How about reason?

The Tuscon Shooting Spree was not a political act. It was the horrific act of a young man with a broken misfiring brain, who gave ample warning signs in the month prior to the attack. He should have been at the least on medications, and probably in residential treatment - and given those warning signs his family could have gotten the court's help in getting that help for him - but to my knowledge there was no intervention. If fingers are to be pointed, let them be pointed at his family, or at his teachers and fellow students and YouTube viewers who didn't report him to Law Enforcement so that he'd at least be on their radar.

This is not about politics. This is not about Left Vs Right, Conservative Vs Liberal, Republican Vs Democrat. This is about an insane young man acting upon his delusions and killing/injuring a great many people in the process. He should absolutely be held accountable for what he did, and face the consequences for those actions. I just think he should be tried for the evil he did, as the individual he is, and not as the Poster Boy for whatever Political Party you think is Evil Incarnate.

This is not the year...

This is not the year I'll get rich.

This is not the year I'll get thin and gorgeous.

This is not the year I'll magically become perfect...


This IS the year I'll have Enough, and share what's left over.

This is the year I'll take better care of the beautiful body Goddess gave me.

This is the year I'll accept that, like Mary Poppins, I am perfectly imperfect in every way - and that I am blessed with love from friends who've never "met" me, cousins I didn't know I had, and family I thought was lost to me forever.

This is the year I'll embrace my blessings instead of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Happy, Blessed New Year!

St. Nikolas Day

40 years ago today, I was running around the house in a crazed sugar-high, clutching a beautiful white and gold Mrs. Clause Boot half-full of chocolate (the other half already smeared all over my face and in my belly).

30 years ago today, I was handing a package slip over to the desk clerk at my dorm and retrieving a parcel from my Dad that contained a small bag of holiday chocolates since I couldn't be home to put my shoe in the window.

10 years ago today, I was opening a holiday card from my Dad with $10 enclosed and orders to go buy myself some candy.

5 years ago today, I swam out of my numb grief long enough to realize that I was never going to get another St Nikolas Boot, Candy or Card from my Dad again and started drowning all over again.

Today, I'm thinking of Dad. I'm nibbling on a piece of Peppermint Bark my husband had a coworker bring back from Ghirardelli Square for me, and trying to remember where I put the little wooden candy tree he made me so I can start decorating the house a little. I hadn't planned on celebrating but my beautiful cousin Erika pointed out that if I can't celebrate it for myself, I can still do it for him.

Happy St. Nikolas Day, Everyone!

Thursday Thanks

Today, I am thankful that we had a good vacation. I'm especially thankful that we had the privelege of meeting my cousin Jane Cartwright, who grew up with my mother. Jane is one awesome woman, who has stuffed 3 or 4 lifetimes' experience into her 80-some-odd years. She is, as she puts it, "semi disabled", using a walker and scooter at home and a wheelchair when out and about - but she gets out more than I do with my two more or less good legs and has a lot of fun doing it. For that 1 hour lunch that turned into a 3 hour visit, I got to bask in the glow of a giant loving heart squeezed into a tiny little body. I can't wait to go back again, this time with a digi-recorder, and listen to more of her stories.

Samhain/Dia de los Muertos

This is my shrine for Dad:



No candles because we have cats and I can hear him asking "do you vant to set de house on fire?", so I've got my grandmother's oldoldold incense burner up there instead.

The statue couldn't look more like him if he had posed for it. It lived in his office, and then his home office, for more than 30 years - and now he lives with me.

I haven't finished Mom's shrine yet. This is actually rather appropriate, because bless her heart, she was never on time for anything. If I finish it by the weekend, that will be about right. Besides, I still need to find her a bottle of RC Cola!

Tis the season...

Happy Birthday, Dad. Love you, miss you - and if there are trick or treaters in heaven, have fun scaring the bejesus out of them!

This is not a shiny happy post.

I feel I have to say that, because this blog – my public one – is where I try to stay positive and spread hope.  However, this month is Awareness Month for so many issues, and I need to talk about the one that is so often swept under the carpet – because even now, it’s the dirty little secret nobody wants to talk about – or if they do, they make sure to dump a heaping helping of blame squarely on the head of the victim.

Yep – it’s Domestic Violence Awareness Month again, and 24 years after I escaped I am still painfully aware of it.  I think it’s safe to say I’ll ALWAYS remember, always watch the faces of the men and women around me, trying to read them, guage the safety level in the room…  It’s one of the ways you stay alive.

In the many years since I escaped, I’ve had people say such helpful and supportive things as “well why didn’t you just leave?  I *never* would have let a man do that to me…  It must not have been that bad if you stuck around so long… what did you do to make him beat you, it must have been really awful…”  I know I’m not the only survivor who has been asked/told that.  So today, I am going to speak for all of the women who haven’t escaped yet, who have no voice because speaking out will get them killed… and for the women who are dead because they couldn’t escape in time…

You say you know all about Domestic Violence because your mother’s best friend’s sister’s cousin is an abuse victim.  My response is this:

If you have never received a paycheck and been forced to give it to him to deposit or cash, so that you have to ask him for every cent you need – you don’t know squat about domestic abuse.

If you have never been forced to get naked the second you get home from work, and stay that way when you’re in the house so you can’t run out the door for help if he starts beating you – you don’t know squat about domestic violence.

If you have never found yourself squeezing your naked body into that tiny space between the bathtub and toilet, trying to avoid the worst of his punches – you don’t know squat about domestic violence.

If you have never sat in the bathroom at work, stuffing your fist in your mouth to stifle your sobs as you miscarry because your husband had punched you in the stomach the week before and you’d been cramping and spotting ever since – and then gone back to work to finish your shift before going to the ER because you know if your paycheck is short, he’ll beat you for that too… you don’t know squat about domestic violence and abuse.

It’s really easy to say “I’d never put up with that!” when you’re not in the situation.  It would be easy to just leave if he beat you on the first or second date, or in the first month or two of the relationship – but he doesn’t do that.  He waits.  He’s charming.  He convinces you that he “gets” you in a way no-one else can. He slowly, subtly separates you from your family and friends until you are totally dependent on him… and THEN he starts “correcting” or “punishing” you, and always “for your own good'”.  You start to believe him when he says you’re ugly, you’re worthless, he’s doing you a favor by keeping you because Gods know nobody else would… and you start to accept that this horror you’re living is the life you deserve, and the only one you’ll ever get.

I was lucky.  I escaped, with some help, and with my body intact.  Repairing my soul… well, that’s a work in progress.

If you want to help women like I once was, then Awareness isn’t enough anymore.  Set aside the judgment and misconceptions, and offer to help.  There are all sorts of women’s crisis centers and shelters that are understaffed and extremely under-budgeted.  Give them some money, volunteer some time, donate some clothes – do SOMETHING.  Watch out for your friends – if one starts cancelling her time with you, or can only see you when her husband is around, TALK to her.  Make sure she’s really ok, and make sure she knows you’re there no matter what.

So what are you waiting for?  Go.  Help.  Do…