Love Comes In Many Forms

Freedom and Jeff

Freedom and I have been together 11 years this summer.
She came in as a baby in 1998 with two broken wings.
Her left wing doesn't open all the way even after surgery,
it was broken in 4 places.
She's my baby.

When Freedom came in she could not stand
and both wings were broken. She was
emaciated and covered in lice. We made the
decision to give her a chance at life, so I took
her to the vet's office. From then
on, I was always around her. We had her in a
huge dog carrier with the top off, and it
was loaded up with shredded newspaper for her to
lay in. I used to sit and talk to her,
urging her to live, to fight; and she would lay
there looking at me with those big brown eyes.
We also had to tube feed her for weeks.

This went on for 4-6 weeks, and by then she still
couldn't stand. It got to the point where the
decision was made to euthanize her
if she couldn't stand in a week. You know you don't
want to cross that line between torture and
rehab, and it looked like death was
winning. She was going to be put
down that Friday, and I was supposed to come in
on that Thursday afternoon. I didn't want to go
to the center that Thursday, because I couldn't
bear the thought of her being euthanized;
but I went anyway, and when I walked in everyone
was grinning from ear to ear. I went
immediately back to her cage; and there she was,
standing on her own, a big beautiful
eagle. She was ready to live. I was
just about in tears by then. That
was a very good day.

 

 

 

We knew she could never fly, so the director
asked me to glove train her.
I got her used to the glove,
and then to jesses, and we started
doing education programs for schools
in western Washington .
We wound up in the newspapers,
radio (believe it or not) and some
TV. Miracle Pets even did a show
about us.

In the spring of 2000, I was diagnosed with
non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. I had stage 3,
which is not good (one major organ plus
everywhere), so I wound up doing 8 months of
chemo. Lost the hair - the whole
bit. I missed a lot of work. When I
felt good enough, I would go to Sarvey
and take Freedom out for walks. Freedom would
also come to me in my dreams and help me fight
the cancer. This happened time and time again.

Fast forward to November 2000

The day after Thanksgiving,
I went in for my last checkup.
I was told that if the cancer was not
all gone after 8 rounds of chemo, then my last
option was a stem cell transplant. Anyway, they
did the tests; and I had to come back Monday for
the results. I went in Monday, and I was
told that all the cancer was gone.



So the first thing I did was get up to Sarvey and
take the big girl out for a walk. It was misty
and cold. I went to her flight and jessed her
up, and we went out front to the top of the
hill. I hadn't said a word to
Freedom, but somehow she knew. She looked at me
and wrapped both
her wings around me to where I
could feel them pressing in on my back
(I was engulfed in eagle wings), and she
touched my nose with her beak and stared into my
eyes, and we just stood there like that
for I don't know how long . That was a
magic moment. We have been soul mates ever
since she came in. This is a very special bird.

On a side note: I have had people who
were sick come up to us when we are out, and
Freedom has some kind of hold on
them. I once had a guy who was
terminal come up to us and
I let him hold her.
His knees just about buckled and he
swore he could feel her power course through his
body. I have so many stories like that..

I never forget the honor I have of being so close
to such a magnificent spirit as
Freedom.

Hope you enjoyed this!

My Easter Prayer

Thank you, God, for sending your Son to die for me and save me from my sin.  Thank you, Jesus, for the sacrifice you made on my behalf.  I could not earn it nor ever deserve it.  Not only did you give your life for me, but you rose from the grave, defeating death and promising me eternal life.  Thank you. 

 

You’ve given me the authority to tell Satan to kiss my ass, which is exactly what I tell him every day.  I’ve already won the battle because of You, and I am eternally grateful. 

Thank you for loving me.  Happy Easter.  ~

An Easier Easter

Easter is such a fun holiday, though I wish it didn’t fall on a Sunday. 

The problem with holidays that fall on a Sunday is that it hinders people from being able to travel and celebrate with their families.  It forces people to have to take Monday off of work, and not everyone can do that.  It also means kids have to miss school on Monday and not everyone can do that either.  For those who have family local, it still puts a damper on the festivities because there is constant time awareness, knowing you have to get the kids home and to bed at a decent hour for school the next day. 

I think we should officially move the Easter celebration to Saturday…that way people can travel easier without missing work or school; and the party doesn’t have to stop at any particular time. 

We could go straight from Good Friday to Easter without the extra day in between.  Now, I know I’ve probably just offended some of my super-duper-religious friends, who feel we should keep the time authentic.  Jesus died on Good Friday and rose from the grave on the following Sunday; therefore we should celebrate on the day of His resurrection. 

Forgive me…but I don’t think God cares what day on which we celebrate, as long as we recognize the true meaning of Easter and honor He and His Son for the gracious gift of salvation.  (Which, honestly, we should be recognizing all year long anyway.) 

The way I see it, we’re not re-arranging God’s schedule, just the Easter Bunny’s... and I don't think he cares either. ~

 

Titillating Technology

Computers…nothing fits the old adage “you can’t live with ‘em and you can’t live without ‘em” better than computers. When they function properly, are virus free, and intuitively anticipate your next request, they are like a gift straight from the Heavens.  You maneuver around them gracefully, your fingers barely striking the keys in a dance of whimsical bliss.  When they stall, freeze, shut down and crash, it is as if they came straight from the pit of Hell…and you want nothing more than to obliterate your machine.

 

Admittedly, I have had moments when I have desired to chuck my laptop across the room and even threatened to Taser it.  I’ve spewed obscenities at it, cursed its very existence and fallen to my knees begging it to work.  Not some of my finer moments.

Thirty years ago, computer frustration didn’t exist, at least not for the general public.  We may have experienced road rage but computer rage was unheard of.  The only electronic frustration back then was when one of our three television channels produced static and we had to move the rabbit ears around until we could find that magic spot where reception was clear.

We thought THAT was bad…little did we know the irritations that lie ahead with the onslaught of technology.

Computers …we loathe them, we love them, we curse them, we cradle them…and ultimately we must admit they control not only our ability to communicate, but often times, our emotional and mental stability.  They make us delighted and depressed, excited and annoyed, joyful and jaded.

 

Computers …we can no longer live without them.  They’ve become an addiction, a basic need to function in society.  They teach us, they taunt us, they help us and haunt us… Oh, such titillating technology!  ~

 

Blogging Blues

Blogging can be demanding.  Though I see the benefits of it, it can become overwhelming because my writing time is limited and I would much rather be working on my next novel than carrying on about nothing.  It’s not that I feel that bloggers, such as myself, ramble pointlessly; quite the contrary.  I enjoy visiting a handful of blogs that prove to be informational and entertaining. 

 

However, when it comes to consistent blogging, I often find myself behind the eight-ball, so to speak; and it makes me crabby.

 

My life in general is not that different than those in my demographic.  I do all of the normal things that most forty-two year old, married women do.  I pluck my eyebrows, wax my upper lip, color the gray in my hair, and consistently rub my face with revitalizing, uplifting, plumping, wrinkle-reducing, age-defying creams.  I take care of my children and the dog, satisfy my husband, clean my house, do the laundry, keep everyone’s schedule organized and spend a greater part of my week driving to practices, games and rehearsals.  Around all of that…I write.

There are days when I have a cohesive block of time to let my creative juices rage, and those are my most fun writing moments.  Four hours of uninterrupted creativity is very fulfilling.  Unfortunately, those days are not the norm for me.  Most of the time I am squeezing in thirty minutes here or an hour there, hoping that my brain can easily pick up where I left off and continue the story.  It’s a challenge.  I find myself hurrying to my computer and uttering a silent prayer, "God, please let the words flow quickly, because I don't have much time."

Between phone calls and emails, the time to write dwindles…and then I realize, crap, I’ve got to post a blog.  Ugh.  There goes any hope of getting another chapter done today. 

And then I sing the B-L-O-G-ging Blues.

I don’t know if most writers feel this way?  It would be fun to conduct a comparative study and see if the majority of writers love or loathe blogging; but that study will have to wait until I get my next novel completed.  J

 

Truly Trekkie

I went to a book club meeting the other night and was asked a fun question:  “What is something we don’t know about you from your books, bio or blog?”

This was a challenging question to answer because I couldn’t readily remember all of the things I had posted on my blog, nor exactly how my bio read.  My answer was this:  I am a Trekkie.

I am not the sort of Trekkie that dresses up and attends Star Trek conventions, but I’m the kind that DVR’s The Next Generation and watches an episode almost every night, with a glass or red wine or a bourbon on the rocks.  I have a Klingon Bird of Prey ornament on my Christmas tree, and an ornament of the Enterprise, a Shuttle Craft, one of Data, Picard, and one of Captain James T. Kirk.  I also own all of The Next Generation main character action figures, complete with Guinan, Q and Wesley Crusher; and the main characters from the original Star Trek. I have a Tricorder and a Phaser.  I also own a couple of Star Trek board games.  I’m the kind of Trekkie that has seen every episode but still roots for Troy and Riker to hook up and wants to see Beverly Crusher and Picard admit they’re in love and get on with it already.  I’m the kind of Trekkie who likes to imagine what it would be like to beam somewhere, who secretly dreams of having a replicator in my home and who would love to go from half impulse to warp nine in a matter of seconds.  I even love Earl Gray tea, hot.

 

After I admitted to being a closet Trekkie, one book club member asked:  “Can you speak like a Trekkie?”

I wasn’t sure what this meant.  I mean, there are a plethora of different life forms with their own languages.  I don’t speak Klingon, but I do have some of Picard’s vernacular.  For example, if you were going to ask if you should buy my books, I could respond by saying, “Make it so.”  If you asked if you should set a course toward buying my books, I could say, “Engage.”

Another member posed:  “If you could be any character on the show, who would you be?”

That was an easy one:  Troy, because I would love to be able to sense what people were thinking and feeling.  I could have a lot of fun being part Betazoid.  J

So, there you have it…one of my deep, dark secrets. 

 

The book club found it interesting that I loved Star Trek and didn’t write Sci-Fi novels.  I suppose it might seem strange, as many novelists write in the same genre as that which they enjoy reading/watching.  Maybe I will attempt a sci-fi suspense one day. 

Until then, live long and prosper. ~

 

 

 

Here's Your Sign

I’m never going to claim to be a better parent than any other parent, or to say I have all of the answers; when, undoubtedly, I have very few.  That being said, I read a story that made me cringe on many levels.

A couple in Florida were having some challenges with their 13-year old daughter.  She was being disrespectful, rebelling against their authority and had allowed her grades to slip. (A typical behavior pattern for many teenagers.) Apparently, the parents tried grounding her, but that form of punishment proved ineffective; so they opted for public humiliation.

They made her stand on a busy street corner for 90 minutes, while holding a sign that read: 

"I’m a self-entitled teenager w/no respect for authority. I’m also super smart, yet I have 3 'D’s' because I DON’T CARE."

As a parent, I understand the feeling of frustration that comes from trying to reach your child and having them not listen.  I can relate to the feeling of being at wits end and wondering if more drastic measures would produce more positive results.  I get the frustration, but I don't get the action they took. 

However…there’s a behind-the-scenes story here:  According to the Florida Daily News, the 13-year olds Uncle, to whom she was very close, was killed in Afghanistan in December 2011; and since losing him she has become more defiant at home and at school, and her grades have dropped.

This is a lot for a young teen to process.  It seems to me that since the rebellious behavior began after the death of her uncle, perhaps the child is “acting out” because she is unable to describe, understand or release the intensity of emotion related to the sudden loss of her loved one.  She most assuredly feels anger at what may be deemed as the injustice of his death.  I am sure there was a sense of shock in learning that he would never be coming home.  I’m certain the dynamic in the home changed, as each member grieved and mourned his loss.  Maybe in their grieving, she slipped through the cracks and no one noticed that she was struggling with her own sense of grief?

The parents admit to not seeking professional counseling for their daughter and instead felt that public humiliation would be a better tool of learning.  For a normal teen, not on the heels of a huge loss, perhaps their methods would not have met with public anger; but under the circumstances, I can understand why the community has found their disciplinary tactic unacceptable. 

Every parent braces for their child’s teenage years.  We know they will make mistakes and we’ll watch in horror as what was once our precious little angel now becomes a back-talking, defiant, rebellious, know-it-all.  Weren’t we all that way during those tumultuous years?  I look back at my youth and cringe.  There were moments when I treated my parents with disrespect, when I belittled their authority and thought they knew nothing and I knew everything.  However, even at the height of my rebellion, my parents never demeaned me, humiliated me or publically embarrassed me.  Oh, they punished me plenty.  I was grounded, had to do more chores, couldn’t talk on the phone and lost rights to the car more times than I can count.  Privileges were revoked, leaving me stranded at home with nothing more to do than ponder my attitude and actions.  Ultimately, the lesson was learned and I was remorseful.

Every child is different and what works for one won’t necessarily work for another.  It can be frustrating for parents, but I think it is important to remember that as children become teenagers, they will need our help and guidance, not our pointed, degrading fingers.  They will need rules with consequences, but not public or private humiliation.  They will need our shoulders to cry on, our strength to hold them up and our reassurance that nothing they say or do can ever make us stop loving them.  They will think they don’t need us and that’s when it is ever more important that we are there. 

As an adult, my sins are great in number.  I wish I could remove them, undo them, go back in time and make wiser choices, but I can’t.  Would it behoove me to stand on a corner with a sign, proclaiming my sins for the world to see?  Would that change my mistakes?  What adult would do this?  No one.  I cannot help but notice the fact that the parents weren’t standing on the corner for 90 minutes, holding a sign with their indiscretions on it.  Hmmmm…. 

How then could they subject their own child to such public disgrace?  

To the parents of that 13-year old child, I challenge you to write down all of your mistakes on a giant piece of poster board and stand for 90 minutes at the busiest intersection in town, proclaiming your sins to the world.  

Let me help you get started:  Mistake #1:  Purposefully humiliating my own child in public. 

In the words of Jeff Foxworthy, "Here's Your Sign." ~