Benazir Bhutto knew- EVERY time she went out into the public square she was a target. Her supporters knew this too and by showing up for her public events they might also be a target.

"Islamic clerics tried to get a court to bar her from running in elections. She was a bad Muslim, they said.
"Anyone who supports the Pakistan People's Party will not enter heaven," a Muslim cleric in Lahore, Abdul Qadir, told a Friday prayer congregation ahead of the October 1990 elections. "
Of course she was a "Bad Muslim"- all of her early education was done in Roman Catholic schools with names like, " Lady Jennings Nursery School" and then the Convent of Jesus and Mary in Karachi.[2] After two years of schooling at the Rawalpindi Presentation Convent, she was sent to the Jesus and Mary Convent at Murree.

I'm not saying Benazir was a Christian, but she defintiely didn't go to a Muslim school as a child.
Could that be because there was no such place for a little girl to go back in the stone ages of Pakistan? Might it be the only institution that would cater to teaching (worthless?) little girls was that of the Christian faith? Surely, in her early years, she was somewhat shaped by a religion of grace and forgiveness; and a belief system shared by many of the founding fathers of our country, a place of democracy. Unlike the most of the Muslim leaders in the middle east who see women as merely property...or less. (one islamic document I read referred to women simply as f*ckable C*nts )

Not much has changed I'm afraid...seems Pakistan is still in the stone ages, except where technology and nuclear weapons are concerend.

Here's my point though- back to the beginning of the post- Benazir knew she was a target...every day, in every public situation- she knew her life was at risk. Her father was killed, as well as 2 brothers. She was painfully aware that her stabs at democracy would most likely shorten her life- and she was right.

My question to the American people is this- "Are you aware that WE are a target too?" The same democracy Bhutto struggled to bring to her country is the same stuff we piddle away everyday. Everything from not paying attention to how much of your paycheck is eaten up in taxes, to not voting...weakens our country. We are too easily distracted...we long for it actually- (what else explains Paris Hilton?) and too comfortable to get our feathers ruffled over the idea that the next ring of gunshots- or bombs going off....might just be aimed at us.

Benazir knew a laser sight was always locked on her heart and her head.
Don't ignore the red beam when you see it pointed in our direction. And don't tell me that no body warned you...
We are a target too, and getting bigger every day.

Respect vs Reverence~

My thanks to Gary Zukov-and "Seat of the Soul"

-

-"Reverence is an attitude of honoring life."

"Respect is a judgement."

I've lost respect for someone close to me- my father. I thought I was merely angry or disappointed in him, until I read the words above and realized it was my "respect" that was missing. And my "respect" is merely a judegement.

I'm exhausted from "judgements". I want little to do with the whole business of judging people or being judged by others. I'm weary of it, and from it.

This brings me to Reverence. I realize it's a divine thing.

Reverence is like the the ocean...and "respect" is a meager little float bobbing on the surface of the water. I've been holding on to this little tiny yellow float- thinking it had meaning and power...and all the while the greater thing keeps splashing me in the face.

The float keeps me from having to learn to swim the depths of reverence. The float, or "respect" has nothing to do with love, or grace, or divine power- it is merely human. It is an artifical placing of power. It is shallow. It is faulty.

Being Reverent allows me to see people differently. There is no need for respect in the eyes of a reverent person because they see everyone the same way...as living beings with the capacity for goodness and evil, power and corruption, love and apathy.

My father is still a person I must see with Reverence. Do you see the power of that?

I can accept him being a person as a being just like me- capable of many things- and let my "judgements" scatter like ashes on the water and disappear into the ocean of reverence.

My seeing my Dad with reverence does not negate the foolish or painful choices he's made, nor does it absolve him of his mistakes...what it does though...it absolves ME from carrying the unbearable weight of "judegement".

It's impossible to see the world with reverent eyes without the aid of forgiveness.

Today is a glorious new day. I've shed the heavy coat of sorrow I've been wearing- and sadly unaware that I even had it on until it slipped off. Much like the first 24 hours I ever used my asthma medication- I was absolutely stunned by how little I had been breathing in the weeks and months before.

Life can exist in the barest of margins... but it does not flourish there~ It flourishes in the Light, and in love...

Peace to you- all of you.

Shhhhh-

Silence affords us space to think.

It also gives us time.

Time expands into a bubble-
All of which will explode in a flash of glory...
or will die a slow death of exhalation.

Can I choose the explosion or the slow death???

I don't think so.


However- if I can choose-
then next time- I want the explosion...
I'm just saying.

Slow death is a raw deal- it really is :(

parts of a song-

"Sometimes I slowly drift away
From all the dull routine
That's with me every day
A fantasy will come to me

Lately my luck has been so bad
You know the roulette wheel'sA crooked deal,
I'm loosing all I had

Soon be like a man that's on the run
And live from day to day
Never needing anyone
Play hide and seek, throughout the week

Guess I'll always have to be
Living in a fantasy
That's the way it's got to be
From now on"

Similarity

The halls are empty-
Like a great big school during summer break-
It seems surreal that a place brimming with so much life could be so quiet.
Almost eerie. My footsteps echo clumsily ahead of me, and behind me.

I call out- but only my voice bounces around in the corners.
I am alone.
Abandoned in a way I never dreamed possible.
There's only me wandering around in this part of my heart.

The walls are covered in love notes-
Which look like graffiti to me now.
Or worse...they look like lies.
Or smudges I need to paint over.

All I see around me is in need of repair.
I gave away things I shouldn't have given away.
I let those words take precedent over my own.
A "friend" used this space- but left it without saying goodbye.

Wait...I see something in the corner...
It's moving~ ugh... A spider!

A spider has taken up residency in his place.
Seems fitting actually.

I'm not alone after all.
Make a web! Spider!
Make a trap- and guard my foolish heart.
I'm not smart enough yet to know how.

Teach me spider.
Since it's just you and I in here...
In the Great hall of my heart.

But she does not speak- she just spins her web.

Telling a story~

So unsure-
Of how I fit in...
Sister, mother, lover, friend-
Where do you start?
Where do I end?

Bliss here- an ache there-
Troubled thougths,
beneath long hair...
Blue eyes hide-
deep pain resides-
Questions with few answers.

Life's ahead- full steam...
"Forge"
Do I mean motion?
Or do I mean sword?
Progress or a beating?
It's hard to tell-

Too many words said?
Or were there too few?
I once thought I understood-
Now, I don't think I do.

I'm lost- and yet I know-
Where I am "dear",
Next to the little arrow that reads,
"You are here!"
Everything is clear as mud :(

Today I wrote in a private place-
"There is balance in my singularity",
And then try as I might...to feel guilty...
I could not.
The truth was simple, it had no strings attached.

But "sigh"- there are strings galore in life,
And simplicity is rare.
I over complicate everything~
Reason, sort, compare.
Sometimes "silence is just silence."?
perhaps...

I wonder, my friends,
What you might see between these lines.
And of my "laugh lines" too?
Lines with and without words...
They both tell a story.

I sprained my wrist...every word HURTS.
But that is a story for another time-
This late hour blurrs the mind.
My mind that is.
The little mind that wonders:

So unsure-
Of how I fit in...
Sister, mother, lover, friend-
Where do you start?
Where do I end?

Public or Private?

If you write something out here- on a blog- it's Public.

If you write something at home in a journal- it's Private.

You can't write something on a blog and say "This is just for me"- there's no logic in that statement. It's impossible for your writing to be for you and you alone when you broadcast it to the world. You might as well be stepping out in a big pink evening gown on the Red carpet and shouting to the photographers "I dressed for me! Don't look!"

Pshhhhh!

He says it's just for him...but he knows I will read it.

He an isolationist- who knows how to reach out and grab you...

but he does not care how long you sit outside waiting for him.

I once described him as a hermit.

A hermit I came to love.

A hermit who has hurt me repeatedly with his silence...

And yet- I know this is exactly what a hermit does.

He's not to blame for my ache- I am.

The thing though- the thing that gets me...is that I saw all of him once.

He even let me hold him...unguarded and vulnerable- and I will never

have that again.

But every now and then, he pokes out his head to let me see part of what I can not
have...and then taunts me with his words- "This is for me...and me alone. Not you!"

Why- sigh- why?

I'm not very complicated. I wanted to be loved- and to give love. I wanted the tingle. I wanted him. He said he loved me too...and he wanted me- but only on his terms?

I'll be honest here- I have a journal for private things I don't want the world to read. I have volumns of books with hundreds of thousands of my own words- penned by my own hand- for my eyes only. If I write something out here- it's public, not private.

When YOU write something out here- it's PUBLIC- not private.

but you already know that...

It's why you write the way you do-
You know I will see it...because you want me to. It's not just for you...it never was.

The back story~

39 years...
Wrapped up and tossed.
Thousands of moments-
Crumpled and lost.

Too many incidents-
Too much to forget,
Simply kill the Union,
Get past the regret.

He can live his life,
And she can live alone.
The kids are all grown ups
With homes of thier own.

And yet- there's the sting-
No more "Mom and Dad".
No longer a Unit...
And it just makes me sad.

Because I wanted to believe-
And I wanted them to make it,
But indeed there comes a time-
When 2 can no longer fake it.

A disolution of marriage,
Freedom from ties-
So many years vested~
Kiss them goodbye...


Yeah- I know this is sappy. I know, as a 38 year old woman, seeing my parents divorce is 1) no big surprise, and 2) maybe shouldn't sting quite as much as it does.
Yet- here I am.

Too many people close to the matter at hand read MV- and I simply can not write about this there. My mom and dad are fine with the arrangements they've made- but why is it hard for me? It scares me. I wish they had done this when they had been married less than 20 years, because the same problems I see now are the same problems they had then...and what does this say about me and my issues in marriage?

I know I am not my parents. I know I've made better choices because of their failures- so not all is lost, and yet- I've made some pretty big mistakes myself.

When my parents reached their 18 year anniversary- my mom was 36- dad 40, and they had 6 kids...the youngest was an infant. To be sure- that many kids only added to the problems my parents had. Much of the woe they experienced they brought on themselves. In one way- I almost see my mom using pregnancy and little ones as an excuse to avoid the problems she had with dad. Dad did nothing to fix the relationship either. Lots of kids gave the illusion of a happy family- and since he was the product of an alcoholic environment- keeping up "illusions" was the only way of life he ever knew.


How much of an illusion do I keep up?

This morning, in a Hardee's restaurant, I stood in line behind an elderly couple who were placing an order. The lady told the cashier what they wanted and the gentleman paid for breakfast. Their 2 little biscuits and coffee cost $3.79.

As he opened his wallet to take out his cash, he also pulled out a $50 bill in Mexican money (Pesos?) turned his head, and grinned at me. He said, "They won't take this stuff"- and I smiled and said, "No, I don't think they will". After he paid, he then turned to me and took out a bill that I didn't recognize. As he showed it to me he said- with an even bigger grin, "They won't take this either!" I asked him where it was from, and he said, "The Soviet Union".
I laughed and replied, "Well, you are just loaded! Aren't you?" He laughed too- and then shuffled off to follow his wife to their table. (Strangers often speak to me. I did not know this man or his wife, but I was not surprised by his friendliness. I think I appear "approachable"- particularly to older people. And little kids :)

I placed my order next. As I waited at the counter I turned around to watch the elderly couple, and I caught them at the exact moment they held hands, lowered their heads, and gave thanks for their food. Tears welled up in my eyes immediately. A thousand thoughts and feelings swept over me as I stood there. I don't know how it's possible for the human brain to process so many thoughts and feelings in such a tiny span of time, but it did.
In a matter of seconds I went from thinking about my chicken biscuit to getting weepy over a couple of old folks who were merely doing what they've probably done for 50 years or more.
It was beautiful.

Of course I wondered about their life. I kind of wanted to interview them. Actually though, that would have been a distraction for me, because what was at the root of my tears had nothing to do with the life they've led, and everything to do with my own.

I realized, with all my heart, I wanted an investment in another person that would pay out this kind of gold in my old age. I want the finished garment to be seamless. I want more than love, and passion, and adoration- I want *Nirvana. I want the finished product at the end of my life to be whole and unbroken- I want to be saturated and satisfied. I want the kind of bliss I saw this morning between 2 old people holding hands and giving thanks for their simple breakfast.

I think today, for the first time in my life, I saw the PRIZE. I saw it for what it really is. And I feel utterly inept in trying to describe it. Even now as I sit here typing -the tightness in my throat and the tears on my cheeks are all I have to express how I feel. It's pathetic. :)
So much for being a Writer. All I have to show for that title is a wet keyboard...
I'm sorry.

I was called away and didn't get to ask the couple any questions, but I didn't really need to. Sometimes the facts of a matter ding or tarnish the patina of feelings or sentiment.
I didn't want anything to spoil what I was thinking and feeling- so I am at peace about not having the history of their life. Although, if I ever see them again, I will ask :)

In one regard I feel I have a long way to go. On the other hand- I might only have today, or this year. I might only have my companion today, or this year.

I might only have YOU for today.

The Prize, exactly as I saw it this morning, may or may not be mine. I think the Prize is different things to different people, and yet the concept of it is probably universal. I can not describe exactly what it is, and yet I felt it with such force. I know what I saw, but can not convey the depth of what was truly there. Maybe one day, as this event brews in my head and in my heart, I will be able to. I hope so.

I'll be away for the next several days- the ocean is calling. Hope you all have a beautiful weekend :)

For Silence~

The silence gathers-
like darkness after sunset.
All is quiet,
like a tomb.
I waited too long-
He slipped away,
and I did too.

Goodbye friend-
I wave in the silence.
I whisper in the dark...
Take good care,
I miss you,

no reply.

Time is short.
Love is big.
Anger is a waste.
Regret is a waste too.
Communication is important.
Touch is vital.
Tears have meaning words don't.
Opinions are of no consequence.
Rules were made to be broken.

Time is short.
Love is big.

Only when I dream~

"Every time I turn around,
When I'm lost and when I'm found,
Like an angel standing guard-
There you are.."

Except you aren't~

Veritas

"Truth"

It hurts...acually- I think that pain is a good indicator in this regard...
If it hurts- it's probably truth.

I read something this morning that made me say, "OUCH!"

"You have to be willing to opt out of certain relationships in order to give your most important ones the time and attention they require and deserve."

Ugh..."OPT OUT"-

This means choosing to walk away from someone- from a relationship that is dear to you- even if it hurts...for your good, and probably theirs.
And I see that this is truth.

I see that someone has been trying to explain this to me for a while now.

I accept this truth. I see that I need to be focused elsewhere. The slate of my heart needs to be clean~
The problem is that there's something like a pool of cooled lava in one corner- and it's hardened- it's actually become completely attached- and I can't remove it easily-
I'm working on it.

Ouch, ouch, ouch...

Adrideo

"To Smile"


Did it work?

Cognitio

"Getting to know , knowledge"

People are funny creatures.

-

We start out simply enough...having needs and crying until those needs are met.

Then we learn about the joy of play, and laughter, and curiosity.

Ever play peek-a-boo with a 3 month old? Or been covered in kisses by a baby?

-

Or caught a crawler (9 month old) sitting in the bathroom un-spooling all the toilet tissue- and laughing as if it were the funniest thing in the world.

-

Ah- and next there are the lessons in safety and responsibility...

"Don't touch the outlets sweetie...Time to pick up our toys....lets wash our hands before lunch"

And before we know it- we come to understand our world has boundaries, limits, dangers, and consequences for our actions. We learn how to navigate around our needs- how to meet them in better ways than crying, or we simply let some needs go unmet.

We feel, and then analyze how we feel. We question everything...but get few answers. Our decisions are not based on our needs alone, they are based on the needs of everyone around us, and at the end of the day, we've done more for everyone in our circle than we have for ourselves...

And then we wonder why we feel out of sorts, or moody, or even lonely.

We get out of touch with ourselves. We over complicate simple things- like the need to be touched, or held, or just the need to be alone with someone in silence...to feel, inhale, and simply enjoy being in the presence of someone we love.

A back rub in the dark before he falls asleep-

His hands in my hair, or his fingertips on my cheek-

A kiss on the back of the neck-

All of these places held in reserve for one- and that "one" is too busy, or too tired to claim those places...and the other lets the need go unmet.

Why? Aren't we worth it? Aren't they? How hard is it to say "Hey...I need you!"

How hard is it to say..."I need you to know me"

-

Memento Mori

"Be mindful of dying"

common meaning;
"Remember you are mortal"

One of the books I'm presently reading, "Awakening at Mid-life" had a remarkable passage which stuck with me over the last several days. It said:

(In the Western culture) "We generally fail to appreciate that the boundary of death gives us a sense of purpose and meaning to our life. Too often, the awareness of death can cause us to live with a sense of hopelessness...

On the other hand, the awareness of death can push us to dance with life , to grab it with all the gusto we can. We can live every day in the moment, learn to love without hesitation, become aware of what is truly important to us, and experience ourselves as part of a great cosmic plan."
This idea that we fail to "appreciate the boundary of death" conveys more than our simply embracing each day and being grateful for it- it goes deeper than that. It reveals to me that no amount of energy or time should be spent feeling fretful, or worried about my own death, or the passing of those I love.


I feel that it's almost impossible for me to "appreciate the boundary of death", and yet- I KNOW deep in my heart that this is absolutely the healthiest way to view my own end. I WANT to feel this way- I want to value the finish line, but totally enjoy every moment of the race.

On second thought though...there are reasons why we don't enjoy some moments of the race. Some are painful, frightening, and confusing. There will be days when grief will walk closely with us. There will be times of deep loss, and those times should be respected with our tears and recognition of what can not be replaced. "Grief" is a love word, and in some ways- nothing measures our depth of love more accurately than death.

Sometimes we ourselves don't fully understand how much we loved until that person is gone.

Death is a companion to life, my future holds both, and I know it more now than I ever have. Love is in my future too...and it seems to me that love is the one thing that makes everything else worthwhile- it even gives me a sense of peace about the end...that I will arrive at my own finish line having loved with abandon, and knowing love was returned in kind.

As I end this post today- I want to finish with perhaps a better Latin phrase than the one I started with. The syntax might be wrong- but the right idea will be conveyed...

Memento Animatio
"Be mindful of living"

and

Memento Amororis
"Be mindful of loving"

Cur, or Ni

"Why"

??????????

Aperio ...

"What"

Oh...if only I knew!

Arma Virumque Cano

Arma Virumque Cano
Literal translation- "Arms and the man I sing"
Common meaning- "I tell of wars and a hero"

The topic of "Hero's" came up the other day. I realized, that unlike my parents in their generation- I didn't grow up with many heroes. There was never anyone in particular that I idolized on TV or in the movies. I liked Wonder Woman, but I knew her real name was Linda Carter and that her golden rope of truth was not real, nor were her bullet repelling bracelets. Shazam (sp?) was corny, and the Super Friends were cartoons. My mom and dad, as kids, were swept away by the adventures of Superman and they were invested in him. They read all the comic books, knew everything about him, and they loved him. I was never able to invest that kind of energy or feeling into a character on the big screen or the small one.
I guess the closest I came to admiring a character was Luke Skywalker in Star Wars... who I knew was a guy named Mark Hamil- and lived in California, not some planet with 2 moons.

I like REAL heroes. I was 11 when Ronald Regan was elected President of the US- and I loved him. He was strong, and handsome, and seemed to be a devoted man to his wife and country. I liked the sound of his voice, and the determined way he held his ground in the Cold War...and I grew to hate Communism and socialism because of President Regan. As I look back, I see that he was my first true hero...and he was REAL.

In due time CS Lewis became a hero to me too- but he died about 6 years before I was born. He wasn't a living breathing man I could ever meet, and yet his words- to this day- have a had a profound effect on my life. A hero can change and shape a life like few others can. We can hold them in esteem, emulate them, praise them, and pattern our lives in such a way that would bring our hero recognition and honor- in addition to greatly enhancing our own lives.

However, Mr. Lewis was a humble man- and did not want to be praised- few true heroes do. He was always quick to give any credit that came to him to God. Lewis survived the trenches on the front lines in England during WWI, watched his friends die in combat, and took care of the mother of a friend, a soldier who died, for 30 years...because he promised in the heat of battle that he would.

I know heroes aren't perfect- they have faults, and some have pretty thick armor around their hearts. Some let us in, some hold us at arms length, but they have their reasons for all the things they do. As an adult I have a few new heroes- some are soldiers, some are writers, some and some are gifted speakers. A few of these people I have had the great pleasure of meeting- even being able to get in a hug...and a "thank you"- often with tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat.

Their impact has been deep, and wide- like a meteor that crashes into soft soil- leaving a mark and a trail, long after the rock itself burned up or crumbled away. They've come into my life, said or did what needed to be done, and I let them and I listened.

Some of my heroes I may never encounter again- and some are as close to me as their book tucked in my night stand. For a girl who didn't grow up with many heroes- I have certainly discovered a few along the way- and they are treasures in my life, even if they aren't a part of my day to day living. Their words, ideals, values, and some tiny bit of their character exists in me...
which I think is way better than x-ray vision, or a golden headband boomarang~

E Pluribus Unum

"Out of many (backgrounds) One nation"
"Many ingredients, one stew"

There was a time in history when our country was a melting pot, right?
Or has time simply washed away the rough edges and the ugliness of the past- when the Irish and the Italians and the Polish folks kept to themselves in lower Manhattan and went about their business. The different cultures might not have immediately agreed to intermix, but no one held a grudge against the other for wanting to make a living. They had all come to America for one reason-
To make a better life for themselves and their families, and most of them did.

Fast forward 50 or 100 years- the Mexicans are still coming to the US for a better way of life, except they don't have to deal with Ellis Island. I can get Italian and Polish food whenever I want it...and the Irish- well, I love a good baked potato every now and then. :) The cultures did eventually intermix and America is a stronger nation because of it, or at least, it was a stronger nation at one time.

There's a dark stranger in our midst...and he doesn't want to intermix at all. He wants to destroy America. Irish, Italian, Polish, Russian, Mexican, Christian, Jew, Catholic- he hates all of us, we are INFIDELS. "Unfaithful"

Unfaithful to what? Our country, our families, our heritage?
Nope...
Unfaithful to "his" religion. A religion most of us can not and will not ever embrace.

The melting pot has something undigestable in it...something foul and deadly...simmering among the people of this country who have fallen asleep at the stove. Someone needs to fish out this deadly thing and cast it into the deepest pit we can find.

America's greatest strength was that she welcomed everyone, and now it's her greatest vulnerability.

Someone...ANYONE- Please put a lid on the melting pot...the stew is no longer safe to consume.

In Memoriam

"In Memory"

For a friend.
My best to you~ as always.

You say you want
Diamonds on a ring of gold
You say you want
Your story to remain untold

But all the promises we make
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you

You say youll give me
A highway with no one on it
Treasure just to look upon it
All the riches in the night

You say youll give me
Eyes in a moon of blindness
A river in a time of dryness
A harbour in the tempest
But all the promises we make
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you

You say you want
Your love to work out right
To last with me through the night

You say you want
Diamonds on a ring of gold
Your story to remain untold
Your love not to grow cold

All the promises we break
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you

You...all I want is...
You...all I want is...
You...all I want is...
You...

-U2

Sanctum Sanctorum

"Holy of holies" -or- "A very private place"

I've told one person about this blog...and I didn't give the address.
Not yet anyway~

We all need a private place.

When my kids were small- a private place seemed like an impossible dream.
They even mangaged to scribble in my journals. Nothing was sacred- nothing off limits.
Sticky finger prints on all the doorknobs, smudges on my clothes, marker drawings on the walls when I wasn't looking...my tupperware drawer was in a constant state of upheaval, and every corner of the house showed evidence of the little folks who lived there.

And, to be honest, I'm a good Mom...but a lousy housewife. I'd rather read a book to my kids, or make a project than do laundry or vaccume. It showed- and I don't apologize for that.
The work in the house always got done- but being available to my kids was at the top of my list...and having some amount of privacy really wasn't.

But it is now. Or being able to share What I want to share- with Who- When- or Where. Is this a sign of selfishness in my older age?
I don't suppose it really is.

Tonight I'm taking dinner for a family whose 33 year old daughter is fighting for her life due to a rare form of cancer. The daughter is so sick she's unable to handle visitors...even her own kids. She lays in dark room with tubes and monitors hooked up to her- with virtually no privacy at all- but totally alone with her thoughts.

I can imagine, to a degree, what she's thinking about...life, and death- especially death- as it looms large in her mind, lungs, and leg. Death, or the substance of it is present in her body. I can not, however, imagine how she copes with those thoughts, or with the hopes and dreams she had for the future that seem to be crashing down around her.

Death might lead us to a very private place- to the holiest of holies afterall. Are any of us ready for that? To go alone- into the unknown?

Suddenly I have the strongest urge to go hug my kids...

Facta Non Verba

"Deeds, not words"- (12th Field Artillery Regiment motto)

Tonight I'm supposed to be writing thank you notes...to people I've never met, for donations
they made in honor of a very sick little girl. I am the Public Relations Coordinator for this little girls fundraiser- and a host of responsibilities come along with such a job.

It's interesting that most of my "deeds" actually center on "words". Creating letters, making brochures, fliers, and hand-outs for any and every event to raise money for this baby's transplant- a triple organ transplant at that.

It's not a thank-less job...the look on her Grandmothers face every time I see her is worth more than gold in my heart. I am blessed to have healthy kids- who will in all likelyhood live to be old people with Grandchildren of their own. This baby will be lucky if she lives at all.

This blog is about doing things that matter. It's about becoming a better person, about the journey I'm on to become the best possible version of myself.
I'm learning Latin. I'm reading books on intimacy and mid-life awakenings. I'm studying the long relationships of my life- the ones I've been in for 20 years or longer. What do those relationships say about me?

That I'm real. I'm real flawed. I'm real flawed, but I do my best...usually.
I say yes to passion, and I say yes to security...sometimes those things do not go hand in hand.
I love deeply and wide- but I'm not a touchy feely kind of person. I look fluffy on the outside- but I'm totally practical on the inside. Form MUST follow function. I have no use for cutesy stuff, unelss it's a cow of some sort. I hate to iron anything. I love letters in the mail. I think kids should have structure and discipline, and I think they need goof-off time too...and I think Adults are no different.

At least I'm not.

Time for me to write some more thank you notes~