Update on Dad

I just talked to the neighbor (again, the man is probably sick of me by now). Dad is ok. I'll post more when I talk to him when he calls later.

Latest news form New Orleans

From: WWL channel 4 Katrina Blog:

3:46 P.M. - Tugboat captain: We have so little help. Send us some food
and water immediately!

3:45 P.M. (AP) - Hurricane Katrina probably killed thousands of people
in New Orleans, the mayor said Wednesday -- an estimate that, if
accurate, would make the storm the nation's deadliest natural disaster
since at least the 1906 San Francisco earthquake.

"We know there is a significant number of dead bodies in the water,"
and other people dead in attics, Mayor Ray Nagin said. Asked how many,
he said: "Minimum, hundreds. Most likely, thousands."

The frightening estimate came as Army engineers struggled to plug New
Orleans' breached levees with giant sandbags and concrete barriers,
while authorities drew up plans to clear out the tens of thousands of
people left in the Big Easy and all but abandon the flooded-out city.
Many of the evacuees -- including thousands now staying in the
Superdome -- will be moved to the Astrodome in Houston, 350 miles away.

3:44 P.M. - Tugboat captain who rescued those in Chalmette. "Without
more help, many people will die."

New Support Forum

I would like to invite you to join the group Hurricane Katrina Aid & Support.

The purpose of this group is to provide information and updates on the areas affected by Hurricane Katrina, and to offer a place where those who can offer relief can be matched up with those who need it.

We will be looking for needed supplies donations, offers of assistance or shelter, messages and resources for locating family members. Please post your offers and ideas for helping or sources for more information.

Please keep this forum NON-POLITICAL. This should remain a place of REFUGE & SUPPORT.

Blogging for Katrina

I am asking my readers to consider a donation to the Salvation Army, who is providing shelter, food and other basic needs to many of the displaced families. Thanks to WalMart for donating a million dollars to support the Salvation Army's effort.

If you would like to join in the relief effort, please add your blog to the list set up on TTLB. We need to do all we can.

Be sure to stop and check out Instapundit for more information on where to donate.

Technorati tags: flood aid and hurricane katrina.

Flickr photo tags: HurricaneKatrina and more.

I still haven't heard anything from my father, but I've posted several links with information to, for and by local Louisiana residents for anyone needing more information, or for those wanting to send well-wishes:

WWL channel 4, New Orleans

WWLTV Local Forums

The Advocate, channel 2, Baton Rouge

NOLA, Everything New Orleans

NOLA forums

(Be aware these can be emotionally difficult to read.)

Love letters

This link is a letter to a love lost. It is also the loss of my family's heritage. The loss of the home of my ancestry. This is for anyone who didn't know everything this place was about. And for those who, like me, never had the chance to see beautiful New Orleans in all it's pride and glory.

I've heard nothing from my father since Sunday morning.

To-the-minute updates on New Orleans:

WWL Channel 4 out of New Orleans has constantly updated reports, for those who would like to know what's going on.

There are also some forums in which many residents are keeping each other and those out of the area informed.

Still no word from my dad.

Calling Louisiana

If any of you bloggers are from the Louisiana area and know of Hammond, please let me know how it fared after the storm. My father's phone is out. I'd appreciate anything you could tell me.

Thanks.

The greatest men I've never known

It occurred to me that although you know much about my past, there are some very important things you might not be aware of. Such as the fact that I met my father and brothers when I was 23 years old. For my father, it had been about 20 years since our last meeting. It was my first time meeting my brothers, or even having any knowledge of their existence.


Back row: Grammy Eleanor, Grampa Dennis (died 1989), stepmom Linda, Daddy.
Front row: my brother Eric, my brother Shawn.


It was the early spring of 1994. I was working for a temp agency, filling in at a local factory on an assembly line. I had gotten a call from my cousin Amy the night before and was working through my feelings on the subject, using my friends at work as a sounding-board. I'd told them all about the horrible things my mother had told me to keep me from wanting to meet my father. Did I wake up to the lies or succumb to them? My cousin had told me my father was dying (not entirely true, but she thought so at the time) and I was still unsure about meeting him.

My friends told me to try while I still had the chance. The problem was, I had no idea how to contact him. I ended up calling "information" and getting the only number I could find under that last name, which turned out to be my paternal grandmother's. She was ecstatic, gave me my father's number and told me to call him right away.

My first conversation with my father went on forever. All the lies and stories were clarified. All my life my mother had said one thing, and her parents (who'd raised me during the early part of my childhood) said another. I was Alice, and the rabbit-hole was as deep as the sea. My father was the lifeline holding me to reality: He'd not been subject to the stories for 20 years. His was the foundation I could base whose story against whose. He gave me back reason and truth.

My mother was 16 when she dated Daddy. My father was just back from Vietnam, Naval military police. My mother was a car-hop (roller-skating waitresses at the drive-ins) for a local A&W burger joint. After I was born, my mother had cheated on him. In order that he not find out, my mother aborted the baby. This child was at 7-8 months gestation. It wasn't a situation my mother could lie herself out of. The baby's father was named Stefan. He was a West African soccer player. It wasn't the first time I'd heard the story, it was a much-disputed family legend: I had dreams while growing up of a sister with copper-golden hair and coffee-cream skin. She would have been beautiful.

My father found out about the tryst and was furious she'd cheated. Out of revenge, she told him she'd make sure he never got to see me. She was successful for twenty years, but her ultimate failure was one of my life's biggest gains. No, four of my life's biggest gains: I had my father, two brothers and my step-mother. My father also has two girls, older than I, whom I've still never met.

This also happened to be one of the four times I left my now ex-husband, prior to smartening up and leaving his abuse of me for good. Daddy sent my brother Eric to Wisconsin to help pack my two-year-old son and I up and move us back to my hometown in Indiana. The first time I met my brother was supposed to be one of those "Oprah" moments with lots of tears and hugging. It was supposed to be deep and meaningful. I'll always regret that it was as stiff as it was. I was so hellbent on getting out of that house and away from my ex that I pushed away any thought of emotion or feeling. I was afraid of breaking down in a crucial moment. I couldn't let myself cry for fear of breaking down.

My brother Eric came in with a look that said he wanted the teary-eyed meeting i had hoped for just as much. And in my quest for strength in simply getting through this daunting task of leaving, I probably appeared more cold and stiff than anything else. I somehow had no idea what else to do. I could see the disappointment in his eyes, but just could not allow myself the luxury of a breakdown. It broke my heart inside. And I could see it breaking his.

It was surreal being back in Indiana for those eight months. I was on freedom overload. My ex had given me little chance to be myself. I had no idea who I was anymore. And especially in this place where i had been so beaten down and tormented as a child. Now here I was again with my own child of 18 months. I submersed myself in working at a local Pizza Hut. I went to all the places I remembered, trying to find some of the good memories to relive.


My son at around one-and-a-half years old and me.


My father and my stepmother took care of my young son while I worked. I didn't spend much time with my brothers, although I wanted to. I was still feeling like an intruder in someone else's life. My brothers were so stable, so secure in themselves. So different from who I was in the sense of family and self worth, but yet so much alike in so many other ways. It was like the set of a strange film. Their world was so different from mine, and I couldn't help wondering how different my life would have been had I been with my father instead of the world of violence I became so used to with my mother.

Eventually, the old wounds of my hometown came back to haunt me. It became more and more difficult to cope, and I began hiding deeper and deeper within myself. As much as I knew in my heart that it was a mistake, I agreed to have my son's father pick me up and take us back to Wisconsin. The fighting started almost before the moving truck was packed.

Pray for New Orleans

Most of you don't know much about my natural father. This is him dancing with me at my first wedding.

I met my father about ten years ago. In these last several years we have developed the type of relationship most daughters would pray to have with their fathers. I just wish I had more time to spend with him, and with the two younger brothers I found out I had when I met Daddy. I'll get into the story in another post I'm working on.

Right now I'm more worried about the present. Daddy is now living in Hammond, Louisiana, right on the edge of the "red zone" of Hurricane Katrina's projected path. President Bush has already declared a state of emergency on the area around New Orleans. Evacuations are now underway, including my father's area.

Now, for those of you who know me, you'll know exactly where I got it from when I tell you that my father is the most stubborn old fart you've probably ever met. I asked him where he's going to go. He answered matter-of-factly: "To my house." Lovely.

I love that dumb old bonehead, so for those of you of any faith praying for those in the New Orleans area, would you mind throwing in a few words for a stubborn old Irishman?

Grace

Prayer to Live With Grace

May we discover through pain and torment,
the strength to live with grace and humor.
May we discover through doubt and anguish,
the strength to live with dignity and holiness.
May we discover through suffering and fear,
the strength to move toward healing.
May it come to pass that we be restored to health and to vigor.
May Life grant us wellness of body, spirit, and mind.
And if this cannot be so, may we find in this transformation and passage
moments of meaning, opportunities for love
and the deep and gracious calm that comes
when we allow ourselves to move on.

- Rabbi Rami M. Shapiro

If there is ONE thing you should know, it is this:

Please feel free to copy and PASS ON the following post:

When someone you know tells you they are being abused, it will not matter how fervently you try to tell them to leave the situation. They will stay. They are in fear. That fear controls them. It surrounds them and binds them in a death grip. Statistics say more than three women per DAY will die at the hands of their husbands/boyfriends. Do not ever assume that you or someone you know might not apply to these statistics. I don't imagine those women who are now gone thought they did, either.

If someone tells you they are being abused, first tell them to get out. Then tell them to call the police. No, they usually will not listen. And if that's the case, tell them to get out and find a safe place to stay NOW, because you are going to make that call for them.

I have been there. I was there growing up, and I was naive enough to land there again in my former marriage. In both situations, I was told that I would be killed if I went to the police. Guess what? If he's got the guts to make the threat, he probably will kill you whether you stay or leave. The only way to up the odds in your favor is to GET OUT.

My own mother was in an intensive care unit for four months after my stepfather beat her. She was not expected to live at all. He had broken six ribs, fractured her skull and countless other injuries. Her entire body was swollen and mottled with purple and black. he told her then and there he would kill her. He told the four of us (I was 12 and had three younger siblings, aged 8, 3 and 1) that he would show us how a whore died. We were made to watch as he smashed iron skillets over her head and whipped her face with a steel thermos. I told him I would call the police, to which he responded, "You do, and you're next." Do you think at twelve I dared question that?

My stepfather threw my mother's battered body onto the enclosed back porch, sent us to our rooms and went to bed. My mother crawled the two blocks to her parents' home. When the police came to the house, I, refused to open the door, even though he had already passed out. The police officer had to threaten to break down the door before I would allow them to come in... But only after saying to them: "Be quiet, though! You'll wake him up!" My mother is still with him to this day. Do you want that for the person you love? Or if it's happening to you, for your children??

If you don't know of any resources, you're not alone. Most people in that kind of situation do feel powerless. Here is the number and site of an agency who will have answers for you:

The National Domestic Violence Hotline (NDVH) has information available on their site, or call: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)

Remember: Do nothing, and the person in trouble is as good as dead. If you care about them (or yourself), MAKE THE CALL.

Creating change at home

Do you love to collect those knick-knacks and random thrift store finds, but your space is closing in on you? Is there never enough room for everything you'd like to display? Or is your taste changing constantly and making your home a little too eclectic? I may have an answer for you:

Redecorate the house monthly! It's not as "Martha Stewart manic" as it might sound, and you might find it to be a lot of fun.

First, get all your holiday things together. Big pile, huh? Ok, now sort the big pile out into each individual holiday. Separate each holiday into a box labeled with the appropriate month. Make boxes appropriate for any leftover months.

Not enough months to make a full year of changes? Maybe you or someone else in your home has a birthday in a given month. You can always put up nice pictures of the birthday person or even decor that represents some of their favorite things. Or you could search for other cultural celebrations to fill in the gaps. Think of all the things you could learn (not to mention all the new collections you could start!).

Each month, remove the decor from the last month, box it and put it away. Then replace the old with items from the box for the new month. Isn't it nice to have a change of scenery? You might even begin to look forward to doing it every month!

This might seem like a lot of work, but it's really not. Make this your monthly deep-cleaning day, for instance. Use it as a tool to combat boredom with your current decor. It will also keep you from leaving the Christmas decorations up until March.

The sweetness of home

I've said before how very much I miss New England. I'd say it again, except that Lauren has done it for me through the gorgeous pictures on her blog.

Please make rice. I love you! is a well-written account of simple everyday things, but it's the simplicity that makes it beautiful. Lauren and her friends and family make you remember what it was like to relax, have fun and just live. The nature photographs are simply breath-taking.

What is it with me and rabbits??

You're Watership Down!

by Richard Adams

Though many think of you as a bit young, even childish, you're actually incredibly deep and complex. You show people the need to rethink their assumptions, and confront them on everything from how they think to where they build their houses. You might be one of the greatest people of all time. You'd be recognized as such if you weren't always talking about talking rabbits.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

"...and that, my liege, is how we know the Earth to be banana shaped."

Courtesy, Jay's blog:

Take the quiz: "Which Holy Grail Character Are You?"

Sir Bedevere
Well, now, uh, Launcelot, Galahad, and I, uh, wait until nightfall, and then leap out of the rabbit, taking the French, uh, by surprise. Not only by surprise, but totally unarmed!

Hee hee! Monty Python rocks!

Um... You were saying?

Seen on the blog of two law school students with differing political leanings:

Whoa is me!

Ok... Dude, you're in LAW SCHOOL. "Whoa is me!" is something a horse would think to himself. On the other hand, "Woe is me" is the correct word for a pity party.

Seen on another politics-based blog:

How can [Mayor So-and-so] expect the citizens to obey the law when he so brazenly flaunts it himself?

There is a huge difference in what you're trying to say and what is being said in this sentence. Flaunt is something a conceited flake is doing when showing off her garish engagement ring. The word you were looking for here is disregards. As in: Blatant disregard that anyone gives a shit about her money-whorishness.

Seen on a really good blog, but I had to make mention:

I just had to take an opportunity for a photo opt.

Opt out, for example, is when you ask to be added to the "Do Not Call list" to avoid the crap bugged out of you by telemarketers.
Op is more relative to the thinking of the paparazzi bugging the crap out of celebrity types.

None of this is at all meant in a derogatory manner, mind you. It's just something I automatically notice. Some more "for instances":


Kid's: It belonged to the kid.
Kids: The plural of kid.

Our's: Not a word. Trust me on this.
Ours: It belongs to us. As in: All your base are belong to us. Not proper grammar, but still funny. To some of us, anyway...

Which brings me to:
Anyways: Not a word. Again: Trust me on this.
Anyway: Though men are idiots, I love my fiance anyway.

Thank you for participating in today's lesson. I'll expect a four page report on the subject first thing in the morning.

Google Talk is online!

Update!

Check here for configuration.

Basically, if you have a Gmail account and a Jabber or compatible messaging client, you can check it out. I'm online, so stop and say hello!

The Google Talk program has it's own interface, which can be downloaded here. It automatically picks up your most commonly emailed contact in Gmail and asks you who you'd like to invite. Users not set up with a Gmail address are sent an invitation.

Some current features:

It's free

Simple and easy-to-use interface

No pop-ups, ads or other unneccessary "fillers" like Y! and others

"Regular" instant messaging

VoIP (speak realtime using speakers and a mic)

Address book from Gmail auto-loads your friends - you choose your contacts from a pre-loaded list or add your own.

Can be accessed through other multi-client messengers, like Trillian.

Chat-logging

The interface couldn't be simpler, so it's easy to set up and get started. Lots more features are being worked on. This is only the early stages, and they do plan to open up the ability to use Google Talk without having a Gmail account. EarthLink and Sipphone are only two of the additional providers they're currently working with to expand to this service.

If you do try it out, look me up! My Gmail address is provided in the upper right.

And now for something completely different

Tonight's movie selection is one only for the most discerning of film lovers:

Veggie Tales: Dave and The Giant Pickle

Oh, shut up! I love this one. I offer you a sample of the intermission, more popularly known as "Silly Songs With Larry":

Narrator: "One day while talking with Dr. Archibald, Larry confronts one
of his deepest fears ..."

Larry: "If my lips ever left my mouth, packed a bag and headed south,
that'd be too bad, I'd be so sad."

Archibald: "I see. That'd be too bad, you'd be so sad?"

Larry: "That'd be too bad. If my lips said "adios, I don't like you I
think you're gross," that'd be too bad, I might get mad."

Archibald: "That'd be too bad, you might get mad?"

Larry: "That'd be too bad. If my lips moved to Duluth, left a mess and
took my tooth, that'd be too bad, I'd call my Dad."

Archibald: "That'd be too bad, you'd call your Dad?"

Larry: "That'd be too bad."

Archibald: "Hold it. Did you say your father? Fascinating! So what
you're saying is that if your lips left you ..."

Larry: "That'd be too bad, I'd be so sad, I might get mad, I'd call my
Dad. That be too bad."

Archibald: "That'd be to bad?"

Larry: "That'd be too bad."

Archibald: "Why?"

Larry: "Because I love my lips."

Archibald: "Oh my ... This is more serious than I thought. Larry, tell
me, what do you see here?"

Larry: "Um, that looks like a lip."

Archibald: "And this?"

Larry: "It's a lip!"

Archibald: "And this?"

Larry: "It's a lip, it's a lip, it's a lip lip lip! It's a lip, it's a
lip, it's a lip lip lip! It's a lip, it's a lip, it's a lip lip lip.
Liiiiiiiiiiiips. Lip lip lip."

Archibald: "Larry, tell me about your childhood."

Larry: "When I was just two years old I left my lips out in the cold and
they turned blue. What could I do?"

Archibald: "They turned blue, what could you do?"

Larry: "Oh they turned blue. On the day I got my tooth I had to kiss my
Great Aunt Ruth. She had a beard ... and it felt weird."

Archibald: "My, my. She had a beard and it felt weird?"

Larry: "She had a beard. Ten days after I turned eight, got my lips
stuck in a gate. My friends all laughed. And I just stood there until
the fire department came and broke the lock with a crow bar and I had to
spend the next six weeks in lip rehab with this kid named Oscar who got
stung by a bee - right on the lip - and we couldn't even talk to each
other until the fifth week because both our lips were so swollen, and
when he did start speaking he just spoke Polish and I only knew like
three words in Polish except now I know four because Oscar taught me the
word for lip: Oofta."

Archibald: "Your friends all laughed ... Usta? How do you spell that?"

Larry: "I don't know."

Archibald: "So what you're saying is that when you were young ..."

Larry: "They turned blue, what could I do? She had a beard and it felt
weird. My friends all laughed ... Oofta!"

Archibald: "I'm confused ..."

Larry: "I love my lips!"

Narrator: "This has been Silly Songs With Larry. Tune in next time to
hear Larry say ..."

Larry: "Have I ever told you how I feel about my nose?"

Archibald: "Oh, look at the time!"

Civil Rights Leader's Widow Hospitalized

Coretta Scott King, widow of famed civil rights leader Martin Luther King, suffered a major stroke Tuesday and was hospitalized. Mrs. King is now 78 years old and has had other recent medical issues, causing her to slow down.

Well wishes and lots of prayers to this great lady!

A father needs your prayers

I'm very sorry to have to update my previous story on LaToyia Figueroa with the news her body has been found. We did our best and I'm so very proud to be a part of the blogging community, who pulled together in the hopes of bringing her home safely.

This article goes into a bit more detail, as well as provides a space for those wishing to express their sympathies.

Our heartfelt prayers go out to LaToyia's father, Melvin Figueroa, for the loss of his daughter and for his unborn grandchild.

Three Wishes

I just sent a letter to the producers of the new NBC show "Three Wishes":

My letter to Three Wishes:
--------------------------------------------------

I'm a mother to five children and would like help in creating a special foundation to help those who have been through circumstances similar to mine. I want to make sure that others have help in finding resources to get them through difficult situations.

Over the last five years I was misdiagnosed as having bipolar. I was prescribed very high dosages of several medications which not only didn't seem to help, but caused lethargy, forgetfulness and many other symptoms. Most days, I couldn't have told you right from left. As time progressed, it became increasingly difficult for me to take care of myself, let alone the four children I cared for on my own. I had no idea where to turn, and my children were eventually removed from my care, and I spent five months in a homeless shelter, where my fifth child, Grace, was born.

I was used as a success story at the shelter. My infant daughter was the namesake and model for the shelter's Project saving Grace (http://projectsavinggrace.org). My children in foster care were returned, and we've made significant progress. I'm engaged and we're working toward financing a home.

It is my life's dream to start a non-profit foundation for people who might be going through similar situations. I've thought of every detail, down to the kind of stationary I would like it to have and the theme songs, even who I'd like to sing them for commercials. In my heart I know that there is a need for such a thing, and I want to do everything possible to see this foundation become a reality.

I want to provide corporate-sponsored funding for people who need childcare assistance, but don't qualify for other types of assistance through their local governments, such as for finding work (agencies require that you have a job in order to receive aid), which would be called "A Little Dream". I would offer two weeks of funding: One for putting in applications and one for going to interviews. Flexibility would be on a case by case basis.

I would like to offer volunteer doulas' services for those who are going through pregnancy alone and couldn't otherwise afford one, or even for those just going through difficult pregnancies, which will be called "Bless The Child". People should never have to be in a situation where they have no-one to share those first kicks with, or to give birth with no person close to them there, or have to face a potentially at-risk pregnancy alone. I want to provide a volunteer doula service in which a doula would create a personal relationship with the woman from early on in the pregnancy through post-natal care and those first couple of months.

I also want to have a mentoring service for people whose children have been removed by the "system" and help them to gain the skills to do what they need to for the return of their children and the reunification of their families. I want to help them to find necessary resources and would be a sort of accountability "sponsor". I would help them to stay on track with what they need to do and are there if someone simply needs a shoulder or to talk. This one would be named "Song Without Rainbows".

I can do this because I have been there and know what it's like and how to get through it. People who haven't been through these things have no idea of a need for these services. A high percentage of the people who have gone through it simply give up. I want to increase their odds for success.

I understand that this might be a situation your organization might be hestiant to undertake, but it's so very important to so many. Please think about it.


Sincerely,
--
Shanna
Director of Marketing & Promotions,
WI Towns.com ( http://witowns.com )

Ok, i know this might sound silly, but it's so important to me to do this, you have no idea. If I do one good thing with my life, I want it to be this.

I forgot to mention in the letter about my diagnosis. The bipolar diagnosis was removed after three years on several medications, and I was medication free for quite awhile. My rediagnosis is fibromyalgia, an intercranial venous angioma and migraines.

Twister, anyone?

There were some rather fierce storms last night in Wisconsin. Sirens were going off about every few minutes, signaling tornadoes were in the area. There were a few sightings in our immediate area and one would have come right through here, had it not dissipated a town or two beforehand. A total of about two dozen tornadoes were spotted throughout the state just after most families were finishing up with their evening meals.

The news this morning of last night's events depict quite another story for other areas of our state. About an hour and a half southwest of us, near our capital city of Madison, the towns of Stoughton and Viola were hit hard. Reports indicate that in Stoughton, about 15 homes were completely destroyed and around 35 others have "moderate to severe" damage.

Residents of Stoughton were still cleaning up after a devastating fire to a local Lutheran church and Christian school when the twister hit the town. In Viola, the approximation of homes damaged is between 70 to 80 residences. A gas leak was also reported, forcing the evacuation of 200 residents in the Stoughton area. The death of one person has also been reported as a result of area tornadoes last night.

There were reports of semi tractor-trailers being flipped, pick-ups left upside down in the remains of homes, trees simply "laying down", and the roof of the local country club being torn off. The executive chef of the country club, true to Wisconsin form, was reported as saying ``We were ... hiding behind the bar, we had beer, anyway.''

Dream a little dream...

I'm in a particular forum of like souls, and the question was asked: "Its an idyllic world, you can be anything, do anything, have anything... What would you want/be/do/have?" I wrote out my answer, and thought it might be a good blog:


I'm wearing a sundress, staring blissfully out the window at my children and their children playing in the back yard, in anticipation of our family cookout. I walk out of my '40's-style kitchen holding a glass of iced tea and step onto the porch where I sit in the porchswing, enjoying the day.

There is a huge tree in the yard with a tireswing hanging from it where the kids love to play. It's a big yard, maybe a couple of acres, but it's in the country and full of trees. We have a creek (pronounced CRICK, lol...I'm a hick, get over it) that runs through the back of the property and a long rope tied to one of the willows and we swing into the water with it on warm days.

My house is a large, sunny yellow drafty old farmhouse with lace curtains in the windows and white shutters and gingerbread. We have a couple of fireplaces and a woodstove for cold weather. It's a big two-story, but nothing extravagant. There is a usable attic, but we mainly store things there and let the children play pirates and discover hidden treasures. There are a couple of bay windows with windowseats for getting comfortable with one of our books from the shelves lining the family room. There is a den for solitude and quiet study and we have a collection of reference books, both current and antique.

We have a couple of outbuildings. One is the large heated workspace where I do everything from my larger crafts to woodworking. There's a barn, but aside from a few old trunks it's mainly for playing in. There are a couple of swings tied to the rafters that are good for quiet time or rainy days. The loft has a railing around it to make it safe for the kids to play up there, too. Not that I'm not more or less still enough of a child to play, too.

I'm still working, but it's on my dream: I run my foundation. I provide corporate-sponsored funding for people who need childcare assistance, but don't qualify for other types of assistance. I offer volunteer doulas' services for those who are going through pregnancy alone and couldn't otherwise afford one, or even for those just going through difficult pregnancies. I also have a mentoring service for people whose children have been removed by the "system" and help them to gain the skills to do what they need to for the return of their children and the reunification of their families. I help them to find necessary resources and am a sort of accountability "sponsor". My workers and I help them to stay on track with what they need to do and are there if someone simply needs a shoulder or to talk. I can do this because I have been there and know what it's like and how to get through it.

Who's your muse?

~Melpomene~
Your muse is Melpomene, the Songstress, the muse of
Tragedy. Her symbol is the tragic mask. There
could be several reasons she is your muse. You
could be simply fascinated by the dark and the
plethora of emotions that accompany any good
tragedy. You could also be depressed yourself,
in which case you might try working on making
Thalia your muse...


Which of the Nine Muses is your muse?
brought to you by Quizilla

Hate and other stupidities

Note: I've been meaning to post this for quite awhile. If you don't agree with it, that's fine. Bashing will get you deleted. Constructively disagreeing is fine. Before you get up on a high horse, read the link titled, "Devin" over in the right-side column.

First off, I'm a Christian. I've studied and hold to heart the doctrines of several other faiths considered "evil" by most others of my own faith (ie: wicca, asatru, taoism, gnosticism, etc. - I like to study).

One of the biggest controversies expressed is issues of "hate". It completely blows my mind how most people of my religion center their lives around hate. In the words of my best friend: "God and I get along great, it's his fanclub I have the problem with". I find this to be true more often than not.

When I was in grade school I went with the neighbors to a southern baptist church. One of those fire-and-brimstone places. I quit going after a very adamant sermon given on "children are born with the devil in them, and it's our job as parents to beat it out of them." Later, as a teenager, I got into a debate (very heated) with a lutheran pastor. He claimed that *all* children unbaptised - especially those born out of wedlock - would spend eternity in "limbo". That seriously pissed me off.

My whole life, the man who meant the most to me was my uncle Devin. My grandfather was sexually abusive, some of my other uncles as well, my mother had a habit of continuing that cycle with the men she brought home. It was a party, I was the pizza and everyone was invited. The rest of my family was either involved, oblivious or had deserted the family core long ago and were unable to help - or simply stayed out of it.

My longest-term step-father (they got married when I was 8 and she's still with him)was physically abusive and very controlling. I didn't help matters much by being obstinate and mouthy, mind you. Not that there's EVER an excuse for beating a child or demeaning anyone.

Through it all, there were two people who were my rock: my uncle Devin and my aunt Darla. Devin is explained in great detail here. he was my best friend and my big brother. he was practical and always kind. He gave everything he gained to those he thought needed it. And he was gay. I am unbelievably protective of that fact. This man was so beaten down by the idea that God would turn His back on him that he was seeing a psychiatrist to STOP being gay. That in itself is a sin, in my eyes. Why should he have to feel that way for expressing love?

One of the DUMBEST reasons I can see for an argument is what a person does (without harming another) out of love. When a large portion of the new testament was written by a man who committed crimes against Christians (Saul who became Paul), there is, to me, no sane argument for threatening another person with eternal damnation because of who they happen to be in love with.

Here's an argument: The majority of Christian symbolism and fable originated from pagan ways. Christians have committed as many or more crimes against others for their own faith. Look at Mormons (I was one until I was 7). Genocide for the furtherment of a religion. The burning times (I have an ancestor who was burned - Bessie Dunlop in 1576). And then there are all the modern icons of the Christian faith who instigate so many crimes against gays and modern pagans. It's sickening.

Why am I a Christian then? I believe in Christ and his teachings. But I also view the bible from a scholarly aspect: A day in God's time is not necessarily a human day: compare the events of genesis to the charts of evolution and you'll probably be surprised... It actually coincides quite a bit, when put into context. The people writing down these words had no concept of science as we know it. How would anyone of that time understand the concept of evolutional generation?

I believe in the Bible - as a study tool, as a reminder and as a guidebook. Realistically, it is more unchristian to judge and condemn than to love someone of the same sex. If God IS love, then there is no evil in love.

I feel the same way about the whole "Lord's prayer" thing. The bible says a) Pray in this *manner* and b) you shouldn't use ritual or repetitive prayer. The Lord's prayer was meant as an OUTLINE. For instance:

Our Father, who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy Name.
(Hey, you're a cool Dad, I really like you)

Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, On earth as it is in heaven.
(Gee, I can't wait until your promises come true)

Give us this day our daily bread.
(Please help me keep my head above water)

And forgive us our trespasses, As we forgive those who trespass against us.
(It wasn't very nice of me to take revenge on Bob for making me mad. I forgave him, and I hope you and he can forgive me)

And lead us not into temptation, But deliver us from evil.
(Can you please stand by me so I'm less likely to screw up again?)

For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever.
(You're really cool and you've come though for me before, so I have faith you'll do it again.)

Amen.
(the actual meaning of this word is "let it be so".)

People from one religion have a habit of mocking those of another because of their own faith's ritual behavior. Like Wiccan circles (pagans say "blessed be" - same thing as amen) or Hari Krishnas. One reason is that it's easier to mock something you don't understand than to find out more about it. But the fact is, every religion has it's own rituals.

Then why is so much of the Christian faith centered on ritual if the bible says not to be? Repetitive behavior creates a comfort zone. The bible also says not to be religious, but spiritual.

I also believe in a lot of other doctrines. I believe that there can't really be a hell if we have a merciful, loving God who loves us as his own children, unless you deny God all together and pish-posh Him hatefully. If your child committed a crime, you might accept that they have to be punished, but it would be really hard to stop loving them and hope they'd change. Therefore, I believe in Karma, which is essentially "do unto others". I believe that the core of almost every religion is basically the same, when broken down to it's bare bones. I believe that an omnipotent creator has no sex - the he/she term is used in a descriptive sense only because we have no other means to describe it easily.  God is God. Which is where I think other religions got polytheism. There are many facets to God. And there are plenty of other beings in that realm: angels, helpers (whatever you need to call them; labels don't matter). I believe all Gods are one great and omnipotent God our creator.

Most importantly, I believe that your brand of religion is less important than simply having faith in something. Simple faith. Faith of a child.

INFP partie deuxieme

Another personality test comes up with the same results: INFP, the "Healer Idealist". It's interesting to take these tests. Regardless of their frivolities, you can truly learn something about yourself through them.

Here are my results:

Profile: INFP
Revision: 3.0
Date of Revision: 26 Feb 2005

~~ "I remember the first albatross I ever saw. ... At intervals, it arched forth its vast archangel wings, as if to embrace some holy ark. Wondrous flutterings and throbbings shook it. Though bodily unharmed, it uttered cries, as some king's ghost in super natural distress. Through its inexpressible, strange eyes, methought I peeped to secrets not below the heavens. As Abraham before the angels, I bowed myself..." --(Herman Melville, Moby Dick) ~~

INFPs never seem to lose their sense of wonder. One might say they see life through rose-colored glasses. It's as though they live at the edge of a looking-glass world where mundane objects come to life, where flora and fauna take on near-human qualities.

INFP children often exhibit this in a 'Calvin and Hobbes' fashion, switching from reality to fantasy and back again. With few exceptions, it is the NF child who readily develops imaginary playmates (as with Anne of Green Gables's "bookcase girlfriend"--her own reflection) and whose stuffed animals come to life like the Velveteen Rabbit and the Skin Horse:

~~ "...Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand..." (the Skin Horse) ~~

INFPs have the ability to see good in almost anyone or anything. Even for the most unlovable the INFP is wont to have pity.

~~ Rest you, my enemy,
Slain without fault,
Life smacks but tastelessly
Lacking your salt!
Stuck in a bog whence naught
May catapult me,
Come from the grave, long-sought,
Come and insult me!
--(Steven Vincent Benet, Elegy for an Enemy) ~~

Their extreme depth of feeling is often hidden, even from themselves, until circumstances evoke an impassioned response:

~~ "I say, Queequeg! Why don't you speak? It's I--Ishmael." But all remained still as before. ... Something must have happened. Apoplexy!
... And running up after me, she caught me as I was again trying to force open the door. ... "Have to burst it open," said I, and was running down the entry a little, for a good start, when the landlady caught me, again vowing I should not break down her premises; but I tore from her, and with a sudden bodily rush dashed myself full against the mark.--(Melville, Moby Dick) ~~

Of course, not all of life is rosy, and INFPs are not exempt from the same disappointments and frustrations common to humanity. As INTPs tend to have a sense of failed competence, INFPs struggle with the issue of their own ethical perfection, e.g., perfo rmance of duty for the greater cause. An INFP friend describes the inner conflict as not good versus bad, but on a grand scale, Good vs. Evil. Luke Skywalker in Star Wars depicts this conflict in his struggle between the two sides of "The Force." Although the dark side must be reckoned with, the INFP believes that good ultimately triumphs.

Some INFPs have a gift for taking technical information and putting it into layman's terms. Brendan Kehoe's Zen and the Art of the Internet is one example of this "de-jargoning" talent in action.

Princess Diana is an example of a Healer Idealist.

From another site:

Healer Idealists are abstract in thought and speech, cooperative in striving for their ends, and informative and introverted in their interpersonal relations. Healer present a seemingly tranquil, and noticeably pleasant face to the world, and though to all appearances they might seem reserved, and even shy, on the inside they are anything but reserved, having a capacity for caring not always found in other types. They care deeply-indeed, passionately-about a few special persons or a favorite cause, and their fervent aim is to bring peace and integrity to their loved ones and the world.

Healers have a profound sense of idealism derived from a strong personal morality, and they conceive of the world as an ethical, honorable place. Indeed, to understand Healers, we must understand their idealism as almost boundless and selfless, inspiring them to make extraordinary sacrifices for someone or something they believe in. The Healer is the Prince or Princess of fairytale, the King's Champion or Defender of the Faith, like Sir Galahad or Joan of Arc. Healers are found in only 1 percent of the general population, although, at times, their idealism leaves them feeling even more isolated from the rest of humanity.

Healers seek unity in their lives, unity of body and mind, emotions and intellect, perhaps because they are likely to have a sense of inner division threaded through their lives, which comes from their often unhappy childhood. Healers live a fantasy-filled childhood, which, unfortunately, is discouraged or even punished by many parents. In a practical-minded family, required by their parents to be sociable and industrious in concrete ways, and also given down-to-earth siblings who conform to these parental expectations, Healers come to see themselves as ugly ducklings. Other types usually shrug off parental expectations that do not fit them, but not the Healers. Wishing to please their parents and siblings, but not knowing quite how to do it, they try to hide their differences, believing they are bad to be so fanciful, so unlike their more solid brothers and sisters. They wonder, some of them for the rest of their lives, whether they are OK. They are quite OK, just different from the rest of their family-swans reared in a family of ducks. Even so, to realize and really believe this is not easy for them. Deeply committed to the positive and the good, yet taught to believe there is evil in them, Healers can come to develop a certain fascination with the problem of good and evil, sacred and profane. Healers are drawn toward purity, but can become engrossed with the profane, continuously on the lookout for the wickedness that lurks within them. Then, when Healers believe they have yielded to an impure temptation, they may be given to acts of self-sacrifice in atonement. Others seldom detect this inner turmoil, however, for the struggle between good and evil is within the Healer, who does not feel compelled to make the issue public.

INFP personalities:

Homer
Virgil
Mary, mother of Jesus
St. John, the beloved disciple
St. Luke; physician, disciple, author
William Shakespeare, bard of Avon
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Evangeline)
A. A. Milne (Winnie the Pooh)
Laura Ingalls Wilder (Little House on the Prairie)
Helen Keller, deaf and blind author
Carl Rogers, reflective psychologist, counselor
Fred Rogers (Mister Rogers' Neighborhood)
Dick Clark (American Bandstand)
Donna Reed, actor (It's a Wonderful Life)
Jacqueline Kennedy Onasis
Neil Diamond, vocalist
Tom Brokaw, news anchor
James Herriot (All Creatures Great and Small)
Annie Dillard (Pilgrim at Tinker Creek)
James Taylor, vocalist
Julia Roberts, actor (Conspiracy Theory, Pretty Woman)
Scott Bakula (Quantum Leap)
Terri Gross (PBS's "Fresh Air")
Amy Tan (author of The Joy-Luck Club, The Kitchen God's Wife)
John F. Kennedy, Jr.
Lisa Kudrow ("Phoebe" of Friends)
Fred Savage ("The Wonder Years")

I think this is likely one of the most interesting and accurate tests I've ever taken.... but 1% of the population are INFP? I do find that hard to believe.

Here's Jeff's personality type: the ESTJ. (ie: John Wayne...*snicker*...)

Try this test and several others here.

American Idiots

Did you ever look at certain professions and incredulously wonder why the hell someone would get paid to do that? This would be one of those times, people. And it's particularly pathetic in this instance. The mainstream media has done it again.

If anyone in the mainstream media would stop for a blessed second to think about why the general public might be leaning more and more toward the blogging community for their news coverage, they might gain some insight as to why: We in bloggerville have a tendency toward the truth and could give a rats ass about our "ratings".

Lets use this latest report from the Washington Post as an example of good, honest reporting versus, say the usual bullshit we're subjected to. While good ol' Greta Van Susteren is in Aruba taking pictures of freaking kittens, reporter Eugene Robinson of the Washington Post has finally called his peers to the table in addressing this most recent of ridiculous deductions of the mainstream media.

Apparently the cable news media, in all their brilliant glory, have taken to a little CYA (Cover Your Ass) over the recent controversy over ratings for "damsels in distress" versus fair and adequate coverage of all pertinent stories, such as the disappearance of Latoyia Figueroa. As Mr. Robinson reports:

"...Fellow passengers on the Damsels bandwagon -- CNN, MSNBC, and, to a lesser extent, the broadcast networks and the major newspapers -- are so eager to display their high-minded earnestness that they've been running stories about "the phenomenon" of missing-white-woman coverage. They act as if said coverage were a natural disaster, like an earthquake or a tornado, rather than a series of deliberate decisions made by executive producers and editors in chief."

To the numbnuts cable reporters: Get a grip, guys. What the average cable viewer with higher than a sixth-grade education really wants is some decent NEWS for a change.

Word of the day

Today's new word (aka Shanna-ism) is fick, ie: "I'm so fick of these damn headaches."

Translation: "I'm so fucking sick of these damn headaches.

Now back to your regularly scheduled blog surfing.

The ups and downs of Bloggerville

Surfing through some of my recent referral links (84 hits to my blogger profile in 24 hours!!) I came across this blog post with a link to this really great blog public service announcement.

You guys come up with the funniest stuff!

I also passed through Skippy's List, which is one of the funniest things I've read in quite awhile. "Skippy" is a former Army service branch member with a list of "213 things Skippy can't do while in the Army". I was especially cracked up by the following points:

37. Our medic is called “Sgt Larwasa”, not “Dr. Feelgood”.

38. Our supply Sgt is “Sgt Watkins” not “Sugar Daddy”.

Make sure to browse the rest of his blog, it's great!

Through Skippy, I found another great project you should be aware of: Adopt-A-Soldier. Show your support and drop our boys a note. Let them know you're thinking of them and thankful for all they do.

Be sure to see this one

Thanks to Queen Of Ass, who pointed me to Dooce. This blog is definitely on my top ten list.

This blog is run by Heather, a mom I know most of us can relate to in one way or another. She's funny, intelligent, gutsy, point-blank direct and at times uncouth - which I love.

She's also thin and beautiful, the wench, so be sure to check out her wedding photos.

University of the real world

In an effort to expand my horizons as a culturally enlightened human being, I have decided to try learning a new language. I did some searches and found some great resources online.

Just to be nice, I thought I'd offer my readers a free peek at these great Swedish lessons.

Click on the links below to learn Swedish in three (yes, you heard it right, THREE!) easy lessons:

Lesson 1
Lesson 2
Lesson 3

Have fun, and be sure to tell me how you did!

Special thanks to Slay Radio for the links!

It's all in my head

Spent a few hours in the emergency room last night. I'm not quite sure why. Maybe it was desperation. I called the nurse hotline because the pain medication (I hate taking medication, it always causes adverse reactions in me) actually made the headache worse. The nurse on the phone said to go in. I told her there was little to nothing I could foresee them doing for it, but she insisted that they "may need to call in a specialist". Fine. I went in. After 45 minutes in the fetal position in a dark room, I was seen and given a shot of Compazine (sp?). Didn't even touch me. Not a little. Nothing. Friday, in the doctor's office, they had tried Imitrex. Also nothing. Made it worse.

Everyone seems to be a little uptight about this angioma right now. The thing is, they're supposed to be asymptomatic for the most part. Funny how that happens. I have another theory, however: What if that car accident I was in nine years ago has something to do with it?

It was June of 1997. I was going to pick up my now ex-husband from work in our Chevy Celebrity. It was a hot day and I was in shorts and a tank top and my hair was pulled back into a pony-tail. My oldest was, at the time, three years old and my second was four months old. They were safely buckled into their car seats, the youngest in the middle rear and the oldest in the rear passenger side. It was a bright, clear day. I stopped at a main intersection for a red light. The light turned green and I started forward. I saw a flash of green car-hood as a newer Chevy sedan plowed into my driver's side door at 45mph.

My head slammed into the part of the frame between the front and back windows as the glass exploded from the inside of the driver's side window that had been rolled down all the way. Glass chunks embedded themselves in every exposed part of my body as the car began to spin. I lost consciousness for a few seconds, because our car's trunk had slammed into a telephone pole hard enough to crush it completely up to the back seats. When I came to I was completely confused for a few seconds until the realization of what had just happened came back to me.

I remember trying desperately in my confusion to open my driver's side door. I remember trying to "shake off" the muddled feeling in my head. I remember panicking that my two small children were in the back seat. They were completely silent. I crawled out through the crushed remains of my door and stood dizzily leaning against the car's side for a second. I looked up and spotted the driver of the other car in the thick, gathering crowd: a teenaged girl with a boy about the same age and an infant. I screamed en expletive (still regret that to this day, it wasn't very nice, they were as scared as I was, and just kids) and said "My kids are in the car!" I stumbled around to find a door that would open to pull my children from the car. I was terrified. The car was bent into an unbelievably complex twist of shapes and all I could think of was the possibility of a gas leak.

I was protectively huddled with my children on the curb when a woman came up to offer me her cell phone. I remember looking at it strangely for a second... The characters on all of the buttons looked like hieroglyphics to me. I shook my head and handed it back to her as police and ambulance crews began to show up. My children were pried from my arms as medical personnel looked them over and then me. The officers asked me questions that I barely understood, and yet answered almost automatically. I felt separated from my own body.

My older son had been in one of those bench-style carseats. The paramedics were concerned with a back injury and strapped him onto a back board as he cried for mommy in utter fear of what these strangers were doing to him. Someone said I had blood all over my face, although I felt no pain. I knew I was in shock. The glass from the exploded door had lodged itself into my hair, my gums, my arms and legs, even up my nose. I thanked God it had been rolled down, because my face would have likely resembled hamburger if the glass had been all the way up and exploded.

I was given a typical TPR/BP (temperature, pulse, respirations and blood pressure)and a doctor shone a light into my eyes. There were no x-rays, no CT scans. That was it. My children were checked out and the oldest was given an x-ray to look for the possibility of a back injury. There was none.

my head felt spongy and sore on the left side above the ear. I was dizzy for months. A year to the month later, the man who is now me ex-husband chose that exact spot to plant the knuckles of his fist into during one of his drunken rages.

My question is this: Angioma or no, what about the possibility of undiagnosed injuries from the accident and/or the abuse? What about a pinched nerve between the c1 vertebrae and my skull? It burns there on the left side. The entire left side of my head feels as though it's fallen asleep occasionally, usually surrounding the occurrence of a headache. The headaches are also on the left side. I had also considered the possibility of a minute glass shard being lodged deep in my inner ear.

I see the neurologist on Wednesday. We'll know more then.

Now close your eyes and count to three...

...and think happy thoughts.

I have another doctor's appointent today. I'm dealing, don't get me wrong. Just please pray for no surgery or radiation... or at least a simple resolution.

Pray for me.

Pray for my family.

A bandwagon you WANT to be on!

We are all becoming painfully aware that even the news has become a glamour industry. The recent disappearance of Latoyia Figueroa is a prime example of how the mainstream news media will conveniently overlook those stories without the glamour of say, a rich debutante. This is where we, the new s media come in.

Latoyia Figueroa of South Philadelphia has been missing and needs your help. She is 24 years old, 5'2, and five months pregnant. On July 18, Latoyia didn't pick up her 7-year-old child from daycare and was reported missing on July 21 by her family. She has simply vanished.

A reward has been established for the search effort, and is ever-increasing.

Because of the lack of mainstream media involvement, we bloggers need to take action now. Please visit Mr. Richard Blair of All Spin Zone for more information on this search effort. Pass this on, read the articles, post her picture... Get this woman HOME and her unborn child SAFE.

If the mainstream media won't take on the task, we certainly will.



Update: Fox takes on the story (finally).

Blogher

You might have noticed a new blogroll on the left column, titled blogher.

Did you know that 71% of the livejournals are "manned" by women? Neither did I. Now I'm not sure about totals in the entirety of the blogosphere, but that seems to be fairly significant.

It was a bit difficult to find out how to add my blog to the roll, and I still haven't figured out what the guidelines are. It is, however, worth checking out.

over this last weekend, there happened to be a quite successful Blogher convention. The links are posted on their site, so do go over and check it out!