Friday, September 25, 2009

Just Finished Moving

As you know I have a wonderful new website - Well, the wonderful and mega talented graphic designer who has so graciously and beautifully set up my website has also set up three blogs for me attached to my website. You can find all three blogs ~ Parky's Prattlings, Meniere's "As The World Spins" and DeeEl's Mo Chroí Scríofa ~ in the links tab of my website. Or find quick links in this post. See y'all there.

Monday, August 3, 2009

Crushed Dreams

You may remember back in February I posted I Wanted You. This was a poem that I wrote while coming to terms with not being able to have children. Recently I have had a lot of things going on with me. Mid June the grommets in my ears which had held me in a remission state, or as my doctor put "well controlled", decided to eject themselves a month early and threw me into a tailspin. During this time we also discovered that I have a new trigger ~ the wonderful weather that I love so much in East Tennessee. The doctor replaced the grommets with ones that should last about two years (YIPPIE!!!!). While getting back my sea legs back following this I decided to attend a couple classes put on by the Knoxville Writer's Guild (KWG). I did pretty good except being told in no uncertain terms that the so-called publisher that released my book should not be called a publisher at all. I also had more people who should know, telling me I should give up on the dream I have of writing for a living in the manner I have been dreaming of and should just get a regular job.

I was discouraged. I quit writing. I have been out of work since October 31, 2008. I am the only one paying my bills. I have no one to turn to to help me with these bills. Currently I am living on my small inheritance I received after my father died 2007. I did the math (some of you know how good my math skills are) and if I am very good, I will exist a few more months and then no more. What further discouraged me was reading on Facebook and Twitter the status updates of those I know and they were posting their "Woe is me" status' and how wretched their jobs and families. They have jobs. They have families who will make sure they do not go hungry. Some are in school to further their education. Yeah, they have it rough.

Another thing looming and causing me pain was my impeding 44th birthday. Getting old and having nothing to show for it has done a number on me. But the worst part that everything went back to was no children and not being able to have them. A few people know why this is. Fewer know why this is devastating to me. I made the conscious decision not to have children due to having Meniere's Disease. My thoughts toward this decision are regarding the possibility of no longer being 'well controlled'. Since being a girl is one of my triggers I stand the chance that the increased hormonal activity will once again thrust me into the fiery breath of this dreaded dragon I have been battling for five years. If this happens the possibility of my having drop attacks would increase and therefore the possibility of my having one while pregnant or while carrying the baby after birth and possibly killing the child. I cannot put anyone in that situation especially my own baby.

After coming to this decision and posting I Wanted You, many have told me I could always adopt. This statement has only served to bring me even more pain. Adoption is an option of course. However, I was raised to be a mama. I would daydream about it endlessly as far back as junior high. I didn't just daydream about having a baby in my arms, I dreamt of being pregnant and actually giving birth. I always wanted to field my own softball team. Yes, I wanted at least ten babies all by natural childbirth. I did not dream only of the 'romantic' side of having children. I longed and yearned for every aspect of being a mother. This is the dream that has been crushed for me that is the hardest for me to fully accept and move beyond. In June I wrote another poem still trying to deal with this. I cried over every line and every word but could not fix a title for it. I read it at my Wednesday Writer's Circle and asked assistance from those who heard. The suggestion that was mentioned that settled best with me was Fingerprints. I am in hopes of finding someone who will assist me so I can take a photograph and then submit both poems and the story to a couple women's magazine for consideration and publication. For now, I hope you will find something in my meager words.


I polished the brass today
and the glass I did clean
then I turned, seeking prints
and eyes smiling with a gleam
instead I was looking through
my spotless window glass
and perfectly waxed is
my antiqued knobs of brass
I scrubbed and I scoured
my many pots and pans
wishing they could just once be
drums for tiny, happy hands
down upon my hands and knees
cleaning to shine my tiled floor
but in my mind it should be
adventures for you to explore
I dusted off all the wood
returning the threaded sheen
longing for tiny fingerprints
but only dust was to be seen.

Alone I sit lamenting
deafened by the sound of my tears
wanting the pain to go way
trying to drown my many fears
all my life held one goal
a mama I was to be
running, laughing and playing
with more than just two or three
but, alas, the fates they stepped in
and dreams cannot come true
I searched and tried to reason
because I really wanted you
there was no easy way
but I searched and tried to find
the choice that I had to keep
to only you I have been kind
never will of my belly grow
to give you your first home
my loving arms will never hold
a baby all my own
my breasts will never know
a tiny suckling babe
try as I can, dreams of my heart
those memories will never fade.

June 18 2009
© DL Bach

Thursday, June 11, 2009

I Heart NY ~ Part Deux

I know, I know. I went to New York in April and here it is June. Well, forgive me for not getting this done sooner, but I have been working hard trying to set up my writing business. My trip to NY did not end with me going from the airport to the hotel and having the bajeezies scared out of me in the process. I spent four days and three nights in the city that NEVER sleeps.

Trust me, New York never sleeps. I was on the 33rd floor of my hotel and am hearing impaired and I could still hear the noise on the streets below. The first night I slept, maybe, a total of 45 minutes. I actually got up and ironed ALL of my clothes. I didn’t have internet at that point so I couldn’t check my e-mail or even visit with my friends on Second Life. So I ironed and then flipped through the 10,000 channels on the television.

My purpose for losing my mind and acting upon an insane whim by going to NY in the first place was to attend The New York Round Table Writer’s Conference. The conference began at 8 am Friday morning and ended 5 pm Saturday evening. While I attended lots of panels and learned lots of stuff (mostly how ignorant I am of the writing industry) this was not my entire trip. One of the first things I noticed was that New Yorkers LOVE Starbucks. There is a Starbucks on every corner and one or two in between. The 4 Star Hotel I stayed in (thanks to served ONLY Starbucks coffee. The biggest issue with this? I don’t like Starbucks.

I will drink Starbucks if there is no other choice or if the other choice is Folgers or some other generic coffee. I don’t know if I will ever have the opportunity for another trip like this, so I wanted what I wanted and would not just settle. This meant schlepping across the street to the little deli for their coffee. **note to self ~ when traveling, take your own coffee.** I did sit there the first morning and wrote a poem while enjoying my real coffee and a fresh bagel.

The Morning Deli

Coffee or tea
hot cocoa to go
sitting, waiting
The Times in hand
tasty aromas
tease and delight
bagels, bread
pastries, pie
biscotti and muffins, too
please one, entice all
behind the counter
apron of blue
a smile with coffee
made just for you.

April 24, 2009


Getting back to the hotel the first day was interesting. I learned that you cannot call for a taxi cab in NYC. You have to ‘hail’ one. OY!! Well, we (I had a bit of help) couldn’t get one so I had to hobble around the corner. I went into the drugstore for a moment and came out to hail me a taxi cab. At the moment I arrived at the curb, a boy on a giant tricycle came up to me and asked if I needed a ride. He took me all the way back to my hotel for $20. He went in and out of traffic and between vehicles and WOW was that an interesting ride.

Saturday, I finished the conference and my feet were killing me. I was so proud that I traveled with only one pair of shoes as opposed to one pair for each outfit I packed. This was so not a good thing. Blisters happen. After the conference I was advised where to go for shoes and a larger suitcase (I took my smallest one and it was already over full and I decided to buy two books that I would not be able to get home). I bought the case, but they didn’t have shoes. I went to hail a taxi cab to the hotel and well, things got ugly.

For those who don’t know me well, I really hate large crowds of people. My biggest fear with this trip was getting lost. Well, things got real ugly. I had my briefcase, my new suitcase and my cane trying to hail a taxi cab in a very large crowd of people. I had no idea where I was or which direction my hotel was. I was LOST!!! Yes, I had a panic attack right there in New York City. I tried to keep moving, but with all the people and not being able to catch my breath, I didn’t’ go far.

I saw a little alcove nearby where no one was inhabiting. I ventured there and scooched up close to the building trying to regain my composure. All of a sudden people flowed into my little haven and began taking photographs of the statue in the center of the enclosed area. A man came out of the building and as he tried to speak to me, I cried harder and got more intimate with the wall behind me. He said the place was a church and perhaps they could help me inside. Eventually to get away from the new crowd, I stepped inside the glass doors. Finally, a woman came in and I told her I just needed someone to call me a taxi cab, again, NO CAN DO. She went further into the building and a man came out and politely asked me to leave. The nice lady came back and lead me outside to help me hail a taxi cab while trying to help me calm down. As she was flagging down a yellow security blanket for me, I glanced back and noticed where I had been ~ St. Francis of Assisi Church. Yes, that one.

OY! My camera did not come out. But I had a major panic attack at a famous location and didn’t know it. I got back to my hotel and two hours, one hot shower and two adult beverages later, I was recovered from my total meltdown. New York should not have been my first big trip. However, I did learn a lot about the writing industry and mostly about myself. My trip was not the ideal trip that people imagine when going to New York. I did not want their kind of a trip, but this one didn’t meet my expectations either. I file it under education as I most assuredly received one.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

One A Day

On Thursday, May 7, 2009, I awoke early with my mind swirling around with ideas (not an unusual thing for me). One of those ideas was to use my Twitter and Facebook status to write one line of a poem everyday. While a few here and there made comments on the individual lines, I don't believe anyone really picked up on what I was actually doing. It isn't any wonder that my first line of the poem was "Where should I start?" I wasn't really sure how this would progress nor if I would really follow through everyday (after all, I am getting old and tend to forget things). I also wasn't certain which direction this would take. Sometimes when I sit down to write about something, it takes on a mind of it's own and comes out totally awing me; for example my poem As I Go. This was just meant to be a simple little ditty and turned into a piece that I want read at my memorial when I pass on. Enough of the froo froo. No editing has been done to this piece. I would re-read the individual lines each day to make my progression, but today is the first I have put them together. I read this morning and decided the poem had an adequate conclusion. Now for you to read all together and offer your comments and feedback...

One A Day

Where should I start?
How do I begin?
To write what's in my heart
Words for you to hear
Be they pretty, be they bold
Swirling around inside my mind
Longing to splash and dance upon my page
Forevermore to delight
To give joy or remembrance.
Bringing about truth or excitation.
Dwelling in a world of fanciful lass
Only one thing overflows my senses
The essence of your sweet soul

May 20, 2009

Thursday, April 30, 2009

I Heart NY

Yes, it’s true. I dared venture up to the Big Apple. I teetered back and forth not knowing for sure if I was really ready for such a trip. Finally, I made up my mind to not only go, but to take a nibble on the apple myself. My apprehensions would remain even as I was in the security line at the airport to leave. I made it to the plane and took off, my mind filled with more emotions then I thought could happen all at once.

The night before I was to leave friends advised that I should hold two words in my vocabulary ~ f*** you. These words have never been part of my vocabulary, so I tucked the advice away and went forward.

Entering LaGuardia airport I looked around as much as I could while making my way toward baggage claim. It seemed every shop had at least one item which read “I Y NY”. I suppose if I had bothered taking the time to get past my fears at McGhee Tyson, it would have been a similar scene with all the Volunteer items. Reaching my destination I peered intensely looking for my one small suitcase. It was not there. Gaining assistance, I found my case and made my way to call for the shuttle service to the hotel.

Following a minor security issue with the shuttle driver not wanting to show his ID to airport personnel, I was led to the waiting van with a very amorous couple behind me. We stowed our luggage and climbed aboard to be off to fetch six more souls to be distributed to various hotels around New York City. Finally, we were taken to the streets of NY where I was bitten by the Big Apple.

Well, perhaps it was the worm which bit me. Either way culture shock rocked me to my very core. My knuckles turned white as I clung to my laptop case as if my life depended on my not letting go. The fifty-something woman sitting next to me let out a gasp equaling mine in intensity but much louder as the shuttle driver just missed bowling over at least a dozen people on Broadway.

As we sped through the obstacle crammed streets of New York City I watched the blur of people and thought about the locusts which plagued Egypt to convince Pharaoh to set the Children of Israel free. No, I am not calling the residents of NY nor the city’s many tourists, swarms of pests. There are just so many of them and I couldn’t understand why anyone would choose to live this way.

Now the questions begin. Am I sorry I went to New York? No. Will I return to New York in the future? Probably since it is the writing capitol and I am a writer. Do I desire to live there? After this if I have to answer this question, you didn’t read the paragraphs before. Do I love New York? I love a dear Second Life friend who lives there and perhaps someday we shall have lunch and she will slap me around telling me how wonderful NY is. Until then, I am very happy to be back home with fewer people and I will try not to complain about the wretched drivers in Knoxville ever again.

Stay tuned to this frequency for the possibility of further sketches of my adventures in New York City.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

As I Go

Warning: This is totally unlike anything I have written before.

Taking the challenge of a writer friends blog post from a metaphor prompt he uses, I felt compelled to write this piece. I have never written anything like this before and perhaps I will never write anything like it again. Know and understand I am in a good frame of mind and this does not reflect feelings of despair in any way. Please have no fear for my safety.

As I Go

If I should wake before I die
pray tell me only where I lie
of melodies sweet
a hummingbirds treat
and gems sparkling in the sky.

If I should wake before life’s complete
Lull me back to restful sleep
To dream of days far away
When I would run, skip and play
The folly of insightful lass.

If I should wake before life’s end
Have at my side the sweetest friend
To recall evenings of delight
dancing under moon’s shimmery light
facing tomorrow full of hope.

If I should wake before I die
please don’t dare breathe a sigh
just turn and give a tender smile
sending me that one last mile
As I go so silently.

April 2, 2009

Monday, March 23, 2009


Today, I am a freelance writer.

I became a writer at the tender age of thirteen when, as a seventh grade student in junior high, my English teacher began a segment of lessons on poetry. I never knew I could write before this time although I had been told I saw things differently then the rest of the world. My writing evolved from poetry to songs (music is still in my head for them) and even had friends ask me to write things for them to present to boyfriends.

In college I enjoyed writing papers in Eng 101 and 102. My favorite style there became "Argument and Persuasion". No, I am not an argumentative type of person, however I have tested and proved that in my writing I can lead my readers to my way of thinking. I just forgot about that over the years and went in other directions with my writing.

I never dreamt of being a writer. I just loved writing. It became the voice for this painfully shy girl. I found that in my written words I could say things I would never have the courage to audibly say. Prior to writing my first novel, my friends had to 'convince' me to write it. I did not consider myself a novelist. A poet perhaps, but a novelist, no. So my wonderful friends worked at pushing me to take up pen and pad to write my first novel. I was relaxing one evening in mid June 2001 and took a pen a pad near me and started jotting down the characters. By mid March 2002, I was finished writing. There would still be a lot of editing and refining to be done, but the manuscript was completed.

Last year, pretty much as a joke I submitted an on-line query to a publisher for this manuscript. I was dumbfounded when they said they wanted to publish it. I thought, due to a stupid mistake I made, that this was never going to happen. So last week, I began making plans to self-publish a book of my poetry. While doing this I got the confirmation that my novel will be on shelves shortly. I will go forward with both books now.

Why the history lesson, you ask? To show you that a dream I never had is coming true. After losing my job in October and considering the evil dragon called Meniere's that has entered my life, I knew that my writing must become my career. I began talking to people in the business and reading. One of the first pieces of advice I received was that to be a good writer I must read and read, and do more reading. This I am doing.

I began seeing ideas for writing articles everywhere I looked. I started reading up on them and trying my hand at writing some. I subscribed to The Writer and started learning more. A recent article I read told how the author became a freelancer. My thought was "I can do something like that too". About a month ago I took an on-line career test to see what it suggested I do with my life. The main choice was writing. A tie for tops was working in a museum.

I love museums of all kinds. I began thinking about how to tie the two together. I can write about museums and special exhibits in museums. I started looking for publications where I can publish these articles. I found the American Association of Museums (AAM) and didn't think I could get into it as I do not work for or own a museum.

Today, I filled out the form and was granted membership to the AAM. On the application I put "I am a freelance writer writing about museums and special exhibits". I didn't think I would be accepted, but low and behold, I WAS. I called myself a Freelance Writer and was granted admittance to one of the most prestigious organizations within the community I desire to write in.


Saturday, March 7, 2009

Craving Something Sweet??

I received a notice regarding the on-line poetry reading I attend every Wednesday. It stated that it was Oreo Cookie Day in the UK. They were looking for poems about/inspired by Oreo Cookies. The two who host this reading are both in London and both LOVE Oreo cookies. Apparently they do not taste as good in the UK as they do in the US.

I am not a fan of Oreo's and cookies in general but my mind started swirling. I went to the drug store and was going to buy a package for further inspiration. However, the only ones I could find were Weight Watcher's and they are not the same. I returned home with the tornadoes raging in my mind wanting to spew out the words I was seeing.

"Ode To Your Pleasure" was written as I chatted in MSN with a UK friend who loves Oreo's. Later I logged in for the reading and sat listening as others read their works, but none were about Oreo cookies. My name was called to the mic and I had three pieces to read. I read a little one liner that I wrote in response to a friends photo he had taken and asked me to write what came to me from viewing that photo. Then I read the piece I last posted "I Wanted You". Then I asked Jilly to load the last one and went on to explain that it was written in response to the call for Oreo cookie poems. I brought the house down and prompted others to find pieces about the sweet little crumb maker.

Ode To Your Pleasure
With a package of blue
anticipation grows
a glass of milk by your side
small chocolate discs
glued with the sweetest cream
then separating the two
only to enjoy the sugary creamy goo
then together they fit
but the milk you bypass
to your lips a smile begins
crumbs find their wayto the table below
your eyes close lightly
your smile widens
the visions in your mind bloom
I breathe a sigh
as I watch in silence
you offer me your last
glancing down from your face to your pleasure
a grin slips to my mouth
reaching slowly you realizeyou have but one Oreo left
horror I hear in your gasp
then I take your milk instead.

March 4, 2009

Upon concluding my piece, another passed over to be read directly while I had the mic a haiku she had written in response to my reading mine.

The last Oreo
Is offered to us all by
The last Southern Belle
© Tidd Kidd 2009

So for all those who love Oreo cookies or just like sweets. Enjoy "Ode To Your Pleasure" , I'll take the milk.

Friday, February 13, 2009

I Wanted You

Okay, this is different. Instead of posting an article or an essay I am posting a prose that I recently wrote. It has taken me a long time (well a few years) to not only make this decision, but to come to terms with the decision that had to be made. Considering my age and the fact that I have no one in my life (romantically) coupled with having a chronic illness such as Meniere's disease, I could only see things one way. When I was a teen I wanted to have enough children to field my own baseball team. Then as time went on I was willing to settle for a volleyball team. (Yeah, I know, I was a bit of a tomboy) As I strolled further into my thirties I was resolved to bear a mixed doubles tennis team. Now in my mid-forties and as I said having Meniere's I have made the painful decision of never having children.

Painful doesn't even begin to cover what I actually feel. There is an emptiness and hollow feeling deep inside that I know will never be filled. I reminisce about the daydreams I used to have of bringing children into this world and caring for them and giving them the love a parent (especially a mother) should. Giving them what I never received from my mother. Teaching them to love everyone no matter the color of their skin or the religion they practiced. I longed to watch my children develop into men and women who would make a difference in this world and follow their dreams to the end of the rainbow. Well, many tears and moments of despair have finally brought a tiny pin prick of those feelings into verse.

I Wanted You

Looking deep
deep inside
searching for
your face
Once seen clearly
now just a
shadow of a
past that could have been

There is longing
a longing never to be filled
realizing you
will never be there
never will joy sing
with a kick or a turn
excitement is stifled
to never feel your growth

Arms meant to hold
breasts set to suckle
these lay dormant
dormant and still
desire, need, hunger
my being is empty
empty and hollow
never to be satisfied.

February 9, 2009

Monday, February 9, 2009

The Power Of Words

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me”. How fallacious is that nursery rhyme? We use this trifle childhood saying to get children to feel better about the names that their playmates call them. How unreasonable of us to think that words can’t hurt. There are millions and millions of people in the world today that bear scars. A lot of them are scars that can physically be seen from war or from abuse at the hands of those who are supposed to be trusted, those who would take care of us. But many, many more bear scars that cannot be seen with the naked eye. They cannot be seen on the outside. Except perchance to see the depression that someone may be in or to see the low self esteem that they may have. These scars are from words; words that hurt. Words that come from those that are trusted. From parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and even teachers. Telling them that they are stupid, they are fat, ugly. Telling them that they will never be worthy. Words hurt. The power of the word. As a writer I have come to realize how powerful words can be. Other adages have been written regarding words as well ~~ “The pen is mightier then the sword”; “Words have a longer life than deeds.” These axioms did not come about for no reason at all. Words hurt.

Not long ago the former president of the United States, George W. Bush, was in Iraq giving a speech and had shoes hurled at him. In the Iraqi culture this is meant as a malevolent act. I don’t know any culture where this would be meant in any form as being complimentary. His words were hurting. So that person did what he thought he should at the time to stop the hurting. Hurling a shoe at someone is not necessarily the best way to bring about a positive change. The only thing that is going to stop words form hurting is the people who are saying them. The people who write them. It’s time for people to take responsibility for their actions yes, but for their words as well. For what they say. Sometimes words are spoken in jest, like on a playground. But those words can hurt deeply even if you mean them in jest. It doesn’t make up for the hurt by following the words with “I’m only joking”. We need to learn how to speak truth in a way that isn’t going to cut down another person. Today’s comedians get their laughs and make their living by hurting other people. They don’t like it when the tables are turned and someone is making the same kinds of jokes about them. When will the madness stop? In order for peace to truly live in our hearts and in our world, we have to stop hurting each other.

Since I lost a good portion of my hearing, and it’s harder for me to understand the words of songs, especially songs I didn’t know before I lost my hearing, I look them up. Yes, Google is one of my favorite tools on the internet. I was listening to this song a little bit ago. I loved the music and I wanted to know the words that accompany this very nice music. The song is called Irish Heartbeat. I looked up the lyrics. “Oh wont you stay, Stay a while with your own ones, Don’t ever stray”. That is just the first three lines. How can we get to know other people and bring peace throughout the world if we are afraid to go out there and meet them. The song goes on to say that the world is so cold and you should just spend time with your own people. Yes, it is a cold world and by staying with our own people we are making that world even colder. We’re cutting off what could be beautiful friendships and relationships by staying closed, staying inside of ourselves. We need to step outside of our own comfort-zones. Yes, we may get hurt. But once we step outside, then and only then can we start the peace process. Only then can we start making things right in this world.

Children are a precious commodity. They are to be loved and cherished. Not ridiculed and scorned. It’s not their fault they were born. It’s not their fault they came out of the womb the sex that you didn’t want. It’s not their fault that they were born inheriting the genes from the family that they come from. For their hair color, their eye color their skin tone. So why take it out on them? It’s no one’s fault for the physical traits that we inherit. What is at fault is the hatred that you are teaching these children. You are teaching them to hate people that don’t look like them. People that don’t fit into the “perfect person” category with a certain body type, skin color, hair color and eye color. When you take away those physical attributes, whether someone is skinny and looks like a Barbie doll or a Ken doll, you take away all of that, underneath you are nothing but blood and bones and vital organ, too. We are all the same. If you pierce us, we all bleed red blood. Even those people in Tennessee who claim to bleed orange. We all bleed red. We may not have the same blood type, but that is science and I am not getting into science. Our blood is still the same. We are the same inside. How we think and how we behave are things we have been taught.

The song in South Pacific says it well, “You have to be carefully taught” to hate someone who isn’t like you. If you put wee babes in a room, they will play together. They’re not going to look and see someone who is different and say I can’t play with you because you are different from me. They will just play. Yes, they may have squabbles because one child is playing with a toy that another child may want, but that is human instinct. The bottom line is they will play together. We need to take a lesson from the children instead of each other and reach out. Hug the next person when they are hurting even if they are different from you. Stop saying the words that are going to hurt. Start saying the words that are going to heal. The words that will bring about compassion and peace. Don’t dig a hole and bury your head. Stop clinging to what you think is right, your own people. There is a whole great big wide world out there to explore. People who are different.

No, some of the things people like to eat may not sound appetizing, but you never know till you try it whether or not you will like it. I spent six weeks in South America. My Spanish was very minimal. It took me most of my time with one woman whose English was none existent and we communicated between us; through our hearts. We learned how to communicate. There may be barriers such as language, but they can be overcome, if you are willing to try. Try using words that break all of those barriers. Words of peace. Words of love. Words of comfort. See how much further you go. Just remember that while sticks and stones may break your bones, those bones will heal. But the words that you say to somebody else, those scars and that pain will be with that person for the rest of their life.

February 9, 2009

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Are We Really THAT Different?

A while back my dear friend Kimala had posted this youTube link. I watched it and then a few days later I saw it on television myself. I tucked this link away for safe keeping wanting to give my own two cents. However, I got caught up in way too many other things that should not take precedence over living together in peace. Yes, I am still on a rampage about peace. I will continue on this mind-set until people really start getting a clue.

So, we may live in different parts of the world. Perhaps our skin is of different tones and our accents are a bit different' if we speak the same language at all. Deep down inside we are all living, breathing beings who deserve to be treated with the utmost respect. If we focused more on the things we have in common and less on the differences we could all at the very least get along better then we do now.

The question we need to ask ourselves is if harmony is something we truly want. From wee babes we are are taught to hate. We learn how to despise the same people our forefathers despised. Children watch as their parents curse and verbally abuse those who are different from them. They learn by watching and through careful observation. I sat by and listened to all the derogatory comments made by my parents and grandparents against black people. I cringed when these things would be said in secret and then in public they would be denied. What kind of a message are we sending to our young?

Every day we walk around with blinders on only seeing the things we want to see about other people. This person looks like me and has the same political views as I have, therefore they must be a good person. This person has a different skin tone and speaks a language I don't know and he wears something strange on his head; therefore he must be a bad person. Perhaps your thought process may not be as black and white as that, but does it not hold that we do this subconsciously? If we did have such a black and white view of things we might better be able to differentiate between what is to be kept and what is to be tossed aside as we seek out those we would spend time with.

Look at each other as human beings ~ skin, bones and blood. Forget about the political, religious and ethnic differences. Stop being so pig-headed and narrow-minded. If a dog and an elephant can be best friends, why can't a Democrat and a Republican; a Christian and a Jew, a Protestant and a Muslim? Take the blinders off your eyes and put them back on the horses and jackasses where they belong. Open your mind to see how much you have to learn from others around the world as well as in your own back yard. Take a lesson from Bella and Tara, two creatures who the world would think should never know each other let alone become best friends. If they can do it, I have a glimmer of hope for the human race.

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Sweat Equity & Greed

Last month I posted about the John Lennon song "War Is Over". While some just look at this as a pretty Christmas song they miss the truth that lies in plain sight. This song should be re-written and made for all year long. The message of peace and living together harmoniously should be a message that we share every day of the year and not just the last few days of a year. This is almost understandable to have a song about peace played when it is when giving a look back at my last post which covered resolutions. We tend to use the last few days of the calendar year to look back and take stock in our lives. I am always amazed at the amount of time, energy and resources expended from mid November till the first of January. Tears fill my heart when ads come on promoting some sort of fundraiser for charities providing food for the poor and needy for the holidays. When I go to stores and see the bell ringers I feel a bit of nausea rise up in the depth of my soul.

Some of you have either left this post or become enraged with what I just said. Hold onto the anger whilst I explain. I am not against giving to charities and helping the poor and needy in the least. What upsets me is that the only time these agencies seem to try to make an overt effort to help is during the end of the year holidays. Some say that it is because this is when the population in general is more benevolent. Why is it that people can only be giving of their time and money during one time of year? The poor and needy are poor and needy 365 days a years not just for a couple of holidays.

I spent New Years Eve in Second Life. My friends decided to have a continual celebration helping all of the time zones ring in the New Year. We started with Australia and went till some where around 5 am EST (I know that was when I sent everyone home so I could go to bed). One of my friends began posting things around the bistro she owns about peace, including several statements by Yoko Ono. We talked about peace for quite a while and I brought up the John Lennon song. My eyes began to well with tears as I pondered the message of that song and read the Ono quotes. I finally asked those in the crowd, "why can't the leaders of the world see just how simple it would be to have peace?" Someone comment, "Because of greed." The means to have peace is so very simple, however, the excuse for not having peace is embarrassingly simple.

This morning I got up and turned the television on to prepare for the news (well, cartoons first and last with a little news in between). There was a program on and they were interviewing former Baltimore Oriole, Cal Ripken, Jr. He was talking about things he learned from his father, the late Cal Ripken, Sr. He made a comment about "sweat equity". This is kind of like "Success is 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration". The two words struck me and I jotted them down and headed to the shower. Those who know me, know that my mind is always a whirl of words. Yes, I was still pondering this statement in the shower and recalling the comment made on New Years Eve about greed standing in the way of peace. Right away I knew where my thoughts were leading ~~ this post.

There are so many people around the world who have more money then they know what to do with. However, they only seem to be able to give to charities certain times a year and the way the media covers it the only reason they give is to make themselves look like caring human beings. As a whole, world-wide, we need to loosen the purse strings and loosen our hearts to others around us and put forth sweat equity to banish the greed that is standing in the way of living in peace with each other.