I’m back.  Massage therapy school accomplished.  State boards loom.

phone calls put me on the alert now.
not really jumpy.     

serious.
          sober and silent.
       something in my world is off.


it comes in waves: a barrage of conflicting emotions.
 so many memories.
    so many years.   
                 a life of history together.
regret for overdue visits, lost intimacy.
sorrow.
and the official closing of a chapter in life.

smiles.    –What grand times we had!
Connection.  A bond we shared with no one else.

none of those memories will ever be the same.
they are scarred by the knowledge of loss.

something’s missing.  
                       how can the rest of the world not feel it?
                               don’t they know something’s wrong?

a “tremor in the Force,” as our families would joke.
someone has gone.


do the angels feel the tremor, too–
                                           that someone has arrived?

we are left in a baffling mix of pain and praise.
      an old friend is dead.

I posted this a long time ago and just found it again.  It still cracks me up.

Ten-year-old Peter wanted to make a special birthday card for his ninety-seven-year-old great grandpa, a former golfer.  With no coaching from anyone, he wrote,

       “Grandpa Mac, your life has been a ninety-seven-yard line drive

                   and you have about a three-foot putt left.”

you change clothes five times in one day to accommodate the altering climate.

your trees shock you by blooming mid-February instead of early March.

you get used to going barefoot one week and wearing winter boots the next.

you take thunderstorms for granted.

I don’t remember my wrists ever being this fatigued.
But I did find out I prefer working on people who have real knots, rather than people who just want to relax.
The relaxing people are good if you’re too tired to give much pressure.
What’s bad is when you’re so tired you almost fall asleep during the massage.

In other news, as of last night….

           ……*suspense*…………

                                  …no… sorry, girls, it’s not about a boy.

I’m a delegate to the county convention at the end of the month.

In the scheme of things, it’s not a huge deal.  There were only four or five of us from our precinct
even at the caucus last night.  We can send twelve delegates, and had but four to elect. 
But I’m enjoying the chance to be a part of my country’s government and see how things work
(it’s better than high school history). 
Up close, it’s a lot easier to see how the people really can be the government. 
The trick is to actually stand up, go to stuff (like a caucus) and get involved. 
No, it’s not easy.  Yes, it can be frustrating. 
But I have so much more appreciation for the people and the process.  It’s amazing to realize
that I, too, can participate in how my country is run.  It’s not just about voting when they say to vote. 
There is so much more.  Only, I’m not sure people realize it.  I’m so glad the election official asked
if we were coming to the caucus that night.  Otherwise, I wouldn’t have even known about it, it wouldn’t
have stuck in my head all day, and I wouldn’t have ended up in a small break room with other Republicans
from my area (I have to say, it’s encouraging to be in a room full of people who think the way I do),
going over resolutions, and earning a chance to get involved at one more level. 
County here we come!

to borrow a phrase

Wake up people!

Saw part of Hillary Clinton’s speech last night, accidentally.  I wished with all my heart that every person at the YMCA was watching it and could hear me make my little comments from my treadmill.  It took all of two minutes for me to find a flaw in her thinking…or at least in what she tells us she thinks.

I suppose she was pushing her plans for standardized health care (God save us!) when she told the story–as dramatically as possible–of a young pregnant woman she heard about.  This girl had no insurance and couldn’t afford the hundred bucks the hospital required for her to check in when she had problems at some point in her pregnancy.  She went home.  When she came back again later, in worse condition (unspecified), same story.  Ends up, she loses her baby and they have to lifeflight her to another hospital where they fight for fifteen days to save her life but can’t.  Pretty sad story.  (And I’d like to know where the non-government agencies were in all this…like the Church.) 

Clinton ends her little ditty with, “I think it’s wrong, morally wrong, for that to happen…in the United States!  Two lives lost!” 

Wait– Okay, I could make all kinds of comments on that one, but let’s stick with this: Two lives??  But–but–  she doesn’t believe one of them even was a life! 

If I were a young woman who had been sold on the argument that it’s my body and I’m not killing a baby if I have an abortion before my seventh month (or whatever they’re saying now), I would be highly offended by that speech!  Excuse me, Hillary, but you can’t go telling me one thing to make me feel okay about my choices and then contradict that stand just to make a point for some other little agenda of yours!  Does that mean you lied about the fetus?  Or are you only making that…thing…sound like a poor little baby in this story just for a compassion vote?  Either way, you’ve chewed me up and spit me out.

As Shelly pointed out, this is no different than the media screaming about Angelina Jolie putting her unborn babies at risk by going into a war-torn region for whatever charity she was backing.  

*Through gritted teeth*    I thought you told us it wasn’t human yet.

Think any o’ them folks considering voting for her caught it?

…Nah.

Go vote today!

And remember, you may have to live with your choices. 

Me, I’m going to the caucus tonight.

::Edit::

For those voting in Texas primaries today—My sister posted this on her site.  I think it’s very good.

Why I am voting for Huckabee

~ still recovering from starting my massage internship; fighting fatigue in odd body parts (my left hand, what??)

~ took  Rhodiola 110 and pushed harder in my workout (actually made fun by the “Bourne Supremacy” soundtrack)

~ registered for New Attitude ’08……Whoo-hoo!              www.newattitude.org

~ looking forward to jello for dessert and some lovely time at the piano, and maybe a chic flick with Daddy later

 
Fire makes us pure.  Fire separates the precious from the vile and makes the hidden apparent.

Who you are in the fire is who you are.

sound discouraging?  but listen to this–

Fire does not just reveal what is flawed; it also reveals what is beautiful.

I’m well!!
I officially got permission yesterday to hug and kiss Sonya again.
And I’m since I’m no longer “breathing germs”, I’m also allowed to help with dishes again.
Joy.

Actually, I’m finding that it can be a joy.
If I think about the task set before me as a chance to serve–which I keep saying is what I feel
called to do, so I ought to be doing it–then anything can be a joy.
Even cleaning a toilet and scrubbing out an incredibly dirty shower.
You would not believe how fast a shower can get grimy when six or seven
people shower in it every day, and a few others every other day.
It also gets fantastically moldy since it has so little time to dry and it’s humid here anyway.
So, I find that all the mundane chores that must be done over and over,
sometimes more than once a day, can still be a joyful experience, as long
as I’m focused on Christ and not just trying to get the task out of the way so I can move on
to more important matters.
What could be more important than doing what serves my family most?



So we took a handgun safety class on Friday from one of my best friend’s dad.
The class was made up of my friend and 9 members of my family.
We can go shooting anytime out in the country, but Dad wanted the younger ones
to also have some official training on the safe handling of weapons.
It’s amazing how good the children are. 
My 11-year-old brother looked oddly comfortable gripping those guns,
with his big safety eyewear and cute camo pants.
(Maybe it’s all the backyard air-soft wars over the years.)

As for me…though I didn’t like the feel of the revolver, preferring instead the weight and grip
of the semiautomatics, I was a fairly good shot with the different .22 pistols.
But I was dang good with that 9mm.
I’d shot guns before, years ago, and it was gratifying to realize I hadn’t lost my touch.
And yes, I am consistent in my expensive tastes.  Naturally, I liked that guns that take
more expensive cartridges.
So when I said my thumbs were sore, I meant the skin on my fingers hurt from all the scraping
that happens when you load cartridges into magazines for the semis and then of course from
“racking” (which is the technical term for pulling the slide back on the top to load the first round)
the guns with my left hand.  Over and over and over again.  And later that night my right forearm ached a bit from all that trigger squeezing.
But I loved every minute of it.  My only complaint about that class was that they only gave us a few hours
to do the actually shooting, and of course I had to share ammo and guns with everyone else.
I think I could spend all day at target practice.
My competitive side comes out when you put a gun in my hand. 
Kind of like when I get behind the wheel of a vehicle.
Is that scary?