeps her eyes closed and allows her body to go limp. He thinks she is unconscious. He leaves the room with her lying there. She doesn't move and realizes that she can fain unconsciousness and he will leave her alone. This is a useful revelation.

~~~~~~~~

She is in the kitchen making a cup of tea. He is in the bedroom smoking pot. He is leaving and she is happy. Before he leaves, he lights charcoal in the grill. He will cook meat when he returns. He is going to a farewell bash at a bar. He is going to drink.

She is sipping tea and reading a book while the baby is sleeping in his room. She looks up and stares into his room for no particular reason. Then she realizes that smoke is rolling out of the vent near the baby's room. She drops her book and runs toward the baby's room. As she passes the kitchen, she looks toward the back door. Flames! The house is on fire.

She retraces her steps and calls 9-1-1. They ask her question upon question. She finally screams in fear, "I have to get the baby out of the house!" Yes, the operator tells her get out of the house!

It is December 18th and there is a dusting of snow on the ground and the sun has set. She bundles her three month old in two baby blankets. She rushes outside. A volunteer firefighter rushes past her as she moves away from the house. The flames are above the roof. She holds the baby close and she stands there staring at the fire.

A woman from next door comes out and invites her into her home. "Come get warm," she says soothingly. "No," she says, "I'm waiting here. Would you call the bar? Tell him the house is on fire." The woman comes back soon and wraps a heavy blanket around the baby's mommy. In her rush to get the baby out, she didn't grab a coat or shoes for herself. The neighbor brings a pair of wool slippers, too. She looks at her neighbor gratefully. "Funny," she says to herself, "I didn't even know I was cold, coatless and shoeless." It is called disassociation; it has been her lifeline since before her first childhood memories.

He arrives and says that she looks like a commercial for homeowners insurance and he laughs. The fire is out soon. The firemen are rolling hoses. "You are lucky," they say, "the fire started next to the furnace. The gas might have exploded."

The firemen are taking the huge fans out of the house. There is a lingering smell of smoke, but it isn't as heavy as she thought it would be. She has placed the baby back in his crib and she says a silent prayer of thanks. The baby is safe. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

She sits on the couch and stares into space. The firemen are worried, "Are you okay? Hey, are you okay?" Three firemen are staring at her and she realizes that they are talking to her. Others exit her bedroom with a strange look on their faces. One of them is talking to him. After they are done talking with him, he looks at her with scorn. She shivers.

The firemen leave and he begins yelling, "Why didn't you put the stuff away?" He left his pot on the bed in plain view. The firemen found it. It is her fault. He is hitting her again. She doesn't feel a thing. He is hitting her, punching her. He lands a kick on her leg. It bruises immediately. She keeps thinking, "The baby is safe. Thank, God, the baby is safe." She doesn't feel the punches. It is called disassociation. It is a good defense. She learned it before she could walk or talk. There have been many monsters in her life.

She

She is running from the mobile home. The six month old baby is in the truck buckled into his carseat. The man is getting closer. She gets behind the wheel, but he is already there, pulling the door open.

He punches her in the head, the arm, the face...any where that he can land a punch. He tells her to get out of the truck, but she has the keys in the ignition. She knows if she can turn the ignition on and coax the truck forward, she will escape the beating...escape it all of it for the last time. "Get out of the truck," he shouts, but she is still trying to break free. She is trying to start the engine while dodging and blocking the punches. The baby is crying. She is yelling for him to leave her alone.

He grabs one of her legs and pulls her out of the cab. He has both of her ankles and she lands hard on her backside with nothing to break the fall. Tears are streaming down her cheeks. Her baby is crying and she is trying to get up. He is kicking her, while he tells her, "Look what you made me do." Yes, look what she made you do.

She finds her feet and crosses to the other side of the truck. She takes the baby out of the carseat and she makes him a bottle. She rocks the baby gently while singing, Edelweiss. Her baby falls asleep peacefully. She rocks him for hours, promising him that it will not always be this way.

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

She is hanging laundry in the backyard. She doesn't know that he is there. The baby is asleep in the house. Suddenly, something lands in the grass next to her. Boom! A fire cracker. Then it begins to rain fire crackers. She can hear him laughing, while she is begging him to stop throwing them. He laughs and tosses them endlessly. She pleads for him to stop, but he thinks it is so very funny. So very, very funny.

~~~~~~~~~~~

She is sleeping hard and the baby is in his crib. Suddenly, she jumps awake. He is punching her in the head. "Get up and go see what that noise is," he says between punches. "What is happening," she asks meekly and then she hears the noise, too. Someone is in the house. "I'm scared," she says in a whisper, but he keeps hitting her and telling her to go find out who is in their house. It is the landlord. The baby is fine. She is dizzy.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Stark reality

The Sudan in Africa is no stranger to civil war and hunger. Starvation is going to become the number one killer in Darfur. Yes, even above violence. (Darfur has been the subject of ethnic genocide. If you are unable to read about it, watch Tears of the Sun, which stars Bruce Willis and Monica Belluci in this scene, they are looking out the door of a blackhawk helicopter and seeing the bodies of people murdered. Shortly after this view, Willis orders the pilot to turn around and so begins a tale of survival during the ethnic cleansing.)

Darfur is entering the rainy season, which will make it much more difficult to get food to the residents. Some experts say that a famine is a given in the region where starvation is already killing children every minute of every day.

I'm sorry, but these pictures are haunting me. I am sharing them with you because there is a very easy way for us to help and it is free... please click to donate food. Each time that you click, a portion is donated for food distribution. Please do it every day.

Click to Feed the Hungry

Dear God,
Please forgive me for complaining about anything in my life.

You provide for us each day.

Help us to not waste food.

We know hunger, but not starvation.

Thank you for your blessings.
Undeservingly your daughter,
With love,
Renee

Rosie...

May16_004,
originally uploaded by Rosie O'Donnell.

I saw this on Ro's web page... she is looking yellow again. I know that she isn't fond of dressing up or having make up on...but she looks so pretty and content...she is getting her yellow back. That makes me happy...

American Idol

Well I agree with Simon on something. That is scary. I think Bo is going to be the next American Idol.

Bo Bice-Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me--oh my gosh...spingles...total spingles!!!!!
Badlands tune...it didn't do it for me...I prefer the emotion of the band.
Satisfaction-good...really took it home.

Carrie Underwood-Crying---oh my gosh more spingles...more spingles;)
Making Love Out Of Nothing At All---WOW. A show stopper. Really great job.
Man! I Feel Like a Woman-wow! good job

Vonzel Solomon-I can't remember the name of it, but it was awesome.
Chain of Fools---awesome, fun song...made me want to dance!
On the Radio-great. She had a lot of fun.

It was a lot of fun. Bo is going to win. I really haven't doubted it. I like his music. It's funny, too because I think he needs a haircut and I am not partial to his rock n roll style, but he is just versatile and wonderful.

I like Carrie, too, but she doesn't have the range that Bo has shown. Vonzel is having fun, but it is too late. She has a great voice and was having fun tonight, but she is the weakest link. Good bye!

The winner

It's getting late by most people's standards. All of my kids are sleeping. As usual, Bassett Hound that we rescued is snoring the loudest of all.

I am dreaming about the future, which is a luxury that I don't allow myself these days. It is more than a luxury, though. It is a necessity. It is very easy to forget to dream in this 100 miles per hour world.

Right now, I am longing for a caramel macchiato, which is my favorite beverage. There is a coffee shop about two blocks away and they make an incredible drink--a latte with attitude.

It is one of my favorite drinks to sip when I am in this mood. G is still at work. Hooray, he had finals today!! He will be taking summer classes, too, but it will be calmer around here for several weeks. He is studying for his second degree. He has about two and one half years to go. He is a "special" student...too old to take more than eight credits per semester, which I think is unfair, but they have to keep the classes open for incoming freshmen.

When he is finished with school, he will be a supervising RN. He will repay the hospital for the scholarship by working for them per a contract that he signed before he began classes. It is all very neat. Hospitals are in such dire need of nurses, that they will pay for the schooling. Then you owe them "x" number of years in return. A very good deal-a great way to pay for schooling, too.

Ultimately, G is going to teach. He loves science and math, which is good because I do not. Well, it isn't that I don't like them, it is that I am not good at them. And that isn't even the truth, really...

I was in the third grade. During the course of the day, we would have addition races at the chalk board. I always lost...always. I couldn't add in my head, but one day, the teacher gave me a problem with a lot of fives in it. "Fives are easy!!" I shouted to myself. Well, my teacher got distracted, but I won. "I won!!!!" "I won. I won. I WON!!" I was so happy...after what seemed like a lifetime, I had won the race at the board.

After the teacher was no longer distracted, she asked the class who had won. Everyone said MY name..."I won. Me!!! R!!!! I WON!" Yep, they all said my name, to which my teacher replied, "That's impossible."

Red2Alpha-Baghdad, Iraq

Red2Alpha is a husband, son and soldier. He is deployed in Baghdad, Iraq. He is a sergeant and he lives each day with suspicion and suspense. I say suspense because to say that he lives in fear doesn't pay homage to his courage as a soldier. Every minute on patrol, he is surrounded by suspicion and suspense, his, theirs, that of the soldiers in his squad. Is that car carrying a suicide bomb? Are they shooting at us? Then there are the answers: No, they are not shooting at us; they are firing guns into the sky to celebrate a wedding. Then, Red2Alpha wonders when firing guns became the best outlet for celebration in Iraq.

He started the blog so that his wife would be in contact with him. His parents and wife comment, as do a lot of other readers. It is a difficult read in that it describes war, but it is interesting because you get a view of the war-an honest and unadulterated view. You will not find the supposed "objective" view of a war correspondent. This is raw and real.

His blog has gotten a lot of recent press attention. His blog is called: This is Your War. I wouldn't say that he is against the war; nor would I say that he is in support of the war, but like a good soldier, he is following his orders. Actually it is more than that; he is doing what he sees as his duty. He is trying to make a difference in a land far away from home.

There is a paragraph in which he tells people who comment on his blog that he is out of control to take a hike. Granted, he says it with some explicit language, but I agree with him. Why read a blog if you don't agree with the writer--well that isn't what I mean really. What I mean is if the blog only elicits negative feelings, you are NOT doing yourself a service by reading it. It is not only that someone leaves negative comments, it is that it takes a lot of energy to be negative. It takes a lot of energy to disagree just to disagree.

War isn't pretty. The attitude or defenses of a soldier should be accepted. These-the soldiers-are for the most part kids-recent high school graduates. Red2Alpha is not a child, but he is out there watching boys carry out duties that most grown men would abhor. I am not going to presume to tell him that he needs to "chill out" or "stop swearing." If boys can carry our guns and fight for our freedoms, then they can do what they need to do to survive it. And once they get home, we have an obligation to help them live with the horrors that they saw and/or participated in. It is time to take care of our soldiers again. Admit that there are diseases that are borne in war and treat the symptoms and help our boys heal.

In Vietnam, there is a prevalence of birth defects linked to Agent Orange. Yet, our government spent decades saying that there wasn't any proof that Agent Orange caused illness. If our high school graduates are old enough to follow the orders of our government, they are old enough to be given their due: good and proper health care, including physical and mental help.

We need a different word to describe "mental illness." When you utter the word "mental" an image flashes in your mind. These boys are not "mental." They suffer from flashbacks. They need EMDR...do they even know it exists? Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. It works; I know this because it has helped me deal with horrors-it disarms them. Do they know that it can save their lives? We have an obligation to inform them of every weapon that exists that can help them overcome any problems or diseases of war. These are boys...Heaven help us, we are talking about boys...with more courage than some grown men.

(click on the title of this post to navigate to Red2Alpha's blog)

River of Dreams~Billy Joel

In the middle of the night
I go walking in my sleep
From the mountains of faith
To the river so deep

I must be lookin' for something
Something sacred I lost
But the river is wide
And it's too hard to cross

even though I know the river is wide
I walk down every evening and stand on the shore
I try to cross to the opposite side
So I can finally find what I've been looking for

In the middle of the night
I go walking in my sleep
Through the valley of fear
To a river so deep
I been searching for something
Taken out of my soul
Something I'd never lose
Something somebody stole

I don't know why I go walking at night
But now I'm tired and I don't want to walk anymore
I hope it doesn't take the rest of my life
Until I find what it is I've been looking for
(Two beat Pause)

In the middle of the night
I go walking in my sleep
Through the jungle of doubt
To the river so deep
I know I'm searching for something
Something so undefined
That it can only be seen
By the eyes of the blind

In the middle of the night

(break)

’M’not sure about a life after this
God knows I've never been a spiritual man
Baptized by the fire,
I wade into the river
That is runnin' to the promised land

(Long Four beat Pause)

In the middle of the night
I go walking in my sleep
Through the desert of truth
To the river so deep

We all end in the ocean
We all start in the streams
We're all carried along
By the river of dreams
In the middle of the night

"Far away there in the sunshine are my highest aspirations.

I may not reach them, but I can look up and see their beauty,

believe in them and try to follow where they lead.

~Louisa May Alcott

1832-1888, American Author

Tears in Mommy's Eyes

Tears in Mommy's Eyes

She awoke early to prepare breakfast for Mother's Day.
She liked to do this every year because it took Mommy's breath away.
Today it would be cereal with milk and toast with jam,
Without assistance, she couldn't make Mommy's favorite: scrambled eggs and ham.

She handmade a beautiful card with hearts and x's and o's
And a verse that said, "I love you, Mommy, from my fingers to my toes."
She ran outside to collect yellow daffodils and dandy lions for the little vase.
She knew that the splash of color would bring a smile to Mommy's face.

She gave it all to her Mommy and Mommy began to cry
Because mommies presented with such love cannot accept it with a dry eye.
"Oh, Laura, thank you so much," is what her Mommy said,
While her Mommy hugged her gratefully for the gift of breakfast in bed.

Later in the day, Laura went to ride her bike with Krystal from next door
Krystal and Laura were inseparable from the time that they met and forever more.
They went to a local park a perfect place to play
Happy children belong playing in parks on Mother's Day.

Yes, little Laura and Krystal were enjoying being together in the park,
But an ogre, a troll, indeed Satan, caught up with them in the dark.
Laura's father's eyes were hardened by hatred it can be guessed
How else could you explain the slaughter of a daughter he should have loved best.

Two babies died in the park with blows delivered by a violently evil man
Krystal even tried to save Laura, which became her last stand.
Yes two babies lie dead in the park, stab wounds in each of Laura's eyes.
Jerry Hobbs killed his daughter and her friend while listening to their cries.

She awoke to prepare breakfast on this Mother's Day,
But with extreme violence and hatred, her life was taken away.
Mother's Day began with tears in Mommy's eyes,
She isn't alone, when babies are murdered, even God cries.

The battle on Towns Court

I was in the eighth grade. My older sister was a high school freshman. My brother was in sixth grade and my little sister was in the fourth grade. We were new in the small hispanic town. Dad had just retired from the United States Marine Corps; a 21-year man!

We liked this small California town. We had spent one year visiting Central and Southern California towns before my parents settled on this former "Citrus Capitol of the World." We watched the house go up. We even walked through the framing before the walls went up. We walked up the stairs before the banister was there. We were there before the curbs, trees and neighbors moved in.

Juicy navel orange and tart lemon groves, as well as avocado groves surrounded our town. There were lemon groves right behind our home. The neighborhood kids would play in the groves. We would pick up rotten fruit and have fights in the groves. Ah! The fun we had in those groves, but we longed for cleaner fun, too.

We had a plan, my siblings and I. We invited our friends from all over the neighborhood to our house. Kids came from blocks and blocks away. The time was set and we made preparations. Then, at the appointed time, kids came from both directions, we lived on the curve of a horse shoe. There were only four houses on our street.

One group came from the north and one from the south. In the middle of the street was a large outdoor trash can filled with water. I take that back, there was one trash can or two, or maybe even 50 of them. In the water was our ammunition. Hundreds, thousands or was it a million water balloons filled and ready!

I don't know who started running to the ammo first or who threw the first balloon. I don't even remember which team won. Oh heck, I don't remember the names of the kids on the teams, but I do remember the street was littered with pieces of balloon. The street was soaked and so were we! Every kid for blocks and blocks was there. Every balloon in town had been purchased for the fight...or was it every balloon in the county? Hmmm. Anyway, we were drenched.

Yep, there were little bits of broken balloon all over the street. Afterwards, everyone stayed to help pick up the remnants, or was it the losing team? Maybe it was just my brother and sisters and I. No longer do I recall, but I do know that on that street on that day, every kid for blocks came to our house. We battled for an hour or was it four hours? Yes, we battled and had the time of our lives.

There are two ways of exerting one's strength: one is pushing down, the other is pulling up.

~Booker T. Washington, 1856-1915,

American Black Leader and Educator

We can do something

"We cannot do everything at once, but we can do something at once."

~Calvin Coolidge, American president

Ranting

1. Are the Army and Marine Corps publicizing their lack of achieving recruitment goals to spur discussion of a draft? I offer this up only as a topic of conversation. Remember that I am a Marine Corps brat through and through, but I also have an 18 year old son.
2. Why would a father stab his daughter to death?
3. What kind of monster murders HIS daughter AND her best friend?
4. What kind of heathen pretends to find the bodies with his father-in-law? Satan, thy name is Jerry Hobbs. He is a dead man walking. There is an honor system in prison. If you kill or molest children, you are dead. He will suffer. Why is that thought pleasing at this moment?
5. What are the two main things that you should NOT do if you are depressed? a. read, watch or listen to news; read, watch or listen to television evangelists. Both are dooms day sayers.
6. What is my thought for today? We are NOT amused.

Maternal instinct runs deep

It is a dark night and it is still in town. The lights in the houses are off and there are no noises coming from within. Someone slips through the darkness with a package under one arm. Someone is walking with purpose in the night like a thief on a mission to steal other's belongings. But it is not stealing that this Someone has on its mind...no not stealing...this person has a much darker purpose. Tonight, Someone is thinking about murder.

Someone walks for a long, long time into a forest in Kenya. In the silence, Someone, we do not know the gender or description of Someone, but we know that they were carrying a secret with them into the forest. It is beyond silent in between the trees and over-growth. Nothing stirs, as if Mother Nature and all of her charges are aware of what is about to take place. Even Angels are shocked by what is about to transpire, for Angels love children and especially babies above all else.

Someone has been looking over its shoulder all night to make sure no one is following it. Someone doesn't want to be seen because Someone knows that this is a crime. Someone takes its package and tosses or lays it down near the base of a tree. Someone watches the plastic wrapped filthy shirt for a few moments and then retreats back to the town. Someone hangs its head in shame, or at least it can be hoped that Someone was shamed by what it had just done. In the lonely dark forest, there is no one to listen to the cries of a newborn girl. The baby knows that crying is what it should do, but the cries are futile. The cries echo in the darkness. It is hoped that Someone could hear the cries and is haunted by them...Someone should be haunted by the cries for as long as life fills its lungs. The baby's lungs are still working. She breathes, but how long will the oxygen last inside the filthy shirt and plastic that are wrapped around her?

Time passes in the forest and no one knows how long the baby lay resting under the tree. There are noises in the night: the howl of a coyote or wolf or two, the questions asked by the owl in the great hollowed stump. Yes, the forest is wakening; the nocturnal animals are coming out to feed, which means predators will be hunting, too. Yes, carnivores rule the night in the forest.

A four-legged creature sniffs the plastic and the filthy shirt. Is it a wolf? Coyote? No it is a stray dog. A female with teats filled with milk; she has given birth to a litter of puppies. She picks up the bundle and carries it into the night. Is she looking for food for her puppies? Stray dogs are used to foraging for food; they hunt when necessary.

The stray follows her path back to the town. Whether or not it is the same town where the baby was born only Someone knows, but the dog carries the baby to a fence...a barbed wire fence. She takes the baby gingerly through the barbed wire. Not a scratch. The dog carries the baby to a rusted metal shed and lies her down gently next to her puppies. Yes, this mommy knows a newborn cries because it needs something. This mommy knows that this baby needs a home and care.

Two boys are playing in their yard the next day and hear a baby crying. They don't understand why it sounds so close. They run inside to get their mom. They all search near the rusted shed and the baby is found. Their mom washes the baby and cleans the umbilical cord with alcohol. She then takes the baby to the police station from there, the baby is taken to the hospital. She is named Angel by hospital staff. The baby is in good health. Angel ate greedily from several bottles and is resting comfortably. Thousands and thousands of people are phoning in to offer to adopt Baby Angel. Gifts are being sent.

Maybe Someone wishes that it had taken the baby to the hospital and given it up for a good home. Maybe Someone is crying. Maybe Someone is glad that Angels were watching over the filthy package left in the forest. Perhaps the stray will be adopted by the family that raises little Baby Angel. That would be a fitting reward for that mommy.

Crying yellow....

sculpting,
originally uploaded by Rosie O'Donnell.

I may be way off base, but this piece of Rosie's work looks like she is crying yellow. It is all black and sad. I know that Rosie likes black, but this painting looks far from happy. Her comments were turned off yesterday, too, so it makes me think that there is a lot of trouble in her heart which is unfortunate.

I hope that I am wrong about my interpretation of her painting, but I fear that I am spot on, which is a tragedy, really.

Rain days...

The best laid plans...ha! Well, it stormed for the better part of the day. Last time I looked at the forecast, it was supposed to be sunny and near 70 degrees. Okay, that was two days ago, but I am not a fan of the weather channel. As an aside, Alisha loves to watch the weather channel. She is fascinated that people can tell us what to wear. Stop laughing. I am letting her hold on to that for as long as she can-we know the truth about the weather.

Anyway, it stormed all day; in fact, it is raining right now. Inasmuch as we are not Ben Franklin and we do believe that electricity will pass through the string of a kite, Troy and I didn't get to fly kites, but I think what we did was more fun. My parents sent a care-package and we received it Monday. I had gone through it, but most of the items were still in the box. Troy pulled out one of many videos that Grandma and Grandpa sent and he asked if he could watch it. Sure! Then I snuck back over to the box and took out two small rectangular packages that went with it.

The video is an instructional tape on playing the harmonica. Oh we had so much fun! Troy called it singing. We called my parents and Troy sang for each of them. In fact, when my mom answered the telephone, she cracked up because Troy was already singing away. When my dad got on the phone, Troy sang again for him. My parents were very charmed and that made me happy.

Inside the little rectangular box that the harmonica comes in, there are directions for playing the instrument. There are also the notes for playing, "When the Saints Go Marching In." Well I can play the first two lines very well, but without tempo. Then somewhere in the middle of the song, someone else comes marching in and I don't know who they are, but they are tone-deaf. There is absolutely no way that the first part of the song belongs to the middle part of the song. However, near the end, the other guys take off and here come the Saints again-still tempo-less, but Saints nonetheless.

Well we didn't fly kites, but our notes rose to the occasion. We played and sang and then played and sang some more. There was a bit of excitement in the late afternoon because of tornado warnings, but mostly, we sang on the harmonica. I guess it was especially pretty, too because that ole tornado, savage beast that it is, calmed right down when it heard our music. So it must have been good...or maybe I have stumbled on the one weapon that will tame tornadoes. Wonder who I should call about that?

Our Mike 7 Jan 70 - 7 May 99~ Forever 29

In Memoriam:

Mike W. B.

7 Jan 70 - 7 May 99

Said the night wind to the little lamb,

do you see what I see?

Way up in the sky, little lamb,

do you see what I see?

A star, a star,

dancing in the night

With a tail as big as a kite

With a tail as big as a kite

Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy,

do you hear what I hear?

Ringing through the sky, shepherd boy,

do you hear what I hear?

A song, a song, high above the trees

With a voice as big as the sea

With a voice as big as the sea

Said the shepherd boy to the mighty king,

do you know what I know?

In your palace warm, mighty king,

do you know what I know?

A Child, a Child shivers in the cold

Let us bring Him silver and gold

Let us bring Him silver and gold

Said the king to the people everywhere,

Listen to what I say:

Pray for peace, people everywhere!

Listen to what I say:

The Child, the Child, sleeping in the night

He will bring us goodness and light

He will bring us goodness and light

Kites

Mr. Dick's kite,

Today we must fly a kite. Jumbled thoughts are grounding my soul. I know if I give the phantoms, ghosts and monsters flight that I will exercise them from my heart.

Every now and then, we have to re-examine our terrors. You know why? Because they are always with us and we have to accept them. They after all helped us become the people that we are supposed to be.

In my mind, I see it as looking at a rock. I know all of the crags and chips...I know every surface, but each time that I examine it, the rock gets smaller. Ultimately it won't hold me down with its weight any more. I look forward to that day and try not to rush it along. So today, I will give air to the thoughts that are troubling me and Troy will enjoy the sunshine and flight. Yep, today is looking up.

Ole! Fiesta por vida!

Ariba!! Fiesta!!!!
Mi casa es su casa y mi comida es su comida!

Feliz Cinco de Mayo

My mother is Mexican,100% and today is the celebration of Mexican Independence. Go out and have a fiesta. Today, I'm going to make homemade tortillas, flour ones, which is a technique passed down by generations. My grandma made them in her hand, no rolling pin; she flattened them and spread them into a circle with her two hands. I loved my grandma. My mother's real name is Maria de Jesus. It is a beautiful name. I wish that I had a rich Mexican or Cherokee name.

When I was in junior high school, I had a friend named Luz, which means light. She was very pretty to me, but she also had the look of someone who had been raised on the land doing hard labor. I'm glad that she migrated to the United States where schooling is a requirement. When I called her name or said, "Hi, Luz!" Her smile was so big and genuine. If nothing else, she knew how happy I was to see her.

She could not speak English and the real tragedy is that I could not speak Spanish. See it was thought better that I not learn Spanish so that I wouldn't be discriminated against. Is that sad? I look so "American" that I am not discriminated against, but like nearly every resident of Central North America, I have some of a lot of nationalities in me.

In 1957 or 1958, my dad took my mother to Missouri to meet his family. My mom and dad were walking in a park and my mom stopped to take a drink out of a water fountain. My dad stopped her, "Mary, that is a 'black's water fountain." Horror of horrors...my mother drank from a water fountain that had been designated for blacks only.

Yes, I wish that I looked Hispanic because I believe that I am not one to tolerate prejudice and injustice. I am not one to sit on the sidelines and watch while people are killed for their beliefs or attacked for no other reason than the color of their skin or the differences in their family structure or religion.

I hope that I would be like Rosa Parks and sit up front in the bus regardless of the reactions of others. I hope that like Rosa Parks, I would know without a doubt that not only do I belong on the front of the bus, but I was willing to lead the parade to be there. Truth be told, no one belongs at the back of the bus by design, not even the whitest man in the room; because, if we define our country that way, then we have lost the real war. We might as well put the Statue of Liberty in storage.

So on this Cinco de Mayo, I wish that my skin and hair were darker and that I could speak the languages of my ancestors: both Cherokee and Mexican and French, Dutch, German... For now, I have decided to change my name. You may call me: Awadahy, which is Cherokee for forest water or Calida, which is Hispanic for ardent, warm, loving or Carminda, Hispanic for beautiful song. In fact, in celebration of Cinco de Mayo, please call me: Carminda Calida, Hispanic for warm, beautiful song. (Don't forget to roll the "rrrrrrr";)

Marquette Warriors and the Trail of Tears

Greg holds a Communications degree from Marquette University. He has a "genius" I.Q. He is methodical, considerate and well liked. He is a good family man and a hard worker. He believes the mascot for Marquette should be "Warriors" and not "Golden Eagles" and I agree with him.

When teams were renaming themselves to be politically correct, Marquette University jumped on the bandwagon. Years and years of tradition were thought not to be as important as honoring American Indians' feelings that "Warriors" is a slight. Many teams changed their mascot and team names to soothe ruffled feathers, but as I see it, the boat was missed here.

First, my great-great-grandmother was Cherokee. I enjoy and own real American Indian artifacts. I am proud of the rich history and wise ideas of Mother Earth and our world being our friend. I believe these thoughts. However, I do not believe changing the mascot name of a sports team is the way to prove my support for American Indians.

The crimes committed against American Indians, include the Trail of Tears when seven Cherokee clans were forcibly removed from their homelands and put in forts and reservations. Four thousand men, women and children died on the journey that would become known as the Trail of Tears. Cherokee Rose is symbol of that journey. New mothers were despondent that their infants would die on the journey, so tribe leaders prayed that there would be a sign to encourage the mothers and give them strength to carry on.

Where each tear fell, sprung forth a Cherokee Rose...the white flower represents the tears, the yellow center represents the gold that was taken from the Cherokee Nation. There are seven petals on the flower that represent the seven clans that were moved over the Trail of Tears. The flower flourishes even today as a reminder of the devastation and suffering of the Cherokee Nation.

This is but one atrocity committed against American Indians on their land...in their country, but it is representative of ignorance and injustice of the times. If we are going to make reparations to Indian Nations, we should neither start, nor end with mascot name changes. There should be an exchange of land and holdings and apologies. Public apologies that beg forgiveness for the slaughter of children. We owe so much and it should not be trivialized in stadiums and auditoriums.

Good Things-The BoDeans

Sunlight fall down on the fields
Sunlight fall down over me
Work all day, be all that I can be

yeah-heh
Say I can say words only simple
Say I can say words only clear

But, oh, I can feel your heart is beating near.
Yeah-eah
Haunted love is all that I feel,
when you're passing by

Haunted love is all that I see,
it's there in your eyes

And I say
No, no, no, don't pass me over
No, no, no, don't pass me by

See I can see good things for you and I
Yeah, good things for you

Give I can give love and attention
Give I can give all time away
Only to one heart I can give today.

Be, I can be, man full of color
Be, I can be, man black or white

But only to one heart I can be tonight
Haunted love is all that I feel,
when you're passing by

Haunted love is all that I see,
it's there in your eyes

And I say
No, no, no, don't pass me over
No, no, no, don't pass me by
See, I can see, good things for you and I

Yeah, good things for you
Haunted love is all that I see,
it's there in your eyes

And I say
No, no, no, don't pass me over
No, no, no, don't pass me by

See I can see good things for you and I

Yeah, good things for you

good things...

good things...

good things...(fades)

4 May 1996

Thank you, G for nine wonderful years...here's to 100 more...

Matt Maupin MIA in Iraq

Matt Maupin was recently given a promotion. He is the only soldier in Iraq listed as Missing In Action. We should keep him in our prayers. He was with the unit that was ambushed and many were killed. One woman soldier was rescued from a hospital. I don't mention her name here because it would distract the attention that he deserves. He looks stunned...lost even.

I pray that he is alive, though it has been over one year and I am doubtful that he is. He was held by the same men who slit the throats of others. When there is a disregard for life, it knows no bounds. So let us remember Matt Maupin, Soldier captured behind enemy lines for our freedoms. God bless America...and his family.

Riding the bus...

Riding the bus was an experience that will not soon be forgotten. Don't you want to climb aboard and ride with Beth? I know that I do. How I wanted to go with her on her last trip or rather the last frame of the movie. And how touching the ending was...Rachel was going to have a baby.

It ripped my heart out when Beth held the baby and then later wanted one "I will love it, and that's the important thing." Yes. That is it in a nutshell.

It made me think of the time when I worked with developmentally disabled adults. Most were in wheel chairs and were quadriplegic. Well my 18 year old was three and I brought him with me to work one afternoon. One of "my girls" had an electric wheel chair. PJ said, "Can I ride in your car?" Well we laughed and my girl said yes. I put PJ on her lap and he grabbed the toggle switch and varoom off they went! If it could have, it would have burned rubber; I'm telling you, her head went back and they were off to the races.

Sure, PJ, now Paul because it is more 'manly', made a mistake and called her wheelchair a car, but he accepted her without looking at her twisted hands, her immobile legs. He saw someone who could get around just fine. He saw possibilities. He saw the truth.

A red blossom...

"Mommy this is for you so you will feel better," Alisha said last night.
we put it in water much to her delight
we turned off the light to watch the bloom close
then we turned it on to watch the bud open under our nose
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Alisha awoke this morning and asked me if I saw her flower. I replied, 'yes' and she told me, "My eyes are going to pop out! My eyes are going to pop out and crack because it is so beautiful!"

That is the world through a child's eyes. A single bud, so red, so beautiful can cause her eyes to pop out and crack. What a wonderful perspective on life. Beauty abounds. Children help us see it in the ordinary...like when a toddler points at ants and squeals, "See! See!!" Little miracles marching in a band...a parade at a toddler's eye view.

The tulip is open again this morning without our interference or assistance. A little miracle in a vase. A bud full of promise on another new day. My children see the miracles and because they do, so do I. It is indeed a wonderful world.