I hear the tree branches hitting what sits above me and the howls of wind outside the house. I rush to mom and sit at her side. She strokes my face and tells me it is okay; not to be afraid and it is only wind. Yet, I am fearful. Even when she kisses me on top of my head, I can’t keep my fear at bay. She leaves the room and I am alone.

What's that noise? I think it is coming from the kitchen, so I move and peek from the office door and watch. Is mom upset? Because she is forcing Joey into a cage. Why would she do this? He is howling and fighting to get free. A patch of his hair falls to the floor. He looks horrified and keeps screaming as mom latches the door shut. I don't understand. She would never harm us.

Next, I see her pickup CharLee and stuff her inside another large cage. CharLee holds the door open and is screeching. She scratches mom with her long nails. I see the blood begin to form around moms’ wound. Yet, this does not stop her. She pushes CharLee back inside and again slams the door shut and locks the latch Though CharLee is screaming, mom ignores her pleas and I watch as she runs from room to room, bringing with her bits of clothing and personal items. I watch as she stuffs them in a plastic bag.

Her gaze turns to me. There is panic in her face, so I back up as she approaches. I hear her say, “Come here little guy. Mommy loves you; I won’t hurt you. Come here sweetie.”

Well, I’ve heard those words before, and they mean only one thing – something I shall surely detest is about to happen.

The dogs, Harry and Rooney rush to her which averts her attention from me. I take this chance to hide in the closet and pick a spot I can still peer out to see what is going on but be safe from getting discovered. I watch mom attach a leash to both dogs collar. Guess it is ‘potty time’ Yet, she tells them to stay and she’ll be right back. I cannot see her now

She is calling for me, but I stay silent. Something is going on and I do not want to be a part of any of it. I hear scuffling and then the slam of the front door. I slip into the secret hiding place within the wall. She’ll never find me here.

You see, I know mom is growing old. She already must carry two animals and pull the two dogs, on foot. I know dad takes the car each day, so I wonder why she must do this now.

As if to answer my question, she shouts out, ‘Mommy has to go sweetie. They are evacuating us. Fire is heading our way. Please, honey, please come to mama”

Fire. I’ve seen pictures of it on TV and I did burn myself by touching the hot burner on the stove-top. Mom told me to be careful; that I could catch the house on fire. So, I know fire is not a good thing.

After two more attempts to get me to come with her, I hear footsteps leaving the room. I am so afraid. If only mom knew how much I want to leap into the safety of her arms and be carried away. If only there was a means to tell her how much I love her. I love her so much that I must be brave and strong this time. I must remain hidden until she leaves.

The wind is howling through the rooftop and I hear mom talking to someone outside. I can’t make out what she is saying. Maybe I should run to her right now and tell her she is right; that I am weak and cowardly. Dad and mom are always saying I don’t have to be afraid, but everything scares me. Well, this is my time to prove them wrong.

I run to the window and peer out. Mom is gone as well as the animals. It is getting dark now. The last thing I heard mom say to me was she loves me. The room is filled with something I’ve never seen before. It is thickening the air and it is grayish black in color. It smells funny. I hear crackling above me.

Look mom, I am not afraid anymore. I am brave and strong as you asked of me each day. I hold your last words of love within my heart as I fall into a deep sleep from the smoke-filled room.

⁕⁕⁕

It has been a couple weeks since I last saw my family and my mom. I keep hearing her calling my name and directing me to where she and dad are now living. The force of their love is drawing me toward them. But I can’t get through into their dimension. I am now floating through space and time and find myself on a farm. I see dad drive up and when he opens the car door, I jump into his arms.

Dad cuddles me and holds me close to his heart and rushes to open the milk barn door and bring me to my mom. She squeals with delight and grabs me from dad’s arms and puts me on the bed. She strokes my hair and kisses my head. It feels so good to be home. I sit in her lap and purr and purr and purr.

⁕⁕⁕

The woman awakes to the sound of the cell phone’s alarm. She sobs and wails in disappointment. No! How could it be a dream? She’d held him in her arms. She’d petted his coat. She felt him just as if he was in the room with her.

She rushes to her husbands arms and tells him of Stubby cat’s visit; how real it was; how she smelled him and touched him. How his body was alive and warm and how it all crashed to pieces when the alarm brought about reality.

Yes, he was gone. In her heart and soul, she knew this and as she lay down on the bed, tears of grief, blame and love poured forth.

⁕⁕⁕

I watch mom cry and wish I could be with her again. Dad is at her side trying his best to fight back his own tears. If I could tell them one thing, it would be how I chose to sacrifice my own well being to ensure the rest of my family made it to safety. More than anything, I want mom and dad to know, when faced with such danger, my love for them meant more than my own life. For I saw that mom could never carry my big orange kitty body, along with all the other animals, to safety

Yes, I was no longer fearful. But proud I had shown I was no longer the Scardy Cat mom had saved from being euthanized so many years ago. I am brave and strong and will watch over my family, in spirit, for as long as they live.

And, I purr loudly .

It is time to tell a true story; one from my early childhood; one that haunts me and causes me pain even after all these years. Before I write more, let me tell you that this is an example of the 'good old days' I keep hearing about. I'll take today, thank you. Here we go...

Some of my earliest memories are those of a wonderful women named Katherine. You see, my mom was sick and couldn't handle we three children, so Katherine was hired to be our 'nanny'. We fell in love with her. She was always in a great mood, but don't dare cross her or you'd be heading to the nearest bush to retrieve a thin branch; knowing you would feel the quick swish, cry, and apologize. Thankfully, those times were, as they say, few and far between.

I was so bored, being the youngest and only girl. Boys, especially brothers, don't like playing with girls at that age. I thank my brother, Mickey, for putting up with my pleas to be Phillip to my Aurora. Or Michael to my Peter Pan.

Katherine knew how to make even the simplest of materials a childhood wonderland. We'd lay on the grass and dirt and create beautiful fairy lands using twigs, grass and anything else we could find. And we'd play for hours using our imaginations as we told our magical stories. We'd stare at the clouds; knowing we'd find a fascinating figure.

One thing, I'll never forget, is I wanted so much to go fishing, but I was not allowed to do so because of the hooks. Well, Katherine had an answer for that one also. She had me get a stick and bring it to her. It had to be a sturdy long stick. I watched as Katherine tied string to the stick and took a safety pin from her garment and connect it to the string. Then off we went to the nearest river. To my amazement, I caught fish using this home made fishing pole. Katherine enjoyed our moments, or at least she acted as if she did, and I, and my brothers, looked forward to her being part of our family.

Then something happened that changed our lives. We heard our father yelling at Katherine. Why would he do so? She cooked, she cleaned and she took such good care of us; always. Then we heard the words. Father was blaming Katherine for stealing his alcohol. She kept telling him she had not done so; that she never would or could. And we children backed her up. We were with her all day, especially me, being the youngest. Katherine told us to not bother because she was speaking the truth. Yet, maybe we should have bothered, for this was to be the last day she would come to our home. My mom took the alcohol but feared my father's wrath and allowed our Katherine to take the fall and be fired.

Father told us never to go see Katherine again. Our hearts broke and I did not understand how this wrong could ever be righted.

My brother and I, of course, visited Katherine often, for we loved her.

So what is my point in all of this? Simply the fact our beloved nanny., Katherine, was a black American citizen. We as children only saw love and kindness; never color. We didn't know how to differentiate love from one nationality to another.

Back then, all the black citizens in our city lived on one street called, Green Street. It was run down homes; each attached to the other. But step inside a home and you'd find such beauty, and of course, the food smelled fantastic.

You wonder how so many in my age bracket can be full of hate and racism. They were taught it. They lived it. They accepted it and now are afraid that we are a nation of diversity. They want it back as it was.

I write this today, not only in the memory of my dear Katherine who was a mom to me for so long, but to all who accept and support the actions of this Trump administration.

It is time we realized if there is a God and he or she is the creator, then they created all; everyone, you, me, Americans, English, Chinese; all people. So stop this ridiculous nonsense of thinking anyone is superior to another. They are not. You are not.

I beg you to vote blue this time around. I do not wish us to go back to a time where we were taught to be ashamed of loving all people. My bet is you do not wish this either.

It has been some time since I wrote on the blog. Not due to lack of topic or substance, merely lack of priority and time. I've pushed the urge to express an opinion or stimulate a discussion deep below the surface until the urge became a need rather than a desire. So, here goes...

Stop It! Two simple words that ring in my head. Two words usually expressed due to irritation or aggravation. Today I shout out to all human beings to please Stop It!

Flashback - many years ago when a child - life was full of magic, discovery and imagination. Can you recall the joy of life and freedom of adventure strolling through a wooded area, hunting for hidden treasures within the soil or simply staring at the clouds to see what remarkable apparition shall appear? We 'lived in the moment'; enjoying the beauty of nature; not fearing the change of season but rather embracing the opportunity to frolic in the snow, jump into the pile of raked Autumn leaves, carve that Halloween pumpkin or play Marco Polo at the local pool.

And if another child joined in the fun and adventure, it was even better. Didn't matter religion, race or sex of the new or long-time friend; just that you enjoyed their company. We were still allowed to embrace one another; give a hug as a friend and fellow human being; something many schools now regulate. Can you imagine what message those schools are sending to our children; that something is wrong in two friends hugging one another or, as many young girls often do; hold hands. The bond of expressing friendship and love for another human being is immediately replaced by shame or humiliation. The beginning of instilling fear within our children of showing compassion, care or love for another.

The reason I bring up childhood is, for the most part, a child learns from their teachers; be they parental or educational. They learn from authoritarian figures and also personal experiences; both good and bad. They learn from the religious organizations attended as well as supremacist and sub-cultural groups. They learn from war-ravaged cities, low or no income induced poverty, and gun laden streets. So what are we teaching our children of the world? How are we, as teachers and educators, setting an example of how human beings interact in life? Do we embrace one another as our brother/sister or do we fear and mock their differences? Do we place their futures above the lust of power and money? Do we elect and support individuals who have the good of the country and people, as well as the good of the planet and mankind as their priority?

From what I've encountered and seen through the decades is a continual decline in people caring for one another. Instead of taking responsibility, as a nation and world, for choices made and actions taken, we seem to play a 'blame game'. We blame those who hold different values. We blame those who make more money. We blame the poor and poverty stricken. We blame immigrants. We blame those of other sexual inclinations. We blame big business and Wall Street. We blame those who hold different political beliefs. We blame the atheists, the mystics, the scientists and the broken.

We blame the government. Ugh, we elected them and turned the other way as they slowly and methodically made changes that have affected the economy, the livelihood of the majority, and interaction between one another. Yes. Fear. Ego. Righteousness. Ignorance. Daily Survival. Love of family. They all play a part in the huge divide within our world. And it is time we all took responsibility for allowing this to occur in such a large scale. Before we blame, look within for what is true for you.

I say to you - Stop It! Stop ignoring the very essence of your soul and being. Stop allowing the fear of rejection, death, or poverty to rule your choices. Stop blaming everyone else for your own inaction. Stop thinking of only yourself. Stop trying to be 'right', as you will never open your mind to other avenues.

Most of all, stop being afraid to embrace another human being with pure love as a brother or sister within our family of humankind. Greed begets greed. Fear begets fear. While love begets love. Peace begets peace.

We have to start sometime. How about now?

On this day where the US celebrates Independence Day, perhaps it is time to look forward and bring all a message of hope and not hate. Thank you again Gwyn Jones and your talented artists for making this happen.

Meeting Ms. Sanders

Ever have something occur in your life that changes your ideas or concepts?

My first assignment as a Hospice Volunteer for Phelps County Regional Medical Center, Home Health Hospice, was a weekly visit at the local Nursing Home.

With portable keyboard in hand, I entered the visitors’ room. As I set up, the room filled with twenty or so residents eager to hear a few songs. I played a few universal tunes and happiness filled the room with rich and sometimes off-key vocals. This was an experience all enjoyed. I noticed more residents entering the room along with a few of the Nursing Staff. Soon we were a choir of lyric and harmony which rang through the halls.

A frail woman I’d grown to know as Ms. Sanders cautiously approached. Her grey hair was disheveled and her body slumped, yet she projected an aura of excitement. I’d seen her many times sitting alone, lost in her own world, mumbling gibberish, her words incoherent as an effect of Alzheimer’s. She pushed my hands from the keyboard and slid next to me, her mutterings now more as loud growls. Whatever could she want? Her intensity rose in volume and she banged her hands atop mine and pushed them aside.

Then it hit me! She wished to play the instrument. Why not? After all, I doubt anyone would care if a few harsh cords reached their ears. And at the moment it was the only way to silence her uttering s. I prepared myself for the inevitable off-key tones and closed my eyes.

A magnificently beautiful concerto filled the air. It was breathtaking. It was perfection and it was indeed, a miracle. I opened my eyes to view Ms. Sander’s fingers gliding effortlessly across the white plastic keys. All her intention focused on the act of producing music. This woman who could no longer communicate and was cast off as having no redeeming qualities was providing we, who sat within the room this day, the most wondrous gift - the gift of masterful music. The room filled with applause, mine perhaps being the loudest of all.

When she’d tired and rose from her seat, I stood and we embraced. I promised to bring my keyboard the next week. Of course, her answer was more gibberish. Yet I somehow knew she understood my words when I saw the single tear run down her cheek and felt the joy emitting from within her soul. In that instant something inside us clicked. There was no need for words, the music had said it all.

The aides told me Ms. Sanders would look for me each day. Her excitement when I’d arrive told her story. She now had purpose and true value in her life.

There are also no words to express the gratitude I felt to have met such a talented woman who changed not only my concepts, but also my life. I miss her and the grand times we experienced together. I shall never forget and shall always hold her near and dear to my heart.

It was friendship day yesterday. I tried to hide from it and concentrate on anything but friendship. Instead, I chose to write comments I shared via social meda of horrific acts of man, thinking that would somehow fill the void within my heart.

Didn't work. Not yesterday, not today. The ache is still there, so I am making this day my Friendship Day.

Every now and then, if you are fortunate in life, you have someone cross your path whom you not only embrace with love, but whom you admire. This is the case with my friend Val.

Having moved to a new area, I found it difficult to make contact with other women and form friendships. This was a challange as I am very much a 'people person', and so missed the companionship and conversation of a good friend. Literally years passed with each attempt to reach out my hand to another being met with rejection, and sadness. I gave up the quest, doubted my self, cried a bit and then moved on, thinking that chapter of my life now closed.

After a few years of searching, I landed the perfect job; a site manager at our local hospital's mail and copier center. I dug into learning everything I could about the equipment and services. Life was exciting, hectic and pleasant, yet that emptiness for frienship remained.

One day, a tiny bit of a woman, short cropped hair, glasses and dress down to the floor, motioned me to her office. She inquired how I was, wishing to know if she could do anything to assist. You see, I had just been visited by Upper Management and berated for something I had not done; actually tried and convicted before even given an opportunity to speak. This woman who worked near me, knew the truth and was, in fact, horrified I had been treated in such a way when I had done nothing but give 100% to the company.

I looked into her face and viewed the anger in her eyes. She rose and embraced me in a warm hug and the tears I'd held back, flowed freely. Thus began our friendship. We would share our thoughts of politics, religion, and local changes, often at opposite sides of the spectrum on the topics, yet remaining interested in what the other had to share and their opinion. We both loved the arts and spoke of music, theater, books and the beauty of the world. I now had someone whom I could open up to, who accepted me as I was, no judgment and whom I could do the same. It was mutual respect and deep love.

I found that Val was 'just like this'. She gave to others, asking nothing at all in return, except perhaps a smile. You never knew what you'd find pop up on your desk. It could be avocados and mangos she knew I loved or a personally selected gift bag filled with goodies, on every holiday. No matter how much you'd protest they were not needed but thank you so much, how thoughtful, Val would poo-poo you away, saying it was nothing. Never a holiday or occasion went by without a gesture from Val.

What I saw was a soul full of love and caring and a sharp, intelligent mind. One minute, she would talk about a serious topic, the next laugh a hardy laugh over silly nonsense. What fun, what joy, and what a hoot. I lookied forward to seeing my dear friend every single day, even if we had time to only exchange a mere smile.

It would be egotisticol of me to believe she and I had, alone, formed such a friendship. No. Val was friend to many, judgmental of few and always there to lend a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, a word of wisdom. She touched hundreds of lives each day and asked only that we respect her privacy, in return. If you boasted about her acts of kindness, she would be the first to ask you not to do that again, for it was nothing and she wished it to remain private. Soon, all who respected Val, understood and accepted and honored her wishes of secrecy.

The last few years were rough, for both Val and those who loved her. She had developed a rare type of cancer. True to form, she'd been quietly fighting the disease, until she felt the time was right to tell us of it. We knew, without words, it was terminal. We knew, without words, we'd be there for her every step of the way. We knew, without words, she'd fight with every ounce of engery and will within her. We knew, without words, she'd tend to the gardens she loved and continue on, at work as well.

So the fight began and took its toll, a brief remission, then back with vengence; rather a game of cat and mouse as medicine soared through her veins, her body swelled and later relaxed, allowing a bit of normalcy to return for awhile.

How many cried as they held her, I'll never know. I am sure it was those she trusted and felt she could confide in without retribution. It wasn't easy for anyone as Val fought this battle. But there she would be, working as usual, traveling to other countries with her husband, going to the theater and living life to the fullest.

Val was one of the most unselfish people I have ever met in my entire life. She was, indeed, the most honest, trustful, and humble. One example I experienced. The cancer had ravaged her thin body and each day was frought with pain, yet you would not hear a complaint from her lips. Instead, she focused on others. I had recently had an operation on my vocal cords and was off work for a week. Two cards and a tote full of games, stuffed animals, tissues and treats arrived. I wondered who would have thought of me? Me without friends and, of course, and to my surprise, they were from my buddy Val. I sobbed out of love, my heart breaking as I touched each little gift within the tote. I wailed from my heart as I read the get well cards. She who was going through so much more than I could ever imagine, was giving me comfort.

About three months had passed and I was brushing my hair and looking in the mirror, as we all do, when it flashed through my mind 'Val has died". I shook my head and wondered why I was thinking such a thing and focused on getting ready for work. When I arrived at work that day, I was told Val had passed away, right around 7:00 am this morning, the exact time the thought flashed in my mind.

Did she say her final goodbye by visiting me? I like to think that, for that would be my friend Val, letting me know ahead of time so I was prepared. Yet I wasn't. Is anyone really? My heart is broken as are so many others who miss ths remarkable woman every single day of their lives. Val is one whom I aspire to resemble in both word and actions. I am sure others feel the same way. I selfishly want, the one dear friend I made here back with me, to hug her one more instant, to cry in her arms one last moment, to laugh with joy, one last time.

Val, you taught me so much and now I know it is time to let your spirit sour free. Your body is out of pain and I hope you are with your God whose hand you held through your ordeal. I know you are and always will be by my side.

I also know how very fortunate I am to say, my life was so tough, and then I met Val.

Kisses and love to you my friend, always.

Today I think back in time, reaching far into the past before the sadness, the abandonment, the heartache of rejection and separation. A time when my dad was by my side each day and a time when he loved and adored me, his little girl.

This day my kitty was to come home from the vets. You see, I always had a way with cats and could tame the most feral, which I did often. This time the cat had gone to the vets to be spayed. I had no idea what that meant, only that my dear, sweet kitty was gone and had been for a few days. Daddy had made a promise she would come home this day, so I knew it would happen. After all, my dad never lied.

It was a Saturday and I was up early, eager to greet my kitty with open arms, hugs and kisses, so when Daddy woke up, I rushed to his side begging to know when my little kitty would be back home. He turned to me and told me he didn't know when this would happen. What? Had I heard him correctly? No. He had been telling me all week she would be back today. I hugged his knees, wailed and cried huge sobs of disappointment.

My dad patted me on the head and told me to stop crying and he'd try to figure something out. We ate breakfast of warm milk and Shredded Wheat and he told me to go out and play. I asked if he was going to get my kitty and he told me he didn't see how he could do this. Once again I sobbed, only this time, instead of sympathy, I received anger and he demanded I stop crying and get outside. Through my tears, I obeyed him as most children will do, and exited the kitchen door into the warm summer air. The heat and humdity was unbearable even this early in the morning, but as a young child, I didn't expect anything but the summer weather. It simply was accepted.

After exploring the woods and walking the miles back to the front yard, I heard the sound of wheels upon gravel and turned to see my father holding the handlebars of a very old, frame bent bicycle, with one hand, while the other hand held a hissing, meowing kitty. Too excited to notice the scratches and blood dripping from his large arm and hand, I scurried to the slowed bike and took my beloved kitty into my arms. All I could do was say, "Thank you Daddy".

It wasn't until years later that I recall the sweat running down his forehead and his clothes soaked from perspiration. I also didn't realize we had no money for gas for the car or to pay the vet bill, but my father, true to his word, did whatever it took to keep his promise.

Times change as well as people, even fathers. We were apart for many years shortly after this incident and my heart was filled with pain. I so wanted my daddy back; the one who adored and loved me so much he pedalled to the vets amid the humid heat of summer to bring my kitty to me. I yearned for the fatherly kisses and hugs and the proud glow in his eyes when he'd introduce me to friends and strangers. Yet, that was not to be; not ever again.

What I have learned is fathers are humans and living this journey of life just like everyone else. They make choices, decisions and do as well as they can at the moment. Sometimes they make great choices, other times, disasterous decisions. But we love them anyway.

So I must thank you daddy for showing me such love when I was in my formative years. Thank you for teaching me honesty and truth mean more than money or power. Through the trauma of events we witnessed, we were taught to be fair, giving, loving and to always keep our promises. And thank you for the wonderful gift of this memory, when you showed me such love.

Love to you Daddy - up there in the sky. In the end, you did okay.

This week I was thinking about the celebration of Memorial Day. In all honesty and truthfullness I must say it has been a holiday of conflict with me. Please hear me out before you bombard me with tales of brave soldiers and lost lives.

First and foremost, I destest war or for that matter, violence of any type. To me, the taking of life or harming of another is unspeakable, unforgiveable and shocking. I mean, in an instant, you've taken away the precious gift of life; never to be given back again. How can it ever be justified?

Yet, in thinking realistically, I know if someone was attempting to harm or kill another and I was there and could prevent it, I'd be the first to pack a blow or shoot a gun; whatever it would take to stop them from hurting or killing the person. Sure, I'd have regrets about it, but I certainly would not hesitate for a moment to save an innocent person's life.

Justified? Yes. Horrible? Always.

When a nation proclaims a conflict or a war, it needs to be the last resort against another country. It should not be easily enforced and all men and women would be wise to question the need before entering into such wars of death and destruction.

Yet who ends up fighting the wars of nations? Who ends up protecting our freedoms, our rights, our country? It is our sons, our dauighters, our fathers, our mothers and the men and women who have since passed away during World War I, World War II and Vietnam. So easy for governments to make these grave decisions, but who follows up and carries out the violence and devistation against another nation? Not the politicians nor most of those who have been granted a life of riches. The majority of our soldiers and fighters are the common people, those who work so very hard each day, those with little or nothing, those who love their country so much they will put their life on the line to protect it.

So when I think of Memorial Day, I absolutely think of my father, my uncles, my grandfather and many of my friends who entered the armed forces. My eyes grow teary for those I lost; not so much that I shall not see them again, but that they deserved more than death at such a young age. I also think of the need to honor all our soldiers including those who come back from war maimed, crippled, mentally distrubed and drug addicted. How can we forget them when they put their lives on the line? How can we deny them in their time of need?

In honor of all who have gone before us, are presently engaged in the service and those who will surely follow, we need to Memorialize them with acts of kindness, love and understanding.

I know this is what those who died during conflict would wish for their comrades and to me, there is nothing more special than to give to those among us, in memory of those who went before them and died so valiantly.

Yes, it isn't about war, it is about peace, love, understanding and kindness. May we make them proud and treat our brothers and sisters in the way they deserve to be treated. May we tend to their needs and embrace them rather than turn away. May we fulfill their dreams and help them meet their goals and, lastly, may we thank them through gesture and deed.