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.

Arrivederci

This time tomorrow, I will be over the Atlantic heading to Italy.

I'm expecting the 10 hour flight to be exhausting and figuring out how to get where we need to go (although we've studied and studied it) to be complicated. While I have been out of the country, it's always been on a cruise or to Cancun where there is rarely any problem speaking in English.

This will be new for me.

When we first determined we were going to Italy I considered buying Rosetta Stone and learning a little Italian, but it's expensive and I just couldn't justify spending that money on top of the trip. So I bought some cheap program from Costco, which I never used.

Our Italian friends and Indian friends who have gone there say there won't be any big issues with the language. My sister bought TWO electronic translators, so I'm sure we'll manage.

I think I worry most about the train trip from Venice to Cinque Terre. I'm still not sure how many transfers we have and I worry since we don't know what we're doing and how the transfers work. We have plenty of travel books and my nephew has studied it more than I have, but that is probably my biggest fear.

I guess I'm ready.

It doesn't seem real, even now. I'm excited and stressed. Hope I can get some sleep tonight.

Helen and Brian are heading to our house now and should be here within the next hour.

I wonder what we will find. From the research, I cannot imagine that we will not love it.

None of us are taking a laptop, so we will likely not be updating our family web, blogs, whatever unless we find some downtime and get some kind of access to a pc.

Here we GO!!!!! See you in May!

It's Not About the Bunny

Happy Easter Birthday

To my sister and my nephew. Here's hoping you get a bunny cake for your birthday!!!

I Hope I Never Understand

Last fall a former co-worker of mine was killed in a traffic accident. He and I were not particularly friends, I found him to be quite odd and brash, but after my father's death, I believe no one should be alone in grief and every bit of comfort adds just a tiny speck of peace.

I attended the funeral along with a ton of people I had known through work. As friends and family got up to speak at the funeral, I found that I really had never known this man who I worked with for years. Many of my friends found him warm and funny, so maybe it was just a personality conflict I had.

I was told just before the service that his wife was a very devout atheist. I have a good friend who is an atheist and while I will never understand it, we can discuss and joke about our differences.

Tonight I happened upon a blog my former co-worker's widow is updating every few days since his death. Her grief is palpable and breaks my heart, especially when it's apparent that she can find no comfort from any faith whatsoever. Death is death, period, end of story.

The service, while pleasant because of the funny stories, was, at least to me, so adamantly not Christian. The last speaker was his nephew. He was eloquent. He stated that he was a Christian as was the surviving parents and that the widow was not. You could "feel" that the death was doubly hard on my co-worker's family as they were obviously devout Christians and I cannot imagine parents burying their son and not being able to have a simple prayer said at his funeral. The nephew respected the newly grieved widow's wishes, but did manage to say that the grieving father had stated that he had baptized his son in the River Jordan. I was so impressed with the nephew's ability to give some comfort to the grief stricken parents while not upsetting the non-believer family.

After reading the blog, I hurt for her loss. It's obvious they had dearly loved each other and were best friends. I cannot imagine (nor do I want to) her horrible horrible grief.

So although she most likely will not appreciate it, I will say a prayer that she finds a little bit of peace each day.

I simply don't know how you do that when you have no faith to hold on to. I pray she finds that in her journey.

I also pray for my atheist friend and all those who cannot or will not even open their hearts to a possibility that there is a God. I just feel so sad for them.

Italy - Our thoughts and prayers are with you.

Nearly a year ago I was getting ready for work and walking through our bathroom. As I passed by the shower doors, I heard them rattling as if someone was pushing their hand on them. I know our house is not that flimsy that me simply walking past the shower causes the doors to rattle.

I'm looking at the doors as I pass and then I heard the large mirror over the double sinks begin to rattle loudly. I felt a little like I was in a Twilight Zone show. My head is swiveling between the doors and the mirror with an extremely puzzled look on my face. What in the world?

Bob had not gotten up yet and I had a fleeting idea that maybe this could be an earthquake. Now I realize that Indiana does lie on the New Madrid fault, but we so rarely ever have one that most of us simply do not recognize them when they happen. Just as the thought is forming in my head I hear Bob say, "What the hell is that?" He didn't hear the rattling but felt the shake HARD. I didn't feel the shaking, maybe because I was standing or maybe because I was so confused by the noise.

They said it was a 5.2 magnitude 40 miles north of Evansville. We lived well over 150 miles away. I quickly turned on the morning news and saw the crew from Channel 13 come back from a commercial wide-eyed and was talking about the studio shaking.

We had a few aftershocks later in the day while I was at work. I could feel those, not just hear them. The whole office was abuzz with earthquake stories.

I got a call from my "California" daughter who now lives in Texas. She wanted to make sure we were all okay. When I explained about the mirror rattling she had a slight panic in her voice, "Did you get under a doorway?" Uhhh, well no. I just stood there gaping at the mirror and shower doors. Having lived most of her life in California, she does not have the same reaction to earthquakes that we do.

Sadly, we who have not lived in a frequent quake zone area do not understand the seriousness of an earthquake. It's just something we hear about in California, or Bali or China. In Indiana, we ignorantly spend a "quake" day saying, "Did you FEEL that one?" We simply do not take them seriously, which one day, I fear will be a big mistake given the size of the fault we live on.

On Monday, 70 northeast of Rome there was a 6.3 quake, yesterday a 5.5 aftershock and only 9 hours ago a 5.3 aftershock. We pray for L'Aquila and all those affected in Italy and throughout the world. It is unfathomable for us Midwesterners to fully grasp what this must be like, but we do grieve along with you for your loss.

Two Old Ladies and an International Traveler

Well, that's been the plan for several months now anyway.

Actually one of the old ladies could actually also be called (at least once) an International Traveler. Her first, and to date only trip out of the country 5 years ago or so was with her son (the now International Traveler) to her "adopted" son, Saumil's wedding in India. I soooo wanted to go with them. I had so many reasons not too. First I wasn't invited, but I'm sure Saumil would have welcomed me anyway, then it was an expensive flight and finally I didn't have vacation left, although I bet I could have negotiated that too. By the time of the trip, I was just kicking myself for not just saying, "To hell with it, I'm going too." I was nervous for them, Brian had also not traveled outside of the country. I figured it was the safest travel, since Saumil had arranged everything and arranged for a cousin to meet them in Mumbai, before their final flight to Ahmedabad, India. From what I've been told there was considerable culture shock.

Since then Brian has met Saumil and his bride and a whole group of international travelers in Thailand, Cambodia and Argentina. I'm sure I'm missing something there and Brian will correct me. He's been wanting me to travel with them for some time now.

On April 16th, my sister, my nephew and I will be leaving for a trip to Italy. Well, at least (borrowing a well worn saying of my mother's) "God Willing and the Crick Don't Rise"

It started out as a family discussion of celebrating my 50th birthday almost a year ago. My ELDER siblings have all been surprised by a massive fun birthday party when they turned 50. For various reasons I did not want that to happen and we began discussing a trip. One thing led to another and it morphed into a 2 1/2 week to Italy.

So I worried some whether Helen and I would be dragging Brian down from visiting everywhere he wanted to go, but I knew that we could each do as much or as little as we liked.

I'm not sure when it started, but Brian began to have back problems. He's a 6'3" 34 year old who has climbed up cliffs, so the back issue was a surprise, at least to me. Recently the pain had become unbearable and he first started with a chiropractor. Several weeks ago, they did an MRI and suggested therapy after reading the MRI report. When therapy wasn't helping, the therapist looked at the actual MRI. Two bulging disks pressing against a nerve. The therapist called a surgeon immediately and got Brian an appointment that day. It was Friday, 4 weeks before our trip.

Interestingly enough, the surgeon had a picture in his office of he and his family in from of the Roman Coliseum. Brian pointed to the picture and told him he was going to be there in 4 weeks, The surgeon told him he would need back surgery and he would be in alot less pain with the surgery than without and he could do it the next Friday.

So, with just shy of three weeks from our trip, Brian had surgery. I saw him two days after the surgery and was worried. He looked "broken" and was "bent". He said he was ahead of schedule according to the doc, but it worried me. Sitting is the worst part and we have a 10 hour flight from New York to Venice.

But he was determined, been on a treadmill walking up to 3 miles. Today he told me that he was feeling so much better that if our trip was tomorrow, he could do it. The therapist told him he is way way ahead of schedule and tomorrow he's going to wear a backpack with weights during his session.

So he'll be in shape enough for the trip, but I doubt he'll be outrunning us by the time we go. I want to make sure us "old ladies" get his bags for him. We just can't take the chance that he messes up something on the trip over. Now, how will that look, some seemingly healthy man making a couple old ladies lifting his bag into the overhead and yanking it off the conveyer belt? I think Helen and I will deliberately make it look like he's just some spoiled kid who makes old ladies do the heavy lifting. ;)

But a few days ago I began to get a little sore. Today I felt like I did a couple weeks after my hysterectomy, which was NOT pleasant. By mid-day I was fearful I might be getting that dreaded kidney infection that left me with septic shock two years ago or something even worse. I rushed to my doc, who rushed through all kinds of tests. Doesn't look like it's anything to worry about and I'm hoping a couple of days from now I'll be "in the pink".

So, apart from some recent concerns that we may have to cancel our trip, for now it looks like a "go".

We'll fly into Venice and stay three nights in a "flat" where the gondolas float past the window. The owner will meet us at the Rialto bridge and walk us to the place. This is a pic from their website. We found this place when someone Brian works with said he had recently stayed there, so we know it's legit. It's between the Rialto Bridge and St. Mark's.

Then a few train hops and several hours later we'll head to Manarola. One of the "Cinque"s of Cinque Terre. This is where hiking and steps will come into play. We believe our hotel is one of the yellow buildings at the edge of the cliff. I learned about Cinque Terre from someone I met at the Indianapolis airport when I was looking over the Rosetta Stone stand. He and his wife had been to Italy and told me this was their favorite place. From Tripadvisor to Flickr research, we feel great about the place we picked. Arpaiu.

This is from the inn's website of the view from our room.

Three nights later, we make the obligatory stop in Pisa for a quick stop for a "holding up the leaning tower" pic and rent a car to drive to Volterra (Tuscany). We picked Volterra after Brian watched a Rick Steve's program from there. We've found an agriturismo, which is a working farm that by law has to make more money from the farm than the inn. Flickr'ing it we found someone who stayed there and loved it. They will even teach you how to make homemade pasta.

Three nights and back to Pisa to catch a train to Rome. A B&B at the top of the Spanish Steps was recommended by one of our Fort Myer's "neighbors".

Six nights in Rome with most likely a day trip to Pompeii. We're hoping to even take a hot air balloon ride while we're in Pompeii.

Hopefully this itinerary allows up enough time to take in the "feel" of Italy, not just rush from site to site.

One week from now, I'll be bidding, "Ciao" I'm excited, nervous, wishing Bob would have gone and hopeful we all stay healthy before and during our trip.

(p.s. Thanks GB for the blog subject suggestion.)

To Honor All our Soldiers - Past and Present

No matter what you might hear. We in American KNOW you bought our freedoms with your time, blood and lives.

Thank you one and all.

Half A Century

No more middle age. That is, unless I live to be a hundred.


I suppose that's a possibility, since my Granny lived to be 93. But I don't know if I have enough energy to make it another 50 years. Weird to be half a century old.

When I was little, we had only one 13 inch black and white TV with three channels. The remote control was when mom or dad would tell one of us kids to get up and change the channel.


We had party-line telephones, I'm sure most of the people I work with today would not know what that means. Whoever had the other line with us was not a very nice lady if I remember right.

We had no air conditioning. My parents finally had a window air they had in their room. When it was stiffling hot, we played outside in the creek or the hose or under the shade tree. At night, we tossed and turned trying to find a cool spot on our beds.


At school, tests were copied on memeograph machines that all the kids sniffed when they got the paper. It was a good smell, who knows why. We got milk at school in those funny little triangle cartons. On my birthday, I got to go pick up the milk with the best looking boy in school because his birthday was April 1st. I saw him at our 10 year reunion. He didn't age well in only 10 years.


There were no computers, at least none smaller than a 747, so kids invented games. We played Kick The Can, Crack the Whip and Spotlight at night. We played in the creek (we called it a crick) next to our house, we never worried about all the possible toxic substances floating in the water.

We ate the mulberries, even though we kept being told they were full of worms.



We caught lightning bugs and played mumbledy peg. I once threw a jart that landed squarely on my brother's head. I'm sure there would be a lawsuit over that nowdays. Hey, maybe that's what's wrong with him today.



We roamed through the neighborhood without a care only later did we find out there was a child molester on the corner and who knows what else.



My dad planted corn, which we picked the 5 acres following behind the truck late at night in October, freezing our toes.


We buried our cat, Fru Fru in the field, placed a Virgin Mary over the top, which dad ended up plowing up the next year.


We had chickens, which my dad popped their heads off between two boards and we kids would pluck the feathers before mom would fry it for supper.


Our house had a coal furnace when we moved in. I still remember my brothers shoveling the coal from the basement coal bin into the stove in the morning.


The basement flooded regularly and my mother had a wringer-washer down there and hung the clothes up to dry outside in the summer and in the basement in the winter. She ironed them by first wetting them down with a coke bottle plugged with a cork sprinkler.


We had bikes, mini-bikes, sleds, ducks, rabbits,go carts. Snoopy, our dog, got sick and couldn't be found. Afraid he might have had rabies, we and the neighbors scouted the area for a couple days hunting the sick dog. We narrowly escaped the dreaded rabies vaccine when our neighbor Hardin turned around from going to work to help us search to found the sick dog.





We had Silly Putty, Etch-a-Sketch, Slinkys, Transistor Radios (that always had such a good smell on Christmas morning). We listened to WIFE, the good good guys on the AM dial and watched Sammy Terry on Friday nights.





We knew and respected our teachers and bus drivers. Harry, our beloved driver, lived on the hill up from us and I still remember the day when I waited and waited for him to pick me up before elementary school. That day, Harry had taken the middle school kids to school and died while driving in the school parking lot. Those things imprint forever on your mind as a kid. You were a good man Harry Featherston.


The school playground was very dangerous but fun. I wish I could remember what that round thing was in the corner that you sat on and had to keep your hands and feet out from under it or you would end up with a tangled mess. Something like a maypole, except it had seats and I don't know how many injuries I saw on the thing, but we all loved it anyway.


It was back in the day, when I was walking backwards in first grade and fell against a desk and tore my ear. The school nurse bandaged the badly bleeding ear and sent me back to class. There was no emergency call to the parents back then.


I only wish I could go back now and tell that constantly worried little girl that life didn't need to be so hard.


I guess I'll just have to settle for reminding myself everyday from now on.

My Daughters

Don't you sometimes wonder why you are naturally drawn to some people and not to others. I have learned the hard way that I cannot always trust my first instinct on people. Most times, if I find I do not care for someone right away, I find that first impression is accurate, but I have way too many long term friends I thought I didn't like at first and yet they came to be lifelong dear friends, so I cannot tell you I am the best at assessing who will be my friend for life and those I do not care to spend 5 minutes with ever.

But I have seemed to be immediately drawn to a couple young women that I have over the years just adopted as my daughters. I apparently just have a natural need to be a mother and not getting that biological opportunity, I was fortunate enough to find that need met with some wonderful women that for whatever reason also must have a need in the opposite direction.

They are both alike and yet different from me and each other. Both are responsible, loving, sweet women, now both with babies of their own. Kyle's mother seemed naturally to understand that when she was pregnant I really needed to hear and understand exactly what she was going through. Typically we don't discuss all those "women" issues that many women feel they need to tell every stranger on the street, instead, we were private with "female" issues. But she instinctually knew that I needed to hear all the things that came along with pregnancy that I had missed out on. She understood that I did not have any jealousy, but rather an unfulfilled curiousity of actually feeling a baby move and grow inside of you. We never spoke about what subjects were off limits and what were okay, it was just a natural outcome of knowing each other so well. When she had Kyle, I got to experience, through her descriptions the joy of having a baby.

She and her husband had been married for quite a few years before she got pregnant and she had told me how many times people asked them when they were going to have a baby. I would never ask because I knew how painful hearing that question was when I was in my 20's. Several months after our grandson was born I felt I needed to finally have a serious discussion with her.

Being childless, I wanted to make sure that she wasn't deciding to not have a child of her own and then seriously regretting that decision when it was too late to reverse.

So I composed a carefully worded, motherlike advise email. The funny thing was that she finally confessed they had been "trying" for a few months. Not too many months later she told me she was pregnant.

My second "daughter" moved here from California to be closer to her then-boyfriend/later turned husband. Again, there was an immediate bond. Her family was far away and she appreciated having a motherly type looking out for her. We formed a natural bond that could have just been a normal "mentor" type relationship, but was somehow so much more. While Kyle's mom is a smart, very self-confident woman that can do everything and more. My California daughter is a smart and sometimes self-doubting woman that I can happily and honestly boost her ego. She's amazing, she just sometimes needs me to remind her of that.

A couple years ago, my California daughter had to move to Texas with her husband's job. I hated seeing her leave and she didn't want to go, but there wasn't alot of choice. Last year she was lucky enough to become pregnant with twins. She was nervous, of course. When she was a few months along she called me and told me she needed to have me pat her on her head. She's the worrier type and when we worked together, she would come stoop by my desk and I would pat her head and tell her everything would be alright.

During her call she was upset because they weren't saving enough. She was frantic that they hadn't met their savings budget for the month. She and her husband are very responsible, so I knew where this was heading.

I started off easy on her. I first asked if they were still contributing to their 401k's. Yes. Then I asked her, "So you don't have enough money to make your car payment??" No, they had enough money for the car. I faked a little more hysteria, "So you can't make your house payment?" No, of course they could make their house payment. Then I went on full attack, "Then you must mean you don't have enough money for groceries. You mean, you're pregnant and you can't feed those babies growing inside you????" By then she's laughing at me and herself. Of course she could buy groceries. I then said, "Ok, I don't understand, you wanna tell me what the problem is EXACTLY?"

A few weeks later she ended up having to stay in the hospital for weeks on end to keep "incubating" the girls until they were ready and healthy. During her stay, her husband lost his job. A few weeks after the girls were born, she lost her job. I was proud of her. I'm sure she panicked a little (who wouldn't?), she managed to maintain her sanity, it gave them both time to take care of two babies and she found a job a few weeks ago. She also said that now better understands that her previous concern of not meeting her self-imposed savings budget really wasn't much of an emergency after all.

When she first told me she was in the hospital, I called her husband and flew out to surprise her for a weekend visit. It was nice to spend time with her. I'll have to figure out when Mamaw Rita can come out to visit the two new grandbabies.

I'm proud of these two women. I love the relationships we have developed and know that they will last a lifetime.

The Bucket List

Yesterday I was surprised by my family with a party for my upcoming BIG birthday. Last night we decided to watch a previously DVR'd The Bucket List. Kinda appropriate, don't you think?

So, maybe I should be thinking of my Bucket List. What haven't I done that I could possibly do between now and the time of the bucket?

The first is that on April 16th, I will be leaving for a trip to Italy with my sister and nephew. We've been planning the trip for months and now it's getting close and real. I've traveled a little, but anytime it's been out of the country, it was either a cruise or to Cancun, so very touristy and very safe.

We'll be flying into NY, then straight to Venice. Three nights there and some number of trains into Cinque Terre. I first heard of Cinque Terre several months ago from a guy at the airport who told me he and his wife loved it. Three nights and then to an agristurismo (working farm) in Volterra (Tuscany). Three nights there and onto Rome. Six nights, with hopefully a day trip to Pompeii. Then it'll be Rome to NY to Indy and back to reality.

So, about that bucket list. Where do I start, where would you start? Some considerations:

Be someone's hero.
Live my faith, every day, every minute
Take a hot air balloon ride
See the Great Barrier Reef
Go visit Saumil and Kruti in India
Take Bob to Washington DC
Go to Rapha House in Cambodia
Take a missionary trip
Spend more time with friends and family
Retire
Take a real white water rafting trip


I'm sure I'll think of others, any ideas anyone?

My Heart Breaks

Some days I feel inspired and some days I'm just incredibly sad. How is it possible that something like this can continue? There is something very very wrong with our family court systems that would have placed this precious baby back in the hands of these evil people.

I Can Only Imagine

I found this video a couple years back. It's amazingly inspiring. Recently I've seen a couple of billboards pop up regarding Team Hoyt. Watch the whole video, you'll feel wonderful about what can be accomplished.

For a little background:

http://www.teamhoyt.com/

From their website:

Dick and Rick Hoyt are a father-and-son team from Massachusetts who together compete just about continuously in marathon races. And if they’re not in a marathon they are in a triathlon — that daunting, almost superhuman, combination of 26.2 miles of running, 112 miles of bicycling, and 2.4 miles of swimming. Together they have climbed mountains, and once trekked 3,735 miles across America.

It’s a remarkable record of exertion — all the more so when you consider that Rick can't walk or talk.

For the past twenty five years or more Dick, who is 65, has pushed and pulled his son across the country and over hundreds of finish lines. When Dick runs, Rick is in a wheelchair that Dick is pushing. When Dick cycles, Rick is in the seat-pod from his wheelchair, attached to the front of the bike. When Dick swims, Rick is in a small but heavy, firmly stabilized boat being pulled by Dick.

At Rick’s birth in 1962 the umbilical cord coiled around his neck and cut off oxygen to his brain. Dick and his wife, Judy, were told that there would be no hope for their child’s development.
"It’s been a story of exclusion ever since he was born," Dick told me. "When he was eight months old the doctors told us we should just put him away — he’d be a vegetable all his life, that sort of thing. Well those doctors are not alive any more, but I would like them to be able to see Rick now."

The couple brought their son home determined to raise him as "normally" as possible. Within five years, Rick had two younger brothers, and the Hoyts were convinced Rick was just as intelligent as his siblings. Dick remembers the struggle to get the local school authorities to agree: "Because he couldn’t talk they thought he wouldn’t be able to understand, but that wasn’t true." The dedicated parents taught Rick the alphabet. "We always wanted Rick included in everything," Dick said. "That’s why we wanted to get him into public school."

A group of Tufts University engineers came to the rescue, once they had seen some clear, empirical evidence of Rick’s comprehension skills. "They told him a joke," said Dick. "Rick just cracked up. They knew then that he could communicate!" The engineers went on to build — using $5,000 the family managed to raise in 1972 - an interactive computer that would allow Rick to write out his thoughts using the slight head-movements that he could manage. Rick came to call it "my communicator." A cursor would move across a screen filled with rows of letters, and when the cursor highlighted a letter that Rick wanted, he would click a switch with the side of his head.

When the computer was originally brought home, Rick surprised his family with his first "spoken" words. They had expected perhaps "Hi, Mom" or "Hi, Dad." But on the screen Rick wrote "Go Bruins." The Boston Bruins were in the Stanley Cup finals that season, and his family realized he had been following the hockey games along with everyone else. "So we learned then that Rick loved sports," said Dick.

In 1975, Rick was finally admitted into a public school. Two years later, he told his father he wanted to participate in a five-mile benefit run for a local lacrosse player who had been paralyzed in an accident. Dick, far from being a long-distance runner, agreed to push Rick in his wheelchair. They finished next to last, but they felt they had achieved a triumph. That night, Dick remembers, "Rick told us he just didn’t feel handicapped when we were competing."
Rick’s realization turned into a whole new set of horizons that opened up for him and his family, as "Team Hoyt" began to compete in more and more events. Rick reflected on the transformation process for me, using his now-familiar but ever-painstaking technique of picking out letters of the alphabet:

" What I mean when I say I feel like I am not handicapped when competing is that I am just like the other athletes, and I think most of the athletes feel the same way. In the beginning nobody would come up to me. However, after a few races some athletes came around and they began to talk to me. During the early days one runner, Pete Wisnewski had a bet with me at every race on who would beat who. The loser had to hang the winner’s number in his bedroom until the next race. Now many athletes will come up to me before the race or triathlon to wish me luck."
It is hard to imagine now the resistance which the Hoyts encountered early on, but attitudes did begin to change when they entered the Boston Marathon in 1981, and finished in the top quarter of the field. Dick recalls the earlier, less tolerant days with more sadness than anger:
"Nobody wanted Rick in a road race. Everybody looked at us, nobody talked to us, nobody wanted to have anything to do with us. But you can’t really blame them - people often are not educated, and they’d never seen anyone like us. As time went on, though, they could see he was a person — he has a great sense of humor, for instance. That made a big difference."
After 4 years of marathons, Team Hoyt attempted their first triathlon — and for this Dick had to learn to swim. "I sank like a stone at first" Dick recalled with a laugh "and I hadn’t been on a bike since I was six years old."

With a newly-built bike (adapted to carry Rick in front) and a boat tied to Dick’s waist as he swam, the Hoyts came in second-to-last in the competition held on Father’s Day 1985.

"We chuckle to think about that as my Father’s Day present from Rick, " said Dick.

They have been competing ever since, at home and increasingly abroad. Generally they manage to improve their finishing times. "Rick is the one who inspires and motivates me, the way he just loves sports and competing," Dick said.

And the business of inspiring evidently works as a two-way street. Rick typed out this testimony:

"Dad is one of my role models. Once he sets out to do something, Dad sticks to it whatever it is, until it is done. For example once we decided to really get into triathlons, dad worked out, up to five hours a day, five times a week, even when he was working."
The Hoyts’ mutual inspiration for each other seems to embrace others too — many spectators and fellow-competitors have adopted Team Hoyt as a powerful example of determination. "It’s been funny," said Dick "Some people have turned out, some in good shape, some really out of shape, and they say ‘we want to thank you, because we’re here because of you’."

Rick too has taken full note of their effect on fellow-competitors while racing:

"Whenever we are passed (usually on the bike) the athlete will say "Go for it!" or "Rick, help your Dad!" When we pass people (usually on the run) they’ll say "Go Team Hoyt!" or "If not for you, we would not be out here doing this."

Most of all, perhaps, the Hoyts can see an impact from their efforts in the area of the handicapped, and on public attitudes toward the physically and mentally challenged.

"That’s the big thing," said Dick. "People just need to be educated. Rick is helping many other families coping with disabilities in their struggle to be included."

That is not to say that all obstacles are now overcome for the Hoyts. Dick is "still bothered," he says, by people who are discomforted because Rick cannot fully control his tongue while eating. "In restaurants - and it’s only older people mostly - they’ll see Rick’s food being pushed out of his mouth and they’ll leave, or change their table. But I have to say that kind of intolerance is gradually being defeated."

Rick’s own accomplishments, quite apart from the duo’s continuing athletic success, have included his moving on from high school to Boston University, where he graduated in 1993 with a degree in special education. That was followed a few weeks later by another entry in the Boston Marathon. As he fondly pictured it: "On the day of the marathon from Hopkinton to Boston people all over the course were wishing me luck, and they had signs up which read `congratulations on your graduation!’"

Rick now works at Boston College’s computer laboratory helping to develop a system codenamed "Eagle Eyes," through which mechanical aids (like for instance a powered wheelchair) could be controlled by a paralyzed person’s eye-movements, when linked-up to a computer.

Together the Hoyts don’t only compete athletically; they also go on motivational speaking tours, spreading the Hoyt brand of inspiration to all kinds of audiences, sporting and non-sporting, across the country.

Rick himself is confident that his visibility — and his father’s dedication — perform a forceful, valuable purpose in a world that is too often divisive and exclusionary. He typed a simple parting thought:

"The message of Team Hoyt is that everybody should be included in everyday life."

God Bless these people. I know I could never live up to their faith and courage.