Malicious Mischief

As published in the Natchez Democrat, December 10, 2010.

Malicious mischief. That is what the police report called the shattered car window I was seeing. Looking at the pieces scattered all around on the street and in my car’s backseat, I could only agree with the “malicious” part. I’d always considered “mischief” to be harmless and fun-loving.

What I was seeing was neither.

Someone, who was bored or frustrated with life or for some other reason, decided to knock out one of my windows on the Friday night after Thanksgiving. My husband and I were awakened by a policeman at 4:30 on Saturday morning who saw it as he was driving down our street. And that person, or persons, didn’t just knock out the window, they used a pry bar on it as to make sure the car door was dented, the paint chipped and the inside trim pieces broken.

In other words, they did it up right.

But that is all they did. They just knocked out the window. Now, in relating this story I have said many times what you’re all saying to yourselves right now, at least they didn’t take anything. I wasn’t robbed. I guess he or she or they didn’t know the car belonged to a certified public accountant and the only thing in my backseat was some material from some recent conferences I attended.

Pretty boring stuff.

No, they didn’t rob me. But since I did have to spend $700 repairing the car door and window who they actually robbed were the citizens of Natchez. That was money that wasn’t budgeted for that type of unexpected expense. Nor was it budgeted for my own Christmas. At this time of year many churches and other civic organizations sponsor families at Christmas. Families needing a helping hand to have a Christmas lunch, or pay their utilities, or put gifts under the Christmas tree for their children and other family members. I am a member of many such organizations and all have asked for their members to contribute.

So, to those that vandalized my car I say this: Seven hundred dollars could have gone a long way this Christmas season. Seven families could have gotten $100 gift cards for food from the Natchez Markets. I know a couple of families had children wanting bikes. My money could have helped with that. Or paid an elderly couple or young family’s gas bill next month when it gets so cold outside. Or purchased supplies for the Guardian Shelter or Stewpot – organizations helping others. Or any number of things. And the people that money was going to help could have been your neighbors, your friends, or your very own family.

So, no, I wasn’t robbed. But many in Natchez were.

Now, I will still contribute to these organizations as I’ve been asked to do. I just will not be able to do as much as I had planned. Because those vandals can’t rob me of my joy or steal my Christmas spirit.

I won’t let them.

Jolly Old St. Nicholas

Disclaimer: Remember, the opinions expressed in this blog are the thoughts of the writer - me - and in no way reflect anyone else's. Unless you post a comment, then those are yours.

Fox News reported this morning that the YMCA had decided Santa Claus would no longer be making the rounds at their clubs. Frosty the Snowman would.

Personally, I have nothing against Frosty. He's actually a pretty "cool" dude. But I couldn't believe that an organization with the word Christian in its title was going to pass up such a wonderful opportunity to teach children a valuable lesson.

What does God look like? Does anyone know? The Holy Spirit is represented in the Bible as both a flame and a dove, among other images. We are made in His likeness. Any representation of God would be symbolic one, wouldn't it, since we have no pictures of God, or Jesus? We only have artists' interpretations. So can't we decide what God looks like, at least to us?

I will not dispute that Christmas is way too commercialized. Won't argue that point for even an instant. But we have here a truly unique situation to try and change some of that. At least plant a seed a two.

First, Santa Claus evolved from Saint Nicholas, a real person. He was a real Greek bishop in the Catholic Church that lived centuries ago who had a penchant for secret gift-giving. He liked to leave small gifts at doorsteps or coins in the shoes the children left outside. He was a protector of children and recognized by the Church by achieving Sainthood for all the works of his life.

So, the concept of Santa Claus does have foundational roots in religion, right? Isn't Santa a person who loves children and secretly leaves them gifts once a year?

Stay with me here.

Second, many traditions in religion are symbols or remembrances of true events. I doubt anyone really believes that Jesus was actually born on December 25. But Christmas is a celebration of the event, not the date, surrounding the birth of Christ.

And who, or what, is Jesus? Jesus is a gift from God. The greatest gift. God, a "person" that no one has ever seen, giving a gift to the World.

Yes, Jesus is more than that, depending on your belief system - a Savior, the Messiah, a Healer, Teacher, the Light of the World and all the rest. But Jesus was also called a Gift.

So, why couldn't the YMCA have taken the initiative to start the children thinking of Santa Claus as just another representation of the image of God? A chance to get them to see that, like God, Santa Claus brings gifts to our lives and, by example, encourages us to give gifts to others.

Wouldn't that have been better than banning Santa Claus?

I hate the phrase "teachable moment" but that was one if I ever saw it.

Too bad they missed it.

The Human Condition

My day started around 4:30 with a cacophony of barking dogs.

Ours.

I rolled over in bed to find Billy standing at the bedroom window looking out. Apparently our street was full of police cars. And they were all parked in front of one house.

Ours.

A policeman had been giving a friend a ride home from his night job when he noticed that the back driver's side window on my car was all over the street. He stopped, called another officer and they made a report.

The vandals didn't take anything. There wasn't anything of value in it. I know better than to leave anything in sight. So they just hit it and left. Maybe our dogs started barking at the window shattering and scared them off before they could get anything.

You really can't go back to sleep after that so we just started the coffee pot and turned on the television. Two of the top stories were about a trampled shopper and a Marine who was stabbed in a robbery during Black Friday yesterday.

Is this what we're coming to?

Just two days ago we all gathered around family tables and gave thanks for all our blessings.

The next day, people turn into animals.

Yes, I know. The people that behave like this are "animals" to begin with. No real sense of common decency or propriety. An all-for-one attitude and the one is "me".

There are several ways to approach this. I could get angry. Wonder why I can't park my own car in front of my own house without anything happening to it. Wonder whose hide I need to find to exact revenge. I could get all sanctimonious and spout off about how glad I am I'm not like them.

Or I could continue to be thankful.

Thankful they didn't come into the house. (An elderly woman woke up the other day to an intruder.) Thankful they didn't take anything I couldn't replace. (A couple was robbed outside a restaurant the other night.) Thankful it happened when Billy was home. (He's already been taking care of me for a week and Riley since Thursday).

I can be glad that three people have been kind enough to stop and tell us that we had a problem and not just kept driving by - like all those folks that kept stepping on the shopper that fell instead of helping him up or making room for him to help himself.

I can not allow myself to become embittered by what I perceive as bad behavior all around me.

After all, the only person I can control in all of this is me.

We Are What We Live

Sometimes people think I share too much on this blog. Too much personal stuff. Well, let me tell you THIS story.

I am involved in a program this year through our Chamber of Commerce - Leadership Natchez. It's a 9 month program where we get in depth learning of our city and take on projects to make it even better. The first session was a two day retreat led by a nationally known speaker specializing in personal relationships. She led us through several personality tests and team building exercises to help a very diverse group of 17 act as one unit.

Her life factored heavily into her teaching. By the end of the FIRST day we knew that she had had an abortion growing up, her two oldest children had been sexually abused by a foster child their home, their youngest child drowned at the age of 3 in the family swimming pool, she had almost died of alcohol poisoning twice and tried to commit suicide on more than one occasion, and her husband went from being a prominent successful attorney in their area to being disbarred from embezzling from his clients' trust funds. The clients didn't press charges so he avoided prison. They had nothing now. She even had to borrow a car to drive to teach us.

Compared to that, my life is a vault! There's tons of stuff I've never shared! She, like me sometimes, felt like the only way to get someone to understand your position, or your dreams, is to share the events that shaped them. She was currently fulfilling a lifelong dream of owning and operating a home for teenage mothers. Someone had gifted her the land and building. The dream arose from wanting to provide an alternative that she never felt she had when facing the same situation. She's also published articles based on a phrase her 3 year old uttered not long before she died. The little girl had asked for something and the mother snapped back a response. On her way out the door the little girl looked back and informed her mother that she had hurt her heart.

The speaker felt like we needed the background to see why she felt her methods were working and important. That leading from the heart was a critical piece of the overall puzzle.

While my life has not been, blessedly so, quite as dramatic as all of this, I have seen my share of problems. And some of them do very much shape my responses to things. And I have shared with some people things that others in my life might wish I hadn't, but I needed the other person to understand that I wasn't just SAYING "I know how you feel", I DID know how they felt. I'd experienced it as well.

And I had come out on the other side.

Hopefully a better person. At least a more empathetic one.

We aren't meant to travel this world alone. We are "pack animals", meaning we need the others in our daily lives to help and support. Sometimes others need to know that they aren't the first ones to face a crisis, nor will they be the last. If sharing some deep dark secret from my personal life helps someone, then so be it. Our experiences aren't ours alone. What is the point of learning something if we keep it to ourselves?

We're all teachers. We're all examples. As with any area of life, some are better than others. Some people are examples of what not to do. Some teach how to do things differently.

I don't think I've ever shared anything here that I didn't think others could relate to. My life isn't perfect. I get angry at my boss, frustrated with my family, lonely and tired and scared. All human emotions. But life isn't about WHAT we're handed. It's about how we DEAL with what we're handed.

You can suck on the lemons you're handed and end up with a sour face. Or you juice them and make one heck of a lemon pie.

A pie that you would gladly share with others.

It was Like 1997

1997.

Doesn't sound that long ago, really.

Only 13 years.

But over the last week I realized how much has really changed in that amount of time.

I came home from work last week, ate supper, and then went to my iPad to see how many Words with Friends games I need to make a move on.

Couldn't get in the game. It said my network was not working. OK, pretty standard stuff. There's lots of days I come home and it has disconnected. No biggie, I thought.

Wrong.

Instead of the normal DSL light glowing red and the rest green, this time the Power light was red and the rest were dark.

Now, in my mind IF a light is glowing at all I figured it must be getting power. In this old house, it isn't unusual, unfortunately, for a one plug in an outlet to go bad.

Seemed like a fairly simple fix. Just plug it in somewhere else.

After an hour of plugging and unplugging and switching plugs I finally called technical support. I'm sure most of you would have done it long before then, but I'm a "little" hard headed (no comments from the Peanut Gallery out there that is my family) and was convinced I could fix it myself.

Well, Missy with AT&T, was happy and chipper and went through all the questions. Did you plug it in? Yes. Did you switch plugs? Yes. Is there a light? Yes. It flashes red and green and acts like it wants to come on, but then stays red.

Oh. That was her response. I can hear typing on her end as I guess she's going through her flowchart to see what that means.

That means the DSL modem is defective.

Defective was not a word I wanted to hear.

Furthermore, we were not enrolled in the equipment maintenance plan so a new modem would be $100 and for an additional $20 they could overnight it. It would be at our house before Friday at 7.

Let me get this straight. YOUR equipment is defective and I have to pay for it?

Yes ma'am. You're not in the program and the modem is 3 years old. No longer under warranty.

I don't know if it was my hesitation, or if I cleared my throat, or just what, but suddenly we WERE enrolled in the program and they would be HAPPY to send out a replacement.

I'm no longer in panic mode and pretty sure I could survive a day or so with no Internet. Thursdays are very busy in my world anyway. And FedEx is usually here early in the day.

I could do this!

The next day I used my work computer to post on Facebook that I was down and would be out of commission for a while. I couldn't, however, tell all my Words with Friends players. Oh well, they'd figure it out.

Friday comes. I checked with Billy probably 3 times during the day. Is the modem here yet? No was always the response.

I wait. I'm like a kid waiting for Santa Claus. It's now 7. 7:30. Maybe he's just running late. Might have had a flat tire or something. 8. 8:30.

I go to bed dejected.

Saturday morning. Still nothing. I call AT&T. Kevin looks up the order. There is it. The UPS tracking number is this.

And it's still on the truck.

UPS doesn't deliver on Saturdays.

The website shows a delivery date of 10/25. What happened to the overnight I ask?

Apparently, they would overnight it when I was paying for it. When they were paying for it, that option came off the table.

So, I had a room full of "toys" that have limited use without the Internet. Billy and I had to drive around with a laptop all weekend looking for free WiFi if we needed to do something on the Internet. I did, almost, breakdown and see if I could still figure out how to do dial up.

Monday night I was back to "normal" and quite happy about it.

But I learned some lessons.

Last Thursday and Friday I got up and walked both mornings when I normally would have been sitting at my keyboard - emailing or Facebooking or reading the newspaper online. I studied over the weekend since I couldn't do any of those other things. We cleaned out a few things in the house since Billy had the pack rat's full attention.

But I also realized how truly dependent we are for some things. We had a list of stuff we needed to order that didn't get done until Monday. Natchez is a small town and we can't always find things we need here. Especially things that help Riley. Or ordering the supplies that Billy needs for his work. Those all come from California and I usually take care of that stuff by email because of the time difference. I was up late Monday trying to get that list taken care of so things could start shipping on Tuesday morning.

I know what you're all thinking - couldn't you just call them or email them from work? Well sure. Except I'm at work to work. And while I do check emails some during the day, I don't spend time ordering things and that kind of stuff. I'm paid to do a job and my time gets billed to my clients and they need to be billed honestly. My nonchargeable time is scrutinized to find out why I'm not billing. And I'm really very busy so often I look up and its time for lunch or past time to go home and I'm late again.

I do remember having more "free" time before I got all plugged in. But I missed my contact with my friends, even if only electronically. One of my Words with Friends opponents is now a Facebook friend. She became concerned when I wasn't playing and reached out. So, some good came of it.

So, what did I learn?

Yesterday, I walked in the morning instead of sitting here. I'm trying to remember to schedule the time away from here and do the things that need to be done. Like studying or making cakes or cleaning up or whatever.

Because the world didn't end when I wasn't 100% connected to it. I'm pretty sure most all of you will still be there when I get back online.

Because in your house it is still 2010.

My Purple Dress

To all who think I'm sharing too much information in this post, please accept my apologies up front.

Today is the Purple Dress Run. It is a "run" to raise awareness and funds for Domestic Violence. October is Domestic Violence Month - along with Breast Cancer Month. All about the girls.

I put the word run in quotes because after I signed up and paid my registration fee I discovered it was not a true run but really a pub crawl. Just like the Red Dress Run in New Orleans. Now, I enjoy a glass of wine and the occasional cocktail, but 7 bars in 2 hours is really not me. I'm not THAT big of a drinker.

But I will do what I can. I will participate.

And here is why.

I know I one of the lucky ones. I get to help. I'm not one of the ones needing the help.

Our battered women's shelter is at the end of my street. It sits on the cross street, facing my street. I see it every day as I pull away from the curb. I pass it on the way to some clients. It is ever present in my environment. But I rarely see the residents. They are sheltered - behind the brick walls and locked doors. From those that have, and would continue, do them harm.

Not long after Billy and I started dating we had one of those talks that couples have when things start to "get serious". Basically, I laid out my two ground rules - never hit me, don't cheat on me. Sounded simple enough. I felt like we could work through anything else. Billy agreed.

Months passed and we got married. Anyone who thinks the first year of marriage is a cake walk has never been married. It's tough. Constant adjustments and compromises. I can't tell you what led to a heated conversation one afternoon, but I can tell you how it ended.

I have a bit of a temper. A very long fuse, but once it goes, it's gone. I was so angry this time that I walked up and shoved Billy. Now, Billy is 15 inches taller and about 90 pounds heavier than I. I did no damage, nor was he ever in any danger from me. But he looked at me. Solemn as a church mouse. Not angry, just serious. His response "I told you I'd never hit a girl, but if you want to cross the line and act like a man, I will treat you like a man."

That stopped me in my tracks.

I had crossed the line.

We've never raised a hand in anger to each other again.

Now, some will say I chose well. I like to think that Billy was chosen for me, I just listened. The path we took to each other contained a lot of steps that were not usual along our everyday paths.

I know I'm blessed. I was raised in a household that let me know that I was loved, and worthy of being loved. I saw the example my daddy set on how to treat his wife and was told on more than one occasion that if a man didn't set me on a pedestal, he wasn't worth keeping. I knew that, as wonderful as Billy makes my life, I'd still have a good life without a man in it. A good man was a compliment to my life, not the completer.

I've never worn sunglasses or heavy makeup to work to hide a black eye. Never worn long sleeves in the summer to cover a bruise. Haven't had to lie to my friends, family and co-workers.

Nor have I lay in bed at night, praying my husband wouldn't come home. Worried that the house wasn't clean enough, or that supper would be late.

We all walk on eggshells sometimes because a loved one is in a bad mood, or sensitive, or whatever. But I've not feared that something I said or did might cost me my life.

A lot of folks in town weren't happy to discover the "run" was a pub crawl. They felt like alcohol is at the root of abuse and the organizers were being disrespectful to mix the two together. One young lady that helped put this whole thing together was, herself, a victim of abuse. Her response to the detractors - her ex was just as abusive sober as drunk.

You see, it was in his makeup, not a reaction to his circumstances or situation. Sometimes mean people are just mean. Doesn't matter.

So, while this event might not be what I initially thought it was, I will do what I can to help. Because I know how to count my blessings. They start with Billy and work their way down from there.

And I'm a believer in Karma. What goes around, comes around. I pray I never need the services of a battered women's shelter. I honestly believe I never will. That doesn't, however, mean I won't need some other type of help. And I hope the people and funding necessary are there when I do.

I don't have to see the women in the shelter or even know their names to want to help them.

That's what being a good neighbor is all about.

Isn't it?


Post Script: After arriving I determined that I was overdressed for the occasion and let the run go without me. I saw them off, cheering them all, and then came home. The registration fee was contribution enough. Next year, I'll volunteer to help but the "running" is best left to the professionals.

And the Circle Continues

I have very vivid memories of growing up with my Uncle Billy. We spent a lot of time on the farm during the summers or holidays and he never acted like he minded hanging out with us.

There are lots of good times that I could share - watching Star Trek and such - but there is one thing in particular that has always stood out to me.

When I was a child, I was an indoor child. Reading, board games, reading, needlework, reading. You get the picture. Someone gave me Scrabble for Juniors for some occasion. Most likely my birthday.

Uncle Billy agreed to play a game with me. I don't believe he had married yet so I was under the age of 10. It shouldn't come as any surprise to anyone that I read all the rules first before playing.

One of the rules stated that brand names were unacceptable words. So, when Uncle Billy played "arid" I protested! My limited vocabulary only knew "arid" as "Arrid", as in the antiperspirant. He patiently explained to me the definition of the word he played - dry, like a desert. Knowing me, I probably verified that with the dictionary.

But I've never forgotten that word. Nor how I learned it.

I love being an aunt. It is my favorite role, after being a wife.

I posted on my Facebook page that I was addicted to "Words with Friends" - an electronic Scrabble game. (I'm playing people from all over the United States, and the world. I have opponents in Australia and the United Kingdom.)

Clay, my 15 year old nephew, "liked" it.

And then he added his screen name and told me to send him a game invitation.

Maybe that's not all that cool to anyone else, but my heart soared! I love that the guys (17 and 15) will even acknowledge their old aunt, much less want to do things with me.

So, tonight, Clay and I are playing Scrabble. No, it isn't the same as sitting across the table from one another. And I may not teach him any new words. I may be more afraid of him teaching me some. But it is still nice.

Nice that technology has afforded me a means to play without making a 9 hour drive.
Nice that I may be able to make some memories with him. If not tonight, then on a future game.

And there will be future games.

Win or lose, I hit the rematch button.

Look out spankyD567!

A "Civil" War

I know the term Civil War only means that we fought ourselves. Because there is nothing "civil" about brothers fighting brothers, fathers against sons, neighbors meeting neighbors on a bloody battlefield.

Nothing.

People will always debate the causes of the War Between the States. The perspective is different based on where you live. There isn't even always consistency with what it's called. Around here, I hear The War of Northern Aggression. As I learned on my trip to Gettysburg this summer, some folks further north of here call it the War of Southern Rebellion.

As I've said before, perspective is everything.

What I don't think can be debated is the initial start of the war - regardless of what face was later put on it. The War was started because South Carolina asked a question.

Could they ignore a federal law that they believed was not in their best interest?

Now, remember, our nation was still young at this time. Actually less than 100 years old. A baby by most countries' standards.

Even though we declared our independence in 1776, there was a war to fight after that. And when we defeated the British, we were basically 13 states independent of England and each other. Each state functioned as an independent entity for many years. They printed their own money. Made their own laws. Operated themselves. The United States were not yet united.

The United States' Constitution was not written until 1787 and not ratified by the Continental Congress until 1789. So, when South Carolina asked their question, the nation itself was only about 70 years old.

Most all of Europe was centuries older than that.

South Carolina was told no. Federal laws were federal laws and that was that. They fired the first shot on Fort Sumter in retaliation. They launched an attack on the Union.

One of the most interesting things about my bus trip this summer was all the neat people we met from all over the country. The morning after our night in Gettysburg, one lady from California - whom I particularly liked - wanted to talk about the Civil War. She understood the South's having something for which they would fight - their culture, their livelihood, their whole way of life. But she didn't understand why the North would fight it. Why did they care enough to have a war? What effect did it have on them?

Well I researched and learned something. Part of the Presidential Oath taken by each inaugurated president is to preserve the Union.

And that is what President Lincoln was trying to head off - the succession of the South which would destroy the Union.

The topic could have been any topic. It happened to be revolving around slavery but it could have just as easily have been shipping routes or the common currency or anything else. South Carolina and the other Southern states could not be allowed to form their own nation.

Why, you're asking, am I talking about this now? Does it not sound familiar? The difference now is the topic.

Immigration.

Arizona has passed its own laws in response to a massive illegal immigration problem because the federal laws are not getting the job done. The federal government's response - you can't do that.

While I don't want to think it could happen, I can see the groundwork for another civil war. There are tons of states that support Arizona and their stand. Many have similar laws but, for whatever reason, have not drawn the same attention.

My question is this - why does the federal government care? Is it just to preserve the Union? If a state has a problem and they think their solution is better than the current conditions, why shouldn't they be allowed to implement it? Would not the Union be better preserved if each state could do whatever they felt best for their own citizens? Especially if the idea at the center of the controversy is supported by the majority of its citizens. Maybe it's just ego. Maybe it's a control issue.

No, I don't think an actual war will break out. But I can see how it did 140 years ago.

The answer to my question, I don't know. I don't know why the federal government cares enough to try and stop Arizona from enforcing their citizens' desire to stem the tide of illegal immigrants. I don't know why they've taken such a strong stance. If the problem was merely some wording, as has been alluded, then sit down and have a conversation. Don't send in troops of lawyers waving reams of paper, filing lawsuits faster than the court clerks can type.

I think it is a shame that it ever got that far. One of the purposes of the federal government is to protect her people. The government, and this goes way back - not just the current Administration, has not done that. Then why stand in the way of those who think they can? Men and women are dying daily on our border because of the problems and the inability of the federal government to fix them.

Yet they want to inhibit anyone from trying anything else.

Go figure.

Parlez-Vous Anglais?

I know this is old news, but it still bothers me.

There was a news story recently that a county - and I don't remember where - was looking at spending a lot of money to print their upcoming election ballots in Spanish for their non-English speaking CITIZENS.

Let me say that again.

Their non-English speaking CITIZENS.

CITIZENS.

Who are these citizens of the United States that don't speak English?

It was reported that the U.S. Constitution does not require that its citizens speak English. To my mind, it should be a no-brainer. If you are a citizen of this country, speaking the official language should be assumed automatically. No one should have to tell you that it is required. If I defected to Italy I wouldn't expect the citizenship test to be in English.

If you are born in this country, you are a citizen. You will also go through 10 to 12 years in one or more of our school districts. English is a standard subject in schools. While you may not be extremely proficient, dependent on your abilities, you should reach voting age able to speak and read English.

If you immigrate legally to this county and decide to become a naturalized citizen you will have to take a test to obtain citizenship. Now, I have been unable to confirm this but I would think the test is printed in English.

If it isn't, then I have a whole other topic to blog about.

But I believe that is it. It may be very rudimentary English, but it is in English.

So my question is this - who are these non-English speaking citizens?

I understand their English may not be perfect. A recent People Magazine article with Elin Woods (now Nordegren) stated that she would write the answers to the interviewer's questions because she didn't trust her spoken English. I know lots of people that immigrated to this country who speak with their native accents and so forth.

Fine. We don't speak when we vote. We read and select.

And a lot of times we're only reading names. Names translate fairly well in most languages.

OK, let's say I'm being too harsh and we should have multi-lingual ballots. (The news report did say that the Constitution does require some to be available). Shouldn't we then make sure that we have ALL possible languages? Why not print them not only in Spanish, but Vietnamese, French, German, Italian, Hebrew, Farsi, Chinese, Korean, and so on and so on?

Maybe I'm callous, but it sounds like someone is this county was looking to commit, or at least condone, voter fraud.

Which is a shame. The right to vote is one of the most invaluable rights we have. We have a say in our government. In our leadership. In the laws and consequences of our country.

Any fraud in that process should not be tolerated.

We have a privilege that all citizens in other countries don't have. It should not be taken lightly. Nor should the process be tainted. The right to vote, and exercising that right, is critical to the success of our great nation.

But it can only be exercised, and exercised once per person, by those persons who have earned that right.

I'm all for making the voting process fair and equitable. No one should feel intimated at the polls. No one should be afraid of not understanding the issues and persons on the ballot. But no one should be allowed to vote that hasn't earned that right.

A voice in our government is a reward of citizenship. To paraphrase an ad campaign - membership has its privileges.

And Her Name Was Katrina

I think about Hurricane Katrina this time every year. Sometimes even more often when we travel to New Orleans. With all the talk of this year being the 5th anniversary, I thought I would share our story.

2005 was the first year that my mother-in-law came to puppysit during our annual New York vacation to the US Open. The previous two years, after moving to Natchez, we had taken our then much smaller family to a "bed and biscuit" right in the heart of New Orleans on Magazine Street. But in 2005 our family included a 16 year old Pomeranian, a 9 year old Lab and three puppies under a year and half old. The population explosion had begun. I called our usual place only to discover the owner had closed up and moved elsewhere. I didn't really like the place she'd gone to and even though she offered to keep our Pom at her home we just decided to keep everyone at home and see if Billy's mom would come.

The Hand of Providence guided that decision for sure.

Since it was Margaret's first time and there was much to learn, she was already at our house on Friday night when I returned from a seminar in Jackson. We typically drove the two and half hours to New Orleans on Saturday for an early flight out on Sunday mornings. Her Friday arrival also turned out to be a good thing. Billy and I were still new to living in "hurricane country" so we hadn't been watching television much and when my friends came over Saturday morning to meet Margaret (Brenda and Mike were going to help her with anything if she needed them) they couldn't believe that we weren't packed up and heading out the door. Didn't we know a hurricane was coming?

Mmmm. Hadn't really thought about that.

We finished going through everything and left just after lunch. We thought we had planned it all just right. While there are two routes from Natchez to New Orleans, we went through Baton Rouge that time. The interstate between the two cities is fairly straight and flat and I'll never forget the sight of approaching the causeway and starting to see three full lanes of traffic coming towards us.

We were almost alone on our side.

We got into town and checked into our hotel and turned on the television. The mayor, whom I truly liked at this point, was on and telling the citizens to get out. To leave however they could but not try and ride this one out. As a part of this plan to help everyone get out of the city he informed the city that the interstate out would be in contraflow - meaning no one else would be getting into the city. All roads would be leading out.

Had we been even 30 minutes later in our schedule we would never had made it.

Still fairly clueless to the severity of the whole thing, we went looking for dinner. Person has to eat, right? We drove up and down the main roads out by the airport only to see "closed" signs and boarded up establishments.

We finally found a Chinese buffet that was going to be closing within the hour but we were welcome to grab a table in the meantime. It wasn't exactly what we had planned, but it was good.

While watching the news that night I did, finally, come to the realization that this might be bad and maybe we had better get to the airport a little early. Just in case it was raining and there were delays.

For those that don't know me, I HATE to get the airport any earlier than is absolutely necessary. Prior to September 11, 2001 I was one of those people that pulled up the airport, checked in and walked onto the plane without ever stopping. I traveled a lot with my job and I hated wasting time at the airport. Especially those 6:30 AM flights to Dallas on Monday mornings. No need to get there any earlier than 6 or 6:10. Even now, I can time it to get there about an hour before a flight, but not much.

But that Sunday morning we arrived very early. Still pitch dark outside. I don't remember what time the flight was scheduled for, but we were there in plenty of time.

Or so I thought.

Every parking space was full. We circled the short term lot, the full term lot, and the employee parking lot. We found one space in the employee section. The last one. I didn't care at this point. We had a plane to catch and I was starting to clue in that maybe the situation was worse than I gave it credit.

Once parked and inside the terminal I was stunned. I had never seen that many people in my entire life. Security lines stretched the length of the terminal - in both directions. People were huddled in front of the boards looking at departure times - trying to find a way out, to anywhere. Children clutching stuffed animals and blankets, barely awake, holding onto their parents' legs.

A little anxiety is starting to creep into my world. Didn't these people know I had a vacation to get to? That I had planned and booked my flights months ago and I wasn't pleased that they were clogging the lines.

To the airline personnel's credit, they were all calm. They kept the lines moving as best they could. They pulled people out of the security line that had flights readying to board but they were also reassuring everyone that they would get out. Planes were delayed but that was so that they could be full and so that everyone would get out of New Orleans. Planes would be leaving as long as they could.

Mmmmmmm. Maybe this whole hurricane thing was something to which I should have been paying attention.

We boarded, and left. A little late but we were airborne and vacation had begun.

I didn't think about anything else the rest of the day. We just enjoyed ourselves.

Monday morning. My cell phone rings. It's work. I got a little concerned, but it isn't unusual for me to get work calls even on vacation. Usually about nothing that is overly important. But my coworkers were keeping an eye on my mother-in-law and I was afraid that maybe something had happened at home.

Never really, honestly, thought about a hurricane traveling a couple hundred miles inland so that wasn't on my mind.

It wasn't a problem at work or home. One of my co-worker's husband works offshore and the storm had turned suddenly and the rig was in the direct path. They hadn't been able to move it. There was no communication with the rig so no one knew if they were OK or not. I'm starting to get the bigger picture here. I reminded my boss that my mother-in-law was at our house with no means of knowing what all was going on with the storm in our area so if there was anything she needed to know would someone there please make sure she knew it. He assured me they would take care of her.

A few hours later another phone call. From home this time. The power is out. Had been out for a few hours.

Katrina had hit, and hit with a viciousness.

I started trying to call friends. All circuits were busy. Cell phones and land lines were out. I could, finally, get a few text messages through. It was bad. The whole city was dark. Trees were down all over. Roads in and out were impassable. Hotels and shelters were full. Store shelves were empty. Gas stations were drained. Neither had any hope of being refilled. I had a hard time convincing my sister-in-law that her mom was safe, being watched over, and would be fine. That she would be doing more harm than good by trying to get down there. Mostly likely she wouldn't make it and, if she did, they might not be able to get back out. Brenda and Mike had offered their RV for Margaret and our Christy if needed. It was air conditioned and they were welcomed to it if necessary.

Tuesday, we got the call that our power had been restored, mostly. Margaret said that it came on roughly 24 hours after it had gone out. It had blinked a few times after that, but it was mostly on. I felt better.

Until I watched the news that night. The pictures coming out of New Orleans and the Mississippi Gulf Coast were devastating. There is no other word that really covers it. Horrific, yes. Inhumane, yes. Many adjectives come to mind, but devastating is pretty all-encompassing.

The next phone call was from JetBlue. Our flight home was canceled. New Orleans International Airport was closed - indefinitely. OK. What did they suggest as an alternative? Silence on the other end. The customer service rep started typing into her computer. Here we go, she said. We can get you to Orlando.

Orlando.

With as much politeness as I could muster I pointed out that, geographically, Orlando was on the wrong side. All my information indicated that the lower Gulf Coast was closed and the interstate was gone. There was no way we could get from Orlando to Natchez. What did they have west of the Mississippi? More silence. JetBlue, at least at that time, didn't service any airports west of the Mississippi. (Even now there are only 15 stops, and most of them in California. But there are, now, two in Texas. There weren't then.) In a very quiet voice, the young lady on the other end of the phone replied to my question of "how are we going to get home?" with "I have no idea. Good luck."

Ordinarily, I wouldn't mind being stranded in New York. Matter of fact, I might relish it under ordinary circumstances. These weren't ordinary circumstances. I spent all day Wednesday on the phone trying to reroute us to Baton Rouge, which had been hit hard but at least the airport was still operational, and trying to find a rental car. It took a while, but I did it.

We tried to enjoy the last couple of days of our trip. There was nothing we could do for anyone back home, and could barely get home if we wanted to. We'd gotten word that the offshore oil rig employees were all safe, if a little seasick, so felt like we could enjoy ourselves some.

Saturday morning came and it was time to go home. Much to my, honest, surprise the New Orleans airport still wasn't open. Now, I'd figured that flights would not be going in and out but it didn't occur to me that the airport would be closed.

Of course, the city itself was closed and people were living in the airport so my naivete' was showing.

Our rerouted flight home included a stop in Houston before making the last leg to Baton Rouge. I remember looking out the window and thinking we'd made a wrong turn and landed in Baghdad. We were surrounded on the tarmac by military cargo planes, loaded with supplies for the Coast and New Orleans. Our plane was almost completely silent. There were simply no words to describe what we were seeing and many of the passengers, like us, were trying to get home and see the damage for themselves. Some didn't know if they could get home or if they even had a home to go to. We at least knew that our family and our home were safe and still standing.

But we did still have a problem. My car. Now, that may not seem like a big problem to some of you, but it was an issue. Billy had to take his mom back to Arkansas and work. We didn't know when he'd be back. And the news was full of stories of New Orleans being looted and vandalized so you had to wonder if there would still be a car to pick up if we left it there. No one could even begin to predict when the airport would reopen. I had to have transportation and a rental car for an indefinite time period, given the supply and demand for them, was an expensive prospect.

So we discussed it. We didn't actually make a decision until we left the Baton Rouge Airport. We headed east. We were going to see if we could get my car out of there.

It's dark now. We hadn't been able to leave as early as we normally did but we had limited options. We were driving those 60 miles towards New Orleans. Same as we had the week before only this time the lanes coming towards us were empty. No cars where it had been bumper to bumper 6 days previously.

We got close to the Causeway but were met by a wall of flashing blue lights. Police cars crossed I-10 and no one was getting through. Everyone exited at LaPlace. Some people would have turned around at this point, but not us. Oh, no. We had a car to retrieve and we weren't giving up that easily.

We took old roads. We took back roads. We turned and twisted and doubled back and did all kinds of things that I can no longer remember. Suddenly, we found ourselves on I-310 headed south towards Houma. Houma had pretty much been wiped off the map so going that way was not going to get us far.

I crossed the median and turned around. Exits for the airport were in sight! We'd made it!

As Lee Corso would say, not so fast my friend!

A state trooper was sitting on the side of the road at the exit. But he wasn't blocking it so I kept going. Blue lights appeared in my rearview mirror. I stopped. The officer walked to the passenger side and Billy rolled down his window. I just sat there. Sometimes it is best to let the man do the talking.

Billy explained our situation. Officer didn't really care. The city was closed. The airport was closed. We needed to move along. I'm thinking about all the hours we'd spent getting there only to be stopped with the destination in sight. Billy kept talking to the officer. He just kept telling us bad things were. We'd seen the news. We knew. Finally, the officer relented. He looked at Billy, looked at me, then back at Billy. He said it was a bad idea and he was advising against it, but he wasn't going to stop us.

Billy thanked him and off we went.

Blackness was all we saw. Complete and utter darkness.

Billy started with the phrase I'd hear many more times before the night was over - don't stop this car for anything.

We saw the exit for the airport. Don't stop this car for anything.

We pulled closer. For the first time I thought about the electronic arms where you take the ticket and pay the cashier. Don't stop this car for anything. What would we do if they were down? Don't stop this car for anything. My heart is beating faster. Don't stop this car for anything.

Billy told me to pull up as close to the back of my car as I could when we got there, stop only long enough for him to get out and then take off. Don't stop this car for anything.

I wasn't running red lights, because there were none. There were no traffic lights, no street lights, no lights of any kind. I see the parking garage. The arm was up! I was glad we had parked in the employee lot. It was on the ground floor. I pulled up to the first row. Terrified that someone might step out from between the cars. Don't stop this car for anything. Billy had his keys in his hand. Get back to the Baton Rouge Airport as quickly as possible after he got out, he instructed. I see the car. It looks undamaged. I see no one else in the garage. Don't stop this car for anything. I pull up to my trunk. Billy bolts, hitting the remote to unlock the car door. He's in. The engine turns over. I hear it. I see the reverse lights. I pull off.

I don't need him to tell me not to stop the car. I can hear him saying it my head. My voice has joined in repeating the mantra. I get to the exit. This arm is down. I turn and circle the lot. Billy is right behind me. Close behind me. I turn and go out the entrance. I head back to the interstate. I've never seen it so dark. I'm driving quickly. The airport isn't exactly in the best part of town and I'm scared. But I'm not stopping. There's no reason to. I get on the interstate and head west. I see the police cars crossing the interstate but they're on the other side. Nothing is in our way. I'm not stopping for anything.

We cover the 60 miles back to Baton Rouge a lot more quickly than we should have. Driving with fear and adrenaline. My heart was pounding in my ears. It is now after 10 PM and we're still nervous about the Baton Rouge Airport. It doesn't do much business that time of night. The parking garage was a prime place for anything to happen. We park in the rental car lot, transfer the bags to my car with surprising efficiency and turn the keys in. The rental car counter looked at us with surprise but I think they were glad to get the car back so they could re-rent it. The line waiting for a car was long.

The journey wasn't over, though. We had completed our mission, but we had no idea if we could actually get home. Highway 61 is two lanes for a great deal of it and there are several small towns along the way. Could we get through? Was it passable?

It was after midnight when we pulled up at home. Exhausted. But home, safe and sound.

Several weeks later I had to fly to Atlanta. The trip had been booked months before and I was to fly out of New Orleans. The airport opened a couple of weeks before my flight, but you sure couldn't tell it. When Billy dropped me off he questioned as to whether or not I had actually verified the flight. The airport was deserted. Quiet. The complete opposite of a mere few weeks before.

There had been no changes so I went in. Checked in and got through security in minutes. I called Billy's cell phone to tell him I was in and at the gate. He'd barely gotten off the airport property. I pretty much had the place to myself.

As is part of my normal routine when I fly, I visited the ladies room first. I was struck by the knowledge that people had been living in there only weeks before. Living in the bathroom. Living in those gates and hallways where I was about to go sit and wait until the plane was ready to board.

It still happens to me - every time I go to the airport. I see the police blocking the interstate. I see the darkness. My heart pounds. I see the road that was our only way in. I envision the people camped out in the hallways.

Some folks will say we took foolish measures to retrieve an object. An object that could be replaced. But that night it was all we could focus on. Maybe it was the need to feel complete, or in control of a situation where we'd had none all week. Maybe it was just the urge to put New Orleans in our rear view mirror and not have to worry about it again for a long time which we couldn't have done if our car was still there.

At home, everything was normal. Puppies waiting on us to lick our faces. A happy mother-in-law, for a lot of reasons. There was laundry to do. Order to restore. And a good night's sleep was top of the list.

It was a bad storm. So bad that people still talk about it. It left lasting effects on us, the country, the city, and all her citizens.

And her name was Katrina.

The Forgotten

I thought about saving this post until Veteran's Day, but changed my mind. We shouldn't wait for a special day to remember.

One of the most moving moments from our Patriots of America Tour last month came for me on Friday morning. We drove around Washington DC looking at monuments but we stopped at the war memorials.

The World War II monument was large, opulent, and impressive. All the states and territories are represented - and all 48 states (at the time) and 6 territories (including Alaska and Hawaii) sent troops. Arches with Atlantic and Pacific on them remind visitors that we fought on both sides of the world. It truly was a sight to see.




The Vietnam Memorial was quiet and solemn. The long, low, black wall covered with names.

The bronze statue of the female soldiers tending the wounded.

The statue of the men that was added later. Made you really wonder why it took so long to come to reality. There should never had been a delay to honor any of our fallen.

But the most moving to me was the Korean War Memorial. Let's face it, if not for the television show M*A*S*H most in my generation might not even know about it. I honestly don't remember learning much about it in school, if anything. It is called the Forgotten War. Yet the memorial is literally life sized and incredibly symbolic. There are 19 statues of soldiers in the space.



They reflect off a marble wall. That reflection causes you to see 38 "people" which is to remind us that we helped stop the spread of Communism at the 38Th parallel. The marble wall has not only names but faces etched in it. Real people who died for the bigger world view. It really almost brought me to tears.

I've posted the video below that I took. I tried to do videos at a lot of the stops just so I could capture all that our guides were telling us without having to rely on my over-40 memory, which isn't what it used to be. If you watch it, be kind. Remember that I wasn't trying to narrate a documentary, nor did I use my most professional, devoid of Southerness stage voice. It's just me talking.

World's Apart

We are all women of about the same age.

We have all lived in Arkansas.

We're all married, and have been for a long time.

I think this is where the similarities end between me, a high school friend, and Michelle Duggar.

You know her - the mom of 19. She and her husband have said they would even welcome more.

Now, before I get started let me set the stage. While I may disagree with their choice, I'm not here to bash it. This is a married couple making a decision that married couples make and they aren't taking any money from the government to support their family. With no taxpayer dollars involved, this taxpayer doesn't believe she should get a vote.

No, I'm just thinking tonight about the contrasts.

Forty years ago, if you saw a family with 19 children you had one thought, and one thought only - they're Catholic.

Let's face it, no self-respecting Methodist or Baptist family was going to have 19 children. It just didn't happen. It wasn't socially accepted.

But there were families that had children numbering into the teens. Depending on the size of your town, there was most likely more than one.

I can't imagine having even one child. I certainly can't imagine having a child at my age.

Forty years ago, Billy and I would have been the couple that people clucked their tongues at behind our backs and felt sorry for us. Poor, childless couple. Now, I know lots of couples that have been married for 20 years or more and have made the choice, as we have, to be child-free.

I also have a friend that has been married for 15 or 16 years, my age, that had her dreams of adoption come true - twice. In less than a year. They had been on a list for almost 5 years to adopt a little girl from China. That was done after working through the American system since almost the day they were married with only one partial success (they had a little girl placed with them then the mother recanted the adoption). While they were waiting for China an opportunity for a local, private adoption presented itself. They brought home their beautiful son last year. There were fears that it would jeopardize their Chinese adoption due to some timing restrictions the Chinese government imposed, but it all worked out and their daughter joined them earlier this year.

Less than a year after her brother. Instant family of four.

Better her than me! Of course, she's been on Cloud Nine for a long time. I'd be perched on the edge of the Mississippi River Bridge.

Three women.

Same age.

Very different situations.

Fortunately for all of us, society has changed since we were little girls. We can grow up to have whatever kind of family we choose. We can hold whatever types of jobs for which we're qualified.

No restrictions, or at least not near as many.

So, while I may not agree with a lot of societal changes (I'm still considered quite old-fashioned in many circles), I am glad for this one. That families can be accepted in any size.

I have mentioned before how different things are just in my own family. I reflected on my 40th birthday that my grandmother had baby less than a year old and a 7 year old when she was 40. My mother at age 40 had a junior in college.

I was still free.

I guess my message here is one of acceptance. We don't have to agree with someone else's choices always to be tolerant of them. We aren't forced to like how other people live their lives, but it is their life.

And their choice.

They may disagree with you. I'm certain the Duggars would be absolutely convinced that Billy and I were missing out on something. But in today's world, when there really are so many things that we really do need to care about and try to make better, this is one area where I think we can back off.

After all, who and what defines a family? A family, to me, is a collection of people that are connected - sometimes by birth, sometimes by circumstance - that care for and about one another.

Some are just bigger than others.

The Amish Experience

Day Three of our trip took us from Philadelphia to Gettysburg. Through Pennsylvania Dutch country with a stop in Lancaster County.

What a stop! We had lunch in traditional Amish fashion. Toured a standard, albeit smaller, Amish house and school and saw a film called "Jacob's Choice". All were wonderful, but I want to share what I learned. Hopefully I'm recalling it all correctly.

In the Amish culture, you are not truly considered "Amish" until you are baptized in the faith. Your baptism cannot occur before age 16.

At age 16 the youth in the community are given the opportunity for "rumspringa" - a period of adolescence. (My research indicates that not all Amish sects offer this choice but many do). During this time the teens are able to live as the "English" (non-Amish) do. They wear, if they want, clothes like you and me. They drive cars, play sports, use computers, go to movies, watch television, and so forth. After a period of time they make a choice. They can continue living this lifestyle, or they can be baptized in the Amish faith and live in their community.

I think it is so totally cool, on a lot of levels, that they can make this choice for themselves.

The Amish want those that live in their community to truly WANT to be there. They want their members to know what else is out there, experience it, and then choose where they want to stay. They want their members to be fully aware of what they are giving up. Then, there's no regrets. It's an informed decision they are making.

A couple getting married in this faith know that their future spouse has the same commitment to faith, family, community that they themselves do.

So many of us grow up following our family traditions and beliefs without really knowing why. We're Methodist or Baptists or whatever because that is what we've always been. And there is certainly nothing wrong with that but there is also nothing wrong with asking questions, learning, exploring and expanding and then making an informed choice on our own.

I've thought about this for a very long time, but more so in the last several days. Especially after the newspaper coverage of Chelsea Clinton's wedding. She was raised a Methodist and married a man of the Jewish faith. A conservative Jew I think he was called. USA Today went on to show that over the last couple of decades there has been a rise in mixed-faith marriages and had a long article on how couples make this work.

Not to anger anyone, but this one area that I have considered quite a bit. Faith and religion are important factors in a marriage and raising a family. I was raised Protestant. I married a Catholic. This was fine to me because the core of both faiths were similar. We both believe in God and that Jesus is his Son and the Messiah.

I knew a woman years ago that was Protestant and married a Jewish man. I'm pretty sure she later converted to Judaism. I remember thinking that was a big leap for me. One of believing the Messiah had come and we're waiting for the return visit to one of Jesus was a prophet and we're still waiting for The One.

Of course, it is none of my business. As long as she studied and researched and reached that conclusion on her own then so be it.

I actually applaud faiths that do require some study and thought before you're allowed to belong. If you don't really understand the basis of a religion then how do you know you can follow it? I don't want to proclaim myself to be a follower and then live my life in a contradictory manner. Or to think I can pick and choose the pieces of a faith that I like and just ignore the rest. Some of you are thinking "but nothing is perfect and no religion is going to meet all our needs. We have to go with the one that we agree with the majority of the principles."

Your choice.

And now I've gotten off on a long tangent. But my point is not lost, I hope. To be an Amish you have to choose to want to be Amish and you make that desicion with all the facts in front of you.

Other things I learned - the Amish do not "hate" technology. Their view is that technology can fine as long as you control it and not vice versa. Most of us in today's world can't say that we're not controlled by technology - cell phones, computers, email, faxes, planning our evenings around the TV Guide. If there is a need, the Amish bishop can permit the technology. One example was a young girl who needed a respirator. One outlet was added to the home and wired for electricity. She wasn't going to be allowed to die just because electricity is a no-no. But they found the way to control the addition of technology, not the other way around. Also, they don't like to have their picture taken. Consider it be like a graven image, which is prohibited by the Big Ten (Commandments). I only wish I could have taken a picture of the two youngs boys we bought painted horsehoes from. I don't know that I've ever seen eyes that blue!

The Amish don't need much. They care for each other. Their sense of community is unlike anything else that exists. They each know if they have a need it will be met. And met by those from within. No dependence on a big government for things they can do themselves. The "English" in the surrounding communities also know that the Amish willingness to help and be good neighbors extends beyond their own borders.

So, our trip was both fun and educational. As it was meant to be. Maybe we could all learn some lessons about good honest living from the Plain People - their term, not my assessment.

And for those that are wondering, our guide told us that 95% return to the Amish faith after rumspringa. Makes you think a little, doesn't it? I wonder how many would return to our lifestyle if we spent a few years living as the Amish do?

Edited Version

Everyone - the emailed version of Patriots of America was not the final one. I had several problems last night with the blog.

First, we didn't tell anyone that Andrea wasn't invited. It was a joke between Brett and me. It never left us. I didn't type it right the first time and though I deleted it several times, it still made the final. My apologies.

Second, the book is "Founding Brothers".

Third, Gilliam got us everywhere, not everyone.

The proper version of the blog is posted. The recorded version will be correct.

Technology.

Sorry, again.

Patriots of America - Part 1

After last week, I have much to share so I am anticipating a two-parter on this one.

My mom, my niece Brett and I all took a trip together last week. It was a structured motor coach tour aimed for school children in the summer.



There were 28 of us all together. Mostly grandparents with grandchildren. One other family had 3 generations - one grandfather, his daughter, her daughter and a grandson from one of his other children. There was one couple with their son.

We were the only family with our particular combination.

History is just more my thing and Mom thought it would be good for me to go.

Brett and I had a ball together! Such a wonderful opportunity for some quality one-on-one time that we don't have very often.



The tour covered a lot of areas. We started in Philadelphia and saw the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, Betsy Ross' house, and the Constitution Center.

Even met Ben Franklin!



The tour continued down through the Pennsylvania Dutch country to Gettysburg then on to Colonial Williamsburg, Mt. Vernon and finally Washington, D.C.

The tour company had a suggested reading list. I bought the set but, let's face it folks, I've been a little busy so I didn't get to read them before I left.

After the trip, I'm now starting on "Founding Brothers".

It was really awe-inspiring to be standing in Independence Hall and think that you had just crossed the same threshold that George Washington, Ben Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, John Hancock, all those men, had also crossed.

Gave me chills, actually.

These were not just names in a book anymore. They were coming to life!


On Wednesday we heard "Patrick Henry" at Williamsburg. The gentleman portraying him was incredible. It was like we were hearing him in real time.

And he didn't do the whole "Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death" speech, though he did discuss it when asked. His words to the crowd there were as they would have been 150 years ago when the Constitution was being written. You really got a sense of how thoughtful our Founding Fathers were and how seriously they took the task at hand.

They only knew what type of government they didn't want. They had no real foundation or example for what they were trying to build. Yet the Constitution was written in 3 months time.

And they didn't all agree with each other. But they learned to compromise and work for the good of the people. I may be remembering incorrectly but the Constitution itself didn't call for a two party system. The separate parties evolved naturally. George Washington only ran for a second term because the disagreements between Thomas Jefferson and someone else were getting so contentious that he felt it best.

But both were passionate.

The citizens of this new nation were more important than whose name got to be first or whose state could profit most.

You felt that listening to Patrick Henry. The passion in his voice. The sense of the greater good for which they were striving.

It wasn't just business as usual.

You really started to realize, at least I did and I think from the spontaneous applause from the audience others did as well, how far from those ideals and principles our government has moved.

And that is directed at the whole government and for many years. Not just the current Administration or any one party.

Our government as a whole.

They talk, but do they say anything?

Is there any passion in their words? Any feelings at all - other than boredom maybe?

Has serving the great citizens of these United States of America become just a job?

I realized how much I'd forgotten about our own history. Which is a shame. Everyone needs a refresher course. We need to remember what people went through in order for us to be free. And I'm not just talking about those who died. Obviously those men who fought for our independence are patriots. But I think we sometimes forget there were 56 men who signed that Declaration.

They all put their lives on the line for a better way of life of all of us.

Forty men, some the same as the above, developed and signed the Constitution. A guiding document for this new, free country. Again, not for personal recognition but for everyone.

It was a great week. So, thanks to Gilliam for getting us everywhere safely and to Beth for making education so much fun!



There's more to come!

The Box

A couple of weekends ago, time flies when you work every day, Billy and I watched a movie called "The Box". Cinematically, I can't recommend the movie, but I won't bash it either. It had several big star names but I've seen them all do better work. And it had some sci-fi elements that I didn't care for.

But the basic premise of the movie was thought-provoking.

In it, a couple is anonymously presented with a simple looking plain wooden box with a big red button on top, covered by a locked dome. When the owner of the box came to explain, he brought the key to the dome and a moral dilemma.

Spoiler alert - if you think you want to watch the movie, stop reading here. I may give too much away after this.

The decision the couple had to make was this: whether or not to press the button. If they did, they would get $1 million. All in cash. No taxes. He showed it to them and even gave them a crisp $100 bill out of the briefcase. The catch, at the very moment they hit the button someone, somewhere in the world, that they didn't know, would die.

They had 24 hours to decide and they couldn't tell anyone about the deal.

$1 million.

Very tempting.

In a sense, with today's global population I could say that every time I hit a keystroke writing this blog, someone, somewhere in the world, that I don't know, is going to die. It's just a fact of life. I'm not causing it by writing. And it is probably true.

But the seed was planted that they would cause it. And the rest of the movie wouldn't make sense if you didn't buy into that piece.

What would you do for that kind of money? Of course, this family had some financial struggles so it made hitting the button all the more tempting.

That was the moral dilemma.

Is causing someone's death somehow less wrong if you don't know them? If you aren't the one pulling the trigger or plunging the knife? If you really need the money to feed your family?

Is it worth it?

Billy said he would do it and I said I wouldn't.

He made the argument that the person that died could be a terrorist or a rapist or a child molester. You could actually be doing the world a favor by hitting the button. Ridding the world of evil.

But my side was that it could just as easily be a child, or a grandmother, or someone like Mother Teresa that the world needs.

You just don't know.

So, are moral decisions always black and white?

Killing is wrong no matter what? Do circumstances factor in?

Later they were faced with a different dilemma, as a direct consequence of their actions.

Here is where the sci-fi part came in. Because of something they did, their child was struck deaf and blind. And would remain so forever unless the husband killed the wife. There was one bullet in the gun so he'd have to shoot well. And she couldn't kill herself. He had to do it.

So, what do you do? Rob your child of a life of sight and sound? Or sentence them to a life with only one parent, and that parent could be on the run from the law for killing the other parent.

Makes you think a little doesn't it? (Billy said that if we were faced with this the child would just have to stay that way, that killing me wouldn't be the answer. Good for me!)

So often we make decisions without always understanding the ripple effect.

I can hit this button and big deal, someone I don't even know is going to die but hey, they might have been going to die anyway and I can really use this money. Even do some good with it.

Justification. Rationalization.

It really has made me think.

What am I doing that may be unknowingly adversely affecting someone else? How are my actions altering someone else's world? Maybe it's because my world is being so affected by others' decisions that I'm trying to stop and see more clearly what I'm doing to someone else.

We don't live in a bubble.

Or even a box.

Reality. Really?

I opened up my People Magazine this week to discover yet another incarnation of "The Real Housewives of" series. By my count, we're up to 5 locations - Orange County, Atlanta, New York, New Jersey and now Washington DC.

I realize that I'm in a minority here. Obviously I am otherwise these shows would not exist. I can't tolerate these shows.

And this is just one series of so many reality shows. You've got The Hills, The O.C., Keeping up with the Kardashians, The Simple Life, My New BFF, Jersey Shore and so on and so on.

I honestly don't get it.

For the most part, these are shows with young people that have become famous for nothing more than spending the money their parents, or grandparents, earned. Really, can you think of anything else the Kardashians have done to garner such fame as they have? Their father defended O.J. Simpson and their stepfather is Bruce Jenner, gold medal Olympian. Kim, Kourtney, Khloe and their stepbrother Brody - nothing. The Hilton sisters - Nada.

And yet they are all given such celebrity.

What are we emulating? A spoiled life of excess? I mean, sure, there are days when I fantasize about living that lifestyle, but it isn't reality.

At least not my reality, nor that of anyone I know.

And I don't think I could stand it for very long.

And yes, there are other reality shows that show a little more "real life". They show firefighters, police officers, fishermen, and oil rig drillers at work. Earning a living. Working long hours at dangerous jobs to support their families.

Can you name one person in those shows?

I can't.

But I can name Snooki, The Situation, Heidi and Spencer.

Quite ridiculous, in my opinion.

And I don't even watch those shows.

I don't watch Big Brother, Survivor, The Duggars, Kate Gosselin, or any of the others.

There is only one show that I've ever watched more than one episode. And I'm growing bored with it. The last few episodes were seeming more and more contrived.

In other words, Unreal.

If this is entertainment then, to quote my daddy, "you can find me ten", or something like that. (Never did quite figure out what he was saying!)

If these are the examples we as a society are holding up for the next generation then I only have one thing to say -

Hello Hell? One hand basket coming down.

The View From Here

I had the great pleasure to spend this past weekend with my mother, sister and niece.

Girl time.

As I told my grandmother when we went to visit her, No Stinky Boys!

We had a family wedding to attend so we were fairly busy but enjoyed a few stolen moments together. Something we don't get to do often enough. Distance and schedules make it a challenge. But we had good talks during those times, laughed a lot, and truly enjoyed each other company. Andrea and I were pretty typical sisters growing up. Which is to say we didn't always get along well. I'm very glad to say that I now not only have a real sister but a real friend as well.

One interesting moment came in the car on the way to see Naunie. I was going to head back to Natchez from Carlisle so I took my own car. Andrea and Brett rode with me and we followed Mom. In a role reversal, Andrea sat in the back. Texting and talking on her phone. Brett sat up in the passenger seat so we could talk.

Out of the blue she asked me to give her a "superdeduperty" long word. She would then tell me what it meant and use it in a sentence.

Her idea people, not mine.

(I love that she loves to learn! She gets excited about school and education and all of that. Our trip next month to Washington D.C. is going to be amazing!)

Now, I don't carry around a book of "superdeduperty" long words so I thought quickly and came up with "perspective".

Webster has several definitions: 1. particular evaluation of something: a particular evaluation of a situation or facts, especially from one person's point of view;

2. measured assessment of situation: a measured or objective assessment of a situation, giving all aspects their comparative importance;

3. appearance of distant objects to observer: the appearance of objects to an observer allowing for the effect of their distance from the observer;

4. graphic arts allowance for artistic perspective when drawing: the theory or practice of allowing for artistic perspective when drawing or painting;

5. vista: a vista or view

Brett defined it as someone's side of a story, or opinion. I agreed but explained that it was more than that. I said it was more a "point of view" and that it could be a literal or figurative point of view. We got into discussing artists and how they use perspective in their work and so on.

Nice conversation.

I've thought about it several times since then.

Mostly how two people can look at the same thing but see something different.

Based on their "perspective".

I posted some pictures from the wedding on Facebook. Andrea texted me she thought she looked weird. I thought she looked beautiful. I pointed out something on me that I see automatically in every picture I ever take. She said she'd never noticed it before. (Of course, now she'll ALWAYS notice it since I pointed it out!)

Two people, one picture, different perspectives.

Later, again on Facebook, I saw lots of people thinking of their fathers that had passed away (Father's Day posts). More than one had pictures of their dad's grave marker.

One person commented that even with all his faults, her dad was still her hero. But I couldn't help but wonder (having known several of the men in question) if the writers' moms (be they ex-wives or widows) would feel the same. A child's perspective of a parent is often very different from that of the other parent.

And I understand.

My daddy was my hero. Still is in a lot of ways. Was he flawed? Absolutely. Do I wish some things had happened differently? Undoubtedly so. But did I learn from him? Of course. Do I miss him? Daily.

He wasn't perfect and I know things weren't always easy for my mom. My sister and I had our share of tough situations as well.

But perspective, in our personal lives, is really much like that of an artist. What do we want to emphasize? What items (traits, memories, characteristics) do we paint in our foreground? What view do we want to give our viewer?

I can make the choice of what I remember and how much emphasis those memories get. Where I want to put things in my picture.

I define the view.

Likewise, I can try to paint a picture of myself to help others see what I want them to see. Or at least see the person I want to be.

Because my perspective of me is always changing. I'm always trying to do better. To BE better. Trying to live my life in such a way that I will be missed - someday. Hopefully a very long time from now.

I don't know that I ever want to be anyone's "hero", but it won't hurt if I try to live as if I do.

Give everyone a good perspective.

He Ain't Heavy....

"He's My Brother. And on we go."

Growing up, I had a crush on the Osmond Brothers. OK, mostly Donny but I loved them all. Their voices were so smooth and wonderful. And the harmonies! I remember playing the albums (you know, the big vinyl kind) over and over.

I always loved to hear them sing "He ain't heavy, he's my brother". Unless I'm mistaken (and I could be. Rumor is that it has happened before. But I'd never admit it.) the album was just called "The Osmonds" (blueish purple letters) and it had the five brothers walking toward the camera, in step, along rows of something on a farm on a clear blue-sky day.

I can still hear them singing in my head. And I haven't heard that song in, literally, decades.

It came to mind the other day. I have a friend who is really really dealing with a lot right now. More than I can even imagine. And we were talking the other day about how she was doing and some events of that day. She told me that she was considering taking some anti-depressants (fully encouraged by her doctors) to try and help her get through some of this but she really hated to. Didn't want to seem like a cry-baby.

I asked her - when did we, as a society, decide that we had to shoulder our own burdens alone? Everybody needs somebody sometimes. We are social creatures. We really aren't meant to "go it alone".

I realize that I didn't live in the idyllic 40s and 50s that are portrayed on television, but I believe there are some elements of truth to those shows. Without computers and video games and limited television programming, people actually spent more time together. They looked out for each other. Helped one another. Cared about their fellow man. Sure, we're all "connected" but we really aren't. I can email or video chat or Facebook or Twitter and all the rest. I can see what my family is up to, but I don't really hear their voices.

I'm ashamed to admit I don't really know some of my neighbors. I discovered that a man with whome I've served on a board actually lives across the street and two doors down. I can see his house from where I'm sitting right now but I had no idea he lived there. I only found out because his daughter was in a car accident and they published his address in the newspaper. But he parks his car in the back of his house and doesn't use the front door much. And that's the side of the house I see. I did go down there once but no one opened the door. Twenty years ago I'd have been down there on moving day with a plate of brownies.

And our neighbors welcomed us with a party. A "Sorry to See you Go and Welcome to the Neighborhood Party" for us and the lady from whom we bought the house. But I didn't see anyone much after that. Folks came from a three block radius to meet us, but that night they all went back home and I don't see them anymore. I talked to one neighbor about doing a similar party when three families moved in across the street into some new houses. Talked about it. Didn't do it. That was about 4 years ago.

We've all insulated ourselves. Both physically and figuratively. I'll text or email sometimes before I'll pick up the phone and make a call. Don't want to bother anyone. With an email they can read it when they have time. I've had family members miss events because they had no one to go with but didn't want to ask anyone either.

I know, deep down, that I have a ton of friends that I could call on in a time of need. And that is of great comfort to me. But at the same time I can see where my friend was coming from.

"I can handle this. Don't want anyone to think less of me. I don't want to bother anyone. Others have it so much worse, I shouldn't complain." And so on and so on.

Bull puckey I say.

Reach out. It doesn't matter if someone's problems are "worse" than yours. If you need a friend or help or anything you have to be willing to ask for it, or accept it when offered. Because insulation works both ways. I've missed acknowledging birthdays this year that I haven't missed in years because I got caught up in work and deadlines and other stuff and I didn't take the time to reach out either. Now, I think they'll still take my calls, no irreparable damage has been done.

At least not yet. I don't think.

But I see how easy it could be. You practically don't have to leave your house anymore if you don't want to. Groceries can get delivered. Movies download onto your computer. Remote access to your office over the Internet. Why get dressed!?!

Because we were never intended to be alone. It goes all the way back to the Bible. God made Adam, found that he couldn't talk to the animals, and made him a mate.

We are supposed to lift each other up when one is down. Pick them up and carry them if need be. And if you are the one who is being carried don't fuss. It'll be your turn to share the load soon enough.

That's how it works.

"And the load, doesn't weigh me down, at all....."

TEA, Anyone?

This may seem odd for a Memorial Day post. Actually, this post has taken on many incarnations since it started percolating in my head. Hope I don't have to make it a two-parter. I hope I can pull the whole thing together.

I know some of you aren't going to agree with me. That's OK. In fact, that is kind of what this is all about.

Memorial Day is to honor the military who have died in service. It started as a Civil War celebration but was later expanded to include all wars.

There has been a very obvious movement over the last year or so in the political world. The TEA (Taxed Enough Already) Party. They have protested certain things and supported others, but they have been very vocal in their beliefs.

And that's fine with me. I don't have to agree with them but I will absolutely defend their right to say it.

Some of what they have been saying, and I myself have said here, is coming true. We've seen incumbent politicians being voted out of office of late. The word is finally getting out. "Career Politician" should be an oxymoron. Unfortunately that phrase is typically only half right. It is time for a true change in the way our country is being run.

That statement is not aimed at the President. It it aimed at the whole kit and caboodle.

We have some serious problems in this country. You and I may not agree exactly on what they are, but I daresay everyone reading this would agree with that statement. Change, of some sort, is necessary.

But what does that have to do with Memorial Day, you ask?

Plenty. Let's go back to the very first folks who died in military service to this country. The Revolutionary War. Those men died for our freedoms. Every war since has been in defense of those freedoms. In some cases our citizens died fighting in countries that currently disagree with our political outlook on things.

People died so that we could have a representative government. Died so that if we speak out against that government we don't have to fear a knock on the door in the dead of night. Died so that the people could have a real say in how this country was run.

And it is working.

People can speak up. They can freely protest the Arizona Immigration Law if they choose. They can vote out a politician that is no longer representing their beliefs and values. They can express their opinion on out of control spending or taxes or social programs.

Anything and everything they don't like they can say.

All because men (and women later on) believed in it so much they were willing to die for it.

Remember, most of the wars in which this country has participated were fought by volunteers. Men who in believed in State's rights over the federal government. Men who wanted to stop dictators and communism. Men who believed that this way, our way, of life was the best way to live.

In some other countries, I couldn't write this. In some simply because I'm female. In others because I disagree with our government. In some, just because.

So it is important for us to remember, every day not just the last Monday in May, that we live a free life because of the sacrifices of many men and women. We can hold our parades and our protests. We can speak up or remain silent.

We have choices.

So, whether or not you agree with the TEA Party movement, or any other movement, we have to respect the right to move.

Without it, we are nothing.

Happy Memorial Day. Thank a solider if you see one. Hug him if your can. Pray for the safety of those still fighting.

Remember, above all, the ones who didn't make it home. You can thank them in your prayers tonight.

And while you're at it, thank them for the freedom to pray at all.

Sweet Thing

I am a huge Keith Urban fan. I make no bones about it. From what I have read and the interviews I've seen, he and his wife strike me as a couple of down to Earth folks that you could invite over for a cookout, throw some burgers on the grill and split a pitcher of tea. He appears to be a wonderful humanitarian. Generous with his time and resources when disasters strike or in his support of St. Jude's Children's Hospital.

And as easy as Keith is on the eyes, I enjoy him most when my eyes are closed, my earphones are plugged in and I'm listening. Listening to his voice, the words of his songs and the magic his fingers work on his guitar. I will, and have, listen to him for hours on end.

Being very secure in the knowledge that Keith is not going to ride up to our front door on his motorcycle and sweep me off my feet, Billy supports my fandemonium. (I support his, too. And he enjoys Keith Urban almost as much as I do.)

Even indulges me on occasion.

Like August 6, 2009. The day after our 20th anniversary.

Our anniversary fell on a Wednesday last year. It also fell on Billy's regular week to work in Arkansas. So he was there and I was home with the pack. Yes, Billy could have changed his schedule. He reminds me all the time that he works for himself. He could have been home for our anniversary and gone a little later.

But he is as good a son as he is a husband and Keith Urban was in North Little Rock on August 6th and his mom really wanted to go to the show. There was no way I could make it. The logistics were just too much.

So he took her.

I had had a long couple of days on my own. Around 9:30 the night of the 6th I crawled into bed, lights out, everyone was quiet. I'm just about to fall asleep.

The phone rings.

Caller ID says its Billy.

But what I heard on the other end of the line was not Billy's voice but "Hit the Ground Running" - the opening song of Keith's show.

Billy held the phone for almost 30 minutes so I could hear, calling back every so often as needed. He did it until I had to go to sleep (can't stay up past 10 on a "school night"). Just so I could "be there" with him and catch a little bit.

Then he came home with this T-shirt from the show.


(For those that don't know, "Sweet Thing" is one of the hits from Keith's Defying Gravity CD)

With this story to go with it.

Apparently, Billy had his eye on a different T-shirt but this particular booth only had them in extra large sizes. Billy said no, he'd go look at a different booth. Not wanting to lose a sale, the girl selling kept trying to convince him that it was a child's extra large or ran small or anything to get him to buy it.

After a couple of minutes of this he finally stopped her and said, "Ma'am, my wife has lost 50 pounds. I'm not taking home an extra large ANYTHING", to which the lady waiting beside him leaned over and responded, "Good call".

I don't know, she may have been right. But I happen to think the "good call" was on my part.

The evening of December 21, 1988.

When I said "yes" to my Sweet Thing.