The Eve Before Christmas Eve

RIP Vera Jo

 Through all the "stuff" surrounding the recent demise of my mother, my brain has been working overtime.  I'd always believed that once she was dead and buried that I would finally be free of her; that I could move on and never again have to be plagued by that two-edged sword she used as a tongue.  Alas however, here I sit.  I must say that I'm surprised and a bit angry that she has occupied more of my brain space in the last three weeks than she did in the last 15 years.

A casual observer might say that the reason for the intrusion is that I must be harboring some unresolved regret.  I only have one regret and it pains me greatly.  I have always said that I would far rather regret something I did.  I guess my logic failed me because when the moment was at hand, I spaced!  And so, because I missed my chance to have my say at her funeral, I will use this medium to express my thoughts.

The woman who gave birth to me was a very complicated person who was also an extremely tragic figure.  She grew up without the benefit of a warm loving mother or any father at all.  At an early age, she experienced abject abandonment and a gripping fear of losing her only sibling.  It is no small wonder that she never learned how to love.  What makes that fact so heartbreaking is that she was never able to overcome her childhood scars and wounds and as such, could not even love her own children unconditionally.  

Vera Jo cared most about money and social status.  Being out in public with her was sheer torture.  The waitstaff at any restaurant, even a five star one, could never hope to measure up to her standards and she was always quite loud and obnoxious in expressing her displeasure to the management.  In any conversation, when her engineered opportunities to mention a famous name arose, her voice would raise several decibels to ensure those around us could hear it.  She told me on many occasions that when you marry for the second time it should be more of a business arrangement.  I would be lying if I said that none of the family ever thought she was marrying Allen Russell for his money.  After all, he was 20 years older than her. He and my grandmother were born on the exact same date and year. 

It took me 40+ years and lots of therapy to understand my mother and to appreciate the sacrifices she endured to provide for me and my brothers.  She always was true to her obligations.  She provided all four of us with the basics (food, clothing, and shelter) and when she was able, a few frills, though not that many.  The brick walls she built around herself were very clearly evident to me, even when I was a small child.  I learned at an early age how to lie quite convincingly.  Experience had taught me that I should avoid at any cost being the target of her wrath.  I'm happy to report that is one skill to which I have lost all prowess.

By example, Vera Jo taught me to be a survivor, to always land on my feet, and to not depend on anybody else if I wanted something.  She also taught me about having a work ethic.  Because she worked such long hours, I learned to be independent and not fearful of trying new things.  I guess the most valuable lesson I learned from her is that she taught me about the kind of mother I did NOT want to be.  She taught me by her negative example that family is the only thing of value I will ever have and to remember to try and NOT screw it up!

I was 15 years old before I ever heard the words, "I love you" from my mother.  All six of my children have heard those words repeatedly from the time each of them were born, and they continue to hear them today.  I deeply and sincerely treasure the relationships I have with all my kids.  We aren't perfect and we have had our fair share of squabbles but we love each other and always work to resolve any differences.  

I cannot say that I love my mother.  I will say, however, that I will always respect her.  Along with that, I will always feel sorry for her.  She missed out on so many of the things that truly matter in this world.  I just hope she has finally found some peace.  I have worked very hard to destroy the legacy of "those Russell women" that has been handed down from generation to generation.  There are a few others in my family who have also tried to break the cycle of the "raging bitch gene" that so many of our female ancestors carried.  I have great admiration for them as the struggle is all too familiar.

A Final Thought:

Every one of us comes into this world naked, crying, and owners of but one thing; a family.  When we leave this world, we leave it in the same way, owning that one thing only, that same family.  Seems to me we should all treat them a little better while we are here. 

I read with great disappointment about the canceling of church services this Sunday. I recognize there might be outside factors, beyond the control of a local pastor, that might have influenced such a decision. In any case, my first thought upon reading the Facebook post from my own church was, "Gee, that doesn't say much for your faith in God." For those folks who have chosen the Chicken Little response to COVID-19, staying home from church could have been their choice of action. Those with a more pragmatic approach could have attended worship as usual. Bottom line of course, is that ya gotta do what ya gotta do.

I was appalled when the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo shut down until I heard through the rodeo grapevine that Mayor Turner had rescinded all the food permits thereby effectively forcing the closure. I now have only 12 rolls of toilet paper and I find myself wondering, with church being cancelled, if maybe I should have been panic buying along with everyone else! I have thus far been watching with amusement at this Democrat-driven, media-born panic show, fully anticipating the moment when (insert satire font) the "truth" comes out that Donald Trump is responsible for the virus! Can the sky really be falling? I even had someone call me to say that if Tom Hanks and his wife can get this virus, we should all begin to take it more seriously. Is THAT the standard? Surely not!

 In any case, I will be in prayer on Sunday morning in the place of actual corporate worship, and I would encourage others to do so as well. At least, in absentia, we will have some form of corporate worship. In the meantime, I will continue to wash my hands often and practice "social distancing" as the media (insert chorale riff) suggests. This crisis, much like others, will pass. I just hope, since other things "pass" as well, that my toilet paper supply holds out.

I had an ugly cry today.  Not the slow to build, few tears down the face, one tissue kind of cry but a full on sudden onset flood, where you don't leave the tissue box far away, with the wailing and pleading, paralyzing, sobbing kind of cry that leaves one short of breath and completely exhausted. "What on earth?" you might ask? Well, I threw a paper bag in the trash. Yep, that's it. That is all it took.

It was the paper bag that held the lovely wooden box with the brass plate on the front and within the box, the remains of the best dog that ever graced this planet, my furbaby, my precious companion, my BFF, my Bonnie Boogaloo, my Boo, my Bonnie Blue.

On February 8th this year Bonnie passed away peacefully in my arms as I gently cradled that head, that beautiful head that was always by my side for more than 14 years. She was here, and suffering terribly one second, and then gone the next second, off to find her sister, Jasmine at the Rainbow Bridge.

Bonnie was one of those once-in-a-lifetime kind of pets. She is the standard by which all others will be judged and found lacking. It is, after all, impossible to improve upon perfection. From a five week old pup, to the Grande Dame she became in her dotage, she was my constant companion for more than 14 years. To simply say that I miss her is such an understatement as to appear an insult.

And so I cried an ugly cry today.  It wasn't the first and will surely not be the last. I should be happy that she is no longer suffering and for that I am truly grateful. I know it will take time .  .  .
Lots of time .  .  . 

I experienced something today that I cannot explain. It was quite profound and deeply moving. Today, the United States opened its embassy in Jerusalem, Israel. As one who is pervasively ignorant regarding world history, if anyone had asked me about the significance of that occasion, I might easily have dismissed it as “no big deal.” However, as I sat with my morning coffee to surf the latest Facebook offerings, I happened to scroll upon the live feed of this embassy dedication, and for reasons I cannot explain and do not understand, I was immediately mesmerized by what was taking place, and couldn’t have scrolled past it if my life hung in the balance. I became emotional and tears began to flow. Despite not truly having a firm handle on the significance of this event, I had a sense that whatever was about to take place was of monumental, historical, and spiritual significance. I felt I was witnessing something so huge, so important that my attention could not be diverted even for a split second. I remained riveted, intently listening to every word spoken by each person as dignitary after dignitary approached the dais for their chance to speak. I cried continuously throughout the pomp and circumstance. I am teary even now, as I recall this morning’s event. Never in my life have I witnessed history of such biblical significance. I believe only the hand of God could have touched my heart so profoundly for me to have experienced such deep emotion regarding the event. With my limited knowledge of the Bible, even I know that the Israelites have always been God’s chosen people. I am very grateful that the USA has aligned with Israel. If God is for us, none shall stand against us!

First fishing day of 2015

I decided to carpe diem today, so I grabbed my gear and headed out to one of my favorite spots to get some fishing in before the predicted downpour began. "What did I catch?" you ask . . . . . Well, I actually had several great catches today! I caught a cool wind at my back; I caught God's artistry in action as I watched the overcast grayness give way to beautiful blue skies dotted with cumulus cotton balls; I caught some rays of sunshine on my face; I caught myself paying more attention to the different shades of green in the foliage than the dipping bobber, courtesy of some pesky crabs. Despite the absence of any fish at the end of my line, I caught myself smiling and enjoying the simple tranquility of being near the water. For a techno geek like me . . . well . . . I always did think of myself as being multifaceted, somewhat of an enigma.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away . . . . .

I met a kindred spirit awhile back and I wanted to write about the experience. Being the analytical type, I wanted to first search myself in order to better understand why a chance meeting evoked within me such great emotion that I was reduced to an incoherent, rambling, puddle, unable to finish even a word or two without a fresh supply of waterworks as punctuation. I think I have a grasp on it now so here goes . . . First, a short back-story for those who do not know me. (Though why some perfect stranger would be reading this blog is beyond me, short of some Google search that would pick up a keyword or two, but I digress) At the tender age of 22, I found myself a widow with two small daughters, ages 6 months and 4 years old. Their father, my husband, was a Fort Bend County deputy sheriff who had been killed in the line of duty when his patrol car was struck by a train on a rural railroad crossing in Stafford, Texas in 1977. I must say there’s just not that many 22-year old widows out there-not then, not now. Talk about feeling all alone in the world. But “Time is the great healer,” “Life must go on,” “You have to think about the children,” and (insert any number of other tired but well intended clichés) you get the picture, right? Except . . . late at night . . . when the kids are asleep . . . or when the house is especially quiet . . . or at the end of the day just before slipping off into slumber, there were times when I would have given anything to have someone to talk to. I wanted someone who could understand my emotions; someone who could relate to my little insanities, those things that I did or said that I couldn’t do or say in front of anyone else because they would think I had gone off my rocker, or was losing it, or was just plain insane. It was the hamper full of dirty laundry that NEVER got washed because it SMELLED like him, oh sweet JESUS, YES it did! And I wrapped that sweaty T-shirt around me and laid my face on those tighty-whities and sobbed into those socks that were pleasantly malodorous because I could close my eyes tight and pretend, and make it real, even if it was only for a brief Nano second that he was lying right there beside me and that awful, terrible reality I existed in was just a cruel nightmare. How I lived for those Nano seconds! At some point I gave in to the pleading, “It’s time to move on, honey,” from a well meaning family member or friend and my treasured laundry hamper was removed from my grasp. Once, I went to the drugstore and discreetly bought a tiny bottle of British Sterling after shave and ran from the store as if someone might see me and, again, think I was nuts! I tried sprinkling some on the sheet on “his” side of the bed. It just wasn’t the same. Nothing was ever the same. I tried hanging out with “the guys” at the sheriff’s office but that didn’t last. All those friends that “we” had, were still couples and I became a “threat” so I couldn’t be hanging around them anymore. It was like being a member of some exclusive club and even though I was still me, I had somehow lost my qualifier for membership and had been ousted. I never did want to take anyone else’s husband, but just wanted to be around the people that so reminded me of him and even though nothing ever went on with any of those officers, rumor and innuendo was powerful. So, I had to stop going there for coffee. But enough about ancient history . . . Funny how you think you’ve filed things away; and you think you have dealt with them; and they are just there, kind of a part of you, but not really included in the current working version . . . Fast forward to 2014 when I attended a Memorial Service (as I do every year) honoring those officers who have given their lives in service to law enforcement agencies throughout Fort Bend County. I happened to meet a young lady and it was like looking into a mirror of the past. This lady was also the widow of a deputy who had lost his life in service to Fort Bend County and we were immediately connected somehow. She said she felt it the same as I did. It was such a phenomenal bonding moment. At once, I found someone who understood perfectly about the unwashed laundry, the loneliness, the nights spent with an address book flipping through the pages in search of anyone who might be willing to spare some conversation for one so desperately in need of it. She was me; I was her. All we could do was hug and cry. Life really does go on and time really does numb the pain that will never completely go away. I will never forget those times when I so desperately wanted to talk to someone who would understand. I gave her my cell number. I hope she knows how deeply and sincerely I meant it when I said “Call me anytime!” I hope she knows how often I think about her and pray for God to comfort her. I can’t help wondering though, which of us needs the comforting more.

My Nativity Set

I packed up my Nativity set just now to be stored until next Christmastime when it will be unpacked with a renewed joy and anticipation. I had packed it up several years ago, (just as I have done since the day it came home with me) and for a few years, I couldn’t find it. Rather than replace it, I just quietly and personally bemoaned its absence during those times and chalked it up to yet another of the things that I had “lost” in the many moves I’ve made in my life. It’s funny how such seemingly small and insignificant things can mean so incredibly much. I have no clue why I remember the details and history of this Nativity set so clearly, and yet have trouble remembering such things about other greatly significant possessions. Regardless, I have decided to write about this while I can remember. I don’t recall the date I acquired this beautiful symbol of Christian faith, only that it was sometime before Christmas, circa 1980’s. I had wanted a Nativity set but just could not afford the really nice ones. I do recall that my children were all young (or yet to be born) and it was during the time in my life when I was not attending church. I resolved that until I could find one that was beautiful and elegant, yet within my budget, I would do without. Oh, there were plenty of cheap ones to be had, but they looked exactly like their price tags: distorted, cartoon-like figures painted in bright colors and missing a Wiseman or two. I suppose I could have afforded the ones that only had Mary, Joseph, and the Baby Jesus, but I wanted authenticity. They were not the only players, albeit the most important ones, but I needed them along with the shepherd, the three Wisemen, and a few animals. I could live without the stable, I supposed, but it just seemed sacrilegious and disrespectful to leave out any of the other folks. So, I was at the Garden Ridge store in Stafford, shopping for Christmas stuff when I went down the aisle with all the Nativity sets, thinking I would just look, since I was fairly certain I couldn’t afford any of them. About the middle of the aisle, I saw it. I was very excited to find it because it was so nearly perfect. The little figures were all less than 5 inches tall, and made of a cream colored ceramic. It included an oval-shaped, polished wooden platform upon which to display them. The set included Joseph, Mary, and Baby Jesus, three Wisemen, a shepherd, three animals (lamb, cow, and foal), and it even had an angel to overlook them all. The price was right, so I grabbed it since it was the last one they had. I looked to see if I could find one exactly like it, only a bit larger, and there was nothing even close. That year, I had received a gift that was contained in a beautiful oval-shaped keepsake box. The lid had an image of a Victorian Santa, with a little girl in her nightgown, surrounded by stuffed and live animals. As I was taking down the Nativity set that year, I noticed that pretty box. It was only slightly larger than the oval platform for my Nativity set so it was a perfect place for storing that set. It has maintained that purpose through these many years. From the very beginning, I was always very meticulous about how I wrapped and stored each piece. I had a couple of pieces of gold colored tissue paper that I used for wrapping some pieces, and white tissue for the others. Each year, I would very gingerly unwrap the figures, smooth out the tissue paper so it could be used again, fold it up, place it in the empty box, and place the keepsake box under the tree as a decoration. Through all the moves that I have made in my life, I have had to walk away from some possessions because I had no help to pack and move it all. There were times when I was so overwhelmed by depression that I was doing the best I could do, to just put one foot in front of the other. Somehow, my keepsake box, with its precious contents, managed to make it safely through all those moves. I am grateful for that miracle. My little Nativity set is very precious to me not only for what it obviously represents (the birth of Christ), but also for symbols known only to me. Its survival through the ages represents stability for remaining unchanged and unbroken through all the trials of life. Its endurance represents my tight grip on my faith. Its smallness represents my being poor and struggling to make ends meet over the years. Its understated elegance represents humility and reminds me to remain humble, remembering that one need not have wealth to be considered elegant. It further reminds me that true wealth is determined by counting my blessings instead of counting my money. I know that I am rich beyond my wildest dreams. This year, when I went to pack it up, the white tissue papers I had used for lo these many years, were a crumbling yellowed mess. It seemed disrespectful to wrap a Wiseman in yellowed tissue paper so, after searching through options in my Christmas wrapping supplies (which for an OCD’er like me is no small task) I found tissue paper worthy of wrapping my little figures for storage. The Wisemen were wrapped in the original gold tissue; the shepherd and animals in new white paper; Joseph and Mary in red paper with white snowflakes; and the angel and Baby Jesus in red paper with darker red words saying JOY, PEACE, NOEL, and MERRY CHRISTMAS. I have always known that this tiny little Nativity set has been especially meaningful for me, but I believe this is the first time I’ve realized the depth of my feelings about it. While I would still like to find a Nativity set that meets a certain set of my personal specs, I will always display this one as the first and best.

Come and Take It!

A very well intentioned member of my extended family contacted me the other day to tell me that she had "heard" (on Facebook) that there was a threat of harm to soldiers' families from our so very porous borders down south and that I might consider taking my stickers off my car, taking the sign down from my yard, and removing the flag from my front door that signifies that this home is the home of one with family on active duty with the military. This alleged threat had been corroborated by a friend of her coworker, whose daughter was in the military and had asked her parents to take the yellow ribbon down from the front of their house. I thanked her for her concern and said I would look into it and I followed through. What I could discern from the few credible resources I could find was that back in early September there had been "chatter" about a possible threat to Fort Bliss (in El Paso) from our southern border. I found nothing else to substantiate any threat (outside of the average everyday threat from so many illegals freely crossing our borders). I called this person on the phone and told her that I did not feel that there was any threat that would warrant the actions she recommended but I thanked her for her concern for my well being. I told her that a similar subject had come up in our Bible study group about how, in the last days, we will be required to take the mark of the beast or be slaughtered. The question was posed, would God be OK with someone taking the mark of the beast but rationalizing that, "God knows my heart and He knows that I am a believer. Surely He will understand it to be the better part of valor to survive and fight from within to destroy Satan and his armies." Uhhhh . . . . hmmmm . . . . yeah . . . NO!!! And just, NO!! The parallel notwithstanding, the more I thought about it, the madder I got. NO, hell NO, I will NOT take down my Proud Army Mom stickers, nor will I even consider removing all the outward and visible signs that I am proud to have my son serving in this United States Army. Not now, not ever. Not in this land of the free and home of the brave. If I die standing up to say I am proud of my son and his service to this country, so be it. Far too many have given their lives for the freedom we have in this country and I will never, EVER, allow myself to be intimidated by such threats. I will say it loud and say it proud. I am an American and I have the right to stand up and be proud of my son and proclaim the honor of his service. I know that my son’s family: natural, extended, steps, halves, in-laws, outlaws, and every other kind are ALL in support of his service, and as proud as they can possibly be of him, just as I am. I guess I am just rebel enough to not be so easily intimidated. That is all.

Come and take it!

Ok, I'm pissed off again so I shall employ this platform for my rant! Let me describe a scenario and I ask you, my dear readers, to keep an open mind. Person B is in the act of obeying the law. Person A comes along and wants to break the law. Why, oh please explain to me why, Person B should feel any obligation or duty to enable, facilitate, or otherwise assist Person A to break the very law that Person B is obeying. Logic would dictate that the premise is ludicrous at best! Ponder the scenario thusly: Person B and Person A are walking down the street, when A decides that he wants to knock off the liquor store on the corner. Given the parameters of the described scenario, B would be expected to be an accomplice, simply by virtue of his geographical placement near A. Seems silly right? Oh but apply that kind of twisted logic to a freeway, where law-abiding B is driving the posted speed limit in the left lane of the freeway because there are so many slower drivers in the other lanes. Here comes A (which clearly stands for asshole!) running right up on the bumper of B, flashing his brights and even honking his horn because, after all, the whole world should know how important A is, right? So please, by all that is holy, explain to me why I am expected to move over and allow the asshole to fly past me while I am driving at the posted speed limit. Why should I be inconvenienced by having to change lanes just so some jerk can exceed the speed limit? Lane changes are inherently more dangerous than driving within a single lane, so by expecting the law abiding driver to move out of the way exposes him/her to greater risk of a collision, while the speeder proceeds safely on his/her way. Logic? Out the window! Fairness? Non-existent! The only intelligent, logical conclusion is that if you are driving at the posted speed limit, and some asshole comes up behind you, let the asshole go around you if he wants to speed. A law-abiding driver should never be expected to make it easier for another driver to break the law. Period. End of story.

(I thought I had already posted this here but apparently it was overlooked. So, now, just because I wanted to, here it is.) I had completed a task at my job yesterday (October 2013) and I was silently admiring my work when irony descended upon me. Damned irony and its smug ass self! I began to laugh one of those big belly laughs but I knew it was simply a ruse to keep the tears at bay. The company owner had ordered some marketing postcards to send to her list of contacts in honor of Thanksgiving. Along with the obligatory marketing catch phrases, she had included her family recipe for pecan pie. The fallibility of Spell Check notwithstanding, when her recipe came to the point where the recipe directed to “pour the mixture into a prepared pie crust,” all 250 of her postcards read, “ . . . pied crust.” In toying with different plans to rescue the project, I discovered that the printing was fresh enough to sit gingerly on top of the heavy card stock and could simply be scraped off: brilliantly simple, right? Plus, the finished repair job was so effective that one would have to really look closely to even notice that there was anything at all that was ever amiss. Doing so however, required a very sharp knife or razor blade, a steady hand, and a gentle touch, so as not to mar the card stock. One little mis-scrape of the blade, and there went the darned e at the end of pie. So I had sat for two days scraping my big fat ass off and I was so proud that I had salvaged what would have been either a waste of the company’s marketing dollars or worse, the damage to the image of the company that couldn’t even spell pie. Yep, it was a job well done, no doubt. Then . . . irony, damn you! Not so very long ago, I remember a time when being proud my work or having a sense of accomplishment about my job meant something very different. I have always taken pride in my work. Back in the day though . . . if I had done a really good job it meant that someone’s family was made to feel more comfortable, or a really sick person’s pain was relieved, or that a critical change in condition was reported to the doctor so that the right treatment could be given. Dammit, I literally saved people’s lives!!! I made a difference in someone’s life because I kept a mother from dying too soon or I gave someone another five years or ten years with a loved one. Good God, my work was an extremely meaningful contribution to the world and to humanity. So I laughed because I was proud of scraping a “d” off of 250 pieces of what most people were going to consider junk mail. How horribly pathetic is that?

Thoughts about and for my kids

My trip to Washington to greet Matthew as he returned from Afghanistan was amazing. It was a great weight from my shoulders to see him back on US soil, safe and sound. It was not until I had arrived at the relative isolation and anonymity of my Barbie-doll seat on the return flight however, that the tears came. They were both an uninvited guest and a somewhat welcome release. I did my best not to cast that blubbery cloud on the limited time I had to visit. I wanted it to be a happy visit and it was. The overwhelming sadness I felt was almost too much to bear. I told myself that I was sad because it felt like my family was breaking apart. From there, I traveled to the land of empty nests where one is allowed to mourn for the fleeting years of their childhoods now long gone. The evolution of my progeny from infancy to their current state of independent adulthood is acceptable as it is the expected and desired outcome-the payoff for all those turbulent years of rearing. There is a large measure of satisfaction in seeing them achieve adulthood. So why the sadness? Well, the very independence that I so determinedly passed on to them has now taken over and they are all forging their paths through the world. And this is a problem because . . . ? Aha, the bitter truth emerges: their independence forces me to face my own mortality. So, dear children, are you listening? Pay attention now and hear me well. I implore you - each of you - do NOT allow that Vera Jo gene to invade. It is the very devil - SATAN himself!! No matter what, you can never, ever, turn your back and walk away from your family! In the end, what do any of us have anyway? Family is all that we have. We come into this world with a family and we go out the same way. Nothing else is as important as your family. They are the ones who love you even when you don't want them to. They love you even when they, themselves, don't want to. Don't believe it if anyone says any differently. Do your best to stay within one day's road trip from each other. Your life may depend on it! Really!! You will be so glad you did. Kids need their cousins. Think about it - James, Katherine, Michelle, Kelly, Jennifer, Jason; and don't forget Tammy and Tiffany; Rhiannon, Stephanie, and Jeremy' Stephen and Ramona. Don't you all wish you'd had more opportunities to be together? I know you do. Remember all those times when Jennifer and Tiffany would come and stay with us and the times we went on road trips together? Great fun, good times, wonderful memories, right? Don't deprive your children of memories like those!! They are priceless treasures and worth more than you could ever imagine! You all have the foundation that you need to do well in life. How you all arrived there is a mystery to me-I take no credit whatsoever. Nature vs. nurture is the age old debate, but the debate notwithstanding, I have always believed that people become what they become either because of their environment or in spite of it, and usually some combination thereof. As each of you continues on your individual journey, know that I am extremely proud of you all and I feel particularly blessed that God placed each of you in my life. Take a moment to reflect and you will discover that, individually as well as collectively, you are making your own unique and worthy contributions to society. Never sell yourselves short!

Need Service?

Parting is such sweet sorrow . . .

Again today I will bid farewell to my son, Matthew and daughter-in-law, Brittany as their leave comes to a close. This one is especially hard for me since, unlike all the other times, this one is open-ended. I do not know when I will see them again. Every other time, there was an end date; a goal to be achieved; something I could hang my hat on; an event to take place that marked the time: boot camp to Family Day, then to graduation, then to pre-deployment leave, then to the triumphant return and post deployment leave. . . . . But now, there is no finite time frame, nothing to hang my hat on, no date certain to which I may look forward. I know that sounds melodramatic, since I know that I will see them again, and they are but a phone call away now, instead of across an ocean. Yet still, I'm sad to see them go. Heck, I feel the same way when Amy leaves, even though she's just a few hours up the road. Funny how now that my kids are grown and able to meet their own needs, I find myself needing to keep them close. Bittersweet for me, but also a great comfort to know that each of them will be just fine in this old world. They have all achieved a measure of success in life for which I prayed fervently. I am so proud of all my kids (and that includes Chris, Nick, Mali, Jonathan, and Brittany) that my heart could burst. I love them so very much and I thank God for blessing me with such bounty!!!

I haven't posted on here in awhile and God knows it isn't due to any lack of issues about which I have deep feelings of passion. There is plenty to feel passionate about these days so where do I begin? I haven't forgotten about the travesty in Benghazi. Travesty is such an inadequate descriptor of the callous and abject abandonment of American citizenry and heroes who were piteously exterminated while our Commander-in-Chief and his chosen minions allegedly watched/listened to the events as they unfolded in real time. As if the actions of our leaders were not adequately shameful, orders were repeatedly given to, "Stand down," to those who eventually paid the ultimate price. I am deeply saddened by the whole affair. I am further saddened by the cavalier attitude of the elected officials testifying before Congress regarding this debacle. God is watching, Barrack! God is also watching you, Joe, and you too, Hilliary!! Karma really IS a bitch!

I must preface this commentary by saying that there are those whom I love dearly that I am about to describe and despite the tirade, I will continue to love them. I am going to talk about facebook. Ok, don't groan. One of my biggest pet peeves about facebook is that there are entirely too many people who use facebook for nothing more than a platform to promote pictures, sayings, quotes, etc. that someone else has written. It is not the occasional sharing of a true pearl of which I speak, but rather the ones to whom I refer that NEVER have anything of any substance to say on their own. I have shared stories sometimes and I have shared sayings, and I have shared pictures that I felt were significant. I have also posted my own thoughts and my own opinions about any number of subjects; thoughts that I compiled into grammatically acceptable blurbs authored strictly by myself. Do these folks lead such boring and meaningless lives that all they can find to post is what someone else has written or composed? Facebook would be infinitely more interesting and fun to read if folks would write about what is on their minds or what is happening around them, no matter how piteous the grammar or spelling. At least it would be original. But then, I am a crabby old bitch sometimes.

All I can say is, "Wow!" This lady has the kind of relationship with a horse that I have always dreamed about. Un-freakin-believable!!!

This, hopefully, will never get old.

I have heard the phrase "separation of church and state" until I am now certain that I could PUKE it. So for my own satisfaction, and for all those MORONS who are either illiterate or just too damned LAZY to read what the Bill of Rights says about religion, I have it right here, word for word, from the official government website for such official documents. The link is:            
   
http://www.archives.gov/exhibits/charters/bill_of_rights_transcript.html  

Amendment I 
          Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances. 


So, for those of us that are able to read and understand English, do any of you see the words, "separation of church and state" in there, anywhere??? Of course you don't because it says nothing of the kind! All it basically says is that the government can neither tell you which religion to practice nor how to practice it.  Period! End of story! Is that too difficult for even a simple mind to understand? Could we not end all this drama and ear candy over the issue NOW??!!?? It really does NOT have to be this complicated, people.

I love this!