Destroying Temples for the Machine of War

Went to the opera last night.  Love, love, loved the singing.  The staging was confusing to say the least.  Norma is about the Druids verses the Romans.  But it could be any two warring factions that are or ever have faced each other in battle.  Druids worship nature gods that demand blood while the Roman's worship a re-named pantheon of gods they modeled after the Greeks.  The opening scene the stage hands and the older priest/father of Norma are instructing the peasants to carefully raise the white sparkly tree off the ground to decorate the hall and so Norma can cut the sacred sprig of mistletoe.  The people scream for war against the occupying Romans but Norma, a high priestess declared peace. Vows were broken, love was exchanged and then love was lost and given to another this angers the powerful Druid Priestess and she plots revenge first on her children (shades of Medea) then on him by killing the woman he has recently fallen out of love with her for, and then finally the two die together as both a token of their mutual love and atonement for breaking her vows.

Norma's love for Pollione kept her from going to war with Rome against the obvious wishes of her people.  They were tired of bondage.....and I'm not going to go for the easy pun there.  Though she was preaching peace from the altar her personal behavior and love for her Roman made her position and link to the physical waned  as she slowly left everything behind to prepare for war.  Look at the picture below, in the beginning the trees filled the large door, in this picture they are almost all gone.

Sondra Radvanovsky as Norma @ SFOpera

Sondra Radvanovsky as Norma @ SFOpera 

Through out the opera, the trees go away and there are these white shapes on the stage that you really can't make out as anything other than junk.  The last thing that they had built was something that looked like a gun that would fit on a tank, but was twisted in a way so if it were a gun it would have blown up.   We were so enthralled by the singing we were confused by the bits and pieces which were being built for their "machine of war".  This was their sacred land, their holy place and they stripped it bare to have the pleasure to die for Priestess and country because she was scorned by her lover.  That is really simplistic of what happened and the message I took away from the opera.  In the last picture you can see what they made with their precious trees.

The horn is what I thought was a gun for the turret.

 Now, why would I spend a Sunday morning writing about an opera the night before when I could be snuggled safe in bed?  It got me thinking, how many temples/sacred places/items of worship have we destroyed in favor of our personal jihads or our public wars?  A jihad is a personal battle for improvement, to keep ourselves from becoming an infidel.  (Not all wars are fought with slings and arrows and outrageous fortunes.  Some are more insidious in slowly wearing down who and what we believe due to illness, work, family and/or friends.)  We all don't actually tear down temples, what would be wrong and illegal and a one way ticket to the bad place where they send those who hurt children and talk during the opera.  The idea for a journal discussion has been rolling around in my mind is the idea of putting other gods before Him.  You think you don't, but we all do.  No, we don't bow down before an altar and swear fealty to this god but it is a god none the less.  Some obvious ones are money, "things", hobbies (even the good ones if done to an extreme).  I keep trying to nail down what I think mine are, but nothing really comes out of the little box I keep my little secretes in (it's in my head).

I should probably define my gods.  Not just as a service for Him but for myself.  As before mentioned I have an unnatural and spiritual relationship with mega stuff Oreos.  I'm pretty sure you can put all sweet and fattening food on that list as well.  I love the opera,  The only thing that gets between me and the opera is church and I make sure there aren't any conflicts.  Money, or in my case the lack of money.  I spend days worrying abut how I can make the ends meet instead of laying my burdens at His feet and trusting He will help me pull the ends together.  I spend not enough time taking care of myself.  The lack of care that I show for my clay temple is appalling.  Lack of action is just as damaging as direct action sometimes. 

It took me a few hours and a nap for me to find an example.  I know I'm not above this but getting my brain to pull an example wasn't happening quick enough.  Stopped and got dressed for church, sat down on my bed to check my phone and there it was; the bed pulling me back in.  Gravity is even against me because I've had the bed long enough to have that worn in comfortable nest in the middle.  Sleep, sleep is my enemy.  Yes, I've mentioned in other blogs that I'm tired and I'm having problems sleeping and would really, really, really like to just crawl back into bed and never, ever get out again.  But, sleep, like the seductive Pollione, in a lot of ways has conquered me.  I have broken my vows of fealty to my covenants and have chosen to stay in my bed than in my sacred spaces....church...temple...meditation....(heaven help me) even exercise.   I don't have the option of turning my bed into a funeral pyre, but I can light a fire under me and try to rebuild, replant and reclaim my inner and outer sacred space;

The Truth About Lying

Trust is a hot commodity these days.  If you can't trust your friends, how can you ever tell them apart from your enemies?  If you can't trust your family, how can you trust the world?  Words like trust, integrity, reliability, and so on.  These are fundamental building blocks for relationships.  It's a cold day when you realize a role-model has lied to you about EVERYTHING, you end up trusting NO ONE.  The truth may hurt, but it can be delivered in a less than brutal fashion, and then you can go forward and build greater relationships.  On a larger level if a street practiced kind yet exact honesty there would be harmony.  If it spreads to city, county, state, territory, national levels we will have peace because no one is hiding anything.

The flip side of this is: Do any of us really want the truth from our street, city, county, state, territory or nation?  Sometimes it's nice to be kept in the dark for plausible deniability or something to complain about later.  We might ask for the truth and they might even appear to be giving the whole truth and nothing but the truth but can you trust them?  Can you trust anyone?

Obviously, I'm dealing with trust issues at the moment.  Why I don't trust, whether or not I am trustworthy, is my integrity starched and pressed?  I'm wishing, again, that I can go back on my word with my Mom, I promised she could stay with me until she decides to leave.  I gave my word.  Everyone thinks I'm nuts.  I am nuts, I think we know that already. :-)  I feel I am trustworthy, it's just the rest of the world (and eternity) that I'm trying to trust.

I'd ask you to wish me luck, but I don't know if I can trust you to be sincere....

Labour Day

 

When did it happen that on the day we observe labour has become a day of rest?

Don't get me wrong,

I'm not complaining.

Good By Mr. Williams

I wanted to express my deep sadness at the passing of Robin Williams.  It saddens me that a man who brought so much joy and happiness to so many people was suffering so deeply inside.  I know the angels in heaven are falling off their clouds with laughter, but it doesn't soften the tears on earth.  You will be missed.

He was the best wish granter EVER!!!

Is Hypochondria Hypochondria If You Really Know Your're Not Sick?

Okay, so I got several mosquito bites about a week ago and now I feel crappy, so of course I have West Nile.  Do I need a doctor to tell me this, of course not.  WebMD has walked me through the symptoms, I've checked my glands thanks to the electronic copy of Bartlebys online reference books, my neck hurts, I feel weak and even though I feel like I have a fever, I really don't because I'm on Advil three times a day for my wrists and neck to stop hurting.  Of course it's going to spread to meningitis, encephalitis and eventually massive brain damage because of this new plague that has started to sweep the world.  Maybe this is where zombies come from.....Watch enough of The Walking Dead episodes and you begin to believe it can happen here....and it could be spread by mosquitoes and ticks and all the other little creepy crawlers that wait until we are sound asleep to infect us with the equivalent to a toxic viral stew. 

Okay, on some level, I know I'm not sick.  At least I hope I'm not.  I'm just tired and the idea that I would have to stay in bed for a few days and just sit still in the silence and shaded light sounds like heaven.  No offence to those suffering from West Nile, reading about it today makes it sounds almost unbearable (for those that survive) and it takes quite a long time to get over and I wouldn't wish that on myself or anyone else, but the silence...the bed rest....the darkness....to me in my wound-up state sounds like a slice of heaven.

So, was I bit by blood-sucking vermin, yes at least six times.  Was it one carrying the West Nile Virus? Who knows.  The only thing I do know is that if I don't start perking up I'm going to see my doctor to make sure I don't and maybe talk her into a B-12 shot.  I joke, but no one wants their spinal cord or brain to swell up and become irritated.....that would be like having an itch on your brain that no matter how far you push in the knitting needle, you can't scratch it.

Okay, I'm done whining now.  I just needed to get this down and out so I could sleep without visions of hospital food dancing in my head.

But He's Twelve......?

Patrick working at Le Garage in Baltimore, MD

There is something wrong with the way I see my nieces and nephews.  I look at them and they're twelve.  I mean it.  This is Patrick working as a bar manager at Le Garage in Baltimore MD.  I know, he doesn't look twelve, he's actually more than twice that.  But I see the curly haired, blue-eyed boy that had green hair to celebrate getting his black belt.  Not the adult man concocting his own cocktails and providing the unholy spirits to their customers.  However, he did mix something up with me in mind.  It's called Temperance.  He told me what's in it, and it sounds interesting.  When I get enough money together (and the weather isn't too extreme I'm gonna go and try it, or make him fix it for me the next time he's in town.)

Maybe I miss them, the kids they used to be.  One nephew, though has grow to over 6'5", hasn't really changed much still the quick wit and smarty-pants he always was, only now he supervises other technical people.  I look at him and think, "Why are they minding him?  He's twelve?"  His brother has a daughter who is only 5 and she's absolutely adorable and beautiful.  He works at a hospital as a Sr. Tech in the endoscopy department.   Now my niece has a baby boy who will be turning 1 next month while working full time in a Fortune 200 company.  Her brother is working as an audio/visual expert for a large retailer.  They are all accomplished, some even more than myself, and yet, I see them as twelve.

Luckily have have a new crop of kids to spoil and get stuck like amber in my brain as twelve year olds.  Since those kids are having kids, and a nephew that I didn't get to participate in his life until he was old enough to get married are having kids, I get to be Granty (Great Aunty).  I get to spoil them, let them watch all the cool nerdy stuff, hype them up on sugar and caffeine and send them home.  Exactly what a great aunt should do.

 I realize it has a lot to do with the fact that I'm reaching one of those undeniable, unavoidable milestones one has to face in ones life.  It could be that I only feel like I'm holding fine at 25 so they have to be 12 then I can hide safely from reality.  Well, when I say holding fine I mean that my brain is still very alert, my creativity is s flowing again, but the body....well, lets just say the body misses the naps she took in kindergarten.  I don't know why we EVER had to give those up.  So, in about 2 months I will be celebrating my Jubilee.  I just can't say the number aloud, yet.  Give me time, I should come to terms with it.  But honestly, I don't think they will ever be anything but 12 years old in my mind.

My Latest Addiction.....

For those of you in the 'know' you recognize the house to the right.  Downton Abbey.  I thought I had sworn off my Soap Opera Addiction after my mission because, seriously, how many times can one person marry or come back from the dead with a different face?  Seriously, how bereft of imagination do they really think their viewers are?

Maybe it's the clothes, maybe it's the jewelry, maybe it's the utterly British stiff-upper-lip that allows the nose to rest so completely high in the air when it comes to the rest of us, I don't know.  I just know I can't get enough of it.  And strangely enough, they had one character come back from the dead, with amnesia, but so severely burned they couldn't be sure it was him.  So completely All My Children.   The utter blackness of the souls in the kitchen (Thomas and Mrs. O'Brien), the kindness and love between Anna and Mr. Bates, the absolute rightness of Mr. Carson are all such well fleshed out characters that I don't really see it as a show, but more as a window back to the days of Downton Abbey. 

What got me hooked was the first episode I watched when Lady Sybil gives birth and dies.  I couldn't get the people straight at that time, so I knew I had to start from the beginning because by that time Lady Mary was married to Matthew, Lady Edith was married to some other guy (but not the one armed old codger she was going to marry in the beginning of Season 3), Thomas was making passes at a poor footman that isn't on the show yet, and SYBIL DIES.  How can you kill off one of the family.  Maybe a beloved staff member but a member of the family......that's what hooked me.  No one was safe. 

Having that peak ahead I knew Lady Crawly wasn't going to die of Spanish Flu, I knew Lady Sybil would be running off with the chauffeur, and that Lady Mary and Matthew would get married and be happily married.  My mistake was yesterday when I thought I'd find out when Season 4 would be coming out, because, trust me, 8 episodes a year aren't nearly enough of a season for my rabid curiosity as to what's going to happen next......

If like me you're still working through Season 3, beware....

-SPOILER ALERT-

MATTHEW DIES!  There is some small talk about making the widower and widow coming to terms with their losses in each others arms, but then what about the babies?  Yes, Sybil has a girl and apparently Mary has a boy, are they going to become brother and sister instead of cousins?  And will Lady Mary inherit the estate or does it all go to her baby boy?

-SPOILER OVER-

I've been working at finding ways to take my mind off my current troubles (hence the reason of my silence...too much yeast not enough bowl, if you know what I mean), that I might set up a crafting station in my small garage and I'm going to start trying to reproduce the jewelry that they wear.  I'm sure there are hoards of people doing that, so it's hardly original, but it should be fun.  They wear a lot of black crystal and jet stones, I could probably throw in some black pearls, onyx and hematite too.  My current addition is soap making and bath and body products from natural products.  I've made some salt scrub that smell like heaven, if heaven was made of English Roses.  But the jewelry should provide a good long focus instead of just adding things willy-nilly like I do with the other stuff. 

If you know when Season 4 is going to be released, please let me know.  I want to make sure I'm home or my DVR is set to record.  I've been told I need to watch Sherlock Holmes as well, so I guess I can fill the blank space with that until BBC releases it.



New Years Resolutions

For those that know me I am something of a New Years Resolution fiend.  I have a theme, and how that theme will work in each facet of my life.  My theme this year is HEALTH.  And to be healthy I need to write.  So armed with that ubiquitous theme I am going to resolve to do at least two blogs a month.  I've been so self-absorbed the past year.  Literally self absorbed to the point that I've turned my insides out and I'm still trying to put things back where they belong.  Believe me,  it wasn't fun.  Maybe I'll share some of those lessons learned in the coming year, maybe I'll just share the bits and pieces that make a life worth the taxes we pay for it.  No matter what it is, please hold on, as in most of our lives, it's going to be a bumpy ride.

Feeling the Grrrrr in Disgruntled American

Okay, I get that we are in the middle of an election year.  I get that the candidates, even the president, needs to put that somewhat first on his agenda.  I get it.  I don't like it, but I get it.  What I really can't abide is a theme I keep hearing on all the news and political pundit shows:

"Nothing will get passed until after the election."

If nothing truly is going to get passed until after November then why oh why are we paying them then?  Some say it's strategy, some say it's cowardice, some say it's just politics at it's worst.  But seriously, if they aren't going to work couldn't we save some money if we put the House and the Senate along with all their staff and toadies on furlough?  That's been the solution for the smaller government groups like the States and Cities, isn't it?  I know there will still be a need to have some people there, the paper doesn't push itself.  However the rest of them that are just waiting for the Elephant or the Ass to take up residence before they do anything.  The concept is equally repugnant and mind-numbingly inane that we shouldn't have to pay for it.  Both sides are screaming for reduction in spending, here's one way they can cut the fat, trim the gristle and maybe show the voters they are willing to go from a fillet mignon diet to chicken for a few months.

This would actually be a good time to put in a reliable, secure BYOD (as in they bring their own device they've paid for instead up upgrading on the tax-payers dime) so they can be just as mobile and responsive to their constituents as we have to be to our subordinates, peers and management.  (I'm not saying we need to run the country like a business, because seriously, you can't lay off the voters).

What are my political views, you might wonder:  I'm undecided.  I call myself a free-thinker because I look at both sides, see which one can do the most good, get the most done and then I vote for the lesser of the two evils.

P.O.T.s (Pockets Of Time)

I've come to the conclusion that I will never have a stretch of time that I can write now that I'm back in the salt mines with the rest of the working world.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining.....much.  I miss being able to spend my time working on intricate plot twists, figuring out unique and un-written ways to kill people.  There's not a lot of need for that mining for nuggets of revenue in a virtual gold mine.  Between Job 1, 2, and 3, there isn't any time left for work.  Well, there is time, but my mind is completely blaaahhhh when it comes to anything creative.  Well, except sarcasm, I'm always game for sarcasm.

On Saturday last I was running late to the dentist grumbling because I had planned to spend the whole day just me.  Maybe a movie, get a manicure, do tea, a nice dinner...you get the idea, but that got changed because of family plans.  So, to my surprise and welcome my dentist had an emergency and was running way later than I was.  So, I went across the street to the SBux and got a protein drink and banana and pulled out my editing.  It hit me like a lightning bolt.  I can't have days any more, or even set hours per se, but I can carve out pockets of time.  Time to write.  Time to plot and plan and work on the exact way to kill someone where no one needs to know. In my Franklin now (Yes, I went back to a paper planner) I am penciling blocks of POTs.  No one need know what they are, I can erase them out when plans change, and they always change.  I think it was L.W. Lynett who said "The most effective way to cope with change is to help create it."  Well, I'm creating POTs for change.  This means more posting, more journal writing, more just being who I am.  I am a WRITER, and writers WRITE.

A Murder of Crows

In the Santa Clara County I was told we are over-run by crows and there is talk afoot about culling the murder (which is the proper term for a flock of crows) down to a more reasonable number.  I thought it was much ado about nothing.  Yea, I normally see five or six on my street at one time.  Crows are part of the Corvid family of birds.  Corvids are Ravens, Blue Jays and Crows.  They are the smartest birds, I would wager that there are some Ravens and even Crows out there smarter than some of our, well most of, our elected officials.  And as snarky as that sounds, you know I'm right.  "poor people just need jobs in order to stop being poor."  I read of a raven that could, on the second try, figure out how to pull up a bit of meat through an intricate set of pulleys.  Being omnivores they will clean up the roadkill faster than the street cleaners, that due to budget cuts, come once every other year it seems like (In my neighborhood anyway).

I was driving home from work and was watching the greying rainy sky wondering when the next downpour would break when I noticed several, like forty or more,  crows crossing over the freeway over to a small cluster of trees to roost for the night.  I enjoy watching birds fly with just a little green in my eyes because I've always wanted to fly like them.  I inched along with the traffic but I never took my eyes off the sky.  Forty quickly turned into eighty and then hundred and then more and more, it never seemed to end.  My mind flashed to those scenes in vampire movies when the unsuspecting dinner guests disturb Vlad's pets, blocking the moonlight in an ominous warning of pending doom.  I actually had to drive out from under the winged migration but it was still going long after I drove away.  As much as I hate the idea of killing something intelligent and beautiful, it might just be time for a murder of crows.

Feng Shui For The Brain

I've come to believe that disorder in my life is a signal to me that things are in a disarray inside.  I know, this isn't a new concept for the rest of the world, but like a gold fish, everything is new to me ever few minutes or so.  I like having my things around me, I like having tableau's of things put together to look cute or as if there is a story why those items are combined in such a way. Sesame Street had that song about same things but one not like the other, I like doing that too.  I'll have a grouping of classical books and then throw a rubber dragon among them.  That kind of thing.  My mom has determined my need to have my stuff around me means I'm a hoarder.  Let me make one thing clear I AM NOT A HOARDER.  I do not had an unnatural attachment to crap, I do like my stuff, but I own it, it doesn't own me.  I'm sloppy, I don't have a problem with my clothes on the floor, or not making my bed and I don't have issues leaving projects out while I'm working on them...and sometime cleaning up after myself when I've finished a project.  That isn't hoarding...that's sloppy boarding on slovenly. 

So, the goal now is to start working towards having my room, my office and the kitchen reflect my mind more than my poor habits.  I have people that will be happy to hear this, so I'm not telling them.  Luckily they both don't deal with social media so I don't have to talk to them about it.  You'd think this concept would have penetrated my thick skull a long time ago, but with new growth comes new realizations.  I'm hoping if I work harder to keep my outside tidy and feng shui'd in a sense the process will replicate itself in my bedraggled brain.

A New Trick for Halloween

I haven't planned on a costume this year.  Not that I've dressed up in dog years, but I think about it from time to time.  But this year, I think for a new trick, I will peel off a layer of my mask for a treat.  I've been pulling out the bulldozers and excavators to try and figure out why I'm not what I want to be, what I feel I'm supposed to be.  Mostly books have been my tool of choice so now I'm trying to gird my loins and actually start doing some of the things the learned authors are telling me to do.  So, for this Halloween, I'm going to try and take off my mask and see how long it takes me to get scared before I have to put it back on.  We all wear them, we have our work mask, our friendly mask, our pious mask and our flirty one.  We've used them from the start of our ascent into adulthood as a way to protect our inner child, and we become dependent upon them....okay, maybe the dependence is only me.  So, who's with me?  Is the world ready for that much truth?  Happy Halloween!

Editing in Real Life

I've been editing my second book, a girl meets genealogy and stirs up some ghosts of her families past, it's a fun story and I enjoy re-running certain points in my head because they're entertaining, but editing.....I hate editing.  It points out that I wasn't good enough to get it right in the first draft.  Not that anyone really does, I know, but that is the goal that I strive for.  And true to form, I will find anything else to do other than editing, like, I dunno Blogging perhaps? hehe  As I was driving around town today, looking at antique shops for a cool cane for my Mom and a nice poison cabinet for when I start making poisons (whole other long story, they aren't for human use or animal use either, I've not found any Borgia in my blood-line...)  I was looking at editing from a whole-life perspective instead of just as a tiresome job to do after writing. 

How often do we find ourselves like bonsai trees, edited to an ascetically consumable standard.  We grow, push our roots out further and as soon as we start to show growth we clip ourselves back into shape, never allowed to really wiggle our roots in a loamy soil.  We bend and clamp ourselves into different positions until we can do nothing else.  Yes, we're beautiful, but are we happy?  Everyone is confined to their dishes, be it large or small, and though we see the trees in the wild and even envy them at times, but no one would trade their cozy, warm, manicured life for the opportunity to grow big and tall and then shot down by lightning or rotted out by mold. 

How much editing is needed though?  I mean seriously, how much should we keep and how much should we redact from our every day life to 'fit in' or to be loved?  I guess it comes down to what kind of bonsai you are.  If you are a palm, a ficus or maple tree and what ever other kind of bonsais there are out there.  I like the tree I picked for this piece, it shows the seasons, it changes every few months.  I'd like to believe that my personal editing makes way for new growth without out-growing my roots or pot I have to grow in this life.  Both humble and proud, showy and coy, stalwart and flaky in one big bottomed bowl. Yea, that's me!

Procrastination

It is said that Procrastination is the art of keeping up with yesterday.  In my case, it feel like trying to keep up with last week.  Especially when it comes to something that I want desperately but don't want my toes stepped on or my heart crushed again.  I'm talking about submitting my manuscript to WiDo.  The query letter thing has always been a bit of a block for me.  I've tried to be witty, I've tried to be businesslike, I've tried to be professional, I've tried to be persuasive, but no matter what I've tried I can't seem to get published.  I have had some very positive feedback from the different people that have read my work, even getting to the final phase of reading when it's voted on as to whether or not it should be published....but it was a no.  I want to be able to support myself with my writing, but it's never going to happen as long as I keep dragging my feet and daydreaming that I'll stumble into a VP at a big publishing house who sees my potential and wit as the next big thing in publishing and signs me on the spot.  And I'm not completely deluded into thinking that I can actually make a great living as a published author.  In truth only a handful get the $1 million dollar advances for their work, which is why I became a phlebotomist, but it's good to have goals.

So, I wrote the query letter for WiDo last week, or it could even be the week before, I forget.  My brain has been swimming in it's own miasma lately, so memory is kind of obscured in the fog.  I took the approach of answering the points they wanted me to cover. Information about myself and my writing, I gave them the "elevator" pitch for the book, and then my activity in social networking and how I would use it to help them market my work.  (Yes, dear reader, you will be updated step-by-important-step of the process when it is accepted for publication.  And more than likely you will be the fifth group of people I notify of my glorious news).  Each section is headed and then a paragraph or two would be under it for ease of reading.  I'd post it here, the query letter, if I thought it would give me an edge, but I think I just need to print it, edit it and then paste it into an e-mail with my first three chapters and send it off.  Why is it that something that looks so simple on paper feel like moving a fifty ton boulder up an 180 degree hill? 

The funny thing is, it's not like I've had a hundred or so "No's" for this project, it's actually been less than 10.  Most people get that done and over with and take on even more before breakfast and don't let something as simple as a little word stop them from their dreams becoming a reality.  Maybe that's the true fear for me....my dreams becoming a reality.  Not to sound morose or anything, but there is a little hermit inside my head that believes as soon as your accomplish everything you've wanted  to accomplish, you die.  He's not very popular with the cool kids in my head, hence the hermit status.  I won't die, I know that because I am always setting goals, always setting the bar higher and always wanting more, which is just human nature as we all know it.  So, Hermit be gone, I'm sending it out on Friday so they can print it up and take it home for the weekend!  Wish me luck!

The Thick and Thin of It

I've taken the first step into medically assisted  life-long change.  I'm thinking about the Lap Band surgery to aid in my losing weight and hopefully putting some of my endocrine issues to rest for good. My body has thrown up some good arguments to the contrary but I've decided to go onto the next step of the process and talk to my doctor about it.  Am I fluffy?  Yes.  Am I all fluff, no.  I've never really dealt with the idea that I'm overweight until I have to go shopping for clothes.  I try never to look at myself in a full length mirror because, well, they lie.  My image of myself has always been a brain with a mouth on legs.  I try not to think of myself as a physical being.  Kind of like Mr. Bunny over there....he's not just fluffy, but that's all people see.

I've lost a ton of weight once, almost 150lbs (I was like 1-3 lbs off) and it caused some bad wiring in my head and I lost myself, if at 22 anyone really has themselves.  I have me now, I know who I am, what I want to become and I am firmly facing the direction I want to go.  So now, do I want to carry with me just emotional baggage or a steamer trunk of bricks along for the ride?  There are cosmetic issues with the different surgeries I will have to deal with along the way if I do it, and I'll have to give up some wonderfully dangerous practices, I'm going to have to learn to eat three meals a day and exercise more than the average bear, okay more than the average sloth, but I'm starting to believe, the more I think and talk and write about it, that it might actually be worth it.  (sorry for the run-on sentence, you'd think I'd know better by now.)

Have I Forgiven the Terrorists of 9/11?

The US is a nation that prides itself on freedom of religion.  We have the most religions, I believe, in the world.  We cover everything from the classic minister and congregation to Paganism with their nature deities to fundamentalism in every sect.  We are, in that sense free.  Each religion demands a sort of forgiveness for those who trespass against us in order to be forgiven.  But can we forgive the selfish and senseless actions of the pilots, the fierce intent to kill the infidels?  I'm still not sure it was a religious attack, just perfectly hidden behind a religious facade.  The politics are too convoluted for a non political chess master.  So, I am left with my Christian roots and blooming Buddhist values.....Can I-Have I forgive the terrorists that took away the innocence of the United States in an attempt to force us into an extreme way of life to make them heroes in their heavens?

I don't like calling them murderers, even though through the first degree murder description in the CPC calls for a show of "real intent and malice aforethought".  They definitely had forethought and will a real intent they took to learning to fly, to setting their affairs in order and got on the planes with every intention to kill and to die. 

I'm trying to pull back and look at their intent.  Yes, they were motivated by a heaven full of virgins for their sacrifice.  It was all the rage to make jokes about it after 9/11 and at times are still used as punch-lines today.  I feel that is as wrong as spitting on the Pope.  No, I don't approve of their form of proselyting, but that is what they were doing.  Missionary work, no matter what the religion, its intent is to change the fundamental attitudes, lifestyle and eternal path of the average person.  I was a missionary, though I didn't have a personal fatwa to convert or kill but I did have a jihad to help as many people as I could to make their lives better....one child at a time.  What they did with one devastating sweeping gesture (requiring people to change their ways of life) I did by walking door-to-door handing out books and teaching lessons in homes.  (Yes, you need to take out the whole killing part...which I admit is hard)

I go back to the general question....have I forgiven them?  No, no one I knew died in the towers or in the field or at the Pentagon.  I was blessed in that regard.  Having used our inept security measures against us, destroying lives, forcing us into a new political paradigm based on fear instead of freedom, and destroying my idealism of the US and shaking my concept of general security?  Have I forgiven them for taking away my innocence in the wars of the world?  I don't think so.  Not because I have tried, because I haven't.  Once my mind was numbed from all the reports on TV, the comedians trying to lighten the situation by easing pain of our losses, the chatter on the street as well as then my personal unemployment, my general hatred of life in general and abstract, I just walled it up and tried to never visit it again.  So, I would have to say I've never said the words to the masterminds (symbolically of course), to the terrorists that flew the plane, etc.  Of course the fear comes up: If I forgive them does that mean I condone what they did?  Does it mean I'm okay with them doing this again, and again to us because we are turning the other cheek? Does this mean I am sullying the lives lost of the men and women, children and heroes of that day?  I think all those answers are a general NO.  Forgiveness isn't about hurting, it's about healing.  God will sort out and judge/punish as He sees fit.   To forgive means you aren't carrying around so much baggage that when it is time for the blessing of forgiveness to wash over you, you will have full redemption and it not be sidetracked by trying to pry your judgements off you.  It's not just saying the words either, you have to forgive.  True, it's easier for me, like I said before, because I don't have a dog in the fight, so they say, but I did loose my child-like wonder of being an American. 

No, I haven't forgiven them.  Dragging up all these ideas has made me dislike them even more.  But, today, I plan to take a moment of silence and express my forgiveness to them as I ask a  blessing for the families of all to be blessed with the charity of the heavens to help heal the wounds of such violent intents.

Addictions: Good or Bad?

I'm addicted to:

• Diet soda with caffeine
• Playing Vegas style solitaire on my computer until the battery wares out
• Chocolate
• Doctor Who
• Parrots and other unique birds
• Humongous marshmallows
• Chocolate
• Ice Cream
• Oatmeal Raisin Cranberry cookies from Safeway
• Outrageous Oatmeal Cookies from Starbucks
• Peanut butter and honey mixed together
• Sleeping
• M&Ms
• Hersey products

Why can't I be addicted to something that's good for me, like:

• Reading my scriptures
• Performing Christlike Service
• Exercising
• Eating three meals a day

So, is addiction bad when it's something good for you?  Addiction, in and of itself is bad, right?  I dunno.

Pinch Me.....I think I'm dreaming!

You know how life goes, your down on your luck, you have a dour outlook and life gives you back what you put out; crap.  I'm learning this, or rather, been taught this, over and over again.  Living Buddha, Living Christ tells me I need to meditate to gain mindfulness in conjunction with Christ.  The When Anger Hurts book concurs with meditation to stifle the dark swirling emotions so I've been 'chanting' I Know Heavenly Father Loves Me from the Primary songbook using each phrase as a cue to breathe in and out and focus on the images it invokes. Or Praise God, From Whom All Blessings Flow, but either way it's the calming and security that I love from these exercises.  It's keeping me from spiralling me out of control.  So, my outlook as been a little more hopeful.  In order to to keep hope alive in my everyday life I've added a Hope journal to my journal and I mindfully choose the ideas/concepts/items I am hopeful for.  Just hoping is a new start for me. (Yea Me!)  So, what does all this have to do with my life?  I'll tell you....

• My sister has been promising me and promising me a job with the company she works with.  She has a had this possible job for me for months now.  It's a fast growing technology company and they need someone to do grunt type work.  It's, as she calls it, brain numbing, but I have enough going on not to want something that's going to take a lot of brain power.  And the plus side....it is real money, forty hours a week, no pressure, no required overtime, etc.  So, win-win-win for me.  Thank you C!
• I am now in charge of all of Mom's hours again, so, again money.  Not that I only hope for money, but trust me, I'm very mindful when it is absent.  I'm looking forward to being able to buy a few necessities as well as a few niceties.  Thank you Mom!
• This one is the most surprising, touching and generous act I had never expected.  P. was talking about selling his car because he doesn't want to have to put out extra money for something he feels he can live without.  Mom probed him as to what he would charge me if I were to buy the car.  Without hesitation he says's "If Aunt Pam needs it I'll give it to her."  Yea, I know, my jaw bounces off the floor every time I think of it.  He's my favorite right now.  True they have to teach me how to better handle a manual transmission, and though she doesn't know it, my best friend is going to have to teach and sit with me as I try to navigate the hills of San Francisco, but I feel like I'm up for the challenge.  To sweeten the gift, it needs about $1k of work, which C. is going to front me the money so it's running and safe for me learn on.  And the ABSOLUTE best thing?  It has AIR CONDITIONING..  You would understand if you've lived in California during heat waves and not have air conditioning for over 8years or so.

So, now I am on my way to supporting my little family again.  Sammy will be reacquainted with her vet, Mom will have all the things that make her life special and I will have a source for a savings, a little pot for the chance of a vacation, and maybe just a touch more for me. 

I change my mind, don't pinch me.  If I'm dreaming I don't want to wake up because I don't want to leave this world of hope that seems to be springing up around me.

-

Palliative Care in America

I'm not looking forward to old age.  I don't know of anyone that really is, but watching the slow descent of my mother into her, so called, golden years has become a painful warning of what will happen to everyone.  No one, no matter how good your genes are, how rich or how religious you are, if you aren't corralled by other demises will wither and die with the best of them.  I was talking with my mom this evening about her cardiologist reticence in giving her a pacemaker because she is continually maintaining a coma level pulse rate. (In the mid to high 40's).  He keeps poo-pooing her inquiries into a pacemaker and saying to keep taking her drugs and she'll be fine.  The thing is with such low heart rate she is unable to do anything on her own.  I'm not talking rebuilding car engines, I'm talking about making it to the front room from her bedroom without being completely exhausted and needing her oxygen.  I get that she's old, she's 82, but the woman still has spunk.  She has no problem in letting you know what's on her mind, even if she's a few years behind the current idioms of the day.  I'm almost afraid of what would happen if she got the gas to fuel her ambitions....scary.

I get that there isn't much that can be done for her, she's old.  The trend with her doctors seems to be give her some kind of pill to make it better.  I can't totally fault that method of care, I am the poster-child for better living through pharmacology and all, but these drugs seem to work in keeping her sedated.  She sleeps most of the day away and gets precious little out of watching TV and waiting for her kids and grand kids to drop in on her for a chat.  That truly is the extent of her life.

What is the crux of this blog is simple, I don't want to be a victim of palliative care.  I don't want to be put away in a home, away from the up-and-coming generations who fear the old and slowly dying.  I don't want to be drugged into a stupor because my heart inconveniently keeps pumping and brain keeps spinning.  Even if my body betrays me, that doesn't give the medical professionals permission to practice palliative medicine to make their own lives easier.

People keep yelling about Obama Care not being the solution, that it's tantamount to socialism, etc., etc.  But the current system, putting people in old-folks-homes and giving their care to the lowest bidder where they are medicated into a pseudo-death is no better than a concentration camp with hospital corners.  (sorry for the run-on sentence).   Okay, harsh, they don't have gas chambers (unless you consider industrial strength urine remover toxic?) and most of the doctors did get their degrees in the US, but the idea of putting a protected class away, where they are forgotten by their neighbors,weekend do-gooding for their kids with kids, and stock-piled like cord wood in sterile-ish facilities with shared commodes.  Indignities abound all in a days work by slightly more than minimum wage earners.  Whew, I'm glad I got that off my noggin.

I never thought I would be advocating for old-people.  I guess that's yet another indication that I'm growing up.  Damn!  I guess I'm not advocating for the elderly now, but advocating for  change before the family carts me off to the farm.