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...