Coolreds Rant

I wish I knew how to be free....

2012-01-04T01:57:00.000-08:00

This song has been with me for years...I guess I would consider it the soundtrack to my life. Once again I am listening to it over and over...

2011-Wrap Up (more or less)

2012-01-02T22:20:00.000-08:00

Due to my infrequent posting this past while...decided to complete this meme to catch some people up...all 5 of you.

1. What did you do in 2011 that you have never done before?
I went rafting on a river as a college activity. It was very awesome!! I also attended a funeral for a biker that was a regular in my store. I have never been to a funeral before (just a wake/viewing..not sure what it's called) much less a biker one. It was very emotional as several friends of his read poems or said something rather informally. I might add that compared to funerals I see on tv (my only comparison) its impromptu and informal feeling made it seem more special and meaningful..at least to me.

2. Did you keep your new years’ resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I consider resolutions to be like promises to yourself...and I'm not one for making promises because I'm not always able to keep them. This not only disappoints the one I made them too but I let myself down in the process as well. So...no resolutions...but I do give myself options. Options are good.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Not that I am aware of...(should check Facebook statuses more often maybe)

4. Did anyone close to you die?
No.

5. What countries did you visit?
Only the ones I read in books...I'm home after 23 years..don't plan on going anywhere anytime soon.

6. What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011?
I specific date that will change my life...I know its somewhere up ahead...but no idea when it will manifest itself.

7. What date from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory, and why.
Arab Spring...the totality of all those arab countries (the date as each one started more or less) coming to life and seeing their dictators fall one by one..with a few more still to go...but as each one falls I can't help but feel apprehensive that the only result will be a new one taking the place of the old. Let's hope, for their sake, real change will happen from deep within..and not just surface change that really changes nothing at all.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
I spent most of my younger years (in Bahrain) practicing a level of patience unknown to most. I had to if I wanted to survive with my sanity intact...but these past few years a certain amount of jaded impatience had crept in and I seemed unable to stop the takeover. I worked very hard this year to gain some of that former patience back...though not to the extent I will take anything from anyone as before...I am no longer in a position of having to submit for the sake of peace or my children. It's been hard but I feel I'm gaining ground.

9. What was your biggest failure?
See #8 those times that I failed to practice patience are the times people got hurt. For that I failed them..and myself.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Ended up in the emergency room with a severe tooth infection...wasn't pretty or something I wish to repeat. Fell down a flight of stairs....killed my knee which still gives me grief from time to time. And of course the most painful of all...a heart that will remain injured and in constant pain until the only person that can repair it is free to do so. This could take awhile so...2012 round up addition maybe? *sigh*

11. What was the best thing you bought?
A ring for someone special.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Every person that withheld their tongue from saying something that would hurt another. It takes true effort to bite your tongue and we do not always manage that...a celebration is called for (even if nobody even knows there is a need for one except you) whenever this happens. If this was you at anytime..my hats off to you. I didn't always manage it.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Humans killing humans simply to remain in power...we all are going to die..that power you are killing for..will still be there long after you are gone...is that spilled blood worth it?

14. Where did most of your money go?
Bills. Not many extras this year.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
3 "really's? Hmmm....well I got really excited about doing so well in college..hard work and no sleep pays off even if it doesn't feel like it at the time. I got really really excited as summer arrived and I knew a certain person was coming to visit. BUT my really really REALLY excited moment will be when #6 happens. It will definitely be worth 3 "reallys".

16. What song(s) will always remind you of 2011?
Bruno Mars: It Will Rain

17. Compared to this time last year, are you: Happier or sadder?
This is a tough question because certain aspects of my life make me happier simply because it is not like it use to be...but then other parts are not going as I wish them to and so sadness is also ever present. I have my ups and downs...as long as the ups last longer than the downs...I will manage to get through them.

18. Thinner or fatter?
My bank account is definitely thinner.

19. richer or poorer?
My health is fairly even..so in that I am richer than most. My bills are also paid each month (even if that leaves nothing left over..but paid is paid) so I am richer in that respect as well. I am constantly learning new things and evolving my thoughts and beliefs to align with this new knowledge..and for that I am definitely richer than many who fail to take advantage of such an incalcuable amount of information out there and prefer to stick to what they "know". However, I do not have many friends still (haven't quite learned how to make them and keep them...lived too long without much company I suppose..I'm sad to admit I am still socially inept) so for that I am definitely poorer. Also, a few of the people I love most are far from me...until they are near me again..I am most definitely poorer in that respect.

20. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Reading things that didn't have an exam after it. Ride my bike when the weather was good. Take 2 day trips or something similar and see new things.

21. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Crying...thinking of past mistakes.

22. How did you spend Christmas?
Sleeping...with my schedule I have to grab sleep when I can.

23. How many one-night stands?
Well since this is not Facebook and such information is strictly for that social outlet..I shall plead the 5th. ;)

24. What was your favorite TV program?
I don't watch much TV but watch the occasional series on netflix now and then. I got caught up in Breaking Bad. Excellent. I also liked Army Wives.

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
Not sure if hate is the right word...but someone that I thought loved me...proved that anyone can hold a knife and seek to shred your heart with it. I do not hate her...I simply feel nothing. To hate her would be to think about her and flame the hate...I'm past such things. I cut her from my life...unfortunately taking that knife out has proved difficult...can't reach around to my back like I could when I was younger.

26. What was the best book you read?
Didn't have lots of time to read anything outside of college but I did find time to read a few things. A book by Christopher Hitchens really spoke to me. Religion Poisons Everything. Also, Daniel Dennet's Breaking the Spell.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Adele..though I didn't "discover" her...she's been around...just had not heard of her.

28. What did you want and get?
A kindle...but really haven't had time to enjoy it as much as I would like.

29. What was your favorite film of this year?
I saw very few new films this year...still hooked on some old ones that I watched again though.

30. What did you do on your birthday?
My friend took me to dinner with her husband and some friends. It was a special night...you don't turn 29 every year...well actually I do but whose counting.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2011?
The same one I have practiced most of my life (even under the abaya)..jeans and tshirt.

32. What kept you sane?
The fact that there are still people who love me...despite my failures..or maybe because of them. Not real sure.

33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
I have/had (not sure if it's gone yet or I just haven't had time to muse about it) a serious girl crush on Ellen Degeneres. The lady obviously has her down times like all of us but she still manages to light up a room and make people smile...even when you don't really feel like it...and she does it without making others the butt of cruel "jokes". That takes a lot of class in hollywood anymore.

34. What political issue stirred you the most?
Bahrain protestors. (and all arab states but this one is personal for obvious reasons) This little island that is "known" for being so goddam friendly is shown to the world to be exactly what it is and has always been...a little island ruled by a corrupt family who will stop at nothing, including murder, to keep their pitiful little self appointed titles, money, and corrupt life styles.

35. Who did you miss?
My daughter who is far from me...and my love.

36. Who was the best new person you met?
My anthropology teacher was one of the most interesting people I have ever met.

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2011.
Realizing that even though you love someone...you cannot have them in your life if you want to keep peace within yourself and keep the drama down. You have to cut them loose even if it seems like the harshest remedy.

That's it more or less...as stated. 2011 went by so fast...and yet so slow. Some interesting things happened, some fun stuff, a few sorrows..and a couple of surprises as well. Learned a few things about myself that made me go hmmmm...but all in all...I survived it. I consider that a blessing when so many across the globe didn't.

p.s. I will start posting more here now that college is done...I had the most hectic college/work schedule and could find no time to formulate thoughts that weren't meant for a paper of some sort. One more semester of college to go..but I think I can find time this semester to post my usual drivel. Stay tuned, folks.

Hitchens at his best. Such a loss to the world.

2011-12-20T08:53:00.000-08:00

Get this book, people...seriously good stuff.

2011-10-05T11:50:00.001-07:00

My room, my desk.

2011-09-29T16:10:00.000-07:00

After spending that past semester trying to make due with my card table to do homework on (trying to squeeze my books etc on there along with my monitor is very frustrating), I broke down and bought a nice spacey desk. It weighed a ton...and came in a box. Apparently I had to assemble my new work space before I could enjoy it's many shelves to put things on, its long wide table that will hold my monitor and books easily, and the little lamp I bought especially to shine down on my new contented head while I did homework. All I had to do was put this puppy together and I was good to go. Homework heaven here I come.

I might mention I have never in my life put anything together more complicated than Lego blocks. My ex did all that sort of thing and I wasn't allowed to touch anything cause I "might ruin it"...being a girl and all. Whatever. How hard can it be anyways?

It took me 20 min to get the darn thing out of the box. Those boxes are like...indestructible. Seriously!!! I was hacking away at it with my kitchen knife no less and contemplating borrowing the neighbors chainsaw to get it done. (no idea if my neighbor has a chainsaw but he looks very Jasonish...so I'm assuming odds are in favor he has one tucked away in his closet somewhere).

Finally ripped a corner open with a banshee scream of success, which brought all my kids running...in which one of them pointed out the easier way to get it open. Which he did, in about 2 min. Creep.

There were about a million and five pieces to this desk. I sat looking at the pile of soon to be desk delight...and at the picture on the box and couldn't fathom how all these pieces were going to culminate in such a work of art. Looked like left over pieces after building a very big house.

Then I remembered these things come with DIRECTIONS!! Yay me. I hunted for the elusive piece of paper...actually a small sized telephone book of instructions it turns out...and eagerly flipped through the pages thinking...no big deal. Nice pictures, plenty of arrows...no big deal.

On the first page it makes this claim (that I discovered later was TOTALLY bogus...I should sue someone for false advertising) that it would only take about one hour to assemble this lovely desk. One hour. I had 5 hours before I had to be at work so plenty of time to get this thing together AND to test drive it with some Biology homework I had waiting. No big deal. One hour.

One of the very first things I learned about furniture assembling is that you need a lot of space to spread things out adequately. I was in my bedroom and had to put the desk together there cause it wouldn't fit through the door later if I did it in the living room...where there is lots of room. So the most I could spread out was in about a 4 by 5 foot square area....with areas extending down by my bed and into the closet. It was a tight squeeze, but hey...one hour. I could tolerate the cramped space for an hour.

I separated pieces of wood into like piles and went hunting for some tools. Screwdriver, check. Hammer, check. Apparently that was all I would need so I was good to go. I sat down in the middle of my pile and looked at the directions for the first step. A nicely drawn picture of two pieces of wood joined together with little pictures of the appropriate nails to hold them together with. Some kind of locking nail as it had a hole in it which another nail was meant to sit in at some point and lock together when you twisted it into place. Easy peasy.

I looked at all the pieces trying to discern which ones were the ones in the drawing. I held up this one and that one and compared them to the picture...no..not that one...too narrow. Not that one, too square. Ah..here they are. Two rectangles that matched perfectly.

I spent about 10 minutes trying to figure out how to hold two pieces of wood together while at the same time screwing a nail into them. Apparently I was jumping the gun as I was meant to screw the lock into one piece and the locking nail into the other and then fit them together. Ok, gotcha. I'm starting to catch on to rules of the game. Things should go smoother now.

Once done with those two I looked at the next set of directions. I had to add another piece onto the two I just fit together. Once again I hunted for the right piece of wood...not easy when they looked pretty damn similar to each other. (I would be nearly half done with this damn thing before I actually noticed that on the edges of each piece of wood was a letter associated with the pic it was needed in. So much easier that way *sigh*)

For the next hour I hunted for the proper pieces...struggled with nailing and screwing things as they are not my forte, and cursed the heat, the lack of space, the mocking children who ventured in every now and then to point and laugh and the various scratches and bruises I was self inflicting at an alarming rate. Still...it was coming along...sort of. By the end of the promised hour...my desk still did not resemble a desk and there were far more pieces left to assemble than had been assembled. I grumbled and went to take a break before I chucked it all out the window.

I came back with new resolve and tackled the next set of directions. Attach the little shelf dividers with pegs that went into each edge and into the main part of the desk. No problem. Easy enough. After completing this no brainer I sat back and looked at my progress. It was then I realized I had put the shelf dividers on backwards. Instead of the nice smooth pretty surface facing outwards (where we can see it) the grainy woody part was looking at me. Damn!! I grabbed the hammer and tried to pry them back out. I could barely get the edge of the hammer underneath the edge. It was too tight a fit. I struggled with it for a few minutes before deciding, Who cares? My room...my desk. One little misstep would not take away from the purpose of the desk. (I'm pretty easy going like that...plus it gives the desk character. *ahem*)

I finally got the point where the shelving pieces fit onto the top of the desk. At this point I am meant to sit under the desk, twist and contort my body into a position in which I can screw nails upwards and at an angle...putting pressure on top as well to allow the nails to enter. While Pilates class has taught me some interesting moves of late, this was nearly impossible. It was probably the most frustrating part of the whole damn process. I took another look at the directions and noted at the beginning where it said One Hour (liars) it also said only ONE person was needed for assembly. Really? One very nimble flexible 4 handed person apparently is what they had in mind. That wasn't me by a long shot.

I took another break.

I came back and with more sweat and cussing than nohow, I managed to get the damn shelves on. They even looked mostly straight. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Next part was to put the backs on the shelves. Little flimsy pieces of panelling that closed off the back. How hard could that be?

Hammering teeny tiny little nail wannabees is a lesson in perseverance and marksmanship. Perseverance I have...marksmanship....not so much. 10 throbbing fingers later I had the panels on. Now it was looking like a desk. Hot damn!!

My daughter came in, took one look and asked..."are those panel things supposed to be showing the grainy side this way?"

DAMN!!!

I grabbed my hammer and attempted to pry the panels off so I could turn them around and put the smooth side facing the right way. The panels were too thin though and immediately began to shred when I attempted to pry them up. Hell...OK then...no big deal. My room, my desk.

I looked at the clock and noted that over 3 hours had passed by now. One hour my ass. Who wrote that false claim on those directions anyhow, Inspector Gadget?

I was hot and a mess. I had numerous self inflicted injuries...and my "be calm be patient" mantra was starting to wear thin. I had to be at work soon so needed to get this done. I did NOT want to come home the next morning and face this mess on the bedroom floor.

I tackled it with renewed vigour...and promptly stubbed my little toe on a protruding edge. More cursing and some fairly energetic hopping around and I'm sure I heard some giggling coming from somewhere else in the house. Just remember, kids...moms don't forget.

I started slamming the remaining pieces into place and banged away with the hammer much harder than I needed too...but ironically my aim improved considerably. Who knew?

Within an hour (20 min till I needed to be at work) I was putting the last piece into place. (or so I thought). I called all the kids and they came to admire (poke fun at) my handy work. Not bad if I say so myself. It looked like a desk. The goal I was going for..so it's all good. See what nearly 5 hours of hard labor will get you...a desk with several backward pieces and some nicks and cuts here and there...but homework here I come.

My son pointed out that there were several pieces of wood still on the floor. I turned to look and yes indeed, there were 4 triangular pieces of wood just sitting there mocking me. What!! I grabbed up the directions and flipped pages frantically trying to figure out what step I missed that would include 4 triangular pieces. I looked at the picture of the finished product and could see nothing that looked even remotely triangular in nature. WTH!!!

I will be honest and say that I chucked those pieces of wood in the dumpster. Until now I have no idea what they were for...but the desk seems to be holding up nicely so whatever they were for...they weren't being missed.

At any rate, desk is assembled...homework has been done on it with nary a problem arising from the backward pieces...and I'm proud of myself for getting it together without resorting to the gasoline and matches that had crossed my mind more than once, taking hold.

I won't be putting anything else together anytime soon. There are somethings I can do easily...and maybe better than some other people...but assembling furniture is not one of them because I know...if I choose to do this again..there will be sweat...there will be tears...and yes...there will be blood. (not necessarily mine but you know...blood).

Happy 5th of July!!

2011-07-05T13:24:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was our Independence Day....a day of celebrating getting rid of those pesky Brits and commemorating it by eating too much, getting sunburned and blowing shit up. American traditions at their finest.

My personal memories of 4th of Juy's of years gone by are pretty much the same. I would get a skin searing sunburn that would leave me moving like a robot, unable to sleep, and vowing to never leave myself open to another one...yet doing it again the following year. Lessons are not always learned the hard way...or any way.

Another memory is of my mother sitting on the ground among a pile of fireworks and basically lighting and throwing them in various directions. Considering she was the first certified female blaster for the coal company she worked for back then...I wonder what they would have thought about her complete disregard for safety precautions...not to mention the precedent she was setting for her children regarding fireworks and safety?

One year my older sis got a very large chunk of her calf removed by daring to light a firecracker and dropping it into a coke bottle with every intention to be far enough away to escape the resulting explosion...unfortunately she did not consider that short fuses generally do not wait for you to place the bottle carefully down before turning and running for your life. The blood was impressive...so were her screams.

I remember the time I was cleaning my bedroom and suddenly smelled a burning odor. I looked around and saw an object on the floor and was reaching down to pick it up (thinking it was trash as I was in my cleaning mode) when it suddenly exploded a mere inch or so from my outstretched fingers. While my heart was debating whether or not it was going to continue beating and sustaining my young life...I heard my father and little sis out in the hallway laughing themselves to death. Apparently father had thrown the firecracker at me to scare me with the resulting boom...I wonder whose fault it would have been if I had actually managed to pick the darn thing up before it exploded?

One 4th my mother's company held a picnic for employees and families. My father declined to come, better for us, and I spent the day watching the effects when alcohol, fireworks, and insanity are mixed. I remember this particular picnic the most because our next door neighbor then, who also worked with my mother, got annoyed by something I did (he was drinking and I was playing horseshoes..I cannot remember what it was I did that irritated him...but being 13 who knows)..at any rate the end result was him giving me a full open handed slap across my face. (my jaw would hurt for 2 weeks after that) I ran to my mother sobbing and she did what she always did...covered up my abuse...only this time she hid it from my father..not for him. She assumed he would go after our neighbor...and she was probably right. While he felt he had every right in the world to abuse us....so help the man who thought the same.

Back to my epic sunburns as one in particular stands out. The last one I suffered through (before the one I got when Bahrain experienced a full scale blackout one summer...another story I may have told at some point on this blog) I was 14 and decided for some ungodly reason to wear a tank top for the very first time to the city picnic....sans sunscreen of any kind. (up to this point in time I was a t-shirt girl...never exposing anything more than my lower arms to the sun) My very white innocent skin on my shoulders, arms, chest, and back...were simply burnt to a crisp. For the next week I could barely move, sleep, eat,....move. I had huge blisters that looked disgusting and during one moment of sweet bliss lost in an exhausted cat nap...sitting up with pillows all around me...my mother took a needle and popped all the blisters. I woke up in a mess of blister fluid and more pain. Sweet.

Yesterday's 4th saw me pottering around my house...I didn't buy a single firework. I didn't go to the show (though I could see it out the window for the most part) and I didn't get a sunburn. Win! Just couldn't get into the whole Independence Day hype this time around...feeling rather jaded I'm thinking when I read how America is going down the toilet due to politicians intent on over zealously flushing the proverbial toilet again and again. I guess I didn't see the point of celebrating and forgetting for a moment that we are slowly (or not so slowly) losing our King of the Mountain (Superpower) status and the right to celebrate our so called freedoms, democracy, and 'don't you wish you were us" mentality.

Yeah...I'm jaded.

When the lights go out in 3...2...1...

2011-07-03T15:11:00.000-07:00

The year is 2011 and the world is, for the most part, quite civilized and runs along predictable patterns of social conscious and awareness. In other words, even though we humans do tend to engage in war and drama with a little too much eagerness at times, for the most part we act civilized and mind our manners. A majority of people can wake up in the morning, go about their daily activities, and lay their heads on their pillows at night without, for a moment, forgetting that they are at the top of the food chain. Superior in intellect and capable of reason and deduction when problems arise that requires thinking, deep or otherwise. For most of us, being faced with a problem, an inconvenience, a situation that needs a step back and a look at the bigger picture in order to work things out and set things straight again, is no more problematic than deciding which shoe to put on first in the morning. At least that is what I thought prior to events that took place yesterday.

Working in a convenience store allows me to watch people behaving at their best, and sometimes at their worst, as they go about their day trying to get from point A to point B with as little hassle as possible. The mere fact that it is a convenience store means that customers are intent on getting in and out again with as little delay as possible; anything that delays a customer with this goal in mind can result in flared tempers and curt words. Most of the time this is accomplished without anything major upsetting the dynamics of a convenience store clerk/customer relationship, but now and then something happens which appears to reduce a once civilized thinking people into little more than the cave dwelling Neanderthals we sprung from. I realized yesterday that no matter how far we have come in progress, how high our skyscrapers, how far our space shuttles travel, or how complex our brain surgery gets, when the electricity goes out so does our critical thinking skills apparently.

When the electricity goes off completely we are faced with the sudden and shocking reality of just how dependent we are on it. It is then we realize that nearly everything we do is accomplished by the flick of a switch, the swipe of a card; the automatic responses that should be automatic without us even having to think of them. Electric doors opening or traffic signals operating properly and keeping traffic running smoothly happen “magically” and require no thought or action on our part. We expect these things to do what they were designed to do in order to make our lives easier, smoother, and convenient; and for the most part they do and we go about our day with nary a hiccup; it is when those SNAFU’s happen and the electricity goes out that we are pulled up sharp and thrust back into a century when the word “electricity” hadn’t even been thought up yet much less put into action.

On Saturday at least 1200 homes and businesses were affected when electricity was suddenly no longer under our control. A large scale blackout that not only affected every single thing that uses electricity to operate but also appeared to have adverse effects on people’s ability to think and workout complex problems for themselves; like how to open a door that has a CLOSED sign on it. I was forced to close the store because it simply cannot operate without electricity to run the gas pumps, registers, and security cameras. I placed two very large CLOSED signs on the doors and then spent over 2 hours watching people try and figure out why the doors would not open no matter how hard they pulled on them. Some would go from one door to the other, try that one, when that failed to open on command precede back to the first door and give that another try.

I watched as they placed hands up onto the glass and peered into the dark interior of the store trying to understand why the doors would not open and upon spotting me would play a game of charades indicating I should open the doors for them. No amount of explanation on my part that, due to the electricity being off, I could not accommodate them just now would convince them. I got pleas to just let them pay for gas, get some cigarettes, buy a pint etc. and despite me explaining again and again that there was NO electricity so the pumps would not work, the registers were little more than paperweights, and I could not let them in anyhow, seemed to not make the slightest impression on their once thinking brains. I was talking, explaining coherently and with simple words and yet the looks of confusion on each and every face clearly led me to believe I must be speaking in a tongue not previously known to man.

This confusion and inability to comprehend that, for the moment anyhow, their desires were not going to be met, led some to wander aimlessly back to their cars, obviously still trying to work things out while others decided anger was the best approach and belligerent demands and threats were what was needed at this point. Thankfully the door muffled much of what I’m positive I would not have wanted to hear clearly anyhow, but enough got through that made me glad the doors were locked and, unless body language indicated otherwise, I was safe inside the store as one after the other customers went into melt down mode.

I can only surmise, after yesterday’s adventure into the Twilight Zone, that our education system is failing our children in ways we cannot even begin to comprehend. After all, why would fully grown cognizant adults still expect doors to open that have CLOSED signs on them or electrical gas pumps to work when there is no electricity? Have they not been taught that electrical things require actual electricity to operate efficiently? These same teachers must be teaching gullible children that, despite all known laws of physics and nature, convenience store clerks have the power to make electrical things work even when there is no electricity and our refusal to do so is merely due to our selfish natures and desire to see your day interrupted and if we can get that vein pulsing on your forehead to eventually burst then all the better. In other words, you the customer, should take it very personal when we, the store clerk, are unable to give you gas on command or open a locked and CLOSED store merely because you ask us too.

Yes, it is a well-known fact that store clerks do have the power to do magic, but our menial salaries and the belief that we can be treated like mere beasts of burden by the local population; cause us to withhold said powers from the underserving population. Plus, purposely ticking off otherwise civil mannerly customers is just one perk that comes with the job. It is what keeps us clocking in day after day despite the long hours, sore feet, and thankless attitude of many of our customers. We know you wish you were us and dream of having this job but it is only open to the few with the patience and fortitude to withstand the unrelenting stream of impatient demanding customers who, for whatever reason, seem to believe they are the ONLY customer in the store or that their needs take priority over anything else anywhere at any time. We have seemingly raised our children with a Me First Me Only mindset that, while it might raise its ugly head from time to time among the best of us, seems to come clawing to the surface in most of us at the mere flip of a switch, or lack thereof.

Just try and remember one thing the next time the electricity goes off on such a wide scale, if you are inconvenienced by the fact that electrical things are no longer doing what you want them to do, then chances are everyone else is having that same problem. After all, if merely shaking your fist, raising your voice, and showing your inner beast was enough to get things working properly, parents everywhere that have ever tried to put a toy together the night before Christmas would have figured out its power decade ago.

THE TRUTH & LIES OF 9/11

2011-06-29T03:01:00.000-07:00

THE TRUTH & LIES OF 9/11

This has got to be one of the most compelling documentaries I have yet seen concerning 9/11. I advise anyone and everyone to watch it that has even the smallest interest in what happened leading up to that day and what part our govt. played in it. Seriously....watch it.

Games we played in the dark...

2011-06-22T12:21:00.000-07:00

One of the fun games my sisters and I use to play when we were young was hide and seek in the dark. There were periods of time in which both of our parents would be gone at night and we would have the house to ourselves...with strict instructions not to go outside or let anyone in. Despite the danger of getting caught either going outside or allowing friends inside...we often did both. There is something about living dangerously...hmmm. At any rate playing hide and seek in the darkness of our trailer was one of our favorite past times.

Of course it had to be at night to get full on darkness in the house and the opportunities to play didn't come often as we weren't left alone at night too much....but whenever we found out that both parents would be gone that night my sisters and I would start glancing at each other with gleeful little smiles on our faces knowing fun was about to be had by all.

No sooner had both parents left and judged to be truly gone and not coming back that we would start switching off lights and laying down the ground rules. ALL lights would be off...we wanted it to be as dark as possible to get the full scary affect. The dim light that would come from outside through the cracks in the curtains etc just added creepy affects that perfectly set the mood. We considered the kitchen home base simply because it was at the head of the trailer...the rest of the trailer was a free for all.

At some point one of us would look outside and see if any of the neighbor kids were out after dark...being a small town small trailer park, playing outside at night was a common enough sight. Since kids weren't often invited in our house they seemed to find the opportunity to get inside somewhat of an adventure and would brag later about having seen the inside of our house. I always found this rather amusing considering I tried as much as possible to get out of my house. Once all players were assembled (either just us or those who joined us) the game would commence.

Now the rules were simple...go hide somewhere and when the chance to run for home came up...go for it. Simple right? However, being in near complete darkness gave it an added twist...an element of scariness that just heightened the intensity and squeals of fright were often heard coming from some corner of the trailer...along with giggles that sounded almost hysterical. We loved scaring the hell out of ourselves...ironic considering we spent nearly all our lives being scared for some reason or another thanks to father.

Since we lived in a trailer, finding places to hide wasn't very easy...it being almost completely dark meant that at times you could be right out in the open and still not be seen if you played it right. Often times my sister or friend would creep right in front of me and have no idea I was there...often times I would have no idea they were there and would suddenly be faced with the image of a shape a mere few inches in front of me. It was all I could do not to scream...or sometimes I did and the gig was up and hysterical laughter and fast beating hearts was our reward for being caught.

Of course crashing into something in the dark was always a danger...and given that if we broke anything the punishment would be swift and severe was always in the back of our minds. Also, we couldn't very well blame the breakage on a friend that wasn't supposed to be in the house anyhow...so we knew we would have to fess up to anything that got broke. For some reason it only added to the drama, fun and sense of danger.

Then there was the very real danger of my parents coming home...I doubt my mother would have been too upset about it but my father would have gone ballistic and the fallout would have been painful and potentially dangerous...yet still we played. I couldn't begin to tell you today why we took these chances knowing full well the potential for further abuse if caught. I sometimes think that because our lives were full of pain and fear anyhow...we took what fun we could when we could and to hell with the consequences.

At any rate, most of the time the game was full of screams and laughter and we would play an hour or two then flip the lights back on and send everyone home...then hurriedly clean up the mess and set the house back to near perfection again. We always seemed to instinctively know when to call it a night and get everyone out before car lights flashed in the driveway but there were a few very close calls that had us sweating and sitting "innocently" on the couch barely catching out breath after quickly putting the last few items into place while a key was being inserted in the front door. Yeah...it was pretty damn close a few times.

During these games in the dark we had some moments of drama, fights would break out when someone stepped on someone they didn't see or someone hiding near someone else coughed or breathed too hard and gave the seeker a heads up...crashing into someone who was running in the dark was a give in and there were a few bloody noses or banged heads with some tears and broken friendships that were repaired before the night was over. Kids will be kids. However, there were also a few events that happened that, to this day, remain clear in my mind and yet go unexplained. Call it creative imagination...scene setting allowing for the mind to wander where it will...or call it real..but these things did happen and not only did they scare the hell out of us even more (those of us that were witness to said events) but never even stopped us in our tracks to continue on with the game...or maybe just added to it in some crazy "we love being scared" way.

Our trailer was designed much like many trailers. We had our kitchen at the head of the trailer then the living room...then a long hallway leading off the living room which had our bedroom at the beginning of the hall and further down the main bathroom and our parent's room at the very end of the trailer. At the beginning of the hall (just before our bedroom) was a closet that had the water heater in it and that was all. In all the years we lived in that trailer I can't remember that door being opened very often. It was just there and I never really gave it much thought.

One night during one of our games I was It and everyone else had scattered in the dark to hide. our kitchen had two small stairs leading up to it and I was sitting on those as I counted out loud and stared off into the darkness. I could here giggles and bumps and things being knocked over as everyone scrambled for a hiding spot...I knew my trailer so well I could almost always picture where they were and where they had chosen to hide...but let them sit and simmer with anticipation as I creeped back and forth pretending not to know they were there before snaking out a hand and grabbing them for maximum scare. Fun times.

Anyhow, I was sitting there counting and suddenly there was a strange glow coming from the hall way. I at first thought someone had switched on a light or maybe a flashlight but realized the light was contained...as in it was bright only right there where it was...the light didn't extend beyond a sort of circle. I always think of Tinker Bell when I remember it because she always had that glow about her that didn't seem to light up anything but the space right around her.

I stopped counting and just sat there watching the light...trying to figure out what the heck it was and why it looked sort of yellowy and old. I suddenly realized someone was standing in the light, a girl who appeared to be around 8 or 9 years of age. I might have thought it was one of our friends except that she was wearing a dress and I knew none of us were wearing a dress that night and certainly not one like she was wearing. If I had to describe it today I would use "quaint" and "modest"...words I didn't know then. (I was around 9 myself then) It had long sleeves and bows here and there. She wore stockings and black shoes that also had bows on them. Her hair was long and curly and reminded me of pics of Alice in Wonderland that I had seen before. I wouldn't have been able to tell you then but I can now that she looked like a girl from Little House on the Prairie...that style of dress and hair etc when they were dressed for church or something special.

I remember not being scared exactly but really confused because I couldn't figure out where she came from...how she got in the house...who invited her....and why in the heck she had that awful yellow glow of light around her. I also realized it had gotten really REALLY quiet. I couldn't hear the others out in the dark with their constant giggles and shouts as someone tried to hide where there was already a hider. It was completely silent except for my own breathing.

The little girl was looking at nothing in particular but then turned her head and looked at me and smiled this pretty little smile that I can clearly see to this day. It was the smile of someone that had never known sadness, abuse, adversity...at least to my young mind that is the thought that went through my head...though I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been able to explain why I got that impression from her smile alone. She spoke to me, at least I seen her lips moving but no sound came from her mouth, and then took two steps and appeared to walk into the water heater closet. After a moment I crossed the living room and stood at the closet door looking at it. In order for her to have entered the closet she would have had to open the door obviously...and in the dark I might not have noticed the door open...except that even if she did that there was nowhere in the closet for her to be. The water heater took up the entire space...it was a mere couple of inches from the door and the walls around it. No space at all for a girl to stand in...especially with the door closed.

I stood there a moment trying to make sense of this confusing set up....before reaching across and opening the door...still expecting her to somehow be in there and ready to be scared as she jumped out and said BOO or something in keeping with the game. My mind had not accepted any possibility other than she was just a kid I didn't recognize that had somehow been invited to play with us. Of course when I opened the door there was just the water heater and nothing else.

As I have mentioned before in previous posts (for those that care) I was a very smart kid back then (alas age has robbed me of natural smartness...lol) and devoured books way over my age category....passed classes with little to no effort...had skipped a grade and been given the chance to skip another but mom refused and was doing complicated Algebra 3 grades higher than my current grade. I was smart...yet couldn't make 2 + 2 = 4 for the first time in my life. This wasn't making sense and I was standing there demanding that my brain make sense of something it didn't have a clue about. Apparently I stood there long enough looking into that empty water closet for others to get tired of waiting to be found and one by one they all came out to complain...only to see me standing there staring into the closet and joking that nobody could fit in there so what the heck was I doing looking in there?

I didn't feel like playing anymore and just sat on the couch in the dark while others shrieked and ran about until my older sis called it quits and turned on the lights and sent them home. I never told her what I had seen because I had already come to the conclusion that I must have been imagining the whole thing....yet funny enough a few years later my older sis and I were talking about when we use to play that game as kids...and I mentioned seeing that little girl (rather sheepishly assuming she would tease me as always) but was completely floored when older sis told me she had seen her too...but at a different time. She hadn't told anyone either but we both described her just the same.

We sat looking at each other trying to make our brains come to the conclusion that we must have seen a ghost...what other explanation would suffice? It was the only time in the years we lived in that trailer that I saw that little girl...and my sister said she only saw her once as well....so I find that equally strange. If she lived in our trailer (was she killed in there, died in her childhood???....I hear that ghost haunt where they die...but our trailer obviously wasn't old enough to have a ghost from another century according to her clothing...but we did live in Superior at the time...maybe the ground our trailer was on was haunted???) how come we only saw her just two times (as far as I know nobody else ever saw her)?

Has anyone else ever felt they seen a ghost? Do you believe in them to see them in the first place? Did you ever see something that didn't make sense and just assumed there must be an explanation...even if you couldn't come up with one?

Years later when I had my own children I told them about our hide and seek in the dark game and of course they wanted to play it too....we lived in a big house in Hamad Town back then... 2 floors and lots of hiding places. However, my kids could never have it completely dark...they needed at least a bathroom light on with the door pulled almost shut...hmmm. Lots of fun for them...and they still play to this day (just played it the other night) though an apartment has very little to offer as far as hiding spots. It was more fun for them I think because of the ridiculousness of trying to hide in places that were too small or too obvious. (my daughter at one point sat on the floor and held a floor length mirror in front of her....and the seeker just kept walking back and forth totally not seeing her...lol).

Good times.

Of course a few really funny (sort of) thoughts come to mind as well. We owned a coon dog at one point whose name was Rosy. Rosy had a horrible little gas problem that made it impossible to enjoy her company for any length of time on a good day. During one night of hide and seek she was in the house with us (another no no) and decided to hide in the bedroom closet along with me and little sis. Older sis was It at the time and happened to be searching for us in the room at about the time Rosy decided to grace us with a full on assualt of her smelly offerings. We basically exploded from the closet unable to take one more second of the noxious gas that was suffocating us...and in the process nearly scared older sis into a heartattack with our sudden screaming emergence. Rosy had the audacity to emerge looking completely innocent of any crime.

Another incident involved one of our friends deciding it was a good time to go to the bathroom...in the dark...while the game was in progress. Needless to say...good thing it was fairly dark when someone crashed into her...spilling her off the toilet seat...and of course pants were down etc. We only got the faintest outline of her hastily pulling up her pants but her flushed faced fairly glowed in the dark...lol.

The Root of All Evil? – The God Delusion Pt 1/2

2011-06-21T13:46:00.000-07:00

The Root of All Evil? – The God Delusion Pt 1/2

The Root of All Evil? – The God Delusion PT 2/2

This is well worth viewing...I suggest others watch it closely. One has to wonder why god would allow the 3 main religions of the world to create such a divide in the world...to habor such hate for each other. Didnt god see this coming? If he did...why did he allow it? To claim that people have free choice is bullshit...where is the free choice when each one believes he is folling the One True Faith....the one True God? There is no free choice when there is no thinking going on and just mindless and blind following on faith alone.

Haters hating...

2011-06-18T13:03:00.000-07:00

I find this offensive in so many ways..but the most offensive aspect of it are when I see the children surrounding him nodding in agreement. Our children are what we teach them to be....how is teaching them to hate a good thing? a god thing?

Way back when...blinkers and all.

2011-06-07T13:54:00.001-07:00

http://coolred38.blogspot.com/2007/07/rant-revisited.html

My second post on this blog...way back when I still called myself Muslim and still believed there was hope to be found in Islam. Funny what a little time, a lot of reading, and soul searching will do to a person. I don't hate that I use to believe and how deeply I believed it (at the time it felt rights and true) but I do hate that I was so easily impressed and completely blinded to the deep seated issues Islam has.

btw I have no issues with others who still profess being Muslim...we all choose our own paths...but I do take issue with falsehoods that are spread concerning Islam. Just because I am no longer one of the ummah...doesn't mean I don't know what I'm talking about and that I don't have a valid point. One thing Muslims seem to believe to be true...if your not Muslim, or no longer call yourself one, than any knowledge you might have...is irrelevant to any discussion concerning it. Whatever.

pride goeth before a fall...and all that shit.

"Drown" the Alligator

2011-06-07T12:09:00.000-07:00

Summer has finally reached us here in Wyoming (though we still consider blizzards out of nowhere still possible) and so my kids are off for some swimming fun. While talking to them and reminding them about safety (they know how to swim of course) I was reminded of some of my own swimming memories as a kid. Some good...and some not so good.

I was born in California and spent a lot of time at the ocean side with family. I remember that my grandad had a houseboat. One of those flat bottom things that had a square structure on it that resembled a house of sorts. He took us on it a few times and one particular time really stands out in my memories.

Though I had learned to swim at a very early age I had done all that swimming within the safe confines of a swimming pool. Up to that point swimming in the ocean had never crossed my mind as an option...it was simply to big...too vast. No sides to grab onto when I tired or a diving board to kamikaze off of. I loved being on his boat because I was with him, for one, and we could watch fish etc swimming or jumping out of the water. The sun shines forever in CA and a day on the boat with grandad was a day not inside the house with the Monster.

Once while out on the boat, hindsight tells me grandad and my uncle may have been slightly drunk...not a rare thing there...I wondered out loud what it would be like to swim in the ocean as I gazed over the rails into the deep dark murky waters. No sooner had I uttered the words when suddenly I felt hands grab me, raise me up high...and sling me over the side. Where one moment I was safely on the boat looking in...now I was suddenly underwater looking up at the blurry structure of the boat and several equally blurry human shapes looking down at me.

My breath was gone, all my swimming skills deserted me...all I could think of at that moment was the vast bottomless ocean under my feet...along with whatever lurked down there. I was in a panic and felt powerless as I began to sink more.

More than likely only seconds passed but it felt like a lifetime when suddenly there was a form next to me in the water and I was grabbed and hauled back up to the surface where that first lungful of air never tasted so good. I rose out of the water to the sounds of hysterical laughter from all on board. Everyone apparently thought my little journey into the ocean was all sorts of entertaining...everyone but me. I grabbed a towel and went to sulk for hours...all the joy drained out of the day for me.

Of course I never told my mother for fear she wouldn't let me go out with grandad again (it wasn't the first time he endangered one of our lives through good natured fun) but I also never went with him on the houseboat again. To this day I'm not sure who actually threw me in the water but I wasn't taking any more chances.

Another incident in junior high comes to mind as well. During swimming class in the 8th grade we use to play this game called Alligator. While most of the students lay down on their bellies along the sides of the pool...4 or 5 students would get in the water at the shallow end and make their way down to the edge of the deep end. The point of the game was to not make any sounds what so ever...no splashes...nothing. As soon as someone made a sound...all the "alligators" came in the water to tag the swimmers...once tagged you were out. If you made it to the end without being tagged (even after alligators came in) you won.

Now of course there would be good swimmers...bad swimmers...and those that hated the whole thing and didn't really care if they made noise thus ending the game as soon as possible. During one of my turns with a couple other students...I had made it to the midpoint of the pool where the bottom drops off into the deep end. I could no longer touch the bottom with my feet...so did what everyone did at this point...I went under to swim the remaining distance underwater and thus make no noise at all. Of course this only works if nobody behind you makes noise as well prompting the alligators to enter the water.

Of course someone did make noise and in came the alligators...since I was already underwater I wasn't immediately aware that the gig was up and thus try to get to the end as quickly as possible. Suddenly I found myself surrounded by alligators that were not happy just to tag me...but seemed to find it necessary to push me further down in the water. As each knew hand tagged/pushed me...my time spent underwater was getting longer and longer. I felt a sense of panic settle in as I realized I couldn't hold my breath much longer...and simply rising to the surface to get some air appeared impossible with all the hands keeping me down.

Just as I felt my ears would burst along with my lungs...I dimly heard a whistle blow and suddenly all the hands were gone. I was free to get to the surface and suck in some much needed air. I was still in the middle of the deep end tho and really had to struggle with what strength I had left to make it to the side. I was utterly exhausted and took many minutes before I could drag my sorry butt out of the water. At this point our teacher finally noticed me and became concerned. As I gasped out what had happened...he helped me out and made sure I was OK...but we never played that game again that I recall. Good.

And of course there is the incident in Bahrain in which two of my children and myself nearly drowned as I attempted to rescue them from a trench dug into the beach a few feet into the water....that one is hands down my scariest water moment...probably because my children were involved as well.

http://coolred38.blogspot.com/2009/04/surrounded-by-waterbut-still-cant-swim.html

Of course there are a few more humorous moments, though at the time I might not have thought so. During one trip to the pool when my kids were young in which we visited the recreational center....the pool area had three pools. One for older more experienced swimmers...a smaller more shallow pool for waders etc ...and then a hot pool of sorts...just to sit in and relax. The hot pool had steps leading down into it and I happened to be standing next to those steps at the time. I wasn't swimming ...just watching my kids have fun. Next to me was my son Zack, who was around 4 at the time.

At one point I looked down at Zack to check on him and he was nowhere to be seen. I quickly scanned the area but didn't see him. Just when I was about to really panic I happened to glance down at the stairs leading into the hot pool...and there was Zack...at the bottom of the steps, underwater, with his hands spread out straight...just standing there underwater. I quickly stepped in and grabbed him and hauled him up. As I checked him over and made sure he was OK...asking him what he was doing down there..he was laughing (the stinker was laughing while my heart was pounding)...he wasn't in there long enough to realize the danger...and so was enjoying just standing underwater watching people's legs etc. Ahhh kids. They do make us old.

My oldest daughter, Sara, use to love going to the beach when very young. Her grandad would take her and her brother, Adam, down to his boat every weekend and they would spend hours there...baking in the sun...turning nut brown...while he tinkered on his boat. When I took them to the beach she never hesitated to just run into the water and have fun...until...during one trip to the beach the tide quickly went out leaving the beach itself exposed while they were still out quite a distance. (sometimes you would have to go out quite aways to find water deep enough to actually do more than wade in) This meant they had to walk back through extremely sticky foot sucking mud.

Now this wasn't the problem because we all know that most kids have no problem with a little mud...the problem was that now the crabs...that are inside their holes when the tide is in...are now free to come out. Sara loved eating crabs...up until that point...crabs are a main staple of Bahraini food...but to have her "lunch" suddenly surrounding her...looking ominous and threatening...was too much for her. She was absolutely petrified...frozen solid unable to move. I was shouting at her to just ignore them and come on in...I couldn't go to her because I had my youngest with me laying on a blanket. Her siblings tried to encourage her as well but she wasn't having it. She screamed every time one of them so much as glanced her way. Of course the longer she stood in one place...the deeper she sank in the mud...requiring her to keep shuffling to keep herself from sinking too deep. (no real fear here as there is firmer ground under the mud after a certain point...but she wasn't aware of that)

Eventually, as the sun went down...as her siblings grew tired of trying to help her...as my threats to leave her there lost all meaning to her...she eventually dug deep for courage and made her way back to the beach...one screaming step at a time. I tried not to laugh (it's hard to be a parent sometimes...seriously) as she made her way back. Of course I would have been in there like a shot if I thought she was in any real danger...but I have always tried to allow my kids to over come fears...rather than rescue them every time from them...if possible. So I let her work it out herself...and she did...eventually.

To this day she has never eaten another crab...no longer finds as much joy at the beach as she once did. She will still go but scans the whole area before taking tentative steps towards the water...and hauls ass out as soon as the tide turns and makes its way out again. Poor baby.

Windows

2011-06-03T12:43:00.000-07:00

During my years in Bahrain I lived in 4 different places...thus 4 different houses/apartments. While standing at my kitchen sink today washing dishes I kept glancing out my window that is right behind the sink and watched birds, squirrels, traffic...felt the breeze coming through and smelled the grass, flowers. I watched the tops of the tree branches sway and couldn't help but just feel calm at this vista.

Then it made me think about my years in Bahrain and the fact that from all the places I lived in...I did not have any windows in two of those places to look out of, one of them had windows that looked at a wall and the last had windows that just looked out on desert and nothing more. Varying shades of tan with nothing to break up the sameness of it all. I'm sure this contributed to the prison like feeling I always had. I hated my life inside my houses...but there was nothing to look out on either to make me momentarily forget where I was...and more importantly who I was.

I realize that my one kitchen window in this apartment in the US affords me a view that has everything I yearned for over there; color, foilage, wildlife, sound, a cool breeze...a soothing calmness that if nothing else...makes the chore of doing dishes a lot more pleasant.

I'm watching you

2011-05-29T13:04:00.000-07:00

I have always been a people watcher. Living through my childhood, not allowed to take part in social gatherings for the most part, meant I was always on the fringes looking in...living vicariously through others actions. During my marriage I was kept isolated for the most part so spent a good amount of time watching others and wishing things were different. Whatever. Anyhow, now that I am free to engage in life however I choose I still find myself watching people...but almost for completely different reasons now.

Working in a convenience store has many drawbacks that do not appeal to most people. In the nearly two years I have worked in mine, the number of employees that have come and gone is ridiculous. The hours are long and you're on your feet the whole time. The pay is nothing to hoot about though it does pay the bills (if your bills are within reason I'm sure) and there are no employee benefits (at least in my store)...unless you count all the free fountain soda you can slurp down.

The one redeeming factor as far as I'm concerned are the customers. I have some great customers that really keep me entertained and coming back each night...even when I'm ready to throw in the towel from exhaustion and sore feet. Going to college full time and then heading off to work a full time night shift is simply exhausting and frustrating. Some of my customers can get me to smile or laugh even when I really don't feel like it. Most of my regular customers are great...and now and then a passing through customer can pass the time with me and a great conversation is had as I have posted about before....

and then there are those other customers.

They are easy to spot and hard to avoid since I am the only cashier most of the time. They are surly, rude, throw their money across the counter. Bitch about everything they can think of...blame me for every price they take exception too. Blame me for whatever the boss said to them that day, the wife, the kids, life in general...treat me like a mere servant whose only existence is made whole by catering and bowing to their every need..and do it with a smile if you please.

Yeah...there's those...and then there is one more category. The ones that have come to steal, the drunk ones, the out and out bullies. The ones that make me pause and watch a little bit closer...because my safety could turn out to be an issue before too long.

I've had a fair amount of the drunks...they do not take kindly to me refusing to sell them more alcohol and call me names, threaten to complain to my boss (whatever...he supports me in this) or threaten me generally. I have had to call the cops on numerous occasions for my own protection...and to get a drunk driver off the streets. Some of my regular customers have come to realize I mean business in this respect. Others have complained...whatever. I was hit by a drunk driver so I have personal issues with drunk driving...as well as my own children are out there on those streets that drunk drivers are menacing with their complete disregard for life and limb...but the very fact that someone will drink to the point of not being able to walk properly...and then get behind the wheel of a truck there by turning it into a loaded weapon....AND believe I have no right to take exception to that...well that just fucking pisses me off. What you do with your life is your business...what you do with mine, my kids, and all the other innocent people you are potentially turning into victims with your selfishness is MY business...when I have the ability to stop it by calling the cops and getting you off the streets....damn straight I will. No exceptions...no mercy.

The other night I had one disgruntled drunk, when I asked him politely if he was driving, ask me if I was fucking cop...I said no but I can call one if you like. He said, only a dumbass will drink and drive...do I look like a dumbass to you? I answered, well if you are drinking and driving then, YES, you are a dumbass. He yelled that he was complaining to my boss and getting me fired. And? Here's his number if you want it...I will even dial it for you since you obviously can't operate your brain much less your dialing finger.

I don't play games with drinkers and drivers. You come in my store drunk and I know you are driving...I am calling the cops. Period.

Shoplifters are something else. I have my usual suspects...kids trying to snatch candy...teen boys out to get laid without paying for the condom that will prevent them from being young daddies or STD statistics. Hell son, I would give them to you for free if I could. Heck, I have even praised a few of those brave enough to come up to the counter sheepishly sliding the box across the counter while trying to act all tough and studly. During recent prom night I had several boys come in through the night buying condoms (no idea if any were stolen...I don't really keep count of those...I figure it's for a good cause...lol) and I warned them that mistakes are made on prom night that last a lifetime..I'm happy you're taking responsibility. I had a few embarrassed laughs, a glare or two to mind my own business...but overall they seemed OK with the advice and praise. Conversation people...young people need it. I suppose I could be over stepping my bounds as a mere employee meant to just sell the stuff and not offer advice of any kind...but until someone (boss) tells me to knock it off...advice it is.

Now and then I get someone who wants to steal...and doesn't really bother to hide the fact...these are the ones that make me nervous. They don't seem to care that I know they are up to no good...that in itself if a bad sign. Nearly every time this is a new face, someone who has gone to the other side of town to steal so his/her face isn't familiar. Not hard to spot them...they are aggressive, loud, generally come in three's or more...and just cause general mayhem and stress. I can usually tell what sort of customer is coming through the door by the way they act once they are inside...those that just head off to whatever they came to get...no problem...those that look somewhat confused and searching around...bathrooms that way...those that look directly at me then head for some area of the store...those I worry about. They have made eye contact with me before need...need being while paying for the item..asking for directions/help etc. They are in one instance letting me know they are there and in another telling me they don't care that I know they are there.

I have had a few close encounters with these sorts of customers...a few scary moments in which the fact that I am a lone female in store at night with no protection is at the forefront of my mind. I've had plenty of male customers tell me they would not want to do my job...the risk for harm is just too great...but what can I do? I need work, I have no skills (yet) and my choices are limited...not to mention it is use full for attending college during the day to be able to work at night. Hard as it is to maintain these hours (no idea how young people do it)...it is something I have to do...so I continue on even when those scary moments arrive and make me question my sanity.

On any given night I will have periods of quiet, no customers, mixed with frantic chaos in which a horde of customers will show up out of nowhere...like half time during a football game. I have to do my job of checking them out, helping them, answering questions etc...while still trying to keep an eye on others in the store. Not always easy...but something interesting (or sad depending on your view) that I have noticed is that when I do get an unruly customer...someone being rude, loud, a drunk stumbling around causing trouble...even those that are directly confrontational with me...for the most part other customers do nothing.

This reminds me of videos in which a customer or employee is being harassed or abused while others standing by do nothing...a rare person will step up and defend the victim...but from my experience...this is very rare. I know it is hard to become involved in someone else's drama...but how nice it would be if doing that was the norm and not the exception?

We risk our lives (meaning personal safety/health etc) daily by driving, drinking, smoking, arguing with our neighbors over dog shit on our lawns, with others over parking spots and sale items at Christmas. We risk our lives in too many ways to count...but risking our lives to help someone else? Well that is just too much trouble and too...risky.

Anyhow, I hope to be finished with college (this stage anyhow) by next summer...then it's off to start a new stage of my life. Until then working at this store will have to do for now. Warts and all it is what it is. Not so bad generally but now and then quitting just seems the wiser better choice....if only.

No point to this post other than still fuming over a more than usual number of unruly customers of late. Memorial weekend, schools getting out, summer upon us seems to have brought them out of the woodwork...yay me. (breath deep, girl...breath deep).

Just a thought to those of you who find yourself a customer in a store such as mine...in which you know my job is low on the totem pole, economic pole, social standing pole...I do my job cause I have too. I have bills, kids, responsibilities. No, it's not my dream job. No I will not be working here forever. And no...I'm not your slave, your sounding board, your dog to kick just because I work here.

And I have a very big stick behind the counter to prove it...if needed. Just saying.

So yesterday I had a chat with a naked lady....

2011-05-13T13:17:00.000-07:00

After spending 23 years in Bahrain I've come to expect women to be more clothed than "normal"...as in seeing arms or legs was very rare there in the early days...now things are more relaxed and the expat community are fairly free to wear what they want...within reason. Besides the amount of skin covered up in the public sphere...the amount we see in the private (home, friends house etc) is generally almost the same as in the street. Your not likely to catch more than the usually accepted amount of skin even when inside and away from the prying eyes of the public (men).

I got used to that and funny enough when I came back to the states I was immediately blown away with what passes for being dressed while out in public these days. I've seen some women who apparently didnt finish getting dressed before leaving home...maybe they had an emergency...at Walmart...and thus left most of it laying on the bed. Or something (men too but generally it's the women whose state of undress is their fashion). As with all things...you get used to it.

Yesterday in college I entered the girl's changing room for the first time in the 3 semesters I've been attending this college. The dressing and shower rooms are split in two with the shower area having a small dressing area as well. I was chatting to my fellow class student when around the corner came one of the college instructors stark naked...coming from the shower area...not so much as a wet rag to hide the strategic bits.

Now I'm not a prude or anything...Ive seen naked before...but here is my beef with this. I grant you that it is a shower/changing room set up. I grant you that your likely to see some nudity etc...people are in a hurry and shit happens. What I dont get it...for those who choose to walk around stark naked...why do you assume the rest of us are ok with seeing you in such a state?

In other words, your "right" to be naked supercedes our right not to see you naked? I dont mind seeing women naked (or men for that matter)...the human body is amazing in its many forms...what I do mind is when someone takes away my right to choose whom I see naked. The girl's locker room was set up in such a way that she (or anyone) could easily dress in the same area they showered in. In other words, there was no need for her to parade around naked...so why force the rest of us to see her that way?

Now I know someone will get on here and say...well you dont have to go in the shower rooms if your afraid or upset to see someone completely naked. Your right...I dont have too...but what has that got to do with anything? Even inside the shower room why cant a certain amount of modesty be expected? Just because we are all women does that mean all the women in there are quite fine with complete nudity...just because you love being naked does that mean everyone around you loves for you to be naked too?

Anyhow, it irritated me...maybe Im oldschool....but I feel like I should be able to choose whom I see naked...and unless you are fully aware that everyone around you is fine with seeing your saggy bits and untrimmed glory...then maybe you should grab a towel and keep your goods to yourself?

Just a thought.

Rejoice in the Death of the Boogeyman?

2011-05-04T06:13:00.000-07:00

Anyone that has spent any amount of time reading this blog, reading my words, will know that my father's favorite past time was to reign terror on those he was meant to protect. I have forgotten the number of beatings I sustained at his hand, the number of times I was dragged from my bed at 2 a.m. to be beaten and then clean an already clean house. I have forgotten how many times I stood there quaking in my shoes as he walked down the hallway with the buckle on his belt jangling in anticipation of making contact with some part of my body yet again. I forget how many times he forced me to stand in the corner with my sodden underwear pulled down over my head because I had dared wet the bed yet again. I have forgotten how many times he drew blood from my body, created bruises to bloom prettily on my skin, or in someway damaged the flesh and bone that made up the person that was me. I have forgotten how many times my bedroom door opened in the night...

What I have not forgotten is how he made me feel.

The day my mother called me in Bahrain and told me he had died still echoes in my mind. The words speeding across the phoneline, across the planet and into my ear, words I had waited so fucking long to hear, words I whispered to myself as I laid awake at night tembling in my bed while listening closely for stealthy footsteps to come calling....words that were yearned for but never heard...words that I thought would make me rejoice in their anticipated glory.

I did not rejoice when I heard those words...I cried.

My Boogeyman was dead. Dead. DEAD!!! How could he be dead? Things like him did not die...they skulked away into the darkness to terrorize another day. Why do we have Friday the 13th part 52 if not for the fact that Jason can't be killed...cannot die. No matter the abuse to his body, the stabs and gun shots, the drowning and emmolation by fire...he merely stands up and brushes off the futile attempts at ending his henious life...and stalks away to find more prey.

For sure when I was young I prayed and begged for his death, or at least his absence from my life...but deep in my heart I did not truly believe he COULD die. Monsters dont die. My father could not be dead. If my father could die...well that only meant one thing....that I (me) could die as well. With my father's death I was faced with my own mortality and the tears sprang quickly to my eyes and fell with this new found revelation. If monsters could die....what chance did the rest of us have?

My mother had the audacity to believe I was shedding tears because, after all, he WAS my father. At the end of the day, paternal love won out and my tears fell for him...not despite him. Meanwhile years later she told me she did not shed one tear while she watched him die. (yes she was there at the time...another story). I despised the fact that she assumed she was stronger than me and that even in death his life meant nothing to her...but was supposed to have meant something to me?

No Mother, the tears fell because Death came calling. The Great Equalizer. I cried because in his death I saw mine. There was no room to rejoice at the passing of the Monster...and to this day I have not so much as smiled at the thought that he no longer walks this earth...because he stall walks the corridors of my mind. He still lives and breaths and terrorizes in the one place he cannot die...or that I am unable to kill him once and for all. The flesh and blood of my Boogeyman is dead but his words, actions, and terror live on for as long as my brain is a thinking living object of self abuse.

Did you hear that Bin Laden is dead? Yes. It's True. The Boogeyman to end all boogeymans has died an ignomous death after wreaking such havoc, such terror...after playing with the hearts and minds...and bodies of so many and leaving them shattered and broken...and afraid. I watched as the news unfolded and spread like wildfire through the Internet...like a snake twisting and slithering through the 140 character limit that is Twitter as people spread the news via their fingertips rather than shocked lips and wide eyes.

The Boogeyman is dead? Is it true? How can it be? The Boogeyman can't die. It must be a rumor, a lie...Bin Laden is legend, legends don't die....but wait...hold on...yes YES!! it is true. The President is speaking...people are smiling...clapping...rejoicing!!!

I watched and read as people rejoiced over the death of this man, this Boogeyman...and it saddened me and angered me so much I was surprised I took it so personally. Who was Bin Laden to me? I was not in New York when the towers came down....no person in my family was personally affected by that trajedy...but I was standing in the living room of a Bahraini family's home at the time as it unfolded on the large screen TV. The room grew quiet as we took in the sheer scale of the horror that was playing out like the latest Hollywood action film before our eyes. As tears started to fall and splash on my cheeks I heard a sound that seemed to not belong in that room...a sound that offended and assaulted my ears...and then my eyes as I turned to make sense of it. That family was cheering and clapping and whistling and grinning from ear to ear. Rejoicing at death!!! As those buildings burned and bodies plummeted I heard whoops and shouts of joy.

I could not make sense of it. Death is here. Death is walking among us. Death has come calling and you REJOICE!!! Death...the great equalizer. There is no rejoicing in death...even when it is your "enemy", your Boogeyman. Those Bahraini's rejoiced in the death of their fellow human beings...just as so many across the world rejoiced at the death of Bin Laden.

I didn't understand it then and I don't understand it now. Why the cause for celebration? If he can die, if the Great Boogeyman of our time can die after being little more than a rumor, a superb player of the Cat and Mouse game, a vex on the lives of global travelers who want nothing more than to get from point A to point B without having to disrobe or be felt up in the process....the "focus" of pointless wars and even more pointless deaths...so now he is dead. Great. What do we do now...once the cries of celebration are ended?

There is always room in this world for another such as he to spread terror..mayhem...destruction. Should we not stop the rejoicing and instead focus on what really matters. Why a man such as he was created in the first place...because even with this death...if we do not change the ways in which we run this planet...how we treat each other...how we force our ideals on each other rather than find room for tolerance...how we quickly rush to shed blood in the name of some Higher Good...rather than stop and listen to an opinion that is not like our own....and allow that person to have it and express it without feeling anger that he dares think and believe differently than me.

To rejoice in death but to remain intolerant in life is the very foundation of what men like Bin Laden sprang from. If he believed in his cause...if he believed in his mission...if he believed he was fighting a Jihad just as he claimed...then there is nobody who is rejoicing at the death of Bin Laden more than... Bin Laden himself....so to speak. He got what he wanted...what he worked for...what he killed for. Our intolerance will ensure that other men like him are created...and Boogeyfied...and "martyred " in exactly the same fashion....but the question is...how many more people will have to die before that point is reached? How many more Bin Ladens must we suffer through before we realize WE are the creators of our own Boogeymen?

As children we have no choice, no power, no where to turn when our Boogeymen place a hand on our bedroom door knobs and enter our lives...we must stand mute and powerless as our childhoods are stolen...ripped away while we yearn for a peaceful nights sleep. As children we do not create our own Boogeymen for they are quite happy to create themselves and terrorize without invitation. As adults the power to create men such as Bin Laden is the burden we share...each side of this global clash of cultures are people molding and shaping and giving life to the Boogeymen such as Bin Laden...and now that he is gone...the next one in line. We have that power...and oh how we love to use it.

Bin Laden is dead...so what...there are more like him...thanks to the human desire to focus on what makes us different than what makes us similar..so far...for many..death is our only commonality. What a shame.

When all the little things add up to one defining moment...pt 7

2011-04-11T20:14:00.000-07:00

Hey folks, sorry for the loooong delay in part 7. Busy with college, life, ups and downs. Happened to be looking today at it for another reason and realized I needed to start on it again...so here we are. Pt. 7...enjoy. *and for some reason this post does NOT want to break up into paragraphs so sorry for the eye strain. My husband came home one day and asked if I would like to visit some Americans. An American man worked at the military base on a project and my husband had gotten to know him. He invited us over to meet his wife assuming I would love to meet other American women. Didn't have to ask me twice. I was so excited at the mere thought of meeting someone "like me"; with my cultural background, my language, my nationality etc. but had been so deeply thrown into my little world of isolation and culture shock that I also felt somewhat apprehensive to meet her. I looked forward to it and shied away from it at the same time. They lived on a compound with other American/European families. It was beautiful and so far removed from what I had been experiencing for the past couple of months. There were trees, gardens, swimming pools...it was clean, pretty and quiet. I sat staring out the window as if I had entered a world I had never seen before...it seemed so unfamiliar to me now. It was as if now I was the foreigner to that life I had once been familiar with. My husband laughed and "promised" that one day we would live in something similar. I clutched onto that promise that fell from his lips so easily and kept it tucked away in a corner of my heart to be taken out at those moments when I felt I couldn't live another day in his mother's house. At times that promise was my talisman, my prayer beads, my only hope that the place I called home now was not something I would have to endure forever. His name was Glen and hers was Diane. She was very tall and very pregnant with one little toddler running around already. Inside the house was even prettier than the outside. I know now that it could not have been all that different from any nicely decorated house I might find anywhere in the U.S. but it was like a mansion in my eyes that night. The rooms were very big with high ceilings and there was furniture; a couch and recliners, table and chairs, end tables with vases. I had just spent 2 months sitting on the floor surrounded by broken walls, bad lighting, thick dust, and rats running round...this was so far removed from that I felt like I was in a queen's palace. Diane could see my gawking and asked if I would like a tour and then took me around after a mere nod from me. My tongue was tied up tight and it seemed all I was capable of doing was making inarticulate noises over everything she showed me. Her house was full of the very same things MY childhood house had been full of for the most part but I was seeing these things now like someone who had only ever dreamed of experiencing life with such "luxuries"...which is how I now viewed these things that I had grown up with but were now something from another life. The one thing she did have that I absolutely felt jealous over was a very large bookshelf full to over flowing with books. She saw me looking at them like a thirsty man looking at cold water and she offered to lend me some. I probably would have spent the remainder of the evening just browsing her shelves if I thought it would have been acceptable guest behavior, but instead I just grabbed a few at hand and counted the minutes until I could get home to read them. I was so starved for the one joy I had always been able to engage at any time in my life..up until now. As nice as Diane was and even though I was enjoying my evening immensely, I very much wanted to get back to my room and just read. The remainder of the evening was lots of fun. We all talked and got to know each other. My tongue loosened up and I felt happy to be around "normal" people; my kind of people. Several times Diane or Glen would ask me questions about my husbands family, our home, what I did and how did I like Bahrain so far. Each time I tried to answer with honesty my husband would jump in, answer for me, then change the subject. I'm sure they got the message eventually as they almost stopped asking me anything at all before the night was over. For me it was the first time I realized my husband didn't want anyone to know how we lived, or rather how I lived. He didn't want me describing our house, or how his family treated me, or what I didn't do all day as I sat in my room counting ticks on the clock. Soon I would learn that this extended to my own family as well. Over those first few years on the rare occasion that I did speak to my mother on the phone, he sat right there listening to the whole conversation...if it seemed as if we were straying into "forbidden" territory, he would immediately claim time was up and I had to say good bye. Years later my mother told me she knew something was wrong but felt by straight out asking me she might be causing me trouble of some kind. The one phone we did have in the house (when it was on) was in his sister's bedroom so I could never use it without her knowing, and she also always sat with me during phone calls. Phone booths around our area were always broken or just not there anymore and so was rarely able to find a working one on the few occasions I purposely went looking for one. All this meant I had almost no contact with my family for the first few years I was in Bahrain. Occasional phone calls limited to a few minutes at best. By the time the evening came to a close I felt like I had found a new friend in Diane. Someone I could relate too, talk too; someone who would chase away the loneliness and make my long days a little more bearable. She invited me over again anytime I wanted and told me she would introduce me to some other ladies on the compound and that soon I would have lots of friends. I was thankful beyond words and felt as if I was grinning from ear to ear at the prospect of having friends. We said our goodbyes and headed for the car. The moment we slammed the doors my husband was lecturing me on how our lives and how we lived it was a private matter between him and I and I had no right trying to expose it to others as if we lived in a "fishbowl". One of his favorite sayings over the years. I told him that this was small talk, how people got to know each other...as if he didn't know that since he did the same with me when we met (though he left some bits out obviously), but he wouldn't have it. He told me he wouldn't bring me to her house again if I was just going to make him look bad in other people eyes, which I thought was a strange thing to say because I hadn't actually said anything at all; good or bad as he pre-empted my answer almost every time. I sat there quietly thinking that he must be well aware how others would view the life he had brought me too if he didn't want them knowing...and judging him by it. Eventually he ruined my lovely evening by reducing me to tears; something that happened a lot those first years in Bahrain. I couldn't argue back, fight back, or defend myself...I just fell pathetically into a puddle of tears feeling absolutely useless and helpless. Looking back I'm positive I cried enough tears in those early years to keep Noah's ark afloat for a good long while. Over the next 2 years I only got to visit with Diane a couple of times. My husband was always too busy to take me there...though I felt it was more because he didn't want me to develop a close friendship with her. After both of our children were born I was able to visit her a few more times but then news came that her and Glen were leaving Bahrain. I was devastated. They were the only Americans I knew and I felt as if they were abandoning me in some way...as if a lifeline I had to reality was being cut without warning. She invited me over for one last visit but my husband declined and I was so upset with his refusal to let me visit with her again. Later that day Glen stopped by and gave me some toddler clothes her son had outgrown and some books etc. When he arrived at our house he stood outside on the street and one of the nieces came to tell me there was a man waiting for me. She said it as if my lover had come calling openly and brazenly for all the world to see. I felt embarrassed and ashamed as if that fact were indeed true...but hurried down to see Glen, hoping Diane was with him. (all the while in the back of my head was the thought of inviting them in to the house and what they would think of it). Diane was not with him (I felt a sigh of relief actually) and he was obviously uncomfortable being there. He kept looking up and down the small street at all the men looking at him, no doubt wondering what he was doing there, who he was visiting in this house with Bahraini women etc. He was nervous and wanted to leave but spoke with me a few moments and passed along the gifts and some words from Diane. I asked him if he had an address or phone number that I could contact Diane with later on and he said he had already given it to my husband. He stood there a moment, not saying anything but acting as if he wanted too. I could see him glancing over my shoulder into the dim interior of the house, then looking up at the side of the house and then once again up and down the street. His desire to ask me if I was all right, if I wanted or needed help was palatable. I could almost hear him speaking the words even though his lips had not moved...and then he was backing away with regrets that he was very busy and needed to get going. They left Bahrain a few days later and never spoke or was in contact with Diane after that. My husband claimed Glen never gave him an address or phone number and so she was gone from my life. Tragically years later we would actually hear about Glen and Diane through another couple that knew them. Their son that was born when my daughter was born was killed in a freak accident with a lawn mover when he was around 8 years old. Even though I had not heard from her since they left I still felt so incredibly sad for her for her loss and remembered the days when our children played together. I still have one picture that shows my daughter and her son standing near each other outside in her yard. I would not meet another American family, or even American period, for several years after that. Over the 20 years of our marriage my husband purposely kept me from knowing Americans because he explained that they would lead me to "bad behavoir" or "thoughts"; that they were immoral and so would encourage me to be immoral too. Other than meeting one here and there by chance for a quick chat, I had almost no contact with fellow Americans at all in that time. Years later I would actually live near some Americans and Brits while living in Hamad Town but our friendships could not flourish simply because he wouldn't allow them too. Eventually they would get the message and break off contacat with me. I had very little to do with Americans during my marriage. The only english I spoke was broken stilted english I eventually became use to because that made it easier for nonenglish speakers to understand me. (something I was still doing when I finally returned to America in '09, so much so Americans thought I was a foreigner...lol) I was surrounded by Bahrainis and all that came with that day in and day out for most of my marriage...and yet for many of them...I was always the outsider, the foreigner, Americano englizay who they spoke of when I was sitting right there as if I couldn't possibly understand what they were saying...but then did the same when they knew I COULD understand what they were saying. I did meet some lovely Bahrainis during my life there and I know that many foreigners that have and do live in Bahrain find it a perfectly lovely place to live and can't speak highly enough about it. I envy them for that positive feeling they have of it but I was never allowed to enjoy Bahrain. To get to know it, explore it, meet the wide variety of people that live there and can't get enough of it. I was not allowed to work, socialize with anyone he didn't approve of (which meant I had very few people in my life..mostly just his extended family) and was, for the most part, surrounded by Bahrainis that didn't like me for whatever reason; or ignored me once the initial interest was over or flat out showed active disdain for me simply because I was an American. In other words, I was surrounded by negativity both inside my home, and on the odd occasions I was with other women. I made very few friends among Bahraini women despite my many attempts at forging friendships; at the end of the day they were just women I knew.

2011-03-21T06:28:00.000-07:00

I spend a lot of time on line (more than I should of course) looking at what other people thought was worthy of recording for the express purpose of entertaining other people. I'm curious as to what is going through the minds of these video makers when they not only record the video but then decide the rest of us are just as interested in seeing it as they were in recording it.

Now there are two categories of video snippets that are out there for our viewing pleasure...the purposely made videos as mentioned above...and the caught completely by accident snippets that are generally the more entertaining. We, as the viewing public, can make or break the "careers" of the video takers...we have the power of the "click".

I see these things go viral (meaning they are spread through the Internet like a virus with a million hits in a very short amount of time...hit meaning viewed) I see completely ordinary people suddenly thrust into the limelight simply because they caught someone on video doing something funny, amazing, scary, unexpected....or usually for most of them...something completely off the wall stupid. Next thing you know they are the headline news on Yahoo! and Ellen has them lined up to be on her show.

Soooo....I got to thinking (I do that sometimes)...I can do that. How hard can it be. I can video someone doing something amazing, wonderful, scary...or probably just bone numbingly stupid...and put it on the Net and ...walah!! I will join the ranks of the great 15 min famers...I will be a viral sensation and my name, Coolred, will be a household word...teenage girls will aspire to be me and teenage boys will wish they could date the teenage girls that aspire to be me.

I'm thinking here folks.

Soooo...I went out and bought that Flip video recorder up there in the image. Figured if I was going to record something that would make me famous..I would need a recording device (it helps I'm told) and that one looks fairly straight forward. Point. Record. Upload. Bask in Internet glory.

Repeat if necessary.

There is one small problem I have encountered though....all those videos I have viewed appear as if the person recording just walks around with their phone cams, or whatever they use, always on and ready to make history. I see people nearly get hit by cars (not funny to watch but still amazing) and there ALWAYS seems to be someone near by coincidentally filming them. I suppose I could stand on a street corner and pray for a near miss while holding my cam out like a can of Mace at every car that goes by but...eh!! according to some videos...THAT person on the sidewalk is just as likely to get hit as the one she hopes to record...so maybe not a good idea.

Babies are right at this moment making their parents Internet Sensation Parents by doing something so adorable and smile inducing the rest of the world does a collective ahhhhh when viewing it.

I don't have a handy baby to go that route. Hmmmm? Thinking complete strangers with babies might not like me pointing my cam at their baby either. Parents can be rather rude like that.

My apartment building is known for its Daily Drama. There is always some girl throwing her cheating no good boyfriends things out on to the curb or the cops come swooping in with lights flashing and siren singing to break up yet another drug ring or....arrest a rent skipper. All very dramatic and worthy of a few moments of video taking...but then again...people involved in drama aren't always happy to see others taking advantage and recording their drama for the benefit of Internet stardom...they can be rather defensive about that....and cops..well they tend to get upset when you point ANYTHING at them...so no..better not go there.

Hmmm?

Could stand in the college parking lot and hope someone slips on the ever present ice and does a gymnastic worthy 10 of a maneuver....oh forgot..that was just me...and sadly nobody was around to record me do my thing. Unfortunately, I couldn't repeat that performance if my Internet life depended on it. *sigh*

One more option...have my trusty cam ready while I'm driving my trusty jeep around town. Have it on the seat next to me to be swooped up in an instance whenever something looks even remotely sensationalistic...I could do that.

Then again, while I am busy making Internet fame...someone else might be busy recording that "crazy lady who crashed into the side of the bank building because she was busy looking out her window recording someone doing something and not looking where she was going".

Yeah...I would totally be THAT woman.

Someone else would get the Internet fame and I would just get the ticket and bill for damages. Not good.

This isn't going to be as easy as it first seemed. Got some kinks to work out and planning to do. Instant Internet fame doesn't happen completely by accident...

Oh wait...

It is official...I am old. Let the crying begin. 3...2...1...

2011-03-05T13:19:00.000-08:00

My youngest son turned 13 yesterday. I no longer have babies in my house. I am sad.

That is all.

Even one-sided stories have two sides

2011-02-26T02:01:00.000-08:00

Edited: Aha...they actually printed my letter and yet, as always, the better bits removed. *sigh* I see they took out the reference to journalist being held at the airports. Hmmm......

http://gulf-daily-news.com/ArchiveNewsDetails.aspx?date=03/03/2011&storyid=300950

Ok, the link isn't working but it's the gulf-daily-news.com March 3, 2011 letters section. Second letter down.

I've been reading a plethora of letters lamenting the one-sided views of recent events in Bahrain as depicted by the world media.

Apparently the writers believe that TV still remains the number one source of "fast breaking news". I would like to introduce these out-of-date writers to two fast breaking sources they may be unfamiliar with - Twitter and Facebook.

Anyone that has had an ounce of interest in what was happening, first in Tunisia, then Egypt, then Bahrain and now Libya, are aware of the power these sites have given the common man on the street - where all the action is taking place. Twitter has been full of people reporting being shot at by police while demonstrating peacefully - while it is happening! They report attacks, beatings, gunfire and so much bloodshed.

Twitter and Facebook are full of videos from the people right there, for the rest of the world to know what is happening.

Twitter followers and Facebook users have sat horrified at computers, watching events unfold as each new story, picture and video has brought to life the horrors the Middle East dictators have unleashed against their citizens.

We don't need BBC, CNN, Al Jazeera, etc to inform us, rightly or wrongly, of anything we can't find out from people there.

No longer can these rulers keep the truth from the world by blacking out the media and telling false stories of how events are unfolding (as they are still trying to do).

We are bystanders to these bloody revolutions going on as I write, but we are also witnesses, who may not be putting our lives in danger by facing trigger-happy government puppets, but we do what we can by sending on these tweets to everyone we can think of by linking our Facebook pages with pictures and videos so that the world can see the truth even if BBC and CNN choose to show something different.

You, as a viewer, have the option of choosing what you watch. If you think these media sources are one-sided, then join Twitter or Facebook if you haven't already and start following the people following those in the middle of the violence.

If you don't believe their first-hand accounts, then watch the videos. It is rather hard to Photoshop them while you are dodging gunfire.

You are not forced to watch these media. I can guarantee that most people around the world who want the truth - not some biased agenda seeking soap box, pearl-clutching version - are not watching them either. Be pro-active about what is unfolding rather than whine and moan about the unfairness of it. These people are protesting and willing to risk their lives due to the fact that "unfairness" permeates their lives. If they can do something about it, so can you. Lee Ann Fleetwood

I still read letters to the local paper in Bahrain and this past two weeks have been nothing but praise for the King and govt. while complaining vehemently about the one-sided media bias they accuse major news channels of displaying. After viewing Reem Antoon's completely clueless ramble in the Comment section of today's GDN http://gulf-daily-news.com/NewsDetails.aspx?storyid=300533 I couldn't maintain myself anymore and pounded out this letter in reply.

Now let's see if the GDN editor allows it. He is known for being a little one-sided himself.

Letter to the Editor

I've been reading the plethora of letters lamenting the one sided view of recent events in Bahrain as depicted by world wide media. Apparently these letter writers believe that T.V. still remains the number one news source for "fast breaking news". I would like to introduce these out of date letter writers to two fast breaking news sources that they may be unfamiliar with. Twitter and Facebook. Anyone that has had an ounce of interest in what was happening first in Tunisia, then in Egypt, and on to Bahrain and now Libya are fully aware of the power these two sites have given the common man or woman on the street. The street being where all the action is taking place. Twitter has been full of people reporting being shot at by police while demonstrating peacefully. While it is happening!!! They report attacks and beatings; gun fire and bloodshed...so much bloodshed. Twitter and Facebook are full of videos from those very same people who are RIGHT THERE and can video exactly what is going on and are demanding the rest of the world know it too. Twitter followers and Facebook users have sat horrified at computers watching events unfold as each new story, pic, and video has brought too life the horrors the dictators of the middle east have unleashed against their citizens. We do NOT need BBC, CNN, Al Jazeera etc to inform us, rightly or wrongly, of anything we can't find out for ourselves from those that are actually there. No longer can these corrupt rulers keep the truth from the world by blacking out news media (as they are still trying to do) and telling completely false stories of how events are unfolding (as they are still trying to do). We are bystanders to these bloody revolutions going on as I write this, but we are also witnesses, who may not be putting our own lives in danger by facing loaded guns and trigger happy government puppets, but we do what we can by sending on these tweets to everyone we can think of. By linking our Facebook pages with pics and videos so that the whole world can see the truth...even if BBC, CNN and, yes, even Bahrain TV, chooses to show something different. You, as a viewer, have the option of choosing what you watch. If you think those media sources are being one sided then take a moment to join Twitter, join Facebook if you haven't already and start following the people who are following those that are right there in the middle of the violence. If you don't believe their first hand accounts then watch the hundreds of videos. It is rather hard to photoshop those while your dodging gun fire.

You are not forced to watch those media sources and I can guarantee that most of the people around the world that really do want the truth and not some biased agenda seeking soap box pearl clutching version of it, are not watching them either. Be pro-active about what is unfolding rather than whine and moan about the unfairness of it all. The fact that these people are protesting and willing to risk their lives is due to the fact that "unfairness" permeates their lives. If they can do something about it so can you.

One more comment to make to Reem Antoon. She asked where all the foreign journalist were. Why we hadn't heard from them while the media was so busy being one-sided. I'm guessing they found it rather hard to report on what was really happening in Bahrain due to the fact they were not allowed to leave Bahrains Airport upon arrival. Yes, they were detained. No, that didn't stop them from telling the world that they were being prevented from entering Bahrain. Go figure. Wonder why that was?

Even one-sided stories have two sides.

Lee Ann Fleetwood

House Bill 74- Wyomings Anti-Gay Sentiment

2011-02-24T00:24:00.000-08:00

UNLESS YOUR GAY!!!

Ask any child that resides in the state of Wyoming today about our state motto and it's fairly certain he or she will give the same answer that has been taught to them since kindergarten; Wyoming is the state of Equality due to the fact that women were given the right to vote in this state before any other state even considered them close to being capable of making such an intellectually challenging choice on election day. Apparently that was the first and last time that word "equality" meant anything other than an easy answer on a grade school government test. Right now Wyoming's Legislature is busy trying to invade our bedrooms and relationships by defining what it means to be a legalized couple in the eyes of the law.

House bill 74 is all about defining what "marriage" means and according to our constitution marriage has always been defined as that existing between "one man and one woman". Those who support this bill love to repeat this phrase over and over again..."marriage is defined as..." as if that is the end of the matter and there is nothing further to say. Here is my question regarding that long held definition. What does a definition of a word really mean at the end of the day?

We humans, in our cerebral capacity, invented language as a means of easier communication. Telling someone what you need is faster and more accurate then subjecting them to a round of charades in which they must spend precious amounts of time trying to understand your arm waving and facial contortions. While we were busy inventing language we also invented the definitions of each word our new language acquired. To have a universal definition for a word facilitated comprehension and communication.

Here is a fact about our language...it's not as set in stone as some would like to believe. We take on new words and new meanings almost as fast as we take on new fashion trends and bad habits. While we were busy inventing new words we also invented this one particular new word; redefine. Redefining a word means taking one that already exists, such as "marriage", and making it mean something similar but adding a twist so to speak. It still means basically the same thing but due to how our culture changes and how we interact with each other and with the world at large, old words have this ability to take on slightly new meanings. Now, for instance, marriage as defined by the state of Wyoming, means a union existing between one man and one woman; but we must remember that that definition was created by a culture of people that assumed heterosexuality was the only form of sexuality that mattered. Heterosexuals were the "norm" and they happened to also be the ones defining words for us as they created law. Homosexuality was viewed as deviant and abnormal and was commonly thought to be a form of criminal behavior akin to pedophilia and bestiality. Who would even consider defining marriage in such a way to include such pariahs of society? Not the writer's of our constitution obviously; or should I say not the readers of it.

However, while the writer's of our constitution may not have been invisioning a day when acceptable relationships did not mean just one man and one woman, they did make way for the possibility that marriage would some day need to be redefined by including Article 1 Section 2 that states that "all members of the human race are created equal" and Article 1 Section 3 which states that "the laws of this state affecting the political rights and privileges of its citizens shall be without distinction of race, color, or sex...". This leads us back to the definition of marriage that supporters of House Bill 74 are insisting is the only acceptable definition as stated in our constitution. To any casual reader of our constitution this claim cannot stand based only on that "evidence". When we look at the history of Wyoming, or even the history of the United States, we are well aware of how homosexuals have been viewed and treated in the past. Not only was their persecution unconstitutional, they were hounded by the religious establishment as perversions of humanity that were destined for hell and the sooner the better. We also know that most likely how religion has chosen to define words has greatly influenced how laws are made or, at the very least, written. Our forefathers and constitution writers defined marriage in such as way as to exclude and discriminate against and deem unequal in the eyes of the law a certain group of the human race. They also created law that denied them their political rights and privileges and, until now, that definition was never called into question.

We are all aware that homosexuality has come a long way since Wyoming's constitution was written. All though those that do not accept homosexuality as a normal human feeling and trait still abound and are just as busy today trying to send these "perversions of humanity" to hell as in the past, by and large Wyoming residents have accepted that homosexuals do exist and do deserve the same rights and privileges that heterosexuals enjoy. Unfortunately, residents of Wyoming apparently have no say in whether House bill 74 will become law or not.

Here is what I propose to those in our legislature that are so against allowing homosexuals the right to marry, or at the very least to have their marriage recognized in this state upon becoming residents (if they ever choose to subject themselves to that discriminatory proposed law); why not use that word we invented, "redefine", to change what the accepted definition of marrieage means into something different. Why don't you exercise this power and redefine what marriage means in the state of Wyoming to include all those who wish to find comfort in the legalized and state recognized sanctity of their union? Why is it so important to you that the definition of marriage remains that of "one man and one woman" when you are well aware that not every couple consists of that gender binary?

Our constitution declares that NO citizen of this state will be subject to unfair and discriminatory laws and will not be made to feel unequal in the eyes of the law based on race, color, or sex. House Bill 74 is an oxymoron in this regard. By continuing to define marriage in such a way as to legalize and recognize only those marriages you deem valid and acceptable you are not only diminishing and reducing the rights of those that do not conform to your "one man one woman" pair, you are declaring their relationship and desire for commitment as irrelevant and illegal; even those that were performed and legalized in other states.

To add insult to injury, Gov. Matt Mead has openly declared that he is "against gay marriage" which means that the highest elected official of this so called Equality State, obviously does not see the citizens that elected him into that illustrious post as equal in his own eyes. How is it possible he holds the position that he does then? How can we feel assured that he has our, this includes ALL citizens of Wyoming, best interests in mind when he openly declares that he does not?

You do not have to be accepting of gay marriage even while you create law that assures homosexuals equal rights under that law. Gov. Mead's personal feelings towards gay marriage is not only irrelevant when considering this House bill 74 but also crosses the line into invading ones personal lives to the point of excluding them from living a free and full filling one that entitles them to all the rights and privileges our constitution assumingly gives them. If he and other elected representatives can insist on one singular definition of one specific word despite the overwhelming discrimination to a percentage of our population because of it, and despite the fact that we can and do redefine words as the culture surrounding that word changes and flows in a different direction, and despite the fact that he and other elected officials were elected to specifically uphold the rights and privileges of every citizen on this state, they are still arrogantly assuming they and they alone have the power to declare what marriage is...and more importantly what it is not.

As citizens of this Equality State that is fast becoming anything but, it is imperative that we strongly protest this Bill 74 before it becomes a fact because, while this particular bill may not affect those of us that are not gay, the next one might. If we don't unite as citizens and defend the rights of all Wyoming residents how can we cry foul when our own rights are summarily stripped away by those who obviously do not have our collective best interests at heart?

Anti-Bullying Flashmob January 2011

2011-02-20T13:29:00.000-08:00

Sometimes mobs are a good thing and have an important message to spread. Now why don't we do things like this here in Wyo? Oh yeah, I forgot, we are working more in the direction of making sure our children know that if your different (as in gay etc) then you're not equal under the law. Wyoming legislature is working very hard to pass an anti-gay bill which means that homosexual marriages (or any sort of marriage not sanctioned by the state of Wyo, in other words, one man and one woman) is not legally binding in the state of Wyoming. Of course this also means that if you got married to your same sex spouse in a state that DID recognize such unions...then upon taking up residence in our state of "Equality", your marriage now becomes illegal under this proposed legislation.

Why our legislatures have such a vested interest in the married lives(or lack there of) of those that are not JUST LIKE THEM is beyond me. Considering WYO has the highest teen pregnancy rate, highest gun ownership numbers, highest teen suicides AND highest using a gun as a weapon to commit suicide, not to mention our educational system is getting a kick in the ass lately....I'm wondering why our elected officials are putting so much effort into legislating who can marry who? Or making illegal what other states have saw fit to be fair and equitable and make law.

As politicians, is THAT the most important issue that keeps you up at night?

Bullying is an epidemic the entire world has to deal with...and the bullies are not age specific...they can be school ground kids, corrupt leaders of nations...or elected officials in government.

We need more flash mobs like these children...but then again...who is paying attention to them beyond smiling and clapping when they are done?

Being very ignorant of the law here in the states (learning but slowly) I'm trying to understand what others do to take part in being active in government law making...as in protest rallies, petitions etc. I take great strength in what has and is transpiring in the middle east right now. However, being the United States our right to protest is generally not with the knowledge that a bullet might just be the only answer we get. All the more to be impressed and awestruck by the people in the middle east's desire to change their own lives. I sit here feeling rather inept wondering what I can do to facilitate change in my neck of the woods.

These children did something about it...maybe it's not a huge thing given the scale that bullying affects their lives...but I would harbor a guess that it has made them feel useful, empowered, and likely to continue on in their lives being pro-active towards issues they feel emotional about. More schools should get their students involved in just such activities for exactly this reason.

Get them while they are young and you have them hooked for the rest of their lives.

Question: what have any of you done to be pro-active towards political (or any) issues you felt compelled to act upon? I need some ideas and guidance on this matter. Anyone?

Egyptian Revolution 2011- The Most Dramatic Footage From the 18-day Revo...

2011-02-18T00:52:00.000-08:00

I dare you to watch this and not cry or be horrified...and then...awestruck by the tenacity and determination of the Egyptian people.

I have had few heroes in my world...now I have a nation of them. Mabruk Egypt!!

Biting Back. Egyptians and I.

2011-01-30T10:00:00.000-08:00

I watch the turmoil in Egypt with a sense of fascination and with a heart beating with anticipation, fear, and hope. I watch those people taking their futures into their own hands and I realize that, for them (as for myself) a certain point had been reached when enough was ENOUGH!! People can sit on the sidelines and ask...what the hell took them so long, but for me that question is irrelevant. Time has no bearing on a person (or persons) in the depths of oppression. It just boils down to one day at a time...one moment at a time...sometimes even your next breath seems questionable. What matters is that the moment has arrived, for whatever reasons, and Egyptians have decided that now is as good a time as any to find that strength they always had but had been taught through oppression that inner strength was best left in the dream world. Well, dreams are all nice and sweet (for the most part) but for them, as for me, it's time to wake up.

I haven't spoken on this blog much about the catalyst that brought about the moment in which I finally realized that enough was enough and I was ending this one way or another. As I watch the unfolding events in Egypt I can't help but look back on that night and for me it really hits home. I see in those people what I saw in myself...either do it now...or let the moment pass and sink into unremitting despair as you realize "this is it" and the rest of your life is just counting the moments until you die. For anyone that has been in that particular situation there are two deaths we can experience in life...permanent death of course is waiting for everyone...but the other death I speak of is more painful, more crushing, and infinitely more destructive then that eternal sleep in the earth. I'm referring to the death of your soul, of your intellect, of your sense of self. Those Egyptians, as I, have decided that they matter, they count, they have purpose and it isn't too grovel at the feet of an uncaring, inhumane dictator whose own self interests are the beginning and end of their existence.

I lived in the middle east for 23 years. Granted Bahrain is nowhere near the oppressive corrupt state that Egypt, or even Tunisia, is but it does have it's dictator and corrupt govt. It also has its prisons that people enter and never exit, without fair trials or even charges. People in Bahrain, like in most (all) Arab countries, disappear...and there isn't much anyone can do about it. Of course this fear of being one of the Disappeared keeps people in a permanent state of suspicion and distrust. It also effectively shuts your mouth as you know that to open it leaves you at the mercy of that corrupt dictator and govt and that to speak out can be the beginning of the end for you. Because of this I was constantly witness to a room full of people laughing, gossiping people having a good time...and then someone mentions the "unmentionable"..aka the King, or even worse, the Prime Minister..and suddenly there is a hush that silences the crowd as effectively as a conductor tapping for attention.

The suspense in the room is palatable. In that moment you wonder if that person will be foolish enough to say something negative (because you never know who the spy among you is) or do the usual ass kissing that all Bahraini's, dare I say all Arabs, do when in a crowded room when you never know where your words will end up? It is at this moment when voices are instantly lowered, tones are neutral, eyes are darting...and everyone waits.

Back in the late 80's when I first arrived in Bahrain this state of fear was more intense then it is now. I didn't understand it fully then because in America we are allowed to speak out, to protest, to accuse our govt. and president of being less than just etc. I actually found it rather humorous to watch a room full of people instantly hush when the King, or rather Sh. Isa (father to King Hamad) was mentioned...and the real fear that was felt when the Prime Minister (same one) was brought up. Now I understand it, of course...now I sympathize with it because I too was in a relationship that forced me to bite my tongue to keep the peace, even when every fiber in my being cried out for me to speak out...NO...to SHOUT OUT that this was fucking wrong!!! I bit my tongue until it bled...until I could bite no more. And then rather than bite my own tongue one more time and risk choking...I "bit" him instead. To say he was surprised is an understatement.

The Egyptian people are biting back with tongues bloody from years, decades, of forced silence. I feel their pain. I taste their blood as if on my own tongue. A familiar taste I never ever got use too...but learned to live with at my own peril.
They are biting back....as did the Tunisians...and the resulting wave of Arab people that are seemingly coming to the realization that they still have power, they still count...they still matter, is an amazing thing to witness.

Tunisians took the first bite...Egyptians saw that it tasted good to the Tunisians and bolstered by the smack of satisfaction resonating from the lips of the victorious Tunisians...have decided they would rather fight for their own futures with lips bloody from a Revolution...then choking from blood filled with fear, oppression, and loss of hope...loss of self.

On my own night in question, after one more battle in a long line of battles that stretched behind me for 20 years...and apparently stretched in front of me for 20 more...I saw my ex standing there, leaning against the wall, casually smoking a cigarette, with a look of complete and utter satisfaction on his face. He had me right where he wanted me. I wasn't going anywhere. His hand held the leash that was around my neck..and he knew it. In his world, all was good, all was as it should be. All was business as usual.

It was at this moment that something clicked in my head. I was almost convinced it was an audible sound it was so loud. I remember looking around to see if my kids (who had to witness that fight...and what was about to happen) had heard it. I looked at him standing there, not a care in the world, not in the least upset about the fight we just had, about the fact that our children had to witness once again him abusing their mother...and then turning around and giving them a lecture on what it means to "be" Muslim. His hypocrisy in their eyes registered not at all in his mind. Things were as they should be...as they had always been...for 20 years.

If he only knew what was coming, what had been a long time coming, he might not have been quite so smug. Again, I can't help but think of Hosni Mubarak right now. Did he never once pause and think...I may have to pay for my oppression of the people some day. If not tomorrow...the day after? Eventually they might realize that when there is nothing left to lose...death is preferable to this life I have forced upon them.

Did that ever cross his mind? Obviously not because he never changed his ways...as did my husband. Promises made. Promises broken in almost the next breath. Every dictator on the planet knows that THEY don't have to change...they are God. The only thing that changes is the size of the oppressed belly as they force themselves to swallow more blood from those bloodied tongues.

So I stood there watching him....hearing that very LOUD click in my mind in which something very fundamental changed in me forever. I realized in that moment that THIS was my life...forever and always. Until either he died or I did (and knowing my luck it would be me first)...this was it. Unless I changed something about ME....it would always be the same...because he wasn't going to change of course. Life for him was good. Life for him was perfect. Life for him was about to change in ways he couldn't even fathom...

I turned and walked into my boy's room...searching for something. I didn't realize what I was looking for until I found it. A baseball bat. I bent over reaching for the handle and it was as if the world had slowed down to the point that every movement was a separate picture taken and viewed from outside myself. My hand grasped the long slender neck and with contact I felt a resolve settle into my heart that I thought impossible. Things were going to change...right HERE and right NOW...one way or another.

I didn't really think about much right then. I can't tell you exactly what I WAS thinking...my mind felt really blank to tell the truth...but at the same time it was abuzz with years of abuse...years of loneliness...Years of Tears. I came out of the boy's room and walked toward him...the bat trailing on the ground beside me. I wasn't even holding it in an aggressive manner I clearly remember. I'm not even sure at this moment what I intended to do with it. It felt good in my hand...it felt right. That was all that was important to me just then.

He turned his head and looked at me coming towards him...at first that damn smug look was still on his face. He probably thought I was coming to make the peace as usual. A necessity when you knew life wasn't going to change and living with an uneasy peace was preferable to an all out war. I can clearly remember the very second when he realized things weren't as they should be. I can only surmise he read something in my face that he couldn't remember seeing before...that he didn't recognize...that he couldn't CONTROL. I'm guessing what he saw was the consequences of his years of abuse walking toward him...with a baseball bat in her hand.

To this day I wonder why he didn't just take the bat from me. He was bigger, stronger...there wouldn't have even been a struggle over it. He could have taken that bat from me and that would have been the end of my "Revolution" of sorts. He could have taken that bat and I would have been right back where I started...which was nowhere. Instead...he ran. There is only one thing a Predator does when the Prey runs...chases after it. For once in MY life...I was the predator and he was the prey. The ever present blood on my tongue from 20 years of biting suddenly felt different...tasted different. Rather than choking me it was urging me on...for once in my 20 year marriage that blood tasted GOOD.

And I wanted more.

I went after him...and the rest..as they say...is history. Here I sit some 3 and a half years later with my freedom...with my children safe from him...with MY future in MY hands...and the blood on my tongue has all but dried up. The memory of it is not gone though. I keep it. Turn it over in my mind. Remind myself that I will never go back to that state of having to swallow my tongue to keep things easy for HIM.

Mubarak is looking out his window (if he dares go to any window just now) and is seeing something on the faces of HIS people. They are tasting a new sort of blood on their tongues. One that is unfamiliar but welcome all the same. He is standing there looking...and I'm quite positive he is thinking...what the hell is wrong with these people? Who do they think they are? How dare they assume their lives are worth anything more than what I choose to give them.

I know he is thinking this...because all dictators think that. All abusers think that. And the only thing that changes that mindset...is that audible click in the mind of the oppressed...and the realization that either we lay down and die (our souls) or we bite down harder on our blood filled tongues and taste a new kind of blood. The blood of Revolution.

Run Mubarak...cause they are coming for you. And after the Egyptians have their day...I hope other oppressed countries feel emboldened to become Predator...when before all they knew was life as Prey.

My heart beats for you Egypt. My tears fall for you. My hope grows for you. My soul, once nearly dead, cheers for you. Stand fast and stand strong. 30 years of oppression and pain is about to end...it's so damn worth it. You can't imagine how good Freedom taste.

Who Has the Right to Choose?

2011-01-10T22:49:00.000-08:00

My first born, my daughter, was born in Oct of 87 and her birth was the brightest spark in my otherwise rather bleak world...up until that point. From the moment I realized I was pregnant it was always a "baby" inside me. In my mind this baby was never a zygote, and embryo, a fetus etc...it (she) was a fully formed baby...just very tiny...waiting to be born. Every single one of my pregnancies were met with the same feeling..that I was suddenly pregnant with a baby....and couldn't wait for his or her entrance into the world.

When my daughter was barely 2 months old I found myself pregnant again. At first I was shocked to realize I would be a mother again so soon but I quickly accepted the fact and looked forward to this new arrival just as I had my daughter. I never for a moment considered this new pregnancy an inconvenience or a difficulty (all though I never particularly liked being pregnant) and so thoughts of it being too early or how will I manage were fleeting at best. I prepared for the rest of the pregnancy while still getting use to my newborn.

Just over a month later I had a miscarriage. I was 3 months pregnant by this time and didn't really understand what was happening when I first started spotting. My husband took me to the hospital and it was confirmed that I was having a miscarriage.

I felt devastated. I felt guilty..I must have done something wrong to cause this. I felt like I was being punished in some way and the penalty was my child. As I laid on the cot waiting for my D&C to scrape the remains of my child from my womb...I was in no pain. Not even cramps signaled the loss of a living breathing life within my body. This made the guilt even worse...as if the passing of this life from my body wasn't significant enough to cause me any discomfort. I laid there and apologized over and over again to this angel that would never be born.

As I waited my turn in this busy ward of chaos and mayhem...I was in the hallway on a gurney at the time...I shared the space with another woman on another gurney a few feet away. As we waited patiently (she appeared to be in no pain either though I had no idea what was wrong with her just then)...a small boy kept coming to her from the waiting area down the hall. It was her son and he appeared to be no older than 4 or 5. Each time he told her his father had sent him...each time she told him to go back to his father. This happened at least a dozen times in the course of the hour and a half we laid there. (while patients and staff passed us by...seemingly not seeing us)

Finally a doctor came and examined the woman and it was then I learned that she too was having a miscarriage...but she was further along than I at 5 months. I was horrified to hear the doctor say that the babies feet were protruding from the mothers body at this point...and all the while she laid there patiently without making a sound. They quickly wheeled her away and as she passed by she gave me a sympathetic smile..and I returned it...two mothers sharing a horrible situation. United by blood and loss.

When my turn finally came I was wheeled into an exam room before heading for the operating room. It was at this point that I heard a word that absolutely made me balk and cringe at it's very utterance. "Abortion"...said the nurse to the doctor that came sweeping in. This patient is having an abortion at 3 months.

Abortion? I wasn't having an abortion. Abortions were for unwanted babies...abortions were something some women chose to do when they cared nothing for the life that grew within them. Abortion was when a "mother" chose to kill her child. I didn't choose this. I didn't want this to happen. I would have given anything to stop what was happening and let this baby continue on growing until she finally emerged wet and crying into the world.

I felt like the nurse had slapped my face. I felt like she had judged and labeled me a killer of babies. I was made to feel ashamed for something I had not done. I was humiliated and shaking with outrage. I wanted this baby...how dare you say I don't and call this an abortion.

As the nurse and doctor shared information and spoke over my head about ME and MY body, never once asking me anything about ME...I heard the word "abortion" spoken several more times. Eventually I had had enough and interrupted them mid speak.

"Excuse me," I said still shaking, "but I'm not having an abortion...I'm having a miscarriage."

They both stopped and looked at me...as if finally realizing there was an actual human being on the table and not just an "abortion" in progress.

The doctor smiled and said..."Of course it's not an abortion technically...but is referred to as a spontaneous abortion (whatever that means)...don't worry about it, dear." Then went back to ignoring me as she conversed with the nurse.

I was wheeled into the operating room and my never to be born child was vacuumed from my womb. Later that evening I was allowed to go home and I arrived into my MIL house without fanfare or a "to do" being made about it. Everyone went about their business as I hobbled upstairs to lie on the bed...and begin my grieving process.

This happened 22 years ago...and still I think about this unborn child. I wonder about him. I imagine what she would have looked like. These thoughts are always in my mind but usually I keep them safely tucked away in a box...only to bring them out on occasions when I feel especially melancholy and tortured with the "what if" game.

I have come to realize..and I learned this lesson right off that bat once I came home from the hospital...that people don't want to talk about miscarriages. They seem unable to bring themselves to say anything beyond, "it's for the best". Best for who? What most people fail to realize is that...whether or not you miscarry at 3 months or 5 months...it was still a living breathing human being that died. I lost a child. In my mind I lost a child...yet nobody else seemed to feel this way. I merely had a medical procedure...I had a bump in the road...I had a misfortune that was corrected by God. I had a lot of things according to those around me...whenever they could bring themselves to mention it at all...but what I didn't have was a baby.

Once again I was made to grieve the loss of life that was important to me...alone.

22 years later I have grown a lot. I have experienced a lot. I have witnessed a lot. The word "abortion" rankled me that day because I was feeling vulnerable, I was hurt and emotional and guilt was raging through my body...but I didn't feel then and I don't feel now that the word abortion...nor the act of abortion...is something I can judge other women over. I myself would never consider an abortion (at least I don't think I would) but I can only see from my eyes and live in my shoes. I have no way of knowing how another woman feels about her pregnancy...whether it is a blessing or a curse to her. I cannot judge her or her decisions. The choice is hers as far as I am concerned...sometimes the choices we make are not the right ones (or even the wrong ones) but we don't know that until the full effects of those choices are made obvious to us at some point in time.

I was reading on a website today about abortion and there were so many many hateful disgusting comments aimed at women who go through with abortions...and at those who accept it as a choice she has a right too...and it amazed me how complete strangers feel they have the right to demand you submit to their ideas of what is right and wrong...simply because they say so. It seems abotion critics seem to believe that women who opt for abortions make the decision flippantly and without much emotional turmoil...and I would have to admit that maybe some of them do...but as a woman and mother I would firmly argue that a majority of women do not make that decision lightly at all. Whether they do though is not for the rest of us to judge in my opinion. If YOU don't believe in abortion...than don't have one.

Similar is the argument against homosexuality. They believe it is wrong so it is wrong. Period. If YOU don't believe in being gay...then don't be gay...but why point a judgmental finger at others who might believe or accept it? I don't understand that.

Anyhow, the reason for this post is because, one, I was feeling rather melancholy as my box of memories was left ajar it seems and I couldn't close it fast enough to stop the "what if" game from taking hold. And, two, I was reading that post as I said and I couldn't help but feel outraged at the Holier Than Thou attitude that others feel they have a right too concerning other people's bodies.

I'm not sure one topic has anything to do with the other but I felt the need to write and so I did.

Diamond in the Rough

2011-01-09T17:27:00.000-08:00

My 16 year old daughter has seemingly made it her life's ambition to befriend the sort of children that others see as odd or different...the sort that don't fit into the generic teenage mold and thus are labeled "outsiders". She brings them home and introduces them to me expecting the same sort of judgement by me that others have always given them. Now and then she does bring someone home that I just don't cotton on too very well and I let her know that. Nothing more than a feeling that makes me pause and think...hmmmm...but most of the time they are good kids (for the most part) they just choose to dress differently, style their hair differently, pierce body parts that make others cringe...things like that. Look past all that outer decoration and there is still a teenager in there with all the normal teenage angst and drama. From all the ones she has brought home, one has stood out and has become a regular visitor and occasional overnight guest. His name is Kelian.

Kelian is 15 years old and a giant among most of the other 15/16 year old he's surrounded by at high school. When I first met him he had long crazy hair that was a different color nearly every other week. He is sweet, has a beautiful smile, and is one of the most helpful boys (teens) I've ever had the pleasure of being around. His laughter is contagious and he abhors wearing shoes. It's not unusual to see him outside in 3 feet of snow wearing flip flops. Yes, his feet are cold and yes he bitches about it...but he won't go put shoes on no matter how cold they get. Don't ask me...I don't understand it either.

Kelian's home life is not an easy one. His mother drinks a lot. (one of my regulars) and his step father is abusive. Both of them are heavy into the biker culture so there are tattoos, piercings, metal studs, lots of leather, and big biker boots as part of the ensemble. His step father is well over 6 feet tall and his mother is around 5'3" and so Kelian is somewhere in the middle of these two in height. He also cares for his mother a lot when she is drunk and the step dad has left the house. The stories he has told me leaves me shaking my head (as if I don't have my own stories but I'm not a child anymore and he is) and I so much want to do something for this boy that is getting a shitty start in life.

Did I mention he has been in and out of boys homes, been on probation, has had run ins with the law? All of this was before we met him (though he was still on probation then) and most of it can be attributed to a child left on his own to entertain himself how he chose. He chose to shoplift...and drink his mother's alcohol. I decided the best way I could help this boy was to invite him into our family...give him a little "normal" (whatever normal means) and give him a place where he can let his guard down and just be himself.

One more thing I forgot to mention about Kelian. He is gay.

Kelian knew he was gay since around age 10 when he realized he just didn't care much for girls and always seemed drawn to boys. Of course growing up in a house with a biker Harley Davidson gang member was hard enough all by itself...but trying to convince his step dad that being gay was in any way a viable option in his life was something else. His step father threatens to "make him a man" by way or another all the time. Not sure what he means by that. He shaved Kelian's long beautiful hair as an act of punishment a few months ago claiming that men don't have long hair...conveniently forgetting that his own hair is well down his back. The hypocrisy is not lost on Kelian.

His mother says little in front of her husband but has told me during a drunken moment that she only wants Kelian to find someone to love and be happy with...and she doesn't care if that is with another man. I felt she was divulging a deep secret of hers that the alcohol loosened up...in the end most mothers realize they still love their child no matter the life choices they make. Some mothers...not all.

Since Kelian has been spending time with us he appears to have blossomed (at least in my eyes). He loves to come over here and just be himself. Nobody makes fun of him here. Nobody averts their eyes away from him. Nobody whispers after he has walked by. He watches T.V. with us and shares our dinner and goes to the movies with us. He sleeps on our couch when he doesn't want to go home...and wakes up in the morning in a bright mood. I find it hard to equate him with the kid that is failing school, fighting with anyone that looks sideways at him, or hates to mention his family to anyone but us...because I believe he now sees us as his family as well...extended family at any rate. We are his and he is ours...generally speaking.

And though it was my original intent to help Kelian..he has also helped us grow in many ways that previously we couldn't. My children grew up in a culture in which being gay is a serious offense. Not to say there are no gay people in Bahrain, of course there are, but they keep their sexual identity a secret knowing what can happen if the truth were out. My older boys especially had a harder time adjusting to Kelian's "defect" as one son first shockingly referred to it. After a lecture from me...he was sullen for awhile...but now seems to have gotten past it. Even if he doesn't accept it inside himself...he knows better than to say it out loud around me. This is my house...and my guests are treated with respect. I might add that this is a good way to get your children to be more accepting of people that are "different" etc...invite them over and befriend them. Kelian is a sweet lovable kid with us...and he happens to be gay. It's hard to be hateful and prejudiced against the known (someone that is gay)...as opposed to the unknown (the mere concept of being gay as a form of deviance).

When I asked Kelian how he met my daughter he told me that he saw her in the hall at school a few times...but it wasn't his nature to approach strangers...fearing judgement...but to his surprise one day she marched up to him and introduced herself. They have been good friends from the start. I have seen him stand by her during her most trying times when school bullies were calling her and her brother terrorists etc. I've seen him literally hold her hand and drag her in to the doctors office to get a shot because she is terrified of needles...and not letting it go even though she squeezed so hard his fingers were red. I've seen him help her and all the while I know (because I have been there) his mind is busy with his own problems, his home life, his "chosen" lifestyle that makes his world pain filled and miserable. He has told me that she helps him as well. In school she is the first to stand beside him when others dare to point a finger. He declares her willingness to "take a bullet for him" as he describes it "totally awesome". My daughter has never been one to shy away from telling someone exactly how she feels. (stories there people...stories there)

I tell you this story about Kelian for two reasons. I want to shine a light on a boy that has forever had the light taken away merely because he is different. He was labeled a loser, a reject, a lost cause by those whose signature apparently matters...and he craved someone to just look at him...really look AT him rather than his file full of his failures...and see the boy that lives inside. When I first met him I could see how he prepared himself for my rejection, it was a fleeting look on his face that he quickly covered with his usual bravado and "I don't give a shit" demeanor...and was left without words when I smiled (a rarity for me, ask anyone) and welcomed him into my home....and then welcomed him to come back anytime. In those early days he was constantly ready to be pissed off and find reasons to leave...but now...even when he gets pissed..or my daughter gets pissed (they do argue now and then)...they separate for awhile....then it's back together again. And I think that is the absolutely best thing for him...to realize there is someone ready to stick with him through the rough shit as well as the fun.

The second reason is because I was an abused child..my children were abused. For most of my life I couldn't help myself or them due to location and laws...but now I can...and I do. I told myself some time back that if I were in a position to help a kid that clearly needed it...even if it was to just open my home and our lives too that kid and give them a place away from the drama and abuse...just for awhile...then I would.

It hasn't all been easy. I had a rather scary evening with his mother over him one night...and he does have issues to work through (don't we all) but for the most part I think it was one of the best decisions I have ever made. Kelian is a joy to be around and he has taught us so much about taking people for who they are...and incorporating that into a friendship with a little something extra.

I realize that helping a troubled teen can have it's serious consequences...they are volatile emotional creatures that are likened to a ticking time bomb seconds from going off at any given moment...but the reward for me has been well worth it....and I hope for Kelian it has meant something too.

When I was growing up I wanted someone, anyone, to look at me and give me a moment of their time because it can make all the difference. Someone did actually and I will write about him in a future post...but for now..I want to know...is there a Kelian in your life or do you know of someone like him that could use a Big Brother/Big Sister (or mother...lol)? If there is..did you hold out your hand to help..or wish you had? If you did...what was the result?

Me in the middle.

2011-01-01T21:10:00.000-08:00

I grew up the middle child for most of my life. Though my mother had 5 children and I was number 4, my older brother left home to live with my bio father when he was 12 and one of my older sisters passed away when she was 5...so for most of my life it was older sis and younger sis...and me in the middle.

My (step) father was my younger sister's natural father...and he spent an awful lot of time reminding older sis and me of our lowly status in his eyes. He spoiled younger sis in ways that has affected her throughout her life. He treated her as a Princess...told her daily that she would grow up one day to be Miss America. He bought her things that she had no right owning at her age...or need to be more precise. For instance..she still didn't know how to ride a bike when she was 7 yet he went out and bought her an expensive BMX bike....with a helmet AND training wheels. Needless to say she crashed a lot...and was made fun of for the training wheels part. (it may or may not have been me making fun...shhhh) It apparently didn't matter to him that she couldn't ride a bike...he bought her one and then left it to ME to teach her. Of course she never listened to me because she was a Princess and I was a lowly handmaiden. It was a long summer.

I learned how to read when I was 4...according to my mother I just "picked it up" listening to others read. I read voraciously (still do when I have time), consuming books one after the other. Sometimes I would have several books going at once and it was never a problem to leave off one story and jump right into another. My father liked to punish us by making us do things we didn't like of course...because I liked reading...he made me read to my little sister. You might not think this is such a bad thing but she was a Princess and demanded the reading sessions be catered to her whims. This meant I might have to read the same story 5 times. I might have to read the same story but with a different voice. I might have to start over because she wasn't listening...this happened a lot. Now here's the thing...reading to her was not what bothered me so much. Reading to her even though she knew HOW to read herself is what bothered me. My father was making me read as a form of punishment. He was taking something I loved and making it a chore for me..a trial..a test of wills. Of course she always won because if I protested at all that 10 times was enough already...I was shouted at and her triumphant smile made me want to spit nails.

Anyhow, you lose dad...I still love reading.

Little sis got all the interesting toys and whatnot for Christmas. Mom got me and older sis board games mostly....games we would have to play with little sis...who had to win OR ELSE. She made no pretences of not cheating. We had to let her win or the temper tantrum that followed was met with punishment from dad. Whatever toys etc that she got were only allowed to us through forced playing with her. For instance, she got lots of Playschool activity sets...a barn house with animals...a house with furniture etc...she once had a whole Sesame Street neighborhood with familiar characters and accessories. She would insist we play with her, we had no choice really, and then spend the entire time bossing us about who got what and could touch what or where everything went. Playschool might be fun for 5 year olds but 10 and 14 year olds aren't interested. One year she got a full set of metal Tonka trucks. A dump truck, back hoe, shovel etc...we spent many hours in the back yard doing as she commanded (foreman?) digging up the yard and making roads...or pushing her around as she sat on the dump truck. I actually did find the Tonka trucks fun to play with but could never do anything with them without her permission or instructions.

The Princess got everything she wanted. Could command us at will and could pitch a royal fit when we didn't comply. She got us in trouble by making up things and couldn't keep a sister secret to save her life. We told her very little and let her in on next to nothing because we knew she would squeal..if not now..then eventually. (not like we had huge secrets or anything..but you know kids...anything mom and dad doesn't know about...won't hurt them...ha!)

Little sis abused me just like her father. She hit me, kicked me, and I had her teeth marks on my body on any given day of the week. Before I learned that I could run away from her, I had to sit and take it because dear lord help me if I so much as took a swipe at her in retaliation. Once I realized I could actually run faster than her, I would run whenever she got too close. She would actually get so angry with me that I wouldn't just STOP and let her catch me that she would stand there screaming at me demanding compliance. Of course this only worked when we were allowed outside..inside...hiding in the locked bathroom was about the only defense I could take. It was a test of patience...her anger and my willingness to sit on the pot for however long it took...of course if someone wanted the bathroom I was in deep trouble.

She didn't have to clean the house like older sis and I. We got dragged out of bed in the middle of the night more times than I can remember to clean something that was already clean. My father was crazy about our house being military clean...and would often see dirt where none existed (at least to my terrified eyes). I would be up scrubbing the toilet or re-cleaning every single dish in the kitchen (he would drag them all out and fling them everywhere) while he ranted and paced about how filthy we were. If we managed to find our way back to bed without a beating it was little short of a miracle. To this day if you remind her that she never had to clean anything she will protest loudly about that fact...but I know what I know and that's a fact. On this issue mom concurs...little sis was spoiled rotten.

Older sis was abused just like I was but more often than not she did something to warrant her punishment. Not that she deserved the horrible beatings dad gave us but she did go out looking for trouble...and it usually found her. The problem with this is she usually dragged me along...so of course I got beat too. She was just as bossy as little sis to me but only when the parents weren't around as she had no authority when they were. She also gave me plenty of beatings of her own...usually when she had gotten in trouble for something and felt I deserved to be punished too for reasons known only to her. It was rare that I could walk by her without a hair pull or sock in the arm...and of course I never gave as good as I got because she could kick my ass...and I knew it.

I had to share a bed with her for much of our lives and she generally made that an ordeal by whispering threats or promising to exact revenge for something at some future date...or often just continue whatever ass kicking she had started during the day but was distracted perhaps. I had to take it silently of course because to make noise would bring dad...and a beating by him was far worse then anything my sis could do. On the really horrible nights little sis was brought in to sleep with us (she slept in my parents room until she was 6 or 7 I believe...yeah I know...issues there) which meant I was sandwiched between a pincher/biter and a hair puller/arm socker. Long night needless to say.

Older sis was hell bent on burning bridges as I have mentioned before...so when she wasn't actively making me miserable...she was working very hard on making sure my future was miserable as well. She got in trouble doing all the regular teenage things..and then some...so that my parents forbid me to do anything at all by the time I came of age. I didn't date because she got pregnant at 15. I didn't drive because she snuck out in the car and caused mayhem (I actually didn't get a drivers license until I was 27 because ex-asshole didn't let me drive either while in Bahrain...long story) I couldn't work part time because she used her jobs as excuses to get into more trouble...and I couldn't do school activities because she had pissed everyone off that had anything to do with school: teacher/ admin/student alike.

As I mentioned before she liked to drag me into her active pursuits of defiance. For instance, my parents left for the day taking little sis with her. We were told NOT to leave the house for any reason. I was around 10 at the time. Of course, as soon as parents had been gone a reasonable amount of time, sis insisted we go outside. When I refused for fear of parents coming back (and they did often) she just grabbed my hair and pulled me out with her. Once outside I just gave up and went along for the ride....because I already knew we were going to get in trouble by this point. We ran up to a guy that had a cool looking dog (Dalmatian I believe) and asked if we could pet it. Owner said OK so we did...when we had enough and turned to walk away...the dog snapped at me and bit a chunk of my outer thigh. (still got the scar) Of course I screamed bloody murder, of course owner blamed us and dragged his dog inside....of course older sis got pissed at me for letting the dog bite me. (sigh) We went home and she cleaned up the would, put a band aid, and swore me to secrecy. We somehow knew that being outside was bad enough, throw in the dog bite and things were bound to get worse.

3 days later my sis was overcome with guilt (a rarity for sure) believing I probably had rabies. Mom and dad were at work and for some reason she decided she needed to call the ambulance for me right then. Needless to say, it did not go well. My mother was called, all hell broke loose (she went storming over to the house of the dog owner and demanded proof the dog had its shots) and then of course when dad got home...even more hell. Thanks sis.

Another time we had just come back from Sunday school and were wearing our Sunday school best. Before we could change mom sent us down the street to the store to buy a few things. She warned us several times not to go near the small creek that ran by our trailer park. Of course as soon as we were out of sight of our trailer sis dragged me over to the water. We were OK until she spotted a tennis ball floating in the water and ordered me to get it. As I squatted and reached out to snag it...she booted me in the butt and sent me head first into the water. Arriving back at the house dripping wet was bad enough...daring to sit on mom's nicely cleaned pile of towels so I didn't get the couch wet was the proverbial last straw on the camels back. Needless to say sis declared I had done it all on my own despite her warnings. Thanks sis.

So there I was, stuck between two bossy abusing sisters that never let me have a moments peace for the most part. I couldn't beat up big sis and I couldn't touch little sis. I didn't enjoy hanging out with older sis because she usually got me in trouble and of course little sis just made me miserable with her Princess mentality. At times I felt like an only child..strange I know given the circumstances. All I wanted to do was read but these siblings of mine kept dragging me into trouble by way or another (not that I never found my own but that's another story..ha ha)

Being the middle child in my family sucked in more ways than I can possibly narrate here...so many stories so little time...but what I find interesting about our childhood and the family dynamics that sprang from it...for the most part still ring true today. Older sis grew up to be a trouble making pain in the ass for everyone involved. Little sis has grown up to be even more bossy and insists that she is right...end of story...no matter what the story is. She is a loner because nobody can tolerate her personality I'm thinking. She has whitewashed our childhood to the point that she was a Princess...but in a completely benign kind of way. She insists she had to clean stuff too. Sorry sis...but no. Of course eventually dad started beating her too...around the age of 8 or so...even tried to choke her with a dog chain one time...but her personality was already set by him by this time...and now even more rigidly. She is so much like him that it's scary at times to witness "him" in her actions and mannerisms. She treats her own daughter much like dad treated us...and I find this the worst trait of all to share with him. Older sis also treated her children very badly so that by the time she passed away the two older ones had no contact with her despite their still young age (older teens).

While I am by no means a perfect mom, I have never resorted to the sort of violence those two inflict(ed) on their children...which I find very telling as my position as middle child. Having been abused by dad and both siblings most of my life I just can't imagine raining that same sort of pain down on my own children. I might also add that my own mother was rather a passive bystander during all this abuse. She could have stopped dad by leaving of course...and she could have stopped her two daughters by paying attention to what they were doing to me (she was right there many times when younger sis did it but she also knew the consequences of pissing of the Princess) and I often complained about older sis but I guess I could say she allowed it to happen to avoid problems for herself by possibly raising the anger of my dad.

It is only through my older (dare I say wiser) age that I can see that my own mother was just as much my abuser as the rest of my family members. She could have protected me, all of us really, but she chose to do nothing. I find I have a new sort of anger for my mother that I never had for most of my life because she was the "good" parent and I looked up to her so much...but hindsight tells me that while she did not physically abuse me (though there are a few times I can remember but not many) she did allow my abuse at the hands of others to continue. My own role as a mother has opened my eyes to many new views I didn't have before, but the main one is, my children come first. Always and forever. To realize that for my mother we didn't come first has caused a great deal of pain to my heart. She can give her many many oft repeated excuses as to why she "couldn't leave" or how could she leave and "start over with nothing" but in the end...she chose to do nothing...and for that I find her culpable in my abuse.

I start this New Year regretting many things in my life...and looking forward to many more. I am sandwiched between pains of the past and hopes for the future. I spend far too long analyzing my past because who I was a child and how I was "created" by those around me influenced who I became as an adult and the abuse I allowed to happen then as well. I also spend copious amounts of time actively trying to overcome my childhood/early adulthood and change into something more proactive and less accepting of what others decide to do to me..just because.

I find myself the middle child once again, though my older sis is no longer with us and younger sis can't be bothered...but now I am the middle child to the past child that I was...and to the potential future woman that I strive to be. It's not always an easy road...but I find I'm fairly easy to get along with. I don't bite, I don't kick, and I don't mind sharing my toys...or my secrets. However, I do have a rather sharp tongue (or so I'm told) so watch out.

Happy New Year everyone...and may you make peace with your past and find inspiration in your future....and always always greet each new day with a new sense of hope and potential for something good.

What would YOU do?

2010-12-16T12:33:00.000-08:00

http://thesocietypages.org/socimages/2010/12/03/when-do-we-intervene/#comments

This is an interesting experiment in which people in a compound are subjected to loud drum music...and then on a different night...subjected to what they believe is domestic violence going on. People felt quite all right to bang on his door to object to his loud music...but not one person bothered to come complain about the assumed violence taking place in that same apartment.

It reminds me of my own home growing up...none of our neighbors ever bothered to respond to the violence Im sure they could hear coming from our trailer (trailers are not spaced that far apart for the most part) and neither could others who could see our bruises and injuries bother to inquire beyond the surface as to how we always seemed to be bruised and injured *hint hint much*.

How do we as a society decide on what we get involved with and what is none of our business? Loud music...my business....domestic violence...close my windows and pull the shades....hmmm.

Can finally take that breath Ive been holding...whew!

2010-12-10T13:52:00.001-08:00

Free at last free at last....Lord have mercy...free at last!! From homework, studying, and finals. For awhile anyhow. Will have to turn around and start all over again come mid Janurary...but for now...deep breathing exercises are in order....and a little tv watching...and some cinema viewing...and bookstore visits for books I WANT to read and time to cook a meal that doesnt come in a box or fast food bag. ugh!!!

*whose idea was this anyhow?

Funny thing happened on the way to Christmas....

2010-12-06T00:04:00.000-08:00

*I wrote this for my college paper-enjoy

The holiday season is upon us once again and as I drive around seeing the beginnings of holiday cheer being strung up on houses and trees aligning the streets, I can not help but think of holiday seasons of the past. Growing up in my house meant that holidays were a hit and miss affair. Depending on my father's mood, which could change like the weather in Wyoming, we might get to celebrate with reasonable good cheer, or watch dejectedly as he flung our decorated tree out the front door yet again complaining about the space it took up or the fact that it was just a merchandising gimmick for the already rich. Unlike most children my age I did not look forward to Christmas in quite the same light. For them it was charging into the holiday spirit with a mix of family visits, shopping trips, holiday music playing non stop and possibly church attendance and other religious gatherings. For us it was more or less tiptoeing into it with shopping squeezed in when he was not around, decorating when he was not watching television, phone calls having to do in place of family visits that we rarely were allowed, and the only gatherings we took part in were usually done at 3 a.m. as he drug us from our beds to stand at attention while he prowled back and forth with one of his many guns in hand as he ranted on yet again about how ungrateful we all were and he would be doing himself a huge favor just to blow us all away and be done with it. After 2 or 3 hours we would be allowed back to our beds but sleep was a long time coming. Not to mention on those Christmas mornings that actually did arrive with tree and gifts intact, I do believe my sisters and I engaged in the quietest present opening finale ever in the history of children and Christmas.

My married life was spent overseas with a man and in a country that did not celebrate Christmas or the holidays (though generally the expat community took part in a more subdued low key scale) as the major religion followed was not Christianity, which means it has been over 23 years since I have been free to celebrate this holiday free of stress and with my own family traditions. Of course at this time I have no family traditions concerning the holidays. I am lucky that I am free to create my own, to take on those aspects of the holidays which appeal to me and discard the parts that do not. I do not have family clamoring for me to do things "how it has always been done" nor do I have that frenzied aspect that has me creating lists and "checking them twice" and wondering who I left out of the holiday card/gift giving round. This first real holiday will be baby steps for me. Tentative forays into the great unknown, grabbing onto familiar objects along the way to ensure I have the support I need to take my next step. First I had to buy a tree.

The other day I went to the store to buy decorations for that first tree I have ever bought and walked up and down the aisles for an hour picking up and discarding a myriad of decorative choices having no clue what I wanted. It seemed that decorating my own tree was going to be a lot harder than I thought. I wanted it to be perfect but had no idea what perfect was. Eventually I came home with a string of lights and two boxes of colored bulbs and that was all. A week later the tree has the lights and only 4 bulbs on it as the placement of those 4 bulbs took me to levels of anxiety I have only ever felt while trying to fit in all this college homework with deadlines ever at the forefront. I told myself I would not get sucked into the whole holiday season stressed out nerve wracking aspect of it but the fact that I can not even decorate my own tree without needing a time out in between bulb placements does not bode well.

I visited the stores on Black Friday and could not find a single item that I felt required my hard earned money to be sacrificed for. I came home with some paper towels and some jingle bells that hang from my front door...and a little jingle that hangs from my backpack. For some reason, as I pushed my empty shopping cart through the throngs of frenzied shoppers, I kept thinking to myself, is THIS what I have been missing all these years? Shopping for things I do not need for people I do not particularly care for, or do not care for me, and putting myself in debt that I might pay off just in time to do it all again next year? I was the only one in the 12 items or less lane as I paid for my items and left. I could not help but notice the cashier eyeballing my mostly empty cart and giving me a sad look as if she "understood" my situation...possibly that I could not afford to fill my cart like the other 99.9% of the stores customers?

Because my children have not been raised with that holiday expectation that builds up as commercials and radio jingles bombard them with the latest "must have" as the magical day draws closer, inquiries as to what they would like "from" Santa have been met with shrugged shoulders and the rolling of eyeballs. It apparently pains them to humor their mother and let me have something on this list I am meant to have. My list is empty just now...all though underwear and socks are always holiday gift giving favorites. I am sure they will receive those with the same amount of joy that I did when I parted the colorful paper, opened the red/silver/green box and discovered clothing as my reward for being a child and having wants and desires that did not include cotton or the words "one size fits all". I guess my habit of gifting them for bringing joy to my life all throughout the year has sort of turned them into cynics about this whole end of year gift giving extravaganza. Darn spoiled kids!

So every night as I pass my still yet undecorated tree and tiptoe by my sleeping children that are most likely NOT dreaming of sugar plum fairies, it is only 3 weeks until Santa arrives and "good will and peace on earth" reigns...at least for a little while. For one brief moment we can forget CNN and it's nightly round up of mans inhumanity to man across the globe. We can skip right over FoxNews and get our source of entertainment from family and friends that make us laugh and feel good rather than just laugh from sheer jaw dropping idiocy. We can put aside our differences and focus on our similarities and let the small stuff slide off our horrible holiday sweatered backs. Later we can drive through neighborhoods and admire other people's ability to defy gravity and put lights in places only squirrels should have access too or who seem intent on spreading the message of Peace on Earth to any lifeforms that may be passing by our galaxy and happen to look down and see a house with enough lights that the glare on their spaceship window causes them to crash into a passing weather satellite.

As each of you head into your own holiday season and pull out your well worn family traditions concerning it think about how those traditions came to be and whether or not they are a true reflection of what the holiday really means to you. As we are all struggling to get through this recession the best way we can, consider trying to experience a Christmas season that is less focused on "things" and more on feelings and that good will everyone keeps going on about, including myself..and if you hear someone walking down the hallway here at college jingling all the way...that would be yours truly.

Have a wonderful holiday season and try to make at least one person smile that maybe has not had a reason to in a good long while. That is a gift worth giving.

p.s. for those curious enough to consider the "hidden meaning" of this post...no I don't consider myself a Christian and see enjoying the Christmas season as an affirmation of that...I just happen to like twinkle lights and decorated trees and the general atmosphere of "be kind to others" mentality that seems to take over this time of year. I enjoy the joy...so to speak...and that has nothing to do with religion...and probably despite it.

Transitions and a mother's heart

2010-11-24T02:54:00.001-08:00

From the moment of our conception we start experiencing transitions from one phase of life to another. We transition from the womb to life on the outside; from childhood to adulthood and then to old age, from good health to bad health and the list goes on. For every transition we experience we learn something new about ourselves. As youngsters we covet being older, but then when we are older we pine for our youth. When we are in good health we try to not think about the "what if's" of bad health and then when we do fall ill we look back and play the "if only" game. If only I had taken better care of myself. Transitions are sometimes slow and barely noticeable and others are lightning fast and leave one out of breath and trying to make sense of what just happened. We don't always see them coming. We might even think we are prepared for one when it does happen but find out later we had no clue. Somethings just can't be prepared for.

I have experienced many transitions in my life, too many to mention here, but suffice to say this latest one is really hitting me where it hurts. I am, what is referred to as a non-traditional student; an older adult who has returned to or is attending college for the first time after a long period of time away from an educational institution. For the past year I have been juggling various roles that I must "play" in order to fulfill my dream to have a degree and better my life. I have been a full time employee at night, a full time college student during the day, and a full time mother for 23 years. Somewhere in there I find some time to sleep, I think. It has been hectic and stressful and some days I wonder what I'm giving myself all this grief for, on purpose. I've heard various rumors that it will eventually be worth it. Right now it's still too early to tell.

All of this stress has been compounded by the fact that my own children are reaching an age where they are looking to the horizon and wondering what's on the other side. I have heard about the "empty-nest" transition but nothing has prepared me for the truly empty feeling that results as one by one my chicks try their wings and head for the sun. The fact that those maternal strings seem so easily cut after all the pain I have gladly suffered to keep them tied securely leaves me feeling lost and somewhat useless. I'm sure that many of the students attending college now are experiencing this new transition of being away from home for the first time. Many of you probably looked forward to this new phase in your life and thus packed your bags and closed the door behind you without thinking too hard about the consequences; about the ones you left behind. Every new phase in your life leaves a ripple affect and those around you feel it in their own way.

It is the cycle of life that a mother nurtures and cares for her children and prepares them for the big world outside her heart. She does what she can to ensure they have the skills they need and at least a basic understanding of how the world works. She tries to teach them people don't always play nice and being hurt is going to happen. Then she teaches them how to deal with that hurt. She spends every waking moment of her life trying to improve the lives of her children and giving them a safe haven from the world and all it's dangers. She does this without thought of reward or the losses she has endured in order for them to prosper. Then suddenly she looks around and finds that her nest is empty (nearly) and all that she has left are the echoing voices of her children in every room of the house and the always present pain of being a mother in her heart.

If you are somebody's child, and you know you are, stop and think for a moment about how your latest transition may have affected those closest to you. As you face each new challenge and reach for the future with open arms...take a moment to think about the two open arms that are now empty waiting patiently for you to remember her and come back and fill them again. She would never stop you from living your life but she still wants to be a part of it.

Have you called your mother today? Have you given her a hug lately (if you can)? Have you stopped to think of her knowing full well that she has never stopped thinking of you? Transitions are never easy for those concerned but a heartfelt call home or an unexpected hug certainly soothes an aching heart.

People tell me there is a light at the end of this paricular tunnel. That may well be true but for now, it's still pitch black.

Bullying: An epidemic?

2010-11-19T00:04:00.000-08:00

*this was written for the newspaper*

Suicide among college students has always been a heatedly discussed topic due to the perceived causes; too much stress, too much homework, peer pressure, parental expectations, scholarships on the line and the list goes on. This past week has brought another cause for those statistics to rise even higher; the continued bullying and forced outing of homosexual students. Most often by other students using social media outlets, such as Facebook, My Space, or even Youtube to expose a fellow students sexual orientation and laugh it off as a joke. In just a matter of a few weeks 7 suicides have been reported at various colleges around the United States; all of them were homosexual students that had been bullied or outed prior to their suicides.

Tyler Clementi, a student at Rutgers University, recently committed suicide by jumping off a bridge after two of his fellow students secretly filmed him engaging in a sexual encounter with another male. They invaded his privacy and put the video on the internet for all to see and comment. The two students involved, Dharun Ravi and Molly Wei, are facing up to 5 years in prison if convicted of invasion of privacy. Clementi is the latest in a string of suicides that has the gay community in an uproar at the continued ""othering"" of homosexuals and the forced outings and resulting abuse or deaths as a result. Mass media and the ability to see things streamed live on the internet has given people a voracious appetite to see ever more personal and "real" moments in what otherwise should be personal and private matters. Anyone with a cell phone or video camera apparently believes they have the right to film at will and upload at leisure without a second thought to the consequences.

We have to ask ourselves at what point do we step back and let people have their privacy? When do we stop and tell ourselves that this is not our business, nor the business of anyone else? We have no right to see it much less put it out there for others to see it and judge? For most people, seeing a link or a Youtube video highlighting just such a private moment causes not even on moment of hesitation before happily clicking on it to view someone else at their most vulnerable. Do we ever wonder if that person or persons in the video gave permission to be filmed? Do they know it's now there for our viewing pleasure? Obviously not always or people like Tyler Clementi wouldn't feel suicide was the only way out of his shattered world.

People might ask, why did he kill himself over a video? Why are those 2 students blamed for his death? They didn't throw him off the bridge or even encourage him; all they did was film him having sex and put it on the internet for every homophobic gay hating basher to come along and point a finger and judge him. The comments left by said viewers were disgusting and a painful reminder of just how far we still have to go in accepting sexual orientations other than hetero. Also, we have to consider that Clementi, and other such victims, hadn't disclosed their sexual identity to their own families and this forced outing had sent them into a panic that spiraled out of control.

Whatever the reason Tyler Clementi eventually came too before climbing onto that bridge we can be assured of one thing, when we bully, when we tease, when we judge, when we hate, when we treat people who are not the same as us as "less than" or "inferior" we might as well be putting the bullet in the gun ourselves, handing them a glass of water to down those pills, or even giving them a hand up to climb on that ledge.

We are guilty when we use words to hurt, to diminish, to destroy self esteem. Tyler Clementi had a right to be who he was. He had a right to engage in private matters without fear of being videoed and exposed. He had a right to assume he had the rest of his life to figure himself out and decide for himself what he wanted to share with the world and what he wanted to keep to himself. Those two students took that right away and the result is that Tyler came to the conclusion the only choice left to him was to end his life.

College is a new and exciting experience for most students. Away from home for the first time, experimenting and discovering who we are while navigating the corridors of college life. Most of us are using this experience to better ourselves and improve our own lives; others are wasting this opportunity to play with the lives of others with disasterous and even fatal consequences. Most of us have grown up sufficiently to be socially acceptable members of society. We have learned how to "live and let live" and accept every person as an individual with the right to choose who they are; if we don't like it we can walk away. Bullying someone, or invading their privacy because you find what they do different or abnormal or even humorous might seem inconsequential to you, but have you thought would it would feel like if you were the one under the spotlight?

What are you doing with your college experience

Totally off the wall post...but I've got a question....

2010-11-16T12:20:00.000-08:00

I was having a conversation with some friends recently and one thing led to another as conversations tend to do and the "things our parents did when we were young" came up. We entertained each other with the totally oddball behavior one or the other of our parents did or the things they subjected us too etc. Nice to know I didn't have the only set of crazy parents out there...but that's not the point of this post. In the middle of all this joking and laughter I threw out something my dad did and incidentally my ex also engaged in that behavior...something of which I could never understand and never liked...anyhow.

Both of them traipsed around the house in their underwear. In front of us...the kids. (father with me and my siblings, and ex with our children)...and even sometimes when a rare friend came over...they got the wonderful vision of father/ex in his underwear too...though in this regard my ex might have restrained a little more.

Soon as I threw that into the conversation they all stopped laughing and just looked at me and simultaneously said...ewwwwww!!! Apparently none of their fathers/husbands ever did that. Go figure.

Anyhow, question for you people...did any of your dads/fathers walk around in their underwear in front of you, the kids, the neighbors etc? Or is that another characteristic of the sort of men I spent my life around? Fun!

Just wondering if there is some sort of pattern in there...

What can 4 billion dollars buy?

2010-11-09T09:38:00.000-08:00

*This article has been chosen to go in the local paper again. My third one. Woohoo!!*

Another season of campaigning has come to an end. After months of being bombarded with radio announcements, roadside signs bigger than life, and a war of words that left my head spinning, I finally scoot on down to the polling station to cast my very first vote. At the age of 41 I am starting a little bit late in life having my voice heard and hoping my vote counts but it seems I got back just in time to witness a truly historical campaign first. Nearly $4 billion dollars spent by various electoral hopefuls and while I'm no expert on politics and what makes the process tick, I can't wrap my head around that number without asking myself a few questions.

Last I heard we were in a recession and the average American citizen was either struggling to pay the bills, struggling to find adequate health care, or struggling to stay employed. We are told over and over in many different ways that we need to cut back on our spending in order to get through this rough patch. This is sound advice anyone would accept willingly who knows anything about budgeting and planning ahead. Personally I do not have any form of health care because I can't afford it. My biggest fear is getting too sick that staying home and roughing it out with over the counter medication just won't work this time. My apartment complex just raised the rent again by $45 dollars. Compared to $4 billion that's not even a drop in the ocean but it certainly has me scrambling to see where I can cut back even further on my spending to find that $45. I also had to tell my children that I couldn't afford to buy school pictures this time around because paying the electric bill was the difference between lights on...and lights off. While I sit here trying to juggle my bills and the needs of my children and the cost of going to college and keeping gas in my car to get me to work and college and back, my mind keeps returning to that colossal number; $4 billion dollars.

If there is $4 billion dollars floating around out there that can be spent on campaign ads, bill board signs, full newspaper spreads, hand shaking back slapping parties, finger pointing and reputation shredding commercials, and to build those little wooden platforms that would be candidates stand on while making all those soon to be forgotten campaign promises...why isn't there $4 billion dollars to spend on improving the quality of education our children receive in school? Why isn't there $4 billion dollars to spend on providing health care for those that need it most but can't afford it? Why isn't there $4 billion dollars to build more shelters for abused women and children in this country. Currently there are more animal shelters in the United States than shelters for battered women. Most importantly, if there is $4 billion dollars floating around out there being freed up to donate anonymously to campaigns that will soon be forgotten why can't those same anonymous donors donate that same amount of money to those items I just listed where the effect will be longer lasting and more appreciated?

As I walked into the polling station with that number rolling around in my head along with the names and promises of each candidate up for election or re-election, I couldn't help but think one thing. Why is it that Americans can always find money for the things that don't matter and can't be used to improve our lives in anyway, but always manage to find that extra buck, or 4 billion of them, tucked away somewhere for those emergency situations; like a much needed mocha latte frappacino...or an election candidates future vote?

When all the little things add up to one defining moment...pt 6

2010-11-05T12:55:00.000-07:00

Now...where was I? Oh yes...about a month after I arrived in Bahrain I woke up with an intense ear ache. I had spent a considerable amount of my childhood suffering from very serious ear aches and so this was nothing new but this was the first one in a very long time. My husband was at work so my SIL and her 13 year old daughter took me to the local clinic.

For anyone that has never been to a clinic in the middle east, let me describe it somewhat. (at least the one in the area we lived in at that time) It was a very long building with a maternity section to the immediate right of the entrance doors...and a long hall with doctors offices going down the left side. Right in front were the reception desks and chairs to wait your turn. For some reason the air conditioning is turned up to sub zero temperatures...so if your in the clinic for any length of time...you have to get up and go outside in the searing heat just to thaw out. (no lie, I did this many times over the years) There are, of course, the requisite crying babies, the multitude of flies hanging out, and the long wait for your turn.

All though eventually this particular clinic would get renovated and upgraded, back then it had a very third world feel about it. By this I mean it seemed sorely under equipped, not much offered in terms of medications (panadol was/is given for absolutely everything), and doctors never spent more than 5 min with you if given half the chance. Not to mention they never bothered to actually look up at you in a focused way so you felt they even took in the fact that you were male or female. Half the time he/she would start writing before I even answered a question posed to me. I always wondered if mind reading was one of the skills taught in Bahrain's medical college.

Anyhow, all that would eventually be par for the course, but during my very first visit I knew none of that. I had a horrible ear ache and wanted pain relief ASAP. When it was my turn to go in the doctor's office the niece came in with me (usually a family member does...or even the whole darn family) in order to translate if needed. We sat down and the doctor started speaking in Arabic first but then switched to English at my request. When I told him what was wrong he quickly set about looking in my ears and asking questions pertaining to my ear. All very professional and appropriate...right?...but then (you knew it was coming right) when he started to prescribe some anti-biotics and pain killers I quickly mentioned that I was pregnant because, while not knowing a whole lot about what medications can affect your pregnancy, I knew some could. I wanted him to know so he could adjust accordingly.

As soon as I mentioned my pregnancy his whole demeanor changed. Up until that point he had been rather staid and uninterested in me...just enough to deal with my problem and that was it. Suddenly he stood up and asked the niece to leave the room as he needed to examine me. She hesitated but he fairly hustled her out of the room and closed the door behind him. Up until that point in my life the only "intimate" sort of examination I had ever under gone by a doctor was during my entrance exam into the military. The doctors checked everything...and I mean EVERYTHING!! I had my first pap smear during that examination and I clearly remember the doctor calling for a nurse to come in, though there hadn't been one with us before then. I found out later that, to avoid malpractice or accusations of impropriety, a doctor will always have a nurse standing by during these sort of examinations...so everything is on the up and up. (no hanky panky) As a tangent I might mention that giving a teenage girl a pap smear without warning or explanation is almost an assault on her body as far as I'm concerned.

Anyhow, before I knew it I was stretched out on a table and he was lifting my shirt up. Now here was an ENT doctor, who I presume focused his training on body parts found from the neck up, lifting my shirt to examine me from the neck down. I didn't understand why he felt he needed to examine me at all. I was there for an earache and not pre natal care...and yet I was in a foreign country and maybe they do things different here. It's not like I had a whole lot of experience being pregnant to judge whether or not this was appropriate....but it sure as hell didn't FEEL appropriate. I very much wanted to question the purpose of this exam but my tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth and my heart was trying to get up there as well.

I assumed he wanted better access to my abdomen so when my shirt kept rising up and over my breasts I was shocked. What the hell was he checking for now? I reached up to pull my shirt back down as an automatic reaction but he tsked me and raised my shirt again. I bit my tongue and laid there apprehensively. This was a doctor after all and he knew better than me about medical procedures etc...not because I didn't understand the WHY of what he was doing didn't mean there wasn't a reason.

In no time at all he had exposed both of my breasts and was giving me a breast "exam"...which amounted to little more than a very thorough massage on his part. I have since learned how to do a breast exam of course and nothing he did that day even came close to resembling one. It was also the longest breast "exam" I have ever undergone since. I might point out that he never once touched my abdomen.

After I was declared "healthy" he pulled my shirt down and went back to his desk and finished writing up the prescription and saw me out the door. My husband's niece was standing right outside and had a nervous look about her. She seemed relieved to see me emerge and quickly looked back and forth between the doctor and I. Of course eventually I would learn that men and women just do NOT spend alone time together...even if one of them is a doctor. She knew me being alone in there with the doctor could cause a great deal of trouble for me but also, due to her age and gender, felt she couldn't refuse the doctor when he asked her to leave. So she stood outside the door counting the seconds until I came out. (she told me all of this much later when her English improved as did our relationship)

Hours later when my husband came home I told him about the doctor appointment and what had gone on. I also described the breast exam and almost before the story was out of my mouth my husband was firing questions at me. What did he do? Was my niece in there with you? and of course....Why did you let him? In the next instant he was out the door.

An hour later he came back thundering and slamming doors. According to him this is what happened. He went back to the clinic and stormed into the doctor's office ready to defend my honor...or so I'm told. Actually, in the Arab world, the man's honor is the only one that counts...and all the women that "belong" to him fall under that sense of honor and anything that happens to "his females" equals happening to him. My husband went down to there to confront the breast exam that "he" was forced to endure. Hard to explain but there it is.

Of course the doctor had no idea who he was and who his wife was until he said the magic words...American woman. How many American women do you think sat in his office that day much less let him feel them up? Obviously the doctor knew he had crossed the line with me and with his culture but apparently figured I wasn't a Bahraini...and I was American...so probably wouldn't mind or object. He forgot to consider how his fellow Arab/Bahraini brothers react when their women are dishonored. Once again, according to my husband, he went after the doctor who ran around the desk and out the door and down the hall with my husband in hot pursuit. After having a foot race down the hall past all the shocked onlookers I'm assuming...he caught the doctor down by the reception desk and preceded to give him an ass kicking. Security came running and tried to break it up but when they discovered what the good doctor had been up to they stood back and let the ass kicking commence (according to husband...who knows). End result? Doc was eventually asked to go practice somewhere else, husbands honor was vindicated and I was left to ponder this new incite into this possessive/jealous male oriented culture....with my two healthy breasts to keep me company.

Of course writing about this incident reminds me of another one that happened not too long afterwards. My husband took me to the local market in Manama, Bahrain's capital and main city. The traditional souk, of Bab al Bahrain, is mostly made up for walking shoppers as the streets are very narrow and the parking is impossible. People generally park away from the souk and just walk all around it with their bags etc then make their way back to their cars... hoping they can remember where they parked.

When we arrived in the afternoon and began our shopping, the streets were full of Bahraini's and non Bahraini's crowding the sidewalks and spilling into the streets forcing what few cars had braved the throng to inch along. I was enthralled by this new shopping experience....row upon row of shops...all selling pretty much the same thing as far as I could see...with a different shop thrown in just to keep you interested. There were spice shops with product displayed outside on the sidewalk. Towers of colored spice mounds were colorful and intricately designed. It's a wonder the slight breeze didn't blow it all away. Luggage and toys had to be stepped around...pots and pans, brooms and dustpans....and the ever present racks of clothing that had styles I had never seen before...and some of the worst English spelling on them I had ever seen. There were things I had never seen before so was in a constant dialogue with my husband wanting everything explained. We spent about two hours in the souk, just buying a few things, but it was very exciting to me just to take it all in. Such a different sort of shopping experience.

It was then I realized the sidewalks and streets were thinning out somewhat. We weren't quite bumping into people left and right and most of the "thobes" and "abayas" (Bahraini men and women) had gone. There were still a few stragglers but mostly what remained were groups of Hindi and Pakistani men and the like. Very few women remained at this point because Mahgrib adhan had gone so everyone was leaving for home or the mosque to pray. (I'm assuming) I would not be exaggerating at this point to say that in my immediate area I was not only the only female present, but one that stuck out like a sore thumb.

My husband said we needed to go so began making our way back to the entrance of the souk and to the car. Just before we reached the entrance I felt something that took a few more steps on my part to fully understand. Someone had just grabbed my butt and squeezed it. For a second I thought it had been my husband but quickly pushed that thought away as I knew he would never do such a thing in public....so I guessed it had to be someone else obviously. Still not believing what I felt had actually happened I looked back over my shoulder to scan the immediate area....and just a few yards down the street was a man looking back over his shoulder at ME....and smiling. Now up to that point I would have just brushed off the incident as my imagination or a mistaken "bump" (though I knew it was more than that)...but the smile on his face completely blew me away. It was one of the first incidents (along with the doctor) in which I would come to realize that men in the middle east cannot keep their hands to themselves. I don't give a shit what they say about the culture protecting women and treating them better than the Big Bad West etc...but believe me....I have never ever in my life had my body assaulted in so many ways as while walking through a souk, standing in line, passing a man for whatever reason...you come to expect it almost. A slight brush up, a probing finger, or a out right cop. I won't say you ever get use to it...but you do come to expect it.

His smile pissed me off...almost telling me...yeah I felt your butt...so what are you going to do about it? I'm also going to make the claim here that because I'm NOT an Arab woman...men there seem to think I'm quite open and willing to be felt up and won't care too much to make a big deal about it afterwards. I might point out that I have shown a great many of them that they are wrong in this belief. However, at that moment the only thing I could think of to do was tell my husband....

He stopped so quickly I nearly ran into the back of him as I had slowed down while looking over my shoulder. He quickly turned around and yelled at me to point the guy out to him. Well there was no need really as the guilty party might as well of had an arrow over his head pointing downwards....the guy had gone stock still staring at my husband with an ashen look on his face. Apparently it was then he realized I was with a Bahraini...and he knew as well as anyone what was coming next. This man was not a Bahraini btw...if I had to guess I would say a Hindi...but not sure. Anyhow, for about 2 seconds they were staring at each other...and in the next the guy had turned and bolted down the street with my husband close behind.

I was shocked not expecting such a quick turn of events...watching them weave through what remained of the pedestrians and hearing my husband bellowing at him to stop. I looked around and noticed now I definitely was the only female remaining...and the sun was quickly disappearing over the horizon. It was getting dark and I was alone in an unfamiliar place...no idea where the car was and afraid to move anyhow even if I did. All I could see were curious groups of men looking at me and hear the fading voice of my husband in the distance. The irony of the fact that he was leaving me alone among a crowd of men as the sun went down while he chased down another one hit home to me. I wanted to laugh but really didn't feel like it just then.

If I had to guess I would say I stood there in the middle of the street doing a pretty damn good impression of a woman turned to stone for at least 20 min before husband came back...with the terrified ass grabber being dragged along by his torn shirt. A small crowd of men were close behind. My husband was sweating and breathing hard...shouting at the man with every step...the man was begging and crying (I assume...didn't understand his verbal language but his body language was universal) and the crowd of men were shouting and raising their fists. Only later I would learn that they were actually pissed off at my husband...not the man he was dragging as I had assumed. Turns out they were from his country and were showing solidarity by coming to his defense...though I noticed none of them actually did more than shout and show anger.

My husband dragged him right up in front of me and began shouting at me...asking me what I wanted done with him. Did I want his ass kicked...did I want him arrested...did I want him killed? The man was trying to reach out and touch my feet and kept up his begging...I realized he was saying sorry over and over again...but it was coming out as "sowwy"...and he had tears and snot running down his face. I was still shocked, afraid at the violence I was seeing...and so scared after being left alone for so long...that I just wanted to get out of there. My husband screamed again asking me what did I want him to do with the man....

"Just let him goooooo!!!" I screamed back. My husband yelled at the man to apologize...which he did with even more earnest...and shook him by the shirt like he was a rag doll. My husband yelled at me if I accepted his apology or did I want more. I quickly said I accepted it and it was then my husband shoved the guy away who then sprawled in the street...and the group of men quickly surrounded him. I thought they were going to start beating him too but they picked him up and helped him leave...all the while shouting back at my husband as he continued shouting at the man.

He turned and stalked off for the car and I was left to quick step behind him to keep up. He barely said a word to me and I got the feeling I was guilty of something too. As we sat in silence in the car on the way home he fumed...his anger was palatable and I could feel the heat radiating off of him. I sat in silence believing a single word from me would cause an explosion of sorts. When we arrived home he stomped upstairs not even bothering to wait for me...I quietly followed behind not knowing what to expect.

It was the first time what I wore outside was put up to questioning. Apparently my jeans and tshirts were causing too much trouble...while I was not asked to wear the abaya at this time...it was the start of a campaign in which the ultimate goal was to get me in it. If only I knew then what I know now....giving in to keep the peace is tantamount to giving up...but more on that later.

To dream a little a dream....

2010-10-30T00:39:00.000-07:00

As the last page slips into the tray she gathers the pile up, straightens them up, and lays them down on her desk. She sits awhile just looking at them and not thinking a whole lot about anything much. For the moment the "what if" game is being silent and her thoughts are wispy things that have no substance.

She reaches over and takes the single white envelope from the edge of the desk and writes an address on it and then her own. She picks up the papers and starts to slide them inside...but hesitates. After a moment she sits back with the papers and once again begins to read what she has written...though she has read it many times already. It has been a long time in coming....making the journey from the darkest recesses of her mind to the white pristine papers in her printer.

As each word of each line skims across her vision her mind instantly plays out the scenes of her life; the good, the not so good, and the ones she wishes she could forget, but of course, that will never happen. Some things are with you forever.

She reaches the end and once again straightens the pages into an orderly pile....and slips them into the waiting envelope. Along with the papers she inserts her hopes and dreams that within these pages her future lies. That the events of her life will finally have meaning because to believe it had none is more than she can bear.

She lays the envelope down while she dresses but can't help looking over now and then...and realizes the power that is contained within those pages. The power to change her life...the thought frightens her nearly as much as it sparks a bright light of hope within her heart.

She slips on her jacket and collects her keys then walks over and stands in front of her desk looking down. The sudden urge to just chuck the whole thing in the garbage can at her feet is so strong she realizes her hand is already reaching out to do just that before she can stop it...she snatches it back and takes a deep breath. A small pep talk was in order...and she gives it and listens patiently to it before grabbing the envelope quickly and heads for the door.

As she sits in her car she tosses it carelessly into the passenger seat...almost as an after thought. If she dwells too long on its importance she feels she will lose herself in the enormity of what she is about to do...and of course back out while she still can. Backing out is NOT an option...just start the car and get moving.

Traffic is sufficient to require concentration but she still manages to steal a glance or two at the seat next to her. The closer she gets to her destination the harder her heart pounds until eventually she can hear neither the sounds of traffic nor the negative voice in her head that has been her constant companion these long lonely years.

She pulls up into the parking lot and snatches it up and quickly enters the building as if the hounds of hell are on her heels. She can't help but glance over her shoulder...just to make sure it IS just her imagination.

She arrives at the counter and thrusts the envelope that contains her life at the surprised employee. Almost instantly she starts to grab it back as if discovering her child in the arms of a stranger. She catches herself and steps back from the counter and plasters a smile on her face to put the cautious employee at ease...or so she hopes.

Uhm....can I help you, he asks.

Yes...I would like to send that by registered mail...she answers quickly. She is pretty sure she sounds normal...at least to her ears...though they are full of the sound of her beating heart.

Ok...fill out this paperwork and that will be $6.80...and it should be there by Thursday, he says as he places a sticker on her life and sets it behind him on the outgoing mail shelf. She looks at it sitting there and can't help but imagine the little adventure it is about to embark on. Once again the analogy of a child comes to mind...her child is venturing out into the world and she won't be there to keep it safe. Her heart not only pounds but squeezes too with pain and trepidation.

She quickly looks away before the tears that threaten start to fall. You would think she had just laid baby Moses in a basket preparing to push him off into the unknown waters the way she felt.

She fills out the paper work and pays the fee then turns to walk away. She can't help but look one more time at her hope for the future lying there so innocently on the shelf. Such power in that envelope...she is amazed there isn't some sign, almost biblical in nature, that would indicate the essence of what those pages contain.

She gets back in her car and starts the engine. Buckles her seat belt then turns the radio on. Checks her mirrors before pulling out and heads for home...and it is only then that she allows herself to dream a little dream.

And the waiting begins....

Is There a Trevor in Your Life?

2010-10-10T15:23:00.000-07:00

I love spending time on Ellen Degenerous's offical website (http//:ellen.warnerbros.com/ ) because, not only are the video's of her show and things she has done so funny, she also puts things on there worth watching that aren't always so funny but very important. ( I might add that I have been clicking away on her tickets calender for a year now and no luck...always full or I'm doing it wrong. Hey Ellen, could you hook a girl up pleeeeeese?)

A lot of people who "know" her have heard her speak out against bullying and she has admitted that of course she suffered that as well when she came out as a lesbian in Hollywood just when she was becoming well known and famous. She says she was shut down and nobody wanted to touch her after that. She suffered adult bullying and I happen to know personally that it hurts no matter what your age is.

She showed them though and came back bigger and better than ever. In your face Hollywood!!!

However, dealing with this bullying when you are young can be life altering...even life ending. You are made to feel different, or when people perceive you as different, their "normal" reaction is to isolate you even more. To ostracize you and make you feel that your difference is somehow your fault, your problem, your defect. You must deal with it alone, or change and become "one of them" in order to be accepted.

For a young person this forced change can be the beginning of the end for how they perceive themselves. When you are different (as judged by society) everything else connected with you appears "off" or nuanced into suggestive meanings. Your every step, word, or thought is made to feel skewed or somehow shameful. Your not "normal" and boy don't the bullies let you know it.

On Ellen's website she has a short film called Trevor(for some reason my copy paste abilities are suffering today, but you can find the film on her website or Google of course). This is a film about a teenage boy just coming to learn that he is possibly gay and the repercussions he suffers because of it; both from this parents and society (school mostly). It's poignant because throughout Trevor tells himself that he "looks normal" and "feels normal" but apparently everyone else can see something different about him that he can't see himself, otherwise why would they treat him as they do?

The film is almost lighthearted in it's acting but the message is strong and in your face. Not everyone is "like you" and who are you to demand that of anyone anyways. Why demand people be "normal" because what does normal mean anyhow? Normal to you (any you) means to bully people into changing themselves to suit you and make you happy. So is bullying a characteristic of "normal"?

When you look in the mirror do you see "normal" or is there always something about you that you would change, and are these changes possible; like losing weight or cutting your hair, or something impossible like changing the color of your eyes....or your sexuality? It seems bullies, both adult and children, demand we change things about ourselves to please them in some way.

If you are gay, change that because I am not gay and everyone should be like me. You might not be gay, but you're a homophobic hateful bully with a black heart that cannot accept people for who they are without taking it personal and wanting to force them to change. Why should I be like you...are you normal?

I loved this short film because it says so much in such a short time. The message is direct and easy to understand; not everyone is the same and what a better place the world is because of it. We are not all cookie cutter personalities with desires and dreams that match...what a boring world it would be if it were.

For those of you who point a finger at those of us who aren't normal (and yes I include myself because...really...there isn't too much normal about me. I'm fucked up in so many ways you don't even know), when you look in the mirror are you completely satisfied with the person looking back at you...or is there something...just a little something, you would change to better suit your idea, or societies idea, of what constitutes "normal"?

Nobody is perfect, we all have our flaws, but when you look at me (any me) with my short body, red hair, long spindly legs, stutter, freckles, pudgy belly, gangly walk, non stop tick, bad teeth and bad skin, green eyes, blue eyes, brown eyes...my sexuality... when you look at me and don't like what you see and decide you have the right to point it out and demand I change it....let me ask you this....why should I?

Do you stay awake at night unable to sleep because I wear clothes that offend you, because I have thoughts that offend you, because I dance, talk, laugh, sit, eat or do nothing at all and that still somehow offends you, or is it because I found love, the hardest of all emotions to find, keep, and cherish, with someone you don't agree with...and you find that the biggest offense of all. Why are you losing sleep over this...why are you shaking your head, clenching your fists and feeling a sense of revulsion at my happiness and gratitude that I. Found. Love.?

Why are you standing there feeling superior that you are hetero that you are "normal" and that you are doing God's work by sending me and my "type" to hell simply because I love? God created me with the ability to love...He did not create me with the ability to choose whom I love. Why should I be punished for His omission?

When we are young our parents tell us...one day you will grow up and find someone to love and who loves you. What they don't tell us is that society must first agree with our choice because society has a say in who we love...even though we ourselves have absolutely NO say in who we fall in love with. Is loving someone something we choose? Can we point at a person and say..."hey, I think I will make myself fall in love with you today"....can hetero's do that? I'm guessing they can because they seem to assume gay people can do that too.

I cannot stand people who bully, people who judge, people who spend so much time up on their "holier than thou" soapbox that they can't live among the rest of us.... without looking down.

Must we always find reasons to look down on people...why not find reasons to look up to them instead? I find that the kind of normal everyone should strive for. The world is in the fucked up condition it is today because we spend so much time looking for differences in each other that we miss all the similarities.

Speak out against bullies...even if you don't like something you see in others...neither you nor anyone else has the right to demand they change it. Even if you use God as your "excuse"...just turn a blind eye to someones "defect", to their gayness, just like you turn a blind eye and keep silent about so many other "un-religious" actions so many of your faith engage in. Just add this one to that list...won't ya?

Or does that whole...live and let live thing ... just pertain to YOU and your "lifestyle choices"?

Don't Ask Don't Tell...a letter to the paper

2010-09-26T12:58:00.000-07:00

I will be the first to admit I know very little about the political process and what is required to make a law a law...or to reject a proposed one etc., but I do know what "separation of church and state" means and I do know that BECAUSE of separation of church and state, religion shouldn't play any part in law making in THIS country based on that fact.

I know...try telling THAT to the Christians. *sigh*

Now, due in part to my boring night job, and my new found interest in my politics class...I have been reading the paper more in hopes that all that is confusing will become more clear.

I chanced upon this letter in yesterday's Casper Star Tribune (I'm starting to see a trend here) and it really made my blood boil. (another crappy pic, sorry) Now, according to this gentleman (and I use the term in the loosest possible way) he is quite happy that the Don't Ask/Don't Tell rule in the military was upheld. According to him, the military is NO place for homosexuals anyhow.

In case it's too small to read (I'm sure) his words are, "I am a veteran who shared open showers. It is uncomfortable knowing of a gay man showering in the same 12 shower room. If heterosexual soldiers are attracted to females and forbidden to shower with them, how could it be acceptable for a gay soldier, attracted to men, to be allowed to share showers with other male soldiers?"

Now here's what I'm thinking...see if this makes sense. Gay men are attracted to...oh say...OTHER gay men. If YOU are not gay, chances are other gay men will know it and not bother themselves checking out your "goods". Having said that...who the fuck cares if they do check out your goods....men have been subjecting women to the lecherous male gaze since the beginning of time so why cry foul at the very thought that it might get turned on them in some way?

Not to mention, chances are this particular man shared many many showers with gay men while in the military...and just didn't know it. You know why he didn't know it? Cause gay men look just like everyone else...naked..and with their clothes on too for the most part. Also, as far as I know...gay men don't make it a point to proclaim their homosexuality while in showers with 12 other men. Just doesn't sound like "good manners"...or even safe for him to do.

This man also goes on to claim that allowing gays in the military (as if there aren't any right now) would require "separate showers, bathing schedules, and living quarters". He claims then gays would claim "discrimination". Ya think?

My question is...why would it require those things? A gay man is still a man...still got the penis and absence of breasts (generally speaking) so he is, in fact, still male...he just happens to like males and not females. How does that translate into requiring separate everything to accommodate them?

His last line is quite the doozy actually. It's the one that really pissed me off. He says...and I QUOTE, "If they don't announce their homosexuality, then I won't announce my heterosexuality."

I was like...huh?

You just announced you heterosexuality by writing this letter. You announced it by declaring NOT being a heterosexual is somehow wrong. Heterosexuals announce it every single time they try (or do) pass a law that makes being hetero the norm and being gay abnormal. By allowing religious thought to invade our political process to the extent that laws are formed and enforced based on some biblical proclamation that being gay is wrong and deserving of punishment is DECLARING your heterosexuality every single day and forcing that declaration down the throat of every citizen of this country whether they like it or not.

Heterosexual Christians (of which this particular writer doesn't claim to be a Christian but I sort of read it in there...maybe that's just me) believe they have the God given right to enforce their ideas of what is normal and what is sinful onto the rest of us...and by prohibiting gay soldiers from declaring themselves as gay...they are, in fact forcing govt to accept church into every little facet of the political process.

To me that sounds anti American govt. Why do we allow it to happen? Why have we allowed Christians to take over the law making decisions of this country when clearly not everyone who lives and are forced to obey those same laws are not Christian and probably don't believe the same things that the Bible claims is true?

If the American Constitution declares that there will be "separation of church and state"...and we are governed by that constitution...why do we have laws that make being gay illegal? Or somehow sinful? Or that forbid them certain rights that heteros enjoy? or? or? or?

Possibly I still have a lot to learn about politics but could someone explain this to me....I'm not getting it.

btw..back to this ex-veteran..he is a homophobe...and THOSE are the sorts of men that shouldn't be allowed in the military...wonder how many of them are though?

grrr...for some reason my paragraphs won't ....paragraph...sorry for the looooong "paragraph"

Religious Satire?

2010-09-25T10:05:00.000-07:00

This was in our local Caspar Star Tribune yesterday. Sorry for the bad quality but I had to take a pic with my phone. At the moment I just want to hear some comments from you guys. See what you think as to whether this is an accurate representation of both religious communities or not.

My short answer? Yes....and NO.

What do you think?

btw I forgot to note the artists name and now its rather hard to see down there but Im sure someone can make it out who has better vision than I do.

Yaaay!!! I'm a citizen!!!

2010-09-21T13:53:00.001-07:00

Today in our government class our instructor sprung a pop quiz on us. I passed it (yay) but what was more surprising to me are the number of students that didn't. From our class of around 30, the show of hands indicated at least 23 did not pass...and the rest of us by just one or two answers.

What was this pop quiz that saw so many failures you ask? It was the exam given to would be U.S. citizen hopefuls before they can precede on to the next step of swearing their oath of allegiance. It consists of 10 questions and at least 6 must be right in order to pass. I got 7 right....and this actually surprised me because it has been a very long time since I sat in a govt. class...much less thought about any of those subjects asked about. I was even more surprised that those high numbers that failed in our class were mainly younger students that probably had govt. classes within the past 2 or 3 years...not to mention some of those questions were pretty basic information.

Shades of Jay Leno's stupid Americans segment came to mind...seriously...very sad.

Anyhow...here's the questions we were asked. I want you guys to answer the questions as best you can...WITHOUT googling (yeah that means YOU) just to see how "American" you are and to judge whether or not you could pass the same test would be Americans have to pass to be considered American citizen criteria.

Try not to look at other people's answers either....at least not until you hit submit. I won't put the answers until some people have had a go.

1. What stops one branch of government from becoming too powerful.

2. How many amendments to the constitution are there?

3. How many House of Representatives have the power to vote?

4. What are the rights of a U.S. citizen?

5. Who has the right to vote?

6. Who is one of the 3 authors of the Federalist Papers?

7. What territory did the U.S. buy from France?

8. Who was the president during WWI?

9. Name one of the territories of the U.S.?

10. Why does the flag have 13 stripes?

Just so you know, I missed #'s 3, 6, ad 8...which I thought wasn't too bad. How well can you do?

Have fun...remember...NO cheating!!!

Coolred and the gang...one year on.

2010-09-19T16:08:00.000-07:00

Can anyone remember what they were doing one year ago from today? For most of us that wouldn't be easy, too much going on in life to remember what we had for lunch last week much less a year ago. However, when something truly momentous is going on...well that makes it somewhat easier to recall certain details.

For those unenlightened as to the finer details of my recent past...go read this http://coolred38.blogspot.com/2009/08/it-over-peoplethe-fat-lady-has-sung.html ....and then a little more here http://coolred38.blogspot.com/2009/09/you-all-know-what-im-going-to-say-next.html just to get all caught up, more or less.

Go on...I'll wait. *listening to Amy Winehouse*

So, you up to speed now? Good. My children and I arrived back on American shores one year ago today (OK on the 20th but we left on the 19th and Ive got homework to do so this is being typed in between Spanish and Pyschology) and to say that the past year has been just as eventful as the lead up to us arriving here is a misnomer. It's been one roller coaster ride after another...with no end it sight.

I thought I would do this post sort of in a "the year that was" kind of thing with some updates as well. I want those that contributed good wishes and hard earned money to hopefully realize they helped put a family on the road to a very different life...and definitely for the better as far as I'm concerned.

Well let's see. One of the hardest things for me to get straight in my mind every single day of my life here...is that I REALLY am here. I wake up in the morning...go to college or work or the mall...spend the day doing my thing...then lay in my bed at night and ask myself the same thing again and again..."am I really here?" The answer is always yes...but it doesn't make it any easier to believe.

For 23 years while living in Bahrain I dreamed of coming home and STAYING home. Several times I did find myself in the states again, but circumstances prevented me from staying beyond a visit (another post there I suppose), mainly the fact that my children were still over there. There was never really any choice in the matter. Where they were is where I had to be...simple. I could never make the final move to America unless and until ALL my children were with me. This, of course, meant I made several trips back and forth over the years, but never with the understanding that THIS time I was staying for good. In the back of my mind was always the "return date" to head back to Bahrain. I guess my dream was, in essence...to travel to America and have NO return date on my ticket. A one way ticket in other words. Obviously that finally happened and here we are...one year on.

I suppose I could do a post full of links to certain events this past year but that would be a pain for me ( I have yet to learn how to link without much hair pulling...my blog is the worst for it I know) so instead I will just do some highlights of the past and updates of the present and some wishful thinking for the future possibly. Here goes.

1. Kids and I arrived tired, travel worn, and rather wrung out after that truly monumental 23 hour combined flight and layover. http://coolred38.blogspot.com/2009/09/starting-fresh-stinkslol.html

2. Stayed with an old school friend of mine for 2 months while we sorted ourselves out. She was a true friend by giving us a place to stay when we got here...without which I would have hesitated to even make the trip in the first place. Having said that...11 people in a trailer does tend to cause stress and hurt feelings. We did OK considering the forced closeness and differences my kids had to get use to.

3. I managed to get a job working in a gas station/convenience store fairly quickly. I have quite a few posts in the archives detailing interesting customers and what not...there's even a post about 3 men coming in and robbing me...then returning the next day as if nothing happened. Still mad about the police not showing up when I called them. grrrr!!!

4. My 2 high school kids settled in fairly easily tho there were some incidents of name calling..."terrorists" was thrown at them a few times but the principle of the school sorted that out right away and things settled down. My son, Zack graduated later that year with near perfect marks. Not bad considering the upheaval he endured at the start of his senior year, not to mention having ALL his classes in English for the first time ever. He is one smart cookie. Handsome too. Anyone need a smart handsome son-in-law...in about 5 to 10 years? LOL

5. I bought a new (old) car in late Nov. as I had been forced to walk across town to get to work after we moved into our apartment at last. My feet were just not happy to accept a 2 hour walk ahead of an 8 hour shift...I was forced to buy the car before they mutinied completely on me. Less than 2 weeks later I was coming home from work at midnight and was struck by a teenage drunk driver. Thankfully I wasn't hurt too bad but he didn't have his seat belt on and suffered some serious injuries. The consequences from that accident have been serious and on going...something I'm still dealing with no end in sight just yet. *ugh*

6. I made the decision to enroll in college for the Spring '10 semester as it was something I have always wanted to do but never got the chance. I was rather hesitant considering my age and how long it's been since I sat in a classroom but felt the only thing stopping me was ME...and went ahead and signed up. At the moment I'm focusing on Psychology and Journalism majors...but nothing set in stone just yet. I see so many interesting classes I would like to take...and am considering the option of making a career out of being a college student. LOL The first semester was hectic juggling work, kids and college. I felt at times I wanted to either quit work and focus on college (if I could afford too *sigh*) or quit college and just live my life as it was. Quitting the kids wasn't an option so they were stuck with me. I eventually sorted myself out and got everything done. I even managed to finish that first semester on the Deans List. woot woot!! I've started my second semester and so far, the way things are going, I will enjoy my 5 mins on the Deans List and consider it a fluke. Spanish is HARD!!! *ugh*

Oh yes, my two oldest kids also joined me at college and so it was a family affair. We all managed to finish our first semester on the Deans List soooo yay us.

7. My best friend from Bahrain came to visit me twice so far. Once by herself and once with her children over the summer. Her second visit coincided with my mother coming to visit as well. Those couple of weeks had their ups and downs but we had some fun. I noticed my kids were very happy to see her...I guess she brought a "touch of Bahrain" with her...and reminded them of who they are. (as if they could forget) She is just about the only family they still have over there...and she isn't even related by blood....just by love...and that's fine with us.

8. One by one the older kids have all found jobs and so we are scratching by...doing OK. I can't complain but if I could have a home to call our own...that would be icing on the cake. Living in an apartment has many drawbacks...one of which is that the local cops consider this their "donut shop" and spend copious amounts of time here for various reasons. I would just like to have a permanent home and decorate accordingly...with a dog in the front yard and a swing in the back.

9. My daughter has decided it's time to get married and so is busy making plans to get that process done. Hard to believe my "baby" is all grown up and taking the marital plunge. If it were up to me I would forbid her to marry...I'm somewhat jaded in that area...but it's not up to me and I can't put my animosity for all things marriage related off on her. I hope she is happy and content. That's all I can say.

Oh yes...he better be good to her...I can wield a mean baseball bat when pushed. I'm just saying.

So that's it pretty much. I could give you all the nitty gritty details (and there are some of course...maybe for another time?) but basically we are busy getting on with it. Right now my oldest son and I are combining college and full time work...daughter will join us again as soon as she gets this little marriage thing out of the way...LOL. Rest of the kids are doing their thing and we are taking it day by day.

Again I want to reiterate that I wish for those people who helped us get here and thus changed our lives (for better I hope) will appreciate the fact that their efforts were a stepping stone for all of us. There are a couple of friends who went the extra yard, and you know who you are but wish to remain anonymous but a shout out for you all the same. You know who you are.

I hope we are deserving of the trust you placed on us when you made the decision to share your monies or your good thoughts with us way back when I asked you too...me..a complete stranger to many of you...and just a blogger to many others. Your trust in me and what I asked of you was much appreciated and the ripples are still occurring.

Thank you all.

College Class Update

2010-09-12T16:26:00.000-07:00

I've started my second semester of college after a very hectic first semester. It took me awhile to find my groove that first semester; find time for work, homework and family. As I said...HECTIC!!

Anyhow, just to wave my own flag for a second here, after all that headache, stress and much hair pulling, I did manage to finish the semester on the Deans List. don't ask me how I managed that because I haven't a clue. But still, yay me.

Side note...the only thing that stopped me from finishing with ALL A's was one certain speech teacher that gave me a B in his class. I hate to admit I have serious doubts as to whether I deserved that B. I did flub the first speech (deer in headlights remember...ugh) and got a C but I got A's on the next two and A'ced the the final as well. Sooooo....it makes me think he had other issues with me (possibly my connection to Arabs/Islam that he showed obvious dislike for?), but I don't know for sure so I can't say.

Anyways, new semester new stresses, new likes and dislikes etc. Here's a second week into it run down.

Algebra I & II. This class isn't really a class. It's all done on line with a teacher circulating the class encase anyone needs help. No lectures, no examples on the board with detailed explanations etc. I'm a visual person so this is very hard for me to deal with. I'm finding it difficult to understand the rationale in mixing numbers with letters and calling it math. Ugh! It's even more confusing to me because I use to be an ace at math, a whiz, somewhat of a genius actually. When I was young I could do complicated math problems in my head people! No lie. When I was a mere 6th grader I was placed in 9th grade Algebra, which did nothing to make friends for me. For some reason 9th graders did not take kindly to a puny 6th grader showing them up. I mostly kept silent after realizing that just because I was smart didn't mean I had to show it. (oh the memories) I would have to venture a guess and deduce that my "math muscle" has atrophied due to inactivity and such. In other words, Use It or Lose It! I lost it. *sigh*

Good news is that this class is taught by my previous math teacher so we have a relationship established already. She is a good instructor so I'm confident things will go smooth.

Technical Writing: This class is about learning how to write business correspondence, ads, memos, things meant to be published in other words. So far it comes across as very odd. The instructor gives very strange homework that many of us have concluded makes no sense based on what we were taught in class. He also is a very sedate, methodical instructor. a.k.a. boring. I could fall asleep in the time it takes him to get his point across. Most of the students in this class are the same ones that were in my English Comp class last semester. While that class was Las Vegas with its funny lectures, jokes, and all around feel good atmosphere...this one is like a trip through Mr Rodgers Neighborhood...with Mr Rodgers leading the way. No excitement, no laughter, just information given in slow monotones and glazed eyes and big yawns are prevalent. I don't particularly care for this class at the moment but it's required to full fill our English credit so what can I do. Get it out of the way I guess. *sigh*

Spanish I: I actually love Spanish class despite my struggle learning foreign languages. Arabic definitely did not come easy to me (still struggling with that..ugh) but our instructor is a bubbly, sexy energetic Latino woman and she makes all the difference in how the class runs. It's interesting to note that Spanish and Arabic have very similar grammar rules. It's also a "what you see is what you get" in terms of spelling etc. There are no silent letters in other words. I like the class a lot and hope I can learn sufficient Spanish to converse with my many Spanish speaking customers. However, I noticed that I definitely need to be in class and learn the material first hand. The two days I missed for various reasons could be viewed quite well on our first exam. I did well on the sections I was in class...not so well on the sections I was not in class. I vow to not miss any classes if I can help it. I also noticed that she doesn't spend much time on any given section. The first day we were learning vowel sounds and basic Spanish rules...the next words...and the next we were expected to be reading and reciting whole sentences. Obviously it's going to be a speedy train to the final destination...so got to be there for the whole ride. LOL

Soy optimista!!!

Wyoming Govt & Politics: I have to admit right here and now that I know very little about the American govt system and how it operates and came to be what it is. Other than what I learned in 9th grade govt. class I have little experience with it. My only excuse being that I have been overseas for all of my adult life and busy with other things...ahem. I thought the class would be boring but it's actually quite interesting. Of course this doesn't mean I'm going to find it a breeze or anything but at least I won't be falling asleep in it as I see many other students doing in that big hall while the lights are off and projector on. LOL The instructor is quite dynamic as well so that's helpful. He is making a potential "dry subject" (at least to me) engaging and thought provoking. Also, it's actually two classes; one day a week are a combined class with several lecturers giving their opinions etc about current events or politics etc, which helps keep boredom at bay with every new face etc; and we've got a once a week class with our own specific instructor fine tuning what we heard in the lecture hall...with his own added commentary. So it's interesting and I think I will learn a lot about politics before I'm done. They also aren't afraid to speak of "controversial" issues and let us comment on those subjects too so that's always fun to be able to speak freely with learned people about certain subjects. Right now we are discussing the topic, "what's so great about being an American and is our democratic system any better than what passes for democracy in other countries?". Fun stuff.

College paper: Of course I continued with writing for the school paper. I was also made Assistant Editor this semester as my instructor really likes my writing. She hinted that I will be made Editor sometime in the future if I continue in this vein. I found it funny that I actually don't always get a chance to look at the college paper once it's published and so was actually surprised to see the last one published from last semester had the whole mid section spread dedicated to one of my articles. She never told me she was doing that so had no particular interest in making it a point to see the paper once it came out. I generally tend to write my piece then let her do what she wants with it and leave it at that. I guess as Asst. Editor I may have to change that blase' attitude. LOL

I just want to point out that that particular article was me blathering on about how I feel every American needs to get a passport and leave the bubble that is America and see the rest of the world rather than rely on such things as Fox News and Oprah to fill them in. Most Americans will never leave their hometown, their state, or even their side of the continent and so obviously will never leave America for any reason. This is to our great disadvantage as the world is made up of more than just America and how can we know a people or culture unless we get out there and experience it? Just a thought. Anyhow....

Developmental Psychology: Same instructor as my previous psych class so at least I know her exam style etc (all from her lectures, the text is more of a back up reading sort of thing). She is very interesting and makes this class enjoyable. Psychology is just fascinating to me and I look forward to it. This class focuses on child development from conception to teen years. After having 5 kids and 'seeing it all" so to speak...I'm hoping it won't be too hectic as far as needing to study etc...but who knows. Last semester my first exam in college was one of hers and I completely bombed it. Got a D simply because it had been 25 years since my last exam and over estimated my abilities...what can I say...I use to be a whiz kid...living on past glories obviously doesn't pass exams for you. LOL Got down off that high horse REAL quick and buckled down and learned how to study all over again...or should I say for the first time...LOL. I never actually studied when I was younger...I know...you hate me. Ha ha so do I remembering my cavalier attitude towards studying back then. The ego of youth and all that. Anyhow I like this class and look forward to it.

Well, that's it for now. A little run down for ya. My attitudes about each class may change over time (looking at you Spanish) but for now that's it. Wish me luck.

*side note. My boss moved me from the branch on the other side of town to the one just down the street from me. This means that, not only can my kids come walking down to visit me since during school we don't always get meaningful time together, it also means I don't have to hurry back and forth all the time to make it to work etc. More time to stay at college and get work done etc. Bonus. Down side...these customers are not nearly so interesting as the ones at the other store. *sigh*

I'm looking at you Mr.!

2010-09-09T13:26:00.000-07:00

I grew up sincerely believing that I was the only girl in America that had a father that did what mine did. Well, my sisters and I shared this poor excuse for a man but you get my meaning. It just wasn't possible for there to be ANOTHER father out there that took the abusive liberties that mine did on a daily basis.

I realize, of course, that that isn't true but when your a child your world consist of you and those who affect it on a daily basis. Generally your immediate family. Your world IS your family. The rest of the world is "fairytale". What I mean by that is your world is centered on what happens to YOU...nothing else matters. Even if there was another little girl out there suffering as I suffered, she never crossed my mind because I was busy surviving my own Hell on Earth.

Once I grew up and opened my eyes to the rest of the world and learned that, yes, in fact there were lots of fathers just like mine. Some even worse, if that was possible. Far too many to be sure. The news metes out a daily litany of fathers who have done horrendous things to their own children as well as to children that belong to friends, family and strangers alike. If we are to believe the media then our next door neighbor, that friendly teacher in school all the kids love, the local Boy Scout leader, and even our local respected religious leader, is just a child predator that hasn't been caught yet. It's only a matter of time.

Of course this was brought home even more so when I discovered that my own husband (ex) was a wolf in sheep's clothing as well. Apparently that old adage that we "marry" the parent that had the most impact on us as children holds true. I sincerely hope that isn't completely true as my own children are reaching marriagable age and I would hate for that particular adage to become a family tradition of sorts. So far, it's not looking good.

Anyhow, the point of this post is to relate something that crossed my mind last night while working in the store. What I saw and how I reacted to it.

A man came in with a boy around 7 years old. At first all seemed well. The man was choosing what he wanted...and the boy was trailing behind silently watching him. The man kept asking the boy if he wanted this or that and the boy would always say no. For some reason this struck me as odd...what kid anywhere says NO when offered candy, gum, chips etc? I paid more attention as my radar was on now...something just felt "off" to me.

At first I thought they were related, father son sort of thing, but then through their exchange I realized the boy was the son of the man's friend/girlfriend (not exactly sure) The boy kept saying, "my mom" doesn't like me to have that stuff...regarding whatever the man would offer him.

Finally they came up to the counter. The guy had brought many different sort of things to buy...most of them were things he had offered to get the boy but which the boy had refused...still he got them. This seemed odd to me as well. (don't ask me why)

He asked the boy one last time if he wanted anything and the boy said that he had his own money as his mom had given him some. The guy paid for his things and they turned to leave. It was then that the guy reached out to put his hand on the boys shoulder and the boy virtually flinched under his hand. It was a hard thing for me to watch knowing what I know about the world...and about many of the men who walk among us disguised as men but really harbor beasts within them.

Now, granted I could have been reading way too much into what I witnessed. Also, it's hard to convey the atmosphere that the boy just didn't want to be with the man for whatever reason. Not to mention the guy was trying so hard to "reward" the boy with some sort of treat that the boy had already claimed he wasn't allowed to have.

So here are my questions.

1. I quite often find myself watching grown ups with children now all the time. Generally in ordinary settings but I now watch with the eyes of a "been there done that" attitude...in that in my eyes, you can't trust anyone anymore with children. I seem to be hyper vigilant to every little nuance, every little word, body movement, innuendo (in my mind anyhow) that plays out between an adult and child. I quite often hear or see things that make me want to react...but then I stop and ask myself...am I REALLY seeing or hearing that...or is my previously abused self and mother of abused children making myself see or hear that? It's a question I ask myself ALL the time.

2. Short of asking the boy outright, "son, do you want to be with this man," which could open a whole can of worms (if I'm wrong...and even if I'm right) what else could I do if I feel something is "off"? What would you do if you witnessed a scene between an adult and a child that just left you feeling odd?

I don't trust men anymore. Period. I don't want to view ALL men as potential abusers...but so far in my small world...that is what they have always turned out to be and so I find myself looking at a perfectly normal man and wondering if he's as normal on the inside as what he portrays on the outside. I can't help it...I've been reprogrammed to be suspicious of even the most "innocent" looking of men.

In one way I'm sure this a good survival instinct...being alert to potential danger etc can't be a bad thing...but it actually colors my view of the world now. The eyes I look out from are now jaded and sceptical about the inherent "goodness" of man. I think to myself that the "good" guys are few and far between and the bad guys are around every corner and under every bed. I don't want to be like this...but there it is.

I also happen to know that there have been times we absolutely knew we should have said something, did something, reacted in some way to something we witnessed...and yet we held back for fear of being called out on it. We then regret our inaction and vow to do better next time. With children it is always a hard decision to make because not only are you accusing an adult and causing drama there..you are dragging a child into that drama...for better or for worse (better if your right, worse if your wrong)...so you hesitate...and watch as that child walks away with what you hope to God is not another abuser in disguise.

What do you do people? How do you decide when and if you should stand up and say something? How do you decide that it's YOUR responsibility to say, "hey now, what the hells going on here?" The ramifications of that statement can be devastating to all concerned.

I don't feel good about watching that little boy walk away with that man. It didn't feel "right" to me...but I couldn't pinpoint anything specifically that was "wrong"...it was more how the whole little scene played out that didn't sit well with me.

Then again...it could have just been a 7 year old that didn't like his mother's new boyfriend and was showing it in his small rebellious way?

*I only refer to men as abusers as that is MY particular experience. I DO know that women abuse as well. For my purposes of this post regarding MY experiences...I only speak of men as abusers.

When someone who should love you....hurts you...

2010-09-05T22:01:00.000-07:00

Most of my life I've only ever had a few people in it that I considered "loved" or "friends". My family consisted of my mother, two sisters, father and a brother that I've barely seen my whole life(extended family doesn't count here as my father rarely let us visit with them and they NEVER came to visit us). My circle of friends has always ALWAYS been very small due simply to the fact that, first my father then my husband, created an environment around me that only allowed a few friends in.

There was a time in my life when I was so lonely and isolated that I would accept virtually anyone that showed a half decent interest in me as a friend. Later I would realize it was half hearted and not worth pursuing, but desperation would keep me "chasing" after relationships that just weren't there. More out of the need for friendship then because I felt they were really interested in maintaining a relationship with me. This usually resulted in me being hurt in one way or another...but lessons learned aren't always learned easily.

Being married to my ex for so long and subject to his families ill treatment of me taught me one thing...it's far better to ignore such behavior then to react to it. It's far easier on the mind and heart to remove yourself from that situation then to stay right in the middle of it hoping it will change. Once someone has made it plain that the relationship You thought was there (or should be there)...or a relationship You thought was always going to be there...no longer interest them...then why stick around waiting for them to change their minds? Especially when they make it abundantly clear through their actions (though rumor spreading or hurtful words etc) that they are "done"?

This was a very slow lesson for me to learn. I had to be hurt by a lot of "friends" and in some cases, "family" before I learned this lesson well and good. Why should I pursue the relationship when they have made it clear they are done with it? Understand?

This lesson slammed home to me once and for all (and for good) the night I discovered what my oh so wonderful ex had been up to with our children. His subsequent reaction to "being caught" was one thing (and expected considering his past indifference to feelings of guilt) but the reaction from so called friends and family and a whole sale abandonment of those same friends and family came as a shock...and a hard lesson learned.

A relationship isn't always what YOU think it is..and it's true "depth" can be brought to light in a nanosecond...then all is laid open and the "truth" of it is there spotlighted under a very harsh and painful light.

It was during this painful insight...this harsh lesson learned...that I made a promise to myself. One I have stayed true too for the most part...I would no longer allow a "friend" or "family member" in my life that has made it abundantly clear their side of the relationship doesn't mean nearly as much to them as it does/did to me. I made/make this decision based on how they treat me, my kids, or those I hold dear. I realize not everyone gets along ALL the time so petty things and minor hurts and disagreements are not my "judging" criteria. Oh no, this person has to "really mean it"...and by that I mean go out of his or her way to hurt me, my kids, or someone I hold dear.

Now, I have lost some "friends" along the way this past few years. People who I considered friends but their behavior proved they were only in it for the short haul. Never mind, life goes on and I'm much better off without that drama in my life. My new motto, "no more drama", has served me pretty well (except for things I have no control over) and, for the most part, I don't look back.

I know I know, some of you are reading this thinking...damn, doesn't she give people a chance or what? People make mistakes, say shit, do things that hurt you etc so what's up with her? She isn't perfect either I damn well bet. Why so harsh and quick to jump ship?

I hear ya. And you would be right if your thinking that. I'm not perfect, nor do I wish to be. How boring that would be. However, I do make an effort to NOT hurt people on purpose...and if I do...I also make an effort to show remorse and apologize if possible.

Hurting on purpose is what I'm talking about here people. When YOU go out of your way to hurt someone you are supposed to love or be friends with on purpose...then YOU are showing through your actions that YOU no longer have a vested interest in maintaining that relationship anymore. Right? Otherwise, why cause the hurt...ON PURPOSE???

Those are the sorts of people that gotta go....no more drama remember? I've been hurt enough, my kids have been hurt enough, by so called "friends" and or "family". So, my promise to myself is...cut off relations with those sorts of people no matter WHO they are to me, or supposed to be anyhow.

Now, what this post boils down to is this. Someone extremely close to me (not saying who just now) has hurt me very deeply. I'm talking, came out of left field, no idea what the hell got into him/her, but this person deliberately and ON PURPOSE set out on a campaign to hurt me, and my kids, as much as possible.

And it worked. The knife in my heart barely has anything left to hold on to as what's left is shredded and weeping.

It hurt that bad.

And still hurts.

And will keep on hurting until I die...yes...that bad people.

And so, this person has been cut from my life full stop. No turning back. No chance for reconciliation...and the one reason that made up my mind is this. Once you have made up your mind to deliberately and ON PURPOSE hurt someone so bad and so deeply without a thought to the obvious consequences...then obviously your half of the relationship was over in your mind. I mean seriously, do people who do that sort of thing think an apology will suffice and things will go back to "normal"? Of course not. Never again. Trust is gone. If you can do it once you can do it again (which is why I wonder why spouses that have been cheated on think the cheater will never cheat again..if they can do it once they can do it again).

A friend of mine said, after hearing my story,.."Don't worry...after some time has passed you will call him/her. You get use to it".

You get use to it? I don't want to get use to it. I don't want to constantly worry that this person is "storing" everything I say or do as fodder for later attacks, or "plotting" to hurt me again on a whim. I don't want to have to worry that my heart has a knife over it just waiting to be pierced....again...and again...and again. Because if they did it once...they can do it again. No more drama remember?

Why would I want to "get used to that"?

So my question is people...do you believe in cutting people from your lives...people who are supposed to be friends and or family? Specially when they are very very close to you and to lose them in your life is a BIG thing...but in your mind a necessary thing? Can you do it? Should you do it?

Forgiving is one thing...forgetting is something else all together.

*sigh*

You Bring Your Book...and I'll Bring Mine.

2010-08-29T11:10:00.000-07:00

A PROPOSAL FOR AN INTERNATIONAL HOLY BOOK BURNING DAY
Come one...Come all

The net is alive with talks about this church in Gainesville, Florida that wish to hold an, International Burn A Quran Day, to "commemorate" the Sept. 11, 2001 tragedy that struck America specifically, and the world community as a whole.

Apparently the Dove World Outreach Center, headed by Pastor Terry Jones, believes it is the duty of Christians to educate the people about Islam...and show that it is a "religion of the devil"...it "leads people to hell" so the "fire is where it belongs"...hence the desire to publicly burn it on live T.V. etc.

Now let me get this straight...this is a Pastor...a religious figure (of sorts)...with a flock of sheep I'm assuming? Supporters hanging on his every word, if his Facebook page highlighting his "day" is anything to go by.

This is a man who claims he is upholding the word of God...by openly and willfully orchestrating an event that will surely cause, at the very least, discord and unrest, hurt feelings and continued "othering"...and at the very worst, injury and or possibly even death? I hate to admit that the Muslim world is not known for taking criticism lightly. Ahem!

Now, here is my personal opinion about book burning...whether the book is "holy" or just on a list of "oh no our kids can't read that" genre.

A book from God...or a book from Man, is a thing, an object....ink and paper with words on it. You want to burn that book...by all means, go ahead. Here, let me hold that gas can for you while you light up. Be careful you don't set yourself on fire...wouldn't want that to happen now would we. *dripping sarcasm inserted here*

I could care less if a group of hateful people want to burn a book that is held by another group of people to be valuable or worthy of some sort of sanctity and worshipful status. Just because YOU hold that book in high esteem does not mean I must as well. Freedom of " the choice is mine" far as I'm concerned.

All this little charade will do is highlight how intolerant one Pastor and all his followers are towards others...and how so very far they are from the teachings of their own Holy Book.

So...burn away Pastor...I prefer your hate be directed towards a benign object rather than a human being...after all...it is the MESSAGE in the book that should be more important to Muslims...than an actual ink and paper object. Right?

This misguided Pastor can burn a million Quran's...hell he can burn every single Quran on this planet...and what will that do to Islam...what will it do to the Message? Will it instantly cease to exist because now it is a "pile of ashes"?

Don't think so.

Now, here is what I propose. Two things.

1. Now I know it will be hard....really REALLY hard...for Muslims around the world to NOT turn this incident into a full scale riot SOMEWHERE on this planet. I'm fairly sure that the Muslim media will swarm the T.V. channels and net with this hateful display of intolerance...just as Fox News does when it concerns Muslims or Arabs (Fox seems unable to tell the difference)...and thus causing the "faithful" Muslims of the world to riot...burn...destroy..and possibly kill other human beings in their quest to show their extreme displeasure at having the Holy Word Of God desecrated in some fashion. I know it will happen. I do....but.....

Wouldn't it be so great if not a single Muslim anywhere so much as raised an eyebrow...not so much as sniff in protest (highly unlikely I know but bear with me). So when all was said and done and Quran ashes are blowing in the breeze and one hate filled Pastor is looking around with his smug smile and expecting hoards of Muslims to descend and give credence to his "Islam is from the devil" propaganda crap...and all he sees is...wait for it...Tolerance.

Then HE will be shown as the intolerant ass that he is...and the Muslims he wishes to shame and antagonize will be shown as the tolerant followers of their faith THEY strive to be seen as. (well most of them anyways).

2. A little more physical activity involved in this one (I know it's pretty damn hard to do NOTHING when emotions are involved as indicated in the first point)...I would like all the Muslims in that particular area to gather up all the Bibles they can find...and go join this Pastor Terry Jones on his "book burning day" and hold their own little bonfire. Hey, Freedom of Speech or what ever the hell Freedom is being expressed by one Pastor Terry Jones and his little debacle, goes both ways.

You burn MY book...I burn YOUR book...lets call it an Interfaith Book Burning Day. (insert koom-bye-yah music here)

Everyone bring what ever holy book concerning whatever religious affiliation it expounds upon, down to the book burning party. One great big bonfire will be arranged...along with marshmallows and hot chocolate... and we will set the world on fire...so to speak. ALL religions will be treated exactly the same...that is what Freedom is all about...right?

So...Pastor Terry Jones...are you prepared to see a bunch of "hell seekers"...oops I mean Muslims....pile up some Bibles and set them on fire...and not so much as raise an eyebrow in protest?

Or does Freedom to burn Holy Books only extend to those not associated with Christianity?

Waiting.....

p.s.

Dear God...please forgive the idiots You have created for they know not what they do while "defending" your Word...a word that has apparently been written several times in several Books...end result...not ONE God but Your God and My God and let's all hate each other in the name of Some God...

Please feel free to send your Wrath to straighten these haters up.

Sincerely

Coolred

So you wonder where Ive been???

2010-08-25T12:11:00.000-07:00

I apologize for my long absence....I had house guests for a month (lots of material to write about THAT...but no time) and my laptop has decided it has pretty much had enough. Very touch and go with it. Not capable of writing a full post on it anymore...so I dont even try. *sigh*

I started college back today (stress much) and so have access to the library and so hope to post more often once again. Hoping to buy a new laptop very shortly as well...a MUST with college.

I will continue with the recent "story" I was in the progress of writing...but will probably throw some college and family stuff in there along the way.

Once again...for any readers that are hanging tough (all 6 of you)...just a wee bit longer and regular posting will resume.

Stay tuned and thanks for sticking around. Hope it will be worth it.

When all the little things add up to One Defining Moment...pt 5

2010-07-07T21:00:00.000-07:00

I grew up in a house in which my father didn't believe in sleeping in or idle time for the most part. If we weren't actually busy doing something when he came into the room...then we damn sure acted like we were. I spent my childhood outside chopping wood or hauling coal for the house stove. I helped my father in the yard making those 6 ft high fences he loved so much, digging post holes or nailing up slabs of wood, or hauling new timber from the truck. I shoveled snow, put up skirting on our trailer each time we moved, or climbed up on the roof of our homes or garages etc to help him fix holes or set down tar paper. I was physically fit at a kid...much more than most of the girls my age...and many of the boys as well.

When I entered the military I had no problem full filling the morning exercise stint. An hour of push ups, sit ups, jumping jacks etc....followed by a 5 mile run. No problem. I wasn't even winded by the time we rounded the final curve. I was in the best shape of my life...I just didn't know it at the time as I had always been in pretty good shape anyways.

I arrived in Bahrain almost 4 months pregnant, but I wasn't even sporting a little bump at this time. I was wearing a size 10/12 (I have always preferred loose clothing) and my entire wardrobe consisted of t-shirts, jeans and pajamas. No dresses, skirts or shorts because I loathed wearing such things and wasn't about to start now.

So, to come from this background of hard work and being physically fit and having the great outdoors at my disposal and then to be thrust into a single little room that didn't even have space to do a jumping jack was like a slap in the face. For the first time in my life I had absolutely nothing to do and no place to do it. Each morning I would wake up, get dressed in my jeans and t-shirt...then sit on my bed and....that was it. I had nothing more active to do then visit the bathroom or go out onto the roof and look out into the street. The only time I could get any form of physical activity is if my husband or his sister took me out somewhere....so of course I had to wait for one of them to decide to do that.

An entire day could pass by and I had nothing more to show for it then a few steps one way or the other...and as my cautions were thrown aside and I ventured more often downstairs...then going up and down the stairs was about the most exercise I got.

It was during this first month or so in Bahrain that I learned something about myself. All my life I had pretty much eaten what I wanted without gaining too much weight. There was a period of time in my early teens that I put on some "pudge" but it didn't last long and I figure it was due to puberty...other than that I could eat and never worried too much about my waist line. I quickly learned that all the hard work my father had me doing was probably the reason I could eat and not gain weight...I was busy burning lots and lots of calories. Not to mention when I was young "junk food" was an exception in our house and not the norm as it seems to be today. We ate fairly healthy food growing up and junk food was still a treat that was greatly appreciated when it was given.

Changing cultures and countries means, for many of us, changing the food we eat on a regular basis. I would be willing to bet for all of my 18 years of life previously I had eaten rice a dozen times. Rice was just not something we ate a great deal of in my house (not sure about the rest of American homes). I learned right away that Arabs love rice, and they have about a 100 different ways to prepare it. Within that first month in Bahrain I would bet we ate rice about 5 or 6 times a week for lunch...along with either meat or chicken on top of it. Included in this meal were greens (aka salad) that were very unfamiliar to me but seriously looked like grass and weeds. They were very bitter to my taste buds and I would never be able to tolerate them.

As I mentioned before, each morning I would wake up and get dressed in my jeans etc but eventually found it very difficult to sit on the floor for any length of time while wearing jeans. It made eating nearly impossible for me as the waistband pressed against my stomach (which was expanding alarmingly by now) and chaffed other areas. I told my husband one day about this and that evening he came home with some jelobias (traditional house dresses Bahraini women wear). The first time I saw these dresses I thought they were nightgowns...just more elaborate...all though some are fairly plain and are worn only at home for daily wear...others are decorated and expensive and are worn for visiting or parties etc.

I was actually excited when he first brought them too me as the idea of just wearing a nightgown all day rather appealed to me and my little bump I was developing by now (let's ignore the fact that it was weight gain as well). I rushed to remove my jeans and put on one of these jelobias...and that would be the last time I wore jeans for many many years. My removal of my jeans that day and the donning of that jelobia was almost as significant as when I first was made to wear the hijab a few years later...it was as if once the jeans were removed I couldn't put them on again...or in the case of the hijab...once it was on I couldn't remove it.

My husband threw away all my jeans declaring that it would just be more comfortable for me to wear the jelobia from now on...not to mention that women in Bahrain didn't wear jeans. (they did of course...just not Bahraini women) Not only was this another defining moment in our marriage (wearing jeans is a very American cultural habit) in which he changed something about me that was a part of who I was...it also signified a turning point in my weight gain. As most of us know, wearing pants is a great indicator in warning us about weight gain. If our waist band gets a bit tight...we take it easy on our food choices until they loosen up again. However, wearing a jelobia takes away that waistband indicator and a few pounds of weight gain are hardly noticed...then a few more and a few more...until before you know it you've gained 20 pounds and don't know how it happened.

Also, because I had never worried about gaining weight before I had no clue about portion control and calories etc. I just ate until I was full and, without a waist band to tell me for the most part, quite often ate more than I needed of course. Mix that in with my husband bringing home sacks of junk food everyday and my extreme boredom...I suddenly found the only thing I could pass the day doing was eating...and I did. Mix that in with a developing pregnancy and by the time I went to have my first pre-natal checkup I had already gained 15 pounds...and I was only 4 months along...barely a month in Bahrain.

By the time I delivered my first born in late October, I had gained nearly 80 pounds...and would never be able to lose it all due to my inactive lifestyle. To this day I struggle with my weight...and it's a battle I am constantly losing. I ate from boredom, I ate from stress, I ate from loneliness, I ate because I had nothing else to do for the most part. Eating WAS my main activity for much of those first few years in Bahrain.

Obesity is a huge problem in the Arab world, among both men and women but mainly among women due to their enforced sedentary lifestyle. I happen to know that many Bahraini women rather liked not doing much all day everyday. They had housemaids to do everything they needed, from cooking and cleaning to practically raising their children...so much so I often had the ugly little thought that these same women would of gladly had their housemaids sleep with their husbands just to do away with that little bit of physical activity as well if they could have...since gossip told me they didn't much care for sex anyways.

As I mentioned before, by the time I had my first pre-natal check up I had already gained 15 pounds...and I had no idea then that my weight gain was actually just another means my husband had of controlling me.

Fat women are unappealing to other men...and thus less likely to cheat...or so he believed. More on that later.