An Eclectic Christmas

It's always a blessing to recall exact conversations of those I love who have passed away. One in particular comes back to me each Christmas as I unpackage the decorations, rediscovering the memories and the gift they are.

One year, my Aunt and Uncle from California were visiting. We were sitting around my mom's house and my uncle began to comment on all the brick-a-brack.

"I can't decide which style you decorate in Rose." he said. "You seem to have a mix of just about everything I can think of!"

I looked at my mom's face and knew she was embarrassed and ready to defend her treasures. In one of my best moments, I stepped in, explaining that I liked Mom's style, as it was eclectic and uniquely her.

"Eclectic!" he exclaimed as if he'd never heard the word. "Perfect word to describe her taste. I'm so glad you came up with that one."

I've never forgotten that conversation and the power that one word had to defuse what could have been my Uncle seriously hurting my Mom's feelings. Isn't it interesting how one word could do so much?

Eclectic. Every year, as I add the ornaments collected over 20+ years to our tree, I consider the memories. Some memorialize family vacations, some favorite, creative teachers who obviously have way too much macaroni. Some of them are tattered and were cheap when they were purchased, and yet I smile when I add them to the tree.

Mom loved Christmas. She had too many decorations, and connected them all with household extension cords strung everywhere with no attempt to camouflage them. They all went up on Thanksgiving day and typically came down before Christmas day. And there was absolutely no theme.

I understand the love of uniformity in decoration, as in many things. I grew used to Mom's taste over the years but there were a few things that bothered me. It drove me crazy to never have silverware that matched or to open a cabinet and not have dishes organized. I also don't like dusting, so I try to keep the knick-knacks to a minimum.

But the Christmas tree is another story. It's quite a confection of memories, complete with bubble lights and bells that blink in time to Christmas tunes. If seeing cords makes you nuts, you won't admire our tree; it's prelit and there are cords everywhere. All the ornaments have stories, and they are all added, giving the angel has alot to look at.

As our two oldest children have left home to begin their own traditions, their ornaments have gone with them, and hopefully some memories of their mom, and her eclectic Christmas tree.

Apathy

"Apathy is a state of indifference, or the suppression of emotions such as concern, excitement, motivation and passion. An apathetic individual has an absence of interest in or concern about emotional, social, spiritual, philosophical or physical life."

I recently listened to a story about homeless individuals living out of vehicles. In the story, the children were encouraged to be involved in as many "free" activities as possible, not only to fill time, but to combat apathy. (http://www.cbsnews.com%2Fvideo%2Fwatch%2F%3Fid%3D7389750n&h=4AQGkcQYDAQG0a8X9onXyLlMbeABCTOi2v3zjuTeZTyok0g) When I heard that word, "apathy," something clicked into place.

"OH!" I thought. "That's what I've been feeling lately!"

The last day of September the grant I worked for lost funding from the federal government and I lost a job. I've been exploring other avenues, but there was always a niggling at the back of my brain. I kept wondering why I wasn't more panicked, or more worried. I was reassured my reaction was normal, that it was a sign that things were going to be fine and I needed to relax, draw unemployment, take it easy for awhile. Easier said than done.

After almost 15 years of over-working every job, multitasking like nobody's business, and keeping children, marriage, career, and sometimes education balls in the air, I find it almost impossible to rest. I've been writing, even published a book through a POD publisher (http://shop.rowepublishingdesign.com/Dont-Stick-a-Bean-Up-Your-Nose-bean.htm). I joined SCBWI early on, found a support group, started writing! Had a couple of items published! I've been cooking for folks, earning enough to keep me busy.

But lately, I stopped going to writer's group. I confess, I didn't feel welcomed and am now using that as a reason not to return. (It's probably my own fault I felt that way.) Nothing to worry about, except now I'm not enjoying cooking. That's a big one for me. And contrary to what some might think, the problem is not the hard work involved in either venture.

I have moments when the sun seems to shine, my mind kicks into gear, and I feel almost normal. Except something is missing. I don't feel like I'm contributing enough as an unemployed person. I'm slipping into a state of semi-wakefulness where all I want to do is play Bingo on Facebook. My state of Bingoapathy has me greatly concerned.

SO! I will apply for the job that's 6 hours away. Perhaps I will have to drive home on the weekends, perhaps we will pack up and start over. But I have to do SOMETHING! After all, who wants to be defined, at the end of their life, as "apathetic?"

One more thought: I think there's also a lesson to be learned here. If you walk by someone who is unemployed, or homeless, or is low-income, understand that reactions of, "They don't want off welfare, they like it there!" might possibly be apathy on their part. It's very easy to become infected, and it leads, quickly, to depression. A little understanding goes a long way.

Blessed Be You and Yours this Holiday Season.

The Wedding Dress

I was privileged enough to be invited to shop with my beautiful daughter for her wedding dress. It was an amazing experience watching her. I couldn't get out of my mind that this was my little girl playing "dress-up."

Things are changing very quickly for my girl child, the one who doesn't like change. I want to catch her to me and hold her tight, protecting her from the heartache that's sure to come her way. But with great heartache, also comes great joy.

The man she's marrying will take care of her, as she will take care of him. They are a good match and, although I already miss her, her life will be more than blessed.

Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead...

And with those words, Adele's amazing voice floats over the air and into my memory. Thirty years have passed, I am married to an amazing man, have lived a full and complete life with all the happiness and sorrow. And still I wonder, "What if..."

Damn it! I HATE that I remember and think about someone I don't even know anymore.

I HATE that words have the power to make me relive what was once lost.

I really hate that once upon a time, I gave someone the power to make me remember, even after 30 years.

And he threw it away.

Saying Goodbye to Yesterday

In our kitchen, attached to our refrigerator is a magnetic dry erase calendar. Today, I erased last week. With a little water and a cloth, it quickly disappeared into history. Wouldn't it be great if forgetting were that easy? If we could wipe away the bits we didn't like, leaving only the good stuff?

I struck me that I'd just wiped away an entire week of my life, and everything that had happened that week. Disturbing.

It's probably a good thing God's in charge of that kind of stuff because I can't decide; is it a good thing to move on, or a sad one?

The Club

This will come as no surprise to you, I'm sure. Our legislators are out of touch with the reality of the public. I live in Kansas and today read about the Governor's plan to reduce and eliminate childhood poverty. His plan is for the parents of these children to get married. Yes, that's it.

I've been aware of Gov. Brownback's plan for quite awhile now, it having been part of his platform when running for office. Yes, it still upsets me, but I fail to understand who people who voted for him were unaware that this was part of his plan for the state! Please, PLEASE! vote. and before you vote, at least go to each candidate's website and read their platform, or watch and listen to what they're saying. This should come as no surprise to anyone in Kansas.

What surprises me even more than that are folks who have lived in poverty not supporting those who are still there. It's almost like once you leave the club, you don't want anyone to know you were ever a member. And I understand why, truly I do. It's difficult to empathize when you've been successful.

(Just a sidebar here...if your parents paid for you to go to college, paid for your first house, or you are still living at home or taking money from your parents while you work a full-time job, you DID NOT make it on your own! WAKE UP!)

I'll admit I'm naive. However, when I see people who have been outcasts, poor, homeless, avoid places where others in the same situation reside, or congregate, I don't understand.

Another recent refrain from those who typically do not vote as I would is, "They're just jealous," or some other such nonsense. No, I do NOT envy you. In most cases, I pity you. If you can't hold a conversation with most people, or invite them to your house because you're afraid it will affect your social standing, YOU'RE A PRETENDER! Get over it.

Little Sister

I was very happy to take care of my little sister post-op when she decided to have a surgeon closer to me repair her neck. We enjoy each other and although she's recovering from surgery and there will be no trips to the casino or rummage sales, we still have plenty to laugh about. However, having my own challenges staying asleep, I am not thrilled about her nocturnal habit of being up several times in the night!

Despite living in a 4 bedroom house, 2 of which have their own bathrooms, she is convalescing in our adjustable, massaging bed. This is fine, it's helping her breath to have her head elevated and the vibrations puts her right to sleep. But she wanders and talks nonsense from the anesthesia, which means I need to be close lest she burn down the house.

The first night, I slept in the King size bed with her. Yeah, she snores. And not in the comforting, even sounds of my husband. And she kicked me! Twice!

Last night I slept outside the bedroom door on the family room sofa. Which attaches to the kitchen. Where the soda and chips are located. Ugh.

It would be fine if I could sleep through TV, which I can't. After several trips to the bathroom, a 3:00 am snack, a smoke break, and making breakfast to send my son off to school, I'm awake. Again.

Break out the flame retardant pajamas, I'm sleeping in the guestroom tonight.

Compassion and Taxes

For years I refused to tell anyone I was raised in poverty. I dressed, talked, and acted as if I had no idea what poverty was like. I saw the look in the eyes of other professionals when they knew someone had lived in poverty. If the person who had lived in poverty had an opinion, or wanted to contributed, they were suspect.

One day, I was tired of the charade. I was raised in poverty, I've been there, and I know what it's like. I also know we live in a world of pretenders and when you are desperately poor, so poor that you accept food from the community food pantry so your children will have something to eat, there is no room for pretense.

And so, because my reality is different from the reality of those who have control of the dollars, and my viewpoint is not valued because it comes from a different perspective, I have limited choices. Oh, for the days when I was silent and invisible.

I have compassion for my fellow man, and will provide help when needed. Do I get taken advantage of? Probably. But not enough to make a true difference in my own financial situation. I'm more concerned about the fees I've had to pay over the years, in interest, penalties, late fees, and yes taxes to those who are making record breaking profits on the back of my labor. That concerns me much more than the $10 I gave to a homeless person who used it to buy cheese and beer.

Perhaps my viewpoint should change? I'd love to see the view from the very top looking down and try to understand the motivation of those who do not care about other human beings. But I'm afraid I can't. I have a conscience. My husband always tells me I will never be rich because I care too much for other people. If that's true, and I've sealed my fate, I'm ok with that.

LEARN THE ISSUES! LEARN THE TRUTH BEFORE YOU VOTE!

The Intelligence of the Natural World

During my mother's life I can remember her talking about an earthquake that would separate the US down the middle, and one that would make California fall into the ocean. This morning, that doesn't seem like such a sci-fi scare tactic.
A 4.5 magnitude earthquake struck around 2:30 am between TULSA and OKLAHOMA CITY! What the hell?
We are used to Spring flooding so bad that you can navigate easier by boat than car. I've seen tornadoes wipe out complete cities. The last few years we've had blizzards and enough snow to make Colorado jealous. But earthquakes? This is a new one. It leaves me wondering, "What exactly is happening to our planet?" and "Are we misunderstanding possible intelligence of natural forces?"
At first, I wondered if my awareness of natural disasters and their seeming increase should be attributed to the explosion of media awareness. Our television rarely misses a day, I'm online most days, it's difficult to miss big national or world events. Now, it seems fairly obvious that something significant is happening and that a paradigm shift has begun.
Call it a flight of fancy, but do you suppose it's possible that Mother Nature is fighting back? The Earth's population recently reached 7 billion. Despite natural disasters wiping out significant numbers of humans, we still continue to proliferate. Viruses, insects, earthquakes, floods, hurricanes, tornadoes, cancer...and our population is still growing. I'm waiting for the tipping point, where the natural world forces us to live in homeostasis with our surroundings lest we be obliterated. Are we there?

Yup

So here I am, still lying in bed, hoping that fantastic line that was running through my head while I slept will come back to me! Oh I hate it when that happens.
I went to bed last night knowing I sometimes are most creative as I doze and as I wake. So, I was sleeping lightly, trying to capture those thoughts, repeating them over and over, and yet I still lost them.
I do remember the stupid dream I had. I flew to Hawaii with my husband and youngest child for my birthday. While we were there, my mother-in-law called and told me to come over, that everyone was at her house for a party. Yep, guilt. In Hawaii. Then, it rained the entire time we were there. I have no idea what that means.
Rock on.

Article Published!

Bonus post! What a fantastic day this has been! I won't share most of the great things as they're not mine to share. Mine is this article what was published by Vagabundo magazine! http://www.vagabundomagazine.com/off-the-beaten-path-can-be-close-to-home/

An Obsession with Weather

My husband is obsessed with the Weather Channel. He can sit in front of the TV and watch it for hours at a time! This used to shock me because he's an active person with a need to be constantly busy. Do the patterns and repetition calm him? Is he fascinated by what he can't control? No idea.

This morning, I found myself watching the forecast, anticipation burning inside me. After a very mild Autumn, the weather is about to change here in the heartland. One of the best things about living in Kansas is the seasons. An old joke goes something like, "If you don't like the weather, wait 5 minutes." Sometimes, that's literally true!

For Midwesterners, perhaps this fascination with weather comes from farming ancestry and the necessity of divining when to plant, when to harvest. Or, perhaps the stark landscape and austere surroundings leave very little to talk about and so we recognize the beauty in what we have. Or, perhaps the weather extremes, which we are privy to, both fascinate and repel us, leaving us constantly on guard. Either way, most of the native population is weather savvy.

So now comes winter, barreling down from the Rockies, ready or not. And with it, comes the reminders, deep in my joints, that I'm no longer a spring chicken. The older I get, the more I recognize the reasons for summer homes in Florida. I have a friend there who may get a winter visitor! :) But not before I see the magical transformation of snow wiping clean the past year and readying all for the spring, and bringing the hope of possibilities.

Why We Do The Things We Do

In another life, I was on the delivering end of professional development for educators. It always astounded me when I came across someone who was using a particular method without understanding why. My mind almost always goes to the "why." What I came to learn was, there was so much to do, they sometimes skipped over the "why" and went straight to the "how." While I understand the "why" of what they did, I was left to speculate about the advisability of this habit.

Time and again, I would see well-meaning human beings use teaching methods that were not appropriate for the students they were teaching. As progress was denied, Teacher blame families for not doing whatever it is they should be doing, Families blame teachers for not doing their job, Students are caught up in the argument, and Government and Administrators, who insisted the teacher use the method, fail to acknowledge they have created a system that is designed to fail.

The very best educators have a "bag of strategies." They understand the need to keep abreast of research in their field, and also understand that one single strategy will not work with every student; we are too diverse in our humanity, our experiences too broad.

Although my experience has been within the field of education, this phenomenon happens broadly. I remember encountering it in college, both in my classes, and at my part-time job at a fast food restaurant. There, management didn't want you to know the "why's" because they were afraid you'd replace them! By maintaining ignorance of employees, we were kept "in our place."

I always think of these things when it gets close to election time. Remember the saying, "Knowledge is Power?" It's never so true as when making choices. This is why we have reader's advisories, and consumer guides. It's why the Internet is so popular and Michael Moore is rich. Why then, isn't divergent, mind-stretching, questioning valued more in our public school system? Are we churning out a generation of individuals who all think the same?

If you are a parent, I encourage you to teach your children to think critically and question everything. It's where true intelligence comes from and it's not taught in many schools. If you are a student, start asking, "Why?" If you're a teacher, find the answers. The day is coming where you'll need to know the answer.

Work Hard and You Will Succeed?

The first part of my life was spent living in poverty. A single mother of three children who started procreating at age 15 and a mostly absent father who job hopped and avoided child support meant that the prescription for my formative years was written in permanent ink.

I still find it interesting that I didn't actually realize we were poor until later in life. Seemed to me like everyone around me was in pretty much the same economic condition. Plus, I had my family, which made me rich! A handsome brother and 4 sisters meant I was never alone, and never lonely.

Still, we grew up with Momma struggling to make ends meet. I remember shopping with her in the grocery store and "giving her permission" to buy a week's worth of chicken pot pies so she wouldn't have to write (another) hot check.

For a long time, in hopes of not perpetuating the poverty cycle, I was sold on the idea that if you worked hard, you'd succeed! It's pretty common fodder, even in today's elementary schools. We are fed it with our school lunches, and it's about as appetizing. The idea seem plausible, until I worked my first "real" job. Really hard. Long, hard hours with a horrible, mean boss making not very much money. And failing.

After a brief sojourn where I felt successful, but was bored with my work, I find myself back at that ubiquitous place, "failure." This time, of the unemployed. I may even be unemployable. I could write all day on why I'm a failure, but it seriously won't change anything because I am who I am. Inherently I'm a strong-willed opinionated woman who speaks her mind, often insults the wrong people (but never means to), and doesn't often understand the social conventions that are so obvious to others. So, I'm learning to redefine success-on my terms.

Success may be the check for royalties I got this afternoon. A whopping $44.65! And yes, I'm proud. I'll earn another $15 later in the week, for thoughts that I got down on paper that someone else thought were worth something. And I never dreamed how glorious "hard work" can feel.

Whining

Made it through the store this morning thank goodness. There were a couple of dicey moments and by the time I was finished, it was definitely time to go.

All the decorations are in place for a frightful time tomorrow night! One of our last writing prompts was to write a spooky story. I didn't make it to that meeting, so I thought I'd post it here. Happy Hauntings!

Bethany woke with a start. She peered around her, trying to see past the curtain that was midnight, straining her ears.

There. There it was again, the sound that woke her. A scratching was coming from underneath the house, or maybe the outside of the house? She reached across the bed and shook her husband.

“Andre, I hear it again,” she said in a low, calm voice. She knew what it was like to be suddenly woken from a sound sleep and didn’t wish that on anyone. When there was no response, she shook him again. “Andre!”

“What, Beth? I’m trying to sleep!” snapped Andre.

“I hear the noise again, Andre. Listen.”

Silence filled the dark room as the couple strained to hear.

“Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch” was definitely coming from outside their bedroom window. Or perhaps from underneath the house?

“Well? What do you think it is?” Beth whispered.

Andre rolled out of bed and stomped, hard, on the floor. The scratching stopped briefly, than started up again, quicker and more frantic than before.

“Don’t worry about it, just go to sleep,” said Andre, climbing back into bed and pulling the blankets up to his chin.

“It keeps waking me up!” said Bethany. “Can’t you do something? It’s probably a raccoon or something.”

Andre sighed. Although they were newly married, he already recognized a stubborn streak in his wife that told him she was not going to let this rest until he got up and went outside to see what all the ruckus was about.

He sat up on the side of the bed and pulled on his slippers, then reached for his robe. As he made his way through the house, Bethany could hear him rummaging in the kitchen cupboard for a flashlight.

“Thank you!” she called out, getting a grunt in response.

As the door slammed, Andre stomped around the house, collecting the ax from the woodpile as he went.

“Damn it all anyway, what the hell? This will stop!” he said and he walked into the night.

Beth slipped from the bed, and made her way to the bedroom window. Pulling the curtain back, she peered into the night blindly. She could hear the scratching, but couldn’t quite tell from where it was coming.

As she wandered throughout the house, looking out each window, she could hear Andre’s mumbling. She smiled to herself. Her big, strong man was taking care of her.

Suddenly, she heard Andre calling her. “Beth, could you come here please? Bethany? I need your help, can you come here?”

“I’m coming! Let me get slippers on!” said Bethany, wondering what Andre needed.

As she walked around the house, she realized Andre must have found something at the access panel under the house.

“Andre?” she asked, not seeing him. “Andre? Where are you?”

“Here,” answered Andre, “Over here Beth. Can you come here please?”

“Sure, what’s making the noise?” asked Beth, finally seeing Andre.

A sudden motion caught Beth’s attention and she turned to see an unbelievable site. A hand was reaching out from under the house.

She screamed and backed up, but it was too late.

Andre clamped her arm and drug her forward.

“I’ll teach you to wake me in the middle of the night,” he said, his voice that of a demented stranger.

“Andre? Andre, what’s happening? Andre!” she screamed, knowing her efforts were futile.

Andre grunted, dragging her forward, shoving her under the house, toward that arm. "Here! This should satisfy you so that I can get some damn sleep!"

Arm. An arm! Oh my God, was someone else under the house? Why wasn’t she screaming? Maybe they could overpower Andre!

“Help me!! Someone help me!!” she screamed.

The hand reached out to her, clawing in the dirt, stretching, trying to grab Andre’s leg.

Andre’s arm was around her neck, choking off the screams of Beth as he pushed and pulled her toward the hole.

Finally reaching his goal, Bethany was hopeful the hand would help. It was the only hope left to her in this crazy reality.

Tears streaming down her cheek, eyes glued to that hand, Bethany gathered her strength. When the hand grabbed Andre, she would kick with her last breath.

The hand reached out, Bethany reached back, ready to kick, claw, fight with whatever she had left, when suddenly, the arm grabbed not Andre, but her!

With an inhuman strength, the arm pulled her under the house. Beth clawed and scratched, digging her hands into the dirt, desperately trying not to lose this battle.

Just before the darkness enveloped her, she saw him. Andre was smiling down at her as he turned off the flashlight. The darkness enveloped her as she heard the access panel close and lock.

Andre brushed off his sleeve and walked back inside the house. Maybe now he could get some sleep.

Just Call Me Graceful

So, I fell down the stairs and broke my foot this morning, just in time for the Halloween party Saturday! While I was sitting on the couch icing it before I knew it was broken, all I could think was, "Well, that's one way to get me to sit down and write."

One of my friends posted to FB that there are two guys going around town robbing folks! Fantastic! I won't be able to run if they show up here, but maybe I can club them with a crutch...

The Tattoo of Books on the Soul

Last night I watched my dad hold my great-niece. The family connection is too extended to decipher, but it was a great moment for me, this passing of life from generation to generation.

When I was in library school, one of the things that intrigued me most was the thought that books imprint from our memories. If we are sad, or happy, or at a certain place when we are reading a story, the book is forever associated with that place, or time or emotion. Is it only us that's affected, or does the book carry our thought and emotion with it? Is it forever changed by our humanness?

We write down our stories so that generations and generations can learn from where we've been and what we've felt. And, if not for the places we are, would we feel those feelings?

And if books are forever changed, what changes do we affect on the other humans in our lives?

Monday, Funday as Christy always says! The sun is shining through a light fog, making the fall colors a gift to anyone looking close enough.

Spent the weekend in forgiveness, making it easier for someone with a guilty conscience to feel better about their decision. I let them off the hook in full awareness and complete unselfishness. Felt pretty good!

I woke up this morning knowing that I have choices and my future rests solely in my own hands. God help me.

Keep it real out there!

I missed the writer's retreat yesterday. :( Sometimes life just won't let you do exactly what you want to do. I am continuing work on the novel. I have no idea if it's good or not, but it seems the thing I should be doing, and so I write.

In the meantime, the search for gainful employment continues.

Self doubt, recrimination, these are all standard parts of my genetic makeup, born of years of feeling inadequate in the face of tremendous accomplishment.

Perhaps it's time to alter my self talk?

What We Want, Not Who We Are

What We Want, Not Who We Are

Mr. Alec Baldwin was interviewed in NYC at the site of the Wall Street protests yesterday. He appeared to be chastising the media for the view they’d taken of categorizing the protestors instead of listening for a common denominator. He wanted to know what “these people” wanted, instead of who they are, so he went down himself to find out. Thank you for asking, Mr. Baldwin.

What do the protestors want? Some of the same things the rest of the other 99% want.

We want the lies and corruption and pandering in our political system and economic system to stop. We are not ignorant, we are angry. There is a difference.

Our viewpoints are valid, though spawned from an experience vastly different than the 1%. Recognize that we contribute to the wealth of Corporate America. Businesses: Stop threatening to leave the United States if there is tax reform. Go ahead. Find a different country. If you don’t want to leave, SHUT THE HELL UP! You’re not helping, you’re hindering.

We want to be viewed as valuable instead of expendable. You may believe the world would be better off if a few more poor people were dead, but my children, my spouse, my parents, and my siblings have a different viewpoint.

I am the caregiver, the lover, the dependable rock in times of trouble. Are you willing to take my place? If not, consider affordable healthcare a human right, not a benefit of the rich. Many of our lives would change if we had the same health system that our public servants in Congress are afforded.

We want the American dream, or at least the opportunity to strive for the dream. Instead we are pushed down by inflation, inability to procure mortgages and loans, over-charged for gasoline and paid wages that put us below the poverty line.

The stereotyping needs to stop, Mr. Baldwin. We work, though we may qualify for entitlement programs. $10 and hour, more than minimum wage, equates to $1600 a month before taxes. Try living on that. Now add an unemployed spouse and a child.

A child we could afford 13 years ago. Now we can’t. Will you take care of our children Mr. Baldwin?

1% of our population has millions and billions of dollars setting in the bank, doing nothing. Waiting to be spent. Do you know how much money I would need to make a true difference in my life? $160,000. How many of the 1% earn that in a day? In an hour? In a minute? And not off wages, but off INTEREST and tax breaks that my wages help offset!

I do not speak for every woman and man, but I do speak for many. Our wants, our needs, our desires go no further than to ensure our families are well taken care of and our grandchildren have the same opportunities that you had.

Let us die in dignity, without foreclosure forcing us to a shack. Don’t make your fortune charging us interest on a car title loan that then steals our freedom. Call loan sharking what it is! In a time of spreading economic hardship, question why billion dollar companies are still making record profits and giving their management pay raises. Then do something about it.

Ensure that the least among us, the sick, the disabled, the elderly, the downtrodden, are taken care of, lest it someday be the able bodied in the same situation.

Learn integrity. Learn compassion. Care about the water we drink, the air we breath, the ground in which we grow our food. Value us as you value yourself.

That’s all we want, Mr. Baldwin.

Finding the Words

Once upon a time, on a bright sunny day, a middle aged woman was trying to be a writer.

She wrote and wrote, and read until her eyes bled (apparently a prerequisite of fine writers everywhere) attempting to rebirth herself from the ashes of her last career. Finally, she had one tiny morsel of success! She was paid a miniscule amount for a travel article.

Elated beyond all belief, she redoubled her efforts and got on with the business of writing, cranking out page after page of (as yet) unpublished but brilliant material.

She wandered from children's books to adult novels, from travel articles to political commentaries. Much like her previous career choices, settling on one genre was difficult. Each time she found a new writer friend to commiserate with, one of the first questions they asked was, "Do you have a blog?"

Initially reluctant to begin a new blog having learned from previous experience how difficult it is to keep a blog current, she finally succumed to the pressure, and so, this blog was born.

Finding a title for the creation was difficult, but not impossible. The writer chose a picture that demonstrated perfectly how she felt most the time. What a wonderful writer she would be if she could find words to convey thought so masterfully!

And so, she struggles to this day to find the words to first, transform feeling into words, and second, write something here worth reading. This is her journey. Enjoy the ride!