Author Kathryn Stockett

I just finished reading Kathryn Stockett's The Help. It is a novel about black maids and the white families they worked for during the turbulent 60's. A great read -- definitely thought provoking.

I read much of it in a kind of hand over the mouth shock. I am too young to remember segregationist America, but old enough to remember seeing my first African American -- because I did live in a segregated America. I know people that believe things should still be that way, and I am ashamed for them. Color of skin -- or religion or sexual preference for that matter, should not be the determining factor in how one person feels about another.

At any rate, you should read this novel. It is a great look into our not so distant past. You can click on the title of this entry to launch directly to Kathryn Stockett's web site. I encourage you to do so.

Death of Elizabeth Edwards

Elizabeth Edwards passed away after a valiant fight against the big C. I am so very saddened. She has children who are not yet grown. Always, always, I think of children without parents. It has to be one of the most difficult things for a child to endure. It just doesn't seem right for a child to loose a parent. Please take a moment to pray for her children.

I made a similar comment on my facebook account this morning. A friend then posted the poem below. It is so lovely -- and fits so well with how I am feeling.

Andrew Jackson Kessinger IV

Now that another battle's over
and we see the victory has been won
We need move t'ward the next valley
and see,
"Where it's ended
is where we've always begun”

Starting anew is never easy
and changing paths
is always hard
Yet we know with our LORD
He'll always show us the True Way;
Straight is the path and narrow is the gate
toward His Love.

Since I always get what I pray for
I gotta really be careful how I pray
For as I pray in the Spirit it's beautiful
but when I pray in the flesh I'm led astray

Once He allowed me to submit all to Him,
I knew there'd be no turning back,
and then as I stepped into the Promised Land
Peace I'd never known became fact

I could see trials and tribulations
though I dared not look to find out more
It scared me, but He gave me boldness;
knowledge my Saviour knows what's in store

The dawn has come
Building toward tomorrow's sun

AJK IV, Sept. 2004
after watching my wife die from lung cancer.
It's still appropos

Liars and other bad sorts

Liars -- unfortunately most of us know some. I sure do. And I have a big problem with them.

It isn't so much as how the lies people tell impact me, but -- rather -- how they impact those I love most. The thing is, even a small lie is big in the eyes of someone -- therefore, there are really no small lies. I would like to shelter my loved ones from these people, but sometimes it is impossible. You just have to deal with the fall out that comes with liars. Believe me, it isn't pleasant.

In my book, just telling the truth -- no matter how ugly the truth, is a better thing. Sometimes, the ugliness of the truth actually can be a protection. I know a situation where an underage child is dating an older man -- all sorts of lies are involved in this. Personally, I would hang the sob out to dry for having relations with a minor, but it isn't my fight. And in that one lie -- several others were exposed. It got me to thinking about the sort of negative energy and negative vibes that these people send off -- and how I want to be rid of that in my own home. How I want to shield my children. How I am GOING to shield my children.

There all all sorts of bad people. We just have to keep them as far away from us and out loved ones as we can. And band together with like-minded truth tellers and other good sorts.

Happy birthday

Sixteen years. Can it really be that amount of time that has passed since the birth of my first child? It sure doesn't seem so. The years have gone by in a flash.

I think about the baby that I held -- so amazed at this beautiful creation. I was so full of hope and expectations, but mainly I was full of love. The love that a mother has for a child far exceeded what I even thought was possible.

I can't even remember what my life was like before, nor do I want to. He is still my beautiful perfect boy, and my life is so much better for him being in it.

Life

Stressed out today. All of a sudden I seem to be overwhelmed by -- the kids, my house, my life ...

I know to take one thing at a time, and it will work out.

Actually, today was a good day when I look at the big picture. It is just that it is bed time, and so many things didn't get done. It wouldn't be such a big deal, but for the last week or so, there seems to be so much left over for the next day -- every day! I would just like to be caught up, or at least see the end!

Becoming my mom

Recently, I went to an all a school reunion for my high school. It was great. I got to see many old friends, and I really had a good time. Some of the people I hadn't seen in 30 years.

There was another reunion of two classes, mine and the one ahead of me just the other day. I didn't go to that one -- mainly because I had gone to the other and I knew that my best high school friend had done the same thing. From the pictures, it looks as though I missed out.

One of my re-acquaintances and I have been talking. It seems that I have brought back some friendships due to these reunions. What I have learned is that sooner or later, we all become our parents -- or at least some version of them. Some of my old school chums have even begun to look like their parents.

But here we are, in mid-life. Most of us have children of our own. Although times have changes so much since I was a school girl, many things remain the same. And it is in that sameness that we find the similarities. Problems that faced our parents at this time in their lives -- well, I am up against the same situations. It makes me wish for my mom.

If she were around, I would love to pick her brain to find out how she handled various situations. But she is not here, so I muddle through the best that I can. I find myself looking back to how she handled things with me -- and I try to pick the best of what I remember and go forward with that information. In many respects, I find that I AM becoming my mom.

What are you hiding from?

I read a book by Piers Anthony the other day. In it, one of the characters had been molested as a child, another character had been abused by her husband. OK -- every character had something they were hiding or running from. It really got me to thinking about my own life -- my own past.

What am I hiding from? Lately, I feel as though I am almost consumed by the ugliness that can come with sexual abuse. Stories that don't seem to bother others become huge to me. Things that others think funny bother me for days, not only invading my waking hours, but my dreams also. And so I wonder, what causes me to feel so uneasy -- almost sick? And even more than that, am I ever going to feel normal again?

a favorite

My favorite song of the moment is Why -- the version performed by 3T with Michael Jackson. It is lovely. Click the post title to launch the video.

Politics

I am infuriated with ignorance. The situation: President Obama makes a speech last night that aired on television. Lots of people who are uniformed and don't even exercise their right to vote make ignorant statements.

I am by no means saying that I am super-informed. I am not. There are lots of opportunities that I pass on that would make me a more learned person. I do, however, try to keep myself somewhat educated on issues and politicians.

Perhaps we could all take a lesson here -- to actively do something about a situation that we don't agree with instead of moaning about it.

Why does Monday come before Tuesday?

I am tired, but unable to sleep. It is too late for medication -- for then I won't be able to wake up fully to get the boys off to school. Perhaps a bit of writing will settle the fray and allow me to sleep.

I was thinking back over my life. Of the things that I have done that I don't understand now. Whatever the reasons were at the time, I made those choices. I guess it is like asking why does Monday come before Tuesday? That is just the way it is.

On a Thursday

I just finished reading a fantasy fiction novel co-authored by Piers Anthony and Mercedes Lackey -- If I Pay Thee Not In Gold. Quite a good read of a society lead by women conjurers.

I have been a fantasy fiction junkie for quite some years -- since the early 80s really. Although Anthony in a prolific writer, I had never forayed into his world before. I stumbled on this book just by happenstance at the St. Louis city library. Loved it, although the love relationship of the main character leaved something to be desired. I think that perhaps the novel would have been better without it.

I also googled both authors. Anthony had published almost 1000 books -- amazing! Lackey is no slacker either. Both authors will probably be on my radar for some time.

The amazing thing to me is that I can actually concentrate on a story line long enough to read an entire novel. I haven't been able to do this for quite some time. Don't know what changed, but I am glad it did -- whatever it is. I also wrote Anthony a fan letter -- something I rarely do.

Nothingness

Passion is what drives most people. What do you do, however, when you have lost yours?

A protective measure to allow one to make it through personal hardship becomes toxic. Everything has been driven into the ground, and no feelings are allowed to remain. No passion, no drive, no nothing.

Each day that should be a gift is viewed as more of a curse. Waking up to start each day anew?Waking up each day to what? Another day in a perpetual loop of emptiness.

Janis

Janis Joplin -- what a talent, and gone much too soon.

4 am

Why would I title this 4 am? The real reason is that it is the actual time. Jacob came into my room a bit ago, lay beside me and proceeded to fall right to sleep. I don't know why -- post birthday wakefulness? It is pretty exciting to turn 14, after all.

Whatever the reason, here I am. My mind soon spinning in a million different directions, unable to settle and allow me to resume sleep. A drink, a bathroom run, back to bed -- only to have the spinning continue at such a velocity, I am whirled out of bed and find myself in front of the computer.

What is playing in my head at this dark, shadow-filled hour is this place that I am in. Not physically, but mentally and emotionally.

I think back to how easily, when I first discovered that my marriage was dissolving right in front of me, my world spun out of control. It was as if I could see the two trains speeding clackity clack at each other, and I knew they were going to collide with heavy screeches of metal and debris and just pieces flung everywhere, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. And collide they did.

The fallout was awful. Crumpled and smashed with great gaping holes they were left derailed but still facing each other, as if there was some secret war that only they had been privy to, or at least one of them. But the other was devastated -- and all aboard both trains were tossed and shaken, some to the very core, while others sustained lesser injuries.

Confusion and blame by those on the periphery while the two hulking trains just sat there in their mire. Unable to move forward or back -- just stuck in their wreckage. That is how I felt. The only thing I could see is that there was so much damage, and I couldn't handle it. I just wanted out -- to have a bit of peace that I knew would never be there due to the gaping wounds caused by the collision. Death, with it's peacefulness seemed the only way out. So I plotted and planned and hoarded drugs. I tried, my perfect plan to have Mark find me dead and cold on our marital bed. I don't know what caused me to get up after ingesting enough meds to more than do the deed -- why I came into the living room on that fateful night and shared with my boys what I had done. Perhaps it was the hand of God or an angel, my mother -- perhaps. Perhaps it was my own mother's instinct, somehow stronger than my muddled thinking that realized those two boys needed their mom.

It took weeks before I was able to cope. Sometimes even the sight of my husband, his smug self so full of another woman's temptation, would be enough to send me to the edge -- back to the time when the only thing that was certain was my sense that nothing would ever be the same, and my inability to process that along with my fear that I couldn't.

My sisters gave me courage and strength then. When I didn't have any or found myself on a cliff's edge, it was their voices and reason that I turned to. After years of turning them away, it was their love the ultimately saved me. Filling me with a sense of hope where there was none to be found, and reason when despair was all I could feel.

So here I am, at 4 am. My life is still pretty much a mess. But I am not the same despair filled person who can't see beyond her own pain. Instead of drowning, I am able to breathe through it, using the love so freely given by my sisters to shine as a beacon of hope that some day I might be able to get back on a track, with nothing blocking the way, and chug full steam ahead into my future.

untitled

I feel as though I live my life in a fog. I am not nearly as productive as I would like to be. I seem to have no drive and no energy. Just existing. I have to figure out how to change; how to break free.

Michael

Changes

I had shut down the blog for a bit. I felt confused -- I still feel confused. I felt as though this blog could be used against me, and -- in fact -- it was. However, I need this outlet. I need to share with people what my life is like.

My life has changed so much in the past few years due to illness and, of course, the dissolving of my marriage. One of the few ways I know to deal is to share. years of therapy have taught me that. If what I write causes problems for people, then so be it. I need this like I need air. So I am changing what I previously said, I am going to use this outlet and share it with whomever chooses to read -- I am back.

Along with D comes S

Infidelity stinks. Separation is hard. Divorce makes me feel as though I have been sucker punched.

I don't know how I got to this place. How did I not see this coming? I keep playing the last 17 years of my life over and over like a broken record. I was promised that if ever the love left, I would be told. A new connection was made months ago, and when I questioned it, I was belittled.

I hate life at the moment. I have learned that I must keep myself together for the children even though what I really want to do is curl up and die.

Is religion and faith the answer? My family seems to think so; my family of origin that is, because I no longer have a family that was created through love shared with a mate. That was stripped away with one fell swoop.

I'm sorry rings hollow, because what is really meant is I am sorry I got caught cheating. As I said -- infidelity stinks.

Facing the big D

It is so hard for me -- this big divorce thing. I still don't understand how the person I knew and loved so much can turn into this person that is here now. Although the bodies are the same, that is the only similarity. And while this saddens me and shakes me to my core, I am finally resigned that the person that I am so in love with no longer exists. Perhaps it has to be this way for me to deal with the process.

I have tried other ways, and it almost killed me. My sister reminded me that I have to survive for my boys, and that showing them that I can survive, even when the heart doesn't want to, teaches them that even the hardest and steepest of obstacles can be overcome. There are moments that I believe I can't make it, but I have surrounded myself with powerful people. Their love and encouragement keep me focused on the most important thing -- the boys. They also are helping me to find a spiritual path that I have long been off of.

Life in the midst of a broken heart

I am done bashing. I am done with temper tantrums. I have to move forward or die. I know that now. It is possible to live with a broken heart, however much it hurts.

I know a lot of my friends and family read my blog. I am asking each of you to not create any more mess for me to deal with. If you look, you will see that I removed a couple of entries. I won't be the reason to give anyone motive or material to bash my husband, my family, or me. I still love my husband. I would take him back in a flash, but the truth is he doesn't want to be with me.

Dance among the leaves

Sitting at the window watching the leaves whip in the gusty wind. The mix of colors -- brown, read, green reminds one of a ballet. Fast and furious then slow, the limbs of the trees waving about in a furious dance of spring. Beautiful as it may be, the dance reflects my own inner turmoil. Limbs whipping about in the unchoreographed dance mimic my own feelings, undecided and confused.

My own conflict -- MY conflict -- owned by no one else. How I would like to place it on someone -- anyone. But the sad fact is that no matter how much I feel like the madly whipping tree limbs, and no matter how much I would like to place the problems on someone else, it just can't be.

I have created the mess I am in. I didn't share with my husband my feelings. I tried to pin them on someone else or something else. Pulling past events out fast and furious just like leaves falling from the trees in the fall. I take ownership of the problems that caused my husband -- the person I love more than anyone else on this planet -- to squash his feelings for me until there was no love left. It became a huge monster and has taken on it's own life.

Unhappy and unfulfilled. Problems that I have assisted in creating and too big now to overcome. I will fight the good fight for my family, but just as the beautiful leaves of the trees whip in the wind, the time will come in which the leaves will loosen their grip and fall, dead and crumpled. Just like my own husband's love for me. Once strong and wrapped around every fiber of our beings, now crumpled and dead.

The old dog

Creeping across the floor, hoping not to be noticed, he makes it to the doorway. Tossing a backward glance, he sees her ... and the pair of eyes following him. This was not the escape he intended.

She was lying in repose on the couch, her blonde hair flowing, almost blending into the couch. In her younger years, she was the first to engage. Lacking in beauty, and knowing that she was lacking in beauty, she more than made up for it in energy and heart. But that was in her younger years, and now, she was just trying to grow old with some sort of dignity. The pink of her cheeks now faded, and the bounce in her step gone. Of course, the less anyone noticed, the happier she was. Except that he always noticed, just as he noticed the very air she breathed.

He thought she didn't notice his tiptoeing around her. Well, not most of the time anyway. He wasn't arrogant with his youth. The simple matter of fact was that he loved her more than the breath of life. Of course he knew that in the neighborhood they called her a cougar. Which made him the kid. It didn't matter what they called him, as long as she didn't discover that anyone was saying anything less than kind about her. She walked in beauty and he loved every minute that he was allowed to spend with her. She was the very bane of his existence. His life before she was in it -- meaningless.

He tried to sneak out without her knowing because he knew that each time he went out without her, was one more thing that separated them. He tried so hard to help her. He knew that her time her on earth was nearing an end. It pained him so much. She was his everything. He often would just lie at her side, just the very act of being near her adding more memories. Sometimes he just watched her in her regal repose. Absorbing.

His devotion to her was mirrored by his devotion to his family. A whistle from his owner brought him to his feet, tail whipping wildly, ready for the game. It was these moments when she tried to keep up that she knew you can't teach an old dog new tricks.

A lesson on love

When I was a child living at home with my parents and my six brothers and sisters, it was a hard time for us. My dad treated my mom and us kids awful. In the early years of their marriage -- and way before me -- my dad drank and ran around and just didn't take care of his family. He got another woman pregnant while he was married to my mom, he became an alcoholic. He abused us kids and my mom. Until a couple of years ago, I had about 11 years of my life that I couldn't really recall because what happened during that span of time was so horrendous.

Years later, when I was an adult, I asked my mom why she stayed through all of that garbage he put her through. She simply said, "I love him. I have always loved him." I really didn't get it at the time, and no matter how often I said it or thought about it, I just couldn't see how her love for my dad could be so strong as to weather even the stormiest of times. I knew what love was, but I guess I didn't know what that never ending love was. I do now, and I totally understand: love doesn't know boundaries or follow a structure. Nor does it come easy or cheaply. But once it has a grip on your heart, if it is true love, it won't ever give up, no matter the situation or the consequence.

Here we go again

While riding on the magical train we like to call life has been a doozy of a ride for this family. Job changes, illness, difficulties with friends -- you name it, and it is pretty sure bet that this family has been through it save for natural disasters. So it shouldn't be a surprise to anyone to find out that we were in a vehicle accident last week.

A car ran a red light and just smashed the heck out of our little car. I was picking up Jacob from school, and pulling out of the school's driveway, I got smashed. In my mind, I have replayed the scenario over and over, could I have seen him sooner -- I don't think so as he crested a hill and that is when I saw him barrelling down on us like some sort of enraged bull. We, of course, were the brilliant cape of the matador.

I saw that bull soon enough to stomp the gas pedal which prevented him from hitting my door. Instead the back door on the diver's side was hit. I have been in auto accidents before, but I don't ever recall one this fierce. Upon impact, my breath was knocked out of me. I don't know if I blacked out or not, but the next thing I see is the middle school in front of me. The car had been hit with such force that it swung around 160 degrees, just like the matador swings around with the cape while preparing for the blow with his sword. The drivers side airbag deployed, and thankfully there were no children in the way. The matador was gored.

Immediately following, Jacob kept saying, "Did that just happen? Did we just get hit?" My thoughts echoed his words -- the entire thing was so surreal. After the perfunctory going over to ensure he was not hurt or in any pain, I asked him to fig out my cell phone and call his dad. In what seemed liked seconds, there were people at the car talking to us, trying to assist in any way possible. The first two people to the car were an off duty paramedic and a nurse. My neck was hurting so bad that I had a hard time thinking of anything other than the pain.

Meanwhile, my brave warrior of a son took control of the situation. He got my ID and insurance card and gave them to the police officer. He made sure I was being looked after. He gathered his book bag and picked up and put back the spilled contents of my purse. And when the ambulance came and asked did we need to go to the hospital, he said yes when I hesitated. He called his dad and his brother to let them know what was going on. He asked the ambulance driver about how loud the siren would be inside the ambulance explaining that he was autistic and loud noises really bothered him. (We were driven to the hospital with no sirens.) When we got to the ER he was told he couldn't come in the ER entrance that we were coming in -- I told the paramedics that he was autistic, but Jacob had already spoken up for himself, letting them know that he didn't want to be separated from his mom until he knew how I was doing. I am so proud of him for keeping a cool head and doing what needed to be done.

At the hospital, no broken bones were found, just lot of bruising and sore all over. It seems that the car got the worst of it. The door that was hit was punched in a good foot, if not more. Everything on the driver's side is out of alignment. If that day had been a regular Wednesday for us, Patrick would have been in the front seat and Jacob would have been in the seat that received the largest part of the blow. I don't see how anyone in that seat could have survived. The car looks as though someone was injured.

But it wasn't a regular Wednesday. Patrick was home sick, so Jacob was in the front seat. Although there was a lot of students in the area, none were in the street. The driver of the other car immediately said he ran a red light. He also, by the way, walked away from the accident. Normally, there wouldn't be another manager at work and Mark wouldn't have been able to leave early, but another manager had come in early to get some things done, so Mark was able to leave immediately.

So here we are several days later. The car is totaled. We are sore, but thankful -- so thankful --
that it wasn't any worse. We are sure the hand of God was involved in this -- protecting us as well as all of these children leaving their school.

Always wrong

Ever have one of those days where no matter what you do it seems to be the wrong thing? How about a week of those days? Does doing the wrong thing at the wrong time beget more wrong doings?

Take this example from Easter Sunday. Easter baskets were prepared, but they weren't appreciated in the spirit given. All wrong. Easter dinner was being prepared, but one of the spouses wasn't going to be home in time for the dinner. The children, not wanting to wait for the big dinner, were taken to a restaurant, but when the spouse called finally on the way home, it appears that the money allocated for dinner for the children was specifically to be spent at a specific restaurant, and not the one chosen.

When the spouse did arrive home, the long awaited dinner was -- well, not what was wanted. Both spouses now a bit cranky, it soon is time for bed. But wait, one spouse is using the computer in the bedroom, when the other demands to know how long the computer will be on, because it is time for bed. Even in sleep, things aren't agreeable, as one spouse is hot, and the other is just right. Guess which spouse I was ...

Random thoughts

Try as one might, you can't make someone love you. Nor can you change their will.

Running on Empty

An empty well -- that is what I am. As a writer, I am up against the wall. I cannot find the words to complete outstanding projects. In fact, the words for this blog won't flow either.

My limbs feel like dead weights attached to the torso. There is pain in the shoulders and the fingers dance upon the keyboard, making a valiant attempt to support and coerce and support the brain and body to work in unison. On this day though, the energy doesn't extend beyond the wrists -- anything else is just too much.

The colors of my world

Pink has been the color of my world for quite a while. Pink reminds me of the bubblegum I loved as a child; of party dresses, and beautiful birthday cakes. Pink is the smell of a new Barbie doll fresh from the package, and my mama's kitchen when she was cooking a delicious meal like fried chicken or chicken and dumplings. Pink is the color of a child's bedroom when the first color wasn't allowed. Pink is happy, and to boost it to overdrive, add yellow.

Yellow is the color of the Easter lily's that edged our yard every year. Yellow is the happy days that I spent with my beloved mama playing LP's on her huge stereo and dancing in the living room like mad women. Yellow is stopping to have ice cream on the way home from a trip to the library -- her chocolate and me vanilla, or racing home because we went to the library on Thursday night and we want to watch the Walton's on TV.

Pink is the color of my youth, and yellow is the memories of my mother. Throughout my adult life, there has not been a lot of yellow and pink. At the moment, my world is colored the gray-blue of the ocean and the brown of a muddy floor. it is as if pieces of my heart have been ripped from my chest and it is filled with a muddy brown. My head is filled with that gray-blue and has pushed any other color out as it wraps itself around my brain trying to suffocate any happy memories or even the potential of the green buds that form the pinks and yellows of my happiness.

Love versus in love

In today's society, people banter about words without giving much thought to them. Think about words that should have great meaning -- like I love you. To some, this phrase has a deep almost spiritual meaning to it, and it is reserved only for those special people with which much love is shared. For example, between husband and wife, between mother and child, and even between best friends.

Walking the halls of anyschool, USA will allow you to hear this phrase put into more common terms. Children use it as a greeting of sorts. A quick hug and an I love you before departing to the next class. The air thick with juvenile against to fit in perhaps causes children to use this phrase in perhaps less than an actual love situation. Or perhaps there are different sorts of love.

What is the difference in the phrase I love you when compared with the phrase I am in love with you? Surely there is a difference. We, as a society tend to save I am in love with you for our partners in life, at least for the most part, while I love you can mean the love a parent has for children and best friends.

Remove the I am in love with you from the equation of a marriage. Shouldn't I love you and I am in love with you have the same meaning in this circumstance? If the two statements do represent different meanings, what then? The relationship has now shifted to expose a raw side; one that is easily wounded, and begs the question, can the relationship continue without both components?

A sad tale

Is love really all about the physicality of a relationship or is it something more. Something deeper. What constitutes being in love or just loving someone. Is there a difference? Or is love just that -- you either love someone or something or you don't. What are the parameters of being in love and can a relationship exist if one partner says that being in love doesn't exist for them?

Becoming me

It has occurred to me that no matter how hard we try, we can't protect our children from the hurts of life. It is these actions -- some of them anyway -- that turn them into well adjusted adults. Life must be lived on their terms, and not our own. No matter how much we wish it otherwise, we can't be there to cushion each fall.

I compare my own adventure into adult hood with that of my children. Did my parents feel the pain of each of my hurts as I do my own children? How do other parents feel? I have tended to surround myself with like-minded adults, and I know how they feel. I want to know how others feel.

Perhaps we are never really grown until we can take a step back and allow those most closest to our hearts pick themselves up when they fall. It is this act of letting go that frees them to find their own sense of self, and perhaps it allows us to close the chapter of who we are and begin the next chapter of our own lives.

The colors of Texas

The grand vacation to Texas is now just a memory. It was great fun though. Time was spent with family and friends -- so much love was shared. In addition, to the love, the region presents with such a variety of colors that it is almost overwhelming to the senses.

Living on the eastern border of Missouri, we have blues and greens, and beautiful muted autumn colors. Not at all what one sees in southern Texas. They have already experienced spring, so everything is bright emerald green. Cacti are in bloom as well as the blue bonnets.

The sky gifts such amazing colors -- shades of blue that are not seen in Missouri. Clouds play among the blue like children playing in the ever present pools of crystal blue water. Sunrises and sunsets present a variety of pink and purples hues that look like God himself has taken a paint brush to the skies. Beautiful and almost indescribable in their beauty.

A trip to the coast of the Gulf of Mexico presents another gentle assault on the senses. People crowd the sides of the ferries that take them from one piece of land to another in hopes of a glimpse of the dolphins that are often at play. On this day though, the dolphins seem to be at rest, but the ferry riders are awarded with the sight of a statuesque pelican gracefully perched on the landing.

A short car trip later, and the ocean appears as if someone opened a great pop up book. The scene spills into view. The great expanse of sand and the even greater expanse of ocean. The water is frothy with white foam as the waves tried to clamber to shore. Standing in their midst looking over the great expanse of ocean makes one feel so insignificant. The chill of the blue-gray water disappears as only the sounds and smells of the sea overtake a person as it becomes a living thing.

The colors of nature only barely edge out the colors that are man created. Although some homes are the traditional while, beige, or brick that we are used to seeing in the Midwest, many are painted with colors that remind one of a new box of crayons. The rainbow colors of the houses make even the ordinary yet unfortunate colored houses seem brighter, as if they are trying to compete in a beauty contest of sorts.

The love that was shared will remain with us forever in our hearts and in our minds. The unintended gifts of color will remain with us also.

Sarah

For those inquiring about my niece, Sarah, here is an update. She is out of the hospital and has learned that she has stage 3 colon cancer. You can google it and find out way more information than you ever wanted to know. My eldest sister had the job of telling me.

As you might remember, Sarah has no insurance. If you desire to help, you can make checks out to her (Sarah Rawson). You can send to me or to her parent's house. Please email me at patricknjacob@aol.com if you desire addresses. Also, I am sure Sarah would appreciate just a kind word of support and positive energy. Again, email me for the address.

This type of cancer is beatable. It is going to be a hard battle though. Please include Sarah in your prayers.

Life as a poor person

It seems that breaks are hard to come by these days. Fanciful thoughts led to a belief that things were finally getting easier for my family. However, it was just that -- fanciful thoughts.

Insurance is one big deal. The boys are on a state funded program, but the program is very restrictive. We went back to our old family practice that we haven't used in four years -- because that doctor accepts the plan. My son's psychologist accepts it, but his psychiatrist doesn't. Out of pocket for the psychiatrist is $135 per hour.

My husband lost his job after 10 years. His severance pay kicked us out of food stamps. The majority of that money was used to pay past due bills. It doesn't matter though, because on paper DFS has decided that it doesn't matter that we were behind on bills or whatever -- it is still too much.

There are programs in place that would allow me to get my meds at a greatly reduced cost -- except that I am a veteran. Veterans are supposed to use the VA for medical care, except that they use your previous year's income. That income doesn't appropriately represent our present situation. According to the VA, it doesn't matter. It is too much money, so benefits are not available. Long story short is that if a previous year's income is above the current guidelines, then VA benefits are not available -- and neither is assistance from the drug manufacturers.

Is it tense in the household? You bet. Do I know how to change anything? Not a clue.

To Heaven or Hell

An interesting conversation with my son tonight. It started because my niece, a young 20 something has cancer. So we started talking about how sometimes life seems so unfair. Then he asked me to tell him a story.

I told him about when I was in the third grade, all settled in school by then, with friends close enough that we could walk to each others houses. My grandparents, with whom I thought the sun rose and set, were within walking distance from our house. Life was good. One day my dad came home from work and told us that we had to move. He had been promoted, but we had to move to the town he was going to work in.

You need some background here to see the entire picture. My mom had never lived anywhere else but that town. She knew every nook and cranny, and I believe she was very happy there. If the sun rose and set with my grandparents (her parents), then the stars in the sky were there because of my mom. She was involved in everything -- the library board, march of dimes, my class room mother -- and if that wasn't enough, she kept the house running smoothly for me and my six siblings, plus my cantankerous dad. In my world, my mother was as close to perfect as a mother can be.

That all changed when we moved. In fact, everything changed. My grandfather passed away right before we moved. A hard blow to my mom. We lost my other grandfather and my grandmother the next two years. Plus, we didn't fit in. My dad was mean -- he ran off my mom's friends. He ran off our friends. We couldn't have anyone over when he was at home, because he would make them go home and we would get in trouble for having fun. Looking back, it must have been a very stressful time for him too. He also had to move away from his home town, and begin a new job. All in all, I think most of the family was pretty unhappy about the move.

So back to sharing with my son: he asked about what it was like to move. Then, for some reason, my son asked me how old my mom was when she died. He said that he thought it was cancer that killed my mother, and the fact that she had Alzheimer's -- well she was predestined to have that cancer and it was her time to go. Then he asked me what I thought about my dad, who has been so mean and hurtful for most of his life, still being here.

I thought about that for a moment. I didn't have to think about how I would answer, but only if I should share my thoughts with my son. Well, he did ask, so I told him. I shared that I thought it was awful that my mom had to suffer the illnesses that she did, and that I felt cheated because I would have chosen that path for my dad any day over my mom.

We then talked about karma, and heaven versus hell. My boy thinks my dad has no chance of being allowed into heaven. As for me, I don't know. Perhaps the laws of karma are already working. My dad is old -- 80, but he seems even older to me. His eyesight is failing. My independent stubborn father is now dependent on others for so many things. On top of that, he watched my mother's decline from day one to the very end. If that isn't hell, well, I just can't imagine it could be any worse. So maybe he is already dealing with karma. Maybe, getting into heaven is like my mother used to say, "As long as you have faith at least the size of a mustard seed, you will allowed into heaven."

The war

All around is mess. Papers - everywhere, books - everywhere. The clutter is taking control. The mind is loosing.

When no one is around, the elves come out and produce more -- leaving it to be found the next morning. Just a little here and there. Not even enough to notice, unless attention is being paid. A few more papers on the desk, a book laying on the floor, some dirt scattered on the table in front of the plant pot.

Insomnia kept them at bay for a long time, but the little sneaks, in their proud pointy shoes and ridiculous hats, are smart. The wait on the fringe for the eyelids to droop and finally close. Then they tiptoe around, knowing where the squeaky floorboard is and how close they can get to the family dog without waking him. Snickers muffled, they create just the ever so slight difference.

Their hope is to gain control Their prayer is that the human will either leave or be locked away. Their freedom is at stake, and the war is on.

True Friends

What defines a friend? Someone that can be trusted with your confidences? Someone that will tell you the truth? Someone that will be there for you in your time of need? Is a true friend all of these things? None of these things -- something intangible?

Obviously I don't know what defines a friend. The things that I thought meant the most, and some of the people that I thought were closest to my heart have proven that they are not who I thought them to be. Perhaps I put my friends on pedestal ... I don't really know. I do know that I am hurt and confused. I shared true feelings and concerns, and instead of any attempt at understanding -- I ended up with two less friends.

Granted, once I was called out, I made some not so wise choices myself. I was hurt -- terribly hurt -- so I responded in kind. Not wise as it made an already bad situation worse. So now we are divided, and true colors have been shown. In an already crazy world, I cannot and will not allow more crazy around me or my family. I don't think there is any fixing this time, not that I think I want it fixed. I think true colors have been shown, much to my dismay.

Right move

Can life be more unstable? Turning on the news shows us areas of the world where there are unimaginable horrors. This is a time in which all the world should have at a minimum food and fresh water. Not so.

So am I shallow to worry about my own situation? Problems such that we have never known, with no one to turn to. I see the worry etched in long lines on my husbands face. An overwhelming sense of helplessness tries to overtake us. All of our options are being weighed.

The opportunity has presented itself for my family to move back to Texas. It is an option that is under serious evaluation. Since moving to Missouri some 14 years ago, we have never felt at home. We have missed our children terribly. The relationships that we thought we would find here have never came to fruition. In fact, family relationships were probably stronger before the move away from Texas.

There are a lot of things to consider. The pull of Texas is strong. Right now, I think it is time to go home.

Sister Friends

Perhaps you have a preconceived notion of what a sister friend. A biological sister that is actually a friend you say? A friend you love like a sister? Goodness, what would form that relationship anyway? In this world, a sister friend is a beloved female person that should have been your sister from birth. Through no fault of your own, she wasn't included in your biological family.

I have a few sister friends. I treasure them. I turn to them in times of need for comfort and support. Recently, I have come to treasure one particular sister friend so much. I send her these lengthy crazy notes, filled with my turmoil and uncertainty. She replies with such focus and clarity that I am sure it flows from the hand of God instead of from her heart to mine.

Melody, even her name rings of a joyousness. So many things in my life seem to parallel hers. Things from our hearts at any rate. I treasure her. I don't know that if she realizes just how important she is to me. Just the thought of how much she cares and the brute force of her messages is enough to make even the most cynical among us realize that there is love to be shared, and that God is actively working in our lives.

If you were not born into the family of your heart's desire, then create it. There are people out in this big wide world that will give of themselves. Perhaps you will be lucky enough to find your own Melody sister friend.

Mark who?

My husband, Mark, is working hard with his new real estate broker -- Remax Gold -- to build his business. If you know of anyone who is thinking of buying or selling their home, vacation cabin, business, etc., he would certainly appreciate the contact information. Of course you can call him at (314) , but he has a web site that you can also contact him through. With this application, you can provide more information than is possible with leaving a phone message. Here is the site url: http://markvbradley.com/

Superbowl 2010

How could we not have collectively rooted for the New Orleans Saints? I am not even a fan of football, but I still watched this game. Very cool. A much needed boost for their town, and perhaps those among us that need to be reminded that out of despair can rise greatness. I am so very happy that they won -- and that Drew Brees won MVP. How sweet was that picture of him in tears hold ins baby? Congratulations to the team.

An introspective view

One flash in time -- and the moment is gone. How many times in your life have you allowed that one flash, that one moment to cause a course of action for the rest of your life? One small moment, perhaps a seemingly insignificant moment, to chart your course.

Perhaps this introspective ideal is more pertinent to the middle-aged and elderly. However, young people can benefit also -- simply by acknowledging that these single entries into the diary of life may predict the outcome(s) of some future incident. Parents often try to steer their children away from these moments, especially the more difficult ones. Having lived through them already, the parent can assist the child in perhaps taking an alternate course, and thus avoiding the introspective moments of doubt.

Some life-lessons must be learned from experience only, no matter how much others want for this not to be so. If only I had said this, or only if I hadn't done that, then life would perhaps be so different. The thing is, one can't tell just by looking at the path sometimes if it is the best choice, or even the easier of the choices. The life lesson here is to not to allow your life to be rule or directed by those moments. Give a great deal of consideration to them if at all possible. And live those moments to the fullest.

New job for Mark

As many of you know, my husband, Mark, has recently made a switch in careers. He is currently working for ReMax as a real estate agent. He is working on a website, which he says is up, but bare. I don't even have the link to it, but I am sure that it is forthcoming. You will for certain have a link here.

In the mean time, Mark -- OK we -- sure would appreciate any referrals. If you know anyone buying or selling within our region, please send give them Mark's information. The best way to contact him at the moment is his cell phone: (314) 680-2103. If the property is something that he feels would be better in the hands of another agent, he would certainly be able to hand it over to someone very capable (I am thinking of commercial real estate).

In addition to calling Mark, you can certainly leave comments for him on my blog or email either one of us. Thank you so much.

2010 Grammy Awards

Grammy Awards 2010: Paris, Prince and Blanket Jackson along with Lionel Ritchie after receiving a posthumous lifetime achievement awards for their father, Michael Jackson.

Thoughts on Haiti

The catastrophe in Haiti seems to still have news desks around the work riveted firmly in place. Among the things being bandied about is that it will take 10 years to repair the damage, thousands are dead, hundreds are orphaned, and there are hundreds that have had surgeries or are in need of surgery. People have rushed to donate money, time, and supplies. Perhaps that is how it should be.

For those who have much, much is expected. However, what about the people in this country who are in need of help? What about the thousands upon thousands who have sub standard health care due to lack of funds for insurance. What about the homeless on the streets of this country? What about soldiers from this country who are in hospitals dealing with just as massive of injuries? What about the children of soldiers, police officers, teachers -- all those who serve at the will of the people -- who have lost their lives so others in our country may have a better life? What about our orphans?

It boggles the mind that people rush to help others, but forsake our own. For those who have much, much is expected. Just don't forget those in your own community, in your own state, in your own country.

Tonight's Grammy Awards

The Grammy's -- one of the "It" awards for recording artists. Tonight a musical tribute was paid to Michael Jackson. His children were there also, accompanied by an uncle entourage, to accept a lifetime achievement award in behalf of their father. While it was touching, and even tear-jerking, it was too little too late.

Jackson was sneered at by the industry after accusations of child molestation became public. Two cases -- one settled out of court and another with Jackson being found not-guilty after undergoing months of public scrutiny. Where was the industry that he loved so much when he was going through this, this mess, this torment?

There was always fan support, and most of the time he had the support of his family. All of the time Michael had the love of his children. But the industry to which he gave so much turned their collective backs on him when he needed them most.

Since his death, many artists have jumped on the Michael Jackson train. It is all about making the big buck. The fucking almighty dollar. There is something wrong with a society that will allow for the collective back to be turned when there is a time of need, but when it looks good or money is to be made, just try to find a seat on that train. Be careful, or you will find yourself pushed under a passing train in an attempt to gain a buck -- or several of them. Whatever the case, it is sickening, and time for a change.

MJ revisited

Months after the passing of Michael Jackson, I find myself back at the computer, googling the latest news and then flipping though pictures of his children. While it is true that I am a huge fan, and even more so after his untimely passing, the pull today is his children.

Unable to put thoughts of the now parent less trio behind me, I drift to YouTube to watch clips. as the pictures scroll past, my mind drifts. I find myself wondering what memories the youngest of the children, Blanket, will have of his father years from now. I compare my own loss of 3 grandparents at a young age; and the strands of memories that have been filtered through the years. The realization that the majority of the memories are vague with gaping holes, like a spider's web that has been loosed from it's moorings.

While fans have their memories, and often share them with other fans, Michael's children don't have the luxury of exchanging memories with millions. Even if that were to happen, these children lost their father -- not some icon that echoes a lifetime of dreams. The cold truth of the matter is that Blanket, in all likelihood, will retain only fractured memories of his beloved father. Such a sad thought for one so young.

Dirt dishers and rumor mongers

There is a saying, "Don't judge a book by it's cover." I don't think it must apply to blog titles, because you can judge this blog by it's title. Let me explain.

I continually try to improve my life. Too many years were spent trying to recover years lost to a bad past, as well as carrying around the baggage that went with it. Such a long time spent in the hole of depression trying to grasp the wind -- well, not literally, but it is a good analogy for what I was trying to do. Just as you can't actually ever hold the wind, I couldn't do anything about my past with the exception of moving past it.

So what does this have to do with dirt dishers and rumor mongers? You see, I try really hard these days to not say really negative things about people nor to I try to spread gossip or dish dirt on people. Unfortunately, while I have been trying to improve my life, others have been rolling in muck and mire in order to spread information to those that can do nothing but worry. I ask myself why do that to someone? Why cause undo worry and stress?

The answer to these questions are really quite clear. There are people enjoy dishing dirt and being rumor mongers. Seems it makes them feel better about their own lives. I don't pretend to understand how that works. In fact, isn't that what bullies do? Dish dirt and spread rumors to make them selves feel or look better at someone else's expense?

If reading this post makes you uncomfortable or you are wondering if I am referring to you, I probably am. Don't bother to apologize, because I am not mad nor am I holding a grudge. Just think about why you feel the need to do this.