1:58 pm Detroit

In the airport, Detroit Metro, heading for NYC, with lots of warnings over the pa system. No liquids. Be on look out for suspicious activities. I threw in my Dad’s money clip before I left today – put it in my right pocket. It got snagged at the gate. I forgot about the blade attached. It has to be the size of a fingernail clipper. Fortunately, David and the kids were standing by to see if I would make it through the gate. The attendant gave it to him…

I think this is the first time I have flown by myself. I look around and I see plenty of others on the computer like me. They must have paid the 8 bucks for the web. I refused. I thought these hot spots in the airport were free??? Actually, I am glad. Gives me a chance to start this log. I haven’t done it in awhile and I have really wanted to, especially since I recently read about some bloggers who helped promote the new “snake” movie and in return received free Treo phones! Can you believe it? What a great time to be alive!

On the way here, Sharon called David to see if I would be interested in flying to Vegas with Grandma Nan Sept. 15. I cannot imagine another trip. This is my second without the kids and I’m already feeling bad. A few more days away seems over whelming.

Anyway, NYC… We are house sitting in the village – two cats and wireless internet. I found a site last night that maps star sightings. I’m already feeling lucky. I think if I see any, I will post on the map. I also tried downloading the NYC webcam on the computer at home so David and the kids could see me. But it appears to only be a widget. Sooooo, I will simply have to check out the site to see where I peer from time to time.

The webcam has caused a modern day dilemma in our world of moral defining actions. Shortly after downloading it, I sat down to check out the city, zeroed in on some folks in a part. Within two minutes, one of those I was surreptitiously observing turned to his friends and dropped his draws!! He mooned them! I couldn’t believe it!

The following day, I thought I would try my luck again, seeing if I could tap into another interesting observance (if you call a full moon interesting). Dang, it was raining. Traffic was sparse – moon park was empty.

Hey, the guy behind me just yelled! He is with his parents and they keep trying to keep him calm. He looks as if he might be a little touched, but excuse me, we are in the Orange Zone. Does this count as suspicious behavior?? Is he traveling on my plane???

Anyway, Moon Park was empty – so I thought until I noticed a small part of someone sitting on a park bench. I could just barely see the top of his head bobbing – IN THE RAIN?? He didn’t have an umbrella, rain coat or galoshes! Was he ok? I zeroed in on the sceen. Suddenly, the guy falls over on the ground, on his back, IN THE RAIN!! He just lays there!!!!

Now, the guy behind me is rocking and humming. OH BROTHER! He better not be sitting next to me!!

So the guy is laying there on his back in the park! I am in Flint Michigan watching from a webcam in my dry living room. Was he dead?? I kept watching, now on my feet, wondering if I could even possibly call 9-1-1 for something I observed hundreds of miles away. Can I? Does anybody know?

I keep watching – I see some movement – and wish I could suddenly call over some loud speaker to the people who are passing him by on the other side of the fence. Hey, we have a guy down over there. Someone. Anyone!!

He suddenly rolls over and staggers to his feet. He then stumbles to the street. Where is he going? Surely he is drugged or drunk. Someone – a friend? – stops him and they seem to engage in a lively conversation. Dead guys arms are waving – the other guy is laughing – until Dead Guy heads off the curb and into NEW YORK TRAFFIC!! His friend lunges to save him from getting struck by a car – a yellow cab no doubt.

Suddenly, I felt kind of icky. I looked around to see if anyone was watching me watch this scene unraveling before me. Nope, not even the kids are in the house. Who could imagine all this was happening… Who on earth could I tell??

Strangely, my connection failed at that point. I jumped to reconnect but by the time I got back online, Dead Guy and his friend were gone. I looked around for an ambulance. None. I searched for his staggering self. Nothing.

Thank God.

Soooo anyway, I am going to go to that location while in NYC. I am curious how it looks on the other side of the camera. I wish I could look up and wave to my friends and family. I think I will wave anyway, because who knows who might be watching – from their living room in Flint, Michigan.

Glen Arbor - August something

Just got back from walking the town while Shari and Diane beach. I would have joined them if I could. Despite a glamorous spf 50 yesterday, the sun got the best of me. Whose skin do I have anyway??

So I did the town without them - well some of it anyway. I thought I would keep something to do with them ... if they ever get back. I can't remember what time they said they would return. I am on vacation afterall, who listens that closely??

We watched the sunset last night on Lake Michigan as the moon rose behind us. It truly was a picturesque moment that many, many artists have attempted to replicate and photograph. None of the attempts can even come close. As the sun dropped behind the water I wondered if one day it would never rise again. It all seems so predictable, so definite. I can't help but think that one day even that will surprise us, we will wonder what happened, why and what will we do without the predictability. I suspect we will also discover the extent of our dependence on something we so naturally take for granted...

They closed the gas station in this town! I find that shocking considering the number of people who visit here on any given week in the summer. We had to drive to the next town over just to fill up - and the attendant was a little frazzled with the long line of cars and people impatiently waiting to pay. After a bit of a skirmish with a customer long past patient, the attendent defended his position by noting that he had three cars drive off without paying just that day. It felt like the urban jungle I was trying to escape...

Can't help but think that it was a glimpse into the future as well, however, with the oil prices, gas prices. How many stations will be forced to fold up shop? How many more people will fill up and leave because they can't afford $40 worth of gasoline?

I truly am not so far from home afterall.

What is going on in America??

I walked into the office this morning to find our secretary up and dancing to Car Wash! You know, that old Rose Royce song from 1976!

You might not ever get rich, ha
Let me tell you it's better than digging a ditch
There ain't no telling who you might meet
A movie star or maybe a common thief

I can’t remember seeing Vera so happy! Her feet were moving, arms swinging. What a great way to start the day…

All that in the midst of the chaos! What is going on in this world anyway? It seems that every day things get crazier and crazier…

I keep an ongoing list in my head of things I want to discuss with God, not in a Neale Donald Walsch kind of way, but in a pull-up-a-cloud and stay kind of way. I say that because I know I probably will never get a straight answer down here. These are the latest additions to my list.

• Taylor Hicks – How is it that this guy has never even been in the bottom three?? How is it that Paris Bennett, who is by far the best vocalist of the season if not the entire history of the show, is likely going to go home next week after three weeks in the bottom three? Who is doing the voting here? The same folks who cast their support for George??

What is going on in America??

• Speaking of George (President, not the former singer from Wham), he’s looking more and more like his father, isn’t he (I've never seen George Michael's Dad)? I caught myself doing a doubletake the other day with a picture posted on the web. The News is reporting that W is at an all time low on approval ratings. He’s shaking up his Cabinet – and what in the world is Tony Snow thinking?? He gets clearance from his oncologist to serve two years max in a hissing caldron of hate. It’s clear he has been at odds publicly before he joined on – just wait until things really get going! Can’t imagine trying to spin the next couple of years! I’m betting Snow’s resulting book is going to be the best book every written from the inside!

• Why isn’t there more outrage over Exxon Mobil Corp., the world's largest oil company, reporting the fifth highest quarterly profit for any public company in history?

Why, God, why?

The average retail price of gasoline in the U.S. is now $2.91 a gallon, or 68 cents higher than a year ago. Like this is any surprise - In January, Exxon posted the highest quarterly profits of any public company in history: $10.71 billion for the fourth quarter of 2005 and $36.13 billion for the full year. The company said its average sale price for crude oil in the U.S. during the quarter was $55.99 per barrel compared to $42.70 a year ago. It sold natural gas in the U.S., on average, for $8.31 compared to $6.18 during the same period one year ago. Placed in perspective, Exxon's revenue for the three-month period was still greater than the annual gross domestic product of some major oil producing nations, including the United Arab Emirates ($74.67 billion) and Kuwait ($55.31 billion), according to statistics maintained by the Central Intelligence Agency. Exxon also said it returned $7 billion to shareholders through dividends of $2 billion and buying back $5 billion worth of shares.

ConocoPhillips, the No. 3 U.S. oil company, isn’t far behind. On Wednesday they reported their quarterly profits surged 13 percent, as oil prices continued their march upward.

And even after declaring in the State of the Union that Americans need to combat their addiction to oil, Bush has failed to do the obvious: order a meaningful raise in automobile fuel-efficiency standards. That's the most effective way to reduce the growing demand for fuel over the long term, which is the main reason oil prices are so high in the first place.

Instead of knee-jerk witch hunts into alleged price-gouging, we need to be developing long-term, viable plans.

Why, God, why are we not doing that??

Instead, we will use ink and paper to write about the Press Corps on Air Force One being forced to watch Fox News instead of CNN. Not that it isn’t interesting copy. It feeds our assumptions, anyway, doesn’t it? Why wouldn’t the White House insist on watching Fox News??

Don Williamson – oops, I mean, Patsy Lou Williamson, has announced her candidacy for the State Senate. I mean, Don announced it – well, he may not have announced it, but he responded to all the questions during her interview. She didn’t say a peep. I think he’ll win – oops, I mean, I think SHE will win. There are plenty of folks who don’t take DW seriously in this town. They oughta. His influence is growing, like his sprawling car dealership on Linden Road. Oops, I mean her sprawling car dealership on Linden Road.

What happened to Chris Machniak, anyway? After years of sniffing out corruption (and finding none) at City Hall, he gets a new, tamer beat. Doesn’t make sense to little ole me…

What about that God? What is that all about anyway???

At the car wash
Whoa whoa whoa whoa
Talkin' about the car wash, girl
Come on, ya'all and sing it for me
(Car wash)
Oooh oooh oooh
(Car wash, girl)

Come on everyone, stand up and DANCE!!

The ache of a mother's heart

Lemony Snicket often warns his (or her??) readers to stop reading The Series of Unfortunate Events. In fact, even the website rewords the warning: “If I were you, I would immediately turn your computer off rather than view any of the dreadful images, read any of the wretched information … within this website.” I love that! The first time my daughter read me the warning in the book, I found it immediately creative, and refreshingly so.

I am feeling – well, a little Snicket-y today. If I were you…

In truth, I am numb. A friend has described a heartbreak that is so unfortunate, so disappointing, so beyond words or understanding. Her daughter, 20, was diagnosed with an advanced stage of Liver Disease (Cirrhosis) some years ago. She knew then that the disease would eventually take her life.

She said she remembers the family gathering together, the tears, the prayers – the unfathomable fear – upon learning of the diagnosis. As Christians who grew up praying for miracles and healings and all kinds of signs and wonders, she was surprisingly unsure of God’s plans for her recovery.

And, of course, why her, after all those years of serving Him?

Joanne spent little time questioning and a great deal of time trying to understand everything she could of the disease. She dropped most of her personal interests while picking up the weight of watching someone she loved so dearly die. So often, in the middle of the night, she would wake in tears knowing that her time with her daughter was short.

Her daughter, to the marvel of many, proceeded to live life seemingly unaffected by the diagnosis. While her body underwent tremendous change, she quietly dealt with the necessary adjustments. When she was tired, she would sleep. When she was too sick to attend a service, she would miss. Everyone who knew her understood.

Joanne ached inside. She began to yearn for more meaningful moments with her daughter. She often cleared her schedule to visit, to cook, to sit with her in quiet moments. She learned to ask more meaningful questions, hoping her daughter would trust her enough to share her thoughts, to be honest enough to admit her fears. Most nights, her daughter said nothing. On rare occasions, she found her daughter crying, but when prodded by her mother to open up about what’s on her heart, her daughter gave her nothing.

Joanne could not help but wonder why her daughter, while facing death, refused to speak to her, to talk with her. Despite her best efforts, she began feeling hurt and confused, especially when her daughter would readily and warmly respond to the questions and concerns of others. When people would drop by to see her, she would quickly tell the details of her plight, respond to their questions, be kind in return of their kindness. Joanne could painfully see that her daughter was not incapable of sharing her heart; her daughter simply did not want to share it with her.

Joanne’s pain of losing her daughter to death was compounded with the realization that any meaningful time with her daughter ended when she was diagnosed. And those times were far too few. In truth, Joanne wondered if her daughter ever really did like her - or share her heart or her thoughts in a warm and meaningful way. She recalled many failed attempts, meals where her daughter would come alive with other adult guests, ask interested questions while giving detailed, interesting responses to their queries - the same unanswered queries posed by her earlier in the day.

Joanne and her daughter recently attended a retreat together. During one of the sessions, not surprisingly, her daughter became the focus. Her daughter triumphantly shared her testimony of what God was doing her heart and in her life. Her daughter smiled as she talked of the outpouring of love and support of others. She shed a tear as she touched upon her fears.

Her daughter never really looked towards her that morning. In truth, Joanne said it seemed as if she wasn’t even there.

Afterward, many of the people approached Joanne and spoke of her daughter’s courage, of her obvious love for God. "You must be so proud."

Joanne overwhelming pain prevented her from saying anything. Instead, she went to her car in the parking lot and cried.

What Joanne is experiencing is anything but Tuesdays with Morrie.

I can’t help but wonder about Joanne's daughter, someone I have met and heard speak on numerous ocassions about the critical importance of family values. I have observed her warmly embrace near strangers all the while ignoring the presence of the very one who gave her life and would surely take her death in her place if only given the chance. How tragic to know, to see, others get her best, and she who loves her most get so little.

I am reminded of the saying, "It is not flesh and blood, but the heart which makes us fathers and sons." Sadly, in this case it proves not to be so. A social worker once told me that contrary to what Mitch Albom or Hollywood portrays, people die the way they live.

In this heartrending series of unfortuate events, perhaps that is the most wretched truth of all...

Lech Walesa speaks in Flint

As I listened intently to the Noble Peace Prize Winner’s intonation translated by woman who travels with Poland’s President, I thought of many things. Translators do that to me as I so often wonder what is lost or added to the comments of a keynote speaker or even a sign in Chinatown. I once heard a story of a city – Toronto, New York? – where signs were purchased with the understanding they would say what the officials requested. It wasn’t until after they were posted that the officials discovered the words were offensive. Trust. It’s such a funny thing.

Translations. I find myself stumbling on the translations that abound all around us as we each listen and read and interpret the message of the day. Why is it that Bibles now have rows upon rows of translations, each promising the true interpretation of what Jesus said, what God meant? It’s mind boggling. The decisions of who is right and who is wrong is too overwhelming even on the simple things. I fear we have abdicated our freedom of choice to those we feel we can trust to do the heavy thinking for us. Some let James Dobson decide for them. Some let George Bush. Some even let Rush Limbaugh (before rehab!) and the former host of the outrageous non-credible Current Affair Bill O’Reilly.

We listen to their intonations. What about those prophets speaks wisdom? What speaks wisdom to you, to me?

Lech Walesa spoke about wisdom last night, downplaying his credibility - refreshingly. In fact, his humility was alluring, made me want to lean in and listen a little more closely. He spoke of the Pope and his unheralded role in the end of the true evil empire of Communism (his reference, not mine). He told of a time when the Pope traveled to his homeland of Poland and spoke with the people, not telling them what to do, how to act – and certainly not joining any conspiracy or movement for change. Lech said, “but the power of his words made each of us reflect in our own hearts.” His humble words sparked an intangible, galvanizing spirit that ultimately brought down a wall of division – not through force, through convincing oratory. Against all odds, he quietly and profoundly changed the future for us all.

And that is my point today. Reflection. It seems as a society we no longer value reflection, that inward review of our hearts and intentions, the supposed application of wisdom prior to action. We listen quickly, fill in our own blanks, interpret intonations. We’ve already decided what is good (or have been told) and what is bad. And we are on the lookout for all that is bad. We feel it is our right, our responsibility – to whom, I don’t know exactly.

I looked around at the crowd last night, hundreds sitting quietly as Lech spoke through his interpreter. Some held banners of Polish pride. Others wore union jackets or suits purchased with UAW dues. The Poles likely left satisfied. I wonder about the others, especially now with so many losing their bankrupt Delphi jobs. They likely came to hear the former electrician who climbed on a bulldozer and delivered a stirring appeal to Solidarity. Give us something to sustain us in the days and weeks to come…

As one who has traveled the world, speaks regularly with leaders from every nation, Lech admonished those who would listen to accept the new era that is just now beginning. Instead of drawing borders defining countries, we must begin to live together in our global village where everyone can undoubtedly survive. By sharing our wealth, our food, with those who have none, we make reliable friends and neighbors. By helping to train and provide equitable work for those in impoverished countries, there would be no reason to send our industry there, at the expensive of our own workers and economy. Teach them to fish.

As for the automotive industry, unions, he described a time when three sides would determine the outcomes – union representation, owners of companies and administrators, if you will, that would help make the system work for all.
He reminded us that the United States has proven that people of different cultures, religions can get along. In this country, Arabs and Jewish people can be friends and neighbors, individuals from every nation are represented in our cities and town, in our hospitals, in our schools.

So as we war against the extremists in other countries, how do we battle the extremists in our own, those who insist on drawing lines, who are bothered by those who don’t speak English, those who are willing to work the menial jobs we won’t (illegal immigrants), those who don’t want to help the poor because they are Muslim, Hispanic or African American? How can we as a nation move forward if we continue to decide along monetary lines rather than truly moral ones?

Lech admonished us to choose good leaders. It truly is up to us how this country will survive in the future.

There was something about him that I trusted last night, his intonations seemed wise, the translation full of hope. If nothing else, it caused me to reflect - something I hope to relearn in weeks and months to come.

The Return, 7:30 pm, Flint

Just finished putting the last clothes away and shoving those questionables down the shoot with the withoutadoubts. So incredibly hard to believe we are back so soon. Not that the trip went fast mind you, it's more amazing that we can travel between such vastly different ways of life in so short of time. After one week in a 5,000 square foot beach house, to a $40 room last night (and believe me, you get what you pay for), it must be what Cindy felt when the clock stuck 12! The pumpkin chariot disappeared. My dress is torn!! Actually, that's a spin on Kathy's analogy. She exclaimed she was missing her glass slipper when she entered her 10x20 box of hotel...

Ahh, the good life. And I mean that in the most sincere way. We do have it good.

I end this trip with the abcs of our favorite moments in Destin, et al. Writing this blog is definitely on my list. It was great fun to steal away and write. In fact, I am going to try and make it a practice to do something on this thing at least once a week, if not more.

If you are reading this, I'm flattered. If you're not - well, you're not.

From home, home sweet home...

ABC’s of what is best about Frownfelter Family Bash ’06

A – Awesome house, Air force museum, A tv in every room (except the girls), Almost getting killed with Kathy
B – Best Value Inn, Best time of our lives, birthdays every night, bungee jumping (watching), Big 10 Tires, Blue Angels, Batman begins, Blogging
C – Cool cave (Lost Cave), caravaning with cousins, Chick-fil-a, corndogs, Crab legs, Colton’s frog, Collecting shells with Aubree, Colton’s tooth, Corvette museum
D – Dolphin show, Dolphins from the balcony, Decompressing, Destin
E – Extraordinary pool, everyone together, Exploring the hurricane damage
F – Frownie Cab, Frownfelter Family Feasts, Fun, Frownfelter Bash, fun in the sun, Family Circle of memories, Fresh squeezed lemonade, Florida
G – Great time, gorgeous sea shores, go-karts, Goodwill
H – Hilarious family, happy times, Hermit crabs, Hanging around the house
I – Incredible views
J – Job well done, Chad (for finding house), Jacuzzi suite, jet ski with Dan
K – Kids having fun, Kissing David on the beach, kitchen
L – lunar moon, laughing, lizards
M – mini golf, margaritaville, marble floors and stairs
N – No boredom, New cds – Heywood Banks, Trout Fishing in America
O – Old Bay Steamer, open roof/observation deck, Oysters, One Day in September, ocean
P – parasailing, Peter/Paul, Publix, Penguins, Photo shoot on steps, Playing/sleeping with cousins, pencil urchins
Q – quiet nights
R – repeating roast, relaxing, Royal Red Shrimp
S – Seaside, shopping, sunshine, scoot car, Sitting on the beach with David, Sharks, Swimming in the ocean, Steinmart, Shakes, Stealing wifi, Shark goggles, Scooter talks, Sun Dogs
T – Too fun, t-shirts for the Frownfelters, Toast (the song), Tahitian chicken
U – Under the sea, unbelievable
V – Verandas
W – water shows, Wings, Waffle House, Watercolor, white sand, weather
X – xpressway
Y – “Yes!”
Z – Zea Shells, zzzzzzz (good sleeping)

What day is this??? 12:46 pm Destin

I really can't remember what day it is now - getting lost from one day to the next. I think it is Friday. David is doing his devotionals, fixated on the circumcision verses of Paul in Galations. Apparently, Paul (the disciple not the brother) says to "the adjatators" who are testing him about the circumcision of the heart, to emasculate themselves. He's checking other versions, swearing that the NIV is most accurate. I think it is all a matter of interpretation - but how is that for spice?? I remember saying I was going to include that in my blog and feel as though I haven't really delivered. Not sure if circumcision or emasculation qualifies for spice, but I know I wouldn't talk about it at a party. So, I guess, it is somewhat spicy.

Guys just returned with a dry jet ski. Coast Guard won't let them drop it less than 700 feet from the shore. Ah well. We can do that in the glove anyway... (glove - get it??)

We have really taken it easy this morning. In fact, David said he only wants to do one thing today - he wants to see Seaside! Excellent! So, we shall head back there. I'm going to grab some flyers/info on homes there. Maybe we can rent a little bungalow next time we need to get away. Wonder if they need unemployed Delphi engineers down there???

So - tonight, I am going crabbing. We hope to catch the sunset on the ocean and if I can squeeze it in somehow, I really want to get over to see those free gators. Wonder if I can get David to take me and the kids... I doubt it. But I am going to give it a try...

The sun is shining in our hearts and on our skin (ouch)!

Thursday, again, 11:31 pm Destin

Catching up for lost time.

David is here beside me on the patio off our room. An apartment really. We have a tv. Bathroom. Jacuzzi. Shower, of course. A fridge right outside our door, mainly for beverages. He's reading Louis Lamour. The light is not too bright - and we can hear the waves...

I am feeling more and more guilty as I sit here, in pain from my 3rd degree burn, because I really want to take the kids and go crabbing. I heard it is fab to take a flashlight on the beach at night and dig up crabs. And I haven't done it yet - not yet. And we really only have one more night... Tonight would probably be best night but I think my pinkling Isi has already gone to bed, on her own. This marks a first, I think. She is like her mother tonight. Very burned. Colt's face is red. I think David is the only one who was smart today. Not even pink. But he has been sweet to us nonetheless.

Kathy's brother Dan has joined us. He lives in Pensacola. He brought his jet ski for tomorrow. Can't imagine being able to ride on it since I can't move...

Tonight, we parasailed - well, I didn't. I took photos. And video. David, Colt and Isi went up about 600 feet for about 12 minutes. The second crew included Bernie, Chad, Aubree and Dan. The kids and David really seemed to love it. Colt wanted to go simply so he could "live to tell about it" to his friends. He was really frightened, but more frightened that Isi would have a story and he wouldn't. So he went.

I loved watching them, but frankly - and honestly - I found myself counting the whole time they were up there. 12 minutes. 1, 2, 3, 4... I have this weird relationship with numbers, really. I discovered it when I was delivering Isi - a kind of abbreviated lamaze. I counted over and over again to 10. Somehow, it seemed the only constant thing, only reliable thing I had at the time. Numbers don't change. They don't lie. I figured that each grouping of 10 took me that much closer to the end of the pain and misery. So, today, I count - not all the time, but when I am afraid - like I was when the three of them were up there. I have seen those videos where the string breaks and the people kite away, crashing into the ocean only to be eaten by sharks... 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 ...

And then, David wants me to write about eating at chic fil a, his favorite. I got a wrap, was suppose to be spicy. He got the original with butter - if that doesn't sound tasty! He loves it there. So glad.

What about those crabs??? I really should be over there!

And no, Colton has not yet gotten me back for pushing him in the other day. I think he will, however. He will...

And to all a good night, from Destin, by the sea, still in pain but a lovely kind of pain...

Thursday, 2:50 PM DESTIN

Is it really Thursday??? Paul informed me that I have missed a few entries. And, I guess I have...

I am remembering today how when I was young I used to get so sunburned I needed to have tea bags to soothe the pain! I have since heard that the Chinese spice can only be cooled by tea, not water or ice, like we are so inclined to grab. Thus, the tea served as tradition with every Chinese meal...

I am very, very red, sitting in the shade while the others dabble in the wake of the gulf. David rented a little two seat scooter today which I took a little ride on but could never get off. We rode up and down the street, looking at the wide array of beach houses around here. All have one thing in common - big, no, HUGE! Kathy and I stopped once while out scooting around, found our way around a tightly secured deserted hotel, shaker style siding - very new englandy. From the water's edge, you could really experience the ravages of the hurricane. The foundation was gutted. The tiles of the pool crumbled upon each other. The pink place next door had the entire back end ripped off. Another hotel. We couldn't imagine the expense of the repairs. Likely it will simply be ripped down and they will begin anew.

It was spooky looking at that thing - a real feeling of powerlessness against the hand of God, if it was God who sent the hurricane. I always feel awful when I see the dreams of people shuttered up - like Pesto's in Grand Blanc. Like Colony Market. Like those big, mamoth auto plants. The feeling is universal. Dreams die in Flint, in Destin - and probably in Seaside ... my new favorite place in the States!

On Tuesday, the girls took off down 30A. We ended up in this absolutely delightful seaside community with wonderfully narrow brick streets, brightly colored happy homes, smiling people. I felt like crying when we left after only an hour. I took a turn down one of the street only to remember Seaside was where the Truman Show was filmed. I loved that show - you know, the one with Jim Carey? About the guy who was part of a reality show and didn't know it. I want my reality to be in Seaside!! I am not lying. As much as I love the snow, this place could make me pack. I am going to check out the prices of homes and see what we can do. In fact, David met a guy who moved from A2 to be near Seaside (I suspect it is ridiculously expensive since he lives here in Destin! Oh btw, he named his business Big 10 Tires - can you guess why? And - yes, we did have to get a tire repaired - David's fault not mine - on second thought, I think it would be safe to blame it on the hurricane since so much construction is going on to repair these homes...)

Anyway, who wants to come with me to Seaside? I am planning to move my Mom with us since I wouldn't really want to be anywhere long without her around... I think she will love it too. Anyone else??

We also took the kids to a dolphin show, yesterday. I LOVED it - I mean, the kids loved it. Colton jumped up and down, clapped, screamed. Isi, was a bit more tame, but I think really loved it as well. I definitely want a pool of dolphines, some penguins, in my pool at Seaside. I think it could happen. We spent a bit longer there than I expected. Oh, and the otters were adorable. We can let them live with us also...

John, Wasan and the kids left early this morning, after a late night game of putt putt. Wasan's first time! Colton claimed two on every hole even though I watched him swing three, four and five. I will be getting his glasses fixed when we return. I am certain there is something wrong with them. I was remembering the last time I had putt-putted - with my Dad when Colton swung the club like a bat and smashed Isi in the head. I truly believe it almost knocked her out. I thought my Dad was going to have a fit, thinking his little angle was hurt by his little devil... Who knew we wouldn't play putt-putt again together after that? Maybe he was with us last night, watching Colton cheat, pick up the ball, lay on the course, stop other balls from hitting his.

Colton was equally as vigorous about go-karts. Despite the warnings, he kept tapping the kid in front of him with his go-kart, as if the kid was going to move aside to let him through... When he was done, he jumped out of his car, got behind it and pushed it about an inch ahead of the other guy and jumped up in the air and claimed victory! Does he THINK nobody sees him???

Sooo - I guess the plan in the works is parasailing. Isi said she wants to go. Aubree said it will complete her trip. I'll take photos. Which, btw, I would love to add to these posts but forgot my cable! It will have to wait. I can't imagine what Colt will do. There were people bungee jumping at the go-kart track. Isi said she wanted to do it. No one believed her except Colton. He almost cried and begged her not to. He did not want his sister to get hurt...

And just when I started to think he had no heart...

So, from the sun, the surf, the pain(!), I am on to the next adventure... I gotta find me a cookie...

Destin, 5:03 pm Monday

Got Bruce on itunes. Snuck up to the penthouse for a moment, a shower, a view at the water... I wish I had this out my window all the time! Restores my soul. Did I mention the dolphins playing yesterday? Does it get any better than that?

Spent the day hanging around the pool. In fact, I just took my shower. Maybe that is what restores my soul. No responsibilities...

Paul sent me a webcam of Destin. http//destincam.com, I think. If you want to see it down here, not that I really know where that cam is at. He also wondered why no one called him about the mass murder in his neighborhood over the weekend! Who knew?? In fact, I just read about it today. I'd rather do the sun... even when it is cold... We might have hit 70 today. Though I only sat in it for a few minutes, my lily white skin shows it.

Tonight, we are going to gokarts then coming back for a flick. One Day in September. A request of Bernie. Wasan is making pot roast for John's birthday. We are celebrating the birthdays of March and April. John, Dan, Bernie, Aubree. Bernie was last night. Details. Details.

So good to see the kids having such fun and freedom. Lots of laughter around the pool. I think that is all I need to make this trip successful - I THINK...

Colt got madder than a hornet at me today. He was playing around the pool, throwing the balls at everyone. Got a little to close and I accidently shoved him in, clothes and all. He called me stupid, went to hit me, took his shoe off and threw it at me. I asked him how I could make it up to him - he said let him push me in with my clothes on. He thinks that sounds like punishment. I agreed to let him... Now I have to watch myself around the pool for sure. Paybacks are hell.

Tomorrow, I am heading up a trip for the girls to some little village shops along the scenic 30A. The guys are going to the Blue Angels and the Air Force Museum. I'm thinking we will definitely be the fun ones tomorrow! I just hope all the kids want to see the airplanes!!!

Wasn't DH something? What are these writers doing to Brea??

Must go for now...

12:24 pm 3.26.06 Sunday

Arriveed last night about 10:30 . Place is unbelievably beautiful, even in the dark. Several floors, pool in back. Kids went nuts, partially because of being cooped up for so many hours. How often can someone run up and down stairs like this? All marble floors.

I’m looking across the street now as the others return from the beech. It’s cool here. High 60s, I believe, but beautiful. Unquestionably beautiful. Sand looks like white powder. Blue green water with an occasional wave.

J &B B look good, seem pleased. Dan, John, Wasan and Kath made breakfast – pancakes. I helped with the bacon – a little wiggly, jsut the way I like it. We shall celebrate birthdays with dinners. Bernie is tonight. His request? Hawaiian chicken.

David ordered family shirts for all and placed an unidentified box on the stoop, rang the bell and ran. In surreal life fashion, Aubree got it, kids opened it and found the shirts. Who sent it? Maybe the renter??

Gotta go for now.

2:29 pm Saturday.

Robert Cray XM45 singing, I was Warned. Stopped for an hour at Corvette Museum – well, the guys went with the museum – with most of the kids. Kathy, Aubree and I went to historic Bowling Green. Found a fab coffee shop with a 14ft high door, steel. It was great. Even though I bought Tazo tea. Angela just two-wayed. David’s sharing the story about volunteering to be a taxi for the prom. Seems there is a girl who is into cabs – she even has a yellow dress with checkers. This vehicle has added such interest. I was thinking that last week when someone stopped me to ask if I could hand out flyers to my customers for a karoke contest. I have to wonder if one day I won’t be held up for some quick taxi cash.

We are suppose to arrive in Destin around 7 or 8. That’s some long hours ahead. Kath and I are going start driving together soon, I believe. The boys can be in one car. Not that I have a lot to say – I feel pretty road weary, brain dead.

Oh, and David wants to make sure I mentioned the Corvette Museum. He met thr designer once. What a name dropper.

And they didn’t really like the museum – should have been called a showroom. Dan wanted to see some older models. Only newer ones under that chicken little dome…

Sam Phillips on the radio now. Who is that and why have I never heard of him?

All for now…

Destin, Fl.3.24.06

Depart Flint at approximately 4:15 pm to meet Dan and Kathy in green van on Thompson Road McDonalds. We were suppose to be there at 4. Not a big concern, however, since they are often late – as we are…

Sure enough, Dan was pumping gas. Not too late.

Played a little from our new cd by Heywood Banks and found an uncanny resemblance of musical style of David.
Oh – and as I write – he has insisted I mention his three head contraption for the headphones. So we have traveled in relative peace and quiet. Stopped only a couple of times for potty – for Colton, Isi. Well, for all of us…

Bought a bag of chocolate covered peanuts for my Dad. He always liked them, This Brach brand, however, leaves a bit to be desired.

And to help pass time, I spent far too much time with Sim 2. Trying to complete the episode. I finally put it down about 10 minutes outside Dry Ridge Kentucky, our night’s destination. It’s 9:55 pm. Holiday Inn Express.

Must close. The sign is clearly visible.

Life just ain't that bad...

Seems life is harder to live peaceably in this new millenium. With the death of my dear Father at Thanksgiving 2003, life truly took a turn down a path of the unexpected, the unknown, the unsettling moments of dispair and disbelief.

And, of course, we watch as David's parents clamour for more time. We wait for the other boot to drop, to kick, to knock us further down the path of utter uncertainty.

And we wonder aloud, how do we stay positive? How do we teach our children to live in a world that gives and takes without regard to preparation or timing?

Joseph Chilton Pearce once said, "Seeing within changes one's outer vision." I don't know who Pearce is or was or anything about the circumstances of his life. But I know his truth. With my husband and children locked within the confines of a five by five vehicle, we paused to consider the light in our darkness. I share with you today the brightness of our year that prior to considering, seemed dark and scarey and unyielding.

Life is beautiful, even in the darkest times...

Princess Bugatti of Kit Kat
Paul coming for Birthday
Chicago with Aunt Shari, Aunt Diane, Rachel and Sara
Cosi – riding the bike
Cosi – simulation
Cosi – weather girls
Las Vegas
Sedona
Sedona vortex tour
Cactus, snake food at bar
Tree house in Sedona
Celery and peanut butter in Seligman, AZ
American Girl Party with the Nuns
Bed bugs in Memphis
“What the heck! Wwhh aa tt the heck??”
Bar-fy
The ROLLING STONES
Graceland
Susanna Lee at Days Inn
Arkansas border - again and again
4 am two nights in a row
24 hour Elvis
Pontiac G6
Being alive
Train to Chicago
New laptops
Cadillac transmission FINALLY
Lasik surgery
Best Christmas Pageant Ever
Halloween Party at SJV
Halloween in Goodrich
Dad’s final gift
Build a Bear Workshop
Sterling Inn Waterpark (TWICE!!)
School Christmas Play roles for Colt and Isi
Green belts for Daddy and Colt
Cancun – Club Med
Frownie Cab
Birthday with Noah
Corvette convertible
Bathroom at Cottage
Mushroom hunting with Todd
Surviving spleenectomy
Sara’s First Communion
Colton’s taking of host
Girl Scout Court of Awards – Sold the most.
Chinese lady rescue at fireworks
Fire cracker at fireworks
Summer camp for Colt
Performances at Summer Camp
Avalon at the Midland building
Tim McGraw
Starting school again
Popcorn sales
Ending school
Pennsylvania
Star gazing with John on hay bales
Working out at Hurley
Swim class
Being at home in the summer
New pen pal club
Winning brochure at work
Lord of the Rings movie night
Mr. And Mrs. Smith
Making own pizza with Lonsways
Battle Ally Christmas
Cop ride in Toledo
Ice cubes in Brunner pool
Colt and Daddy grew hair long
Tomagatchis
Ferrari photo
Ice cream bar in Vegas
Vegas swimming pool
Kids room in Vegas
Hiking in Sedona
The Grand Canyon hike
Breaking the hot tub in Sedona
Star gazing in Sedona
Having Aunt Shari come to birthday in Chicago
Prudence
Cartoon dancing
Cartoon singing
PTO organization
Tyler as a new friend
Driving with Angela
Bike trip with David
Royal Oak with Angela and Christal – understanding Freakfelters
Playing Bunco at Ryan’s party
Becky’s wedding race
Becky’s wedding
Stripping in street
Watching Grandma and Mom laughing on trip
Touch me in the morning – for Stephensons
Desperate Housewives with Stephensons
Books on the PDA
Syrah EXP
Corn maze
Mt. Pleasant Casino with Grandma
Touring Lake George
Sault St. Marie casino
Menopause the Musical
MGM Grand
Greektown Casino Birthday Party
Mystery Train
Red Truck
Grabbing crouton from neighbors salad
Hitting the guy at the MGM who won
Jackie and Tim in Brighton
Plane to Las Vegas
Spa weekend at Faholo – ending with El Azteca
Spa treatments in Sedona
Website with Isi and Sara
Plymouth with Shari and Diane
Drive in with Tom, Donnie, Janelle, Grandma
Home makeover for 1317 Blanchard
Mohitos
David and Angela anniversary party
Jacinda
Business directory
Mourning with friends
Helping friends in need
David praying with Stephensons
Inner tubing at Eikeys
Software assistance from Tim
Daddy and Colt in Grand Blanc parade
Pinewood Derby competition
Red Gate (Praschan) petting farm
Alpacas!
Work conferences
Lapeer massages
Kids baptism
David Ready
Polar Express at the Imax
wine tasting @ Lone Oaks by cottage
choir classics w/piano Jane, organ Andrew
Purpose Driven Life, Sunday School
new roof (cool shingle!) on 1317
Godspell in Westland w/Suzanne
removal of 2 huge trees in backyard
financial plans w/ Waddell & Reed
Professor Joe Martin
Excellent Teacher Reports for kids
Midland car show

Putting an end to being Born Again, again

Jesus answered and said to him, "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born again he cannot see the kingdom of God." John 3:3

For years, my friends and I have wrestled uncomfortably with the concept of being Born Again, again. You know the experience. It’s usually brought on by a small subtle doubt, a nagging question of assurance, or a creeping guilt regarding a sin of omission or commission.

Admittedly, it is easy -- far too easy -- to question the Born Again experience. The older we get, the more scripture we read or the more we listen to various Christian speakers, the more we find ourselves wondering -- Did I really do it right? Have I since fallen away? Am I truly Born Again? As a result, with very little prompting from the Spirit or otherwise, we bow our head, raise our hand or head to a church altar to offer up another prayer, hoping for more staying power this time around.

And we are Born Again, again.

Many Christians experience repeated conversions, regardless of their denomination, their age or the length of their personal journey with God. In fact, I know a 45-year-old Pastor, who has told his congregation many times of his lifelong pursuit of God, who was recently re-baptized, undoubtedly a first cousin to those repeated steps of assurance we find ourselves taking.

I have met many Born Again-again Catholics, Born Again-again Protestants, Born Again-again Baptists, Born Again-again Methodists, and Born Again-again Pentecostals. All tell heart-moving testimonies of prodigal wanderings from what they believe is that Born Again commitment to the Lord. A particular scripture delivered during an unsuspecting sermon might activate an otherwise dormant doubt. A single reference to being “lukewarm” can push many believers into gauging their spiritual temp against the admonishment of being either hot or cold. More times than not, their condition pales in comparison and we ultimately wonder if we have turned our backs, if not our hearts, away from Him.

An old high school friend recently was reflecting on her own experience of being Born Again. She was a bright and bubbly seven-year-old when she first responded to an impassioned plea for salvation at church camp. An otherwise forgettable fundamentalist Preacher implored the congregation of elementary school kids to become “Born Again,” to be a part of God’s Kingdom rather than the Kingdom of Darkness, to earn heaven and escape hell as a reward for a right decision to follow Jesus that day. According to my friend, the plea included the Preacher pounding nails with a hammer while describing an innocent, gentle Jesus Christ being hammered to a cross by mean, angry soldiers. Between the rhythmic banging with the hammer, he told the crowd of attentive children that the soldiers likely used nails similar to those he was using that day.

Thirty-three years later, my high school chum is now the mother of two daughters. Somewhat bitter about her dramatic “introduction” to Christ, she recalls how the Preacher spoke with a “sanctified” urgency of the possible Final Hour before Christ returned for a spotless church. It was, to my friend, an indelicate emotional swing at delivering very adult concepts in the most elementary way. He told her and the room full of youngsters that Jesus suffered the torture so they wouldn’t have to, that it was their disobedience that ultimately caused Jesus to die on the cross so traumatically.

Pam was among a throng of shaken elementary age children that responded to the “invitation” that day. She recalled her confusion and fear about causing Jesus to die so tragically. Away from the security of her parents for that unforgettable occasion, she was willing to do whatever the Preacher said to avoid God’s further disappointment with her. She simply wanted God to love her again and to feel “saved” from His anger and disappointment. She and maybe a hundred others bowed their heads, and repeated the words of the Preacher, hoping God would forgive them. In unison, the children asked Jesus to come into their hearts and be the Lord of their lives.

My friend, to many still an innocent and vulnerable child, was Born Again.

Not knowing the hindsight ramifications of Pam’s experience, I remember her moving testimony from high school. As one who converted to Christianity during my junior year, I had found Pam’s early experience inspirational. It had taken me the better part of 16 years to understand that God sent His Son to die for my sins. I dismissed any doubts about her conceptual understanding as my still carnal mind -- God obviously had bigger plans for Pam, likely some kind of far-reaching ministry that would impact the lives of many. No doubt, true spiritual leaders reported such early conversions as well.

As we sipped honest coffee just a few weeks ago, Pam surprised me with a confession of sorts; she had her own share of doubts about that original conversion, so much so that she found herself responding to similar invitations “maybe 20 times” throughout the years. Born Again, again, and again and again. Our other middle-aged friends sipping the same fresh ground that morning laughed nervously before sharing their own experiences with countless conversions and rededications to Christ.

So when did our prayers of repentance take? When could we be confident that God heard and responded to our heartfelt invitations for Him to be the Lord of our lives? When were we able to ignore the nudges, the doubts, the stirring messages and find assurance in knowing that we were undeniably Born Again?

Still an inspiration long after high school, Pam’s resolution to the struggle impressed me once again. Recognizing that her two bright, bubbly daughters were fast approaching the impressionable possibility of Christian conversion, she found herself grappling with her repeated Born Again-again experiences. She anxiously wondered if her young daughters were destined to navigate the same waters of repeated conversions. What would she do if suddenly she found her offspring grappling time and again with their faith?

What’s more, Pam found herself wondering about her own foundational beliefs about Christianity and the church. Growing up in a fundamental church, she had dutifully responded to the teachings of Christ in her own life. She had too often failed to be completely honest about her own misgivings, however, and her reoccurring struggles with faith. She had lived much of her life as a happily entitled citizen of God’s Kingdom, yet at times secretly wondered in her heart about her true worthiness and her still sinful condition.

Not surprisingly, the unbridled fears and uncertainty once again sprung up in her heart. The questions alone, even as a 35-year-old wife, mother and regular church attender, caused her to wonder if after all these years, she still wasn’t Born Again? Was she destined to grapple with these same issues even after a lifetime of serving Jesus Christ? Were her daughters to face the same conflict? She then determined in her heart to put an end to the nagging uncertainties once and for all.

Pam sought out a respected co-worker with whom she had frequently spoken regarding various spiritual issues. She had always appreciated his insight on various controversies associated with modern Christianity. She asked the would-be Pastor to guide her through the many questions and doubts she had long harbored regarding her own Christian experience.

They set aside an evening, free from distractions. A tentative yet eager seeker, Pam provided the factual backdrop for her lifelong struggle: raised in a Christian home, Christian parents, Christian sister, mostly Christian friends. For as far back as she could remember, she attended church every Sunday morning and every Sunday night. She was widely respected by young and old as a leader in her youth group. As expected, Pam attended a respectable Christian college and, eventually, married a successful Christian man.

Truth be told, she was unable to recall a time when when God, Jesus and/or the church was not a large part of her daily living. In fact, it was her inability to recall her first true conversion that caused much of her inward conflict.

Her emotion changed as she painfully asked her co-worker – Am I truly Born Again? She became agitated as she considered the uncertainty once again; how could she ever really know?
Pam’s co-worker proved to be a trustworthy Spiritual Guide, a knowledgeable sounding board for each and every concern. His unshakeable responses were void of any judgment or condemnation often encountered over the years when Pam pressed the same issues with others. In many ways, his reaction to her search was quite the opposite; he provided a boundless grace and freedom for Pam to question everything she had ever been taught about God, the person of Jesus Christ and the role of the Holy Spirit. He was neither dismayed nor troubled by the haunting fear of losing her salvation through a misdeed, misstep or even a misunderstanding of scripture.

His ease with the questions gave way to even more depth. She became tearful and more animated as she continued describing her countless, painful struggles as a child and, later, as an adolescent. She recalled anxiety-filled days, weeks, if not months, when the summer camp assurance began to wane, and the creeping, sinking doubts would return, once again stoking her fears that perhaps she wasn’t really saved after all. She too often wondered if God had rejected her as her affections for Him slipped from a mountaintop hot to a Biblically-forbidden lukewarm.

It was such moments that ultimately led Pam to a long line of Born Again, again experiences. Not able to dismiss her gnawing fears, she would eventually, privately or publicly, repeat an oh-so-familiar prayer of salvation, hoping that this time it would stick and she would again feel God and truly know He had saved her from her sins and her clearly deficient sinful nature.

Could a Christian truly lose her salvation because she didn't feel as excited about God as she did last summer, she asked her co-worker, now unmasking her fear? Can one really “lose” right standing with God? Where is the line one crosses when God suddenly spews you from His mouth and dooms you to an eternity in a fiery Hell? Reverting to a childlike innocence and vulnerability, she wondered aloud if perhaps she had crossed it already.

Pam’s voice rose as she became more strident in her need for clarity and once-and-for-all assurance. What if she had sinned but had not asked for forgiveness and the rapture occurred? Better yet, she challenged her patient Guide, what if she was actually sinning when Jesus returned – Would she still go to heaven?

And what of that hazily defined "unpardonable sin?” Had Pam committed the hellbound trespass by simply being angry with God? Would she go to heaven regardless of her anger? Had she "grieved the Holy Spirit" by ignoring Him?

Her self-appointed Pastor was now, too, a co-worker in Pam’s faith pursuit. He was unshaken by her honesty. Her questions were not alarming to his Biblical knowledge or personal faith. As a seasoned traveler in the search for truth, he unflinchingly shared scripture to address her fears and uncertainty. So, too, he gently and compassionately infused some of his own unshakeable faith into the heart of my old high school friend, filling in her own gaps of assurance.

When the tears and questions began to subside, the Co-worker urged Pam to set aside the lifelong battle that raged within her heart and to consider only those characteristics she knew to be true of Jesus, of God, if not the church. He suggested she instead determine, perhaps for the first time, her own definitions and beliefs associated with a faith she has spent a lifetime creating.

She found at that mustard-seed core, the One who had promised salvation to those who simply believe in Him. He would never leave her nor forsake her. She could draw near to God with a sincere heart, now more than ever, in full assurance of faith; her heart was sprinkled clean from a guilty conscience. Pam would hold unswervingly to the hope she professed, knowing He who promised is faithful.

Pam’s Guide then quietly read from a children’s book to illustrate such an authentic and honest faith in God’s only Son. He finished with a simple prayer, asking the now palpable God to forgive Pam for all her sins. The moment seemed crisp with the wonder of a childlike faith and a quieted, seasoned maturity of an enlightened adult. The lifelong struggle gave way to an indescribable peace as Pam invited Jesus Christ to come into her heart, to be the Lord of her life -- as though it were the first time -- the only time.

Pam was truly -- and finally -- Born Again.

The Romance of Alcohol: One Woman's Fight to Save Her Life

I had dinner with an old friend recently and was moved by her struggles, her pain and her hope. While I have known many who drink socially, she is the first to describe the pull of the addiction, the havoc, the affair of her heart in such detail. I know she is not alone.

Like far too many others in Genesee County and across this country, her romance with alcohol began as a casual flirt, a sly wink from an attractive Stranger who promised her a bit of pleasure in a world that had become so full of pain. As a committed, Born Again Christian, she knew well the verses admonishing the soul to avoid drunkeness in favor of His Spirit. The details of her life simply became too overwhelming to maintain that focus, too unpredictable, too frightening to trust the omnipresence of One too distant to help with her growing pain. In those moments of desperation, a new Suitor promised her more.

Not that her life had ever been easy. It became even more difficult nearly 20 years ago when her six-year-old daughter slipped and told her of her last visit with her Grandfather, a troubled man who had been sexually abused himself as a young child. The resulting confrontation with her Father went nowhere and all ties were severed between the two who, truth be told, never had much familial warmth between them anyway.

Now more alone than ever, my friend Meg – not her real name - redoubled her efforts to make her already troubled marriage work, to nurture her impressionable daughter who had experienced the unthinkable, and try to salvage some kind of normalcy in the nightmare of her unraveling life.

In the long shadows of those days, Meg first glimpsed that lingering Stranger, beckoning her in the darkness. She and her husband, once called by God to preach the Gospel, soon caught the Suitor’s wink and invited him into their lives. When the kids were safely tucked into bed, they would unlock the doors to their pain and draw the Suitor even closer. They found immediate relief and comfort in his embrace.

The comfort of the casual embrace soon left them, however. More time was needed to meet the demand of the continued dalliances. With little money between them, the couple searched for other numbing alternatives, hoping for peace, for instant relief, for hope that would sustain them through the storm of layered betrayals and uncertainties in a world that had always promised them so much more.

Her husband eventually turned to other women. Meg found notes in his pockets, and billfolds, and in the words he refused to speak in the growing silence between them. Her now adolescent daughter retreated into the unknown, behind fastened doors of her room, with her music and her art, which sometimes frightened Meg as she searched her latest piece for hidden meaning.

When it was painfully clear her husband could no longer find comfort in her arms, she severed that abuse as well, setting them both adrift in the pounding waves of pain of life’s unrelenting disappointments. She was then so very alone with her daughter and son, one she feared would never recover from a tragedy that played out again and again when she simply closed her eyes, or opened her heart to trust another soul who promised never to betray her. Her youngest simply struggled to understand the sense of grief that enveloped the lives of truly everyone he loved.

Meg turned again to another Stranger to help ease the pain, the only relief she could find, this time in the form of a doctor-prescribed pill, with clear warnings Meg soon ignored in her passion for peace in her turbulent world. It wasn't long before she found herself driven by thoughts of her new Suitor and her hunger for more as she rose to greet her day and the yet unknowns that could hurt her. She could no longer bear the day without the peace and calm and quiet of her newfound Love.

Her growing dependency frightened her, and she once again turned to church as a sanctuary for her troubled soul. She begged God to draw near, to restore what the devastating months and years had ripped from her life, to provide peace, to once again provide everlasting hope. As though God answered the very cries of her heart, she met a gentle Soul who took her into his quiet life and loved her completely. The raging fears died down, drunk with love, and they married, blending lives of sons and daughters of vastly different backgrounds of devastation and plenty. Perhaps they would, they could, finally lead meaningful lives of laughter and love.

Instead, Meg’s daughter took on more extreme expressions of her trouble and pain. She announced her affections for other women, perhaps, or not, Meg’s ultimate fear from the childhood trauma. There was no escaping that it had changed all of their lives forever.

The lure of her former Suitors reappeared to Meg that day, in the midst of the all-consuming pain. They winked and smiled and tried to lure her away. And Meg accepted the offer to dance once again with alcohol. She greedily drank of its pleasure as she twirled, and turned and embraced the strength and delight of her long-lost love.

Their romance continued, at first only on occasion, when her new husband worked late, or she needed help expressing the drunk love she soon found tightly bottled up inside. The Suitor proved a reliable aide for facing life, for laughter, for making life seem so much more bearable under the weight of uncertainty. Meg had learned to trust his influence on her moods, took confidence in his deepening provision for the everydayness of her mornings, noons, and nights.

Her younger son had noticed her growing attachment to that which now stood between them. In that moment of the discovery, Meg quickly turned away, hiding her forbidden romance from his cold glare. She recognized the fear in his eyes as her own as she pleaded her case to the only judge who could ultimately condemn her to an otherwise meaningless life of pain.

“You, too, my son, would do the same if you had a Father who sexually abused your daughter, if you had a daughter who was gay, if you had a husband who cheated on you, if you married another man who refused to accept your children as his own.”

The words streamed out with her tears and her sobs as the truth of her soul poured from a defeated heart now finally, wholly broken.

“Then we should just go ahead and do it together, because I have a Grandfather who sexually abused my sister,” he mirrored with undaunted intensity. “I have a sister who is gay. I have a father who cheated on my mother. I live with a man who refuses to accept me as his own. Why not just do it together if this is truly the answer you believe it to be?”

At that moment of sobriety, Meg found her peace. Her romance with the Suitor ended as she suddenly found herself in the hope-hungry eyes of her teenage son. From her ultimate defeat she found ultimate hope. In coming to the end of herself, she found the beginning, for her, for her life, for them.

And the Suitor went in search of his next romance.


National Symposium on Women's Health
FACT SHEET
Patterns and Trends of Alcohol and other Drug Abuse Among Women
* About 4.6 million American women are alcoholics. One in every three alcoholics is a woman, according to The New York Times.
* Women aged 26 to 34 have the highest usage rates compared to other women who use alcohol.
* Never married, divorced and separated women generally have the highest rates of heavy drinking and drug related problems; widowed women, the lowest rates; and married women, intermediate rates.
* Almost half of all women aged 15 to 44 have used drugs at least once in their life. Of these women, nearly 2 million have used cocaine and more than 6 million have used marijuana within the past year, says the National Institute on Drug Abuse.
* Compared with men, women with drinking or drug problems are also at increased risk for depression, low self-esteem, marital discord or divorce, history of sexual abuse and drinking in response to life crises.
* The National Institute on Drug Abuse claims more than 4 million women need treatment for alcohol and drug problems.
* Among drug-using women, 70 percent report having been abused sexually before the age 16 and more than 80 percent had at least one parent addicted to alcohol or drugs.


Women and Alcohol
Alcohol Use
* 77.6% of women age 12 and older reported ever using alcohol, while 60% reported past year use and 45.1% reported using alcohol in the past month. (1)
* 82.5% of white women reported ever using alcohol, while 65% reported past year use and 49.7% reported using alcohol in the past month. (1)
* 67.9% of black women reported ever using alcohol, while 45.1% reported past year use and 32.3% reported using alcohol in the past month. (1)
* 60.8% of Hispanic women reported ever using alcohol, while 48.4% reported past year use and 33.6% reported using alcohol in the past month. (1)
* Among current female drinkers, 7.16% of whites, 10.22% of blacks, 22.16% of American Indians/Alaska Native, and 9.03% of Hispanics reported alcohol dependence. (2)
* Men and women reported different levels of alcohol involvement. 58.7% of men age 12 and older reported past month alcohol use compared to 45.1% of women, while 23.2% of men age 12 and older reported binge drinking in the past month compared to 8.6% of women.3

Moderate Drinking (4)
* Moderation is defined as no more than one drink per day for women.
* One drink is 12 ounces of regular beer, 5 ounces of wine, and 1.5 ounces of 80-proof distilled spirits.


References
1. Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration. (1999). National Household Survey on Drug Abuse: Population Estimates 1998. DHHS Publication No. (SMA) 99-3327. Rockville, MD: U.S. Department of Health and Human Services.
2. National Institute of Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism. (1998). Drinking in the United States: Main findings from the 1992 National Longitudinal Alcohol Epidemiologic Survey. NIH Publication No. 99-35198. Bethesda, MD: U.S. Department of Health and Human Services.
3. Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration. (1999). Summary of Findings from the 1998 National Household Survey on Drug Abuse. DHHS Publication No. (SMA) 99-3328. Rockville, MD: U.S. Department of Health and Human Services.
4. Dietary Guidelines for Americans, 2000. United States Department(s) of Agriculture and Health and Human Services.

My condolences to the new City Council

It’s the eve of a primary election with plenty of activity in Flint, for sure. What I am not sure of is how many are actually paying attention, other than the friends and family networks of the current Mayor and the up-for-vote council members struggling to hang on to their wobbly thrones. I cannot imagine why those running, yet one more time, would even consider it, other than the fact that their opponents look a lot like Don – I mean, a lot like Don.

Even still, when will these chaos junkies get sick and tired of being sick and tired? Isn’t inevitable that Don is going to get his way, by hook or by crook?

I’m still dumbfounded by the 6.27.05 public hearing where two-thirds of the Flint Council Chambers was filled with alleged Williamson supporters. I cannot imagine that Don Williamson would have any credibility, let alone supporters, based upon his conduct in office. Is it enough to send out a truck to collect trash in a neighborhood - his own truck, mind you, with his own huge sign - bypassing all governmental policy, agreements and contracts? A good director of the Department of Public Works could do that!

Apparently, his clapping/whooping/cheering fans think he’s doing a great job as the top elected official in the region. The rest of the responsibilities of Flint’s highest office simply do not matter, nor do the opinions of anyone who has tried to work with him on a community project. One does not have to go far to hear outlandish behavior during private meetings, on phone calls or in public gatherings.

One woman, I will assume a Williamson supporter, was quoted in the Journal, "If the council and the mayor can't get along, then Flint will never progress." Under a strong Mayor form of government, getting along is not a requirement. Our charter calls for checks and balances under a strong Mayor. Despite the rancor, I am grateful the current “strong Mayor” does not have complete control any more than our “strong President.” Left unchecked, who knows what our community – and our nation – would experience based upon the maverick decisions of either person. Progress, more effective growth, can occur if the decisions are viewed from every angle. Questioning an egomaniacal Mayor or President about his decisions is prudent for everyone involved.

But this piece was supposed to be about the returning City Council, of which I have long considered past their prime. Their role in the financial mess blamed on former Mayor Woodrow Stanley was never properly taken into account. They escaped the bullet while Stanley went down in a recall election that damaged the entire community for a yet untold number of years. Truth is they refused to consider progressive means to handle an outdated budget. Outsourcing, especially in this town, is akin to infidelity. Borrowing against assets, even in an emergency, an unacceptable alternative even though communities across the country make it a practice on a daily basis.

And here we sit. Despite election promises, nothing really has changed at City Hall. We are still dealing with the same problems that plagued the city under Mayor Stanley. The Millionaire Businessman has proven that he is no better at solving our governmental woes.

Don Williamson isn’t about to give up, however. He wants a new City Council to do his bidding, to approve his decisions, to work with him without questions or reserve.

I, for one, think he’ll get it - by hook or by crook. My condolences to those who are elected with nothing more than an old-fashioned passion to serve their community.

Kearsley terrorist to face justice?

Talk about controversy! A former Kearsley High School student who terrorized 65 of her classmates with a hit list that included her own name, seems to be scrambling. Apparently, if the Flint Journal can be trusted (because often times it can't), there has been a "breakdown" between the high school terrorist and her attorney. He's removing himself from her case.

Kellie Jackson was scheduled to plead guilty to two charges stemming from distributing the hit list over the Internet, causing a wave of panic that nearly shut down the school, sports programs and extra-curricular activities for a week of terror for parents, students. teachers and the Kearsley administration. Imagine the trepidation of sending your child off to school knowing he or she were among those hit listed.

Kearsley High School has had a bad year! Lock downs due to bomb threats have become a regular occurance with students locked inside classrooms and worried parents locked outside the school, receiving short messages from hostage cell phones and Sidekicks. What is happening at that school anyway?? Why are those kids so angry?

Reality check: It's not just Kearsley being terrorized. During the last 10 years, we have witnessed repeated live reports of murder sprees which have killed students, teachers, cops, and security guards in schools across the country, Columbine High School being the worst. One teacher and 14 students including the killers died, and 23 others were wounded. The terrorists reportedly fell somewhat short of their goal, which was to murder 500 and blow up their school.

Remember the 13-year-old who wounded four of his classmates with a 9mm semiautomatic handgun in Oklahoma?

In March, 10 people died in Red Lake, Minn.

Another "kill list," similar to Jackson's, was found in neighboring Oakland County, allegedly written by a 14-year-old boy. He was charged with one count of threatening terrorism for a list he allegedly wrote threatening the lives of 11 people, including some of his classmates. Under the Michigan Anti-Terrorism Act, the boy could face up to 20 years in prison if he is convicted of the felony charges.

Investigators said the list was found in the boy's backpack after four classmates claimed they saw him writing it in math class. The list described who the boy allegedly planned to kill at the school. School officials searched the teenager's backpack and discovered a notebook containing the list.

His attorney, at the pre-trial heaing, argued that the boy has no criminal history or record of disciplinary problems in school. He said the boy denies writing the list, and that he still has the support of his family, including his mother.

Prosecutors said there was no way to tell what the boy might have done if he hadn't been caught, and argued he should not be released. The court referee agreed with the prosecutors, and ordered the boy held without bond at the Oakland County Children's Village.

My point - and I do have one - Something needs to be done! Nadine Kaslow, a professor and chief psychologist at Emory University in Atlanta, recently told ABC News, that troubled adolescents often use the terrorism for attention. "Some of it is the media attention. Sadly, it is a way to get noticed. These are often kids who have been neglected, whose voices haven't been heard. This is a way to be heard."

I remember watching Jackson on television the day the news broke about the Kearsley hit list. She was front and center of a group of girls, describing their fears about being named on the list. I understand she was among the ones who called the media's attention to the situation.

Clearly, Jackson and the other terrorists are troubled whether it be from bullying at school, neglect or abuse at home, or other factors. And their troubled is having a horrible impact in our homes, in our neighborhoods and in our schools. We no longer have the freedom to deem such threats as child's play or teenage pranks. Our police and school officials now need to be far more vigilant with ensuring safe environments in which to learn and grow.

The Journal said Jackson wants to consult with a new attorney before going forward with her pleas to charges of making false reports or threats of a bomb/harmful device, a 4-year felony, and conspiracy to maliciously use telecommunication services, a 1-year circuit court misdemeanor. The deal called for her to plead guilty to those charges. In exchange, prosecutors were to dismiss two other charges connected with the threats. The deal also was to ask the judge to set aside the conviction on the 4-year felony if and when Jackson completes whatever sentence he imposes. That would leave only a misdemeanor conviction on her record.

If the 14-year-old kid in Holly is being charged under the Michigan Anti-Terrorism Act for a hit list of 11 found in his backpack, what of nearly 18-year-old woman who disseminated a hit list of 65 over the Internet? He's locked up. Jackson and her co-conspirators are free, leaving us to wonder what they might have done if they hadn't been caught.

Our society and academic institution can no longer tolerate such deadly cries for attention. All threats, large or small, should be punished to the full extent of the law.

After all, Jackson put her name on that hit list. Let her experience the terror of justice.

Getting started...

I've been thinking long and hard about this venture, both as a means to process my own ponderings as well as to add perspective to a community desperately in need of ... well, perspective. Of course, perspective is subjective - opinion really, isn't it? I've never been one to hesitate offering my opinion...

As a 43-year-old part-time professional raising a son and daughter in Genesee County, I have loads of perspective. I work for the leading academic institution in the community. This after some 10 years as city employee, appointed by a former Mayor, who happened to be a different color than me or my children or my husband. His color and mine is only significant to an embarrassing number of people in our community. I realized a long time ago that despite what my white friends and family told me, Flint - and Genesee County for that matter - has a race problem. White people don't think so. Most black people, on the other hand, know so.

Of course, the same can be said of our nation.

Already, those of you reading this likely have drawn some conclusions about me, gained some perspective, shall we say. I have probably already lost a few of you not willing to hear one more time about race or problems or differing perspectives. Some of you may stay and read on, mildly curious about what this white woman might have to say.

The focus of this effort will be on Genesee County, Michigan, located in southeast lower Michigan, at the intersection of Interstate Highways I-75 and I-69 -- so says the County website. I reside in Flint, the county seat, a city once flush with GM workers, paychecks and residents who took great pride in their homes and neighborhoods. Today, Flint has gone from the second largest to Michigan's fourth-largest city, with a 28 percent drop in total population to 124,943, according to the 2000 Census. The median age is 30.8 and the racial breakdown is 53 percent black, 41 percent white, and 3 percent Hispanic.

Believe me, we got issues!

Race is one thing. Leadership is another! We have lost countless leaders in the past 10 years to communities that offer more. If we don't recall them, we micromanage their professional and personal affairs until they throw up their hands and leave - us to our own devices. We want something, anything to guide us out of the sparkless Flint. In desperation, we believe the lies of wolves and then wonder how we got into the mess - and how in the world we will get out.

I wonder how we are going to get out as well. We need perspective. Maybe not mine, so much, but voices of hope, of well-intentioned, good -hearted people who want to deal honestly and forthrightly with the mess, the issues, the problems, the wildly different perspectives.

Herein lies the matters of Genesee County, of Flint, of our country ... because you matter, our children, our families and our friends matter. Together, we matter most of all.

Peace