DeeEl's Mo Chroí Scríofa

Hot Flashes And Cold Duck

The suitcase feels weightless as Debbie lifts it to check it through.  She glances back at her friend Elizabeth who had driven her to the airport and wonders if it is too late to just go back home and forget the trip.

Elizabeth loves airports, especially if she is seeing someone off that she knows.  She will watch as her friend goes through the security post at the top of the long ramp here at McGhee/Tyson Airport.  Then she will watch intently through a convenient window as the plane carrying her friend flies out of sight.

This trip is no different.  Elizabeth walks with Debbie slowly up the ramp, fussing yet again at how she should use the wheelchair service offered by the airports.  However, Debbie is nervous enough and doesn’t want to add the pressure of appearing totally helpless to the world.

Elizabeth reassures her friend just before she enters the security area that this is a simple trip to share an informal reunion with some high school friends.  She should just go and enjoy some down time with a handful of friends she reconnected with through Facebook.

Memories of high school wash over Debbie as she waves good-bye to Elizabeth.  They continue to bombard her as she boards the plane and finds her seat.  She isn’t sure if she would have actually called these four women friends when they were all in high school, but more like classmates and people she knew.

Perhaps Vicky was more than that.  After all, Debbie’s family did move next-door to Vicky’s family in junior high.  For as long as Debbie could remember, Vicky was one who spoke her mind and didn’t care about doing so.  She was usually right when she spoke out so things would usually go her way.  Living next door to her, Debbie came to admire this trait and even envied Vicky for her boldness.

In contrast to Vicky, Barb was a lot like Debbie in some ways.  Mostly in that she seemed shy and thoughtful.  However, there was a certain strength about Barb that Debbie didn’t think she possessed within herself.  This brought high admiration for Barb and the ability for Debbie to keep going forward.

In three years of high school Debbie never really got to know Julie.  Seeing Julie as pretty and having lots of friends, Debbie felt that she was too average and timid, and therefore beneath Julie’s recognition.

Geri is the fifth person who will be part of this little reunion.  In high school she had always been a bit of an enigma to Debbie.  Not that she deemed Geri two-faced or anything.  It was that not knowing her as well, Debbie just couldn’t get a good read on her.   What Debbie did know of Geri was that she was more of a free spirit than she was and she could only dream of being more like Geri.

Since reconnecting to these women on the social media site, Debbie has come to know them a little better as the estimable women they have become instead of the awkward teenagers they all used to be.

The flight from Knoxville to Charlotte, NC is one hour.  This is a relatively short trip, but a lifetime in Debbie’s mind.  Once on the ground she focuses on making her connecting flight and the two-hour leg to Baltimore’s BWI airport.  Debbie is determined to leave the past where it belongs and concentrate, instead, on the present.

Julie greets Debbie enthusiastically at BWI’s baggage claim and after many hugs and mingled tears, Julie’s gentleman friend enters to retrieve Debbie’s suitcase and escort the ladies to his waiting car.  “Debbie, this is Chris.  Chris, Debbie.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir.  I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Likewise.”  Chris is more intent on exiting the hectic airport than meeting and greeting.  His response is clipped, but not in a rude manner.  It is more in the style of a man who would rather remain on the outside of “girl talk”. 

The thirty minute drive to Julie’s house has the air in the car sounding more like a couple of schoolgirls chirping and giggling instead of two grown women catching up on old times.  Once at the house, Chris departs leaving the women to their own devices.  It would just be the two of them in the house for the weekend as Julie’s boys were otherwise engaged in other activities.  The first thing on the agenda is for Debbie to rest if she is to attend the evening events.

Following naps, showers and much primping, Julie and Debbie approach a corner table at Squire’s Restaurant where Vicky, Geri and Barb are already chattering away.  As the five women greet each other, the other patrons begin watching as if trying to figure out what all the commotion is.

Appetizers, salads, entrées and desserts are well accompanied by carafes of wine and pitchers of beer.  As the food disappears the beverages flow into the conversation reviving bygone days, which had long since dissolved into youth’s blurry memory.

Plans are already laid for more activities through the rest of the weekend providing Debbie’s health will allow.  However, no one desires the evening to end and along with it the feeling of past joys reentered.  “Let’s all go back to my house.  I have some wine and we can continue this in the basement undisturbed.”

“Thanks, Vick, but I really need to get home to my Woobie.”  Barb’s voice is both disappointed and excited.  She wants to remain with the group and yet be at home with her daughter.

“Do you have a place I can lay down a bit?”

“Sure, Deb.  You lay on the couch and we’ll sit around on the floor.  Oh, and don’t worry. I’ll set a fan to blow the cigarette smoke away.   Everyone ready?”

Settling into Vicky’s basement brings back even more bittersweet memories for Debbie than driving through the neighborhood.  Shoving the memories to the back of her mind, Debbie concentrates on keeping up with the clamoring conversation unfolding around her.  After all she did make a conscious decision to leave the past in the past and this was a part of her past that she refuses to revisit.

After lying for a bit, Debbie sits up and accepts a glass of what Vicky calls Cold Duck from Geri.  Vicky is sitting in front of a fan rubbing ice on her neck in an attempt to assuage the current peri-menopausal hot flash.  Vicky’s hot flash wans into a tidal wave of alcohol-induced heat that would rival the tropical heat of the equator felt by all members of the quartet.

“I’m outa smokes.  Whatcha say we go out for some air and cigarettes?

“Isn’t it getting late?”

“Learn how to read a clock, Geri.  It’s far from late.  Bars are still open.”  Vicky is already set to leave, the others follow suit proceeding slowly, giving Debbie time to balance.

Vicky skillfully pulls her car into the parking lot at Harvey’s.  Julie automatically begins singing and continues singing as the foursome make their way inside and find a table.

Rounds of drinks are ordered and consumed just as quickly.  The only thing that flows freer than the booze is the conversation and as the heat rises, inhibitions lower.  Julie finds herself in her natural position at Harvey’s, holding a karaoke microphone.  Her music selections become sultry and seductive while Geri dances directing her motions toward Julie.  Vicky keeps her phone out with the video camera going and all Debbie can do is laugh hysterically and hold on for dear life.

After rousing more than curiosity at Harvey’s the foursome exit and find themselves at The Seahorse.  Debbie orders herself a beer and slowly makes her way to the ladies room.  Upon her return she finds her three companions imbibing in a strange drink directly from the pitcher using straws.  Pointing toward a straw in front of Debbie, Vicky warns; “Hurry up before it’s all gone.”

“What is it?”  Debbie’s southern drawl is a bit slurred from the alcohol already consumed and the lack of sleep.

“Good”, Julie snips between sips.

“A trashcan.”

“There’s one over there, Geri.  I can try bringing it over to you if you need to hurl and can’t make it to the ladies room.”

The three women laugh as Julie explains, “The drink is called a trashcan.  There’s a lot of liquor in it.  And… some fruit…. I think.  It’s served in a pitcher.  Everyone drinks it like this.  You’ll love it.”

After several long sips from the pitcher, Debbie digs into her pocket and using her cane and anything else she can hold onto, she staggers to the jukebox and makes a selection.  Arriving back at the table, she fluffs her now tousled red curls, unbuttons her top button and avers to those at her table (which is as loud as she can); “I am more than this wretched disease which has engulfed my body.  I .. AM … A … WOMAN!!!”

As if on cue, the music Debbie chose begins to play and Julie, once again starts singing; “I am woman hear me roar…”

Geri gets to her feet and commences to dance with Julie as Debbie unfastens yet another button revealing more cleavage than she has ever displayed in public and allows her hair to go where it may.  Vicky seductively moves behind Debbie getting everything on her cell phone and takes Geri’s hand with her free hand linking all four women in a kind of dance that causes other patrons and staff to engage in similar free-spirited, fun-loving activities.

Enveloped in their own world and completely oblivious to anything around them, the women finish their drinks being told admirers in the crowd have paid their tab and they determine it is time to move on.  Voices grow angry and loud behind them as furniture splinters and bodies fall to the ground causing the earth to shake even more under Debbie’s feet.  Geri takes Vicky’s keys as Vicky and Julie help Debbie to the car and the four women pull off, as the sounds of police sirens grow louder.

“What happened?”  Vicky asks looking back and seeing the police and an ambulance pull up at The Seahorse.

Geri, who is driving, replies; “I don’t know, but it looks bad.  Clearly we can’t go back and going home isn’t an option.”  Silence fills the air in the same manner an inferno fills the atmosphere around it.  Debbie lays her spinning head back against the seat.  “It’s okay, I know a guy.”

Waking up is difficult this morning.  At first, the blur that is believed to have been last night seems more of a disturbing dream than reality.  Debbie slowly sits up and looks around needing to find her glasses and cane.  This is not Julie’s house.  The décor is tropical.  With a reeling, pounding head she staggers around in search of direction and sees Julie and Vicky sitting, well slumping, at a patio table outside the glass doors.  Geri comes up behind her swaying and smelling of vomit and they realize this is not a dream.

Outside on the patio the staggering pair joins the slumping pair at the table and all collapse wondering where they are and how they got here.  As they ponder in whispers fighting the urge to regurgitate whatever they nonsensically ingested last night ear-piercing rings begin shrieking from Julie’s cell phone causing the four women to jump out of their skins with their heads shattering.

Julie slaps her phone and picks it up putting it to her ear.  “What?  I don’t know where we are.  What?  Huh?  Hello?  Barb?”  Julie looks at her phone with confusion and then drops it to the table.  The others look at her through squinting eyes.   “That was Barb.  She said something about everyone looking for us, including the police.  Seems someone was killed in that bar we went to.  Phone died, too.”

Folding her arms on the table, Julie drops her head back down with a mournful groan as the bewildered women try to make sense of things.  Debbie slowly lifts her head and looks at Vicky; “What in the world was in that duck sauce you gave us?”

“Mmmm, uh …. Um ….You mean,” Vicky coughs to clear her dry throat.  “You mean the Cold Duck?  It was just wine.  Where are my cigarettes?”

“Isn’t that what got us into this mess in the first place?  You needing cigarettes?”  Geri gets up to go back into the bathroom.  Upon her return, Geri sits back down with a bottle of water and had been doing her own pondering.  “How is it I’m the only one puking my guts up this morning?”

“Juls and I were up before y’all doing the same thing.  Can’t be anything left.”

“With the Meniere’s I have learned to suppress.  Bad habit, but when I’m vertigo, I can’t clean it up.  Speaking of which, I think I’m hallucinating.  There’s a man on our patio.”

“You’re not hallucinating, Deb.  I’m here and I have coffee.”

“I hope it’s good coffee and how do I know you?  You don’t look familiar.”

“Good?  I just hope the coffee is real.  And strong.”  Julie sits up searching for a cup.

Geri takes a cup; “This is my husband’s cousin, Dante.  What are you doing here?”

“Do you know where we are?  Better question, do you know where my damn cigarettes are?”

“Well, first off, we are in Freeport, Bahamas.  This is a friends place.  He’s not here so I thought you could hole up here till things cool off.  I’m here because you called me last night and asked me to meet you at the boat.  I showed up and the four of you were there asking me to get you as far away as possible.  The coffee is real, but if we are going to be here a while we’ll need to go into town and lay in supplies.  As for your cigarettes Vicky, you threw them overboard last night and swore you’d never touch another one after the trouble they caused last night.”

“What the hell happened last night that would make me throw my smokes away?”  Vicky’s bewildered voice brings to focus that everything is too real and something must have happened last night. 

The women just look at each other in wonder while Dante allows a creepy smile to cross his face.  “So, Ger…of all the people I know, you are not the one I expected to have to hie out of the country.  What really happened?  Ya kill someone?”

Dante’s voice resonated like a tolling bell deep inside a multifaceted cavern fading into the ebon haze.

The suitcase weighs heavy in Debbie’s hand as she struggles to lift it to check it through.  She glances behind her to see if her friend Elizabeth, who had brought her to the airport, had found a parking space and entered the terminal.  Not seeing her, Debbie turns back toward the smiling thirty-something lady behind the counter and wonders if it was too late to just go back home and forget the trip.

May 7, 2012

Bullied

There has been  lot of press of late regarding bullying.  This is especially the case where some thought to have been bullied have taken their own life.  Bullying doesn’t just happen on the playground.  As we have seen it happens in high schools, on college campuses, in the workplace, in homes and with governments.

It is seen all too well the bullying in schools.  When it happens in homes it is labeled abuse and the law will step in IF the victims dare to speak up.  In the work place it bears a more subtle hand.  Then you have governments who go into other countries and strong arm the opposing government and bully them into submission.  Governments also bully their citizens with brash laws meant to fortify the leaders and leave the general population in ruin.

In January, I wrote a poem called Bullied.  I took from my own life as well as things I see around me and on the news to write this piece.  I must say it was a difficult piece to write and felt a great relief when it was finished.  

This type of behavior in any form and at any level is appalling and immoral.  But, there is something that is just as bad, if not worse.  Even though it is so prominent, and known, bullying remains a boil festering within the world.  Not just because there are those who will always think they deserve to do harm in some form to other people.  It is also allowed to continue because the cowards looking on do nothing.

As a child I would wear bruises and whelps from beatings and others would see these, but remain silent.  In school, when kids would bully me, there would be those who would just stand there and watch, doing nothing.  Years ago a man I knew in junior high and high school crossed my path at a baseball game.  We sat and chatted for a bit while watching the field.  He looked at me and with sadness in his eyes he said he remembered how some of the other boys would say and do mean things to me.  I remembered he was one of them standing there.  He continued to aver that it always bothered him how they did that.  He said good-bye and returned to his seat.  If it bothered him so much, why didn’t he say anything to anyone who could have helped me?

Perhaps this person didn’t or felt he couldn’t do anything due to his age at the time of the incidents.  However, there are those in workplaces who will stand around the water-cooler listening to co-workers as they say ugly and hateful things about another co-worker.  At the most they may go to a quiet place and secretly phone that person and warn them someone is saying things about them.  You call that person a friend and yet you stand there and allow other people to defame the same one you call friend.  This is not what I call a friend.

Passing cutesy things on Facebook and Twitter may be fun, but what are you really doing to put an end to the bullying in the world?  What are you doing to put an end to the bullying in your own town or neighborhood?

The next time you are in a group where someone you know and perhaps call friend is being besmirched and you are tempted to do nothing, imagine you are watching a small child being brutally beaten.  What would you do?  Would you just go over and tell that child they are being abused?  IF you are a friend, then speak up and say you will NOT stand around and allow small-minded people to speak that way about someone that you endear.   Be a human being and display that you are indeed a friend in the truest sense of the word.

It is the people who stand by that allow bullying and abuse to continue to rule the world.

The Greatest Frontier

The Greatest Frontier

Throughout history man has looked for frontiers to conquer.  Stepping into the unknown is both fearful and exciting.  It is near impossible to predict what treasures you will find or even what dangers you will face.  The best we can do is rely on our past experiences to help guide in these endeavors.

Gene Roddenberry, in his television program Star Trek, called space the final frontier.  He dubbed this the last unexplored area for men to conquer.  Perhaps this is true to a point.

For centuries philosophers and psychologists have explored the human mind.  However, there is still so much to explore and learn with such a complexly simple mechanism.

Upon meeting someone for the first time, they might inquire, “Who are you?”  While they know your name from introduction, you, out of habit, repeat your name.  Another question that may be posed upon first meeting is, “Can you tell me about yourself?”  With this we may proceed to declare what job we do for a living, our marital status, offspring, etc.  These are things that identify us just as much as our hair color, eye color and the way we dress.

But, who are you?

We hear tell of those (usually kids in an attempt to keep from going to college or to work) who use their money to “go and find themselves”.  This may seem frivolous to many.  I find it so in the regard that usually all they are doing it romping about exploring life.  How often do they actually “find” themselves?

Many people look to religion as the source of identifying who they are, others their families, education or even hobbies.  These are things that can, once again, identify us, but do they tell us who we really are?

I had always heard that praying is the act of “speaking to god” while meditation is the act of “listening to god”.  I hear so much of people talking about praying, but rarely about meditating.  After getting sick and being mostly confined to my apartment I started searching.  One of the worst things you can do is leave a writer alone with her/his thoughts.  We can get into all sorts of turmoil this way.

I cannot go back to the me I used to be before the illness entered my life.  Believe me, I have tried and I have sought to “find” the me I used to be.  Only now am I realizing this is never to happen.  When I am in a bout of vertigo (which lasts two days) my head conjures up all kinds of things.  Some is good, some not so much and others just plain out in left field.  One thing, however, that is prevalent, is trying to find me.

The first time I went to have a check-up with my current primary physician he stepped back and asked me if I were a singer.  I affirmed this and he went on to state that it was his experience that singers know themselves well, some better than even professional athletes.  True he was speaking of knowing myself physically.  But this is something I have been pondering of late. 

My mind also travels back to  time when my best friend, Sissy, her husband, two other friends of ours and I all went to Kings Dominion for an outing.  Anyone who knows me well enough, knows how much I really hate roller coasters.  Sissy, her husband and our friend Loretta convinced me to get on this new coaster called the Shock Wave.  It is a roller coaster you ride standing up.  Loretta and I were in the car behind Sissy and Al.  I pulled the straps and bar over me and leaned my head back and closed my eyes.  As the ride was ending, Sissy and Loretta were unstrapping themselves even before the ride stopped and shaking me.  They said they thought I was dead as I had turned as white as the tank-top I was wearing.  All I know is I put a death-grip on the bar holding me in and went deep inside myself.

Do I know myself?  Hardly.  I know my name.  I know I am single, never married, no children and I am a fair writer.  I know I have a hideous disease.  I know these things about me that identify me to the outside world, but I don’t know me – yet.  I read things that force me to look inside myself.  When I meditate, I look inside myself and explore those areas that I am afraid to look at or didn’t know exist.

There are times I write things, especially here in my blogberg, that many have told me they cannot comment here or even in Facebook or Twitter because they don’t know what to say.  They explain that I write in a manner that makes them think and causes them to look deeper then they ordinarily would.  These are things that help me explore my greatest frontier.

Space may be quite unexplored by humankind, but the greatest and most final frontier is in exploring ourselves, our own minds.  The Buddhists have a way of spending time with themselves and looking deep and when they come out on the other side, they are more peaceful more at home with who they are.  Their way isn’t the answer for everyone.  We must find who we are on our own and in our own way detached from all other influences.  Get to the heart, the soul, the very core of you.

Francis Bacon once wrote, “It is a sad fate for a man to die too well known to everybody else and still unknown to himself.”

Take time to explore your greatest frontier.

Truth In Advertising?

I need to begin by saying I am not a religious person.  This is not about religion.  Nor is it about the bashing of religions.  In December 2008, I wrote Injustice And Intolerance In The Name Of God.  This came after hearing about a religious group in the UK protesting against a poet because they didn’t like his work.  I did not claim that all Christian groups are like the two that I wrote about in that article.  I just take it a little personally when someone (anyone) tries to stifle the voice of a poet or any writer just because they don’t happen to like the content which flows from the writer’s pen.  There are many things I do not personally approve of or perhaps just don’t care for.  I chose not to invest my time and energy in participating in those things.

The other day I received an e-mail from a friend which was a forward.  I receive a lot of these as I am sure y’all do as well.  This e-mail had the subject line of FW: A song some radio stations are banning, “Please Watch”.  I read the e-mail which stated this song was banned by radio stations and President Obama because it is “politically incorrect”.  There was a link to the YouTube post of the Diamond Rio song “Presidents Day”.  The song is an apparent religious/political song.  This is the reason for my opening statements.  I did not forward this e-mail.

Now for more.  I have also received in the past e-mails telling about people who are ill with cancers or children who are missing and asking that you go to a website and give money and then forward the posts along.  These items don’t just come in e-mails from friends, but you get them on Facebook and Twitter as well.  These do not come from unintelligent people.  They come from very caring people who are sympathetic to the plights described within.  The only problem is the messages are not vetted to be proven out.

Having been duped before by strangers tugging on my heartstrings, I prove out things before I follow through with any requests made by the sender of the e-mail or posting.  I have also replied back with my findings.  Having said all of this, you can guess where I am going.

Yes, upon seeing a heading that people are banning a song (poetry set to music), I got my feathers ruffled.  After watching the video of the song, I set it aside.  I have learned it is best to not write when I am ruffled.  After a cooling off period, I got to work.  I began Googling every way I could think of to find legitimate articles regarding this banning.  (As a writer I love researching and as a researcher, I love writing about my finds.)  I could find no information about this so-called banning.  Only more links to the YouTube video. 

There were many comments on the various links with thoughts and feelings about the song in general and the supposed banning of the song.  One comment I read stated that the song was never meant for public airplay.  Since it was recorded and performed at a live venue, this does not seem to be the case.  Perhaps it just wasn’t meant to be released to radio stations and Diamond Rio wanted to save it for their fans on an album.  I can only speculate on this matter.

Truth in advertising can mean many things in this day and age.  When e-mails are sent or posts are made to blogs, Twitter and Facebook, there should be truth held within.  I fault those who begin these shams.  Some are attempting to fleece monies from unsuspecting sympathetic souls.  Others are to gain notoriety.  One thing that has resulted from this latest e-mail is gaining more viewings on YouTube. 

My advise to all is to vet out the information you receive regarding such things before you forward the information along.

There’s An App For That

Let me start off with a disclaimer.  I do not own a Blackberry, iPhone or any other type of what is termed a smartphone.  I have considered getting an iPhone or even an iPod touch to be able to use the cool apps.  I watch the ads on television about the apps that are available and have trolled the apps in iTunes just out of curiosity.  There are literally thousands of apps for virtually everything.  You can find apps to help you with everything from navigating the wild concrete jungle of New York City, to finding just the right relaxation music to enjoy in your den or the perfect way to dump the person you are dating.

Recently I sent an e-mail to a bunch of friends which included links to apps for things like tracking your finances to finding a clean restroom near your location.  I received a reply back from one of those friends saying her phone was dumb but it would be worth getting a smartphone just for the restroom app.  She was joking, but it caused me to think about these so-called smartphones and the applications that are available.

As a writer, I am always looking for things that can be beneficial to me and my writer friends.  You know how it is, the latest high-tech gadgets that can help us fill the blank page with our wit and wisdom.  My two favorites are my electronic thesaurus and digital voice recorder (DVR).  However, I want to look at smartphone apps here.  And guess what?  There are apps for that.  I have plugged in various words and phrases to iTunes Store, Blackberry App World and Smartphone.net.  I will include links for some of the apps I mention at the end.  Since I do not have a smartphone nor an iPod Touch, I cannot comment on the accuracy or functionality of any of these apps.  Some of them are free while others seem to be a bit much considering price comparisons between the three sites.

When I searched the Blackberry App World for “writer” and “writing” I found mostly eBooks.  Very few tools to help writers.  They do have the standard thesaurus’ and dictionaries to help find just the right words.  I did find one eBook for getting started as a freelance writer.  For that, if you are able to read a book on your Blackberry, I suggest you try it out.  Smartphone.net and iTunes seemed to have an abundance of apps for using your own handwriting in e-mails.  This appears to be a tool to allow you to use a stylus to write your e-mail.  If you are like me this is NOT a good idea.  It is far more difficult to write on a smartphone or even a laptop (my laptop has a built in function for writing into documents like that) than on a piece of paper; and if you already have bad handwriting, it will be much worse.  However, it can be fun.

Each of the three sites did have a few apps for digital voice recording.  I use my DVR when I am driving or where I can’t readily get to pen and paper (even in bed) to record the thoughts I have and then return to them later.  You can download these voice files onto your computer and transcribe after.  This could be a handy tool for journalists and writers who interview people for various assignments and books.  Instead of carrying your DVR and your phone and juggling (I sometimes forget which pocket each is in in my briefcase) you can have only one instrument to manage

In both iTunes and Smartphone.net I also found apps for helping you write other languages.  While some were your standard English translation dictionaries, but others were apps to actually help you learn to write other languages such as Hebrew and Chinese.  There were also journal apps to help you keep a diary or journal for your personal thoughts and ideas.  Some of the most intriguing apps I found for writers were on iTunes.  On my laptop (aka: DL’s Brain) I have a program called Write It Now Novel Writing software.  I love this program as it helps you organize your thoughts, characters and storyline.  The apps My Writing Nook , Writing Help,  and Writing Toolkit from iTunes seem to be similar to this.

I also found apps to help people write poetry, music and articles.  You can even get an app to help with persistent writer’s block.  Now we have no excuses as writer’s anymore for not being able to practice our skills where ever we are.  Unless you neglect to recharge your phone of course.  But I am the only one in the world who does that.  Find the app or apps that fit you and download them today.  Half the fun will be playing with the new toys and getting to know them and understand them.  Then you can let them help you produce magnificent works of art.

Final disclaimer, no apps were used nor were any smartphones harmed in the writing of this post.  And since there are no apps for showing affection, remember to hug someone and tell them how much you care about them.

Smartphone.net – Writing ~ http://www.smartphone.net/en/usd/search.html?order=18&qry=writing&=Search+now&cat=0&advs_language=8&rating_start=-1

Blackberry App World – http://appworld.blackberry.com/webstore/

iPhone – http://www.apple.com/iphone/apps-for-iphone/

My Writing Nook – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/my-writing-nook/id332503036?mt=8#ls=1

Writing Toolkit – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/writing-toolkit/id345490233?mt=8#ls=1

Writing Help – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/writing-help/id329400915?mt=8#ls=1

Basics Of Song Writing – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/iguides-basics-song-writing/id346212463?mt=8#ls=1

Writer’s Block Buster – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/writers-block-buster/id329389227?mt=8#ls=1

Professional Woman: Writing Assistant – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/professional-woman-writing/id329411570?mt=8#ls=1

Music Composer – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/music-composer/id302221931?mt=8#ls=1

Article Writing – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/article-writing/id328018783?mt=8#ls=1

Let’s Write Poetry – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/lets-write-poetry/id324539422?mt=8#ls=1

I Need A Muse – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/i-need-a-muse/id360166218?mt=8#ls=1

Short Story Writing – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/short-story-writing-a-practical/id367761127?mt=8#ls=1

Love Writing – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/love-writing/id362088247?mt=8#ls=1

Oxford American Thesaurus – http://ax.itunes.apple.com/us/app/oxford-american-thesaurus/id348773557?mt=8#ls=1

Reading vs Writing

Benjamin Franklin once said; “Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.”  When I first made it known I was heading toward freelance writing as a career, I was told to first learn how to read.  This was not said in the literal meaning of the word ‘learn’.  I was an avid reader as a child and adolescent.  I wanted to read.  When you are shy, reading can be your favorite pass time.  As a freelance writer, or a writer in general for that matter, you read – a lot.  Research means reading.  Luckily, I choose to write about things I love, like history.

I was scanning my Facebook this morning and my writer friend Adele had posted that she was awakened this morning by the delivery of Adam O’Riordan’s collection In the Flesh she had recently order.  Excited about receiving it, she set about reading straight away.  I have known people who read much like a chain-smoker smokes.  They are already picking up their next book in hand before they finish the last sentence of their current book.  I have never been one of those.

Before I go any further I would like to address one issue, writers who read and those who don’t.  I have known some great story tellers, but if you ask them to write the story in order to publish it, it is no where near as exciting as the story they tell.  This is similar to ‘writers’ who do not read.  It amazes me that there are those who desire to be writers but yet they don’t make it a habit to read.  In school they read the minimal amount to pass their classes.  A person would not climb a mountain without proper training and preparation.  So why do people think they can become a best-selling author if they haven’t prepared?  This excludes politicians and celebrities, they hire ghostwriters (Sarah Palin included).  Reading is training for a writer.

All great writers are habitual readers, but not every reader can write.  So which is the better choice, being a reader or a writer?  In my opinion the better choice is to be a reader.  *Waits for the phone to start ringing and the e-mails and IMs to begin following the vacuum-like suction from the gasps*  Reading brings about knowledge.  Knowledge creates informed individuals.  A few months ago there was a frenzy in the United States regarding the passing of President Obama’s Health Care Reform Bill.  Due to my illness acting up at the time, I was unable to write a post regarding that.  It seemed to me that so many people were voicing their opinions (which is supposed to be one of our constitutional rights) and yet they were uninformed of what this bill actually contained.  I actually went as far to say that those who voted on this bill had not even read it.  Yes, I have read the bill.  In fact I was in the process of re-reading it when it was passed to prepare for my blog post when my illness stepped in and halted the process.

In 1966, RIF (Reading Is Fundamental) was founded to motivate children to read.  Here in the area where I live, Dolly Parton began a program called Imagination Library which now reaches around the world.  In conjunction with that, the state of Tennessee has a program called Books From Birth.  Every baby born is given a book and then receives a new book on their birthday every year till age five.  Each of these programs and many, many more around the world are striving to improve and in some cases enact the habit of reading in children.

When I used to take care of children and would be there for their bedtime, reading was a habit.  I would have the children take their baths and prepare for bed and then meet me on the living room couch.  I would have one of their books or my complete works of Hans Christian Anderson and while they relaxed, I would read to them.  Reading to children will open their minds (imaginations) and pave the way to make them habitual readers.  There is one other side-effect to the practice of reading to children, it creates a bond like no other between the child and the reader (parent).

Read to your children.  Read for yourself.  I am not talking about reading the newspaper or what ever you may need to read for work.  Pick up a book or even a magazine and read for pleasure.  Lose yourself in your own imagination opened up within the pages of a well written book.  The rewards are immeasurable.  As for writing, those who write, write on!  Everyone else – READ!

You Think It’s Funny?

I did not plan on this post today.  I have another put together that I was going to post, then something happened.  I didn’t get much sleep last night as my heart was broken.  I woke up this morning the way I went to sleep last night, my heart aching and tears in my eyes.  I went to Writer’s Circle last night and the theme was April Fools Day.  I don’t do April Fools Day and therefore I didn’t write anything for it.  I read a few of my old standards as a friend had come to hear me read (he wanted to see if I sound like Dolly Parton).  Then another writer who had to pop out early asked me to read her April Fools piece simply called Fool.  I read it through and found we both share a similar view of things and I happily read the poem.  Most of the “antics” at Muse Harbor were in the form of puns (mostly from the comical host) and fitting limericks.

Later last night I was taken back in my feelings to when I was a kid.  My pulse was racing and I was quite flustered.  I made it through the event and then somehow, I made it through the night.  When I finally got out of bed and turned on the news I heard another disturbing story.  It was reported, for the second time in a week, that a teen had committed suicide due to teasing and bullying.  Everything from the night before and from my youth came flooding back to me.  It seems we don’t usually hear about it in the news that a child has been tormented and teased unless they deal with it outwardly by taking a gun and shooting those who have terrorized them.  We tend to ignore or sweep under the rug those who can take no more of the teasing (even if it is said to be done in fun) and they take their own life.

Jokes and pranks should not hurt or harm.  Comedy is the same.  But it seems more and more (especially in the United States) that the only way to have a laugh is to cause pain to someone else.  I try to just roll with it when others find they need to disrespect me or do things they know I do not like.  I do this because all my life those who cause me pain follow my complaints with “you need to lighten up” or “we are just having fun and joking”.  In other words, the person being tormented is accused of causing the pain because the terrorists mean it as a joke only.  Double whammy.  How is it funny when you cause another human being to cry themselves to sleep?  How is it funny if the one you torment has finally had enough and returns with a gun to make the pain (you) go away?  How is it funny when the one being tormented has finally stepped over the edge and they take away your source of entertainment by eliminating themselves?

Jokes and having fun should not be at the expense of someone else and their feelings.  Let me repeat that.  Jokes and having fun should NEVER be at the expense of someone else and their feelings.  If you see what you presume to be a weakness in another person, it is your duty as a human being to help that person to strengthen it and build them up.  But instead, you find it funny to use that weakness against them.  Just because they don’t like your abuse and terrorizing ways does not make them less a person then you.  Try complimenting and treating others with respect, the same respect you demand for yourself.  No, I do not like April 1st.  Too many fools think they have free license to torment and terrorize other human beings and those human beings are supposed to accept it and like it because it is in the name of fun and April Fools Day.

It’s Criminal

Lately my mind has been twisting and turning (the tornadoes that control my writing) with regards to criminal activity especially in regards to being presumed innocent in this country.  This morning I logged into Facebook to check status updates of those on my contact list.  Usually I go to the page and slowly scroll down skimming what others have said.  If something slaps me in the face, I read it in depth and then leave a comment or click that I like it or something.  This morning I hit two identical updates and not only had to leave comments, but had to make it my update as well.

“IMPORTANT !!!!!!!!!! DO NOT join the group that runs currently on Facebook with the title “becoming a father or mother was the greatest gift of my life” This is a group created by pedophiles whose aim is to access your photos!!!!!!! Please copy & paste this to your status and pass it round…… before someones photo are used inappropriately”

Reading this coupled with the ideas that have been flowing through my mind sent me reeling.  Many television programs run episodes regarding pedophiles, child abusers and child pornographers.  Think mainly about Law & Order: Special Victims Unit.  Having been abused as a child and then going on to work with kids who had been abused, these issues strike at my core.  I still cannot wrap my head around what would make someone feel the need or find pleasure in doing harm to those who cannot defend themselves.

This takes me to the whole “presumed innocent” idea in this country.  This makes me so ill.  How can someone be caught in the act and still be presumed innocent?  A person can be in a room with 20 other people and cameras recording all angles, take out a gun and murder one of those people.  Then according to the law, they allegedly murdered that person.  Presumed innocent?  Hogwash!!  In my series of novels I am writing about the heroine Samantha Neilson, the laws in the country are quite different.  The only time a person on trial is presumed innocent is when there is no evidence or circumstantial evidence against them.  Here, you can be caught in the act and have a mountain of evidence against you and you are still presumed innocent.

What about the innocence of the children who have been abused?  The laws in this area have been getting stricter, however, they are still not tough enough.  Those who steal the innocence from children should be treated at the same level as murderers.  They are, after all, murdering the innocence of the children.  And furthermore, the  non-physical scars left after the abuse is over will last the lifetime of that child.    Perhaps if the consequences are not only tougher, but actually carried out, then we would have fewer people committing the crimes.

I do not have the mind of a criminal.  I once went into a music store and they had such a large stock of sheet music, I felt like a kid in a toy store.  I inadvertently bought pieces I had not intended to buy and didn’t realize it till I was home and going through my cache.  I tried to return them to the store for a refund.  I was advised that there is a federal law which prohibits this.  Even after working years in Juvenile Justice, I received an education regarding the criminal element.  Apparently people buy music, take it and photocopy it and then return it for their money back.  In essence, they steal it.  It is always the innocent ones who have to pay for the crimes of the guilty.

This reminded me of my studies while in Juvenile Justice.  I remember reading about other countries and how they handled various criminal acts.  China got rid of their drug problems virtually over night by executing the drug dealers and rehabbing the known users.  Some countries cut off the hands of thieves.  One country would take a drunk driver and their family way outside their town (in the desert) drop them off and make them walk back home after posting their info in the town center.  These may seem harsh and some would say communistic, but the severity of the consequences detract people from committing the crimes.

One of the commenters to the aforementioned status update alluded to owning a very sharp knife to use in taking care of pedophiles.  Perhaps if pedophiles, child abusers, child molesters and child pornographers all received the death sentence there would be fewer to commit these heinous crimes.  I am also in favor of complete castration and permanent chastity belts.  This problem is ours and until we all work together to stop these, for lack of better wording, dirt-bags, pigs, scum of the earth the problem will only get worse.

Ignorance Isn’t Always Bliss

The assimilation of the internet into the daily lives of the vast population of the world affords the ability to explore the truths about our fellow human beings.  We have, literally, at our fingertips the ability to learn and understand cultures which are not our own.  So why is there still so much ignorance and hatred masquerading as intelligent personage?

On Thursday November 5, 2009, a mass shooting took place on an American military base on US soil.  It has been said that this is the worst shooting at an American military installation in history.  While no reports initially coming out of Fort Hood indicating any type of terrorist activity, people began posting on social networks (i.e.: Facebook, Twitter, etc.) that the shooter was Muslim and indicated it therefore had to be an act of terrorism.

Reports that I watched bespoke Maj. Nidal Malik had had several deployments and was working as a psychiatrist with many individuals returning from deployment with symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).  However, even the experts can miss or even supress symptoms of PTSD in themselves.

Ignorance regarding other religions and cultures leads to untoward hatred.  Ignorance regarding mental illness in general and PTSD specifically, leads to fear and ill-fated hatred.  Hence, all roads lead to hatred.

In the 1958 film South Pacific, the song “You Have To Be Taught” was sung by sung by two of the primary leads.  One an American, the other a Frenchman.  they had both fallen in love with someone outside their upbringing.  Trying to justify not following their hearts regarding love, the American and the American the Frenchman fell in love with discussed the hatred they were taught to have toward all those who are different from themselves and their American families.

I was raised more or less sheltered from the hatred in the outside world.  However, I knew that my family was prejudiced against blacks and anyone not of the ‘christian’ faith.  I was not overtly subjected to acts of hatred or even slurs, but I knew.  I even found myself as an adult having similar ideation.

Two years ago I really began to look at myself deeper.  I found myself calling people friend that had I known certain things about them before, I would not have gotten any closer to them than as an acquaintance.  The internet allowed me to get to know people from different religions, cultures and political affiliations without the bias of knowing these things.  I found that I get to know and enjoy people who are differnt from me.

The old cliche’ “nothing new under the sun” is so accurate it’s scary.  Small minded people have been stiring up fear and hatred in otherwise intelligent people since the beginning of time.  The problem today is the ease of information flowing out for our education.  In other words, there is NO excuse for ignorant fear and hatred in societies today.  I wonder if Maj. Malik’s name were Johnson or Greene, would people have been so fast to holler “terrorist”?  Today, education is bliss  ~~  ignorance is remiss.

This post was actually written 11/6/09, however, due to computer issues I was unable to publish it till now.