Sitting quietly on the metrorail, I was enjoying my book, hoping for no interruptions. Sitting on one of the two seats that are parallel to the train wall, I was right next to the exit doors. The man rolled in loudly and as the doors closed, he backed his chair into the exit space, grumbling about no place to park, directing his complaints to individuals! Someone snapped back at him , and an arguement insued. I didn't look up. Nothing I could do anyway, I just wanted to read!

ButI felt saddened for this man bearing a veteran's badge, the kind worn for the VA Hospital Clinic. The long, greasy, straggly hair hid his face as he mumbled. The man arguing with him was too young to remember the Viet Nam war, nor to understand why the streets are full of that war's outcasts. What a jerk, I thought.

After listening a while I thought, now that's enough! Leave the guy alone! Hmmm.... he must have read my mind for suddenly all was silent as the train moved along the tracks . Then it happened, just as we pulled into Government Center!

You ________pigs! You ________ terrorists! Go back to where you _______ came from!! Get off this train, I'll kill you even if I am in this chair! It happened as he loudly exited backwards off the train. I stood paralyzed, looking in the direction of his shouting. There sitting the back of the train was the object of his wrath!! A woman veiled, dressed in black; beside her in a stroller was a tiny baby. With people pushing to exit the train around me, our eyes locked.

"Are you okay??" My mouth moves but there is no sound. "I am so, so sorry. Do not listen to him, those are lies!" It was my eyes that were swimming with tears, not hers. Her veil moves and I know she is speaking to me too, also without sound.

"It's okay, I'm okay." she says and nods her head to assure me.

"NO! It is not okay!!!" I scream with still no sound shaking my head, nodding to the stroller. "The baby!! Is the baby okay???" How dare he speak that way to that baby's mother. She nods gently, I can't see it but she smiles and the veil moves again, she says thank you, she wants me to know she's okay, and so is her sweet baby.

The warning bell rings and I step quickly through the door, The train pulls away and I am standing alone, watching. wishing I was with her on the train. I turn in anger hoping to find that man in the chair, I'll push him right down the steps, I will, I swear I will!! I don't care what happened to him in the war! My mind races until eventualy I am still. That's hate, that's ugliness, just like the man's. I feel sorry, so sorry...I want to be like the veiled young mom, not like the man.

I ask God to bless that brave woman and I know she is already whispering words of comfort to her wee babe. Then I ask God to send the man a gracious Visitor to tend to his wounded heart, to forgive him ...............and me.

Going to the doctor

I once knew a man who had bypass surgery. The first day we met, I walked into his kitchen and there on the kitchen counter lined up in a row, were his meds....oh so many! He explained, "I just told the doc, give me a pill for everything, because I'm not following any rules, no diets, no restrictions for me...." I was horrified! I thought how irresponsible, especially when he cooked a pound of bacon every Sat morning! Doctors should fire patients like him. Or patients like my father who are extremely friendly with their doctors but do exactly what they want, following only the rules they choose. I wanted to be like my dear mother who religiously obeyed. Yes...I would always be like her, or at least I planned to be!

My PCP is kind and gentle. He looks like his Lebanese mother but sounds like his Irish father, his easy manner reveals his island upbringing. This week I went to see him. Here is how it went....

I tell him my concerns, I tell him I want to be fixed of all my complaints (similar to what I say to my mechanic)...I want to be healthy, I want to see my grandchildren grow up, I want to go back to Africa and India. I don't want you to treat symptoms, that's what I do. I need him to find out if anything is wrong. (That's what I convey to him kindly.) Being a good diagnostician is essential in a doctor. He listens, and asks why am I there today ? Well, I cancelled the last 3 appts for cholesterol checks. Hmmmm...he brings up the Lipitor. I give him a lot of lengthy excuses about insurance and other difficulties until I confess I haven't been talking it. Everything is about the Lipitor with him. Every complaint I have, he tells me I should take the Lipitor. But I am guilty and quiet.

"Haven't you read the Crestor report?" his concern pains me a little, so I tell him to order it for me and I'll take it. I promise! He says good, there is a 5 mg, I tell him no, give me a 10mg and I'll cut it in half and save money. He agrees that it a great idea. I explain it isn't original, one of the insurance companies sent me a pill cutter.

"Will you let me do an EKG? Will you go to the neurologist? Blood work?" he says as he types on the computer with his back to me. Of course, why is he phrasing his questions that way? Turning, he says well, I am not very compliant, he reminds me of everything I have not done, Lipitor, mammogram, ultrasound, bone scan, colonoscopy. Panicked, I jump off the table and peer over his shoulder.

"Are you writing "non-compliant" in my file??!" I ask frantically. "Oh dear!! Please don't put that in there, pleeeeese!!" Non-compliance in our business means rule-to-show-cause, fines...nothing very good. It's a label I do not want. I scan the monitor, until I realize I have become a Elaine on Seinfeld. He laughs out loud and assures me he hasn't. He promises. I remind him I lost 25 lbs. and that is good?....he nods. Sometimes they just forget the right things you do!

The tech who does the EKG and takes my blood is lovely, we speak of her job, her dreams left behind, her wisdom and a beloved grandmother who has passed away, leaving a hole in her heart. She notices Crestor is prescribed and returns with samples, 12 weeks of Crestor 10mg that will last me 24 weeks! (Well maybe a couple of years the way I take it, just kidding)

The doctor returns before I leave, we talk about his ankle surgery. He tells me he has to be in therapy for two more years, explaining the damage done. I ask him if he does everything he's suppose to do, he confesses, "Of course not."

"How old are you? You are too young not to take care of such an important joint! That will become arthritic!" He shakes his head, he knows it's true, maybe that is why he shows me so much grace. I repentantly call to him as he leaves.

"I'm kind of bossy..right?" he nods then turns...and says he likes it, it helps him.

I call to him again, "Okay! Then you take care of that foot and I'll be compliant! I'll be healthy so we can come to your bed and breakfast one day when I am old" I hear him laughing in the hallway. He told me once his dream was to have a bed and breakfast on an island and do humanitarian work, but first he must make a living and raise his family. Such an worthy ultimate goal in life.... I really like this doctor.

As I walk to the corner to catch the bus I realize I am a hypocrite and not much different from the man with the bacon and pills on the counter, at least he was honest about it. And worst of all, I have become my father, in everyone's business AND non-compliant!.....but most of all, I am just happy I didn't get fired! Yes...I will do ALL those right things....I have to...I promised!

Don't do as I did!

Some years ago, while cooking, a pot caught fire. My future son-in-law reached for the faucet to fill something with water. I calmly but firmly said;

"Jorgie!!...you never put water on this kind of fire"

"Hmmm...that's right...what is it you pour on it???"" he responded equally as calm as the phone rang. "I can't talk now...your mom started a fire in the kitchen...bye" he hung up.

We both burst into laughter as I reached for the baking soda, while the phone rang incessantly off the hook. Fortunately the fire was out in no time, and Jorge finally answered the phone.

"No, nothing's wrong, we're fine!...oh the fire, I put it out, you know how your mom is...." he hung up laughing.

But it wasn't so funny several months ago when I was up at 5 am cooking. Standing next to the stove, I had put some oil in the cast iron frying pan and turn it to high . Suddenly I heard the "Swish" a fire makes when it ignites. I immediately did all the wrong things, and as I did it in one swooping motion, I KNEW it was wrong. I moved the pan to the sink and turned the water on! Yes I did!!! Immediately flames soared high. I assessed whether it would catch the curtain immediatelly; if it had I would have called 911 first, but I knew I had a second or two so I grabbed the rug, wet it and threw it on top of the whole mess... the fire went out. Even when you know what to do, in a second you could do the WRONG thing....so here is a visual!

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday

...…it asks nothing, no gifts to buy, no costumes to think up, no cards to send, you don't have to do a thing….. it’s just there, a legitimate day for stuffing ourselves with good food, watching parades or football or just hanging out with friends and family OR doing nothing at all! I always loved cooking in the kitchen with activity bustling around me. There were a million calls to my sister and most of all I loved cooking with my girls!!

Thanksgiving is also a subtle hint that gently reminds us to ask the question “”What AM I thankful for?” Many are blessed beyond measure; the day itself could not contain all their words if we started reciting our blessings at sun-up and finished deep in the darkness. Sometimes we have overshadowing burdens too many to count. But Thanksgiving is not about the ‘haves and “have-nots”. It’s about being grateful no matter what we have, it’s about letting that gratefulness spill out in words and deeds; But most of all it is a gift we give ourselves, for it strangely changes us.

Gratefulness was rather an obsession in my life and I am sure I never afforded my children much opportunity to be ungrateful without a reprimand and a certain amount of shaming (Sorry girls!) But for me, the attitude of being thankful always brought me back to center, it was a place where all the drama I could create daily was quietly calmed by remembering how blessed I was. When times were hard I would drag out my proverbial “THANK YOU” list. You know, a precursor to the beautifully published gratefulness journals? I’d start by saying, “I cannot think of a thing to write!” But slowly…faces of my children came to mind, the sun that shone brightly in the blue Florida sky, and so the list would begin. Most of all, the God that seemed far, gradually became closer like a loving parent. Over the years even my sorrows became my blessings. And all my thankfulness to God strangely became His gift back to me, I think that's why I love Thanksgiving so much, it can bring something to everyone, it gives hope.

The Butt-inski

As the bus pulled up, a very big young man sauntered up to the front of the line. Oh my gosh, I thought, he's going to cut right in line! What a jerk!! Here in the USA no one cues up for public transportation. It's like a mad dash, it can get a little nasty too. The only exception is the luxury Commuter Express 34 bus; there is no standing, people line up quite nicely and are counted off as the seats fill up. Most nights cutting in line would be a problem, it would mean someone at the end of the line would not get a seat. But this was not the case tonight, only 15-20 had cued up in a rather unorganized line for the last bus of the night.

"Did you see that?!" I spontaneously asked the girl in front of me.

"Yes" she said wearily, "I'd say something but you never know what people will do."

"True...but I am sitting next to him!" She shrugged, "Whatever, who cares." And I was thinking, she probably doesn't have as many issues as I do.

Climbing on the bus I found him in the third row, sprawled over 2 seats. Though not that tall, his upper body was huge, thick and dense...like a football player, his shoulders alone would fill a seat and half of the other.

"May I please sit there?' he had to get totally out of his seat to let me in. I sat down pleased with myself, thinking of how I'd tell him off. I snapped pics of this smart-aleck kid with my iPhone. "I will blog about this"......but before long, feeling a little silly I was asking myself a few questions like, what is wrong with you?? Who made you the bus monitor? You hate people who try to straighten kids out like this. Look around ginny...nobody cares that he cut in line, they are too tired and not to mention the bus is EMPTY!!

I peered out the window at the darkening sky, then I caught the look on this boy's face. He looked tired and pensive. Just shut-up and let it go!! Tapping his immense arm, oh so lightly, he jerked in my direction.

"Do you know why I sat next to you?" he looked at me like I was crazy and then I said "I was really angry at you!" He immediately asked why and I launched into my defense of proper line etiquette, all the time sensing there is something bigger here. He listened patiently, and I wasn't feeling any better.....just worse! How ridicules I thought! He spoke when I finished.

"I never take the bus and in school no one ever got in a line, I didn't know...I'm really sorry I didn't even notice." Oh dear..who's the jerk now? I swear I always get caught when I do things like this!

"I was in jail all night! " he bemoaned, "I didn't sleep, eat or even shower, I guess I wasn't paying attention" Then I told him I was sorry, that he must need the whole seat to rest and of course he didn't know about the stupid line rule. He then pulled out one of those envelopes everyone gets when they leave the 13th St jail.

The story of the previous night tumbled out of his mouth. The officer had pulled him over and gave him 5 tickets. I perused the tickets, trying to sift through the details as the young man turned toward me. Still not believing you go to jail for 5 non-moving violations, I asked him if he had been rude to the officer. He was emphatic that he had not been.

"I begged him not to tow my car." He had just gotten it and was taking the girlfriend for a spin without proof of registration or insurance. He appeared today before the judge and was released. He pulled out the arrest report and handed it to me to read. It was neatly typed with the facts, just the facts. I read the first page, and turned to him,

"I think it was the gun that threw the cop over the edge" I said thoughtfully. "Was it registered?"

"Yes!! It is, I use it for my work and I did exactly what they told me in the class. When he came to the car I kept my hands on the steering wheel and told him there was a registered weapon in the vehicle. I don't know how I'll get my car out now and look at all these tickets!?"

We talked about his life. Suddenly it was his stop! He jumped up to leave, but not before extending his hand to me. My hand is hidden in his ..."Thanks so much! Sorry about the line!" I watched as the boy fadedinto the darkness. He bears the name a a man who spent a lot of time in jail, I say a prayer for the him, feeling humbled... the story is always more than you know.

What can I say...if it applies...apply it!

This woman is my new best friend, she shook me out of my two week depression...she's Rosanna Guadagno, an assistant professor at the University of Alabama. Today I came across her study of three hundred student bloggers. While I was not willing to pay for her research paper, it states that women bloggers tend to be more neurotic. It was just what I needed to move me up and out! I set my little timer and off I went!

On the other hand...300?? That seems like a very few compared to the millions of bloggers out in cyber space...many of which I have spent my time reading since I've been depressed. Many are not American woman, many have amazingly interesting topics they blog about....so many I could not name them all! Unfortunately, numbers are always the name of the game in today's world, but 300?? And college students at that?

Oh well...Dr. Guadagno is still my new best friend! Nobody wants to think of themself as neurotic, even if they are....and besides, I already finished the wash and kitchen! My depression? That's a blog for another day.

Aren't kids great?

Olympic Angst

Kindness Girl's take on the Olympics is where I have been camped all week! Good, bad....watching gives me so much angst (though I haven't had Braxton Hicks for 30 years! ) The emotions just pull me in till my stomach hurts. Like an alien with incredibly long spindly fingers and toes, Michael Phelp's lanky body smoothly forges ahead of the others; but I am still wondering about the swimmers behind him....do they still have hope for a medal or do they know they will never catch him? Chinese gymnast Cheng Fei won the bronze for the vault even after falling, and finished 7th in floor exercises, but she was expected to take gold. She sees her family once year, her life has been committed to earning gold in Beijing. Her countrymen still love her, as do we but how does she feel?

Will Alicia Sacramone be remembered as the gymnast who cost the US a medal in the finals?

And it isn't just the participants...it's their moms, their dads, the brother, the sister, the wife holding a baby, their coaches...all watching with great anticipation. They too have been on the journey. Everyone has a story, most involve years of hard work, dedication and commitment. So I wonder about those who swim their hearts out, but will never catch Michael Phelps'. Or those who get eliminated when they stepped over a line or inadvertently fell into the pool. And how about those young athletes who are predicted to "take it all" but they just don't. It isn't just a sport, it is their life, their very heart, their story.

I probably do not understand it all, not being much of a sports person....so I leave them all with a blessing, whether you won or lost at Beijing. .......May your dreams come true even if it does not happen in the pool, balance beam or track...may all your efforts, hard work take you to a place of true contentment where your story has a very happy ending and peace fills your heart.

Olympics 2008- Beijing

Last night we watched the opening ceremonies of the 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing. I am incapable of describing it, what an amazing display of creativity!! The combination of centuries-old art forms and state-of-the-art electronics, plus fireworks for a thousand Fourths of July left us speechless. The beautiful Chinese traditions and stories were woven together with unbelieveable technological feats. It was long but never lost our attention, each part could have been the finale, it was so unbelieveable. Lovely as it was, it seemed like a greater message was being sent, unsettling for one who follows the news in Sudan, Burma, and Tibet.

Kevin Garside's article was thought provoking.

"Tibet, Burma, Sudan and the colonisation of Africa are the issues routinely raised to keep the dragon in check; human rights the moral stick to beat the beast into submission. Don't waste your time. This was history set to music and dance, every step reminding Bush and assembled world leaders that Beijing stands at the centre of a universe every bit as legitimate as those born of Greece or Rome"

While the spirit of the games is beautiful, China's ever reaching omimous hand silently stretches towards far away places like Sudan. There people suffer daily from the oppression of a government dependent on funding from China. Would there be so many civil wars in Africa without foreign nations supplying guns and weapons while greedily standing in the wings waiting to snap up their rich national resources? The games will soon be over but people will daily awake and live with to the decisions China makes in their far away land. I hope we never close our eyes to that.

What makes a GREAT athlete??

“.... my philosophy toward sports is a cliché: it isn't so much the result that makes me proud of an athlete or a performance; it's the effort. It's how an athlete handles wins and losses, it's attitude. And it's about understanding that being great at a sport doesn't make you a great person.” – Excerpt from TIME magazine by Dan Jansen 4/30/06

Today I read the wonderful comment Dan Jansen made in an online TIME article about Joey Cheek. It expressed what I have not been able to put in words for years. Truthfully I have been a critic of professional sports figures and have often times missed all the wonderful men and women out there who have used their talents to give back to their community and world. Stereotyping is a bad thing most of the time, so I want to give a shout out for Joey Cheek. He put his money where his mouth was when he gave his bonus medal winnings, earned at Torino for speed skating, to the Darfur cause. Since then he has co-founded TeamDARFUR, an international coalition of athletes committed to raising awareness about and bringing an end to the crisis in Darfur Sudan.

In a country where the average fan idolizes sport figures, will buy endorsed shoes and clothes but could not even afford a ticket to a game or the Olympics, it is wonderful to know there are people like Joey Cheek and many others who will set an example and give back to the community and world.

$%!!#&^Pet Peeve ... the Chit-Chat "F" WORD

I am soooo over the profanity everywhere you go… Cursing is so commonplace today that few people truly notice. Especially the F-word!! My husband tells the story of seeing a man cussing on the street when he was a small boy in Bridgeport, CT and how they “hauled the guy away in a paddy wagon” (wow…that ages you Babe) for swearing in public. Now my Jim has been known to exaggerate from time to time, and I often thought the guy was probably disorderly or drunk but the point is, there was a time when swearing was not acceptable.

I am not so sanctimonious to say I don’t swear myself, I do. But remembering back several years I think of a client who came to our office one day. She sat drawing for a couple of hours. It was quiet and a rather peaceful time as she began to reflect back on her childhood. Remembering warm memories of good people left behind, far from the ugliness that brought her into care…it touched a chord in her heart and ours as we silently imagined a past that might lead to a future. A while later, her harried young case manager appeared to collect her, a casemanager at end of her rope, but the child had been tangling from hers for a long time.

The day ended sadly, a confrontation in the small visiting room across from our office, quiet voices of the staff trying to seek the right path, escalating conversation, police, scuffling and metal cuffs banging against the large glass window. But ingrained in my memory is the shouting of 14 yr old, screaming over and over at the top of her lungs “F-you!! F-you!! F-you all!!!!” Screams unleashing all the pain she ever felt…endless, endless pain. They were good words she was using, true words…and they were not ugly enough…surely there were worse words for the occasion?

So when I think about the F word…that’s the day I remember and I think it should be reserved for times like that. Shouldn't you save a bad word for a very bad time? Of course that would make it very subjective...that's okay too. Maybe your bad is nothing compared to my client's but it's your bad time. I will not judge another's pain...but the chit-chat has to stop!Interestingly there is an actual organization called Cuss Control Academy, they actually get paid ($1500) to come out to your company to give a presentation about the negatives of swearing in the workplace. Even though I probably agree with the principle....that’s a little too much! Today for me, I just want to voice a pet-peeve and that’s the use of the F-word to chit-chat about everything in life, it is really on my nerves and we should upgrade our language skills!!

Do Clothes Make the Man?? Maybe...

Mark Twain once said, "clothes make the man. " There is something to be said about that. I remember the first time I met Jack...he was a cute smiling kid. The next time I saw him, he was in a group home, sullen and pensive after moving from his foster home of many years. Jack was like a kid misplaced, his soul seemed stomped on. Everything was done properly but some times you can't fix a child's heart, not even with a lot of therapy. So Jack's life was full of school trouble, police altercations, and multiple placements.

He's tough now, he's a self proclaimed thug and quite proud of it. In the semi lock-up where he lives, he has advanced and now frequently rides the bus to the office. Usually he slinks in with shorts hanging under his backside, a tee-shirt covering it. Some days he complains endlessly about what's not being done for him. It's true he's had a bad life but if we do not redirect him he will acquire an attitude of entitlement which will paralyze his future.

Last week he wants me to buy his lunch, I tell him no but he can share mine. Thanks but no-thanks he says but quickly changes his mind. We talk as I microwave our meal; my patience is waning and I find myself telling him, at 30 no one cares that he had a bad life in foster care, they want to know that he comes to work on time and does a good job. I don't know what makes me say this but he's not listening anyway, he's asking how I make soup. I smile and tell him. The words about his future are not for him today, he's not quite ready...but he will hold them for another day.

In summer the office is like a second home where many kids would stay all day if they were permitted. Amazingly, over the years it has become quite easy to see through the facades of the children. And this child is easy....he's smart, deep and pensive...and there is a promising future for him .... if he can just make a few good choices and just ONE PERSON will hang in with him!

Thursday he appears at the door with a clothes bag slung over his shoulder. He is so excited he can barely talk. "ONE PERSON" has arranged for Jack to meet an attorney. Later Jack emerges from the men's room in dress pants (actually covering his backside) and a maroon designer dress shirt and tie. He is transformed in some strange way. Are the pants too tight he wonders? No, he looks great, I tell him. He rushes off to have someone teach him how to tie his tie. He finds Booker, the best dressed guy in the office.

It chokes me up a little, Jack treats us like we are his family. I wish this moment was shared with his real family, not people working at a foster care agency. But Deb, my supervisor reminds me...we care about him and he knows it. She's very practical. With that, Jack reappears, looking sharp in a windsor knot. Soon it's time to leave and his anticipation turns to anxiety.

What should he say??? What should he do?? He's sooooo nervous as he awaits the elevator. I tell him to relax, be himself. He's very disturbed by that response, he tells me he can't possibly do that, the guy won't like him. No time for self-esteem lessons, so I tell him to put out his hand and "Hi I'm Jack, thanks for meeting with me!" I hug him and he's off! I return to my desk, Deb and I are like mother hens praying this man will be great for Jack. Time passes, there's work to be done but we are still thinking about Jack....

Later he returns, full of details, a $26 plate of pasta..$26!!!, a Jaguar something, the man's office in detail....he happily chatters on confidently, ..."a job...our relationship starts today, not interested in my past mistakes"...the man has planted hope in Jack's heart! I wish the man was there, I'd kiss him!! I push away the worries...will the man eventually weary of Jack, will Jack return to his old ways? Those fears are not for today, there's hope and in foster care you have to seize every moment of hope!

Some boys are fooling around in the hallway, yelling, pulling, pushing...Jack calls to them "Cut it out!" Debbie reminds them that they should go to downstairs, so Jack herds them to the elevator...but I call after him telling him I think he looks great! With great confidence he calls back " I feel GREAT!" He's a different boy, he sounds different, acts different and is full of GOOD dreams! Is it the clothes?..maybe just a little! Maybe the clothes mirror the new hope inside!

God at 35,000 Ft.

It had been a lovely weekend. I was assigned a middle seat in the back but instead I headed for exit row window seat. The plane was practically empty and I watched to see if the seat belonged to anyone. A handsome young man, bags slung over his shoulder, was the last person to enter before the door closed. Oh dear and he came right to my row. I offered to move immediately and he waved for me to stay, as he flopped into the aisle seat looking very tired. A conversation ensued and he launched into an vivid explanation of his night in a Phila hotel, a backed up toilet and the seminar he had taught.

He chattered on for quite a while and I finally asked a few questions as I drew a picture in my mind of this interesting young man. He was extremely successful, lived on South Beach and longed for the stability of a committed relationship and family. We laughed as he described his family and childhood antics. Before long we were now both leaning on the armrests facing one another like old friends. As he rambled on, I interrupted.

ME: What is your name? (Before he answered a thought came to my head-"His name is Mark")
Him: Mark Hmmm....there is something to this encounter. We talked about everything imaginable until he stopped.

HIM: Are you a therapist?
ME: Heavens NO!! (I laughed heartily)
HIM: Hmmmm...you seem like one. But you are religious?
ME: (Laughing) I hope not..but I have a strong faith. (I elaborated as he listened intently with an open heart and mind)
HIM: I can tell your soul is peaceful. You know, I live an alternative life-style(now speaking in a hushed tone as though he is whispering a secret)
ME: I know
HIM: Mothers always know (he was nodding) I didn't know how you'd feel about it, being..being so spiritual
ME: After what I just told you about my faith, what kind of person would I be if I felt differently about you?

He then launched into every bad experience he had with "religious" people. I listened sadly. When his heart had emptied, he told me about his life, his friends and his old boyfriend. I asked about his business in real estate and he explained it to me with detail. A rather get-rich-quick business, but interesting, I asked him if he thought I could do it. With a salesman type response, he heartily said I could, but I shook my head saying not.

HIM: What did your family tell you growing up? (then drawing back he asked incredulously) Does your husband beat you?
ME: (bursting out in laughter) No! He is a good, kind man.
HIM: Hmmm...must have been someone else that gave you that message...well what about you?....tell me about yourself!

I gave him a bio and he listened but stopped me.

HIM: (he was thoughtful) I am going to have to think about this. Feeling on the edge of something. I felt uneasy as he left his seat for the restroom. Upon returning, before he was fully seated Mark said:

I got it!!! Everyone opens up to you and you let them talk and talk because you are a caring person, but you really don't want to talk about yourself, you don't want anyone to know about you! Am I right?? (he asked proudly)

ME: (bursting into soft laughter, I momentarily searched the clouds and blue skies expecting the LORD Himself to be peering in at me. The moment was pregnant with truth and light that bore into my soul in the most unexpected way. Truth is of God and here he was speaking to me face to face through this beautiful gay man.) You are very right Mark.

We hugged as we parted, I promised to pray for him and thanked him profusely for speaking truth to my soul. Surely it is easier to listen or help another then to be made vulnerable and let others help me. My search for authenticity wasn't going to come very easily but I have never forgotten that day 3 yrs ago nor the truth Mark taught me about myself, nor that God will speak even at 35,000 ft in a most unexpected encounter with a stranger.

The Duvalgal and her Baby Sister

This is my sister Barb and me laughing while celebrating at my 60th B-Day. We laugh a lot now. Several years ago we started a blog to tell our childhood stories. When you are younger, you are writing your own stories and are too busy to ask about the stories of your parents. By the time you do care, they are sometimes gone, so we decided to write a blog together for our children. Somehow we lost our blog out there in blogger space but today I found a posting I intended for her B-Day! She was going to be called the Duvalgal, named after the street we grew up on, I of course was the baby sister.

The Duvalgal always said she was the mistake, and our parents had me 3 yrs. later to keep her company. I wondered about that, she said it often enough, how could I forget! But it didn't bother me so much, because "company" sounded a lot better than "mistake" And I always thought she was a little whiny about it, but being a middle child, it comes with the territory. Of course Dad vehemently denied it, with a little too much passion I thought. "There were no "mistakes in our family" he'd say, that alone was a hilarious statement. Mom was noticeably silent during these "mistake" conversations.

Before Duvagal made her entrance, our parents had the "perfect family" or "a rich man's family" so they would say.... a girl, and a boy named after dad. It must have been a transition for the family of 4 to add a baby after 8 years. If Duvalgal was a truly a "mistake " (and who could believe any child is a mistake regardless of planning) it was long forgotten when she entered the world on our older sister's 12th birthday. Blond, blue-eyed like Dad and her birthday counterpart. She was beautiful and delighted everyone. I wasn't there but I am sure she was the treasure of all their hearts. As a toddler she had blond ringlets, much like Shirley Temple, the favorite child star of the 40's.

My sister's early days were days when war raged in Europe and the South Pacific. Our father didn't go to war with Germany or Japan, he was too old at 40, had one eye and 3 children. He did have some sort of civilian volunteer job in the neighborhood during the mandatory blackouts, (preparation in case of attack)

The sad part about being the youngest with older parents....there is no one left to tell you the answers to your many questions....all who would remember or would have enjoyed them carried the answers to their graves. Was Duvalgal a mistake? No child is a mistake, especially this one! Duvalgal would grow to be strong, charismatic, smart, ever learning, fun and loved by everyone. And best of all, she would be "my big sister and best friend". Happy Birthday Barb!!

JUST ONE PERSON

"What's up?" I ask. The pharmacy will not fill his client's meds until the following day. Does that sound right, he wonders. "Yep, sure does, Medicaid will not fill the script if it has been filled in the past 30 days." I tell him. He quickly picks up the conversation we had started earlier when we were both too busy to chat. He relates his client's most recent problems.

"She's a special girl, but no one sees that. People do not treat her right, it's just wrong!" he rants, I agree. I know the case, she is not easy, she's troubled and no one has ever called her "special", not in the way he means it. Teen years can be difficult for any child.....but what do you do when you've grown up in group homes, therapeutic homes or psychiatric lock-ups? You're different, you're strange, and you are constantly rejected by peers and adults. Many pieces are due to no fault of your own. You are truly lost in this world. What can ever lift you out of this place, is there any hope?

This case manager sounds tired and troubled about the girl. I tell him he should go home to his family, he tells me he will, but first he has to make a home visit. I imagine him eventually arriving home flopping on a bed, kids jumping on him, older ones with tales or problems of the day, little ones who just want his attention, and a pretty wife who thought she was marrying a "hot" athlete, not a underpaid social worker!

I hang up, still thinking about the girl. If she has just ONE PERSON in her life, JUST ONE, who sees inside her very dark world, just ONE PERSON who knows how she should be treated and treats her that way. JUST ONE PERSON who knows she's special and tells her so. That's all it will take to change this child's world, JUST ONE PERSON. She will still have problems but when you know someone who cares journeys with you, well, it does something to your heart. In some small way you know you are worthy of some things good and right.

But for now the young case manager is weary, disappointed, and tonight he is righteously angry. No matter what he does, it probably will not be enough, it never is. Judges will make unreasonable demands of him, some foster parents will fall short of giving the kids what they need, and some of his foster kids will not even make it in this hard world. But he will make a difference in the life of the girl he calls "Special" because he is the ONE PERSON for her. In years to come she will remember and believe maybe, just maybe, there are others like him or that maybe she, as remote as it seems today, will be that ONE PERSON for another.

Peace that helps me live...

Lately I have been thinking about the culture that surrounds my faith system. It seems terribly off at times, which makes me question whether I too am off. Most people turn to their faith or religion when hard times come. But it has also been said that "religion kills". Ironic that what should be a source of help, hurts. The most noticed will always be the fundamentalist groups that brag of their "pure religion" They strictly follow creeds, codes, rules, or books that are to be the guide. On every front, those are the people we know, see or read about in the media, the people that scare us. But in today's world, religion has become quite electic, something you create for yourself, a faith that works just for you. Like a menu, you pick and choose, to make it work for yourself.

"How about you Ginny?" I ask myself. "Is your faith eclectic or are you a fundamentalist of sorts? Both sound really scary to me. Fundamentalist?.... I don't read enough, pray enough, mediate enough or believe enough to be a fundamentalist. Maybe eclectic then? You know, a lot like the girls' favorite sixth grade project "Create your own country, or as the fast food slogan goes "have it your way" Choose your own book of choice and figure out what you like? But who wants faith system where you call the shots, I am not that smart. I am a just a little tiny girl in my moments of darkness, or even in my moments of bravery...I am looking for an incomprehensible Presence standing behind me. A hand that draws me to a Holy heart, that beats on my behalf. A God who knows me intimately and loves me, even when I cannot figure out what I am. I need a God I do not understand, who is too big to explain, but a God who visits me and invites me to His presence, whose face I see everywhere I go.

I read the following phrase in a Taize email, I like it...I will stop wondering about my religious label and that of others and just follow that PEACE.

Jesus our peace, through the Holy Spirit you come to us always.

Our prayer can be quite poor, but you pray within us even in the silence of our hearts.

I Still Believe

Luis is a great young man who grew up in the foster care system. He's the kind of kid you want to hug every time you see him, his smile warms your heart. The road has not been easy for him but he is working hard to carve out a future for himself while still making every effort to support his family. But he has no health insurance yet. When he stopped by to tell me he was feeling really sick, I immediately headed for Walgreens, filling my basket with Ziacam, EmergenC and of course Airborne! Back at the 7th floor office, co-workers sceptically watched as I unloaded my purchases on to the desk. A watchful drooping Luis, carefully took in all my instructions about symptomatic treatment.

"Luis, if you don't believe in all I'm telling you, give this stuff to a friend without insurance! But it really does work." A week later a very excited Luis came running up the street. We hugged and he thanked me profusely, relating how quickly he had recovered, and how he continued to use the products when not feeling well. Now he was frustrated because everyone in the office was sick but refused to take his advice! I reminded him it is in the believing.

As we walked, my supervisor, watching the encounter asked me if I know there was a class-action suit against Airborne. Not missing a beat, I told her I didn't care, I reminded her that I haven't gotten sick on my trips since I started taking Arborne before flying, I traveled to India and Sudan and didn't become ill once due to my daily EmergenC-Airborne cocktail. And while others have lingering colds they nurse for weeks...Treating myself symtomaticaly my colds are gone in days! And then I remind her maybe it's in the believing, she smiled...but that's OK with me....I DO BELIEVE!

It is only right that people should get their money back in the class-action suit, but I am sorry they have to be sick, they should just have believed like Luis and me.

The Babies

Sitting at my computer attempting to shake off my day in foster care, I linked to this picture. It felt shockingly familiar! I am always a drama queen but there was something gripping about the babies...most did not look unhappy. I do not know the photographer, but the picture was powerful and I began to cry. There they were!! OUR BABIES, barely out of the womb....abandoned, neglected, drug exposed and tossed in the the bureaucratic bucket, called foster care. But it was the little shark in the bucket that frightened me, the unnoticed tiny enemy. There are so many little enemies that can hurt a child in care, inadequate bonding, delayed health care, undetected developmental problems....the list goes on. Hopefully everyone does their part to avoid the sharks in foster care.

It is time to reign myself in! So I replay the words of a foster parent I spoke to earlier. "Oh Mrs Ginny, she is the most precious little baby girl, she was my little blessing when they brought her to me yesterday!" Ms C explodes with delight! I ask about the three older girls in her home, their parents' rights have been long ago terminated, they will never return to their families. "They just adore her! Oh , if you get a chance, will you tell her mama she is being loved and we are taking very care of her! Oh how I wish my other girls could have their mothers too, but just isn't so." She says sadly.

Then I remember another baby. He's the big baby in the bucket. I can see him smiling. From the moment I sat him on my desk, he conversed with me, cooing, laughing...really talking in that unknown tongue babies use, but usually not at 4 months!! So bright, so smart! I paraded him around to the development and fiscal depts, everyone oo..ing and ah..ing over this precious baby boy. But it was only as I engaged him did he really respond, otherwise he looked with caution at everyone.

"Buddy..I have to say good-bye to you now," I sat him on my desk again and gently ran my fingers over his tiny fro. "You have a great visit with your mom, I know she loves and misses you! You are going to have a good life, you will grow up to be a good, strong man...." I pulled him close for one more hug, "You are going to go far in this world Buddy!! I just know it" I passed him off reluctantly.

Having four girls, we had lots of baby dolls. Most were loved initially when new and novel but eventually cast aside naked in a toy box, under the bed or left outside. From time to time I would gather them up, redress them and tuck them back in baby carriages, doll beds and chairs. But I often thought they were happiest whether dressed or naked when they were in one of the girls' arms being loved and cared for. I pray our babies in the bucket will find loving arms too.

Baby it's cold outside!!

As I stood waiting for the train this morning, shivering in the bitter 30 degree weather, I was remembering those mornings in Elverson, PA. Mornings like today bring back memories....

On cold mornings long ago, I would jump out of bed and throw on a trench coat and furry slippers. Quietly, I'd slip downstairs, turn the furnace themastat from 55 to 65 and let myself out the back door into the bitter winter air. As the biting wind whipped my nightie around my knees, I'd gather my coat and tuck it between my legs to keep it from blowing around. Swinging the ax over my head I quickly split a small pile of wood and carried it through sliding doors into our family room.

It only took minutes before I'd kneel warming my hands over a roaring fire! First rays of morning sunshine never appeared on those days as I awakened the girls from their beds piled with blankets. Sleepily they'd dress for school and the first ones downstairs could sit right on the raised hearth drinking their cocoa before the dancing flames of the fire.

But my well built fire that delighted my children, died by mid-morning, chores had to be done and gloomy skies filled the windows that day and perhaps many days after that! After we moved to Florida my dad once left me a phone message.

We haven't seen the sun for 17 days!". he bemoaned in great dismay.

Today as the wind whipped around me, I wasn't in my nightie on the train platform, though I was just as cold. I smiled listening to Floridians discuss the weather, there is no in-between when cold weather hits Florida. It is either hated or loved. For me, it's not the temperature but the sun that shines almost everyday in South Florida that warm my heart.... and those memories of long ago. It is also the incredible sunrises and sunsets we see daily that keep me going, and makes me so grateful to live in South Florida.

Yes..."Baby..It's Cold Outside"....but here in South Florida, it's not gloomy!

Somedays...it's a very sad world...

This has been a busy week trying to catch up at work, after spending a delightful time with our bright, adorable grandchildren. Unfortunately as I attempted to clear my desk, my eyes fell on several very, very sad stories. You wonder how life can go so wrong for some people, especially for children. When everything makes no sense to me, I find great comfort in knowing, a sovereign, Almighty and very loving God, must somehow eventually sort out all this cruel injustice.
While many people struggle to discover all the answers, at times I find comfort in knowing we are too mortal to ever figure life out, all the good and evil. While it never lessens my own faith, my heart is sad for the things that must break the very heart of God.
As I left the nursing home last night, there in the newspaper stand, the large headline on the late Miami Herald addition screamed "Saddam Hussein Hanged." I rummaged through my purse but finding no coins I headed for my car. I drove home mournfully. Why was I so sad? Wasn't Hussein a vicious, cruel person?? Why just that afternoon a dear friend had commented with joy, over the swift execution of this evil man. As I drove in the darkness, I wondered why this great sadness gripped my heart....I believe swift justice was good, didn't I??
Was I distressed for the suffering children I know, or was it my own personal uncovered pain?? I had a friend who would wail over the loss of her animals but remained totally in control and dry-eyed when true sadness or grief touched her life. That was a mystery to me until I realized she wasn't weeping for the animal, though she did care, but it was truly for all the pain in her heart never expressed. We all have some of that, maybe that was my problem?
I went to bed thinking about it...yes, I was sad for the children, probably sad for my own hidden pain , but surely I wasn't sad over the man who murdered countless men, women and defenseless children?? I thought about it..yes, in a way, I was sad about Hussein. Sad for the wickedness that wounds, destroys and even kills, no matter whose heart it comes from, no matter how big or small the offense, I knew for sure, laying there, that each one of us truly does need redemption only a Savior can give. I don't think everyone believes that but I do...because I need the love and grace He brings, the true message of Christmas.

"501" - Our "haunted" home???

Gina was my mother's dear friend and neighbor. She's an amazing person and was a dear friend to my mom as she grew older. It was a very mutual relationship, though we saw Gina as an angel, checking on our mom. So when we decided to stop over for a short visit I said,

"Kris, I want to see my mom's house." Kris agreed, "Okay, but I'm not going inside Gram's house yet, I just want to take Ethan's picture on the porch" She wasn't ready, but I was! It was time to go back to the house where I had lived half of my childhood, and where both my parents had lived their lives till they both died. We had moved from Phila. to North Hills when I was in the 6th grade. In those days, moving from the large 3 story, 5 bedroom row house in Germantown to this tiny bungalow in the suburbs, was quite a step-up for my parents.

I tried to take it all in as we drove up Central Ave. The grass was full of that creeping ground-cover weed with the tiny lovely purple flowers. Dad, being particular about the grass would be rolling in his grave, for sure. Kris whipped into the driveway that Sat. morning in April.... We always came in the back door.

"Hello Kristen! This isn't our house anymore, back the car up!!" We both started to laugh, it was just a reflex, she had done it hundreds of times, being close to Mom and living in Newark, she often came to visit. We were both a tad nervous, Baby Ethan was getting hungry too. Immediately a truck pulled up, and we were obviously blocking the driveway! I jumped out and approached the truck.

"Is this your house, do you need to get in?" she nodded yes as I introduced myself. "I grew up in this house..." the lump rose in my throat, oh dear, I thought, God don't let me cry or act sappy with this stranger!! Wendy was a pretty young woman dressed in jeans.

"Oh please come inside?" she asked tenderly. I ran back to the car to tell Kris, but she reminded me she wasn't taking the tour. Walking into the house, tears filled my eyes, not with sadness, but with memories of times long ago .....so much had happened within those walls. Wendy took me from room to room, nothing was the same but I was so touched by her sweet spirit. I walked through the house slowly envisioning the past and enjoying being in Wendy's home with "her" things. Her grandmother's piano sat in my parents bedroom, she had taken it to Colorado and back. I liked this girl and I knew my parents would too.

"When I first moved here, the man across the street told me this house was blessed!" she said she believed that was true. I nodded, she no idea, but maybe she did. We laughed and talked like old friends.

When she left the room for a minute, her quiet fiance, probably a bit uncomfortable with all the emotion, finally blurted out, "She doesn't want to tell you...but she's selling the house!!!" They were getting married and she was moving upstate. Yes of course that was a wise plan to lessen the separation until then. At first I thought she just loved the house, but I noticed she seemed to have a strange connection to my childhood home. I wished them well, but Wendy was quick to say selling the house was troubling, she wanted the "right person" to live there. We hugged good-bye, I wished her well and we took a picture of our baby Ethan on the front steps.

The house finally fell into the hands of the "right person" Mark, Gina's son. When we returned sometime later, Gina gave us the grand tour. I mentioned I had met the former owner and liked her. "Hmmmm" Gina replied thoughtfully, "Mark thought she was a little crazy." "Really...I liked her." I said wondering.

She told Mark, "This house was haunted by the couple that lived here! But don't worry, their daughter came to visit and when she left, they went with her!" We all laughed for a long time.

But I wonder about the soul of my old home, where so much life was lived; and the sweet girl who somehow felt the presence of my parents.

Rita & Fourth of July Memories

Happy July 4, 2005!!

I always loved the 4th of July! My first memory of this day was when I was almost 5, I became an aunt. I "insisted" Davy call me Aunt Ginny from the beginning....and he still does, even though he looks much older than I. (just kidding Dave!) Happy 55th Birthday!

There were always picnics and July birthday celebrations, tons of yummy food and of course fireworks! Fireworks over the School for the Deaf, over the Phila Art Museum, over St Peter's Village(they fell on the car), over Veteran's Stadium with the Irish boys, over Miami Bay, over the hill near the lighthouse in Aruba, the Heath Boys display, the Biltmore...but the best were those Jim set up in the front yard. Great memories!

But one of my sweetest July 4th memories was with Rita, my Alzheimer patient and friend. At the end of mass, Father Meyer suggested we all sing America the Beautiful, since it was the 4th! Mass had been held in the assisted living lobby because the chapel was being refurbished. It was an awkward set-up and we had taken seats that somewhat faced most of the group of 30-40 sitting in wheelchairs and easychairs. Everyone began to sing rather weakly without much enthusiasm, a normal response from such a group. Rita stood at my side, and it took several bars of music, but slowly, she started to sing. And did she sing! Suddenly it was as though a spotlight was on Rita, and she was the star! "America, America....." she belted it out with all her heart, standing there in her blue jeans and her red sweatshirt jacket, the top of her head way below my shoulder. "....God shed His grace on thee..."

I felt a rush of emotion, suddenly tears were unashamedly rolling down my cheeks, at first I thought it was patriotism, 4th of July and all, it is a touching song...no, that wasn't it..... but the feeling was familiar. Yes, it was like the feeling I'd get with my girls sometimes. Amazed that I'd be so blessed to even know them, let alone be their mom. Gratefulness..yes, that was it! "God, thank you for Rita, she's a gift," I whispered. Oh, I was so proud of her, singing with all her heart. Some of the visitors and Father Meyers smiled but most the the patients hardly noticed Rita's beautiful song. Mass was soon over, "Go in peace to love and serve the LORD" was the benediction.

"Let's go Darling!' Rita said pulling my arm.
"That was a lovely song Rita, you sang beautifully!" I said, still choked up, wiping my eyes.
"Song? Let's go Darling!" yanking at my sleeve. She had already forgotten her song, but I would always hold that sweet memory in my heart.

Thinking about it tonight, it hit me.....Rita had not only forgotten her song but she had forgotten all the 4th of Julys she had ever enjoyed. I never thought of these things before I cared for Rita. I sang America to her today, she just nodded her head, "That's beautiful, yes, that's nice Darling!" but she'd say the same if I sang the Barnie song to her.

She is now just a shadow of the woman she was long ago, not even the woman who sang "America" on a past July 4th. Rita can no longer "do" but she can "be". And in "being", she still touches me daily. Someday I too, might forget the July 4ths mentioned above but in that dark abyss of lost memories, may I "be".....may I sing a song, and when I cannot even do that.......God, please send someone to sit next to me, who enjoys the gift of a grateful heart, and appreciates the value of "just being"

The TRULY handicapped people!!

Gail is an amazing friend, and delightful to be with. Her dry wit keeps me laughing and her kind open caring ways make me deeply respect her. Having been a parapelegic since her late teens, she has totally educated me about being in a wheelchair. I have learned she prefers a kind but simple, "Is there anything I can do to help you?" It leaves the person in the chair in charge.

I went to church with Gail today. In the past, not wanting to be too judgemental or critical, we guarded our conversation about our experiences at church...today I just lost it and cut to the chase as the lady usher leaned over Gail to pass me the registration log.

"Can you sign for your friend too?" she said sweetly. I immediately pushed it back to Gail and whispered, "What an idiot! How do you stand these people and don't give it back to me, I don't want them to have my name!!" She burst into laughter and we giggled through the whole service.

When we first met, Gail often vented about experiences she had with people. "Maybe you're being hard on them", I'd tell her. "Maybe they don't know any better." "And I am supposed to educate the world?" she'd ask crypticly.

The better I knew her and we were out together, she mellowed some and I became a raving idiot! There was the man who always wheeled Gail out of the church backwards as she closed her eyes for the benediction every week. He explained he didn't want her to be caught in the rush of people exiting...hmmm more like she might be in their way!! Then there was the class we were in together, outings were being planned, a lady asked.."Can Gail eat at a restaurant?" This woman had a master's degree. Or the person who asked her to move onto the examing table 10 inches above her chair, a medical person no less. Or the unmovable crowds of people who never stepped aside as she politely asked "Excuse me please?"

I love how she moves beyond all that and always has time for the small child who asks "what's wrong with you?" Or lets a child push her chair.. She's also nice to the TRULY handicapped!!

The Flag Thief

My dad was very patriotic, he loved the American flag. Shortly before he died, dad purchased small flags for all the children in the family. He had all the flags on a TV tray set up to distribute to the kids. He called all the children and individually handed them a flag. He had made little flag holders with some clay and a silver half dollar for a base. At nearly 85, in a family that respected age, he left a lasting impreession on the children.

So when Katie came home from school claiming her flag had been "stolen" the following conversation insued.

mom: Stolen? What flag are you talking about?

katie: (with a "duh-mom" expression on her face) My flag from Pop!!!

mom: Oh honey, I don't think anyone would stole your flag. Who would steal a flag, maybe you misplaced it. Is it the money you think is stolen?(finally remembering the flag with the half dollar)

katie: My money is upstairs!! It's my flag, my "Pop flag"

mom: Honey we'll get another flag.(I tried to console her)

katie: No!! I don't want a flag! I want my "Pop-flag" back....and someone stole it"

Katie was inconsolable, so I marched myself to school the next day to talk to her teacher about this missing/stolen flag. Mrs. Portante immediately addressed it as a serious issue. No, she had no clue where it had gone but all agreed that Katie had brought it to school, showed everyone and she had not taken it home but kept it on the corner of her desk, somewhat like a trophy. When it wasn't there the next day, the children were incensed and had searched everyone's desk and the entire room..but no...it was gone and Katie was heartbroken. All agreed this was a tragedy that someone had stolen Kate's beloved flag.

Katie remained sad for quite a while. but several weeks later she came running to the car, flag in hand!! Marlo had arrived at school that morning with her flag declaring with deep regret that his baby brother Ryan Jon had been found in his carseat waving Katie's flag. Marlo rescued the flag and much to his mother's dismay, declared Ryan Jon the true thief! Katie did not blame Marlo, but she had some serious concerns that he had to dwell under the same roof with a flag-thief. and that maybe Ryan Jon would grow up to steal flags everywhere.

I am sure that flag is long gone, and Ryan Jon is a great young man, and maybe Katie will always be my "drama queen" but God bless the hearts of children when they band together to fight against evil!

Measure your words before you speak Tom!

Whew!!! This guy is sooo on my nerves!! He may be a scientology expert but he is not a medical expert. First of all I would like to say, I was just as hard on Rev. John MacArthur when he judged this issue several years ago. I don't have it "out" for Tom Cruise, but I read the interview with Matt Lauer on the TODAY Show. His arrogance was disturbing. And he repeatedly said "I know, you don't know" to Matt Lauer. (Ritalin & Paxil are not anti-psycotic drugs) He did not seem credible.

Not only does Tom Cruise have resources for "vitamins", professional trainers and even paid nannies, but he also has influence over the masses. People of influence should measure their words before they speak, because it will make a difference in someone else's life. You might laugh and say, "..Not me!" But in this country where Hollywood is a god, that is a true statement.

I too, am not a fan of putting ANYONE on medication, but sometimes it is necessary. His condescending remarks might spurn people to re-consider why they take certain meds in the first place. That's good! But he has also created a doubt in the minds of people who need them. "Am I a bad person?...maybe my son/daughter really doesn't really need a med?"

Some children with ADHD, cannot perform at school even though they live in a consistent, constant, structured environment at home. Even typing the word "perform" is painful but this is especially true of foster children, suffering from neglect and abuse. Some need a psychotropic med such as Ritalin to help them focus and function OR they will loose their placements or get expelled from school, both causing further disruptions in their lives.

If we sent 75 foster kids over to Tom's house next weekend, I am sure he would make project out of them and claim to Oprah/Dave Letterman/Matt Lauer that he had redeemed the children from the clutches of meds/psychiatry. But the real heroes are people who daily invest into their lives, not promising these children a lot of solutions, but promising to work to make their lives a tad better. For these children do not necessarily hold the promise of unconditional love in their hearts.

Tom... there are tons of people out there who don't want to be on meds or don't want kids on meds, and there are all kinds of versions as to who should or shouldn't take medications. You seem to have all the answers! But you don't know their stories, nor do you seem to care. You do care about your new movie, your girlfriend..oh and your religion....I hope you are making a lot of points, because your unmeasured words are self-promoting and harmful to more than you'll ever know.

Later - The above comment sounds noble but my first response was.."what is this guy smoking??" that's how erratic he seemed.

Don't give your bad day away!

I used to tell my children, "happiness is a choice", "you make your own good time" and a million more sayings they'd like to forget I am sure!!! But there is something to be said about that. I stood outside the hurricane ruined post office one day shortly after Andrew hit. There was a long line of people waiting under a canopy to finally get their mail. A canopy had been set up to protect those waiting in the hot FL sun.

People had been shaken by their great losses and everyone was finally getting their mail after several weeks. I watched the people as I waited for over an hour. Some were pleasant as they conversed with strangers around them, others were miserable. I even saw a man with a gun strapped to his belt. As I approached the tables, one postal person stood out; he was firm, unbending, telling people what they had to hear..... but he was continually kind to the disgruntled people he served. Surely they must get on his nerves!

When it was my turn I asked, "I've been watching you, you have a great attitude dealing with these people. How do you do that?" Thinking he'd say something spiritual, he looked me in the eye and said, "I just don't give my bad day away."

I never forgot that, it works both ways...don't receive anyone else's either.

You learn something new everyday!!

I had a delightful conversation with Jonathan today. He's one of those people you meet and you immediately like him. We talked about raising daughters, the importance of teaching social skills to children, giving back when you might not be financially compensated and God's amazing way of giving our lives direction.

Then I learned that Jonathan was an All-American sprinter (100m & 4x100 relay) at FSU, qualified for the 1996 Olympic trials and ran track professionally. I never even knew there was professionals in track. You learned something new every day! I asked him what he was proudest of in his track career, maybe his 9.99 for the 100m?...no, he said always running clean, no steroids. I remembered watching Ben Johnson in '88, he ran like a machine only to find out he had taken steroids. What a fraud, what a disappointment. Years later a shadow hangs over most professional sports, so sad, and these are today's role models?

Jonathan, I know you are a sprinter but foster care is more like a marathon. True role modeling. But you will never lose if you invest in a child's life. And may your own girls grow to be strong amazing women. Oh, and thanks for that new name "The Bartender"

54 Years! ..."And they said it wouldn't last"

When my mom died in 2000, it would be several years before I truly felt the loss. At the time I was concerned about Kristen, she had been so close to Mom and had driven back and forth from DC to Phila to be with her those last months. They were true friends, what a loss for Kris I thought. But God is so cute, He always sees the path ahead and prepares it for us, with His generous heart. As the Mother Superior tells Maria in "The Sound of Music, "When God closes a door He always opens a window". In this case, it was not a window, but another door....the one across the hall from Kris on the 4th floor.

One could not have ordered a better pair of Jewish grandparents than Corliss and Arthur. Even the cat had to share the loveseat where Kris curled up every visit. Corliss' offered support and solid sound advice... Kris appreciated that. Arthur, he offered critiques and opinions on all boyfriends, Kris thought that was okay.....well not so much, but she knew Arthur would beat up anyone who dared to hurt her, or at least he'd be rude to him!

These good hearted people became our friends too, so when I was thinking of them, I called to say hi! They were celebrating their 54th anniversay today. Talking to Corliss and Arthur is always delightful, their life stories are the best, you feel you are back in NYC with them. I told them how very blessed we felt to know them and wished them many more years of health and happiness together! Corliss quipped "And you know they said it would never last!?!!" I am glad "they" were wrong!

GREAT NEWS!!!!

Before I ever had children, I always wanted 4 boys....well we never had boys but I was so happy we had 4 girls. And someone told me once that when you have girls, the boys will eventually come around. How true that was! So when the 4th grandson arrived, I said "OK I have my 4 boys!" Now I thought this baby was a boy too, but so did the midwife, so I was in good company.

But it's a girl!! Pachie and Jorge are having a baby girl, I think even Jorgie was stunned. Almost immediately I started thinking about the "the brothers". My great-niece Hannah calls her older brothers "the brothers" I love it, it's so cute.

This little one, still unborn....she's a blessed girl, because she has two of the neatest brothers God ever made, they will adore her, they will be tender and kind! They will make her laugh from her belly and be sad when she cries. They will teach her about Thomas Train and Legos. They will show her how to swim, throw a ball and even fish. Of course they'll yell, "Mama get this baby!!" when she ventures into their important things! But she'll love them with all her heart! Blessings on you Pache and Jorge, and especially "The Brothers" Josiah & Jack!!

The Devil Lives in Miami

She stood at our office door announcing, "The devil lives in Miami!!" I burst out laughing, thinking...oh if we could just confine the devil to Miami that would be great. Instead I replied, "Sorry, he's everywhere, even under that big blue Wyoming sky!

Michelle O is a transplant to Miami and the kind of girl you just naturally like. She's also an excellent social worker who does her job well and loves her clients. Unfortunately she has had some very bad experiences here in Miami, everything from the DMV to the pizza guy. A week never ended without Michelle telling a distressing story. It was wearing her down. I don't know where she found those miserable people.

My friend Johanna had said many of the same things. But she was from Philadelphia, so I rebuked her and said "Of course people are just as nice here as in Philly." I should know, I came from there! She never bought that and I'm sure she is much happier living in N.C. working on her PhD, having shaken the dust of Miami from her sandals, hardly looking back!

Then I went to Philadelphia last week. The man sitting next to me in the train asked the conductor for specific directions for me. He said as we left the R1, "I think you might get the R2 on this track." A polite Asian boy abruptly turned, "Where are you going? Warminister? Oh I'll show you where to get off" A woman my age chimed in,"It will be here in four minutes" That was followed by a lady writer engaging me in a very interesting conversation about Irish geneologies. I was quite overwhelmed by this friendliness, and it was that way everywhere I went.

Hmm......maybe Michelle and Johanna were right, I was having second thoughts. Then my husband told me about taking the train in Miami. It was a first time experience, and not knowing where he was going he approached an ominous looking teen with pants way below his boxers. As he asked for some directions and the kid quickly responded, "Poppy, you stick with me, I'll take care of you!" I smiled when Jim told me the kid never left his side.

People are great in the City of Brotherly Love, and probably in Wyoming...but personally I still love Miami. I love the culture, I love the weather, and I love the blue, blue skies, and sunshine. The children are beautiful, the Cuban coffee is great and I love it that strangers greet one another with a Cuban kiss (kissing the air, barely touching cheeks). I hope Michell O will agree before she goes west for good!

And I still think the devil lives everywhere.

P.S. 6/27/05 - K. who is in training and out of the office most of the time dropped by the other day...he went to school in Philly and we often chat about that. Somehow it initiated a conversation about Miami, "These are the nastiest people here! I even worry when I eat fast food that people might even spit in the food!" Yikes!! On an up note, Michelle O came by and I asked, "Is Miami better since you got a better job, less stress?" She admitted it wasn't quite as bad, but she and her husband will go back to Wyoming to raise a family.