Will A Religious Center Consecrate or Desecrate America?

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!

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

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

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

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

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!

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 ....)

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

"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)

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"

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

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

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