The Hotel Bathtub Debacle and Other Exciting Tidbits …

21 May

Two nights ago, a friend sent me a funny post. She said it was her “favorite summer video, she posts it EVERY summer, and here it was again.” And she was right … it was funny.

A middle-aged woman in a pink dress was sitting in a kayak on the bank of a river / lake / body of water holding a rope. She had apparently been thrown the rope from someone on shore who was either desperate to help her or desperate to get a funny video. To me, it seemed like a toss-up but I’m inclined to go with #2 and if that was the reason, score one for the rope tosser.

As she clutched the rope, she attempted to use it for balance while trying to de-kayak, which was proving more difficult than de-planeing ever was. She stood, she twisted, she attempted to put her leg over the side of the boat only to be sabotaged by gravity and flopped back into the seat of that small boat. Her gyrations were funny because, well, they just were, but also because I’m guessing a good number of people viewing that pitiful video couldn’t help but imagine themselves in that same situation with a similar outcome.

Out of breath and full of frustration, the video ended with the woman STILL in the boat with no visible rescue in sight, leaving the viewer laughing uproariously but also wondering what that poor woman’s fate was. Somewhere in the recesses of my recent past, I was pretty sure I knew …

I’m a retired RN. What that means is that out of those 40 years ( a total of 480 months) of VERY active duty, I probably managed to sit down approximately 168 hours (which totals one full week) and most of that time was ‘potty time.’ THAT kind of profession puts huge demands on our knees and veins, not to mention the wear and tear on the bladder (but that’s a topic for a separate anatomical blog). All those years and all those MILES I ended up … as a number of nurses do … having not one but both knees replaced. Being rid of that bone-on-bone knee pain was and is a blessing with only a few little problems to remind me that I’ve had the surgery.

And that reminded me of a recent trip my husband and I took out of state.

We stayed in a VERY nice hotel … many stories high with an atrium and glass-walled elevators that gave an amazing view of everything including two fountains in the atrium with bubbling water bathed in changing-color lights. It was lovely when traveling floor to floor. The food was good and the time we spent there was a delight.

Our room was a suite, which was cool and the bathroom was slightly larger than I expected.

We were at a conference, which was fun and great to see a lot of people we don’t see very often. Every day was jam-packed with activities that left us very tired at the end of the day. When we finally landed back in our suite for the night all I wanted to do was take a warm soaking bath and go to bed. And so, I DID that … or … I tried.

At home we have a large whirlpool bathtub … one of the luxuries I gave myself when we did a little home renovation. I LOVE that tub and the bathroom, along with my kitchen and sun room are my HAPPY PLACES in our home. The tub has high sides and is so easy to get in and out of that I forget that hotel tubs are NOT built like that and aren’t usually as accommodating to someone with both knees being held together with metal components. I might point out that I am NOT a shower person.

Do you kind of see where I’m going with this story???

So, the first night of the trip, back in our room I headed to the bathroom to relax in a warm bath.

Hotel bathtubs are kind of generic … small and very low to the ground BUT over the years since the last knee replacement, I’ve learned to adapt and I can manage. Not so THIS trip …

The bathtub in that fancy-ass suite was not only small and low to the ground, once I got IN I noticed the bottom was also slightly concave. The surface around the slight incline on both sides had a non-slip surface but right down the middle of the concave part there WERE no non-slip gripping things, which was probably easily navigated by people with non-bionic knees. For those of us that have TWO of them, that middle stretch may as well have been surfaced in slabs of ice freshly flown in from Antarctica. Once both feet were firmly in that deadly trough, I couldn’t find a way to firmly re-plant them or even one of them on the slip-resistant sides. I may as well have been stuck in a kayak on the bank of a river DARING the videographer to start taping.

After trying everything I knew to do, up to and including several very sophisticated Kegels, I called my husband.

After 29 years of marriage, you would suspect that very little could embarrass me in the company of my husband after that amount of time and all those years of history. I am here to tell you, “NOT SO!” There is absolutely NOTHING sexy about a woman stuck in a bathtub slick with soap and water while trying to pull her out.

I am a small person, not one once overweight, which SHOULD have given us points on OUR side and a significant advantage but didn’t.

I tried to help. I washed the soap off my arms, which actually DID make a difference for a firmer grip but I didn’t dare pat myself on the back about it because I still wasn’t out and neither of us was laughing. (I doubt the videographer attempting to get just the right shot of the woman hopelessly stuck in the kayak had those moments of panic that my husband and I had. Thinking about him now (the videographer, not my husband), I’d like to smack him just because I think it would FEEL good).

Anyway, after changing position and on the third try, similar to lifting a bar bell with no less than 127 pounds, half of those pounds on each end, we together managed  to get me safely to shore … ah … to the bathroom floor. Out of breath, I said, “I’m so embarrassed.” And I was. I almost cried.

On the ride home somewhere between NC and VA, my husband asked me, “What would you have done if we couldn’t have gotten you out of that bathtub?” My honest reply to him was, “I’d still be in there.” And I would have been. Or maybe after a while and some trouble shooting one of us would have thought to let the water out, line the tub with dry towels and, with his help and a lot of traction, I might have stepped out daintily like the delicate princess I’ve always thought I was and hoped he did, too. So much for THAT myth …

SO … watching my friend’s video, my hotel bathtub debacle came flooding back into my brain and I found her dilemma, staged for a camera and a spot on America’s Funniest Videos probably, somewhat less amusing. AND, because I’m a nurse and always concerned about other people, I so hope that woman stuck in the kayak somehow managed to get out.

I wonder if there’s ANY way I could find out exactly what happened to her. After my own personal struggle, I really wouldn’t care much to know if she actually WON that $10,000 prize for having America’s Funniest Video. I could have won that thing hands down and they might have tossed in an additional several thousand for critical thinking, inventiveness and teamwork.

Sadly, neither of us thought about making a video.

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Holding Our Loved Ones Close …

27 Apr

Our science fiction non-profit club, Heimdal Science Fiction, just celebrated our 42nd year as an organization with a big, fun anniversary party on April 18. We had a karaoke DJ and it was a Star Trek episode costume event. I was surprised and delighted at the number of us that got up and sang … without being self-conscious at all because we’ve known each other so long that we are comfortable being ourselves with each other … or something like that. We had door prizes and dinner and a really good time because, even though we’re 42-years-older than we were when we launched our organization, we’re not too old to play.  My goal for our club members is that we never lose that ability and never grow into grouchy old people. That’s simply not who we are.    

This post, although beginning with comments about a wonderful anniversary party, is actually about Glenda, a special club member who wanted to be there but told me from her hospital bed in mid-March, “I’m afraid I won’t be there this year.”

I’m saying that so you won’t be expecting a couple more pages about a fun night of celebration. The post is, though, a celebration in its own right … a celebration of a special woman that I hope will be remembered

At most of our anniversary parties one or more of our previous members will come because no matter how long it’s been since they left us … most of them moving on to start a splinter organization of their own … they will always be a part of us. This year Jerry drove all the way from West Virginia. He is one of our early members that left and launched a splinter chapter from us sometime in the early 1990s.

In a private moment Jerry said to me, “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting tired of burying people.”

Jerry’s statement, even in the midst of the costumes, karaoke songs and festivities was a statement of where we are. We’ve grown up together and now, 42 years later, we’re growing old together. We are reality in the midst of the science fiction atmosphere we’ve created. Rather than Jerry’s statement being a downer, it was a statement of truth and in some weird way it was a testimony to longevity and the depth of the friendships we’ve made and held onto for all these years. I’m encouraged that we’ve  been around to usher each other through the good times, the bad and sad times and the ending of chapters as we move on to what comes next. But I understood what Jerry was saying.

Our club has lost people to accident and disease through the years and most recently members of our core group, those who signed on with us early and have been around for the long haul and have left us within the past few years. Those are the losses that I’ve felt the most deeply: Martha, Jeanne who refused to die until she knew in 2020 that trump had lost the presidential election and died just hours after the election was called in favor of Biden,  Dennis who called me ‘Admiral’ and was always there and suddenly wasn’t, and most recently on March 28 we lost Glenda to a cancer diagnosis she received just 3 months earlier.  I knew exactly what Jerry meant. We didn’t dwell on it but we understood the grief we shared deeper than words at a party could express. We KNEW.

In the 36 years that Glenda and her husband were members of our organization she and I grew closer and more like sisters than friends in the same club.  In all that time we only had one disagreement about a club thing, which is an amazing track record, I think. In our sisterhood (from other mothers, as the saying goes) we may have been a little like all sisters by blood, dysfunctional sisters sometimes, and that was OK  

Glenda was the kind of club member everybody wants … caring, helpful, willing to take responsibility and to volunteer … all the while enjoying what she did and making new members feel at home. She was Chief of our club’s Communications Department.

Like Dennis, I assumed Glenda would always be there. I miss her already.

I remember the joy of helping her find just the right dress for a formal gala she was invited to through her job for the city and how lovely she looked. She shared with me that she hadn’t been to her own high school prom and that the gala was her first formal affair. I remember how much she enjoyed club Halloween parties and anniversary parties that were costume events and how much she enjoyed putting her costumes together and those for her husband and enjoying an evening of being someone other than herself and how much fun it was for her. She was dedicated to shopping and purchasing gifts for the senior citizens our club adopted each Christmas and bought gifts for. She was personally disturbed that our gifts were in many cases the only gifts those elderly people would receive for Christmas. She shopped wisely and personally for just the right gifts for each of them.

Always in the background the glue that held Glenda and me together was that we could talk to each other as friends and sisters and there is no substitute for that.

My husband and I, Beth and other club members made sure Glenda had us as visitors that final month of her life in the hospital. It was important to us that she saw us, understood how much we cared and knew that we loved her. We told her we did because that’s what people do … who DO.

There is a lovely garden in our city called the Awareness Garden made especially for remembering and honoring cancer victims who are in their personal battle with that awful disease, those who have survived the battle and those that have lost the battle. There is a huge bell in the center of the garden hanging there especially for survivors to visit and ring at the end of their cancer treatment, which is empowering.

The garden is filled with seasonal flowering trees and shrubs and plants and flowers of all kinds. Friends, families, businesses and acquaintances are encouraged to purchase a commutative brick paver inscribed with the names of the brave cancer victims in their honor or in memory of their courage and their fight. The pavers make up the walkway that winds throughout the garden for visitors to see and read and be inspired by. As an animal lover my heart is always touched by several pavers dedicated to pets and inscribed with words of deep love and memories for the special animal family members that have battled cancer.

With a third of the cost of a paver coming from our club’s treasury and the other two thirds donated by the department chiefs and me from our club we have purchased a paver in Glenda’s memory. It will rest for decades to come where it can be seen and be an inspiration to all that see it in a place of light and peace and beauty. And that’s what I wish for Glenda … to be surrounded by light and peace and beauty.

Inscribed on the paver will be:

In Loving Memory: Glenda Blanks

Heimdal

Heaven: The Final Frontier

Surrounded by the members of our club, which are more like family, and buoyed by the good things we are able to do year after year in our community, among the important things I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older is this – NEVER be afraid to tell your friends you love them. It’s one of the last things I said to Glenda … and to Jeanne and Dennis and Martha before her. In only three words you can sum up years of shared experiences and the depth of feeling you have for someone.

 It is probably the most important thing we will ever say and our greatest gift.

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Kings and Other Entities …

1 Apr

I usually only write one blog post a month, mostly because I don’t want to bombard you with posts and I want you to actually look forward to reading something I’ve written. So, I usually write just the one.

I saved this post for the end of the month because I knew my topic was going to be about attending the third NO KINGS Rally on March 28. What I hadn’t anticipated was suddenly having 2 additional topics I wanted to write about that were time-sensitive. After thinking about all 3 topics I decided on my original topic because I wanted to write about the rally while it is still very fresh in my mind.

I’m not a big fan of political posts but I AM a fan of the nation-wide rallies and it will be difficult not to mention politics when addressing this topic. BUT … while politics has to be part of it, it isn’t the MAIN part. My focus is the PEOPLE … the 1000 people that came to our local rally and joined the 8 MILLION people that participated in the NO KINGS rally nationwide. Amazingly, there were large rallies held in other COUNTRIES as well but I don’t have the numbers for those … just the national numbers. BUT the addition of those foreign numbers must have made the absolute total of people participating somewhere close to astronomical.

Nationally, the 8 million people in the US made up the largest rally for a single purpose EVER in the history of this country and that’s impressive.

My husband and I attended the first NO KINGS Rally in June last year. We both waited until our ‘twilight years’ to attend a protest of any kind. We were young people during the protest years when American people found their voice and their courage and began exercising their “right” to speak out against that for which they were passionate, for and against – the war in Viet Nam, the government, politics. We watched those things unfold on TV but didn’t participate and I’m not sure why. Maybe we were still a bit too young to feel a “part” of it all but for whatever reason we didn’t bang our drums and join the masses marching in the streets, speaking out for or against anything until we got old.

Protesting didn’t START in the 1960s but it became more an accepted part of who we are. Because here in the ‘New World’ our citizens were guaranteed a specific set of unalienable rights, women successfully protested (but not without difficulty) to obtain voting rights. Their peaceful protests and others throughout American history have been guaranteed by our Constitution.

And so, on March 28, 2026 my husband and I joined 998 local people, took our signs of protest to a local park and let our voices and concerns be known … because we had the right and because we were finally passionate about something that kicked our butts out into the streets. We have no regrets.

We have been more than concerned about the direction in which the current administration has chosen to take us and what we feel has been lost with their regime. We are big ‘people people’ and abhor seeing so much cruelty now in our country. We see a total lack of affordability and US citizens suffering while healthcare costs spiral in a race with food and gas prices that few of us can afford. We also are grieving because we have been thrust into a war that seems without meaning that risks the lives of our military and makes us far less safe on our own soil. Maybe being retired people for whom Social Security and Medicare suddenly have so much more meaning urged our protest signs into our hands and pointed us in the direction of the street.

We also have a 4-year-old grandson now and want to see a gentler world for him in which to grow up. Because that is now a major concern sitting in a pot on our stove threatening to boil over, our perspective has changed. He, suddenly, is our most serious concern. We want him to be able to say that his Grandpaw and Granny actually picked up signs and did what they could to make this a better world for him.

Following on the heels of some early warm spring days, March 28 arrived like a step back into winter. It was cold but remembering our determined and brave fellow protesters in Minnesota in January and February standing day after day in ankle deep snow and near 0 degrees, we pulled on our gloves and heavy coats, picked up our signs, met a friend and headed to the rally.

The NO KINGS events are extremely well organized and peaceful. You sign up ahead of time and are given the opportunity to attend webinars that instruct you in how to protest peacefully, which is the number ONE goal and how to deal with event disruption. There should be no signs on sticks or poles that have the potential to be used as weapons and in case of rain, bring a poncho and not an umbrella, which also could be used as a weapon. In the event that people show up intent on disrupting the event we were instructed to sit down on the ground and put our signs on the ground in front of us. There is always a police presence (not masked) and our sitting down will distinguish us – peaceful protestors – from those disrupting individuals. It is the most positive instruction.

So, on March 28 we were prepared.

The park had location’s and tents designated for vendors and snacks were available to purchase. Local personalities spoke and small bands played and amateur singers entertained us. Being the peaceful and well-planned event that it was, there was also a comfortable designated area for the “opposition,’ should anyone decide to come. No one did.

Each NO KINGS Rallyhas been attended by people of all nationalities, all ages, all socioeconomic groups, all colors, all professions. Each time ALL of those people with their differences immediately became friends with a common goal and  no one was a stranger. Our first rally reminded me of good neighbors meeting at the mailbox to share a moment together. That feeling has prevailed at every rally. The difference I noticed at the March 28 NO KINGS was the abundance of college age and high school age students. When interviewed by the media their reasons for being there were primarily because they love this country and wanted to become involved because of their concerns about its future and THEIRS.

The older people there … and there were a lot of white-haired heads in stocking caps … had lived through a lot of history and a lot of governments and they were there to protest what they see as the destruction of the democracy that has been a mainstay for them and their families all of their lives. They had some of the most clever and creative signs of all.

And the signs were just that – clever and creative. And they were filled with a special kind of humor that eased tensions and made us all feel better because they made us laugh. There was a woman in an inflatable lobster costume and there were also an inflatable frog and bear, bearing testimony to the peaceful nature of the protest. The press was there with video cameras for a spot on the News at 6.

It was a cold and tiring 3 hours but it was refreshing and each rally restores my faith in people and in a huge chunk of humanity. It also buoys my belief that we … those of us who feel the same about our country and the damage it and our democracy are enduring … are not alone. There are SO many of us and there is immense comfort in that.

Later that night watching the videos come in on TV of the NO KINGS rallies nationwide … seeing the protestors in parks, on sidewalks, filling major roadways and parking lots and parade routes and seeing individual American faces, Asian faces, the faces of college students, black and brown faces marching together and all getting along like friends made my heart swell. They are a part of us and we of them because ALL of us love this country. We are all the same and that just makes my heart happy.

I saw a response to a question on Facebook by our local TV station asking about the rally. The responses were varied as they always are depending on the political leaning of the respondents. One response went on at great length, stating that tired old answer that the government floated before the October 2025 NO KINGS. He responded that all the protestors were paid actors and the signs were professionally made. He said that billionaire, George Soros financed the entire protest … the same dribble that has no basis in fact. He even said the protestors were ‘domestic terrorists.’

There is no logic associated with those claims. For example, even Soros can’t be wealthy enough to pay EVERY one of the 8 million protestors at the March 28 rally or  7 million in October. None of us are actors, although some well-known actors did attend in other areas. Just looking around among the 1000 people at the local rally I didn’t see even one professionally-made sign. I made the 3 my husband and our friend held high on that windy, cold spring afternoon and people drove by on the street and honked their approval of our demonstration. Probably the ONE person that drove by and gave us the finger with his hand stuck out his car window would have to agree he didn’t see a professionally-made sign either.

We plan to be at every future protest that we can because that is what we CAN do. If we are patient and keep showing up and our numbers continue to increase by a million with each protest, I believe we CAN make a difference.

What I seriously doubt, though, is that any of us will be receiving a check from George Soros for our performance at the NO KINGS events. I’m not only not holding my breath about that one, I’m not even going to check my mailbox.

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THE ANOINTING …

19 Feb

I grew up in the church …

That beautiful old church with the stained-glass windows surrounding the sanctuary was one of several my great grandfather founded in North Carolina. He lived in that small city, raised his family there, practiced law there, went back to school and became a Baptist minister and offered many a sermon in that church years before I was born. I never met him but he was a unique individual who did some astounding things in North Carolina and took time some afternoons to do pencil sketches with a great degree of talent. Passed along to me as the last remaining family member, in addition, I’m told, to his artistic talent, I have a delightful pencil drawing he did of a flop-eared dog that is over 100 years old. This spring I plan to visit that lovely old church, speak to the congregation and pass along some family heirlooms to the church’s History Room, including that pencil sketch. It’s important to me to do that.

By the time I was born, my grandmother was the matriarch of the church. She exposed me to my very first protest as a pre-school child when she organized the church woman to march upon the building site of a soon-to-be-built pizza restaurant across the street. They arrived dressed to the nines, wearing orthopedic shoes, church hats with veils and carrying signs with words like STOP THE PIZZA RESTAURANT emblazoned across the surface. One of them brought a drum that she willingly pounded with enthusiasm. In today’s world they would have definitely been skilled assets.

In spite of their furor and determination, the pizza restaurant was built anyway but failed to thrive. The church, however, continued on, is alive and productive with many of the local faithful continuing on today, making even more positive history.

As a very small little girl, my very first memory of that church was of a small, little girl-size toilet in the women’s bathroom. I used to LOVE using it and made a trip there every Sunday just so I could take my special place on that unique ‘throne.’ Many years later when I took my husband to visit the church while returning home to Virginia from a trip, the first thing I took him to see was that little toilet in the women’s bathroom exactly as I remembered it.

So, the church has always been a part of my life and that ancient “family church’ especially. With faith I have never truly felt alone.

Many, many years later at the end of my nursing career I took an early retirement. One year and 9 months later I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was unexpected, primarily because NO ONE on either side of my family had had any kind of cancer except an uncle who had smoked an average of 3 – 5 packs of cigarettes a day, give or take, from the age of 13. I never really counted him as a family member with cancer because his diagnosis was clearly a case of ‘cause and effect.’ So, I was the first.

I went for a repeat mammogram on a Friday morning, stayed for a biopsy, had a preliminary diagnosis of breast cancer and, even though I wouldn’t get a pathology report until Monday, the mammography doctor was 99% certain we were looking at a cancer. No one who has not had that experience can imagine the jumbled thoughts, the confusion, the fear and the anticipation associated with that sudden diagnosis. It was a very long and anxiety-filled weekend but waiting for results always is.

The pathology report on Monday confirmed my worst nightmare and there followed a full year of 6 months of chemotherapy, hair loss, wigs, 33 radiation treatments, determination and love from my husband and support from family and friends.

In the midst of all that was frightening, exhausting, extremely difficult, treatments, hair loss and wigs, there were so many positives … like finding a special strength I didn’t know I had and learning that we can’t imagine just how strong we are until we HAVE to be. I learned so much about myself.

At the end of treatment, I began speaking at seminars and events about breast cancer, mammograms and early detection. I hosted a local television talk show for 6 amazing years, I wrote and published 2 books, managed to use the untapped talents I had been given and felt I had done almost everything I ever thought I might want to do. It was one of the most life-changing and positive experiences I could imagine. 18 years later I realize how truly blessed I’ve been.

I somehow got sidetracked with this, remembering my childhood and my family’s church that are still so precious to me. Where I intended to go with this post is this: the Friday after my certain-to-be positive biopsy for breast cancer, I asked our minister on Sunday morning if I could speak to him after the service. When the sanctuary was quiet and empty, my husband and I went with our minister and his wife to his office and I explained my diagnosis. Kind people that they were, they were understanding and encouraging and let me talk as long as I felt I needed to. Having that discussion in the stillness and quiet of the empty church was significant and calming.

As my husband and I were preparing to leave, our minister asked, “Would you like to be anointed?” Even growing up in the church I don’t remember being aware that church members could ask for that ‘service’ and actually be anointed.

Anointing is a ritual of divine blessing that pre-dates current history. Anointing with aromatic oils encourages health and divine blessings. Jesus was anointed by unknown women several times throughout the Bible and on several occasions, the last as part of preparing him for burial following the crucifixion.

I immediately answered our minister by saying, without hesitation, “YES.” It only took a few minutes.

In the few days before that Sunday morning my anxiety had grown to unimaginable proportions and I realized for 2 days I’d been holding my shoulders so rigid and high they almost touched my ears. When our pastor put that tiny bit of oil on my forehead in the quiet of his office in the empty church, I instantly relaxed my shoulders and felt the heavy weight of those past 2 days simply melt away. Even though purely symbolic, it felt freeing and physical and very personal … and today, still difficult to describe, it was one of only two experiences like it I’ve had in my life. I don’t question it and I don’t attempt to explain it. It simply WAS and I have been forever grateful for it.

This past Sunday our current minister’s morning service was A Service of Healing.  He offered the congregation an opportunity, if they wished, to be anointed during the service. Not planning to speak, I raised my hand and asked if I could share something. Our minister nodded and I related the story of having been anointed by our previous pastor those many years ago, the meaning I associated with it, the almost metophysical experience it had been and the immediate relaxation I felt upon having that first small drop of oil put on my forehead.

Our pastor thanked me for sharing and extended an invitation to anyone wishing to be anointed. My husband and I were the first.

When we turned around, we were surprised to see every person in church in a line waiting to be anointed. My husband said quietly, “Look what you did!”

We were the last to leave the church and our minister told us he was never so overwhelmed as he was to look up and see EVERY person in church standing in line waiting to be anointed. He thanked me again for sharing my experience from so many years ago following my breast cancer diagnosis … and the feeling it gave me of relief and relaxation … and being blessed.

I’m forever grateful that my husband and I shared the experience at church on Sunday … together and with everyone else there.

Faith, I think, is what we truly feel and believe in our hearts. You don’t have to be born into a  ‘family of a church’ to have faith but if we have it, we are richer for it  Best of all you will experience the blessings of having a ‘church family.’

What I experienced when anointed all those years ago that shouldered some of my diagnosis and made my burden lighter wasn’t supernatural or metaphysical. I believe it was due to the strength of faith.

I am so looking forward to our trip to North Carolina in the spring … visiting my family’s church … smelling the pleasant scent of enduring things that are old and well loved … closing my eyes and bringing back so many memories and revisiting my childhood.

Among the things I look forward to most is stepping through the door of the women’s restroom, seeing and maybe sitting on that much loved and remembered small ‘throne’ to the right of the door … and feeling like a princess again.

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‘AMERICAN  ICONS.’  Thank You, BUDWEISER ….

27 Jan

This is my opinion only but, for what it’s worth, a startling number of people are feeling the weight of how I feel (and HAVE felt) lately. Like a beloved elderly parent or relative descending into dementia, this country has been descending into madness, culminating in the events of this past weekend and just a few weeks before it. Two young people lost their lives at the hands of ICE agents currently ‘occupying’ Minneapolis, MN.  I won’t … well, CAN’T … go into any of it because it breaks my heart, not only for the lives so unnecessarily taken but for the environment that has allowed these events to happen. If you were alive this weekend and own any kind of device upon which you are able to access news, then you KNOW.

I couldn’t stop crying all day on Saturday.

After the initial shock, while not USE to the idea of it, I think we just cocoon ourselves  away from things that rip us apart emotionally and threaten our tolerance and our sanity. Now, on Monday, the only thing I’m allowing to distract me and bring my tears back are commercials about very sick children (thank you for all you do, St. Jude’s) and animals left out in the cold without food or shelter (thank you Humane Society for saving the lives of abandoned and abused animals).

I had set aside today to write this month’s blog but this morning I couldn’t remember that really cool topic I’d planned to write about. So here I am. And this will probably be one of my shortest blog entries since I began blogging in December 2003. But it really doesn’t need to be a long piece. For me, it just needs to “be.”

Facebook was probably the last place I needed to go today but as administrator of a couple of Facebook pages I really needed to drop by and update those pages. I’m glad I did.

I briefly ran through the FB Newsfeed and stopped at something that caught my eye. Super Bowl Sunday is coming up on February 8 and is being hyped in advance as it always is, plus there’s a little bit of extra stuff tossed in there to grab our attention, like the president vowing he won’t attend because he doesn’t agree with the entertainment. That’s cool. I’m pretty sure he has something else to do that day and so do all those Secret Service guys that precede him and trail behind him everywhere he goes. AND that will cost the taxpayers a little less on February 8 so everything is good.

The Super Bowl commercials are ALWAYS big attention grabbers and like that advanced hype I mentioned, some of the better commercials are ‘leaked’ in advance. Some of them are pretty amazing and I’ve been known in the past to watch the game just so I can see the commercials. This is what caught my eye:

BUDWEISER / SUPER BOWL LX COMMERCIAL “AMERICAN ICONS’

So, I clicked on the link.

True to the title, the commercial begins with a Clydesdale pony – a true American icon. I won’t make this a spoiler by telling you more about the commercial. You should see it for yourself … and feel the emotion … the beauty of it … and the KINDNESS. It is indescribable and, anyway, you can’t be TOLD about it. You have to experience it personally and FEEL it.

Budweiser must have the cleverest advertising team on the planet. They always seem to know, not just what will sell beer, but what will touch our hearts and how to bring us beauty and joy. This year their Super Bowl LX commercial also brings us  KINDNESS.

Maybe it’s just me and the fact that I was so needy today of kindness … of some reminder of how America use to be. Today that was brought to me in a beer commercial featuring subtle, yet powerful American icons.  

I don’t know how many times I watched it but that’s how many times I cried. A big release caused by seeing something positive and beautiful beginning with a baby horse.

For whatever reason you may choose to watch ‘American Icons’  … the beer, the fun of watching something different or the personal message you may find in it, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Budweiser knows how to grab our attention.

Thank you, Budweiser for a moment of beauty and kindness today. You know how to touch our hearts when we need it.

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Lust and the Leopard Coat …

29 Dec

The Cardinal Sins, or 7 Deadly Sins include greed, pride, wrath, sloth, envy, gluttony and lust. These 7 are referred to as Deadly Sins because they are considered destructive to the soul if not repented and forgiven.

Many years ago, I remember a public and apparently extremely newsworthy conflict between televangelist, Rev. Jerry Falwell and presidential candidate at the time, Jimmy Carter. Rev. Falwell was appalled by a Carter interview comment suggesting he (Carter) had “Lusted in his heart.”  As well as I remember, Mr. Carter’s ratings fell fairly significantly and Carter balked at Falwell’s comments. There was much news coverage and discussion about the whole thing and jokes among friends all over the place about that ‘in the heart lusting’ thing. I was young at the time and don’t remember the situation or the context of the controversy but I DO remember the hub-bub surrounding Falwell’s comment.

Mostly I remember it because Rev. Falwell was born, raised, started his religious empire right here in OUR city and resided here so news that involved him  REALLY  involved him here in local news because he was our number one celebrity. He kept Lynchburg, VA on the map  and in the news.

The context really isn’t important to this post but when I was sitting down at the computer to write this, I suddenly remembered Jerry Falwell and Jimmy Carter at odds, quite publicly … and with a furor here … because of the LUST thing. And the lust thing, that part of the list of 7 Deadly Sins is the basis of this blog. (How’s that for trotting the horse around the barn to get inside?)

CATO Fashions is my FAVORITE women’s apparel store. I shop for clothing pretty much exclusively at the local store and during the pandemic I began shopping through the on-line catalog. Looking at my computer screen filled with photos of the latest fashions and making a rare purchase from time to time … rare because no one really knew if we would be sequestered indefinitely at home wearing sweats or if life as we’d known it would eventually return to the COVID-weary.

In the on-line catalog in October, I noticed and kind of liked an animal print full length coat. I didn’t linger on the coat for 2 reasons – 1) I didn’t NEED a coat, and 2) I’ve never been excited by animal print. It can be overused in a leopard-like minute and make the wearer TACKY in less time than that, so I moved on. EXCEPT every time I got a new catalog the coat was there and every time I lingered long enough to check it out again.

In November I needed a cocktail dress for a once-a-year party my husband and I attend during the Christmas holidays so I went to CATO and found the PERFECT dress. As a matter of fact, wearing that dress was sort of “magical,” The dress got more compliments than I can remember and when I sent a photo to CATO of me at the party wearing that magic dress, CATO immediately used it in the CATO Gallery in their catalog. What an honor and a surprise.

Like the exciting mystery sack Santa drags from house-to-house on Christmas Eve, that magical cocktail dress that I was carrying out the door of the store in a CATO bag seemed to tug me in the direction of (when what to my wandering eyes should appear) a rack to the right of the door. And ON that rack hung the leopard coat. I would swear my feet left the floor and I floated from the door to the rack. The coat was far more attractive than it had been on my computer screen and although they only had 3 in sizes too large for me, I felt compelled to put down my purse and the magical dress in the bag and try on the coat.

What happened next can ONLY be described as a supernatural experience.

The coat was soft … really soft. I slipped it on, pulled that soft plush collar up around my chin and the store, the garment racks and the mall outside disappeared – replaced by stars and fireworks and colors and the sounds of angels singing, “Ta Da.” The sequins on the magical cocktail dress rustled in the bag. I took the coat off and the magic was broken. I floated to the car and told my husband that I’d just had an epiphany. I wanted that coat.

I enjoy clothes primarily because my 38-year career as an OR nurse, while exciting and rewarding, was spent … every minute of those 38 years … wearing scrubs, looking like all the other nurses AND the doctors AND the orderlies.  We were like (Star Trek reference here) the BORG … we were part of The Collective. Since taking an early retirement, being able to wear personality-reflecting garments has been a joy. Even experiencing that particular joy, only rarely does a specific garment REALLY become a focal point of daily living (obsession?) for me. At the risk of repeating myself, I REALLY wanted that coat.

The local store did not have my size. My size no longer was available in the catalog. The epiphany had come too late.   

I called all 8 stores in the state of Virginia and found only ONE coat in my size in a store in a town 45 minutes away. The clerk I spoke with said she would hold it for me but we didn’t have time for a 100-mile round trip drive to get the coat.

I began watching the catalog … checking several times a day hoping someone would return a coat in my size, but nobody did. My husband offered to drive that 100-mile round trip to get the coat for me as a birthday gift but I couldn’t ask him to do that since I knew how busy he was and I really didn’t need a coat.

SUDDENLY, like a bolt from that same ‘blue’ where the fireworks went off and the angels sang to me of leopard coats that were surly manufactured in heaven, I was hit with a realization. I suddenly understood Jimmy Carter’s alleged Lusting in his Heart condition. There  obviously WAS such an ailment and I HAD it … I was deep in the throes of one of the 7 Deadly Sins. I rationalized that the only cure (the dictionary said that LUST was destructive to the soul) was repentance and forgiveness and the only path I could see to repentance was BUYING THAT COAT.

SO … riding along with my husband on his trip to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription, I asked him to drop me off at CATO. I went in and they still had 2 coats one size larger than my size and one even larger. I tried on one of the 2 smaller ones. Again, as the first time I tried on the coat, it was too large. Closing my eyes and holding my breath, I slipped into the other one-size-larger one and …. as happens only once in a miracle … the second coat, just an infinite bit smaller, FIT.

I was so excited when I made the purchase, the sales person asked me a question I hadn’t been asked since I was a child, “Would you like to wear it home?” Resisting the urge, I carried it out to the car in a large CATO bag. On the ride home I kept my hand inside the bag on the soft fabric of the coat. My husband smiled and said he was happy that I was happy. Somewhere that choir of CATO angels was singing.

It’s been hard to take the coat off or not to keep trying it on. Today I wore it for the first time and it felt every bit as good as it did the first time I tried it on way back in early November when  the room disappeared and the angels sang.  

Apparently, I was also absolved of any possibility of damaging my soul to the point of destruction and I repented for my side trip into the Lusting in My Heart  Zone. I believe I was forgiven (I think). This was my first time on that side of lusting and I took the situation in hand and believe I stopped it just in time, grateful that I’d only crossed into the Twilight Zone of ONE deadly sin. I’m not sure I could have dealt so well with sloth or gluttony at the same time.

This morning, I pulled that soft collar up under my chin and walked out into the world. In that moment all was right with that revolving sphere, if only for a little while,  as viewed from the warmth of a leopard coat.  And the angels sang and sang.

Somewhere Jimmy Carter was smiling.

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And Then the Dentist Sang …

17 Nov

I’ve been writing a blog for 12 years and the thing that makes my heart happiest, right after having people actually READ what I write, is having even one person respond that something I’ve written has touched them in some personal way or they’ve had a similar experience and my blog resonated with them. I’ve come to believe that what happens to us probably has happened to someone else or a number of someone elses even though it feels very personal and unique to us.

This blog I’m about to write is different. I’m betting dollars to doughnuts that this is an experience that only I have had even though someone else may have had something similar. I’m of the firm belief that NO ONE has had exactly this. You can let me know but I doubt that I will hear from anyone. Your comments are always welcome, though, even if it’s just to say, “Heck, NO! That has NEVER happened to me, you whack-o.”

This has been a weird year.

Politics aside, there has been one unpleasant thing after another since January when I had a bout with diverticulitis, followed almost immediately by an abscessed tooth and immediately following that, our 19-year-old cat had 2 back-to-back bladder infections, both requiring weekend trips to the local Emergency Veterinary Clinic. Both times she was given antibiotics and an injection for pain. The second pain medication, prescribed especially for geriatric cats caused her to have a psychotic reaction, which was frightening. It never occurred to me that could happen to a cat. She was terrified of everything, including my husband and me and sequestered herself out-of-reach under a bed for 2 days. When she finally came down from her very bad trip she was slightly dehydrated and exhausted. That nightmare exhausted all three of us. You can’t imagine how frightening it was to see her so scared and to feel so helpless, even though the vet called us frequently to see how we were all doing.

There have been other things like brushing my teeth first thing in the morning and finding my crown stuck in my night guard, no longer sharing a connection with my gums. The crown was cracked, couldn’t be simply glued back in and required a root canal … my second one since January’s abscessed tooth.

Usually a fairly calm person, my anxiety level went over the line into ‘arc weld’ when, following my next dental appointment I had an adverse reaction 5 hours after taking the antibiotic I have to take prior to dental work because I have 2 joint replacements. The root canal required two more trips to the dentist so we spaced them 2 months apart to give me a rest between taking the antibiotic.

But I had the same antibiotic reaction again; not as severe and not as long in duration  but it was unpleasant and I didn’t want to do it again.  But I did.  

I survived but by the SECOND appointment I was a white-knuckle dental chair flyer … a basket case in anticipation of another antibiotic reaction.  And it DID happen again five hours following the appointment and I survived but I didn’t fly that anxiety-ridden dental trip prior to the reaction alone…

Here is where the dentist and I began our unexpected journey into … the Twilight Dentition Zone.

I took my seat in the dental chair and applied my death grip to the arm rests. The dentist, who isn’t just simply a dentist … he is, instead an Endodontist and that makes him “special,” flipped the ‘head down’ chair switch and my head began its decent into that area that makes me dizzy because of my blood pressure medicine.

The farther down he dipped my head, the worse my growing anxiety and by the time I reached the reverse nosebleed position I started having irregular heartbeats. Severe anxiety sometimes does that to me and while I was concentrating on not passing out,  I began trying to talk myself out of the irregular heartbeats.  By then the dental assistant had stuck that sucking-thing under my tongue and the brightness of that inquisition-style dental light rendered me almost totally blind. BUT the irregular heartbeats continued as my attempt at self-hypnosis failed miserably.

Flying blind on my head while a lung and a kidney were being sucked out through that sucking-thing under my tongue, I was unable to stop the irregularity. I reasoned it was time to alert the dentist/Endo guy to what was happening while he obliviously began turning the drill up three more octaves to ARC WELD. I thought he deserved to know and I was weary of being the only one of the two of us aware of my impending cardiac arrest.

I told him.

He immediately removed all 42 instruments, both of his hands and that lung-sucking suction-thing from my mouth and began tilting the chair back to a more comfortable longitude and latitude and asked, “Is that better?”

I told him just getting off my head was a relief but the cardiac irregularities kept on. He said we could cancel the appointment but I told him, “I’m here, I’ve taken the antibiotic and WE’RE DOING THIS PROCEDURE.”

He said,  “OK” and asked if there was anything he could do.

I told him, “No. I just need a minute,” which didn’t help at all.

He offered, “I could sing!”

And before I could even think of a Top 40 tune to request, he burst into song. For probably a full minute he sang a rousing, cardiac irregularity-stopping rendition of You Are My Sunshine.  I listened, I laughed and my heart dropped into a lower gear and back to normal rhythm again. Both he and I were relieved.

We began the procedure again in a modified, less annoying head-dragging position and everything went off without a hitch. I told him I’d recommend him to my friends, “especially the psychotic ones.”

This could be the end of my story except for this … I was an operating room RN for my entire nursing career and I KNOW what it’s like to think a patient is about to take their last gasp while under your care. It’s one of those moments when you maintain your outward composure while gently reassuring the patient and having an undetectable emotional breakdown of your own. It’s one of those medical skills we cultivate but never talk about. We just do it.

So, I couldn’t help wondering, while the chorus of You Are My Sunshine was beginning, if that gentle Endodontist was whispering silently to himself in his head, “Please don’t bite the big one in my dental chair.” Chances are almost 100% that he was … and I understand.

Given a little more time, I probably could have reversed my anxiety on my own … I’m certain of it and it would have made me far less embarrassed if I could have pulled it off quietly without mentioning it at all.

Turns out all I needed was a little distraction –  just like that unexpected surprise rendition of You Are My Sunshine. Until then I wasn’t having much success but …

Then the dentist sang …

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The Truth About ‘NO KINGS’

13 Oct

No matter WHO we are, what race or nationality, male or female or what political party we affiliate with I’d like to believe we ALL prefer the TRUTH to information that is actually MISinformation or DISinformation.  It just makes sense to want to be informed with correct information. It’s good to trust people who have had the actual ‘experience’ to describe it to us. Even better, of course, is actually having had the experience personally, in which case we’re pretty much assured we’ve got it right. AND if someone asks us to describe it to them, we’re confident we’re passing along the truth. You know …

So, I felt compelled to write this about an experience I’ve had (and shared with thousands of people) to dispel rumors or incorrect information that’s floating around “out there.”

Contrary to how it may seem, this is not exactly a political post. The example is political but the focus remains about TRUTH, which seems to be in short order a lot of the time lately. On this topic, at least, I really want to share the truth because I’ve BEEN THERE, DONE THAT.  

The past few days I’ve heard the Speaker of the House, Mike Johnson say that next weekend there will be a protest (speaking of the NO KINGS national protest / rally on October 18) that he referred to as “the  HATE AMERICA  RALLY.”

What Mr. Johnson said was,  “It will be a gathering of Antifa, Pro-Marxists and Pro-Hamas groups. It will be an outrageous gathering with an outrageous purpose. All this has got to come to an end. We’re so angry  about it. I’m a very patient guy but I have had it with these people. They’re playing games with real people’s lives. It (the rally) is meant to extend the government shutdown.”

I’m sorry but I can’t listen to this disinformation without speaking up and speaking out.

My husband and I were at the national NO KINGS Protest in June and I know from having been a part of it, how and what it actually was. If anyone turned on a TV (any channel other than FOX News) in the many days following, they saw HUGE crowds in every major city and in small towns all over this country PEACEFULLY PROTESTING as part of the NO KINGS  Protest.  AND it extended into countries other than our own. There was no violence, which was remarkable considering the size of the crowds.

As a “national” protest there is NO DOUBT in my mind that it was successful, peaceful and overwhelmingly attended BECAUSE of skillful organization AND because those attending were united in a common cause because we LOVE THIS COUNTRY. “Hating America” was never even hinted at.

WEEKS prior to the event those of us signed up to attend were invited to multiple webinars that educated us on how to act, how to peacefully defuse a conflict, what we could and could not bring to the event, and sadly, how to be identified should we become victims of violence. The recurrent theme throughout EVERY webinar we attended was that, above and beyond all else, it would be PEACEFUL, which was the most important thing.

We were told absolutely NOT to bring a weapon. It was suggested that we bring water, signs and a snack if we wanted to. We were also told to bring raincoats in the event of bad weather. We would NOT be allowed to bring umbrellas or any object that had the potential to be used as a weapon … our posters and signs had to be held by hand and not attached to stakes or sticks of any kind.

We were instructed NOT to be confrontational even if someone confronted us. If a conflict occurred that threatened to become physical, we were instructed to sit down on the ground and put our signs on the ground in front of us. This would distinguish us from those causing the conflict and would make them easier for the police presence to identify.

The constant and ever-present instruction was to do everything we were instructed to do to keep it a  PEACEFUL PROTEST. And it worked. Of the thousands and thousands of people that attended throughout the world, the protest was PEACEFUL. There was NO sign of HATE or HATE AMERICA. This apparently was the universal response or we would surely have heard about even one incident for days and days following the event.

I can only speak for the rally we attended in our city, which brought in more than 1000 people and was remarkable.

 To make things clear, my husband and I are not affiliated with ANTIFA (which is NOT a “group or organization,” by the way, but is an abbreviation (possibly also an acronym?) for Anti Fascism), neither are we Pro-Marxists or Pro-Hamas. Among ALL those present we never saw a single poster or sign FOR those groups but did see MANY very creative signs and posters protesting against President trump’s methods of governing and tendency toward acting like a king … hence the NO KINGS title of the nation-wide rally. There were, however, abundant posters / signs to save our democracy, Social Security, healthcare, Medicare, Medicaid, museums, history as it actually happened, education, women’s rights and the CONSTITUTION, and more. There were signs against indiscriminate ICE raids against anyone that does NOT appear to be ‘white.’

The 1000+ people at the rally locally were the way America was intended … people of every color, race, sex, nationality, and they (we) were young people, old people, disabled people – some in wheelchairs, representatives from every age and choice … every group. The BEST part of all of us together was that we WERE together … talking to each other like neighbors meeting at a mailbox  or at a block party united for a common cause and  BECAUSE WE LOVE THIS COUNTRY. It was exhilarating and positive and inspiring.

The only concern that could have turned to conflict, thankfully did NOT. 3 men arrived together wearing the MAGA uniform –  beards, the red baseball MAGA cap … and stood just outside the crowd watching, scowling and one was taking notes. About 40 minutes into the event one left and came back carrying a flag I wasn’t familiar with and wearing a shoulder holster with a gun. He walked into the crowd and simply stood holding his flag. The police approached him immediately and spoke with but didn’t attempt to make him leave because he hadn’t done anything except, perhaps, try to intimidate with the presence of his holstered weapon. We’d been well trained by the pre-rally webinars and didn’t feel the intimidation if any was intended.

A woman with a small child standing close to us said, “There are CHILDREN here …”

The press arrived and was headed towards the man with the flag and gun, doing their job and apparently with plans to get a story for News at 6.  The men closest to him surrounded him quickly, never touching him, and held their signs above his head to deflect the press and keep the event from being interpreted as something controversial. Since the event was PEACEFUL (and about the right to  PEACEFULLY PROTEST as much as it was about NO KINGS), I thought the action of the men in the crowd was peacefully and well executed. The 3 bearded men left shortly after that.

SO … Mr. Johnson … you are wrong and I couldn’t let your statements just hang out there in the air without attempting to make them right as I’m certain you would want me to do. The previous nation-wide NO KINGS event was neither populated by ANTIFA, Pro-Marxists or Pro-Hamas and I’m betting dollars to doughnuts the NO KINGS event coming up on October 18 will not be either.

The thing that bothers me so much about what you’ve been saying is that it is disinformation and rather than it being simply your OPINION, because of who you are and the position you hold it may seem to be a call to those troubled trump followers who enjoy conflicts and inflicting personal injury upon those they believe to be against trump. Your statements, Sir, are what has the potential to cause problems and even injury or loss of life and that frightens me beyond words. You have a responsibility to do all you can to prevent that from happening.

As an additional aside, as preparation for the October NO KINGS event continues, including pre-event webinars, at NO time have we heard even a hint that this particular rally that has been months in the planning, is intended as a means of extending the current government shutdown.  The shutdown is NOT a consideration because it hadn’t occurred when this event was originally conceived.  

I remember politicians having differences of opinion as long as I’ve been able to understand conversation and differences. In the past that was a good thing because talking / debating through differences mostly made for sounder and stronger  judgement.  It encouraged people to THINK.  But misinformation & disinformation are like cancers that will continue to do unimaginable damage unless they are stopped. I implore you to do your research and find out what NO KINGS (or anything else) is about before making public statements that can cause real damage.  Let it start with you …

The NO KINGS Protests are peaceful, founded on peace for the love of this country. WATCH … LISTEN TO THEM … ATTEND ONE.  According to unaltered history … President Truman had a sign on his desk that said THE BUCK STOPS HERE.

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Bloody Wednesday

12 Sep

Wednesday, September 10, 2025 began like most Wednesdays lately – a sunny, slowly-warming late summer day, kids back in school, political unrest reported on TV news, the nation preparing for the 24th anniversary remembrance of 9/11 the following day on September 11th – the same old, same old. Until mid-morning it was life as usual. And then TWO very sad, very similar tragedies happened shortly, which changed a seemingly normal day into one of the most egregious in our history.

Young political activist, Charlie Kirk was just beginning an appearance outside on the lawn at a Utah university. The crowd size was estimated at approximately 3000. He was a father and a husband and was only 31years-old.

Dedicated to the trump administration, Kirk was quite successful at connecting and engaging with young people, especially on college campuses and sharing his political ideology with them. And apparently, he LISTENED. He encouraged debate with people of other views and was an advocate of free speech and realizing everyone has an opinion and is entitled to it; advocating for and speaking about that opinion openly. While most on the other side of the political aisle strongly disagreed with his views, all agreed he was a dedicated young man who had a future with the republican party.

Sitting outside under a bimini, wearing dark pants and a message t-shirt, he was surrounded by the huge, excited crowd that was enjoying his friendly, conversational presentation. He had been tossing MAGA baseball caps into the crowd.

Shortly after 11 a.m. a single shot rang out hitting Kirk in the side of his neck causing an enormous eruption of blood … apparently tearing into the carotid artery. He was quickly removed from the area, put into a waiting vehicle and rushed to a local hospital. Panic-stricken, the crowd ran away from the scene attempting to seek cover. Most of the young people there had grown up under the constant threat of violence and they reacted with the precision with which they had been groomed since childhood.

Amid national disbelief, Charlie Kirk was pronounced dead shortly after arrival at the hospital. Television programming was delayed or interrupted for the rest of the day to accommodate breaking news regarding the tragic assassination.

Today … the day after … thanks to media coverage the public probably knows almost as much about the Kirk assassination as the media itself does … because that’s how things work here. We’ve seen photos (recently released) of the likely assassin currently referred to as ‘a person of interest,’ we know venue security was minimal, we know the authorities, thanks to outside cameras, have been able to track the shooter from his entrance onto the college grounds, to his accessing the roof from which he fired the single fatal shot from a high-powered weapon, to his leaving the roof, dropping the lethal weapon and fleeing through a nearby neighborhood. Flags are being flown at half-mast nation-wide and a million-dollar reward is being offered for information about the shooter.

Meanwhile in Colorado, a troubled student APPARENTLY took a firearm to school, opened an unexpected attack on the students, and 3 were left dead, including the shooter. This was reported on ABC News with David Muir, CNN and on MSNBC but there were few details included – just those I’ve mentioned. Perhaps I missed a more detailed report.

Today I haven’t heard the Colorado school shooting mentioned at all. So use to school shootings, we are left to guess what happened and attempt to fill in the blanks ourselves UNLESS a more thorough report has been made public and I simply missed it.

Details aside, the fact remains that 3 young people with their lives fully ahead of them are dead and that’s tragic. We don’t know their names or what could have been awful enough, in reality or imagined, that could cause a young person to take the lives of fellow students. Was the shooter a girl or a boy? How old was he / she? How old were the victims? How did the shooter get into school with a weapon? How did the shooter OBTAIN the weapon? What KIND of weapon did the shooter use? Has there been communication with the parents? Is there a reward for information? Have flags nationwide been flown at half-mast in remembrance of 3 dead kids?

Both events from September 10 are, to me, anyway, equally as tragic. A total of 4 lives were lost, although in reality there were probably many more lost nationwide yesterday because this is where we live. These 2 events were, apparently, the most newsworthy. BOTH, no matter what, were horrendous, tragic, senseless and heart wrenching. To me, they were EOM (equal opportunity murders) and should have been given the same concern and equal focus.

Mr. Kirk was obviously a high-profile individual and his senseless death garnered quite a lot of grief, attention, media coverage and comments. He was loved and revered by many and he also had enemies (obviously) but he did NOT deserve to be assassinated. His 2 children will no longer have a dad and his wife is, today, a shocked and grieving widow. Because someone disagreed with him politically  – it’s being referred to as a political assassination – is NO reason for him to lose his life. Listening, speaking to those with whom one has differences and working together on solutions, according to the media and dignitaries that responded, were Kirk’s most positive attributes.

I, personally, vehemently disagreed with most of Mr. Kirk’s beliefs and no doubt he wouldn’t have agreed with mine but assassinating one’s adversaries is the last way… is NO way to settle differences.

The 3 dead students in Colorado were robbed of their possibility of becoming high profile personalities and the promise of what they might have contributed to make this world a better place … or possibly worse. We’ll never know and that is staggeringly sad.

EVERY life taken by violence is a tragedy, equally. The loss of ONE life, ONE child is abhorrent.

Immediately following the announcement that Mr. Kirk had died, condolences and comments began coming in from many, many people including political personalities from both sides of the aisle and reported through the media. Regardless of political affiliation EACH respondent included that this kind of reaction to differences was against everything this country stands for and was built upon … “This is not who we are as a country.”

I strongly  disagree. This is EXACTLY who we are as a country … NOW … but it’s not who we use to be. Today it’s who we aspire to be again but it IS who we are and my heart weeps.

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And, Tragically, Again This Morning …

27 Aug

Just this morning another mass shooting happened, this time in Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA in a Catholic church filled with school children celebrating mass before starting their school day in their church affiliated school. The US president and Homeland Security Secretary have sent thoughts and prayers and are monitoring the situation. Flags will be flown at half-mast.

And where are the National Guard and Homeland Security?

National Guard with troops from several states is now performing a photo op in Washington, DC at the president’s insistence that there is an emergency situation with crime there. According to reports, the Guard is NOT patrolling the high crime areas … just the highest visibility areas like monuments and tourist attractions.

Homeland Security is making big plans to paint trump’s border wall black because black paint absorbs more heat and the high black wall temperature will make it too hot for illegal immigrants to climb. HS is also busy arresting American citizens that LOOK foreign, are foreign exchange students, professors, physicians and moms and dads from their schools, homes, and workplaces and tossing them into American concentration camps.

No doubt Ms. Noem … who is living rent free in a government owned residence because she got phone death threats and didn’t feel safe in her townhouse, is also planning her costumes for her next photo ops. (I wonder if, following her own death threats, she can imagine, then, the fear of those threatened children this morning as they hid underneath church pews as bullets peppered them and they watched in horror as their friends were gunned down?)

Meanwhile, 14 children and teachers are hospitalized, some in critical condition, and a 10-year-old and an 8-year-old are dead from the school shooting this morning.

There will be no gun reform, no changes in the president’s agenda … just thoughts, prayers and flags waving in the breeze half way up flagpoles. If Sandy Hook, Marjory Stoneman Douglas, Uvalde & the countless others didn’t result in change, this one won’t either. All of this is complicated by the fact that individuals can now whip out a fully functioning gun in the privacy of their homes for a few bucks on their 3-D printer, no serial number required.

Lack of common-sense gun reform cannot be laid entirely at the feet of trump. He has been, although complicit,  one of many primarily because of a congress that continues to vote AGAINST common sense in favor of receiving substantial donations. Dead children are, apparently, acceptable as collateral damage.

Walmart, grocery stores, churches, nail salons, theaters, nightclubs, concerts, parades and especially schools are no longer our “Happy and Safe Places.” They are potential slaughter houses for anyone with a gun who has a grievance against anyone or anything, plus the angry, the down trodden and the mentally ill. Their prey is the innocent unsuspecting that are guilty of nothing more than needing a loaf of bread, a pleasant night out or an education.

Our 4-year-old grandson is about to start pre-school. We should be thrilled at this next experience he is about to undertake as he grows into what we pray is a productive human being. He will be starting his adventure in a church-affiliated pre-school on the same campus as the church in a quiet, low-crime city, which should be the safest place on the planet. But this morning’s tragic news from Minneapolis assures us it is NOT. Not only are we worried about him beyond description, we are scared beyond belief for him…

 … and for us and for this country, because it tragically happened again this morning.

America is a Gun

By Brian Biltson

England is a cup of tea.

France, a wheel of ripened brie.

Greece, a short, squat olive tree.

America is a gun.

Brazil is a football on the sand.

Argentina, Maradona’s hand.

Germany, an oompah band.

America is a gun.

Holland is a wooden shoe.

Hungary, a goulash stew.

Australia, a kangaroo.

America is a gun.

Japan is a thermal spring.

Scotland is a highland fling.

Oh, better to be anything

than America as a gun.

(Note: This poem was shared with me by Jane Fritz. Thank you, Jane.)

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