We were asked tonight to give a memorial to someone in the service.
The was I remember most is the Viet Nam War. I protested that war. I hated that we were there. I still get angry. Riled up.
The soldiers who came home from that ungodly place were treated shabbily. They were spit at. They were hated. They were called names. But most of all they were ignored. They did not receive a heroes welcome. They deserved one.
Soldiers coming home from a 6 day war were hailed heroes. They were given parades. There were speeches made about them. Why? Because it was said that we "won" that war. I disagree because after all we are right back there again, and again. We left too soon.
Many of the Viet Nam vets are now homeless. They are disturbed. They are hurting. They have been forgotten.
If anyone deserves a tribute it is the Viet Nam vet. They went through hell and came home to hell. We owe them. We owe them big.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Worry
I don't worry. I know that I probably should, but I just don't. There doesn't seem to be any point to it. If I worry about something that MIGHT happen, can I stop it from happening? Probably not. If I worry about something that HAS happened can I change the outcome? Definitely not.
My family and friends say two things about me. They say I am living with my head in the sand or that I am looking at life through rose colored glasses. But I don't care. I am happy with my vague look at life. And I sleep just fine.
My husband is a worrier. He used to worry about what was going to happen to him when he was away from home. He also worried what was happening to his home when he was gone. Now he can't leave. He is too afraid.
It is called agoraphobia. Technically, it is a fear of open spaces. That isn't his fear, but maybe for some it is. He makes a joke and says that, "agra - phobia is the fear of farms." But I know what it costs him to make that joke.
I know what his worry has cost us as a couple.
We used to enjoy going to garage sales and flea markets in the summer. We don't nowadays. We used to go to dinner. Not any longer. We used to make a day by going North to do some shopping. We would have lunch out and have a grand time. Not at this point.
We grow farther and farther apart. Partly my fault because I get angry that I have to do all the errands by myself now. That I have to go garage saling alone. It just isn't any fun.
I know it sounds selfish but it really is frustration.
I guess maybe I was wrong about me not worrying. I am praying for a miracle to happen to make him well again. But I am worried that one isn't coming.
My family and friends say two things about me. They say I am living with my head in the sand or that I am looking at life through rose colored glasses. But I don't care. I am happy with my vague look at life. And I sleep just fine.
My husband is a worrier. He used to worry about what was going to happen to him when he was away from home. He also worried what was happening to his home when he was gone. Now he can't leave. He is too afraid.
It is called agoraphobia. Technically, it is a fear of open spaces. That isn't his fear, but maybe for some it is. He makes a joke and says that, "agra - phobia is the fear of farms." But I know what it costs him to make that joke.
I know what his worry has cost us as a couple.
We used to enjoy going to garage sales and flea markets in the summer. We don't nowadays. We used to go to dinner. Not any longer. We used to make a day by going North to do some shopping. We would have lunch out and have a grand time. Not at this point.
We grow farther and farther apart. Partly my fault because I get angry that I have to do all the errands by myself now. That I have to go garage saling alone. It just isn't any fun.
I know it sounds selfish but it really is frustration.
I guess maybe I was wrong about me not worrying. I am praying for a miracle to happen to make him well again. But I am worried that one isn't coming.
Carry On Tuesday
2nd attempt. I don't write poetry or prose because mostly I don't understand it, but I will try and write by the rules.
Key words/phrases
Everyone suddenly burst out singing.
And I was filled with such delight.
I woke that morning filled with such dread.
I thought to myself, "I'll just stay in bed."
I reached for the phone to call in sick.
The boss said to me, "Oh, you're such a hick."
Hours or minutes I do not know which
There was a rap on the door that caused me to twitch.
I called out, "Come in." Though I know not why.
I thought I might just possibly die.
The room filled with people who were noisily winging.
Suddenly everyone burst out singing.
And I was filled with such delight
that I gave up my blight.
It was only a birthday.
And I couldn't give up without a fight.
Key words/phrases
Everyone suddenly burst out singing.
And I was filled with such delight.
I woke that morning filled with such dread.
I thought to myself, "I'll just stay in bed."
I reached for the phone to call in sick.
The boss said to me, "Oh, you're such a hick."
Hours or minutes I do not know which
There was a rap on the door that caused me to twitch.
I called out, "Come in." Though I know not why.
I thought I might just possibly die.
The room filled with people who were noisily winging.
Suddenly everyone burst out singing.
And I was filled with such delight
that I gave up my blight.
It was only a birthday.
And I couldn't give up without a fight.
Weekend Wordsmith
My first time trying this activity.
I looked at the picture and this is what I saw.
"If we follow this path, it will take us to the gardening shed."
This is what the realtor said to a prospective buyer of my home.
She didn't know, she couldn't have known.
This path is not just a trail to take a person to a gardening shed. Oh no it is so much more than that.
This is a magical path. It will allow the imagination to go or grow wild. It is true that it goes to the gardening shed but what is inside the shed is where the magic happens.
You can put your hands in soil so pure and so clean that the smell is overwhelmingly beautiful. It is the air fresh from a quiet afternoon rain shower.
The pots you will find in the shed date back to the early 1900's. They are terracotta. They are stunning for their age. Makes me wonder if I would look that good at that age. Probably not.
The light is dim in the shed. I did that purposely. I didn't want artificial light made by a light bulb. I wanted only the sunshine to show me what I was planting. Even on overcast days I can feel the warmth of the sun and know that it is guiding me.
As I spend my last precious moments here before the next looker comes, I am saddened. No one but me will ever know the wonderment of this shed. They will never experience the thrill of the plant as it opens. Or the sadness when it fails to open.
Maybe I should write the next owners a short message telling them about the thrilling times they will experience in the potting shed.
I looked at the picture and this is what I saw.
"If we follow this path, it will take us to the gardening shed."
This is what the realtor said to a prospective buyer of my home.
She didn't know, she couldn't have known.
This path is not just a trail to take a person to a gardening shed. Oh no it is so much more than that.
This is a magical path. It will allow the imagination to go or grow wild. It is true that it goes to the gardening shed but what is inside the shed is where the magic happens.
You can put your hands in soil so pure and so clean that the smell is overwhelmingly beautiful. It is the air fresh from a quiet afternoon rain shower.
The pots you will find in the shed date back to the early 1900's. They are terracotta. They are stunning for their age. Makes me wonder if I would look that good at that age. Probably not.
The light is dim in the shed. I did that purposely. I didn't want artificial light made by a light bulb. I wanted only the sunshine to show me what I was planting. Even on overcast days I can feel the warmth of the sun and know that it is guiding me.
As I spend my last precious moments here before the next looker comes, I am saddened. No one but me will ever know the wonderment of this shed. They will never experience the thrill of the plant as it opens. Or the sadness when it fails to open.
Maybe I should write the next owners a short message telling them about the thrilling times they will experience in the potting shed.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Six Word Saturday
Yes! Going to the city Tuesday.
( I live 22 miles from town and 1 1/2 hours from the city. I have not been to the city in almost a year. I miss it. Shopping, dinner out, seeing friends, no responsibilities, movies, music. So much to do so little time. I'll only be there 7 days.)
I hope I posted this correctly. I don't need an award.
( I live 22 miles from town and 1 1/2 hours from the city. I have not been to the city in almost a year. I miss it. Shopping, dinner out, seeing friends, no responsibilities, movies, music. So much to do so little time. I'll only be there 7 days.)
I hope I posted this correctly. I don't need an award.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Efficient, Optimize, Treacherous...3WW a day late
Efficient
Optimize
Treacherous
The ice can be so treacherous.
You really have to be efficient with your speed.
You must optimize the use of your brakes.
Watch the hills, and the curves.
They appear out of nowhere quite treacherously.
The blackness of night will efficiently blind you,
when a car's bright lights meet you coming.
To optimize your car's efficiency,
you should optimize the engines velocity,
which could be very treacherous.
Optimize
Treacherous
The ice can be so treacherous.
You really have to be efficient with your speed.
You must optimize the use of your brakes.
Watch the hills, and the curves.
They appear out of nowhere quite treacherously.
The blackness of night will efficiently blind you,
when a car's bright lights meet you coming.
To optimize your car's efficiency,
you should optimize the engines velocity,
which could be very treacherous.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
3 - Word Wednesday
Bicker
Nervous
Trajectory
They bickered about it for hours and hours, bu the time had come.
Oh yes she was nervous. There was so much at stake. But there wasn't really any choice, she just had to do it.
She let the sling shot fly. Praying, hoping that the trajectory was correct and that the balloon would pop.
It was a water balloon. It was supposed to pop on his head when he came to the door. So much depended on the timing but mostly on the trajectory of the fling.
Nervous
Trajectory
They bickered about it for hours and hours, bu the time had come.
Oh yes she was nervous. There was so much at stake. But there wasn't really any choice, she just had to do it.
She let the sling shot fly. Praying, hoping that the trajectory was correct and that the balloon would pop.
It was a water balloon. It was supposed to pop on his head when he came to the door. So much depended on the timing but mostly on the trajectory of the fling.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Carry On Tuesday #1
A cloudless night like this
can set the spirit soaring.
A million stars are up above,
A million wishes to come true.
My first attempt at prose or whatever...something other than straight writing.
can set the spirit soaring.
A million stars are up above,
A million wishes to come true.
My first attempt at prose or whatever...something other than straight writing.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Disconnect
I thought I knew exactly what I was going to write about tonight. I had it all planned out in my mind.
But, then I went and bought a Sunday paper. There was an article in it that changed my perspective on what being disconnected really is.
The article was about a group of people in my state who are trying to put name markers on the graves of people that were institutionalized and died in the institution. Their graves are now marked with only their file or case number.
These poor souls for one reason or another were put in to mental institutions. Often they were forgotten by family members. But, they always had a name. I am positive that the staff of various institutions did not call John Smith by #8327. I made up that name and number by the way. The staff just had to have called the patients by their given names.
A name, any name gives dignity. A number makes a person anonymous. It takes away their dignity. It makes them disconnected.
So, yes being disconnected from the Internet is an inconvenience, it seems pretty insignificant compared to the disconnection the patients known now only by a number must have felt.
But, then I went and bought a Sunday paper. There was an article in it that changed my perspective on what being disconnected really is.
The article was about a group of people in my state who are trying to put name markers on the graves of people that were institutionalized and died in the institution. Their graves are now marked with only their file or case number.
These poor souls for one reason or another were put in to mental institutions. Often they were forgotten by family members. But, they always had a name. I am positive that the staff of various institutions did not call John Smith by #8327. I made up that name and number by the way. The staff just had to have called the patients by their given names.
A name, any name gives dignity. A number makes a person anonymous. It takes away their dignity. It makes them disconnected.
So, yes being disconnected from the Internet is an inconvenience, it seems pretty insignificant compared to the disconnection the patients known now only by a number must have felt.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Healing
There are different types of healing.
A person may need to heal from a physical pain. From surgery maybe, from illness, from an injury, from abuse. The physical healing often can't be seen by anyone but the person doing the healing. But that person knows that they are healing.
Physical healing can be complete.
A person may need to heal from mental pain. Mental pain may be from overwork, from stress, from too little sleep, from a poor diet. It may also be from abuse.
Mental pain while being difficult to overcome can be defeated and healed. We just have to be stronger and braver. Not an easy task but it can be done.
A person may be suffering from emotional pain. Emotional pain may be caused from any physical pain, or from any mental pain. The worst type of emotional pain is from abuse.
Emotional pain can be healed. It must be healed.
A person injured emotionally and in pain is only half of what they could be. The person in the depths of their pain won't know where to turn for healing.
Healing from emotional pain often takes hard work and help from a professional. The work will make the pain become worse before it gets better. The pain may also feel like it is unbearable, that there is no way to come through it. But if the person perseveres, they will feel the warmth of daylight.
Often a person injured emotionally will also be angry.
This person while healing has to overcome the anger they feel. Without putting the anger away, this person can never truly be healed. This person will never be whole. Or truly happy.
After anger is bitterness. If a person is biter, the bitterness takes over the life. The heart becomes hard.
A hardened heart can not feel.
A hardened heart can not be happy.
A hardened heart can not be healed.
A person may need to heal from a physical pain. From surgery maybe, from illness, from an injury, from abuse. The physical healing often can't be seen by anyone but the person doing the healing. But that person knows that they are healing.
Physical healing can be complete.
A person may need to heal from mental pain. Mental pain may be from overwork, from stress, from too little sleep, from a poor diet. It may also be from abuse.
Mental pain while being difficult to overcome can be defeated and healed. We just have to be stronger and braver. Not an easy task but it can be done.
A person may be suffering from emotional pain. Emotional pain may be caused from any physical pain, or from any mental pain. The worst type of emotional pain is from abuse.
Emotional pain can be healed. It must be healed.
A person injured emotionally and in pain is only half of what they could be. The person in the depths of their pain won't know where to turn for healing.
Healing from emotional pain often takes hard work and help from a professional. The work will make the pain become worse before it gets better. The pain may also feel like it is unbearable, that there is no way to come through it. But if the person perseveres, they will feel the warmth of daylight.
Often a person injured emotionally will also be angry.
This person while healing has to overcome the anger they feel. Without putting the anger away, this person can never truly be healed. This person will never be whole. Or truly happy.
After anger is bitterness. If a person is biter, the bitterness takes over the life. The heart becomes hard.
A hardened heart can not feel.
A hardened heart can not be happy.
A hardened heart can not be healed.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Friday, May 8, 2009
Sounds in the Night
From The One-Minute Writer: Friday Fiction
(I needed more than 1 minute)
There it is again. What am I going to do? It kind of scares me. It gives me the heebie geebies.
Sometimes it sounds like one voice, sometimes like two. And sometimes I swear there is singing.
It is very faint. I can't make out individual words. It sounds like a conversation at times. There is even laughter.
If I try to tell anyone they will think I have cracked. But I have to tell someone. If I don't I WILL crack.
So this is how the conversation will go:
Me: I am hearing voices at night.
Someone: Oh not that again.
Me: No, this time it is different.
Someone: How so?
Me: Well this time there might be more than one voice and sometimes singing and occasionally laughter.
Someone: Well that is new. What are you going to do about it?
Me: I don't know that is why I am telling you.
Someone: Tell me more.
ME: Well, it is always late at night. When the rest of the world is asleep and I am the only living being awake.
Someone: Don't over dramatize.
Me: Oh right. Well it starts with just one voice. Then the singing starts. At the end of the singing, the second voice starts chatting with the first voice. And then more singing. At least I think it is singing.
Someone: It does sound strange. Are you still taking your meds?
Me: Of course I am. I learned my lesson after the last time.
Someone: How do these voices make you feel?
Me: I fell kind of scared. But still I look forward to them. It's like having unexpected company.
Someone: You sure you're on the meds?
Me: YES!
Someone: OK. OK. Where do you think the voices are coming from? Have you left a radio on in a different room? Or a TV on somewhere?
Me: No, I checked all of that when this first started happening. Everything in the house is turned off.
Someone: HM MM. Where are they coming from?
ME: Here's the thing if I tell you please don't laugh or put me away again.
Someone: OK, sure whatever.
Me: I think the voices are coming from the water heater. You know it is on the other side of my bedroom wall.
Maybe I do need a nice little rest somewhere soft and padded.
(I needed more than 1 minute)
There it is again. What am I going to do? It kind of scares me. It gives me the heebie geebies.
Sometimes it sounds like one voice, sometimes like two. And sometimes I swear there is singing.
It is very faint. I can't make out individual words. It sounds like a conversation at times. There is even laughter.
If I try to tell anyone they will think I have cracked. But I have to tell someone. If I don't I WILL crack.
So this is how the conversation will go:
Me: I am hearing voices at night.
Someone: Oh not that again.
Me: No, this time it is different.
Someone: How so?
Me: Well this time there might be more than one voice and sometimes singing and occasionally laughter.
Someone: Well that is new. What are you going to do about it?
Me: I don't know that is why I am telling you.
Someone: Tell me more.
ME: Well, it is always late at night. When the rest of the world is asleep and I am the only living being awake.
Someone: Don't over dramatize.
Me: Oh right. Well it starts with just one voice. Then the singing starts. At the end of the singing, the second voice starts chatting with the first voice. And then more singing. At least I think it is singing.
Someone: It does sound strange. Are you still taking your meds?
Me: Of course I am. I learned my lesson after the last time.
Someone: How do these voices make you feel?
Me: I fell kind of scared. But still I look forward to them. It's like having unexpected company.
Someone: You sure you're on the meds?
Me: YES!
Someone: OK. OK. Where do you think the voices are coming from? Have you left a radio on in a different room? Or a TV on somewhere?
Me: No, I checked all of that when this first started happening. Everything in the house is turned off.
Someone: HM MM. Where are they coming from?
ME: Here's the thing if I tell you please don't laugh or put me away again.
Someone: OK, sure whatever.
Me: I think the voices are coming from the water heater. You know it is on the other side of my bedroom wall.
Maybe I do need a nice little rest somewhere soft and padded.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Confession is good...Sometimes
When I decided to start blogging, I intentionally did not tell family or friends the name of my blog. I wanted to be able to write in private. I didn't want to have to worry about people I love reading my thoughts.
I don't have a lot of privacy in my life. I consider this my own personal domain and it is very private. I thought I might share private thoughts, problems, and things I may have or have not done.
But now that the topic of confession has come up, I feel frightened at the thought of baring my heart.
In one of the posts a fictional man gave a confession to a priest. The confession made the priest speechless. I wish I could be brave enough to confess to the priest.
Ten minutes have passed since I started writing, I am trying to decide if I should confess and what I would confess. Dumb. I should just do it.
Ten more minutes and a trip to the kitchen for a snack. I think I am postponing my decision.
Nope, sorry, can't do it. I thought maybe just one little item I could let go of, but it seems to not be happening tonight.
Writing usually makes me happy and relaxed. I love to have my thoughts flow unto the page or in this case the screen. Tonight the thought of confessing has me weighted down. It has given me shakes in my stomach. I am having nightmares while being wide awake. I am remembering too much.
I must not be ready to let go of the things I need to confess. Maybe I should start with my priest and then try this again.
If God can forgive me, then I should be able to forgive myself. Even in the privacy of a blog.
I don't have a lot of privacy in my life. I consider this my own personal domain and it is very private. I thought I might share private thoughts, problems, and things I may have or have not done.
But now that the topic of confession has come up, I feel frightened at the thought of baring my heart.
In one of the posts a fictional man gave a confession to a priest. The confession made the priest speechless. I wish I could be brave enough to confess to the priest.
Ten minutes have passed since I started writing, I am trying to decide if I should confess and what I would confess. Dumb. I should just do it.
Ten more minutes and a trip to the kitchen for a snack. I think I am postponing my decision.
Nope, sorry, can't do it. I thought maybe just one little item I could let go of, but it seems to not be happening tonight.
Writing usually makes me happy and relaxed. I love to have my thoughts flow unto the page or in this case the screen. Tonight the thought of confessing has me weighted down. It has given me shakes in my stomach. I am having nightmares while being wide awake. I am remembering too much.
I must not be ready to let go of the things I need to confess. Maybe I should start with my priest and then try this again.
If God can forgive me, then I should be able to forgive myself. Even in the privacy of a blog.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
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