Bicycles and Sewing Machines

Imagine that you don't live in some comfortable suburb or city in America.

Imagine that you were born in a country with extreme poverty.

Imagine that your house looks like this:



Imagine that you are a young girl born into a family of 9 other children.

Imagine that your father has TB and your mother has no method of feeding the family today.



Now imagine you are the mother and you have no idea how you are going to feed your children TODAY, much less tomorrow or next week.

You are desperate. What would you do? How far would you go to be able to simply feed your family?

Then imagine that there is a way for your family to eat. There is quick cash to be had, enough to feed your family a long time.

Someone offers to buy something from you. The only valuable asset you own.

Your daughter.

Sitting in my lazy boy, watching TV, keeping out of the heat by running the air conditioning, it is SO incredibly easy to judge.

No way in hell, right?

But.....I know I have enough food in my house to eat for weeks if I had to. I don't have an entire family wondering how I will feed them.

I'd really like to judge a mother who would make that choice, but God knows I have absolutely no right to judge anyone. Well, EXCEPT for the evil one who wants to buy the girl and the even more evil pedophiles who will travel halfway around the world to have sex with a little girl.

My family's interest in Cambodia began just a few years ago when my nephew and some of his international friends decided to visit Thailand and Cambodia on vacation.

While the group was there, they pooled their money together and bought several supplies and toys and delivered them to a children's hospital. The Administrator was from Rhode Island and was extremely grateful for the badly needed supplies.

The next year I received a snail mail letter from a very good friend of mine who said she was going to Cambodia on a mission trip to visit a place called Rapha House.

Rapha House provides shelter for young girls who have been rescued from the perverted sex trade industry that is prevalent throughout Cambodia.

We, as a family, decided we would pull together some "loose change" to send along with Debbie and the group. I delivered $300 in cash to her just a couple days before she was leaving. She asked me what my family wanted her to do with it.

I told her that we were not putting any restrictions on the money. We trusted that God would direct her in how it should be spent. And that He did.

While there she was talking with Stephanie Freed, the Director of Rapha House along with the staff. They told her that education was difficult in Cambodia. Most young girls do not go on to the 8th grade. Not having been told that Debbie had some uncommitted cash along, Stephanie told Debbie that they teachers had been going through training about how to incent the young girls to continue their education.

Apparently having a bicycle is not only a means of transportation, but a status symbol. The training had discussed how using incentives could persuade some girls to continue on to the 8th grade. Rapha House had decided that they would promise the girls at the end of 7th grade they would be provided bicycles if they continued their education. Stephanie explained they didn't yet know how they would afford the bicycles, but that was the plan.

Debbie asked how many they needed. Five. Then she asked how much they cost. $50. Debbie looks over at her daughter who had accompanied on her trip. She thought, "Five bicycles and one to sit in the hall of Rapha House as a reminder for the next year's class."

It was then that she told Stephanie about the $300 in cash.

And so began what our family calls The Cambodia Bicycle Club.

After Debbie returned and told us about what became of our small contribution, we decided that we, as a family could easily support this on a continuing basis. So, whenever we get together, we have a small bag with a brass bicycle ornament where anyone can toss in some extra dollars throughout the year. The amounts really are very small and yet can make a big difference in the lives of a few girls each year.

Fast forward to a few months ago.

Debbie's husband, who swore he would never go on a mission trip felt called to go this year.

Again, we pooled our money together, separate from the Bicycle Club and sent Clint on his way with an extra $300 in cash.

There he met the mother I referred to above. It's a family at risk of feeling forced to sell their young daughter into the sex trade industry so the rest of the family could simply have food.

The host family he was staying with explained you cannot simply hand the family money. The real problem is the lack of ability to be able to support themselves.

As they say, "....Teach a man to fish..."

They explained that if the mother had access to a sewing machine, she could make a living and support her family.


Sewing machine. $250.
Supplies. $ 50.

So Clint knew exactly where the $300 was to go.

They bought the sewing machine, putting it in the host's family's house to keep it from being sold or stolen.

Here is the mother from the story above.

$300. That's all it was. $20 here and there out of our spare change while we sit in our comfortable houses.

We don't even notice the little bit of cash each of us contributed.

But someone in Cambodia does. One woman will be able to feed her family.

And at least one little girl won't be sold to the sex trade industry.

My House is on Fire, But Don't Come Over

Last night, Mom calls my sister, who literally lives 90 seconds away.

"My house is on fire, but don't come over."

OK, who in their right mind would say, "Ok, talk to you later, mom."? Obviously my sister and brother-in-law went right over.


Mom was out on her large covered back porch when the lightning struck. Not realizing the roof/antenna was actually hit, mom was not aware the fire was smoldered in the attic for a few hours.
Luckily a neighbor noticed that her roof "looked hot" around 7 or so and went over to tell her.


Some electrical damage, carpet burnt where a hot outlet "popped out" of the socket and still assessing the damage to all of the electronics and appliances. House intact, as is Mom, thank God.


Yes, she was very lucky. That morning a guy I work with got a call that his house was on fire from lightning from the same storm, destroying the entire thing.

Crazy storms throughout Indiana yesterday.

Losing My Husband

We've been married 18 years.

And yet, in one short weekend he fell for another girl.

Oh, it was so obvious from the moment he saw her. No one could mistake that look.

She's used to wrapping men around her little finger. At first she tried to play hard to get. And she even started out getting me to participate in her little scheme of capturing my husband's heart.

She whispers in my ear, "Tell Michael I'm afraid of vacuum cleaners."

I was confused, there was no Michael (yet) in the house. I said, "Who's Michael?" She points her tiny fingers at Bob.

I said, "That's not Michael, that's your new Uncle Bobby."

She whispers again,, "Tell Uncle Bobby I'm afraid of vacuum cleaners." I told him, even though there were no vacuum cleaners in sight and I'm not sure why that tidbit was important.

Yes, he fell in love, actually with two girls. As did I.

I mean, do you know anyone who couldn't fall in love with this smile?

Or these eyes?

Yeah, I lost my husband this weekend. Two sweet precious girls stole his heart away while I was distracted with them stealing mine.

Life is Good

Ahhhh, sitting here with the windows open. The smell of newly mown grass fills the air. Temps in the mid 70's, no humidity ( which is SO rare this time of year). Just had a wonderful dinner with my precious grandbabies. Can it get any better than this? I would never have guessed that it could.

A year and a half ago I was at a women's retreat and the one phrase that struck me through and through was this, "God can change the unchangeable." I wasn't sure about that then.

But I am now.

I Know Someone Who's Been There

Yes, I do know someone who's been there.....and back again. His story left me with chills. I'll relate it another time.





And this one. For all those who are now experiencing painful painful grief.

Third Day - Cry out to Jesus
by ramus311

A Special Kind of Stupid

Ok, you can call me heartless, but this was my first (and ultimately only) thought when I read this today:

A Swedish couple seeking the golden beaches of the Italian island of Capri were disappointed when their GPS navigation system led them 400 miles off course, landing them instead in the industrial northern town of Carpi.

"Capri is an island. They did not even wonder why they didn't cross any bridge or take any boat," said a bemused tourism official in Carpi.

Ummmm. They wanted to DRIVE from Venice to the Isle of Capri.

Now, maybe I just find this INcredible because of my recent trip to Italy, but wouldn't you at least think that maybe you would have a slight clue as to whether you COULD actually DRIVE to your destination?

OK, find Venice on the northern Adriatic sea side. See that small dot off of Naples? Just south of that is the Isle of Capri.

Carpi? Find Bologna (just south west of Venice) and then go north west.

Now granted, they were at least at some point heading in the direction of Capri and I'll concede that driving through Italy can be crazy.

BUT, 2 hours to get to Carpi and 7 hours to get to Naples?

OK, I either have to assume they are really really directionally challenged, or they are just free spirits who got in a car with a GPS and said, "HEY, let's just take a road trip, how about Capri?" Completely unplanned, never researched, never looking at a map of Italy.

Sounds really liberating being such free spirits. Either that or they are just plain stupid.

Ummm, sister-of-mine. Maybe you shouldn't read this post since you just followed me and Beej around wherever we led you. Even when we got turned around walking in Rome and you knew we were going in the wrong direction, but you just figured we knew where we were going.

A Great Punch for the History Books

Give one from me Buzz! OH, this is NICE. Youtube must have deleted this video. Unbelievable!!!!!!



Well here's one they haven't yet removed. YET!

Backyard Menace

He glared at me.

I stood my ground. No, sorry about your luck bud, but you don't scare me.

Then he came even closer.

I said outloud, "Hey, I have a right to be here. This is my deck."

I swear I almost heard him say, "Yeah, but it's MY sky."

Touche.

Cougar

Just saw this one while watching Mecum Auto Auction. Hilarious!

Cougar - Hagerty Classic Insurance - Watch more amazing videos here

Two Feet of Real Estate

I get up early on Saturday mornings to go to the local farmer's market. It used to have 20 or so stalls by all the local farmers. One couple always attracts a huge crowd because they grow Ambrosia. Never heard of it? Here it is:

OK, where's the butter? I'm sooo hungry now.

Of course it's too early for corn yet. It's been a cool spring and summer here and it's too early even for the tomatoes.

We lived on five acres growing up. Dad always planted a huge garden. Even though he hated tomatoes, he would begin planting dozens of tomato seeds every February. I never smell a tomato plant (yes they DO smell) without thinking about him. I've even considered a time or two about planting one by his grave, but the thought of digging in a graveyard is a little too Stephen King for me.

Beginning this time of year, we only had to step a few feet outside and bring in fresh corn, tomatoes, green beans, those nasty things we used to call mangoes, but are now considered to be green peppers. We may not have had alot growing up, but we ate well, especially in the summer.

Although my friends tell me I now live in the country, I know better. I live in a rural suburb where everyone has an acre or two. OK, there ARE cows behind us, but that still doesn't count.

I miss having a garden, but it's nice at least being able to buy locally grown fruits and vegetables. The farmers market was normally packed and you have to go right at the time they open or the best things will be gone.

Politics ended up getting in the middle of the market this year. Apparently the "downtown" restaurants began to complain because some began selling breads and homemade foods. So they ended up splitting the market. Most went to the fairgrounds, which allowed the food. So far only two have shown up in the downtown area and there is no crowd.

I spoke with the older couple that will sell the Ambrosia when it's ripe. Apparently they would have had to pay rent at the fairgrounds, a tidy sum. Hey, I'm gonna follow the Ambrosia guy, no matter where he goes.

I do have a bit of "land" where I can always grow tomatoes. It gets messy because Bob puts the tomato cages up in the attic and by the time he gets around to getting them for me, it's too late. Last weekend he said, "Oh yeah, I'll get those cages for you." I said, "Are you crazy? You can't put tomato cages on these things now." Although that is EXACTLY what he did to my poor tomato plants last year.

I didn't mention that Bob doesn't like tomatoes either, did I?

So, he grouses about the tomato plants because this is the BEST place they grow.




THIS is my two feet of gardening real estate. Guess he should have gotten the cages out when I asked, huh?

I decided to just plant cherry tomatoes this year. Every night I come home and there are just a handful that are ripe. When I was a kid, I would have just plopped them in my mouth out in the garden. Now, instead I wait until I've washed them off.

Which leads me to my "Bob's a City Slicker" story. About ten years ago, some of our neighbor friends lived around the corner and always had a huge garden. We had taken some plastic bags and I went to pick some green beans. I told Bob to get some of the corn a few rows over.

A couple minutes later he comes up and says, "I think something's wrong, this corn doesn't look right."

There he was, holding a pristine white-silked baby ear of corn.

I was appalled.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

He had picked the second ear on the stalk. How could he not know that? He seems to know how to do everything else, but getting around in a garden? Not so much.

I threw the tiny, wasted ear of corn down and said, "Get out of the garden, you City Slicker."

Geez.

When Did This Happen?

Staying up too late again tonight.

And in the middle of watching too much TV and reading too much online, there is Lee Majors. Remember him?

It was a Lee Majors Hearing Aid commercial. Let me tell you, if I could have found an accurate picture of him on the commercial I would have posted it. All I can say is the commercial makes the pic below look like it was taken 30 years ago.

High School Reunions

I've only attended one. Don't ask me why I even went then.

I was incredibly shy when I was a kid and I had kept in touch with the only person from high school that I really wanted to, but for some strange reason when my 10 year reunion came around I decided to go.

I had long since shed my shyness, had plenty of friends and a fairly successful career. Maybe I just wanted to prove that, I don't know.

My best friend from school and I decided we would attend together without our (then) husbands. They would be bored anyway, so why drag them along.

So I figure we'll go, maybe meet up with a few old friends and have a good time.

But, the minute I walked in the door, some weird, unexplainable thing happened. The person I had become in the last ten years went "poof" and I was instantly transported back into the misery of high school. I had no clue what to say to anyone, I felt stupid, ugly and unpopular.

First off, they have name tags for each of us. AND, the tags included our high school senior picture. Let's put it this way, I didn't "peak" in the looks department when I was in high school. So, at 28, my senior picture was not something I wanted to wearing around on my chest all night. I found some kind of sticker and placed it directly over the picture leaving my name. I knew that some of my old friends would no longer recognize me, but they would remember my name.

Then I spotted a girl I recognized. In high school Shirley had the most unruly hair, thick glasses and if it was possible, was less popular than I was. I remembered her, I remembered being friendly to her when everyone else was really not very nice at all. Ten years later, she hadn't exactly turned from the ugly duckling into a swan, but she had controlled her hair a bit.

Now I expected the "popular" kids to ignore me, not know who I was and not care. But Shirley walks up with this haughty air about her. It was so obvious she was there to make a new impression on everyone and I suppose she was going to start with me. I said, "Hi Shirley." She looks down her nose at me, God knows why and checks out my name tag. I'm thinking, OK fine, we were never really friends, but honest to God, I was about the only person who spoke to this girl in high school.

With my picture covered, she repeats my full name, as if she was trying to recall who I was. I wasn't going to lose any sleep over Shirley not remembering me, so I just stood there looking at her. Then she repeats my name again.

And she says in the loftiest tone ever, "I don't remember you. What were you involved in?"

I had had enough. I looked straight at her and said, "Not a DAMNED thing" and walked off.

The rest of the night I met up with a few old friends and laughed to myself watching the fading popular kids trying to impress each other and people like Shirley still trying to impress everyone else.

Thank God the rest of life isn't like high school. People who know me now never believe I was shy. And I NEVER show them my senior picture.

And I've never felt the need to go to any reunion since. No one would know me anyway, including myself.

Whatever Grandma

I'm sure from the way I talk about my grandkids, most people would assume I'm a big pushover. So yeah, I let them play in the water or make a mess in the house or sometimes stay up later than they should, but that's the priviledge of being a grandparent, isn't it?

But I doubt my grandson would agree that I'm a pushover. I'm from the old school, so I was raised by being whacked a time or two by my parents and it didn't kill me. I knew not to push too many buttons, so I didn't get spanked very often. My brother Mark, well, he just wasn't smart enough to know when to shut up, so he may have a different opinion about the spanking thing than I do.

For the most part, when my grandson was a toddler, I could just tell him no and he was fine. When he was about 18 months old, he threw a tiny hissy fit and threw one of his John Deere toys. I decided it was time to try out the "time out" process. If it didn't work, I would know fairly quickly, but if it did work, that was even better.

We were in the garage with 47 toy John Deere tractors and trucks around us and I said something that must have made him mad. He picked up one of the trucks and threw it across the room. When I told him to pick it up, he just gave me a look.

Since we were in the garage and the corners were all packed I couldn't make him stand in the corner, I said, "OK, now you're going to have to stand by the wall." I picked him up and placed him within a foot of the only bare garage wall. At 18 months, he didn't get it at first. I stood behind him, so my legs could block him from walking away. When he realized he wasn't going anywhere and this "standing by the wall" was punishment he began to cry. It broke my heart, but I knew if we didn't start off establishing what was acceptable in our house and what wasn't, we'd be in big trouble later.

A couple minutes later, I lifted him up and hugged him and told him that we would not allow him to throw his toys. He held on to me for a while, then went over and picked up the toy.

So, we've rarely had to make him "stand by the wall" in the years since. He knows the rules. Shortly after that experiment, Bob was saying something silly to him. He rolled his head around and said in a funny deep voice, "Bop! You need to stand by the wall."

When he was about 3, he began to attend a day care. Until that time, he was watched by another grandmother and I got to watch him on Fridays. Within a short period of time I noticed he began to use a bit of snotty tone to his voice. Snotty tones are a pet peeve of mine and I was not happy to hear it coming from my sweet precious grandson.

I decided to wait until we were playing with his toys and we were just talking about things. Then I asked him if he knew what "tone of voice" meant. He was a sponge during these kinds of times when it appeared he was too deep in playing but I knew this was the best way to get my point across. So I asked him if he could tell the difference between when I said, "No." and when I said, "NNNNOOO" With the second No, he looked up at me very quickly. It got his attention. I said, "Did you tell the difference? Didn't it feel different to you by the way I said the same word?" He agreed. I told him that was called a "tone of voice" and by using a different tone, it leaves a different feeling. It was obvious he got it and I deliberately did not go ahead and bring up times when his tone was bad. I thought it best to wait until the next time and then remind him of our discussion. A time or two of that quelches alot of arguments.

It worked like a charm and years later still does. A few months back he didn't agree with what I had said and he had just the slightest aggravation to his voice. I just turned around to look at him. I didn't need to say anything. HE looked at me and smiled and said, "TONE". So he knew. I then laughed as did he. And there was no more tone to the discussion. It was nice that he recognized it right away.

But the biggie, at least to me was when he was around three. He was sitting at the bar in our kitchen and I was getting him something to eat. He wasn't being very cooperative and I called him on it, maybe I even threatened the "wall". His reaction surprised me. He cocked up his hand toward my face and said the dreaded word. "WHATEVER!" Ok, the one-two knockout of whatever plus the hand......

Oh no, that was simply not going to fly. He knew he had stepped over the line right away,, he hopped off the bar stool and went running. Luckily I was still able to catch up to him, while saying he was going to be standing by the wall. When I reached him, I picked him up by both arms and brought him up to my face and first said , "HEY" with TONE. He looked me in the face and he just burst out crying. He's not a cryer, so I know these are real tears. It was obvious to me that I was not going to accomplish anything at that time by making him doing the "dreaded" wall stance. He was crying like I had thrown him across the room. I just had to hug him. Tightly. Grandma caved, but I said, "Look, I love you, but you cannot talk to me like that. I don't talk to you like that, Papaw doesn't talk to you like that and we don't allow people here to talk like that." He hugged me tight and his crying began to stop. I gave him another "I Love You But" sentences and then we were off playing again.

It was funny from then on though. The "Whatever" had become such a part of his speech back then that even he didn't realize how often he would say it. For the next few hours he would start to say, "What...e.........are you doing?" Kids are pretty darn smart about what they can get away with and where. I don't think he's ever said "Whatever" to me since.

And so I have become a believer in the "standing by the wall" process. I doubt it works for all kids, but it's been easy with the grandkids.

Last month his little sister got her first experience of the standing by the wall. She threw chalk down in the garage. I told her that was not nice and to go pick it up. Well, she's her own child so she proceeded to stick out her lip, folded her arms and just stood there. I told her twice and then told her that she would have to stand by the wall. No change. It was a standoff. She's a bit more of her own personality than that of her brother. We don't have her as often as we did her brother, so maybe she thought I was a pushover.

I literally walked her over to the chalk and she still just kept her arms folded. I took her arm and moved it toward the chalk. NOPE, she deliberately left her hand in a fist. OK, garage wall here we come. She cried right away and I let her cry.

In the meantime her brother is dancing around like a Native American laughing at her standing by the wall. I warned him that he would be next if he didn't stop, but I stiffled a laugh at his antics. After a couple minutes I stooped by her and asked her to go pick up the chalk. Nope. OK, another couple minutes while her brother and I continued to play games in the garage, ignoring her crocodile tears. I said again, "Now are you ready to pick up the chalk?" "yes" So, over she went, picked up the chalk and we all went back to playing normally. She wasn't happy about not winning the standoff, but she was fine a minute or two later.

Honestly the chalk think wasn't a big deal, but I knew from her stance that she thought she would get away with anything at Grandma and Papaw's house and I felt it was time for her to learn that there are rules at our house and there are consequences when she breaks them.

I gotta tell you, it's easy when they visit. They don't question us when we tell them to do stuff. That's not to say they still aren't kids and they still don't pull our strings occasionally. We don't want Stepford kids after all. But we don't have a couple of bratty kids with nasty tones running the house when they are here. All four of us enjoy our time together since we don't have to spend our time now doling out punishment every 5 mintues and we're also not overrun by bratty kids to rule the house.

And as a side benefit, I use "TONE" at work. It's a joke of course, I explained it was what I said to my grandson and when someone's getting a little irritated having to explain something to me mostly as a joke, the "tone" drifts into the conversation. I just say "TONE" (which is now being picked up by everyone else directed back at me) and everyone laughs and it breaks the tension and gets the "toner" to readjust the discussion. I even had someone IM me "TONE" when I asked why they had done something. I IMexplained "WHY?" was tone, "why?" was not. It's quite entertaining to the entire group.

How many do you remember?

Chalk Boards

Mimeograph

Three Channels

Jiffy Pop

Mr. Misty's

Adding Machines

Carbon Paper

White Out

TelStar

Sputnik

1968 assassinations

Hot Wheels Tracks

Real doctor's house calls

Home Ec

Workshop

KoolAid

Jump Rope

Hop Scotch

Dirt Clods

Movie Cameras

Brownie Cameras

Popping the bubbles in the hot asphalt with your bike tires.

Kick The Can

Crack the Whip

Paper Dolls

Green Ghost Game

Johnny Quest Game

Mr. Potato Head

Silly Putty

Etch a Sketch

Transistor Radios

AM Stations

Lost in Space

Car 54 Where are You

Branded

Betsy McCall

Sparkledy Paints

Perry Mason

Alfred Hitchcock

Lindner's Ice Cream - Hmmm, Hot Fudge Pecan Ball

Jerry's Restaurant

Jump Ropes

The Beehive

Pete Steffey's

Effie's

Moon Walk - NOT Michael Jackson's

Tilt a Whirl

Detasselling corn

Bailin' hay

Mini Bikes

Sloppin' the hogs

Stokin' the coal furnace

Hippy Vans

VW Beatle

Kent State

Sea Monkeys

Hula Hoops

Francie Dolls legs bend

headlight buttons on the floor

push button transmissions

6 pack decorations

swag lamps

perculators

Lilies of the Field

Room 222

That Darned Cat

The Flying Nun

metal ring horns on the steering wheel

lightning bugs

Console TVs

Black and White TV

Twiggy

Mod Squad

Pixie Cut hairdos

Clip on earrings

Cracker Jack prizes

Chocola

Pixie Stix

jacks

Magic Rocks

Nutter Butter

Tang

Peanut Butter and Marshmellow Cream

Manual typewriters with a carriage return bar

Glass Milk Jugs delivered by the Milk Man, packed in ice in the summer

Wood panelled walls

Cardboard fireplaces for Christmas

Real lead icycles for Christmas

Playing in the sprinkler on hot summer days

Snapping bushels of fresh green beans under a shade tree

Finding bushels of morel mushrooms in May

Laying in the back window of the car on road trips

American Bandstand

Haley Mills

Mr. French

Paul Dixon

Ruth Lyons

Party line phones

Falstaff

Double Cola

That Was the House That Jack Built

Farm Life

Just a short few years back, some little boy I'm related to (and won't name names) drew this for his class. And no, it was not my grandson.

This little guy is smart and his family farms (obvious from the picture). His mother posted this on our family website with the description:

I about CRIED with PRIDE when he brought this home from school today. It is supposed to read, "A cow standing on another cow's back." I just hope his teacher remembers this picture for parent-teacher conferences!


His aunt added this as a comment:

OH MY GOD!!! He told me about this the other day when I picked him up. I was trying to figure out what he was trying to tell me. He just kept saying that this kid in his class told him that it wasn't possible for a cow to stand on another cows back. And he told the kid it was possible and that he saw a cow on another cows back before!!! I was kinda cracking up then, but then he said "... what would you say if I told you that a cow can stand on another cows back whould you believe me?" I was just trying so hard not to laugh and I said yes I would believe you. I had no idea he was going to draw a picture of it!!!!!:-O

I dredged this story up again tonight because I needed a good laugh. How 'bout you?

A Feel Good Movie

I few years back we joined one of those DVD clubs. We don't buy alot, just enough to get the 5 or 6 for a penny and then enough to fulfull the obligation and then quit.

Anyway, I had ordered several movies. One that got good reviews and had one of the most amazing kid actors and was recommended by my sister.

I put the DVD in and Bob asks, "What kind of movie is this?"

I said, "I don't know, I think it's one of those 'feel good' movies."

It caught our interest right away.

Excellent movie.

But.

Feel good?

By the end I was literally sobbing out loud like a little girl.

One of best movies ever, but Pay It Forward is NOT a feel good movie. But then again, I have to admit, I'm a sucker for a movie that makes me cry.

Wait. I have to stop now. It's on TV now and I need to find a heavy duty Kleenex.

I don't get my heroes from Hollywood

I'm having to avoid all the normal tv channels tonight because I have no interest in watching hundreds of people stand outside of a hospital where a pathetically sick, but talented man died today.

Michael Jackson is not a hero. But I've found a story where there is one (or two).

A Soldier's Salute

I "stole" this video from The Bronze Blog. I cannot add any words, none are sufficient. Except what I noticed at 9:32 and 10:25. I wish all of America would appreciate our soldiers sacrifices like these good people in Georgia.

Don't Call Me Bill

Years and years ago, my sister and her husband went to buy a new car. They live in a very small town, so normally everyone would know who they are.

My brother-in-law, like my mother, has never gone by his first name. It just sounds weird when someone calls them by their first names and we never really think about it.

We still laugh about the time when they were looking at the cars and the salesguy didn't know them. He sees the name William on something and starts saying, "Bill, blah blah blah."

My brother-in-law was trying to explain to the guy he went by Leroy, his middle name, but it didn't come out right. Instead he said, "Don't call me Bill." The guy thought he should then call him by Mr. Surname.

So we still laugh about "Don't call me Bill". Leroy meant only to explain to the guy what to call him.

And I was only reminded of this story tonight when I read that some Congressional Staffer went Psycho crazy because some lobbyist was trying to set up a meeting and called her "Liz" and not "Elizabeth".

The poor lobbyist apologized SIX times, but Psycho Liz would not let it go.

And I'm pretty certain I have worked with Psycho Liz. However I was never as nice as the guy that tried to apologize. I remember working with a Psycho Liz at Bank One years ago. I could not for the life of me understand why she would get psycho over normal conversation and remember the morning that she "had to go home" because, although we knew we were going to be moving offices for weeks, no one had told her that it would be THAT DAY. She was so upset she left the office. I swear, it has to be the same crazy woman. Especially since the lobbyist was from JP Morgan Chase, who bought out Bank One. It's HER. I swear it's HER, she's out to get her revenge because Bank One made her move her office one morning.

You've worked with a Psycho Liz, haven't you? We all have.

Below is the hilarious exchange of emails:

From: XXX Sent: Friday, May 22, 2009 11:38 AM
To: Becton, Elizabeth
Subject: JPMC Meeting Request Elizabeth,

Attached is a meeting request for JP Morgan Chase who will be in DC June 3rd-4th and would like to request a brief meeting with the Congressman. Let me know if you need any additional information. Thank you! Best, XXX

From: XXX Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 5:05 PM
To: Becton, Elizabeth Subject:
RE: JPMC Meeting Request

Hi Liz, just checking in on whether the Congressman is available next week. [REDACTED] can confirm a meeting time for you - she is available at [REDACTED]. Thank you! Best, XXX

From: Becton, Elizabeth
Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 5:07 PM
To: XXX Subject:
RE: JPMC Meeting Request Importance: High

Who is Liz?

Elizabeth Becton Executive Assistant/Office Manager Office of Congressman Jim McDermott XXXX Longworth House Office Building Washington, DC 20515

From: XXX Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 5:07 PM
To: Becton, Elizabeth Subject:
RE: JPMC Meeting Request

Hi Elizabeth, I thought you went by Liz - apologies if that is incorrect. Best, XXX

From: Becton, Elizabeth
Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 5:08 PM
To: XXX Subject: RE: JPMC Meeting Request

I do not go by Liz. Where did you get your information?


Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 5:10 PM
To: Becton, Elizabeth Subject:
RE: JPMC Meeting Request
Hi Elizabeth,
I'm so sorry if I offended you! I thought you had gone by Liz at Potlatch, this was my mistake. Best, XXX

From: Becton, Elizabeth Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 5:11 PM
To: XXX Subject:
RE: JPMC Meeting Request

NEVER. I hate that name.

From: XXX Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 5:13 PM
To: Becton, Elizabeth Subject:
RE: JPMC Meeting Request
Hi Elizabeth, I'm so sorry if I offended you! I must have mis-heard. My mistake! Best, XX

From: Becton, Elizabeth Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 5:20 PM
To: XXX Subject:
RE: JPMC Meeting Request Importance: High

XXX: If I wanted you to call me by any other name, I would have offered that to you. I think it's rude when people don't even ask permission and take all sorts of liberties with your name. This is a real sore spot with me. My name has a lot of "nicknames" which I don't use. I use either my first name or my last name because I row with a lot of other women who share the same first name. Now, please do not ever call me by a nickname again. As for your meeting request, who is the point of contact for this meeting? If it's not you, then I need to know who because it's very time-consuming to deal with a lot of people for one meeting. Thanks,

From: XXX Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 5:23 PM
To: Becton, Elizabeth Subject:
RE: JPMC Meeting Request
Hi Elizabeth, I'm so sorry I offended you! My mistake! XXX can confirm a meeting time for you - she is available at XXX XXXX. Thank you! Best, XXX

From: XXX Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 5:33 PM
To: Becton, Elizabeth Subject:
RE: JPMC Meeting Request
Of course! Again, I am sincerely sorry for offending you. I must have mis-heard and it was in no way my intention to make you upset. I always enjoy working with you and seeing you at the WSS events J Best, XXX

From: Becton, Elizabeth Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 5:37 PM
To: XXX Subject:
RE: JPMC Meeting Request
Sounds like you got played by someone who KNOWS I hate that name and that it's a fast way to TICK me off. Who told you that I go by that name? They are not your friend...

From: XXX Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 5:38 PM
To: Becton, Elizabeth Subject:
RE: JPMC Meeting Request

Hi Elizabeth, Again, I am sincerely sorry for offending you. I don't want to cause trouble as I clearly must have mis-heard the person at Potlatch. It was in no way my intention to make you upset. Best, XXX

From: Becton, Elizabeth Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 5:41 PM
To: XXX Subject:
RE: JPMC Meeting Request Importance: High

I REALLY want to know who told you to call me that.

From:XXX Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 5:44 PM
To: Becton, Elizabeth Subject: RE: JPMC Meeting Request
Hi Elizabeth,
Again, I am sincerely sorry for offending you. I don't recall who I overheard. It was in no way my intention to make you upset. Best, XXX

From: Becton, Elizabeth Sent: Wednesday, May 27, 2009 6:04 PM To: XXX Subject: RE: JPMC Meeting Request

Let me put it this way, they don't know me and perhaps they were PRETENDING to know me better than they do and pretended that I go by Liz. They did YOU a disservice. In the future, you should be VERY careful about such things. People like to brag about their connections in DC. It's a past time for some. It's also dangerous to eaves drop, as you have just found out. Quit apologizing and never call me anything but Elizabeth again. Also, make sure you correct anyone who attempts to call me by any other name but Elizabeth. Are we clear on this? Like I said, it's a hot button for me. And please don't call the office and not leave a message. My colleague told me you called while I was away at the Ladies' room. I do sometimes leave my desk.


And if you think that's funny, you should read the comments left on the blogs. OMG. Liz will have to go in hiding now. Maybe she'll hide in the Ladies Room.

Life Lesson: Sometimes it's best just to say, "Don't call me Bill" and go on with your life.

Who Wears Short Shorts

I thought I heard him wrong. Surely I heard him wrong. I am 50 years old, no one would ask me this question, would they?

He asked, "Do you have a pair of booty shorts?" My head swung around and I said, "What?" I was sure he had said something else.

He said, "Do you have a pair of booty shorts?" I laughed, hard. I did not even want to imagine me in booty shorts, not even when I was young enough to wear them.

I said, "Do you know what booty shorts are?"

He said, "Yeah, they're the really short shorts" while he moved his hand to demonstrate how short they would be.

I laughed again.

I told him that no, I did not have any booty shorts.

But I was surprised by the question, especially since it came from my 7-year-old grandson.

Where do they pick that stuff up at that age?

My only comment here is that I cried when I read this.

Melissa's Ramblings: Etched In Stone

Courage in your beliefs

Twenty years ago today.

I'd like to believe that I would have this much courage, but for the life of me I cannot imagine what this guy was feeling at this point.

And I've always wondered what happened with the driver of the tank. I wonder what fate he suffered at the hands of his government because he refused to mow down one courageous dissident.

Families come in all shapes, sizes, colors and places - Updated

Over the course of my life I have learned each year how incredibly blessed I am to have such a wonderful family.

As a kid, you just simply can't appreciate the things that make it wonderful, but as I've been exposed to other family situations, I have found that we are actually very unique.

Growing up, we were like ordinary kids, arguing, fighting, etc. My brother Mark hated me. Took me until I was 13 to figure out that it was only because I took the "baby" title away from him when he was 4. Sorry Mark, I didn't have a whole lot of input in that, blame Mom and Dad.

Anyway each year we get closer and closer. I suppose we got all of our fighting and arguing out as kids.

And over the years our family keeps growing. Some are born into it, some are married into it, a couple of girls started out as my co-workers but have developed into daughters of my heart. I have a nephew that our family "married" when his mother married my brother, I have another "nephew" that my sister "adopted" when he was here from India getting his masters at Purdue. He and his wife have truely become family although he lives on the other side of the earth.

We are about to get two new members to our family. Most of us has not yet seen them, but a precious little miracle is about to occur in the lives of two little girls who were not as blessed as we were with growing up with loving caring parents. The oldest one is so excited she left a message for her new "mom". The message here has only been edited to leave my new niece's name private.

What I love most about my family is that none of us put restrictions on who we consider family. We don't bother with who has the actual family gene because we realize that those that don't have our "gene" have been given to us by God, not biology.

Congratulations to the new mom and dad. I can't wait to see my new two nieces. Go easy, it will be a big and wonderful adjustment which will enrich two little girls lives in ways that they cannot yet imagine.

UPDATED: The girls have been having "visits" this week with their new mom and dad. Looks like they will be moved permanently this weekend and they'll get their first visit from their new Grandma and Grandpa!!!!

Can't wait till Aunt Rita gets to see them. And I know I'll be their favorite aunt!!!!

PLAY BALL!

Batter was up and ready.

My grandson, playing second and the right fielder, mmmm, not so much.

Spare the Rod

Living out in the country.

What should you have to worry about? Especially in 1964.

Summertime comes and all four kids are out of school. With a handful of houses around, the kids run outside in the morning and you might see them for a bite for lunch and later when it gets dark. Checking on them now and then. Back in 1964 as now, there was daylight savings time, which meant dark was nearly 10 pm.

So, the kids go out to play in the morning. The oldest is 11, next 10, next 9 and then one five year old. Plenty of neighborhood kids around, all older than your youngest. Day after day, same routine. The kids play together in the yard, down at the "crick", run down to the neighborhood "cafe/restaurant", throw dirt clods in the fields, whatever it is that kids do in 1964.

But.

Somewhere along the way, the 5 year old doesn't seem to be around. Midday, 1, 2. Wait! Where IS she?

At first the panic doesn't set in. You know she's somewhere. Kids don't disappear.

Then you begin asking the other kids. They're clueless.

You keep looking. No where. And you realize that another girl is also missing. The neighbor girl who's 7 is missing too.

You look. You look. Don't panic. She's here somewhere. All the kids begin in the search.

Don't think about the "crick". DON'T think that she could be somewhere in the creek next to the house. The water is shallow. Well, it's shallow around by the house, but go east and it get deeper.

Everyone is looking everywhere. How long do they all look? Is it minutes or hours?

I can't tell you how long they looked.

All I know is that Robin and I sometime in the late morning made our way to her sister's trailer. It was parked way way in the back of her parent's property. Her oldest sister was married and she and her husband were away.

I don't remember going back to the trailer, only that we did. What I do remember is that Robin's sister had a big console color TV. I don't think we had ANY sized color TV back then. Robin made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

The only memory I have of the whole incident is sitting in front of that TV when my mother opened the door and grabbed my arm. I remember being lifted off of my feet and my mom yelling her head off about where I had been. I seem to remember a good "whoppen" on the way home too.

I cannot imagine her panicked state.

But I do remember she interrupted a good lunch and TV show. What was she thinking?

Sorry Mom.

Cambodia's Shame

The savage sex-trade industry in the country not only claims the lives of these young women, but thousand more starting at the ages that are shocking. Seven, eight, it doesn't matter to the evil people who kidnapped these girls. Sometimes their own parents sell them into the industry.

I received the article below in the mail today from Rapha House.

Four Girls Perish In Karaoke Bar Fire In Northwest Cambodia

Fire raged through a karaoke bar consuming the lives of four young women trapped inside. In this part of the world, karaoke bars are often fronts for brothels.

These four young women were prisoners behind a chained door preventing their escape or rescue. Now the charred ruins of this back alley nightclub starkly testify to the horror that took place there. Four lives were lost needlessly early Sunday morning, May 3, 2009.

Probably no western newspaper will pick up the story of the deaths of Hou Leak, 15; Srey Touch, 17; Srey Mao, 19; and Sambath. 22. Their passing is but a footnote to the endless parade of human suffering throughout the world. Things like this happen all the time.

We, however, shouldn’t let their story pass without further reflection. There’s the suggestion of something more sinister in this incident.

It’s not the cause of the fire that’s suspect. According to police sources, faulty electrical wiring is to blame. Nobody is suggesting that foul play contributed to the cause of the fire. But something about this case is troublesome.

The door to the girls’ room was chained. That chained door is troublesome. Certainly, the chance of the girls’ survival would have been improved had the door not been chained. And no one disputes the fact that the door was chained. Even the newspaper reports that the families might seek compensation from the club owner for his carelessness after they finish burying the remains of their daughters.

Now the club owner might plea his case by saying that he was only doing his part in keeping the girls safe by chaining the door. He might argue that the chains kept intruders out. But the chains did more than keep intruders out. They kept the girls in, and that’s why these four young women perished.

Four girls are dead because they couldn’t escape. In effect, they were prisoners. And word on the street says that’s exactly what they were. There’s a persistent rumor going around that they were part of a sex trafficking ring working out of Phnom Penh. That’s why these girls were held behind a chained door. They couldn’t escape even if they wanted to.

This tragedy is difficult for us at Rapha House. What makes this tragedy difficult for us is that we have a safehouse within a couple miles from where these girls perished. Help was that close. We would have gladly taken them in. We would have cared for them. We would have given them an opportunity for a better life. We would have done everything within our power to help them. But we didn’t know about these four girls.

It’s horrifying to think what the last moments of life was like for these four girls. We don’t want to imagine something as awful as that. But had the night passed without incident, what would life had been like for these four girls if they were part of a sex trafficking ring?

All over the world, young girls are kept behind chained doors only to greet another day of bondage. Help us to reach more girls before its too late for them.

Rapha House, P.O. Box 1569, Joplin, MO 64802-1569 • http://www.freedomforgirls.org/.

Venice

I didn't expect much. I don't know why, but I was expecting the least from Venice. We had chosen our itinerary carefully and I definitely wanted to see Venice, but I didn't expect to love it.

I had heard it was smelly and dirty. Ok, so I knew what to expect. Well, at least I thought I did.

We landed around 9:30 a.m. Brian had prepared notebooks for the trip which included all of our research, mostly his. Anyway, we were planning on buying a 72 hour vaporetti (think water bus)pass. We got our luggage at the airport, well Helen got our luggage. We were trying to keep Brian from using his newly-surgically-enhanced back. I was standing on one side and Helen on the other and the next thing I knew she was trying to wheel all of our bags.

Brian directed us to a stand in the airport which sold the vaporetti tickets. We got ours and got on the bus, which took us to the vaporetti area. Wheeling our luggage up to the water, we wanted to make sure we were taking the right vaporetti. First warning of Italy, there isn't alot of written information regarding their transit systems, from the vaporettis to the Trenitalia (the trains).

Helen and I stood by our luggage while Brian decided to go up to the overly crowded stand to see if he could find information about the vaporettis.

All of us were cautious on the trip, we had heard of too many stories of people trying to distract you to take off with your luggage, handbags, etc.

Brian had his backpack on and was standing in a crowd. He said there was some guy behind him that stood very close, so he kept looking back. Often.

It had been several minutes and I turned around to see if Brian was emerging from the crowd. Then I look up and I see, not Brian. But someone who looks exactly like my Indian nephew, Saumil. There's a huge crowd and I'm thinking, "Weird, that guy looks just like Saumil." Then I see his big grin. It WAS Saumil.

Saumil became part of my family when he was getting him MBA at Purdue several years ago. Helen had contacted him because of an issue she had for work and Saumil had written a book on Viruses. Over the years, he became her "son" and ergo, my nephew. Helen and Brian had gone off to India when he married and since then he and Brian have traveled all over the world. Saumil makes a visit to his Indiana home every so often.

At one point in our trip planning, Saumil and his wife talked about joining us. Unfortunately it had not worked out. He had kept up with our itinerary. He was at a conference in Amsterdam and was heading to Dubai, but had two nights that coincided with our time in Venice.

He hadn't told any of us. He had called the lady who owned our flat to get the address in case he didn't find us before that. He did. His plane flew in at another airport 20 minutes before ours. He figured he just might catch us at the vaporetti.

So Brian was standing in line and watching the people behind him when he gets a big slap on his back. He turned around and was shocked that Saumil was there.

It was the start of a perfect trip. Here's a pic of me and my two nephews enjoying Venice.

So, I hadn't expected to love Venice. But that is exactly what I did. It was wonderful.

We had been told to expect jet lag and to take a nap for 3 hours. Well, with Saumil's surprise, there was no way that was going to happen. Maybe Saumil is the cure for jetlag.

We took everything to the flat, which was right on a canal where we could watch gondola after gondola go right past our windows.

This is one of the first pictures I took from our window.

We started out immediately seeing all the sights. All I can say is that I was overwhelmed. Venice had such charm. The narrow pathways and numerous canal bridges. You can completely get lost and yet not be lost.

And, as I've made it more than clear, I hate to shop. But along all the streets were small, intimate shops where everything looked like it was asking to be taken home. I was fascinated. I really really wanted to buy an authentic Venetian mask, but I did not want to pay the shipping cost and I knew I would have to carry it over the next 16 days and not damage it.

The next morning we were awoken by the serenading of an accordian player taking a ride with some tourist on a gondola. I wanna have that kind of "alarm clock" every morning.

Saumil has friends all over the world and the next morning he had arranged for two of Italian friends to provide us some tours. This is me, Saumil, Andrea, Danieli, Helen and Brian in Murano.

Murano is an island off of Venice that is world-known for it's glass. It was such a quaint gorgeous place. And it was fun having Italian escorts as we made our way through the town.

In short, Venice was nothing like I expected. It was not dirty or smelly. It was wonderfully enchanting. St. Mark's Basilica was the highlight. Well, except for being surprised before we even set foot in Venice.

Don't it make you want to pull your hair out?

Sometime yesterday, our internet connection quit working.

I tried a couple of things and had a party to go so I waited until this morning to call Comcast.

I took my laptop upstair next to the desktop. Neither could get a connection. I called Comcast and she had me hook up the laptop directly to the modem. Here's where I thought something had to have changed at Comcast.

My laptop did not connect.

She said, "Wait, with new equipment, I need to reset your modem." Ok, wait a couple minutes and my laptop connect. She said, "The problem is not with the connection. You need to contact your router support." I said, "I need a new router?" She said, "No, you need to contact your router support."

I heard "new router" anyway. But there was a reason she was telling me to contact my router support.

So I go buy a new NetGear router. It's a NetGear RangeMax Wireless Router. OK, please note the name of the product. We bought it at Best Buy.

I start to install it according to the directions, which were lacking to say the least. I get an internet connection to the desktop. Continuing on the "Installation For Dummies" path, I suddenly got an error. Restarted everything from the beginning. Nope. Then I went for the advanced path.

NetGear connected to their website, which sucks for support while you're setting up. I tried a couple of things, looked like I might be getting through, but didn't let me secure the network.

I start up the laptop, it finds the "unsecured" network. Fine. Then try to go to the internet through the laptop and no internet connection.

Then I call NetGear support.

I put off calling any type of computer support because they take forever and you end up with someone who has English as a second (and poor) language. It's more than frustrating as they run through their script. I had to ask him to repeat his questions numerous times and he finally said, "I need you to test the physical connection." I knew he was going to waste another hour of my time having me shut off modems and routers and computers when I already knew I had a "physical" connection. I was getting internet through the router, physically connected to the pc and modem. I finally just said, "Never mind, Never mind." and I hang up the phone.

I'm frustrated. I HATE having to do this stuff. I huff off downstairs and I complain to Bob, who's watching the Indy 500 Victory Banquet.

I go out to the garage to grab a drink and our home phone rings. No one calls on it anymore.

I pick up the "hard-wired" garage phone and I hear the same foreign voice. He said we got cut off. I forgot I called from the home phone and he must have redialed. I told him I did not want to waste my time when I knew I had a physical connection.

Then he was frustrated and told me that my brand new NetGear RangeMax Wireless Router was NOT a router, it was "an Access Point". What? He repeated it several times.

Now I was "physically connected" to the stupid phone in the garage. I cannot comprehend how he is telling me the wireless router I just bought is not a router. I yelled in the house to Bob to bring me the "wireless" phone. I took the phone and head upstairs and this guy keeps telling me I needed to buy a router to make the "Access Point" wireless router work. After reading off the box to him and tell him I just bought it from Best Buy AS a router he still tells me it's not a router.

Whatever.

I call up Best Buy's Geek Squad. I explain to the guy what the NetGear guy just said. He's perplexed, I'm sure, just like I was. He asks to put me on hold for a minute, comes back and said, "Well, when I asked my co-workers, they laughed."

I laughed.

Ok, Best Buy assures me the NetGear Wireless Router is a wireless router. But they can't help me other than saying it's not my internet connection and they can send a Geek Squad guy for $79 or $119 or $179 depending upon what I need. I decline even though I know I'll be frustrated most of the night.

So after Googling for 20 minutes or so I come across something called a MAC address on the pc. I don't have a MAC, so at first I think it doesn't apply. Then I read a couple solutions from normal geeks and it's a little confusing for some of us. I finally find enough information to read that sometimes the internet provider has implemented a security of one MAC address. THAT is why she reset it when I started the direct connection.

So the setting on the router had an obscure option of Default MAC address of the router or inherit the PC address. THAT's what I needed to do.

Ok, how many of those "techie" support lines had some knowledge of that? I wonder if that isn't what the Comcast support lady was saying, but why can't they just help you instead of sending you through a maze for hours hunting on your own.

Well, I guess maybe the NetGear guy wouldn't know it given that he thought my wireless router was not a router.

Memorial Day - Thank you Vets!

Faithful to the End

She's ready to go Home. You can see it in her eyes, although they don't work like they used to. She couldn't see us when we went to visit her last Thursday, but the minute she heard Bob's voice her face lit up and she said she was glad we came.

I stroked her arm while she whispered her words to me. She told me her father was waiting to come, but he was being blocked. She repeated it again. I asked her if she could see him. She said she had not seen him yet. But she knew he was wanting to come to her.

The first time she said it I thought she was confused. She's 98 and her heart is failing. They've said there is nothing else they can do for her.

The second time she said it, I was certain she was not confused. And I was pretty certain that she was talking about her Father, not her father.

Seventeen years ago I watched my father pass from this earth, holding his arm along with my mom, sister and two brothers. I still maintain it was the worst and the best week I have ever spent with my family. The last week of his life we all camped out at their house and took turns taking care of him. When one of us turned weak, another was strong. I remember one entire day just tuning out, watching movies in the other room. Everyone else took over and by the time night rolled around, I was strong again and stayed up with him all night, letting the others take a rest.

Dad had never been one of those fathers who knew how to express emotions to his kids. I don't remember him ever telling me he loved me until I was 32 years old and he was dying. It was just a couple weeks before that when I went to hug him that he had hugged me back. It just wasn't his way.

But the last week of his life all of that fell away. He repeated over and over how much he loved us and punctuating it with "always will" over and over until he would drift off to sleep.

So that night I stayed up with him, he was whispering to me. I could barely hear him, so I leaned in closer when he said, "so you can hear me." I leaned my head to his and I said, "I can hear you Dad." Then he didn't speak, he just leaned over and kissed my cheek. It was the second time he had done that. The previous day when he kissed my cheek, my mother cried, "Oh, he kissed her." I sat there for a few seconds then I had to run from the room because I knew I could not keep from seriously breaking down. A few minutes later my brother Mike came to check on me and made me laugh when he said that after I left he had said, "Poor Rita, she had ducky lips." You know, the kind where you are trying your hardest to keep from crying and can't. It was funny, we laughed. It was a welcome laugh, we had quite a few laughs and tears that week.

But the most amazing thing was when he would talk about the other people in the room. Many times he would look over to a wall or up to the ceiling and move his mouth as if he was talking. He told us that Kenneth was there. There had been two Kenneths in his life, his brother and his best friend who had married my mom's twin sister. Both of them had died several years before.

Another time he said his mother was there and he also said that God was talking to him. I have no doubt that he was straddling the wall between this world and the next one.

So last Thursday when we went to see "Great Grandma" I wanted to hear what she had to say. From Dad's death I have learned that death can actually have some beauty. I know that sounds weird, but it's amazing to talk with someone who sees another world.

Great Grandma is technically not related to me. I met her 18 years ago when Bob and I were first married. She is my husband's ex-wife's grandmother. Over the years we were invited to various family events and over the years I had come to love "Great Grandma and Grandpa" as if they were my own. Their granddaughter, Bob's ex, has not only accepted that relationship, but encourages it. She had asked us to visit her, knowing it would not only mean alot to us, but to Great Grandma too.

We lost Great Grandpa a year and a half ago at age 99. They had been married nearly 79 years. He was a sweet man who always had a joke. When he was 98 and was needing a pacemaker, the doctor at the hospital asked how he was feeling. He said, "Well, you know, they say the first 100 years are the hardest."

Great Grandma told me Thursday that she still had her faith. I didn't doubt that. She said that when she was little, the Lord promised her she would see Him come back in a cloud and call her up to heaven. And she was still waiting, she said she believed He would keep his promise. I knew what she meant, she believes that she would be alive when Jesus returns for the faithful. So she was holding on, waiting for that to happen. She knew it would be soon. She wondered why it hadn't happened yet. I told her that He did not feel it was time yet.

And I believe her. But I wondered if she might believe He was referring to the rapture and He was actually just talking about her time to be called up, just like my own dad was. In either case, I know where this wonderful lady will end up. She'll join her husband in paradise. Of that I have no doubt.

I took the picture below at their 75th wedding anniversary. That's my grandson, their great-great grandson with them.

I'm so grateful that I was allowed to become part of their family. I will miss them both. When we got ready to leave her on Thursday, Bob told her we loved her. She said, "I know you do." I'm glad she knows.

Prohibiting the Free Exercise thereof

I've been browsing various blogs lately. Some that adhere to the same beliefs that I do and some that do not.

I'm amazed at both sometimes, both sides love to fire people up, using the "hate" term and saying the other side is all about hate.

Some are esoteric nonsense and some are intolerant religious fanatics.

Just a quick post for the sake of setting the record straight on the Constitution. Nowhere in the Constitution does it state there is a separation of church and state. It's been quoted that way on virtually every news station at one time or another, both liberal and conservative. The separation of church and state was in a letter Thomas Jeffereson wrote, it is NOT in the Constitution.

Below are the words from the First Admendment:

Amendment 1 - Freedom of Religion, Press, Expression. Ratified 12/15/1791.

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.


Again, the words, "or prohibiting the free exercise thereof". If Congress cannot establish a religion, why then is it that we no longer have the free exercise thereof?

Update: Here's my point, unless you're someone who commits your life like this woman. http://kissesfromkatie.blogspot.com/ I really don't consider your opinion about how awful Christians are worthwhile.

The Least

He was dirty. A bit scary.

He never approached anyone, just stumbled around the tourist area.

He didn't beg.

So he blended into the background, overshadowed by the large number of other homeless people.

Close by was a fast food, independent vendor, selling hotdogs, hamburgers, all the touristy type food you expect, with picnic tables to enjoy your quick meal before moving on to see all the sites.

It's a city with great wealth and apparently a great number of homeless. The surrounding scenery was breathtaking, known throughout the world.

She was touring the city with her family. They had come a long way to enjoy the views and visit the city where she had started her family. They had seen the homeless everywhere they went and after seeing so many, they all seemed to become just a bit invisible. When they sat at the picnic table, she was facing the homeless man. He was oblivious to her.

He was hungry and was intent on finding food and he found some. In the trashcan.

My back was to him but to be honest, as awful as it sounds, I probably wouldn't have noticed.

But my mom did.

It upset her. Here we were, eating our food and this homeless man was picking through the trash to find something to eat. She sat down and took a bite of her food and kept shaking her head.

She couldn't eat. She just kept saying she couldn't stand it. She couldn't stand that he was digging through the trash to find food. She finally got up and said she was going to buy him something. We all pitched in money, way more than what would buy a hamburger. She ordered a sandwich or two, fries and a large drink. There was still money left over.

As she headed his way, I was determined to go with her. I wish I could tell you it was out of charity, but honestly it was because I wanted to make sure she was safe. It was daylight, but I know some of the homeless are not mentally stable.

He was sitting on a bench eating the little bit of food he scavenged from the trash as we walked up.

When I watched and listened to what my mother said, I was awestruck.

She approached him as if he was the greatest man she had ever met. She imperceptably slightly bowed her head and quietly said, "Sir. Would you accept this food from us?" She carefully handed him the food and the money.

In the back of my mind I could hear the written words, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." It was as if she was asking him for the greatest favor anyone could ask. It was as if she was approaching Jesus himself.

Even now, the gesture brings tears to my eyes.

Happy Mother's Day Mom.

It's all about the shoes

Admittably, I hate to shop. As I have mentioned before I was not born with the shopping gene. Shopping for shoes is no exception. I have several pairs now but only because I haven't thrown away ones that are 10 years past their prime.

I refuse to buy or wear cruel shoes for the sake of fashion.

OK, yeah I know, I've never been about fashion in anything. I just want to wear things that are comfortable. I have some lower high heel shoes that I still have from when I had to wear suits to work, but I never wear them now.

I also refuse to spend alot of money on shoes. In fact, when I went to buy new tennis shoes for all of our hiking in Italy, I was prepared to spend another whopping $50. We went to Dick's Sporting Goods and this wonderful sales lady helped me. I told her what I wanted and she was willing to show me exactly what I asked for, but she politely encouraged me to try some walking shoes. They were double the price. I had a cheap shoe on one foot and a walking shoe on the other. The difference was amazing. I splurged and bought the "expensive" shoe. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know that fashionistas would not consider that expensive, but it is the most I have ever spent on any shoe in my life. Period. After walking 6 to 10 hours every day for 2 weeks I can assure you it was the best $100 I have ever spent. I will never again buy cheap tennis shoes.

If you ever travel to Italy and are not on a Donald Trump budget, visiting exclusive restaurants, don't bother packing any shoes other than good walking shoes. Every road, sidewalk, step, etc is incredibly uneven. I read this week where Tom Hanks said the hardest thing to do in the movie Angels & Demons was running. He talks about how uneven every step was and it was a wonder he didn't break his ankle.

So I was so fascinated with the choice of some women's shoes, I decided to take some pictures of the shoes I saw.






















The first picture was taken at the Vatican. Zooming in you can see her ankle is turned slightly. The second was taken just outside of San Gimignano, Tuscany. The streets look like this:

Notice this woman is long past caring about how she looks in her shoes. Uphill, downhill, stones, bricks, rocks, boulders, steps, ramps. The only area that was flat was Venice, but it was NOT even. Now you know why all the Italian women slowly stroll down the street arm-in-arm.

So, as a finale to this discussion, around 6:30 p.m. tonight, we were playing with our grandkids, I happened to look down at my feet.

Ummmm, I simply cannot defend myself here. Only photographic evidence will suffice. I took a picture below after I got home.

Now you have to realize I had not changed my shoes from work all day.



And the really sad thing is that the back is even worse. The heels are different heights and the shoe on the right side has no back on the ankle side. The shoe on the left is a regular shoe.

Luckily the color at least matched. The funny thing is that no one at work noticed. And don't think they were just being polite, they would have loved to razz me all day had it been seen.

At least they were both cheap and comfortable. Isn't that what shoes are supposed to be for?

OK OK, I'll show you the back just to convince you.

Italy - It's not all about the food.

Well, ok it is ALOT about the food, but that's just a bonus to the fascinating sites.

We found the main difference in the food in Italy and the food in the US is that Italy has not succumbed to the chain restaurants that dominate the US. Virtually every single place is a small individually owned restaurant and they care about what they put on your plate. Not all the food was great by any means, but by and large the food was superior to American chain restaurants.

The agriturismo we stayed in Tuscany wins the best food. Seven course meals every night, which means salad 4th or 5th. Weird to eat salad after your meal. The Spaghetti Carbonara was out of this world and though we tried, we found no where else in Italy tasted as wonderful. I wish I had taken a picture of it now.

Best pizza was in Cinque Terre when we hiked to Corniglia and is the picture above.

Best soup was in Manrola (Cinque Terre). It was minestrone but nothing like I had ever seen or tasted. Completely different than ours and anywhere else we found in Italy. The second night I ate it I DID take a picture of it. Believe me it tastes a million time better than it looked.

Speechless Italy

Ok, I should really title this Blogless Italy.

I'm having a tough time finding the right words for our trip. Fabulous, Perfect, Wonderful, Beautiful.

Maybe there aren't English words for it.

I'll keep trying. Maybe something will come to me.