Sea Glass Memories

For the tide of man is but one wave that washes upon these shores,
for his deeds, and fears, and battles will wash away.
Ground and polished like glass will be the memories of ancient days,
shining and glinting in the sun.
We will wear our history like a soldiers ribbons,
reminders of battles won and lost.
And then raining down into the sea, a fresh beginning
will flood our weary souls.
We will swim in the life giving waters,
shedding the grime and stink of war
and we will be free.

Pathfinder

I am a pathfinder. All my life when presented with a problem I am the one who finds a solution. i never give up. I never lose hope and it’s always worked. Always.

I credit a strong belief in a higher power, but secretly think it’s because I’m very smart and good at synthetic analysis; bringing disparate bits of information together in unique ways. I think outside the box.

But puberty has been a puzzle I haven’t been able to solve. The maturing of my disabled daughter has been the single most confounding event in my life. You see, her abilities/disabilities are unique. Truly unique. She’s the only one of her kind. It’s not some kind of inability to feel pain, or allergy to sunlight. It’s a mix of known quantities that her brain has integrated into strange and unique ways. You could say she’s autistic. You could focus on her severe anxiety disorder. Or her OCD. Or the seizures. Or, or, or. Those are the highlights. I focus on her shining capabilities as much as I can. Her artistic talent is inspirational. Her own synthetic abilities, like determining celestial mechanics without instruction just by “thinking about it”, are jaw dropping. The wisdom that comes out of her mouth tells me she is a very, very old soul.

But, I can’t solve her problems. This grand puzzle is beyond me. I can’t help her anxieties about food and being alone, or being with people. Not enough. I can’t tell her she’ll be better one day, “cured”. I can’t grow her out of this I’ve realized. She is who she is. Her journey is intertwined with mine, probably for the rest of my life, but it is her journey. She has a counselor, tutors, doctors of every type. She is who she is and I see a vulnerable life ahead for her, but have also learned to deeply trust her to always have surprises in store for us that we never could have predicted.

I’ve been judged by teachers, other parents, doctors, counselors, and society to be a bad parent because obviously if I did better she’d be better. So few truly understand she doesn’t fit a mold, she doesn’t conform to a diagnosis.

She was such a bright and happy little girl. Everyone’s favorite. She glowed like an angel with white blond hair and impish humor. Even then her incandescent soul captured the hearts of everyone she met. She was whole. The speech and learning delays identified in kindergarten were minor speed bumps. We tried different schools with limited success, but she was happy. It seemed a minor puzzle to resolve.

And then puberty struck her like the devil’s freight train and very nearly killed her. Our bright bubbly girl was gone. There were a few warning signs, but the day the hormones turned on for real, it was the end of one life and the start of a life of despair and pain.

We went to every doctor we could. One told her she’d grow out of it. Puberty happens to everyone, the doctor said. She almost killed herself after that violation of the Hippocratic oath.

So we are learning, accepting, and trying to plan for her future. We finally have a counselor with a clue. But she likes to get paid once in a while. Fancy that.

No money. A lifetime of poor decisions. What have I done to her? My faith waivers. The demon in my brain sprays a toxic guilt throughout my soul. I’m aging, which means I’m dying. I’ll be gone one day. What then? Please God, stay with her. You brought her back from certain death as an infant. I have to believe there was a reason. I pray she will become tempered steel and live the quiet artist’s life she dreams of. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m tired. I don’t know where the path is anymore.

Her life is her own. I can only hope she is a pathfinder too. Find Your path. Reclaim your soul. I know there’s a way, but it’s not mine to find. It’s yours. Godspeed.

Take a Knee on Your Own Time

You know, I understand those who support the NFL "take a knee" protests, I really do. Everyone has the right to make a political statement.

Except at work. NFL players each have a job for which they are paid, handsomely. I have a great job and get paid too, albeit not as handsomely as a Quarterback or Defensive End, but my HR department is very clear that political conversations are not allowed at work. They foment discord and conflict. They damage our ability to do our jobs. They hurt the company and impact our ability to make a profit and be successful.

Sound familiar? The NFL is functioning outside its business model allowing political demonstrations at work. It is pitting players against each other and has drastically reduced both its broadcast viewership and stadium attendance at games. In other words their stock price has plummeted by about 25%.

I believe the owners and coaches are the teams' HR departments, I'm not sure, but they are ruining the game by refusing to implement even the most basic of employment policies. I used to enjoy football and I fervently support EVERYONE'S rights to peaceful protest and free speech. But players should organize and do this on their own time, not at work. They've taken away my enjoyment of the game by breaking a standard HR policy.

Why would I watch now? It's not entertainment and an escape anymore. It's yet one more political conversation in a vast angry sea of political unrest in the last place I expected, my beloved football. I guess I need my friends, tea, and good books now more than ever. I have so few politically-free zones left. I guess I need to rebuild my own "safe space" and it's getting smaller all the time.

The bullies are winning

Before I post this, please note that I am a professional mediator and have taught peaceful conflict resolution to children. But here I am talking about bullying. Bullying is different. It is often a violent emotional or physical abuse, not a conflict to resolve.

I read so many posts about how children who experience bullying can reason and rationalize their way to peace and harmony.

Why is fighting back so evil? We're creating a nation of victims based on a false philosophy that we can stop bullying and make childhood threat free. The overthinking we have done on this topic and the patronizing social engineering served up in book after book is victim culture at its worst.

Every child trained to reason and not back it up with strength is another victim who will grow up to engineer a society without freedom, pain, or joy. We're losing ourselves at the most basic level. It sickens me.

Moonbeams

Oh, let me be single lord, and only 21
Let me dance with all the girls and have a little fun
Let me drink and party, Lord, with moonbeams in my hair
Let me live footloose and free without a single care.

Then guide me, Lord, to my one true love
Shine your light and do your part
And show where he hides dear lord
So he can steal my heart

Make him glow like a thousands suns
And love me deep and true
I'll dive in deep from a cliff so steep
Into a world that's sweet and new

I know the worlds a challenging place
And you've given us a place to grow
But before I go to sleep
There is one thing you should know

You've done all this for me dear lord
This is the life I've made
You brought him to me in my time of need
And this is the hand I've played

So as I go to sleep tonight
nestled by his side
Know that my true love cares for me
and will until I die

And when we die
then we both will dance
with moonbeams all around
For a deeper love, a better heart, dear Lord, cannot be found.

Hold True

Be not full of hate and violence of heart.
Be not vengeance or set yourself apart
Look to your strength, have honor, hold true.
Look to the future and always be you.

A better thought.

A better thought I've never had.
A better truth I've never known.
Doesn't matter what's in the world,
Just what you have at home.

Amen.

Pearl Harbor Memories

The faces of the young men
are hidden in the old
The roar and whistle of dropping death
The sunken ships a watery grave
Peace is only for the dead
The living still man the boats
No time! No time! To arms! To arms!
The moment frozen, without defense
They walk amongst a skeleton crew
and lower the flag to remember

Remember and Defend on Veteran's Day

It used to be that Veterans Day included interviews with World War II vets, but the survivors of the Vietnam Conflict and the many that followed were punished and ignored.

Now World War II has been laid to rest with its many departed souls and we recognize the next generation of patriots who sacrificed and believed in this Democratic Republic. This system of democracy we cherish is only as strong as its people are brave in its support and perpetuation.

No rebuke or fear or political slight of hand will ever diminish the life's blood commitment so many have made to defend its principles.

Cherish their sacrifice. It gave you the freedom you take for granted today. Honor them, remember them, defend them so it wasn't all in vain.

Remember and defend. Always.

Milton Loren Stewart, Second Lieutenant, First Infantry Division. Winner of the Bronze Star and forever a vigorous patriot. I will never forget you Dad. I love you.

Yeats, The Second Coming

Interesting reflection of current perceptions 2016


Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Age and Understanding

I like getting older, actually. I really do. I've let go of a lot of things that caused me pain. I'm so much more confident in my abilities, boundaries, and talents. I don't put up with jerks and poseurs. I call it like I see it. I've embraced my strengths and I don't let anyone tell me what's ladylike and what's not.

I am who I am now. I'm fully me and that is so totally awesome. True my body is not as strong as I'd like, but my spirit is and, really, that's what's most important. At least it's important to me.

I still have a lot to learn, I'll grant you. But today I am my own superhero. That's a nice place to be.

Get Over It. It's Only a Flesh Wound

I read something very important a few days ago that I'd like to share. It concerned the importance of language and how what we call something shapes our thoughts and understanding.

The specific topic was about people who have mental health issues. Look at that phrase, "mental health issues". It implies people have a choice. We can choose to make an issue out of something. We can resolve an issue. We can table an issue.

Also, the word "mental" is slippery and can be viewed as amorphous, intangible, not real. It isn't tied to an organ, like cancer is defined. Breast cancer, for example, is tangible, concrete. Or Parkinson's (nervous system) or Cardiomyopathy (heart). These are recognized as diseases that can disable or kill.

So, I agree with the author who said there are no mental health issues or illnesses. What is in the world is "Brain Disease." People with brain disease know there is no cure, only treatment. They know it is often fatal. They know it is a crippling and permanent disability that changes your entire life and how you are in the world. And, even worse, it's genetic and can be passed to your children. Medicine may help, if you're lucky.

And the people with brain disease are told to get over it. They are only seeking attention, they are weak and defective and could make it go away if they really wanted to. Imagine saying that to someone with cancer, that they are a selfish hypochondriac.

It made me realize we need to change our language and convert ridicule to compassion and change disregard into research dollars. If we can, it will save lives.

It's worked so well thus far...

Tough topic, and too much for Facebook I am sure. No trigger alerts, no apologies. No protection from scaring you, angering you, or making you feel bad. So woman up and deal with it. Life brings tough conversations and I am sick of this culture of pain avoidance and "safe" zones.

You can avoid unhappy topics, but at great cost. I could paint the picture of the slippery slope to fascism this kind of denial leads to, but another time. I want to talk about the most painful topic of all, the violent death of children.

There is great focus on the violent death of children, particularly school shootings. We are rightly outraged and revolted and there is a clear call to action.

But we are avoiding the true cultural breakdown that leads to these deaths. We are taking the easy road. The polarized road. We are hammering on the fortress of the Constituition and launching our own violent offensive against the Second Amendment. And we are slowly chipping away at the foundation. Those who are confused and afraid are successfully recruiting more and more desperate soldiers. If we keep it up, the walls of our Constitution will crumble bit by bit, and we will dissolve as a nation.

The Second Amendment is not a murderer. It is a precept of freedom built from history and experience. It is a shield against tyranny, enacted to ensure we remain free and self-directed citizens. If you think tyranny, oligarchy, and cruel, violent dictatorship can't happen here, well history has proven you wrong for thousands of years. Our Founders wisely learned from history in order to make sure we did not repeat it. But now we are faced with an ignorant and forgetful nation. We do not remember what came before.

The Constitution is not responsible for spilling the blood of our children. Until we accept that, more will die. The Second Amendment is a protection, not a weapon.

With our culture of freedom and self-reliance we have come to believe that strength of mind and body are the hallmarks of being an American. We are powerful, or were, and want to stand strong in our ability to adapt, overcome, survive, and win.

But we have a weakness, and it is fatal. We refuse to address it because we are afraid. We are afraid and tolerate the massacre of children because we don't want to admit we have an all too human fatal flaw. And we are apparently willing to pay the price.

The thing that shall not be named is the mental health of our citizens, our children and young adults who are alone and boiling with hate and desolation. They are abandoned by society even though their parents beg for help. The parents are the Oracles that no one believes. They often fear their children and plead for assistance to save the child they love. They scream the need to intervene and protect others, but our society shuns them. It is an unmentionable sin to be weak, mentally unstable, and demon-ridden in American society. We would rather let them explode in unspeakable horror as a way to release those demons, than craft a culture of support and treatment; a culture of intervention before it's too late.

A mother calls the police begging for help. Her son has threatened to kill her. He's angry, out of control. The police have few options. They say, "There's nothing we can do until he breaks the law." In other words, we can't help you until he kills you. Maybe 24 hours of observation at the hospital and a short conversation with a busy social worker occurs. But the son can act as if he isn't angry and at the breaking point. He's discharged.

A father calls a psychiatrist. "My son", as these killers are usually male, "My son won't take his medication. He's 25 and psychotic. What do I do?"

The psychiatrist can't help, "He's an adult. He can make his own decisions. I'm sorry."

When? When will face our fears? When will we stop attacking an idea and build a system that intervenes with the real cause? When will we decide enough is enough? Not yet apparently.

Instead we pretend that poorly thought out, unresearched words on paper mean something. We pretend additional gun restrictions will block madness and deadly intent. Legislators say, "A new process is what we need.", and they convince a grieving society that gun laws mean something. They try to prove a law on paper can stop a speeding bullet from someone who is willing to die in order to kill people. The killer knows he probably won't make it out alive and he wants it that way.

Until we grapple with the demons that drive psychosis and mental breakdowns.  Until we put together a nationwide system of intervention and treatment. Until we demonstrate our American ability to adapt, survive and overcome. Until we use our strength to say enough. Until we stop blaming an idea that protects us all and instead focus on the true cause, we are doomed, and children and adults will die, horribly. And we as a nation will die with them.

It used to be no one would say the word cancer out loud. Then HIV was the unforgivable sin, although, eventually, we opened our hearts. But through it all, modern American society has shunned those who suffer in their minds. Cancer patients are supported, loved, cared for from beginning to end, and beyond.

The expedited and furious research eventually applied to the public health crisis of HIV and AIDS found treatments to prolong life in record time.

In the mental health field, patients are still using medications developed 50 years ago, or more. And we really don't know exactly why some of them work, or which one to try first. It's a game of Russian roulette with potentially deadly side effects. The brain is slowly being discovered, at a snail's pace compared to other equally deadly diseases.

So go and hide behind your paper shields of law, and your "Gun Free Zone" signs. Increase the vulnerability of our most vulnerable populations. Increase the number of fish in the barrel.

Go on. Refuse to hire armed, professional security for our schools. Continue on fighting the phantom menace of our Constitutionally-protected personal freedoms and the tools that defend our nation.

Go on and deny the most devastating healthcare epidemic we've faced since the Spanish flu.

Go on. It's worked so well thus far.

This is a scene that's been in my head for a long time.

HE CRIES...

His long hair brushes the collar of his battered leather jacket. He can taste the bitter dust of 2000 years on his toungue. Like the lone Joshua tree, he stands silent on the street corner as life flows around him. Shopkeepers call out their livelihoods looking for converts to the sale. Children ever strong and joyful chase their youth around the square seeking nothing but the moment. 

He pulls one more drag on a dying cigarette, the red coals flare. And he waits. 

He sees the young soldier, absolute in his resolve, marching to death's cadence as he enters the square and halts.

Their gazes lock for a moment and time suspends, an infinity of sadness. With a defiant shake of his head, the soldier holds hands with death and detonates destruction. 

The blast is a thousand storms and endless screaming that tears at the man's soul.

And he waits. Dust billows, sirens scream, and mothers wail. He crushes the cigarette with the heel of his boot. He stretches out his arms as the angels rise from the innocent battered bodies and seek him. 

He gathers the wing'd children, the stooped grandmothers, the shopkeepers, the lovers and the friends.  He takes them up to an angels rest. And he cries. 

Once more...with feeling

It seems that the older you get the more quickly time decides to speed by. My father used to try and tell me that, but like so many (read ALL) young people I never really understood what he was saying. Now I do. You go to bed on Friday and when you wake up it is Monday. Then Tuesday rolls around and suddenly it is Friday again! Young whippersnappers drive too fast in their trucks, expect snap decisions, and overall move out of phase with us older folks. Time is a paradox. Sometimes it moves too fast and other times, well no...it always moves too fast. My toddlers are now 12 and 14. My bones are suddenly non-compliant with my mind, and my brain... Well let's just say the light are on, but the tenant has gone to the store and left the lights on.

This blog is a prime example. I blinked and a year went by.  Many pithy moments and engaging moments lost to time. Ah, well. Never too late to start up again.

So off I go to wake up a teenager to buy school clothes.  Always a dicey proposition, waking her up. Never know if I am to get a good morning hug or step on a Bouncing Betty. (Look it up.)

Time marches on. Make the most of it. It'll be gone before you know it.