What America Means To Me!

What America Means to Me...

Star spangled, red and white
Apple pie and amber waves of grain
Mothers and daughters, fathers and sons
Raising families in safety in a nation of might

True unadulterated freedom reaching from sea to shining sea
Trips to the moon, shining cities on the hill
and fireworks blazing through the night

Soldiers protection from the dark
Proud marines on the march
Greatness and brotherly love
Never backing down from a fight

Freedom of speech and due process
A free economy, and ample opportunities
Living with integrity and honor
Having kindness and compassion for others

The realization that we are all Americans
One nation, under God, blessed with wisdom and insight
This is what America means to me!

Happy Birthday to one hell of a great nation!

Things That Enter By Way of Silence

There are many things, both real and emotional, that enter into our lives silently:

The disturbed air moving from a kiss blown by a daughter to her father;

Soft, silent cat paws strolling through the house to greet their beloved human as they arrive home;

Sunlight glimmering over the horizon at the dawn of a new day;

A strong, bonded love that does not need words to convey the depth of the emotion;

Arms encircling you from behind in a hug of friendship and support;

Earned respect that develops between two equals;

The grace and power that shines from the eyes of a lion gazing across the savannah;

Butterfly wings brushing against rose petals as it seeks out the nectar from the bloom;

The mouthing of "I love you," by your lover from across the room;

The subtle approach of death as it approaches us all;

A soft spring breeze that tickles the leaves, seen but not heard;

Moonlight glistening on the calm water, and the moon's reflection dancing across it;

Birds in flight as they migrate home in the spring;

The unbreakable bond forged between a mother and her child at the moment of birth;

Laughter and mirth shining in the eyes of a close friend;

The honor of a solider as they stand proudly defending our nation;

The twinkling lights of distant stars across the night's sky like a billion diamonds;

The earth's rotation as we habitat our pale blue dot in a vast, endless universe;

The development of faith in a higher power and a belief in the greater good of man;

Smoke emerging from a warm fire burning merrily on the hearth;

Anvil shaped clouds exploding upwards before a thunderstorm;

The currents of the ocean as they travel around the planet;

Cotton candy clouds floating lazily across the sky on a hot summer's day;

Snow falling to the earth;

A parent's warmth as they nestle their child on dark nights;

The arising sense of feeling secure and at ease in our own skin;

Leaves turning from verdant greens to their golden hues as fall approaches;

Patience with an ever chaotic world;

Grace and goodwill towards our fellow men and women.

Review of Worm by Mark Bowden

Worm: The First Digital World War: This is a non-fiction account written by Mark Bowden about the Conficker Worm that stalked the internet in 2008 and created the biggest botnet to date. Bowden has a wonderful ability to take the complex subject of the Internet and malware and explain it in a way that is easily understood. I read this book and actually learned something about how the Internet works. Worm tells the story of a group of "X-men" who banded together to try to confine the Conficker Worm before it threatened to take down the entire Internet. This book documents their steps to contain the worm and the worm's creators moves to outwit them and make Conficker stronger and harder to destroy. This is ultimately a story about the battle between good versus evil, which is something we can all understand. I loved this book because I actually learned about the Internet and how it is truly the greatest invention ever created. I think this book is right for anyone who is curious about the inner workings of the Internet and who doesn't want to be bored to death or who just loves a well-written story of the good guys battling the bad guys. I know that I now appreciate the Internet and those who defend it a lot more!

Review of Double Feature by Owen King

I heard about this book from a posting on Facebook, and given that was written by Owen King, Stephen King's son, I ordered it right away.   I'm an avid Stephen King fan (I've read everything he's written and loved every word) I had high hopes for Owen's debut novel.  Frankly, I was not let down.  This is an amazing read, and I was sorry to read the final words at the end.  King has a tremendous talent for making believable and realistic characters.  Sam Dolan comes across as a lost soul who is trying to find his place in the world.  I could certainly identify with this, and my heart ached for Sam in his self-induced suffering.  I wanted to shake him at times to try to wake him up to say stop with this foolishness and live your life.  Owen did a fantastic job with these characters and story line.  He grabbed me from the beginning with his easy prose and smooth writing.  The one thing that I have always enjoyed about the King tribe is that they are such avid storytellers who plunk down in your head and spin a hell of a yarn.  Owen King is proudly carrying on that tradition, yet stands by his own rights as a hell of an author.  I laughed many times in reading this book, and I immensely enjoyed the imagery he creates  It's a book about movies, and I certainly felt like I was watching one.  This is a wonderful, cynical and realistic book that as a lot of bite to it.  I look forward to his next novel.  It is wonderful to see and read that the immense talent of the King family is continuing on.

Petulance

Petulance

There is a petulant child residing inside my head, and that child is me.  No matter what I do to try to coax her into action, either with soft words, treats, begging pleas, or yelling; she sits there tautly, arms crossed shaking her head, and saying “No” repeatedly.  I am just about at my wits end with this child, which is me.  What do you want for dinner, I think.  No idea, I respond.  I can’t seem to make up my mind on something as simple as that.  Never mind more major decisions like what to take out of the closet to wear to work.  I’m literally numb and frozen in my inability to make a decision, and frankly I hate it.  That petulant child is what I picture in my mind’s eye as being the cause of this internal melodrama.  She is the source of my inability to think and act clearly and decisively.  The only problem is why is she here?  I cannot think of any cause that would justify her presence.  My life is happy, my family is well, and I am humbly grateful for all that the good Lord as seen fit to send my way, so then why this internal strife and suffering?  Why do I castigate myself for every misstep, every wrong thought, and allow my worries about nonsensical things consume me so?  Why as this little child decided to come into my mind and plant her plump bottom in the middle of the clutter that is my brain? 

I enjoy writing, I enjoy playing games, and I enjoy reading.  Writing especially brings me a sense of peace and repose.  It provides an outlet for the endless chatter that echoes through the halls of my mind.  I helps to ease my anxiety and worry in a way that is better than any medicine a doctor may prescribe.  Yet when I begin to pressure myself to write more, to take a more definite action to pursuing it, I freeze and that petulant child who was happily playing in the corner raises her brilliant blue eyes and I can see the tension arising in her as she stares at me.  Out she marches, saying “No” repeatedly and sulks as I try to prod her out of the way.  The more I try to force her to move the more she resists; she is a stubborn girl I’ll give her that.  But then again, she is me! 

This ongoing back and forth between my adult self and my child self is driving me crazy and this inner turmoil spills over the dams and floods into the other unrelated areas of my life.  I begin to think that I am missing out on something; there is more that I can offer both for myself and those around me; I begin to doubt myself, my purpose, and what it really all means!.  Everything is colored in gray and dulled as I try to reason with this child, myself. 

I have much to be thankful for, a loving boyfriend who is my partner and better half; a mother who is my best friend and guiding light in my life; a job that brings me immense satisfaction and I enjoy doing.  I am grateful for these things in my life, and humbled that I have been so blessed; yet it still feels like there is something more that I can be doing, should be doing, and therein lies my melodrama, and that petulant child, that road block, is certainly not giving me any answers when I peg her with questions of why she is her and just what the hell she wants, but then again there sometimes can be no reasoning with a child when they in the middle of a tantrum.  So where does that leave me?

The Person I Admire Most

A common writing assignment that is given in school is to write an essay about a person, either historical or fictional, that you admire.  I always groaned when this assignment was given because I felt that it was just busy work assigned by my teacher and there really weren't any people that I admired.  Yet now, as I have grown older, I reflect back and I can see how such a droll assignment can actually serve a good purpose.  So here I am a grown woman sitting down to write an essay about the person I most admire, voluntarily and excitedly.  The person that I admire most in this world is not historical, thankfully, or fictional, although she would make one hell of a character, but is a living breathing person who just happens to be my mother.  My mother’s name is Gloria.

My mom has graced us with her presence for an undetermined period of time; her actual age is a highly guarded national secret.  Although I can account for a certain period of time since she did bring me into this world I still can’t even guess at her age since my own age is unknown even to me.  I guess this is just so her secret will remain safe.  My mom is a petite woman, who, if I may be candid, is absolutely beautiful.  I'm quite proud of that because those wonderful genes also course through my veins.  She may be petite, but her character and vivacious personality, are quite large and in charge.

To use my mom's favorite phrase to describe herself, she is fierce.  Over the years, she has been called the dragon lady due to the flames she breathes when angered, the tiger lady due to her protective nature, and the hammer for crashing through obstacles in her path and beating sense into people who are being dense, namely me.  While these descriptions may be true and describe certain aspects of my mom’s personality, they do not accurately describe the full, deep and complex woman that is Gloria.

The depth of my mom's soul is breathtaking.  She is an “old soul,” sorry Mom, who has experienced so much life and has such wisdom that it amazes me.  Regardless of life's harshness, my mom remains compassionate, loving, and empathetic to others.  She is selfless, generous in time and spirit, and immensely intelligent.  She is also fiercely loyal and protective of her friends and family.  I have several stories of her standing up for me against bullies and idiotic boyfriends.  She has always been there to save my ass when the proverbial stuff hit the fan, no matter the cost or situation.  I admire these traits so much because they show her determination, her immense ability to love deeply and strongly, and her inner steel that has been forged by many fires over the years.

My mom also has a wicked sense of humor and loves to laugh.  Humor has saved her, and me, many times over the years.  "Oh my dog," a line spoken by a talking cat from a YouTube video, always sends her into instant peals of laughter.  I also pride myself on having the ability to send my mom into instant giggle fits.  One time I remember sitting with her in a quiet, darkened theater being absolutely bored to tears by the pianist playing on stage; all it took was for me to start making faces and mimicking the piano player and a rather loud giggle fit ensued.  The only cure was to bury her head into her friend's jacket as our fellow audience members glared and shushed us.

Mom has an extremely dry wit, and only those that are in the know usually get her references and jokes.  She is cynical to a fault, but uses this in a humorous way to bring out the lightness of even the toughest situations to make them just a little more bearable.  My mom’s quick wit also gives her the talent to create imaginary marriages between people with odd last names to create a great punch line.  An example would be Mr. Grand married Ms. Old Time and together they were Mr. and Mrs. Grand Old Time.  I’m also quite proud of the fact that my mom can curse like a drunken sailor.  The cause for these cursing streaks is usually me, her pain in the ass daughter, and she holds the record for working the f-word into one sentence nine times and having it make sense.  That's my mom for you!

She is also known as Mother Earth for her natural talent to commune with animals of all kinds; her favorites being cats and squirrels.  If there is an animal in need it will find her.  She is probably the only person I know who has had a stray lovebird land on her shoulder while she was outside smoking at lunch.  She had no idea where this little bird came from, but one thing she did know was that it was coming home with her that night.  The bird remained with us until our cats tried to assassinate him one to many times.  It has since moved on to a more bird friendly home.  My mom is also a “peanut dealer” to a whole dray of squirrels at her office.  No matter where she is any animals in the vicinity will make their way to her, cats, birds, squirrels, rodents, lizards, and even ants.  I personally think, no make that know, that she is in constant communication with St. Francis, the patron saint of animals and also the guardian of our family. 

I guess the one downside of her animal talents is that insects are also drawn to her, usually in her car, and she usually discovers them while driving.  I remember her story of the big black spider that decided to make its presence known by crawling down the car door as she was getting in during a wicked rain storm.  Let’s just say the umbrella ate the spider!  Or the time when lizards, frogs and ants decided to hitch a ride with her on her way to work; thankfully this “plague” did not happen all at once, but close enough to cause her to carry a bottle of raid with her whenever she approached the car.  Every talent has its drawbacks right.

I also admire my mom for not backing down or folding when times get hard, she is made of steel.  As family we have faced many challenges over the years, but it has been my mom that has carried us, usually kicking and screaming, out of the muck and helped to us make sense of it all. She has also saved my butt many times.  For some reason she never stops believing in me even after I have made some royally stupid mistakes.  I cannot count how many times that I have sat with her and cried and moaned over my troubles, and she was there to support, yell at, and cajole me out of funk.

Needless to say my mom is an extremely fierce woman whom I love so very much.  She has helped me to become the woman that I am today, usually through sheer force of will on her part since I'm so damned stubborn.  She has taught me how to take care of myself and to stand up for what I believe in.  Yet, most importantly, she has taught me to love deeply, laugh often and live each day to its fullest.  I hope that one day I can achieve the beauty, class, grace, wisdom, and love that she embodies so effortlessly; and these are the reasons why the person I most admire is my mom who is one hell of a lady.  

Mountains Out of Mole Hills

Mountains Out of Mole Hills

For many years, I was extremely talented in making mountains out of mole hills.  In fact, my Mom would always tease me and say that I was making too much of an issue out of something that really wasn't that big of one.  I would always sneer and say yeah right, and continue on with trekking through the "lawn" that was infested with mole hills of my own creation.  

I worried constantly, and then worried about my worrying.  I was the perfect example of circular logic or a dog chasing its tail.  I used to make my parents frustrated because all they would hear from me was about my worries, over and over again; every day, wash, rinse and repeat.  

I was consumed by my worries!  If my hair was frizzy and didn't look right I thought I was ugly and worried about that.  If my beau said something off color to me, or teased me about something, I would worry that they really thought of me that way.  I'd worry about work, I'd worry about my cats, I'd worry about money, my car, how was I going to pay rent, whether or not my friends really liked me, was I really that shallow of a person, where was I going with my life, what did I want to do with myself, was I being a good daughter, were my parents proud of me; you get the idea. Pretty much anything that one can worry about I certainly did.  And my worries that started as mole hills escalated into insurmountable mountains!  I was a wreck, although I didn't know that and I carried on this way for years.  

Then one day, I really truly did have a realistic worry that was truly a mountain, that being my dad going into the hospital for what would be the last time.  To keep a long story short, my dad had a myriad of health issues that he dealt with for over 17 years.  He was a long time dialysis patient in kidney failure, he had a chronic heart condition, and emphysema.  Basically, anything that could go wrong with a human body did in his case.  Yet through each health issue he fought valiantly through it with truly a minimal bit of worry.  He overcame the issue; we all did.  It goes without saying that I also worried about my Dad's health all of the time.   

In 2010, when I was in fact faced with the biggest worrying event possible, instead of reverting to chasing my own tail and spinning out of control, I was calm and dealt with the facts as they arose.  After 17 years of fighting and overcoming the obstacles, my Dad was given some very hard news, and he bravely decided to stop health treatment.  We lost him a few days later when he was under the wonderful and amazing care of the Hospice facility. 

For some reason I wasn't worried about his passing.  For some very strange reason I was calm and accepting of something that was so utterly devastating.  I won't lie I was an emotional wreck after he died, but my Mom and I supported, loved and hugged each other through the dark places, and we both emerged from our grief missing my Dad terribly, but realizing that life must go on.  

That calmness and lack of worrying as stuck with me ever since.  Its weird, but in facing what was truly a mountain, and not a make believe one, it helped to teach me what is really important in this life.  So while I may feel myself reverting to my old worry habits from time to time, I just remember that calmness and embrace it as fully as I can.  I try not to worry about the small stuff as much, and my "lawn" is now almost free of mole hills.  I still have my crazy worry days from time to time, I guess its my gift to make mountains out of mole hills, but I have learned to not let those worries control me and to know the difference between the real mountain and the fake ones.