It has been more than a year since I released my thoughts through the keyboard. There are a few reasons behind this, excuses really, that can be used to explain why. School had me busy, my kids have busy schedules, I worked on a political campaign that forced me to keep my opinions to myself, I began working in the real world full time... The truth is, at some point, I lost the passion.
I stopped making time to create a story to match my thoughts. I stopped caring about the deepest joy that can only be achieved through writing. I simply quit doing what I need to do for me, and got lost in who and what I needed to be doing for everyone else. Looking at myself from this perspective, I realize just how very unhappy I am - not with my life or my family, but with me for allowing myself to become so lost. However, it's not an overwhelming sense of caring that has brought the tap tap tap back to my keyboard... and an overwhelming sense of NOT caring.
I login to Facebook and all I see is uniformed political notions formed by mainstream media or off the wall internet "expert" websites. I see those who have never babysat, much less raised a child, give advice and pass judgement on parents they've never known. I see racism, sexism, and body image obsession... and then, I log off of Facebook and see it everywhere else as well. But, here is the thing.... I don't care about what you have to say about anything anymore than you care about what I have to say about anything.
I don't care if you believe that we go to Heaven when we die or if we reabsorb into the earth and eventually become cow shit. I don't care if you think that George Zimmerman was a victim when he killed a 17 year old, or if you think that the 17 year old was merely walking down the street and became the victim of a violent crime. I don't care if you think that Obama is solely responsible for the attacks on Benghazi or if you think that Bush staged 9-11. The truth is, we all have our standpoints, we all have our reasons for those views...
but just because you speak the loudest does not mean that you are
heard. YOU are not right.... and neither am I. All of it is avoidance of what is truly important in the world.
Which leads me to my next point... WHAT is important? What's important is the few years that we have on this earth, and how we choose to spend it. How we choose to treat the people that we share that time with, and what kind of people that we want to be. It doesn't matter which deity you choose to worship, it doesn't matter if you approve or disapprove of who loves who, it doesn't matter who you voted for or why.....it doesn't even matter that your opinion doesn't matter. What matters is that you look back at the end of your life and say:"I treated everyone that I came into contact with during my life with the same respect and courtesy that I myself expected to receive."
I spent Labor Day weekend - and the week following - truly coming to terms with what is important in this miniscule life of ours. I looked into the eyes of a young mother to see her raw emotion exposed. I heard disbelief and fear in a fathers voice from across the world. And, I kissed a baby that made all of my struggles and accomplishments mean nothing. In those moments - it didn't matter who the president of the United States was, it didn't matter which God you worshipped, and it didn't matter how many times a week you went to the gym or what you had for dinner. What mattered was that I dammed my tears, choked back the vomit in my throat, stood up tall, and did what I had to do for who was the most important at the time. After that week, life returned to what could be called normal for my little family. I, however, have not been able to stop thinking about the "what if's" of life.
What if there really is a Christian God that is looking down on all of us, determining right from wrong. Will He be mad at me for believing in Gay marriage and not going to church... or would He be happy with the person that I am despite of me?
What if there really is a Muslim Allah? Am I an Edeline that deserves death... or am I a good enough person in Allah's eyes to walk with him one day?
What if there is no God? Would being a good person even matter? What would determine good from bad without the morality of religions across the world? Would we just be a bunch of self servicing savages or would we still be the pack animals that humans are?
What if... none of it mattered, we kept our bullshit to ourselves, and made it our way of life to do what's best for the people that we share our brief time on earth with?
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Friday, June 29, 2012
Losing Faith
The Waldo Canyon Fire, which started on June 23rd and as of today (June 29) is still raging on, has created havoc in the city of Colorado Springs. We watched the smoke on the horizon billow into the sky for two days before a 65mph wind gust fed the flames and drove it over the ridge into the populated areas. In one day it went from about 6100 acres burned to more than 15,000 acres burned. By Wednesday about 32,000 people were evacuated and the rest of the city was weary and on high alert... just in case.
Nine days later the damage is as follows:
16,750 acres burned
346 homes destroyed
15% contained
32,000+ evacuees
At least 1 dead
About 10 missing
Every business that is open is conducting a relief effort of some kind. Donate $1.00 to Burger King and get a free ice cream cone. Lifetime Fitness is taking food donations for the evacuees. The Chapel Hills Mall has created a lounge with free food, wifi, video games, and news feeds for those that have been displaced, not to mention the countless volunteer efforts and free pancake breakfast'esqe things going on around town. Our community has stepped up to help its neighbors and it's truly been a humbling sight.
Why is it, then, that so many are being so nasty? As I stalk the local news stations for the latest information I am bombarded with posts from people that have been evacuated. I actually saw one woman bitching that her house was still standing, but she was mad because the media is allowed to go to the areas that citizens aren't. Her argument... she forgot her daughters contact lens solution and she should be allowed to go get it. Hey, if it's that important I'll make a WalMart run for you.
Instead of bitching that your daughters saline is sitting there, unattainable, why not relish in the fact that you have a home to go back to once it's safe? There are 346 families that have nothing left but the clothes on their backs and the sparse belongings that they were able to throw in the back of their vehicles. Be glad that you were able to find a safe place to hunker down, because there was at least one charred body recovered from the ashes. Be GRATEFUL for the media, they are the ones that are keeping you informed on all of the going ons, the burned areas, the evacuation areas, and they will be the ones to let you know when you can go home.
The inflated sense of self worth and narcissism in these people make me want to vomit. I understand that life has been flipped and turned upside down like a teacup ride strapped to a roller coaster, but good GOD look at the big picture! It's not just about you, it's about you and the entire city. Whether we were evacuated or not this fire has affected all of us in one way or another.. and no matter how bad you have it, I assure you, someone else has it worse. I am losing faith in human kind, when is the next shuttle to Mars?
Nine days later the damage is as follows:
16,750 acres burned
346 homes destroyed
15% contained
32,000+ evacuees
At least 1 dead
About 10 missing
Every business that is open is conducting a relief effort of some kind. Donate $1.00 to Burger King and get a free ice cream cone. Lifetime Fitness is taking food donations for the evacuees. The Chapel Hills Mall has created a lounge with free food, wifi, video games, and news feeds for those that have been displaced, not to mention the countless volunteer efforts and free pancake breakfast'esqe things going on around town. Our community has stepped up to help its neighbors and it's truly been a humbling sight.
Why is it, then, that so many are being so nasty? As I stalk the local news stations for the latest information I am bombarded with posts from people that have been evacuated. I actually saw one woman bitching that her house was still standing, but she was mad because the media is allowed to go to the areas that citizens aren't. Her argument... she forgot her daughters contact lens solution and she should be allowed to go get it. Hey, if it's that important I'll make a WalMart run for you.
Instead of bitching that your daughters saline is sitting there, unattainable, why not relish in the fact that you have a home to go back to once it's safe? There are 346 families that have nothing left but the clothes on their backs and the sparse belongings that they were able to throw in the back of their vehicles. Be glad that you were able to find a safe place to hunker down, because there was at least one charred body recovered from the ashes. Be GRATEFUL for the media, they are the ones that are keeping you informed on all of the going ons, the burned areas, the evacuation areas, and they will be the ones to let you know when you can go home.
The inflated sense of self worth and narcissism in these people make me want to vomit. I understand that life has been flipped and turned upside down like a teacup ride strapped to a roller coaster, but good GOD look at the big picture! It's not just about you, it's about you and the entire city. Whether we were evacuated or not this fire has affected all of us in one way or another.. and no matter how bad you have it, I assure you, someone else has it worse. I am losing faith in human kind, when is the next shuttle to Mars?
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
The fire still blazes on. At one point today the smoke cloud descended on the city and it was as if the apocalypse was upon us. The sky turned orange, the sun turned a neon red, ash fell from the sky like rain, and the air was so thick that it was nearly impossible to breath. It was probably the scariest moment of my life because I didn't know where that fire was.
Come to find out, it crested the ridge and came into the city. Houses are being torched, 32,000 people have been evacuated from their homes, and the Air Force Academy has sent the families to safer ground. Summer school has been canceled, sports practices are on indefinite hold, and life as we know it hovers between fear and awe.
We went to Rampart Park to stand up on a hill and get an unobstructed view of the fire. It was just getting dark, so when we turn the corner I could see the miles of flames stretched across the face of the mountain. My stomach churned, my throat closed, my eyes filled with tears and no sound could come from my mouth. I was horrified, devastated, and consumed with a feeling not unlike terror.
I've heard people say it looks like a volcano, as if lava is flowing down the cliffs. I don't disagree, but I think a better description would be that it looked as if the mountain had split a center seam and was bleeding fire and magma. Of course, this concept is ridiculous as our mountain is not a volcano, it's a batholith, but images of Dooms Day filled my mind and I felt a sudden urge to go home and hug my children close.
Now i sit here at almost midnight.. again sleep eludes me. I am running on about 4 hours of sleep already, but the smell of a campfire keeps my senses alert. I know that I'm not alone.. my Facebook wall and personal page have never been so active as they are tonight. Image after image of burning houses and fiery brush assault my view, and it's all that I can think about. I hope that if it comes to it I have time to take my pictures off the wall. I need to have my wits about me, I have to lay my head down and shut my mind off.
How will that work out? I guess we'll know if I post another blog in a little bit :/
Come to find out, it crested the ridge and came into the city. Houses are being torched, 32,000 people have been evacuated from their homes, and the Air Force Academy has sent the families to safer ground. Summer school has been canceled, sports practices are on indefinite hold, and life as we know it hovers between fear and awe.
We went to Rampart Park to stand up on a hill and get an unobstructed view of the fire. It was just getting dark, so when we turn the corner I could see the miles of flames stretched across the face of the mountain. My stomach churned, my throat closed, my eyes filled with tears and no sound could come from my mouth. I was horrified, devastated, and consumed with a feeling not unlike terror.
I've heard people say it looks like a volcano, as if lava is flowing down the cliffs. I don't disagree, but I think a better description would be that it looked as if the mountain had split a center seam and was bleeding fire and magma. Of course, this concept is ridiculous as our mountain is not a volcano, it's a batholith, but images of Dooms Day filled my mind and I felt a sudden urge to go home and hug my children close.
Now i sit here at almost midnight.. again sleep eludes me. I am running on about 4 hours of sleep already, but the smell of a campfire keeps my senses alert. I know that I'm not alone.. my Facebook wall and personal page have never been so active as they are tonight. Image after image of burning houses and fiery brush assault my view, and it's all that I can think about. I hope that if it comes to it I have time to take my pictures off the wall. I need to have my wits about me, I have to lay my head down and shut my mind off.
How will that work out? I guess we'll know if I post another blog in a little bit :/
Up In Smoke
Fire.
It requires oxygen to survive. It consumes everything in its path in order to survive. It dances, it grows, it's fascinating, it's hypnotic, it's beautiful, and it destroys everything in its path with a raging fury. Do not doubt for a moment that it is alive. It will choke you, it will deceive you, it will take everything you hold dear, and it doesn't care about your hopes, dreams, prayers, tears, or pleas for mercy.
Just outside my door there is a pillar that stretches into the sky. When I look out it's sometimes hard to decipher what is smoke and what is cloud. Along the ridge of the mountain little smoke stacks dot the horizon proving just how much the little spark has grown. Even with the helicopters and airplanes assisting the hundreds of firefighters on the ground, the four day old blaze is still only 5% contained.
I am afraid. Not for the safety of my family or for my belongings - I will get my loved ones out of danger before I let them get harmed, and everything material can be replaced - but I fear for the firefighters that are in the thick of the flames. Those brave men and women are on the mountain sides digging trenches, hosing down the areas, clearing terrains... all with natures fury surrounding them. I can't imagine the heat that such a rampant fire puts out as it is fueled by the forest undergrowth and trees. I know that the smoke, ash, and debris that is polluting their air supply. And, I can't fathom the sensation that goes through their minds when a wall of fire is right in front of them. Is it fear? Doom? Exhilaration? Excitement? A combination of everything, or something indescribable in itself?
I am afraid for the families of those firefighters. Their children, their spouses, their parents, and their friends. What do they feel when that phone call comes in and they watch their hero walk out the door? I'm married to a soldier, I thought I knew what it was like to be afraid, but as I watch this fire grow and expand endlessly I am beginning to think that I don't have a clue. When he is deployed I can avoid watching the news if I want to. I can take it at face value that he's "fine" and that all is well. I can happily listen to the tone of his voice and know that he's behind the wire and that he is just fine. I can easily fool myself into believing that he is safe and that there is no reason that he won't be home in my arms again.
The wives of the firefighters up there don't have that luxury. Every time they look to the west there's the imminent danger that is threatening their family. It hovers on the horizon, dancing and stretching its fingers further and further as if to laugh and mock them... "I am here, he is here, and there's nothing that you can do but watch me destroy everything." A friend of mine tells me that her husband is on standby, and when he gets the call he'll be out there for 14 days. I am an Army wife, I thought I was of the strongest breed of woman out there. I now know that I am wrong. My entire outlook has gone up in smoke along with thousands of acres of forest along those beautiful mountains. I'm not saying that they are stronger or that I am somehow weaker but I know that I couldn't handle watching the enemy attack my husband day after day. I've come to realize, it takes a special breed to to accept the danger that comes with loving a hero; be it a soldier, a police officer, or a firefighter. My hat is off to the wives and husbands, and my prayers are with their heroes.
It requires oxygen to survive. It consumes everything in its path in order to survive. It dances, it grows, it's fascinating, it's hypnotic, it's beautiful, and it destroys everything in its path with a raging fury. Do not doubt for a moment that it is alive. It will choke you, it will deceive you, it will take everything you hold dear, and it doesn't care about your hopes, dreams, prayers, tears, or pleas for mercy.
Just outside my door there is a pillar that stretches into the sky. When I look out it's sometimes hard to decipher what is smoke and what is cloud. Along the ridge of the mountain little smoke stacks dot the horizon proving just how much the little spark has grown. Even with the helicopters and airplanes assisting the hundreds of firefighters on the ground, the four day old blaze is still only 5% contained.
I am afraid. Not for the safety of my family or for my belongings - I will get my loved ones out of danger before I let them get harmed, and everything material can be replaced - but I fear for the firefighters that are in the thick of the flames. Those brave men and women are on the mountain sides digging trenches, hosing down the areas, clearing terrains... all with natures fury surrounding them. I can't imagine the heat that such a rampant fire puts out as it is fueled by the forest undergrowth and trees. I know that the smoke, ash, and debris that is polluting their air supply. And, I can't fathom the sensation that goes through their minds when a wall of fire is right in front of them. Is it fear? Doom? Exhilaration? Excitement? A combination of everything, or something indescribable in itself?
I am afraid for the families of those firefighters. Their children, their spouses, their parents, and their friends. What do they feel when that phone call comes in and they watch their hero walk out the door? I'm married to a soldier, I thought I knew what it was like to be afraid, but as I watch this fire grow and expand endlessly I am beginning to think that I don't have a clue. When he is deployed I can avoid watching the news if I want to. I can take it at face value that he's "fine" and that all is well. I can happily listen to the tone of his voice and know that he's behind the wire and that he is just fine. I can easily fool myself into believing that he is safe and that there is no reason that he won't be home in my arms again.
The wives of the firefighters up there don't have that luxury. Every time they look to the west there's the imminent danger that is threatening their family. It hovers on the horizon, dancing and stretching its fingers further and further as if to laugh and mock them... "I am here, he is here, and there's nothing that you can do but watch me destroy everything." A friend of mine tells me that her husband is on standby, and when he gets the call he'll be out there for 14 days. I am an Army wife, I thought I was of the strongest breed of woman out there. I now know that I am wrong. My entire outlook has gone up in smoke along with thousands of acres of forest along those beautiful mountains. I'm not saying that they are stronger or that I am somehow weaker but I know that I couldn't handle watching the enemy attack my husband day after day. I've come to realize, it takes a special breed to to accept the danger that comes with loving a hero; be it a soldier, a police officer, or a firefighter. My hat is off to the wives and husbands, and my prayers are with their heroes.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Scattered thoughts
There's a book lying on my couch. "I Wasn't Ready To Say Goodbye". It's a book on grief. It came highly reccomended by my sister. I bought it as soon as I could, I believe it helped her on the road to healing. I wanted to heal too so I bought it. It arrived a few days ago and I cracked it open. I've read about three paragraphs and I can't read anymore. The book scares the crap out of me and I'm not entirely sure why.
It's sort of like that the haunted house at the end of street on Halloween. You know the one... with the strobe lights in the window, the graves in the yard, the cobwebs in the trees, and screaming and laughing kids running away in every direction? Everyone that's gone in tells you how great it is and they want to go back, and you REALLY want to go in but you're pretty sure you'll pee yourself if Jason jumps out of a corner and chases you down with a chainsaw... so maybe you don't want to take the chance, just in case.
I've heard that authors produce their best work when they are in the depths of misery, pain, and depression. I don't know how true that is. I like to write, in fact I love to write and I've been told that I'm quite talented when I do so. I consider myself an author but I didn't write a bit after my dad died and I was pretty miserable at that point. I did write a goodbye to my nephew when he died a few months ago, but that was only because screaming into nothingness started to hurt my throat and whispering into the dark seemed a bad habit to develop.
It seems as if nobody really understands why losing him hurts so much. He was more than my nephew. We were only three years apart. He was my first friend. He's in all of my first memories. If I ever felt joy, excitement, amusement, confusion, anxiety, fear, frustration, anger... he was a part of it. Even as I sit crying while I remember, I can see his smile and hear his laugh... and it hurts me even more. I hate being in a world where he isn't. John tells me that I have to "move on". I don't want to "move on". I never want to "move on". That would imply that I am leaving him behind, and how do you leave behind such a huge part of your life?
It's sort of like that the haunted house at the end of street on Halloween. You know the one... with the strobe lights in the window, the graves in the yard, the cobwebs in the trees, and screaming and laughing kids running away in every direction? Everyone that's gone in tells you how great it is and they want to go back, and you REALLY want to go in but you're pretty sure you'll pee yourself if Jason jumps out of a corner and chases you down with a chainsaw... so maybe you don't want to take the chance, just in case.
I've heard that authors produce their best work when they are in the depths of misery, pain, and depression. I don't know how true that is. I like to write, in fact I love to write and I've been told that I'm quite talented when I do so. I consider myself an author but I didn't write a bit after my dad died and I was pretty miserable at that point. I did write a goodbye to my nephew when he died a few months ago, but that was only because screaming into nothingness started to hurt my throat and whispering into the dark seemed a bad habit to develop.
It seems as if nobody really understands why losing him hurts so much. He was more than my nephew. We were only three years apart. He was my first friend. He's in all of my first memories. If I ever felt joy, excitement, amusement, confusion, anxiety, fear, frustration, anger... he was a part of it. Even as I sit crying while I remember, I can see his smile and hear his laugh... and it hurts me even more. I hate being in a world where he isn't. John tells me that I have to "move on". I don't want to "move on". I never want to "move on". That would imply that I am leaving him behind, and how do you leave behind such a huge part of your life?
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Written For Jeremy
In Loving Memory
Jeremy Gene Sharpe
8/17/1975-10/19/2011
Beloved To Everyone Whose Heart He Touched...
He Was My Nephew.
A Day
I took a day to cry for you
I took a day to grieve for you
I took a day to lay in bed, and just remember you
It took a day, but I could just make out your smile
It took a day, but I could almost see the twinkle in your eye
It took a day, but I could almost hear your laugh
Then, I could feel again
Then, I could breath again
Then, I could feel my heart beat again
Then, I cried some more.
I know that every day without you will hurt
I know that every day without you will feel empty
I know that every day without you we will feel your loss
But I know that soon we will see you all around us
We will capture your smile on the face of a toddler doing something he's not supposed to be doing
We will hear your laugh escape from the belly of a tiny baby, pure and true
We will feel you in the touch of our loved ones
And we will smell your hair in the morning breeze after the rain
You were more than a gift, you were a blessing. Sent to us to show love, inspiration, and strength in it's purest form.
It's time to rest now, our Sweet Angel... What a beautiful life you will have now next to God.
We will miss you, today and every day.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
The Purple Hand
When Ellen came out of the closet I was 18 years old and extremely annoyed with all of the headlines. So she was a lesbian, why was that anybody's business? What annoyed me more than the media making such a big deal out of it was the fact that SHE had made such a big deal out of it. You didn't see Demi Moore going on Oprah saying "I'm straight!"
When I was much younger, my Auntie Nina had a boyfriend. He was really nice and I had a little girly crush on him. We moved to California and then came back to Vegas, but when we got back the boyfriend was no longer in the picture. I asked Nina why they broke up, and she simply said "Times change, people change." I accepted that, time went on, and while I never made the conscious connection, I knew that the reason the boyfriend never came back into the picture was because Auntie Nina had moved the boyfriend out of her life, and moved a girlfriend in. This never bothered me, it simply made since. I think that's why the whole Ellen thing bothered me.
In the 1980's I never saw Nina make a big production about her sexual preference (though granted I was young and there may have been one) so why the Hell did Ellen's matter? Why would it be a big deal in the late 1990's? Quite honestly, much in part to having Nina as a part of my life, the issue of sexual preference has never really been an issue to me. (I hate the term "homosexual") To grasp the idea that it can be, or ever has been to others, is something completely intangible to me. I would like to say that others are closed minded or ignorant, but I can't even say that much about them. I think it is more that they are unfortunate. Unfortunate to not have had a Nina, a Heather, a Rob, or a Mike in their lives to show them that sexual preference does not define a person... a PERSON defines a person. How on EARTH does one piece of a VERY personal part of a persons life become the basis of such discrimination?
And that, my friends, is what leads me to my "violently purple hand". (Thanks for the terminology Laura!). On Halloween of 1969, sixty members of the Gay Liberation Front and the Society for Individual Rights gathered outside of the San Francisco Examiner building and staged a peaceful protest. The newspaper had been printing ant-gay articles against the local gay clubs and they were speaking out against it. During the protest, the people inside thought that it would be a good idea to dump purple printers ink from atop the building on them. Not cool!
Covered in ink, the protesters took the opertunity to scrawl "GAY PRIDE" on the building and stamp their handprints on the walls. (Good for them!). It became probably one of the most visible shows of pride and protest of the time. Unfortunately, when the authorities showed up and arrests were made, it was not the people that assaulted the protesters but the protestors themselves that were hauled in. There was, of course, quite a bit of police brutality toward all protesters... including women. Sickening really when you think about it.
Now, playing Devil's Advocate for just a moment... they DID mark up private property... but AFTER they were assaulted!!
I guess, for a time there was an attempt to use the "purple hand" as a symbol of gay pride but it didn't stick. I chose to use the symbol simply because it felt fitting for several reasons. One, it's almost Halloween now. Two, San Francisco is a hub for LGBTQ pride now. Three my degree is in journalism and Four... it's damn interesting!! So.. what are your thoughts?
When I was much younger, my Auntie Nina had a boyfriend. He was really nice and I had a little girly crush on him. We moved to California and then came back to Vegas, but when we got back the boyfriend was no longer in the picture. I asked Nina why they broke up, and she simply said "Times change, people change." I accepted that, time went on, and while I never made the conscious connection, I knew that the reason the boyfriend never came back into the picture was because Auntie Nina had moved the boyfriend out of her life, and moved a girlfriend in. This never bothered me, it simply made since. I think that's why the whole Ellen thing bothered me.
In the 1980's I never saw Nina make a big production about her sexual preference (though granted I was young and there may have been one) so why the Hell did Ellen's matter? Why would it be a big deal in the late 1990's? Quite honestly, much in part to having Nina as a part of my life, the issue of sexual preference has never really been an issue to me. (I hate the term "homosexual") To grasp the idea that it can be, or ever has been to others, is something completely intangible to me. I would like to say that others are closed minded or ignorant, but I can't even say that much about them. I think it is more that they are unfortunate. Unfortunate to not have had a Nina, a Heather, a Rob, or a Mike in their lives to show them that sexual preference does not define a person... a PERSON defines a person. How on EARTH does one piece of a VERY personal part of a persons life become the basis of such discrimination?
And that, my friends, is what leads me to my "violently purple hand". (Thanks for the terminology Laura!). On Halloween of 1969, sixty members of the Gay Liberation Front and the Society for Individual Rights gathered outside of the San Francisco Examiner building and staged a peaceful protest. The newspaper had been printing ant-gay articles against the local gay clubs and they were speaking out against it. During the protest, the people inside thought that it would be a good idea to dump purple printers ink from atop the building on them. Not cool!
Covered in ink, the protesters took the opertunity to scrawl "GAY PRIDE" on the building and stamp their handprints on the walls. (Good for them!). It became probably one of the most visible shows of pride and protest of the time. Unfortunately, when the authorities showed up and arrests were made, it was not the people that assaulted the protesters but the protestors themselves that were hauled in. There was, of course, quite a bit of police brutality toward all protesters... including women. Sickening really when you think about it.
Now, playing Devil's Advocate for just a moment... they DID mark up private property... but AFTER they were assaulted!!
I guess, for a time there was an attempt to use the "purple hand" as a symbol of gay pride but it didn't stick. I chose to use the symbol simply because it felt fitting for several reasons. One, it's almost Halloween now. Two, San Francisco is a hub for LGBTQ pride now. Three my degree is in journalism and Four... it's damn interesting!! So.. what are your thoughts?
Thursday, August 25, 2011
No good, rotten, horrible, very bad day!
So, cats are nocturnal animals and they like to play at night. Especially my little bitch kitty. She apparently found a ball last night and when she was done playing with it, felt the need to leave it on my side of the bed. So, when my bladder woke me up this morning at about 5:45am, I stepped right on it and I am pretty sure I hyper extended my knee. Ok.. maybe I'm being dramatic but it hurts really bad!! Luckily I didn't piss on myself, managed to make it to the toilet, and laid back down until 6:30 when my alarm went off.
I went into the hallway, woke up my daughter, and headed downstairs to wake up my son... where I was greeted with a pile of dog shit and puddles of dog piss. Personally, I prefer the smell of coffee in the morning but, hey, my dogs thought otherwise. I woke up my son and prepared to clean the filth. Well, I had just mopped the basement a couple days before and I had left the mop bucket down there full of dirty water. So as I came up the stairs I asked my son to take it up, dump it, and fill it with hot water.... only I had forgotten my knew was hurt, put too much weight on it, tripped, and spilled the dirty mop water all over the floor... and watched as dog poop slid across the tile in a mini flash flood of dirty water.
Well, then my son started bitching about how we should just lock the 15 year old dog up outside all night long because HE is sick of dog pee/shit in the morning. Um... you're upstairs eating breakfast... I am the one down here cleaning it so WTF do you care???? I told him and his sister to make their own lunch so that I could clean it up. I also told the boy that we may as well take the dog to the vet and have him put down because that's a whole lot more humane than leaving him outside all night! That pissed him off even more. I left to take him to school and I was so glad to have him out of my hair.
So, I get back 10 minutes later and look at my daughter. I ask her if she's made her lunch and she says yes. She went upstairs to brush her teeth before she left to catch the bus and I noticed that the usual mess she makes all over the counter when making a sandwich isn't there. This concerned me because she didn't eat lunch at school yesterday either. Mind you, she's 13, beautiful, and I doubt she's hit 100 pounds yet... so the idea of her not eating concerns me. I really don't want her falling into the "I'm fat" stage of life. Anyway, I looked through her backpack for a lunch and didn't find anything so I went upstairs and asked her what she made herself for lunch. She said a PBJ, chips, blueberries and a Life Water. I asked where it was, and she said in her backpack. I called her out on the lie... and now I'm REALLY concerned about her eating habits. Like, seriously considering weighing her weekly. Ornery teenager fight #2 ensued until she left.
Then, I decided to check and see if the $105 in checks had cleared yet. Well, I discovered that I had $95 in checking and they had NOT cleared yet. Fabulous. Luckily, they're checks to the schools and I doubt they'll clear until the middle of September... I hope anyway.
I had to run to the store to get some cleaning supplies.. clean clean clean when the day sucks to keep your mind off the suck. I pull out of my driveway, hang a left, make it up a block and hear thump thump thump. AYFKM?!!?!? A flat tire. I opted to go very slowly back to my house instead of stopping in the middle of the street, and figured I would just throw the spare on, get the tire fixed at Discount Tire for free, and if not then just get a cheap used tire until I can afford new ones. Yeah, not only did John take the jack so I had to be "that girl" and call roadside assistance TO MY HOUSE to change a tire, but Discount didn't have any used tires and it will be $80 for a new one, installed. Seriously? Eff it, I will drive the other husbands Hummer until payday, the primary husband can drive around on a donut.
Did I mention all of this happened before 9am? I need a shot of tequila and a penis.... and of course neither are available at the moment.
I went into the hallway, woke up my daughter, and headed downstairs to wake up my son... where I was greeted with a pile of dog shit and puddles of dog piss. Personally, I prefer the smell of coffee in the morning but, hey, my dogs thought otherwise. I woke up my son and prepared to clean the filth. Well, I had just mopped the basement a couple days before and I had left the mop bucket down there full of dirty water. So as I came up the stairs I asked my son to take it up, dump it, and fill it with hot water.... only I had forgotten my knew was hurt, put too much weight on it, tripped, and spilled the dirty mop water all over the floor... and watched as dog poop slid across the tile in a mini flash flood of dirty water.
Well, then my son started bitching about how we should just lock the 15 year old dog up outside all night long because HE is sick of dog pee/shit in the morning. Um... you're upstairs eating breakfast... I am the one down here cleaning it so WTF do you care???? I told him and his sister to make their own lunch so that I could clean it up. I also told the boy that we may as well take the dog to the vet and have him put down because that's a whole lot more humane than leaving him outside all night! That pissed him off even more. I left to take him to school and I was so glad to have him out of my hair.
So, I get back 10 minutes later and look at my daughter. I ask her if she's made her lunch and she says yes. She went upstairs to brush her teeth before she left to catch the bus and I noticed that the usual mess she makes all over the counter when making a sandwich isn't there. This concerned me because she didn't eat lunch at school yesterday either. Mind you, she's 13, beautiful, and I doubt she's hit 100 pounds yet... so the idea of her not eating concerns me. I really don't want her falling into the "I'm fat" stage of life. Anyway, I looked through her backpack for a lunch and didn't find anything so I went upstairs and asked her what she made herself for lunch. She said a PBJ, chips, blueberries and a Life Water. I asked where it was, and she said in her backpack. I called her out on the lie... and now I'm REALLY concerned about her eating habits. Like, seriously considering weighing her weekly. Ornery teenager fight #2 ensued until she left.
Then, I decided to check and see if the $105 in checks had cleared yet. Well, I discovered that I had $95 in checking and they had NOT cleared yet. Fabulous. Luckily, they're checks to the schools and I doubt they'll clear until the middle of September... I hope anyway.
I had to run to the store to get some cleaning supplies.. clean clean clean when the day sucks to keep your mind off the suck. I pull out of my driveway, hang a left, make it up a block and hear thump thump thump. AYFKM?!!?!? A flat tire. I opted to go very slowly back to my house instead of stopping in the middle of the street, and figured I would just throw the spare on, get the tire fixed at Discount Tire for free, and if not then just get a cheap used tire until I can afford new ones. Yeah, not only did John take the jack so I had to be "that girl" and call roadside assistance TO MY HOUSE to change a tire, but Discount didn't have any used tires and it will be $80 for a new one, installed. Seriously? Eff it, I will drive the other husbands Hummer until payday, the primary husband can drive around on a donut.
Did I mention all of this happened before 9am? I need a shot of tequila and a penis.... and of course neither are available at the moment.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Adult Toy Story
This particular blog may be TMI (too much information) for some family members and friends... proceed if you dare, but it is pretty damn funny!
Our first duty station was Fort Bragg, NC. As a PV2 my husband had big aspirations and like most 18 year olds had an unrealistic view of how much a dollar was worth, or how far it would stretch. He went out a few months ahead of me so that he, our son, and myself would have a home to live in.. instead of a cramped hotel room. Despite my adamant requests for a 2 bedroom apartment.. he took it upon himself to purchase a 3 bedroom house off base. I wasn't happy about it, but we made the most of what we could for as long as we could.
Our first duty station was Fort Bragg, NC. As a PV2 my husband had big aspirations and like most 18 year olds had an unrealistic view of how much a dollar was worth, or how far it would stretch. He went out a few months ahead of me so that he, our son, and myself would have a home to live in.. instead of a cramped hotel room. Despite my adamant requests for a 2 bedroom apartment.. he took it upon himself to purchase a 3 bedroom house off base. I wasn't happy about it, but we made the most of what we could for as long as we could.
After about 4 years we were in over our heads and drowning in debt. We had a car payment, a house payment, utilities, and all of the other bills that come along with being a grown up. Our monthly bills equaled about $200 more than he was earning and we had to do something to get our heads above water. When he came back from his 1 year tour in Korea he went to housing and requested that we get on post housing. Because he was back from Korea, it was considered a PCS and we were bumped to the top of the list.. The house that we got on post was 500 sqft bigger, no rent, no utilities, and 5 minutes from his work... I was so excited! AND the military would move us for free!!!
We made our transportation appointment and the movers showed up to pack our things. I tied our dog up in the backyard, bought donuts for the morning and several sub sandwiches for lunch, and kept them well hydrated with soda and beer. I also made it a point to move certain... items... to one specific area and told them not to worry about that particular pile of stuff, that I would move it myself. All went well, they packed, moved, and unloaded all in one day.
That night, as we were settling into our first night in our new home I was looking for my hairbrush and blow dryer, both of which were stored in the hall closet between the bathroom and my bedroom. As I looked around the new house at the boxes that were piled from floor to ceiling I felt a little discouraged. I SO did not want to rummage through all of them at 11:30 at night!! BUT... to my great joy, I spotted a box labeled "MASTER BED: Towels, hairbrush, toys"
YAY!! It was the box I was looking for and I didn't even have to dig!! But.. toys? Did one of my children hide some little treasures in the hall closet? No matter, I ripped open the box in hairbrush victory! There it was... no, not my hairbrush, my vibrator. Nothing fancy, one of the simple long, slender ones... not even shaped like a man.. but it wouldn't be mistaken for wall art anytime soon.
I stood there staring at it for a few minutes, wondering how that one slipped out of my tedious preparations for the movers. Then I remembered that night before (it was a good night lol) Then I was overcome with humiliation when I remembered that it was the one good looking mover that was packing up my bedroom, and h
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Memorial Day
I hopped on Facebook yesterday morning and I came across a post from the "Official Army Wives TV Show" This is what it said...
"
In less than 24 hours, that post sparked about 175 responses. Most of which were from outraged individuals chastising the administrator of the fan page for being insensitive to TRUE fallen soldiers. I was one of them. There were others that stood by the show and said that the actor "represented all fallen soldiers". I don't agree.
I wonder if those people who said that honoring a fictitious character was not in bad form have ever sat through a final roll call, heard the glass on the chapel rattle when the cannons were fired, or felt every shot fired from the 21 gun salute vibrate through their souls? Do you suppose they know what it's like to look out their window and feel the terror that comes when an unknown car stops in front of their house? Have they ever looked on helplessly as the mother of a 19 year old was presented with the flag that draped her sons coffin or looked into the eyes of the newborn baby girl that will never know her Daddy that was so excited to finally meet her? No, I don't suppose they do, because if they had experienced any of that heartache I don't believe they would defend such a callous and insensitive remark.
We live in a non stop culture, and rarely do we get time to rest. Advertising turns Memorial Day into a day of big sales... everything from hamburger patties to flat screen TV's... so I understand that it is easy to forget the underlining meaning... but seriously, when most of the viewers of that show are military related, the post was in bad taste. I would go so far as to say that it was disrespectful to the true Heroes that have fallen.
What does Memorial Day mean to most people? I don't know. I only know what it means to me, my family, and my community. I have spent my entire adult life immersed in the Army life. Yes, I sleep in with my husband. Yes, I take advantage of the day off and throw burgers on the grill. Yes, I have been known to sit outside while soaking up the sunshine, surrounded by the company of friends, with a cold beverage in my hand. ABSOLUTELY!! But I never, I repeat NEVER, forget why I can.... because I know far too well the sacrifices made that make this four day weekend possible.
Unfortunately, I couldn't find a link that lists every fallen soldier in the history of our nation so a list of those fallen since 9-11 will have to do. But, I keep those from the Revolution to today close to my heart and I am thankful for them every day.
http://militarytimes.com/valor/
"
In less than 24 hours, that post sparked about 175 responses. Most of which were from outraged individuals chastising the administrator of the fan page for being insensitive to TRUE fallen soldiers. I was one of them. There were others that stood by the show and said that the actor "represented all fallen soldiers". I don't agree.
I wonder if those people who said that honoring a fictitious character was not in bad form have ever sat through a final roll call, heard the glass on the chapel rattle when the cannons were fired, or felt every shot fired from the 21 gun salute vibrate through their souls? Do you suppose they know what it's like to look out their window and feel the terror that comes when an unknown car stops in front of their house? Have they ever looked on helplessly as the mother of a 19 year old was presented with the flag that draped her sons coffin or looked into the eyes of the newborn baby girl that will never know her Daddy that was so excited to finally meet her? No, I don't suppose they do, because if they had experienced any of that heartache I don't believe they would defend such a callous and insensitive remark.
We live in a non stop culture, and rarely do we get time to rest. Advertising turns Memorial Day into a day of big sales... everything from hamburger patties to flat screen TV's... so I understand that it is easy to forget the underlining meaning... but seriously, when most of the viewers of that show are military related, the post was in bad taste. I would go so far as to say that it was disrespectful to the true Heroes that have fallen.
What does Memorial Day mean to most people? I don't know. I only know what it means to me, my family, and my community. I have spent my entire adult life immersed in the Army life. Yes, I sleep in with my husband. Yes, I take advantage of the day off and throw burgers on the grill. Yes, I have been known to sit outside while soaking up the sunshine, surrounded by the company of friends, with a cold beverage in my hand. ABSOLUTELY!! But I never, I repeat NEVER, forget why I can.... because I know far too well the sacrifices made that make this four day weekend possible.
Unfortunately, I couldn't find a link that lists every fallen soldier in the history of our nation so a list of those fallen since 9-11 will have to do. But, I keep those from the Revolution to today close to my heart and I am thankful for them every day.
http://militarytimes.com/valor/
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Graduation
I did it. Against all odds, against the statistics, against some peoples expectations.. I have finally finished my AA degree. I can now slap a couple of bullets on my resume; AA in Journalism and I graduated Cum Laude -- with honors... I just like saying Cum Laude, it makes me sound fancy! The Facebook walls of all my friends have been flooded with images of me in a cap and gown, and my notifications have been exploding since Saturday with congratulatory words of praise. Now that the big event is over, friends and family have returned home, and the crazy is returning to normal, I finally have a moment to sit back and reflect.
First of all, what am I supposed to do with an AA in journalism? In a perfect world I would want a column in a men's magazine... like Maxim or Playboy... and I would read scores of letters from confused men. My goal in life would be to advise them on subjects involving the female brain. The world would be a better place because of me! I would settle for being a reporter. I can see myself getting a call at 3am from my editor instructing me to be on a plane to DC in an hour for a personal one on one candid interview with the President. My easy going personality and ability to make anyone comfortable would have made him/her request me by name. Maybe I could even be a confidant to the beautiful people in Hollywood, they would trust me with all their secrets!
Pipe dreams, and nothing more. The truth is, journalism is a dying industry and an AA alone truly means nothing. Maybe, just maybe, I could get a job working in the mail room at the Gazette and hopefully work my way up to a paid internship. I knew all of this going into the degree program. At the time, I just wanted a degree to know that I could do it. My entire adult life has been in the shadow of my husband. I chose that life, and I pride myself in that choice for I am married to an extraordinary man, but I wanted something to call my own.
Now that I have it, I have come to realize that I want more. I don't just want a piece of paper to hang on the wall, I want to have my own career, my own identity, my own sense of self. I want to be marketable. I want to make a difference. I want to be the person that the big shots turn to. I have been accepted to the University of Colorado Colorado Springs into the Communications program. With a BA in Mass Communications I can be all of those things. There are so many different paths that can bring me to where I want to be. I can be a public relations rep, I can be a speech writer, I can still write... ultimately, I can still be all powerful with my pen.
It's funny to look back on myself and see how I have changed. In the beginning, school was simply something to do because I could. I had goals, but no real direction. Perhaps because it took me 7 years to achieve a 2 ear degree, but now those goals have driven me toward a direction. I'm not quite ready for the real world yet, but I know that I will be soon... and when I step out into the sunlight without my training wheels for the first time I know that I can fly. Why reach for the sky when there are footprints on the moon... right?
First of all, what am I supposed to do with an AA in journalism? In a perfect world I would want a column in a men's magazine... like Maxim or Playboy... and I would read scores of letters from confused men. My goal in life would be to advise them on subjects involving the female brain. The world would be a better place because of me! I would settle for being a reporter. I can see myself getting a call at 3am from my editor instructing me to be on a plane to DC in an hour for a personal one on one candid interview with the President. My easy going personality and ability to make anyone comfortable would have made him/her request me by name. Maybe I could even be a confidant to the beautiful people in Hollywood, they would trust me with all their secrets!
Pipe dreams, and nothing more. The truth is, journalism is a dying industry and an AA alone truly means nothing. Maybe, just maybe, I could get a job working in the mail room at the Gazette and hopefully work my way up to a paid internship. I knew all of this going into the degree program. At the time, I just wanted a degree to know that I could do it. My entire adult life has been in the shadow of my husband. I chose that life, and I pride myself in that choice for I am married to an extraordinary man, but I wanted something to call my own.
Now that I have it, I have come to realize that I want more. I don't just want a piece of paper to hang on the wall, I want to have my own career, my own identity, my own sense of self. I want to be marketable. I want to make a difference. I want to be the person that the big shots turn to. I have been accepted to the University of Colorado Colorado Springs into the Communications program. With a BA in Mass Communications I can be all of those things. There are so many different paths that can bring me to where I want to be. I can be a public relations rep, I can be a speech writer, I can still write... ultimately, I can still be all powerful with my pen.
It's funny to look back on myself and see how I have changed. In the beginning, school was simply something to do because I could. I had goals, but no real direction. Perhaps because it took me 7 years to achieve a 2 ear degree, but now those goals have driven me toward a direction. I'm not quite ready for the real world yet, but I know that I will be soon... and when I step out into the sunlight without my training wheels for the first time I know that I can fly. Why reach for the sky when there are footprints on the moon... right?
Friday, April 29, 2011
The Royal Wedding.. Why do we care?
Last November Prince William of Wales proposed to his girlfriend of almost 10 years. In the official announcement interview it didn't take long to notice that the blue sapphire ring surrounded by sparkling diamonds was the same that had once rested on Princess Dianna's finger back in the 1980's. Since then every media outlet has been plastered with images of "Wills and Kate"... well, more so than before anyway. In the weeks leading up to their wedding it was to the point of annoyance. Their rehearsal, the food, the guest list, the venue, the dress designer, the wedding party.... everything was under speculation. So, as American's long removed from the rule of the monarchy, why on earth do we care?
I've heard mixed opinions about the subject. Some consider it a big joke in itself, others consider it to be a Cinderella story come true. The truth is, I think that it is painfully sad if you don't care even a little bit. The union of William of Wales and Kathryn Middleton is more than a fairy tale romance. It's more than a marked day in history. It's more than two people falling in love. It is all that, and more.
Their whole relationship is different than any of the other royals. Their relationship blossomed from a friendship to a relationship outside of the public eye. Because of those years that they were together, undisturbed, at Saint Andrews I truly believe that their relationship was able to develop untainted, unlike that of his parents. The time that they were afforded gave them the chance to truly get to know each other, and to truly fall in love. When they were out of the safety of University and the media storm began they were able to weather through it, for the most part. Granted, there was a brief moment in time where they broke up, but they couldn't stay apart long.
During their engagement interview, William finally got serious about why it took him so long to propose. He said he wanted to wait until he knew for sure that she was ready, and willing, to take on all that would come with marrying him. Obviously, she was and today every news media outlet is flashing images of them together... him looking regal in his military dress uniform and her exquisite in her gown. They are the image of happiness and love, and even the hardest hearted person has enough heart to notice that.... even if they are resentful about it.
You see, we care because this whole thing has humanized a family that has long seemed untouchable. Kathryn Middleton is an average girl that fell in love with a guy, and he fell in love with her... but it is far from a Cinderella story. Because when they were at Saint Andrews together, he wasn't a prince... he was merely another student, another guy... another friend that vented his frustrations and worries about everyday life. They are both well educated, young, and openly in love with one another. They've settled into this life, this routine, where they are the center of one another's world, yet balance the weight of the world on their shoulders.
No doubt, this happens every day. I met the love of my life in school. We were friends first, then we got married. I wore a gown the looked sort of similar to hers actually. Nobody televised my wedding. Less than 50 people were at my ceremony as opposed to the billions that watched when those took their vows. A small number of people will ever see my wedding photos, theirs will go into history books. But, the story is the same. Boy meets girl. Boy falls for girl. Boy and girl get married... and dreams for happily ever after ensue.
So, why do we care? We care because they are us, and we are them, how can we not care?
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Forgiveness?
I spent my entire childhood waiting to be loved and accepted by the children of my father's first marriage. I couldn't understand what I did that was so wrong that they would resent me as much as they did. I tried to ignore it, because my dad always told me that they DID love me and I wanted to believe him. When I had children of my own, the resentment carried over to my children. That's not hearsay or rumour, that was straight from one of them after my dad's death. That was when I tried to wash my hands of them for all of eternity.
The one who seethed the jealousy of my children has tried to contact me over the years and I've rejected her every time In recent years.. VERY recent years... I came to terms with the idea that there were half siblings out there that I would never know, would never care to know, and would never want my children to know existed. More than that, I realized that I did nothing wrong to deserve such treatment. They hated me merely because I was born, and if that ruined their lives... well, it wasn't my fault. I sympathized with their situation, even if they had a warped version of my reality, and I sent the aforementioned one an email. I apologized for not responding to her olive branches, and explained to her why I didn't. It felt good, it felt freeing.
But then, the youngest of the sisters rocked my world and sent me an email. She said she was thinking about me, she said she wanted to know me. She extended herself in a way that none of the rest of them had... and I had no idea how to respond. I sat and read the email about 100 times before I made about that many phone calls to figure out what to do. When I finally decided to reply, I had to have written, deleted, and written again before I sent an email back to her. The entire situation ignited electrical impulses through my brain that awoke an insecure little girl that lived in the recesses of my subconscious and ignited the anger of a mother bear.
It wasn't until she used the word "sister" in reference to our relationship that I realized none of them can hurt me anymore. The little girl inside of me didn't jump for joy at acceptance, in fact, it made me a little angry. I'm not a long lost sister that they just discovered, I'm a 33 year old woman that they rejected... But this particular person has owned that, she's admitted it, and she apologized for it. Two very powerful feelings, resentment and forgiveness, now weigh heavily on my heart and mind with every moment. I'm left wondering if people do change. I'm left wondering "why now?". I'm left wondering if I'm woman enough to forgive. I guess I'm just left in a state of wonder.
The one who seethed the jealousy of my children has tried to contact me over the years and I've rejected her every time In recent years.. VERY recent years... I came to terms with the idea that there were half siblings out there that I would never know, would never care to know, and would never want my children to know existed. More than that, I realized that I did nothing wrong to deserve such treatment. They hated me merely because I was born, and if that ruined their lives... well, it wasn't my fault. I sympathized with their situation, even if they had a warped version of my reality, and I sent the aforementioned one an email. I apologized for not responding to her olive branches, and explained to her why I didn't. It felt good, it felt freeing.
But then, the youngest of the sisters rocked my world and sent me an email. She said she was thinking about me, she said she wanted to know me. She extended herself in a way that none of the rest of them had... and I had no idea how to respond. I sat and read the email about 100 times before I made about that many phone calls to figure out what to do. When I finally decided to reply, I had to have written, deleted, and written again before I sent an email back to her. The entire situation ignited electrical impulses through my brain that awoke an insecure little girl that lived in the recesses of my subconscious and ignited the anger of a mother bear.
It wasn't until she used the word "sister" in reference to our relationship that I realized none of them can hurt me anymore. The little girl inside of me didn't jump for joy at acceptance, in fact, it made me a little angry. I'm not a long lost sister that they just discovered, I'm a 33 year old woman that they rejected... But this particular person has owned that, she's admitted it, and she apologized for it. Two very powerful feelings, resentment and forgiveness, now weigh heavily on my heart and mind with every moment. I'm left wondering if people do change. I'm left wondering "why now?". I'm left wondering if I'm woman enough to forgive. I guess I'm just left in a state of wonder.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
There's a WHAT in your yard?
OK, so I got this email today from my schools alert message system..
Centennial Campus only: Ft. Carson Army Post personnel advised our Department of Public Safety that they found a piece of ordnance (some kind of explosive device) near the fence that divides Centennial Campus’ land from theirs. As a precautionary measure only, we were advised to evacuate the Grounds Shop and Fleet Management area of Centennial Campus. There is no danger to Centennial Campus and no need to evacuate any other area. They are in the process of removing the ordnance.
It reminded me of when I lived on Fort Bragg. My house was right next to an elementary school and all the kids would cut across my yard to get to and from school. Well, one day I was standing outside waiting for my kids to come home when I saw a group of boys standing in a cluster in my front yard. I heard this...
"Pick it up."
"No, YOU pick it up."
"No way! I DARE you to pick it up!!"
Thinking it was a dead animal, and with the whole bird flu panic all over the news, I went over to investigate. No.. it wasn't a dead bird, it was a grenade. The pin was still in it, but it was a real one. One of my neighbors stood watch over the grenade and kept the kids away from it while I ran over to the MP that was sitting in front of the school to watch for speeders in the school zone. Poor guy... he just wanted to give out some tickets LOL
So, I knocked on his window and he kind of had this annoyed look about him. He rolled it down and stared at me. This is the conversation, which I will never forget as long as I live....
"Um, hi. There's a grenade in my yard."
"There's a what in your yard?"
"A grenade."
"A real one?"
"It looks real, but I have no intention of testing it out."
"Fuck."
lmao
I had the fire department, EMT's, the bomb squad, CID... EVERYBODY there within 3 minutes. My whole courtyard was evacuated, but I wasn't allowed to go too far in case they needed to question me. So, after they got the stupid thing out of my yard the MP that was watching for school fights and speeders came over to me. He says..
"You can go home now, we don't have any questions for you... oh, and I wanted to say thanks for the excitement. I was supposed to be off as soon as all those little brats got home."
It freaked me out at the time, but looking back... it kinda makes me giggle!!!
Centennial Campus only: Ft. Carson Army Post personnel advised our Department of Public Safety that they found a piece of ordnance (some kind of explosive device) near the fence that divides Centennial Campus’ land from theirs. As a precautionary measure only, we were advised to evacuate the Grounds Shop and Fleet Management area of Centennial Campus. There is no danger to Centennial Campus and no need to evacuate any other area. They are in the process of removing the ordnance.
It reminded me of when I lived on Fort Bragg. My house was right next to an elementary school and all the kids would cut across my yard to get to and from school. Well, one day I was standing outside waiting for my kids to come home when I saw a group of boys standing in a cluster in my front yard. I heard this...
"Pick it up."
"No, YOU pick it up."
"No way! I DARE you to pick it up!!"
Thinking it was a dead animal, and with the whole bird flu panic all over the news, I went over to investigate. No.. it wasn't a dead bird, it was a grenade. The pin was still in it, but it was a real one. One of my neighbors stood watch over the grenade and kept the kids away from it while I ran over to the MP that was sitting in front of the school to watch for speeders in the school zone. Poor guy... he just wanted to give out some tickets LOL
So, I knocked on his window and he kind of had this annoyed look about him. He rolled it down and stared at me. This is the conversation, which I will never forget as long as I live....
"Um, hi. There's a grenade in my yard."
"There's a what in your yard?"
"A grenade."
"A real one?"
"It looks real, but I have no intention of testing it out."
"Fuck."
lmao
I had the fire department, EMT's, the bomb squad, CID... EVERYBODY there within 3 minutes. My whole courtyard was evacuated, but I wasn't allowed to go too far in case they needed to question me. So, after they got the stupid thing out of my yard the MP that was watching for school fights and speeders came over to me. He says..
"You can go home now, we don't have any questions for you... oh, and I wanted to say thanks for the excitement. I was supposed to be off as soon as all those little brats got home."
It freaked me out at the time, but looking back... it kinda makes me giggle!!!
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Statistic gone right
I was your everyday average juvenile deliqiuent. I was headed down a dangerous road paved with sex, drugs, and Nirvana. I stood exactly 100 feet away from my high school so that I could smirk defiantly at the teachers while I smoked my cigarettes. I skipped more classes than I attended my junior year, and when I did go I had no idea where some of my classes were. Then I got pregnant at 17 years old. Yup, I was a statistic destined for poverty and drug abuse.
Seven months after looking in disbelief at the EPT (short for emergency pregnancy test) I held Jay in my arms. His black hair stuck to his head, his little nose was wrinkled, his foot poked out of the blanket that he was swaddled in, and his eyes looked right into my heart. It was like I had known him my entire life and a flood of emotions washed over me like I cannot describe. Even though I was stoned out of my mind.. AFTER delivery... so they whisked him away so that I could rest. I found myself rubbing my belly and feeling empty inside, I wanted my baby with me. Even at that point, however, I still don't think that the idea that life was changing had fully hit me.
I was a headstrong and bitchy teenager (shocker right?) and I wanted to see my baby once I got to my room. Those nurses wouldn't give him to me for one reason or another, and by the time he was ready to come see me... I was hemoraging and terrified. I can pinpoint the exact moment my life changed. The charge bitch.. err, nurse... was in my room to monitor my bleeding. She was refusing to call my doctor and she was chewing me out for sneaking downstairs to have a cigarette before the bleeding started. A CNA came in, wheeling my baby in his little bassinette and said "Look who came to see Mommy!" The charge nurse turned around, looked at the girl, and said "No. She doesn't need to see that baby right now. She's bleeding too heavy and I need to figure out what to do."
I thought to myself, "Oh my God, this is bad and she won't call my doctor. I'm going to die right now and I will never know him and he'll never know me!" I wondered what would happen to him. Would he go into child care? Would John take him or abandon him? Would my mom take care of him? Would John's mom fight for him? Would he know how much I loved him? I watched helplessly as the young CNA wheeled him out of my room. Tears streamed down my face as I thought that the tiny glimpse of his black hair would be the last time I ever saw him. That was when my life changed. I needed to live because I knew that nobody could take care of him the way that I would. I needed to survive because nobody would love him like I could. I had to grow up because he needed a mom, and nobody would ever be that except for me.
The next day, when the bleeding had slowed down, the same CNA came back into my room with my son. She handed him over to me and smiled down... then she was gone because it was only me and him in the whole world. The moment was merely a moment... John, my mom, his mom, my friends all started streaming in after that. But, I had that one moment alone in the world with him when I knew that he had not only changed my life, but he had saved it as well. Happy 15th Birthday, Jaydan. Mommy loves you.
Seven months after looking in disbelief at the EPT (short for emergency pregnancy test) I held Jay in my arms. His black hair stuck to his head, his little nose was wrinkled, his foot poked out of the blanket that he was swaddled in, and his eyes looked right into my heart. It was like I had known him my entire life and a flood of emotions washed over me like I cannot describe. Even though I was stoned out of my mind.. AFTER delivery... so they whisked him away so that I could rest. I found myself rubbing my belly and feeling empty inside, I wanted my baby with me. Even at that point, however, I still don't think that the idea that life was changing had fully hit me.
I was a headstrong and bitchy teenager (shocker right?) and I wanted to see my baby once I got to my room. Those nurses wouldn't give him to me for one reason or another, and by the time he was ready to come see me... I was hemoraging and terrified. I can pinpoint the exact moment my life changed. The charge bitch.. err, nurse... was in my room to monitor my bleeding. She was refusing to call my doctor and she was chewing me out for sneaking downstairs to have a cigarette before the bleeding started. A CNA came in, wheeling my baby in his little bassinette and said "Look who came to see Mommy!" The charge nurse turned around, looked at the girl, and said "No. She doesn't need to see that baby right now. She's bleeding too heavy and I need to figure out what to do."
I thought to myself, "Oh my God, this is bad and she won't call my doctor. I'm going to die right now and I will never know him and he'll never know me!" I wondered what would happen to him. Would he go into child care? Would John take him or abandon him? Would my mom take care of him? Would John's mom fight for him? Would he know how much I loved him? I watched helplessly as the young CNA wheeled him out of my room. Tears streamed down my face as I thought that the tiny glimpse of his black hair would be the last time I ever saw him. That was when my life changed. I needed to live because I knew that nobody could take care of him the way that I would. I needed to survive because nobody would love him like I could. I had to grow up because he needed a mom, and nobody would ever be that except for me.
The next day, when the bleeding had slowed down, the same CNA came back into my room with my son. She handed him over to me and smiled down... then she was gone because it was only me and him in the whole world. The moment was merely a moment... John, my mom, his mom, my friends all started streaming in after that. But, I had that one moment alone in the world with him when I knew that he had not only changed my life, but he had saved it as well. Happy 15th Birthday, Jaydan. Mommy loves you.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
When I grow up
When I was a little girl I frequented doctors offices. Either for my sister, who had a cleft lip, or for my nephew, who had luekemia. I sat and watched them go through procedures with a strange sense of fascination and I learned very quickly that it was the nurses that did all of the work. They were the ones that wiped away the tears, the ones that held the hands of the patients, the ones that brought the medicine, and the ones that brought the smiles. I decided that's what i wanted to be when I grew up.
Then I went to grade school. I had to write a story using the word "out" as many times as possible. I wrote about Johnny the Outlaw who lived way out in the Australian Outback. He hid his loot in the outhouse out on his farm. I used the word out 67 times. The teacher had me read the story out loud to the class. She praised me and told me how talented I was. I decided that I was going to be a writer.
In middle school Lorena Bobbit literally threw her husband's manhood out the window. The court case was all over the news. Defense attorneys and prosecuting attorneys talked endlessly into the news cameras. I agreed that what Lorena did was totally acceptable given the circumstances, but she was obviously guilty. She admitted that she was guilty. I didn't understand how a lawyer could willingly represent a guilty client. I went into high school with my heart set on Harvard Law. I was going to be a DA.
In 9th grade I had to write another story. This time it was a nonfiction assignment where I had to go out and observe my surroundings. I rode the bus to the mall, watched people, rode the bus home from the mall, and turned in a 2 page handwritten paper on the experience. My teacher asked me to make another copy so that she could have it printed in a school publication. Screw that lawyer crap.. I was meant to be a writer!
My senior year I met a young man that changed my life forever. He was unspeakably beautiful. His eyes looked right into my soul. I ran my fingers through his curly black hair and breathed in the scent of his skin. I never imagined a love so deep could exist. Nursing, lawyering, writing... none of that mattered. None of it was what I wanted but I didn't realize that until I held that 6lb 14oz squirming bundle of pure perfection. I was meant to be a mom.
Two years later, the decision to be a mom was only solidified with the birth of my beautiful daughter. The feeling that I had when I held her in my arms with my son in my lap can only be described as completeness. I knew right then that nothing would ever be as satisfying as being their mom. I still believe that. If I die the moment after I publish this blog, I will die knowing that I did not one, but two great things with my life.
When John went to Korea, I was left in North Carolina with two small children, only a couple of friends, and absolutely no family. I was still a stay at home mom.. but Jay was in pre-K and Kaitlyn was in pre school. I turned to my computer for solace. Again, I took to writing. I journaled, I wrote short stories, I wrote naughty stories, I wrote poetry. The short stories and journals got deleted. The naughty stories went to John. The poetry reminds me of a very dark time in my life. Those feelings of wanting to be a writer tugged at the back of my brain. I decided to wait until my kids were in school full time to go back to school. I wanted to be realistic though. I was a mom, a caregiver, I would be a nurse like originally planned.
Nursing didn't work out. I decided that it involved way too much math and science for my taste. I changed my major to English. I would teach in a high school and foster young minds. That didn't work out either. I decided I don't like teenagers enough to spend all day with them. Somehow, writing always came back to haunt me. I switched my major to journalism and in May I will hold a pretty piece of paper that says I have graduated with a Liberal Arts degree with a minor in Journalism.
It has taken me almost 10 years to get my 2 year degree. I went back and forth.. nursing, writing, law, writing, english, writing... it has admittedly been a long road. But, I have no regrets. Every twist and turn that I have taken has brought me to a deeper understanding of self. One way or another, writing has ALWAYS come back to me. Writing is as much a part of me as the hand that i use to write with. It comes as naturally as breathing. The thoughts and ideas that flow out through my fingertips jump around through my brain so much that they are hard wired into who i am. I tried to go different routes that interested me, but I have learned that they were merely detours that led me back to the main road. I know, without a doubt, that I will be a writer... when I do finally grow up.
Then I went to grade school. I had to write a story using the word "out" as many times as possible. I wrote about Johnny the Outlaw who lived way out in the Australian Outback. He hid his loot in the outhouse out on his farm. I used the word out 67 times. The teacher had me read the story out loud to the class. She praised me and told me how talented I was. I decided that I was going to be a writer.
In middle school Lorena Bobbit literally threw her husband's manhood out the window. The court case was all over the news. Defense attorneys and prosecuting attorneys talked endlessly into the news cameras. I agreed that what Lorena did was totally acceptable given the circumstances, but she was obviously guilty. She admitted that she was guilty. I didn't understand how a lawyer could willingly represent a guilty client. I went into high school with my heart set on Harvard Law. I was going to be a DA.
In 9th grade I had to write another story. This time it was a nonfiction assignment where I had to go out and observe my surroundings. I rode the bus to the mall, watched people, rode the bus home from the mall, and turned in a 2 page handwritten paper on the experience. My teacher asked me to make another copy so that she could have it printed in a school publication. Screw that lawyer crap.. I was meant to be a writer!
My senior year I met a young man that changed my life forever. He was unspeakably beautiful. His eyes looked right into my soul. I ran my fingers through his curly black hair and breathed in the scent of his skin. I never imagined a love so deep could exist. Nursing, lawyering, writing... none of that mattered. None of it was what I wanted but I didn't realize that until I held that 6lb 14oz squirming bundle of pure perfection. I was meant to be a mom.
Two years later, the decision to be a mom was only solidified with the birth of my beautiful daughter. The feeling that I had when I held her in my arms with my son in my lap can only be described as completeness. I knew right then that nothing would ever be as satisfying as being their mom. I still believe that. If I die the moment after I publish this blog, I will die knowing that I did not one, but two great things with my life.
When John went to Korea, I was left in North Carolina with two small children, only a couple of friends, and absolutely no family. I was still a stay at home mom.. but Jay was in pre-K and Kaitlyn was in pre school. I turned to my computer for solace. Again, I took to writing. I journaled, I wrote short stories, I wrote naughty stories, I wrote poetry. The short stories and journals got deleted. The naughty stories went to John. The poetry reminds me of a very dark time in my life. Those feelings of wanting to be a writer tugged at the back of my brain. I decided to wait until my kids were in school full time to go back to school. I wanted to be realistic though. I was a mom, a caregiver, I would be a nurse like originally planned.
Nursing didn't work out. I decided that it involved way too much math and science for my taste. I changed my major to English. I would teach in a high school and foster young minds. That didn't work out either. I decided I don't like teenagers enough to spend all day with them. Somehow, writing always came back to haunt me. I switched my major to journalism and in May I will hold a pretty piece of paper that says I have graduated with a Liberal Arts degree with a minor in Journalism.
It has taken me almost 10 years to get my 2 year degree. I went back and forth.. nursing, writing, law, writing, english, writing... it has admittedly been a long road. But, I have no regrets. Every twist and turn that I have taken has brought me to a deeper understanding of self. One way or another, writing has ALWAYS come back to me. Writing is as much a part of me as the hand that i use to write with. It comes as naturally as breathing. The thoughts and ideas that flow out through my fingertips jump around through my brain so much that they are hard wired into who i am. I tried to go different routes that interested me, but I have learned that they were merely detours that led me back to the main road. I know, without a doubt, that I will be a writer... when I do finally grow up.
Friday, November 26, 2010
The Empty Chair
I have always hosted big Thanksgiving dinners. I believe that the best way to honor the holiday is to continue the tradition of sharing a meal with family AND friends. I can’t begin to count the number of single soldiers that I have welcomed into my home so that they could have a home cooked meal at my table instead of standing in line for a glob of instant mashed potatoes. I do remember all of their faces though. I remember the banter, the laughter, their gratitude, and the feeling that I got knowing that I made a tiny difference in their holiday.
Yesterday, as I stood in my kitchen and watched my guests, I realized how much has changed since the Twin Towers collapsed. My husband was the only soldier in my home, the remaining 13 people in my home were either women or children. I realized just how thankful I am for those women. Three husbands are deployed, one recently deceased, but all of those women were sitting around my table, chatting, laughing, and taking care of their families regardless of the missing men. Was I that strong during Thanksgiving last year when John was gone? I don’t think I was. I think, when I look back on this Thanksgiving in the years to come, I will remember the banter, the laughter, but the gratitude will be my own because those women made a difference in MY holiday. Family isn’t what DNA we share or which branch of the family tree we sit… family was what I saw last night. It was the closeness, the togetherness, the love and the memories.
The men that couldn't be there were still honored because among the 30 pounds of turkey, 12 cups of stuffing, 10 pounds of potatoes, two dozen deviled eggs, 25 petite soufflés, 84 ounces of M&M’s, 30 homemade rolls, 5 pounds of candied yams, corn on the cob, green bean casserole, sweet potato casserole, bottles of red and white wine, beer, a gallon of hot apple cider, there was one empty place setting at the head of the table. Sitting in the chair across from the empty wine glass, empty plate, and untouched utensils was a pair of tan boots, a Kevlar helmet, an M-16 machine gun, and an ACU jacket for the soldiers, and a white candle for Mike Holiday... The setting was there to honor all of the brave men and women that couldn’t be home for the holidays… either because they are currently deployed ,or because they were sitting at the feet of their God watching over their families on this Thanksgiving.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Veterans Day
I went to a memorial service yesterday for three men I never knew that were close to my heart. They were soldiers, killed in the line of duty far from home in a foreign place called Afghanistan. I went to support my friend. I went to support my sister Army wives. I went to pay my respects. I went to honor their memories. I went because it was the right thing to do.
These three heroes left the earthly plain almost a month ago, but their loss was still fresh on everyone’s minds, and heavy on their hearts. There were no flag draped coffins. At the front of the church, in front of the American flag, there were three helmets upon the pulpit. There was a soldier there to give a eulogy for each fallen comrade individually. It’s hard to accept that these soldiers, the men who go and fight for our country, are human beings… and it’s harder still to watch them tear up, or even hold back sobs, when they speak of the brother in arms that they lost.
At the end of a military funeral/memorial service they do what is called the “final roll call”. The First SGT stood at the front of the church and called out names of other men in the unit…. After each name was called, someone in the pews would respond with “Here First SGT”. When he got to the names of the dead, there was no response. He called their names three times, and with each time the silence was more deafening. John says that the final roll call is to signify that they are still a part of the unit, but they were unable to make the services because they had made the ultimate sacrifice. That they did.
Today is Veterans Day. It’s more than an excuse to close your business, take a four day weekend, or to get drunk. Today has been set aside for a small population of men and women that risk their lives every day, that have given up a piece of their very being –either physically or emotionally- or have sacrificed themselves for something they believed in. Thank you to ALL Veterans, past and present for standing up to protect me, my family, and my Country.
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