Don't tell PETA

This chicken was hanging around our house for a few days but I guess I scared it away forever when I started trying to take its picture. It had been eating sunflower seeds from our feeders and had even been up our porch in the chairs.

The small Evergreen you see to the side is a live tree we had for Christmas 2004. It’s planted in Aaron’s memory; we call it our Aaron Tree, and the now thriving tree has survived, despite our ignorance in caring for it for a while. We nearly lost it a couple of times. One time I called the Extension Agent and he came and offered some advice but I could tell he had little hope for it.

Greg and I thoroughly enjoyed our 14th anniversary and got quite a bit done for Christmas. It comes at my husband fast. Our anniversary is Dec. 14th, then Christmas, New Years, Lisa’s BD and my birthday, all within a 2 payday period! Poor Greg!

I’ve been working on Christmas cards and wrapping stocking items in tissue paper. Greg goes all out, measures, uses a razor blade to cut it exactly and then puts each little measured piece of tape in place. He puts a bow and actually hollered at Cady over her help! Cady is Greg’s baby and she was horrified. He made up to her and finished his wrapping, as intense as ever.

I go the other way. I’m wrapping in tissue paper to protect from peeky eyes, but it goes into a stocking, a bag, or sometimes I can talk Greg into wrapping a box for me. Often he rescues the package or the ink cartridge or the roll of storage tape I have myself wrapped in from my hands and re-fixes what I’ve just fixed.

One year I did wrap presents in an obsessive-compulsive manner. Aaron’s first Christmas in Panama (my first was the invasion) I wrapped each present elaborately, uniquely and spent probably an hour on each gift (sometimes being an only child is sweet!) adding candy canes or tiny stockings, scissor-curled ribbon, each tag was either from Dad or Mom or Santa or the North Pole. He did not have one present that was dressed as any other. It took a few times, but after various trials at tearing little holes into the back of the packages, I caught on. The lad was trying his best to see any part of the present he could. I’ve not spent a great deal of time wrapping since then! LOL! It never changed. He didn’t even hide it that well that he was looking high and low. That was the same year I made all kinds of food. Pies: mincemeat, pumpkin, and some other kind I can’t think of right now. We cooked the turkey and had all the trimmings and invited over some friends, SFC Washington and his family. Daniel was the name of their son and he was Aaron’s age. It was a good Christmas but I never got used to Christmas in Panama in the sweltering heat. It seemed false. Probably because I missed my extended family so much. Be sure to pray for our troops who are far from family and of course, their families too.

I know everyone is busy right now. Semper Fi Mom’s 2nd son who is stationed in North Carolina is home in Lubbock, Kayla is with her Aunt Karen in Brownfield and Lisa and Roy are out shopping. Ray is busy mailing packages from Okinawa and I’m about to get back to the tissue paper thing, so stay safe out there!

Semper Fi,
De’on

Numbers, names, $$'s and sense

We’ll Never Forget??

Once a year I have a “grave blanket” placed upon Aaron’s grave in Amarillo. Since I’m five hours away, I’m forced to deal with a florist. Florists, to me, are much like funeral directors and life insurance salesmen. “Trading” with them reminds me of an old military acronym: BOHICA (Bend Over Here It Comes Again).

I have the blanket placed upon my son’s grave on December 11th for several reasons. Aaron, my blanket-baby, was supposed to be married December 11, 2004 and instead gave his life on April 26, 2004. Too, December is freezing in Amarillo and usually it’s best to visit in the warmer months. Christmas was Aaron’s favorite time of year, and finally, Doug, my son’s dad, takes care of the flowers for the remainder of the year since he’s out at Memorial Park once a week to “visit Aaron’s marker” as he says.

I begin the process two weeks ahead of time. It’s a weird thing to be on the phone and perkily ordering flowers for your son’s grave at Christmas in the first place.

Once we finally get everything straight over the phone (though last year we never did), after I explain the size, explain that I want it natural, consisting mostly of pine needles, a few pine cones, and please go easy on the red bows, and yes, I want the large one, it should cover the grave, after I go through giving his name, his location (to a degree—I never go and look up numbers), I make sure they understand Lance Corporal, Iraq, and that even though our last names are different, I am indeed this child’s mom. At last the transaction is complete and within minutes my Visa is charged somewhere in the neighborhood of $150. This year it was $173, 4 or 5 something and a few odd cents. As I said, I don’t look up numbers, but just get the general gist or sense of things—even money.

Yesterday I called the florist and asked if once they placed the blanket if they might take a photo and e-mail it to me. Her brisk and condescending reply went something like this. “No. We don’t have that capability.” While row after row of costly wreath is going through my head—I do remember searching the florists’ website, but yet they don’t have this capability?? Perhaps they’re like Mom and haven’t moved into this decade’s technology, I’m thinking to myself, but no, that’s not it.

“Believe me, you are not the first person to ask this. We do not have time to take pictures of all that we deliver. Our deliverymen are on a crazy schedule,” Kitty says.

I feel a little bruised but then hope rises. I get a call from Texas. His name is Juan and he’s the supervisor for the grounds at Memorial Park in Amarillo. “Yes, Ma’am, the delivery boy is standing here. He says he has a wreath for Aaron Miller.”

Once again, I repeat his rank and name.

“Oh, yes, Ma’am, I know exactly where Lance Corporal Austin’s grave is.” I’ll get it handled.

He also said he’d send me a photo, but I don’t have it yet. I’m hoping it was my Texas accent mutilating my own e-mail address over the phone that has prevented its arrival, but nonetheless, I don’t feel quite up to finding out different.

Be kind this Christmas. So many of us still need to believe.

Virgie Bell's View: To still remember

Mom sent this post to me yesterday, so I apologize for its lateness, but still wanted to get it up. Thanks, Mom! –dm

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I wasn't there that day. In fact I was only about 5 years old on Dec. 07, 1941. The day that lives in infamy and a day we remember the horrible and tragic attack on Pearl Harbor and those veterans whose numbers are so few. So many died as bombs and bullets rained down on them. I think it was on a Sunday.... I know it was in the morning and it was without a doubt one of the worst attacks against my country and the entire free world.

There were 2300 casualties that day. Young innocent people. Many of the casualties were civilians. Bombs and bullets do not recognize military from non-military. They do not differentiate young from old nor male from female. I suppose one might call such an attack as truly non partisan. Certainly it is indiscriminate. To my knowledge, none of the victims were guilty of any sort of crime. Oh, we had our folks in Washington screaming that we did not want to enter a war that was not our own, it was someone else's problem, let them fight it out.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt was the President and the Congress was controlled by the Republican Party. Polio had made our president become a victim the wheelchair. Congress tied his hands and my parents became members of the Democratic Party. We were still trying to come out of the Depression. We had bread lines all over our country and Hoover had been the third Republican president. My parents were always patriotic. This country and our freedom was number one for them. Our life too precious to let the GOP and its inactions polarize us.

My daddy came from a family that was blessed with plenty and my mother came from a family that was dirt poor. Two completely different backgrounds, but that old magic between boy and girl got them together and they loved each other the rest of their lives. The marriage did not last, but the love they found together never stopped. I remember the days then when my parents were young. The war was very much a part of my existence. We children were just little stair steps, one brother 18 months older than me, one 18 months younger. I was a boy’s idea of the perfect girl. I could climb trees and scuffle and I was no sissy. No one could accuse me of that. You can walk pretty tall and be mighty brave if there are three of you. We had our role models. Women took care of the factories. Rosie the Riveter was born into this generation. Our men were in the air, on the sea and on the land everywhere. WACs, Waves, nurses, and female welders followed.


Everyone was jamb-packed in those days. Los Angeles was one of the great shipping points for my country. We took anything we could get. We had three rooms and a bath. We had more room than some and less than others. No one thought anything about it. Our world was gripped in a war on terror. Our people had one aim. That was to survive or die. That was it. Patriotic? You bet. We stood shoulder to shoulder on that part and nothing could get in the way. So really in a way I was there on that day. The day of infamy. I don't remember anything before that time, but I was there then just as I am here today. The loss of life during that time was untold millions. The cost nearly crippled us. A Depression pretty much uses up every spare thing.

We come from the stock of families that dumped the piano beside the trail in order to take hammers and nails, and yes, guns. They fought terror then and we have never quit. We will always have this war. We have always had our officials in Washington D C in some kind of grid lock. Some are more one thing another thing. That will never change, but in looking back, it’s my opinion that the really wealthy are the best leaders. Those like FDR, from American royalty. He was my man. I cannot remember my life before him. I remember the day we lost him. It was a crushing blow to me and I was not yet ten years old. He never had to worry about an unpaid bill. He was able to buy the very finest of whatever, but for some reason he decided to help the poor people out of the Depression. He knew how because he knew how to handle an entire nation. We came so close to losing my country. We stood behind our military and we did whatever it took to do so.

In the end, we finally were capable of saving the lives of our military after the blood of our brave soldiers, our navy. Our air force was spread all over the planet. We did this after we developed the atomic bomb and only after we were able to bomb two cities in the country of those who attacked us and after we removed many citizens of the Japanese community. No, war calls for extreme measures and once we were attacked we fought back and our warriors were the farmers, the factory workers. We turned the plows into swords and gave life and limb. A complete generation was lost, leaving behind mothers and fathers, husbands, wives and children. We did not want war, we did not seek war, but when war came to us, we pulled together and we fought the fight of our lives so that freedom could reign. Can we do less for those who fight for our freedom against the terrorists of today’s world where even now the enemy walks among us, lives next door, in the shadows.

Today I remember Pearl Harbor. I remember 9/11. In my heart I know there is one that will stand and fight. He is a proven leader and he has seen firsthand the same thing in New York. To me there is no greater calling than for my leader to be willing to protect my freedom. I will leave it to others to judge his personal life. I just know he was there when our nation needed him.

I am for the G Man, for Rudy, for America's mayor. He does SUPPORT THE TROOPS!

"The Value of Our Vulnerablility" by Raymond Keen

My friend, The Poet, has graciously agreed to share this with us. Thanks, Ray! A brief bio follows his essay.

One of the most striking aspects of our North American Culture is the incentive it holds out for us to be invulnerable. This incentive is not consciously and clearly presented to us, yet is such a pervasive part of our culture that we succumb to its pressure without realizing it. Our resulting invulnerability seems to develop from an almost exclusive emphasis on the pursuit of mastery, efficiency, and control as the only valid signs of excellence. We are left with the result of well-managed, smooth-running lives that “work.” We achieve successful lives, and our security and acquisitions become material proof of this achievement.

In contrast, we have human suffering and vulnerability. Beneath our facade of efficiency and competence is our woundedness and our mystery. It is understandable that this vulnerability has never been very popular. Maybe the “vulnerable look” of a new Hollywood star can be engaging and may draw the crowd, but being or feeling vulnerable oneself is certainly not something to which one aspires. Indeed, it is the very essence of being vulnerable that it claims us in spite of our best intentions. If one were to aspire to vulnerability, its “achievement” would become just another version of good old mastery and success. Authentic vulnerability, unlike some other human states of being, is not “marketable.” To attempt to sell our vulnerability is to “close the wound,” and once again become invulnerable.

There is nothing new in the idea that there is value in our vulnerability. It is an ancient theme richly expressed in the roots of Western thought – found in both Old and New Testaments, and in the philosophy and tragic theater of the Greeks. It is the theme of vulnerability making for greater humanness, essential humanness.

Consequences of rejecting our vulnerability

The consequences of rejecting our limits and our suffering are all around us. When we reject these aspects of our existence, we must then defend against the continuing “danger” of encroaching weaknesses. In refusing to accept our limits, we implicitly judge human nature as not good enough, and in need of improvement. Our lives, then, fall victim to a perpetual perfectionism, a haunting and never-ending cycle of self-improvement. The deadly illusion of human progress as essential to human happiness is set in motion. If things do not progress or improve satisfactorily, the “enemy” or even the neighbor is blamed. In the Brave New World of efficiency and solutions to all problems, persons as they are cannot be tolerated. Persons are valued only for what they can produce, or for what they can master. They are valued for their output and their “good results.” In such a world there is no place for human error or confusion.

When we blot out or discard our intrinsic human value (our vulnerabilities) because they do not promote, accomplish, prove, or accumulate success, then we throw away a basic part of us that is real. As a consequence, we will have smoothed out all our rough edges and we can then fit anywhere, swallow anything, because we have become interchangeable with anybody in the crowd.

There is a kind of violence in this denial of vulnerability, a violence which levels the peaks and valleys of our experience, which erases the complexities, contradictions, and ambiguities of life. Our own human nature, with all its idiosyncrasies and imperfections, with all its surprises and dazzling turns, is mastered out of existence.

One could devote an entire essay to the relationship between the failure to tolerate human limits and weaknesses (the failure to be compassionate) and the actual physical violence so epidemic in our society. In a land of “instant availability,” no limits, and the inability to accept weaknesses in oneself or in others, we have the groundwork for literally ruling out human lives.

Something is missing

Many persons who know themselves, and are known by others, for their success, are haunted nonetheless by a certain feeling of emptiness in their achievements. We all wish and need to feel effective, and yet so often the satisfaction derived from our success leaves us with the feeling that something yet undiscovered and basically important is still missing.

What is missing, perhaps, is the value of vulnerability, the value in realizing that we are living a life which we cannot command. Such a realization can bring with it an exhilarating sense of freedom. The acceptance of our vulnerability can ease and soften the often harsh, ugly, manipulative, and pseudo-heroic values which would seek to rule our lives. Perhaps it is this glimmer of awareness: that what we really are beyond all the strivings for success, beyond all the happy disguises, is more profound, more lasting, and more worthy of respect than the latest victory over someone or some thing.

The Ugly Duckling becomes the Swan

We are faced with the following paradox: that what is often painful, difficult, even humiliating, when seen later in the light of increasing wisdom and healing time, sometimes turns out to be the most revealing of who we are and what it means to be human. There is a certain way we have, through our many successes and conquests, of disguising or entirely eliminating that fundamental human weakness, quirk, or sadness. Yet to our amazement, these vulnerabilities can later be experienced as our anchor in the storm, and as our true beauty and strength. It is something like the “ugly duckling” part of us which, upon an inner development and acceptance, becomes the swan.

When we think about our relationships, it is also interesting to note the power of attraction and deep satisfaction in being with another person who is vulnerable. It is not that we love failure or weakness for its own sake, but that there is perhaps nothing more fundamental than sharing in another person’s pain, need, or perceived failure. It is no less important or less human to share in another’s success, but nothing that I can think of links us together as human beings more than our shared struggles and difficulties. When we know and love someone in the deepest sense, do we not love, know, and accept them in their vulnerability? And are we not most caught up in the rough waters of self-knowledge when we are attempting to acknowledge or come to terms with our own vulnerability?

Once again we find that strange joy and freedom in being without disguise in the moment of a shared failure, or in the recognition and acceptance of defeat. In these moments we are in a realm of awareness beyond the self-imposed goals and expectations of the day. We are in the realm of what is real and what is true about which we can do nothing. Therefore we accept – and then, blissfully, we are without disguise.

Through the experience of our limits and the acceptance of our vulnerabilities, we are able at least temporarily to relinquish our false, defensive selves, and to experience the authenticity of being more simply human. The value of this is beyond measure.

As humans, we are never finally “arrived,” always open to new vulnerability. Our aspirations remain alive not only because of human heart and courage, but also through the redeeming force of our self-acceptance. Human knowledge becomes, then, a recognition of the depths of human beings, and the joy of accepting that these depths are beyond any technical knowing.

Raymond Keen
PSC 80 Box 21007
APO AP 96367-0095

rayboysan@gmail.com


Publishing history of “The Value of Our Vulnerability:”

Published as Sunday opinion article in The Richmond Independent (daily newspaper in Richmond, CA) on August 24, 1980.

Published in Communiqué, the monthly newspaper for “The National Association of School Psychologists” (NASP) in their March 2000 edition.
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Brief Biography of Raymond Keen

RAYMOND KEEN was born in 1941 in Pueblo, Colorado. He graduated with a B.A. degree in Psychology from Case Western Reserve University in 1963 and an M.S. degree in Clinical Psychology from the University of Oklahoma in 1966. Upon graduation, he received a direct commission as a Navy officer, serving as a Clinical Psychologist for three years in the Medical Service Corps. One year of his Navy service was spent in Vietnam (1967-68) with the 1st Marine Division, 1st Medical Battalion near Da Nang. Since his active duty, he has worked primarily as a School Psychologist. He has spent 12 years overseas with the Department of Defense Dependents Schools (DODDS), working in Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany, and Iwakuni, Japan. Raymond worked with the Marine Corps Community Services Counseling and Family Advocacy Program in Okinawa, Japan, as a Licensed Mental Health Counselor for 2 ½ years before retiring in April 2006. He lives with his wife, Kemme, who is a DODDS teacher on Kadena Air Base in Okinawa, Japan.

Raymond has recently completed his first volume of poetry, Down In Heaven, Up In Hell. He is attempting to obtain publication for this volume at the present time. Five of his poems were published in the July/August 2005 issue of The American Poetry Review. He has also written a play, The Private and Public Life of King Able, unpublished. He is planning to write a non-fiction book, The Betrayal of Experience, which is critical of the “medical model” of Western psychiatry. Mr. Keen believes that poetry can uniquely affirm human experience in all its richness, darkness, confusion, and beauty.

Virgie Bell's View: Father Abraham

I’m in the middle of reading a book that kind of shook me up last night. It was the first time I came to the understanding of the difference in the religious beliefs between Islam and Judaism, which of course is a forerunner to Christian beliefs. I have known that many object to the word for God being Allah. I looked this up long ago and it means the one true god. So my thoughts were, O K that’s just another name for Jehovah. I really did not give it much more thought just as I knew the name for God is Dios in Spanish for the Almighty. We all speak in different languages. Here is the one difference that is alarming. In Islam, the belief is that when God told Abraham to take his son, his only son, to the altar and sacrifice his blood for God, The Egyptians believe the son that was chosen for this rite which God rescinded was Ishmael. The Jews believe that the son was Isaac. Wow and I thought who is right... who is wrong and this is serious business.

I was raised by English speaking adults in the USA. Long ago I came to the conclusion that the one True Church is within the heart. I learned my beliefs on my mother's knee and personally had very little to do with what I believed or was taught. We have all heard the saying that someone was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I thought what if that is me and this is serious business. The last thing I do at night is read the Bible. Now I must have had an ancestor from the ‘Show Me State’ that passed on to me most of my DNA. I have often regretted this trait because at times I have been on a quest for Trivial Pursuit, but I find my pursuit in the Holy Bible anything but trivial. Now I am able to translate from Hebrew and Greek with the help of an exhaustive concordance and dictionary, but last night really floored me. I have a hard time trying to figure out the part of the song Jesus Loves Me This I know...'cause the Bible tells me so. I want to know where it says so. I want to back it up. My mother taught me that we really are supposed to study and ask questions as far as our religions go. We are all supposed to show ourselves as workmen needing not be ashamed of his labor. Well I can tell you this much: all those years of study and translations were a great help last night for I was able to get off the milk and on to the meat pretty fast on something that I deemed as important as anything in my life. Those that are the descendants of Ishmael became archers and there is a definite destiny for them, just as there is for the Gentiles and the Jews.

It is much too much to be able to explain on Gunz Up or even our Bible Blog. So for my children I have decided to pretend you are back on Mom’s lap and stroke your little head and give you a hug and say it is really OK. Jesus does love you and sure enough there is a heaven and an eternal reward. Aaron said before: “It’s a belief man...you either have it or you don't.” Well Aaron was right and I would tell you that after much research I will back him up on this.

To go into the why and all that at this point no longer stumps me. The faith of a mustard seed will indeed get it...an argument with anyone like say...oh Rosie O' Donnell would be an exercise in the futile game of Trivial Pursuit or trying to argue with the wisdom of Oprah. Why bother with them when I can live with the knowledge that it is really alright to really get in there and SUPPORT THE TROOPS!

Perspectives

This week was so great having Jerrod. There is a joy in watching a boy become a man and though it is the boy I miss so much, so very deepdeepdown much, the man makes me very proud.

Greg left the photo at my mom’s, but Jerrod brought it home the other night. One of their friends had it from Easter of ’99 when they were but pups and she sent it with him. He put it on my fridge with a believe magnet my sister had given me some time back. I’ve never seen anything so cute, so I’ll post it after I retrieve it from VB.

When I took up painting, I moved Aaron’s bed out. As I had said, “So that I can have a place to paint.” While Jerrod was here, I realized how hurt and angry I’d been that no one was ever sleeping in that bed. The bed that is no more. Though I won’t put it back up (I won’t move backward), I don’t think I was quite “there” yet. All the rest is the same in his room (except for my table and paints). I gave the cammo cover and sheets to Weston. Aaron had not yet enjoyed this new room of his, though he was very aware of it (Thank God.)

When I was at Semper Fi Mom’s house, I shared with her that I’d taken Aaron’s two uniforms (as different as night and day) to have cleaned for the first time in 3 ½ years. I told her that I was going to put them up. They’d hung out for that time, so they did need cleaned, but they looked so good when I picked them up. They looked like they weren’t quite ready to be “put up” but now I have to worry about getting paint on them as I do tend to get it everywhere a little bit, so they are currently in the closet.

Anyway, I apologized to Jerrod, said I’d been selfish, and he quickly agreed. He and Aaron have always been quick to jump on any sense of the word “wrong” coming out of my mouth. And I have been wrong. Not so much about the bed. As hard as reality can be, no one will ever be sleeping in that bed much anymore. With work and school, Jerrod is only able to come once a year and the gas prices are playing with that one! Several of Aaron’s Marine brothers have talked about visiting, and though I would dearly love and quickly arrange a bed for that event, I truly don’t expect it any longer, and I am okay with that. But with each passing day, my hope is that each of them move a little bit from that day as I can’t even imagine the pain and suffering that it causes those left behind and shattered in some part of their soul because of not only April 26, 2004, but because of what so many have experienced. Their lives are changed, because of us, it is because of us and our way of living that each man and woman, no matter how strong or brave, each one suffers death in some way because of their love of mankind and man’s freedom. Their love becomes their curse, as far as the world would see it anyway. But no matter the end of each soldier here on this earth, their Lord knows their ways, their hearts, and He knows those who follow His example in suffering and death for another. He has promised them that He will not give them more than they can bear, but still too, He has given them much to bear.

This is going somewhere.

Those of us who’ve loved and buried have much to bear.

Some people say that change is natural and I suppose that’s true or maybe we acclimate to it. Mourning is a part of my day, most every day. But it is no longer a thing to be dreaded. It is like a part of every other personal thing I do each day, like brush my teeth or comb my hair. It doesn’t surprise and most times I come away from that time with something. I can’t say what for sure. But I’ve been chiseled a little more. Sometimes I’m a little sharper due to the chiseling, but I rarely think so at the time.

I told Jerrod, “Of course we’re changed. We’re changed forever.”

Jerrod simply said, “Yes, but I also would like to think I’m changed some because I’m moving forward. After five years, I should be different.” He was speaking of some of his friends that were still here doing the same things they did five years ago.

Smart kid.

Well, back to the paints. I’ve decided on a cammo background for a pair of toe shoes. I haven’t liked how it’s been turning out, so sweet and all. The toe shoes themselves actually look like hell and the only thing that looked worse were Kayla’s little bleeding toes that came out of them, so with a whole new perspective, I re-arm myself with green, OD green.

Semper Fi!

Nomi's Night Out

I had a great time being with Weston tonight. It was great to be with everbody. Weston is at such a cute age, and not just that, he is a fun kid. He loved the fireworks and he loved being with family. I have pictures of course! I'll take a look at them tomorrow after I get in from Dad's.

It was a good 4th. Beautiful weather, good family and Jess prepared a wonderful meal. She loves to bake and so there were lots of goodies: brisket, hamburgers, hot dogs, mac and cheese, baked beans, pasta salad, homemade cookies, lemon pie, apple pie and ice cream. Also, Roy brought a watermelon, but somehow we never tore into it!

After we shot off Weston's fireworks, we went to the park and watched there. Some of Weston's fireworks were a little wild, but everything turned out okay, although for a quick moment, it looked as if Roy's truck was going up in a nice display of light itself!

It was good to be with my crazy nephew. I just wish some of you could really know him. He's awful in the funniest and driest way. I haven't spent any time with him in a while. It was good.

We began plans for a little family trip to Ruidoso. We'll see if it pans out. I hope it does. Think I'm ready for a little outing with some of my favorite people. I haven't been to the cabin since we lost Aaron. It's Roy's mom's cabin and is absolutely beautiful with so much wildlife, not to mention a bear family for a while, but I guess the last time I was there was when Aaron, Dad and I drove to Albuquerque for Zach's graduation from Intel in 2000, and then all of us headed up to Ruidoso to finish the weekend out. Nope, I take that back. We met Aaron up there once when Aaron was working and living in Ruidoso. That was just a couple of months before he went in the Marine Corps, so that was 2001. Unbelievable! Yep. It's time to go again.

I so hope everyone enjoyed their 4th. We have much to celebrate. We too, all of us, have been through a lot, and yet here we are, with another year of Freedom under our belts. Thanks be to God, and thanks be to those who sacrifice daily to ensure it.

Night, night. And may God continue to bless the greatest nation in the world.

Semper Fi,
De'on

Happy July 4th!

One of my fondest 4th of July memories (well, now, THEN it was horrible) is back in the early '80's, about '85 probably, and Aaron was just about two. We went with Lisa and Zach to Guymon, Oklahoma, which is where Dad and Arlene lived, as well as Gary and Karen.

When he was just a little guy, Aaron was scared of everything. Dogs, especially. But it had been touch and go anyway up to this point. I remember going out to eat, and Aaron hated to eat (!), but boy, how he loved to play in the restaurant with Zach, dragging that blanket the whole while. My dad was absolutely horrified, and come to think of it, I don't remember a lot of going out to eat when I was a kid, but anyway, we finally make it to the park, it's pitch dark, and when the beautiful fireworks started, my son started howling. We had to go sit inside the car while everyone else enjoyed. He quit howling as soon as we got in the vehicle, even though you could hear it just as well. We just couldn't see it! We spent a couple of years like that. He drove me crazy with it. He wouldn't do anybody else that way but me. Man....

The day I brought him home from the hospital was July 4th. Aaron was born in the same hospital as me, Lisa, Gary and Zach. I delivered Aaron in that tiny Amherst hospital ten days before they shut it down (so let me tell you, A/C wasn't a priority!) When he was circumcised, I could hear him holler. Ooh, poor baby, but I've always thought it was neat that it was performed on Fourth of July.

When we got home, I immediately started cooking. Dana and Eric, Aaron's half brothers, were spending the summer with us and they were always hungry. I remember frying potatoes. Wow, what a woman! Barely had the IV out of my arm and already at it, but not more so than Aaron. Aaron's daddy already had him out in the garage, the weight room. Said he had to introduce him to it. Funny what things we outgrow or face, and funny what things hold.

Pits and weights. Time goes fast. Even as I sit now. It's hard for me to believe how fast it really does go.

Hopefully I can get out and blog visit Fourth of July afternoon. This week has been busy for me, but will begin to slow down after tomorrow night. I'm ready for a lazy day. We haven't even been able to make it back to our game yet. And look at the time.

I'll talk to you all tomorrow. I hope you'll be making potato salad and hamburgers when I drop by!

Happy 4th to all!

Semper Fi,

De'on

Virgie Bell's View: Reading and Other Team Sports

Just finished a book that I really did enjoy. The Family Tree was expertly written by Barbara Delinski. I hesitate to give too much plot away but honestly wish someone would say how much they want me to reveal. My personal preference has always been to read the novel before seeing the movie. It really makes me wonder if some within my own family would just as soon I tell all. With the exception of De'on, my family never reads novels and such anyway. Oh, Karen’s does, but she is much more selective in reading material, she likes to watch TV and seems to stay involved quite a lot with the small town politics of Brownfield. She is always heading some group or something that has a charitable bend. She and Gary have always been best friends as well as marriage partners, which is absolutely great, but Gary, like his mother—is not a social butterfly. When night comes everyone wants to be in their own bed, and so it goes.

I did notice on the Best Seller List of the NY Times that A Thousand Splendid Suns is the No.1 best seller and I can certainly understand that. It poses a question for me though ... I can't help but wonder where the talent of these great books comes from. How can these authors pull together such plots, see into such depths, possess such insight? De'on is an excellent writer and could go far if she pushed it more, but as my life moves forward, I am more aware that some of us are solitary by nature. I think it might be called lack of ambition by some, but I don't see it that way. Until I was ten, I had playmates and friends galore all around me and when night came it was with two of my best-brother-buddies and our baby girl. Also the world was much different to me as a child. Maybe we all are that way. I certainly remember that it took a long time for Christmas to roll around and now it is as if it comes once a month. But back to solitary pursuits.

It is just that I am a self-entertained person. I see so often that a horrible crime spree is committed and the perpetrator is called “strange” and “kept to themselves.” But my life is pretty full just the way it is. I live within driving distance of all my children and grandchildren. We do not visit on the phone or otherwise, yet we are all for one and one for all. Extremely close and extremely caring of each other. Yes, you could call us strange, but then if you refer to us as dull you would be mistaken. How can you live in these times and be dull? When the Middle East is constantly about to erupt, when you can set in your living room and watch world events play out as they happen. When I was a child I remembered the Birthdays and Christmas and so on, then later I wanted to know what went on in the world with that birthday. The year leading up to Christmas...maybe this is a mind set that happens when you are so very aware of 9/11 and Pearl Harbor Day. But we are passing out of sight rapidly. In taking this inventory of my life and those around me, I have come to finally realize that truth really is stranger than fiction. Lisa is on the go, it seems constantly, but she has a small little bunch that seems to cluster around one another. When the special occasions come along, she invites us to cluster with them. The Bible mentions friendship just two times. Once in Proverbs 22:24 and James 4:4. We are warned by God’s Holy Word that friendship with the world is enmity with God and to not make friends with an angry man. So I guess I have come to a way of defending our family, but actually all I can say is, we are just so busy, so very busy, being us.

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Virgie Bell's View: Lame, legs, and cash, cash, cash....

It should surprise no one that $458 million dollars was overpaid to the victims of Katrina. The only thing that this accomplishes is to make those of us who donate to victims of natural disasters leery about shelling out money next time. William Jefferson, the Representative from New Orleans, the same man who was found to have $90,000.00 stashed in his freezer, was voted back into office by the people who were the victims of this flooded and devastated city. This was after the money was discovered hidden away. Not only were his actions condoned then, when he returned to the nation’s Capitol, he was given a standing ovation by the members of the Black Caucus.

As of today, the ratings for our legislative body fell below that of the president. President Bush is no different than any other president when he has come to the end of his term, thus the title of lame duck is given to this office. But the Senate and the Congress have been in office only for a few months—to have such a low rating this early on is unheard of. It has not been that low in decades.

Barack Obama is right up there with Hillary Clinton in the polls and if you will look at those that surround him at his various fund raisers, you’ll see a sea of black faces. Bill Clinton became known as the first black president, even though he’s not black. He did however, pander to the black voters. Bill Clinton had a way of pandering to everyone all the time just so long as they held that vote he was after. Everybody’s very best friend at all times and now we have the other half of the coin. Two for the price of one, so he bragged, if they are elected. Do we want these two in the White House again—these two who are so driven by the lure of money and power? I can tell you that I surely do not. I have had enough of the Clinton’s to last me a life time. Then again, do we want Obama? A novice in the political world who has already chosen the side he would choose. He is known to have IT. Whatever that means. This term was used during World War II, referring to the pin-up girl Betty Grable. She was the IT girl. A blonde bomb shell with million dollar legs.

I keep trying to find someone or something that I can stomach for four years within my old affiliation of the Democratic Party. I hate the fact that I may have to watch my favorite long running soap opera, the one in Washington DC, and despise everything about it. Even when I was a devoted fan of the soap known as Dallas, at least I had the kind and honest Bobby to offset the evil corrupt JR. Aaron would set on our couch with blanket in mouth and eyes glued to the tube as we three tuned in for our fix. But that was just make believe, and wildly entertaining. The population of the entire country came to a standstill as the cast from Dallas came into our homes. We had Knot’s Landing and Falcon Crest too, so life was good, but when we turned off the TV, our life was still the same as before, and when De'on tucked him into bed, that was the end of JR and his evil schemes until the next week. Bobby Ewing had to live with the results of JR, but we, the American public, have to deal with what passes for politics in the Capitol of our nation.

So if one from the Democratic Party is elected, who would I rather it be? You've got me. Dennis Kuchini, Bill Richardson, Joe Biden or Chris Dodd. To tell the truth, none of these impress me and I promise you I am trying to be impressed. I really am. My one request is that the next president takes the safety of our country and its citizens as their number one issue. Sadly, not a one of them do. Not one of them.

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Father's Day

Does it seem forever ago that you were a child? It does for me. In fact, it really seems as if the ‘Child De’on’ is not related to me in any way. I wonder why that is.

I was telling Mom the other day a little about it. There are certain snapshots in my memory that are glued there. It’s as if my brain acted as a camera for that snapshot in time and it cannot be deleted.

Maybe it’s weird stuff. I don’t know. But the thing I was remembering to Mom was a neighbor in Odessa, TX (Mom told me the town) and it’s not the neighbor I remember at all, but it’s her dance studio. I remember sitting in that dark dance studio and I’m pretty sure Mom and the neighbor were there, but I don’t remember them. I remember the dark—it was very dark and blue, not black, but the picture in my mind is blue. I wasn’t in school yet, so I was five or younger.

Smells in my medicine chest, one in the back bathroom that I’m rarely in, remind me of MaMa’s bathroom. I loved her old bathroom. The sink had a faucet for cold and a faucet for hot. There in the closet, it was a medicine closet, not a chest, but in it was a delightful array of pills, ointments, suppositories and band aids. I loved to get MaMa to doctor me. Monkey blood (mercurochrome) was the absolute best. Sometimes she’d let me drink some of her and PaPa’s senna tea, but not often. The next morning was not worth it, but, oh, I can smell that senna steeping right now. MaMa spoiled us and she spoiled our dad before us.

As I said, I’ll be with Dad a lot more than I have been. I probably could use you guys’ prayers in this new change. It is something that I want to do for him, but I know it’s not going to be easy, though I do hope it will be something rather profound for the both of us.

When I volunteered to do this, and it is a regular job in which I’ll be paid, but when I volunteered to do this, I really didn’t see how Dad could make it much longer. I can’t count the number of Father’s Days I thought would be our last, but yet another one is about to dawn.

I really suck at being a nurse. That’s the only way to put it. I’ve never liked to be around the sick—complaining and whining make me insane. Around here, day one of illness, the patient gets canned Campbell’s Chicken Noodle, 7-Up, and whatever medicine seems to cover the most for the buck. I always have to go purchase these items; I never have them on hand. But I go buy them, administer them, pray the patient goes to sleep, and if I ever pick up what little bug they’ve had, I get it just bad enough to feel lousy, but since I’m not down and out and near death, I go ahead and make supper or whatever. I should say I used to. I’m pretty lazy all the time now.

By day two, the patient should have responded to all the extra attention the day before. If they have, life is good. If they refuse to be well or at least give great indication of their joy in life once again, I get mad. Really.

I suck.

And yet I’m about to embark on a daily dose of someone who really is sick and can’t get better. Maybe I spent too much time in MaMa’s bathroom, I don’t know. But the medicines and ointments have lost their appeal.

Although I feel as if the De’on that once waited at the corner for Daddy’s red Chevy to come down the street, stop at the corner so I could hop in and ride in the back home no further than two or three houses, although I feel as if she is someone I once knew or dreamt of, I know that she is me.

It’s been a long time. I don’t know how much longer I have with him. But I do want to do this for him, and for me.

Happy Father’s Day to all the wonderful men who love or have loved a child. The world needs strong men and strong fathers.

And for those of you who miss a dad today, I’m sorry. And I’m thankful for that strong father or person in your life that taught you how to love and live.

Semper Fi,
De’on

Virgie Bell's View: Desert Rose

I like Dick Morris. I find him very savvy as far as the political calculations and media spin. He was the Clinton’s political advisers. He is one, not unlike Susan Estrich, that I really enjoy listening to. Both are democrats but as Lisa says, “They don't seem to have a dog in this race.” Dick Morris seems to enjoy the world of politics. He acts like each move and each speech is great entertainment. Dick Morris is quite sure that Hillary will be the democrat’s runner. I don't doubt that she will. It really irks me. She is as fake as a three dollar bill. Bill Clinton could charm his way in or out of anything. Not Hillary. Charm is not among her attributes.

I finished the book City Boy. I really enjoyed it. I am on my next to the last one before I have read every one of them. The one I am reading now is called The Glory and I know before I finish it that I will love it. This one is about the newly formed state of Israel. I have read so much about World War II. Of course Israel came into being as a direct result of that war. The slaughter of an entire race was nearly complete. As a race in general, the Jewish are achievers. In any field they take an interest, they usually rise to the top of the ranks. At any rate, the book I'm reading now has some pretty good takes on our countries political system. I don't have any idea what percentage of Jews are here in the United States, but I do know they are powerful. So there is one ray of sunshine on the horizon for the Republican Party. That is the Jewish vote. As a race these people have got to be for our troops. The war in the Middle East will determine the survival of the Jewish State.

One must keep in mind that before World War II, the Jew was always an economic asset wherever they were. They owned factories and businesses of every kind. The Nazi regime took everything they owned and gassed them nearly to extinction. They did not receive their property or any other compensation. When the few hundred thousand that was left out of the millions finally got together, and had a chance, they headed for their homeland. One that they had been gone from for thousands of years. And finally the world set in view of current events played out exactly as Bible prophecy proclaimed it would. Now we are able to set in our living room and view the very land that Jesus walked upon.

When I was very young I could never figure out how the two witnesses that the Bible speaks of that will be slain, left laying for everyone in the world to see, but with the advent of satellite TV and the internet, it is accomplished. So it explains much I wondered about as a child. I was not one of those children who was allowed to ask why, why, why. No, I knew that when I received orders from parents, that was rule enough. Just because I didn't understand why, that doesn't mean I didn't wonder about the reason that my world seemed to turn according to the war that was going on worldwide. After the newness of the state of Israel, we come in second. We are not the new state, no we are the New World.

When I was at the Grand Canyon one time, I sat beside a woman from England. Her house was older than when Columbus discovered America. Actually the war in the Middle East is not a civil war. It is closer than that. It is a family affair. These races are at least cousins. They are the Bible people. Did you know that the desert that the children of Israel wandered in had the name of SIN? The desert of sin. That’s right. So it seems we have never stopped the wandering. We still stumble around in the same fashion. We still gripe about the same things. We have a war waged on us because we are Christians. Like the Jewish race, we are to be wiped out. But this same desert will blossom like a rose. So the Jewish survival is linked to our own. I think that it is a crying shame that those such as Barbra Streisand, who has the blood of the full blood Jew running within her veins can be so against her race, or why it is that someone like me will speak up for a race not my own. For hundreds of years, “The end is coming!” has been the shout. But it is just now to the book that is called Revelation. All of every word must be fulfilled. It is just now at that point where we are all back into the region where it all began. Front row seat you might say. It is just now to the point that we can view the end. Every eye will behold it. Says so in the book of life. The place where my Savior died. The place where my grandson died also. SUPPORT OUR TROOPS!

My Sister's Eyes

Thanks for all the great comments everyone! SFM, I don’t know what’s up with the comments thing?!? Mom can’t use hers at all. Anyway, I’m glad you were able to today.

I’m moving a little slow today. I went to bed at 11:30 PM (!), got up at 8:00 AM, but just not moving much. Perhaps it’s because it’s arraignment day for Ramos. It brings out a great many passions with me: true forgiveness (but that has nothing to do with the penalty I believe he should have for doing this. He is a repeat offender at theft, but this is the lowest of the lows. I wonder if it’s not pure evil even.) But Steve or his crime doesn’t touch, not even close—my relationship with God, nor will it. Right or wrong, he is not important to me. It’s much easier to forgive than to set and think about him. Forgive. Forget. Sorry, Steve—as soon as I found out, you meant nothing to me. Personally, you just can’t touch what I’ve been through. You are yesterday’s news. Even this is not important to me.

But a couple of things are. One is that Steve knew what all he was playing with. He was playing with Aaron’s memory and money. I can handle that. I know Aaron handles that too. Steve was dreadfully wrong in that. But so are grave robbers. Where I have a hard time at is in the fact that he messed with my family. He knew I’d just begun to overcome a problem with alcohol. July 8th is the last drink I’ve had as of now. He entered my door in September and in that amount of time he took money, he said he was shot in Fallujah, he sifted out to Aaron’s family rocks and sand, he suffered from family and financial woes, and to top it all off, he told the world he had progressive cancer and then sent one final note to me: that he wanted to go off and die alone.

I thank God that He has gotten me through this time. I don’t yet know particulars, but it does matter to me what they are. I thank God for my understanding family and friends who’ve babied me all the way. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t needed it. But I will say this, Ramos put a lot at stake, and if you’ve looked at the pictures of my sister’s eyes, that alone will make me see this thing through to the final hour—sober. More sober than I’ve ever been.

Yes, I’ve prayed for Steve a few times, but not as many times as I’ve prayed with Steve. Since then, a couple of times I’ve prayed because I felt spiritually led to and a couple of times because God told us to pray for our enemies. Everything Steve stands for is my enemy. But mostly in any prayer concerning this, I’ve prayed for God to make my heart right. I believe it is.

as of 4:30 PM I have found out that the arraignment was moved to next Monday. I don't know the reason why.

Virgie Bell's View: Yellow Roses

I had a good birthday yesterday. It really looked as if it would be lousy. It seems everyone was really into the phone call and no one had any plans for any little giftys. What is a birthday without gaily wrapped packages cradling special goodies within? Finally after the day was nearly gone, along came Lisa, Weston, and Jess with a little miniature rosebush in hand, its yellow roses all abloom, also a cake and some ice cream. Well it turned out pretty good after all. I am promised a day out with the girls. To eat and to go to the movies. I was promised that before but somehow it never came about. Started looking at the paper today in order to see if I would feel as if I was betraying our troops by going to the movies. I have never heard of the ones that are playing. I hope we can go to a show that has some of those good movie stars that are not so involved in being the very best friends to Al Gore. Honestly, can you imagine anyone or anything as silly as the Hollywood bunch? It has gotten to the point that I can watch only for a short time. I remember Queen Latifah picking a little lint off Mr. Gore's shoulder; she acted so wifely and puffed up with pride. The brains of the world unite as Al Gore goes about the business of saving us from ourselves.

I saw Queen in the movie Chicago. It was a musical starring Rene Zellwinger, and I really did like her in that. I could do without the little lint picking on the former Vice President. Leonardo De Caprio threw an arm around him too—acted as if Gore was a new savior to the world. I had thought he would be just completely worn out from inventing the internet, but Al just keeps on going. When George Clooney came on stage to announce whoever, he was able to give us all a little inside tip on Mr. Gore’s future plans in the political world. Oh yes. Things are good in Hollywood Hills again. As you are aware things more or less tapered off for a while in the great love-fest between our nation’s capital and the movie stars. Yes, it’s sad to have to admit that the art and entertainment business is joined at the hip with those mental giants. Those Hollywood Stars. I wish it wasn't so, for I am more or less arty myself. My talents have always been more in line with singing and dancing and that sort of entertainment. But I will also say I have a great distrust with any of them trying to pass themselves off as intellectuals. Movies are about pretending. At one time expectations were for the stars to more or less behave themselves. You know. Things like keep your panties on in public. Don't shave your head in public. Have a driver’s license which is more or less valid. Those little things that most of us do anyway. No more. Nope.

The word is out that if a democrat gets the office of president, it will be a Clinton. Guess that means Hillary. Gone forever the hope of something being done to protect us from attacks on American soil. I hear that Al Qaeda is salivating for the next election. Weak on Defense? Ask the Taliban who they want to take the office.

The good new is that France has a new leader who actually likes the Americans. That should be a welcome change when we have the votes in the UN. I listened to Chris Dodd being interviewed today. Just the same old stuff, talking all around a subject with nothing to say except that he speaks for all the American people. Not for me they don't. My heart will always be in support of the troops and the mission that is thrust upon them when we have been attacked by a vicious enemy. My family was always behind our military.

I guess it is time to look up what the current movies are in our areas. I fully intend to hold those girls to the promise. Been a very long time since it was girls night out, and looking forward to it.

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Tight Spot

Hey all you test takers and money-givers!! Todd Larkin (the troop who raised money for children's shoes in Afghanistan) has posted his last time from said country. You can check it out at Task Force Phoenix 5. While you're there you can look at his sidebar and see where he calls us "wonderful ladies." Mmm, we are, aren't we? I'll tell Greg. :)

I have a great deal to get up today. I slept through a great deal of the day yesterday and went to bed at midnight, so I should be caught up on my rest. It really doesn't surprise me. It's like how it was when Aaron would come for the weekend. I would make a five hour drive to pick him up, and then we'd drive back. This would be on a Friday. I'd play the part-time parent role, which is harrowing to say the least. We'd spend Saturday as actors in this role and know that the end (of only the weekend, but it seemed like it would be forever until we saw each other again) was upon us. About noon Sunday, we'd hit the road, do five sad hours together and then I'd do the last five crying on the way back home. Once it was done, I'd be exhausted. Yesterday was my "day after" and last night as I sat here and wondered what now, it occurred to me that God holds the what now. And that if I want to set a day apart for Aaron to be alive or dead, that is up to me. But God cannot go to that level. Aaron is alive every day for Him. So, I powered down my computer and went and got in bed with my husband at midnight. The dogs followed.

For months, I've slept on the love seat. It's really too short for me here, but when Aaron was little, we used to sit together on this seat some, though I think it was mostly on the couch. About here, you're probably thinking, What? She has the same old couch all these years later? Well, just a little side note here, but in a way, I do. It used to be Mom's and is the one we used when the three of us (Mom, Aaron and I) lived together in Littlefield (and I want her to write some stories from that time!). In our extended family, we use up everything: cars, furniture, plants, everything. My Camry went from me to Karen, then back to me, then (uugghh) and now Eric. No, we don't waste anything! :) But back to what I was saying.

I've stayed on this love seat for several months. During the day and at night. It's my safe spot and near the front door. I don't know if there's a part of me that thinks Aaron will come through it if I wait long enough or if I've become a cat and feel protected in small spaces. But whatever it is, I've worn the love seat out and so this spot has been used. But nothing has been wasted.

When I went to my king-sized extra wonderful mattress (Sarah sleeps there and she looked shocked then ticked that I was getting in bed with her and her daddy), but anyway, I did. I could hear the wind chimes and birds just as well from my bedroom window, and I already knew that would be true; at one time, my bedroom was to me what this love seat is to me now, but still, the fact that I could hear life, helped keep me in there. It's one of those things I don't want to do, but once the habit takes hold, I'll be back sleeping where I should without any problem.

Today I'm well rested. I know that I can come up with a plan for what now, or I can just be open, but ready for the "what" that God never fails to place in my life. Down here, nothing lasts forever. It changes. Remember how I wrote a while back that by the time April 26th arrived, that the season would look entirely different than it did on April 2nd? But this year that wasn't the case. I think that it upset me some. But I don't know why. Perhaps like Mom, I'd at least counted on the spiritual green. Then last night my Internet wouldn't work and after I fought with it some, I knew it was just time to rest.

So. Another year. And despite anything we think, this too will pass. And it will be okay without forethought from me. It's going to be okay. Thank God.

Back later with 5 million pictures! Kidding somewhat, but I know a little lady in California that I do want to get some stuff together for (Marine Ball/luncheon photos) and I've already scanned the many photos, but the work left will take some time, so I will get up a couple of other things I scanned when I stayed up all night Thursday.

Back later!