Free this woman

I’m tired of judging the one person I live with. The years have loaned me chains to wrap around me to hold me back from living. Free this woman.

Genetics, predisposition questions, beatings, sexual exploits, and welcome to the world of rope and links. Somehow it all meshed into my being and told me: this is who you are. But I do not have to remain that tangled, distorted self another day. Today, just today, I count. Who shall free this woman?

A stranger asked me, “Which piece of your challenging puzzle is the hardest to accept?”

I could not answer… for the puzzle was not yet fully revealed. So instead I answered, “Today… today is the hardest piece to accept, but it is easier than trying to lump a week or month together into acceptance.”

He said, “Then, just for today… free this woman.”

I took another deep breathe and exhaled. Lying on the ground, hoping the fire ants were not on the move, I paused to see if I felt like crying. No? I stood and shook off the dirt and leaves and pronounced myself “free”.

There’s always a beginning and though I have started over each time with each part that needed help… I still believe the hardest part is acceptance. From there I am often moved by the momentary joy and a glimmer of hope. I hang on to those tiny moments as if they were precious pearls.

Free this woman.

Could I?

Could I be a shining light for someone in their darkest night?

Could I help a soul find rest by doing what I do the best?

Could I tell of hopeful things and watch for peace and what it brings?

I don’t know but I can try
Write my thoughts, I’ll let them fly
Maybe one will see in view:
A better life… a better you.

Could I write some things that help, that don’t rehash a nasty whelp?

Could I write my feelings out and let you learn without a doubt

That life goes on and we go too, with hearts together staying true?

Could I?

I am my words (version 2)

I want to explore without getting lost
And visit lone places without any cost

To love more freely and yet I do not
Fearing the pain I reject the whole lot

My mind swirls in time and though I’ve no say
My closet is full of more prayers for the day

Temptation is danger to people like me
Who laugh at their frailties, as foam of the sea?

Mysteries plague my end-less repentance
Tortured desires, the reverse of my senses

Life is much more yet I am here fighting
To be what I be; I am here for the writing.

My words will I give and not ask for them back
And I’m sure when I’m done, there won’t be a lack

I want to know people but fear what I’ll feel
When they know my past that makes me so ill.

Yet I share what I know, reveal what I’ve heard
Being true to myself because I am my words.

Stand in the rising sun

It’s another morning when the sun is blazing as its rising and I stand there in awe. I stand there in the rising sun.

The night has left me doubting and perplexed; am I making the right decision.

Rising sun speak to this confused one.

I wrote a friend-to-be but I cannot say what I fear.
I wrote an old friend but there’s no answer.
I wrote a new acquaintance, but feel afraid to reach out.
I wrote myself and we cried.

The night gets closer and I am tired and still I work on afraid to stop. I’ll set my clock. The hours drag as I wait for the rising sun.

Till it’s another morning when the sun is blazing as its rising and I stand there in awe. I stand there is the rising sun.

Rising sun speak to this confused one.

De-tales

Her house upon the hill was high above the massive rocks
The sand now packed in mounds kept richer soil in locks
The water held a mirror reflecting beauty fair
While ripples from the tide obeyed no one who lived near there

Out beyond the sea wall beyond the roaring waves
A large and awesome whale swam peacefully in its ways
She watched it from a distance and longed to join its side
In hopes of floating eagerly upon the rising tide

The beast was oh so beautiful and swam for quite a while
And then she saw the reason why, and offered up a smile
A cow with calf arrived to play and joined the larger one
The three would live within the bay and she would watch the fun

Her house upon the hill was high above the massive rocks
Though time would not be measured by the sound of ticking clocks
She’d hurry to sand and sea and sun to watch her whales
And when her friends did come to tea she offered all de-tales!

Tall Trees

I was eight years old when our babysitter blew her brains out. No, they couldn’t have imagined why she would do that? Didn’t everyone love her? On my lap lay my paper, and many pencils; pieces of charcoal and white conte were gifts from the babysitter.

It was the viewing of the body and though everyone was curious about the damaged side of her head, I focused on the side that had a slight smile. Sleep of the angels? Of course some adults wanted to stop me until I told this one man: “I want to remember her beauty and joy. You look at what you want to remember.” And my Mom almost made me leave after that, but our minister said “no, she will stay.”

Later I lay in the big field and the tall trees stood above me and though I felt so small, so insignificant, those trees had enough power to lift the bruising from my heart and bid me a rest. I had been seeking solace in this place of tall trees; here again I needed their reassurance that life might continue without a special friend.

The minister lay down too and looked up into the trees and spoke, “Hi dc, your Mom called and said you wanted to meet me. Okay, I’m here, what would you like to talk about?”

“Oh, nothing really; I just wanted you to help me listen in case there’s something said and I don’t understand it. I’m almost nine, but I’m still a kid.”

“Why here, in this place?”

“The babysitter and I were here last Saturday… lying right here on these leaves. She told me that if things weren’t better when she got home she was going to blow her brains out.” I was shaking and barely holding back eight, almost nine year old sobs.

“I’m so sorry, dc… but”.

“I didn’t know what she meant or I could have told my Mom!” Now the dam was broken.

“Bless your heart.”

“No, bless my ears so I can understand from now on. I didn’t know, I didn’t know.”

It was a strange wind that stayed with the trees all through winter. I’d park my bike and walk into the circle and call her name. But no one answered. On her birthday I took a balloon and let it go up through the trees; pink, her favorite color.

Spring came and my mind left. My parents refused therapy for me, it was a no-no. All I know is that one day when I was twelve I looked in the mirror and saw myself and not “Barbara” staring back at me. I knew I was free, and so was she.

A Prisoner in Time

You captured me

because I let you

hear that,

I let you

capture me

now I'm going

and you

will not cry

why because

I was a good prisoner

a prisoner in time

why you spoke less

no sweetness

music stopped

no song

just carried on

in the new time

a low time

and I can go

I can let you go

my prison time

and you said

I was a good word

you captured me

because I let you

hear me,

I let you

capture me

Switched Teams

I hail from the “Carolinas” in the States; born and raised here. Don’t know why I keep coming back. It’s mostly the coast that holds me; holds me with all its wonder and my secrets. I used to be a basic Carolina girl who loved football. Got tired of all the negative and destructive behavior of sports professionals in our area; enough was enough.

See this Carolina Panther sitting on a granite wall? Well on that wall my name is engraved as one of the first seat license owners in the, then, “Erickson Stadium”. Imagine a small town girl cut into the wall. It was expensive but I was told it would make a great investment… gee I wish somebody had told “The Carolina Panthers” that.

Sold my ticket to family and went off to invest in people in other ways. I’ve had a lot more scoring on the board and lots of happy people getting needs met. So if you want to really invest your time, talent, and finances… invest in peoples’ lives. Your contribution becomes engraved on your heart. Please and thank you.

Another Fall

Its fall and the leaves are taking their time now to come down to the ground, to cover me with their jewel tones.

Its fall and the wind is dancing and prancing and my hair is blowing around and covers my eyes and I strain to see the path.

Its fall and short walks become longer, easier breathing, cool restful wind, and a nice chill prevented by a light jacket.

Its fall and my sweet Canadian geese strut from the lake down to Mrs. Nix’s and a group will take flight out soon.

Its fall and the last spotted monarch left two weeks ago and we are sad but know she will send new troops this coming spring.

Its fall, my Mom’s favorite time of year and I’m glad she passed on in spring because I love the fall too, and this was always our play season.

Its fall and as I wait for those leaves to accumulate so I can rake and jump in them, I wonder why I feel so alive in the dying time of the year? Or was that the answer.

Circled In Fear ~painting by dcrelief~

Circled in fear
Boxed in as bought
Heartaches as layered mats
Framed up for leer

This was my here
This was my here

Small very small
World was my yard
Shadows to run from
Drunks not on call

They were my all
They were my all

Neighbor hates men
This one cruel and crazy
She liked to drink
But hid me, her friend

Till lost in her gin
Till lost in her gin

Then he entered in
Then he entered in

Her one, only friend
Her one, only friend

navigating destiny

I made a wrong decision just like the pilot in the airplane. Veer right, did he say veer right? At what point did he say, veer right? Where was I? Veering left? Was I veering left? No?

In the blog world, (for me at least), there’s the chance that I may not understand what you’re “saying” to me. I don’t know if it’s my ears or the words or the long sentence, but I suspect I read so fast I just miss the whole point… sometimes. No!

In the blog world it could be you and you’re not getting the fact that I’m “really a slow thinker” and just because I can write a lot in a short amount of time, you think I’m smart. No?

Mentally my giant brain has been bashed a few too many times and I’ve lost the best part of me that ever composed a word. Arrogant, yes, and I’m sorry I ever took that path, and maybe “bad Karma” paid me a few visits and said, “Look there’s other stuff you need more than composition and oh, yeah, we’ve got “spell check” now!! So wham, wham, wham, and now you need to “remember how to speak” so that one day you’ll write something that sounds “like you just said it out loud” for everyone to hear. What was so important that I had to experience such trauma to tell you?

In this blog world post, the answer is “stop”.

Well, fine and dandy, but what was the question? We need the question. Do you have it? Where did you put it this time? If I turn right will I find it; if I turn left is it hiding there? Well? No? I give up.

There, perfect; and now that you have “given up” the question truly reveals the answer to be true! The pilot above could have stopped. He could have applied the brakes on the big bad boy and stopped, but he didn’t. He kept thinking that there was a last point where he could turn off and avoid the highway. It was such a big plane that the pilot couldn’t see where the turn off WAS; he had already missed it by the time he asked the tower. VEER WHERE?

My life is like that some days. I hit the wall of mental anxiety without a thought of asking: “Is there a veering off point? Or is there a stopping point?” Read that again.

A friend of mine used to say, “DC, you don’t have to continually hit the wall. As soon as you know you’re headed for a wall, STOP, or turn right, or turn left. STOP! Don’t keep hitting the wall.”

I still struggle but each event brings more challenge to the “wall theory” and STOP HITTING THE WALL has had advantages. Veering right or left can work well too but sometimes it just puts off a decision that I know will eventually end with “STOP.”

I'm just a copy, Right?

I used to envy the cartoon world; their ability to make an icon that people could love. My number one choices were: “Marvin the Martian”, “Tweedy Bird”, and “Bugs Bunny”. All three exhibited quick wit and a cut to the chase mindset… or playful mayhem! Writing in cyber land has been a great deal like being in a cartoon. Everyone has the choice to use a photograph or an icon to represent “self”. You are “seen” as your choice.

I went to guest write on a blog that I did not own. I had no experience of what this meant, I was simply grateful to be asked to join a “writers’ group.” I planned on learning a lot. On this blog I had no icon; I am known by my real name. It wasn’t scary because I thought I was invisibly practicing writing. I had no idea that I could be viewed by anyone. Only when a comment came through one day, did I realize I was being seen! The comment was not from my blog host. I was terrified, but my terror was dismissed.

I have often read another’s post and thought: “my goodness, I’ve experienced that emotion.” But then I didn’t leave a comment to show empathy. So it was that the terror I felt stayed with me. I could not let it go. I could not get out of self to help another ‘let go’.

Needing my questions answered, I sought help, in what I thought was defeat, and went to see my doctor to talk about fears, expectations and acceptances. I thought I’d left the fears behind in the real world. How did they translate into the cyber land world?

The first thing he wanted to know was: “What icons did you choose to represent you?” This was interesting; maybe I’ll write the answers some time. He nailed me; I’m just a copy, Right!

We're all alike?

Maybe, and I’ve heard it debated plenty of times. But one area in particular messes with me repeatedly. How do some of us experience traumatic issues and find a way to survive? I’ve met people whose lives have one continuous boo-boo and I am amazed that they still choose to get up in the morning.

My own super-craziness began in 1997 when my Mom passed and I had to suddenly cut a symbiotic cord I did not realize existed. Granted I had already been physically ill for a year prior but this was the straw… the last nerve broke.

There are avenues to try and are available, but we may not be well enough to know that they exist. We need friends with experience and doctors that will listen, not just medicate! In my case medication pushed the healing out by about ten years. That’s a long time to go with any relief over a subject of pain.

Yes and I am ‘dcrelief’ so what does that tell you? Hopefully you’ll understand that I must try to be a better person for myself. I did not say righteous, good, and perfect, without sin, non-submissive or any other religious conditions and or expectations. When I stop judging myself by these terms I stop judging others. I begin building a bridge. If you feel differently then that is perfectly fine too. There is one statement I have found to be among all religions, creeds, etc: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” All of them have this!

Can I do this? Can you do this? We’re all alike regarding this challenge. From the people I have met who have survived terrific pain, this is what they seek. They seek to share their experience with those who would accept it.

There are only four emotions in the world! Mad, sad, glad, and scared; you may have hundreds of words to describe the level of madness or sadness that you feel. Hundreds of words could describe your joy, utter delight, and horrific devastation… but there are still only four emotions. Do you ever seek to understand something you’re going through? Of course you do. You are human, and in that respect, we’re all alike.

what do you long for?

What would give you great satisfaction to receive? Please don’t tell me that winning the lottery is your best dream. Give me things of the heart and soul. Tell me that swinging in a glider on a Saturday afternoon with your children is precious. Tell me that every Tuesday you help out at the clothing closet. Tell me you’re doing something that allows someone else to live a better life. Why?

I have been traveling through the internet for five months. During that time it has moved so fast that, years are felt to be passing, rather than days. I get in a hurry to post another article not realizing I just popped one into my blog a day back. Many Fridays afternoons find me wondering, ‘where did Monday go?”

It’s a fast-lived life and I often think that I’m living too much of life in here. But I want to write and here is one of the best places because I get to set my own hours and most subjects. So it is that I have returned so many times and people have been very gracious to let me be a small part of the picture.

In no time at all, I have met different people, shared a few stories, and moved on to another fine blog. But oh, I have lots of favorites after five months and I need to fix a schedule and a site list so I won’t miss reading favorite blogs. So this fast-lived life has benefits.

One of the hardest things for me to accept was that real people existed behind the screen images and shadows. My thinking was, “You can be whoever you want to be and I would never be the wiser.” It scared me often. Sometimes I grossly misunderstood a message or e-mail. My perception of the incoming fast-livers was devoid of joy and peace, though no one threatened me ever.

Then one day I had a revelation: I could be whoever I wanted to be in this screened world. I could maintain an attitude of pleasantness as I had observed in others. Be gracious and kind in my comments. Most of all: be sincere in my sharing, and thankfulness for fellow bloggers, not just for the readers. Because the ones I chose to imitate were happy and that’s what I wanted. I wanted to be happy; there are days now when I feel happy. And now I long to pass that onto others... all things in their time.

always alone

I’m here all alone
Every day in my home
And I wonder, oh well
Am I living in hell?

Is there some other place
With thoughts that replace
The ones in my face
That mess with the grace?

I can’t see what’s ahead
And stop all this dread
From circling my head
As I lay on my bed

My pleas are so few
For what I should do
To settle my dues
And heal ones I choose

And here all alone
As the days greet my home
I still wonder why
But no longer cry

For love of self

It is good to take time out to do the things we love. I love the water, so sailing, fishing, swimming and other related activities are fun. Fresh air and sunshine are great for my health, even when I don’t want to go out the door. I take my kitchen clock timer and force myself to sit quietly for 15 minutes and breathe deeply. Invariably I find that once that first fifteen minutes passes, then I’m into another 15 without thinking. But this has taken me some time to do.

I get overwhelmed by a problem and cannot think of how to deal with it; how do I resolve an issue that earlier in my life would have been nothing to be concerned about? When did I trade in my peace of mine for paranoia? Or have I always been this way and only now that I’m sick is it so openly visible? I’m not sure.

My current step is talking with a doctor and people who seem to have experienced things like I experience. I also have friends who are not like me but enjoy similar subjects, such as poetry, economics, and politics, mud wrestling (!). And I have this urge to go horseback riding in the snow. What is that about?

So whatever adventure I’m on, on the day you visit, take time to look at the photo or painting because I’m probably focusing on that. Should you see yourself, feel free to let me know. Comments are welcome.

Fly

I longed to fly and needed wings
I searched for plumage, leather strings.
My eagerness was rather great
For heaven’s height I could not wait.

My friends aloft were soaring high
I longed to touch that sacred sky.
My body ached from working out
The muscle tone became quite stout.

I climbed a mount and stretched my wings
This flexed my arms and tightened strings
One step I took, but backed away
The wind was rough; wait one more day.

I stripped of clothes at morning’s light
Climbed that same hill to take my flight
When at the top I offered prayer
To one eternal that waited there:

“Oh let me fly and see your face
Guide my flight with heaven’s grace
And should I die before I land?
Please catch me in your loving hand.”

a beach I do not know

A beach I do not know
Is beckoning me to call
It has the strangest rocks
Not like a beach at all

The wind whips round
My shoulders chill
And I am found
Without much will

I leave to find a sweater
The fire inside is warm
The cabin keeps the weather
Outside, I am not harmed

Many come to heal here
Some just come to play
Others bring their fear near
And find a peaceful way

My head rest on my pillow
I’m thankful that I came
No more the weeping willow
Because they’ve soothed my pain

Harmony

I am more than what you see
I am more than simply me
I am one you used to love
I am one who is the dove

You were precious in my eyes
You were kind, I was not wise
You loved me, but I was blind
Then you left our world behind

I did not know that I was weak
And to admit I could not speak
I only knew I had to seek
The life that kept me from the deep

You are still precious in my heart
The times I thought we could restart
Are gone and though it is a lark
I’ll always see your glowing spark

I am more than what you see
I am more than simply me
There’s no stigma, look, you’ll see
My life is lived in harmony

My home

My home close to the sea and the mighty wind brings me clouds to watch the day. I watch them and watch the sea oats as they sway back and forth. The softness of the oats as they rustle each other then suddenly stops. The wind dies down and I take in deep breaths at water’s edge. I feel… I feel so… glad to feel at all.

My home has a small play of sunlight peeking through so I’ll be warm against the winds that preclude the storm. Large billowy and large pillars of clouds push across the water and throw ocean spray around me. I taste… it taste… the saltiness that I am made of.

Yet I Continue (2)

There are times when I’m not sure why I’m headed in “this direction”, or “that direction”; I only know that I don’t go alone. Many times I sit down to write and have no idea what will be presented or brought to the forefront of this “pop corn” like brain. Some posts surprise me more than they might surprise you. At times it’s like I’ve stepped out of a cave into a reality that bids me to just think and write whatever I’m feeling. Oh my, do I have feelings… and some might appear detrimental to my health. Indeed there is fear that what I write will be futile in its attempt to share life as I experience it. Yet I continue.

When it’s time to chose a photo I really note what elements ‘speak’ to the theme I’m attempting. This ocean looks pretty calm with nice small rolling waves. The foam rushes to shore with a bit of force cutting lines into the sand. Overall the photo exhibits a peaceful color soothing the nerves, advocating rest while the foam steadily flows. Yet I continue.

Strangely this photo is only for right now; this moment. My struggle to maintain an evenness of life is still affected by pain recently experienced. Yet I continue.

My walk is steadier, my goal ever true, and my hands write of the healing I feel from those of you… who continue.

Do I have a writer's block?

I’m not finding anything I want to write about so I’ll write about that. And blank.

I have goals that I’m afraid to reach toward. My current situation allows me to continue hiding from myself and those goals. And blank.

I have some very supportive people and resources and life is getting better, but I am not yet willing to hear reality. Yet my reality is what I make of it, taking into account the universal boo-boos that are planned for me.

I found this photo and it looks to be an old aqueduct/bridge thing that seems to parallel my issues. The old is crumbling and being washed away. But since I cannot see the new I run scared, and running is too familiar… it doesn’t work. And blank.

“And blank” is the emptiness that sits at the end of a sentence where another sentence might have joined had I had another thought to add. Another sentence would deliver me, possibly, to a paragraph? That’s the way compositions used to work but this is blogging; an informal rendering of heart and mine to cyber page.

I long to find the indwelling stirring that I feel and use to pen my pages; it’s not gone… it just seems to be on a break. Maybe I’m forcing issues I’m not ready for. Maybe I need some rest. I won’t know until I get ‘there’: End and blank.

A remembrance of love

You came here from another land
And we sat until dawn talking about the craziness
Of our world

Yours so humble and peaceful, mine aggressive
And often turbulent
But we talked on

The light shone through the glass door
And we noticed the sunrise
Neither of us tired

I couldn’t pronounce your name and you
Couldn’t pronounce mine,
But in a month we’d be married

Six months passed our lives broken
You went off to war
I stayed here and realized we
Would never be the same

a place for me

If I could live anywhere it would be in a place just like this scene of morning coolness; a chilled spray with slow, soft crashing waves of green nearing shores' edge, peaking in pink foam.

It would be a delicate sunrise of bright pink toned yellows, breaking forth in a lemony sky, oh my.

Would I share it or be alone? I think I'd rather be alone and drink it in; explore every sensory preception's reception.

The sand waits for each footprint to appear and just as quickly, to disppear; wet sand does as it is directed by a source we often forget. I won't forget this time.

The place I would live surely exists because I found a photograph of it. Can I find it? Yes, everytime I close my eyes I will see it and be grateful that I can still imagine beauty.

Just One Voice

“Just one voice singing in the darkness all it takes is one voice singing so they hear what's on your mind and when you look around you'll find there's more than One voice… “

Artist, composer, and lyrist, Barry Manilow may not have been the most popular musician in my high school, but I loved his music; I felt his music. Strangely I only have his first album, the others lost after so many moves with a running person.

I ran from every situation that needed confrontation, dropping my gift of love and leaving completely. Leaving friends and family wondering what was going on with me? I could never explain, but one day I stood still and let the world mow me down. Running was replaced by anger and hurtful feelings; then the loss of physical strengths. Hate came and it is the most devastating because it brings suffering, not only for me but for the ones around me.

So the choice was made to medicate me and I became a living zombie. I heard no one and nothing. For three and a half years I did not exist. One day I had a thought; A THOUGHT. The zombie finally had one thought; I would die, but how? Nothing came to mind. I couldn’t remember; how do people kill themselves?

Bargaining with the great silent universe I wanted to stop the non-existence I felt; I wanted to die. I began to starve myself, which created a medical problem of dosage versus body weight. Two weeks later I ended up in an emergency room, and the staff was going nuts trying to match the symptoms with a diagnosis. When I finally died at the hospital which tried desperately to keep me alive, I saw some of the most wonderful sites.

My youngest brother stood by my bed and I read his face even though my eyes were closed. He fought heard to keep his emotions unrevealed to anyone. With his medical background I knew, he knew. I tried hard to get his attention and tell him that I was going to be okay. I reached out with my arm but looked down at the sheet where my arm still lay. I knew his future, and wanted to tell him before I left. Just at that moment the golden “judgment box” reappeared overhead. I heard my brother tell his wife, “She’s dying and there’s nothing they know to do for her. They can’t find the problem.”

I lay back against the pillow having watched another “mirror of my life” within the judgment box clear; something had been forgiven in that instant. My brother and his wife stood before me and I saw behind them two great worlds collide and planets ripping apart. A large ship sailed out of the way and escaped the planets’ pull. No one else ever stood close enough for me to “see” what might be behind them.

A terrible medication accidentally got left at home, and left off of the emergency room history. No record of it anywhere. On the fifth morning in the ICU I awoke to a white, bright, clean room. Nurses and technicians fluttering about and then someone noticed that I was awake and sitting up. I had been without that one medication for five days. My mind was back. I no longer saw through a long dark tunnel toward a pinpoint light. It was as if I had been living in a dungeon and was seeing the outdoors for the first time.

I am not abandoning Barry Manilow’s lyrics. In my brief scenario above, someone was showing me great things, and if those great things help me find other voices singing in the darkness, then indeed I must sing, telling them what is on my mind. I’ve found more comfort re-listening to his music than in therapy where a person who’s had no tragedy like mine is telling me: “its okay.” Recently I’ve found many voices that have been singing for a long time of a way to heal through love, patience, and positive affirmations. I continue my journey learning from them and hopefully will one day be included in their collective ONE VOICE.

Can you fix me?

I want to explore without getting lost
My missteps add up, a burden with costs

Love is a goal but I’m never hot
My travel feels cold, rejection my lot

My mind swirls in time and I lose my way
My closet awaits, more prayers will I say

Temptation comes near, a dangerous feel
I laugh at my frailty, but know that it’s real

Mysteries plague my end-less repentance
Unbridled lust and reverse of my senses

Life is much more yet I am here pleading
To be what I am; I am here for the reading.

The want to know people and not invite fear
I read and I write all the words that are dear

A place to belong

A place to belong...
Tis heaven's song
When asked to go
Make sure you know
That in your haste
You leave no waste
And love abides in every space.

watch out for THAT tree

THE spider sat in a tree watching the small fly twist and turn and struggle against the silk. Pretty soon the spider came down and sat next to the fly. “If you would relax just a moment the web’s suspension will stabilize and you’ll feel better.”

The fly looked up terrified, “Who are you to capture me and hold me here?”

I am the master of this place and you have crossed the boundary that I set years ago for the children of all species. You have invaded my domain.”

“I am a citizen of these woods,” spoke the fly, “and I have never heard of any boundaries set before the children of all species other than: ‘be fruitful and multiply.’”

The spider chuckled to himself then openly laughed into the face of the questioning fly. Large eyes, small brain, thought the spider. “Well, that is quite an old saying but not meant for the modern era.”

“T-t-the modern era?” asked the fly.

“Here we eat first and ask questions, inquiries, and resumes, later.” And the spider reached over and took a wing from the fly who winced in pain.

“What are doing? You have no right to do this to me. I am a free species,” cried the fly.

“RIGHTS? You lost YOUR RIGHTS as soon as you flew into the tree of knowledge,” hissed the spider, who sat licking his lips in anticipation of the other wing.

“No, no, not both wings!! Please, I made a mistake. I’m supposed to be in the tree of life, not the tree of knowledge. I must have gotten lost?”

“Puh-lease, you and everybody else alway scream the same thing; wrong tree, wrong tree!! Well too bad.” And the spider ate the second wing off the fly then left him alone in the dark.

The next morning the poor fly continued to struggle and free himself from this terrible tree of knowledge, as if he knew something worse might be coming.

“Good morning there, ‘fly-ster’, and how are you this fine morning?” snickered the spider.

“I am sore and a bit hungry and I suppose it would be an imposition to ask for something to eat?” asked the fly.

“On the contrary I have a bit of wing left?” The spider laughed out loud watching as the thought of eating his own wing registered on the fly’s face; priceless.

“Blaach, don’t you have something more in the veggie line?” asked the fly.

“No, but a friend of mine has just what you’re looking for. I’ll have him come over.”

In the afternoon a large praying mantis appeared in the fly’s vision. He gave him tiny pieces of bamboo shoots coated with honey and a bit of week old bar-b-cue sauce. Gradually the fly began to feel health returning to his life, but what life would he have without wings? Once fed and bathed the praying mantis lifted the fly onto his back and began to carry the fly away out of the tree of knowledge.

“Where are you taking me?”

“We are traveling to the tree of life.”

“Really, I was supposed to go there and not to the tree of knowledge, “said the fly.

“We looked for you until all night. This morning the spider said he had one of our recruits. That spider, nasty business, but he’s got an incredible web; you’ve got to be careful.”

“Will the tree of life restore my wings,” inquired the fly.

“No, you will become an emissary for ants and other smaller species; they’ll feel safe.”

“Why?”

“Quite simply, because you will no longer be able to fly off with their food.”

“Wow, I had no idea I was doing that to other species.”

“Ah and thus the reason for why you flew into the tree of knowledge first; now you are prepared to carry on with your next true mission.”

“And what is that?”

“Preparing peace and unity for all species,” hummed the praying mantis. “Hummm.”

The little fly began to ‘hum’ also and almost vibrated himself off of the tree limb. This will take some practice… thought the fly!

Great Feelings

Great feelings begin with the acceptance to serve others:
Give to ones that need sun to shine for them.
Find a moon to cast a shadow across the land.
Prepare a pool to catch tears for the one who is lonely.
Follow the Jasmine on the night breeze, and find the lover who waits.
Receive warmth by the fire, crack-ling, his-sing; scent, ah.
Longing with heart treasure to share; weep wisely.
Walk through cool morning dew; the feet are chilled.
Cut sweet fruit, juices flowing over the face; a sticky joy.
Watch the sky filled with blue, the ocean comes to visit the sky: blue!
Above clouds chasing, each chasing clouds, and a bird flies over.
His song awakens the morning man.
To great feelings.
To great feelings!

Do the crime, pay the time!

Fannie, Freddie, Merrill, Bear, Sachs, Morgan, and all the rest of you liars to the American public need to see your day in jail. What's so special about you to avoid some time for your crime. Think Martha Stewart! Do not collect $200, but go straight to ...jail.

Abolish the Federal Reserve, a privately owned company; not USA federally owned. US Congress and US Treasury should return to doing THEIR job, according to the US Constitution, to control money release, etc. Pay the debt; it’s in your hands to do it without taxation. Or have you allowed Fort Knox to be emptied?

Inventory Fort Knox. No more lies, please.

Through the portal of electric thought

Through the portal of electric thought...

There, just through the trees my light waited, I ran

My life would be touched by the accumulated voices, spoken on a wind of wire

I closed my eyes for a few moments and a soft male ‘voice’ whispered:

‘Enter; walk past the three trees and then stage left.’

I was too new to understand ‘why,’ but followed his voice past the trees,

Breathing in an ad.dict.cious air; I felt enthralled within

‘Stand here and wait for it,” he spoke and the warmth of his confidence inspired my own; I waited a while, humming, or was that my CPU acting up again?

Presently he withdrew a notepad from his pocket; the size of his palm pilot impressed me

Quickly I looked away, feeling the blush takeover my face; wow, portal hopping was going to be tough

A golden layer, like the gentle web of the writing spider appeared; widgets of gold flickered in the gray borders that sat at the edge: a beauty I had never seen before this moment

‘What is your name?’ He was texting again.

‘Lots,’ I answered.

‘Good, then draw one and start walking.’ His brows arched.

‘Wait, what will I need to take with me?’ I asked

‘Common sense,’ oozed the warm ‘voice’, growing less audible by the moment.

‘Great! Seeing I have none.’

The ‘voice’ last words: ‘Click here; travel the light, good byte.’

SIGH.



The saga will continue… what will the naïve wire-bearer find next? Stay tuned.

Burning Down the House

It’s hard to sit on my hands and not ‘speak’ when I see the government and Federal Reserve burning down the house. ‘The Fed’ as it’s called is a private banking institution, contracted by the US congress to do “their” job. We were sold in 1913 to ‘The Fed’ a company with it’s own interests at the forefront.

Now you know who owns you until they sell you to another. But they’re taking their time to make sure they leave no commodity untouched, while… burning down the house! Our house.

The little empire that could...

This ~ from an article about a medical center being bombed, but the police station across the street was protected by concrete barriers!

[In Kufa, al-Sadr supporters carried banners, including one that said: "We won't accept Iraq being an American colony!" Another said: "The suspicious agreement means the permanent occupation of Iraq."]

Maybe we’ve forgotten our own history, or have we ever heard it? America fought hard to secure her freedom from being a colony from England. We continue to make our ‘ancestors’ mis-takes?! When will we be done “taking people” from their environments or blowing them up where they stand?

What does the government want that overrides the wishes of another sovereign country? And what rule justified the Germans of yesteryear and don’t we get tired of hearing that tale? And yet here we are at crossroad, possibly in the crosshairs of somebody else who can eat us for breakfast.

Nothing to take away from the World Trade Center fiasco, but that was supposed to be a “message” according to the admin. Remember? They had fifty warnings and still let it happen.

So what do you want for breakfast? Do you like sushi? Or maybe a bit of the old world charms cuisine? You need to think this through some more. We’ve practically stocked the entire world with enough weapons to blow us up! Wait for it. What’s that you hear? That is a pre-emptive strike that we think is ‘our policy only’: do we have sole rights? Who knows; maybe that’s the end-intention of the ‘admin that is.’ Secret agreements: wait until you hear about the new embassy in Iran?

We are finally as ignorant as we are arrogant.

If you disagree it won’t be the first time. Think Hiroshima. Japan agreed to peace but we bombed them two days later anyway. Where are we now? We’re making deals with one of the ‘axis of evil.’ Yesterday is such a fleeting moment… the war on terrorism must go on even if we have to cut a deal with an evil neighbor.

If Only You'd See

I’ll not charge for pleasure
I give you much treasure
More than you’d measure
If only you’d see

My heart in the right place
The head is a bit spaced
The love for this human race
If only you’d see

The stars bid me home
Don’t stay here alone
And hear yourself moan
If only you’d see

I’ll not be a lover
There’s no need to hover
Why run for the cover
If only you’d see

It was a dark and lonely night...

It was a dark and lonely night, not unlike any other except I bought a bag of cheetos to munch on and distract me as I walked home in the dark and lonely night.

Off in the distance the sound of an animal growling and scratching against something that sounded like wood; ah, Scruffy, the giant poodle was still awake and sensed my approach to his master’s humble abode.

The sky was so, so, so gosh darn scary looking and it didn’t help that I stepped into a hole and was now staring up into the trees. Snarling, tree limbs… no that was Scruffy snarling; I really needed to get my cheetos home. I was grateful he was in for the night as he would have chased me for those yummy cheetos. He also likes the crunch.

The wind crossed my neck and the hairs stood up. No, really there were a couple of rabbits on the sidewalk and they stood as I passed by. I disarmed them by tossing a few cheetos. With those teeth there was some serious crunching going on.

Ah I finally arrived at my building, my humble dwelling on the fourth floor, but there were no lights on. Hmm, had the power gone off? Had Mrs. Farley forgotten to pay the bill again? Of course the elevator would be out too. I started up the stairwell and suddenly a scream: “SURPRISE!”

As fourteen flashlights blinded me I tossed cheetos everywhere. The poor dear from second floor replied: “I didn’t know we were supposed to bring snacks?” Almost every one in the building was in the stairwell waiting for Mr. Heely to arrive and celebrate his 63rd birthday.

I hacked up the mouth of cheetos that threatened to choke me and said, “Friends, his birthday is Tuesday and if you surprise him the way you surprised me, it will be his last one!”

(Next Tuesday? Next? Tuesday next? Next Tuesday… that’s in two days.)

It was a dark and lonely night, not unlike any other except I bought a bag of cheetos to munch on…

Restoration~updated version

Their power lay before them in land they walked alone
The gracious G-d would see their plight and lead them back to home.

History will bear them out and to the kingdom due
The people without number will closely follow through.

Musicians play their psalms, while shofars bid them come
The children dance, the peace is felt, and shared with everyone.

The land is many colors; it waits the one last change
The heavens open brightly and life is all arranged.

For G-d who has sustained is waiting in this place
And we are there to praise His care and know His loving face.

The Glory Stair

I want the sun on my face
And feel the power of grace
I want to share this place
With those who care

I want to open the skies
Erase the sighs
Let love give rise
To those who dare

I long to write anew
Mis-takes be few
And take another view
Of my own fare

To have more light and learn
The meaning of discern
And may the humble climb
The glory stair

The Graveled Path

I came in spring to look around
The birds were making lovely sound
Summer bade me linger
By autumn’s end I hit the ground

The graveled path in all light gray
Provided sight to see a way
Without much light
I chose to play

The wind would sweep and off I’d go
While people bundled up for snow
As time was going fast
And never more to know

A child stooped down to have a look
Then placed me in a memory book
I’m very old and yet
Glad to be the one she took.

Do You Care?

Do you care
I have fresh air
Water’s clean
A place to preen

Food not sprayed
With all that stuff
A nest displayed
Constructed rough

Do you care
There’s no more eggs
So I can’t feed
The mouth that begs

Do you care
About your own
Would you dare
Deny them home

Entering In

Periodically I go through the paces of reflection and growth. I take the time to read back over the monthly journal I keep, housed in the smallest wire notebook I can find. Little notations from blogs I read, quotes, and items of research and interest fill its pages. Is this the month I’ll find myself worthy of standing before the Creator’s gate, thinking of entering in?

Phone calls from family and friends, and what I’m supposed to be celebrating during the month, occasionally dominate a few pages: “what birthday party? Was I supposed to be there?” (See page 28.) Who needs assistance with groceries? How many pairs of pants will get the kid back to school? Returned calls and follow-ups get a big red check-mark! But does my charity count for something or am I being arrogant to think that giving is the way to open the gate for entering in?

Most days are a toss up as I computer-dive or catch documentaries on subjects that peak my interest. I love to cook and often take two-four hours of prep time to ensure some fresh stuff gets consumed. Tuesday mornings are strictly reserved for viewing art shows; capturing techniques that assist my own sling of acrylics. Wednesday is “Godmother Day” and I look forward to visiting with the 84 year old mentor who thinks I “hung the moon.” (Please don’t tell her otherwise.) But are those interests aiding my goal of approaching that wondrous gate and entering in?

It is a profound experience to enter my “prayer closet” and lay down the people, places and things I would, but can not control. My list at times goes on and on, as I try to earnestly remember who needs what? (It’s hard to read that small notebook in a dark closet.) My committing things to memory often fails and I conclude that maybe I wasn’t supposed to ask something regarding a people, place or thing I’ve forgotten. As always I find myself in a small heap remembering that I am supposed to be there to listen, as the Creator knows what I have need of before I go in the closet. Yet in all of my repenting and praying for a world that hungers, do I accumulate faith that grants me passage through the gate and entering in?

Years ago I found some scripture from the KJV 1611 that sums up what I believe.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not unto your own understanding. Acknowledge Him in all your ways and He will direct your paths.” Proverbs 3:5-6

Many years have passed and as I stand before that gate, time and time again, I am prompted by my mind to force my entering in. The words from Proverbs said I should use my heart to trust, acknowledge the one who knows my turn, and let Him direct my movement. I reflected on the reasoning, purchased three new notebooks, and wait on the omnipotent plan for arriving at the “right” time and entering in.

The Beloved

A tiny statue holds a tiny bird
Who used to speak and he was heard
Immortalized in grey-white stone
He flew away and left my home

I bid goodbye, revisit pain
And long to hear his song again
But I am sad without his tune
And will some day regard his room

Another bird might take his place
To give new song, poetic grace
So I will look to find the one
That gives me warmth, returning fun

Time will move as I research
A feathered love to end my search
The hunt involves the life I live
To help me know what I can give

~the new beloved

A Healing is Forthcoming

A healing is forthcoming if repentance is our goal
We ask our higher power what things will harm our soul;
And He is just and merciful to guide us toward His land
Where everyone is conscious of the love He shares with man.

But His ways are not our ways as we stumble to succeed
To bring about our own ideas of what each country needs
He asks us to consult with Him before we make our trek
But we are much too stubborn and refuse His guidance yet.

How long will we travail and not produce the peace we seek?
Each country offers up their thoughts; some filled with hungry greed.
Catastrophe it seems must always happen first
We find ourselves surrounded by our deeds that cause the worst.

So if you want to know His ways and what His thoughts have wrought
Then listen for His voice and become one who is taught.
Upon the things that you would change and things you would replace.
A healing is forthcoming when we seek His bless-ed face.

An enticement to write

“I speak when I cease to be at peace with my thoughts.” Kahlil Gibran

For the longest time Gibran’s words were my mantra and I increasingly seemed to ‘speak’ all the time; I could no longer shut up. My thoughts filled volumes of air space. Some friends and family who had never given attention to their own thoughts gave mine even less. Alas there were few left who understood my ‘need’ for expression; as if I were a balloon and would pop if not gently deflated. Until one day it was suggested that I ‘blog”… put all of my thoughts to flight.

I don’t remember what took me to Zimbio; a portal featuring magazines that individual members creat. Pick a subject and write. So I made a “wikizine’ as they are called and wrote from art to politics. “Remove the Rose Colored Glasses” asked everyone to ‘couple’ with my thoughts and together create something new: an effort at synergy. What I found was that most members dealt with specific subjects while I was allover the spectrum of life. I began to look around for something a bit more enticing until it found me.

It had been so very long since I had written anything other than children’s stories. Today I’m not convinced that I impact anyone, but remain content to have my words grace a few pages. There is a ‘freeing’ for me to see my thoughts, read my thoughts, and give them wings to fly. My hope: I needed them to leave me, allowing more mental space to continue exploring the world around; more emotional space to explore what others’ feel; and more physical freedom to explore thoughts that I once thought too taboo to dare mention. Why? Because I had everything balled up inside of me and this enticement to write became a gift.

Like a new creature living in a far-away cave I only played with leaving my space for years. My space that I was sure was comfortable, yet had it been comfortable I would not be here today. Comfort did not entice me to write. Disappointment in the cave came often and I longed to breach its boundaries; move or be moved. From somewhere beyond my sight a light shone and came to rest within my view. My inexperience with writing and exploring cautioned me while my “National Geographic’s” self pleaded to let others share their world with me. Maybe they too were no longer at peace with their thoughts. I wanted to hear. Their lives were the enticement I needed. Slowly and surely I moved toward the cave’s opening and looked at the majestic ocean that lay before me: its only one wave at a time, one enticement to write. I took a deep breath and swam out to meet the day.

In the quiet of the night

In the quiet of the night, I can contemplate the most marvelous things or the most pitiful sorrows. I can make them as big or as small as I choose. With only the low hum of my fan, I sit here and type away. Sometimes I wish I could type away the misery of my own and other people's lives; yet I cannot. It is then that I feel so small. And I type and I type.

In the course of my typing along comes a moment of faith and I am renewed. To the cruelest of people I'd like to say, "keep typing, you're not there yet." To the happiest of people I'd like to say, "Keep sending out what you've typed and encourage us to continue in understanding joy and love."

In the quiet of the night I can type chapter after chapter of my life, or of others that may never be read save by me? There are chapters that I've written that never a tear was shed until I reread them. It's also possible that not a tear was shed when an actual event occurred. It is only through the growth of my spirit that I am able to look in hindsight and weep in sorrow or in joy. This is good. This means I'm moving along, while at the same time, I can stand still and feel what I didn't or couldn't before. I find it further astounding that I can take those combined experiences and apply them appropriately to whatever is going on today. I can know when I'm sad. I can know when I'm joyful. I can know when someone else feels those same feelings. I can offer a shoulder, a smile, or both. Yet when the pain of too much sorrow or too much joy would overwhelm me I move to the quiet of the night and I type.

Type, as much as I do, I will not understand those people who love evil; not that they do evil, but that they love it. I can type about what they do. I can type about the attitudes, the facial expressions, the body language, and the heart sickening words. Within my being come the words my Mom used to say, though she wasn't the author, "There, but by the grace of God, go I." How fortunate, yea, how blessed I really am, that I do not love evil. God prevent me from that tragedy. I would not judge them, but I would not want to be them.... those who love evil. I have a difficult time praying for their change when I see no change ever occurring. Year after year I worry that those who love evil will realize too late what they have passed up. So into the night I go and type and I thank the Eternal that if they only exist to show me what not to want, then, it is well. I type, "I am made of dust.... and just as quickly as 'they' can be swept out, so can I."

When tears are shared and mingle together with someone who loves you they offer comfort. So when all of those tears are puddling at your shoes, know that you can step into a dry spot..... And I'll step with you.

The One That Got Away

Prologue

Not all trips are pleasant ones. Some merely exist to teach us a lesson. A lesson about ourselves: what we've been, what we are, or what we might become. Let us not look lightly at the negative behavior we're ever exposed to, lest we become the same in thought and deed.

The One That Got Away

I caught a fish, a very large fish, and fought my better judgment to let it go. It was my trophy, I had to display it, photograph it and show all of my friends that I was the best of the best of fishermen. My ego blindingly held myself, as well as the fish, captive. My overzealous need for "just one more person" to recognize my superiority caused great delay in the preservation of the fish; alas! It was inedible. The bodily damage was such that it could not even be mounted to be observed for all time. The wall in my living room would remain bare.

What was found was painfully ruined, as I contemplated the one that got away. How was it that the joy of the catch did not stay with me? Within my mind I recalled the moment of bringing that mighty one to the surface and how proud I had been. I was the best and here was my proof. How was it that I did not see, that as the fish began to disintegrate, so had my trip? My joy for one had caused me to ignore any joy for anything or anyone else. When the one that got away, went away, there was no experience left to fill the void. I had alienated all others, deeming them unworthy of my attention.

I sat alone and pondered what I might have done differently. Better yet, I sought a new direction for the next trip. I would leave behind all cumbersome things and ones that would divide the mighty fisherman's attention. I would have my complete joy in the catch, and a large cooler to preserve my new slave. Nothing and no one would hinder my expectations.

Epilogue

Not all trips are pleasant ones. Out of the darkness a line is dropped into the water of our soul. Some come with hooks that are attached to things we'd be wise to avoid. What we've been, what we are, or what we may become, depends largely on what we yield ourselves to accepting. Let us not think lightly on the times when we're allowed to be the one that got away.

What brings you home?

What brings you home? What compels you to stop your daily rush and seek rest? Do you believe in taking time out to rejuvenate the body and mind? Or do you just run on and on until exhaustion catches up with you and bids you put down your head? What brings you home?

The KJV1611 version says that man IS a soul… not that man HAS a soul; big difference. So those commercials of tropical or mountainous vacations offering tranquility for you: mind, body, and soul are a bit understated now. So it’s just as important that you take the opportunity of resting from daily grind and feed your soul; your entire essence.

What path leads you to discover that charity is the best gift you can give to your self. Yes, sharing what you have with others brings a wealth of treasure into your heart. Oh, but how often do I hear: “I don’t have anything to share?” Don’t you? Or do you allow your fear of not having enough discourage you from giving?

Is there a light in your life that keeps you from judging what the other guy thinks is important? If you disagree with the way he lives do you pray for him anyway? Or is prayer something you only turn to when things are tough? Or is prayer a bunch of hooey and you’d rather think that you control the universe? What light are you following?

I don’t have the answers you seek because they are yours to seek. I can stand by and tell you what I found, but unless you are open to what I have to share, it is futile to proceed. Indeed you will come, only, when you’re dissatisfied with your own answers. Until then I am another person in the world who is here… simply here. I am always looking just like you for things to make my life better; things I can use to help other people make their life better. And when we all live with each other in mind…the light that brings us home will truly lead us home.

Asian Lover

An Asian land in smoky mist
My open hand becomes a fist
I am powerless to dare resist
All thy beauty I would list

I give control to every place
My loftiness shows on my face
Oh Asian charm from thee is grace
Your maple leaves resemble lace

Yet you would leave me all alone
And there’s no one to call my own
I sought to make your land my home
But left to venture and to roam

An Asian land in smoky mist
Regard the hand that makes this fist
Return the love at twilight’s tryst
Renew the vow I can’t resist

Feeling Small Yet?

With all the borrowing that the government has been doing, who owns us? Really, think about it. If we defaulted on the loans we’ve received, who would could come in and start claiming property? Which country holds more of our debt? Are you feeling small yet?

New laws have been passed that would appear to keep us safe from outside forces; foreign intelligence is laughing. The new laws could just as easily put the citizens of this country into jail cells, while the foreigners come in and purchase the home you no longer own. Are you feeling small yet?

Okay, who are the foreigners? From the top of my head I’d say they are people who have not chosen to become American citizens. What about dual citizenship; belonging to two countries? I think that is one of the most unfair practices we’ve ever allowed here; surely the favorite country will have its best interest looked at first and America is last. Why must America be last? Are you feeling small yet?

Countries all over the world supposedly envy us. Maybe they’re paying bigger taxes than I am. I am taxed on everything and that is not freedom, but a misconception of “paying for what you want.” Make no mistake there are things I want no part of and yet I still have to fork over the tax because I’m not free to say “no”.

Sometimes I think that Britain and the elite of Europe shipped all the rejects here and then proceeded to indoctrinate us on “being a great country.” Of course it went to my head and I’m thinking: “hey, I’m really in the best country in the world.” But then they have to control your government by making all of these laws that squeeze you out of participation. They bring in the Federal Reserve which does not answer to this country since it is privately owned; they can pretty much do as they like. Oh the Feds are a bit unhappy right now because their lies have come home to roost and we must finally play and pay catch up as the economy hands us the bills for their indiscretions. Are you feeling small yet? I am.

Precious Pandas

In this world we need to remember that all creatures have rights. Personally I have a dislike for people who hunt animals for pure sport. I mean take up baseball for Pete's sake and leave the animals alone.

But the hunters have now forced the hands of zoo keepers to try and save a species before the hunters wipe them out. After living in the wild who wants to live in a zoo?

I often wonder what these hunters would do if we developed a zoo for them? Make them endangered and ship them off to a land they've never seen or been to...huh? Too bad they can't have a taste of their own medicine, so to speak. Let's give "law of the jungle" a tweak. Please respect all life.

We'll always remember Bill

Bill was fourteen years old and his owners were giving him up because they had two very small children; Bill rarely got their attention any more. He lived in a small laundry room and learned to how to say, "Leave the light on," because he hated to be by himself in there, in the dark. The owners claimed he learned the sentence from the girls. Just the same, once he came to live with us, we never let him be in the dark by himself.

Caring for Bill was like taking care of 2-3 year old. He was smart but had really suffered from less human companionship over the last few years. The first thing we did was open his cage, which we called, "Bill's house." We wanted him to be able to move around freely as our other two birds did. It took us over two weeks to coax him into coming out. In the end we had to bait him with sunflower seeds, which he dearly loved. He'd follow you anywhere for a sunflower seed.

Around nineteen years old he really began to have difficulty moving about. Trips to the bird doctor were not encouraging. In fact the doc was really surprised that Bill had lived so long, and told us to prepare ourselves for Bill's final leaving. A month before he turned twenty years old, Bill passed on to that big sky above, or that's the way we like to think. Somewhere in the back of my mind I hoped he would be flying in the heavens, though we never clipped his wings, he never knew he could fly. The last word he learned was "sweet" from one of our niece's the weekend before his passing on Monday. So like Bill to get the best out of the weekend even if it was his last! He was sweet! We'll always remember Bill.

The Elections are Coming

I've been practicing my Die bold skills! Yep, need to be ready to pull the lever for the candidate I want and head out the door.

It's not easy knowing so little about the candidates. I mean, really, I know so little; their voting record says one thing at times when they are speaking something else. Oh well, isn't that just like life in the good old USA?! Do we ever really mean what we say?

Ha; this time I'm trying to learn everything but most importantly, "what can I do to make my country a better place?" There will lots of other names to vote in or out... this could take more time than I planned. A quick run to the store for more cheese ought to get me through the next four months. Four Months!! Think about it; in four months somebody will be telling us something new. Unless we have a boo-boo catastrophe and the white house stays the same. Help!

Just the same, please make the time to look at the people you want to represent you in this country. Are you happy with the congress? Are you happy with the house of representatives? Look to see who'll be voted on at the same time that the presidential vote takes place. Until then, grab a helmit and come on over. Me: 1 Die bold : 2