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 |  My Blog....Pearls of wisdom and/or foolish mutterings.....You be the judge.... |
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A little of this, a dash of that......epic mood swings.......A LOT of foolish mutterings and occasionally a few words of wisdom. It's a crapshoot. You never know what you'll find in here... |
I just finished an entry in a campfire creative. The campfire was originally entitled
Those of you who have followed my blog for any length of time have been witness to an occasional meltdown over my husband of thirty-two years. In fact, the last one was so vociferous that I changed it to private after less than a day. Feelings change, emotions ebb and flow. Saner heads prevail. Marriage is hard work. Ask anyone who has been married for any length of time and they will tell you the same thing. And sometimes, no matter how hard you work, it falls apart. I understand that and I'm not here to sling stones at anyone who is now, or ever has been, divorced. I've never been divorced, but I'm sure that it is a pain like no other. My own parents divorced after thirty years of marriage. Each of them went on to marry other people, but I know for a fact that both of them went to their graves still loving each other. They just couldn't live together. I don't know how they did it for thirty years, frankly. I read somewhere that marriage means falling in love with the same person over and over again. Personally, I've fallen in and out of love with my husband more times than I can count. And I feel certain that he would say the same about me, if he were asked. It's a choice we make, daily, to love that other person. Some days the choice is easy; some days it's damn near impossible. So why do we keep making that choice? Is he perfect? Of course not. Am I perfect? Of course I am; I'm an angel. (Hey, it's my fantasy, okay?) Seriously, of course, neither of us is anywhere near perfect. So what is it that keeps us making that daily choice to love each other, for better or for worse? Well, it's a lot of things. No one single thing can serve as an explanation for that choice. However, I believe the most compelling reason for me is that after thirty-two years, it's no longer just about me. I have a history with this man that extends even farther back then the thirty-two years we've been married. We were high-school sweethearts who got married with stars in our eyes and woke up to the cold reality of forever-after wondering what we had gotten ourselves into. Not knowing what else to do, we set about building a life together. We had children - four of them, two girls and two boys. We had completely different styles of parenting, but we managed to get those kids raised. Together, we experienced all the joys and the heartbreaks of guiding four strong-minded, independent children into adulthood. We laughed, we cried, we fought, and we celebrated. It was never easy, but it was worth it. Did we make mistakes? Certainly. That's why you teach your children to be forgiving. There were vacations and Christmases and graduations and family reunions. As a family, we attended church, funerals, weddings and school events. As parents, we were too strict, too lenient, clueless, suspicious, right, wrong, the worst and the best. Our children saw us succeed, fail, fall down. get up and keep going. They saw us broken-hearted and disappointed, but most importantly, they never saw us give up. Apparently, we taught them that lesson well, as our eldest son showed us once when we were ready to throw in the towel and get a divorce. He yelled at us, through tear-filled eyes, "No, you are not getting divorced. This is not what we do. We do not give up on each other. Now get in there and work this out, because you're not getting a divorce." Through all of that, we made a family history. Thirty-two years worth of memories - good ones, bad ones and many that have become family lore. Those are the ones that get told over and over again at family gatherings. Remember when we.....____________ (fill in the blank.) We have a wealth of memories to fill in the blank. Tears and laughter, the best and the worst. Now, we have four grandchildren. More memories to make, more history. Who knew I would fall in love with that man all over again every time I see him with one of those grandbabies? So, you see, it's not just about me or him. Why do we keep making that decision every day to love each other and work it out? In the words of a wise twelve -year old, "That's not what we do. We don't give up on each other." |
| No more sadness, no more anger. Yay! I have a friend who has always said about me that when I feel something, I feel it all the way to my bones. I guess she's right, because that's what it feels like - like my very bones are sad or angry. The thing is that it's a cumulative thing. I keep pushing all those feelings down, down, down instead of dealing with them and eventually my cup runneth over and then I write a bitch-on-wheels blog and boo-hoo all over the place and my carefully bundled bag of emotions spills out all over the place. I HATE it when that happens. And just why is that, I wonder? Why does it bother me so much for others to know that I have days when I'm weak and weepy and needy? And why do I want to pull the covers over my head and hide after that happens? Honestly, I know I'm not SuperWoman and that I'm not fooling anyone into thinking I don't have regular emotions like everyone else in the world. I know that in my head, but I think my heart still wants the world to believe that nothing gets to me and I'm big and brave and fearless. I really am brave and fearless (forget it, I'm not going to say 'I'm BIG' - no way!) And I'm okay with everyone else who I see as brave and fearless being vulnerable and having days when they can't save themselves, let alone the whole world. I just can't seem to swallow that pill for myself. It's that whole V-word thing - vulnerable. **shudder** But I know we are made to be inter-dependent on each other. That's what makes this whole crazy life of ours worth the living. If we never needed anyone else and no one else ever needed us, what a boring world we would live in. We'd all be like robots walking around, never interacting or forming bonds. It's the risk of putting ourselves out there - being vulnerable to another human being that brings the reward. Certainly it doesn't always bring rewards and we do take the chance we'll be hurt or disappointed when we allow ourselves to be vulnerable. It has happened to me, it has happened to all of you at one time or another. I know, however, that when I have foolishly put up walls and have tried to hide from the world to protect myself from being hurt or disappointed, those are the times when I've been the most miserable. It's like living a half-life. Hiding behind those walls is a drab, colorless existence. We keep ourselves safe from harm, but at what cost? I've noticed that as I've gotten older (and older, and older, and older...) I've become more willing to take bigger chances. The bigger the chance, the bigger the risk; but also the bigger the reward. For example, I love to sing. When I am in my car, the music is always on and I sing, sing, sing. It makes me happy (or sometimes, I indulge my sad bones and play every sad song I know, sing along with them and it makes me feel good and sad.) For years when I was younger, when I pulled up to a stoplight, I felt self-conscious and would stop singing until the light turned green and I took off again. As my wheels rolled, I started to sing again. Crazy, huh? I finally got old enough that I didn't care who caught me singing in my car, or what they thought about me. I sing my heart out now, whether I'm zooming along or stopped at a light. I don't care if someone thinks I look silly. It makes me happy. Today, I took it one step further. I am a singer, so I'm very vain about my voice. I know that when I have earphones on and can't hear my own voice as I sing, what I hear in my head is not what comes out of my mouth. On the off chance that someone might hear me and, God forbid, think to themselves, "That girl can't sing worth a hoot," I never allowed myself to sing out loud if I was listening to music with headphones. Well, not today. I was scrubbing floors at the house we're rehabbing, I had my IPod earbuds in and the music at ear-splitting levels and I let 'er rip. I sang my heart out. For hours. And I didn't care who heard me. My daughter and son-in-law came by with son-in-law's sister in tow. I was in the middle of belting out a Faith Hill song and was scrubbing away. I never heard them as they stood at the door giggling at me, until finally my daughter tapped me on the shoulder. All three of them stood there giggling... and I was okay with that. Then, later in the day, my husband told me, "Honey, I don't know if it's those earplugs or what but ... uh... you don't sound very good when you're singing. It doesn't even sound like you." I just laughed and said, "I know! It's the earplugs - I can't hear myself," and went back to singing. It was great - made the day fly by. I have decided my next giant step will be to not be afraid of having emotions. Yikes! This is fair warning that there may be more bitch-on-wheels blogs in the future. But I always seem to learn something when my facade cracks and I let it all spill out. I promise to share that part too. Deal? |
| The rose-colored glasses aren't quite back in place yet, but I've at least retired my bitch-mobile for the foreseeable future. Thank you to all my dear friends who offered such wonderful support - you all know who you are and I've responded to each of you individually. There is a great pool of wisdom in my circle of friends here and I value that more than you could ever know. True to my prediction yesterday, the bright glare of a new day has persuaded me to think better of words written in hurt and anger yesterday and I have changed that blog's viewing restriction to private. My original intention was to delete it, but I think it may be a good idea for me to hold on to it. As I mentioned to one of my dear friends in response to her comment, I rarely allow myself that kind of naked introspection, preferring instead to walk around in blatant disregard of certain disturbing aspects of my life. Sometimes I need to look at it, if only to anchor myself in reality. I'm still finding myself mired in sadness this morning, but at least the anger has abated and that's a good thing. For years, I believed, erroneously, that anger was preferable to other emotions, because there is an energy to it that feels like power. Even now, knowing that's not the case; knowing that anger doesn't give you power, instead, it robs you of power; I still fall prey to it at times. There's that adrenaline rush associated with a surge of anger and the self-righteous feeling of imperviousness; but it's all a lie. We don't control anger, it controls us. It doesn't make us strong; on the contrary, it weakens us. And in its purest form, given free reign, anger blinds us to the pain we inflict on others. It makes us unable to hear the greater truths - those of compassion, forgiveness, and empathy. Anger takes on a life of its own, marching ahead of us in a path of destruction that shows no mercy, gives no quarter, allows no room for error. Anger grasps at the ignoble parts of our character, pushing them to the forefront and igniting the fire of self-righteous superiority. Oh, I am intimately acquainted with anger; and with the quaking fear and sense of resignation of the victims upon whom it is inflicted. I know the quiet desperation of trying to live invisibly. I've seen the havoc an anger-driven life can wreak on a family. I've even tried to wear the cloak of anger, thinking it could protect me from vulnerability. But it never fit comfortably, hanging instead like a shroud of death. All of this I know, and yet there are times when I allow anger to hold me in its vise-like grip, even going so far as to curl up in its lap and let it absorb me. But never for long, by the grace of God, never for long. What always pulls me out of the grip of anger is the love and compassion of family and dear friends. I am saved by the innocence of my grandchildren, the joy of seeing my four amazing children make their way through life, the knowledge that they do so free of the hidden minefield of a childhood survived instead of lived, and the comfort of treasured friends who love me even when I decide to wear the cloak of anger. I have so much for which to be thankful. I forget that sometimes. A verse from the Bible comes to mind. "Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, pure and lovely, whatsoever things are of good report, if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things." Phillipians 4:8 KJV (paraphrase mine) And to paraphrase even more, I think it means, "Quit dwelling on the bad stuff and step away from the cloak of anger!" Got it (this time, anyway.) |
| Change is inevitable. It's all around us - our lives are constantly evolving, forever moving us in a new direction, pushing us toward that road not taken. Change can be exciting, or scary, or just downright depressing. There's a lot to be said for familiarity. It's comfortable, like a cozy old sweater, and fits well in all the right places. That's what Blogville has been to me for the last eighteen months. A warm, cozy sweater to wrap around me. I've snuggled down into the warmth and familiarity of Blogville on many, many occasions. For the last several months, Blogville has been in a state of flux. When I first noticed it, I viewed it as a temporary lull; blamed it on the advent of spring. I convinced myself things would return to "normal" soon enough. But, as time wore on and the changes began to become permanent, I felt a sense of mourning. It's official now. Five of my favorite bloggers, people I felt an immediate connection with when I first came to Blogville, real friends in an artificial world, have stepped through the looking glass and are off to find adventure in other virtual worlds. Each of us on this site has within us a compulsion to write and to be read. We write not because we can, but because we can't do otherwise. Every writer must pursue a path that hopefully will lead to the ultimate goal - that of being published, recognized, revered for the words we write. We are compelled to follow that path wherever it may lead. I understand the decisions of Nada  , David McClain , Carolina Blue . Debi Wharton and Eric Wharton  to move on from Blogville. I applaud the goals set forth by each of them and wish them only success on their new path. But I can't say I'll be okay with not seeing their names pop up on my favorites list every day. I'm not fine with their absence. I'm selfish when it comes to friends. I don't ever want them to go away. This is the kind of change I abhor. This is one of those situations where I want routine, I want predictability, I don't want change. This is the point where I'm supposed to insert an encouraging little ditty along the lines of "when one door closes, another one opens." Screw that. What I really want to do is lay on the floor, kick my feet and scream. I've been trying to compose some kind of gracious, wish-you-the-best farewell blog in my mind all day, so that I could come on here tonight and type out a witty, yet poignant ode to my disappearing comrades. Okay, I'm happy for them, but I'm not happy for me. Blogville won't be the same and frankly, that sucks. Thank goodness PlannerDan came back, Scarlett  is home and ready to blog about her adventures, and bugzy is baaaccck!! , Mrs. Whatsit , ShellySunshine , Auntynae , Paige Turner , Kåre Enga going to Montana  , Alrac Tabb , The Literary Penguin , Thomas , faithjourney, NOVAcatmando , Thea , lindamv, windac, Mel aka Mrs Tor , Rainbowapple , Special Kay , alfred booth, wanbli ska are still hanging in. And I did have a comment from partyof5 recently, so it looks like he may still be alive. If I left anyone out in my name-dropping frenzy, I apologize. It was inadvertent. It's just that I'm so busy feeling sorry for myself and being depressed - yeah, thanks a lot Nada , David McClain , Carolina Blue , Debi Wharton , and Eric Wharton . Don't worry about us. We'll all be fine. Just go on - chase your rainbows. I'll be here, like a faithful old dog, whining and crying while I wait for your possible return. Don't worry your pretty, little heads about me. No, no, no. *sniff, sniff* Now, if you'd like to read a gracious, well-written tribute and fond farewell to our friends who left me here bereft, wringing my hands and wailing, go to The Literary Penguin 's blog. He wrote the touching, meaningful blog I was too whiny to even attempt. |
| Today was another day of manual labor. Charles finished priming the overhang on the back patio and wiring the lights out there. And he finished caulking the woodwork around the patio door and all the trim on the porch. I caulked the trim in the master bedroom and cleaned and resealed the tile in both bathrooms. Then I made the mistake of trying the cleaner/resealer on a few squares of tile in the master bedroom and it looked so much better that I decided I need to do all the tile in the bedroom. Which of course led to my decision that I need to clean and reseal all of the tile in the whole house. I don't know what kind of clown lived there before or how he managed to get so much crap on the tile, but I've spent the last two days on my hands and knees with a scraper and a bottle of tile cleaner and a scrub brush erasing all of his "mistakes." Fortunately, the tile that I've finished looks fabulous. I'd hate to do all that work and have it look anything less than fabulous. So, I have my work cut out for me for the next several days. It will take a while to finish all the tile. The whole house is tiled, except for the new den, which will be carpeted. The really weird thing is that I'm starting to find out that I really like doing all of this. It's that immediate gratification thing. I love being able to see the results of my hard work immediately. So, maybe this manual labor thing isn't too bad after all. And it's a lot less boring than exercising.  For those of you who have asked to see before and after pictures (and the rest of you, too, of course!) I've uploaded them to Picasa. You can view it as a slideshow. Here's the link: http://picasaweb.google.com/kayspage/LaPorteHouseBeforeAndAfter?feat=directlink Oh, I almost forgot. We ordered the appliances today and they will be delivered on Wednesday. I can't wait to see how the kitchen looks with the appliances in it. I'll take pics of that and post those too. And my mad shopping skills paid off big-time - you wouldn't believe the awesome price I paid for the whole package of kitchen appliances. I am so good! |
| I spent the better part of the day today (and yesterday, too, for that matter) doing manual labor. And just in case there are those of you out there in my vast reading audience (if you say it, they will come) who do not know this, I was not born to do manual labor. I am not a manual labor type of girl. In fact, I will do just about anything to get out of having to engage in strenuous activity, even if it's fun. But certainly, strenuous manual labor is one the things I seek to avoid at all costs. But, sometimes a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do. Unfortunately, this is one of those times. The manual labor of which I speak consists of the final details in the house we are almost finished rehabbing. I'm also not a detail person. I hate details. I'm a big picture person. I'm a great starter and a terrible finisher. All the more reason for me to have serious issues with doing the work that remains to be done on that house before we can lease or sell it. Although I will complain often and loudly about having to do it, I have actually felt rather accomplished after my last two days of W.O.R.K. I painstakingly pried, scraped, finagled and cursed the old, mildewed and yucky caulk out of the crevices between wall and bathtub in the main bathroom. Then I compounded the whole tub, but in particular the edge where a sliding door was previously installed. I have to say that I'm very proud of my work. But I'm most proud of the fact that I am still mobile after two days of that back-breaking work. Those visits to the bone cracker and his magical massage therapist must be paying off! Now, I'm anxiously looking forward to completing all of those afore-mentioned hated details so we can have an open house. I think I'm going to have 8x10's printed of how the house looked when we bought it and put them in a binder, not because anyone will necessarily be interested in seeing them, but because every time I see those pictures of the before and after, I am just blown away. It's absolutely amazing. Oops, gotta go. Grandkids are here..... |
| Admittedly, I may have gotten a little carried away last night in my Facebook blast. After I ranted and raved, I went straight to Facebook, determined to deactivate my account. I was in the process, and just about to hit the "are you sure?" button and my friend Debra IM'd me. I took the time to chat with her and while I was doing that, I got a friend request from someone whose name rang no bells whatsoever, but she said she knew me from West Texas and she even knew what church I went to there. Hmmmm. Well, I had to know who she was, so I accepted her request and decided to wait until this morning to do the dirty deed of deactivation. Lo and behold, this morning I had a message from her with her real-world name from back then and cha-ching! I remembered who she is. I just sent her a long chatty email and am anxiously awaiting her response. To save my sanity (and yours) I deleted all the "friends" whose tiresome posts leave me wanting to kill myself, thus sparing all of you from another venomous rant. I feel better already. |
| Samuel B. Kent served as a judge for the U.S. District Court for the Southern District of Texas in the single-judge Galveston Division covering Brazoria, Chambers, Galveston, and Matagorda Counties from 1990 to 2009. He was nominated by George H.W. Bush on August 3, 1990, to a seat vacated by Hugh Gibson, confirmed by the United States Senate on September 28, 1990, and received his commission on October 1, 1990. On May 11, 2009, Judge Kent was sentenced to 33 months in prison in a sex abuse case for lying to investigators about sexually abusing two female employees. Dick DeGuerin. Kent's attorney, said the judge was retiring from the bench because of a disability—which would allow him to keep receiving his $169,300-a-year salary. Retired federal judges collect their full salaries for the remainder of their lives; judges who resign get nothing. That did not satisfy the leaders of the House Judiciary Committee, Reps. John Conyers Jr., (D-Mich.) and Lamar Smith (R-Tex.), who demanded that Kent resign immediately or face possible impeachment. Judge Kent submitted his resignation on June 2, 2009, that will take effect on June 1, 2010. He will receive his full salary of $169K for the next year. Well, whoop-ti-freakin'-doo. How nice for him. Can someone please explain this to me? So, when does he do his 33 months of jail time? Is he going to be in jail for the next year while he is collecting his salary? Is this not the most ridiculous story you've ever heard? If he was sentenced to 33 months of jail time, shouldn't that automatically disqualify him as a federal judge? And that's not even taking into consideration the fact that he apparently sexually assaulted two female employees. Seriously. WTF?? What kind of crap is that? He resigns so he won't be impeached, but makes his official resignation date a year in the future and that's acceptable? Who decides that? Because I think whoever approved that shit should be impeached too. Would any normal person even have the balls to suggest something like that? No, of course not. Only someone who knows the law well enough to circumvent it would come up with something so ... what's the word I'm grasping for here?... ludicrous? insane? laughable? I guess the only people who really have to pay for their crimes are the regular Joes. If you're a politician or a celebrity, the rules can be twisted into whatever kind of maze you can come up with. Man! This just pisses me off. UPDATE: As it turns out, he will be serving time while he is still receiving pay for being a federal judge for the next 12 months. He reports to prison on June 16 to begin serving his sentence. And the plea bargain he got was a really sweet deal. He plead guilty to the 6th count of the indictment - the one with the least severe consequences, that of lying to a congressional committee. In exchange for his guilty plea to that count, the other five counts in the indictment - of aggravated sexual abuse - were all dismissed. He got a pretty sweet deal, if you ask me. |
| Thank God! May is finally over - I thought it would never happen, but finally, here we are. The first day of June! My excitement is diminished only slightly by the fact that it is also the first day of hurricane season, but not even that can get me down today. In honor of the passing of May - and may I just say "goodbye and good riddance; don't let the screen door hit you in the ass on the way out, and you look good in the rear view mirror," I treated myself to a day of ME, ME, ME, ME AND ONLY ME!! It was fabulous. First, I went to the bone cracker and had a terribly painful, totally wicked deep tissue massage. OH. MY. GOD. That woman hurt me. And when I say hurt, I mean she almost had me crying several times during that hour, but if I could have stayed for another hour, I would have done it in a heartbeat. At one point, when she was attacking a knotted muscle in my neck, I swear I thought I was going to throw up. Seriously. But, when I saw the receptionist again, I told her, "Whatever you do, make sure that you schedule me with her every time." Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Next, I saw the bone cracker for a bit of neck and back cracking and a delightful conversation regarding a fascinating article called "I Am Jill's Brain" that I read in Reader's Digest in his waiting room. If you get a chance, read that article. It's in the June issue and truly, it is fascinating. There was also a side article citing different reasons for memory loss, one of which is a severe deficiency of vitamin B12, which, according to the article, can look a lot like Alzheimer's. You must be asking yourself why I find this so interesting. Good question. Firstly, just because the "I Am Jill's Brain" was just a damn good article that taught me things I never knew; like where memories are stored (to begin with - in the hippocampus, and later in the cerebral cortex,) and which part of the brain holds on to the emotional part of a memory (that would be the amygdala,) and last, but not least, the fact that memories can indeed be implanted. If someone reads or hears many accounts of the event, it is possible for the "memory" to worm its way into the neural circuits and it will actually be recalled by the person as a "memory." Which has to be the reason why my youngest daughter swears that she remembers her dad making her eat throw-up after she tossed back up some hated vegetable we made her eat at dinner one night. That so totally did not happen, but she probably remembers it that way since her dad always said to her as she was gagging and doing the whole Drama Queen thing, "If you throw that up, you're gonna eat it." But I digress. Secondly, the B12 thing was interesting because since I started taking those liquid Super B complex vitamins, I thought my memory had gotten better, but wasn't sure if I was imagining things or just have a run of good memory. Apparently, the Super B complex is doing its job. The good bone-cracking doctor also gave me some intriguing nuggets of info about insulin and vitamin D. But that's a whole other blog. After the massage, the bone-cracking and the lesson on the brain and memory, I had a pedicure and had my nails done. Ahhhh, this is the life. By then, I was feeling so good that I went to the grocery store to get some food for my poor, neglected family (just kidding, they're not really neglected) and it's 5:40 and dinner has been ready since 5:00! Woo hoo! Have I ever mentioned how NOT domestic I am? I hate to cook almost as much as I hate to clean. I blame that on my time in Venezuela when I had a live-in maid. It ruined me forever. So, this was a very nice day and it's made even better by the fact that it is a JUNE day! Happy June 1st to everyone!! |
| Is it just me or does this month seem like the everlasting gobstopper of all months? Good grief! I keep looking at the calendar and it's still May! Not that May is such a bad month - it's not. But it just should be over already, for Pete's sake. And who is Pete, anyway? So, we're only days away from hurricane season. You can imagine how thrilled I am about that. Charles and I were talking yesterday about a conversation he had with our oldest daughter last weekend. She told him that she and her husband had been trying to decide what area of Houston to move to if they buy a new house. A lot of the conversation centered around which areas would be a good place (or a bad place) to be in the event of another hurricane. Interesting how after twenty years of living here and not giving a serious thought to the possibility that a hurricane could strike and wipe us off the face of the earth, suddenly it's at the forefront of everyone's mind. I hate that. Talk about a wake-up call. A needed one, I'm sure, but still, I hate the way my perception of the security of the world I live in has become so... tentative. I've loved this place for more than twenty years and suddenly, I don't want to be here anymore. And that pisses me off. I know it's a knee-jerk reaction and probably, if we have a few years with no hurricanes, I'll feel differently. I don't know. It's almost as if I feel betrayed. Which I know is ridiculous, but it's still how I feel. That I've been betrayed by the place I've called home for more than twenty years and it can't ever be the same again. I don't feel the same sense of permanence I've always had here. I want to run away. I think I've been struggling with these feelings since that day in April when Charles and I took the ferry over to Bolivar and saw all the destruction there. I remember saying to Charles, "Things will never be the same again." Of course, I was talking then about Crystal Beach and all the communities on Bolivar Peninsula. But I think it went deeper than that. I just didn't realize it at the time. That sense of restlessness I've been feeling? I think it's tied to that belief that 'things never will be the same again.' Maybe I wouldn't be feeling this way if I was younger. The boundless energy and optimism of youth could surely defeat this feeling of inevitability. But I don't have the benefit of that energy or optimism. What I have is a certainty that I don't want to live on a hope and a prayer anymore. I want permanence, I want to know that what I build or create, the place I lay my head down at night, my home; I want to know that it is a haven that I can depend on. There's a commercial that plays regularly on one of the local television stations. It starts out with the words, Hurricane Ike changed our lives forever... I just realized that I believe that. I don't know how that belief will play out in my family's life. I just know that it will be the impetus for change. |
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I'm so far right the Tea Party looks like a bunch of hippies!