Just to let you know that I am still around and still writing. You can find my novel Shira at Scrambled Sage.

Chapters are posted Monday and Friday.

I wish a happy Memorial Day to all those who have served and are still serving in the armed forces. I am ending this with my husband’s favorite Vietnam War protest song. My husband did three tours in Vietnam as a young man. I wish good healing to the Vietnam and Iraqui war vets. It is a long road back.

War…huh…yeah
What is it good for?
Absolutely nothing
Uh ha haa ha
War…huh…yeah
What is it good for?
Absolutley nothing…say it again y’all
War..huh…look out…
What is it good for?
Absolutely nothing…listen to me ohhhhh

WAR! I despise,
‘cos it means destruction of innocent lives,
War means tears to thousands of mother’s eyes,
When their sons gone to fight and lose their lives.

I said WAR!…huh…good God y’all,
What is it good for?
Absolutely nothing…say it again
War! Huh…What is it good for (Edwin sings ‘Wohh oh Lord’ over the top)
Absolutely nothing…listen to me

WAR! It ain’t nothing but a heartbreaker,
War. Friend only to the undertaker.
Ohhh! War is an enemy to all mankind,
The thought of war blows my mind.
War has caused unrest within the younger generation
Induction then destruction…who wants to die? Ohhh

WAR! good God y’all huh
What is it good for?
Absolutely nothing…say it say it SAY IT!
WAR!…uh huh yeah hu!
What is it good for?
Absolutely nothing…listen to me

WAR! It ain’t nothing but a heartbreaker,
War! It’s got one friend that’s the undertaker.
Ohhhh! War has shattered many a young man’s dream,
Made him disabled, bitter and mean,
Life is much too short and precious to spend fighting wars these days.
War can’t give life, it can only take it away!

Ohhh WAR! huh…good God y’all
What is it good for?
Absolutely nothing…say it again
War!…huh…woh oh oh Lord
What is it good for?
Absolutely nothing…listen to me

War! It ain’t nothing but a heartbreaker,
War. Friend only to the undertaker…woo
Peace lovin’ understand then tell me,
Is there no place for them today?
They say we must fight to keep our freedom,
But Lord knows there’s got to be a better way.

Ohhhhhhh WAR! huh…good God y’all…
What is it good for?…you tell me!
Say it say it say it saaaay it!
War! good God now…huh
What is it good for?
Stand up and shout it…NOTHING

Source: http://www.lyricsdownload.com/edwin-starr-war-lyrics.html

There are three parts of a woman’s life: girl, mother, and crone. I have wondered many times if I had lost part of the woman’s path because I hadn’t given birth. –yes, I am one of those blessed with childlessness.

Funny, when I was young and healthy enough to bear children, this aspect of my life didn’t worry me. I was travelling with the U.S. Navy. I was seeing the world. My boyfriend (now husband) had one grown daughter and a teenager (both adults now). Also, the more my mother pushed the idea of children, the more I pushed back at her. She already had two daughters giving her grandchildren… why did I have to do it too?

But, as I look at it now, while other girls went through the ordinary path of girl, mother, crone, I went a very different way: mother, girl, crone.

Now don’t look at me funny. When I was five, my job was to make breakfast, dress my sisters, and go to school. My mother would sleep in … she was probably pregnant– again. By the time I was ten, I was the family cook. Plus, I helped in the house. I learned early to slip out of the house, breakfastless I might add, so that I could have some free play time. I wouldn’t come back until dinner time. My mother would refuse to feed me dinner because I had not come when she called.

Sometimes I would steal bread from the kitchen so that I wouldn’t go hungry. As I grew older, I became the housekeeper and teacher. I remember once my mother tell me that she had brought me into this world and that she would take me out. I believed her. Her face was red and her arm was strong.

By fourteen, I was raising my brother. My mother could not deal with a fussy baby. He wasn’t colicky. He just wanted to be held.

“He’s yours,” she told me. I fed him, changed his diapers, and sang him to sleep. He was like a lost baby. Mother wouldn’t even pick him up until he was three or four. She had a fit when he would run from her.

So I was mother first.

When I left home, I played.

I became a girl.

I joined the Navy… I had fun. This period lasted from the time I was about 24 until I became ill at 41. It was good.

So now I am learning to be the crone.

I am grouchy and happy… at the same time. I cackle and cry. I hope that this part of my life stabilizes soon.

What is the way of the girl? I don’t know. I feel like a stranger in a strange land of femininity. I don’t belong. But, the way of this girl? I have learned courage, persistence, and hope.

On May 10th, 2008 I had one of those days when I emotionally went up, up, up and then crashed. If I had ever experienced bi-polar disease, I would think it would feel like this. Let me explain.

My hubby and I go for a walk in the evening to pickup the mail in the post boxes near the apartment main office. It is a time for me to stretch my legs. We talk about our day. The hubby tries not to upset me with work related stuff. I try not to upset him with the antics of our next door neighbor. We always make a stop near the Hawk tree.

For the last few weeks a red-tail hawk pair have been raising a couple of chicks. There were three, but one fell out of the nest during one of our high winds. It was saved, we think, by a guy who claims to save wild birds and animals. I don’t know how he can do it without a license and in a small apartment. Because I made a brouhaha, the manager told him to send the chick to a wild-life refuge. But, that is another story. Let’s just say that he did it.

Read the rest here.

Yesterday, my hubby and I were at the “Broken Wing” exercise as part of the radio communications portion of the exercise. We don’t usually get involved with these things except my hubby took some vacation time for it. And, since I have had to deal with disease, it as been a long time since I have been involved.

So it was fun. Just like my hubby always says, “if the exercise doesn’t fail then we weren’t pushing it to the limit.” I think that means we are trying to see how well we do now before we are in an actual incident.

Broken Wing exercise was an airport/medical exercise that must be done at least every three years. From what I gathered from our simulator, the hospitals were trying to get signed off on their ability to handle an emergency with and around their regular duties. For an exercise, it went well.

So I didn’t have the time to talk about … anything. We were writing an after action report (my views on what could have gone better) and then we were so tired that I fell asleep right away. Also, my body was sore, sore, and sore.

Next week, I will have some contemplation and reflection time. This week was more physical.

Monday Poetry Train: Hop On!

A little German song
Red, white, and green: La Casa serves lunch and
dinner under a canopy, under
the skies of Pfalzish Germany—the land
of standing pines, stormy skies, and thunder.
The Kellnerin can, in three languages,
ask what you’d like to eat—Was moechten Sie
essen?—so you can order. A jewel:
rare blue skies beckon. Remember the sea?
Sun, air, skies, and petunias smoothly blend
with salmon, dill sauce, rice, and salad in
a cornucopia; its ascending
flavors please mortals, gods, and cherubim.
     What better way to please the sens’ous heart,
     then feed body, mind, and soul a la carte?

This poem was written in a land far away, long ago before my illness. It brings back good memories of writing and eating.

Yesterday I had one of those days when I went up, up, up and then crashed. If I had ever experienced bi-polar, I would think it would be like this. Let me explain.

My hubby and I go for a walk in the evening to pickup the mail in the post boxes near the apartment main office. It is a time for me to stretch my legs. We talk about our day. The hubby tries not to upset me with work related stuff. I try not to upset him with the antics of our next door neighbor. We always make a stop near the Hawk tree.

For the last few weeks a red-tail hawk pair have been raising a couple of chicks. There were three, but one fell out of the nest during one of our high winds. It was saved, we think, by a guy who claims to save wild birds and animals. I don’t know how he can do it without a license and in a small apartment. Because I made a brouhaha, the manager told him to send the chick to a wild-life refuge. But, that is another story. Let’s just say that he did it.

Anyway, we watch the hawks fly in with small mice and other meat that they stuff down the chicks mouths. The chicks work on their steely-eyed stairs, and we laugh because they are not as scary as their parents. The parents watch indulgently.

So after that experience we were walking around the apartment complex, I was in the clouds when I heard a finch sing a mating song. It was beautiful and liquid. It almost stopped my heart. In one second, it stopped. My eye followed a Western Scrub Jay to the ground. It had stabbed the finch through the neck and was on the poor bird, ready to stab it again.

I yelled. We ran to the bird. My hubby tried to stop me. I could see this poor finch who had just been singing a beautiful song with its throat ripped out. I could hear air going in and out of the bird’s throat. Other than the noise, the bird was motionless. My hubby looked at me helplessly.

I could do nothing for the bird. I did the most merciful thing that I could do. I walked away. The scrub jay came back and took the bird. I prayed that its death was quick.

We had feed the birds all winter, including the scrub jays. Scrub jays love peanuts. The house and purple finches loved sunflower and millet seeds. The gold finches love thistle seeds. We had a no-kill zone.

I knew that scrub jays would kill other birds. I knew that if they were feeding chicks or if they were annoyed they would tear apart other birds. But, it hurt.

My hubby kept saying that he was sorry, so sorry. I knew he was… Except for the last few weeks we have been feeding a little finch with neural problems. We weren’t sure if the finch was a he or a she. We had seen another finch do a mating dance around it. It would sit on our balcony and watch the world go by. This little bird had a head twitch. My hubby would smile and tell me that our little bird was talking to its friends in its head. It would sleep on the floor of our balcony. I would see it in the morning.

The little finch seemed to get better, until I heard it sing yesterday morning– then I knew … it was a little male. It seemed just a little beat behind the others.

When the scrub jay landed at my feet, I knew it had killed my little damaged friend. I couldn’t quit crying. The tears leaked … I cried until I fell asleep.

So let me tell you of life and death. It is harsh. It is quick. One time I was the little bird in the clutches of a predator. When the claws pierced my kidneys, I went numb. Even though I was in pain, more pain that I had felt in my entire life, I couldn’t feel it. It is true. There is only so much pain a body can endure.

It was my hubby who pulled me back. It took me more than three years to come back. But, I couldn’t help the little bird. It was too far gone.

I have always had an overdeveloped conscience.  My parents used to whip my sister and she would laugh at them. They only had to show me the belt, spoon, or rubber hose and I would already be cringing. Ok, maybe this example shows that I have an overdeveloped imagination not conscience.

After reading Sideon’s channel in my head, I was relieved. I am not the only one that has obsessive thoughts that roll around in that brain cavity of mine. Since I have been on prednisone and chemo, it has been much harder to ignore it.

For instance, we were staying at my brother’s house while I was taking some really bad treatments for my disease (cytoxan-cychlophosphamide). My brother had a baby monitor to monitor his two-year old. Believe me, that kid needed to be monitored. He was a boy … a real boy who loved to pull things apart and climb on things. Our room was next to this boy’s room.

When I was feeling better (at the beginning of treatment), the baby monitor wouldn’t bother me. It had a very small range. But, when I was at the point where I needed more medication, I would begin to hallucinate about that baby monitor. I would think that my brother and his wife were listening on our conversations. I would wake my husband at 3 a.m. to tell him that we needed to run away. I would have such dark thoughts that would go round and round in my head.

Well, the ER doctor thought I needed to see a psychiatrist. It spooked him. But, my doctor knew what was going on… I was having a reaction to the prednisone. So he dropped it. Soon I was back to normal, my channels all on go. I could control myself.

However, just a little secret … the only difference between now and then is that I know that these thoughts are daydreams and fantasies. When I was on the medication (and believe me I am still on the medication for my disease only on lower dosages), I couldn’t tell the difference between fantasy and reality.

So what is in my channels lately? Well, there is this beautiful male nibbling my ear lobe, and other parts that I don’t want to describe. There is a beat-up red car that takes me to a mechanistic world run by human souls, and an urge to make money. One small part of me is urging me to win a lottery or become a millionaire in a hollywood sinister way. I can feel a camera over my shoulder, recording every moment of my life: my travails, my travels, my joys.

I was going to say something profound about how all writers have this ability. Maybe that’s why so many of us are alcoholics or drug addicts… or ill in new and unusual ways. Maybe…

I just finished writing a memoir about my uncle and Halloween. My uncle and I are closer in age, ten years, than my uncle and father, about eighteen years. Unfortunately, I knew him best when he was a teenager. He assured me a couple years ago that he is a much different man at fifty some-odd.

So instead of posting this again on this blog, here is a link to my Halloween Memories.

I would like to know what you think about it.

Monday Poetry Train: Hop On!

Oops I forgot. Please look at my poem on the right–The Goldfinch Promise.

Cyn