Matt Maupin MIA in Iraq

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

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

Riding the bus...

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

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

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

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

A red blossom...

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

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

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

Getting better

Chalk on the sidewalk.
Castles in the sandbox
Dinner eaten and enjoyed
Ah, they are getting better by the minute!

I am lying in bed.
Feel seasick.
No keep the fan on!
I am hot then cold.
I am thirsty, but nothing quenches.

My man is watching the kids.
I have taken three naps today.
I am still exhausted.
My man grilled dinner outside.
I enjoy peace.
A gift that G gives to me when I need it.

My family.
Warm cuddles.
Hearty hugs.
Endless smiles.
Need anything, Mommy?
No, you just gave it to me, thank you.

A Priceless Email

Click on the link and visit this page in Lightfeather's blog:
http://lightfeather111.blogspot.com/2005/04/priceless-e-mail.html

You are never alone~God is near...

This is a story that I found on another blog. It was taken from a devotional site. You will like it. I guarantee it. Grab a box of Kleenex-you have been forewarned:

I was walking down a dimly lit street late one evening when I heard muffled screams coming from behind a clump of bushes. Alarmed, I slowed down to listen, and panicked when I realized that what I was hearing were the unmistakable sounds of a struggle: heavy grunting, frantic scuffling, and tearing of fabric.

Only yards from where I stood, a woman was being attacked. Should I get involved? I was frightened for my own safety, and cursed myself for having suddenly decided to take a new route home that night. What if I became another statistic? Shouldn't I just run to the nearest phone and call the police?

Although it seemed an eternity, the deliberations in my head had taken only seconds, but already the girl's cries were growing weaker. I knew I had to act fast. How could I walk away from this? No, I finally resolved, I could not turn my back on the fate of this unknown woman, even if it meant risking my own life. I am not a brave man, nor am I athletic.

I don't know where I found the moral courage and physical strength--but once I had finally resolved to help the girl, I became strangely transformed. I ran behind the bushes and pulled the assailant off the woman. Grappling, we fell to the ground, where we wrestled for a few minutes until the attacker jumped up and escaped.

Panting hard, I scrambled upright and approached the girl, who was crouched behind a tree, sobbing. In the darkness, I could barely see her outline, but I could certainly sense her trembling shock. Not wanting to frighten her further, I at first spoke to her from a distance.

"It's OK," I said soothingly. "The man ran away. You're safe now." There was a long pause and then I heard the words, uttered in wonder and in amazement. "Dad, is that you?" And then, from behind the tree, stepped my youngest daughter, Katherine.

My sick brood

Ah, my poor young 'uns. They are running high fevers. Poor A, she coughs so much, that it is gagging her to the point that she isn't holding anything down...not fluids, nothing. She's been having to use the nebulizer, too, which is a heart-breaker.

T is just lying down on my bed, "Mommy. Mommy! I don't feeeeeeeeeel good. I wish Daddy was here." Me, too I say and then he nods his head and says, "Me, too."

Fitful nights of sleep for three nights now. I can't "fix" it. I am a "fixer." I always have been. I have been trying to stop being a "fixer" because it is exhausting, but this isn't the kind of "fixing" that I don't want to do anymore.

I like to fix other people's problems. I like to fix other people's pain. I am a rescuer. And I think that rescuers are made not born. A rescuer is made when something very traumatic happens in the rescuer's life. No one saved them, so they spend their life saving other people. No one rescued me; therefore, I rescue. I am trying to rescue myself.

I am sitting here staring at that last sentence: I am trying to rescue myself. Wow.

Aurora's babies Part III

Aurora's babies are doing well. There are still eggs that have yet to hatch. If you click on the link below, you will see a short video of a new hatchling. It is too cute.
http://www.alaskasealife.org/gc_images/visitors/paralarva_swimming.wmv

The-ahem-"other" man...

I am in love with another man. G's known about him for a long time now. What's not to like! Tall, blue-eyed, handsome...a man to be admired, truly. Witty or serious, I find him incredibly attractive.

He is everything that I find attractive in a man. Well groomed-read that as short hair-nice posture-read that as stands up straight and tall and stands up for what he believes in. He is Jimmy Stewart. Oh, yes, laugh if you will; I do know that he has passed. I know that I never met him, but this is about a love that isn't defined by rules.

As a Marine Corps brat, I find men who carry themselves with confidence very attractive. Tall men are a given, but the trait that I find most alluring in Jimmy Stewart is his sense of what is right.

Above all other roles, do you know which was his favorite? Being an Army Colonel during WWII. He had already received a pilot's license on his own in 1935, but prior to enlisting, the Army told him, basically that he wasn't good enough. Ah. A challenge. Stewart proceeded to return to flight school on his own. He took and paid for lessons on his own. Then on March 22, 1941, the Army realized that they needed Jimmy Stewart in "this man's Army!"

During his 21 months overseas, he flew over 20 combat missions and won nine awards for his meritous service, including: six battle stars, the Distinguished Flying Cross with two Oak Leaf Clusters, Air Medal with three Oak Leaf Clusters and the Croix de Guere with Palm. He acceled in service to this country and it meant everything to him.

My favorite role for Jimmy Stewart was Elwood P. Dowd. This role above all others did the most to further the understanding of a very common malady: mental illness. Elwood loses himself after his mother dies. He becomes an alcoholic and this is when he finds a pooka named Harvey leaning up against a lamp post.

Veta Louise, played by theater veteran Josephine Hull is embarassed that Elwood shows up with Harvey at all times and that her friends think that her brother is crazy. Well, he very well might be, but in the end, Veta Louise doesn't want her brother to get a serum that will shock him back to reality because she loves her brother so much.

Elwood says that his mother used to tell him, "...in this life you have to be oh so smart or oh so pleasant." He continues, "For years I was smart. I recommend pleasant. You may quote me." Well that is it in a nut shell. Before his mother's death, Elwood ran about in his rush-hour life. Working hard and achieving all manner of promotions and accolades for his trouble, but in the end, the thing that he missed was the time that he thought that he should have spent with his mother. Tragically she dies and his sister and niece come to live with him. Veta Louise handles all of the affairs of running the home and Elwood is free to meet the misfits that sit at tables in bars in the early afternoons into the late nights.

He says, "no body brings anything small into a bar." In his own way, he is making a difference by attending to these shattered people. He brings them home for dinner. He makes their aquaintance and enjoys their company. I like to think that he enjoyes their company, not so much because he is "one of them," but because he understands and has compassion for them.

Elwood P. Dowd is a loveable man because he is shattered, yet good because of it. He lost his mother and look what he found: not only a giant pooka named Harvey, but the ability to ease the loneliness of outcasts. We tend to shun outcasts, I think, because they are so 'needy'. How can we squeeze one more person's needs into our schedule? Well the trick is not to think about it.

Remember Rosie's blog about Michael, the guy who came into the clothing store and she bought him a black shirt? She was tending to him. He will never forget that. Some where inside his lonliness, disease and demons, she reached him. And she did it long before she gave him the shirt. He sought her out and without looking at her said, "Hi Rosie." He felt a 'kinship.' He knew it; he knew that she would respond.

That then, should be the ideal. The next time that a homeless person approaches, instead of crossing the street or rejecting their discussion or request, maybe we can look at it as a sign that they see a little of the good in us that Elwood and Rosie have. Maybe instead of looking at them as an irritant, we can try to make their life a little more bearable for even a few minutes. That would be pleasant. Yes, in this life, we need to be so smart or so pleasant. I prefer pleasant, too and you may quote me.

Remember when...

I remember when I could play outside around our block with the kids from the neighborhood. We weren't stalked. We didn't trash other people's yards, homes or property. We weren't allowed to use our parent's spray paint and we didn't.

I remember watching Walter Cronkite on the evening news. He was like a member of the family and he placed a high value on honesty. He didn't have to "make up" or invent news; it was what it was...and there was more than enough to go around. I think even then news was more about the bad things that happened around the world, but it wasn't sensationalized. It didn't feel like it was common place. It didn't feel like everyone around the world had lost the war with evil.

I remember when the truth was valued as highly as life. If you told a lie, there were consequences and you simply didn't tell a lie because it was wrong.

I remember when the news was the star of the night and not the stars telling the news.

I remember when we said the Pledge of Allegiance because it was a matter of loyalty to country and the boys who paid the ultimate price for our freedom.

I remember when someone said, "Oh my God." There was a tragedy happening and it wasn't just another trite saying.

I remember when differences in opinion didn't get you punched in the face at a council meeting.

I remember when children who were good at a sport played it and if they didn't, parents didn't grab a gun and shoot or kill the coach just because their child didn't play in the game.

I remember when great men had dreams of better days and honor and equality and fairness and hope. I remember Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcom X, John and Robert Kennedy, police officers who upheld the law even as it applied to them.

I remember real heroes, like men who threw themselves on hand grenades to protect the lives of their brothers in arms...like fire fighters and police men and the man next door who took out his ladder to save a neighborhood child's pet.

I remember when we went to school and we graduated. There wasn't any if, ands or buts. We just did it. It was expected....required even.

I remember knowing that things would be better one day. I remember knowing that hatred wouldn't be tolerated in any form. I remember knowing that our neighborhoods were safe and the children in them could play without worry.

I remember all of these things and right now I wonder if it was real or if was all an illusion. Were we really in danger all along? Did everyone hate the differences in others so much that they were willing to murder and maim to prove it? I remember these things, don't I?

"Disorderly Conduct"

Wisconsin. A state that isn't too bad to call home. Nice lakes. Nice fishing. Nice hunting, if you are inclined. Nice towns, cities and bergs to live in and raise your children. Nice sports teams, too.

The Milwaukee Brewers' recent ownership change seems to be pumping new life into a team that isn't known for winning games. Nice football team, too; maybe you've heard of them: The Green Bay Packers. The Pack if you are a fan. "Our team" if you are a resident...or at least aspire to be a resident.

Brett Farve is a bad boy who turned good when he got on the wagon five, six or seven years ago. He is a family man now. That is worth aspiring to be. He is taking care of Deanna who is battling breast cancer. Brett had a rough year...lost his dad, his wife had to undergo chemo, but he is resilient. Admirable, even.

Then there is Ahman Green. Good player. Really good. Thought by many to be a good guy. A real nice man. That is that is the persona that he portrays.

Last night, Green was arrested for domestic violence. It is his third arrest. Incidentally, he made bail and the actual charge is now: disorderly conduct. See in Wisconsin, if you beat your wife, you get a "Get Out of Jail Free" card. For some reason, Wisconsin reduces the charge of Domestic Violence to disorderly conduct because apparently, no one in the Wisconsin judiciary has a daughter, niece, grand-daughter or other dear relative who has been the victim of DOMESTIC VIOLENCE.

How do I know this? Because the charge is reduced it is that simple. Have you ever known a victim of domestic violence? Have you ever seen the bruises that are explained away too quickly...I'm clumsy...I fell...I deserved it. (insert loud curdling scream)


Domestic violence in any form is a crime that often ends in murder. That is why the reduction to disorderly conduct is so offensive. And it is even more offensive because this is the third such offense that Green has been arrested for. Shameful. I am disgusted.

This all hits very close to home...yes, pun definitely intended. I am a survivor of domestic violence. I can take care of myself now. I got out. It took a long time to do it. But victims of domestic violence are not so fortunate. Many victims of domestic violence are murdered. It is the way that the story ends. And it is an ending that can be changed.

Part of the stigma that surrounds domestic violence is that no one can understand why anyone would stay with someone who batters them. It's about control. The batterer is very good at control. Inflicting isolation and pain...and sometimes being careful to hit where bruises are all but impossible to see...it is control by one over the life of the other. A victim of domestic violence isn't allowed to have friends, family or outside interests-in many cases. Right-not every case is the same and that, too, is part of the stigma that surrounds domestic violence.

The victim needs support and help to acknowledge and change the cycle. It is a path that requires a lot of therapy and support and determination. Domestic violence creates victims and you are not a survivor until you get out of it. Get away from the batterer.

To take domestic violence and term it disorderly conduct makes it sound like it was out of the batterer's control. Hey, you can tell me a lot of things and I will believe you, but this doesn't make any sense. A batterer commits assault...assault and battery. You do not go from assault and battery to disorderly conduct, which by the way is the same charge that you would cite a high school student for toilet papering their school. See the crime here?

It has to stop. Violence has to stop. It is not going to stop if it is referred to as disorderly conduct. Let's call it for what it is. If you batter a police officer, you are busted. If you batter a judge, attorney, district attorney, your boss, your friend, it is assault and battery. There is no difference.

Oh and one other point: Green's bail was $150. That's right $150.00. The cost of disorderly conduct has sunk to a new low. God bless America.

Everybody Hurts by REM

When the day is long
and the night,
the night is yours alone,

when you're sure you've had enough
of this life,
well hang on.

Don't let yourself go,
everybody cries

and everybody hurts
sometimes.

Sometimes everything is wrong.
Now it's time to sing along.

When your day is night alone
(hold on, hold on)
if you feel like letting go,

Hold on...when you think you've had too much...
of this life, well hang on.

Everybody hurts.
Take comfort in your friends.

Everybody hurts.
Don't throw your hand.
Oh, no.
Don't throw your hand.

If you feel like you're alone
no, no, no,
you're not alone

If you're on your own
in this life,

the days and nights are long,
when you think you've had too much
of this life to hang on.

Well, everybody hurts
sometimes,
everybody cries.

And everybody hurts
sometimes.

And everybody hurts
sometimes.

everybody cries.

And everybody hurts

sometimes.

And everybody hurts sometimes

So, hold on,

hold on.

Hold on,

hold on.

Hold on, hold on.

Hold on,

hold on.

Don't forget balloons!

I forgot about balloons; who can forget about balloons! When a child losses a parent, you let the child release a helium filled balloon with a message to their parent. It is first rate mail to Heaven. I have seen it work. It is their conduit; a visual sign that they are communicating with a parent who is in Heaven. Kids need that.

My first umbrella

It was Christmas. There underneath the tree were umbrellas. One pink, which was mine and one violet, which was my sister's. I hated and mean hated pink. Sissy stuff. ha. My sister always took the pink ones and gave me the violet ones..even though violet was her favorite color.

The umbrellas were beautiful. Mary Poppins was on them and we would fly to school and home each day. It was fun.

It brings up an interesting thought...and I have to give Lightfeather some credit for it, too: Maybe we like things that fly because our gaze is cast upward. Hmmm. It is quite a thought. Lightfeather likes bubbles. I must admit they are favorites of mine, too. We had minature bubble holders at our wedding instead of bird seed.

T and A love bubbles, too. It is fun to go outside and blow bubbles. We have all kinds of wands, too. Great big, stop the passing car bubbles can be made from some of them and it brings a huge smile to the face of the car's occupants, too.

Well, my purple umbrella carried me home or to one hundred-million-buhzillion places in my imagination. Places where care and worry didn't exist. Places where it was rainbow colorful and new. Places were wings can take you. Yes, way up and over there. You remember going there too.

Well we look up for bubbles, kites and umbrellas. Our face is turned to Heaven and possibilities. When you are young, a child, a babe, your face is often turned upward and when it is, there is a big smile on your face. A smile that knows life is good and fun.

All too soon, you grow up and you start looking up less and less. Now, THAT, I think, is the key. Once we grow up, we forget to look up. We forget that cares belong up there in the wild-blue-yonder...up there where Heaven is a dream, a fantasy-a place that we don't understand, but come to believe in. So when is it that we forget to look upward? Well the burdens of adulthood drag us down, I guess. And then our sight is turned downward. Below. Toward Hell, if you follow me.

Then God intervenes. He gives us children so that we can remember what it is like to look up. We see them looking upward and smiling. We see their adventures and their fun. And somehow our vision readjusts. We rememeber what it is like to see the world from dreams and hopes. Hope. Yep, that is it.

So fly that kite, blow the bubbly soapy mixture into little prisms that float on the breeze, hold up your arm and fly with your umbrella...look up and do it often. Give your children the same joy that you found in looking up...give them some of the magic...some of the fantasy. Let them build those castles in the air and with a little help, they won't make the same mistake that we do: forgetting where hope lives.

Mr. Dick Flies His Kite

Little David Copperfield arrives at Aunt Trotwood's house
while she is working on her garden.

The book: David Copperfield
The chapter: I Make Another Beginning

Click on the title of this post and you till be taken to the chapter of the book that begins to discuss the kite flying;)

Go fly a kite

I have several books that I like to read once per year. David Copperfield is my favorite.

David Copperfield is said to be the life story of Charles Dickens. He lived in poverty and knew all too well about the rejects and misfits that he so adored. During an interview, Dickens said, "I have a favorite son and his name is David Copperfield."

The reason that I enjoy this book so much is that it is about an abused and abandoned boy. It is about a child who is made to feel that he is not good. The thing is, David Copperfield is very good and worth knowing. He goes off to find his Aunt Trotwood and when he finds her, he is reborn.

One of my treasured passages in David Copperfield is when Mr. Dick, a resident at Aunt Trotwood's home flies his kites. He is a man with some emotional or mental issues. He writes these thoughts on paper and then he makes the paper into a kite. Then he flies his kite outside on the breeze. Sending the kite into the air with his burdens releases them from his mind.

He pours them out with great care...the thoughts spill all over his paper. There is nothing neat about his writing. He crosses things out when he isn't satisfied with the wording. He smears the ink with his hands. The papers are very ugly, indeed.

But when he makes his kite and sails it up, up, up, it becomes something beautiful. His messy thoughts are released to Heaven where cares belong...the trick is knowing how to leave your cares airborne after you are done flying your kite. You can't keep taking them back. That is the hardest lessen to learn of all. I am driven to take back my cares and worries, which is what keeps me stuck. Now if you will excuse me, I need to go and make a whole mess of kites so I can sail them tomorrow.

An "un" weekend Part II

Calm. Calmer. Calmest.

angry loop

begin again:

Calm. Calmer. Calmest.

An "un" weekend

What I am hoping for this evening

Cyber friends

About one month ago, I learned about a blog...it was a blog of an old "friend." A person who walked away from fame and fortune to save herself and her family. She needed to find her "yellow" again.

I didn't know what a blog was. I didn't have one. I did "get" one though. I think I realized that I needed one. In therapy, I learned the value of journaling. It is cathartic. I have posted and read and thought and pondered. It has been a good and valuable experience.

The thing is that once I started blogging, I read Rosie's comments. That is when I became interested in other people's lives. I usually find something touching in a post left on Rosie's Comments pages and then link for a visit.

I have visited many a blog and read about many a heart break, joy or view of something simple. I comment and viola! I have connected.

The interesting thing is that I have forged cyber friendships with people that I might not have met. I love the play and film-Six Degrees of Separation. I really should read the novel. Greg took me to see the play for our anniversary. Oh! It was wonderful. Intimate seating, so the audience was actually part of the story...much like the people standing around listing to Louisa, call me Uisa and her husband's stories spun by the "son of Sidney Poitier." Six degrees.

I visit blogs on a semi-regular basis or almost obsessively depending on what is happening in my world...or what isn't happening. But I have connected...with friends...people from all walks of life. I enjoy this discussion and support. It is like I have known you for a long time. I know that it is an illusion, but it feels that way. I think that it feels that way because we share very deep thoughts and feelings.

Perhaps the best thing about this is that it opens my mind. I am learning. I am feeling. I am "joining." I have read hate, but that is actually few and far between. For the most part, there is friendship, laughter, concern, support, assistance and curiosity.

I like looking into your life and I thank you for visiting mine. Here, in cyber space, I find that I am not alone. That is comforting. Thank you for your cyber support.

5~7~5 Haiku Part II

It looked like midnight
The wind howled while rain fell
Triple rainbow birth

My love for you grows,
Like a vine on a trelis
Watered and tended.

Red tulip's burden:
Spring snowfall looks like diamonds,
Crowned regal beauty.

Mountains jut upward.
Their youth is the jagged edge.
Nature moves mountains.