We'll leave a light on...

Yes. We'll leave a light on and a path cleared to the door. Wishing wishes...a soldier...a soldier comin' home....

Soldiers are everywhere, I think. You might be a soldier. Fighting your "good fight." A tough day at work. The loss of someone dear. A prodigal son or daughter. Are you a soldier-fighting a fight of some kind?

Then you know how tough YOUR fight is. So tonight, get down on your knees and say a prayer for our Armed Forces. Their fight could cost them their life. And they are fighting for us. For our freedoms, our country, our children.

I am lost in my "issues," but I know that there are greater pains. There are deeper sorrows. There are bigger fights. God bless all soldiers.

And while we're on the subject: After all that has happened around the world, isn't it TIME TO BRING GOD BACK INTO OUR SCHOOLS? Back into our government. Back into our lives.

After Katrina hit New Orleans and all of the devastation was evident, Anne Graham was interviewed on a morning show and asked where God is in all of this? Her answer was stunning and profound-an email message is making the rounds now about her reply. This is it:

"I think God is deeply saddened by this, just as we are, but for years we've been telling God to get out of our schools, to get out of our government and to get out of our lives. And being the gentleman He is, I believe He has calmly backed out. How can we expect God to give us His blessing and His protection if we demand He leave us alone?" In light of recent events...terrorists attack, school shootings, etc. I think it started when Madeleine Murray O'Hare (she was murdered, her body found recently) complained she didn't want prayer in our schools, and we said OK.

Then someone said you better not read the Bible in school. The Bible says thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal, and love your neighbor as yourself. And we said OK. Then Dr. Benjamin Spock said we shouldn't spank our children when they misbehave because their little personalities would be warped and we might damage their self-esteem (Dr. Spock's son committed suicide). We said an expert should know what he's talking about. And we said OK.

Now we're asking ourselves why our children have no conscience, why they don't know right from wrong, and why it doesn't bother them to kill strangers, their classmates, and themselves.

Probably, if we think about it long and hard enough, we can figure it out. I think it has a great deal to do with "WE REAP WHAT WE SOW." Funny how simple it is for people to trash God and then wonder why the world's going to hell. Funny how we believe what the newspapers say, but question what the Bible says.

Funny how you can send 'jokes' through e-mail and they spread like wildfire but when you start sending messages regarding the Lord, people think twice about sharing. Funny how lewd, crude, vulgar and obscene articles pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion of God is suppressed in the school and workplace.

Funny how when you forward this message, you will not send it to many on your address list because you're not sure what they believe, or what they WILL think of you for sending it. Funny how we can be more worried about what other people think of us than what God thinks of us."

Well, I do not like Billy Graham. Once upon a time, he said if his "congregation" didn't send him enough money then God was going to "call him home." What a bunch of malarkey. God wouldn't take someone to Heaven over a "material" thing like money. I do not like televangelists either. They are dooms day sayers and they prey on your pocketbook. Pun intended.

But I have to agree with his daughter that our world is going to hell. If our money says, "In God we trust" why can't we?

Hell week

18 year old needs prayers.

If you are so inclined, please pray for him. I kicked him out yesterday morning. I did it once before earlier this year. This time is very different. This time, there is no turning back.

He thinks that he is entitled to freedoms simply because he turned 18. He has been disrespectful to G and I through his senior year. He especially challenges G.

Over the past few weeks, it has gotten worse and worse until I put the House Rules in writing-yes, a contract. Then I gave him chances each time that he broke the rules and I revised the House Rules once.

After all of that, he still wouldn't tow the line. Well then yesterday, I had a physical therapy appointment and went downstairs to wake him so he could apply for a job while I was at PT. He kept arguing with me. (I had grounded him for three days and nights. Yesterday was going to be the last day of it.) I warned him that if he didn't stop arguing that I would add another day; yes, he continued to argue. I added Saturday to the grounding. And he swore up a storm. Then, I warned him again to stop or I would add Sunday. He continued. I added Sunday and he swore more.

I don't really remember what the final straw was, but I finally yelled, "That is it! Get out of my house." He yelled, "you're kicking me out?" And his swearing and language got worse and worse. Then I slapped his face. Open handed, but I slapped him. Then he did something that I will never forget. He called me a "whore."

My 18 year old said that to me. I still cannot believe it. I am in shock-I'm stunned. I cannot believe that he has so little respect for me that he would say that. The worst part? He sounds exactly and acts exactly like his father. How I tried to insure that I raised him to be a better man than that. How I tried to have more influence than that man on my boy. How I thought that I had succeeded. Yet, here we are.

Well, he's out there. Staying at a friend's house. I texted him yesterday and asked him where he will be staying. Then, another argument ensued. He replied that come Monday he would be in the streets. He called me and swore some more and I hung up on him. I let him know that he needs to make calls and find a place to live. That this is it.

He gets what he wanted: freedom. No curfew. No rules. No participation in our family. No chores.

Last night at 11 p.m., he called and I thought the worst-busted for drinking...Something like that. Well he wanted to drop by and pick up something. OMG. What? You called me because you want to pick up something? At 11 p.m.? No! Call at a reasonable hour. He argued some more. He just keeps going and keeps talking. "why not. Why not. You're both awake. Why not. Come on let me come and get something." WE WEREN'T AWAKE!!!!!!!!

I didn't tell him that. I just said no and he continued to talk and I just hung up on him.

I can't live like this anymore. I can't have him disrupting the whole family. I can't have my little kids mocking or rather mirroring his actions. I can't explain why he needs to follow rules and have a curfew anymore. I can't keep doing it. I can't.

I feel guilty. I feel responsible. I feel like I raised him to be a better man. I feel like a failure.

I feel relief. I feel like I can breathe again. At least some of the time. I know that he is going to call me today, but it is going to be on my terms and not his and this will not go over well. It is looming again.

We aren't supposed to give up on our children. I'm not giving up, though. I'm not. I'm just trying to let him see the reality. He wants all of the freedom and no rules simply because he is 18 years old. He doesn't understand that things are earned. This is hard and awful and scary, but I think this time it is necessary. I'm not going to cave in like I did last time.

Change. Changes. I'm not going to cave in. This time he is going to have to see that everyone has rules. That I require respect. There will be apologies, too. I am so tired. I am praying. I am hoping that he will be okay out there. I am hoping that he will learn something out there.

Heaven help us please. Amen.

All I Want For Christmas

I dedicate this song to you. The family of a deployed soldier, airman, seaman, elite forces member or Marine. And to you: a deployed member of the Armed Forces. I can think of nothing better than for you to be Home, especially for Christmas.

If you are not going to be home for the holidays I want you to remember that HOME is also in your heart and you carry it with you where ever you are and where ever you go. It may not feel like that, but I know it is true because I lived the life of the family of a Marine. I know that my dad was with us on those Christmas' when he was deployed. And I know that he was with us when the turkey that he should have carved was sliced by someone else. He was always with us.

I make this wish for you now and extend it now and through the holiday season. God bless you, our Armed Forces and God bless America, its allies and friends. And may God end the evil in the world so that we can enjoy a Christmas of peace, love and joy in Jesus' name. Amen.

All I Want For Christmas (a Soldier Coming Home)
Artist: Xmas Balls
featuring: Monty Lane Allen

A music box for her
A bike for little Joe
All I want for Christmas is a soldier comin' home

The family trims the tree
With candy canes and bows
All I want for Christmas is a soldier comin' home

Wherever you are tonight
We send you prayers and love
I'm saving you the good stuff for a toast when you come home

I hope you know we're proud of you
And we miss you so
All I want for Christmas is a soldier comin' home

There's Christmas lights in town
The ground is white with snow
All I want for Christmas is a soldier comin' home

Wherever you are tonight you're in our hearts and prayers
We'll all be here to greet you back from over there
Don't forget we love you
We'll keep the fires goin''

All I want for Christmas is
A soldier
A soldier
Comin'' home

Yeah,yeah,yeah
A soldier comin home
Oooooo yeah, yeah

All I want for Christmas is a soldier comin' home
Yeah yeah
hmmmmm
hmm hmmmmm

I must learn to...

~let go of things beyond my control.

~leave "well enough" alone.

~give up the need to control because I did not have control of people who harmed me when I was too young to defend myself or understand what was happening.

~accept that I can only do so much.

~be thankful for my husband and children-at all times and not just when it is convenient for me.

~forgive myself for falling short of "perfection."

~realize that "things" happen and it doesn't mean that they are "being done to me;" they are just happening.

~savor the autumn air before it, like the summer, is over before I had the opportunity to appreciate it.

~give God the reins for the whole ride and not just when I "need" or "want" him to take them.

"I've fallen and I can't get up"

When I was in kindergarten, we had a presentation of some kind. Our chairs were in rows facing the "audience." Then one of the more rowdy boys in my class pulled a chair out from under me just before I was going to sit down. I fell on my bum very hard and continued to fall back until I hit my head on the chair behind me.

At the tender age of five-years-old, I was very good at shutting out pain and harm. I was a pillar of strength. You-YOU can't make me cry. Yes, by then, I was adept at throwing up walls that I am still struggling to demolish.

It hurt. My bum hurt. My head hurt, but I think more than anything, I was stunned that you had to be on guard at all times and not just when a certain extended family member was around. "Danger, Will Robinson," existed every where. Not just at home when the grandparents were visiting. Not just when we visited "him" or rather "it" in Anaheim.

Ironically, Disneyland was only a few blocks away from my grandparents house. What a crock. A real travesty. He lived so close to a place of dreams and childhood fantasy and fun. He was a real Disney villain, only there weren't any mountains for him to fall from...Or fires for him to fall into...At least not in this life.

One week ago Sunday, a chair that I was going to sit in was suddenly gone and I crashed to the ground. I fell forever and once I landed on my backside, continued to fall backwards until my upper back, shoulders and head finally hit the floor.

Faster than a speeding bullet, G was at my side. He was there before I finished falling backwards. He must have leapt from where he was reclining. I mean he made it in one movement. The look of worry and concern was a welcome relief. "Are you okay?" he asked. "No," I replied, "no, I'm not." I start physical therapy on Friday.

Isn't it funny how history repeats itself? Only this time, I didn't have any walls up and there wasn't a Darth Vader. The chair just crumbled. A quick look at the chair revealed that the bolts or screws weren't secure and they just slipped. I fell to the ground and for some reason I was drawn back to kindergarten and I cried. It hurt in the past and it hurt in the present. I am on meds that do not relieve the pain.

However, I let my inner child heal and now I know that is one more flashback that is done. One step closer to leaving the past behind am I.

October is...

October is National Breast Cancer Awareness month. Today I have a diagnostic mammogram. It is a precaution because of a cyst that was discovered three weeks ago. I am neither worried nor concerned; I am lucky it is a precaution and I was due for my every two year mammogram anyway.

On the other hand, October is also National Domestic Violence Awareness month. I am very concerned about this topic. I am a survivor of domestic violence. It is an esteem robbing, support system denying, brutal life; however, there is help. Twenty-four hour hotlines exist for almost every country in the world, including the United States, United Kingdom, Canada and Scotland. Just 'google' it and you can find help online-on the phone and you will be directed to help in your neighborhood. This information is for anyone...NOT just the victim of domestic violence.

If you suspect that a friend or family member is a victim of domestic violence, you can call the hotline and ask what you can do to support the victim. Being there is about the best that you can do, though-the victim has to decide to get out of the relationship. It's that simple and it is that difficult, but don't give up. The seemingly inability to get out of the relationship is very debilitating and very hard to do; the victim will need all of the support that they can get to make and keep the break away from the violence when ready.

If you do know a survivor of domestic violence-the difference is that the victim is still in the situation and a survivor made it out of the situation-there is help for them, too. Counseling, shelters to start life over, financial assistance for necessities, domestic violence hotlines can provide all of these services to help the victim become a survivor.

Perhaps the most interesting program that I have discovered to support a survivor of domestic violence is the Give Back a Smile program sponsored by the American Academy of Cosmetic Dentistry. You may recall that I was hired to blog several commercial blogs. If you visit this one: Dental Health Center, I have blogged about the the Give Back a Smile program and how to contact the organization for application information.

The best part about the post is that there are before and after pictures of a survivor. Her teeth were chipped by her abusive partner-the AACD Gave Back a Smile to this woman. It is worth a read and you can visit the AACD's website, too. It is always endearing when an organization gives back to a community...Giving back smiles is perhaps one of the best self esteem increasing programs I have ever discovered for domestic violence survivors.

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?

Five things I miss from childhood

I'm gonna tag my victims up front-before they can exit: Warrior's Forever; Chocolate Makes it Better; Enjoying the Ride; PLarge; Amateur Dad.

The five things that I miss from my childhood are:

1. My siblings. The last time that I saw my baby sister, I was holding her second oldest in my arms. He was a baby. He is just starting classes at university.
2. The last time that I saw my brother, he had emergency surgery on his brain and the fluid was being drained off of it-I had never met his wife or daughters prior to that. The are all lovely ladies.
3. The last time that I saw my older sister, was at G's and my wedding. Our tenth anniversary is May '06.
4. The last time that I saw my parents, I was telling them I was PG with Number One Daughter-who just turned six in July.)
5. The thing that I miss most about my childhood is the illusion that we were one for all-all for one. I thought that we would be together forever. Life takes over and viola. It was just "us"; the six of us for many, many years. Tours of duty moved us from place to place, but I liked that part. A new adventure. I get itchy feet even now, but our itchy feet and circumstances have carried us to different states and we don't have the opportunities that we would like to be together. There is one thing that I know: I will not allow my family to end up like this. I will do whatever it takes to see my children and their families. It should be an annual thing. Perry Como's Home for the Holidays is playing in my mind. :) "...If you wanna be happy in a million ways, for the holidays, you can't be beat Home Sweet Home..... For the holidays you can't beat HOME SWEET HOME." That is my favorite Christmas carol.

Temptation

September 11th looms. The anniversary of the fateful day when all hell broke loose in the United States is close enough to bolster security around our country, in the air and on the sea, but apparently someone has forgotten what transpired.

The Grand Canyon is Mother Nature's palette in the Southwest. A beautiful mixture of Mother Nature's ability to create as well as destroy...After all, the Grand Canyon was basically created by erosion.

The artist's rendering of the proposed glass-bottomed walkway triggers numerous red flags in my heart, mind and soul.

We do have to live our lives. We have to NOT FEAR, but this is taking fearlessness to an irresponsible level. The new walkway screams, "Here I am! Come and get me." It is not the motto of choice.

The really hard part of nixing this project is that it is a Native American idea set to increase tourism of reservation property. This could be touchy to negotiate as we have taken so much from them.

I do not believe that there is a way to make the walkway reasonably safe. It simply juts out over the canyon. It is an easy target for an airplane. Heck, it looks like it is an easy target for a hail storm!

We can live fearlessly after the events of 911, but we must also create and live responsibly. Perhaps the glass-bottomed walk-out was appealing pre-911, but now, it is simply a "target" and a soft one at that. Back to the drawing board, I say.

The meaning of life

I found the answer to the meaning of life. It finally dawned on me after another sleepless night.

Things happen in your life that make life very difficult. You can spend a lot of time trying to reconcile the past. Or. And this is the important part OR you can have a wonderful rest of your life.

I sit here sometimes lamenting about how childhood abuse, date rape, battered woman survival have made my life a living hell. But the fact of the matter is: I, yes, me, I made my life a living hell. How? By being stuck back there....In stuff that happened in the past.

This might sound 'simple' and you might be thinking, "well, DUH.", but honestly, when you are in the midst of flashbacks, it just isn't so easy to see the forest for the trees.

I was sitting here watching Brian's Song on HBO. Real tear jerker and I thought, "I hope that I don't lose G like that." Brian Piccolo died when he was only 26.

But I have been dead. I have been dead in this body. Paralyzed by things that I never had control over at the time. BUT and this is important...I can take control of it now. So what? So what? So what! It happened. It's over. They are gone and long out of my life. WOW.

Amazing realization. I cannot believe how long it took me to learn this. I can just let it go.

I gotta go now. I have to go play with my kids; fly a kite; blow bubbles; clean the house; make a pot of coffee-live MY life. It is MY life. WOW.

What one fears~one destroys

One week ago, Sunday, it was 10 p.m.-ish and we returned home from a little jaunt. I saw the movement in our backyard first. I knew immediately that it was a raccoon family. One, two, three-oh three is Mommy-four. Four. Uh, no wait, five. Holy gray stripes at night! Um, nope, uh, one more. A half dozen. Six raccoons have taken up residence in our backyard.

Number One Daughter and Little Big Boy were fascinated by the follow the leader parade that took place before our headlights. And this supplies answers to many questions that we have been pondering all summer.

Number One Daughter has seen "eyes in a gray face in the sticks." 'Look Mommy! Look!!' Well we thought it was a stray cat. Bessie has been attacking the brush pile since late spring and barking up a storm...cats; it has to be cats, but now we know better. We have raccoons.

I am a lover of children, nature and wildlife and animals in general. These are my passions. (Sorry G-you know that you are in the top five, though;) I am enraged when communities discuss the "encroachment of wildlife" in their towns and backyards. The discussion begins and then local governments decide that it is time to take action to "purge the intruders" from their midst.

Listen, WE encroached on them. We have taken their habitat away. What do people expect? That interstate was once prime woodland or your home is located on what was once a deer's bed. You get my point. I am very partial to us finding a way to cohabitate with animals. It is not only the native american blood that courses through my veins; it is that I have lived with wildlife and it can be done without risk as long as you follow the rules.

Rules like-don't try to domesticate wildlife. Don't try to approach or pet wildlife. It really is that simple. Just give them their three-foot circle and they will give you yours: if they are healthy they will stay out of your way. It boils down to respect for one another.

Raccoons are interesting creatures. They are beggars or rather they learn to beg. They know that they are cute and that you will fall in love with them. Mommy raccoons know that you will part with loaves of bread and piles of popcorn if she brings her little ones to call on you. After all, you are a simpleton. You are human. "Hi, Human. Gather bread, Human. Feed my kits. Good Human; good Human."

Let's bust the biggest raccoon myth right here and now: Raccoons do NOT wash their food. I know what you are thinking; you're ready to click right out of here. Yet, I assure you that I am telling the truth. It is cute and it looks like they are washing their food; I agree, it really does look that way. In actuality, raccoons do not have saliva; thus, they wet their food to make it easier to eat. That makes it all the more entertaining to me.

Well we have our six friends and I am sad. I do not want to remove them or kick them to the curb. However, I have to take care of Number One Daughter and Little Big Boy. If one of the raccoons becomes rabid, well the possibilities are not pretty.

Lois Lane had a rabid raccoon visitor recently and that is what made me realize that I will have to do something. She explained that the raccoon family would leave of their own free will if I place a radio near their nest or den or whatever their home is called, they will leave. The radio has to be turned up very loudly and tuned to talk radio. Interesting. Who leaves first: the neighbors or the raccoon family? (Can I tell you who I would prefer left first?)

There are many feeling running through my mind. I adore raccoons and have seen many and have resided in forests with a few. They are cute. They are not and do not make good pets. I know what must be done, but I don't want to do it. I will call the DNR and ask them to come and trap the family and relocate them, but I keep putting it off. I still have that nagging feeling that we should be tolerant. We are in their neck of the woods. (Actually, we are three blocks from a big lake-a great lake even, but we are also located in a city. They must have taken a wrong turn at the turnip truck)

Sharp shooters are shooting deer in cities and towns in my state because they get into backyards and walk down city streets. People hit deer on highways and roadways all of the time. It is possible to see them before they get into your line of sight, but you have to be looking for and watching out for them. You can see them on the shoulders or in the tall grass or next to the trees in woods or forests.

My quandry is this: I made a life protecting wildlife and nature-natural resources. I do not want to move them. Everything in me tells me to let them be. We took away their food sources, their homes, their habitat. I do not know what to do, but I know what the Native American blood in me says:

If you talk to the animals they will talk with you and you will know each other.

If you do not talk to them you will not know them,

and what you do not know you will fear.

What one fears one destroys.
~Chief Dan George

Men and their blogs...

My husband has decided to join 'blog land.' It makes me happy. Blogging is a fine pastime. An interesting way to meet people that you wouldn't ordinarily meet. A good way to vent, dream or fantasize about almost anything.

So I would like to introduce you to my husband, Warriors Forever . He is the former Executive Producer for the SportsAmerican Radio Network. He has rubbed elbows with some incredible sports talents in media and on the field of play, including Kevin Harlan and a certain green and gold clad number four superstar from the frozen tundra.

That is impressive, even to me, but the role that he really excels in is that of husband and father. He gave up the glory of sports to head into a medical career, which would allow him to spend more time with his family. In that way, he is a lot like Moonlight Graham. Moonlight Graham played one inning of a baseball game, as I recall. Although he was awesome at baseball, he gave it all up and became a doctor.

G's favorite number is four. That is interesting because Paul Molitor, G's all-time favorite baseball player was number four and Brett Favre is number four. The most amazing thing about the number four in G's life is that in numerology, I am a number four. I'd like to be a ten, but I will settle for the number four because that is what he likes.

I hope that you enjoy reading his blog too. Feel free to report back any little thing that I should be made aware of ;)

You might also enjoy, Webb's Just a Sexy Boy, truth be told, I am the one who he refers to in his first post; I used to do this to help him get over his shyness. Number One Daughter is his God Daughter.

And I have been visiting a new blog: Sdwynd's Ramblings and Musings. His "grasshopper" was diagnosed with autism and the family is sponsoring a walk for a cure. Please visit his blog and bookmark it so you can offer support and donations if you are able. And DO check out his music link. He rocks for Jesus. Too cool.

You can also help Amateur Dad right now. He is working on a novel and would like feedback. It is an interesting read and I recommend it if you haven't checked out Dancing Among the Fireflies, please do and be liberal with your comments.;)

And here is a blog that you should bookmark. It's by an Aussie daddy who is a poet, prankster and proud father of one with another on the way. You MUST work back to the It's a BIG Ad post; not only is it worth the trip, but you will laugh out loud. Drop by and say G'Day, Mate or Quark Quark...you will have to read his posts to get that one;) Chocolate Makes it Better.

These are the blogs that make me smile, think or shed a tear or two. It depends. Men blog and it is a good thing because it lets us get into their minds. It helps us understand and surrender. Their laughter, joy and pain is real and raw. I enjoy seeing the world through a man's blog. Sometimes it helps me understand G or 18 year old a little more. That is what life is about: understanding. When you understand, you can assist or encourage. This 'cyber-village' is all right.

Sammie

Sammie, originally uploaded by SingAsong.

I stole a link for Sammie's pictures from Lemonhead's blog. Isn't Sammie the cutest little parakeet? The size comparison here is amazing. This baby against the back-drop of a human nose is amazing. Sammie's owner used photoshop software to enhance the photo. If you click on Sammie's picture, you can see SingAsong's flickr photo album. It is worth a gander. (Pun sooooo intended.)

Turn it Up or DOWN~RIGHT NOW

I have added music to my blog. I cannot control the volume, so you need to do it now before you get shocked:)

Right now it's Counting Crows-Hangin' Around:)

Earlier, I had Personal Jesus on by Depeche Mode. Thenit was the Dream Academy's Live in a Northern Town. You can see the video on the right gutter. The videos are not always viewable, but the music is good usually.

Trust the Gorton's Fisherman

It was dinner time and everyone was hungry. In fact, we hadn't had a meal all day long. Just various snacks and that made everyone even more ready for a good meal. It wasn't gourmet, but it was decent. G threw several bags of this and that into the oven to heat and we were going to enjoy a salad, too.

We got to the table and barely took our seats before we started grabbing the chicken clods and fries from the glass platter on the middle of the table. I mean we were shoveling food onto our plates like we had been stranded on a desert island with nothing to eat and no way to catch a meal either. Yeah, we were Starvin' Marvin' and you better just stay out of our reach for the platter of food.

After I had gobbled one of the chicken nuggets-that in itself should be an indication of how famished I was. I do NOT, repeat-DO NOT-eat anything that has been flaked and formed. Well after I downed one of the mini hockey pucks, I realized that there was far better fare on the platter. Yeah, it was charred, but charred beats flaked and formed any day. Yes, these little drops were just for G and me...Breaded mini shrimp. Yum. Yum.

G and I split the little golden, I mean black, morsels in half and placed them on our plates. We ate them greedily and more than one fly was swatted into the middle of next week for attempting a landing on one of these little dandies.

G left the table and returned with tartar sauce. He glanced at his plate, "HEY! I had 18. There were 18 shrimp on my plate. Now there are only 17; you give it back." I explained that I had not taken his little shrimp and that it was just pathetic for him to try to get one off of my plate by faining that I had stolen one from his.

"Mommy, MORE!" Little Big Boy ordered. More milk. I don't mind that he doesn't say please every time. It is an order that I wouldn't tolerate from anyone else. Maybe it is because he is the baby of the family. Maybe it is because his voice is just too sweet to see it as anything, but a cute little request, but I rose from the table and filled his glass.

After I replaced the jug of milk in the frig, I looked at my plate and at least five shrimps were missing-and I know that they didn't go to school 'cause it hasn't even started yet-in our neck of the woods anyway. Well, I looked accusingly at G and he shook his head no-no he said without a word, I did not take your little shrimps.

Well someone get on the phone and find the Hardy Boys! This was a real stumper. Our kitchen is little. Our table has just enough room for five people plus platters. We were practically sitting in each other's laps, for Pete's sake and our little shrimp were disappearing before we could say, "Trust the Gorton's fisherman."

Then, quite suddenly and stealthly, I noticed a little hand flash over to G's plate. Tiny fingers stole a little shrimp. I watched the culprit do it again. And again. And again. The thief had revealed himself...

I caught G's attention and tossed my head for him to watch what had been transpiring right before our eyes.

Little Big Boy's hand reached right over and grabbed a shrimp while we were talking. Then he would reach over to my plate and take one from there too. It was all very fair and he was taking equally; we have raised him well. Share and share alike. He took them like they were his. Very matter-of-factly-with no intention of deception at all. He was hungry and he knew where the best tasting stuff was.

G and I sat there and smiled at each other. You know that smile of knowing parents. We let him finish off all of our shrimp. It was entertaining. It was innocent. It was thievery! Oops. Lost it there for a moment. He took the little shrimps and it was all good. He just wanted "MORE." It is his way.

Redwoods

This is my retreat.

Where I love to hide.

Nothing is big when you bring it to a redwood.

The pity party didn't last long. My G is far too wonderful to allow me to wallow in it. Did the worm get 'cha? Got us sort of, but we actually were protected...whatever that means. We lost nothing but a little time. No worries.

Personal pity party

Well.
Well. Well. Well.
That's the way the cookie crumbles.

The potential trip into the "real world" no longer exists.

It is funny...remember that I said I was going to give it up to him? Well, I guess that I took it back along the line.

It was going to be third shift at a hospital. Admitting. Great benefits. A chance to work fulltime without taking away from my kids. No daycare expenses, but if there would be, the hospital subsidizes the cost. It was a chance for a new career. The others take too much away from family life. So I must have taken it back from God. When I looked at it from all sides, it looked so great and like the answer to prayers. What I didn't realize is that after the awesome two hour interview and positive feedback, that the real answer was going to be, "no." Where did it derail and why does it matter so much?

After careful consideration, I know that if it had worked out, it wouldn't have worked out. Crazier hours than I have ever worked, etc. But it is no longer a possibility and the only thing that I can think of is: It's time for a little pity party. sniff. sniff. Yeah time to have a personal pity party.

Whiskeytown Falls

For almost 100 years, a little bit of Heaven has eluded mass detection. It makes me a little bit sad that it was rediscovered. In Whiskeytown, California, a 400 foot waterfall was discovered. It had been seen before, but only by a handful of people who didn't mark it correctly and didn't revisit it. Anyway, it was discovered untouched and unblemished and for the first time in 20 years, I am planning a hike into the California wilderness. Back injury compounded by back injury made me leave the outdoors that I craved. If the discovery of a waterfall is what it took to take me back, then so be it! I am so excited that I cannot contain myself.

I showered in waterfalls...in the back-country...bathed in pools so wonderful and natural that it would make you weep. I will be there. I will. I want to witness the beauty of falls that are untouched by man.

I collect Santas

A few months back, I wrote about 18-year-old and my stay in a homeless shelter. He referred to it for many years as, "the time we lived in the church." I smile when I say that. I have no shame from that time. Well I do not feel shamed about it now. Sure it was difficult and in its way very, very debilitating, but it was also a catalyst for better things ahead and better times.

We went into the shelter in October, so the holiday season was closing in and finances were tighter than tight. I completed a wish list for 18 year old who was in K-5. I didn't want to complete a survey for me, but they said, you need pajamas, so I did give them my size.

We got out of the homeless shelter and life moved on. I think that I forgot about the survey. Christmas was tight; I managed a few small gifts for my son.

Well as Christmas drew closer, K-5er and I were hanging homemade decorations that he made in kindergarten. While we were working, someone buzzed our apartment. It was a worker from the homeless shelter. Now, get this-I was more embarrassed to see the homeless shelter in my home than I was to see her in the homeless shelter. We didn't have furniture or anything, but I had a roof over our heads and it was in a nicer neighborhood. I felt guilty that we had a home. As crazy as that sounds, I felt guilty that I had so much after having had so little.

Well, she came up and had a couple of bags with gifts. K-5er and I had fun removing them from the bags. The lady went downstairs and then she was knocking on our door. Well we opened it and there were two young men with her and they had a Christmas tree:) WOW. I was so surprised. We didn't have one yet. I had strung lights in a cone shape and had intended to use that for a tree unless I was able to find a Charlie Brown Christmas tree. Well we didn't have to.

On Christmas morning, we opened gifts and it was very nice. There was a box for me, too. It was a clothes box, so I guessed that it had the pajamas in it. They were and they were warm and cozy. But also in that box, tucked into the pajama top was a Santa ornament. Just Santa's face. It had the most soulful eyes of any inanimate object that I had ever seen. There was a note that sent us the giver's prayers, too. I was beyond touched.

I have loved Christmas all of my life. I love it for reasons that I cannot express, which is difficult for someone who prizes their command of language and pen. But that is the Christmas that I began to collect Santas. I am not a typical collector of Santas. I do not collect every Santa in sight so that I have a huge collection. No, the Santas that I collect have to have interesting eyes...soulful eyes. Eyes that see beyond pain and all the way to possibility.

The Christmas that in many ways could have been the worst Christmas actually turned out to be one of the best. Not only for me, but for my now 18 year old. That Santa ornament has needed a repair or reglue here and there, but it remains my favorite of all of my Santas. The love on his face must have been hard to capture in plaster and paint, but it is there.

One day, I will have a 365 day per year Christmas room. I am almost finished collecting a tree for every room. I think that I need one more for the kitchen and I will have enough. In a prized place in the Christmas year 'round room, I will place the Santa face ornament. I think of it as my 'homeless Santa'. You could not look into those eyes without finding home.