The Big 4-0, Adam!

Must have been a Saturday, as I clearly remember being on base (Army) at the PX with Dad and baby Afton, and on the way back to our little place in Herrlingen, Germany, I started feeling a little strange. By the time we unloaded our little old VW, Adam appeared to be in a hurry to make his debut. Dad took Afton downstairs and put her in the care of Herr & Frau (I forget), our congenial landlords, and we were off to the races.

And race we did, there was the train coming down the track in town, and dad drove up on the sidewalk to avoid being stopped by the crossing gate which was coming down to halt traffic. We sped to the little clinic in Neu Ulm, and the Dr. was incredulous that I opted to drive with Dad in the beat up VW, rather than be shepherded in the military ambulance, but I didn't want to give birth without him again, so we got on the Autobahn and sped to Augsburg.

It was evening, and the Chief of OB was at a Halloween party. He didn't take kindly to being interrupted, but he showed up sans costume, except his Dr. one. The nurse, however, was from central casting. Old, grizzled, and in combat boots in the delivery room! Perfect.

The Dr. was further annoyed when I crawled off the table as he began to examine me. "Never mind," he said as he called for anesthesia. "NO!" I pleaded. "I want to have this baby totally naturally."

The Dr. was disgusted with me. "Look," he said, "you're no officer's wife, I don't have to stay here with you. I can just leave." He stood up and started for the door.

"It's important to me," I said. We were not off to a good start. He left me with Colonel Combat Boots, and I was wheeled into L & D (Labor & Delivery Room), inhumanely strapped into stirrups, and again, we were off to the races. Guess he had a change of heart, cause he stayed in his Dr. costume and played the part like it was scripted.

I so wanted to prove I could do this and not deserve any further ire, that we spent the 20 minutes or so until the baby was born telling jokes, and the 5 of us (Dr, Nurses, Dad & Mom) were pretty much hysterically laughing at the time of birth. Because the Dr. for whatever reason wanted to speed things up a bit (was he hoping to get back to the party?), he used forceps to pull on the little head. Not a friendly gesture for any of us. When the baby's shoulders emerged, I did become acutely aware of the process, but just winked at the Dr. and asked, "Do you mind if I say 'Ouch' right about now?" Permission granted, but it felt a little anticlimatic, a bit silly to say it out loud, so it was more of a loud whisper-"ouch".

And then the telling moment. "It's a boy!" I was so surprised, I blurted out, "But how will I take care of a boy??" (I grew up as one of 4 girls, this was a foreign life form to me.) "Change him quicker," said the Doc.

Then I saw the perfect little round face, the huge eyes, the crown of dark hair. And I melted. How could life ever be better than this moment?

Beaming. Dad had a real life son now, our family was complete (or so we thought at the time), perfect.

I became the Dr.'s star patient; he came in the Recovery room and spent nearly half an hour massaging my leg, which wouldn't stop shaking after it was all said and done. Adrenaline, I guess. We became best friends and he would tell our story to the others he brought by on rounds the next couple of days, and brag how it was his funnest birth ever. (The Hospital Pediatrician assured me the scar the forceps had left on his face would be a lifetime mark, but there was nothing that could be done. It disappeared in less than 6 months.)

Adam was Germany's newest little citizen and Dad sent telegrams back to the Grandparents in the States. If happiness can be tangible, it was--in October, 40 years ago!

Another Year!

Just a nod to a certain California blonde on her birthday. A beautiful girl in a beautiful place. Well, actually out of that place today, but hopefully enjoying herself and celebrating a day-and a life-forever special to me.

Earlier this year I was able to spend a few months with both these ladies in Paradise and know what an eventful ride this year was turning into. Here's hoping you can coast a little for awhile, and just eat cake. Or at least have a tension releasing food fight! Remember those days? (And Fat Fridays??)

Happy Birthday, Afton!
(I'll bring the cake)

Trust Me

I have a wedding coming up in 3 weeks! 3 weeks! Well, not mine actually, but my son's. Way too young to get married, and she's a mere baby, but they are such a cute couple.




Anyway, in anticipation of that event in Utah...
I am humbly reminded of my niece's wedding in Chicago about 5 years ago. They knocked themselves out to create an unforgettable experience for their guests as well as themselves, but unfortunately the totally indelible aspect I can't forget no matter how hard I try is the transportation one. You see, I drove. Rented a car all on my own and fancied myself a big girl. In the driver's seat, so to speak. Although not previously known for my prowess with directions and all, on the road or even in the house (often I would get lost at home trying to get back to the kitchen from the bathroom), I was confident that I could easily get around there, having grown up in the Garden Spot of the Midwest. Kind of primal instinct, no?

Not wanting to show off though, I believe I followed son-in-law Shane's van from the airport to the hotel the first day. Then drove the entire distance across town to Midway that evening to pick up my son Jared, who had flown in from San Diego. Figured he must have been terribly impressed with how I navigated Lake Shore Drive, and got us to the rehearsal dinner at the downtown restaurant. A little aggravation parking, and that was it. I was feeling goooooooood. So when it was time to return to our hotels, I nobly scooped a few tired souls into my car to ferry them the half hour or so to their waiting beds. I think it was lovely daughters Afton & Treesje who joined us.

Three or four hours later, we ambled in. Not to bore with the details, but suffice it to say, every freeway I got on, I was determined that I knew the way, no matter what anyone else said. From the Indiana border to the Wisconsin one, I always knew I had to be going in the right direction. After all, I grew up here. It was in my blood to know.

The first hour or so, my passengers were politely questioning me. But as time wore on, nerves were on edge. Found out daughter Torrey & son-in-law Chris had stayed at the hotel with the one year old twins, and were waiting for us to bring them dinner. A little pressure. By 1 am, when we were pulling up to their hotel, the girls had relapsed and were silently fuming, when Jared jumped out of the car before I stopped, cussed and threw his suitcase to the ground, clothes spilling into the moonlight. What's life without a little drama?

The next day I think everyone else somehow managed to get other rides to the historic Catholic Church. Me? Undaunted, I made it by myself there in plenty of time. Luck can change,right? And following the ceremony, I needed to leave to make another airport run. This time for #4 son Wayne, who also flew from San Diego, so he could at least make the reception. He called me when he got in and I told him I was circling the pick up route. "Oh, is that you behind the white van?" he inquired. "No, see me, I'm behind the black Mercedes." His reply, "You mean you're the dark red Mazda behind the bus?" "No, Wayne, I'm over here, see me behind the tan SUV? I'm the blue Olds." "Don't see you Mom." "Where on earth are you Wayne, you said you were standing right out here?" "I am, right out here at O'Hare with everyone else." "O'Hare? You're not supposed to be at O'Hare. You're supposed to be here across town at Midway, just like Jared was last night." In hindsight, I suppose communication is a valid concept. My sister Dianne and her husband were dispatched to pick him up at O'Hare. Good thing family is family, and good family at that.

So I turned around and headed back East to the other side of town to apologize and turn over my car keys. About an hour later the signs on the side of the road indicated I was almost to Iowa. Had a recent tornado relocated the state to the other side of Illinois? Not sure of that, I decided to turn around. Unfortunately the car wreck of the decade had just made turning around impossible and a huge traffic snarl to boot prevented movement any way at all. After a huge delay I managed to get off onto some other road and with a hit and miss strategy, I patchworked my way back to the hotel just in time to leave for the reception. No one was amused by my absence of many hours, echoes of the personal approval I had engendered only the night before. An executive decision was made--I believe several "executives" were involved, and it was unanimous, and I was not allowed to drive the 2 miles to Brookfield Zoo, site of the reception, by myself. I unceremoniously plopped in someone's back seat. You could call it functional. Or perhaps, hostile.

Now the only reason I mention this at all is that with this Utah wedding looming, I want people to know, I have learned my lesson. Let me just reassure you all. I am not renting a car. I'm driving my own. And for general information, I didn't grow up in Utah. I went to college there 40 some years ago, and even though I didn't drive then or even get around campus much, I do know my way around all of Utah. You can safely ride with me. I guarantee it. It's in my blood.

Lookin' Good

In one of my frugal moments a couple years ago, I went and rescued a professional esthetician product case from Torrey's garbage when she was moving from her house and clearing out. It was a really nice large suitcase type thing with internal compartments, and I figured it cost her hundreds when she was in esthetician school. I couldn't bear to just have it tossed; so under cover of dark, I grabbed it from the sidewalk and took it home. She had left some products in there, which I logically reassigned to my bathroom. One was a generous size jar of optimal tinted conditioning cream. It was particularly heavy, and evidently had never been used. I threw it under the sink, thinking someday if I ever went blonde again, it might be appropriate.

Well, yesterday I decided that "appropriate" might as well mean finally using it up, and seeing if this stuff would change the color of my dark hair. I mean, live on the wild side. There were no directions on how to use it, how long to leave it on, etc. Maybe it was like a mask and should stay in for 30 mins? So I took it into the shower, and after washing my long brown locks, I took gobs of this thick creamy light tan stuff and slathered throughout my hair. It felt really strange, not like my hair was getting silky and untanglely at all.

Immediately I had an AHA moment. It occured to me that conditioning cream and conditioner just might not be synonyms after all. For some reason when I first saw this jar I had thought it was for hair because of the size of it. Even though it plainly said moisturizer. For two years, it stayed a hair product in my mind. Till I put it on my hair.

Four times I washed my hair to try and get it out. The shower floor stubbornly stayed light tan for a prolonged time. My hair is still not the same, and wants to know when I will go ahead and try adding highlights with rescued lipstick.

How does one get SOOOO old and stay SOOOOOOOO dumb?

Well, even if my hair is a little on the lame side this week, my face is in heaven. I never tried tinted cream moisturizer before, and it is amazing! This is called "Supreme Secrets" by Janssen Cosmeceutical Care, made in Germany. I feel it takes off 10 years, even if it is full of ingredients I can't pronounce. Just wish I'd tried it sooner!

So thank you, Torrey. I don't know how I ever got it into my head that you were once upon a time a hairdresser. But that's the "magic" of being me; not just thinking outside the box, but living there. In a very scary place.

And Would You Like To Be A ....?

Watching the squirrel one day, and fascinated as I was by his movements, it suddenly hit me that if the Hindu paradigm could ever be established as "it" in the universe, I would opt out of reincarnating on Earth as a rodent. Even an adorable one. Lots of other less desirable paths as well, at least to my mind. I turned to Mom and blurted, "I'm coming back as a horse, just so you know, if the Eastern religions prevail. A wild horse. Just FYI."

Now Mom is about as into Eastern religion as much as I am, probably for different reasons, but she played along when I asked her what she would want to come back as, should she be reincarnated. "A dog; I'd like to be petted all the time."

I'd not asked for any specifics, but oh! the insight that gave. Seeing as I was giving her 2 hour massages every night, the petting was obvious.

Made me think about why the wild horse was the immediate image that came to my mind. Having always loved horses, it seemed so natural. But the intoxication of racing through life, wind in your hair, adrenalin in your heart, freedom in your nostrils; what could beat that?

Never having been one for psychology, numerology, or the like, I was a little intrigued nonetheless, at how we were pretty in touch with our own identities. Astrology and all those endless magazine tests that "reveal" what your favorite color says about you have always been so much hocus pocus to me. But in thinking of this animal connection, it's only me telling me about myself. Nobody imposing their notions on me. No right or wrong, no pressure. Not totally definitive, but interesting nonetheless.

So the next person I asked, answered "Quail." Unusual, no? But the reason he immediately proffered was, "I like belonging, the feeling of family."

So 3 for 3. I think it's an interesting momentary exercise. What's the first thing that came to your mind about what you'd choose if you could when you first started reading this? Why?

Doris

110 degrees this afternoon, but feels like twice that. I am unloading my Albertson's shopping cart and the minute the things are transferred to my car, I am overtaken by the nefarious urge to enter said vehicle and turn on the air conditioning and try to revive myself before the 5 block trip home.

Unwillingly, I notice the cart corral off in the distance. Blasted peripheral vision. There are no cars in the vicinity, and fleetingly I let myself off the hook. "Stupid to have to push this cart all the way down there, when it's obstructing nothing. Just farther away for the guys to go to round it up later," I mutter to the oppressive superheated concrete. As I grab the handle and head for the cart camping ground, I notice another couple of carts here and there, and grab their hot little hands as well as we promenade on down to the finish line. I curtsy and take leave of the carts.

"What an utter waste of energy and time," myself tells myself. And I agree. But what else could I do? Ever since that night in Vista, CA a couple of decades ago.

It was midnight. And I was shopping at the grocery store in my usual daze of trying to accomplish it all (I tend to run a few hours, perhaps days, behind everyone else, but it's not a race, right?). As I left the practically empty store with my valuables, there she was, bringing her cart all the way back to the inside of the store.

"Doris," I said, "hi there, what on earth are you doing? It's midnight; dark out, see? For heaven's sake, you shouldn't be out here alone, much less returning a dumb cart!"

"Oh," she blushed, "I just hate to think of those young boys out here having to worry about taking care of this."

I smiled, and shook my head. You see, Doris was about 80, diabetic, fragile in a dozen ways; she could barely walk, even with the help of her cane. She lived in a small trailer park, and had lived a very hard life. Everyone should have been worried about taking care of her. But in a very small and humble way she taught me a very big and important lesson. Caring. What a way to live.

See, Doris. This one's for you. You're long gone. But not forgotten.

"And I Think To Myself, What a Wonderful World"

Leaving Chicago any minute. Jet engines are revved. We are all dutifully seatbelted in, electronic devices off.

Even though it's exciting to anticipate seeing loved ones I have missed this entire month, these 30 days have brought the loved ones I miss most of the year even closer. And so it's hard to go.

Hard as well to leave the layers and layers of resplendent green here as I race back to the desert. Having spent the previous 3 months in San Diego, seduced and spoiled by the lush palms, jacarandas, acacias, bougainvillea, and jasmine, I am stunned to realize that very scenery pales next to the irrepressible smorgasbord of botanical excess in the Garden Spot of the Midwest. That being my hometown of Elgin, Illinois and its surrounding environs. In all modesty.

I'm not talking here about the manicured trees and tulips on the Magnificent Mile in Chicago; I'm talking about the infinite timbered vistas assailing your eyes as you drive along myriad highways and byways, gleaming river ribbons teasing their way through the verdant opulence. Where man has not cleared and built, the emerald forests are relentless. And on the streets where homes have been planted less recently, there, arboreal majesty holds sway; often there are streets where lofty green gloved branches reach out to hold hands above, and shady canopies seamlessly dapple the persistent sunlight below.

The wonder I feel as my thirsty eyes drink in this green profusion is on par with the awe I experience when losing myself in the vastness and color of the Grand Canyon, being transfixed by the monumental impact of "purple mountains majesty," or being seduced by the hypnotic evermore of the crashing ocean waves.  How so much beauty, surrounding us, cradling us, thrilling us, could ever have come to be, so infinite and spectacular, if not from a source so infinite, so spectacular itself?

These must be the storybook lands of Snow White, Red Riding Hood, Sleeping Beauty. The mysterious forests of fairytales. No? Not technically, I guess. But. These vast and powerful armies of maple and oak, sycamore and ash, elm and pine and more are vibrant and virile as the Alpine forests and the Buchenwald (Black Forest) itself which soared my heart in those Old World lands where I lived in the long ago.

But it's here and now that the summer glory finds my vision, feeds my spirit. And all that's required of me is to be still. Notice the willows? Oh, those weeping willows! Unrivaled elegance. The immensity of grace. Giants here fed generously by river and rain. Could Eden have been so arrayed? Punctuated by droves of lily, purple sage, bright geranium, delicate Queen Ann's lace, peony, pansy, petunia and on and on and on. Staggering diversity, finally triumphant. Replete with exuberant sound track... choirs of birds of every stripe attired in multicolored robes. Here a pair of bright red cardinals, there a sunny yellow finch.

Life. Loving itself.

I'll be back.

Much Ado About....

School days, school days. Remember good old fashioned chalkboards, and those random moments when the chalk would screech across the board and mount a surprise physical assault, making you shudder in pain and driving you into fits of apoplexy?

There are other forms of attack in the here and now. It has recently come to my attention that I may err slightly on the side of over reacting when accosted by my favorite phrase of the moment, "Enjoy!" Uttered by virtually every waitress, waiter, server from Vegas to Venice, I suppose. Inevitably has the opposite effect on me, and ruins my meal, if not my day. Chalk moment. How I have come to dread eating out.

How could such an innocuous word, one designed to bring pleasure and delight straight to the heart, spear a shard of discontent to my rebellious soul? Am I simply and resolutely determined to never smile?

Perhaps.

BUT. Truth is, I can manage an upturned mouth for most other occasions. I have a benevolent soul and am civil and polite under most circumstances. So why does this one word send me over the cliff?

I think it began a year ago, when out for dinner at a new little Italian restaurant in Henderson. Maybe the waitress just had a little extra time on her hands to "make nice", seeing as there were only two guys at another table in the corner, and they may well have worked there. "Enjoy!" she exclaimed as she seated us. Sure enough, hon, I'm up for it. Fact is, that's seriously why I'm here. Go figure.

She brought us menus. "Enjoy!" as she sashayed on her way. Well why not? I thought. I had secretly kind of planned to do that anyway, encouragement or not.

Yet again, after she took our order and brought out bread sticks. "Enjoy!" Look, is there some kind of a chance I will momentarily sink into utter despair if I am not urged to do otherwise? Does it appear that I have just been liberated from a concentration camp and have to make up for time lost during repeated torture? Could she divine that I had lost touch, forgotten how? Bless her heart, for reaching out and rescuing me from falling back into the pit!

Bet you can't guess what she said when she brought us our food. Yep. Just in case we forgot to all on our own. Had she detected my enjoyment level ebbing, one more time? Had she intervened at the critical moment and administered emotional CPR and saved the day? The pressure had built. I savored every bite. With all my might. Didn't dare not to. Trying to keep my mouth closed and chew with an enthralling smile plastered from ear to ear.

And then, the check. This latest light of my life waltzed over with the damages, and radiantly beaming at us, handed it over with the admonishment, "Enjoy!"

Seriously?

I suppose it's anticlimatic to add the parting word thrown our way as we departed this haven of delight.

Well, rock my world. Back from the brink. I could not have had such a stellar evening without her constant exhortation to so do. How do you even begin to thank someone who so mindlessly takes to heart your welfare?

Is it just me? Or are they enjoining you as well to sidle up to the table of life and get with the program? I maintain they are reaching out to all humanity in this selfless effort. Ladies and gentlemen, it is the cloned waitpersons/servers of the restaurants of the world, who make all the difference, who have taken it upon themselves to save us from ourselves, and the grim possibility of having to experience any disenjoyment or unenjoyment of any sort. One person; one. same. simple. word. at. a. time.

From that moment on, I have had, shall we say, an adverse reaction to the E word. Screeching chalk on the chalkboard. Call it an allergy, if you will. Whenever a server spits it out, I recoil and have flashbacks of being strapped to the Labor & Delivery Table in the Hospital, in an extreme condition, with an all knowing male, of course, Dr. spewing the R word. ("Relax") As if.

Sure, I'm a humbug. Nevertheless. These one word exclamations. Command performances, are they not? Stop. Go. Smile. Sing. Shutup (had to make it one word or blow my premise). Look, take it for granted that if I'm tickling you, I'll eventually stop. I will go too, when I think it's time. I'll smile if I want to. And if I'm in the Choir, you won't need to preach to me to get me to sing. It's what I signed up for. As for shutup, well that's just never gonna happen, unless I happen to be singing and you roll your eyes. But enjoy? Please don't make me. Let me decide when, where, how for myself, ok?

Having waitressed a summer myself back in the long ago, I have wondered if I had ever resorted to the E word myself. Guilt is the code I live by. Even though my memory is on permanent vacation, I am certain that we had no such verbal shorthand back in the day. "Can I bring you anything else?"- maybe. Or  "Let me know how you like it"/"I'll check and see how you're doing in a few minutes"/ "I'm pretty sure the cook didn't really spit in this/ "Belly up"/"Want fries with that?"  Who knows. Whatever the situation, or people at the table warranted. Anything that was beyond the little routine one size fits all blurt.

What's wrong, after all, with the possibility of not enjoying one's chosen meal? Less than substantial tip?

Last month, against all odds, we were out on the town, daunted though I was to be once more ensconced in the familiar arms of a public eatery. Too soon after we ordered, the waitress reappeared with our food. Whoa, I hadn't had time to take a yoga breath. The moment of truth, and no Zen back up. When she opened her mouth, I cringed. Then a soft "Hope you like it." Stop the presses! Are we no longer in America?? Tears came to my eyes. I could barely lift my fork. Swallow? Beyond the pale. I was overcome with sheer joy! Remarkably, I found myself unexpectedly "in joy" in spite of myself. Imagine that.

I know it goes against the grain. Here we have the ubiquitous Stepford servers, who are all programmed to mindlessly mimic each other and endlessly cajole us with their two syllable admonishment. And then out of nowhere, a breath of fresh air. Lo and behold. A thinking person. A far cry from the maddening crowd. At long last, I have hope again.

And did I mention she got quite the generous, heartfelt tip?

(Still and all, it's enough to make a vegetarian like me consider going to McDonald's where I only have to handle the cashier's robotic "Have a nice day!" -  Don't even get me started!)

Drunk Again

OK, the truth. I have NEVER had a drink in my life. I HAVE felt really, really happy tho, after the muscle relaxant they gave me in the Hospital following a complicated, dangerous birth. If only that were OTC, I would be a life long addict by now.

What I am addicted to at present is the scent of the voluptuous star jasmine that drapes the iron fence on the front and side of Afton's yard. OMN! Such utter bliss! SOCAL is absolute Paradise-with the ocean, the breeze, the lush palm/bouganvillea backdrops. But to even have the fragrance straight from Heaven. How sweet it is!

Beige Flowers

SO my daughter has not exactly been world renowned for her optic prowess for a few decades now. And today, Afton earned another feather in her cap when a bouquet of flowers was delivered to her door. I thanked the florist delivery guy and turned to bring the red roses in to her. It was not however, a gasp of delight that escaped her lips, but a gasp of puzzlement, utter bewilderment. She smiled, and asked, "But what are those flowers in the middle? The beige ones." I smiled back at her. "Those big beige ones? They're a TEDDY BEAR, Afton, a flippin' 12 inch TEDDY BEAR!"

Did I mention she's blind? And blonde??

So this very sophisticated knockout girl, Mattie, proved herself yesterday to be something else as well.




Mattie's First Track Meet



More than just a pretty face,
Little girl? Not a trace.

Moved ahead and set the pace,
Took the challenge, full of grace.

With Grauer team, proved her case,
Won the meet---of course,
our Ace!




So proud of you, Mattie! You can do anything!!!!

Love you!!!

The Fairy Godmothers Three

Used to be every fairy tale had a fairy Godmother around to ensure a twist with a happy ending. Nowadays you need oh, let's say roughly 3 incredibly beautiful and talented and relentlessly determined Aunts to make dreams come true and turn one's home into a haven. Make that castle! Introducing the Extraordinary Invincibles---the Terrific TL twins (Treesje Lyndell & Torrey Leeann) and the one and only Wild & Winsome Willow Adair---who have DONE IT AGAIN!

With magic in every finger, major muscle in every move, with indefatigable energy, endless patience, and love unfeigned, they rode into town and ON THEIR VACATION left their cushy Four Seasons digs in the dust, and spent Thursday night until 3 AM! and Friday night until almost 2 AM! working themselves into the ground to switch out niece Mattie's little girl's bedroom to the other upstairs bedroom and create a cool teenage hangout for her and her friends, and an inviting guest room to boot. WHO DOES THAT? Not to mention the AMAZING Mattie & Maya combination, who unflinchingly, with nary a complaint, kept up the pace both nights and WORKED, WORKED, WORKED. Kudos to the sons & son-in-laws who pitched in with muscle and kid duty to make it all happen as well. On the third evening, the big wind up---they all came together, it all came together, and together all said, "It is good." Enough feelings of accomplishment to last, say, a decade or two?


And what a perfect transformation! Last October was Afton's turn to get a gorgeous and sophisticated living room and family room as the girls worked their magic. This was in many ways even a bigger coup, and dramatic change! Move over, Extreme Home Makeover--the Sleight girls are on a rampage! Hope for a weary world.

Happy for you, Mattie and Afton. Proud of all YOU did to make it happen---you deserve a happy place! Was it worth it?

Slumber party, anyone?

No Snowflake

"No snowflake in an avalanche ever feels responsible."-Anon

My daughter, Willow, and I had an "intense" session this afternoon about ethics and the current foreclosure avalanche. It was interesting to listen to her thoughts, but she appeared disturbed by mine. I would like the issue to be black and white, yes and no, right and wrong. I sense that there is a high road here, but I am not sure of the pavement. With chagrin, I hear of people jumping in with both feet and abandoning the homes they committed to buy when times were flush and the anticipation of exponential profits loomed large.

With those who no longer have the means to pay, whether it be due to job loss or escalating payments that they cannot meet, I have no problem. Unequivocally. Zero. None. Nada. For those who can still manage, I don't get it. Well, I get it, I just wonder. To leave taxpayers with the bill for one's extravagance seems galling. I see the little guy taking it on the chin one more time. (Being a really little guy, I tend to sympathize....) First the Bankers and Wall Street, not to mention the Government Fat Cats, then every man for himself. But if everyone's doing it, it gets to be ok somehow. It brings to mind the image of the Titanic going down, and some of the well heeled men trying to get into the lifeboats, pushing the third class women and children out of their way. Ever has it been. Or maybe I've just seen too many movies.

I told Willow of how uninspiring I find it to hear of everyone who is circling the wagons and hiding their $$, rather than fulfilling their contractual obligations. Yes, obligations. I shared the true story of my grandparents, Lucy & Oral Sholes. After their deaths, our family found out that they had spent their lives paying off bad debts. Not theirs. Oral's Father, Ernest, had been a very well off guy with tons of land, and so had cosigned on loans for friends of Grandpa's brother. Then 1929 and the Depression. Soon both the brother and Great Grandpa had passed on, and Lucy & Oral stepped up to the plate and spent their lives paying these debts off, unbeknownst to anyone else. What saps. How stupid can you get, huh? And not even enough assertiveness to whine about it. But that was in a time where the word "honor" was way more than a word. To some. To me, that's heroic. Absolutely heroic.

Maybe I'm wrong. It could happen. Actually, it inevitably seems to. Thick skull syndrome. Anyone have a hammer?

Sorry, but as much as I cringe when I get panic attacks about how to pay a bill here and then, I want to believe the stuff about God telling us that if we gain the world, but lose our soul, what good is it? Stuff like it being harder for a rich man to get into heaven than for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle. Or a snowflake to give a flip. Wait. What's the chapter and verse on that? I just reread Mormon 8:35-41 (in the Book of Mormon). Try that. Get the impression He may even take some of this stuff seriously.

Nevertheless, I know there are different perspectives. So I have been researching. Well googling. Ethics & Foreclosures. And have found thoughts and ideas different from mine. This is a typical example:

" We're always told that market decisions are amoral - rational. But when an individual makes a rational decision, the decision is immoral."

"I have a relative who owns a house in CA and owes 900K on it. If she had to sell it in 60 days, she would be lucky to get 500K for it. She lost her job, and though she immediately found another one, it pays about 60% of what she had been making. So she got a second job... and they took in a boarder. And she does some work on the side. She is sacrificing her health, and the long term future of her family to pay the mortgage. Doesn't she have a moral obligation, for the long term financial and physical health of herself, as primary breadwinner in the family, to make a rational decision to walk away from that house? I'm not sure I know the answer, but sauce for the goose...etc etc."

The bottomline seems to be why be bound by ethics if the banks are not? Why be the lone man out? In another vein, isn't this the same argument being touted for the US being able to torture our enemies because they torture Americans? Lowest common denominator? How are we ever going to realize being human is a privilege, not an excuse? Especially for those of us fortunate enough to be exposed to ideals and standards and values.

I was told I'm being self righteous and judgmental. I don't know. Maybe if I had money, I would think and feel differently. It's not who I want to be. I think deep down I recognize the temptation, and I'm afraid I wouldn't have what it takes to stand up and be counted in the avalanche before I melted. Global warming may not even give me the chance....

Traffic Jam in Nevada

Believe this? That's right---a pack of wild horses hogging the road! I was SURE I had died and gone to heaven! Blessed by missing the correct turn off (we were going to the one and a half million acre Desert National Wildlife Preserve at Corn Creek to look for birds and sheep), we kept speeding along until we wound up at Creech Air Force Base in the middle of nowhere and stopped to ask for directions. The clerk in the convenience store asked why we would want to do that when Cold Creek was so much better. We turned around and when we found the sign pointing there, we decided on a whim to investigate.

No sooner had we gone a mile than we saw definite signs of animal activity. And I don't mean tracks. Then another mile or so, and the mystery cleared. Lo and behold, wild horses! Yippeee!!!!!!!!!!!! Never dreamed I could actually see them in the flesh, although I have read about them in Nevada. We were less than 20 miles up the road (the 95) from Vegas, and a world away.

They obviously were accustomed to humans (or aliens; how far is this from Area 51, after all?) as they showed no fear, and took their time to move over and share the road. I got out of the car a few times and approached different groups of them as we moseyed up to Cold Creek. They were curious, yet reserved. I did get to stroke a couple of them, but only for a second. Next time, I'm bringing apples!


Anyway, it was a huge thrill for a longtime wannabe Cowgirl/Indian Princess, and the gorgeous glorious sky and pristine snow covered mountain backdrop completed the perfect Western dreamscape. Oh, what a day!












Doesn't get any better than this, does it?

"To Err Is Human, To Forgive Canine"

Never thought of myself as an animal advocate to any great degree. But then, why else am I vegetarian in the first place? The book, Diet For A New America, surely changed my perspective back when, 15 years ago?

But I have pretty much been a quiet, make-no-waves crusader, content with changing only me. However, now I'm MAD!

I read this morning about a dog in Colorado being stolen from his owner's car by a woman who then asked her brother to get rid of the dog for her. He obliged by putting a rope around the German Shepherd's neck and tying him up to his truck and taking the dog for a 3 mile joy ride of sorts. The Denver Post reported “the dog was forced to run up and around steep hills at the Colorado National Monument near Grand Junction before it was dragged when it couldn’t keep up.” Paw prints in the snow were found to show Buddy at first walking, then running, then being dragged, for 3 miles. Buddy’s body was found with the rope still tied around his neck on a snowy road.

"'Demand Justice For Buddy' is a group formed to support the prosecution of Steven Romero, his sister, and anyone else involved with this senseless kidnapping and brutal murder. There is a petition being delivered to the prosecuting attorney in Grand Junction, CO, Jan.27 at 3 p.m. and again before each trial date for Romero. 'We want to get the maximum penalty the law allows. We support the US attorneys office to ask for the longest prison sentence possible.'"


SIGN PETITION AT: http://www.thepetitionsite.com/6/demand-justice-for-buddys-killer

I also joined the facebook group, To Honor Buddy "Tell 'Em Buddy Sent You" http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=236330769299&ref
"'Do It For Buddy' will truly honor Buddy. He was a shelter dog who was rescued by the Lebers and lived 4.5 happy years in their home with Joe and Sacha and their three heartbroken children. In Buddy's name, we ask that each of you please donate food, blankets, toys, pillows, cash and/or volunteer your time to your local animal shelters. Please tell them 'Buddy sent You.'"

I know this follows on the heels of my outburst at Michael Vick's Hero Award, which I consider the ultimate farce of the year (and wow, look at all that great competition), despite flack from my son that I am obviously against forgiveness and all things good, and bright, and beautiful.

Not so (according to me). Forgiveness in no way overlooks the problem created by a careless mistake or hardcore hatred. And it doesn't pay for the damages either. I believe payment, on whatever level, is what we call a consequence. If I smash into your car, whether you forgive me or not, I expect I'll have to pay to fix or replace it, no? (unless you live in S. Utah, where I guess you just slither off into the shadows when you wreck cars and let the wreckee deal with it...and to think, I almost was going to live there--yuk; but that's another story, and I digress).

The point is of course, we will all be happier forgiving others, but not letting them get away with things. In point of fact, Vick only served a very short time. He served time only for federal charges (the illegality of the dogfighting operation), NOT amazingly enough for animal cruelty. May I remind you in his acceptance speech (last post) he presented himself as the real victim while AT THE SAME TIME claiming to be stronger than 95% of the world population. (You may have noticed what easy lives most people in Haiti or Africa have, and they're black too...just spoiled, I guess).

Ok, touches my heart. Yours? The guy made a simple mistake. Like coloring outside the lines, using the wrong silverware at the Awards Banquet. His infallible Coach and teammates have given him a shot at the brass ring again. So he deserves a second chance. BTW, one that will make him hundreds of millions. Sweet. But an award for courage. Courage?

In that vein I would like to go ahead and nominate Adolph Hitler posthumously for the Nobel Peace Prize. Torture is torture. I figure the more dead, the bigger the award. Do I have it right now?

Rhymes With ICK! BOOOOOO Eagles!!!!!!

Honestly, I thought I was so above and beyond getting this upset, but when I found out last week that Michael Vick was receiving a Heroic Award for Courage, I LOST IT!!!!!

See what you think:
"The Courage Award Goes to...Michael Vick?
posted by: alicia graef(CARE2Causes)

Ed Block was considered a hero. He served in World War II, was awarded a Purple Heart, earned a master’s degree and worked to help neglected children and end the cycle of abuse.

The Ed Block Courage Award is now given to NFL players who show “commitments to the principles of sportsmanship and courage.”

The recipient of this award symbolizes professionalism, great strength and dedication. He is also a community role model. With this honor, he enters into an association which contrasts his fierce profession by becoming a major component of the Courage House National Support Network for Kids. He becomes an Ambassador of Courage for victims of abuse, violence and neglect.

In December members of the Eagles voted unanimously for Michael Vick to be the recipient of this prestigious award.

Huh?

This award is especially insulting considering recent evidence that was released by the USDA to wsbtv.com under the Freedom of Information Act in regards to Vick’s investigation.

Informants told investigators that Vick and two others strangled low performing dogs by hanging them from trees, drowning them in buckets of water -- one person holding the hind legs, another person holding the dog's head. They said Vick and two others also killed dogs with a shovel, shot them and in at least one case slammed a dog to the ground until it was dead.Vick and co-defendants Purnell Peace and Quanis Phillips "seemed to get an adrenaline high when killing the dogs," an informant said.

An award of this caliber is intended to put the recipient in a place where he can give a voice to the voiceless. It's intended to acknowledge a quality in human beings that we can all reach to attain. It was never intended to stroke the egos of hypocrites. Vick did exactly the type of thing Block took a stand against: abusing the weak and the innocent.

Congratulations to all of the other recipients who have overcome real obstacles and have become role models, like the Jacksonville Jaguars’ Richard Collier who was paralyzed as the result of a spinal cord injury, lost a leg and has since dedicated himself to being a speaker and role model for his area’s youth about personal responsibility and hopes to inspire positive changes.

Now that’s courage."

I checked it out and found more:

So what did Vick have to say?

"I've had to overcome a lot, more than probably one single individual can bear," Vick said. "Take a look at what I've been through. You ask certain people to walk in my shoes, they probably couldn't do it. Probably 95 percent of the people in this world -- because nobody had to endure what I've been through, situations I've been put in, situations I've placed myself in, decisions that I've made -- whether they were good or bad."

EXCUSE ME??? He's the victim? Not the dogs?? Aaaaaaaaaaggggghhhhhhh!


This made me ABSOLUTELY FURIOUS, so I contacted this now pathetic organization and said:

This travesty has just sown the seeds of your own demise. With no credulity left, your
organization has nowhere to go but downhill, and into oblivion.

Not only has this award become a pathetic joke, it has precipitated the exit of many from the halls of NFL fandom. Many will now find something worthwhile to do. Count me in on that.

Count me out of ever attending/watching NFL football again. Way to go Eagles. And what a sterling committee!

Sincerely,
Melinda Sleight

If it gets your blood boiling as well, here's how to let them know:
http://www.edblock.org/content/contact-us

Courthouse Shooting...Part II, Rest of the Story

(Photo by Sylvain GRANDADAM/Gamma-Rapho via Getty Images)

Got off on the wrong foot yesterday... I slept in a half hour later than I had planned to.  I had wanted to leave more than enough time to drive to downtown Las Vegas so I would be able to find parking and get to the Courthouse in plenty of time to report for Jury Duty.  Knowing the frustration I so often encounter with Vegas traffic, the frustration I have with my total lack of direction, and the frustration I have with being a relative invalid with my "recent" shattered heel that left me a bit impaired, I'd contemplated arriving the night before and just standing outside till the doors opened in the morning.  But, hey, this IS Vegas... I am well aware of the fact.  So I left half an hour later than I had intended.  A silly 30 minutes.

Ever wondered, "what if?"  For Christmas I bought my son-in-law a book that pursues that concept with the events of history.  I wondered a bit about the here and now possibilities as the day wore on and I was enmeshed in the aftermath of  shooting.  Had things gone as planned, I would have arrived at Court yesterday 30 silly minutes earlier--- in time to be on the scene as the gunman opened fire

In my mind's eye, I see myself jumping in front of him, holding out my hand and firmly telling him to give me the gun.  Immediately he acquiesces and no one is hurt! Tenderly I tell him everything will be ok now.  Having spontaneously intervened in a handful of violent physical episodes in my life (a rape, a knife fight, domestic confrontations) with no bruises and surprisingly good results, I figure this was a scenario meant to be.  Yes, I am certifiably more stupid than fearless, and I have been plain lucky.  But my imagination has to concede to the reality that my feet of clay (or my dedication to sleep), have led to this other bizarre outcome instead.  Under my breath, I excoriate my lapse.  Coulda, woulda, shoulda.  My theme song.

Then again, who's to say what is real and what is not?  As I was finally able to leave the surreality of the crime scene area yesterday, I was forced to wend my way through streets that were not cordoned off.  Bonneville was the name of the street that I followed for several blocks and where I encountered the underbelly of Vegas society.  

And then I saw him.  Elvis.  In white bell bottoms, shirt, and cape.  Bejeweled with glittering red orange chains and embellishments, the trademark black pompadour and dark glasses.  The black fanny pack?  Hmmmm.  Much, much shorter than I ever remembered him and a lot less appealing, nevertheless there he was in the flesh.  What else?

The reality is this is Vegas, this is life, this is death, and beyond.  All improv.  The good, the bad, the bizarre.  All of this just is.  And so it goes.  Viva Las Vegas.  Bring your camera.

"Hell of a Morning for Jury Duty"--- Las Vegas Courthouse Shooting

1,050 × 700

 Las Vegas Review-Journal

"Hell of a morning for jury duty," exclaimed the guy who videoed the area of the shooting at the Las Vegas Courthouse today.  You heard his observation on the YouTube posting, while listening to all the shots fired in the building.  For the families of those who died and were injured, ever will that be the most painful sound.

But he was right--- it was the wrong day for jury duty downtown.  Who knew?  I carried the summons in my hand as I walked toward the Courthouse with two other jurors I had just met in the garage elevator.  Soon we were interrupted by a man going the other way, "They're evacuating the Courthouse.  Just get out of here."

What?  No way did I get ready and make it all this way to turn around and leave.  At least not without some official dispensation so I wouldn't be arrested for no show or have to come back another time.  But as we approached the front of the building, and saw the gathering crowd, the wailing police sirens began to sound serious.  The sight of the police in front of the doors with rifles pointed, then soon the thundering herd of helicopters above, presented irrefutable evidence that this was not to be just another ordinary Monday morning.

One of the women I was walking with visibly paled and turned around, scurrying back to her car.  Another I encountered en route, Jane, and I determined to wait, find out what was going on, and what would be expected of us.  Bits and pieces of rumors filtered among us as we waited at the bottom of the steps.  Apparently two Federal Marshalls had been shot and killed; then it was one, then four, then the gunman had been shot in the head and killed across the street as he fled.  Then we weren't sure anyone had died.  Then we were.  First it seemed it was a lone gunman, then another had been apprehended and the area was being scoured for two more accomplices.

As time went on, it seemed strange all those law enforcement officers remained silent, and a few people would file out of the courthouse now and then.  It's a different world now because of the ubiquitous cell phone, because you can reach out and find friends and family who have access to media information that is unavailable to you when in the midst of something.  So soon the consensus was that someone had been shot and the gunman was down.

After an hour or so, finally an officer addressed us through the bullhorn.  Different protocols for different situations.  Don't quote me on this, but I think he said if you were there for a criminal case, your case was dismissed as of now.  I guess crime pays sometimes!  For those there about a civil case, the court would contact you in 2 weeks.  If you were there for this reason or that reason, whatever reason, you could leave.  Finally, he said if you were there as a juror, move to the side of the steps.  There an official let us know that no one had the authority to dismiss us except for a Judge.  Soon they would poll the Judges and see which of them would choose to hear cases if and when the building was secure enough.  So the attorneys walked, the criminals walked, the plaintiffs and defendants walked, but the jury was plain out of luck?  Justice isn't blind, she winks.  We were told that we could walk a couple of blocks to B of A, where there would be coffee (Starbucks) and restrooms. All buildings for several blocks were on lockdown, so our options were few to none.

Before 10, we returned to the Courthouse steps and were told that a decision would be made by 11:30 and we could call the Court to see whether we would a) be just dismissed with our obligation fulfilled, b) need to return tomorrow, or c) be summoned another time.   Oh, and "by the way", all the streets were still sealed off, and the parking garage on lockdown... so not like most of us could be going anywhere anytime soon.  Jane and I walked back to Starbucks to wait it out.  The weather was beautiful, but we sat inside where the omnipresent helicopters and police cars were less obtrusive and we could hear ourselves talk. We had a nice visit about everything but the surreal situation surrounding us.  Denial being what it is.  What a diametrically opposed experience to what the families of the victims were going through at the same time.  How is it that some people are dancing or relaxing or marrying when others are grieving, suffering, weeping at the same time?  Isn't this a strange, strange world?

When I called the Court on my cell and found out they would send out another summons for another day, I was chagrined.  No way did I want to come back to this place at another time.  I was defensive about the effort I had made to even be in town at this time, to make the trip downtown, to limp a few blocks to the Courthouse from the parking garage, to be one of those who did stick around for hours just in case.  All for nothing.  I know.  Me, me, me.

But my attitude changed a little as I drove away, down a few more blocks through the seediest of neighborhoods.  Seeing the really down and out hovering on the streets was another kind of sobering experience.  What they have to go through, and go without, made any inconvenience I imagined more than trivial.  Later, I learned that the man who caused all the drama and trauma this morning was a disgruntled old geezer who was angry about having his Social Security payments reduced when he moved from California to Nevada (he'd lost a Court case protesting this).  I wondered if he'd just taken a little drive through the neighborhood here, if he might not have changed his mind, and counted himself among the lucky ones.  Or was this perhaps his neighborhood?  What made him choose this battle?

Then I remembered listening to a man tell his story on NPR just this morning as I turned off the freeway to find parking.  He was born with a congenital disease that kills most children before the age of 2.  All his life he had lived in a wheelchair.  All his life.  His body betrayed him more and more everyday of his life, muscles wasting away--- he could no longer even hold a pencil.  People would sometimes tell him, "If I were you, I would kill myself."  Although he felt they likely meant that as a compliment, implying that he had exceptional courage to deal with all he had on his plate, he sometimes felt like replying, "Why, if I were you, I would try to kill myself."   But inside he has always felt he was one of the lucky ones.  Now with a great wife and two wonderful daughters, his life is full.  Did I mention he graduated from Harvard?

How do some of us choose to really live life against all odds, and others to kill and be killed?  More to the story:

https://lasvegassun.com/news/2010/jan/05/news-conference-scheduled-federal-courthouse/

How's your attitude? Mine?

More tomorrow.........................

You Could Have Heard a Pin Drop

Lessons in Diplomacy

A recent email I received pointed out some interesting interactions I appreciated. I then took the liberty of adding a few more recent ones in hopes of us all growing and seeing perhaps a bigger picture.

At a time when our president and other politicians tend to apologize for our country's prior actions, here's a refresher on how some of our former patriots handled negative comments about our country:

JFK'S Secretary of State, Dean Rusk, was in France in the early 60's when DeGaule decided to pull out of NATO. DeGaule said he wanted all US military out of France as soon as possible.

Rusk responded "does that include those who are buried here?

DeGaule did not respond.

You could have heard a pin drop.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When in England, at a fairly large conference, Colin Powell was asked by the Archbishop of Canterbury if our plans for Iraq were just an example of empire building by George Bush.

He answered by saying, 'Over the years, the United States has sent many of its fine young men and women into great peril to fight for freedom beyond our borders. The only amount of land we have ever asked for in return is enough to bury those that did not return.'

You could have heard a pin drop.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a conference in France where a number of international engineers were taking part, including French and American. During a break, one of the French engineers came back into the room saying 'Have you heard the latest dumb stunt Bush has done? He has sent an aircraft carrier to Indonesia to help the tsunami victims. What does he intended to do, bomb them?'

A Boeing engineer stood up and replied quietly: 'Our carriers have three hospitals on board that can treat several hundred people; they are nuclear powered and can supply emergency electrical power to shore facilities; they have three cafeterias with the capacity to feed 3,000 people three meals a day, they can produce several thousand gallons of fresh water from sea water each day, and they carry half a dozen helicopters for use in transporting victims and injured to and from their flight deck. We have eleven such ships; how many does France have?'

You could have heard a pin drop.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A U.S. Navy Admiral was attending a naval conference that included Admirals from the U.S. , English, Canadian, Australian and French Navies. At a cocktail reception, he found himself standing with a large group of Officers that included personnel from most of those countries. Everyone was chatting away in English as they sipped their drinks but a French admiral suddenly complained that, whereas Europeans learn many languages, Americans learn only English. He then asked, 'Why is it that we always have to speak English in these conferences rather than speaking French?'

Without hesitating, the American Admiral replied, 'Maybe it's because the Brit's, Canadians, Aussie's and Americans arranged it so you wouldn't have to speak German.'

You could have heard a pin drop.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


AND
THIS STORY FITS RIGHT IN WITH THE ABOVE...


Robert Whiting , an elderly gentleman of 83, arrived in Paris by plane. At French Customs, he took a few minutes to locate his passport in his carry on.

"You have been to France before, monsieur?" the customs officer asked sarcastically.

Mr. Whiting admitted that he had been to France previously.

"Then you should know enough to have your passport ready."

The American said, 'The last time I was here, I didn't have to show it."

"Impossible. Americans always have to show your passports on arrival in France !"

The American senior gave the Frenchman a long hard look. Then he quietly explained, ''Well, when I came ashore at Omaha Beach on D-Day in 1944 to help liberate this country, I couldn't find a single Frenchmen to show a passport to."

You could have heard a pin drop.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yes. Sometimes we forget we are all brothers. But I would like to add an email from my friend Flo Ambrosino of Bordeaux, France:

"Here is what hapened in France on Friday after the 9/11 attack, in memory of those who were lost at the World Trade Center.

*At exactly 11:00

- All students, from kindergarten through college, throughout France stood by their desks and observed a minute of silence.

-All fire fighters and soldiers throughout France came out of their barracks and stood at attention in the parade ground to observe one minute of silence.

-All the Church bells of France were rung.

*In the afternoon, the towns in the area of the 1945 Normandy landings threw crowns of flowers into the ocean.

*In Bordeaux, the Franco-American community joined together for an evening ceremony in the Cathedral which was decorated with French and American flags.

*That same evening, there were several soccer matches throughout France that began with the playing of the American anthem.

*French television broadcast these ceremonies throughout the day.

This is the message that I sent in English to many of my American friends so that they would understand the great support that the French felt as the United States was going through a very difficult time."

Afton---Forever Young

So this is perhaps the longest, most drawn out birthday card anyone has ever received.  I hope you were able to muddle through this virtual treasure hunt of sorts down memory lane.

But I confess I lied to you. It's not going to work out to be a memory a day for every year because this is the last day, and I figure in my own twisted way, if I don't go ahead and share that last memory, you can stay 39 forever!


So no dusty memory for you today.  Just a simple declaration of the overwhelming, unconditional love I have had for you from before you were even born. I hope that comes through the words and images that hint at the feelings I have had, through the times we have shared.

I have found looking back that life is really really rich, even if you're not. Even if it isn't all moonlight and roses, sometimes funny trumps all. Hands down! Or looking back and seeing that you really do have whatever it takes to get through rough patches gives personal strength and perspective that comes no other way. Life, such an outrageous, extravagant gift, isn't it?

There's a book, Oh, The Places You'll Go (Dr. Seuss), that expresses some sweet empowering ideas. Here and now, this remembrance has been a taste of some of the places you have been. With deliberate intention I have exposed the foundations of some of the places I hope you'll someday return to. Moreover, I wanted to fan the flames of discovery and adventure in your soul. My wanderlust has enriched my life beyond my dreams, beyond my imagination. I want wander wonder to make magic of your life too. And it's not even necessary to cross oceans to do so. "The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes." -Marcel Proust

But where you've been, where you'll go are small matters compared to who you've become, all that you do. I would that you could see yourself for a moment through my eyes. Let me just assure you that who you are and all that you do so far outshines the best of the marvelous places you have been, will go to. You, my love, will ever be my treasure in this amazing world. I could not love you more. Yet everyday I do.

Happy 39th birthday, baby girl!

Love,
Mom

Afton---Murphy's Law

Well, that may have worked had I made sure everyone else on the plane had pills, but I am a slow, slow learner. When we boarded the overcrowded plane, it was all women and children. Well, actually women and babies. Everyone had ONE. Except for me. TWO!! And then this one woman who had NONE. Took her no time to come up to me and volunteer to help me with you both. What a sweet gesture! The only catch was that meant she took your seat. I had known I would have to manage with Adam on my lap for 42 endless hours, but I'd planned on you sitting next to me. And paid for that. But this Good Samaritan had a better plan. Scrunched!

Before the engines started, unfortunately, she began vomiting. And vomiting. And vomiting. What an ugly word. So I got to spend the entire flight (no, I am NOT exaggerating!) attending to basically 3 babies, rather than 2. The stewardesses (no flight attendants back then) were out of their minds with all the crying babies, they had run out of milk early on, and paid a dear price acoustically; so no help for the  hapless hurling helper wannabe. I alone was managing barf bag after barf bag. Not a happy camper, to say the least, but I guess it did keep me from focusing on who to save if the plane went down. And from sleeping.

When we eventually miraculously arrived at Kennedy International Airport in New York, I was more than grateful the nightmare was over. Ha, what did I know? Right after getting through customs, one of our suitcases broke, and everything inside spilled all over the floor (no wheeled luggage in those days, so I was carrying Adam and two suitcases, while you walked at my side, less than a year and a half old.)  Not much sympathy in New York, so just me on the floor with two babes, trying to stuff our possessions back into the disintegrating luggage and find a way to tie it shut while not being trampled in the meantime. Funless.

Got on a shuttle to the Stateside terminal, irritating all the disgruntled and ungentlemanly businessmen who just sat and frowned while I loaded everyone and everything in. But we made it, in spite of myself, and soon were at the Stateside Terminal. We somehow managed to get to the Gate, and waited to board our flight to Chicago. Well, I waited. You wandered off. I have no idea how many minutes it took me to notice you were gone. But you were.  And I did. Being a calm and composed adult, I TOTALLY FREAKED OUT! Started running around, calling your name. People started to pay attention, and search.  Ran this way and that in the long hall and finally, finally after who knows how many agonizing minutes, I found precious little you, just sashaying along, oblivious to all the commotion.

I don't know when I have ever been more exhausted, more drained emotionally and physically when we boarded the plane to O'Hare Airport in Chicago. The last leg of our trip. I could do this. A few hours later you would be in Grandma and Grandpa's arms. Sweet. Almost home!

A few hours later we landed, and I was so relieved as we were taxiing in to our gate to disembark. "Welcome to Minneapolis," the voice of the stewardess announced.

Are you kidding? You HAVE to be kidding!!

So they obligingly put us on a flight to Chicago. After all 682 hours of travel, I remember Grandma Mudgie saying how she'll never forget seeing baby Adam's eyes, how they were dilated and staring, like someone who had suffered an irreversible trauma. I think I was catatonic. Still am. And you, my love? It was a miracle you got there at all.

Afton, I know that when you became a Mom, you began traveling a lot with Madison from the very beginning as well. I know you have your own war stories with the airlines as well. I just wanted you to know I've been down in the trenches too and understand how it is. Not just with flying. All the trenches. So I do understand a little.  And proudly, proudly cheer you on.