My Good Friend Julian Troup Turns WISE Tomorrow!

Happy 80th Birthday to my new and good good friend Julian Troup of Los Angeles, California. Even though I don't have a picture of my buddy, and to be honest, I have never laid eyes on him - I know he is gorgeously wonderful in every way. He and I have become so close over the past month through e-mails, and we're about to become more involved with a project that should be both interesting to us, and entertaining to the world.

Julian comes from a time of yesteryear, revolution, and new beginnings. When he was born in 1928 women in this country had just be allowed to vote for only 8 years. He lived in Brooklyn, NY during the Great Depression, made it through school, and learned to drive about the time Hitler was taking over parts of Europe! He witnessed first hand the influx of immigrants of which I am sure his parents were very familiar - being raised in such a time would have opened up doors and endless opportunities for youth - - both good and vile.

To the California sun he moved, taking a beautiful woman as his wife. Helping Kathy to raise her children as his own, my friend became a father and best friend to three precious children who call him Dad. Though my learned knowledge of Julian is limited, and I dare not sure anything too intimate with the world - - suffice it to say that my heart and my joy has been full for having met him. I call him my friend, and I can't wait to put my two arms around his neck to kiss him and thank him for being so kind to both Faith and I.

Looking forward to learning from him - (I even got a salute from him today! Grins.) I sing with my soul a "Happy Birthday" to you. Happy Birthday Julian Troup!!

Early Show - Good Morning America

Well, it was a race and it looks like the Early Show has been scheduled for Friday morning April 4th, 2008. Good Morning America may still be on for Monday, April 7, and I hope they are. I need a publisher, and you just never know if that one really good publisher is watching ABC or CBS...wait, what about NBC? You guys can have me on Tuesday I suppose - I'm up for that.

When it comes to traveling here and there I'm not about to say no as long as we're both comfortable and Faith is being offered that omelet she likes so much on American Airlines. When we fly we usually fly first class because Faith is considered a celebrity, but we can fly economy I don't mind; Faith prefers the larger seat of course, but she can be accommodating. She did do something funny the other day - - we were on our way to Washington DC and upon boarding the plane Faith noted immediately that someone was sitting in her seat. We always sit in row 3 on the right side seats A & B. Row 3 is the first seat on an American S80 plane. Faith walked onto the plane and when she saw the man in her seat she stopped in her tracks. She first stared at him, then she turned her little confused face to Linda our Flight Attendant!

The Flight Attendant was just in stitches from the look on Faith's face. She told the man that he was in her normal seat, but that we were sitting on the other side of the plane this time. We were still in Row 3, but we were seated in seats E and F. There are no C and D on the S80. All throughout the flight from Dallas to Dulles Faith just stared at the man in her seat. He finally stopped looking over to see if she was looking over at him, but you can bet he's felt guilty about it all week long! Faith didn't seem to hold a grudge though, when the plane landed she "allowed" him to pet her behind the ears.

This Friday we'll be on CBS's the Early Show and I do hope I get the opportunity to ask the world (because the world will be watching) for a publisher! I have 2 books out there already, and a series of children's books that will not only star Faith as the central character, they will build esteem, work with powerful and encouraging messages, and hopefully inspire young readers to be compassionate, patient, and tolerant of others who may seem different than they are. Let's all hope!

No Vistas

(Not my photo)


My new good friend Julian just wrote to me and explained that he was experiencing storms and through the vistas he could see more coming his way - I knew he meant that there would be rain; rather than storms or troubles in his life. However, the thought of a vista in my own life gave me reason to think - I really have very few vistas....no runways, not a one to think of. When I look over the horizon my view isn't stopped by rows of anything. I really haven't been narrowing my thoughts enough to cause them to form a perhaps necessary vista.

That's when it hit me...I haven't been narrowing my thoughts because my heart was standing in the way. I was thinking too much about a certain man most of my day, and I didn't really even realize the amount of time I was devoting to him. It seemed that he was just there, in my head, in my eyes when they were open, and in my dreams when I was sleeping. I couldn't see the vistas because I had openly blinded myself to the world beyond my thoughts of what-if, and could-be, or even the maybe it will happen thoughts....I gave him up.

It won't be the easiest task I know, but there isn't a single reason to keep him in my head. He can reserve a place within my heart, as I don't believe love ever fails nor does it die, but he certainly has no spot for my thoughts not when I have too much to do. I need a vista to refocus me. I need a vista, a prospective purpose - I need to rethink, redo, and regain the future that I have been working for. Poetry helps. I'll start that practice I'm sure - with the greying skies, the morbid rain thumping beyond the patio; there will be poetry. If time allows, if God demands then this man, this vision really, will return - but I hope he doesn't demand so much of my time. I have given away more than he would even ask if he were to ask, and I am quite sure he would never believe he was even deserving of it - and there I was...draining my life for it. No more.

Today I will write. Today I will breathe again, and the air will not be padded with the essence of anything other than what it - truth and reality. I don't often welcome reality as a guest because she stays a bit long and reminds me often of my failures - - however, today she will be treated with the genteel hospitality that I as a Southern woman was raised to extend.

Faith Goes to Washington

(Manassas, Mike Maguire Faith's agent with her at the TJ, Carol Guzy of the POST and Me with Faith at the White House)


Washington DC is just such an amazing city in and of itself, but we were able to visit several cities surrounding the DC area including several battlefields as well. My son was so very very jealous that Faith and I were at Manassas (1 & 2) and that we walked on the same ground that Stonewall Jackson, Lee, and so many others walked. I was on the phone talking to Reuben early in the morning from the forest of the battlefield when Jesus decided to break through a bunch of clouds just over the horizon, and through rays of pure white sunlight you could almost see the men in their uniforms, and smell their morning breakfasts as they prepared to fight their counterparts just over the other side of the ridge. Yes, I cried. I held onto a cannon that I tell people is the great-great-great-great grandfather of Reuben's Stryker tank vehicle now - my son's spirit was certainly with me at Manassas.

Later we went to Walter Reed Army Medical Center, but I can't post the pictures we took for privacy reasons. Let me tell you though, the men (and one woman) that we met who had been injured in Iraq before coming to WRAMC were so incredibly brave, and so humbled by their experience, they were not bitter - nor were they shy. They stood up on crutches, sat straight in their wheelchairs and they told me stories that would make any grown man break down. I think because my heart was inside each of their words I was able to hold back the tears only because as they were talking I was praying and thanking God for their love of freedom, their desire to fight for me, their willingness to go back if they could, they were some of the most amazing people I have ever met. One in particular captured my heart completely. His name is Frank. He is a Private First Class I believe, and he was about 19 years old. He had lost both legs very recently, and with both of his hands he held Faith close to him and he kissed her. He informed me that he was on medications - I could tell - but he wanted me to know that Faith was doing what he wanted to be doing in a little while. He wanted to walk. He wanted to be the one making people happy. I told Frank that in six months we can find him, and he will be walking NEXT TO Faith....by his own faith.

Walter Reed is the best place I have ever had visited. Bar none! Thank you guys for your love, your courage, your strength, and your power. I don't want to miss anyone, but here is a shout out: Frank, Jon, Jon, John, Bryan, Brian, Will, Jesse, Greg (Boomer Sooner), and of course Harvey, Reyes, Captain Mobit, Tanya, the staff girls, and First SGT George the therapy dog! (Hey to Deuce too, he's a therapy dog too, but we didn't get to meet him).

After Walter Reed Faith and Mike took me to the White House where we were promptly asked to leave the area because Faith (as you know) causes a distraction wherever she goes. We had hundreds of people standing around outside the gates of the White House and Jason the police officer laughed at us, but he made us "disperse" so we went 10-20 feet and it happened again. We went a little further, and it happened again. That Faith! She just gets me into trouble.

We walked over to the other monuments too - this time we took Carol Guzy of the Washington Post with us. To get there we had to take the Metro Train from where we were visiting, and we met hundreds of more onlookers as Faith is probably one of the only dogs they'll ever see on the train. She's special you know. Anyway, we went to the Washington Monument, the Jefferson Memorial, the WWII monument, the long pool just outside of the Lincoln Memorial, and I think we passed the Korean War Wall, but we were really tired and had very little time to get back. While at the Jefferson Memorial (I called it TJ's) we were walking up the steps and as Faith climbed a few of the steps hundreds of people stood and gave her an ovation! She's happy to accept it of course. She invited them all to pet her - most did.

We let her be a dog and chase squirrels both at the White House and the various memorials. She was up and down a lot, but she was happy and showing off her monster-wagging tail. She hangs her tongue out to one side of her mouth a lot as well, so that when the tongue and the tail are going she looks like the happy little puppy that she is. This was something Carol Guzy picked up on several times, and her photo journalism work paid off for her. We were featured on the front page of her newspaper the Washington Post - and the POST put the story on the AP. Just this morning I had an interview with a woman with Der Spiegel, a weekly magazine in Germany. I will be talking with the newspaper journalists from the Netherlands in the morning, and one from Sydney tomorrow. I believe that will be a magazine article as well.

This weekend we will be at an expo in Grand Rapids, MI and then flying straight from there to NYC to do a segment on Good Morning America (we hope) and we'd love to pick up a few other shows while in town...I know I would love to see the Rustic Bridge again and get better pictures of that; I'm a big fan of Central Park.

So there you have it - Faith goes to Washington. I think we ate more than we needed to, but thanks to the good men and women of the DC area Faith had reason to walk a little more, chase a few more woodland creatures, and rest a bit - she can't wait to go back!

Got the Tat!

I will add the photo of the tattoo tomorrow or the next day. I just got it, so it's sort of well...bloody is the correct term. I don't wish to eliminate any of my readers by grossing you out, so suffice it to say that during the entire 3 solid minutes of pain and agony, I was a total baby. I had a wooden Popsicle stick in my mouth to stop me from biting my tongue. Actually my good friend Niki was with me, and my daughter Laura was there as well. I talked to them through the gritting of my teeth and between bouts of cussing and laughing.

I was actually driving down the road when I saw the sign for Sub-Q Tattoos on Memorial at Western in Oklahoma City. Most tattoo parlors don't have the colors black and pink as their primary advertisement colors and that fact intrigued me. I pulled in and went inside the parlor. I was summoned to the back of the shop by a low voice. I could hear the rumming and humming of tools and I know I hear voices other than the man calling to me. Two out of the three artists were in and they were both working on people when I stepped up.

Cameron is the man who etched me. We agreed that I would be coming back at 8:30 p.m. since he was booked and had customers waiting on him. Thinking about the business end of the tattoo artist on the way home - I may be in the wrong business my friend. My 1" tattoo which took all of 3 minutes - we timed him; was $50. Not bad for me, not bad for Cameron. He had promised me that he would be finished in under 10 minutes, knowing my threshold for pain was lower than say that of a...anyone. I'm a big big baby, not joking!

So, I returned at 8:31 with my daughter and friend in tow. Both girls wanted to watch me scream - love my buddies. They got to see my eyes popping, my teeth grinding, and Laura held my pumping hand as I squeezed and squeezed and squeezed for all of three (wee little) minutes. I was laughing most of the time, but it was coupled with the swearing, the "Ouch" and "OK" mumbling that inadvertently shot out of my mouth while the bite of the clave dug rapidly under my skin....over and over and over again. It is SOOOOO pretty, and it was just completely worth it.

Thanks to Cameron. He's a master, and he's fun too - as his own tattoos will attest, he is determined in life until his own death. When I asked him what he was determined to do, he told me he was determined to succeed. He measured that in peace of mind and achievement of personal desires. He assured me that he was well on his way. Come to think of it, he can keep his artist position. I'll stick to writing. I don't do blood that well - mine is bad enough. Someone else's would have to be an emergency for me to really be able to handle it - I'm good.

Telling.

(Easter in Baghdad)

Bringing faith to a place where you've been told to fight others primarily because of their own faith could be a difficult task to bear - let alone achieve. Our U.S. Armed Forces spent the morning in prayer as I am sure many of their families did hours later here in America. For me, bringing my burdens to the foot of the cross may be easier than for my son. After all, I have been praying for his protection, asking God's grace over his wisdom - but it's Reuben who knows he will be asked to be in this place of destruction soon.

Six Easters have been spent in Baghdad so far; let us pray that this is our last. I fully support every effort of our troops from the way they wish they could operate to the way they are asked to. I can't fully liken it to a teaching assignment, but I know what it feels like when an administration has one idea and they won't let reality set in long enough to shoulder the burden for what really is happening. As a teacher we were expected to do miracles - without assistance most of the time, and we were asked, no we were told, to produce results that would both fit the budget and be beneficial to the system before it was beneficial to our students. It has to feel something like that for a soldier.

Our men and women aren't asked to serve they volunteer. They aren't forced to wear the uniform, and they aren't mandated to put their hearts, lives, and bodies before you and I - they do it for the outcome. They do it for the inward struggle that they feel dictates what is right and what is wrong. They really are a crew of believers if ever there was one; whether that belief is in Christ or their country, sometimes (hopefully) both...but they serve at a time when we need them to be there. To God be the glory, great things He has done - - through our men, and through our women, and through our prayers.

He is not there. He is risen! Go and tell.

People Don't Cook Much Anymore

I love to cook. I bake, I use all sorts of really cool utensils; I even create new recipes just for the fun of it but I'm the ONLY person I know my age that does this. I guess I see people like Rachel Ray on television or in the magazines. I know there are a few of us left, but it just amazes me how people get so excited when they come over and I'm pulling a custard out of the oven! (One I made, not one I took out of a box).

Today was my son's birthday and since he couldn't be with me because he was in Alaska doing the Army thing, I decided to bake him a custard pie and then I decided to eat it for him too. I had to do something didn't I? Baking a cake was out of the question, one of my round pans has been stolen and I don't want to bake one set it aside, bake the other, let it cool, and then stack them and frost them. Besides, no one wanted cake today. (You know, I could go out and get another 9" pan couldn't I? Note to self: Get a pan soon.)

Jeanie knows me, she sees me cooking all the time. Every Saturday during football season I either make chili, burgers, ribs, something - and I throw dips together, make up spicy food samplers for her and I as we watch the game. I'm not one to sit around the house and let a good stove go to waste. No, I'm IN that kitchen. When I go look at houses on the market for fun I go to the kitchen and the bathrooms first. I'm living in those two rooms. I'm IN the kitchen, and then I'm IN the bathroom...it's got to have a big, deep, jet tub or forgetaboutit! Me and my bubbles, we're all about the hot water and leaving us alone.

Back to the custard. I have the back door open because it was warm enough, and the neighbors started showing up. "Cooking? Are you making something?" Of course I'm cooking! (and of course I'm sharing) I don't ever eat the entire pie by myself you know..that would be wrong. I share everything I make and it may as well go to the people standing outside my door smelling the inside of my house from the back gate. I live in a condo/townhouse so the neighbors aren't that far away actually. We have killer block parties in the spring and summer too.

So, let the stoves fire up my friends...Spring is here! Today custard in celebration of my baby boy. Tomorrow cinnamon pineapple baked-ham, yams, chickpea soup, and chocolate parfait....with walnuts. I do walnuts from time to time too. Put a little fiber in that cup missy! I don't know why more people don't cook for themselves, it's cheaper for sure, but the best thing is that you control the content of whatever goes into your body...fats, trans fats, calories, oils, everything...tomorrow is Easter, we're off the diet by 45%, but we're smiling! (sharing and smiling) Eggs are on the agenda too, but mostly hunting with the kids in the hood.

The Boy, The Boy, The Boy! Happy 22nd

Nothing short of the return of Christ could make my mind stop thinking of my son, and his birth 22 years ago today. I'm all but sure that the war can't stop me, presidential debates,hunger and poverty all over the world, ignorance in our schools and communities, the need for greater education, lower taxes, better bridges - no, none of those pressing issues can take the place of the feelings I had and the joy in my heart when I consider what I was doing this hour 22 years ago. I was sweating, I was crying, I was about to rip the head off of anyone and everyone who spoke. I remember the doctor ordering barbecue chicken for lunch while I was busting in pain - and I remember my heart breaking over the fact that my baby would come into the world without a father. Everything negative, everything bad, everything hard left my mind within a nano second of the moment I saw his face.

The Christmas preceding the birth of my son was a good time for watching football, reflecting on the year's events, and preparing for the birth of my baby. There would be very little time after he was born to plan or make plans for his every need. I remember seeing the Philadelphia Eagles playing someone and because he was kneeling down praying with both teams, I couldn't make out exactly who the man on his knees was. I could tell he was a big man. The media made a big deal out of his praying, and his decision to pray with both teams. I suppose the media felt that any one player would choose only to ask for God's Divine help for his own team - this man was more than just a ball player to me. He was a leader and a man of honor. As it turned out the player was Reggie White. I remember holding my round belly and saying out loud to the same God that this man had just finished speaking to on national television (there alone in my little apartment), to make my unborn son EXACTLY like this man Reggie White. I may be delivering this kid without an earthly father, but he would not be without a Heavenly Father.

As I pushed and cried twenty-two years ago today my joy was fully met in the eyes of a little boy no bigger than a box. He couldn't run play routes, he couldn't tackle quarterbacks. He couldn't lift his head - - but he changed my world immediately. You know that song from Creed "With Arms Wide Open"? There's a line in it that says "Well I just heard the news today, it seems my life is going to change." It never occurred to me before his birth that absolutely everything I thought, believed, lived for, or strived for would emphatically change - but change it did. Seeing that face, holding that baby I lost my first name. I was no longer Jude. I had in one second become a completely different person, one I should have realized I had become 9 months prior - I was now forever Mom.

Over the next few years, and usually on March 22, I would have glimpses of what would happen in his life. At the age of three my son wanted me to buy him a little toy tank. I did and look where that led. He's driving them now in the Army. When he was 10 he was given an assignment to pick a hero and when he and everyone else returned from Spring Break he was to be prepared to give a speech about his hero - my son, on his own, without help from me, chose Reggie White who was now playing for the Green Bay Packers. This was a turning point in my son's life and we became Green Bay fans because of it. At 16 I was unable to buy my son a car, on his 18th I was too poor to throw him a party - - my heart fell and I remember crying in my room where I thought I was alone. I rocked back and forth on my bed and I asked God why I had to be so inadequate, why did I have to be so worthless that I couldn't even get my son a present let alone be able to throw him a proper party for the one day he certainly deserved it...I was NOT alone. Two arms wrapped around me that day; two manly strong arms and a softened man's voice called back "Mom, I love you, and you love me, that's enough. You didn't give me up. You didn't give up on me ever. That's enough."

Today my baby boy is 22. Today he is doing something that he never believed he could do. He is not doing what Reggie White did, but he is exactly like him. When he suits up for battle it is not on the gridiron, but he is wearing a uniform. He stands with power, with pride, with honor, and my son is not too proud EVER to kneel and to remember to ask for help - - the word "REUBEN" as I've mentioned before, means "Behold, My Son". Literally, it means LOOK...I have a son! His middle name is Andrew, it means "Manly". I truly have a manly son. I may have given birth 22 years ago to him, but he has given me life indeed.

Of course I love my daughters, and of course I will reflect on their lives as well as they achievements and gains each and every day, not only on their birthdays. There's just something about the first one that changes the scope of living - this time it happened to be my baby boy. My heart, as I call him. My joy. Happy 22nd son, and thank you for being my hero.

Neoprene Woman!

I got this really cool bike, and I'm working out on it every single day, which can be a problem for me - - because I always over do things. This week I decided that working out wasn't quite enough. No, I had to have neoprene. Yes neoprene, as in wetsuit material - it comes in separates as well as casual wear for the surf. I have the pants but I bought the wrong size so I wear them over my work out pants and where it may actually NOT be the fashion statement I would prefer, it works great because all the sweat that may have been on my body now goes to the pants. I was just wearing them over a pair of men's boxer briefs, but the briefs weren't long enough....you guys ever notice that or is it just me? Men don't probably worry about that. You can't actually get boxers long enough to come to the knee can you?

So, neoprene also comes in handy-dandy zip up waist bands, it comes in Velcro waist trimmers, and if you're into the walking vest you can get it unweighted or weighted. I went with the zipper. It has 3 levels and I'm proud to say I'm actually (currently) in the middle, using the 2nd zipper with a very open minded goal set for the third. There isn't a size such as small, medium, or large. The box proclaims that any size waist can squeeze into one of the limitations set forth in double stitching. I'm OK for now. I'm not too tight, I'm not too loose in the 2nd rung..but the day will come I'm sure when that tighter fit will be on my mind!

With ankle weights, wristbands, and neoprene covered dumbbells I am so set, I am so ready to start my two-a-day workouts on my little bike. I do a morning ride of 30 minutes and an afternoon ride for the same. I'm sure I look like a boxer in training with my weights being tightly pumped by my sides; sometimes I raise them like I'm taking a victory lap or something on the mountains of ... wherever it is they ride bikes for miles and miles wearing bright yellow. I see it, I don't pay much attention. I'm much more of a contact sports watcher. Not that cycling can't become a full contact sport, but it's not suppose to happen that way.

I'm all plugged up with my iPod blaring loud live concert music in my ears - never mamsy-pamsy new age crap...that stuff is reserved for the wine time when I wind down after CSI-NY (or something similar) and write in my journal. I don't do sissy music when I ride - just when I write! I know my place. You can't exactly sweat to 3rd Force! You can't go at break-neck speed and scare the dogs to death while you're listening to George Benson! Hell no! Skynard, .38 Special, Journey, Boston, Foreigner, Creed, Credence Clearwater, OH OH yes, Nickelback! You have to crank those guys. I can even put up with a little Styx, but never jazz - - not on the bike. (I did actually smack my dog's head with my foot today while I was riding. I think he thought he could save me from the beast that was torturing me...I was screaming, or singing, depending on who you ask - and he just thought I needed assistance. He won't do that again.) Sent the Dachshund on a flight half way across the room - ouch.

With the calculations I have come up with; keeping in mind that my degrees are related to languages and romantic poets, I should be losing about 1 pound per week just by riding the bike. Another pound will be lost by eating the fiber that I eat, and perhaps 1/2 a pound to a full pound will be lost in the fact that I don't eat more than 1800 calories a day unless I burn more than 1000 on the bike. Then you have to eat-back as they call it, and I do...but I choose chocolate as a buy-back product. It has fiber.

In 10 weeks I should be glorious. In 15 I should be simply unstoppable. Can't wait really - got my eyes on a jewel I do. Let's see if he can wiggle his way out of my stare. Could be fun to watch. I promise not to bite - much.

Dare To Dream

(Kanji "Dream")

Dream. Don't ever let another soul tell you that what you dream isn't real. Don't ever listen to a voice, no matter whose voice it is, telling you that your dreams simply can't be real, or that they can't come true. The only one strong enough to stop your dreaming - of course, is you. Dream until every dream possible has been exhausted; and that is forever. Forever Dream.

When I go to the tattoo artist soon I will have this Kanji symbol etched into the inside of my left wrist (outer side). There is a reason for it. My daughter Laura is in love with all things Japanese - hence the choice for the Kanji. The word was chosen for my own soul - - because I dream. Because I have always dreamed. Because I will never ever, as long as I live, stop dreaming. Why would I try? From dreams come my best ideas. From dreams come the strength I have to believe. From dreams come the very essence of what I desire, and if I couldn't have what I desired, what would I want from living?

Laura and I just finished watching a very LAURA movie: "Enchanted" (2007 Disney). Naturally it is full of dreaming, ideas, creative madness, genius really, and without a doubt everything Disney was first created for. Without fantasy there is only reality; a sad and dense world of hurtful, meaningless, dreary world full of never-can-do people and those who have simply given up. I think it best to say that Winston Churchill summed it up: "NEVER never never give up". When I watch a film like Enchanted I am immediately reminded of the silliness of our world as well. We can openly and honestly confront some of our static behaviors with a film like this. We can bring our whimsical wants back to ground zero. We can also learn from our own mistakes of forgetting to remember to dream - to let go. To dance.

Dreaming and praying have much in common for me as well. Where I will not hold out for a stout little fairy-godmother to come along and dress me, I will hold rocks in my hands and lift up my heart and my voice to God asking for His intervention both in my own life and that of a man I dream of, believe in, and in the conscious mind fantasize about perhaps even in that place, that magical pixie-dust place where rivers of liquid crystals flow...because God made me. Not only did He make me, He gave me this heart. Where it fell is really not in my own control - dreaming (and praying) become necessary at this point. And I dance.

With love and life surrounding realities - with swirling visions of would be, could be, might be, should be, at least there is dancing. At least there is the dream. What good is a fairy-godmother when the heart is trapped? Let your spirit dance before a Creator of such gifts, let your mind wander to His blessings, dream.

The Kanji reminds me to never stop loving. It reminds me to never give up my hope. It reminds me that I am not in control of the realities which surround me. It even resembles the dancer as she spins and lifts her skirts to the wind without care. It dances on, it dances on.