Deliberate misunderstanding

How many times do we all deliberately misunderstand what someone has said, wanting to start an argument or a fight in order to safely vent our spleens?

When I lived in New Orleans for a brief time I lived with someone. His nickname was Cap, short for captain. He was a pushboat captain and I met him in the French Quarter when he was pushing a hot dog and getting what work he could since pushboat jobs were few and far between. I had an apartment in Gretna at the time and he lived with me. Many times he would come home angry and upset and start a fight with me. I knew enough of his habits and cycles that I knew not to get caught up in his need to vent. Of course, me sitting calmly on the couch while he stomped up and down waving his arms and shouting and answering him in quiet but neutral tones didn't help his mood at all. My calm fueled his rage until he finally stormed off in a huff.

Growing up, my mother's favorite pastime, or so it seemed to me, was arguing with me. She knew exactly what buttons to push and how to goad me into exchanging verbal blows until I was in tears and she ready to whip me. When I was older and married and living clear across the country she called me on the phone just to start an argument. That was in the old days when calling long distance was not even close to affordable. My mother's favorite tactic was starting an argument, get me going and then hang up when I had the upper hand. She did the same thing when I lived close by and the phone call was free. It was as if she needed to stir up my emotions for some need or reason of her own.

I have learned not to rise to the bait. It took me many years and I still sometimes slip but most of the time I remain calm and neutral and refuse to engage. Today was one of those days.

Every once in a while a friend, determined to be angry and vent their spleen at me because it's safe and they know my love and care for them will prevent me from walking away, takes a verbal/emotional poke at me. It's easy to remain calm and reasonable in the face of such anger -- even when the anger comes by email. I readily take responsibility for what may have seemed unclear to them but they seldom respond with sweet, calm reason. I know at such times they are going through some difficulties of their own that have nothing to do with me and I happen to be a convenient target -- the old "hurt the one you love" scenario. They don't know I understand their attach isn't personal, just convenient. Instead of facing their emotions and their anger and dealing with the reason(s) or person(s) at the root causing their need to be angry and vent they vent where and when they feel it is safe. In this case, with me. I would explain this to them if they were in a sane frame of mind and willing and able to listen and understand but that is a remote possibility. The only safe course of action is to recognize what is happening, if not why, and give them time and distance to cool off.

I know from personal experience that when I go to the calm and neutral place in the face of anger and personal attacks it seems disingenuous and almost as if I don't take the person or the situation seriously. I have even on occasion been called a martyr for such actions. That isn't the case. It's simply having learned the lesson that nothing is solved or resolved when people emotions are in the red and it's a waste of energy to discuss anything at that point. I'm no martyr but I am a student of human nature and their subtle but equally loud and clear nonverbal signals. I learned my lesson from a book called The Celestine Prophecy, which is now a movie. I have written and talked about the scene before that helped me understand what happens when people argue.

The narrator is walking down a path in a forest in South America when he hears and sees two people arguing. He sees them each sprouting flames from their heads (not real flames but psychic flames) that shift from person to person as they argue. As each person gains control of the argument the flames bend towards them and feed them, a sort of energy transfer. I realized at that moment that's what happened when I argued with my mother; she was being energized and feeding off my emotions. The same is true of anyone involved in an argument. Someone is being energized by the strong emotions being generated and that is why some people look for contention or cause arguments and emotional upheavals. Do it long and often enough and you have created a ready made source of psychic fuel for your system. People can and do become addicted to this kind of energy exchange. Some people actually use the energy to control others, especially people close to them, either physically or emotionally close. It is abusive -- emotionally and mentally abusive.

Today's situation was not meant as abuse. It was more like a child throwing a tantrum. There are two ways of dealing with someone having a tantrum. You can either fuel their need for attention or you can ignore them. Of the two, the latter works 100% of the time. As much as I care about my friend, I realize they are going through a difficult period and I am a safe target. Unfortunately for them I intend to ignore their temper tantrum and give them time to cool off and gain some perspective. Hopefully, they will realize what they are doing and face the root of their problem instead of aiming at a safer target. Maybe some day they'll get it.

Slips, drips and missed messages

I took a break to get something to eat and ended up with half of it all over the front of my nightgown and the sink and the floor, leaving me the pleasant task of cleaning up the spills, drips and clots of pureed berries, chocolate and coconut milk, all of which I fully expected to enjoy inside instead of outside. Oh, well, I planned to clean the kitchen anyway and at least part of the floor in front of the sink is clean. It's a start. Since I was en dishabille, more so than usual, I decided to get me cleaned up and put on some clothes. That led to a trip downstairs to check the mail and retrieve two boxes delivered by Fed Ex and UPS and a belated message from godaddy.com to renew my domain name, which I did week before last. Guess their computer didn't get the notice that I'm paid up for three years; it's more likely they want me to buy server time with them and get my magazine up and running. I have other things in mind, like contacting one of my errant children.

Yesterday I was told something I suspected but didn't want to believe, my oldest son was still using drugs, which explains why he didn't have enough money to go see his father in South Carolina when he had two heart attacks last fall. I didn't know the full extent of the problem until yesterday. I found out my nephew was sentenced to four years in the same prison David Scott lived in for several years and for the same thing as my son: breaking and entering. My nephew added a new wrinkle to David Scott's crime with aggravated burglary; the people were home at the time he broke in and stole from them. All because of drugs. My sister Carol is devastated and wonders what she did to deserve this happening to her son. She doesn't realize it's not about her, but she will take center stage no matter what.

So far my brother's kids have avoided the drug problem, but Beanie's boys have dabbled in a little herbal refreshment from time to time and her youngest, Cody, has a drinking problem. He obviously inherited the genetic predisposition from his father and from the May and Hanner sides of our family. There were several alcoholics on that side of the family, all of whom are now dead. Like Beanie said, at least Cody isn't cutting himself any more. She is worried Cody will follow his cousins, David Scott and Clint, down the road to drugs and prison, which is not only likely but quite possible. Maybe she will help Cody dodge the bullet and get some help now while he's still young and not too far down the road.

Ultimately, it is up to Cody, just as it was up to Clint and David Scott, to choose for themselves, regardless of how much they are loved and taught. It's something inside of them and not the fault of the way they were raised, although that is definitely a factor. David Scott spent many of his formative years with his father and stepmother, both of whom drink and have problems with alcohol. David Scott also spent time with me but neither alcohol nor drugs were a part of our household and David Scott was held accountable for his actions and his whereabouts. He acted in school plays, sang in the choir, ran track and got pretty good grades while he lived with me, but even if he had lived with me most of his life I don't think he would have chosen a different path. There was something inside of him that followed the call of alcohol and drugs like the mice of Hamelin following the Pied Piper. Each of us hears a different siren's call and some of us end up on the rocks.

I called my ex-husband and talked to his wife, Brenda, wanting to know where I could reach David Scott. He's living with them now and not with his brother AJ, working construction and going to church -- or at least he was going to church last night. I left a message for him: Clint was just sentenced to four years in Orient and I know about the motel room. He didn't return my call and now the phone isn't working. No big surprise there.

I really didn't expect David Scott to call me back, just like I didn't expect him to pay me back when he "borrowed" the money for a bus ticket to go see his father in the hospital last fall. At least now I know what all the delays were about. He and Clint were holed up in a motel room (and not at Clint's sister Shanna's condo as I had been told) using and selling drugs. David Scott was working for Clint and got the boot when David Scott used more than he sold. There were girls involved. That wasn't a surprise either. The money he said he was owed by Denny's in Youngstown, Ohio, where he worked training cooks and setting up new restaurants, he probably got and promptly spent on drugs. He couldn't get the money from my parents (they refused him) so he contacted me for the money, ostensibly to buy a bus ticket for South Carolina. I thwarted his scheme by buying the ticket online and calling him with the information on how to pick it up.

I'd be willing to bet he tried to cash in the ticket but found out I made that impossible for him, so he stalled for several days looking for ways to get around the system and get the money. It didn't work. When I told him he'd better be on the bus without any more delays on excuses by a certain time and date or I'd cancel the ticket, he knew he'd been had. He forgets that I am the only person, outside of Shanna and Clint who have done drugs with him, who knows who and what he really is and that I keep more than a couple steps ahead of him. His charm and lies don't work on me like they do on everyone else, especially my mother and father, but even they finally caught on. He's burned his bridges in Ohio and with me but I'm certain he hasn't burned his bridges in South Carolina yet or he wouldn't be living with his father.

I have to admit my son is bold as brass. When he called and asked me to help him buy a bus ticket to see his father, telling me his usual cock and bull story of having had his money robbed by friends while he slept, he had the chutzpah to tell me I owed him and to consider it his birthday present since his birthday was the following week. I know his birthday. I was there when he was born. I asked him if he knew when my birthday was and when I could expect a present or card or call from him. He didn't know when my birthday is and he gave the usual excuses of not knowing how to reach me. I reminded him we were talking at that moment and he knew how to get in touch with me to touch me for some money. He sputtered and stuttered and used his final resort tactic -- crying. I listened for about 15 seconds and then told him he was wasting his tears just like I would waste my time waiting for a birthday card or call or even a note or call on Mother's Day.

It sounds harsh and it is. He chose his life and chose not to include me. I am his mother but I am not his personal ATM. I told him, just as I told his brothers, that if he wanted anything from me he had to have a relationship with me. He would have to call or send a postcard on a regular basis, find out and remember my birthday, Mother's Day or just any old day if he wanted anything from me. If he chose to call me only when he wanted money, he could continue to stay away and not call, not write, not involve me in any aspect of his life. I have no guilt for the path I have chosen. I have always been here, always been available, and all my boys know how to get in touch with me when they want something -- like money. However, if they can't have a relationship with me when they don't want something other than getting to know me then they can forget they know me when they want money.

Everyone chooses their own life. It doesn't always work out like you plan. The trick is to accept your failures as well as your successes and keep going. I love my boys and I love my nephew Clint, and all my other nieces and nephews. That will never change. The paths they have chosen are theirs alone and the responsibility is theirs to accept what comes, good and bad. No matter what excuses they offer or where they would prefer to place the blame, neither their parents nor I am responsible for their lives or their choices. It's not about us; it's about them.

No matter what people do to us or how they misuse or mistreat us, what we do with our lives is ultimately up to us. My life has been interesting and difficult and rewarding at times and there was a time when I blamed my parents, specifically my mother, for what happened to me and then I realized that no one made me choose the path I walked; I did that all on my own, and I offer no apologies for what I cannot change. I feel no guilt for what I have done because I cannot change the past. I can only learn from it and move on, hopefully with a better understanding and clearer vision, just as I hope my children, my brother, my sisters, my parents, and my nieces and nephews will figure that out for themselves. Regret is a wasted emotion full of wasted energy and apologies ultimately mean nothing. People will forgive or forget or continue to blame others as long as they fail to learn that we cannot change anyone but ourselves. The best we can do is take what we can from life and give a little something back without regret, without guilt and without expecting anyone to make our lives better or worse. We already do a good enough job of that ourselves.

Horoscopes

My horoscope warned me about keeping a low profile today and staying away from discussions because they will inevitably lead to contention. I didn't think a simple post on a Lost site on LJ would end in contention.

Being new to the whole Lost mythology, and not having seen all of season 2, I introduced myself and asked if anyone else noticed some of the connections I saw when I watched the show. One young girl came back with a sarcastic remark as if I had questioned her intelligence and ability to see and recognize patterns. I had an interesting exchange with a young gentleman who answered my questions and asked questions of his own, sharing his insights and thoughts, and I shared mine with him. It was a good conversation. Then came another barrage from another young girl who asked if I came to the site to brag or learn from those more knowledgeable than I, and all because I asked a question and offer some insight on a history of a character's name. I should have paid attention to my horoscope and waited to post until things cleared up. Nothing like offering quality merchandise to those who have only plated lead coins with which to pay.

Beware: Lost discussion ahead.

The last few episodes I've watched involved a man Danielle captured in one of her traps and turned over to Sayid. She warned Sayid the man was one of the Others and not to listen to or believe his lies. Danielle disabled the man with a crossbow bolt through the right shoulder after Sayid cut him down. Had she wanted to kill him, she would have killed him. Danielle only wanted him incapacitated.

Sayid carried him back to the hatch and proceeded to beat the truth out of the man who called himself Henry Gale of Minnesota. There is no doubt the man is one of the Others and the clues have nothing to do with Sayid's lack of guilt for torturing him or the rest of the castaways' (the ones who are in the loop and know about the captive) mistrust. It has to do with the circumstances and the man's name.

Henry Gale who came from Minnesota and crash landed on the island in a balloon.

Sound familiar? (that's the question I asked)

It should. Henry Gale, otherwise known as Uncle Henry, was Dorothy Gale's uncle, Dorothy of the ruby slippers and her trip from gray Kansas to Technicolor Oz. The Wizard of Oz crash landed his balloon over the rainbow in Oz, a magical place full of witches and flying monkeys and all kinds of weird and wonderful people, places and things. Beginning to get the picture? Of course Henry Gale is a plant, a mole, one of the Others and even though Sayid and his crew, Ana Lucia and Charley, found the balloon and the grave, they were not convinced the captive was an innocent castaway.
when the truth came out, my deductions proved to be correct. That's not bragging. That is simply fact.

Being a writer helps because writers learn early on (or they should) that nothing in a story is for effect; there is always a purpose for whatever is in the story or it shouldn't be there. Goes for the written word as well as television, movies, radio plays and theater. Every bit of information, no matter how small and seemingly insignificant, relates to the main plot and/or characters in some way. Tidbits like that are not like salting a claim. If you recognize a tidbit you can bet there's gold in them thar hills.

I am certain there are things I have missed and there are lots of things I didn't mention (I kept my introduction short), but my little bit of information it someone wrong and they attacked. C'est la vie. Just like tidbits of information in a story that always have significance somewhere down the line, you can bet someone will take offense at the most harmless and inoffensive words no matter your intent in offering them.

Once upon a time I would have blasted back, defending my intent and my words, but I have learned to hold my tongue and my words, preferring to spend them in worthier causes than trading insults and barbs with misanthropic children mired in angst and mental masturbation they believe passes for intelligence and wit.

Today has been a day of interesting twists and turns, trading long awaited pleasure for disappointment, and even offering up a surprise or two. More rain and cool temperatures that drive my neighbor Nel to drink as she prays for blazing summer heat and a surprise visit from the landlady asking me to close all my windows because the house is being power washed. Didn't take long and only delayed my Lost fest a few minutes, and I was glad to oblige. No work to type and that means I'll be working long hours tonight and giving up my long awaited trip to Monument for the hamfest and VE session tomorrow. At least I'll be able to take a few minutes to gather some fresh organic produce from the farmer's market tomorrow morning and do the laundry between battles with mealy mouthed doctors breaking the sound barrier with their mouths or limping and glossing over intricate and detailed operative reports.

I must have done well this past six months because I also received my six-month review. My error rate has come down from 0.45% to 0.33% and my average page rate (despite long periods of no work) went up another seven pages, which means an increase in my holiday and vacation pay. That was good news. I am a little disappointed because I should have a 0% error rate, but less than half of one percent is still pretty good, if I do say so myself (not bragging, just stating facts), especially when the overall company error rate is 0.51%. Last time the company wide error rate was higher, and it's still higher than mine. I may have to work this weekend but at least it came on the tail end of good news instead of the usual bad or questionable news. I can live with that.

In the meantime, I plan to stay close to home, avoid talking to anyone outside of my circle of friends and keep out of situations that might end in useless argument and name calling.

Come to think of it, that's a good policy to follow every day and not just when Mercury is making hash of the planetary influences in my chart.

I'll shut up now.

Naked in the dark

For some reason "naked at dawn" is in my mind. It's a book written by a character on a soap opera I watched several decades ago. Could it be because I'm sitting here in the dark naked as the day dawns?

It's cool outside and the ceiling fan makes it cool enough inside that I feel chilled and ready to dive into a sweater and cover up with a blanket. I could turn off the ceiling fan and put on some clothes but the air on my skin feels good, almost decadent, definitely soothing.

I woke up a little while ago for the usual morning bathroom call and decided to see if the next episode of Lost was finished downloading. It hasn't. It's taking a lot longer to download than the earlier and first season episodes did. I guess not as many people have taken the time to upload the episodes since the season just finished and the reruns are about to start. It will get better, but I'm not waiting until September or October. It will day several hours longer, but it's worth waiting for. I won't watch it on TV because I hate the commercials and I like being able to watch it all in a continuous stream, like a movie that hasn't been edited for television, cutting out important chunks and redubbing dialogue so they can slip in 15-18 minutes worth of commercials every hour. 'Nuff said.

Moving on, yesterday was a quiet day for me. I broiled some steaks, made bleu cheese sauce for the steaks and watched movies while I watched and listened to the rain. It has rained some part of every day for ten days and there are nine more days of rain to come. The latest emergency bulletin called the rain monsoonal, but what they meant was monsoon like. This isn't the tropics. We don't get monsoons. We get tornadoes and flash floods and downpours. Unless California and the western seaboard has slipped off into the ocean and the earth's axis has tilted and we have slid farther down the planet and I'm now living on the coast of Colorado, this isn't where you'll get monsoons or hurricanes. So, all my friends and acquaintances on the western seaboard, please check in. I don't want to have to drive to Grand Junction to check for a new sea coast line.

I pruned off the dead and rotting end of the geranium start in the bud vase yesterday and broke down a bunch of boxes. I still need to go through the box closet that once upon a time was just the living room closet and get organized in there so I can store hiking and backpacking equipment and so I can paint the woodwork and trim and inside of the closet doors without being smother and covered by a Fibber McGee and Molly's closet style avalanche. And either today or this weekend I intend to hit the second hand stores for a small occasional table or pedestal for the little statue I found for pennies at Celebration (local metaphysical and magic paraphernalia store) to go in my relationship corner. It's a fluid almost amorphous sculpture made of some kind of acrylic, a couple embracing and looking into each other's eyes, except the couple doesn't have eyes. It's representational and quite lovely for the four limp singles I spent on it. I love sales when they end in me getting something lovely for almost nothing and it's the only one on a dusty back shelf in the back. Now I need a small narrow pedestal to fit in the southwest corner, the relationship corner, so the feng shui experts tell me, so I can stimulate and support my relationship. I call it sympathetic magic, the idea being that what you mirror or build in your home and in your mind will manifest in the real world. Sort of like representational art that suggests a couple with simple lines and forms but is really a fluid, amorphous piece of acrylic in which I see a couple looking lovingly at each other while they embrace. Harmony, symmetry, togetherness and love.

Happy Fourth

Independence Day, and I don't mean the movie, although there were aspects of the movie that were special to me -- when ham radio operators sent the president's message around the world via Morse code (CW to hams) -- always stirs me. I am a Yankee Doodle Dandy and my heart beats faster when I hear the national anthem or say the Pledge of Allegiance. My spine tingles when Americans are at their best and riding to the rescue. I'm a flag waving, honest to goodness patriot. Today, of all days, I am definitely proud to be an American, but I am proud to be an American each and every day even when Americans are being idiots or being shown at their worst. Why? Because America is the only country on earth where freedom and honor mean something. Freedom and honor have become obscured in the past few years by events in the international arena, and certainly by the media around the world and here at home, but freedom and honor have never been more obvious than in the aftermath of 9/11 when all differences and difficulties were set aside and Americans pitched in and worked side by side, grieved side by side, stood side by side, arms linked, to show the world we will not be defeated.

We have lost a bit of that fervor and solidarity, but it's all still there at the heart and soul of every American and will come back to the surface when it's needed. Count on it.

Well, I didn't expect that to be the topic of discussion. All I wanted to do was wish everyone a happy Independence Day. Wherever you are, whatever you're doing stop and give thanks for being allowed to live in America -- the land of the free and the home of the brave. Bless the USA by whatever religious beliefs you choose, but bless the USA indeed.

Last night the landlady invited me down for an impromptu cookout and get together. Psycho Ken and his wife Pam and dog park friend Robin were there as well. Add Nel and me and you had a lovely group of friendly, talkative and enjoyable people. It was also the first time I met Pam about whom I have heard so much. She is a lovely lady and quite interesting -- as were the many different conversations going on last night. Good food, good conversation and good people. There is nothing better in life. We're cooking out again today and last night I trundled off to the grocery store to buy steaks. I hope someone else remembered to get the corn on the cob. Vegetables and fruits we have in abundance.

Yesterday was also the day a very close friend came back from a 5-day backpacking trip along the Colorado Trail. I'm sure he enjoyed getting out there and being free and unencumbered by nothing more than his thoughts and his pack. I wish I had been with him, but I wasn't invited this time. I was with him in spirit and, yes, I would have walked in his wake to enjoy the view because he has a great back field, when it's in motion or when he's standing and looking out a window. He does have the sexiest behind and I still don't know how he knows I feel that way because I never told him. I guess my excuses for walking upstairs behind him were more transparent than I knew. And I'd like to thank him for walking so slowly so I could have a good long look.

Just in case he's wondering though, he also has a great front view with a broad chest and just the right amount of furry covering, great eyes and some killer legs. He is my idea of a hunk: tall and well built with a melt my knees and make my heart flutter smile.

Anyway, I signed up for the emergency communications course given by the ARRL and it starts in August and goes until October. I will actually get CECs (continuing education credits) for the course. I have the book already and I have to dig that out (good thing I have time to do that) and after I finish the first course I'll move on to the second and third. After that, I'm certain I can find something to learn and will most likely focus on antennas, propagation and electronics. I have a hungry mind that has starved for too long. Time to feast.

In addition to that, I got the Code Quick program and I'm going to refresh the CW I haven't used since I passed my exam and got my Extra license and increase my code receiving abilities. I want to get to 20-30 WPM by the end of summer. I'll even settle for the middle of fall, but I'm determined to get there. I am working on an antenna that will satisfy my needs and not irritate my landlady or disturb her aesthetic expectations so I can spend more time on the air working CW and racking up a few QSOs with a few QSL cards to go with them. (In layman's terms, making contacts and giving and receiving acknowledgment of those contacts) All the while I'll be building my own radio and using it to operate on short hikes away from the hustle and bustle (yeah, we hustle and bustle a little now and again here on the laid back west side of town). I'm also taking my sketch pad and pencils and maybe once in a while my laptop, depending on what I grab when I leave for the day. I need to get some use out of the new Nike cross trainers and get some mud on the sides.

In the meantime, I am late for breakfast and the fruit is calling me. I have a busy day ahead of me and I still need to drop off the steaks to the landlady for marinating. I'm also making my bleu cheese sauce for the steaks and looking forward to a bit of a feast before 7 PM tonight when we head off to Soda Springs Park to listen to a ham friend's band. It's a holiday after all and I intend to make the most of every single second -- even if that does include doing the laundry.

That is all. Disperse to your own Independence Day activities.

As for my family, don't eat before I get there.

Determination

I cringed yesterday when I pulled out my card and paid for the Nike cross trainers but I needed new shoes and I wanted something that would feel so good I wouldn't balk at walking. The shoes are incredibly comfortable, if a bit bigger than my last 20 pairs of shoes. Even with my inserts they felt like I was walking on clouds and kept me walking and walking. I paid for it when I got home last night. My legs and right ankle (the one I sprained so bad it had to be casted for six weeks) were sore and if I sat down for more than five minutes I felt like I was being racked when I had to get up again. I went to bed to take a nap and woke up several hours later even stiffer and a bit sorer. This morning, however, since I have been getting up and down a lot to visit the bathroom and dump an excess of fluid, I'm not quite as stiff as I was at 2 AM when I got up the first time. I need to get up and get out on the road or trail early in the morning before I start working so I get it done but it would probably be better to get out after the work day is through so my muscles are warmer. I'll play it by muscle and see where it takes me.

Had to take a quick break to get something to eat. It has been hours. I decided to go for the roasted red pepper hummus and some of my very own home grown radish sprouts. Good choice, especially with a banana. ( I finally bought some yesterday) Radish sprouts do indeed taste like radishes, but that is understandable since the radish is the bulbous root of the plant, and the sprout is where it all -- sprouts from. I was worried I'd lost the whole bunch because I forgot to rinse them yesterday. When I opened the vented lid, fully expecting to find rancid or dried up dead sprouts, I found a mating snake tangle of sprouts that had quadrupled in volume since the last time I looked Friday night. Amazing. It took me a little while to rinse and untangle the worst of the mating tangles, but I managed. They are delicious and complement the roasted red pepper hummus I bought at Mountain Mama's and the multigrain tortillas I used to wrap up the whole concoction. The last bite was just as delicious and surprisingly radishy as the first. Now for the banana.

Okay, back to whatever I was nattering on about.

I have been caught in the Lost vortex and supply my voracious demands by downloading the episodes from the web. However, I hit a snag this morning after I finished watching the latest Doctor Who episode (a two-parter that ends with the death of Rose Tyler played by Billie Piper) and couldn't find a single download with more than 16 seeds. It is taking forever to download the Collision episode in season 2 and I want it now. I was spoiled by very fast downloads over the past week or so and now I'm being punished for spending all that time watching Lost instead of writing or working or doing laundry or even walking down to Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory for a chocolate raspberry truffle. I should know better. This is how they get you in the first place. They lure you in with amazing and intricate story lines that reek of excellent writing and phenomenal acting and then go on a four-month hiatus that turns into 9-10 months while they throw crumbs of lesser shows and vapid and inane characters and plots that couldn't get a rise out of a helium balloon. If this keeps up I'm going to pull the plug and wait for the second season to come out on DVD (I've already ordered it) or, even better, get my fingers busy writing and finishing the two books I should be working on right now. I should be working out whether Tom was right when he said I could turn out a book a month -- and ought to do just that. But then, at the VE session yesterday in Woodland Park, Shel KFØUR, told me that while he and his wife were in Hawaii they happened onto a beach where they saw a burned out multi-ton jet engine on the beach only to find out it was the set for Lost. How could he do that to me? And he expects me to go to Soda Springs Park on Tuesday to hear the Little London Winds play and then go across the street for drinks and talk with intelligent and creative people. Hardly!!

So what's left? Walking and writing. Writing and walking.

Naw. I think I'll read a book and take a nap and think about which I should do.

Hi-ho

I have to be quick because I need to get a shower, get dressed and get the heck out of dodge. I have a VE session in Woodland Park this morning and I'm meeting the team for breakfast at the Hungry Bear at eight. So, here goes.

In five days the domain name I bought for my online magazine that I hoped one day to take to print expires. In a weak moment, I renewed the domain name, and bought three other extensions (info, net and biz) for three years. I must be out of my mind but I know I'm out a small sum of money, much less than would be expected. After spending eight hours last night putting the PPRAA newsletter together, putting it in PDF and sending to the people who take it from here (except for checking up and making sure everybody does what they're supposed to do), the desire to put "Living Voices Magazine" out there is growing. Forget that I have a couple of ham radio projects I need to do and painting and decorating and work on my plate, but I do want to revisit the magazine and get it out there. If I do this, I will take the magazine to print within two years, if not sooner. I will need a full service host but I'll also look into buying my own servers and hosting it myself. I'll have to figure out how to do that and work my tuchus off to pay for the servers and the contributors but it is doable. I may even be able to add my own art work to the mix (I used to be very good at portraits) and possibly some photography. Already the magazine is percolating in my brain. I hope it doesn't boil over before I get the splatter shields in place.

Beam me up, Scotty. I think I have what I'm going to need.

I don't believe in coincidence

Best friend Lynn gave me a copy of this book that keeps falling open to revenge and manipulation spells and lately the spell group I belong to keeps sending me revenge and binding spells. I don't believe in coincidence. Things happen for a reason, even though the reason may not be immediately apparent.

I've always eschewed revenge as a waste of time, energy and resources but have been known to bind a person or two who couldn't get the message any other way, especially when they were hurting or planned to hurt others. That is an acceptable use of power and resources. In fact, I once helped a friend every full moon for nearly a year to protect her and her family from malignant forces bent on causing harm. The friend's life and future took a big turn for the better. The magical results remain although the friend is now long gone. People tend to be less reliable than magic.

And speaking of magic, after the VE session tomorrow morning I'm headed to Larkspur for the Renaissance Festival that I missed last year. This weekend will be beautiful and cool and I need a heaping dose of Ren fair fun to celebrate the recent cooler temps and rain. It's only fair. Besides, I can't go next weekend because I'll be in Monument all day for the MegaFest and the weekend after that I have plans with friends in Yoder. So, this Saturday it is.

If you're in the area, look for the lady with the long brown hair sporting a face splitting grin of joy gawking around like a child locked in the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory overnight. That will be me.

And now it is time for me to make my soy protein fruit smoothie breakfast and get to work. I have plans and dreams and bills to think about.

Another day and a half

I am sitting here eating bread pudding from Mountain Mama's deli made with challa. It is unbelievably good. I also bought some roasted red pepper hummus (they make it there) and a sprouter to grow my own bean sprouts. It's something I did years ago but stopped for some silly reason like not having the time, energy or something to continue. I also used to make my own yogurt in a very primitive way (without special kits or yogurt makers) and yesterday I looked at yogurt/kefir makers with the idea of doing that again. I have not made kefir before but it sounds like a good thing to add to my morning soy protein-frozen fruit and banana drink.

One thing I have noticed since eating more sprouts, especially of the alfalfa and sunflower variety, is that I have fewer bruises that don't last as long. Last weekend my knee locked up on me and I took a tumble into a set of concrete steps. Ordinarily I would have ended up with a big ugly purple, red and black bruise on my shin where it barked the concrete step and my knee would have been similarly colored and sore, but the bruise didn't show up for two or three days and it was already green and yellow. I haven't been that lucky with bruises since I had the blood transfusion eight years ago when I nearly bled to death.

More and more I am interested in doing things simply: sprouting grains, making yogurt, trying kefir, growing food plants, honing my survival skills and learning to make crystal and tube radios in case of who knows what. I want to get back to where I was before I moved down here -- self sufficient. I am self sufficient now, but not nearly as far along as I should be. I want to be able to survive in any kind of climate, political or natural, and be able to make what I need for any and all occasions. In fact, I'm buying an ATS-3 and building it myself. It's an ambitious project, but I have to start somewhere and this seems like a good place. I can take the little radio rig anywhere, even camping, backpacking and hiking, and communicate with other hams all over the world under the right conditions. Today the ATS-3 and tomorrow my own home brewed tube and crystal radios. I'm in an electronics frame of mind.

I am also looking into recipes for baking with sprouted grains and the memory of homemade yogurt makes my mouth water. I tolerated yogurt until I made the first batch of my own and then I was hooked. I have stayed away from most dairy for a long time and I miss certain things: ice cold buttermilk (no ewwws please), cheese, cottage cheese and the like. Since getting the cheesecake baking itch I have had more dairy in the past 30 days than I have had in the past year.

The landlady and I took a walk to Front Range BBQ last night past Cucuru, a new art gallery and espresso/dessert bar that opened up a couple weeks ago. Guillermo, the owner, invited us inside to take a look at some jewelry and the paintings and he offered us a piece of chocolate mousse cheesecake when the landlady told him I was sort of an expert and made the best cheesecake she'd ever tasted, and she doesn't particularly care for cheesecake. It was all right. The texture was a little dry, but that happens when you mix cocoa powder with a basic cheesecake. It's important to increase the moisture so the dry cocoa doesn't suck it all up, ending with a mealy cheesecake. The flavor wasn't in question, although it was a little flat, again being an issue of balance. The chocolate shouldn't overwhelm the creamy texture and subtle flavoring of the basic cheesecake.

OMG, I'm beginning to sound like a foodie. I've been spending way too much time reading 's LJ. I suppose there are worse things in the world.

I'm going to attempt a chocolate raspberry cheesecake, maybe even this weekend, and I'll let you know if I get the balance right. I might even talk Guillermo into trying my cheesecake, especially the key lime variety. Cucuru even has wi-fi and an outdoor patio and would be perfect on weekends or latter week evenings to sit, drink some juice (I don't do coffee) and sample a coconut cream pie or fruit tart while absorbing the local color and people watching. I might even take my new sketchbook and pencils along (when I take them back to Office Max and get the pencil sharpener they left out of my box of pencils) to sketch a little of what I see. I might even spring for some pastels; I used to be pretty good with those.

Dinner at Front Range BBQ was good, as always, but the one margarita I ordered was not very good -- pretty bad in fact. I left half the margarita in the glass and finished all my water -- both glasses. When the landlady and I walked home we passed Bancroft Park where the summer concert Old Colorado City sponsors on Tuesday nights was just beginning. They played a martial air by John Phillip Sousa and followed it with MacArthur Park, a song I know by heart because it is part of my youth when I listened to the radio and records every chance I got and sang along. The music is hard wired.

It was a soft summer evening with a BBQ and green summer scented breeze that flirted with us all the way home. Last night was one of those evenings I hate to go inside and would gladly sleep outside under the stars if I had a sleeping bag.

And now it's time to get back to work and finish the pay period with a bang instead of a whimper. My bread pudding is gone and there are jobs waiting to be transcribed.

That is all. Disperse.

In a rut

I have obviously beat the "I" key so hard in all my writing lately that it has become so shy it won't show up when I hit it again, forcing me to go back to hit the key harder and make sure it shows up where it should. I don't know what the problem is, but I doubt I will be able to do with my laptop what I have to do with my regular keyboards -- replace them twice a year. I don't know how (or if it's possible) to replace a keyboard on a brand new out of the box laptop. Hopefully, it's just some grit stuck beneath the key and a good vacuuming will clear up the problem. I didn't think I was hitting the keys that hard, but after 40 years of typing and keying and all sorts of data input, and the speed that I have attained over the years, I know the force I use is more than most people who either hunt and peck or type at a much slower rate. C'est la vie.

I hate ruts. I have never liked them and go out of my way to avoid them. When I realize I'm headed for a rut or a rut seems likely I change direction, sometimes violently, but I always change direction. So why am I comfortable in this rut?

When I was away for a week on vacation I realized how much I missed the sounds I had taken for granted. Nel's shower coming on at 4:30 AM and the loud bang when the shower lever hit the metal faucet. The sliding glass doors swishing when she left for Monument at 5 AM. The smell of fresh ground coffee and the buzz of the landlady's coffee grinder around 5 AM and the usual calls and yells at Pastor when he's being an unruly child, followed by the swish of the landlady's glass doors when she goes out onto the deck to water her geraniums and fill up the aluminum pan around the rock in the middle so the birds and squirrels have fresh water. The sound of her horn when she and Pastor get into the car to go to dog park for their morning constitutional at 6 AM.

The birds start singing between 4 and 4:30 every morning and I wake slowly to their music, urged to get out of bed by a full bladder, and then back to bed to snuggle under the covers for a bit before I start my day. I check email (the laptop sleeps with me), answer what needs my attention, and do a quick cruise around the Internet when a new writing newsletter appears. On Wednesday mornings I check out Writers Weekly and run through the markets and jobs available to see if there is anything interesting or worth my writing time. I go back to the bathroom, brush my teeth and do a little more surfing and writing before I gather my cup and go to the kitchen to make my soy protein drink, adding whatever frozen fruit and bananas I still have left. Then it's back to the bedroom to get comfy and write my morning post before gathering my energy and resolve and heading into the sunroom to begin yet another work day, putting the writing I would rather do on the shelf in order to make the money necessary to continue to live with George, the landlady and Nel.

Until my vacation I didn't realize that this apartment is my home and how much I missed the daily sounds. Each day has its own sounds and the weekends are no different with me usually getting ready to go to some ham radio function or lazing around reading a book while the landlady and Pastor drive to the dog park and Nel turns up her music and putters around her apartment. Sundays she goes to the grocery store early and then does laundry all day while I either clean or write or read or spend time surfing on the Internet, our rhythms comfortable and comforting in their familiarity. Our personal and intertwining ruts.

I don't think I'll avoid this rut. It is too homey.

I'll still be unpredictable around the edges but I don't feel the need to run from this rut or avoid getting too comfortable because my search for a home has finally ended. I'm here. I'm home. And I like the view from this rut.

It's in the air

Divorce. Several people I know are headed toward divorce or talking about divorce.

The landlady picked up her divorce papers yesterday. They have been filed and now she and her husband, who lives in New Mexico, wait the requisite 90 days before they are officially free to do what they have been doing for the past 11 years -- see and become involved with other people. The landlady is the one who initiated the divorce action and her husband has decided not to tell his girlfriend he is getting a divorce. He wants that safety net when his girlfriend gets the idea their relationship is permanent. It is not as if the landlady or her husband haven't lived their own lives for the past decade but she felt like the screen door was hanging open letting in all the flies and gnats and she wants it closed.

Another friend celebrated his seventh year of being divorced by getting drunk and crashing on a friend's floor all night. He's happy and comfortable in his life and getting drunk annually is his way of marking the time, especially since he doesn't get drunk but once a year.

And then there's another friend who wants a divorce and has wanted one for years now. She's even mentioned it to her spouse, gone to counseling and checked all the financial arrangements but just can't take the step to end things. I don't know what's holding her back, except fear. Her husband and his family are all the family she has, that and her daughter. The rest of her family is either alienated and dead. I understand some of her fear. I gave up my dream because my family threatened to disown me and I hesitated for two years before telling my husband I wanted a divorce. She doesn't realize the power she holds and lets her husband emotionally bully her.

She has a very good job and manages their money so well they are in a good financial position. They own three properties and their cars are paid off. She has her retirement from the military, rent from two properties and a lucrative position in a tech company. Her husband finally gave in and got a part time job that doesn't pay much despite having three degrees. He decided to stay home with their daughter, even though she's in school all day and can fend for herself, instead of getting a real job or diving back into his career or even teaching full time. He has the credentials, but he has become very used to being taken care of. She just does not realize her power or how much she stands to gain if she decides to get a job.

If she stayed in the marriage she could continue living her life as she chooses, just like the landlady, because her husband is not going to give up his meal ticket; he would have to go back to work. All she has to do is put her foot down and walk out of that house, stay away a night or two, and then come back and lay down the law. Things would change. Her husband's alternative is allowing her live her own life until their daughter is grown and on her own or getting a job and paying the bills on his own. He's gotten very used to being taken care of; he isn't going to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs. She could parlay that power into forcing changes that need to be made and in being happy for the first time in decades. No more recriminations. No more lies. No more depressions or living in fear of the next emotional onslaught that sends her spinning into the darkness. But she doesn't realize the power she holds nor does she know how to exercise it.

I've found that people with a lot to lose will make any bargain to maintain the style of living to which they've become accustomed. The trick is in recognizing in whose hands the power lies and taking advantage of that fact.

If you decide to stay together for the children (although it's never good for the kids, teaching them that love and respect can be bought) at least make it worth your while. Live life on your own terms. Despite the romance we attach to marriage and all the mystique and religion with which we wrap it, marriage is a contract and contracts can be renegotiated when they no longer work. The landlady and her husband negotiated a separation of their personal belongings and set up separate households, keeping some assets together because of the financial benefits, but then it became more and more complicated to file taxes every year because they jointly held their assets. Divorce began to look better and better until the landlady realized she had more to gain without her husband in tow. She even gave him her favorite leather lounging chair and ottoman because it took up so much room in the living room and she likes things more open. And they remain friends.

In my view, nothing is worth the emotional destruction or the detrimental effects on one's health (my friend has high blood pressure and drifts in and out of depression) inherent in staying in a marriage that doesn't work. She and her husband sleep in separate rooms and both of them have had affairs over the years. They are not even friends and barely converse from one day to the next unless it involves their daughter or money. There is not a single pleasant emotion between them. She resents her husband and he continues to punish her for the affair she admitted to decades ago. She doesn't realize, nor can I tell her without revealing my sources, that he has had several affairs during their marriage. Instead, she feels guilty for needing companionship and love and being close to someone who respects her and acknowledges her needs and her existence, even though night after night she goes home to spend most of her time alone or wrapped in television or working around the house or immersed in her hobbies and silence to remain in a loveless and unhappy marriage out of a sense of duty and responsibility.

It's hard to see people I respect and care about unwilling or unable to get out of a bad situation but, like with my own children, it's not my life to live. I can only offer support and understanding, hold out my hand and hope they take it.

Don't get me wrong. Even though I have been married and divorced twice, it wasn't easy for me to throw in the towel, especially the first time, but I have lived and learned and I know what living death marriage can be. I simply choose life. It's selfish but so is survival.

Busy days, sleepless nights

I didn't get much sleep over the weekend as my brain churned with everything I learned about radio operations this past weekend and now I'm going to spend a few more busy days and sleepless nights putting together all the events and pictures and perspectives for the club newsletter. I foresee another busy weekend, especially with the Pikes Peak annual hill climb and VE sessions up at Woodland Park on Saturday and fielding more and more offers to review books. I wanted to be busy and productive and I hope I can be both with this inundation of information, books and activities flying my way. At least the weather is cool and the Hell moments are fewer and more tolerable with the cool weather.

It was 43 degrees when I got up this morning and I fleetingly thought of plugging in the heater and turning it on but Mother Nature and Father Time took care of the thermostat for me. I am antsy beyond belief right now but that is probably a function of all the activity and still being wired from the weekend.

Thoughts are flying around in my head and I'm working like a one-armed paper hanger to pin them down and put them into some coherent order so I can follow up with the positive responses to queries I made to national magazines. I didn't think my article ideas would get such rapid response, especially in view of how long I waited in the past to get anything published before. The national magazines were notorious for making me wait for months before responding, sometimes with a form rejection and once in a while with a long drawn out personal rejection leaving the door open for me if I dared to essay their transom again. So to get a response back almost immediately means I hit a nerve or the right editor at the right time or simply that I have hit the mother lode with a topic tuned just right to catch their receivers. (I'm still thinking in radio terms and it hasn't worn off yet)

We are expecting another 10-14 days of scattered thunderstorms for which I am heartily grateful and I know the tinder dry forests are grateful as well. There was rain in the mountains when I was on vacation in Estes Park but it has been hotter than a Sunday griddle here most of the time. I'm so glad to see the rain coming through and the temperatures dropping and the ground soaking up the precious water so no more fires like the fire four years ago can get a foothold here in Colorado. That would be a very good thing.

Well, I'm off to read and write and do a few money making things before I steal away for 45 minutes to watch one of the last two episodes of Lost on DVD. I want to know what is about to happen but I don't want it to end. Then again, I want to see the second season and it's not out on DVD yet. I now know what everyone was talking about and why they were so excited and mesmerized by this show. I won't watch it with commercials; it would be far too nerve wracking, so I'll wait for the second season to come out on DVD and save my pennies to buy the first season for myself and Nel next door. This is one I want in my library.

I'll shut up now -- but only for now.

News -- disturbing and otherwise

On a tribe thread this came up.

The age of cesarean sections on request, epidurals and drips of oxytocin is a turning point in the history of childbirth. Until recently women could not give birth without releasing a complex cocktail of 'love hormones'. Today, in many countries, most women have babies without releasing these specific hormones. The questions must be raised in terms of civilization. This turning point occurs at the very time when several scientific disciplines suggest that the way human beings are born has long-term consequences, particularly in terms of sociability, aggressiveness or, in other words, 'capacity to love'.

The scientific abstract from which this is excerpted reminded me of a conversation with while we were on vacation. We talked about how doctors and scientists are performing more and more surgeries and the long term effect of those surgeries on quality of life and life in general, and whether or not they should be allowed. The above gives a whole new perspective on that discussion, making me wonder if children today are indeed more aggressive and less able to love or if their parents are truly not as committed to disciplining and curbing their children as earlier generations, for instance, my parents and their parents.

Can situations like Columbine and more recent instances be tied to current birth practices or a lack of naturally occurring hormones released during the birthing process, or even the lack of breast feeding? Is science and medicine meddling in areas that will have long term detrimental effects on basic human instincts and chemistry that will lead to the destruction of civilization?

On a lighter note, I spent yesterday at WV7T's house yesterday for Field Day and spent most of the time rigging and putting up antennas and logging contacts. I didn't get a chance to get on the air, but I'm going back today.

I also met a ham who is involved in weather balloon launches in the area with EOSS and who is designing an experiment to measure the chaos effect between the upper reaches of the atmosphere where the weather balloon bursts and the lower atmosphere in the oxygen rich layers of atmosphere. He's asked me if I'd like to take part in a few launches and recoveries and I asked him if he'd like to write an article for the newsletter about his project. We both discussed satellites and getting involved in AmSat launches and possibly putting together a communications satellite for launch. He has the experience and the connections and I have the desire to learn. Seems like a very good fit.

He showed me some of the pictures he took during some balloon launches and we talked about the program for quite a while, even to the point of being asked to go outside (we were talking quietly) so the rest of the group could get on with their contacts. Worked out really well because he went to his truck to get his laptop and fire it up. We exchanged contact information and he also gave me contact information for the editor of QST, which is the ARRL's magazine.

One of the topics Paul (weather balloon guy) and I talked about was the percentage of women involved in hard sciences and ham radio and how little it has changed over the past 30-40 years. It's still about 10-20% overall and that isn't good. You'd think with all the talk of equal rights and such more women would have ventured into the scientific arena. Paul and I both agree that women, American women, are not aware of the potential and the available areas, and we'd both like to change it.

I participated in Field Day to learn about antennas so I can build my own, and I got plenty of hands on experience and knowledge to build upon yesterday, but I also participated to get to know more local hams. I met quite a few yesterday, older and my age, and I had a good time being the only female involved -- or at least I was until Su showed up for about an hour. She went away again, too, and left me the field. The day wasn't a total loss since there were quite a few bachelors in the group who were asking a lot of personal questions about phone numbers and availability for further contact. Could get very interesting -- and I'll learn more about electronics and radios, too.

That is all. Disperse.

Field Day

Few of you probably know what Field Day is but it's a chance annually to show off our ham radio expertise and get people who haven't been on the air for a while or have never operated on the air. It also gives people a chance to try it out and get involved and maybe start planning to get their ham radio operator's license.

I have been a licensed amateur radio operator (ham) for over a year now and this is my first Field Day. I'm looking forward to operating on lots of frequencies in lots of modes and helping to set up antennas, which will come in very handy in setting up my own antenna since I have had lots of promises to help me get it up and no follow-through so far. Besides, it's time I learned to do it myself, something I have had lots of practice with in other areas.

At any rate, at 0800 hours tomorrow I will be taking three bags of potato chips and my eagerness over to a local ham's house and helping with three antenna installations and then racking up some QSOs and hopefully some QSLs coming my way.

If you don't know, then it's time to fine out what I'm talking about. We can use more operators on the air and it will give me another way to contact people I have met on LJ. Find out where they're holding Field Day in your area and you could even talk to the International Space Station when it passes over your area.

That is all. Disperse -- and find your own local Field Day adventure.

Right to exist

I received the following from a retired journalist who lives in Israel (and has been begging me to visit for years) and is a long time friend.

***

There is irony in the thought that were Menachem Begin alive today he would be saddened, indeed outraged, at Prime Minister Ehud Olmert's insistence - in [conjunction] with the US and the EU - that Hamas's political legitimacy be conditioned, inter alia, on its recognition of Israel's right to exist.

"Right to exist?" I can hear the late prime minister roundly chastising his younger successor who declares himself to be a Begin disciple. "Are you telling me, Ehud, that our right to exist in Eretz Yisrael has to be sanctioned for political purposes by an intrinsically anti-Semitic, murderous Palestinian Arab terrorist organization? Have you lost your Jewish self-respect? Where is your Jewish memory?"

Menachem Begin had a surfeit of both - Jewish self-respect and memory. He had an all-encompassing grasp of Jewish history. Instinctively his memory went back thousands of years and his vision forward thousands of years. Jewish nostalgia fed his soul; it nurtured his deepest convictions.

SO WHEN, on the first day of his premiership in 1977, he was waylaid by a tall, debonair, rakishly good-looking Englishman in a bow tie and a perfectly pitched BBC announcer's voice, and saucily asked whether he looked forward to a time when the Palestinians would recognize Israel, his jaw tightened in restrained Jewish anger. But honed as he was by years of legal training, he answered with the composed demeanor of a practiced jurist, saying, "Traditionally, there are four major criteria of statehood under international law. One - an effective and independent government. Two - an effective and independent control of the population. Three - a defined territory. And four - the capacity to freely engage in foreign relations. Israel is in possession of all four attributes and, hence, is a fully fledged sovereign state and a fully accredited member of the United Nations."

"But, surely, you would insist, would you not, that the relevant Palestinian organizations recognize Israel as a sine qua non for negotiations with them?" persisted the fellow.

"Certainly not! Those so-called relevant organizations are gangs of murderers bent on destroying the State of Israel. We will never conduct talks about our own destruction."

"And were they to recognize Israel's existence - would you then negotiate with them?" pressed the correspondent.

"No, sir!"

"Why not?"

"Because I don't need Palestinian recognition for my right to exist."

TWO HOURS later Menachem Begin stood at the podium of the Knesset, presenting his new cabinet. He began by dryly outlining the democratic processes that led to the changing of the guard, from Labor to Likud. And then, in recollection perhaps, of his acerbic exchange with the BBC man, he began talking about Israel's right to exist.

"Our right to exist - have you ever heard of such a thing?" he declared, passion creeping into his voice. "Would it enter the mind of any Briton or Frenchman, Belgian or Dutchman, Hungarian or Bulgarian, Russian or American, to request for its people recognition of its right to exist?"

He glared at his audience and wagged a finger, stilling every chattering voice in the Knesset chamber. And now, using his voice like a cello, sonorous and vibrant, he drove on:

"Mr. Speaker: We were granted our right to exist by the God of our fathers at the glimmer of the dawn of human civilization four thousand years ago. Hence, the Jewish people have an historic, eternal and inalienable right to exist in this land, Eretz Yisrael, the land of our forefathers. We need nobody's recognition in asserting this inalienable right. And for this inalienable right, which has been sanctified in Jewish blood from generation to generation, we have paid a price unexampled in the annals of nations."

Then he rose up on his toes, his shoulders squared, thumped the podium, and perorated in a voice that was thunder, "Mr. Speaker: From the Knesset of Israel, I say to the world, our very existence per se is our right to exist!"

A spontaneous applause rose from the benches. Many got to their feet in full-throated acclaim. It was a stirring Knesset moment - a moment of instinctive self-recognition affirming that though the State of Israel was then but 29 years old, its roots in Eretz Yisrael ran 4,000 years deep.

THREE WEEKS later, the very same issue cropped up once more when prime minister Begin first met president Jimmy Carter in the White House. As their encounter drew to a close, the president handed the premier a piece of heavy bond White House stationary on which the formal communique to be released in their name was drafted.

"I trust this will meet with your approval," said Carter in his reedy Georgian voice.

Begin ran his eye over the one page text, and said, "Totally acceptable, Mr. President, but for one sentence."

Secretary of State Cyrus Vance, an unruffled man as a rule, who had invested much effort in drafting the document, became momentarily agitated. After a year at the job he had perfected a manner of drafting such joint statements designed to convey as little meaning as possible.

"And what might that be?" he asked.

"Please delete the sentence which reads, 'The United States affirms Israel's inherent right to exist.'"

President Carter's steely pale-blue eyes flared in surprise. "It would be incompatible with my responsibilities as president of the United States were I to omit this commitment to your country," he said. "To the best of my knowledge, every Israeli prime minister has asked for this public pledge."

"I sincerely appreciate your sentiment, Mr. President," said Mr. Begin, his tone deeply reflective as if reaching down into generations of memory, "But it would be equally incompatible with my responsibilities as prime minister of Israel were I not to ask you to erase that sentence."

"But why?"

"Because our Jewish state needs no American affirmation of our right to exist. Our Hebrew bible established that right millennia ago. Never, throughout the centuries, did we ever abandon or forfeit that right. Therefore, sir, we alone, the Jewish people - no one else - are responsible for our country's right to exist."

So yes, Menachem Begin would, indeed, have had what to say to Ehud Olmert, were he around today. Never would he have put on the table a demand for recognition of Israel's right to exist as a quid pro quo for negotiation. To him, this was a high ideological principle, a fundamental axiom, an absolute given, a natural corollary of his all-embracing view of Jewry's extraordinary history.

Ehud, take it out.

The writer served on the personal staff of five prime ministers, including Menachem Begin.

Fixnwrtr over and out.

I really just need to get up

Well, up is relative. I've been up since 4:19 AM and I didn't go back to sleep. Instead I decided to check email, answer email and play on LJ for a while. It's nearly time for me to make my breakfast, throw on something to keep me covered and work, but I'm still playing here on LJ -- and flirting with my favorite kind of guy -- willing who wears a uniform. Baby!

Yesterday, I went to the eye doctor's office (for the second time this week) to be checked out for LASIK. It seems my eyes are healthy and there is sufficient corneal tissue for the procedure. Good. It also seems I have about five months' worth too many daily use contacts. Not good. I need to a) bite the bullet and take the loss on 150+ contacts or b) wait until I use all 150+ contacts or c) get my money back on 90 contacts, use up what I have and schedule my surgery accordingly. Whatever I do, there is a cost involved and I don't think the refund on 90 contacts is going to be enough to offset the $1850 (could be $1990) cost of LASIK surgery. I will also need to save the money to pay for the procedure, which would take a very long time to recoup in terms of cost of contacts. I'm wiling to wait to balance on that one if it means better eye sight and no more corrective lenses of any kind. So, okay.

Last night, just before I headed for my book and bed, I checked to see who had called while I was at the movies seeing X-Men: The Last Stand and my landlady had called. It was too late to call Beanie or Lynn but not too late for the landlady, so I called her. She wanted to know how I was doing and to thank me again for lending her A Promising Man by Elizabeth Young. She was doing the same thing I did with the book, laughing out loud and hating to put the book down. She was sitting on the front porch with a glass of wine and anxious to get back to the book so our conversation was short.

The landlady told me she was at her daughter's beauty shop getting her hair cut when she burst out laughing while reading the book. I did the same thing on Saturday while sitting outside the laundry room while new neighbor Mike (who now owns the house of the tree hating orc wench who was killed by sunlight and hauled away) worked in the yard. I am certain he thought I suffered from Tourette syndrome, but without the profanity, or some form of barking seal disorder, but I didn't care. Young's books are that good. I still have a few more to get through, now that I've found her and want to plumb the very depths of her abilities, but there aren't many more because she died in 2001 of hepatitis C. More's the pity because she cranked out laugh out loud romances. Too bad the depths are so shallow. *sigh*

Anyway, I had some time before the movie yesterday and stopped in at Office Max to pick up some more legal size tablets for keeping track of how many pages I transcribe and broke down and picked up a sketch pad and box of drawing pencils (sans pencil sharpener which means I must return and get a new box with pencil sharpener) because I've decided to break out the rusty drawing skills and kick off the rust. I'm considering writing a couple of children's books while I'm working on the current projects and thought I'd try my hand at illustrating the books. I'm only planning two books but I think I can adequately capture what I want, of only to give a real artist a good idea of what goes where and how it should look. I'll also need to buy a camera and take a trek back up to my old stomping grounds to take pictures, and to buy some water colors or pastels or acrylics to paint pictures. Or I might just do them in charcoal and/or pencil. That would be effective if a little dark for a positive story. Maybe a mix of the two. Don't know. Still in the in-my-head-planning stages. However, I do miss drawing and painting and a sketch book and pencils, eraser and sharpener don't take up that much space or weight in a backpack when I go for a stroll during the day. Gives me a good reason to unshoulder my pack and sit down for a few minutes, and to hide the real reason I'm sitting down (wheezing, gasping and sucking wind).

There is also an old love back in my life, one I have long missed but will miss no more. I got a healthy dose yesterday but I crave more -- and more -- and more. Need to carve out a little time for him, too. A couple hours a day ought to stave off the worst of the craving -- for now.

Some days you get it

I have been having trouble sleeping for a while now but this morning I woke up much later than usual, at 7 AM, refreshed and full of energy. That hasn't happened in a while. Could be the book I was reading last night (or rather browsing through) or it could have been accumulated stress and lack of sleep finally put me down for nine hours or anything and everything. I don't care. Today is a good day and it just got better. I found the answer to all my problems. Chalk it up to my penchant for looking beyond the first glance and my voracious curiosity.

Yes, today is a very good day and all the days that follow will be so much better. Ain't love wonderful?

Ooh, goodies

I have been going through all the goodies I brought back from my vacation a couple weeks ago (how could it have been that long ago?) and took them over to Nel's to share the joy. She opened my Encyclopedia of 5000 spells and came up spells for domination. I don't believe in coincidences. Neither does Nel. Now, who can I dominate? Should be interesting and the spells seem very old and pretty straight forward. Should be fun.

So, if you suddenly feel like you are a marionette and someone is pulling on your strings...bwahahahahaha.

I changed my lasek assessment from Tuesday to what I thought was today and was late for the appointment because I'm not familiar with the route or that side of town. I wasn't late. I was early -- 24 hours early. But I asked some questions, got some paperwork to fill out (don't you always with a new medical provider) and a neat portfolio of info on lasek surgery. I can have my own optometrist provide the pre- and postoperative care but what am I going to do with 120 days worth of contacts? It's not like I can give them away as party favors or to the Salvation Army or ARC, but maybe I can get my money back on at least one of the boxes and postpone my surgery until about September when I can throw away solutions and contacts for a very long time. The money would be nice, too.

The one time I plan ahead I discover I was thinking too far in advance. Oh, well. *sigh*

Last night I tossed and turned and couldn't get comfortable or cool or sleep more than an hour all night. All I did was think about rain coming over my mountains and down toward my little section of town to cool things off and freshen everything. Today it started raining at 10 AM and kept raining on and off all day. It's still raining on and off and the air is fresh and cool and clean and I think I will be able to sleep, not just because I am knackered from not sleeping last night but because it's cool and breezy and wet, perfect sleeping weather. Perfect for something else, too, bit I'll have to wait for that.

It's definitely summer, and not just because today is the solstice, but because there is a band playing in the park two blocks away and the music is drifting this way just like last year. What a perfectly wonderful day.

What is a hero?

It was once easy to define hero as someone who did something extraordinary during a time of stress and/or danger, natural or otherwise. In our current reality TV world heroes are much more difficult to define -- and to keep.

Academics are constantly justifying their existence by debunking heroes and every other aspect of our lives, getting most of it wrong, I might add. They believe they are getting at the truth and doing a service to mankind and to the country whose heroes they debunk. They're not.

We need heroes, real or imagined. It's very much like The Polar Express and the reindeer bell that only someone with the heart of a child can hear. When we lose our heroes what is left?

Cynicism has its place and is necessary to unraveling the tangled webs woven to bilk us of our money, our lives and our beliefs, but cynicism has no place when it comes to throwing heroes off their pedestals. We all know heroes have feet of clay, just like gods, but we need heroes, not as individuals but as a composite of all the men and women who have risked their lives and resources to stand up for what they believe.

This just in

Google is your friend. Say it ten times a day every day. It should be your mantra.

In researching menopause and nose bleeds I came up with alfalfa and sprouts as the best possible way to deliver their amazing array of benefits.

Alfalfa sprouts are what people typically think of when you mention sprouts. They are the ones you commonly see at a salad bar. Rich in phytochemicals, they protect against cancer, heart disease, osteoporosis and fibrocystic breast disease. They stimulate natural killer cell activity, which strengthens the immune system. What's more,they are beneficial in reducing symptoms of PMS and menopause, including hot flashes. Furthermore, they contain high concentrations of antioxidants, the body's defense against the destruction of DNA which is the cause of aging. Alfalfa sprouts are abundant sources of vitamins A, B, C, E and K, the minerals calcium, iron, magnesium, phosphorus, potassium and zinc, also carotene, chlorophyll, amino acids and trace elements.They contain 35% protein. One pound of alfalfa seed produces 10-14 pounds of sprouts.

That such a small threadlike sprout could contain so much good is unbelievably amazing. And there are other sprouts that are beneficial and even help alleviate menopausal symptoms.

Google is your friend. Google is necessary. Google is your friend. Repeat. Use. Repeat.