Tell me whom you love

Something recycled from the interspace but cozy nevertheless.

The Rose

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose.

His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort he located her address. She now lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II. During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting - 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in New York. "You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel." So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.

I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened:
A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my way, sailor?" she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment.

"I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?" The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what
this is about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She
said it was some kind of test!"

It's not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.

"Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote, "And I will tell you who you are."

It's a sad day.

Voters in Maine did yesterday what voters in California did last November. To me, a practising heterosexual, I am more opposed to the restriction of people's rights through the legislative process; and as a child of the 60s and a witness to the slow progress of civil rights for non-whites through the courts and the even slower progress through people's minds, the very act of diminishing the rights of tax-paying, law-abiding citizens seems quite deplorable to me. As my wise beyond his years son said, "It's not like they're forcing anyone to marry a same-gendered person."

The very act of restricting the rights of one particular segment of our society seems to be a death knell of the spirit of American democracy and of our declared freedom from oppression. And if we allow the tide to go against this segment of society how long do you think it will take before they try to take away the rights from a segment you actually care about?

Sad.

Got Health Care?

I haven't been too vocal on the Obama Health Care initiative mostly because it's so boring and I get feverish chills looking a insurance jargon. But I do know that what we have now in this country is a mess and it needs fixing. I have pretty good coverage at my place of work, but I also feel trapped in a dead-end job in hostile work-environment. If I could take my coverage with me for the price of my premium I'd do it. I think we should take the best parts of Kaiser and of the VA and Medicare and make a system that works for everyone to receive basic care. We could tax the elective surgeries to help pay for basic care. I see a whole lot of possibilities. But sitting around complaining and doing nothing to change the system is just plain wrong and un-American.

I believe it is the insurance industry and the drug companies which are fueling the opposition. It's not those overwhelming majority that voted for Obama, many for the very reason of changing the health-care system in this country.

I remember a day, before the inundation of television commercials and magazine ads for various drugs and medications, that you went to a doctor and a doctor prescribed the appropriate medication after evaluating your symptoms. Now the drug companies want us to go and ask our doctor for the drugs. Seems back-ass-wards to me.

I propose that we curtail all drug advertising for the next ten years and put all that money that they would have spent on advertising into the health-care reform effort. Provide free or reduced cost drugs to those who need them, the young and the infirm. Who in their right-winged mind would deny medicine to those in need?

Which brings me to another topic on the top of my mind today. There are so many mixed messages on drugs these days. I mean on the one-hand we have so many commercials about prescription drugs and every kind of pill for what ails you; Just don't get hooked or dependent on those drugs. And any time there is a high-profile celebrity over-dose, people will often, in a knee-jerk response quickly blame the doctors that prescribed the medicines. And they have always blamed and shamed the patient for their weakness, should they become addicted.

I dream of a day when drug companies and insurance companies will put the welfare and well-being of the people ahead of their profits and shareholders. Because shareholders get sick too.

For Governor Sanford and his mistress

I'm back....

This morning when I arrived at work and checked my voicemail this is what I found:

"for several years a lot of money is being spent and I need to be able to buy the things I want..." no other identifying marks, it seemed to be spoken in a woman's voice but the quality or tone of the voice made that to be in question, it sounded sort of tweaked, elfish-like. I saved the message and if I were more technically savvy I would post it to this blog for you all to hear it because it is somewhat of a trip to me. I even wondered if it was a message from the beyond. Because I work in a law office, it could have been someone seeking legal advice about a financial matter, but I may never know, since either they left no name or it was cut off.

Every one seems to be so focused on money these days and I am no exception. I had dreamed that once my kids were independent or at least of majority, that I would have the freedom to change jobs, move to a different location, travel. But financial constraints have made that seem ever more elusive. I begrudgingly admit this truth. Money may not solve many of life's problems and having enough money to do the things I want may present a whole new set of problems. But I think I could handle it.

Still, I wonder if my spirit guides weren't leaving a cryptic message for me. And thusly I ponder...

Progs v Dogs

John McCain Tweet: "According to the media: flyover photo op cost taxpayers $328,000 – I think it’s more!"

This is the kind of thing that makes me want to be a Blue Dog Democrat. I'm a Prog when it comes to most social issues but when it come to government spending our money like a whore at Victoria's Secret with an AmEx gold card, it just makes me wanna scream.

As to the Arlen Specter switch, only an idiot would call themselves a Republican these days (sorry John, but you're in it up to your neck and they've got you by the balls, just look who they forced you to take on as your running mate). Any republican with half a brain should defect. However, I predict that the Democrats, once they maintain a majority, will split as well, between the fiscal conservatives and the social progressives and a new two party will emerge. The Blue Dogs will consist of moderate, conservative Democrats and moderate Republicans, while the Progs will be the more liberal Democrats. Either way the Republicans are going the way of the dinosaur. Get over it already.

Written Word Wednesday

I could write about today being Earth Day. I could write about today also being Professional Administrative Day, which used to be called Secretaries Day. But other than the fact that I feel these are days which we should celebrate everyday, I'm not going to write about either of those things.

Instead I'm going to write about Facebook. I've had a Facebook page for a couple of months now. What I have enjoyed most is finding old friends from the many various phases of my life experiences, including friends from as far back as elementary school. Facebook has proven to be the vehicle for bringing these disparate areas of my life, of my friends and family and acquaintances together in one convenient place. Granted, much of it is still tedium bordering on the extreme.

One thing I don't like about both Facebook and Myspace is the lack of a notification when one of these virtual friends drops me from their friends list. On the one hand, these sites will send you a notification if one of these friends so much as winks wickedly at any passing fancy. I just would like the opportunity to try to ascertain just why I was dumped. If only for the purpose of being a better virtual friend in the future. Was it simply that you were trimming the fat from your friends lists? I completely understand, if we haven't had contact for twenty plus years, why dredge that past up again. Or was it the liberal viewpoints I expressed or were some of my other friends too freaky for your conservative viewpoints? I don't know, I just get curious about these things.

I refuse to play any of those goofy Facebook applications, games or quizzes, so don't even ask me. I'd just like to keep it as a place to catch up with the busy lives of my friends and family. I presume that most people who use these sites, feel as I do, that these social networking sites are mostly just a time drain with very limited beneficial attributes, despite the fact that some of my friends seem to take every quiz that comes across the screen. I must insist on my own refraining. I don't have time for such nonsense now that I've got to start working on getting my first million followers on Twitter.

This blog will not be monetized

My Blogger Dashboard is now displaying a "Monetize" hyperlink. When this link is clicked I am informed that I can have Google AdSense ads running on my blog that will be geared towards my reader's interests based upon my blog's content. And every time one of my readers clicks on the ads I can earn money. By now we've all seen blogs that have taken up this opportunity and I don't begrudge any of my fellow bloggers their entrepreneurial right to monetize or not to monetize. But I hereby make a declaration this day that this blog will not be monetized.

Some time ago I devised a top-secret plan in order to prompt me to post more consistently to my blog. Well, I can't really call it top-secret any more since I am divulging it now. But I tried to tell as few people as possible, in hopes that it would not sabotage or throw light on my laziness when I failed to fulfill. It's like when you don't tell people that you're on a diet so that you don't risk being chided when you're caught cheating. So if I state it here then I have to stick to it, right? Well, almost, these are still my rules and I'm the only one who has to follow them and I'm the only one who can enforce them.

So far, as according to my plan, I've managed to be fairly consistent with the Music Monday posts. It's easy, it's fun. I've even tried to keep current with the Friday Poetry posts. I mean it's not like I'm writing them myself (although that would surely challenge). I am simply sharing those poems and videos that I find resonance with. Even still, I hear the inner voices criticize that I'm only regurgitating stuff that can be found elsewhere on the internets. No originality. So sue me. No really, don't. I work for a living. I don't have any money. And this blog will not be monetized.

Also and by the way, most of the pictures you see on my blog are taken from the treasure-trove of images known as the internets. If any of these violate someone's copyright or if anyone simply takes issue with any photo or image just contact me through this blog and it will be remedied to the satisfaction of the proper owner of the particular image. Otherwise bugger off. As I stated already I make no money nor profit of gain by this blog and this blog will not be monetized.

Now it's this Written Word Wednesday prompt that gets my palms sweaty. I've seen other blog authors make a regular post for "Wordless Wednesday" and I thought I might try that, but then I realised that it would not be any different from any other day for me. You see while I've fancied myself as this writer type I really don't practise the art all that much. I especially don't find great comfort in sharing what I write. There are three main reasons for this. First of all, I am a very private person. Secondly, I can't fathom why anyone would care what I have to say. This worry and source of inner conflict has plagued my blogging since its inception. And finally, I have had a bad experience of someone using what I have written in this and other blogs to hurt me and my loved ones. So while I appreciate truly interested readers I am leery of anyone who gets too interested. I think one has to have a deep sense of trust in the overwhelming goodness of people in order to put their thoughts out in the public arena. Sometimes I want to challenge myself to writing once a day in the blog. And maybe some days I will, like today when it's a good hair day and trust levels are high. But at a minimum, it will be my ambition to blog whatever has been weighing on the mind each and every Wednesday. But like I said my rules to break.

And this blog will not be monetized.

Uncle Arvin

My mom's big brother passed away on Sunday morning. She told me earlier in the week that he'd been moved to the hospice. He requested no services. He was 76 years old.

I love Uncle Arvin. I never got used to calling him Uncle Frank, as he wanted to be called in his later years. But that is what I heard (in my mind / in my ear?) as I lie waking up, in that half asleep, half awake place, at 8 on Sunday morning, "Frank's gone." That's it. As I pushed away the slumber to contemplate it's meaning, I sorta knew.

My favourite memory of Arvin was the time, oh, I was about 7 or 8, we came over to Memaw's house, and after we walked in Uncle crept from out of the shadows and knocked on the screen door and said to Memaw, "You locking me out?" She had no idea he was coming to see her and she was so surprised. She laughed and cried. It was how I remember his sense of humour, his easy, subtle playfulness, very much like Papaw's. I always love the stories of him spending his halcyon days on the roof of his parents garage and recording the numbers of the airplanes that flew over. And that when he became a small plane pilot and took us all up for a ride, his airplane's call letters included a "W" and the phonetic word for "W" is Whisky which Memaw found no charm in.

I pray for his peaceful passing and for all those who loved him to find strength and peace of mind in having had the privilege of knowing him.



I happened on these three poems on Sunday and I thought they seemed fitting to the day.

The Clock of Life ~Robert H. Smith

The clock of life is wound but once and no man has the power
To tell just when the hands will stop, at late or early hour.

To lose one's wealth is sad indeed, to lose one's health is more,
To lose one's soul is such a loss that no man can restore.

The present only is our own, so live, love, toil with a will,
Place no faith in tomorrow -- for the clock may then be still.


Death ~Harry Scott Holland 1847-1915

Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away into the next room. I am I, and you are you. Whatever we were to each other, that we still are. Call me by my old familiar name. Speak to me in the easy way that you always used. Put no difference in your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Pray, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without effect, without the trace of a shadow on it. Life means all the it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was; there is unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. All is well.


I'm Free ~Shannon Moseley

Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free. I'm following the path God chose for me.
I took His hand when I heard Him call. I turned my back and left it all.
I could not stay another day to laugh, to love, to work or play.
Tasks left undone must stay that way. I've now found peace at the end of day.
If my parting has left a void, then fill it with remembered joys.
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss; Ah yes, these things I, too, will miss.
Be not burdened with times of sorrow. Look for the sunshine of tomorrow.
My life's been full, I savored much; Good friends, good times, a loved one's touch.
Perhaps my time seems all too brief. Don't lengthen your pain with undo grief.
Lift up your heart and peace to thee. God wanted me now. He set me Free.

Legends say that hummingbirds float free of time, carrying our hopes
for love, joy and celebration. Like a hummingbird, we aspire to hover
and savor each moment as it passes; embrace all that life has to offer
and to celebrate the joy of every day. The hummingbird's delicate
grace reminds us that life is rich, beauty is everywhere, every
personal connection has meaning and that laughter is life's sweetest
creation. –Papyrus




No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn. ~Hal Borland

Christmas Eve 2008

Holy Cow it's Christmas Eve. I've just finished all the cards I am going to send. Everything just seemed to take a little longer to get into the groove this year, despite my diligent planning. This may be the last year I send Christmas cards. So many of my friends and relatives have already stopped the practice. Oh, there will always be those stalwarts who send one every year like my aunts and my mom, who can always be counted on to give one of those chronological exposés on all that they did in the past year, travels and visits made, babies born and so forth. Still, not only has the practice of sending Christmas cards fallen off, but it could hardly be considered very "green" by today's standards. Oh well, as I bought three boxes at an after-Christmas sale last year I have now used them all up. If I send any next year I think it will be a more traditional correspondence, or homemade cards recycled from old cards.

I have saved many cards throughout the years. Mostly those most dear to me. Especially the ones friends send with pictures of the children growing up. I still have the handmade cards my late grandmother made with liquid embroidery. I like to look them over every year. They are a touchstone to Christmas Past. But as I get older, maybe I don't really need to save everything. It's a hard choice for me between sentimentality and simplicity. But maybe some can be reincarnated into something someone else can enjoy for a moment.

And now we have eCards. But they're so ... digital. There's nothing to hold. To feel the presence of your distant loved one by holding the very card they touched, laboured over, chose, hopefully inscribed and carefully addressed all with you in mind is as sweet as a beloved's kiss under the mistletoe. The feel beneath your fingertips of an embossed snow scene, or a gilded Madonna. To hear a bit of news from afar. Perhaps even a faint smell of perfume or kitchen that provokes a long forgotten memory. When a digital card can accomplish all of that then maybe I will warm to it.

So, for now, whether you are having a Charles Dickens sort of Christmas or a Charlie Brown Christmas (and in this economy you can guess which one I'm having) I'd like to wish all my readers and all the world a peaceful Christmas holiday season.