THOUGHTS AT THREE A.M.

TO HAVE YOUR MOTHER'S TOTAL ATTENTION!!

I just heard it said, on PBS,and the thought caught me, and took me away to other times.To a time when I never had my mother's attention...really,because she was so terribly busy, and then, to a time later, when I had her all to myself.That was the thing  my siblings were envious of, not my so called beauty, or the idea that I was spoiled rotten,and could have anything I wanted.Whether either were true or not, I cannot say,for neither felt true to me.What was true was that I did have her all to myself.Even if that time meant that we would drive over and pick up her best friend, Helen, and drive around in the convertible with the top down, and would listen while they talked about their husbands,and laugh, and I laughed too,sometimes with my hand over my mouth, so that they wouldn't remember me in the back seat hearing what they said, and stop talking so frankly and openly!Not that they ever said anything so, personal, shall we say, that I shouldn't hear it, but it was private things that happens between a man and his wife,that normally never goes any further.Like the night after the infamous card game, where Helen's husband got a little too happy, and drank a little too much, and the next morning he sat on the side of the bed, holding his head with both hands, and groaning, talking about how horrible he felt and then, he would shake his finger at Her,and say"let this be a lesson to you Helen, not to drink so much!" And then, laughing all the while, she would gasp out, " But I felt fine! I wasn't the one with the hang-over!" And even though we spent a long time together that day;going to the beauty parlor and getting our hair done and doing our own nails at the same time,shopping for new outfits and getting new shoes to go with,doing the make-up and perfume thing,and then finally going to lunch together, and they did a lot of talking and laughing, throughout,that is the only cohesive story I can remember from that time. But we all laughed so much that our stomaches hurt,and somebody would say, stop, stop let's not say anymore, and then someone else would say yes, but just one more thing, and she would tell one more story and then we would all laugh again, holding our stomaches. However, looking back on it, I guess I didn't share any of that story, or of that day with my siblings,knowing, to my chagrin, that they would have felt jealous and left out, and would not have enjoyed the joke.But, was it my fault that our mother did not seek them out, but instead took me? My sister was married, with babies at home, and my brother was gone to the Navy. Who else was she going to take? In retrospect I suppose it would have been nice and thoughtful of me to occasionally offer to baby-sit so my sister could go, but it never crossed my mind to do that then. No, I was having too much fun, taking off with mom with our little bags, with a swim-suit and a change of clothes and another pair of shoes apiece,driving out to Ely to Upmire's to pay a dollar each to ride horse-back for an hour, to ride deliciously in the cool of the morning,walking 'round the sunny country lane,trotting across the bridge,cantering up and down the shady hills,and then finally giving them their heads, and galloping through the meadow,hair flying in the wind,feeling the horse's surge of excitement and exhilaration as he stretched his muscles under me,racing towards the stream,and the thrill of the moment when we both went splashing into the stream, and both our horses would come to an abrupt halt,and drop their heads to drink,and mom and I would sit there astride our mounts, gasping for breath, and laughing and smiling from the joy of it all,wordlessly patting their brawny necks, in thanks for the swift ride,and then quickly urging them on before they should drink too much, and they would obediently plod sedately on into the yard, through the gate to the place where that large circle of steeds stood, swishing their tails,heads together, all saddled and bridled ready to go, should anyone come wanting to ride. And then, since we had allowed the horses to run, mother and I would be "forced" to walk them until they cooled down. Oh! What a chore! A chore we loved, or we wouldn't have allowed the run,don't cha' know! Mr.Upmire was never angry about it,because I think he knew that a few moments extra with the horses we so loved was no hardship,and I suspect he knew that we would be sweet talking them and slipping them sugar cubes in the bargain as we led them sedately around the paddock, else, why would he continually give us the same horses to ride every time? I nearly always got "Grandma" ; a breathtakingly beautiful dapple-Grey, about eight years old,and a mare in the prime of her life.(Don't let the name Grandma fool you, if you know anything about horses, you know that they usually give them a name counter to their character.So, Grandma would have been quite a handful, to an inexperienced rider!) I can't remember the name of mother's horse, just that it was a stunning roan, and a gelding, also about eight,and also in his prime.His red hair rivaled her red hair,and when she rode him, it was quite a sight to see! Especially when she would pull up at the edge of the meadow,and quickly slip the hairpins from her hair,and let her auburn curls fall down her back,and the next thing I knew she would be digging in her heels,and gleefully urging her fiery steed into a romp across the meadow,and Oh, when the sun hit them just right,both of them with their red hair flying,they seemed to merge into a gorgeous explosion of flames!

But then we would pile into the convertible,and leave Upmire's, and go on down the road to Lake McBride,where they had a huge bath-house/restaurant. We'd go in, change into our swimsuits,and grab a Coke  to swig on our way down the terraced flagstone steps to the beach. On the very last terrace, there was a cement baby-pool where one could wash off the sand before climbing up to the bath-house.It was fed by lake water, so we could also use it to test the warmth of the lake itself.Rarely was it so cool that it's temperature deterred us from our first dip. After having worked up a good sweat at Upmire's,and having ridden in a convertible with the top down from there, we were so ready to be in the water, it didn't take us long to find our spot,rid ourselves of our towels, sandals and pop bottles, and run headlong, stuffing our hair into our bathing caps and take a racing dive into the lake! Oh, what a feeling to plunge a sweaty hot body into that silky glue-green cool lake water,and come up gasping next to the buoys that marked the end of the shallow water, slip past it,and then kick off,and swim in earnest to the far buoys...the demarcation line for swimming ,beyond which was the traffic area for boats. At this point, I was almost always alone, and would hang onto the line and float to catch my breath while I waited for mother. I used the crawl, or the breast-stroke. Mom was always slower, because she preferred the side-stroke. By the time she joined me, I was usually ready to swim back to shore, but we would either continue to float there for a while, or go up on the diving raft so she could catch her breath.Although, she wouldn't have been winded, except mom had this quirk. When she swam, she would hum a waltz,just like Esther Williams. Well, why not? She looked like the famous swimming queen...only much prettier! Once back on shore, we would almost immediately pick up our stuff, go up to the baby pool,rinse the sand off our feet and legs, partially dry our hair now free of the bathing caps, and go up and fall ravenously upon big hot freshly made-for-us cheese-burgers. By now, it was one or two in the afternoon,and we were starving, since we had left the house about eight a.m., with only a glass of milk for breakfast.Why? Well, after all, you don't go horseback riding on a full stomach! Then, we'd spend the rest of the afternoon swimming, after the hour one had to wait after eating hot food,and chasing it with icy-cold Coke.Along about four-thirty we would again make the trek up those terraced stairs, to the bath-house, peel off our swim-suits, and drag ourselves to the car.By this time, we were so bone weary we would be talking about taking naps when we got home,but we never did. In fact, by the time we came to Ely again, we would sometimes, somehow, some way, have regained our strength and one of us would say to the other..."What do you think? Do we have time for another ride?" Sometimes we did. Usually, we did not. Because we knew what was coming. When Dad was still alive, we would just get home, take our showers and be doing our hair and make-up, when he would come through the door"Hello Der!" He would call loudly and happily. That was our cue to throw on a duster or house-dress,and run to the door to kiss him hello. "Well!" he would say,"Don't you both look beautiful!" And then while she fixed him a drink, Mother would tell him all about our day,and he would sniff the air in the house, and say," Well, then you haven' t started any dinner,have you?" And the next thing you know, Dad would be sitting in his recliner, quietly sipping his drink,while Mother and I got dressed so he could take us out to dinner.Even if I had a date,Dad would say, "Call him and tell him we'll pick him up." And all four of us would go out to eat,with dancing after. We had very full days in the summertime that way. Long warm days that were fun, and lazy and unimportant.Three summers that I shall always recall as the best times for me,and my Mother and Dad.They helped to make such memories for me, so precious and so perfect,that as I look back on it now, I wonder, did they do it on purpose, or did it just come naturally?

In some ways I suppose it would be nice to think they planned it somehow, just to give me wonderful memories. On the other hand, such golden memories are sweeter when you think back and say, this is what happened,and she was so lovely and fun,and he was so thoughtful and understanding,and we had such great times, and there is no, "Until" to mar the image of that dazzling sight of her on that horse, thundering across the meadow, looking like blazing glory,on fire in the sunlight.I have other wonderful memories of Mom, of course, we had other times together down through the years,but those summers will always stand out as the best because there were no worries, no fears, no burdens. Just Mom, and me, having a whee of a time,together.

OUI?

THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU GET OVER-TIRED!!

Well, praise the Lord! Once again we are visited with blessings in disguise!Through a schedule change...7 to 7 instead of 6 to 6,(Yon's)...and two new medications,(mine) all at once...or is it cumulative?...between having to run to visit Mrs. Murphy every few minutes,and struggling to stay awake from the side effect of the meds for my neuropathy,And sleeping on a brick instead of my water-bed, I am finding myself unable to sleep as well as before. No, make that three new meds. I also now have a stronger inhaler, which I know contributes to being more wakeful. No, I am not complaining. To every part of these things, there are good sides,as far as I am concerned, however, Yon is stressing over them. I am getting more done. Like today, I did three loads of laundry. Okay, it was only one load,which I have to admit was started by Yon, just before he went to bed. I asked him to set it up,and start it for me, because, after all, half of it was his things, but I needed to get my nightgown, and jammie bottoms done too, and then there were the tea towels and washcloths,and my slippers in there as well. Just a few little odds and ends that have been nagging at me to get washed. Unbeknownst to me, his "half" of the load  was way over half,and should have been run alone. Yet, fair is fair,and his clothes were in the washer first, and so he just jammed my stuff in on top, did the settings, lifted the products up to where I could reach them,and kissed me and went on to his room. All I had to do, was add the laundry soap, and the laundry soap with non-chlorine bleach, and the fabric softener,close the lid and push start....and stay up until it was done, so I could get the dryer started. It sounds easy. It wasn't. I had already been up for hours,and we had just had a splendid breakfast. I was on the cusp of digging through the cupboard for toothpicks to prop my eyelids open already. In addition, we had one of those, "straighten-up-before-the-landlord-comes-over-in-ten-minutes!" drills. Not that he would have minded, because it really wasn't that bad, but I would have minded to have him come in and see wet shoes and umbrella on the doormat,and Yon son's coat on the back of the kitchen chair,his shirt on the floor, having fallen from the back of the other chair,and his socks on the floor under the table,and other effects sprinkled liberally about the house,like so much confetti. Long story short, (too late!) Fast Freddie showed up promptly, had coffee with us, cashed my check,and I paid the rent. All at my behest, please note. The man's a sweetheart. Not every landlord will come pelting over to your place when you call, to do you such a tremendous favor month after month,and then joke with you and laugh when you have inconvenienced him. But, by the time it was all over, I was far depleted in my recuperative powers. So, after dozing through the washer cycle, I was less than thrilled to see that the washer had been so over-filled that my clothes were not done to my satisfaction. Now I had a choice. To start the dryer,and wait until Yon's clothes were dry, or to run my half again. I can't run both at the same time, or I'll blow a circuit breaker. That's just the way it is.Admittedly, it's not much of a choice, but it is a choice.So, I started the dryer while I picked through my washer,deciding which things I could live with the way they were,and  which things would have to be washed again. I found one pair of Yon's white socks and one wash-cloth that were snowy white, and everything else went back for another go. By that time, the dryer had run about 25 minutes, so I didn't feel a bit bad about shutting it down, and staring my load again. At this point, some would say I should have gone to bed, but had I done that, the washer would have stopped, and there would be no one there to put my clothes in the dryer, and start it, so that neither Yon or I would have dry clothes. I didn't see anyone else jumping up and offering to do it, so, being the mommy, I sat back to the table,and turned on the DVD I'd dozed through before. This time I took a vitamin B-12, and poured myself another cup of decaf.Thirty-five minutes later, I put my glasses back on, wiped the drool from my chin, and roused myself enough to turn on the dryer,and pick through my wash again. Better, but no cigar. I still insist that my jammies have got to be pink and white, not pink and grey,even if it is a soft grey. One more time, the dryer was stopped,and the washer was started, and I came away from my visit with Mrs.Murphy just in time to catch the hooting of my bird clock! To the uninitiated, that is twelve O'clock,so I ran my blood sugar(49) only vaguely aware that I was already far into an insulin reaction! Shaking and fumbling I took my mid-day blood pressure pill,and got a glass of orange juice,but being disoriented, it took me a few minutes to get a Slim-Fast oatmeal-raisin bar, and I came () that close to taking a Glucophage! One does not think straight when in the middle of one of those events, obviously, or it never would have crossed my mind to take my oral diabetic medication! But, praise the Lord, he stopped me, or I would not be here to write this blog! Well, that kind of woke me up enough to keep me from falling asleep again,and this time, when the washer shut off, it was time to start the dryer,and also, happily, for me to leave the kitchen and that infernal machine that kept putting me to sleep! I would be soundly alerted when the dryer shut off, it has the most terrible buzzer! So now, I could log onto the computer,and do something that might keep my attention, at least until the dryer shut off. Then, I could take Yon's things out of the dryer,and put my things in,and finally go to bed.That was the plan. Unfortunately, Yon got up about two minutes before the buzzer went off. I say unfortunately, because it was quiet in here,and I was almost finished with what  I was working on, and getting drowsy again, when all of a sudden, here he comes. "Hi!" He grins, on goes the light and fan in the kitchen, on goes the radio, the buzzer sounds, he opens, and then closes the dryer,and starts it up again, and then Molly is mewing around,and he's hustling through the house, going to the front door, checking the mail, and chirps to me that thing he has been watching for has arrived, and then he asks, "What do you want for dinner?" And it hits me. It is way, way too late for me to take a nap before dinner.

Now I have absolutely no interest in dinner. However, Yon and I have too little time to spend together as it is. He works 12 or more hours a night, and while he is here, most of the time, he is sleeping. We love each others company. So, I stay up. We ate, something. I had a bite of this,and a bite of that.Only because my blood sugar was still low,and I had more medications I had to take.Besides that, I had to set up the tape, so I  could tape the Gaithers. So, the Show started,and I recorded it, and got so engrossed in all the glorious gospel music, I stayed up to watch it. Well, then Yon began to sing too, and nothing thrills my heart and soul like that combination, Unless guess who is preaching, so I couldn't go to bed then.

Now, repeatedly throughout the dinner, and before, and after, Yon looked at me with evident concern on his face and said, Mom? Wouldn't you like me to help you into bed? Well, so finally I said, yes, and he pushed me into my room and helped me get settled.For an hour or more I tried to relax and find a comfortable position, but I just couldn't. Then, Yon went to take a nap before he went to work, and I just knew I wasn't going to be able to sleep, knowing how unreliable his alarm clock is. Before I knew it, he was at my bedroom door, saying he had overslept,and I had apparently dozed off, finally too. So, I got up, and we each had a bowl of cereal, and he left for work before I even had the Cheerios in the bowl.As a special deal, Yon dispatched tonight, as a favor to a co-worker, and so after I knew he was on the Mic, I got this idea,and called him. Once I had established he wasn't busy, he asked if I was about to go to bed. and I said," No. You know, I have been up so long now, that I just thought I would stay up! I think I've caught my second wind!" I said. Now, I don't know if he was aware that it was after midnight or not, but he was upset!"Oh, Mom!" He sputtered," Honey, you've got to get some rest! It's not good for you..."

And I said, " April Fool!"

I got him! I got him good! I've never been able to do that before and did we laugh!

Then, he could hardly contain himself, trying to think of someone he could call and catch too!

Sometimes the best jokes,are the ones that are real.

HAPPY APRIL EVERYBODY!

OUI?

THREE'S COMPANY: WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

I followed a referrer back, and this was the question."Three's company, where are they now?" Whoever you are,you must have been out of touch for a very long time.

Well, sorry to say, the answer is not a happy one. John Ritter (Jack)had a heart attack and died just as he was about to launch his new sit-com about two years ago. Then, this last past year,( Mr. Furley) Don Knotts, passed away from a breathing problem, he was 81. Susan Summers(Crissy Snow) is still alive and was seeming to do well until just a couple of weeks ago, when her whole house burned to the ground, with all her possessions.Joyce DeWitt of “Three’s Company” pops up in a knowing cameo in a Canadain play called "The twitch" recently. Beyond that, I have no further info on her, where she is, or what she is doing.

So, if you have recently latched onto a set of DVD's or VHS tapes with "Three's Company", enjoy it, because there won't be anymore with the original cast. And, now you know the rest of the story....

OUI?

FIFTY FIRST DATES: THE MOVIE

I  can't even call this a movie review, because it's going to be far more personal than that. This is one of those movies that leave  you feeling as though you have just come back from someplace else when it is over. It carries you away with it, to the time you fell in love...not wanting to. The emotion just snatched  you up,and leaves you thinking about that love, the euphoria that you felt,and the joy of the moment,and a feeling of wistfulness,poignancy that you will probably never feel that way again. I found myself sitting there as the ending credits rolled,staring off into the distance, thinking about love. My very first real love,and that first kiss, and how amazing that first kiss is, and how most people are still searching for the first kiss feeling all over again, the rest of their lives. That's probably what makes some so flighty, come to think of it, that they expect every kiss to be like that first kiss,and when it isn't they feel as though the love has gone,and they go looking for it again.

Anyway, this was a wonderful movie, with Drew Barrymore, Adam Sandler and a marvelous cast, set in the lushness of Hawaii,with some very different twists!

With some crude humor this film is not for children.

OUI?

I JUST WOKE UP FROM A NIGHTMARE THAT SOME ARE LIVING!!

It was like an episode of the "Medium"! I came wide awake, sitting straight up on the edge of my bed,gasping for breath! Scary or frightening don't even begin to cover the panic I felt! And yet, it began quietly enough. Suppose you are married, and living with a man whom has taken a job in a foreign country,and he has taken you with him. He speaks the language, but you do not. But, he provides for you well, and sees to it that most of the business is taken care of by him.So, he does the shopping, pays the rent,and utilities. He makes it his responsibility to make your   contact with the world around you totally unnecessary. He is your whole world, with the possible exception of an occasional phone call from a friend or family member clear from your native land. You have no knowledge or interest in the country where you resides politics, economy,or government. Their money only confuses you. The television and radio is all in their own language,so you have no idea what is going on from the news programs,can't understand the dialog in any of the shows, so you just don't watch television, and rarely listen to the radio. But, you have books and tapes from home sent to you,and once the cooking and the cleaning of the home is done, you spend a lot of time reading, or listening to music.From the odd times you have had a chance to go someplace on your own, it is normally only to stop at a local store with a small list of things you want, such as fruit, or bread,eggs and spices, and he gave you the appropriate amount of money needed,and told you exactly where to go. Fearful that you might get lost, you went only there,and came straight back,doubly anxious to hurry home once you saw the way others looked at the way you dressed. It didn't matter that no one spoke to you, since you didn't understand whatever they said to you, and you couldn't respond to their questions...and once you saw the fashions on the street, you were more chagrined  than ever to be outside of the home,and began to welcome the isolation of it's closed doors, drawn shades,and your husband's admonitions not to answer the door or the telephone when he wasn't there. Sometimes he didn't come home for a day or two, but even then, you were more fearful of the outside world than you were concerned about what might have become of him. There were no neighbors to chat with, no one to call when you got lonely or needed help with  the lights or the plumbing. Whatever the difficulty was, you just endured it until he came home. And then, it happened! One day he didn't come home, and the phone began ringing. The caller ID told you that it was not from your family or friends, so you didn't answer: but unlike other times, whoever it was kept calling back. His late coming home in the evening turned into night, and still the phone rang. By the next morning, not only was the phone ringing, but then came knocking on the door,the tread of many footsteps, and many voices from just outside the door,and angry sounding male voices, shouting your name. Then, all was still, as another evening came,and you sat there in the gathering gloom, wondering if it was safe to turn on a lamp. Still, you waited. He would come home tonight, and everything would be alright. Gripped by fear, you ate a cold supper in the darkened kitchen, staring at his vacant place at the table. Later you went to the living room, guided only by the blue lighted numbers seemingly suspended in mid-air, by the magic of the clock on the VCR. In the dark you crept to your accustomed place,and sat there, frozen with fear that you might make a sound, such as a cough or a sneeze letting those who had been calling and knocking all day long that you were there,just knowing without looking out that they were still there, waiting for just such a signal. Sometime during that long dark night, you slept in your chair, and then waked with a start at an unaccustomed sound,and still sleepy, you automatically reached out,and turned on a light. Instantly the room sprang visible to your eyes,and you gasped, realizing your mistake, and turning back to shut off the light, the rapping on the door and the harsh voices in an unknown tongue came, just as you knew they would,and terror stricken you fled the room,weeping to find sanctuary in your bedroom and slamming the door. For now they knew you were there,and would be coming into the house. But once there, you realized that the closed door of your room would not keep them out. There was no lock on the bedroom door,and so you ran to the bathroom, and locked it, and still you wept, because even a locked door would not keep out those who did not respect you. You listened, crying and trembling, trying to stay silent so you could hear when the door gave way. You strained your ears to catch the tell-tale sounds of the door opening, but when that moment came, there was no stealth about it. The door burst open after being kicked open, and there was shouting and many men and women moved openly, heavily and swiftly they stormed through your home,and the tiny sounds of your weeping ceased, as you were hardly daring to breathe,as your heart thudded in your chest, and great tears rolled down your cheeks. As you hear them coming into the bedroom now, you step back a pace, then two, drawing your hands together at your breast, you then reach up and wipe the tears from your face, and allow yourself a glance in the mirror over your shoulder to confirm that the tears are gone,and only a little moisture remains around your eyes. You smooth your hair back, turn back to the door as you hear them approaching the door now, and lift your chin,and even though you watch in mounting horror and fascination as the doorknob turns, you consciously erase all signs of fear and anxiety from your face as well. Your forehead and jawline unfurrow,and unclench. Your eyes fall at half-mast. An ease you do not feel becomes your expression,and you almost look as though you are about to welcome guests into your home. At the last moment, you glance down and notice your soft lavender gown bares large tear stains,but with slight adjustments, most of them are hidden in it's generous folds. You sigh. They will dry. You shall now represent your husband properly. With dignity. You barely flinch as the door is shoved open. There stands a group of blue uniformed men, with a woman at the forefront. They are all armed with weapons, most of them handguns. two of them have larger weapons. The woman begins to speak to you in a respectful, business-like tone.She holds in her two hands for you to see a document,and then thrusts it into your hands. As she does so, the men with her filter out from behind her,and enter the room, and all but ignore you, and search the room, looking in closets and behind shower curtains.As each one finishes his inspection, they call to the woman, one word. She seems to be asking you a question, to which you can give only one response,a shrug showing empty hands, and a shake of the head,and a steady, deadpan gaze,to indicate you do not understand her. After another few moments of speaking to one another, one by one, each of them drops the muzzle of their weapon towards to floor,the woman speaks to the radio on her shoulder,and at a response, motions to one of the men who steps behind you, gently but firmly brings your hands together behind your back,and places something on your wrists that hold them together there. It is tight, but does not hurt,and it feels like plastic. He takes you gently by the elbow,and begins to guide you towards the door,and everyone seems to be turning to go.They surround you, almost protectively, and it appears that they are not going to beat you, or execute you here and now, and you relax a little.Once you reach the front door,the woman and man pause there,and ask you yet another question, indicating the keyhole.With little difficulty you indicate the rack holding your keyring and bag, and the man gets them for you,and they wait while you lock up the house before being put into a car, and then they all get into cars and leave together. The woman has placed you carefully into the back seat of a white car, taking great care that you not bump your head as you get in, and then she and the man who walked you out are the  ones who drive away with you.They take you to a building that is clean and comfortable, and put you into a room with a mirror on the wall, and seat you in a chair at a table. For several minutes they leave you alone,and then the woman comes in, and in a very efficient and impersonal way, touches you all over. Not in a rude way, but just a light touching. Perhaps just to see if you have concealed something in your clothes. You spend the next several hours in that room.  They talk, they ask questions, you sit and listen. They offer you water, coffee, tea,and cigarettes.You taste the coffee, but it is weak and terrible. You drink the water. You emphatically shake your head at the cigarettes,and they don't offer them again. You taste the tea, and add sugar and sip it from time to time,only because you are hungry,and  need something to keep you awake. Throughout all this time, they mention a name sounding vaguely like your husbands name,and when they leave you alone, you begin to wonder where he is, and why he hasn't come to get you yet.  The man and woman who brought you here and have been talking to you begin to look frazzled and disturbed about something,and it occurs to you that they don't understand why you won't talk to them. Therefore, you begin with something simple,and timely. In your own language, you say "I'm hungry"; rub your stomach,and mimic eating. The woman catches on first, leans forward, hand on the table,and says something that means nothing to you, but the way she says it, tells you she is getting the message.She starts talking very fast,and both the man and woman leave the room, and then she comes back with a large book and a file folder.The book turns out to be a book of maps. She opens it, points to a certain map,and points to herself,and then down, and then shoves the book to you,and points at you. While you are finding a map of your native land, the man returns, with a handful of rolls of antacids,Tums, Rolaids,and offers them to you. You look up at him with thanks, but frustration,and shake your head.But then you recall having seen something on the trip downtown that you saw in your home town.   But first, the map. You point to your native land,and then to yourself. and then you say"McDonalds?" and repeat the eating action. Within the hour, they bring you food and a translator.After you eat, they open the file folder and begin to tell you a terrible story.They lay out pictures of women and girls whose last contact seems to have been with your husband, and they have now disappeared. They came to your home to find him, and want to know what you know about his work and other activities. Through your translator, you explain to them about your isolation, and lack of language skills. Even though this story has been played out over radio and television, he knew that you would be completely unaware of what was going on,and by yourself would never put two and two together,and with his warnings not to answer the phone, or the door, he thought he kept any tracing of his whereabouts leading to a blind end. He arranged for your ignorance of the country and it's language to keep his secret...whether it was that he was a white slave trader, or a hit man, either occupation would suit his proclivity for blood lust, and whatever warped, twisted situations he could take advantage of on the side.

But now you want to know what it was that caused me to to awake in such a fearful state! So,I'm going to tell you now. I was not an American citizen, but it took place in America,and the agency seeking him was not the police, but the immigration service! Even though they had hard evidence and reason to believe that he had caused these women and girls to be missing, and possibly been responsible for two deaths,and one murder and rape, they only wanted to deport him, and me, back to our native country, leaving me with him, where I would continue to be stuck with him, in the isolation of his creation! But now, with him believing that I had turned on him,and as his wife, in our home country, there would be nothing I could do to protect myself from him.

It has long puzzled me as to why a woman of any sort would stay married to a sexual predator, but now,through this nightmare, I belive that God has given me the answer to this question. The answer is isolation, and fear.

OUI?

I CAN'T HELP IT...I GET STIRRED UP!!

At the risk of repeating myself, Oh, what a beautiful morning!It's stopped snowing, and the terrible wind has died down, and the sun is out,and we had a really nice breakfast,and it was over in plenty of time so that we weren't late for church. Even though neither I nor Yon son were feeling very well, we determined to be there for The Lord's Supper, which we have every first Sunday of the Month,and as usual, I felt much better for it,and Oh, our preacher was in such good form today, I really enjoyed his preaching! He always has some personal anecdote to enhance his story,relevant to the point,that tells us more about him and/or his family, leading up to how he or his family got saved, something all of us could relate to, because Jesus did the same thing for all of us, and there is always time, during the service for us to rejoice and praise God...because he always gets a little carried away, shouting Glory to God! And, you can't help it! If you love the Lord,and you're in a service where the preacher gets all happy and starts shouting Glory! You're going to get all happy and start shouting Glory! too! And it just follows the shouting and the joy, as the wind follows the rain, that the moving and operation of the Holy Spirit is manifest when there is a whole room full of joy-filled souls lifting their voices in love to God in a spontaneous outburst!

Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, what a beautiful morning! I can't hardly wait until this evenings service!

OUI?

HOW I CAME UP WITH "CREATIVE WALKING"!!

A few years back when I could still walk about without a cane, or my wheelchair,when I was still able to take a notion to go to the store, and leave the house on foot, I went to the store one day, and started home with one small bag of groceries. Bad idea. It turns out that I should have had two small bags of groceries. The thing, you see, is that with degenerative disc disease, one must keep things balanced. Otherwise, there is too much strain on one side of the body,and therefore, one side of the spine. Eminently rupturing discs object to this sort of treatment, and show their displeasure in very profound ways. Stuff between the vertebra oozes out, pinches nerves,and does no end of damage. I started to feel very bad,and had to stop and put my burden down several times before I reached home. Without a clue as to what was going on, I sat down as soon as I got in the door,and rested until the pain subsided,focusing on what I was going to prepare for dinner,rather than my "discomfort",which always worked in the past. This time, it did not. I tried not to notice that it was taking a rather longer time than usual for the pain to go away, and instead, got up to visit Mrs. Murphy,who was yelling at me!I propelled myself towards the bathroom, and stumbled over nothing as I went through the door, almost taking a header into the bathtub. I bounced off a couple of walls,and ended up sitting down hard,with my feet tangled up together. I did not call for help. I did not have to. Yon son heard me hit the floor from a room  away, in his bedroom, and came running to find out what the noise was about,and found me sitting, stunned on the floor.As he reached down to help me to my feet, he said, Honey, what happened? I just grinned, and wiped the moisture off my cheeks,and said, oh, you know, just a bit of creative walking! That was the day I started using my cane all the time. It was also the day that I was first warned by Yon son as he headed out the door to go to work,"NO creative walking now, mom!"

A month later, I did a bit of "creative bathing." I don't know why I refuse to have it said that I....took a tumble, or any such nonsense as that. I prefer to think of it as being creative, when you do something different than the norm.

OUI?

LIVING ON A SHOESTRING VERSES LIVING AN ABUNDANT LIFE!

Once again, I see someone who is starting over. Well, actually she's been in this position for some time, and it never fails to amaze me how slowly others do these things. I'm not putting her down. I don't put anybody down who has to start over from nothing. I have been  there too many times for me to say anything other than, "what can I do to help?" But,they frustrate me.They will sit there in whatever shelter they have been able to acquire,whether it is two rooms or a whole house, and whatever they move in with...their fourteen boxes and a dishwasher, or whatever, and two months later, you go by to see how they are making out,and nothing is changed. The boxes are still unpacked, sitting  exactly where they left them the last time I was there. They are still sleeping on the floor,with no beds for the kids, or themselves, using sheets and stuff to cover the windows,eating out of cans with plastic and paper for silverware and dishes. Clothes and papers and garbage strewn everywhere, so you have to kick a path to go from room to room, and yet, if they have gained anything at all, it is usually a big screen t.v., and cable, a dog/puppy or cat/kitten or both wandering throughout at will, creating yet more noxious mess,and complicating an already tight budget with the pet food costs. I try to be supportive, and gently mention that the CAP agency has an outlet store that would be willing to help them find furnishings; beds, tables, chairs, dinnerware and cups and so forth to fill in the gaps,at little to no cost to them,and they turn up their lip at my suggestion. As though second hand isn't up to their standards. Well. Maybe not, but personally I would rather my child sleep in a second hand or used bed, than to be bedding down on the floor. Or couches,or two chairs pushed together, anything to keep them from sleeping on the floor, like it's some kind of flop house! If not for the parents sense of well being and comfort, at least for the children's sake, this woman should be putting forth an effort to make it home. I know she's traumatized,but let's face it. Situations don't get better if you crawl into a cave and lick your wounds and just wait for things to change. Action must be taken as soon as humanly possible to overcome the loss,and wipe it from your child's memory...and your own!

I'm speaking from experience here. I have had to start over many times in my life, the most recent being almost 14 years ago, when Yon son and I moved into the place we have now. We had only the car to move with,upon which we piled a t.v. and two beds. That is basically all we had, beyond our clothes and personal effects. We hit the outreach store, and yard-sales, and within a month, we had two sets of tables and chairs, for the kitchen and dinning room,couches, chairs and lamps and end tables. We got curtains on the windows and bookcases for our books and plants,and everything was unpacked,orderly and put away, and the boxes were gone. We had dishes, pots and pans and silverware to eat with, and food to cook decent meals with,and with no more money,( and probably a great deal less) than the ones I am currently concerned about. No, we didn't have a big television, nor did we worry about getting cable. What disturbs me about this whole affair is, she is more interested in having something to sit and stare at, when all around her is work to be done to make a proper home for her family, and she is so busy dwelling on the past, she has no interest in going forward. Her priorities are so messed up, that she apparently thinks she has done well to get the cable and television. Meanwhile, she's living in a dump of her own creation,and seems to be content to let it remain so. But I know she's not happy with it. Anytime I talk to her about it, she weeps. I am just as sorry as I can be for her,but I am no longer in a position, physically, to help her,and right or wrong, I suspect that if I could roll up my sleeves and dive in there and start unpacking boxes and organizing things,and contacting agencies to find the furniture necessary,she'd just sit there and let me do it all,rather than to be inspired to do it herself.

Of course, I am only a friend, not family, so it's really none of my business how she chooses to live,but it hurts me to see this going on. It's not like she moved out of a palace into this hovel, but she had a much nicer home before,and even though she was never a Betty Crocker,she used to at least make half-hearted attempts to keep the place livable.  She kept it clean, basically, and her children had clean clothes, and at least two hot meals a day. Now it's all catch as catch can, and the children string dry cereal and Cheeto's from one end of the place to the other,and she just sits there. Worst of all, I can see our friendship rapidly eroding, because we seem to have less and less in common all the time. I can hardly bare to see this going on. I'm thinking, I don't even want to go back there. I can't stand the smell. Under those conditions, how does one remain friends? I still love her personality, but I don't have the fortitude to be around her.If I could, I would overlook the mess, but it's so awful, it makes me sick to my stomach. To tell the truth, I haven't been there for some time, but Yon son has. Just a day or so ago, he happened by, and came home and told me about it. Nothing's changed.

So, I'm thinking, maybe what I'll do, is call and talk to her, like we used to talk. And this time, I won't pull any punches. Tell her straight out why I won't be over to visit, and encourage her to get up and start working on that home, for herself, for her kids, and so that we can still be friends.

But first, I am going to do a lot of praying about it, because I hate to hurt people's feelings. However, don't you think it's better that I wound her pride just a little bit, and take a chance that she will respond? I know it is highly likely that she will be offended, hate me for telling her the truth, and never speak to me again, but don't I owe it to our friendship to take that chance?

OUI?

TEACHERS AND STUDENTS AFFAIRS ARE RAMPANT! WHOSE RESPONSIBLE?

I just heard about another case again today, in Illinois! A teacher having sexual relations with a 17 year old student! What is happening here? Why is this going on? I would think that by now, there would have been some investigating going on as to the teacher's education and background! Where does the overall fault lie? Is it with the collages that train these prospective teachers? Do they just kind of gloss over the part about being  the adult in the situation? Have standards of the schools fallen so low that there is no longer a morals clause in the contract the new teachers sign, or has that too been thrown out along with God and the Bible? Or have the employment forms now failed to mention that it is against the rules for teachers to sleep with the students? And while we're on the subject, why haven't ABC, CBS, or NBC made an in-depth study of these teachers and their backgrounds and schooling? Maybe there is a connection between these women, and their collages where they got their teaching certificates!

Now, I know that teenaged boys can get very hung-up on a pretty teacher, and there are any number of ways for them to finangle ways to spend time with them alone. They can feign ignorance, and plead for more personal attention;and a soft hearted lady can find herself in the clutches of an amorous,hot-blooded youth before she even realizes his intentions. But somewhere between "can you help me?" and the point where he breathes "Let's do it, honey!" There has got to come a time where she can straight arm him and become aware that all is not kosher! No matter how charming he may be, certainly she has to come to the understanding that he has more than Algebra and Literature in mind,before they are steaming up the car windows, or buttons and zippers are involved!

Have these students parents done nothing to educate their children about the birds and bees? Did the teachers skip too many classes of their own in collage,and are therefore incapable of discerning the proper behavior with children? Do they themselves not understand what the word NO means?

Personally, I think it's time to bring the prudish school marm back! You know, the  kind that wears the tweed skirts, the shapeless blouses, and orthopedic oxfords, without a stitch of make-up and wearing coke-bottle glasses,the thin hatchet face,and the hair done up in a bun! Or, just old, fat and smelly,but still sharp as a tack!Or at the very least, School boards should now arm every young attractive teacher with a list of those sorts of "tutors" for their students who plead for extra help! You may find my suggestions  strange, because after all, everyone knows that students learn better when they have the slightest bit of a crush on their teacher,and yet, is it really the best environment for a school to have teachers ankling around, Pregnant by the pupils?

I think not!

OUI?

A REVELATION OF SELF-CONSCIOUOSNESS, VERSES GOD CONSCIOUSNESS!!

IT'S  an old truth, but still, true none the less. That when you are not concentrating on yourself,you can rise above your circumstances,ignore difficulties, such as pain, and get more done. This particularly true if you are excited about what you are doing. I've known that for a long time, but sometimes we have a tendency to forget it,and let things get us down. This is frequently brought back to my mind, when I hear Jimmy preaching, and he mentions the part in Genesis where Adam and Eve fell from grace, and lost" God-consciousness", and gained "self-consciousness." Now, you may doubt the veracity of that statement, but given full consideration, it makes perfect sense. Never are we more miserable than when we are self-conscious. Our palms go clammy,our faces sweat,and we can't seem to make an intelligent response to a simple question, when we feel put on the spot. Likewise, in a marriage, the most miserable people are the ones who are so focused on the big "I", that they can't seem to be giving to their partner. The happiest marriages are the ones where each partner is putting forth all their efforts to please their spouse, and not being all concerned about what they are doing for them! Janet Jackson's song, "What have you done for me lately?" is a perfect example of the kind of thinking I am talking about. Now, where I know she didn't start the mind-set, still, I have seen more of this attitude in the public eye since that song came out. In fact, it is far more prevalent now than ever before. It was a very popular, catchy tune, and probably made a number of women begin to think along those lines, to the point that what might have been a very fulfilling relationship, change. It's too bad, too, because always you are going to find yourself unhappy with your circumstances when you take your eyes off your spouse, or your Lord, and put them on yourself. Always. When we  turn "we" into "I" the dynamics of the relationship changes. "We" work together for the common good, and the eyes on the prize moves us forwards, from the salad days of a relationship to the busy, working hard on home and family, and finally to the comfortable stage, when we can once again spend time together just relaxing and having fun. The only difference between a married couples relationship and your relationship with the Lord in this analogy, is that for the most part, when you are working on your relationship with your spouse, there will definitely be times when you might catch yourself feeling as though you are putting more into it than he or she is. Yet, this is a temporary bit of selfishness,and is easily overcome by putting your eyes back on your focal point. But with the Lord, as long as you keep your eyes on the Lord,and what he did at Calvary, you will never be disenchanted, never feel as though he doesn't love you anymore, or that he pays more attention to someone else than he does to you! Time and again, I have had the truth brought home to me that I cannot outgive God! No matter how hard I try, I cannot possibly do more for him than he has done, or does do for me! Whether it is tithing, or talking to someone who needs to hear about the Lord, or praying with someone, or writing about God, or studying the Bible,while I am involved in it, hours can go past my pill time, or I can miss going to bed long after I am yawning, I may be cognizant of my discomfort, or my weariness, but I can ignore it, and go on. But the instant I stop and pay attention to it, I will fall asleep, or run for the pills!

OUI?