Goodbye 2010

Twenty-five years ago when I was just a year sober, I had the opportunity to be at Red Donovan's house. Oh, he's not famous or anything like that. But in Alcoholics Anonymous circles he was quite the guy.

He had gotten sober about the time God was born. There wasn't a saying he couldn't quote or a thing he didn't know about staying sober. He was one of those rare people who actually walked the walk. He lived on an old dirt road in an 1800s farmhouse that he had restored. It sort of resembled an old hotel with its ten bedrooms and five bathrooms. The whole house was rustic in design and the great room had a hand-hewn flagstone fireplace which stretched from floor to ceiling.

The friendly and hospitable ambiance was only surpassed by Red's personality. A vibrant and likable soul, he welcomed everyone into his home. In everyday life he was the listener to hundreds of fourth steps written by those who would seek recovery in an alcohol ridden world. The step reads, "Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves." The following fifth step was what he felt his purpose in life was... "Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs."

A non-judgmental and empathetic person, he opened the other nine bedrooms in his home to those who would come and work on their fourth steps. He knew that only in accomplishing this one step would a recovering alcoholic surely survive.

At any given time, his house was a flurry of activity filled with numerous people really intent on becoming well. There was also a regularly scheduled meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous every week, a step meeting. What else? It was very appropriately called the Last House on the Left meeting. It was one of only a few houses on the whole road. Yes, he was in the middle of God's country with the nearest hamlet being about 10 miles.

On holidays he sponsored what is called an Alkathon. It's a 24-hour meeting with one hour increments. Nonstop meetings to help an individual get through what could be very trying times. Holidays can produce emotions that sometimes the newcomer (or even old timer) has difficulty handling. And so there is respite in being in a community, a fellowship of people who have all gone down the same path.

I had heard Red speak at a workshop in June of 1985 at the AA's 50th International Convention in Montreal, Quebec. His opening statements stunned me, but at the same time, gripped me.

You had to be there to actually experience it and get the whole picture. He was a large, tall man. His once red hair was streaked with silver and strawberry blond now. His cheeks were very red on his fair skinned faced. And his voice was rasy. He approached the podium in his usual dress - striped bib conductor overalls. I always thought if he donned a red suit and a beard he would have made a wonderful Santa.

He identified himself and then went on with the following... "What is wrong with you people? Telling the newcomer to get into the steps, get into the steps! What a disservice you do to them when you tell them that." I was horrified. The Twelve Steps of AA have sobered up countless people. I was new, but I knew that couldn't be right. And then he continued... "You don't get into the steps. You let the steps get into YOU!" He now had my attention and I was smitten.

Whatever followed all made perfect sense. I was absolutely amazed by the way he presented his ideas. And I was thrilled when I discovered he lived less than 50 miles from me. Maybe I would get to see him again.

And see him I did several times over the summer. Turns out that my sponsor was a good friend of his and he being who he was, he informed her to show up and often and to bring 'that kid' with her.

Winters could be rough in western Massachusetts, but neither snow, nor cold, nor renegade reindeer could stop us from attending his Alkathon on New Year's Eve. A mile before his house the narrow dirt road was already lined on both sides with cars. We managed to find a place a little closer and trekked the rest of the way. It was around 3 pm when we finally arrived.

I didn't realize it but the festivities would be 48 hours in duration. New Year's Eve is known as Amateur Night in AA circles. Another hard time to get through for new people. So coupled with New Year's Day, the meetings would be back to back for 48 hours straight. People come and go... and end up staying sober despite temptations and hardships.

We were planning on staying only 3 or 4 hours, but as fate would have it my sponsor was asked to speak at a 10 pm meeting. Always the good example, and never saying no to AA, she agreed. She then volunteered me for the 11 o'clock slot. Thank you very much LOL.

We ate, we drank enough coffee for 20 people, and we listened and talked. It was the most wonderful New Year's I had ever spent. Just before the meeting I was assigned to, Red came around wishing everyone blessings for the New Year. He wasn't feeling well and was going to call it a night. But, he insisted, everything would go on like clockwork. I hugged him and told him I would see him soon and off he went to his room.

My meeting closed at midnight sharp and there was an hour pause for blessings and fellowship. My sponsor was exhausted. there was still the 50-mile trip home in the snow. I heard her making her goodbyes.

I crept up the stairs to Red's room and knocked very lightly. It seemed like I couldn't not do it. As always, I was greeted with a smile. "Come on over and sit down," he said as he patted the blanket on his bed. I sat and he grabbed my hand and held it. I thanked him for his gracious hospitality and told him we were going to have to head back. His eyes sparkled as his voice lowered and he asked, "You want to know a secret?" Who could say no?

He began to speak but it was just a whisper. I had to lean forward to hear him. "It is magical, isn't it?" he asked. I nodded, not quite knowing what he was referring to. "You just remember... It's been a good year so far."

For a moment I thought he might be coming out of a dream and not talking right. Or maybe it was senility setting in. But then I remembered who I was talking to and got closer.

The year was just minutes old. What could he be saying? He must have seen the questioning on my face. And still in a whisper he said, "But that's not the magical part. The magic comes when you can say the SAME thing at 11:59 pm on December 31st."

I have never forgotten those few moments with him. It would be the last time I ever saw him alive. A few months later he would be called home by the loving God he so proudly loved. He had just found out that he had cancer. He didn't even have time to make arrangements for treatment when God took him. I would like to believe that God is merciful and that he didn't let him suffer. He died peacefully in his sleep surrounded by people who loved him, the people he served.

I doubt the tiny hamlet has yet recovered. Rumor has it that more than 10,000 people showed up for his wake and funeral. I was honored to be one of the many. As I knelt at his coffin I cried tears of great sorrow for the man who had given so much to so many. I rose and kissed him on the forehead. As I did, I slid a paper into his coffin. The paper was enfolded around the only item of value that I owned - my one year medallion from AA. In the middle of it was the Roman numeral for one - I. He had taught me what that 'I' meant.

It was the 'I am responsible' pledge. "I am responsible. When anyone, anywhere, reaches out for help, I want the hand of A.A. always to be there. And for that, I am responsible."

Legend has it that there were two coffins buried in his grave. One held his body. The other was a child's coffin which held all the mementos left behind at the funeral home. I don't know if it's true. If it isn't, it should be.

And so another year passes and I get to think of my old friend who had such an impact on my life in such a short time. He walked the talk and made God proud. I can only aspire to such heights.

This year has been a winner. It has held more heartache and more crisis than I care to admit. I have felt bitter and disappointed, hurt and scared. I have felt like giving up and at the same time screaming my head off.

And yet...

I have grown more than in the ten previous years combined. I have moved closer to God than ever before. And I have accomplished great things (for me) that I never would have believed even a couple of years ago.

Red used to say that the philosophy of AA could be boiled down even further than the Twelve Steps. He believed it was six words... "Trust God, Clean House, Help Others."

Twenty-five years later, I have met his God and learned to love Him. I have cleaned my house and continue to clean it as necessary and make amends where and when needed. I am still human, after all, and I make mistakes. I help others when I can, but these days it's more a matter of just listening. But then, we all need that don't we?

So as the clock ticks and we inch ever closer to 2011, I would like to take this opportunity to reveal something very special to my heart. 2011 is only hours away now... it's waiting... all new and fresh and full of promise. But don't go forward without appreciating the past.

Come here... just a little closer... come on, I don't bite (much lol)... You want to know a secret? Pssst!!! I'm talking to YOU!!!

IT'S BEEN A GOOD YEAR SO FAR!!!

May the New Year fulfill all your dreams and bless you with kindness and love. See ya on the flip side!!!

Oh, and Red? I miss you. Just remember to save me one of the front seats at the Big Meeting in the Sky....

Happy New Year All... Love You MUCH...

Merry Christmas...

Amazing Grace as it should be Felt

What's It All About?

'Tis the Season...

Thanksgiving. A simple concept really - giving thanks for all we have.

I wonder what sets aside this day as 'special'? Isn't every day a day of thanksgiving? At least it should be.

And yet, we as humans 'forget.' The Sea of Forgetfulness is perhaps sailed more often than the Sea of Gratitude. It's a shame really. We have so much here in this country that millions on the planet will never have. But wherever we turn there is someone bemoaning his/her misfortune. Maybe it's as simple as we can't be pleased no matter what we do or have.

The more we have, the more we feel we are owed. What is that? Greed, I suppose. The more we own, the more we want. It's never ending.

Maybe if we took an inventory... an honest inventory... we would recoil from our findings of greed and selfishness. But then who is to say? Some people have no feelings other than that. I for one need to keep my desires in check. Long ago I was told to live within my means. That way I could be happy with things as they are. Even so, I forget too and get caught up in worldly issues.

Yes perhaps an inventory is in order. Let me look into that...

I am grateful for the 120 million light receptors known as rods and cones in my eyes. With them I am able to see the beauty of a sunset, the dew on the roses and the smile on a baby's face. So many are blind and would wish to see these things or to gaze into heavens on a star-filled night.

I am grateful for the 15,400 hair cilia in my ears which act as sound receptors and allow me to hear the call of the wolf, music of any variety I am pleased to listen to and the sound of the words "I love you" from those who care to say it to me. The deaf will never hear these things or the sound of water rushing over a waterfall.

I am grateful for the 10,000 taste buds and 25 million olfactory receptors which aid me in the ability to taste and smell. I can enjoy myriad delicacies and know the scent of the jasmine as I travel through my day. So many have lost these abilities due to accidents or medical conditions. How they would love to taste the simplicity of home-baked breads or pies and smell the perfume of the lilac bushes.

I am grateful for the largest organ in my body - the skin - which weighs approximately six pounds and covers over 20 square feet. Its millions of touch receptors protect me from being burned or things which are too cold. I can feel the gentle touch of a hand on my shoulder and the wind passing by me on a summer's day. Those paralyzed among us would gladly love to feel anything but nothing.

The list goes on...

I am grateful for things I cannot see mostly. For the heart which beats inside me pumping gallons of oxygen-filled blood to my every cell, hour after hour, day after day, year after year for the length of my entire life.

And I'm grateful for the heart which lets me know I can feel love and pain and happiness and disappointment. Yes, all those feelings. It lets me know I am alive and as long as I am alive there is hope in this world.

I am grateful for my beliefs. They shape who I am, build character and help me to strive beyond what I believe I can be. Without them I would be as the walking dead, void of anything of value.

I am grateful for the mind I possess. It allows me to make choices. I may not always make the right ones but it's exhilarating to know they are there. So many in this world have no choice in anything, mind or no mind. They are prisoners of circumstance which depend on where they were born. The world isn't always just.

I am grateful for my conscience. It lets me know right away if I have done something wrong and allows me to make amends for wrongs. Without it I would be no better than the animals.

And although it appears last here, I am grateful for the God of my life. He is first in everything. Without Him I was nothing. And then on a day when I was looking for nothing in particular, He and His Grace filled my life. It's funny how that happened. I had given up on Him long before. It just goes to show you that He never gives up on us. Because there I was standing at the door of death (literally), and He snatched me up and as much as said, "Hey! I'm not done with you yet!"

And done He was not! Years later, here I am. I sometimes stumble and falter. But in each day I can find something to be grateful for even if it is as simple as being alive. Considering the alternative, I think that's pretty great.

So have yourself a Happy Thanksgiving and tell God why you are grateful. I'd bet He has been waiting to hear from you.

Love you all...

Happy Birthday, Marines!!!

Yes... Happy Birthday, Marine Corps!!! 235 years!!!

I could dazzle you with Marine Corps facts which would probably bore you to death. I could expound on conflicts covering territory from the Revolutionary War to present day Iraq. And I could share stories both uplifting and heart-wrenching about Marines I have known. I'm not going to do any of that.

Once upon a time I was a Marine. For me, like many, it was a bittersweet affair. I loved being a Marine. But it would not turn out to be a career for me. Nonetheless, I still proudly wear the title of United States Marine.

With still over 200,000 active (as of October 2009), The Few, The Proud, The Marines are still an elite club. You can find all the history and facts about the Marine Corps here... Marine Corps History

But what I'd like to say to you is this:

If you have never known a Marine, make it a point to do that one day soon. If you do know one (or more), cherish them for all they have done. If you have lost one, I am so very sorry. I may not know every name, but I pray for each and every one of them every day.

All I ask of you is to take a silent moment to count your blessings and then ponder over how many of them might be absent were it not for a Marine doing their duty to maintain our freedoms. It's just a simple exercise in remembrance.

As for me... I will spend many moments throughout this day reminiscing about the SCARLET and GOLD and know that Semper Fidelis (Always Faithful) is a mighty motto to live by and up to.

I will remember that the Eagle, Globe and Anchor emblem has been part of the uniform since 1868 and became the official emblem of the Marine Corps in 1955.

I will remember that the eagle with spread wings represents our proud nation. The globe points to worldwide presence. The anchor stands for naval tradition. Together, they represent a dedication to service in the air, on land and at sea.

The Eagle, Globe and Anchor emblem is presented to recruits at the end of Recruit Training, symbolizing that they have earned the title "United States Marine."

So for now...

It's Sally

Rose...

signing off and wishing The Marine Corps another 235 years.

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... ADAPT, IMPROVISE, OVERCOME!!!

... HoooooYahhhhhhhhh!!!

And Then There Were 33

The rescue of the miners in Chile is nothing short of a miracle. When people question where God is, or IF there is a God, one needs look no further for answers.

United with their families and happy to see the light of day once again (soon without sunglasses), I can only imagine the terror they felt. One thing is for certain: their journey is just beginning.

As 'consumers' in the wide world of news media, we think we need to know every sordid detail of what happened and why. It seems to be the custom these days. The truth is - None of it is our business. We already know everything we need to know. They were imprisoned in a tomb of rock a half mile below the surface of the earth and now they are safe. Case closed. Let their business be their business.

But enquiring minds want to know. Lesser minds are already flooding internet forums with who should get what and why. I believe that if people spent as much time minding their own business as they do others, this world would be a more peaceful place to live.

And yet curiosity rears its ugly little head and knowing they are safe I find myself with more questions than answers.

Perhaps no one will ever really know the why of how it happened. It is a useless question anyway. We know who, what, when and where. But are there other questions? My mind thinks so. And perhaps in the coming weeks and months, some answers will come to light.

• Who was the first to be brave enough to call on God out loud?


• Who dared to cry?


• Who was the first to realize supplies were limited and that they needed to be rationed?


• Who stepped up to take control and calm others' fears?


• Who said nothing and internalized all that was happening to everyone else?


• Who's prayers were more for his family than for himself?


• Who determined that to crouch together for sleep would provide needed warmth against hypothermia?


• Who was man enough to be vulnerable and question God?


• Who had the courage to ask others to join him in prayer?


• Who was ill but hid the fact so others wouldn't worry?


• Who stood vigil while others slept?

And my mind keeps spinning the questions. But as I said before, it really isn't any of my business... or anyone else's for that matter. And yet the future will tell us what seems important enough for journalists to expound on.

Lawyers and litigation will probably reflect the most news shadowed by people's greed and jealousy. I say that whatever one gets, they should ALL get. Not one of us will ever know the torment they suffered. Not ONE!

They will need more courage now than ever before. Perhaps their lives were peaceful and uneventful. Now they will be faced with questions forever... until their own end comes.

Please join me and lift them up in prayer. Ask that their hearts be mended and their souls filled with joy and love. Ask that their families be patient and help them endure their pain. But mostly ask that people allow them the space they need to heal and move on.

We have witnessed a GIANT miracle. Let us be grateful.

At - One - Ment

At one... With myself? With others? With God? Always there is someone unhappy about something. It can't be helped. I think my mother had it pegged right: "Try to please everyone and no one is pleased. Please yourself and at least one person is happy."

But then I feel guilty if I am too self-indulged. It just isn't right to be so selfish. So where is the balance? Is there a balance? Is there any one particular thing I can do to strike that balance? Truly, is there any hope for it?

My world is right here, right now. It consists of my family, friends, co-workers and people I meet in passing, such as the bus driver, the store clerk, etc. In the grand scheme of things, my world is very small, indeed.

If I gaze behind me I can see the landscape of my past. As I look I can be filled with myriad emotions. I can be happy and satisfied. I can be bitter and resentful. I can be regretful and sad. It is done. There is nothing I can do about any of it.

My future can be anything I desire it to be. But if my past is littered with heartache and sorrow, very little will happen differently in my future. I may look at it and just give up hoping. I may think that I deserve whatever comes for any mistakes I made in the past.

So what can I change? How do I become at one with this thing I call my life?

I have lived long enough to know that if nothing changes, nothing changes. I also know I cannot live in the past nor the future. I have to live here, now. How can I do that when I see pain I have caused others?

First of all I need to own that I did that. It isn't easy. It isn't even fair. It is, however, the right thing to do and a good first step. Once I know who I have harmed, I need to set out to make amends to them. It's frightening. A thousand thoughts run through my head as I am contemplating the task. Questions abound and I wonder if I might be going mad.

What if they slam the door in my face, or hang up the telephone on me? What if they plain refuse to talk to me? What if they are no longer alive? How do I make amends to someone who has passed? Yes, the very thought of amends conjures up many bogeymen.

I could rationalize and justify my reasons for not making amends. It was so long ago. How could it matter now? They never liked me anyway. In fact, I didn't like them either. What's the point really?

The point is to clear the air, to clear the soul. If my life was less than stellar perhaps this amends-making process could reverse what seems like bad luck all along. The reality is that it wasn't bad luck at all. It was a series of choices. Actions cause pain, not thoughts.

And so I set out to repair the wreckage of my past. I write down all those who I feel that I have harmed in some way. It makes no difference if I happen to also feel that they have harmed me. It is MY amends to be made, not theirs. So here at the very beginning of the amends process I find that I am making the amends for my self and my own peace of mind. I find that it doesn't matter if they accept it or not. The healing will come due to my willingness to make the amends in the first place.

I call people or meet with them. It is mostly how they receive it that determines how it is done. With some it is a written letter, for example, if someone has died.

Now amends are more than just rushing out and telling everyone I am sorry. Hopefully I am truly remorseful. But it is an ongoing matter. I don't go to someone, make amends and then continue to do that very offense to them or anyone else. No, atonement is the act of changing your life. And when you begin to change you can feel the empowerment and confidence of a new you.

I won't tell you that I have made all my amends. I haven't. But I have done a lot of work on that part of my life. Some people - I just don't know where they are or if they are still alive. Some people won't allow me to make those amends. I have to live with that.

But the person I made the amends for - myself - is the one person I have the most trouble making peace with. It is hard to forgive myself for transgressions I have made. But the end of the process does just that.

For those who have accepted my sincerest and deepest apologies for things I said or did, most told me it was no big deal. The biggest problem was that it was a big deal to me.

The more I forgive myself for my past, the better my present and future are. The more I am at one with people around me, the more I am at one with myself and especially with God. I've never been told that life was easy. I was told that if I led my life in a righteous way it would be worth it.

Each and every day I try to live my life in such a way that those who knew me long ago when I was younger and more foolish and making those HUGE mistakes would never believe I could live this way. I owe it to them. I owe it to myself. I owe it to God... to be 'At-One' with all who I encounter. And then perhaps if I can keep my own little corner of the world in order I can one day hope in harmony throughout this swirling cosmos that we all call our universe, our life.

When I Think Back...

When I think back -

I wonder how I made it this far.

And then I am reminded of God's love for me.

　

When I think back -

I see guilt and shame and want to hide my face.

And then I feel the presence of God in my life.

　

When I think back -

I regret broken relationships and family ties.

And then I see God working in my life to give me new friends I can call family.

　

When I think back -

I mourn for my losses.

And then I know that God meant for me to lose certain things so I would know the value of all I do have.

　

When I think back -

I weep for lost dreams.

And then I see those same dreams beginning to manifest themselves in my life today.

　

When I think back -

I see a broken person, spiritually bankrupt and suffering.

And then I look in the mirror and see the wonderful being God has created.

　

When I think back -

I see a life of resentment and bitterness.

And then I see me facing my future filled with hope and love.

　

When I think back -

I notice how different things were without God.

And then I look at what unfolds itself day by day and wonder where I was all my life... and secretly know that I was always in the presence of God whether I chose to acknowledge it or not.

　

So when I think back now -

It is a good thing.

It shows me how far I have come and especially how far I can go if I keep my eyes on God and try to live His will, not mine.

Unfunny Territory

Certain people need to be pitied more than censured. Yes, pity. What a lovely word. A word, I might add, that I was 'instructed' to not have for a fellow human being. No worries... I very seldom feel pity for anyone. Sympathy (pity) is in the dictionary between sh*t and syphilis exactly where it belongs.

Empathy (compassion) on the other hand, is a quality I will gladly possess and not be ashamed of for anyone, nor will I be instructed to abandon it, others or myself due to coercion. That pretty much sums up the whole argument herein.

I am writing this to make it public and publishing it to give it an electronic stamp. No more, no less. Just the facts... as Joe Friday would have said. This is to protect myself from further harassment from my landlord.

I take full responsibility for my actions and words. I will not, however, bow down and be manipulated and forced into believing that if I say anything, I will be punished. Those days are long gone.

I was convinced (by the landlord) to come here because an impending trip out of town was leaving the house in the care of a person who was described to me as untrustworthy. And although my rent was paid until the third of next month, I complied. She told me that I would be doing her a favor by helping protect her belongings and I was not required to pay any rent until August 3. She said that would be a fair exchange.

I arrived three weeks ago on July 11. She left that day and returned on July 18. Since the 18th, the situation here has deteriorated into a non-communicative one. I was instructed to NOT send emails. She will not talk to me so I do not know how communication is possible.

My real concern, however, is not one of lack of communication. I am concerned about possible violence. I see circumstances escalating as the landlord tries to bait us with various edicts and nearly forces us to overhear the conversations she has where she slanders our character. Yesterday she extended all that to a point where she is now restricting where we go on the property.

It is a matter of coercion and intimidation. It is a form of psychological and mental abuse that quite frankly I will no longer tolerate, hence this public airing of my 'private dirty laundry.'

The police were called here on July 28th. The other person living here asked me to call. She felt threatened and I complied with her wish to call. The landlord told me if I called, "I would regret it." I made the call anyway because a child is involved. It was the right thing to do. I knew that decision alone would have her force me out. So be it. I will not compromise myself one iota.

When I came here I was promised a "place of respite and healing." I was told I could stay for an extended period, although the duration was never specified. I so looked forward to that time.

Instead I have endured repeated assaults on my sense of morality and my values and faith have been in a constant test of patience. I have listened to one lie after another with the first lie being told on the first day.

A small lie.... but BIG to me. My first question concerning this place was if it was situated near a bus stop. I was assured it was. That is not the truth and so I am left here without transportation and a taxi service is the only way out of here... twenty dollars being the minimum just for me to sit in the car. That is certainly a hardship considering my income.

I have endured continued and repetitive renditions of what a liar the other occupant of the house is, what a terrible mother she is and how her whole life is one big lie.

Divide and conquer is the way to get over that hurdle in the landlord's eyes. But what she never counted on was the bonding that occurred. It seems her crystal ball malfunctioned.

And so days passed and I listened to the lies spout from the landlord and I watched the young mother in distress from the lies being told. In an attempt to sway me to her side, the landlord 'instructed' me that I would pay no sympathy to the other one's sad saga.

Something inside me snapped. Who likes to be told how to feel? And so I told her, "You may dispute what I think, but you can not dispute how I feel." Her tone changed dramatically as I stormed off to my room. We have never had a civil exchange since. I am sure that it is because I did not bend to her will. Too bad. I have a Higher Will to cleave to and her sneaky and devious tactics are now lost on me. I am done.

This happened on July 25.

I sat for two days remembering all the things she had told me - sordid explicit details in graphic vulgar language of a recent casual sexual encounter with a man she found on craigslist. I heard how previous boarders had 'issues' and how she had to 'have them removed from her sanctuary.' I heard some details of estranged family encounters, emotional, physical and sexual abuse that led to various 'untreatable' mental health diagnoses. Warning flags rose on that comment!

I heard the demeaning things she said about her so-called friends. The one that comes most vividly to mind is her description of one of her best friends. She calls her Plastic Barbie. A very nice looking woman who is herself having marital problems. She recounted to me several times how, even though she considers herself a Christian woman, she is still 'counseling' and encouraging the other woman to leave her husband. It was all so very depressing.

I listened as she recounted, detail by detail, a new encounter from craigslist, but how, in the end, he was not for her because his life was 'too full.' I suspect his life was just full enough that she could not consume all his time and that was just not acceptable to her.

All I know for sure is that after I set the boundary for myself, she never told me a thing since. Actually, it has been quite a relief. I grew weary of hearing it all. But then I became just one more in what I have come to realize is a long line of victims that she has set out to 'save from themselves.'

She cruises craigslist for people who are in desperate need. She promises them that respite and healing place. But when they show her they have minds of their own and will not be coerced, she turns on a dime. So it was no surprise really to discover that my call to 911 on the 28th was not the first time the authorities have had to come here.

That morning everything was quiet, as it had been for a couple of days since I drew my line. I was awakened by frantic knocking and was told she had barged into the other person's room and was 'just sitting there' refusing to leave. I got up to find her sitting there on a love seat casually leafing through a flyer. When asked, "So, what's going on?", the reply was, "I'm just sitting in a room in my own house." How childish. How rude. How illegal.

After a few minutes of the impasse, she began removing things from the room and demanding that the other person leave and give her the bed frame. The law states that if you want to evict someone, there is a process whereby to do so. After making a complete and utter fool of herself, she at one point lunged over the bed area to release the valve on the airbed that the mother and child were both on at the time. She succeeded in releasing the valve whereupon the mother rose to seal the valve. Visibly upset and fearful because the landlord had placed herself so very close to the child and he was upset, the mother asked me to call 911 and I agreed.

I was told that if I did, I 'would regret it." I took that as a threat and made the call. Knowing (I think) that she was in the wrong, the landlord left the room. I doubt it would have looked very good if she had still been sitting in there when the cops arrived.

He came in and talked with all three of us separately. In the end he summoned us all together and explained a few things. The landlord can not just arbitrarily enter a person's space. The bed frame that was so important was to be relinquished on that day. The landlord was to keep her distance and no more arguing. His very words were that if he had to return, 'someone would be going to jail.' He instructed her to get a notice to vacate from a judge and that there was little she could do other than take legal measures. And then he left.

The landlord got the bed frame plus several other items from the room and then retreated to her side of the house. Everything felt awkward and in chaos.

The other person and I decided to do the things we had to do together to prevent any other mishaps. And so we cooked together and did laundry... that sort of thing... as a team. On our first cooking excursion, the landlord had to make her presence known. She came in and busied herself in the kitchen as we were cooking. We chatted about all manner of things and just ignored her. Once again she retreated to her room.

The next morning when I awoke I had the following email with the subject line stating, "Because of yesterday..." with the time at 8:17 am.

　

You can be in no doubt that I wish you to vacate my premises just as soon as possible. Perhaps (the other person) can take you with her. It will occur to you at some point that she used you yesterday, just as she has used me, but by the time you realize it, she will be long gone and so will you.

I will need your first and last name to put on a notice to vacate. I attempted to honor my commitment to God by using my home to help you and (the other person) who both seemed to be in crisis, but evidently both of you are beyond help and have absolutely no sense of gratitude or loyalty. You might ponder why you keep being asked to get out, but that is your own concern and no longer any of mine.

As if that was a news flash...

Later that day at 1:38 pm, I received another email from the landlord with the subject line, "No mail." The body of the email simply said, "No reply necessary."

I thought if I did reply then it could be construed as harassment, and so I have made no replies. But clearly, she was cutting off the very lines of communication that the officer said to keep open.

That same day found the kitchen counter the proud occupant of a newly revised "House Rules." (By the way... no such rules had ever been offered to begin with.) Along with the emails it has been the first in a line of 'communications' meant to instigate a response which the both of us have tried to limit. I suspect the landlord's hope is that if she applies enough pressure, one of us will crumble under her 'power.' How droll.

These were the House Rules:

• 1. Do not use other people's food without permission.
• 2. Do not use dishes, pots or appliances if you are not willing to clean them.
• 3. No open food containers and/or dirty dishes in my home.
• 4. When you speak to me use a civil respectful tone. You may dislike me, but you should remember you are in my home because I was trying to help you. You owe me respect.
• 5. Theft or damage to my home or belongings will be reported as well as any attempt to damage my reputation.
• 6. Clean up after yourself. There is no maid and I work hard for my living. And have no desire to wash your dishes and clean up messes you leave on the floor and counter top (pancake batter, for instance).
• 7. My desire to use my home to do good seems to be a miserable failure, but I have done what I said I would do. Have you?

After all this, the real stupidity began. She talks loud in the first place. It is because she needs to have all the attention. And so as we would cook (the only place where we can actually hear her), she would talk on the phone telling lies. To whom? Who knows? Perhaps she wasn't talking to anyone at all. I don't know. I don't care. These were among the things she was 'telling someone else':

• I was so worried about her. I had to check on her. She is unstable and I was soooooo concerned that she had killed herself.
• That child is abused. She never lets him out of that room.
• All I ever do is clean up after them.
• I am in fear for my life. If something happens to me I hope you tell the cops it was them.
• I know they are going to trash my house. All my expensive things. Oh my God!!!

And it went on and on and on and on .... you get the idea.

On the night of the 30th, she parked her car in front of the neighbor's house. I am sure she convinced her that we were going to do harm to her vehicle. Strange thing though... she has foreign exchange students who live here during the school year. Their car was still in the driveway. Her car was precious, but their car was fair game. That should tell you something about who she is. Oh yeah, and the neighbor? You guessed it... Plastic Barbie herself. I wonder if she knows that is the landlord's nickname for her? Hmmmmmm....

So the 29th and 30th were spent with us having to listen to 'overheard conversations' if they ever really existed at all. So the incident of the 31st shouldn't have come as a surprise at all, but it did... for me anyway.

I was awakened by loud knocking. Thin doors don't need to be knocked down to hear the knock on them. I stumbled to the door and the landlord was standing there and handed me a 3x5 index card. I asked what it was whereupon, she turned off the hall light and she said, "You can't read English?" in a very sarcastic tone. I had been wakened from a dead sleep and had no glasses on. HOWEVER, her House Rules instruct us to speak to her in a civil and respectful tone. We do not deserve the same?

She then advanced to the other person's door and tried to give her a note. The other person refused to open the door. She told her to slip the paper under the door. But the landlord refused to do that. So she started reciting it out loud. When the other person asked her to go away, she then pushed herself against the locked door and it popped open hitting the other person. I could see this. Our doors are about ten feet apart.

The other person was upset having been hit with the door. Words ensued. But I could see the landlord trying to bait her into becoming too loud or too aggressive. I raised my voice saying the other person's name a few times. I got her attention and then said something funny. That was our code to retreat. I asked the landlord to leave the hallway, but she refused saying, "This is MY house and I can stand any place I please." Oh well. And so the other person and I went into our rooms and closed AND LOCKED our doors.

My note contained the following:

My insurance agent instructs me that I should not allow a person with your mobility problems to go down my stairs and path, go onto my dock or use the flagstone area of the pergola. You are therefore noticed (yes, she said noticed, not notified) not to use any of my back area.

Less than an hour later I received this email from the landlord. I consider it a last ditch effort on her part to push her opinion on me.

Did I not rescue you from a truly horrible situation? Was I not kind and helpful to you? I took you to the store, making sure I dropped you off at the front so you wouldn't have to walk from the parking lot because of your breathing and mobility problems. Didn't I offer you a free place to stay until the end of July because you had already paid to live in a place where they were telling you to leave? I cannot think of a single thing that I have ever done to hurt you, and yet you are so hateful to me and so helpful to (the other person).

I want you to think of something. The other day (the other person) yelled at you to call the police? Why? She had her cell phone close to hand and could certainly have dialed 911. Why did she tell you to do it? She had to know that as soon as you did that, you would no longer be welcome in my home. So I can only conclude that she didn't care what happened to you. But the unbelievable thing was that you did it. Despite the fact that I had tried to help you, you chose to humiliate me when there was no necessity.

You need to understand that if you are basing your behavior on things that (the other person) has told you about me, they are things that are not true. Her own great-aunt told me several times that she is a liar and certainly everything she told me which made me feel sorry for her and allow her to come into my home has proven to be untrue.

She told me (the son's) father was a soldier who died in Iraq. (The son's) father is alive; they are divorced. I believe she uses her maiden name to keep his father from finding him.

She told me her father and mother died in March of this year, he of a heart attack at the age of 78 and the mother two weeks later.

Her mother is alive and living in Michigan. The great-aunt didn't know who her father was.

She told me that she had an identical twin sister who was beat to death three years ago by her boyfriend. Her aunt said no such thing ever happened.

She told me she was an undercover agent for the government. Of course, that's just silly. I don't know why she has to make up such lies unless she just doesn't feel well enough about herself to present to the world as she is.

The (person) that you portrayed yourself to be in your blogs is a highly spiritual person, with an attitude of gratitude and would not have been capable of making such a cruel return on my kindness and helpfulness to you. It simply defies belief. Why do you resent me so much? What have I done to deserve your disdain for me?

If anything happens to me, I have two people who have your information and hers, so you will not get away with harming me. I really feel that you need to think very hard about what you are doing for your soul's sake.

Dear God, help me in my hour of need when I am being cruelly treated by those to whom I extended the hand of friendship. I ask it in Jesus' name. Amen.

And so there you have it... the chronicle of dementia (or worse).

My worry now is that she will do one of many things. She may harm herself and call the police and say one of us did it. She may destroy some of her belongings and say the same thing. She is telling anyone and everyone who will listen nothing but lies. Those who know me, know. God knows. I really have nothing to fear.

And what is it I fear? Sometimes justice does not prevail on the side of good. Being that I can be considered homeless and she is a full-fledged 'land owner,' who are the authorities going to believe? Oh sure we would LOVE to think they would see through the lies and be fair, but then maybe they wouldn't want to.

I dispute the assertion that I am ungrateful and unloyal. But that is for me and my conscience to sort out. It is not for a self-proclaimed Christian woman to sit in judgment of me.

I have, and will continue to stand in my own defense on this matter. I will not budge one iota. I will give respect unconditionally the first time. But after that respect has been violated, do not tell me I owe you respect. Respect is then earned and nothing has been done to earn it back. Quite frankly, I doubt it is possible.

And I wonder... what information was she referring to in the last email? All I gave her was a name. But she has asserted that she had the other person's Social Security number. Exactly what information does she have that she gave those two alleged people who are waiting for something very awful to happen to her so they can report me and the other person? Would you not be fearful that lies would win out?

I did nothing except fulfill a request based on the immediate circumstances - circumstances, I might add, that were totally created by the landlord's behaviour. You had to be standing where I was to know what I felt. I saw a woman lunge over another woman and her child to release a valve on an airbed, while they were in the airbed. It seemed not only childish at the time, but was way too aggressive for my liking. So yes, I had to make a decision. I did that. I would make the same decision today. That is who I am.

As far as the behaviour of today... the pushing of the locked door so it actually hit the other person (and she knew she was right there behind the door... they were shouting at each other)... to me that is an escalation that I am NOT comfortable with at all. First the lunge, then hitting someone with a door... WHAT NEXT????

It reminds me of women who are battered. First the shove, then the open-handed slap, then the punches, then the beatings and broken bones... and then some get to die. Is the other person supposed to just live with whatever this woman decides to do and not defend herself and her child? Am I supposed to be an innocent bystander who refuses to get involved? Come on... you know me better than that. Unlike some I have encountered, I have principles to live by.

So I'm going to go dramatic on you... yep, right now. If you don't hear from me or see new posts very soon... send out the bloodhounds to find the bodies.

I will keep you posted... from Crazyland.

Contemplate Freedom...

... before it slips away... ------->>
... before it's only a memory.

Happy Father's Day

My story may wander and seem to make no sense at times, but I assure you, it will all make some sort of sense in the end.

The first thing I would like to share with you is The Chair. I was in therapy after getting into recovery from alcohol and drug abuse. I was doing pretty well considering the wreckage of my past. But the years of drinking and bad attitudes about life in general had made me into a cynical mess.

The biggest issues I had concerned being abused as a child. Every person I came in contact with told me that forgiveness was the only answer. But it never seemed as though anyone had an instruction sheet or a map as to how to get from Point A to Point B... Point A being where I was, and Point B being forgiveness. I was assured, however, that until I reached a point of forgiveness, most, if not all, of my work would be in vain. That left me seemingly on a precarious cliff and I really didn't know if I would jump or not.

My counselor, Wayne, had an exercise he would lead me through occasionally. He very simply called it The Chair. I had another name for it that I won't share here due to its vulgarity. I hated the chair. I hated it with a passion I hadn't known in some time. But each and every exercise revealed things about me, about people and about situations that, once revealed, seemed almost magical to me. So very grudgingly I would indulge in the chair exercise.

It wasn't pretty most times. I hemmed and hawed, but always seemed to be able to get through it. And I never knew when he would pull out the chair. It made me uneasy going to sessions with him just for that reason. But go I did because I hated how I felt more than I hated the chair. If I was going to recover (and I was promised I could), then I wasn't going to give it a half-hearted attempt. I was going to give it my all because I felt that if I ever drank or used drugs again, I would never again find recovery, and that scared me to death.

The concept of the chair was simple. Let's say I was having a problem with Person 1. My chair and THE chair would be positioned to face each other. I would sit in my chair and present my argument to the person I was having a problem with. I would then get up and sit in THE other chair and respond how I thought they might respond. And then back to my chair to keep the conversation going until an acceptable resolution was made.

In theory I could see how that could be helpful. In practice though, I sucked. Most times it wasn't other people who were the problem. It was my thinking and my inability to provide options for myself that was the real problem.

You know that saying that goes like this? If you always do what you've always done, you will always get what you've always got. That made sense to me. And that is exactly what I did most of my life. I didn't have healthy role models. So I couldn't just conjure up a healthy resolution to a problem. It wasn't in my reference material.

But what I noticed in doing the chair exercise was that I was beginning to become creative in my thinking. I would let go of the old thinking (even if it was for a few seconds) and try to come up with something new. And due to that, a new me began to emerge. And with the new me came a new confidence and boldness. Although falteringly and awkward, I was taking care of recent business in my life. I could resolve current issues and that made me feel like I was on top of the world. They weren't stacking up like the old days. Once faced, they were dissolving and I was growing by leaps and bounds I was told. There were even times when I could actually see the growth myself. I was happier than I had been in years.

But when it came to family issues, I turned into the five-year-old again, helpless and hopeless. I just couldn't see how I would ever get over all that. It was too much. It was too hard. I really thought it was impossible.

It was October 1988. The family issues had reared their ugly heads once again. It seemed more than I could bear. My father was a drunk and an abuser. His drinking had lost him more jobs than he could count. My mother finally left him after years of abuse. He lived alone with no friends and no one to talk to. When he wasn't there he could be found in any number of local watering holes. He wasn't liked there either.

My question to my counselor was, "How can I ever forgive all that?" His suggestion was to go and talk to him. Before I left home, I never dared to say anything. After that every encounter with my father was an argument of some sort ending in more hard feelings. How could I expect to have a civil conversation with him?

Enter The Chair.

My counselor suggested that instead of making this a confrontational meeting that perhaps I should start thinking about making amends to my father. Well, I knew Wayne had finally gone off the deep end then. ME, make amends? He was the offender, not me.

But Wayne had a way of helping me see my part in things. I had perpetuated the rift and the heartache by hating him and fighting with him. Certainly no forgiveness could occur if I didn't own up to my part in it. But stubborn and bull-headed, I was having none of that! It was HIM, ALL him!

I gave lip service to the chair that day. I argued when I promised myself I wouldn't. I think I was having a juvenile moment because in my heart I knew Wayne might be right, and so I acted out like the perfect teenager.

The following week was a long one. I hated my father, I hated all that he had done, I hated how I felt about it and I hated that in the end I would have to be the adult in the situation. I went back to Wayne's office the following week, whipped and defeated. I told him, "Just tell me what to do and I will do it. I can't live like this any more."

And of course, he pulled out the chair. During my conversation with my father that day I found a humility inside. That was different. I actually put myself in his shoes and knew, being a drunk myself, that many times I had said and done things that I now wished I could do over. Would I want to be judged in sobriety for something I had done during my drinking days? I think not. It was then I found a new beginning for myself and my issues.

After several more exercises with the chair I felt I was strong enough to actually go visit my father and try to put all this behind me. By late November I had found the courage inside to make the journey. All I had to remember was that I didn't have to participate in every war I was invited to. Other than that, I needed to speak from my heart, not my head.

The trip was the longest 350 miles I had ever traveled in my life. I was doing the whole chair routine all the way home. I could do this, I told myself. I could conquer my fear and face the facts, ALL the facts, and I could make a difference in my own life, and maybe his too. I had written to him to let him know I was coming. He had no phone. I just hoped no explosions would erupt. No! I wasn't going to allow that to happen. Wayne told me I could do this... And dammit, I could!

I arrived about 10 a.m. He wasn't home. I knew what that meant. So I went to get a room at one of the hotels, freshened up and went out to search for him. I knew his old haunts. It shouldn't take long. And it didn't. I found him at the first place I went.

I hadn't seen the inside of a bar in four years. The first thing I noticed was the smell of alcohol. Funny, I had never noticed that before in all the days of drinking. It really stunk. I was dressed really nice and heads turned when I walked in. I knew it wouldn't be long before one or the other would get ideas. I hadn't thought about that. Oh well, I'd cross that bridge when I got to it.

He was sitting alone at the far end of the bar, head down, probably half asleep or in a stupor. There was nothing new under the sun in his life. Looking at him like that I felt something I had never felt before when it came to him... pity. That surprised me. With senses heightened, I approached him and asked if I could sit down. "Sure," he muttered, not knowing who I was. "Hey, give this lady a drink. Anything she wants," he commanded to the bartender. Oh my God! He really didn't know who I was!

I could hear the whispers in the air, wondering who I was and why I was sitting next to him of all people. We just sat there silent as the bartender brought me my Coke in a suspiciously "clean" glass, and never looked at each other. I could see activity out of the corner of my eye and knew it wouldn't be long before someone would be sent over to spy on us. Still he said nothing to me. I thanked him for the soda and he just nodded my way a tad.

I felt so nervous being in a bar. The odor sickened me and a flood of memories were beginning to compete for attention. I shooed them away. That isn't what I was here for.

"So, how ya been?" I asked.

"Every day is the same," he managed to squeak out. I saw he had given up on lying these days.

"Can we talk?" I asked.

"You talk, I'll listen," he said, still having no clue who I was.

"Dad, it's me, Sally," I said to him, almost crying. I could see the vultures beginning to circle.

He turned on his bar stool to look at me. "M'Girl!!!" he almost shouted, as I saw the recognition wash over his face. He never addressed me with my name, not ever. I was always M'Girl.

Forty five to fifty years of drinking had taken their toll on him. Previously a stocky man, he was now skin and bones. He had no teeth and probably hadn't seen a bath in 10 years. His eyes were vacant and whatever light he may have had was gone now. He tried to stand but his legs were having a hard time supporting him. And so he leaned into me and hugged me. As he did this the vultures stepped away.

The hug wasn't a long one. He couldn't let anyone think he was a wimp or anything. After about five minutes of idle chatter I asked if we could go somewhere, that I had something to talk with him about and that I didn't think this place was appropriate. He said he didn't eat much when I suggested a restaurant. I knew he felt embarrassed about how he looked so I asked him where we could go. He said the Riverwalk was a place he liked. It was a mild day, so I told him we could go there.

He plopped himself into my car and off we went to the Riverwalk. We found a bench near the water. He loved that having been an avid fisherman his whole life.

"So whatcha wanna know?" he asked. I wasn't even sure how to start. But inside of 30 seconds the tears were pouring down my cheeks as I 'confessed' how awful I was and that I wanted his forgiveness for keeping the hate alive.

"No, no," he insisted. "It was ME. I was the creep. You never deserved all those beatings and all that other stuff. why do you think I drink so much?"

It's like the lights came on in a dark room.

"We weren't supposed to have kids. That's why we adopted you. And then your brother came along and then your sister. And we had no money and I didn't know what to do. I always loved you, you know. My own kids, my own flesh and blood... they can't talk to me. I've done them wrong too. But you, YOU, you were the first and the best. And here we are. You're the one that's here, not them."

I felt the burden of years being lifted from me. It didn't mean I condoned his abuse. It just meant I no longer had to carry it around like it was some badge of honor (or dishonor).

He was shaking. I'm not sure if it was the cold or if he needed a drink. But I told him I needed to go. He wouldn't have understood, but I needed to process what just happened. I wanted to bring him home, but he insisted that I bring him back to the bar. I shuddered at him driving after a few more. He couldn't even stand up straight now. But that was his life and I had no control over it. He was adamant though, that I come to his house the following day. And so I agreed. I would stop there on my way out of town to go back home.

I got to the hotel and slept for 10 solid hours. I awoke feeling lighter and happier than I had been in a very long time. How I wished it were so for him.

He came practically running out to my car when I pulled in the driveway. "Come on in," he said, all happy that I was there. He lived in the house I had grown up in. The five-room and one bathroom house had been reduced to one room that he could get into. The place was unlivable. It was the worst thing I have ever seen in my life.

The smell of urine and feces was so bad and the Lysol he had used to try to clean up the place only made it worse. There was no running water or electricity. He used a Coleman lantern for light, but did say he rarely used it because he made sure to be asleep before dark so he wouldn't have to. The place was very cold so I think there was no heat either. I didn't see any heat source.

There were empty cans everywhere stacked up. He would eat out of the cans and then just lay them down. Some other larger cans were filled with urine and feces because the bathroom had caved in, he said. A single bed in the corner had bugs running over the blankets and I'm sure there must have been a multitude of mice.

I guess it was then I realized what guilt and shame and hatred can do to a person. A once vibrant, albeit mean and miserable, man had reduced his own life to this... a hovel that was dangerous to live in because he couldn't live with the memory of his own actions. Once more I knew that the outside mirrors the inside and his insides had hurt him to this level of inhumanity. I felt a sadness that is hard to describe.

I tried to not looked shocked at what I was witnessing, but the image still burns in my brain to this day. He offered me a beer, but I declined. And then he brought out a small box that he had wrapped with a brown paper bag and duct tape. I told him, "You shouldn't have." And his eyes finally had a little glow in them. "I don't want the other ones to have this. It belonged to your grandmother."

It was something I remember seeing every time I went to her house. It stood on the hutch near the dining room table. It was a stand alone crucifix, gold toned. I could see how much it meant to him and how he hated to part with it. I told him, "Oh, Dad, I can't accept this. You keep it, but thank you." But he wouldn't take no for an answer. I stayed for a few minutes longer but then told him the trip was long and I had to get back. I tried leaving the crucifix, but he caught me and carried it out to the car himself.

This time his legs were seaworthy and he hugged me like a bear. And again he told me that he loved me... the best. I left his driveway knowing I had discovered what all those people had told me. I had finally found the ability to forgive. I couldn't wait to tell Wayne.

The following September I received a call that my father had passed away. About that same time the song, The Living Years by Mike and the Mechanics was popular. To this day I cannot hear that song without thinking of my Dad and crying. For indeed... "It's too late, when we die, to admit we don't see eye to eye." I am glad I had the chance to resolve our differences before it was too late.

I still can get caught up in the abuse issues. But I try to always remember that one good memory. It softens the edges of a very hard life and it helps me to move forward keeping the past as a measuring tool so I can see how far I have traveled.

These days The Chair still plays an important part in my life. I now call her Grace. For indeed The Chair has graced me with wonderful insights. I go to the chair when I feel lost or lonely. I go to the the chair when I need to focus. I go to the chair when I need answers and to help myself find options. And sometimes... I go to the chair because I have have found it is (and always will be) my safe place. Wayne would be proud. Hell, I'm proud!

To all you fathers out there... remember... Anyone can be a Father, but it takes someone really special to be a Daddy.

Happy Father's Day to all of you, near or far. May you be blessed.

A Grand Old Flag

Dear Mr. President:

What is it exactly that disgusts you so much about America? As the leader of the greatest country in the free world it would seem to me that you would exhibit some pride and respect when it comes to our national symbol, The Flag. But then perhaps I expect too much.

I come from a generation of flag wavers. I could recite the Pledge of Allegiance by the time I was three years old. And although I couldn't walk due to physical ailments, I still sat proud and saluted the flag in the only way a child can - fervently, perhaps sloppily, but all with a huge smile on my face.

When I finally went to school I stood proud each morning and put my hand over my heart and chimed in with the rest of the class as we said the Pledge. There was no concern over whether we 'should' or 'should not.' Oh my God, that wasn't even an option! There was no one to 'offend' and people were not only proud to live here, they were glad as well.

I understand if you feel awkward about actually saluting the flag. That would require prior military service to do it properly and you really shouldn't embarrass yourself if you don't know how. But I think most Americans would forgive a wrong gesture if it was done with pure intentions.

Folded hands hanging pathetically in front of you as you gaze off into space does not constitute a "Pledge" of any kind as far as I'm concerned. You could have at least acknowledged the Flag.

I have discovered, however, that you do acknowledge other flags. Finding this coming from your White House was not exactly what I was looking for, but it wasn't surprising either. It should serve as a dire warning to all freedom lovers. It's those double standards that I have always had such a hard time with. How can it be appropriate to recognize flags from other countries yet deny your own? Don't answer me. Answer yourself.

Your administration has done more to harm the American fabric of patriotism than any other. Liberties are being maliciously stripped away in a systematic move toward a society with no rights. I, for one, will not stand for it.

And so on this day, Flag Day, June 14, 2010, being unsure that you will step up to the plate and honor our beloved flag, Mr. President, I will once again assume the role of flag waver and ask anyone who wishes to join me to recite the Pledge of Allegiance - Out Loud and Proud! Because she was formed by the Grace of God and stands as a symbol of freedom and a beacon of hope to those who wish to be free from tyranny.

Stand tall, either salute or put your hand over your heart, stare directly at those star and stripes and always remember the price that was paid in her defense. She is A Grand Old Flag - deserving of respect and honor.

　

I Pledge Allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and
to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

The History and Evolution of Dance

'Life is not learning to weather the storms,

but rather learning to dance in the rain.'

Consulting many sites over the last three days, I discovered there is no precise way to document the history or evolution of dance. It's all speculation at best because it isn't like finding ancient tools or pottery and piecing together what is found.

It is unlikely that any human society (at any rate until the invention of puritanism) has denied itself the excitement and pleasure of dancing. Like cave painting, the first purpose of dance was probably ritual - appeasing a nature spirit or accompanying a rite of passage. But losing oneself in rhythmic movement with other people was an easy form of intoxication. Pleasure can never have been far away.

Rhythm, indispensable in dancing, is also a basic element of music. It is natural to beat out the rhythm of the dance with sticks. It is natural to accompany the movement of the dance with rhythmic chanting. Dance and music most likely began as partners in the service of ritual.

In most ancient civilizations, dancing before the god was an important element in temple ritual. In Egypt the priests and priestesses, accompanied by harps and pipes, performed stately movements which mimed significant events in the story of a god, or imitated cosmic patterns such as the rhythm of night and day.

At Egyptian funerals, women danced to express the grief of the mourners. Greek shrines were inaugurated with dancing by the temple virgins. And Hindu temple priestesses used formalized hand movements with each precise gesture being of subtle significance.

Dance as ecstasy has a double-edged flavor to it. Any sufficiently uninhabited society knows that frantic dancing, in a mood heightened by pounding rhythm and flowing alcohol, will set the pulse racing and induce a mood of frenzied exhilaration.

Ancient Greek villagers, after harvesting the grapes, celebrated the occasion with a drunken orgy in honor of the god of wine. Short of unfortunate extremes such as random acts of murder, all social dances promise the same desirable mood of release and excitement.

The evolution of dance as being entertainment and display has survived to this day. Scantily clad girls, accompanied by seated musicians, cavorted enticingly on the walls of Egyptian tombs. It was believed they would delight the male occupant during his residence in the next world. But dancing girls are for this world too. From princely banquets to back-street strip clubs, they require no explanation.

The closely related theme of display underlies the story of public dance. From the courts of European spectacles, this kind eventually lead to ballet.

And as history goes, this has lead to whatever kinds of dance we now see in all its myriad glory. It still does not, however, explain dance's origin. I believe it to be so very simple.

We think as humans that we are superior to other animal species on this planet. With our ability to reason and the gift of language, we separate ourselves quite nicely from them. We Oo and Ah about the ways animals mimic our gestures, for example, the apes. Some have even learned sign language. We have even incorporated the word 'aped' into our language. And birds are the greatest imitators of language we can find.

But here is my question - Who mimicked who? I therefore submit my 'proof' that we most assuredly mimicked them when it comes to dance. Enjoy yourself as you browse my 'evidence.' And ask yourself this... Now really, haven't you actually seen a person in some of these poses as they danced? Case closed. Have fun! I sure did.

A parting shot... I hate a smart-arse bird that can dance better than me... LOL