Walluski Babble

Thank-you For Entertaining Me!

2011-07-26T06:03:00.000-07:00

Way back "when" Robert Downy, Jr. had a serious problem with addictions. It appeared that he was self-destructive and spent much time between making movies getting into serious trouble, even spending time in prison.

I, for one, am so very pleased he did whatever it was he did to become the actor he is, today. I enjoy his acting immensely. I loved him in Kiss Kiss Bang Bang and in . When I reflect on the joy watching these movies brings me I am also saddened by the loss of another actor I enjoyed immensely, Heath Ledger.

Very rarely do I get emotional over the loss of someone who is not immediately connected to me, via family or friend. Just am not wired that way, I guess. I empathize with someone else's loss, but I don't become emotionally involved. But when Heath Ledger died I felt like the world had lost a great entertainer, and I cried to think that I would never see him act in something new, again.

After Ledger's death I have begun really appreciating the new work each of my favorite performing artists does. Johnny Depp, John Cusak, Nicholas Cage, Mathew McConnehay, Luke Wilson, thank-you for doing what you do. Jodie Foster, Joan Cusak, Meg Ryan, Julia Roberts, Sandra Bullock, Anne Heche, Mariska Hargitay, Edie Falco, thanks for making me laugh, cry, moan, whoop and just take me away for the moment to somewhere else!

I think too often media centers their focus on tragedies. I think, too often, media centers too much attention on the private lives of those who "entertain" us. As if a $20 ticket to an event entitles us to be voyeurs into those people's personal lives.

Personally, I don't care about "who" these people "really are". Just like all of us, they will present to the world what they want the world to see, and I am okay with that. I don't care what one of them wears to whatever party is where ever its at. I am content to just enjoy who it is they are pretending to be while I scrunch down in my seat at the Gateway Theater, waiting for them to "take me away" to another place, another time, another point of view.

I made the serious mistake awhile ago of reading about Tom Cruise's perspective on "religion". Shortly after that he left Nicole Kidman and took up with someone half his age. This has ruined Cruise for me. I will watch a film inspite of the fact that he is in it, instead of because he is in it. So sad, for me. I am quite sure it is no great loss to him, lol!

It is with relief that I note, as I wait in line at the supermarket, that I rarely know anyone on the front cover of any of trash magazines. So my eyes can casually drift over the headlines without influencing how I am going to chose my next movie. In my perfect world, these kinds of magazines would disappear in a puff of smoke. I appreciate we live in a free-market world. I hope that, soon, people will just be happy with the two hours that their ticket purchased and stop with feeling like that "deserve" any "more" from these entertainers, whether they are on the stage, in film, or in an arena or on a playing field. I honestly don't think our entertainers owe us any look into their private lives any more than they "deserve" look into ours if they subscribe to a blog one of us writes on.

And, uh-huh, sports is entertainment. Players are entertainers. Where would we be if Downey Jr was banned from show business because of his drug habit? I don't care if some sports guy has a drug habit and think it utterly ridiculous that someone is banned from an entertainment field if s/he fails a drug test. While OWNERS of teams certainly have a right to have certain requirements for their employees a whole field of the entertainment industry being able to ban people from doing what gives them a sense of identity or is a grounding point for them seems highly barbaric and archaic to me. Get over yourselves, athletic industry, you are an entertainment industry. If your people don't entertain us, we will quit watching and you will quit "producing" your reality brand of entertainment. If our kids are looking at athletes as their "role models" that is our fault, lay off the bizarre rules that change from sport to sport.

Stun of a Witch, its been one of those daze!

2011-01-26T03:16:00.000-08:00

These last couple of days have been nothing short of weird, weird, weird leaving me walking around in a complete daze! People that I thought I knew, pretty comfortingly well, hit me upside the head with some philosophies(?) that must have been percolating for quite a while now but I have been quite oblivious to. While having differing viewpoints is what makes this world go around and life fairly interesting their viewpoint on what I do, as well as what others have done, was what stunned me and made me feel, well, weird.

Then I had to deal with the fall out of that, phone calls of other people who found out and then the funny part (and sort of weird) from people who thought all along I was someone else. It began to feel rather like a Shakespearean "Mid Winter's Night Dream" and just when I thought it couldn't get any weirder, today dawns and I find out more "shenanigans" from Mr. Foster, a newly elected commissioner is also a realtor and he hired a woman whose house he can't sell to run some sort of retreat for the county commissioners, the private school my grandchildren were going to enter in the fall has been closed down and then AFTER five o'clock when the county offices close down so I can't verify, I hear that three people who thought they were commissioners and made some pretty spectacular decisions on January 12th possibly weren't sworn in properly and may have to be sworn in again! I find out that this was discovered possibly Monday and yet an amended agenda hasn't been sent out to the media. If these folks weren't sworn in properly on the 12th what happens regarding the LNG Pipeline land use application that they voted to take back from LUBA?

The County Charter, Chapter III Section 2 states

Term of Office.

(A) The term of office of an elected County Commissioner is four years and begins on or after January 1 of the year following election upon administration of the oath of office.
(B) Commissioners serve until the succeeding Commissioner has taken the oath of office

It will be interesting to see what others make of this and what County has to say in the morning, and if there is an amended agenda. Surely they won't just have the commissioners arrive at 4:45 before the work session and slip it in then? I don't think they can do that without notifying the public about why the commissioners are meeting each time they meet.

Then, tonight, to top it all off personally, I went into Warrenton to buy a used vacuum cleaner because 1) I like to reuse whenever possible, and 2) I am cheap. It was a nice Bissell and it was only $25. Mom and Dad are headed home after being in Hawaii for two months and they are depressed enough coming home to the weather so I wanted to make the indoors as nice as possible.

After picking up the Bissell I was driving home and came to a stop at the stop sign at the corner of SW 9th and Cedar and you know what happened? A DEER hit me! YAH, a DEER HIT ME! And that deer hit me so hard that it popped my passenger side window out and rained safety glass all over me! I was so stunned and it made such a loud pop when it happened I really thought someone had shot the window out and any moment a bright light was going to shine and Grandpa Roy was going to be there, calling to me to follow the light!

No such luck. Instead the deer springs up, looks in at me and takes off again with a freaking german shepherd dog chasing it! Of course my little malibu is all paid off so the only insurance we carry on it is the kind if we hit someone or if someone is hurt. Now, maybe, if that deer was to sue US there might be some money! I called the police anyhow to let them know that there was a deluded deer running around Warrenton hitting cars with a german shepherd chasing and that glass was all over 9th street.

The officer came and took pictures in case they catch the dog or someone else has a run in with this dynamo duo. He was very nice and helped me get the mess off the road and drape a blanket in the window so I wouldn't have such a cold drive home. I had also called the hubby so he was outside waiting for me. He couldn't believe that a deer had done that much damage and walked away. He kept asking me if I was sure it was a deer. YEAH, it was a deer and I wasn't moving. The officer can testify to that. Glass all over the street right by the stop sign. On the side by the stop sign but no paint on my car so NO I DIDN'T HIT THE STOP SIGN! My husband laughed, remembering when a deer chased me in Jewell in my sister-in-laws truck and hit that!

Yes, deer hate me. Not the vehicle, me. They look up and see me and say, "Hey, I think you used to hunt us all the time and I think you shot our great great great granddaddies." Never mind that at least a quarter of the county has done the same. For some reason the deer have decided to take all their angst out on me. You just watch, tomorrow, at the Board Meeting, either right before it or right after it, a seagull is going to deposit a load on me. I'm bringing an umbrella. I don't care if its a beautiful day tomorrow.

Now THAT'S Entertainment!

2011-01-12T02:09:00.000-08:00

Have you noticed that when you criticize a television show, even when it is your admittedly favorite one, no one says (or writes) to you, "Why don't you take up acting if you think you can do it better?" or "If you think you can do a better job, why don't you try coming up with a better script?"

Isn't it odd, though, that if you criticize a sport team or player someone will, invariably, tell you that if you think you can do a better job why don't you go and do it?

No one calls anyone an "armchair director" when they criticize the way a movie is developing, but criticize the way a play was ran and you are scoffed at as a "wannabe coach."

Some people wonder where the "rash" of "reality tv" has come from, under the delusion that it is a new phenomenon breaking the screen as we crested into the 21st century but the truth is that "reality tv" was just about all that television had to offer beginning back in 1939 with the first televised sporting event, a college baseball game between Columbia and Princeton.

According to The Museum of Broadcast Communications:

"Television got off the ground because of sports," reminisced pioneering television sports director Harry Coyle. He coninued, "Today, maybe, sports need television to survive, but it was just the opposite when it first started. When we (NBC) put on the World Series in 1947, heavyweight fights, the Army-Navy football game, the sales of television sets just spurted." With only 190,000 sets in use in 1948, the attraction of sports to the networks in its early period was not advertising dollars. Instead, broadcasters were looking toward the future of the medium, and aired sports as a means of boosting demand for television as a medium. They believed their strategy would eventually pay off in advertising revenues. But because NBC, CBS and DuMont manufactured and sold receiver sets, their more immediate goal was to sell more of them. Sports did indeed draw viewers, and although the stunning acceptance and diffusion of television cannot be attributed solely to sports, the number of sets in use in the U.S. reached ten and a half million by 1950.

Sports, the first "reality tv" shows have continued to bring us all the drama, excitement, mayhem, murders, mysteries, tears, dreams, glory, underdogs, champions that any "reality" show has done. And, yet, talk to many a sports enthusiast and they are loathe to call sports "entertainment" or athletes "entertainers".

Nevermind that the athlete would cease to be paid if no one cared to watch their sport. AH-HA, says the sports enthusiast, THAT'S WHAT MAKES AN ATHLETE DIFFERENT, S/HE WOULD STILL CONTINUE IN THE SPORT! And how is that different than the actor in the off Broadway show, or the local town theater?

Can a college violinist get paid a cadillac, while still at school, if he promises to play in the Portland Symphony instead of going off to Philadelphia without being penalized in some petty manner? Why is college/university sports dictated to by some petty organization that makes babies out of full grown adults? People old enough to die for our country but not old enough to know whether or not someone is taking advantage of them by buying them a car while they are still in school? What the heck kind of rules are those? Really!

Why have we made gods of our athletes? If Tom Cruise was raising fighting cocks would they take away his actors guild card? Should they? Of course not. If you or I do something illegal we shouldn't have our means of regaining our position in society stripped from us. Why, in the name of sanity, would someone who has paid their debt to society (ie served their time in prison and are now out) have to beg for their license to continue in their occupation? Especially an occupation like ENTERTAINMENT! If the people want to punish the person they WON'T COME TO WATCH. And whoever hired him/her knows "whoops". But the licensing organization has no right to keep the card from the person.

It comes back to a whacky society. A society that, on one hand, bemoans the fact that "kids nowadays refuse to take responsibility for their actions" and on the other hand, this same society will say, "Reparations? Why in the hell should I pay for something that happened before I was even born?" Because, dumbass, it wasn't before your country was born and its your country that owes the damn debt! It says so in the damn precious federalist papers and every other founding father paper that the reason they kept slavery is because without it our country would dissolve and be bankrupt!

Anyhu, this gets back to sports. Its just an entertaining game. There, I said it. And when the entertainers screw up or displease me (whether or not I loved them on some other night) I'm gonna say so. Monday night I didn't see the big "OH", I saw a bunch of little uh-ohs. Yeah, it was nice they got that far. Its just too bad their coaches didn't play in a bowl game last year so they could be prepared for the bowl game this year, like Auburn. OH! Whoops. Erase that, reverse. Auburn didn't play in a bowl game last year, did they? Which team DID play in a bowl game?

Thank goodness we have Beaver Baseball and Jordan Poyer to look forward to.

Black Monday

2011-01-11T23:20:00.000-08:00

Sigh, sob, sigh, sob. ...

Sob.

The Ducks lost and ... we have the same governor. The sky reflects my heart.

Sob, sob, sob.

No, that isn't me crying.

sigh ... yeah, I see the fog rolling in. It'll hit about 8:45 am, Wednesday morning. Yippy skippy.

Keep The Wave Going!

2011-01-09T15:21:00.000-08:00

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¸„ø¤º°¨¨°º¤ø ¸„ø¤º°¨¨°º¤ø,DUCKS¤ø ¸„ø¤º°¨¨°º¤ø ø¤º°¤GO DUCKS!!
¤GO°¨¨°º¤ø ¸„ø¤º°¨¨°º¤ø¸DUCKS¤ø ¸„ø¤º°¨¨°º¤ø ø¤º°¨¨¨°º¤ø
¸„ø¤GOº°¨¨°º¤ø ¸„ø¤º°¨¨°º¤ø ¸„ø¤º°¨¨°º¤ø,DUCKS¤ø ¸„ø¤º°¨¨°º¤ø ø¤º°¤
......GO DUCKS!!!!KEEP THE WAVE GOING! COPY AND PASTE! GO DUCKS!!!

Yep, Sorry such a boring post for those of you not "into it" but this is harmless, mindless, FUN and probably one of the few things that my family, around the world, can agree on! We make allowance for the in-laws (and out-laws!).

Call Me A Duck

2011-01-04T01:51:00.000-08:00

Next Monday night our family is decked in Green 'n Gold from Japan to Hawaii. Skype and Ustream all ready to go, we'll do The Wave around the world!

That is the neatest thing about the new technology, when it works. We spend more time talking to one another using it than we ever did when we all lived in the same town. Maybe we are just getting older and recognize how precious our time together is? I don't know. It is fun when we have all five laptops running skype and the sixth one running our Ustream channel, showing whatever it is we are all commenting on, be it a family party or a football game, or a wedding. We feel more connected, the far away less left out.

Having Charter Cable for our internet server makes it rather difficult, as we tend to be the hub of it a lot of the connections and Charter tends to suddenly quit on us for no apparent reason. Don't you just love calling Charter and getting that automated system? Do you even bother unplugging and plugging back in the modem anymore when you know darn well the tech that gets on 10 minutes later is going to ask you to do the same thing?

I am thinking of going to Virgin Mobile broadband and its MiFi 2200 hotspot. Does anyone have any comments on using Virgin Mobile in our area? It would be the same network as Sprint. It says that it will cover our home as well as all of Astoria, Warrenton and Seaside. Anyone have any comments on that?

If Virgin Mobile works out then I think we will get rid of Charter, pay whatever the early disconnect fee is, cause I think we signed up for some sort of cable & internet bundle, and then just go with their cheapest cable price. We don't watch their movie channels, we watch netflix. We watch a lot of tvduck.com and Hulu. All I watch is reruns. The only thing that the guys would miss is sports if we totally abandoned cable and we are just about this close, too.

Here's a little video I am sure you all have already heard it, but one can never get enough of it, eh? I hope we hear a lot of it not only up to Monday, but a whole lot of it next Tuesday, too! Come on, Beavers, ya' know we would be cheering for you (think baseball, we'll be there for ya').

BANG! Happy New Year Michael Vick!

2011-01-01T20:16:00.000-08:00

Let's start the New Year off with a BANG! Let's discuss Michael Vick and the US of A's fickle and double standard society at large. While having a butt load of meat, such as chickens raised in heinous conditions, veal from calves that have never seen the light of day and farmed fish that have never known the freedom of the open seas, in our freezers and on our shelves society continues to condemn Vick's past involvement in dog fighting.

Vick was released from prison in 2009 after serving a 23-month sentence at Leavenworth Penitentiary in Kansas as punishment for his involvement with the Bad Newz Kennels, a dogfighting operation Vick ran at an estate he owned in rural Virginia. While dog-fighting was a part of his cultural heritage he owned up to it as being illegal and he took his punishment "like a man," and while in prison didn't blame others, even when financial ruin followed shortly behind.

He has since left prison and been re-instated in the NFL to playing status, hired by the Eagles and is doing very well for himself and that appears to really, really piss people off. Apparently, he was supposed to get out of prison, start shooting up heroin, and end up out on the streets having spasmodic flashbacks to the times when he was violent with dogs. Just as we all do with each bite of our Insert-the-State-Here Fried Chicken, right?

How many people watch dog fights? If this wasn't a popular event would it be a profitable one? Are we concerned that all those people watching these events are out there, walking our streets, probably policemen, firemen, teachers, childcare providers, bus drivers, and health care providers? Are we outraged about how they are just living "normal" lives right now? Maybe that item they just bought online from you came from their winnings after betting on a dogfight?

Society is outraged at Vick not only because he picked an animal that many of us consider "cute" to treat like many of us treat the animals we eat, but because he also belongs to that station many of us have chosen to idolize. If it was an entertainer from another spectrum of the talent pool, such as a movie star, would there be any doubt of him returning to the screen? Would someone suggest that his guild card be pulled? Vick is merely an entertainer, something a portion of society has yet to acknowledge. Sports are entertainment, people. When the sport they are participating in stops being entertaining people will stop watching. If people stop watching the money stops. If that isn't a definition of what entertainment is I don't know a better one. Stop making entertainers into gods and you won't be outraged when they are human beings.

Vick broke a CULTURAL law, folks. He hurt an animal that has a face, an animal that many of us choose to have as pets and choose to attribute human feelings to. He said sorry, and he had his freedom revoked for 23 months. He can never own a firearm nor can he vote. Forever he has the word "felon" on his resume. But that isn't enough for some folks. Nope, they want him to either continue living only if it is a miserable life, or to have been actually executed for conducting dog fights!

Everything that we do, as human beings, has an impact on life around us. Is the answer to this fact complex laws regulating all of our movements? That would seem to be what many people want to see happen. "One law fits all" society where we each take pleasure in tattling on each and everything that we see the other doing. I honestly see little difference between what Vick was doing and what happens to veal calves or fish. People talk about the horrors that deer go through being chased by hunters but no one sticks up for the fish being played out by the sports fisherman. Why? Because fish aren't cute. It's hard, even after Finding Nemo, to ascribe human empathy to fish.

Over and over again those who want the environment, be it cultural, political or physical, to go their own way look for the short cut of doing it by force rather than by education but it is well proven that when people are educated and make a change because they own the ideas the change spreads and inspires more change, the changes feeding on one another. And yes, they are not controlled.and can be chaotic for a while. They are born out of the best in us which cannot be controlled, at the most it can be guided.

When our educational systems join the 21st century and teaches our children how to learn instead of what to learn, when the system relearns what its ultimate goal is, then will our society begin to change in a profoundly different and deeper way. When we look at our children as gems waiting to be mined, and not by us but by their ownselves, our society will change. The cruelties that we see, manifesting themselves against animals, the earth, whoever or whatever is "different", will fall by the wayside of our own volition.

Until then, our prisons will remain full of addicts, the mentally and emotionally crippled, the political dissenters, the cultural mores challengers and the very few real criminals that choose to inflict carnage on their fellow man to satisfy their own selfish desires.

That was then, this is now

2010-11-22T04:30:00.000-08:00

Our thirty year class reunion was last August. It seems like every since I have been taking many strolls down memory lane regarding my childhood I have been spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about my past. It is amazing, to me, how much of my happiness has been in the past 10 years. True, contented, happiness.

I have heard some people say they had idyllic childhoods or that they peaked in high school. When I think back to those years I know I can look forward because the best is yet to come.

I have great childhood memories, some good grade school memories, and ok Jr. High School memories, not so fond of High School memories. It seems so weird that my hubby plays either no role or a negative role in those memories. The man who is now such a pivotal part of my life wasn't in those years, and yet, now, my best times have been with him.

Conversely, my worst times have also been with this man. The bad memories I have from school appear to have something to do with him. And, in the twenty plus years we have been together we have been through some real, real bad times. But, as everyone knows, bad times do make good times all that much better.

Hubby and my memories of school helped us to come to the decision to homeschool. It had very little to do with the kids and everything to do with the teachers. When a certain middle school principle condescendingly told hubby and I to harken back to when we were in school. He actually told us he was the same man that was our principle (he was the vice principle) and we should have just as much confidence in him now as we did then. We both realized we did and we yanked our kids.

It dawned us both that those teachers would have our children 40 hours a week. Those teachers who threw chalk and erasers at kids out of frustration, anger, teaching apathetically or even those who taught passionately but just from their point of view and then tested kids based on their slanted viewpoint of life.

One of the cool things of marrying someone from school who was in the same grade but in a completely different circle of friends, as well as a different religion, is that we have been able to compare stories. I learned that all those times that hubby and friends skipped school were not spent drinking and partying. They had an elaborate forest treefort, actually more like a tree village, that they had all built and which they spent many long days defending in bb gun wars. This continued on up into high school. Many battle scars are from bb gun bullets shot at too close of range or if someone had pumped more than they should have, making the shot more powerful.

I learned that the spit wads in my hair in ninth grade English were my hubby's doing. No, nothing so romantic as love, or like, in the least. I was the weirdo Bahai with "stuck up" friends. Ninth grade English was miserable for me. None of my friends were in it and I was plagued by hateful boys sitting in the backrow. Hubby is shame faced about it now. More so because he sees it not only as my spouse, but as a Baha'i himself.

For me, that was the hardest. Baha'i camps and retreats were these totally awesome places. You didn't have to fake being anything, you could just be you. No one ever called someone a "fag" people didn't stare at black people and call them names behind their backs, two girls could actually hold one another's hands, even in eighth grade, without hearing snickers. And there were no wall flowers at the dances. No one ever said "no" if you asked them to dance, and you never said "no". The older kids always looked out for the younger ones. It was so "cool" to have a college boy ask you to dance, which made all the other guys want to dance. Our dances weren't divided up into ages. So you had everyone out there dancing.

The camps were family camps, mostly, and so there wasn't the "oddness" of jamming this group of people, all the same age, together to try to figure out life using all the same half assembled tools and coming to the same, untried, sophomoric, answers. You were with a diverse group of people of all ages and races and they were electric! Then you would come back home to plain, old, boring "vanilla."

After hubby went to his first camp after becoming a Baha'i he exclaimed, "THATS what you got to do on school breaks?" He was flabbergasted at how I could come home from something like that and turn around and go to school on Monday. While it often was reinvigorating, around the second or third day back I would hit a wall, and it would be depressing for a day or two. It wasn't just the kids. It was the teachers. We were living in pretty hopeless times, then. It was the '70s. We had been lied to by Nixon, we knew that the Russians had "the bomb" but we also knew that crouching beneath our desks wasn't going to save our butts from anything! Our school had a bomb shelter (the locker rooms) city hall had a bomb shelter, and I can't think where else but I do remember learning in our health class how to look for the upside down dotted triangle signifying a shelter was nearby.

While our Faith taught us we were at the beginning of a new 500,000 year dispensation our schools told us to prepare for the end of the world. Our graduating class, if I remember correctly, was called one of the most apathetic that our high school principle had ever encountered. In our health class our teacher, Ms. Brown, taught us that if we were abducted, to submissively follow the captors orders as our chances of being released alive increased for submissive people, while fighters died. How weird, I thought, to teach a classroom of sophomores to be submissive.

Being the naive person that I was, and thinking teachers liked input even when it countered what they said, I piped up, "My mom told me to never, ever go with anyone who tried to grab me. I am supposed to fight, scream, and do anything to draw attention to us." Ms. Brown fixed a glare on me, "Even if he has a gun?" she sneered. "Especially if he has a gun. My mom says if he is showing a gun and his face he's probably going to shoot me anyways and I have a better chance of getting help if I am shot downtown Astoria than out of one of the logging roads." I didn't think then was the time to add what else my mom had said, "And if you do go with the man and we find your body shot and mutilated I will scrape it up off the logging road and beat it." Somehow, it made her sound a little crazy and took away all the logic of the first part of her advice.

I remember that the teacher was not thrilled with my answer and commented dryly that while we needed to follow the advice of our parents and our own safety plan for the sake of the test HER answer was the "correct" one. Another reason we homeschooled our kids. Deduction and reasoning not allowed, one correct answer for the masses and only one.

Then I remember being frightened so often. What would friends think if I said this, wore that, did the other? What if I don't know the answer? What if I do know the answer? Can't be too smart, can't be too dumb. So much of my life seemed to be controlled by what others thought about me. What is funny is I can't remember when I stopped caring what others thought. Not the "in your face" not caring, but the true, not even realizing it, not caring.

I know that now there are times when I care, but it is times I consciously choose. There are times when feed back from others is something I would like, but somehow it has morphed. Then it was friends, teachers, co-workers and bosses. Now it is husband, parents, children, grandchildren. Wow, I have grandchildren! Yeah, it is great when a story I have been working on for weeks, or sometimes months, gets noticed and complimented, but I wouldn't stop writing if I didn't get it. If I didn't KNOW that my husband had my back? It is something I cannot even conceive of. If I didn't KNOW I had my children's love? Chilling thought.

Then and now. I like now. Even with the gray hair, sagging skin, wrinkles and pains. I choose now, and I look forward to tomorrow.

Ghosts of mistakes past

2010-11-21T04:30:00.000-08:00

As I write here I am conscious of the fact that other people's lives and their stories are their own. Even when they are "my" children and grandchildren their story does not belong to me. When mine were growing up they confronted me one time and told me that as much as they enjoyed hearing about stories from their childhood they were very uncomfortable hearing their lives played out to people they hardly knew. What I thought of as "funny" or "cute" they thought of as embarrassing and humiliating. And even some events I expressed with pride often made them uncomfortable because how I saw it come about or maybe the motivating force for them wasn't what they saw as their reality.

For the year following it was hard to join in family or friendly dialogs about children. What is their "private" life and what "belongs" to us, as a family? I thought about how I would feel to overhear their comments on me. I cringed. As a result I have tried to let their stories be there's and when I tell stories here not to use their names so it is my story, my perception, my reality and not necessarily what "is" or "was". How one sees oneself is very important in how one projects and protects.

That being said the following story is not a happy one. It is about ghosts. While they can't always be seen, and the only power they have is what you give them, they are there, always. That isn't necessarily a bad thing. It often gives one the impetus to preform great works, or to remain steadfast, or dedicated, focused. On the other hand, they can drive some to obsessions, depression, or revenge. I strive for balance when dealing with my ghosts. I thank God for my husband, who helps with perspective. He still isn't sure whether I was his reward or punishment for his own past!

People have asked me where I get my "focus" and "drive". Others have accused me of being "obsessed". It is the way I deal with one of my ghosts. One thing I have learned from my ghosts is that in this world, in this country, in this state and especially in this county there is no such thing as "justice". There is a semblance of justice in the secular world but for those who do not have a religious or philosophical conviction, that not only explains why we have such injustice in this world, I do not understand why they bother to continue to care. They do amaze me, especially the ones that still think the best of people.

More and more I find that the RUHI curriculum holds the answers and promises for a better tomorrow. For the first time in the history of humankind there is a curriculum that puts into practical practice the "theory" of democracy, the absence of hereditary or arbitrary class distinctions or privileges and teaches true consultation and the basics. Through RUHI the king learns to consult with the ditch-digger, with a true appreciation and respect for the ditch-digger's opinion. The ditch-digger learns his innate worth is equal to a king's and thereby his opinion is. They both learn that oppressing one from expression or ignoring the other through rebellion hurts not just themselves but the whole. The experience is incredible. At first blush the curriculum looks entirely too simple. It is only through exposure, through the doing, that one begins to learn the potential of this incredible, incredible tool. It is exciting, and without it I would not be a happy and (fairly) balanced person.

The injustice I see would be devastating to me, and sadly I know we see very little of what so many in this county, state, country and world are exposed to on a daily if not hourly basis. I am weak. My ghosts often seem too heavy for me to bear to look at. In the bright sunlight they fade almost to nothing, but in the night hour they appear all too clearly.

In this county there is more than one family with a "heritage" of pedophilia. We, as a society, look the other way as our children's innocence is literally ripped away from them. We tell ourselves they are so young they won't remember. A truth or something we desperately need to believe? When they blow their heads off at the age of 19, 20 or 21 we tell ourselves it was the booze, the drugs, their age, whatever it takes to not allow the thought that we failed them, we allowed something to hurt them when we should have been watching over them. Amazingly, some think that since they lived through it, so can their child. Few stop to think, "Is this really living?" And those that do, what do they do if they think it isn't really living? Turn to drink, drugs, death?

I failed as a mother. Not a day goes by that I am not conscious of that fact. This isn't a plea for anyone's sympathy. It is an acknowledgment of what is. I knew of an evil in our community and because I joined the masses and turned my head one of mine was deeply wounded. The scar is permanent. Scars can be a mar on something that was perfect, or they can be badges of honor. Either way, that is for the owner of the scar to figure out. For the one who allowed the scar? Different than the one who caused the scar. The perpetrator and the victim have their own lives to live. What of those who merely "allowed"?

We cannot remove the scar, nor can we tell the person how to live with it. We cannot mete out justice for the one who caused the scar. I believe, wholeheartedly, that fathers are more rational than mothers when it comes to defending their young. As a mother I have no pity for the perpetrator nor the pedophile family. I try to calm myself by looking at what has become of my sister and how would it feel for others to hold us accountable for her? But a part of me agrees with that assessment. And in this secular world I see no opportunity for justice to prevail.

Reading online I see that the ghost has reared its ugly head once again and in my mind's eye I vomit. This time no one I know was the victim. Do I duck my head, again, and look away? Part of me prays it is not one of the known pedophile families and this new incident has nothing to do with my own cowardice so many years ago. Another part of me is terrified it isn't one of the knowns and a new or unknown family has materialized in our midst.

And what does this county do to help the situation? To help those who turn to drugs or alcohol to forget? Bandaids and punishment, that's what the local law thinks is the solution to all societies ills. The county lost its transition center. It is also looking for new administrators for its drug and alcohol programs. The sheriff and the district attorney are wailing for a new jail and more jail space, wailing for DUIIs to be punished more harshly in DA controlled courts, and everyone is wailing because of the high substance abuse in the county. Band-aids are wanted everywhere. Is no one asking WHY are people self-medicating? WHY do they want to forget? WHAT do they want to forget?

I am left with what to do to deal with my ghosts. I look for the balance and wonder how to protect when I know "the system" is incapable. The very best I know is education, but not of the mind, of the heart. If you have ever wondered what is it that makes me who I am, as a Baha'i or as an advocate, or just as a reporter, you can find a piece of the puzzle in the ghosts.

Quarking An Article

2010-11-20T04:30:00.000-08:00

I drafted this post in 2008 and, for some reason, never published it. At three years of age Eldest grandson, and his mother, was still living with us

Ever have so much work your brain is frozen? That's how I feel right now. I have so much work, almost too much work and it freezes my brain. The weird thing about aging, for me, is that I am getting dyslexic with it! Numbers get jumbled as well as my typing. I have to be very deliberate about my thought process, very focused. And when you have six or seven different story lines traveling in your mind, staying focused is hard. Add to this one of my lovable, adorable, cuddling, grandsons.

My phone rings and someone is, literally, begging me to do a story because they feel it hasn't been given a just representation in the local press, or courts, or one of the local city or county councils/commissions. In between city council meetings, school board meetings, commissioner meetings, committee meetings, regattas, parades, fairs and holidays I investigate, call people, and in the interim follow up on four OTHER story lines where people have called to say that their stories aren't be covered by local media.

While I am typing up notes, which so far isn't going the direction that one of the callers wanted or thought it would/could/should go in, eldest grandson wiggles his way up into my lap. "Can I help you type this 'Bika?" he asks. "No, Kaden," I reply, trying to peer around his head at the screen, so I can concentrate on what I just had written. "I'm not Kaden," he replies, "I am Quark." I pause in my typing. "You are Quark?" Where does he get this stuff? Sometimes he watches Star Trek with Papa, but not for some time now. Man I wish I had his memory!

"Yes, I am Quark!" he declares, climbing down from my lap. "Ok, where's Kaden, then?" Quark launches into a story that left me worried, amused and amazed. Man, this kid is either headed for the stage, a literary agent or a psychiatric couch.

"Kaden lost his skin," and "Quark" pulled on his skin in demonstration in case I wasn't familiar with the word, "and his muscles," Quark flexed his arm muscle and showed his calf muscle, "and his organs," Quark looked very sad at this one and pointed to his heart and stomach, "and just has a skeleton so his soul went to heaven." At this "Quark" put up his arms and shrugged his shoulders in the universal, "oh well" sign.

I stared at "Quark", my article forgotten. "I'm not entirely comfortable with Kaden's soul going to heaven just yet," I told him. "Oh, its okay, 'Bika. Heaven is a good place, where God can take care of you if you need Him to. Kaden can keep growing there." I said, "You are really freaking me out! Who told you this?" He pointed off to his side, "Little David here," no one was standing there, however his cousin's name is David, "and his mom, Auntie Alwex," he lisped out the last word, showing signs of babyhood, still, thank goodness!

"Yes," I confirmed, "Heaven is a good place, however, I would rather Kaden's soul was down here with the rest of him right now." "Would you like me to put him back together?" offered "Quark". Right about that time the cell rang and hubby was there, calling from Tillamook where he is working nights on a road job. I quickly brought him up to speed and he asked to speak to his "monkey head".

After that interruption it took me about an hour to find my place and get my head back into my article. "Amaze, amaze, amaze," as little Kimberly Jo used to say.

Meandering Maudlin Memory Lane

2010-11-19T04:30:00.000-08:00

“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.” Norman Cousins

When I was 25 years old I found a lump on my neck. I was on state aid for health insurance after leaving my first husband. I had never been on state aid before, nor since, but thank goodness I was on it then. I went to the one doctor that was still taking state aid (aka "welfare"), the Astoria infamous Dr. Patrick.

Dr. Patrick diagnosed it as a "cyst" and said that if he found it on his wife he wouldn't even bother biopsying it, however, since I was a patient with a history of cysts he should do a biopsy and the date for the minor operation was set for the week before Thanksgiving, 1985. Because of the location of the cyst, just below my collar bone, a needle biopsy wasn't feasible. The surgery had to take place at the Long Beach Hospital because Patrick had lost his Columbia Memorial Hospital privileges.

After the surgery Patrick told us that the cyst had been wrapped around my collarbone and was a bit bigger mass than he had anticipated but did not appear to be cancerous. He did remove the whole cyst and sent off a piece of it to the Seattle lab to be tested. I spent Thanksgiving with my neck swathed in bandages, grimacing about the three or so stitches in my neck. Little did I know what I would be dealing with by Christmas time.

On December 6th I went in to Dr. Patrick to find out the results of the biopsy on the cyst. The nurse was very kind when I went in. I remember she patted my arm and asked if I had come alone. I laughed and said told her bringing my two and four year olds along would not have been conducive to being able to listen to the Doctor's report. She said, "Oh dear, you have children?" I thought that was an odd reply.

Dr. Patrick came into the room and got right down to business. He asked me if I had been tired lately and if I had been losing weight. I told him I was the mother of a toddler and pre-school child and was on a (perpetual) diet so yes, and yes. He then said, "The biopsy on your tumor came back, it is malignant." I remember there being total silence at that point. It was one of those moments that your mind says, "This does not compute."

"But I didn't have a tumor, I had a cyst. This is some other patient's chart you are reading," I argued to Patrick. "Remember, I had the CYST in the NECK," I said, emphasizing the words and pointing to my neck.

Dr. Patrick shook his head. "It was a tumor, and it was malignant. We are going to have to do a series of tests to find out how far it has spread. First off we will have to ....." his words trailed away to my hearing. I remember nodding my head. He asked if I was okay, I said yes. His nurse asked if she should call someone, I said no. He asked if I understood, I said yes. Then he said good-bye and left the room. I put on my coat and walked out to the lobby where the receptionist handed me a list of appointments in Portland for the following week.

I drove in a daze to City Transfer & Storage, which my parents owned at that time. My dad was on the roof, no recollection why now, and he hollered down to me, "Everything ok?" making a thumbs up signal. I signaled, thumbs down, "Very bad news" I hollered back up. We did not see him again for hours.

My mother looked up from the phone and saw that something was badly wrong. She said I looked completely dumbfounded. "What's the matter? What's the matter?" I finally answered, "He says I have cancer." I love her answer. To this day it is a quote our family uses, "By whose authority did he tell you that?" Even at that time it brought a chuckle to my lips. That is my mother. By whose authority did a doctor tell me that I had cancer? Certainly not by Her authority!

"Give me THAT man's phone number!" my mother demanded. I gave it to her and within moments she was on the phone to him. Forget HEPA, albeit it was long before those privacy laws. I heard her say she wanted a second opinion and then heard her say, "Oh."

All of December was spent running from one appointment to the next. At one place veins in the top of my feet were accessed and dye was pumped in from there for a lymphangiogram. I still have the scars as Dr. Patrick forgot that had been done and had to tear some skin to get to the stitches to take them out. I had a bone marrow tap to see if the cancer was inside my bones. I vividly remember the hammering on my hips. Sometimes I ache there. My grandmother would say it was my sciatica acting up.

A week before Christmas I entered Long Beach Hospital once again. This time was for the big operation, a staging laparotomy, to take biopsies of all my major organs, to take a "look see" and ensure that the cancer was not hiding anywhere else. At this time Patrick was supposed to have moved my ovaries over so they would be out of the way of the radiation treatments that were to come. By now Dr. Holladay was my oncologist and he was supposedly telling Dr. Patrick how to proceed, as the surgeon. Later I found out that Holladay and Patrick were fighting (surprise, surprise) and that Patrick did not see a need for radiation to be done on the lower mantle while Holladay was plotting a course of full mantle radiation. Because Patrick did not think a full mantle was needed he did not move my ovaries over, according to him. I often have thought that Patrick neglected to move my ovaries over and subsequently developed the theory that a full mantle was not needed.

The full biopsy was done, my spleen was removed as was my appendix since both were supposedly areas which cancer can hide. I was ripped from my breast bone to my pelvic bone and stapled closed. I looked like a xylophone. I had to hold a pillow over my stomach to cough or laugh. When I came to after the operation I remember my mother sitting there and looking over at her and asking, "Did he say anything?" She shook her head. My mother wanted me home for Christmas, she NEEDED me home for Christmas.

The doctor came in later that evening and my mother asked if I would be home in time for Christmas. Patrick replied that he was waiting for the reports to come back from the labs. If any more cancer were found he was going in immediately to remove it, therefore, it was unknown if I would be home in time for Christmas. "At this point we need to take it day by day."

We already knew that the cancer had spread to the upper part of my right lung. Where it was at and how much further had it gone would determine the type and stage it was at and the course of therapy I would take to combat it. The long days ticked by. I began to hate that hospital. One month earlier I had been oblivious to the "fact" that I was ill with the big "C" word. I was playing with my two babies, bitching about my ex, anxious about making rent. I longed for those days, gone forever.

Before Cancer (BC) I hated shots, loathed needles. When I was young it literally took four nurses to hold me down, one for each limb, and a fifth to administer the shot. Even as I grew older I avoided shots for as long as possible. As a sophomore in high school I was suspended from school until I received some sort of shot that was required. Between December 6th and the 22nd I had been stuck so many times I no longer even flinched when the needle came out. During the following months of blood withdraws the only time I protested was when I was asked if I minded if a student nurse practiced on me. Oh, hell yeah, I minded. By that time my veins had shrunk down to almost nothing and finding one to prick was process of trial and elimination. One time a student nurse stuck me five times and as he was going for his sixth I told him if he touched me again I would have to punch him.

So, Christmas crept up on us and the hospital halls filled with holiday cheer, which stopped just outside of my door. Everyday a man dressed as Santa Claus would poke his head inside my door and say, "Hohoho!" and I would roll over in my bed, and squeeze out some tears. Each day my mother would ask Dr. Patrick if he thought I could go home and each day he would reply, "Not today." My mother would say that we need to make plans and finally Dr. Patrick told her she just shouldn't. "Just enjoy today," he told us, frankly and with one of those half smiles that said, "take it on the chin" and "keep your head up!" My mother and I quit planning my future on that day. We didn't start planning it again until I got married over six years later.

On the fourth day of my interment at the hospital the jolly red man stuck his head in the door and said his usual, "Ho-ho-ho!" and this time for variety added, "Do you know who I am?" I was thinking that he wanted me to guess who he was in real life, under the fake beard, false nose and red cap so I replied, "No, I am not from around here," and this red idiot replied, "Why, I'm Santa Claus!" I tried to get out of bed so I could strangle him. As she held me down my mother told him, "Go, go, go!" and his head quickly disappeared out of the doorway. She collapsed onto the bed laughing while I finally wrestled one of the pillows loose and flung it at the door, stretching and pulling at my zippered stomach and launching me into a bout of pain.

Later that day I was rewarded for my petty meanness to the poor volunteer. I was finally taken off of the IV bottle and allowed my first "real food" in the form of a liquid diet. I was to have soup for lunch with jello, and, at long last, coffee. In anticipation I took the lid off of my soup and greeting me was the stench of cream of broccoli soup! I literally started retching, which caused my stomach to convulse, which of course racked me with pain! Through tears I called my mother, "Cream of Broccoli," was all I could wail into the phone. "What," my mother asked over and over again. "Cream of broccoli, that's what they are trying to feed me! Who does that to someone who hasn't eaten for four days?" I sobbed into the phone. I imagined my mother was silently crying with me. Much later I found out she was laughing so hard she had dropped the phone! A lot of sympathy this woman has.

The day before Christmas Dr. Patrick came in to tell us the news. All the biopsy's had come back. I had Hodgkins' Lymphoma. In late 1985 the survival rate prognosis was good, for the first five years. After that, chances of the Hodgkins coming back increased. Because of this after the course of treatment was taken, and if I joined the approximately 85% of those who responded well to the treatment, I would go into what was considered "remission". After 15 years of being in "remission" I could be considered "cured" and I would have just as much a chance of getting HD as anyone else. Supposedly. According to statistics.

Thank God, literally, 22 years later and no cancer. This time of year, while it is a time of family togetherness and enjoying all of the holidays of so many religions, for me is also a time of remembrance. A time when so much was thought lost, when each day was a bonus. Not often enough, I remember that time again. Each day is the only day that I know I have to make a difference. Tomorrow may never happen.

Fun With Parkinsons

2010-11-18T04:30:00.000-08:00

Before I begin I would like to remind everyone that I have written many a passionate piece on Parkinsons. On NCO we even have a whole section devoted to Parkinsons. But, there are times when you just have to laugh and roll with the punches. This is about one of those times.

Over this past week my dad has been getting used to a new medication. His doctor loves to tweak meds so that Dad will "operate at his optimum." In this doctor's mind everyone has something that they are dealing with and everyone should be able to operate at their optimum for as long as possible. Dad agrees with this philosophy and they get along great. That being said, there are still the times when getting used to a new med and finding the right dose can knock him for a loop. A dose of laughter is much better during these times than a dose of tears.

Dad came out of his room looking rough for the wear one morning in the not-so-distant past. Hair disheveled and no teeth in, he looked about 20 years older than his current age. After we exchanged morning pleasantries I asked him what was going on and he said that he had had a sleepless night. He had to speak very slow and deliberate because, along with the Parkinson soft speech, without his teeth his words were slurred and sort of slushy.

He told me that to keep himself entertained he had watched infomercials and he was a little ticked off at the lack of courtesy that many of the phone operators had. He had first watched an infomercial on the "miracle" Heat Surge Roll-n-Glow Electric Fireplace touted as an "Amish" heater. After listening to half the program Dad was convinced he had to have it.

First, he tried to memorize the phone number that kept flashing on screen but each time he went to dial it he would forget some part or another. He finally hunted up pen and paper and quickly jotted the number down. He went to dial and found that the problem wasn't just with remembering the number it was with seeing the keypad digits. While he had written the number down nice and large he couldn't read the numbers on his cell phone. Try as he might he couldn't find his glasses. Finally, he decided to "fake it" and dial by the numbers as he "remembered them" on the key pad.

After a couple of wrong numbers (where he is pretty sure he didn't order anything) he finally got through to "those heater people". According to Dad, the person answering the phone asked what they could do to help him. He said that he told them he had some questions about the heater but since it had taken so long to get a hold of them he had to think for a moment. The heater person didn't want to wait a moment. She wanted Dad to order, so she told Dad he should just order now and if he didn't like the product he could return it for a money back guarantee. Of course minus shipping, handling, and a restocking fee.

My Dad remembered his question and asked if someone with Parkinsons could pull the heater room to room. The lady asked him if he could walk. That ticked him off. Of course he could walk, it wouldn't do much good to ask if he could pull something if he couldn't walk. The lady said if he could pull it, the heater would follow. Dad asked if it ran on batteries if the power went out. No, no batteries if the power went out. Would it run off the generator? It runs on 110, if the generator puts out 110 then the heater can run on it. Now, does he want to order or not? He thinks he does. So she asks him his credit card number. Uh-huh, no way is my dad giving his credit card number over the phone to a total stranger, he's seen all the warnings about giving out private info over the phone and he won't be giving her his address or phone number, either.

At this point the woman started getting frustrated. How did Dad think he was going to pay for it if he wasn't going to give out billing information and where were they going to send the heater if he wasn't going to give out that info? My Dad then informed her he didn't even need one of the damn heaters because we had a wood stove and plenty of wood, so there. And then he asked her to quit calling him!

I was laughing so hard by the time he finished this story. He told it so perfectly w/o his teeth in and animated with indignation that the infomercial operator had tried to get personal information from him. In the light of day he was laughing, too. He had no idea how that heater was supposed to make it to our house if he didn't give out any information to get it here. He had no idea why he thought he needed one since we had a wood stove. He thinks he was just in love with the idea of having one.

His night wasn't over. He flipped the channels until he came across a money maker. I am not quite sure which one this one is. I am sort of thinking he either watched two infomercials one right after the other and didn't notice when one ended and the other began or maybe flipping between the two got them confused. Either way he said,"its the infomercial where the guy says the government doesn't want anyone to know his secrets but he's going to share them anyways, for free, for the first [mumble] people that called." Dad wasn't sure what number the guy had "mumbled".

The infomercial went on to state that for just 20 minutes of work a day anyone could make a minimum of $1,000 dollars a week, just by following a few simple steps, establishing your own network of leads and working right from your own home. Dad wasn't sure what that meant exactly but even on his worst Parkinson days he knew he was up to 20 minutes a day of work. He thought the leads might mean some detective work, which appealed to him. I told him I thought it had more to do with real estate and calling people, which might be why the person that answered the phone when Dad called them was less then encouraging.

Dad was telling me the story, basically, in the same state that he did the phone call. Mainly, talking with a hushed voice and very slushy, w/o his teeth. After another few misdials Dad get's through to the infomercial operators and tells the person he is interested in taking advantage of the financial offer. "What?" the operator asks. Dad repeats himself. The operator says he has no idea what Dad is saying. Did Dad want to purchase the program. No, Dad says. He wants the financial offer which was totally free. "What?" the operator asks again. Dad is getting a little ticked off now. Very slowly he says he wants the FREE program being offered to the first callers. He speaks so slowly the operator asks him if he is drunk.

"I am not drunk I have Parkinsons" my father attempted to yell into the phone. The person told him to calm down and was he sure he could go through with the program? Dad affirmed that he could and the person again asked him for his credit card. My father refused and said he wanted the FREE program. "What?" the operator asked, again. Then, according to my father, the operator told him he was impossible to understand and he thought he was drunk and should go sleep it off and hung up on him!

Dad was laughing by then at how ridiculous it was that he wanted the program so bad he was thinking of putting his teeth in and calling back with his credit card number. First one place he refuses to give out his credit card and then the next place he is begging them to take his credit card number, and he doesn't even know what they need it for at that place, but, apparently, playing hard to get with my dad was the way to lure him to give up that credit card number.

I think the next time one of those annoying telemarketers call I am putting Dad on to handle it He can have fun, we can have entertainment and they really deserve it!

I want new neighbors (aka Is it blogging if you are talking about an FB game?)

2010-11-17T04:35:00.000-08:00

Okay, so what gives? I plow my fields, plant my crops and gift ALL of my neighbors and only, like, three of them bother to reciprocate. I don't even expect gifts every day because I don't visit every day. I don't. Days and days can go by without me checking ... my withering crops... but I digress. I haven't seen half of my neighbors in almost a month! I go to visit their farm to see if their crops are wilting, some indication that they haven't been tending their plots, and is there? Nooooo, nothing's wilting, no weeds growing. Their crops are in, animals fed, and ... and ... they-are-all building ANOTHER shop.

Sure, I wish I could build another shop, but I can't. Wanna know why I can't? I can't because no one will gift me any lousy dang items I NEED to complete the stupid, stupid, shop. Fine, I will just work on my Frontierville layout, because, after all, this is my ZEN time.

Peace, breathe in, breathe out.

Put that path there, that cabin there. Get cobblestone sidewalk, lay it there through the muddy field and to the half-built lodge and half-built dress shop so none of my "generous" neighbors gets their clod hopping feet all muddy.

NO, you friggin, pop-up, old geezer, I don't want to invite all my "friends" from Farmville over to Frontierville. Why do you think I left Farmville and all those friends be-hind? Because they quit gifting me, they just took, took, took! And the missions got longer, stupider and more complicated and when I went and visited my so-called neighbors, all of them had all these buildings that the ONLY way they could have got was if they bought them. I will never pay a real cent for these games. They want $8 for 75 golden horseshoes. I know last week they were offering 75 horseshoes for $6. Like I would be so dumb to grab it up at $8? Who spends money on these stupid games? This is my ZEN time.

Peace, breathe in, breathe out. Delete the old geezer -I wonder if I can block him on my privacy setting?

What? Do I want to WHAT? Do I want to send all of my neighbors a gift of energy? GOOD GRIEF! No, I don't want to send those bunch of greedy son-of-beepers a gift of energy. They'll send me a cheap gift of energy back and I don't want a cheap gift of energy (which I can buy myself). I want pegs for my lodge, or hangers for my dress shop, or bricks for my shop upgrade. I want someone to plant a gosh-bleeping sunflower and let it wither so I can finally finish this mission that has been on my screen for the last four weeksand I can go on to the next one!

What do you mean, 'what am I doing yelling at the damn computer,' Hun-ney? What does it LOOK-LIKE-I-AM-DOING? I AM RELAXING THIS IS MY ZEN TIME.

Peace. breathe in, breathe out.

You know, if I -just this once- actually purchase some golden horseshoes, I can buy all the materials that I need and I won't have to be at the mercy of my neighbors for their "gifts." If I just do it this once: I won't expand my land any further; I won't build any more shops; I will just enjoy rearranging the property that I have and then I can really enjoy my ZEN time with this game. Just this once. Know one will know.

NO I DON'T WANT TO SHARE THIS WITH MY NEIGHBORS!

Peace. Breathe in, breathe out.

For the life of me I can't figure out why Tom Freel un-neighbored me. Oh, well .... Ohmmmmm, Ohhhhhhmm, OoooZyyyyngggga. Zyyyyynnngggggaaaaa.

Blogging Needs To Make A Come Back

2010-11-16T13:52:00.000-08:00

Yes, it NEEDS to. I think few people realize how the recent history of Clatsop County may have been different if someone had not quit blogging. I was following a blogger about sixish years ago and enjoying her outlook on life quite a bit. While I didn't always agree with her I found her to be reasonably intelligent and very encouraging to another young blogger who was starting out on his own venture with a opinion and commentary blog.

I found that I looked forward to her posts and news of her spouse. Then, one day, either a picture appeared or someone made a comment on one of her posts and I realized who she was and who her husband was. I was stunned. Totally, completely, stunned. I had to admit to myself that I liked these people. And so, I continued to read.

As the months went by I began to see the person that I had glimpsed in the past. The person who doesn't get her/his way, the wrath and temper tantrums thrown. The revenge lust. A part of me still admired her for being "brave" enough to let others see her at her "worst". Little did I know then.

Suddenly, she quit writing. No more stories showing a compassionate side to this duo. No more glimpses into the lives of people who, allegedly, wanted to do good in this community that they had adopted. Those of us readers not blessed with an invitation into the inner circle were left out in the cold to wonder if the blog had merely been a ploy, one more tool in the bag of deceit?

I do wonder what we would have done if she had kept writing, if we had still been reading that blog, seeing a few main players in a different light?

A Rusty Blogger ponders whether or not Facebook took the bloggers away. He may be right. Facebook is a safer place to play. If one doesn't feel like writing one knows that each person reading has 200-1000 other friends that will fill the void. Very rarely is a truly serious thought pondered, much less discussed. I go there to relax, for the most part. I very lazily check in on family and their photos and make a comment. No need to call that person for at least a month, I just LOL'd the cute picture of their dog dressed up as Tinkerbell.

Facebook is candy for my mind. I go there to get the latest update on the Baha'is in Iran, click on link to protest this, endorse that, like, dislike, ROTFLMAO and to online chat with a brother in Japan, a friend in Haifa, family in DR. Its my Zen garden.

Facebook has its place. But just as blogging cannot take the place of a personal journal, FB cannot take the place of a blog. When is the last time anyone scrolled back to see what Ricky said last week? Never. When have I scrolled back to see what my Rusty guy or *G* said a month or a year ago? More often than never!

Blogging takes courage, especially when you don't delete archives and right there in front of everyone you have to eat crow. You allow people watch your thoughts change over the passage of time. You share as you become passionate about something, how it waxes and wanes until it suddenly is no longer a part of your life. You try to be ever so careful of not impinging on the lives of loved ones, all the while they are the fodder for the grist mill. Your fingers itching to scratch the words just spoken out on the smooth, empty, blog blotter. How many movies and sitcoms, at the end of a marital spat, have used the line, "Don't put this in your blog!" ala Julie & Julia?

The blog has had too short a run, it is not time to see it go. A come back is needed. At the very least, a long curtain call.

Now, post this to your Facebook wall. Most Facebook members won't have the courage to post this to their wall but a few Facebook members will have the courage and those that do will be remembered and those that don't, Santa Clause IS watching, ROTFLMAO!

Will A Religious Center Consecrate or Desecrate America?

2010-08-22T18:08:00.000-07:00

What makes a country great, what makes our country great, and one of the greatest on earth, is not that our laws allow us to do but what we will fight to allow others to do, even if it is something we, ourselves, do not necessarily believe or support.

What many of my "liberal" friends never got, when I began writing on the LNG issue, is that regardless of what I myself believed, everyone deserved to hear the truth and deserved to hear both sides of the issue. Everyone deserved to hear what the real issues were and from there determine whether or not they wished to pay the consequences for higher or lower energy bills.

I went from being labeled a far left liberal, homeschooling my children brainwashing them so they'd never fit into mainstream business, to being labeled a far right conservative. A sell out to the big corporations and in the back pocket of this, that or the other person or corporation, etc., ad nauseum.

The fact of the matter is that what makes what you believe so great is the fact that you have the freedom to believe it. If what you believe influences people around you, changes others lives, has a bearing on how others earn a living, pay for education, feel about themselves, hopefully you have given careful thought and consideration to what you believe. Hopefully, you have studied the pros and cons of what you believe. Hopefully, each of us has enough integrity to change our beliefs if we discover what we believe was based on "misinformation" or simply, the more we find out the more our beliefs change. Sometimes the base of what we believe stays the same and we just become more knowledgeable about it, other times our belief changes, completely.

Regardless of whether or not we change a belief, what makes us great as individuals is when we fight, when we defend, the rights of someone we do not agree with to speak out, to actions, to freedoms, we ourselves do not necessarily agree with. It is this that makes us, collectively, a great nation. This is the reason so many wept, around the world, when our towers were hit September 11th. More than dreaming of our material riches they dream of the day when they can speak, can live, openly and with no fear of retaliation with a collective nation of people who, unabashedly, will come to their defense if the need should arise even if they do not have the same belief because beyond the individual beliefs is the unifying conviction that humans should be free to find their belief, not have it forced on them.

We have limped here. In many places around our country we are here in the name of some laws, only. Our justice system lags far behind even those. It is only when we, individually, and collectively, open our mouths, stand firm with our feet, and say, "I do not believe as you do, but I will defend to my death your right to believe it" that our country has a hope of becoming that which we yearn in our hearts for it to be. For that which, world wide, others already know it to be.

I know Keith Olbermann is considered by many a liberal, maybe even far left, who has evolved from a sports commentator to a political pundit in an ongoing feud with Fox's Bill O'Reilly. I trust, by now, you know I don't pick people by what their politics are, I chose to listen if the idea they are conveying is sound and their research is solid. On the issue of the supposed Muslim Mosque allegedly to be built at "ground zero" I find Mr. Olbermann's remarks well worth listening to.

We cannot expect to call ourselves free and great and think we will not be tested. How just or fair would that be? Our belief in the Torah, the Bible, the Quran, the Kitab-i-Aqdas, or an Atheist manifesto means nothing if it is the only book we are allowed to believe in, the only book our country protects. We are better than that our beliefs and convictions run deeper.

From Lincoln's Gettysburg address:
Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. (From the Nicolay copy of the Gettysburg Address, on permanent display as part of the American Treasures exhibition of the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C.)

Interestingly, public reaction to the speech was divided along partisan lines. The next day the Democratic-leaning newspaper, the Chicago Times, commented, "The cheek of every American must tingle with shame as he reads the silly, flat and dishwatery utterances of the man who has to be pointed out to intelligent foreigners as the President of the United States." In contrast, the Republican-oriented New York Times was complimentary.The newspaper printed the entire speech, calling it "a perfect gem" that was "deep in feeling, compact in thought and expression, and tasteful and elegant in every word and comma." The Republican predicted that Lincoln's brief remarks would "repay further study as the model speech."

Wait for It!

2010-08-10T03:57:00.000-07:00

I spent most of my teen years either on the ball field or in the gym. Yeah, I know, to look at me now you would hardly know it, but would it help if you knew I spent most of my time as a coach? I coached my first team when I was 13 years old. The Parks & Recreation director back then was Fred Lindstrom and his assistant was Kent Rice. After him was Nancy and I am very ashamed that her name has flown right out of my head as Nancy let me use her apartment on numerous occasions for slumber parties and there's not much more that teen girls could ask for than a woman in her mid-twenties with an apartment she's willing to loan out for slumber parties!

As a coach of a ball team you spend 90% of your time doing drills, repetitively hitting balls to the kids. Infield flies, outfield flies, grounders, hoppers, chest thumpers, line drives, flubbers, pop ups, dribblers, and so forth. You learn real quick that the kids start getting antsy, and bad things happen when kids are antsy, if you don't hit around the field quickly, peppering each location with three or four balls for those kids to chase while you move on to the next area, all the while keeping your eye on a dozen and a half 40" kids, swarming about, making sure one of your line drives don't nail them in the noggin.

One year Cindy Marincovich was pitching and she could throw hard! Man, that girl had an arm on her but the problem was she didn't have much control until her arm got tired. At practices I would have her pitch to me, instead of doing my usual toss up and swing, just to get her arm worn out a bit before she pitched to the girls. I was looking out at the field, determining where I was going to place my hit, when Cindy wound up and sent a zinger, wildly, straight at me. I tried dunking but it got me right in the chest and knocked me on my butt. I saw stars and literally was gasping for air. Cindy was yelling, "I'm sorry, sorry, sorry," so loud my dad came running down from where we lived on Pleasant Ave to the Gray School field to see what Cindy was so sorry about. I had the stitches outline from the softball on my chest for two or three days, I kid you not. Cindy still apologizes for it!

At the age of thirteen the hardest part of coaching was learning how to throw the ball up and hit it out to the kids. It takes a lot of eye hand coordination. Packman had barely come out on the market so it wasn't like there was a lot of opportunity for eye-hand coordination training in those days. It took a lot of time, patience and continual practicing. Over and over again against the garage door with a tennis ball until I had it down pretty darn good and could hit the ball 3 out of 5 times, then 7 out of 10 times and finally 19 out of 20 times, consistently.

Next, I worked on placing the hit exactly where I wanted the ball to go. It got to the point that I could, finally, take my eye off the ball and be looking out at the field, the opposite field, of where I intended to hit the ball. I should say it appeared that I took my eye off the ball, I was always aware of where the ball was at. I wanted the kids to look at body, to read the language of my hips, of my front leg, the tell-tale signals a batter gives indicating where they are going to hit, most of them not even realizing they are giving those signals. I didn't just want my infield reading those signals, I needed my outfield to be just as alert. Every time the ball was hit my whole team moved. The only time there was a reprieve was when our pitcher struck someone out. Even on a walk I wanted everyone to be ready for a steal. I hated using deep right as a hidey-hole for the least talented. In my book the right fielder needed to back-up first base, not be out deep playing with butterflies.

I coached softball, baseball, and basketball for a total of 27 seasons from the time I was 13 until I was 25, coaching up to the time I found out I had Hodgkins Disease. During that time I also refereed and umpired. I thoroughly enjoyed coaching and thoroughly despised officiating. Parents are very nasty when you call Suzy out for running the bases out of sequence or when there is only one ump for a game (you) and no, you aren't going to "get off your lazy ass and hustle out to second base and then back to home plate" in order to be on top of BOTH of those calls for a game for FOURTH GRADERS!

I expelled from the field some very, very notable locals who felt that it was appropriate to scream profanities regarding the possibilities that my birth was not legally recognized or that I may not be human but perhaps a female canine and I do believe that the first time I heard THE "EF" WORD aimed directly at me was at the age of 14, at Gray Field and by a prominent member of society. I immediately stopped the game, told the team that the woman either left the field or they forfeited. It was the second to the last game of the season and the team was on their way to the championships. The parents yelled at the woman to LEAVE and, she was the team's coach! After hearing what happened the next day Fred suggested to the woman that she resign as coach and the woman agreed.

I miss Fred Lindstrom, terribly. One of the nicest, kindest, best kind of guys to have working for a community and an honor to have as your friend. The park on Niagara is named in memory of him. I really wish they would pick another one cause everyone calls it Peter Pan Park.

I learned a lot coaching. Much more than this short post can contain. Most of it I have used throughout life. Place hitting I could have used in high school softball when, finally, in my junior year, we got a girls softball team. The only problem there was I twisted my ankle and pulled a tendon playing flag football with the family (thanks Dad, now I'll never be a pro-softball player, drama) and was on crutches for almost three months that spring. I finally got to use those skills in the adult league slow-pitch.

In slow pitch the most important thing is patience. You have to learn to wait for it, because if you wait for it it will come. THE PITCH, it is inevitable, that is what slow pitch is designed to do, give the batter a hitting chance and players a catching chance. I was a cocky player, but then again, we all were. I played for Chartroom Chuggers. Kind of cracks me up who was on the team. Two of the players are now on the "Keep Astoria Totally Quiet After 8 pm" neighborhood watch that shows up at Astoria City Council meetings to complain about loud trucks playing loud music driving up and down 16th street, "so fast that someone's going to get killed one of these days!" That really blew my mind. If I blink twice I would swear just day before yesterday it was her and I driving Terry's black pick-up down 16th St, flying over the hump on Irving with The Car's Candy-o baring out the windows. And how many people did we kill back then? Will, I guess I don't know about her but me? NADA!

Anyhow, slow pitch, one fun thing to do was to point out where you were going to hit. You had to watch doing that. A good pitcher could mess you up pretty bad if you were too cocky about it, I learned that fast, much to my chagrin. I learned that, much like many other games, it was better if the opponent wasn't aware of your talent, if you didn't telegraph it to them, much less flaunt it.

Sometimes, however, it didn't hurt to let particular someones know that you do have a certain amount of advantage or a certain ability.

A year after I had treatments for cancer and was declared "in remission" was a rough time for me. I was not with my current husband (although he will tell you now that he was keeping an anxious eye on me). I was dating someone else -who I later found out had been arrested for domestic violence- after a melodramatic break-up with someone I had dated off and on for 7 years (before and after first husband). I was playing for a co-ed softball team going by the name of "Mayhem". It was the final game of the tournament and we were fighting it out with the melodrama ex's team. I was out for blood.

I remember my current husband being in the stands, and I remember him, at one point, talking to someone on our bench. He tells me now that I had a huge strawberry on my thigh that was bleeding and he was very afraid I was doing a lot of damage to myself I was playing so intensely. He wanted someone on the team to pull me out of the game. They all laughed at him and told him if he didn't value his life why didn't he give it a try. Back then, mind you, I had been radiated right across my thyroid and was operating on no, nada, nyett, hormone replacement. I was having wild cycles of emotions, and, at the very young age of 26, going through menopause. I self-medicated with hops. During this game, I felt no pain.

We were home team, down by one run, going into the bottom half of the last inning. We got one out right away. The next batter got a double and then I was up. There are a few times in life that everything lines up very nicely and although I had told myself not to do it when I got up to bat my ex hollered, "Come on guys, pull it in" and motioned for the outfield to move in, indicating I wasn't able to hit it any further. A few of them hesitated. He insisted they move in. He was playing rover (the 10th position in slow-pitch softball, between left field and center field) and he had moved all the way up to grass line of the infield and looked at me with a mocking grin. I looked at him and, of course, pointed my bat at him. He stepped into the infield. I took two pitches and I honestly have no idea if they were strikes or balls. The third pitch was the one I wanted, the one the pitcher had been throwing all evening on the third (or fourth) pitch, the one I was waiting for. I was standing as deep in the box as I could, I let my shoulder drop and I stepped into it just so, just so it would go, riiight abooout there. You usually don't want a fly ball to the outfield on a coed team if you are a girl because most of us can't hit it far enough to give runners a chance to advance before one of the guys catch it and throw the runner out. Even though the outfield is supposed to be gal-guy-gal-guy (or whatever, as long as it is every other) once the ball is in play guys can run around and be ball hogs and during championship games, yeah, that's what they are going to be.

But this time all I had was open field. I really could have hit it to any of the fields but I knew the others were leery of the ex's decision to move in. I knew the ex was cocky sure I was too full of myself (and Schlitz) to hit it past him, especially when I pointed it straight at him. And I knew, if I waited for it, the pitch would come. It did. I hit it. It sailed, and sailed, and sailed ... right over the ex's pompous head. And he ran, and ran, and so did our runner on second and our runner on second made it home before the ex made it to the ball and I made it to first and didn't go any further because I didn't have to. And We Won (and I did to touch the bag, Martin Bue)!

So, to all who have been wondering what the hell has been going on lately, all I can tell you for now is, wait for it.

Aroound the World, Freedom Comes At A High Price

2010-07-04T04:00:00.000-07:00

A path chosen. Freedom, to believe what you wish to believe, to worship how you wish to worship, and to speak about it.

Big Fat Greek Wedding Hawaiian Style

2010-06-24T01:36:00.000-07:00

What a fantastic wedding! We live streamed it via Ustream, a live podcast. I posted it to facebook so all of our family and friends would know, but was in a hurry and didn't check to make sure that my post went through, wouldn't you know, facebook totally failed us! When we got back from the wedding there was a message from FB stating that it wanted to make sure I wasn't a robot and I needed to type in a bunch of letters to verify I was a human. And dang, it was a GREAT wedding! Trina came in on an outboard rigger! AND IT SANK, with her in it, and she kept on smiling! Hair not even disturbed a wisp, makeup perfect! You all would have loved it.

You can see the video here. Please, enjoy. We will see you at the reception in July. Loves, hugs and kisses!

From all of us to all of you, Aloha!

I Know I've Never Been Here Before

2010-06-10T16:16:00.000-07:00

I am intrigued with what we don't know about our own bodies. People talk about "old souls" and having lived "past lives". As a Baha'i, I have been taught that our soul came into being at the moment of conception. We are taught to "ponder" what that means. Baha'is have many different thoughts as to what it means, and it is a personal choice as to how to believe it. None of us can force our belief on the other.

What it means to me is that our souls have never experienced human life before and will never do so again. There are many, many "worlds" of God (Most Great Being, whatever one chooses to call "The Divine It"), and to confine all of the mysteries of "being" to one place is incomprehensible to me. However, one cannot discount the "experiences" that people relate. How does one reconcile "science" when so many claim to have been Cleopatra? We have so many kings, queens and royalty, where are all of the soldiers and peasants?

Jean Auel's Earth's Children series explored the idea that human beings had an instinctual/group memory that they have since repressed. Cellular memory is a theory that has been given a limited and cursory appraisal. I think that there is much more to it than the anecdotal stories of transplants donor parts imparting information of former owners feelings and memories.

In the Baha'i Faith Baha'u'llah states that fire changes the chemical composition of things and is a great destroyer. What was is lost, gone, destroyed. An arsonist is punished equally with a murder in Baha'u'llah's Book of Laws (Katab-i-Aqdas). I ponder this. Instead of our bodies naturally decaying, going "back" to the earth, fire quickly changes the body chemical completely, leaving nothing behind as it was. Nothing to remember?

One more clue, for me in this quest I have put to myself, a quote from 'Abdul-Baha, "All blessings are divine in origin but none can be compared with this power of intellectual investigation and research which is an eternal gift producing fruits of unending delight. Man is ever partaking of these fruits. All other blessings are temporary; this is an everlasting possession."

A theory is shaping in my mind and if there is a name for this I would appreciate someone giving me a heads up. I am sure I am not the originator of this thought, I may have "picked it up" as reading one of kamillion books I have read or one of the kajillion stories I have edited. Either way, I am not claiming to be the originator of this theory.

What if these "memories" that many are sure they are accessing are not coming from a previous life of the soul but a previous life of the body? Especially given that often, used for proof, is an imprint or physical marking of some sort on the body. What if each of us could access the "memory" of where each part of our body came from, however, because of the immaturity of our progress, at this stage in our development, very few of us know how to do that? I think there is another name for it than cellular theory.

Another thing that seems to me to be connected is that those who "eat right for their blood type" or for the region that their ancestry heralds from appear to be the healthiest (if they come from a healthy culture/heritage). To me this ties in with the Baha'i law that one is to be buried within one hour's travel time of where one dies. Most of us are born and die within one hour traveling time of one another.

Ghosts, hauntings, spooky houses? How about people who just plain give us the creeps or others, who for no reason, we find ourselves drawn to? Some how or another, I am convinced, that what we eat, drink, breath, absorb, we retain a memory/trace of and at some time we (royal "we" as in humankind) will be able to access that memory, at will.We are, comparatively and relatively speaking, a very young species.

If I had the time, or rather the discipline and will power, I would write a fantasy series based on the precept of a group of people who access this collective, cellular memory. They use it to solve mysteries. Everything from fables of the supernatural to [their] present day crimes, such as murder. I am thinking more along the lines of Dune rather than Homer Simpson's Tree House of Horror 9. Although, now that I think about it I wonder if insanity has something to do with that (no, not this theory, but why some people are insane)? Is there a group of people, a place on earth that has the least amount of crime or is it that the social laws there are not as constrictive? Is there a place on earth where the whole community of people are not greedily acquiring and such behavior is seen as an aberration?

Until then I ponder and research. Anyone who knows what I am looking for, feel free to give me a holler. You have a "memory" of something from a past that you know you didn't actually live but seem to have an acute (or dim) memory of participating in? If you don't mind seeing a form of it possibly appearing published, offer it up here (or send it to me in an email).

A Case of the Druthers

2010-06-07T21:43:00.000-07:00

I've come down with a case of the druthers.

I'd druther be ripping all of the weeds out of the hillside garden, than writing.

I'd druther be placing large, beautiful, slabs of rock in pretty patterns, surrounded by small pea gravel, in my side yard, than writing.

I'd druther be building a wooden fence, to surround the rock patio, keeping out all of the bad and keeping in all of the good, than writing.

I'd druther be mortaring bricks together for a barbeque, to sit on the far end of the patio, overlooking the river, with a huge oval window next to it surrounded by lattice and ivy to block the sound of the noisy bridge, than writing.

I'd druther be planting herbs and flowers and trees in ceramic and ornate planters, and placing them all around the patio, even near the brick barbeque, than writing.

I'd druther be bringing the hot tub down from storage, to sit on the pretty new patio, at the other end away from the brick barbeque, surrounded, too, by lattice and ivy, to keep out the noise, but open overhead to see the stars, to feel the rain, to catch snow flakes on the tongue next winter with grandchildren splashing in the water, than writing.

I'd druther unpack the patio furniture from their winter garb, to sit on the nice new patio, between the hot tub, and the brick barbeque, amidst the flowers, tress and herbs, possibly with a fake waterfall tinkling melodiously to mask the loud obnoxious sounds of cars running over the damn, tinny, steel bridge, than writing.

I'd druther be sitting in the hot tub, under the moon, listening to jazz, sipping perrier, with you, than writing.

I'd druther.

Afternoon Delight ~ A New Beginning!

2010-02-24T04:30:00.000-08:00

Monday Hubby and I spent most of the late morning and early afternoon ...

... watching these two magnificent creatures enter into an intricate and beautiful mating ritual. They soared too swiftly for me to capture them in the air and whenever I put the camera into video mode there was too many human noises to capture their mating calls, which were lovely and beguiling.

They would dance in the sky towards and away from one another and then, listening to some inner song throbbing through the blood of those belonging to the clan of the eagle, they meet and, as one, they turn and soar, twisting and rolling then suddenly plummeting only to swoop upwards once again. Swaying to and fro first in a waltz the next minute their antics could only be termed midflight break dancing when just as suddenly as it had started they would part and slowly circle away from one another. The whole while they call out to each other, speaking their own language of love, the cooing and whistles growing softer and softer.

The sunlight was so brilliant it was hard to look at the sky for too long and yet each time we dragged our eyes away, to give them a moment of reprieve from the glare, the eagles would once again begin their dance and our eyes would once again be pulled skyward.

Today, from far away, I heard the eagles calling to one another and I wonder if they are in their tree or hunting, or stealing some other predators kill. Eagles aren't known to greatly enjoy hunting for themselves, supposedly they would much rather take the kill of others. But we do not have bears, cougar nor wolves nearby for them to follow and pick up tidbits from. We have nutri, beaver, raccoon, skunk, coyote, chickens and other such farm critters. Our river is not known for its abundant fish but we are only a hop, skip from the Youngs Bay and the eagle nest may overlook it.

It is funny at the same "expert" site it will say that the eagle is a scavenger bird and then will also note that salmon is a staple for the bird. After the fish has been caught by something else? When you watch salmon after they have spawned they are quite mushy, slow, dying. Quite easy to catch.

And yet, I have seen these birds pluck salmon out of the river and snap branches off a tree. I think the eagle is not so much a scavenger but an opportunist, one that has the tools and resources if it has to use them but chooses to clean up after everyone else instead. You don't see turkey buzzards plunging into the Columbia River, you see them at the side of the road looking for the opossum you hit last night because it has no choice. The regal eagle chooses to pick up the mess left behind.

Its all about perspective.

Today a third eagle flew above the two as they cooed at one another in their mating tree. After the storm of '07 we didn't know if the eagles would have a home to return to. It is nice to see that they have returned, year after year, and appear to bring children and grandchildren with them. According to many of the eagle "authority" sites eagles protect approximately one to two square air miles around their nests. Do eagles recognize their parents? Do they drive away their own? Who was the third eagle and why did none of the three seem alarmed? Did their mating distract two of them? Was the single eagle offspring come back to check on mom and dad? Or maybe it was a granddad come to check on the newlyweds? All we could tell was that all three were bald eagles meaning all were at least four or five years old (according to the "authorities").

Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, OW! (ow, ow ....)

2009-12-23T02:17:00.000-08:00

Last night I decided to finally decorate, because I thought my nephew was coming for Christmas. and Grandson kept asking where the Christmas tree was. I go "upstairs" (aka, up the hill to our old house, which is a manufactured home sans kitchen that is now just a glorified storage unit) to search for the fake Christmas tree (no dry needles poking out of the carpet) and all the other decorations. Grandson comes with me. As I look for the decorations, he starts finding his old toys and comes across the megaphone (aka blow horn) that someone (Grams Jerry?) hid up there and begins playing with it, irritatingly LOUD.

He does get Hubby and Son's attention and they come over from Son's abode to bring a couple of boxes of decorations "downstairs" for me, never to return for a second trip. I had driven the car up, because it was after dark and I knew there was a bunch of stuff to bring back "downstairs,". so I really wasn't all that upset that they hadn't stuck around. After they walk down the porch stairs, however, Hubby called back to me to be "very, very careful" because the porch stairs were slippery from rain and moss (aka sea weed?). He cautions me "don't fall" when I leave and remember to use the handrail as I go down the stairs. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," I assure him. "I mean it!" he hollers as he and Son depart.

About fifteen minutes later I have collected the rest of what I want and close the door of the "upstairs" unit. I take one step off the porch, with my arms full of Christmas treasures, and just as I remember what Hubby said about slippery stairs my right leg slips backwards, going underneath the step, spilling me FORWARDS onto my face, and I tumble, face first, down five stairs, landing in a heap of shattered ornaments, lights, wrapping paper and dignity!

It happened so fast, yet it also seemed like slow motion. I threw as much stuff away from me as possible because I couldn't remember what I had and I didn't want anything stabbing me. I thought, "O MY GOD, I'm going to drill my teeth into my head!" So I quickly turned my head to one side and as I hit I thought, "shit, I just broke my jaw!" Then, I saw stars and my knee felt like I had popped the cap off of it and my face felt like it was on fire. I laid there for a moment and as the ringing subsided and my hearing returned, I heard Grandson on the blowhorn shrieking, "EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY! BABIKA JUST FELL DOWN THE STEPS! EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY! I THINK SHE'S DEAD!"

I let out a loud moan, so he would know I wasn't dead, and slowly rolled over, testing to see if anything was broken. As I am checking this out Grandson comes over, "You're not dead, 'Bika?"

"No," I croak out. Grandson looks disappointed.

"You ARE hurt though, right?" he questions.

"Yes," I whisper.

"EMERGENCY EMERGENCY 'BIKA'S ALIVE BUT SHE IS HURT! EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY!" shrieks the siren.

Oh, knock it off! He IS NOT a poor dear thing! He wanted to use the blow horn! When I am finally able to discern that I have not broken any bones, nor am I leaking any fluids, nor is ANYONE listening to the "EMERGENCY WARNING SYSTEM" that keeps going off, I throw a rock at the kid and tell him to knock it off and come over and help me get up. He sighs, puts the blow horn down and comes over to me. He informs me that my mass it a bit too much for his little body to move. I look for a larger rock to throw.

After I am back on two feet Grandson helps me collect everything that has scattered, we load it into the car and drive back "downstairs" where we meet up with Hubby and Son driving in the driveway. They had gone for a quick drive to see how far down the road they could go and still see the new reflective markers Hubby had put out at the end of our driveway the night before. I groan as I get out of the car and hobble around to the other side to let Grandson out and get a few of the items collected from upstairs.

"What's your problem?" Son asks, motioning at my body's hunched appearance, and the new gimp in my step. I pull my hair back and he sees the long red welt on my face. Hubby says, "What happened to YOU? I tell him what happened and do you know what he said to me? Can you guess what this man, who SAYS he loves me, said to me, as I writhe in agony from FALLING ON MY FACE? He says to me, accusingly, mind you, as if I have committed an act of defiance, "I told you not to fall."

I'm looking for a lot bigger rock.

Shhh, don't bother me, I'm very busy

2009-11-16T04:00:00.000-08:00

An alert came from all over that there is a storm gathering out over the Pacific and we should be prepared for gusts up to 90 miles per hour and sustained winds through Tuesday of 40-60 mph. I am giddy with happiness, as long as no one is hurt, no property damage, etc.... The generator's been primed and is full, 15 gallons in reserve. Propane for the backup heaters is ready. Food in the pantry, freezer stocked. Even an extra can of coffee bought. Ready as we ever will be to ride out another small gust up.

A storm that keeps all indoors and maybe knocks out the electricity and just sort of, you know, legitimately throws this little corner of the world off the grid for awhile, making it legitimate that I don't do a lick of work, don't answer the phone, don't think about editing a single article or fact check or write or or or ....

All I have to do is curl up with my book and read, read, read. Ironically, the book title is The Gathering Storm. Twelfth in the Wheel of Time series started by Robert Jordan (aka James Oliver Rigney, Jr). I hadn't even heard of the series until four years ago and didn't start reading until I had assured myself that the author was young enough to be writing for years to come. He was young enough, being born in 1948. Relieved that I would have books to read for decades to come I plunged into the series and was up to date by the second or third month.

Jordan's books average 700 pages with a couple dozen main characters and about 1500 bit part characters, fleshed out with towns, cities, states and countries along with unique cultures, politics, dialects and even languages (of course translated so we can understand). Absolutely fascinating. Jordan rarely uses his words superfluously making reading each paragraph integral to some part of the whole. Also making rereading the books good reading because you are always finding something you skipped over too quickly the first or second time through as you devour the book to get to the character's story that has grabbed you at the moment.

Sadly, Robert Jordan died in 2007 of cardiac amyloidosis. He died before his Wheel of Time epic series was completed, leaving behind copious notes, according to his widow, along with taped interviews of how he wanted it to end and where he wanted each character to be at the end of the series. His widow chose Brandon Sanderson to finish the series and according to the reviews on the first of the three books that will finish the series Sanderson has done an outstanding job. I am just finishing re-reading book 11 (will quickly scanning 700+ pages of the book) and am anxiously trying to get to this newest book while trying to remember who all of the characters are and what they were up to when I last read about them.

As the storm gathers outside I am treasuring the Gathering Storm inside. Now shush, everyone. Don't bother me. Find your own book, ride the storm out, then we will pick up the pieces together and go about life again.

Remembering the Supermarket Trinity: Haukes, Safeway, and Three Boys?

2009-11-05T14:53:00.000-08:00

USS YMS-422, a 270-ton YMS-410 class auxiliary motor minesweeper, was built at Astoria, Oregon. Commissioned in September 1944

With all of the talk about "big box stores" putting "everything else" out of business I have been thinking about the evolution of grocery stores in the area and where they are now. Thinking back my first thoughts are of three main "supermarkets", stores where you could actually get dairy, produce, meat and dry goods all at one stop! What a concept! There was Safeway, Haukes and I think it was called Three Boys. But now more grocery stores suddenly crop up in my minds eye. Hmmmm....

Thinking waaaay back I can remember Haukes, when it was on the corner, across the street from what is now (was it always?) the ESD building, east end of town 32nd and Marine Drive-ish. Public Market was where Hunts is liquidating now. Safeway was where, as most of us now know it, the "Old Safeway Parking Lot" is. At the foot of the south slope was an ever changing store. We lived on 19th & Irving, went over the hill to Tapiola and I don't remember going to that store much. I remember it vaguely as an IGA, a Thirftway, Three Boys and finally as "The Other Hauke's Sentry Market".

Favorite store was Hauke's and the stamps. You filled a card and got a discount or something for free. Every five dollars you spent you got a stamp. And, as most locals know, Skip carried many a family through tough times running a tab. I don't know if he ever got stiffed (I imagine, now that I am older and more cynical, he must have) but from the stories I hear until the year he sold to Safeway, Skip was still helping out the fishing and logging families.

Hauke's had the first bakery and deli in their stores, too, if I remember correctly. Safeway was quite small but they introduced a new innovation. If you wanted to try a taste of something they would actually open whatever it was and allow you to taste it before buying it! At both stores most of the clerks knew you and while others bragged about "five finger discounts" I honestly never took anything from a store that I didn't pay for. Never even dawned on me to "pull one over" on these people who were often friends or even family.

The smaller stores in the area were Bob Overby's Astor Court up on Alameda, Peter Pan up on Niagara, Hunts Market out in Svensen and Maize's Market over in Warrenton. There's Mile's Grocery in Alderbrook and Mile's Corssing out in Jeffer's Garden along with Pete Peterson's Grocery and Gas. Lovvold's Grocery in East End (what is now Astoria Coffee Company). Lums market serving China Town and I'm sure I am missing a dozen of the old Finn, Nordic, etc., markets.

Bob's had been there for eons. My father tells of his gang of friends stealing beer from Bob and the neighbor seeing them and calling up Bob and telling him who took a couple cases of beer off the stack waiting to be carted into the store. Gossip beat the boys back to their party before they got there with the beer and they shamefacedly brought it back. Can you imagine what would happen nowadays? Hell, CSD would be involved along with Juvie, the boys would have criminal records.

For a time we had Prairie Market over at what is now the Coast Guard Exchange. Another new concept was introduced at this store. When you entered you picked up a wax marker and marked your own prices on the product based on the tag in front. You boxed or bagged your own groceries. The theory, "We use less labor and pass the savings on to you." Less employees. Can't remember how long that one lasted.

My mother reminds be I am forgetting Thrifty Market which is now the empty lot across from Grover's Ace Hardware store. Modern Cash, owned by Dick Aho, was downtown Astoria. Another neighborhood store was on Grand around 27th, the Parker Place Store that was between Irving and Jerome on 14th street. Also, Clarks at Hilltop (8th & Madison) a candy and soda shop w/deli, bread and milk.

What happened to these markets? Safeway come in and wipe them all out in one fell swoop? Fred Meyer and Costco deliver the coup de gras? No, our culture changed. These markets filled a nitch, which several of them still do. They served mothers who didn't drive and could give the child twenty-five cents to run down to the store for milk, eggs or bread. They served a certain population that didn't speak English and went to the shops to converse in their own Finn, Norwegian, or Chinese and to get the specialty foods from the "homeland". We just recently are seeing these shops crop up again locally, this time with the Hispanic population. We still have a few of the neighborhood markets, like Svenson's Hunts, Jeffer's Garden's Miles Crossing, Niagara's Peter Pan, and once again Alameda's Astor Court (hmm, can't remember its new name, sorry).

Also, back in the day, our population was much bigger and, until very recently, much more diverse. We had the Navy, the Military Hospital and the Coast Guard all here with the Air Force right across the river. We had Job Corp. The Coast Guard had so many people here all of Emerald Heights was their housing plus some. When we lost the Military Hospital contract to Madigan and the Coast Guard downgraded this area was hit hard. Bumble Bee moved out and Alumax didn't move in. Those opposed to it promised us something else. We got, I believe, according to Mr. Marquis, heroin and a culture of apathy and drugs until he moved in in the mid-1990s and "cleaned the area up."

I think that our area continues to change. The small markets that listen to their clientele will continue to flourish or "hang on" as long as there are people that want what they are providing. While I know there are many who like Fred Meyers I, for one, will be pleased to see it have some competition. It is sadly lacking in customer service. I will continue to shop at Grovers (Ace/Coast to Coast) for most of those items of "doodads" that have no name only descriptions that the women know exactly what you are talking about and can find within minutes. I will encourage new specialty shops that cater to special quirks: marbles, herbs, teas, candies, bakery goodies, etc.

I won't presume that all can afford to support what I chose to support. I won't pretend that spotted owls only nest in old growth just to get my way and keep a land owner from doing what he chooses with his land. I won't pretend that looking at a grove of weedy alders is more beautiful than looking at a manicured lot before a supermarket. I will enjoy the fact that the elk will more than likely cross through the lot in the evenings, if they so wish.

We are always changing. What drives us is us. Who drives us is who we allow to drive. We can go backwards or forwards. I am shooting for forwards.

School Dazed

2009-09-14T04:22:00.000-07:00

First Born Grandson starts pre-school tomorrow. Today we are setting schedules. Who picks up, who drops off. He also has swimming lessons and kinder music. He is very excited. His mom is very excited.

Papa & 'Bika have been waiting for Kaden to "grow up" enough to be able to go on an extended camping trip which we had anticipated to be this October. We are being "allowed" to bring FBG with us but his mother is stressed because she must pay for pre-school whether or not he goes, plus he is missing those precious days of schooling.

Yes, those of you who know me, the lip is curled, the sneer is locked in. I literally gag at the thought of bells ringing, schedules of convenience and me "having" to be a part of it. I despise the school systems of today. Little regard for actual education, windows of opportunity for individual growth slammed shut, teaching a child what to learn not how to learn.

"So," Eldest shoots back at me, "whats the alternative? Where's the Montessori school you were going to start? He needs structure, he needs an education!"

I am at a loss. The five year plan was long ago abandoned. We were supposed to have had a school by now. I was supposed to have a teaching certificate. Life happens, school didn't happen, I went in another direction and now my FBG is going into "the system." Bleeeck. Training kids to become factory workers. Teaching them whatever they want them to learn. I read stories like the one about that teacher out in Jewell using his class to push his own political agenda and it makes me nauseous.

While I know so many people who are teachers who are good, good people I know just as many who have no right having any influence on any child and yet once they have tenure there is no way to get them out unless they are actually caught with their hand in the cookie jar, and just pray to God your kid isn't the cookie jar.

Second Born Grandson is in a Montessori school up in north Washington. I am so happy about that. Lot of parent involvement, the curriculum is child driven not state mandate driven. Policies are not adopted to keep people in a job. So very different than "public" school.

While many have said that the educational system cannot be changed from without, it can only be changed from within, that was one fight I dropped out of a long, long time ago. Way too much is vested in the travesty of public education for the government to give up and admit they haven't a clue on how to make it work. Or, maybe it is working to a tee for them? They are getting obedient soldiers and factory workers, service workers, and people who will vote however they are told to. People easily swayed by charisma without learning a lick of logical thinking or common sense.

The travesty of this last week, when institutes of higher learning and law institutes didn't have the common sense to question what the heck a school newspaper was doing being published and already available on the first day of school, has frightened me as to the direction that education overall is going. I don't want any of my grandchildren to be a part of it. Now, to act on what to do about it.

Or ... Maybe I will be pleasantly surprised and it will be completely different than when I or my children were in school. sigh.

Living, learning, dying and then some

2009-08-28T04:18:00.000-07:00

Beautiful ceremony held for Erin today. Can't believe I am saying that, but it was. The new priest at St. Mary's is a humble and good man. The ceremony was done very well. Those of us not Catholic did not feel condemned to hell. It was nice to hear the voices come together to bid Erin farewell.

Family and friends adorned her coffin with messages, a tradition in their family. Notes of love, messages of hope, offerings of condolence. Hellos, good-byes, hold-my-place, pick a good spot! Please watch over us, guide our steps, be our angel, we will miss you, we do miss you, and one or two pleading, "come back". Through the tears, Erin stories told of a smiling girl with a heart of gold. She brought her family and friends much delight. She lived her life well. Even if it was short, she lived it well. Erin's motto: Live as if you will die tomorrow, learn as if you will live forever. Although Ghandi may have said it, Erin lived it.

For friends who knew Julie & Ed but couldn't be there: just wanted to let you know they are doing well. They were sad, of course, but looked at peace. For whatever blessing, they seemed to understand something. They could enjoy the eulogy, enjoy the pleasure their daughter brought to others as well as themselves. Surrounded by family and friends, they are okay for today. Please, remember to send cards in the weeks and months ahead. Any little note will do, just letting them know you are sharing the burden with them, even if for a moment.

Straight from the funeral reception I went to the special Port session. Hell's bells! Someone needs to be taken to the woodshed! Or maybe just a good old fashioned blanket party!

Not so fine

2009-08-22T11:54:00.000-07:00

For NCO I edit stories coming over flash alert, sort of like a police scanner for the computer. One of the things I fear, as these stories come across, is seeing a tragic story of a loved one. Late last night Cowlitz County Sheriff's department posted a near drowning at Yale Lake, in the Cougar Campground. The victim appeared to be our cousins' daughter.

It was 12:45 am and not the time to be calling anyone so I went to facebook, first, to see if any family on that side were up. No one. Then I sent a text to closest sister-in-law who texts. Not expecting a reply until morning I was startled when a text came back asap. She asked for details and I gave her what had been released so far. She said she would check it out as soon as she could, but odds were it was cousin's child as age matched and she lived in Vancouver.

With this morning's update we learned our cousins lost their child. She was 24 years young. No one understands exactly what happened, yet. At the beginning of this month we celebrated our 30 year reunion with these cousins, last weekend it was their parent's 60th wedding anniversary and by the end of this month we come together, again, for a funeral.

This week was a bad one, for me, on looking at humanity. Lies wisp out of mouths, gathering like a plume of smoke, and then suddenly dissipate. Who told the lie? Where did it come from? Who knows? Sadly, I am pretty sure I do. Waiting for PIRs to come in. Small hope holding out, I may be wrong.

So much to report on this weekend. All the good that is going on in our community: Air Fair; Miss Virginia Walk; Miss Vivian Contest, Trap Door story telling; The Oney's BBQ and, yet. I just want to curl up in a ball and weep. News overload. No room left for anything more to enter.

Looking Fine Class of '79

2009-08-08T04:10:00.000-07:00

WOW! What an evening. Blast from the past and all of that jazz. It was sooo good seeing so many friends, and catching up with people. Funny how people's perceptions of one another are so different than one's own perception.

I thought everyone looked great. A few had a lot less hair than I thought they would. Hubby and I behaved ourselves, didn't embarass one another with stories. I did let the one story slip. You know, the bowling story where I pinched him and he thought his good friend of 15 years had come out of the closet and pinched him in the bowling alley! But he wasn't annoyed with me, and I did ask permission first!

I was pleasantly surprised with some compliments and it was fun seeing hubby kibitz with his good friends and some gals flirt with him who weren't aware that we were together (or maybe they were and didn't care?). God, I love that man. He paid me a few compliments himself, and would look up and wink at me throughout the evening. It is so very nice when the man you are married to is just so much more than your husband. I am lucky and blessed.

So many of the gals in our class look darn good. Yeah, I know I am prejudiced, but it is hard to see that we are almost 50. But then again, often its just plain hard to see.

Eldest helped me to get ready tonight. She straightened my hair and then defoliated me. Yeah, I said that. She was intently staring at my face as she straightened my hair and then asked me if I knew that I had a tree growing out of my chin. I asked her to take a chainsaw to it. She used tweezers and derooted it, felt like she was pulling it out of my back teeth! "HOW did you miss that one, and that one, and O MY GOD, did you get any of them?" I thought I had got them ALL!

So, um, yeah, like I was saying everyone LOOKED great last night. And I am really looking forward to tonight.

Baby Blues

2009-07-12T15:39:00.000-07:00

From Family

Our third grandchild and first granddaughter was born 7/8/09 at 1:17 am. The clock in the delivery room said 1:23:45 HOWEVER we found out that it was five minutes fast, supposedly. We were hoping for 12:34:56 on 7/8/9. What we should have been praying for is the one thing families have been praying for since recorded history has begun: health.

Asiya Lynn was taken to neo-natal care (infant icu) barely 24 hours after being born. She has some sort of infection, according to slides taken by Silverton Birthing Center shortly after her shallow breathing became apparent. She was transfered to Salem hospital on Friday after preliminary results on the culture grown from slides taken showed signs of bacterial growth. Jaundice set in, as well.

Baby girl was put under light therapy for jaundice as well as given IV drip with high dosages of antibiotics. News at the Salem hosp it that all blood workups show no sign of internal infection. X-rays showed fluid in the lungs and excellent response to antibiotics. Asiya is downing 40-60 ml of breast milk every two hours. Salem doctor told us Asiya will be going home Tuesday.

Then, other shoe drops, final results come back from Silverton slide culture. THOSE results show Group G strep! Salem says it MUST do spinal to ensure no internal infection. Little five day old precious baby girl is right now enduring spinal. I want to throw up.

We will hear results this evening, supposedly. However, at this point, until that little girl is safely at home it will be hard to believe any medical opinion.

We are all so tired we cannot imagine what Asiya's mommy & daddy are feeling right now.

Prayers, good thoughts, positive vibes, etc... deeply appreciated.

They grow out of you, and on you, and out again

2009-06-22T04:00:00.000-07:00

"You cannot imagine the incredible person that comes out of your imperfections," a line from the movie Smother that I am watching with my father and my son right now.

That struck me as such a true statement. It was so incredible watching our children grow up. First, that these incredibly vulnerable, tiny creatures actually survive through all of our trials and errors! Then, after they have survived they still want us around to be a part of their adult lives! We are honored, amazingly and overwhelmingly, honored to be a part of our childrens' lives.

Of course there are times when we don't see eye to eye, but we don't always see eye to eye with each other, either. And there are other times when they make incredible blunders, that we did -of course- warn them about. But more often then not, we desire to spend our most special moments with them. After sharing a special day, award, idea or moment with each other the first thing we do is reach for the phone to call the kids and tell them about it.

A few acquaintances have said that they cannot wait for their children to turn eighteen and be out the door. These same acquaintances complain about so many of their kids' faults and traits without any consideration of where their kids picked up the bad qualities. They blame school, television, movies and society as a whole but not themselves.

Hubby and I know we are blessed, when the kids do something we aren't particularly happy about we both look back and know we are much luckier than our parents. While I am sure that we don't know the whole story about many events in our kids late teen and early twenties period we also know, for sure, that it is nothing compared to what either of us did (especially hubby, yah I said it) or where we went or who we were with when it all went down.

We tease one another that we are each other's punishment for "sins" that were committed. Hubby insists he was never so bad to deserve me. I say I am merely an example of God's mercy. Hubby grimaces!

We look forward to watching this next generation grow up. Watching as our children learn from the wonderment of these beautiful, awesome and awe inspiring creatures that were created from their imperfections. What a wonderful time to be alive.

Oh, the movie has ended with another good line. I think I will use it for today's adieu:

"You're a special person, and I don't mean the kind who wears a helmet."

A Ranting I will go (High-ho-the derry-o)

2009-06-12T19:56:00.001-07:00

I am really tired of products that don't work as described, "freebies" that cost, "fringe benefits" that have very little fringe about them and are hardly beneficial! I despise Dell at the present moment.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Say whatever you want about the computer only being as smart as the person who programs it but the fact of the matter is that when you order these things they come fully programmed. When I got it, it came loaded with that horrid, horrid, Vista. I just couldn't get it to work, and most of the sites that I needed to work out of couldn't/wouldn't work with Vista.

I call Dell and order (of course for $200 more) the Windows XP and when it comes our friendly techs in India guide me through the process of installing it. In the process I lose my Media Direct, which causes untold hours, days, weeks, months of frustration and tears as I try application after application to replace it.

Then, one day, the thing quits on me. Nie on blows up. Smoke was either coming off the key boards or out of my ears, I really don't know which. I lost EVERYTHING! Thank God, a dear friend of ours found it all and cleaned up ,to the best of his ability, the mess that was created. I was left looking hither and yon for files and articles and research notes and sticking them back in their appropriate folders. Yes, computers have hithers and yons. I know, I have been there and seen them. They are not pretty sites.

Since that fateful day this piece of excrement has frozen on me, at the minimum, four times a day. Right in the middle of typing a story and BOOOMB frozen. What that does to a train of thought is, it FREEZES it as well! It takes 40 EFFFING minutes to start the computer back up again and back online. I do have everything backed up and what I must do is just dump everything, absolutely everything, and start all over again with a clean, BLANK computer (I type this, secretly hoping the computer will see what is being typed and, being horrified at the thought of losing its memory, will start behaving. Sick, twisted thoughts to have towards an inanimate object. Yes, hear that, you are an inanimate OBJECT, thats it, nothing more. Don't you go all sticky keyed on me! I'll give you what for!)

This was NOT a cheapy laptop. While it isn't a $4,000 dollar one, it was just slightly less than $2,000. It should last longer than $1000 per year!!! I am SOOOO frustrated.

I recently received a gift of a Coby MP3 player. Along with it was a gift card for 50 "free" tunes at eMusic and one "free" audio book. Guess what? I go to the eMusic site and register, per instructions on the card. When I sign in it says I MUST give them a debit card or PayPal in order that, after the trial period, should you continue to like eMusic you will be charged the low price of $11.99 per month for 30 tunes and $9.99 for ONE audio book.

I much prefer Amie Street for music, great music, new finds, best prices. I like Downloadaudiobooksonline much more than eMusic's selection. While eMusic does only charge $9.99 for a book that DownLoad is charging $16 for, eMusic has only one price. It doesn't carry as many books as DownLoad has nor does it have all of the $2 books DownLoad offers.

When I contacted eMusic about not receiving the 50 "free" tunes and being charged the subscription rate so quickly. Apparently I didn't read the tiny writing which informed me, "very clearly" that I had 10 days to get my 50 tunes ordered and cancel my subscription or I would LOSE the 50 tunes (as NO they don't roll over) AND I would have the honor of being bilked, er, I mean billed for the next month.

In conclusion, don't buy Dell. Along with its customer support and its Vista programs (I won't even mention the hell I go through each time I boot up and every program is frantically racing to get online first and upgrade itself) it isn't worth the price, even if it is only the $300 'netbook.

IF you get a Coby MP3 player DO NOT use that card to engage eMusic until you have your 50 (yes all 50) tunes picked out. Sign up, use PayPal (if eMusic somehow does end up charging you once PayPal allows you to refuse to pay specific merchants again. Download your 50 tunes and then CANCEL, immediately.

If you don't HAVE to sign up to eMusic, DON'T DO IT! Or, if you like freebie stuff, do it but order all of your tunes RIGHT then and even if you don't use up all 30, cancel your account ASAP. If you wait, YOU WILL FORGET. They are "banking" on it.

Have I said it enough times so that anyone googling Dell for customer complaints wondering what people's opinions are on crappy functioning Inspiron E1505 Laptops or eMusic wondering if it is a ripoff for MP3 or iTune downloads will see see this post? Good! I tried working with both, and as anyone can see by reading posts here I have rarely called out a specific product or company.

In these economic times companies need to know, "you must treat the customer well. "If you are incapable of doing that, you deserve to be called on it, for both the crappy product you are foisting on us and the crappy service you are giving.

(It has almost let me post this. When you don't hear from me for days on end, don't blame me. I have been typing to you, this ... this ... THING just refuses to POST it!)

Charter is more dead than "live"

2009-05-25T00:09:00.000-07:00

I get the notification through email that I have "earned" Charter "Live it" points, or some such nonsense. I can "redeem" these points for discounts and "unbelievable" rewards.

When I click on the link it takes me to the redemption center where everything is "sold out". My email is dated may 11, 2009 and here it is the 12th and all of the prizes are "sold out". Riiiiight. I sure do believe those items were all available in the first place.

In the second place, the "unbelievable" rewards? They are BOGUS! I have accumulated 4,666 points by spending $113 a month for cable and internet. We do NOT have any movie channels as part of this deal! We do not "bundle" our phone in because we get TWO lines from Vonnage for the same price that Charter is charging for one. Yeah, we need two for a variety of reasons. But if we were only getting one line it would be 17.99 from Vonnage and it is $35 from Charter ($25 for the first six months, but even then when I talked to Charter about that supposed special it was only for new Charter customers NOT pre-existing ones).

With my 4,666 accumulated points I look through the redemption pages of "sold out" items and they are asking for 24,800 points for a Wilson BASKETBALL!! They want 11,000 points for a barbeque set (a pair of tongs and a spatula)! Riiiight, sold out! How many did they have at the beginning, four? I actually find it hard to believe that someone has saved up a year's worth of points to spend them on a barbeque set that you can buy at Deals Only (or any dollar store or Walmart) for $9.99, maximum.

I shunned the ridiculous and went for the ludicrous. I spent my points on the supposed entries into the sweepstakes. I should have seen how many points each was first. As it was I saw three sweepstakes and when the first one said that it would cost 1,000 points assumed the others were the same and redeemed for one, a chance to win "32GB iPod® Touch, Bose® SoundDock® portable music system, and $200 iTunes gift card."

For 2,000 points I could go for either the " Panasonic Plasma HDTV, one (1) Phillips Home Theater System, and one (1) Sony Playstation 3 with Motorstorm and Wireless Controllers" or One day of surfing lessons for two at Billabong Surf Camp in Manhattan Beach, CA; Round-trip coach air transportation for two to Los Angeles from a major metropolitan airport in the continental U.S. (travel June 12-14, 2009); two nights hotel accommodations; $250 American Express® gift card. I went for the home entertainment center.

I really don't like Charter. I wish we had more choices for internet and cable. We have either Charter or Satellite. Having tried both, Charter is only slightly better and that is only because we live in a bit of a dip of land which makes finding a good line of sight for the sattelite difficult on rainy days when there is cloud cover. Our friends on Green Mountain have had NO difficulties getting their internet off the satellite, although they have had problems with bandwidth.

Bah, humbug on Charter.

19th Street ~ And so it begins

2009-05-19T04:00:00.000-07:00

Can you recall exactly when a story has begun? Can you say, "This story begun here!" and go forward without any explanation necessary of where various parts came into play? As I read the book my eldest daughter compiled for me (and avoid the phone messages and emails from the attorney general's office, lawyers giving me their opinion, emails denying any knowledge, messages of "no comment" etc...) I laugh as I know, "the rest of the story" or the "real story" or sometimes wonder, "what the heck?" on stories I don't know about at all!

Each of them weave in and out of others so I am unsure of how to tell the rest of the story, answering questions asked and half told tales. All I can say is that for now, this is how I will try to do it. I am sure I will hear from you if you are not satisfied. Remember, you asked and you know you are a part of it so you cannot complain that I am, "telling tales out of school" as Grandma Bea would complain.

I was the eldest of five siblings, now the eldest of four. We lost one soul to drugs. Her body remains to plague us at the oddest times but the soul we loved is long gone, leaving behind a crazed being who has the memories of the playmate we grew up with but uses them in vile ways to pounce when we are often at our most vulnerable.

Living next door to us was my mother's younger sister who had four children and the nine of us made up a pack who ran (or so it seemed to us) 19th street on Irving. All the neighbors knew us by name, and they were all Mrs. this or Mr. that, no first names used.

Our dearest neighbors were the Gilleses. Mr. Gilles was the "head custodian" of Central School and later the Junior High School where our grandfather worked, after retiring from 25 years in the Coast Guard. Mrs. Gilles had polio and sat forever in a wheel chair. They both had nothing but kind words for us children. Their daughter, Pam and Gale, were (on the rare occassions that our parents went out) our babysitters. Mr. Gilles took great care of Mrs. Gilles and would always bring her outside on sunny days. Their home sat at the very top of 19th street, up a very steep driveway. His yard was straight down and he would use a rope to mow it, lowering the mower down and pulling it back up with the rope.

We had a HUGE apple tree in our yard which gave us the best apples. Small and crunchy, mostly sweet but just enough bitter to make the taste last a bit longer. In the corner of our picketed yard was a tall, tall, yew tree. In the winter time it would freeze and the top would droop over from the weight of the frost until it looked like a question mark.

A spring ran through our side yard and down into our basement, which was partially cement and partially mud until my father "finished it". Our house started out one floor, one bedroom, with an unfinished basement and an attic. When we moved, almost a dozen years later, the house was two stories with a finished basement, five bedrooms, a dining room, t.v. room and living room. We have all said, many times, that the stupidest thing we ever did was sell that house.

It was built in 1924ish, we found a newspaper in the attic once which had a date of the '20s on it. Long gone now. It was bigger on the inside than it looked on the out. You know those kinds of houses. The kind of house that you lived in when you were young and was so very big but when you go back now it is so very tiny.

The inside of our house contained pirates' ships and wonderlands. Wherever our children's imaginations fell short our father filled in for us most adeptly. The three-toe man waited fiendishly every night to chomp off two of our toes if we left feet dangling out of the bed. Witchie Poo was in the closet, waiting to fly around the room. And in the basement lived the cat with the razor blade in its mouth!

For years we only had three bedrooms. One bedroom for mom and dad. One bedroom for me and d with the other three sharing. As we grew the configurations would change. Mom and Dad gave up the master bedroom for the four girls, the lone boy had the middle room (which the stairs came up into and there was no privacy, with mom and dad taking the much smaller end room.

In the summer time the upstairs was hot and humid. There were only two windows in the whole of it and the doors would have to left open of the master bedroom and the small bedroom in order for a cross breeze to get through. In the winter we had heat from the wood stove in the basement. A real wood stove. The kind with a tinder box, an oven, hotplates on top that you lifted up with a tool. It made the best chili and corn bread. We knew it was the woodstove because our mother, um, well, she lacked necessary time it took to properly cook on an electric stove (that must be it, she still likes to cook "cajun").

Our yard seemed so very HUGE. In the back was a HUGE fence and when we climbed it to peak over was a deep gully between our home and the homes down on Irving. The fence was lined with morning glories, which made the best "squash bombs" a kid could want. Much better than water balloons, you never had to ask if you could have a squash bomb fight, it "just happened".

Along the fence neighboring the McDonalds (a strange, recluse, couple who we rarely saw but heard on occassion when she was yelling at him as he departed hastily from the home), was a thick laurel hedge, which we refered to as money trees. The leaves financed our "stores" and were our "loot" in our bank and train robberies. We also used the leaves as tacos, plates, hats and a variety of other foods. No matter how many leaves we picked those bushes never went bare.

Our apple tree was our constant companion. It's limbs were low enough for even the smallest of us to start up it, yet at the top it was even with our roof. It was out pirate's ship when the wind blew or it was an exotic tree in the tropics when we played Tarzan. We hung rope swings from its boughs and had small platforms for temporary tree forts. Because it was a fruit bearing tree we didn't put nails into it or weaken its limbs (much, just 14-20 kids clambering all over it, jumping, hopping and leaping).

Also in our yard was a whirli-bird, a swings set and slide with a glider, a sand box which (when covered) could also act as a stage, a camillia bush, various flower gardens (trampled), sometimes vegetable gardens, dogs, cats, rabbits, stray hamsters, deer, moles, possum, raccoons, and children, more children and then some more children. Oh yes, and bikes and balls. Every sort of sport equipment that was possible to have in the sixties. Skateboards, mitts, footballs, baseballs, basketballs, hoops, ping-pong tables, those little shorty pool tables, anything and everything.

We were surrounded by woods. Neither the Mean People, nor the Nice People had built their homes yet and all that land was woods. Our neighbors were the Riggs, the Pattersons and the Grahams (aside from the McDonalds and our aunt). After the Riggs moved the Vetriceks moved in and after them Perry and his chows. And for now, I will leave it at that.

The swinging doors of life

2009-05-10T12:20:00.000-07:00

I sat and cried for over an hour looking at my mother's day gift this year. I have never been more shocked, honored, pleased, humbled, and truly amazed in my life. You all pulled this one off in SPECTACULAR style! And I thank-you, most humbly, thank-you!

This was going to be a smart ass post. I was going to give the "correct" [i.e. MY] version of stories that were told, finish the half-stories, add my own but today I just can't. Each time I open the book I am overwhelmed at the labor of love it took to pull this together, the love notes from old friends, family, and my children's friends. It takes my breath away. And yes, I am crying AGAIN.

Eldest rounded up old friends and asked them for memories they have of childhood with me. Then she asked for family to contribute stories from our childhood, and then stories from her and her siblings friends of me. She posted the last on her facebook.

The response she got was incredible. The people were such a diverse group from all walks and different chapters of my life and to see them all unfold in one place took my breathe away. While I can see how I have changed over the (mumble, mumble) years, it is amazing to see how much of the essence of me was there from the very start.

Always in the lead, always looking for adventure, always directing the "action", always wanting everyone to "be involved" (whether or not participants wanted to be), always planning (some might call it plotting), always worrying, always caring, always finding a 'cause' and an 'adventure', leading more than one down the wrong path only to end up in the right place safe and sound (okay, slightly bruised and a little late but we arrived and inevitably saved the day - okay - okay - suffered consequences -whatever)!

Over the last few years we have prepared more than a few funerals and Eldest said that it is sad that people have to wait until they are dead to hear good things about themselves. She wondered what it would do if people heard these things while they were still alive. Although she has said this on more than one occassion I never had the slightest clue that I was to be the first "victim" of her idea. I cannot express in words how delighted I am to have been the "victim" of this act.

And so I thank you, one and all, old friends who contributed to this marvelous book. Eldest bound it in hard cover, and filled it with the pictures you gave her. To all of the dear friends of the children who replied I thank-you for allowing me to be a part of your lives. I never knew but you have inspired me to thank those who maybe have never known what they meant to me and how much they influenced MY life. We each chose whose shoulders to stand on, I am honored you chose to stand on mine.

For those who have no idea what I am writing about, over the next few weeks I hope to be blogging about many memories this book has dredged up. For those who hate trips down memory lanes, don't check back for a couple of months! For those who want to hear about the TRUE stories of witchy-poo, the adventures of the blue gremlin, the lost children of the Irving Forests, stay tuned. And, if the statute of limitations hasn't run out yet in your family you'd better email me so I can use a pseudonym for your name!

Love you all so very much ~ cb

Sushi in the Kremlin

2009-05-09T05:00:00.000-07:00

What color is God's skin? What color is God's skin? Is it Black, Brown, Yellow or White? Everything is equal in the good Lord's sight.

Consultation is finding out, what everyone else is thinking about. You listen to them, they listen to you, then you do what MOST want to do.

I speak English, Hans speaks Dutch, we don't get together much. Everyone should learn one way, to say the things they want to say.

A plea for one world, is heard in many different lands, this is a plea from a world that is hungry for peas (one reason that we should learn to annunciation better).

Red Grammer songs (we were sooo excited to see him on Sesame Street). Listen can you hear the sound. Hearts beating, all the world around. Down in the valley, out in the plain. Everywhere around the world, a heartbeat sounds the same. Black or white, red or tan, its the heart of the family of man. Oh oh, beating away. Oh oh, beating away. Oh oh, beating away.

Baha, Jalal, Jamal,'Azamat,, Nur, Rahmat, Kalimat, Kamal, & Asma, Izzt, Mashiyyat, Ilm. Qudrat, Qawl, Masail, Sharaf, Sultan, Mulk, Ala. Splendour, Glory, Beauty, Grandeur, Light and Mercy, Words, Perfection and Names, Might and Will and Knowledge, Power, Speech, Questions and Honour, Sovereignty, Dominion and Loftiness. Sovereignty, Dominion and Loftiness. These are the names of our months! Yah!

Car songs of Baha'i families.

Rumminations on Ruhi

2009-05-08T05:00:00.000-07:00

Wow, what a month has zipped by!

Ruhi Book 7 was completed and was FANTASTIC, from the presenters point of view, at least. I have so much fun giving a class or seminar with hubby. I love it when we are in-sync with one another and it seems, of late, we see each other so seldom that we don't have time to be in or out of sync so five weeks of having two day six hour seminars was grand.

On the last day we had a facilitator gathering for the last two hours, with everyone in Clatsop & Tillamook Counties who had completed book 7 invited for a potluck dinner first. We then went into a half hour devotional and then discussion on the Ridvan message and The American Baha'i, reading about growth in many communities and how that pertains to our communities in Tillamook and Clatsop Counties.

We then had a fifteen minute break during which hubby and I quickly set up the projector, netbook and cd player. Everyone was asked to adjourn to the outdoors for five minutes so they couldn't see what else we were up to. They were told that when they entered the house they should do so by the front door and quietly take their seats, remaining silent, read section 7 of the third unit of book 7. Those who have taken the course know that this is the dramatization section on the Seven Martyrs of Tehran.

One of components of the RUHI curriculum is appreciation of the arts, to make all art forms an integral part of community life, from devotionals to Feast, and in all parts of Baha'i culture look for the beauty and that which creates a sense of awe, joy, and upliftment of senses. We are asked to take story telling to the next level, not merely reading from a book, but to try to evoke a spiritual connection to these Dawn Breakers.

This particular part of Baha'i history is quite bloody, with the Babis being tortured in heinous ways for, basicaly, daring to challenge traditional thought. The Seven Martyrs of Tehran stand out, amongst the 20,000 Babis that were killed, because of their devout steadfastness and public declaration of refusing to recant their faith, even with the executioners blade hanging over them. Most of the 20,000 were not given a chance to recant, with many being killed and/or literally ripped apart by mobs.

As each of our guests entered the home after the break, we greeted them at the door with a urn of rose scented water where they washed their hands as it was poured into a bowl. We then dried their hands and dabbed on attar of rose. This would have been done had they entered the home of a Babi or Baha'i in Persia 100+ years ago. After everyone had entered and took their seats the lights were dimmed and we played the presentation. Afterwards we discussed how using the arts sets an atmosphere, bonding those present, making consultation more conducive to a focused and holistic outcome.

We read that during the Sassanid dynasty before a weighty desicion had to be made the greatest musician at that time, Barbod, would be called to play music to set the tone for the consultation and talked about how consultation would change if we were to listen to music before we consulted (or if congress had to listen before voting on legislative matters) how different the outcome may be. Many made the observance of how teens always say they study better when listening to music, and that we often say we use music to "set the mood".

Here is the presentation we found on You Tube. It played well blown up via the projector onto a screen, but lost the quality for sound. Luckily, we have Grant Hidin Miller's cd Songs for the Martyrs so played the song straight from the disc while playing the You Tube video.

I recommend turning off the annotations. While informative, they can be a distraction, especially the first time listening and seeing these photos and drawings. I had not seen many of these before. Some are graphic in depicting what was done to Babis. Some are actual photographs of Babis and Baha'is in chains.

Seminars, Toyota Trucks and Together Time but oh so busy

2009-04-07T04:08:00.000-07:00

Sorry sis, I have been a baaaad blogger. I have been very, very busy non-blogging, however. It has been an incredible beginning to our new year (um, for those just dropping by our new year began March 21st) and we have hardly been able to catch a breath hopping, leaping and jogging from project to project.

Some how or another I am on a planning committee for our (mumble-mumble) class reunion. We have decided it is our last one. After this we will just gate crash the class reunions of those who graduated BEFORE we did, then we will always look younger. We thought it was a pretty good idea. I hope we stick to it!

Of course there is always NCO and all the changes there. Working out the bugs, learning new ad programs, lightly marketing (don't want to get too many orders until we get the ad software worked out - er understood - er okay the manual partially read and some sort of comprehension on what goes where when without calling support every half hour). On top of that, actually doing the writing that I wanted to do which was the reason to get involved in the first place. We need more writers!

I attended a Parkinson's seminar/conference with my father this past weekend in Eugene. It was really a good conference with a lot of information. Dr. Langston with the Parkinson Institute was the keynote speaker giving a presentation on the current state of Parkinson research. He said that although stem cell research has been approved by Obama it is almost obsolete, already.

A technique that scientists have come upon uses an adult's own cells to create adult stem cells which, because they come from the person's own body, work better within the body. He also discussed new research that may reveal where Parkinson's comes from. Langston's own belief is that it is not caused genetically but environmentally and like many diseases everyone has a different way in which they are succeptible to the disease. I am trying to pull all the info we learned together for a presentation to the support group. We meet again on the 13th. There's so much, tho, that I think we will have to spread it out over two or three meetings.

One odd thing that happened in Eugene, someone stole the NCO car magnets from both sides of the car. They may have blown off but that doesn't seem plausible. They made it all the way down there, and it was really, really bad weather on the way down but they were on the doors when we got there. When we stopped in Lake Oswego they were gone. Sigh.

Hubby and I are giving a semi-intensive training for facilitators of the RUHI curriculum. Thursdays and Fridays all the month of April (as well as the last week of March) from 2 pm to 8 pm. Yes, long days but envigorating and we love the curriculum so it makes the time fly by. That still means preparing for 12 hours worth of curriculum/lessons each week, and that part can be difficult, finding time we are both home to get it done. Hubby has been taking trainings out of town all spring, anywhere from 2-5 days. It is very nice to finally get to spend some time with him on this semi-intensive. We do work well together and love it. Now, if we can only get a field trip to New York thrown in our class would be perfect!

Talking about hubby, he finally jumped off the deep end and bought himself a truck that cost more than the price of gasoline for a year. A Toyota Tundra. He studied, read carfax, Kelley's Blue Book, Craig's List and drooled over all the online ads for over six months. We were getting daily phone calls from Lum's and Crest Auto. And then he waited for me to go out of town for the weekend and finally cracked and bought it out at Lum's.

It is a nice truck, with a sun roof that rolls back and a back window that rolls down and a sound system that rocks. When I got home we took it for a cruise through Astoria, windows down and music up. I giggled imagining all the people on the neighborhood watches flinging back their curtains in disgust at the loud bass shaking their homes, knowing they were going to catch some "hooligan" teens and instead watching a couple almost 50s just enjoying their new truck (and come off it for pete's sake, it wasn't even 9 pm!).

We have the yearly elections for LSA coming up on the 21st as well as the nine day Ridvan Festival. Right after that is Declaration of the Bab and Ascension of Baha'u'llah.

No rest for the ... um ... righteous? Hahahaha! I'd never make it as a comedian, I laugh too much at my own jokes.

mmmBye-bye, Love you!

2009-03-12T17:18:00.000-07:00

For the longest time I was a "homemaker" in the very literal sense of the word. I made the home. Certainly not on my own and definitely with the help of others, but that was my job and was what I did. My life evolved around my home, my children, my husband, those who lived with us and my faith.

As a consequence of this I rarely spoke to people outside of my world. Every once in awhile I would run into someone I had gone to school with downtown and they would ask me where I was living now. When I answered, "Here, Astoria." They looked at me in disbelief. Where had I been? Were hubby and I still married? I was always a little amused that I could be living in the same small county with my friends from school, yet see them more often in Portland than around "home".

As I said, I rarely spoke to people outside of my world. When I did get out and about it was almost in desperation that I would yak away to another adult that I wasn't related to. Discussing things that didn't have anything to do with raising teenagers, constructing curriculum, figuring out agendas, answering letters, it was bliss for me. For the other person, YIKES!

Face to face was okay. You can see the person and know how to gauge yourself. If they looked pained I was talking too loud, or too passionate, or about something that was uncomfortable for them. Pre-teens pretty much talk about anything, adults - not so much. Ending conversations was always hard, too. They were always done and ready to be on their way loooong before I was. Which was awkward for both of us. My inner voice would be telling me, "Just say GOOD-BYE, let the person go," but on and on my mouth would babble.

I recognize the illness when I see certain people coming towards me who have pre-teens and teens, now. I chuckle and take my lumps and let them talk. Some people were nice enough to let me babble on and really saved a kid's life when it was much too early for me to have to go back home!

All that said, sometimes when I am tired or weary I find myself slipping back into those old habits where I spent so many years of my life. Those years when the only ones I talked to on the phone for weeks and weeks at a time were family. Thats right, no one else. Not even a bill collector! Just family.

We are in the middle of our fast now, the period of time when Baha'is the world over contemplate the spirtitual and from sunup until sundown refrain from food or liquids. By about 4 pmish, my brain is pretty much mush. I cannot gulp enough coffee before the sun comes up to sustain me for the day. And even though I "do" vitamins and eat good protein breakfasts 4 o'clock comes and my brain goes away, and I am on automatic pilot.

Do I know this, for sure? Ummmm, yeah, I do. Yesterday I finished a phone call with a business associate. A very important business associate. After I hung up my mother asked me who I was talking to, I asked why? She said, "Was it someone in the family?" I replied no, going over the conversation in my head I couldn't see how anything she would have overheard would have given her that impression. I was very definately talking business.

"Why would you think it was a family member?" I asked her. "The fact that you said, 'mmmBye-bye, love you' at the end sort of indicated it was family," she replied.

NO! NO! NO! I did NOT say that!

YES! YES! YES! You did, she replied.

Why would she tell me? I had obviously said it and couldn't take it back. Why tell me now, so I can writhe in agony at what the person thought when I concluded our business talk with, with, THAT!

I sat in appalled silence for a solid five minutes. And then came to the conclusion that I can either jump off a bridge or pretend like it didn't happen. I hate hieghts and would be giving too many people satisfaction if I jumped so I am pretending like it didn't happen. And if YOU are reading this, I'd appreciate it if you pretended it didn't happen, too!

We all want to be beautiful

2009-02-03T05:15:00.000-08:00

This is really an awesome "transformation" and one I intend on using in one of the pre-youth group sessions. With so much emphasis on looks young girls can see how those "beauties" in the magazines don't really exist at all.

The more we can illuminate the young, to see with their own eyes, hear with their own ears, think with their own minds, the less of an effect the "leaders" of any type of organization will have unless their message is true and their intent is for the betterment of humanity, not one small isolated part of it.

Some Questions Answered

2009-01-31T22:42:00.000-08:00

I am so weary right now, but the good kind of weary. Half-way through a second weekend 20 hour intensive (yes, that is 10 hours of study today and 10 again tomorrow, did the same last weekend). It is excellent material regarding the spiritual development of junior youth (12-14 yrs old, approx). Unique in that we are learning to be "animators". Not teachers, not facilitators, "animators".

Animator: One that provides or imparts life, interest, spirit, or vitality.

Yeah, that is what we were learning how to do! Essential to the course is acknowledging the innate qualities of junior youth.

Could ye apprehend with what wonders of My munificence and bounty I have willed to entrust your souls, ye would, of a truth, rid yourselves of attachment to all created things, and would gain a true knowledge of your own selves -- a knowledge which is the same as the comprehension of Mine own Being. Ye would find yourselves independent of all else but Me, and would perceive, with your inner and outer eye, and as manifest as the revelation of My effulgent Name, the seas of My loving-kindness and bounty moving within you. (Baha'u'llah, Gleanings from the Writings of Baha'u'llah, p. 326)

I must repeat this. Essential to the course is acknowledgment of the innate qualities of pre-youth. Can you imagine what our educational system would be like if teachers acknowledged who it was they were teaching? What they were teaching?

We learned, studied and talked. About these precious souls who are our tomorrow and how they are being lost to apathy and materialism due to the influence of the adults they are surrounded by. We blame "society" but who makes up "society"? We blame advertising and the movies, yet who provides the profits for both of these to go forward. We talked about how many want "laws" to cover so many things individual freedom is completely stifled, yet the overall human condition still does not improve. Life gets "better" for a few at the oppression of many.

Another important concept we focused on was that we were helping to create junior youth groups but they owned them. It was a "group" and not a "class". We weren't there to lecture or moralize. We were there to guide allowing them to own their behaviors which mean they owned their accomplishments as well as their failures. Modeling behavior that showed them mistakes were an accepted part of growth. Looking for opportunities to serve the community in meaningful ways (do not be the 20th canned food drive through the neighborhood, unless it is directly helping their neighborhood and they thought of and are implementing it).

Service is another core area of the junior youth group. Showing them that they are capable of being the catalyst for change in their environment is one of the most empowering things we will be able to impart to them. Through a recognition of their innate abilities, learning to cultivate those abilities for the betterment of humanity, they can learn that there is more to life than just survival, more to life than just self gratification, more to life than having what or more than the neighbor has.

As I said, very exciting, but so much to cram into 10 hours. And the past week has been so very hectic. It seems like all the news happens in one week, people to interview, phone calls to make, meetings to go to. All top of that I have diligently been dodging doctors for the last two years so this last week was crammed with appointments of the sorts that people my age are supposed to have done yearly, and people with my "condition" (Fibro) are supposed to have attended to every three months, and people having "survived" what I did (cancer) are supposed to really take serious at the 20 year mark (which was 2 years ago). Who has time for that? I had to make time for it under threats from hubby and family. Hours at the doctors, hours at the hospital waiting for this test and that mri. Could they try to make that drink more disgusting, please?

This next week is crammed, again! More testing on Monday, off to Beaverton on Tuesday to sign final estate paperwork. Wednesday, Thursday and Friday are three different seminars that I am reporting on and right now I am so tired I can't remember what on. I know one of them is FERC related, another is climate but for the life of me I can't remember the third. Man, I hope I remembered to put it on my cell phone calendar.

And now to top it off I come home so late and find NCO is "littered" with so much off topic garbage I want to weep. With it now being picked up by Capitol Clips (legislator news service in Salem) we really can't afford to have the junk that one in particular seems to collect remaining on the site. Then I get to bare the brunt of his wrath when it is erased. Ah well, that's what I get the big bucks for, eh?

I should run a column like Ann does and call it Some Questions Answered.

"The big bucks you accuse me of being paid? I am paid less than a county commissioner."

"No, I do not participate in partisan politics, I do try to present a point of view that appears is not being presented anywhere else."

"No big corporation, or small corporation, or anyone else monetarily supports NorthCoastOregon.com. We get by on side jobs that the editor (Tryan Hartill) and myself take on. Such as building websites, or working 16 hours a day at a smokehouse. At this time we feel that by not accepting advertising dollars we can provide a point of view that is beholden to no one. We lose nothing, nor do we gain anything, dependent upon the news we choose to run or how we choose to run it."

Because we are freer to run articles unfettered by financial ties we feel honor bound to present those views that are less seen, are being marginalized, silenced or refused in other media.

What I find revealing is that some people appear to complain more about something they receive for free more then something they have paid for.

We Wii all the day at home

2009-01-29T04:30:00.000-08:00

For the last year our support group has been discussing the benefits of Wii and the various games, especially Wii fit, in helping with balance issues as well as overall workouts, especially in bad weather.

I finally broke down and bought one, for my father of course. And, given the expense, for the rest of the family, too. Honestly, I didn't think we would use it all that much. However, the last time the "family" had a game system my son was my grandson's age. My father does use it, and it has been a lot of fun watching him ski down the slopes. The first few times he attempted the ski jump he did a perfect snowball. We all laughed so hard at the look on his face!

My mom and grandson race one another on Mario racecar. Round and round and round? Umm, not so much. Mom's eyesight is slightly askew since the tumor on her optical nerve a while back and Grandson is three. At the beginninng, half of the time they are both going in the opposite direction. Now, they both are pretty good. Mom's eyesight, of course, hasn't gotten any better but she adapts well. Grandson does better each time he plays but he isn't real big on sharing, the big baby.

Eldest and our son, of course, do the best and we use their car licenses since they have opened up more of the race courses. To even try to race either of them is a practice in frustration. They just plain cheat, shooting turtle shells at you if you get ahead of them flipping bananas at you when you are right behind them. Stupid show offing cheaters.

Yeah, Wii teaches a lot about sportsmanship and family unity! One of the fun family games, actually, is the bowling one. As competitive as our family can be we actually play WITH one another when we bowl and not AGAINST one another. High fives, coaching (ya' weirdo's notwithstanding), cheers and an occassional toppling over of the screen since we connect the Wii up to the projector and show it on the "big" screen. Ah, yes, good times!

I, actually, have to monitor myself and I dread getting an actual fantasy game because I would really lose myself in it. With the amount of research I do (and you just wouldn't believe the amount I do on an article) sometimes I have cranial overload. A mindless game on the Wii is perfect to just let me vegetate out while I am sorting through all of the info I recently downloaded. The problem being all of a sudden two hours has gone by instead of twenty minutes! ACK!!! Thank goodness for the shrill voice of the Grandson whining, "Its MY TURN 'Bika! Yer, supposta share!" Or, "I'm telling!"

I look around in bemusement. We are all sitting here staring at the screen, who's he going to run off and tell?

PS> Ask Hubby how well he does on the game! Heeheeeheeee! Kaden can at least someone!

Wading in the Shallow End of Humanity

2009-01-22T14:49:00.001-08:00

Sometimes, the shallowness of my own self appalls me. I really wanted to be emotional about this inauguration. It is a big deal. It is a historic moment. It does mean things have dramatically changed and whether or not one agrees or disagrees that this was the man to do it, we have finally progressed to the point where a black man in the white house is a reality.

Saying that does bring a sense of awe to my mind. And I think, later, after many years go by, this will have been an historic moment. Yet, watching it unfold on Tuesday I could only feel a glimpse of it here and there. I saw a child of about nine or ten in the crowd along the parade route suddenly overcome with emotion and bury his head in his hands. A sob of pride?

Of course, we were watching it via ESPN, so it was sports announcers giving commentary and one of the sport people they were interviewing said that when he was going to school a white teacher would say, "You live in America, you know how great that is? You can be anything, even the president." And he thought, "not us!" and how that is now changed. Black children can really believe they can be anything.

Hearing that story I felt something, but when the camera would flash back to the live action I felt nothing. A part of me was anxious. I did fear that a shot was going to ring out. The trust Obama has in the men in black is something I don't have. The fanfare was so remote, almost the way Christmas felt this year. As if it was something one just had to do to get on to something else. You wanted it to be good, and people to enjoy it and be happy but you didn't feel connected to it.

Grandson K loves his new president. Calls him "Rocko Bama". He knows Rocko's wife's name but not his daughters. "That's okay, their kinda old" he said. "I probably won't see them at school". Ya' think?

What startled me the most, and here shows me swimming in the shallowest pools of humanity, in all of the hallaballoo over Obama, in keeping NCO updated and doing my own research, the thing that rocked my boat was coming across the evidence that .....

I am older than the President of the United States of America. WHAT? When? How? Why? Someone younger than me is making decisions regarding the fate of, virtually, the entire world??? If he pushes "that" button, that could be it! I look at my hubby, and God love him for all of his virtues, but he is a pup! And he has seen a lot of the world and done a lot of stupid things and learned a lot from his mistakes but you and I both know he's going to be making a whole heck of a lot more. And Obama? Has he made enough MISTAKES to have learned well from them?

I mean, I am kinda old, but not really. When someone is in the drivers seat of the world, don't you want them to be experienced, don't you want the testing "why don't we try this?" "what the hell!" phase to be over? I think I am hyperventillating. What were people thinking about? They want CHANGE? Constant change or consistent change? AAACK!

I am older than the president! Maybe that is a good thing? Maybe, suddenly, youth have gotten smarter? Or is middle age just older? He still has children in grade school, for cripes sake! Okay, several friends of ours still have children in grade schoool. But, can you make rational decisions when the teacher is griping at you that your spending more time with the pentagon than with your daughter on her math homework and therefore she probably is going to hate science when she hits high school and its all your fault? Or will Michelle take the hit for all of that? And, honestly, do I care?

Random thought: I wonder what would have happened had Michelle announced she would prefer to homeschool? Crap, I'm older than the first lady, too.

Is there anyone old around these people? Whew, there's Hilary, and Biden is almost 20 years older. No, not much age but a lot of travel. His team of advisers has travelled the globe, many of them raised outside of the United States. Their view of how the world sees the US definately shaped from the outside in. Will it be enough?

Will how you lived be enough instead of how long you've lived? Will learning from others mistakes be enough, rather than learning from your own? Will taking responsibility for others actions be acceptable and will you have enough room to be able to take the blame for your own actions as well?

And all the while that I watched and think all of these thoughts I am still so shallow and vain. I would never have thought forty-eight hours would mean so much.

Goodbye, Kathy Grammer

2009-01-05T20:42:00.000-08:00

Devon Gundry's tribute to Kathy Grammer

Red Grammer singing Kathy's song See Me Beautiful on the Great Wall of China

Thank-you for your songs and, with your husband Red, bringing so much joy to our children, our lives and our car trips. Rest well and then have a blast. May you be called on often.

For #4, sorry it took so long

2008-12-26T05:08:00.000-08:00

Sorry, so busy sis. Here is a short video of one day of the snow here. I have three more videos of care drives to and through Astoria. The problem is impatience with downloading and my still not taking the time to learn to edit the videos and voice over w/music. Every time the camera fell over on one of the trips, mom would swear. Hehehe!

Check out the family pics over on my flickr page to see more snow and Christmas pictures. We had a lot of fun, wish you guys were here. All it is doing is raining now, maybe you'll be able to make it if the rains ever hit up north.

I am not sure if we should be happy that the PacNW finally has three seasons? Fall, winter and spring. I guess if the trade off is an equal amount of summer sun we can stand the late fall and early winter snow. If only it doesn't mean we have flooding next!

Love to P, and a "ciao" to sis #3, the lucky bum!

Snow Pics for the Fam

2008-12-19T16:43:00.001-08:00

The whole outta state family is laughing at us as we close down schools, government and huddle indoors. What can we say? We did survive the first ever three day 125 mph sustainable wind storm, we just don't know what that white crap that keeps falling perpetually from the sky is doing accumulating on the ground.

Bedtime ritual - Nasty

2008-12-14T20:12:00.000-08:00

So every night, now, bedtime at our house is hell time. Somewhere along the recent way Eldest has read a book about puting a child down at a regular bedtime so we are all treated to an hour of hell. The amusing thing about it is that her and my mom act, each night, as if grandson's temper tantrum at being put to bed is new or different.

Eldest doesn't like the temper tantrum so she puts up with it for about 20 minutes and then leaves that part of the house to let him cry to himself. When she works late the task falls to my mother and she will read to him after arguing with him until he falls to sleep about an hour after it all starts.

Both of them swear the process takes about 20 minutes. They lie. Hubby and I refuse to take part in the process aside from a hug and kiss goodnight. Because the amusing thing is that Eldest doesn't get up in the morning with this child she has forced to go to bed at an hour he doesn't wish to. He comes in to OUR bedroom to get us up not only because he wants to see Papa right away in the morning but because she tells him she doesn't want to get up yet and to come to our bedroom!!!

Guess the book didn't cover who is supposed to get up with him. Needless to say, I am writing this as another round of tantrums, begging and wails for his 'Bika or Papa to save him are going off. This is probably the biggest bone of contention between the different raising styles. I never believed in "bedtime". Apparently, she found that to be something she wants to correct in my parenting style. I WANT my children to do better than me, but, of course, only when I was wrong. Why she would want to correct something I did right is beyond me.

So here is me, taking my bitch to the 'net. And you thought it was a different kind of nasty didn't you?!?

Oh, the weather outside is frightful!

2008-12-13T06:00:00.000-08:00

UGH! Another storm hitting but this time on top of the wind we have high waves and a cold front followed by snow! We've done all that we can do at this point to prepare. We bought all of the pipe coverings which went over the electric warming tape we already had on the pipes in case we lose power. We have all of the propane tanks filled for heat and cooking (too bad no natural gas down our way but NW doesn't have enough gas to make it out to our area. So much for "there's no need").

We have twenty five gallons of gasoline in reserve plus the generator's filled. If we lose power we will be able to run for three days if we used it constantly and six if we used it half of the time. Thank goodness gasoline prices are below $2/gal right now. I filled my tank and 15 gallons in spare gas all for less than $36! WOW. Three months ago, in the red truck, I filled the tank and it cost me over $72!

We have all the flashlights ready, the battery operated lanterns as well as the propane lanterns, the kerosene lanterns, and the white fuel lanterns filled. Candles are stocked. All of the bathrooms have the tiny tap lights stuck on the wall right by the light switch so they are easy to find and down the hallway so Dad can find his way easily.

Just letting all the fam that is far away know that we are pretty well prepared for this storm so even if we lose our contact by cell phone you should know we have everything pretty well taken care of. Papa has all of his meds up to date and more than enough (they come via mail, in three month supplies). Grams and I just came back from a Costco shopping spree where we even got some cedar to decorate (yeah, we are surrounded by cedar but YOU climb up those trees and cut down their limbs)!

We have out the board games for later, right now we are Wii-ing. Books are stacked up. If cable goes out I also bought the seventh and final season of West Wing which Bart and I missed and are looking forward to watching. I actually bought it in January or February and have been picking up quite a few movies whenever they go on sale, preparing for a time when the power/cable goes out again. Its no big deal when it is for a few hours, like night before last when the power pole went down and we lost electricity from 6pm until 1 am. But when it is the second, third or fourth day the games are getting pretty old and movies are a nice respite.

We even remembered to get our five gallon water jugs refilled. With each winter storm we get a little bit better. Clatsop County's new Emergency Operations Center may get christianed with this storm. Bart is not looking forward to a repeat of last year's crisis on Hwy 26! I keep checking the ODOT camera to see if Seaside's flooding but even at the high tide when Youngs Bay came over the road at Linehan's corner the road in Seaside looked pretty clear. We will see what happens and hope Bart doesn't have to go out in this. If they open the EOC then I will take a run over to the media room and find out what is going on and post live from there to NorthCoastOregon.com. Remember to read there or KAST for updates on how this area is faring doing down here. If you can't get a hold of any of us leave a meassage on the comment section of NCO and we will try to respond there, too, as the satellite allows.

Also, if you read the article a couple of us pulled together on NCO, you can check out what's happening here by looking at the ODOT cameras and the Brevins cameras. Of course, you can't see our house in any of those shots but you can see different points across the county and get a general idea of what is happening around here.

I am puting this on time delay so it will post tomorrow morning. Hope you all are safe and warm. Keep the Jelly Bean happy and her mama (hmm, wonder what I am hoping for!), too. Love you all.

Welcome to our World, Jelly Bean

2008-12-12T17:53:00.000-08:00

Welcoming into the family a new little tiny member. Jelly Bean was officially recognized by a medical technician so it is now safe to announce that Memers and her gentleman hubby are expecting! Due date July 19th! She actually DID learn something in Japan from all those newlyweds.

We are all very excited. Gentleman Hubby can't wipe the grin off of his face. Memers quit drinking coffee and is not to be tolerated in the early morn (anytime before noon) and has muscle spasms more often than morning sickness at this point.

We can't believe how much has changed in such a short time in our "little girl"'s life. I could be weepy that she is so far away (all of three hours, down in Salem) except for the fact that she is so darn happy it is hard to begrudge her even a moment of this precious time in her life. She deserves it, truly. They have picked names but I am not telling, quite yet. Simply put, I am honored, deeply. These two continue to surprise us in delightful and touching ways.

Getting ready for the holiday season as we also prepare the homefront, once again, for other various projects. Sigh, sigh, sigh. We will have a Christmas themed house, though and grandson is having a great time being strawboss and telling us where everything should go. We will be bursting at the seems with family (which I love) but missing dear daughters in Blaine and Alaska (which I abhor). Sis #4 will be down the day after Christmas which is great and we will see #3 sometime later.

So, here's to Jelly Bean, hear our thoughts of love to you and treat your brand new mama good. She's giving up her precious coffee for you and your new daddy can't wait to hold and cuddle you. Cousins K & D are waiting to show you all of the great hiding places in the woods and their newest tree fort. Cousin R hopes you are a girl so she can share her princess outfits with someone!

Rest well mama & daddy and enjoy one another for this very breif time of aloneness. By the time the kiddies leave home Bart & I will be just about the age to be moving in! HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Mulligans DO happen!

2008-12-05T09:59:00.000-08:00

My baby came home the other day! I got a mulligan! I can hardly believe it. Hubby pulled off a miracle and the day before Thanksgiving I got my little malibu back. And then I went and filled the tank. WOW! I filled the tank for under $20 AND I am still running on that tank of gas. DOUBLE WOW!

Also in November I received a certificate for having completed the Love and Logic course along with my daughter and my mother. The course was facilitated by Ann Bales, with ESD, and funded by the Commission on Children and Families. Eldest Daughter (ED) had asked that we take the course with her so we could decide if it was a tool we wanted to use and then all be on the same page in dealing with grandson. It is an excellent tool, although personally I am not overly fond of the guys who developed the L&L concept. They do the videos that go along with the series and, for me, are just plain corny.

Ann Bales is a very good facilitator of the course. She said the class that we took was one of the largest she had ever had with about 30 starting and 22 completing the course. It takes six-eight weeks (giving time to make up any missed sessions) to go through the course. Ann is thorough but not once did we go over the 8 o'clock deadline she set at the beginning. We started at 6 pm and even received dinner! That was followed by discussion of the chapter in the book (very brief 4-6 pg chapters that were more like outlines) and videos giving examples of behaviors and practices of using the Love & Logic techniques.

Some of the participants were there because of mandates from the court. They would mention visitations with CSD when relating how they were using a certain technique. Some were there because they were going through a divorce and had to show a parenting plan which included a parenting course. There were quite a few there from the different day cares in the area which use the Love & Logic techniques which was nice to hear and it was also nice for mom and I to hear what they charged (as we looked pointedly at my daughter) as well as some of their other techniques (like mandatory nap times for all toddlers four and under from 12:30-2:30 PM!!!) .

It is almost impossibly to get our three year old down at 8:30 pm we couldn't imagine how late he would stay up if he had a two hour nap in the middle of the day! ED questioned the daycare provider closely if ALL children HAD to take a nap. "No, but they have to stay on their mat and not make any noise for those two hours." A look of horror crossed her face. I kept thinking of the report I had recently read that said that the business industry was starving for factory workers and that was the next big push. Obviously the daycares had got that message.

For Thanksgving we had #4 and p come and spend four days with us which was wonderful. With her work schedule it is a rare occarance although she just lives up the freeway from us. Grandson and p really love each other and bonded tight during the summer's camping trip. It was great watching them together. Dr. Sis, (aka #3) was supposed to come over from Hawaii but she got tied up in prepping for finals and couldn't make it.

The newly weds did make it, though and looked as cute as could be with one another. We went down to the Seaside Christmas Parade and then some of us went on over to Ilwaco and saw a fantastic performance of Fiddler on the Roof put on by PAPA while others stayed at home for the Civil War, which played out in our living room as the trash talk on the television heightened the agitation at home! Three ducks and two beavers hollered for three insane hours. We only had to bear with an hour of it before we left. Yeah, beavers should have won for the Pac 10's best interests, but SWEEEEEEEEET that the ducks won at Reser's Stadium! Not that I was pulling for any side. Man, this mother-in-law stuff is HARD!

All in all, November was a pretty good month. Very busy with a dozen or four that I really don't have the time or inclination to go into. I really need more reporters in order to do this county justice in the news that they are currently not getting. Oh well, it will happen when it happens.

Another Road Trip Into Hell

2008-11-15T05:04:00.000-08:00

Why do I get into a vehicle and travel down (or rather this time UP) the friggin freeway? And why call it FREE, it is NEVER free for me. This trip cost me over $525! What was my role? I was running my cousin to an appointment for his passport. He was to fly out to visit family in Japan. He hates driving in traffic. My mom volunteered to take him. My mom has no depth perception, no license, cannot drive, so guess who she has take my cousin?

Since her and I are both going to we must take grandson. YEAH! Three year old on a road trip to Seattle. Its supposed to be a "quick trip" so we are going to take off at 7:30 am which means no late night Thursday night for me (which is "my alone time to get my stuff done"). Early to bed, early to rise.

Up early and off only a half an hour late, which we had budgeted time for. We hit the coffee stand in Clatskanie right on schedule with half an hour to spare. Woohoo! We will be in Seattle about 30 minutes before the appointment, plenty of time to find the Federal building, taking into account noon rush hour.

We hit the Fort Lewis area and all of a sudden my dad's Jimmy loses power. I look down on the dash board and every idiot light is flashing. I am in the far left speed lane with VERY LITTLE SHOULDER and start frantically changing lanes to the right praying I have enough power to make it. I did and coast over to the ditch, as far over as I possibly can.

My cousin looks at me like I am nuts, "What the hell are you doing, we can't stop on the freeway! We don't have time to stop for anything!" I point to the dashboard, "We're not going anywhere." He looks over a covers his mouth so he can mumble words grandchild shouldn't repeat. I pick up the cell phone and call Triple A. The joy of crossing over the state line from Oregon to Washington with a Triple A card! WHY is it Oregon/Idaho on AAA but Washington is all by its lonesome? It is a lot easier than it used to be and the dispatcher we get is nice.

"Are you pulled over at a safe spot?" he asks? "Um, not really, if a semi-driver looks down at his map or spills his coffee we're toast," I reply. "Okay, you are on the freeway, that moves you up. Now, can you tell me where you are at?" I hate this question. My dad's a retired truck driver and my husband's a highway inspector for ODOT. They both constantly grill me on "being aware of my surroundings" when I am driving. What exit did I just pass? Which one am I coming up on? What mile marker am I nearest?

I tell the dispatcher, "I am somewhere near Fort Lewis and I can see a warehouse that says "Grand Prix" on it, and "Discount Something or Other," I reply. The dispatcher chuckles and starts typing into his computer. Then, grandson offers us his binoculars! Bonus! My cousin uses them to peer down the freeway and is able to see the next exit. I tell the dispatcher who then asks where we are towing it. Sigh, where does he recommend? My cousin says it looks like the alternator is out. The dispatcher recommends Tveten's Auto Clinic. I ask for their phone number and tell the dispatcher lets say that's the spot and I'll let the tow truck driver know when he gets there.

In the meantime, my mom is frantically dialing the federal building to change cousin's appointment to later in the day. She gets it changed only to one and half ours later! I get a hold of the auto center who will have the Budget rental car people waiting at their lot for us. The tow truck guy gets there 15 minutes after I initiated the call to AAA! WOW! Things are looking up! He hooks us up, we get the auto center, they will do a diagnostic for $49.50 and call to let me know for sure what's up before starting work. We jump in the Budget car and race over to that lot to sign paperwork, CHA-CHING!

Off to Seattle. We pull up the Federal building with five minutes to spare. I drop them and start circling for a parking spot. I finally found one and the ONLY bargain of the day. I plug a meter three times and end up paying only about $3 for roughly two hours. Then, I wait with a child who has been sooooo good up to that point that he now NEEDS to break free and let lose. BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, wah, wah, wah! Question, question, question, why, why, please, please, Anger, anger, pout, pout (okay, that was me) and then we spend some time glaring at one another. Suddenly I look down at my phone, thinking, "Why hasn't the auto center called me?" My cell phone is DEAD. It has four different colored bars running across the screen! CRIPES, craps nasty words and exclamation marks!!!

I turn it off and on, nothing. I take the battery out and put it back together, still the same four colored bars and nothing else. Blankity, blankity, blank, blank!!! Brand, friggin, blankity, new "verizon smartphone"!!!

I desperately look around and frantically dig through my purse and find that my mom's left her cell with us, whew! However, I don't have the auto center's phone number written down, it's in my cell phone. I call my cell number and pick up the messages. Yep, the auto center's left me TWO in the past hour. I call them back. The diagnosis is the alternator is dead and the belt's been chewed by wild animals that apparently live under the hood of the car when my dad isn't using it. Cost? $395, plus the $49.50 diagnostic. The good news is that they'll have it ready by the time we are back from Seattle. I tell them to give me about ten minutes and let me confirm that I have the funds available.

Now, I get to call hubby. I had told him last night, "I am running to Seattle to take cousin to his appointment for his passport." He looks at me and says, "That's nice of you. How come you are involved?" I reply with one word, "Mom." He says, "Oh, okay. How much is this costing us?" I say, "Nothing," and when he raises an eyebrow I add, "Really, nothing! Dad's letting us use his Jimmy, it's more comfortable for four to sit in and cousin's paying for the gas." He looks slightly amused and then slightly bemused. "Okay, but try not to spend too much. We really have quite a few coming for Thanksgiving this year. We aren't sure where things stand with finances quite yet, just be careful." I reply, "I will, you know me." He muttered something, I chose not to ask for a clarification.

Now the call to hubby. "Hi dear, did you catch anything?" He went out on a seafood expedition with some friends. "Yeah, 12 crab and we are headed out for clams pretty soon, how is your trip going?" I could hem and haw but this is like a band aid, you just got to rip it off fast and without thinking about it. I blab out the whole of the morning and the costs, so far, including the car rental. There was silence. "Who's card did this go on?" he softly asks. "I could tell you Kaden's but I don't think you'd go for that," I reply. The phone sighs, and sighs again and then again.

"Wait a minute and let me check to see if those prices are right." He calls back five minutes later. "Those prices for the parts and labor sound pretty close to what we would pay down here plus you'll have it done tonight, we'd have to wait about a week down here. Have it done." I thank him and my lucky stars. Call up the auto center and they start working on my dad's Jimmy.

An hour later cousin comes down without a passport. A child support debt that was supposedly all cleared up still has a stop order on his passport. No passport, even if he can possibly get a court document by next Monday showing that support is current, the passport office needs 10 days to clear. Cousin's non-refundable, non-transferable ticket is for the following Wednesday, five days from now. My head starts throbbing.

We leave downtown Seattle, headed south, at 4 pm. Uh-huh, 4 pm on a Friday! We reach Lakewood at 5:45 pm. My knuckles are white, lips pinched, jaws clenched, new lines etched into my forehead. Are we having fun yet???

The Jimmy is ready when we get to it and is running great. We leave the rental there and I am DONE being in traffic. My cousin sees a steak house and we all decide we are hungry for steak. That was, literally, another 40 minute adventure as we tried circling that blankity-blank-blank block in the traffic, to find the right lane to get us into the parking lot and once there to find a parking space because it was connected to a cacino. USUALLY when an eatery is connected to a casino the meals are moderately priced. HAHAHA! I wanted to leave when we got our menus. My YOUNG cousin was too embarassed, my mom too hungry and grandson was NOT getting back in a vehicle without a good stretch for atleast an hour. We paid $135 for dinner, plus tip. SOB, sob, sob.

Finally, we leave Lakewood at 8:15 and only had two more stops for leg stretches, rest stops and gas. We got home at about 11:55 pm after witnessing two cars try to run one another off the road in the worst case of road rage I have ever been an eye witnesses to and had another car erupt in a black cloud of smoke right next to us. I dragged myself into the house and stared at the emails which had piled up during the last 12 hours.

Story after story waiting to be written. Next week's appointments nicely falling into place (yeah, some real nice luncheons with great people) and a few yeses for interviews. But all I can really think about is how much money I spent on this "quick jaunt" to Seatte for something that I wasn't even supposedly a part of. Sigh, I hate vehicles, and cell phones, but see computer, nothing nasty about you! I love you! You are a wonderful and reliable computer. Be nice to mama! Be nice!

Man, don't I have a great husband?

Oh October Oh 8, Oh my

2008-10-30T05:00:00.000-07:00

Oh my gosh, this week has been a roller coaster. This beautiful woman is our little girl who all of a sudden turned into a lady, said "I love him" and walked away from our home into his arms. And he is an officer and a gentleman and it took us all, gaspingly, completely, by surprise.

I think you could pretty much ask just about anyone who knows our Memers if she is the type to do this and it would be a definative "No!" On the other hand if you asked any of us how she was going to fall in love or who she was going to fall in love with none of us would have an answer for you, either. Ryan is a perfect match for her. They are both very conservative, yet in different ways so they balance one another. They are both compassionate, yet over and about different things. They respect one another immensely. She loves the fact that he adores his mother. He loves the fact that she adores her family. We love that about both of them.

The day before their wedding he found out that the cabin at Camp Rilea where the wedding and reception was going to take place had been taken over for a generals' meeting and instead of getting into it at 10 am Sunday morning to decorate for the 2 pm wedding we wouldn't be able to get in until 12 or 12:30 pm!!! The first thing Ryan did was gently but firmly forbid anyone to tell Aimee about it. This was to be her day and NOTHING was to stress her out. Next, he started making phone calls, and kept calling until he made it perfectly clear that he didn't care who it was who was trying to cork him out of the cabin it was his, he had reserved it and he was moving his wedding party in at 10 AM to get ready for his wedding. Aimee didn't find out until Monday what had happened.

Of course, there wasn't much anyone could do about our aunty dying. Some, in the end, just were too emotionally drained to make it to Aimee's wedding. She was totally fine about it, because that is how she is. She doesn't see herself as being the center of the world or even a small peice of the world which is why seeing her as the center of Ryan's world is such a joy for those of us who love her. And seeing her light up when he looks at her is such a wonder. Something one takes for granted in others but had never, ever seen in our serious Memes. She never had even a casual boyfriend. Didn't believe in dating unless you were thinking of marrying. You "hung out" with a group unless you felt like the person was someone you wanted to consider for lifetime partner. If you thought of them that way you worked with them on projects you enjoyed, and some you didn't so much, to see how they handled themselves. And only then did you consider going on a "date" with them. You can guess how many didn't pass the first few prerequisites!

I am in meltdown mode right now. Between sobbing at memorial services and graveside ceremonies and tears of joy at the wedding and reception as well as preparations for all of everything and driving to Hood River and Portland and all points in between I am utterly exhausted mentally, physically and emotionally. The month started out with a convention being planned for 400 and only 100 showing up (but plans still had to be made accordingly) and ending with the wedding, a funeral and a vacation (ha) stuck in between and I am really and truly ready for a REAL vacation. Do I get one? Nope. I am, instead, filling out grant forms (yep, another project) and gearing up for the November-December season of madness.

I think, though, I have learned something with the passing of aunty. I think, this year, this season cards will be going out. A few written every day. She is not here to do that. We will all miss that so very, very much. Her little cards and notes that just said she cared. Oh, damn. Even with all of the joy of the wedding and the knowledge that she would have died a much more painful death if she had lived this next year out, it hurts to know she is really and truly gone.

Oh, October '08, one month we will remember in this family for many years to come.

Retreat

2008-10-17T16:44:00.000-07:00

It was so beautiful at Twin Lakes. Peacefully, blissfully, quiet. Our vacation together was supposed to have been for 10 days but life happens and we got exactly half that. Hubby got to finish out the trip here with his sister, brother and brother-in-law which was nice for him. He got some good fishing in and a lot of much needed rest after working a couple of 12 and 16 hour days on 5/7 and 6/7 weeks. We did not get to go out in the canoe which we had hoped to do on Monday. Instead, I was headed home on the Greyhound.

Its funny that we live in the woods, yet when we take a vacation we retreat further into the woods. Often, we have taken just sleeping bags and tents and gone as far in and away as one can go. There is something healing and refreshing about lying on the ground, gazing into a campfire or bobbing along in a stream. Crickets, frogs, various birds and the chirping of the chipmunks as they warn one and all that there's a blundering, big foot crashing through the underbrush.

I come home to a household in partial mourning for my mother's sister, partial chaos trying to pull together my middle daughter's wedding, and partially battling the flu -which everyone had neglected to tell me would be waiting to pounce the moment I was picked up from the Greyhound "station". Since when did they change the Greyhound Station from the convenient place of the Kelso trainstation to Longview's Holt's Market? My mom, dad and grandson are waiting at the train station to pick me up and I am waiting at Holt's Market to be picked up at 7:00 pm after riding the bus since 10:30 am. Fun city. How did we even handle that kind of crap before cell phones? Even with cells it's hectic enough.

After playing phone tag with my mother and then my father, FINALLY one of them answers their cell. Maybe my grandson showed them where the phone was. Why is it when you are in a small space with the dang thing you can't pin down where the ring is coming from? I have to frisk myself when my phone rings because I can't remember where I put it. The most convenient place for me to have it when my jacket pocket isn't available is, well yeah, its in my bra. However, it can be verrrrry embarassing for it to ring when it is there and you are talking to someone or, even worse, if you have forgotten you put it there and you are in the middle of an interview. Sigh.

So, I get back home to comfort my mother and, basically, take over the homefront so that she can be on the phone 24/7 to family all over the globe and I am assaulted with the flu bug. I thought that since I got home I would at least be able to do some articles for NCO, but nope. The most I have been able to do is post a couple of media releases before hacking up a lung and sneezing out a few more brain cells. I have two sweaters for two grandsons halfway knitted and have thrown myself five pity parties which have been attended by myself, my grandson and an assortment of his stuffed animals.

My head feels as if I have stuffed it full of cotton and my eyeballs feel like I have used the cotton to dry them off. Obviously I am not operating at my optimum and now is when my grandson choses to talk philosophy with me. "Who lives in those houses," he asks as we look at pictures hubby and I took when we were in Haifa. "Those aren't houses those are shrines," I tell him. "Does God live in that one?" he asks. "No," I tell him, "that's where 'Abdu'l-Baha is buried."

"What," he shouts, "He died? Does anybody know?" I start to laugh but see he is dead serious. "Yes, everyone knows, honey." He shakes his head, "I didn't know it. How come I talk to him if he's dead?" I tell him, "You can hear and understand more once your soul leaves your body so 'Abdu'l-Baha can hear everyone now that he doesn't have a body to restrict him." Thinking that by talking about things in a practical and adult like fashion he will grow bored and, basically, leave me alone so I can groan and sneeze. Instead, his eyes well up in tears, "My soul's going to leave my body and go away?" Not thinking I answer, "Well, yeah, everyone dies." And he let out such a howl I just about peed my pants!

"Wait, wait don't cry, baby, its going to be in a real long time!" I say, as I snatch him up and cuddle him. He's not having any of that. He pushes against my chest, "But I don't want to EVER die." Thinking desperately through layers and layers of cotton balls I finally find what I am looking for. "Remember the story about the caterpillar?" I ask him. "Uh-huh," he whimpers. "He ated until his tummy hurt and then he made a 'coon and turned into a butterfly." It is one of his favorite books and we had even got a caterpillar which he has named "Johnson" (I've no idea why) so we can watch the process.

"Do you remember what happens, though, to the part that looks like a caterpillar?" I ask him. He stops sniffling to think. "The butterfly just came out of it, it just was gone." This time I watch him closely to see how much more I can say or should say. "Was the caterpillar dead or did he just become something more?" I ask. "He's something more," grandson said with a smile. "Now, he can fly and he's prettier and he can see more." Okay, this is good, he's not crying any more. "That's sort of like our souls. First we are in this body and then when it is time for us to fly we won't need this body anymore and we will leave it behind." Tears start to fall again.

"I don't want my soul to leave me," my grandson says. A little three year old who has listened to the Narnia series and Pullman's His Dark Materials along with his prayers and listening to his Papa read the children's version of the Dawn Breakers. Too deep for my muddled head. "Honey, you are your soul. Your soul cannot leave you. You are like the butterfly. You use your body. You will always be you." He stops crying and hugs me. We rock back and forth for a while. I think he's going to go to sleep. My headache is finally subsiding. It is finally quiet. "'Bicka?" he whisppers, "little kids never die, do they?" I wonder what hubby is doing right at that moment and long to retreat into the woods. I answer my grandson.

Sister-in-law Janice w/hubby Jim, out on the lake

Penury for your thoughts

2008-10-15T16:01:00.000-07:00

Poverty (also called penury) is deprivation of common necessities that determine the quality of life, including food, clothing, shelter and safe drinking water, and may also include the deprivation of opportunities to learn, to obtain better employment to escape poverty, and/or to enjoy the respect of fellow citizens. According to Mollie Orshansky who developed the poverty measurements used by the U.S. government, "to be poor is to be deprived of those goods and services and pleasures which others around us take for granted." This, according to wikipedia, is a pretty fair definition of poverty but one wonders how the way that definition looks may change in the near future.

Don't we assume that poverty in the United States means you can't provide for yourself and must have help to put a roof over your head or food on your table. Financially you are unable to to take care of yourself or your family. But is that really poverty? It is "poverty level" but don't most of us have the opportunity to learn so we can obtain better employment and "escape" poverty?

As our economy spirals downward worldwide, what will poverty look like? Will street after street of $500,000 homes stand empty as more of us turn to shopping carts as our only means of affordable housing and travel? Will "common necessity" no longer mean a roof over our heads but a shopping basket to keep our meager possessions in? Will an education protect our jobs? Find us new jobs when businesses go bankrupt?

Worldwide, approximately 25,000 people die every single day of starvation or other poverty related causes. In September 2000, the 189 countries of the United Nations unanimously agreed to “spare no effort to free our fellow men, women and children from the abject and dehumanizing conditions of extreme poverty,” specifically hunger and the “major diseases that afflict humanity.” They agreed to commit .7% of their national income. That's 7/10ths of one percent of each $100 that we make, world wide for a total of $195 billion a year. Of the 22 of the world’s wealthiest countries that agreed to commit to 7/10ths of one percent the United States is in last place towards accomplishing their commitment.

Norway, Sweden, Luxemborg, Denmark and the Netherlands have all reached their goals contributing over 80 cents per one hundred dollars of income. The United States is tied with Greece in contributing a total of 16 cents per 100 hundred dollars of income.

What will tomorrow bring? As we bail out institution after institution we watch as only the very rich are helped and still the stock markets fall lower and lower and no one on main street is being helped. I can't help but wonder if those who are our "leaders" are working for "us" or against "us." Maybe, I am the one that is confused? Maybe, I don't understand who "us" is.

Poverty. What it looks like today and what will it look like by the end of 2008? Who is truthfully telling us? Today is blog action day.

On the Roof

2008-10-14T18:37:00.000-07:00

Terrill Laura, front on the right. My mother, Jerry Roberta, front on left, Beryl Verdeen on the left in the back row and Dale Lemuel on the right, back row.

Our aunty died Sunday. I received a text message to call home, using the emergency code. Sadness enveloped the extended family, first in ripples starting before 5 am, and then in waves as each part of the planet woke up. Each and everyone of us sobbed, "Not Teri!" My vacation was over as I hopped a greyhound home.

At four am Sunday morning my aunt moaned and said to my uncle, "Oh Jim, I hurt so much," and then she died in his arms in their little beach house on the banks of the Necanicum River in Seaside. She was 66 years old, the longest living kidney transplant recipient in Oregon. My mother gave her one of her kidneys in 1980.

We just recently found out that the kidney my mother gave was beginning to fail, but no one expected her to die just yet. She had an appointment to see her doctor about when she would have to start dialysis. They think she died of an aneurysm or blood clot in her heart.

My mother drew the short straw to call my uncle in the DR. She called the only phone number in El Llano de las Pinas that she had. A neighbor's by the name of Mercedes, who ran joyfully down the street to tell Dale he had a phone call from the Americanos. My mother heard a houseful of joyful people calling to one another that Roberta, the Americano, was on the phone. My uncle came on, laughing and asking what was so important that my mother couldn't just email him "Its Terrill Laurel, she's gone, Dale, sister's gone." He wailed. My little uncle who thinks tears are silly, living in the land of hystrionics, wailed and all around him the Dominicans joined in as he told them in Spanglish why he grieved.

How we envy him. We, who sit here in the northern clime and let the tears run down our cheeks and silently brush them away. My mother said it was good to hear them howl and wail, they who hardly knew her sister but knew the sorrow of losing loved ones know how to grieve with all their heart. We let it out in little spurts and ask to be excused for our tears. "Pardon me, I've just lost a loved one" as tears stream down our face for no apparent reason as we stand in the grocery line. "I'm sorry, I have no idea what you just said, someone that I love has just died" we mumble, as we look blankly at the checker who is waiting expectantly for the debit card to be slid through the machine.

We press our lips tightly together, shake our heads and squeeze our eyes shut. We pat arms and tell one another that it will be alright. Why can't we be like the Dominicans? Why can't we be more Irish? We can't we just wail and wail and wail until all of our breath is gone? Just all sit down all together, all at once and let out a long howl? The waves continued, my sister calling a brother in Japan and another sister in Hawaii, my uncle called his son on a fishing boat out at sea. Calls inland as far as Indiana.

This was the aunty that encouraged us to skinny dip. She liked hinneys and taught us funny songs. She was the aunty that you called when you just needed to vent, but you never, ever, swore in front of. If she didn't like what you were doing she would tell you about it, but only you, she never, ever gossiped about you or anyone else. She was the peacemaker. If you ever called to complain to her she would listen but she would always ask that you look at it from the other person's point of view. She hated conflict, especially in the family. I think we all broke her heart at one time or another but she never held a grudge that I knew about.

She gave me a ring with a peridot in it for my high school graduation. I used that ring for a wedding ring the first time around and one day I looked down and the stone was gone. Shortly after that I knew my marriage was over. She also let me borrow her set of pearls which #4 stole from my jewelry box. Somehow or another aunty found out that I had lost them and #4 had them and #4 ended up with a pearl necklace out of the deal and aunty got her pearls back. I ended up with egg on my face! I am sure #4 will correct this version of the story :).

Aunty had two sons who she was very proud of and four grandchildren and one great-grandchild. Each of her sons knew they were her favorite just as each of us neices and nephews secretly knows, in our heart of hearts, that we were her favorite. She did that to us. You knew you mattered to her, that you were very special to her. You knew she missed you when you didn't call and not in that naggy way that you "owe" her a phone call but in that real missed way, like because she hasn't heard from you a little piece of her day/week/month wasn't quite complete because she loved you that much. Where she got that kind of energy I will never know.

Aunty and uncle were supposed to have gone over to visit with their friends, Jim and Diana, on Sunday and uncle had to call and cancel that appointment. He told Jim to find a way to break it to Diana gently. Jim hollered to Diana that Terrill had died and Diana began to wail. Uncle says it was actually the first time he got to chuckle because he thought, "Will, hell, I could have broke it to her like that!" But that is how each of us reacted to the news. With a wail, "Not Terrill, not Teri, not aunty!"

And this grand lady wants no services! She saw the costs that went out for her parents' funerals and she was appalled. She saw the grief of the funerals and thought by avoiding the funeral she could avoid the grief for us. She asked to be cremated and placed in the same plot as her mother-in-law with the absolute minimum expense. And we all wailed, again. This thoughtful, caring, kind and considerate person forgot one thing, this isn't really about her it is about us and how can we go on without stopping a moment to say good-bye? Without giving her due regard and a royal send off?

In Hood River she is known to hundreds of people as the hair stylist of the stars. She did the hair of many windsurfers as well as pro ball players and a few other well-knowns. Yet, she would treat one of the gals brought in from the local senior citizen centers as if they were from Hollywood. Many a person used her chair as a psychiatrist couch and some as a confessional. All of their secrets she kept and literally took to the grave with her. She loved her job because she loved people and her clientele reflected it. Hood River not give their prized hair dresser a send off? She had better think again!

Should we cry for days, weeks and months seperately and alone, trying to ignore our pain? Or, do we come together and give it one good cry with as many good memories shared that our pain naturally dissolves, tears of sadness mingling with tears of laughter? Although our aunty was right so often I think in this matter she was wrong. In her humbleness she probably had no idea what an impact she had on so many lives. She never retired, her drugs that she had to take to keep her kidney going cost so much money she had to keep working, as did my uncle. Her doctor told her that he wouldn't retire until she did and when my uncle called him on Sunday to tell him he could finally retire he wept. For Teri, he would have gladly worked for another twenty years.

To Aunty Bubbles, Aunty Teri, Terrill Laura, Trinket, Trinky our peacemaker, our cheerleader, the holder of the family silver and crystal punch bowl, our etiquett guide and moral compass, we salute you and will try to be proper when the situation calls for it and skinny dip when the opportunity affords it. We promise to sit down together at dinners as a family, and we know that whenever we buckle up in the car and start our round of car songs you will be with us, singing out loud and strong the silliest of car songs:

Oh, I wish I were a bottle of pop, bottle of pop. Oh, I wish I were a bottle of pop, bottle of pop. I'd go down with a slurp and come up with a burp oh I wish I were a bottle of pop, bottle of pop!
Oh, I wish I were a bar of soap, bar of soap. Oh, I wish I were a bar of soap, bar of soap. I'd go slipp'in and a slid'in down everyone's hinney oh I wish I were a bar of soap, bar of soap!
Oh, I wish I were a fishy in the brook, in the brook. Oh I wish I were a fishy in the brook, in the brook. I'd go swimming in my nudie without my bathing suity oh I wish I were a fishy in the brook, in the brook!

She joins her parents Roy & Beatrice Woods.

No ticket, no island

2008-09-23T15:12:00.000-07:00

My father and my grandson have such a unique relationship. It is quite amusing to watch. This 69 year old man and three year old man-to-be, both with vivid imaginations, fighting, intensely, over an imaginary object.

My father has introduced my grandson to "Doughboy land." I have no idea why we dubbed this patch of hemlock "Doughboy land" it is long lost in the annals of family lore. Maybe #4 can chime in with where the name came from. No matter how hard it rains it used to be dry in Doughboy land, the trees grew so close together. Last December's storm took many trees out, rain now hits the needled floor, new shrubs are growing, but for the most part it is still a haven for play even during a rain storm.

Great grandson and great-grandfather take their daily walk through this grove as we watch through the drizzle from the safety of the gazeebo. They stop and consult. Grandson hands Grandfather something, pinching the fingers of his right hand together and cupping his left hand underneath. Grandfather receives the object in the same manner, taking the object by pinching the fingers of his right hand together and cupping his hands underneath. They both appear to have the object now. Grandson asks a question, Grandfather shakes his head no. Grandson nods his head, violently. Grandfather shakes his head no, violently. Grandson yanks on the object, hard. Grandfather yanks back. Grandson falls forward a little because Grandfather has yanked so hard. Grandson frowns and yanks harder. Grandfather lets go and grandson almost topples over. Grandson then throws the object on the ground. Grandfather reaches down and picks the object up and starts to put them on his feet, one by one. We cannot see the object. The object only exists in their imaginations!

They were "fighting" over a pair of lava boots! Grandson insisted that Grandfather didn't have any and had to agree to certain conditions before he could get his! Grandfather had refused the deal so Grandson threw the boots down in disgust. I asked my dad why he didn't just go to the fake store and buy himself a new pair of fake lava boots? He said the stor wasn't opened.

Yesterday they took another walk in the woods. It was a very short trip. Grandfather came back first, laughing. This time, he said, Grandson pushed past him and ran to the mound in the middle of the grove and then told Grandfather to wait.

Grandson, "You need a ticket to come here. No ticket, no island! "
Grandfather, searching through pockets and then producing an imaginary ticket, "Here you go!"
Grandson, taking imaginary ticket examines first one side, then flips it over and looks at the other side, "I'm sorry, this is not a ticket to this island."
Grandfather, "It isn't? What is it a ticket for, then?"
Grandson, handing imaginary ticket back to Grandfather, "I have no idea, I've never seen anything like it in my life!"
Grandfather, taking imaginary ticket, "It doesn't go to any of these islands?"
Grandson, "Nope, none of them. I've never seen a ticket like that one. Sorry, you just can't use it here. Bye!"

Grandfather put it in his pocket. He actually reached into his pocket to pull the ticket out so that he could tell me the story!

Sometimes, I worry about the two of them.

Helpful forms everyone should have

2008-09-20T15:29:00.000-07:00

I do like organization, even though I do not always subscribe to it myself. I like the IDEA that there is a spot for everything and everything should be in its place. I like the idea that I should have a personal secretary and a maid, as well. What I do have is my mother. What my children have is me. We all have the same complaint. Our personal secretaries and maids are flippant, talk back, rarely do as asked and always change where we want our things to be. As a consequence we are super organized in the field.

The organizations we chose to work for and volunteer for have their files referenced and cross referenced. We have everything in notebooks, on file cards and in zip lock baggies. We can find anything and everything has been archived. We can tell you where the receipt for the pens bought for the convention in 1999 can be found or where the template for the signs for the marathon in 2003 is kept. Ask us when our middle child's birthday is? Our mind is blank. We really and actually do have a friend of the family who keeps all important dates for us. She knows all of our birthdays, has all of our addresses and phone numbers. We call her when we need to know something about our family. I think she is one of the top people we all pray for every day and probably the only birthday we all remember!

In keeping with organizing the world around us I feel it incumbent that I should remind everyone that they should be keeping a health notebook near their phone, or some other convenient location. If something should happen to a family member you should be able to grab this notebook on the fly and head to the ER room.

While these forms were made by Parkinson's Center of Oregon, they can be adapted for anyone. There are emergency contact forms, medication forms, event forms (any recent falls, etc.), health concern forms, as well as forms for medical releases, advanced directives, and medical power of attorney. These are things you don't want to be making a decision on in the midst of a medical crisis. No matter whether you are in a huge family surrounded by parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, or just you and a significant other, the more documentation you have completed ahead of time and the smoother the administrative side is , leaves you with more energy to deal with the real crisis.

The contact form is for the information of the individual. It also has a place for the primary doctor's name, any specialists that can/should be contacted, primary and secondary insurances (remember to photocopy your insurance card and put it in a sheet protector here with this page). Also on this form is room for contact information regarding who else should be contacted in cases of emergency: your medical power of attorney, a parent or guardian, a grandparent, lawyer, etc.

Please, fill this out for each member of your family! So many are in second marriages and children may have different primary and secondary insurances. It is nice, if in the midst of an emergency, you can just whip out that piece of paper with all of the correct info on it. Also, if your child has an ongoing childcare situation a copy of a waiver giving that person specific rights for medical emergencies should be located in this notebook.

The medical history form is a handy one to have extra copies of that you can just hand out when going to a new doctor. It is also a good form for the emergency room so that an ER doctor or nurse knows what condition the patient was in before the incident. When updated periodically it can give you an idea of how you are doing overall, especially if you are dealing with a chronic health concern.

A current medication list is very important on any trip to a medical facility or even the pharmacy. You want to make sure that everything being taken is working together, and especially that no toxic combinations are occurring. Many herbal, mineral and even vitamins should not be taken with one another and many can not be taken at the same time that certain synthetic drugs are taken. Doing so can either cause the drug to be ineffective or even have an adverse effect. A complete list of all meds and supplements is crucial to a doctor and a pharmacist.

Also, a prescription diary is important for chronic health concerns so that you can chart how the medication is making you feel. Whether it be a simple case of determining whether or not to use hormone therapy or use herbal supplements, going on anecdotal memories of how you felt two months ago when using synthetic drugs compared to how you feel now using an herbal/mineral combination is not really the best way to determine something as important as your health and emotional well-being. Much more so when you are comparing different types of synthetics or trying to determine the proper dosages.

This event diary is important as well. You may not be conscious of how often you or a loved one is having small, minor, events. Once you start recording them you may well see a pattern that will help you prevent a major accident from happening. You may see that small events center on a certain period of the day which could mean medication is wearing off and a shift in when meds are taken needs to take place. Or events happen in a certain area of the house and extra safety cautions need to be taken there. Extra lights need to be added, a handrail needs to be put in or rugs taken out. Suddenly, things become easier around the house.

This is an advanced directive. Read the whole document. You can chose which parts you want to sign. It also has a place to appoint a health care representative. You do not have to have an advanced directive, but if you have a chronic illness that may hospitalize you in the final stages you may wish to consider one. Also, a grim reality is that we never know when any of us will be in an accident that renders us in need of one of these. You should have a copy of this in your notebook, give one to your attorney and your hospital and primary doctor should also have a copy.

This medical power of attorney is similar to the form contained in the advanced directive for an appointment of a health care representative. You can be very specific on this form as to the power you are giving the person. If you do not understand it, or any document which has to do with your rights, take it to an attorney.

It is really too bad that in Oregon paralegals do not have a legal right to help us with simple things such as the above.

Many of the above forms can be found at the Parkinson's Center of Oregon's helpful forms page.

Dang! Stupid Ducks just lost to stupid Boise State Broncos. Great, guess the dinner conversation here!

Busy, busy, busy

2008-09-16T13:54:00.000-07:00

SO much to do and little time to do it in!

Convention in three weeks. We have most of the details mapped out. In between doing convention work I have been helping to plan the wedding for our third youngest daughter with the same people who are helping to plan the convention. I truly hope we are not confusing any details!

On top of that I am planning something else. A truly awesome something else that is making my heart thump so fast I think I am having a heart attack and makes me think I am insane, but at the same time is thrilling.

And then there is actually doing some reporting, investigating, researching and coming upon some astonishing finds all the while ignoring the pressing interviews that I have been promising to get to when life will just slow down a little tiny bit so that I can get to them.

Each thing that I am doing is so utterly fascinating that I get a bit annoyed when another facet of my life encroaches in on it. I love convention. I love the time of year it is as it prepares us for the holiday season that for my family stretches from Oct 20th to May. Literally every month has a holiday in it, October on out. October starts with convention. When we don't host it, we can go and come back. This year, we run it. Then the rest of the month. October 20th the Birth of the Bab, a big celebration for us and then Halloween, minor but we already have a of decorations for it. Nov 12, Birth of Baha'u'llah, another big one. Then, Thanksgiving followed by the Day of the Covenant and the Ascension of 'Abdu'l-Baha, all in November. December, in our family we acknowledge the celebration of Christmas and decorate for Chanuka and Kwanza as well. We have Christmas Eve with friends and a potluck and a rousing game of "Alliance White Elephant" gift exchange.

In January we do New Years and with the sports fanatics here I have to admit they do "celebrate" Super Bowl Sunday. February sees the beginning of Ayyam-i-Ha and March brings in the Fast and ends it with Naw Ruz, our New Years. April has two Holy days, the First and Third days of Ridvan, and May has three, the Third day of Ridvan, the Declaration of the Bab and the Ascension of Baha'u'llah. And then, nothing until July.

Whenever I am sitting "still" I am knitting, for gifts, for the various holidays and holy days. Forget birthdays and anniversaries, at least I always do as my husband so kindly reminds me. Interspersed with all of this is the monthly Parkinson's support group meetings, the monthly Spiritual Assembly meetings, the quarterly Cluster Coordinator meetings, the weekly study circles, and I do believe that at sometime my husband and I instituted a mandatory "date night". I think we forgot to state that it must be with one another, alone, with no discussion of work, children or community affairs because I can't remember when we did just that.

In a few weeks hubby and I are to spend 10 glorious days in the "wild" of eastern Oregon. Not alone. In a one room cabin. With his sister and her hubby. And his brother and his son in an RV parked near by. But, we will have bikes and a canoe. And we will have the outdoors. And we will not have children. And I won't believe it until the fifth day we are there.

Coffee beans on conferences!

2008-08-22T13:21:00.000-07:00

I am on the planning committee for our electoral unit convention. I love convention. I loved it when it was one statewide weekend long convention but now we have grown too large and are broken down into smaller units of approx 450-500 Baha'is per unit. Which means the Portland area has about three or four units and we, who used to be a part of Washington County North's unit 162, are now part of unit 159 which is comprised of Clatsop, Tillamook, Marion, Benton, Linn, Deschutes, Crook, Jefferson, and Polk counties. Sort of a large, wide "v" or inverted "j".

In looking for a central location for our convention the concern is fuel costs. Who is going to travel how far for this convention? In asking for prices for rentals on convention spaces one of the most galling things to me is how many require to you to use their catering service and the price that is charged for coffee! All we want are coffee and tea urns set up at the back of the conference room so people can fill their own cups as the meeting goes on. So far, thats a no-no! Each conference center wants to put carafes on the table and charge $8 per carafe that provides 6-8 servings! At a conference that will have probably 150 (maybe 200 at best) in attendance! After the initial charge of $1200 for the facility!

This is aggravating! I am talking about such venues as Chemeketa Community College, the State Fairgrounds, County fairgrounds, as well as hotels/motels! At least with the hotels/motels we can get a cut price on the rooms and people start off with a continental breakfast. Here is an ideal way for a community college to make extra money in rooms sitting empty on the weekend, yet they are locked in with a catering contract. And forget about a snack with that coffee! Eighty-five cents per COOKIE! Absolutely NO outside food allowed!

We are not running on panic mode, yet. Just aggravation mode. I am simply appalled at what should be nominal charges, or even a part of the package, that one can get dinged for. The state fairgrounds have excellent rental fees on the facilities. Then they charge $30 per outlet used, $1.25 per chair used and $10 per table used plus require a $200 set-up fee and you are not allowed to set-up yourself.

It is almost like opening up your phone bill. There's the nominal $14.99 fee for your phone line and then .... when they get done your bill is $35.00 and you don't have a single additional benefit. Forget the cable bill.

Sigh, back to internet conference shopping!

Tenuous Connections of humanity

2008-08-10T19:22:00.000-07:00

According to an August 3, 2008, article in the UK Guardian the theory regarding six degrees of separation away from any other person on the planet has been proven true, almost. In actuality it is closer to seven, with the precise number being 6.6 after researchers at Microsoft studied records of 30 billion electronic conversations among 180 million people in various countries.

"Eric Horvitz and fellow researcher Jure Leskovec considered two people to be acquaintances if they had sent one another a message. They looked at the minimum chain lengths it would take to connect 180 billion different pairs of users in the database. They found that the average length was 6.6 hops, and that 78 per cent of the pairs could be connected in seven steps or fewer. But some were separated by as many as 29 steps."

So much for privacy, but that wasn't guaranteed by Microsoft's Messenger™ was it?

It makes me chuckle at last year's big headline in a local paper where they took five degrees to connect a local county commissioner (that the paper's owner/editor had taken a dislike against) to someone who contributed $4,000 to a campaign and the commissioner had said he didn't know the person. The contributor ended up being his second wife's daughter's second husband's oldest brother's (older by 17 years) either girl friend or tenant. The same paper later didn't print the fact that the same county commissioner's first wife had been the godmother of a person they supported for a seat on the commission, a mere one degree of separation but the paper couldn't seem to find that connection!

So how important are these connections? Don't businesses thrive on networking? Aren't employees encouraged to extend their networks, isn't a good portion of the spam we receive promising to help our home businesses grow by expanding our networks? What is Facebook™ all about? Without looking, can you name all the people in your address book? Would you be able to point them out in a line up? Do you know what is happening in their lives right this moment?

Why does it take a tragedy to make us realize how close we are? A plane crashes in Gearhart, and everyone reaches out to one another. Gearhart draws closer together, feuds, slights and hurt feelings forgotten as the realization that something can literally fall out of the sky and end anyone's tomorrow. The December storm, where each leader of each nook and cranny of the county not only stepped up to the plate but actually stepped back from the microphone and allowed one voice to speak for (and to) everyone, while they quietly went about doing their jobs. No horn tooting, no "look at me", no grandstanding by the locals. A few out of the areas politico s showed up later for their media shots but locally we stood by one another. That was amazing. We held hands.

All too soon it was over.

What leaves me perplexed is how can we allow war? Famine? Poverty? If everyone on the planet is just six steps away from us how can we turn our backs on one another? But we will and we do.

For me, when people ask "How can you believe in a God who allows such and such to happen" it is because of this. Even in celebration we rarely come together as we do when there is tragedy. Until we can learn how to come together in celebration as strongly as we come together in tragedy we will need the sadness of it. We are not, merely, a different species of animal that occasionally collides with one another. The orangutan in Central Kalimantan, Indonesia is never going to worry about the bonobos in the Democratic Republic of Congo. As wonderful as these unique creatures are, we are distinctly different. We are human, and that should mean something.

Two friends have brought me food for thought recently. Actually, four. I shared one the other day and today, the other three. We are all so very connected. Celebrating life should be done together as much as drawing on one another's strength in the time of tragedy. We should mourn for one another, but we should also remember one another in our moments of anger. It takes a strong person to remember that there is still a human being standing before them, in an argument, then painting devil horns on everyone who disagrees.

I look at the upcoming months with trepidation. Not for the outcome, but for what it will do to those determined to get their way no matter which connection is severed. I think that our community will be dramatically changed. I can but only hope, eventually, for the better. I fear not.

Random thoughts on 08-08-08

2008-08-08T18:38:00.000-07:00

Eight-eight-oh eight, Beijing is celebrating, others are protesting. China chose this day on purpose, supposedly, because it is a lucky number. Having no superstition about numbers, merely a fondness for nine, I don't understand what the significance is behind eight. However, apparently , numerology has been around forever, and quite a few use it to plan their lives. Here are a few who do.

I do not fully understand gravitation and yet I do not pooh-pooh it, so I can not totally disdain numerology. I do think, however, that much like gravity, we do not understand it. We play at "interpreting" the numbers, but I always wonder at what point do, or did, the numbers start? Whose calendar are we using? It makes no sense to me to apply biblical prophecy to our calendar. Unless, just by doing so we are creating the climate in which the prophecy has no choice but to manifest itself.

If we are going to have self-fulfilling prophecies, why don't we create good ones? On 08-08-08 I am going to wake up and find that all is right in my world. I have paid all the bills on time, my vehicle is running well and full of fuel, my family members are all agreeing with one another and most importantly, of course, with me. My home will be clean, every person I speak to about an assignment I am on will answer me, fully and honestly. I will be thankful for the day.

That just reminded me of an email I received earlier today from someone whose friendship just snuck up on me. One of those where you put someone in one catagory and all of a sudden, in a delighted surprise, you notice they've slipped over to another and you don't even realize when it happened!

As I have written earlier, I am not overly fond of forwards or chains, however, those friends who do bother to send me one I don't grouse. I accept, read, sometimes delete. Sometimes I google and write back a warning that it is a complete hoax and don't bother becoming alarmed about snakes coming out of the toilet or spiders living in your ears. And sometimes, not so often, but sometimes, an email takes me off guard and can take my breath away.

While I had heard it before, quite awhile ago, it must have been time to hear it again. Once, for this one, isn't quite "enough." And I love it.

In a country of over consumption, in an age of let-me-have-it-now, when we all believe we deserve the most and the best as often as we desire it, I do believe we can considered ourselves blessed if we have "enough."

"I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.
I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much
bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish enough "Hello's" to get you through the final "Goodbye."

[Bob Perks, in Chicken Soup For the Grieving Soul]

I wish you one and all, family and friends who take the time to stop on by, enough.

My first real rant

2008-07-16T22:02:00.000-07:00

You would think I would come back from vacation all rested and ready to work, but alas, not so. The sun out and who wants to be inside? I have discovered Nettle tablets worked so much better than any other hayfever drug out there, this time around, so no medicine head and I can be outdoors!

You would also think that being in the sunshine would not cause one to go on a rant, but I am ranting today. A real rant Guy & Auntie. Okay.

I am sick and tired of getting promotions in the mail that aren't intended for me. The ones from Charter Cable that say if you just start with them now you can have "the bundle" (phone, internet and cable) for $59.99 but all you losers who are already with us, you're paying $99, minimum. I wanted to add the phone to our existing cable and internet, I am on Vonnage now. I was told by customer service that it would be an additional $19.99 if I signed up now and that would be good for the next six months. Then it would go to the regular price of $35.99/month. I told the person Vonnage was $24.99 and was told Vonnage wasn't available in my area. I told them I was already on it. Dead silence.

An existing customer doesn't get any breaks.

I got a phone call from "unavailable" and answered it only because one or two state people call me and they always have "unavailable". It was a solicitor. And it irked me because they knew my name. It was on my cell phone. "I see that you are still using QWEST and wanted to let you know that ..." I interrupted, "Excuse me, I don't use QWEST, haven't for years." Dead silence. "We think we can offer you savings on your home phone."

My cell and home are listed on the registry of "Do not call" for solicitors. Sometimes when I am in a particularly ornery mood and my grandson is looking for new friends I put it on speaker phone and give it to him to talk to them. There's usually a short battle of, "Put your mother on, please, little boy," with him lisping, "Its not my mom, its my 'Bika" and the other end saying, "What, what?" and him repeating himself until one of them get bored and hanging up.

It boggles the mind how much junk mail comes with seven adults living in the same home, especially when we are also the mailing address for assorted relatives living out of the country, children who haven't changed their mailing addresses from home even after four or five years, friends of the family who live at sea and need a home base, etc. Most of my mail goes to my PO Box and even there Charter sends me invitations that don't apply to me.

"We finance anyone" no you don't. I know dozens of people you don't finance. WaMu's advertising, right after they screwed my father by losing his escrow account and two of his payments, "Move over to us, we care about our customers" this one not addressed to "occupant" but actually addressed to me. Jeeeez. Don't you at least have a computer program that says, "We screwed this family, maybe lay off sending them ads for a couple of months."

When I look at the postage on this junk mail it really drives me nuts. We will literally receive 7 advertisements from Citibank to our home and another three in the PO box in one day! How much money is going into that, how much waste! All of it goes into the trash, or the burn barrel. Waste!

Did I rant enough Auntie? Guy? My list could be longer, but it would be watered down. And of course, I have sat down for 15 minutes and suddenly everyone is surrounding me and talking to me. Why is it when men sit down for a few minutes no one bugs them. Women sit down and its like an open invitation for everyone to sit down and gripe, beg, bug, nudge, talk loudly, argue, fuss, whine, and poke you until you snap. Then its, "Gee whiz, what crawled up your ...? What's your problem? I haven't talked to you all day! Don't you have a even a minute for me?"

Whew! Will, what do you know, I did have one more rant in me. Now, I have to finish cleaning my bedroom. It has been so long since I have seen the bedroom floor I have forgotten what color the carpet is. Does it have a carpet? And there is black mold behind the dresser! Gross. Oh, yeah, let me tell you about living in the woods! Being in touch with nature is just so wonderful ...

Any woman's a lady who behaves that way

2008-06-25T13:26:00.000-07:00

I saw this elegant, elderly, woman the other day. Beautifully flowing hair cut shoulder length, clipped back with gorgeous barrettes that matched her green eyes. I sighed. When will I grow up? When will I be a lady? With no scabs on my knees or elbows from hopping off counters because I can't reach the top shelf and bang a knee or elbow on the way down? No scrape marks on my razored shins from hastily shaved legs? No bright red cheeks from forgotten rouge not rubbed in? Eyebrow half plucked because it hurt too much? When does one "become" a lady?

Yesterday, I went to the Warrenton City Council meeting. It was long because they had to read an ordinance, complete with findings, as part of a process for LUBA. The rest of the reporters left, Jeff w/KAST having asked his questions during breaks but I wanted to ask a few questions of the city manager and a couple of the commissioners so I stuck around. The reading was already part of the packet so I got up to stretch my legs and went into the "ladies" room.

I washed my hands and fixed my hair and tossed the paper towel towards the trash can, which was lined with a black plastic bag billowing over the top, and missed by a hair. I went over to the trash can and hastily bent forward to snatch it up and "slam dunk" it but instead cracked my face on the steel can, splitting my lip open. Yeah, the plastic bag wasn't "billowing" over the top, it was right on the sharp, steel, edge.

I saw stars. Ran to the sink and blood was pooling. I pressed the toilet paper to my lip and sighed. Then started laughing until the tears ran, which of course turned my eyes black, which made me laugh all the harder. I fixed myself up as best I could and refused to look into the mirror again. Not that I am vain (although I am) nor think I am the center of attention, however at this point there are only three people in the audience. The city council would be blind not to notice that I was gone for fifteen minutes and came back with a fat lip and blackened eyes!

Okay, I am pretty sure I got the eyes under control, but the lip was puffing. I tried not to fidget with it. When the meeting was over and I talked to the city manager and the councilmen no one SEEMED to stare at my swelling lip. I honestly forgot about it as I was involved with the answers to my questions, leading to more questions and so forth. Then I got into "my" truck and took a quick peek into the mirror. WTF? What's the matter with my lip? An allergic reaction? I always have coughing and sneezing fits at council meetings but this is ridiculous! OOOH yeah! Crap! I hit my face.

I went home and stood in front of my husband. "Hi!" he casually glanced over, "Hi hon, home late?"
"Yeah" I just stare at him. He finally got the hint and looks at me. "What happened? Someone take a swing at you? Who did you interview, [so and so]?" I answer, "A garbage can."

'He hit you with a garbage can?" he asks in bemusement. No outrage, just curiosity. "You didn't tell him I was going to hit him back did you?" Okay, ONE TIME I told someone my husband was going to hit him, and it wasn't for me it was because the bully was picking on someone else AND my husband was standing nearby AND the bully was a biker wearing chains and sure wasn't taking me seriously. My husband had just come off work, was in his logging clothes and was standing with his logging buddies. I thought it was a smart threat. It obviously was because the biker quit picking on the person and bought my husband and his friends a round of drinks.

When I explained to my loving companion for life what had happened his lips twitched, eyes danced but mouth said, "I am so sorry! Man that must have hurt. I hardly noticed though, so probably no one else did." Yes, this is why I love him.

In January, 1907, the New York times ran an article with the headlines, "Any Woman's a Lady Who Behaves That Way". It went on to describe the problems that women dining alone had encountered in the nicer establishments of those times. The Waldorf said that it had always entertained "real" ladies. The Times reporter asked what criteria the Waldorf used to determine if a woman was a lady? Was it by dress, manner or accent? The management of Waldorf simply answered, "A lady, my good fellow, is a-um- a lady, hey?"

Delmonico's management said that one could tell a lady by the way she sat and the way she ordered. The manager of Knickerbocker said a lady, when she finds herself alone in a public establishment, immediately sits up and says to herself, "Hm! This is a place where I've got to behave myself!" Hehehehe! That one gets me. Like the women back then were running around crazy but suddenly pulled themselves together and "behaved" at proper moments and places only to go crazy again when the time or place afforded itself.

Sherry's said they received ladies who looked well and behaved well. Rectors said they allowed ladies but refused to define a lady. It is the Irish who came off the best. "Well, far be it from a man to discuss such a delicate matter. But when a lady comes in here, it is not for an Irishman to treat her otherwise."

Maybe I won't "become" a lady. Maybe, ladies are born and just "are." Maybe, some ladies have scabs on their knees or elbows. Maybe, some ladies are far sighted and should wear their pince-nez. Maybe, there are only ladies when there are gentlemen, and vice-versa, and that is as it should be.

Mulligan

2008-06-21T18:10:00.000-07:00

I broked my car. The idiot light came on as I drove up dump rode. I registered that fact. I filed it under, "Things to do, TODAY, get oil." And then, I closed the file drawer! Before completing the task! I didn't just slide the drawer closed, I slammed it so that it jammed. No way was that message going to come out again for at least a week, when the engine started going, "tic tic tic" and then I went, "sht, sht, sht!" and the car went hisssssssssssss hisssssssssss hissssssssssssss and it was all over. It quit. Died.

TJ's auto said, "$5400, new engine installed includes a warranty." I choked back a sob, not very effectively. We just paid the car off. No more full coverage. One less payment bogging us down. Where was I headed in such a hurry that I couldn't put in a quart of oil? Which meeting? Which interview? Who knows? Double rassinfrassin friggin crappinchippers.

My pretty little, gas efficient chevy malibu. Dead. I want a mulligan. I want that trip back up dump rode. Who invented stuuuupid cars in ways? I want a horse and buggy. Maybe just a cart and billy goat. DAMNIT. Now I am driving the farm truck that I can barely leap up into. My husband's, filled with half empty oil cans, crunchy bags of dried bait, what the heck is that green stuff behind the seat and of course I am not smoking in your precious baby. No honey, I am not making fun of your truck.

Yes dear, I am grateful I have a vehicle to drive. No, I am not annoyed that it sucks down gasoline faster than I drink a vanilla latte. It is lovely that it now costs me $8 for a round trip to a Jewell school board meeting, divine that a trip to Warrenton is a $5 adventure. I know you are sacrificing for my stupidity by bike riding to work and I love you for it. Why am I gritting my teeth? Because its the third time you have told me that this hour, dear heart, and my head hurts from where I keep banging it against the wall.

I do so very badly want a mulligan.

Anyone out there hear my scream?

Sixth degree related to me?

2008-05-12T00:40:00.000-07:00

With the chatter "again" about who is related to whom I must make a confession. I haven't the FOGGIEST idea who I am related to in Clatsop County, really, especially depending on how you count a relation. For that matter, even if you are only counting "blood" relations.

I remember in grade school coming home and telling my mother that a little girl named Anna Helmerson told me that we were cousins. My mother confirmed we were. On my father's side, through his first cousin's, my second cousin, marriage. Huh? How come I've never seen her before? Where's eight years' worth of Christmas and birthday gifts? Another kid told me we were cousins and his mom, who worked in the school cafeteria confirmed it! Who were these people? And where were all the missing gifts?

We had five kids in our family, I think we were one of the first families tossed off everyone's lists back in the sixties. My mother's sister, Dixie, had four kids (Owens) and those were the only cousins I really knew about. My dad's sister, Susan, had two kids that were six and eight years older than me (Orrs) and too old to play with so didn't quite count. The closest other cousins that lived in town (so I thought) were the Justin twins and they were older than the Orrs so they really didn't enter into my life until I was much older, and one other Bartoldus who was even older than them. Funny, I have older children than them all, and I have grandchildren first, too. Ummm. They got college educations first and had children in their thirties and I had children in my twenties and then completed my college education.

Anyhow, our other first cousins were out of towners (Stassens which were Seaside but moved to Hood River, Castles in Indiana, Woods lived in Dominican Republic came back to Astoria went back to DR but do now live back here, mostly) and second cousins by the scores. My mom's other siblings had children that we saw on occasion but they weren't locals so it wasn't like they started showing up out of the woodwork unexpectedly like those sneaky Bartoldus relatives. Plus, mom's family were Coasties. They moved here in the late forties/early fifties. They weren't locals.

Dad's family came in the 1860s, but they were Prussians. Not a drop of Scandinavian. Then I found out there were drops of Irish. And drops of English. And then drops of other a whole lot of other stuff!!! Cousins I had never heard of kept informing me, at school, that we were related! Grandma's had last names before they married grandpas, apparently, and no one had told me their stories! We were related to Faieres and Scruggs and Hardies and Helmersons and Heckards and Canarises but wait Mom's family were Coasties and not from around here! Oh, her mom's family were actually from Westport, and had moved over to Cathlamet and down to Long Beach and Ilwaco and over to Astoria and back up to Aberdeen and met up with the Woods.

And then in Astoria the Woods had met with the Owens who had met up with just about everyone in Astoria at one time or another and more than half of the time didn't marry them, and the Canarises weren't so keen on marraiges either, and that wasn't just recently but as early as the early 1900s!!! With the Owens came the Van Horns and a Bradley or two and so many more why start when you can't stop?

In high school one day my math lab partner and I were bored doing tic tac toe games, and we sure as heck didn't understand the algebra Mr. Scott had up on the board, so we were telling where our favorite places to camp were. I was telling about a spot which is now about fifty feet from where I presently live. I told him, "You go across the metal bridge and past the Bogh's house and then past the next house which is where," and just as I was going to say, "my grandma Mel lives," he says, "My uncle Cecil lives!" We both just looked at each other. "I am related to Larsons?" I questioned. "Mom never said we were related to Bartolduses" said Jim. I still have no idea how many came in on the Moberg deal.

So, who are you? Are you sure we aren't related? Where do you hail from? Are you a Satterwhite or a Rainey? Are you a Moberg, Reick or a Tenny? A Rummell or a LaFerrier, Tonnis, Haines, Detricks, or Miller? A Morrell, a Padgett, a Westerholme, or Ornellas? A Smith? A Jones? Forget about it, we are related. We told our children, do not date here. Do not think about a spouse if they have a relation here. Really, you should have a blood test done if they have a grandparent here or a great-aunt, we are related. Somehow, somewhere, sometime, some place, someone did it with someone else and we are related. Thank the good Lord the law only extends to first cousins or there would be a lot of people in big trouble in this county. And when you think about all the "free love" of the seventies (yeah, we were a decade behind around here) there probably is still a lot of people that could be in trouble!!!

Oh, calm down, fog bounders, I'm jist joshing you! Hardly any of us are related .... very much.

Restless Night Combatting Parkinson's

2008-05-09T12:46:00.000-07:00

Last night was a looonnnggg night. My dad wouldn't go to sleep. He kept having hallucinations. We know it is his medication for his legs and for the last two weeks have been trying to find the right dose to take at the right time. As mentioned before, he has Parkinsons.

Last night he thought there were people in his bedroom that wouldn't leave, which was making him angry. I took turns with my mother assuring him that there was not anyone in his room. He lost his remote for his television, even though it was right next to him. He went into the bathroom and shouted for me and when I went in there he was holding the four sectioned mirror that is screwed into the wall. I asked what he was doing and he told me that it was falling off the wall and yelled for me to hold it with him as he was loosing his grip. I held it and told him to let go. He did and then I did. He let out a yelp and then said, "Oh, your lucky it didn't fall."

Each time an incident happened about ten minutes later he would come out and apologize and say he didn't know why he did that. He could hear what he was saying but somehow it was as if the dream had taken over and he was powerless to stop it from cycling through. He was so sad. And then fifteen minutes later noise in his bedroom and I would knock and go in and he would be crawling on the ground because he had lost something, or was chasing the cat that he wanted out of his room (which was already outside and not even in his room) .

It is so hard to watch this and dammit he is waaaay too young for this. He is only 68 years old. Grandpa Roy was still working at 67. Dad wanted to be traveling, he wanted to be doing so much. I cry watching him progress in this disease. Telling him he can stop the progression if he just does this, that or the other. I watch others that I know have the disease. Some come to our support group. Others choose to go the route alone, and others in denial about having it. It is such a debilitating disease, and it seems to be hitting people younger and younger.

I am now part of a 10 year study of people who have a parent with Parkinsons. There is interest since my dad's mother also had it. For whatever reason, I am not particularly afraid of "getting it" however, if I suddenly lose my sense of smell I think I would go into a total panic.

Today I had two major things to do and since I finally fell asleep at 5 am I now am in no shape to tackle anything that involves using a thought process. Hubby is home going over bills, too, joy of joys! He read the comments over on NCO where someone said I was "literally" in the pay of Richard Lee. He wants to see the dough, ASAP. So do I. He also thinks if I have the clout to hand pick the next commissioner I should be using my power for more things around the home front. Sigh. Don't I wish.

The Hoax of the Hoax

2008-05-06T22:56:00.000-07:00

I find it quite amusing that the movie The Hoax was denounced by Clifford Irving as a hoax, "I had nothing to do with this movie," said Irving, "and it had very little to do with me." He goes on to say, "If I were that man[the movie Clifford], I'd shoot myself," and adds, "The movie is best thought of as a hoax."

There is one part of the movie that still rings "true," albeit Hughes probably never said it, certainly many politicians have used the ploy. In the movie version Clifford Irving makes tape recordings of his fictitious interviews with Hughes, supposedly to prove to his publishers that he is actually interviewing the eccentric recluse, and during one interview he attributes him as saying:
When your rival is powerful, find an opportunity, create a crisis for him. Instead of taking short term advantage, save the day for him! Nothing confuses a man more than a kind gesture from his enemy; nothing renders him more vulnerable.

I think, if people watch local happenings over the next few weeks, some will see this played out in more than one arena. This month should prove to be very interesting. I do wonder who will have the eyes to see and the ears to hear? And I also wonder how many of us will be bored to tears by the sheer drama ad nauseam of it before it is all said and done?

The sad fact is, and what many jackasses bank on, human nature can only take listening to one issue for so long before they just don't care anymore, no matter how many lives are being ruined or how many reputations are destroyed. Truth? Unless there is a pointed twist people turn off or disconnect, they just don't care unless, or until, it is their own lives that are being impacted and often by then it is too late.

Vegas and Justice, which one is more real?

2008-05-05T21:42:00.001-07:00

We attended daughter number fours wedding last week and our son-in-law asked hubby and I to be witnesses on the license, which was very nice, sweet and touching moment. Son-in-law was very nervous and teary, which isn't his demeanor in the least. A hard working, hard playing, construction worker who wiped tears from his eyes when he saw his bride to be for the first time in her wedding gown coming towards him.

Hubby and I spent last week in Las Vegas with in-laws and daughters number one and four and two grandbabies. Since we are not gamblers it wasn't a terrible loss of time away from the casinos. We did sit in on one of the three hour Tahiti Village timeshare "opportunities of a life time." We got a lot of free gifts with it. Hubby won a very nice jacket, we got dinner tickets to someplace and it was a nice dinner, alone. We gave our tickets to the variety show away as we never had time to get to it. We did hit the casino a few times and played "Deal or No Deal" and "I Dream of Jeannie", both penny machines and won $80, lost half of it. But nice, didn't lose any of our own!

And it was HOT! We left PDX at 58 degrees and landed in 94 degrees. GASP! Ballagio, MGM, Paris, New York, New York, Excalibur. We went to the Tournament of the Kings at Excalibur which I thought was going to be a yawner but turned out to be quite entertaining, especially with everyone cheering and the actors were such hams and really enjoying themselves! The grandsons were chanting along with everyone else and thought it great fun to rip the pheasants up themselves and eat them with their hands.

And we walked, and walked, and walked and walked! In the heat! How I wish that equated weight loss! We ate one night at the Hard Rock Cafe, and another night I don't remember having dinner at all! I think that was the night of the wedding, it was an evening wedding taking place at 8 PM and I think there was a small buffet afterwards w/finger foods. It was so hot I really don't remember being hungry or eating that much. We did drink a lot of iced coffees.

Coming home threw us back into "life". While I do enjoy the "new" role of journalist some areas can be frustrating. It appears that whenever I put in a public information request to the Department of Justice they phone our local District Attorney for his "okay" to release information. It shakes ones confidence in the "justice" system to know it is nothing more than another form of "the good ole boy" network. You think there is something unique about the work of "justice" but there isn't. It is all just dirty politics. Rather disheartening to know that there is no such thing as justice, it is just who knows who and who owes whom what.

Back in March and again at the beginning of April I sent a Public Information Request to the Oregon DOJ. I received a letter back from the DOJ dated April 17 saying that their office did have the information that I was seeking regarding the disposition of the Lee inquiry and I should be getting the information in a "reasonable amount of time". Here it is May 5th and no packet of information so I call them and the person who answered the phone had to ask me my name a few times, have me spell it, have me provide the dates of the letters I wrote to the DOJ and the date of the letter they wrote back to me and then I waited forever and the guy finally gets back on the line to tell me all he can do is take my name and number and let "someone" know that I have inquired as to when I will be hearing back from the DOJ. I asked what a "reasonable amount of time" means. Lo and behold, he didn't know.

Now watch, tomorrow the District Attorney will make some grandiose press release to the Daily Astorian and KAST, snub us, and all because of my PIR!!! The DOJ just making sure that Marquis covers his before giving me the information that is the right of the public to know. It would be laughable if it wasn't so depressing. These are the people that can (and do) mess with other people's lives. I do wish I had a CIA/FBI connection, just so I could see what it is that two-bit local nothings can have such pull on state offices. Maybe all I would need is someone's ear at Microsoft who knows some excellent computer "skills"? I have a pretty good idea of what is locked away in a particular "someone's" laptop and having it cleaned for them would be a pleasure for me. Chuckle, I imagine that they have reciprocal thoughts.

Sometimes, I do wonder if it is worthwhile. I am not making any money on this endeavor and often when articles refuse to come together, or no one is calling back or I feel like everyone is lying I want to throw the laptop in the river and go back one year to when I was no one but 'Bika, wife and mom. Then, when there are days when everything is coming together, when a PIR comes through with gold or someone doesn't realize what they have just said, or the article just falls all into place and someone says, "WOW, I never saw it that way, thanks!" it makes it all worth while.

And no, I don't work for a blog, I write for a dot com. Big difference. But if you are thinking of suing, then on second thought, it is just a blog, laugh at it, poke fun at it and go on to another site. Read the user agreement. It says, "For entertainment purposes only". Is anything for real anymore?

Mary Gabriel

2008-04-20T13:25:00.000-07:00

I've just found out that our dear friend, Mary Gabriel, passed away in a house fire last night in her home in Berea, Ky.

As far back as my memory of being aware that I am a Baha'i there is a memory of Mary. She has had at least two strokes that I know. Major strokes. The first one when she was in her forties, she woke up and couldn't move anything. Finally her daughter, Suzanne, came in to find out why her mom wasn't up and about yet to find her mother incapacitated. Mary struggled back after that. She was an instructor at Clatsop Community College for eons. I think she was in Phys Ed., but now that I think about it I don't know for sure. She was always in matching sweat outfits.

I can't imagine the pain that her children and grandchildren are going through, now. She flew out of Berea at least a dozen trips a year visiting them. She was ever practical, such a dry, dry sense of humor. Right now, the humor that I can remember I laugh but do not write, too personal and maybe something which grandchildren wouldn't so much want to know about grandmas!!!

So sorry to see you go, old friend, so sorry to see you go! You taught me a lot about courage, being tough, fighting hard, letting go, hanging on, giving it your all and protecting the children. You will be missed and although I know you are closer than my life vein, you are behind the veil that does not lift from this side. Look over us, remember us, love us and as we will for you.

Good-bye dear friend.

And thank-you, dear Sali, for your kindness in letting this family know of her passing. I won't forget how generous you were in keeping us in the loop.

Tagging Along

2008-04-18T12:00:00.000-07:00

I am really not sure whether or not I have been tagged, however I haven't posted forever and my sister is probably tapping her fingers thinking I have been lazing about and abusing our mother so I will use the questions from MOT's tag for my post today.

Q. What were you doing 10 years ago?

A: We were raising 4 fifteen year old daughters (and hubby was growling at TH) and a 14 year old son, still homeschooling but they were taking a few classes at CCC by then. I was commuting to Roy Washington and working half the month as the manager of a multi-cultural family retreat, designing programs and helping kids w/homework via the computer and fax machine.

Q. Name 5 snacks you enjoy.

A. Pink Lady apples, cold and crisp; Saya Snow Pea Crisps; dried mangos; hard peanutbutter cookies; popcorn (any kind, but especially Orville Reddenbockers sweet corn popcorn).

Q. Things I would do if I were a billionaire

A. WOW! Pay off all debts. Pay hoquq! Buy house for each member of fam. Hire a lawyer. Okay, okay, of course, TH, yeah, you'd get yours and we'd take "them" on. Hire a lawyer. Did I mention that? Hire a lawyer. Then while TH and the lawyers were handling things hubby and I would travel and invest in people, but only after we had worked with them to see if what they were doing was sustainable and actually what "the people" wanted, where ever they were in the world.

Q. Five jobs that I have had

A: maid at RedLion, waitress at House of Chan, self-employed children's care giver, manager of multi-cultural retreat, member of board of directors for same

Q. Three bad habits

A: Ummm. procrastination, obsessively compulsive, addicted to ...

Q. Five places I have lived

A: Astoria, Olney, Svenson, Youngs River, Walluski (What? Shut yur face, I could have named five different blocks I lived on) note: i had to change the Alderbrook answer because hubby says technically where we lived was not Alderbrook, however I had forgotten the year out in Youngs River when the girls bedrooms burned down!

Q. Five people I want to know more about:

A:
1) Paula @ On a Rainy Night
2) LA @ The Art of Astorian Housewifery
3) Elizabeth @ Life in the Great Northwet
4) Jen @ Highliners and Homecomings
5) Aubrey @ Breeeish

Papa's Posse & Paparoni

2008-04-08T18:20:00.000-07:00

I do not carry around photos of my children or my grandchildren. I never have. My husband is the sentimentalist with the pictures and the remembering of the anniversary (the 25th, 25th, 25th I think I'll remember it, someone order flowers for me, okay?) the birthdays, etc ... And his reward? One of them is this little guy who names his food after his papa.

And this other little guy who's best friend is his papa, no matter how infrequently we see him he has hugs and kisses for Papa but 'Bika? Sometimes he recalls who I am and other times he's not so sure.

The other little guy has adopted "papa" for his own and greets him with very deep chortles of delight (my gosh he has a deep voice for such a little tyke). And this is Papa's Posse. No matter how late he comes through the door if one of the posse are here he is ready to flop on the floor and play cars with them, or talk in funny voices with the assortment of stuffed animals or power rangers. Or watch Animal Planet with them and say, "Ooooo grooossss" at all the right moments.

With each of these kids one of their first words were "Papa"! And it is no wonder, since it was a word that brings the most rewards. It is Papa's lap they sit on when they are tired, and his shoulder they cry on when mean ole 'Bika has said "no," his hands that hold the treats and his face that makes the funniest looks, and his mouth that laughs the loudest.

For a man who was never "blessed" with a child of his "own blood" one would never know it to see him surrounded by these squealing children demanding their share of his "Paparoni" (that he buys almost daily under the name of pepperoni at the Tillamook Country Smoker), the name bestowed on this wonderous treat by the child in the top picture. Something so marvelous must carry the name of something else even more marvelous, obviously.

The other night we were treated to twenty minutes of dueling air guitars by the three year old and his papa. Back and forth they went trying to outdo one another, using youtube's Jack Black and the Chinese Dormitory boys for backup. The crowd went wild - we really did to, it was the funniest thing to see both the 3 year old's and the 47 year old's rendition of "the sprinkler" while hanging on to their air guitars.

Sentiment does appear to have its upside. I can't wait until he has the whole posse together for an air band jam session (then again, maybe I can).

Ornery is as ornery does

2008-03-28T23:04:00.000-07:00

Our mother is probably one of the most orneriest people I have ever known. To say she is stubborn is a complete understatement. On her first day of school the bell rang for the children to line up and go inside. She was stunned when the children all ran and obeyed. She tried to convince them that there were more of them than there were teachers and they should all just stay outside and play, what could they do? But everyone else got into line and finally, when she couldn't convince anyone to stay and play, she did, too. But she didn't like it.

While I was growing up I thought I was entirely different than my mother. I would have been HORRIFIED to try to convince the children to rebel against the bell! And yet, my mother reminds me, she got a phone call from a mother who said I was no longer to talk to her son. Now, you are probably snickering. Was I boy crazy? Was I pestering the young lad? We were in second grade. I wasn't allowed to talk to him any longer because he was a Jehovah's Witness and he was supposed to go to the library while the rest of the class had their halloween party.

I was shocked that he had to leave while the rest of us had our party, and he was so sad! I convinced the poor child that it was no different than any other moment in a classroom of laughing children, because it was what you believed in your heart. If he didn't BELIEVE it was a religious holiday, if he just thought of it as having fun with his friends, it wasn't really "celebrating" a pagan holiday. So, he stayed. And, he brought home his halloween candy. Obviously, he didn't use my argument very effectively with his mother! My mother informed me that while I didn't do something wrong, I really didn't do something right. I should not come between a child and the parents' beliefs.

I do wonder what would have happened if my mother hadn't been the type to try to organize playground rebellions.

A few years later I had a teacher that still used the paddle to not only discipline but supposedly as a learning "encouragement" tool. If you didn't memorize a poem by the day set for reciting you were "hacked". There was one boy in class that was "hacked" every single day for not memorizing something, or for not using some social grace, or for being last to get in line. I began getting ulcers in the fifth grade. This man made me physically ill. Every single "class party" day he would make this boy go to the neighboring class room and miss it for some imagined slight.

Our Christmas party my mother was the "homeroom" mom. She brought the treats and helped disperse and clean up. I was the room monitor in coordination with my mom. My mother brought a store bought sheet cake from Home Bakery, just the very best thing! The teacher asked me to bring a piece of cake to each of the other fifth grade teachers with some punch. I delivered the cake slices with punch, one at a time and as I came into the classroom with the boy who had been banished from our class he looked up and said, "OH! Is that for me?" so hopefully, that to this day my heartaches. I replied, "No, but I'll be right back with yours" and brought the teacher up her piece.

I then went back into the classroom and up to my mother and told her what had happened. She cut the biggest piece and handed it to me on a plate. I picked up the cup of juice and started across the room and out the door when my teacher called to me. "Where are you going? Didn't you already take cake to all the fifth grade teachers?"

"I am bringing this to Jeff," I replied. "Oh, I don't know about that!" he said. I was trembling as he stomped towards me. And suddenly my mother was standing there. "But I do," she said quietly, "I told her it was the right thing to do, don't you agree?" The teacher stood there looking at my mother and she at him. "Of course I agree, I was just going to do it myself," he said and reached for the plate. My mom gave me a shove, "No, let her," and out I hustled.

The look on Jeff's face was pure joy! The next day winter break began. I hope life wasn't harder when we got back from break. I hope the teacher didn't bear grudges. I really don't remember. I know it didn't get better. I know my mom was startled years later when I told her how much a truly, truly, truly hated fifth grade. Although I do know Abou Ben Adam may his tribe increase ..., and Four Score and seven years ago our father brought forth on this continent a new nation ... it took me years later to enjoy and understand them.

It is odd, though, how that fifth grade class prepared me for things in my later life. I really hate confrontations, and I don't go out looking for them, but neither do I allow them to side step me from doing what is right. And, if I can't convince anyone to join me, I can always decide to get in line or leave the playground.

For #4

2008-03-25T12:16:00.000-07:00

My littlest sister keeps checking back on my tired old blog and I keep disappointing her. She should know better, however. Our whole family has Chronic Focus Disorder - CFD (our kinder term for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, a family that goes crazy together doesn't commit one another). Whatever task we have before us basically consumes us. I think that's how we made it across the ocean and then across the continent just to make it this far west "back in the day" before being in the far east once again . Like our forefathers (and mothers) we remain a very "focused" herd of people.

Our mother has been known to scrub out the bathtub tile, with a toothbrush, fifteen minutes before we were to leave for Christmas Eve dinner at our aunt's home. When we take on a new job the whole family usually takes a vote on it because if it is too "much" we will literally lose that person for a year or so. We vote to see if the job is worthy of the person they are getting and we are loosing. We are the dedicated worker who takes on all the tasks that everyone else has learned to say "No" to. We organize the place, pull it out of the red and put it into the black, negotiate and win over tough customers, all the while the household falls apart unless we've pulled in another family member to take over there (and change the perfect spot where the potholders go or else the universe will cease to exist as we know it).

Psychologically many have said it is because we are so egotistical we can't believe someone else will do as well as we will do (or secretly we are afraid they will). Others have said it is because we don't have control of any other area of our life so we micro-manage where we can. As someone with CFD I can state that while those things may be side effects what really drives me is a thirst to "know". I want to know if the plan of action I have set in motion will work. I want to know if my hypothesis is correct. But even more, I think the end result isn't half as important as the process in getting there and if I am not there to take part in the process I won't KNOW how it worked.

What we haven't learned is moderation. I think, of course, I am a little bit better than the generation before me (and a little bit better than my siblings, if truth be told). I would not, for instance, arrange a vacation cruise around my car's maintenance schedule. I'm just saying. However, just try serving my rice with a freaking silver serving spoon. I swear if one more of my kids does that I will bury that spoon where the sun does not shine (which around here is most any place). You work all day on a holiday meal and then they stick a silver serving spoon in the rice! Or use paper napkins with dinner! Now that's just plain disgusting and rude. Hahahaha!

When most of my siblings and cousins get together it is chaos. Fifteen micro-managers with their corresponding parent(s), fingers itching to "finish" the project at hand, with our own ideas of how it would make life so much easier for the world if done using "my" theories.

No wonder we no longer all live in one town! Not even Seattle could contain my cousins. My own siblings have had to spread out to different areas of the world, all of us on one continent is a little too much for those around us.

So, dear number four, as you may have guessed, I have started a new job and am "focused" and slightly neglectful. What's that? You have a new job, too? Oh! I do have a suggestion or two that will work perfect for you and if you don't use it, well, I think the world just might possibly end. Maybe.

Pupil of the Eye

2008-03-18T02:28:00.001-07:00

Debunked

2008-03-11T14:20:00.000-07:00

As you know by now if something says it has been researched I want to see the proof. When I saw this on a local forum and received it in my email I remembered back to when it first was making its rounds.

Olny sarmt ploepe can raed tihs

I cndolu't bvlieee taht I culod autclay uesdrantnd waht I was rndaieg. The poanhoemal pwoer of the hmaun mnid, aodcrincg to a rcehsecaerehr at an Elgsinh Utvinersiy, it dsone't mteatr in waht odrer the ltreets in a wrod are, the olny irpmoatnt tnhig is taht the fsirt and lsat lteter be in the rghit pcale The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sltil raed it woihtut a pelorbm. Tihs is bseucae the hmaun mnid deos not raed ervey lteetr by ilstef but the wrod as a wlhoe. Aznamig huh? Yaeh and I aylaws tughoht slinpleg was irmtapont! If you can raed tihs psas it on!

If, however, you were unable to read the scramble above and don't know what it is asking you to do, let's try it again below.

Olny srmat poelpe can raed tihs. I cdnuol't blveiee taht I cluod altaucly uesdnatnrd waht I was rdanieg. The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to a rcseareher at an Ensligh Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe. Amzanig huh? yaeh and I awlyas tghuhot slpeling was ipmorantt! if you can raed tihs psas it on !!

Most people are amused that they can read the paragraph in this rendering and readily agree as to why they can do so:

Only smart people can read this.

I couldn’t believe that I could actually understand what I was reading. The phenomenal power of the human mind, according to a researcher at an English University, it does not matter in what order the letters in a word are, the only important thing is that the first and the last letter be in the right place.The rest can be total mess and you can still read it without a problem. This is because the human mind does not read every letter by itself , but the word as a whole. Amazing huh! Yeah and I always thought spelling was important! If you can read it pass it on!!

When this first went around my homeschooled kids cheered. Hahaha mom, see, you really don't need spelling! My son, however, was a good speller and stared at it puzzled. Do you see what was done in the second rendering of the paragraph that, though slightly scrambled, makes it much more readable than the first? The letters are switched in a pattern (often mirrored) and your mind quickly picks up the pattern and automatically makes the adjustment in the rest of the words.

uesdnatnrd unsdeatrnd undseartnd undesratnd understand?

It is a fascinating ability of the mind to look for patterns and automatically assimilate them. However, that is not the conclusion that the paragraph is telling you to come to. The power of suggestion, eh? A trick within a trick. How often do we fall prey to them?

Baha'i Children's Classes on NPR!

2008-03-09T15:14:00.001-07:00

"It sounds like the start of a bad joke: A Jew, a Baptist and a Baha'i get together every Sunday morning ..."

NPR news article regarding one of the types of children's classes that Hubby and I teach facilitators how to do as well as host ourselves. This summer we plan to hold a couple week long summer sessions for children, pre-youth and youth. The pre-youth and youth classes, of course, are markedly different than the children's classes.

The Junior Youth series is designed to build reading, vocabulary, and problem solving skills. Future books for the series will include math and the sciences.

Youth classes use the RUHI course materials with the only difference being at their own pace (about two or three times faster than adult classes) and more music.

All of the classes are centered around strengthening communities. First the individual learns to strengthen themselves, then they learn how important their contribution to society is and how to develop tools within themselves to help communities be a better place to live for everyone.

Anyone interested in attending children, pre-youth, youth or adult classes can email the local Baha'i RUHI coordinators (serving Clatsop and Tillamook Counties). Classes are open to people of any religion or philosophy, send email to: bahaicoast at twowings dot net.

I am deliberately keeping this blog entry short. The NPR article does a very good job describing a Baha'i children's class and I encourage you to go there and either read it or listen to the news story about it.

Secondhand Lions

2008-03-06T23:17:00.000-08:00

I only got to watch the last 15 minutes of a movie that I have been looking forward to watching all week because I totally forgot it was on, instead the tube was hogged by people watching some basketball game or another. Natch! I love this movie, too! A great example of story telling. I wonder if I got it as an audio if it would be just as good?

When we would go camping when the children were young we would bring books on tape/cd and in the evenings (or afternoons if it was a rainy trip) we would put the tape/cd on and watch the fire as books came alive in our minds. We listened to the Lord of the Rings, Sherlock Holmes, Agatha Christie, and Pride and Prejudice are the ones that I can immediately think of. Games of cribbage or dice (played to 25,000) or endless rounds of Yahtzee would also be played as we sat listening to the voices, each of our own mini-movies spinning in our heads.

When Hubby and I gave a class on teaching children's classes we showed a series of movies that featured the art of story telling. So much of what we teach our children can be best taught (and best learned) through a story and it is wonderful to see that this is not a lost art. And art it is. Over on Auntie's blog she had a contest for people to name a piece of art. Most people couldn't stop with a name, they gave it a mini-story.

When I read the blogs of others there are so many stories out there. Often what I read is obviously something that the writer has either told or heard numerous times. Oral story being preserved in the written form. I read the words aloud to my family and a little later I overhear one of them retelling it over the phone to one of their friends. Yes, it has changed a little, much like the stories of the secondhand lions. How much of the story is what actually happened and how much of it is what all players wished happened? How much of it is colored for a better effect, or a worse one? Would the original cast recognize their roles?

The beauty of the word and how it caresses the idea giving the creator the opportunity to communicate love, anger, joy, sadness, ecstasy, despair is one of the most important things that a parent, mentor, can give to a child.

Good-By Ha, Hello Fast

2008-03-02T12:29:00.000-08:00

Let the days in excess of the months be placed before the month of fasting. We have ordained that these, amid all nights and days, shall be the manifestations of the letter Ha, and thus they have not been bounded by the limits of the year and its months. It behoveth the people of Baha, throughout these days, to provide good cheer for themselves, their kindred and, beyond them, the poor and needy, and with joy and exultation to hail and glorify their Lord, to sing His praise and magnify His Name; and when they end -- these days of giving that precede the season of restraint -- let them enter upon the Fast. (Baha'u'llah, Synopsis and Codification of the Kitab-i-Aqdas, p. 13)

Fasting and obligatory prayer constitute the two pillars that sustain the revealed Law of God. Bahá'u'lláh in one of His Tablets affirms that He has revealed the laws of obligatory prayer and fasting so that through them the believers may draw nigh unto God. Shoghi Effendi indicates that the fasting period, which involves complete abstention from food and drink from sunrise till sunset, is ...essentially a period of meditation and prayer, of spiritual recuperation, during which the believer must strive to make the necessary readjustments in his inner life, and to refresh and reinvigorate the spiritual forces latent in his soul. Its significance and purpose are, therefore, fundamentally spiritual in character. Fasting is symbolic, and a reminder of abstinence from selfish and carnal desires. (The Kitab-i-Aqdas, p. 176)

The above is in answer to friends' questions regarding why Bahá'ís fast. Personally, I love this time of year. The prayers for fasting bring me peace, make me think, contemplate what I am presently doing, what I want to be doing, is it in accordance with being a Bahá'í and what does "being a Bahá'í" mean?

Totally opening my mind to possibilities, which at times can be quite terrifying and others reassuring. It is a time to free oneself from the mistakes of the past year, while reaffirming what went right. Acknowledging debts owed, making plans for repayment. Understanding why things went wrong, how things went right. Puzzling about things and comprehending that, yet again, it may remain unresolved. Taking one step closer to just being.

Physically, I become more conscious of the day. I am up before the dawn and watch the sun rise with my morning prayers, I say my evening prayers with the sun going down. I am much more aware that spring is upon us and our daylight hours are growing longer. Nature and my spirit both seem to unfold at the same time, a little bit more each day. I am reminded that it does not happen all at once, but by degrees. Sometimes so slowly that unless I am looking for it, I don't even realize it is happening.

My First Rant

2008-02-24T23:55:00.000-08:00

Intrigued by the rant posts of others' blogs, I have decided to do my own rant.

I hate that:

I am so damn stubborn I waste hours, days and weeks on a line of thought that could easily be resolved by looking at it from someone else's point of view.

Eight times out of ten my husband, mother, father, child or grandchild is correct in the argument and I am, gulp, wrong.

I take an offense when none is intended, am offensive when I don't intend to be, try to offend and no one notices.

Am, apparently, able to write on multiple forums without any conscience knowledge of doing so.

Write my best pieces about an hour before I wake and forget them within three minutes of rising.

I most often forget to thank those who deserve to be thanked the most.

Generally forget to give more than I receive.

There are so many in this county who do so much more than I do to make this community a better place to live in. I should appreciate what they do, instead of griping about what they don't do.

So many living so very near by have so much less and I still consume too much, recycle too little, overspend and under save.

Whatever the December storm taught me, I have forgotten too soon.

In most people I dislike, I see some part of myself.

Hold Me 'Bika

2008-02-20T23:44:00.000-08:00

The sound of an umbrella unfurling over my head wakens me. As my eyes peel open a little voice lisps, "'Amorning, 'Bika!" "Good morning baby, Allah-u-abha," I murmur back. I stare up at the umbrella. It is black with swirls of red through it, looking like waves of fire. He is twirling it over my head as he unsteadily settles next to me. It is a large umbrella, old fashioned with a wooden handle, and as one of the spokes plunges towards my eye I put my hand out to grab it. "How did he manage to get this into bed without gouging my eye out?" I think. "Baby, why do we have an umbrella in bed with us?" I inquire. "It maybes going to rain, I think," he says. His voice is fuzzy and I look over at him. His cheeks are very rosy and his normally sunny blue eyes are stormy gray. "How do you feel, baby boy?" "'Bika, I don't feel good. My back's mad at me. It's hurting me." "Can we close the umbrella?" I ask. "Oh, sure, sure!" he says. It's his new saying for the month. "Oh, sure, sure," and he pats the air reassuringly. I wonder which one of us he has picked that up from. Such a small baby boy, my grandson. What was it, day before yesterday when my baby boy was just as small?

"'Bika, can you hold me?" "Sure, sure," I say, not quite certain if I picked it up from him or vice-versa, at this point. He snuggles in next to me and lays his head on my chest. He is so warm. I rub his back. Yesterday my other baby, this one's twenty-four year old uncle, had stopped by to play a game. It was his day off and he had asked if him and I could spend some time together and play, "Axis and Allies." He hadn't had time for his old mom in quite a while so though I had a jazillion writing assignments to research and finish I knew these opportunities don't come often so I thought, "What can a little game hurt?" Nine hours later I told him I just didn't have it in me to try to defeat Japan and Germany any longer. Sorry, World War Two must end in a stalemate." He said he had grown tired of the game two hours earlier but thought I was enjoying it so didn't want to ruin my fun!

Throughout the whole game Kaden had to be entertained with various side games. We all play with his stuffed animals with him and use different voices so he is doing that now. As the day progressed he went from happy boy to grumpy boy to whiney boy. Then to quiet boy. That's when, "'Bika, hold me," became his mantra. "Can you hold me, now, 'Bika?" So I would take him up and roll dice or move my "army" with one hand while holding him to my chest, rocking and and making sushy noises. The older boy, who was this small it seems, what, just yesterday(?) and now could easily hold me, patiently explained for the hundredth time why I couldn't attack one of his countries since my planes weren't strong enough to fly back to safe territory. Men play by too many rules! No wonder they don't like women in wars. So, I say, my planes are kamikaze. He protests, You aren't Japan and kamikaze aren't in the rules, anyways. So, I say, my pilots have parachutes and they are meeting up with the Resistance after they bomb and bail out of their crippled planes. And he protests, Moooommmm! So, I say, Okay, okay! Sure, sure, have it your way.

"'Bika, can you hold me?" I look down into those eyes. I have stories that need to be completed. I have research that needs to be done. I look over at my son, who, just hours ago, was this tiny and small. "Yes, 'Bika can hold you baby." I scoop him up and hold him. Too soon he will be too big to hold. Too soon he won't have the time for me. Too soon, it will be tomorrow and the day after. I will take this moment in time and treasure it. "Yes, baby, yes, 'Bika can hold you."