Monday, May 31, 2004
Memorial Day
The cost of freedom is buried in the ground. Take a moment to remember.
Day of Recognition
I was in Washington D.C. visiting a college friend during the winter of 80 something. I was there visiting him just after Christmas. He was busy doing his daily work routine, so I had time to kill. I thought that it would be appropriate to go and see the monuments and various other sights since I was majoring in American History. I had never been to D.C. before.
He and I walked his route to work together and when we got to the Blue Cross Blue Shield Building we went our separate ways. It was a bit chilly outside, but I didn’t mind. The brisk air felt good and the walking would do me good. I stopped first at the Washington Monument.I was uninspired. My second stop was the reflection pond. I sat there for a moment and thought how beautiful it must be during the spring when the trees were in bloom. From there I proceeded to the Lincoln Monument. I remember looking up at this marvelous sculpture and standing in front of it in awe. I could almost feel the thoughts that were held in those eyes. The quiet that surrounded the monument was eerie. This impressed me. I thought of his life and the unfulfilled dreams he had, just like so many other assassinated leaders. The Jefferson Memorial was next. I was fascinated by the architecture and all the hidden elements and symbols. I think I stood and talked to the guide for almost an hour about the different ideas that ran through the design.
My biggest surprise was yet to come. I was heading for the government buildings and then planned on hitting the Smithsonian. I remember that The Wall had had its’ grand celebration this past summer. I figured I would go there next, after all there had been such a big hubbub over it from the very beginning. People had questioned the purpose of all the names and commented on the ugliness of the black stone so sharply cutting into the earth. The controversy alone made me want to see it.
As I walked up upon the “open field” that lay before the massive black wall, I stopped and froze. The view shocked my senses and stopped me dead. I stood there, almost unable to breath. I scanned the shiny black wall from one end to the other. Slowly it seemed I was able to regain the use of my muscles and I walked ever so slowly toward the wall. The names became clearer. The wall grew larger. The silence was deafening. I looked along the bottom of the wall and saw the articles that people had left for their friends and loved ones. It was moving to see others lives lying before me. I started to read some of the names. Who was I looking for? I didn’t know anyone personally that had fought in the war other than my father. He was still alive. I felt tears well up and I began to cry.
I wasn’t sure what I was feeling, sympathy? Pain? Lost love? I didn’t know. I reached out and touched the wall. It was cold, yet I felt comfort by that action. My mind drifted off to an earlier time. I remembered saying good bye to my father as he went off to fight in the Vietnam War. I remember the kind, gentle, and loving father he was before he left for the war. I remembered how things changed when he returned.
The changes came slowly. It seemed to start with the amount of time he spent with us kids. He seemed to become more and more preoccupied with chores and projects around the house. He did build us our first color t.v. He also worked on other electronic gadgets that he categorized as his toys. We would ask him to go and do things with us and the time he used to have to play with us seemed to be diminishing. But then, maybe we were getting older and more into our neighborhood friends. His patience and tolerance for our typical childhood antics seemed to be the next to go. He put up less and less with the sibling spats and the pettiness that children show. He also seemed grow more and more irritated with my mother.
Life in general seemed to become tougher for us kids, more so for me. He seemed to have a special anger just for me. The once gentle and kind father became violent and abusive. The endearments he used to call me were gone. Now I was a slut, liar, trash, and someone God never should have wasted something as precious as life on. The physical abuse never got to the point of broken bones, but I dreaded it just the same. The hurt and pain carried on for many years. The mental abuse was the worst. Bruises heal quickly; emotions can last a lifetime. I died somewhere in my childhood, and for the first time I realized it.
I began to understand what I was feeling, while standing in front of that wall. I was looking for my name and the names of countless other children who may have suffered the same fate. My father may not have died in that war, but indirectly both he and I did, my father from PTSD, and I from the loss of innocence and the emptiness of a soul. Here I was facing the fact that I was a living corpse from the war. What was I to do and how was I to heal? I knew I had a long road ahead of me. I had a child to find and a spirit to revive. The Wall that so many people had argued about and fought over had become my healing stone.
Day of Recognition
I was in Washington D.C. visiting a college friend during the winter of 80 something. I was there visiting him just after Christmas. He was busy doing his daily work routine, so I had time to kill. I thought that it would be appropriate to go and see the monuments and various other sights since I was majoring in American History. I had never been to D.C. before.
He and I walked his route to work together and when we got to the Blue Cross Blue Shield Building we went our separate ways. It was a bit chilly outside, but I didn’t mind. The brisk air felt good and the walking would do me good. I stopped first at the Washington Monument.I was uninspired. My second stop was the reflection pond. I sat there for a moment and thought how beautiful it must be during the spring when the trees were in bloom. From there I proceeded to the Lincoln Monument. I remember looking up at this marvelous sculpture and standing in front of it in awe. I could almost feel the thoughts that were held in those eyes. The quiet that surrounded the monument was eerie. This impressed me. I thought of his life and the unfulfilled dreams he had, just like so many other assassinated leaders. The Jefferson Memorial was next. I was fascinated by the architecture and all the hidden elements and symbols. I think I stood and talked to the guide for almost an hour about the different ideas that ran through the design.
My biggest surprise was yet to come. I was heading for the government buildings and then planned on hitting the Smithsonian. I remember that The Wall had had its’ grand celebration this past summer. I figured I would go there next, after all there had been such a big hubbub over it from the very beginning. People had questioned the purpose of all the names and commented on the ugliness of the black stone so sharply cutting into the earth. The controversy alone made me want to see it.
As I walked up upon the “open field” that lay before the massive black wall, I stopped and froze. The view shocked my senses and stopped me dead. I stood there, almost unable to breath. I scanned the shiny black wall from one end to the other. Slowly it seemed I was able to regain the use of my muscles and I walked ever so slowly toward the wall. The names became clearer. The wall grew larger. The silence was deafening. I looked along the bottom of the wall and saw the articles that people had left for their friends and loved ones. It was moving to see others lives lying before me. I started to read some of the names. Who was I looking for? I didn’t know anyone personally that had fought in the war other than my father. He was still alive. I felt tears well up and I began to cry.
I wasn’t sure what I was feeling, sympathy? Pain? Lost love? I didn’t know. I reached out and touched the wall. It was cold, yet I felt comfort by that action. My mind drifted off to an earlier time. I remembered saying good bye to my father as he went off to fight in the Vietnam War. I remember the kind, gentle, and loving father he was before he left for the war. I remembered how things changed when he returned.
The changes came slowly. It seemed to start with the amount of time he spent with us kids. He seemed to become more and more preoccupied with chores and projects around the house. He did build us our first color t.v. He also worked on other electronic gadgets that he categorized as his toys. We would ask him to go and do things with us and the time he used to have to play with us seemed to be diminishing. But then, maybe we were getting older and more into our neighborhood friends. His patience and tolerance for our typical childhood antics seemed to be the next to go. He put up less and less with the sibling spats and the pettiness that children show. He also seemed grow more and more irritated with my mother.
Life in general seemed to become tougher for us kids, more so for me. He seemed to have a special anger just for me. The once gentle and kind father became violent and abusive. The endearments he used to call me were gone. Now I was a slut, liar, trash, and someone God never should have wasted something as precious as life on. The physical abuse never got to the point of broken bones, but I dreaded it just the same. The hurt and pain carried on for many years. The mental abuse was the worst. Bruises heal quickly; emotions can last a lifetime. I died somewhere in my childhood, and for the first time I realized it.
I began to understand what I was feeling, while standing in front of that wall. I was looking for my name and the names of countless other children who may have suffered the same fate. My father may not have died in that war, but indirectly both he and I did, my father from PTSD, and I from the loss of innocence and the emptiness of a soul. Here I was facing the fact that I was a living corpse from the war. What was I to do and how was I to heal? I knew I had a long road ahead of me. I had a child to find and a spirit to revive. The Wall that so many people had argued about and fought over had become my healing stone.
Sunday, May 23, 2004
More like Ranting of the Insane
Well I guess this would be more a ranting than anything else, but ya know I feel like I am so close to just exploding.
STRESSED OUT!
Does it ever seem that people around you just don't get that you are an indivdual, with a life, and that your time is just as important as theirs? But then again I am a mother and I should never expect my child to think that my time is anythiing but his. My boss, although a really nice person, will think nothing of asking me to do something on my lunch hour for her. And the other members that live in this house.....well lets just say, they both think I am a personal maid. I went on strike once. After a week and a half, the house was so disgusting. One of them finally got up and did some cleaning and then expected me to praise him for it."See what I did!!" or was he tryinig to make me feel guilty because I let the house get that way? I know my kid thinks I have turned into a raving lunatic, because it seems I spend more time yelling at him than anything these days, but he IS the biggest offender of "her time is my time" I just gave up a four day weekend vacation, because he had hockey tryouts. Did I get so much as a thanks, nooooooo, what I got was,
"take me to Ybor for a concert"
"take me clothes shopping"
"take me to work"
"take me to my girlfriends"
"I need a DR appt"
"Call this guy on this car I want".............etc etc etc. Excuse me!! I was supposed to be in NC right now!!
I am stressed to the point that small things I would normally shrug off can put me close to over the edge. And the things that do piss me off, well it would be better to not be around. What I have determined is I am in really bad need of a vacation. I mean the out of state, longer than a week, relax, do what I WANT vacation. Unfortunatly that doesn't come until July. I was hoping the long weekend would tie me over, but I guess not. I sat outside the rink the other night and it was quiet. I revelled in the lack of noise. My mind drifted off. I was sitting on my fathers balcony over looking the James River in VA. The only sounds to be heard in the early evening is the water of the river and the occasional train that runs on the tracks on the other side of it. Humming birds hover nearby at the feeders. It is so quiet you can actually hear the hum of their wings. As the sun goes down the fireflies come out and you get your own personal light show......ahhhh yessssssssss. Being suddenly jerked from that tranquil moment sucked. Count down the days to departure and try to keep myself on even keel. Deep breath, count, 1....2.....3.....4...
STRESSED OUT!
Does it ever seem that people around you just don't get that you are an indivdual, with a life, and that your time is just as important as theirs? But then again I am a mother and I should never expect my child to think that my time is anythiing but his. My boss, although a really nice person, will think nothing of asking me to do something on my lunch hour for her. And the other members that live in this house.....well lets just say, they both think I am a personal maid. I went on strike once. After a week and a half, the house was so disgusting. One of them finally got up and did some cleaning and then expected me to praise him for it."See what I did!!" or was he tryinig to make me feel guilty because I let the house get that way? I know my kid thinks I have turned into a raving lunatic, because it seems I spend more time yelling at him than anything these days, but he IS the biggest offender of "her time is my time" I just gave up a four day weekend vacation, because he had hockey tryouts. Did I get so much as a thanks, nooooooo, what I got was,
"take me to Ybor for a concert"
"take me clothes shopping"
"take me to work"
"take me to my girlfriends"
"I need a DR appt"
"Call this guy on this car I want".............etc etc etc. Excuse me!! I was supposed to be in NC right now!!
I am stressed to the point that small things I would normally shrug off can put me close to over the edge. And the things that do piss me off, well it would be better to not be around. What I have determined is I am in really bad need of a vacation. I mean the out of state, longer than a week, relax, do what I WANT vacation. Unfortunatly that doesn't come until July. I was hoping the long weekend would tie me over, but I guess not. I sat outside the rink the other night and it was quiet. I revelled in the lack of noise. My mind drifted off. I was sitting on my fathers balcony over looking the James River in VA. The only sounds to be heard in the early evening is the water of the river and the occasional train that runs on the tracks on the other side of it. Humming birds hover nearby at the feeders. It is so quiet you can actually hear the hum of their wings. As the sun goes down the fireflies come out and you get your own personal light show......ahhhh yessssssssss. Being suddenly jerked from that tranquil moment sucked. Count down the days to departure and try to keep myself on even keel. Deep breath, count, 1....2.....3.....4...
Thursday, May 20, 2004
Days Gone By
I was sitting in one of my fav hangouts the other night, I think its more a fav place to hangout because of the company I usually keep when I am there, and I was watching the Lightning play and got to talking to George and Fred about how things were when we were growing up and what we did for fun. Things were so different. I was growing up in Connecticut and was about 8 or 9. My older brother and I would get to driving my mother nuts so she would basically throw some brown bags together and tell us to get out of the house. It also meant don't come home for awhile. When this happened we would usually go next door and grab Kevin and Lisa and then another house down and grab Ron. Off the five of us would go for the days adventure. We would wander down the road about a mile or so, then up the hillside, scale the 15 foot cliff and head into the woods. Now the woods seemed to go on forever. We had our options of going anywhere, any direction. We would usually visit our old discoveries and then venture off to find some new fantastic world. We had found an old abandoned house, a small clearing, with all kinds of large boulders protruding from the ground, and a meadow with tall, tall grass that was great for hiding. This particular day we went toward a path we had never noticed before. It wound through the trees and up another hill and eventually opened up to a small graveyard. This graveyard was different, It was not the huge marble stones you usually saw but the headstones were all wood or flat grey slate. Most were tattered and worn. Now this was really cool to a bunch of 8, 9 and 10 year olds. We checked the dates and I remember us being amazed because they went back to the 1860's.
We stayed out all day, laying in the grass, climbing the rocks, playing hide and seek, and discovering so much that was in our back yard. We spent the day outdoors, with our friends, talking and laughing and enriching our minds. We got exercise. Breathed in clean air. Learned how to talk with others and learned to use our imaginations. We were explorers. As kids we had fun. We entertained ourselves for an entire morning and afternoon. And my mom, well, she got peace and quiet.
I think back to the wonder that we found in the world around us. We didn't have video games and only had 5 channels on TV. Can our children not learn this world that we came to know because of all the electronic doodads that we have given them, or is it because we no longer can tell our 8,9 and 10 year olds to skidaddle for the day, outside, unsupervised? Is there too much evil that lurks around the corner to hurt them? Would HRS be on our asses?? These day long journeys were some of the best times I can remember. As a 9 year old it was freedom from the reins of my parents and it was an adventure because no one was telling me that climbing the cliff was too dangerous. It was food for my brain and an understanding of the world around me that my son will never have. I don't take trips back to my childhood haunts. I like remembering the way they were. 30 some years of progress would only destroy the pleasure I still find in those memories.
We stayed out all day, laying in the grass, climbing the rocks, playing hide and seek, and discovering so much that was in our back yard. We spent the day outdoors, with our friends, talking and laughing and enriching our minds. We got exercise. Breathed in clean air. Learned how to talk with others and learned to use our imaginations. We were explorers. As kids we had fun. We entertained ourselves for an entire morning and afternoon. And my mom, well, she got peace and quiet.
I think back to the wonder that we found in the world around us. We didn't have video games and only had 5 channels on TV. Can our children not learn this world that we came to know because of all the electronic doodads that we have given them, or is it because we no longer can tell our 8,9 and 10 year olds to skidaddle for the day, outside, unsupervised? Is there too much evil that lurks around the corner to hurt them? Would HRS be on our asses?? These day long journeys were some of the best times I can remember. As a 9 year old it was freedom from the reins of my parents and it was an adventure because no one was telling me that climbing the cliff was too dangerous. It was food for my brain and an understanding of the world around me that my son will never have. I don't take trips back to my childhood haunts. I like remembering the way they were. 30 some years of progress would only destroy the pleasure I still find in those memories.
Saturday, May 15, 2004
Religion
I see many people cringing at that title, but this isn't about preaching or discussing religion itself. I got an e-mail from my brother today and he discussed his religion and beliefs as he often does in his letters and it struck me how different I and all my siblings are in our beliefs. We were all raised in the same. We were raised Catholic, went to church every Sunday and either went to CCD classes or were in Catholic School My mother raised us all the same and no exceptions were made. There are 4 of us and I find it interesting the differences we all have when it comes to religion.
My oldest brother, well he just questions the existence of a creator and supreme being. He doesn't deny the existence but he doesn't necessarily believe either. My younger sister is the middle of the road. She goes to church on Sundays and generally follows the Catholic rules. Then there is my younger brother......he is the strong Catholic. Faithfully to church every Sunday and every religious holiday. He believes in the Catholic laws and applies it to his everyday life. Me, I believe in God but not in any particular denomination. I lost my belief in the Catholic Church when my son, while attending a Catholic School, was told that his mother would go to hell because she was divorced. I went and talked to the principal, but he wouldn't do anything about it. Said my son must have been mistaken.
I just find it interesting that 4 kids in the same house all believe in different things. Is it the life experiences that alter the way we view religion? And if you believe in God, does he really care how we worship him?
My oldest brother, well he just questions the existence of a creator and supreme being. He doesn't deny the existence but he doesn't necessarily believe either. My younger sister is the middle of the road. She goes to church on Sundays and generally follows the Catholic rules. Then there is my younger brother......he is the strong Catholic. Faithfully to church every Sunday and every religious holiday. He believes in the Catholic laws and applies it to his everyday life. Me, I believe in God but not in any particular denomination. I lost my belief in the Catholic Church when my son, while attending a Catholic School, was told that his mother would go to hell because she was divorced. I went and talked to the principal, but he wouldn't do anything about it. Said my son must have been mistaken.
I just find it interesting that 4 kids in the same house all believe in different things. Is it the life experiences that alter the way we view religion? And if you believe in God, does he really care how we worship him?
Friday, May 14, 2004
Dead Man Walking
Dead Man Walking. An interesting term used for inmates taking that last walk to the room where their life will end. I heard it used today at work. We recently got notice of 7500 people in the company being laid in off in June and we wondered if those that had been slated to leave in March and then were reassigned, were considered part of that 7500 people. The answer soon came and we were told that the ones who were reassigned were considered "dead men walking" and were not part of the 7500. Hmmmmmmm. The thoughts I had over the use of this phrase ranged from one end of the scale to the other. At first I thought , "how appropriate" we are already slated to be let go when these temp jobs we have been assigned to,are over with, so in a sense we are dead men walking. Our lives here are limited and we know that what we have will come to an end, much like an inmate on death row knows that sooner or later his life in prison will do the same.
Now I really got a chuckle over that though, cause working here is like being in a prison, but getting axed, isn't death, its freedom.
At the other end of the spectrum I got a little angry. Does this place think our lives are over if we aren't working here? HA! I got news for them. This ain't no picnic. Living each day in uncertainty really sucks. And having ethics crammed down your throat everyday because of crimes the CEO and his compadres commited, well that in itself makes ya gag when you walk in the door. Lets not get started on the "don't steal the office supplies" line I recieved the other day. Excuse me, I think the last time this company gave me supplies was in 1999. I have even had to go buy my own batteries in order to use the headset that I need in order to do my job. Oh unless you were talking about the head set. ......Hahahahaha,........... oh please. But it would also be typical of this company to think its paradise and that leaving it would be like death. The ego that is this company. An ego so big that when it bought us out it actually dumped customers. Whos laughing at that now? Ooops that was me. No I can't say that when I walk out the door for the last time its going to make me fall to the ground and cry out "MY LIFE IS OVER!!!" more than likely it will be like a huge weight has been lifted.
Dead Man Walking?? No. Just Sniff looking for new cheese. But thats another story.
Now I really got a chuckle over that though, cause working here is like being in a prison, but getting axed, isn't death, its freedom.
At the other end of the spectrum I got a little angry. Does this place think our lives are over if we aren't working here? HA! I got news for them. This ain't no picnic. Living each day in uncertainty really sucks. And having ethics crammed down your throat everyday because of crimes the CEO and his compadres commited, well that in itself makes ya gag when you walk in the door. Lets not get started on the "don't steal the office supplies" line I recieved the other day. Excuse me, I think the last time this company gave me supplies was in 1999. I have even had to go buy my own batteries in order to use the headset that I need in order to do my job. Oh unless you were talking about the head set. ......Hahahahaha,........... oh please. But it would also be typical of this company to think its paradise and that leaving it would be like death. The ego that is this company. An ego so big that when it bought us out it actually dumped customers. Whos laughing at that now? Ooops that was me. No I can't say that when I walk out the door for the last time its going to make me fall to the ground and cry out "MY LIFE IS OVER!!!" more than likely it will be like a huge weight has been lifted.
Dead Man Walking?? No. Just Sniff looking for new cheese. But thats another story.
Destiny
Today I was asked if I believe in destiny.
To me destiny is kinda like a maze. There is one beginning and one end. And while we know where the beginning is, do we know anything about the end? Once in the maze/life, you have a choice to turn left, right, or go straight, and each choice you make takes you to in another direction with a different experience. Like life we never know what is a round the corner, just as we don't know what the big guy upstairs has in mind for us. Are we destined to be famous? poor? alone? rich? Isn't that all a matter of what goals we have set for ourselves? . Along the path we find many obstacles. They either break us or make us stronger. We either learn from them or are destroyed by them. Do these highs and lows shape our destiny?
Can we say that superman was destined to be a hero and Lex Luthor was destined to be a villain? Maybe if Superman were raised in the foster system he would have been the villain and had Lex been in a loving family environment he could have been the hero.
When a child proclaims that he will be president, and works to achieve that goal, and one day finds himself sitting behind the White House desk, has he realized his destiny? What about us poor schleps that just wanna lead a good life? Is that our destiny? Maybe our destiny and our goals are the same thing. Maybe some folks know their destiny and others only have them revealed when we meet our maker and review our lives. I figure I'm the latter. Destiny, ya, I believe in it, but like the maze, I have no idea where the end is.
To me destiny is kinda like a maze. There is one beginning and one end. And while we know where the beginning is, do we know anything about the end? Once in the maze/life, you have a choice to turn left, right, or go straight, and each choice you make takes you to in another direction with a different experience. Like life we never know what is a round the corner, just as we don't know what the big guy upstairs has in mind for us. Are we destined to be famous? poor? alone? rich? Isn't that all a matter of what goals we have set for ourselves? . Along the path we find many obstacles. They either break us or make us stronger. We either learn from them or are destroyed by them. Do these highs and lows shape our destiny?
Can we say that superman was destined to be a hero and Lex Luthor was destined to be a villain? Maybe if Superman were raised in the foster system he would have been the villain and had Lex been in a loving family environment he could have been the hero.
When a child proclaims that he will be president, and works to achieve that goal, and one day finds himself sitting behind the White House desk, has he realized his destiny? What about us poor schleps that just wanna lead a good life? Is that our destiny? Maybe our destiny and our goals are the same thing. Maybe some folks know their destiny and others only have them revealed when we meet our maker and review our lives. I figure I'm the latter. Destiny, ya, I believe in it, but like the maze, I have no idea where the end is.
People
At work the other day a coworkwer came to me upset and close to tears. She is the lead in a group that is working on cleaning the companies network of circuits that are no longer in use, "line cost reduction". Anyway, Some of the folks that work under her were talking behind her back and making rude remarks about her that she overheard, needless to say, upsetting her. Now this is not the first time that this has happened. I have been privy to the many of the conversations that have gone on about her. I never repeat to her what I hear.....what good would that serve other than to upset her more. It seems that she is one of those folks that everyone likes to pick on to make themselves feel better.
Its funny cause I thought this was something that only children did, something that was part of adolescence. I remember the days in elementary school......it was Bonnie and Jackie that everyone was mean to. Bonnie because she came from a poor family, (I grew up in a community where the majority of folks were upper middle class white,) and Jackie because she was nieve and innocent. What was the purpose of that meaness? I don't really know. I always seemed to befriend the underdogs.......I didn't really care about what others thought of me back then......I guess I still don't, unless your one of my few friends. But maybe thats why in High School, after moving to a new state in my Junior year, when I became the focal point of the cruel words and cheap shots, I was lucky enough to find some really close friends in the other "rejects" in the school. We were a collective group of nerds, strange ones, over weight ones, and non natives. I found truer friends in these folks than in most other people. But I guess I have kinda wandered here and getting back to the whole thought of my ramblings, why?? why as adults would we still do this? As adults are we still unable to find worth in oursleves that we have to put others down to make ourselves important? I'm not talking aout the occasional snide remarks make, and I,m not talking about when we are being catty. I'm talking about the constant putting down of someone for no purpose other than to do it.....like children in school.
My coworker is an awesome person. She is bright, intelligent and big hearted. And as it was in HS, she has become one of those wonderful, trusted friends. Its a shame that life can't be like in the movie Shallow Hal, where everyone who is beautiful inside looks beautifulon the ouside, and those who are ugly inside look ugly in appearance as well. What would we all really see??
Its funny cause I thought this was something that only children did, something that was part of adolescence. I remember the days in elementary school......it was Bonnie and Jackie that everyone was mean to. Bonnie because she came from a poor family, (I grew up in a community where the majority of folks were upper middle class white,) and Jackie because she was nieve and innocent. What was the purpose of that meaness? I don't really know. I always seemed to befriend the underdogs.......I didn't really care about what others thought of me back then......I guess I still don't, unless your one of my few friends. But maybe thats why in High School, after moving to a new state in my Junior year, when I became the focal point of the cruel words and cheap shots, I was lucky enough to find some really close friends in the other "rejects" in the school. We were a collective group of nerds, strange ones, over weight ones, and non natives. I found truer friends in these folks than in most other people. But I guess I have kinda wandered here and getting back to the whole thought of my ramblings, why?? why as adults would we still do this? As adults are we still unable to find worth in oursleves that we have to put others down to make ourselves important? I'm not talking aout the occasional snide remarks make, and I,m not talking about when we are being catty. I'm talking about the constant putting down of someone for no purpose other than to do it.....like children in school.
My coworker is an awesome person. She is bright, intelligent and big hearted. And as it was in HS, she has become one of those wonderful, trusted friends. Its a shame that life can't be like in the movie Shallow Hal, where everyone who is beautiful inside looks beautifulon the ouside, and those who are ugly inside look ugly in appearance as well. What would we all really see??
Critters
I know not everyone shares the same feelings as me about the animals that many share their homes with. I view mine as my children. While I have a human child, my furry ones seldom talk back, throw temper tantrums, or disrespect me. It amazes me how they only ask for food, water, shelter and an occasional petting. With this they are content, and in return, shower you with their loyalty, love and affection, with no questions asked.
And so it is that my home is open to any furball that wins my heart or has a sad story to tell. How is it that such little creatures can capture our hearts. For me, the paw that is placed on my lap or face, the kiss, the purr, the invitation to come play, are all signs of of affection that make me love these nbabies all that much more. Why is it in my hours of grief, tiredness, lonelines or frustrations, they can come to me, lay with me and quietly comfort me. Their quietness speaks words that humans can never say.
Why is it, that everytime I sit at my desk, one of my cats, jumps up and lays in front of me? She goes to sleep and does nothing more. Does she find comfort in me as I do her. Do they come to love us so much, that just being near us, is comforting to them? I do often wonder what emotions are in them when it concerns their feelings for us. Maybe thats why I look at each of these animals, as one of my children. They are individuals, each with their own distinct personality. They are family members. Each contributing to the whole.
Rest peacefully my little angel - Weeki - April 6th 2004
And so it is that my home is open to any furball that wins my heart or has a sad story to tell. How is it that such little creatures can capture our hearts. For me, the paw that is placed on my lap or face, the kiss, the purr, the invitation to come play, are all signs of of affection that make me love these nbabies all that much more. Why is it in my hours of grief, tiredness, lonelines or frustrations, they can come to me, lay with me and quietly comfort me. Their quietness speaks words that humans can never say.
Why is it, that everytime I sit at my desk, one of my cats, jumps up and lays in front of me? She goes to sleep and does nothing more. Does she find comfort in me as I do her. Do they come to love us so much, that just being near us, is comforting to them? I do often wonder what emotions are in them when it concerns their feelings for us. Maybe thats why I look at each of these animals, as one of my children. They are individuals, each with their own distinct personality. They are family members. Each contributing to the whole.
Rest peacefully my little angel - Weeki - April 6th 2004
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