Yesterday’s Mischief Makers…

•September 23, 2015 • 16 Comments

We set off to run errands. Hannah errands, actually. I should just admit that some days I simply say to hell with the housework, laundry included, and I put my best friend in the car and we set about finding mischief.

We ran thru CVS drive-through to pick up some of my meds and to beg for the usual dog biscuit. FAIL! They were out of treats.

Starbucks redeemed her spirit though when they gave her a Puppy Whip. It’s a small cup container filled with whipped cream.

Across the railroad tracks and we head into Southlake. The outdoor shopping mall is always fun. There are fountains galore and hundreds of shade trees. Unfortunately they have no outdoor drinking fountains. Hannah drank a bit of my iced tea as I cursed myself for not having brought along her collapsible water bowl and some water. Finally, I recalled the Whole Earth Provisions Store allows dogs in their store. I took my girl in and she made a group of newly found friends, all human and eager to dote upon her. Someone snagged a dog treat for her and everyone took turns petting her.

This picture was actually taken a bit earlier. We visited Three Dog Bakery before our walking pursuit. Seems they are in the process of doing a Facebook gallery and they wanted her photo. I expressed sadness that I’d miss seeing her posted and that’s when they kindly asked for my email so they could send her posting to me.

The girl is worn out. Now resting with a full tummy of treats and back inside to the cooled air conditioning.

 

"Yummy for my tummy!"

“Yummy for my tummy!”

 

“Hi, my name is Hannah. Let me teach you about life:  Give a dog a bone and they will follow you home.” …words of wisdom brought to you thru Hannah’s, yet to be written book, Canine Collections.
🐩🐕🐺

Sent from my iPad

Coffeegrounded and FloridaBorne

•September 21, 2015 • 6 Comments

Seize the day if the opportunity ever presents itself! Yesterday I visited with a dear friend and blogger over tea, soup, and of course, coffee. FloridaBorne lives in Florida, and I can be found at the nearest coffee station close to the tarmac of DFW airport.

 

Please scroll down to the ‘View Original’ wording.

In reblogging, I’m unable to change FloridaBorne’s formatting, but once you get to that area, you can read without supersonic readers.

:)

Two on a Rant

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After several days fighting off strep with antibiotics that would choke a horse, I am back among the living (sort of).  

Coffeegrounded and I planned to meet on Saturday, but my daughter would’ve had to peel me out of bed and carry me into the restaurant.   It wasn’t that we were concerned someone might mistake me for a dead body and call a coroner, but that I would pass along strep to a whole bunch of people who didn’t deserve that level of bacterial hell.

We were going to meet 1/2 way between Dallas and Oklahoma City.  Instead, one of the kindest people I know drove 2 1/2 hours to meet me at a Pandera in OKC.

 This was the first time we met in person.  We sipped on soup and talked for 3 hours as if we were old friends.

Kudos to my daughter, who sat alone for 3…

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September is Suicide Prevention/Awareness Month

•September 17, 2015 • 32 Comments

Dedicated to Prescilla

If you’re a regular reader of my blog you have most likely heard me refer to depression from time to time, namely, my personal journey with this heinous and insidious monster.

Many people find it taboo to discuss it openly, especially if it hits a bit too close to home. Shame and stigma are the calling cards of Mental Illness

(“Oh my God, what happens if someone I know reads my wife’s blog?”)

(“Why on earth would my daughter-in-law publicly embarrass me like this, OMG!”)

(“How can I distance myself, scrub this embarrassment from my social world?”)

Well, maybe they really pay me no mind and all of this is just a figment of my imagination, or maybe I’m cautiously reminded of words that bounced about the room, a finger pressed into my chest as I was taunted over how ridiculously embarrassing and cruel I was to put my family through so much shame…

Perhaps?  Maybe?

Okay.  All of that is forgiven.  Truly it is.   But I’m humanly flawed and will never forget the biting sting of those words.  However, I do want to thank you for toughening up my edges!  I learned I could unintentionally embarrass you without embarrassing myself.  I could learn to love being a failure because it taught me something greater.  It taught me about true success, the kind that no one can rob from me or take credit for.  You showed me that conditional love is not love, and how it varies so greatly from true love.  I learned that the unconditional item respects both parties, and garners hope and courage for the long haul. I would learn where it exists, understand that it never comes under question or doubt and that it builds unbreakable bonds that will stand the test of time.

Yes, I wish I could twinkle fairy dust and wave a magical wand, but I am powerless to do so. Just as powerless as I was to succumb to this aberrant behavior, disease, condition, genetic coding, or whatever the hell it is, or why it is.  I’d love to simply do a Donald Trump comb-over and hide the whole damn mess for any and all of us.  It is simply a reality that exists, and sadly it hits home for more people than some of us realize.

It isn’t pretty.  It’s certainly not something anyone would wish upon even their worst enemy.  It’s heartbreaking, life-taking to some, and a very real day-to-day struggle for all that are affected.

September is Suicide Prevention/Awareness Month.  Will you consider that someone you know is hiking a treacherous trail and you may be their one and only lifeline?

You are more important than you realize.  Don’t discount your importance even if you find mental illness difficult to understand.  You very well could be the difference between hope and hopelessness.  Do you understand your potential, the power you hold by learning to overcome shame and stigma?

A survivor does.  We know how education opens the world to understanding the complexities of the human condition.  Your eyes are upon us, our hope is that you will help us break the cycle of stigma and shame.

☕️❤️

 

 

We Own the Night

•September 12, 2015 • 15 Comments

What if mayhem broke thru and shattered the stillness of your night?  If mortar shells began an assault, shattering the concrete abutments that once provided silence and freedom from unexpected terrors…

Would you gather belongings in your haste, or would your fear consume you to the point of utter distraction and tear you out upon the street, running aimlessly?

Your neighbors, would you gather around their doors in hopes of securing numbers in safety?  Could you contain your panic and focus on necessities needed to insure hope with your unexpected travel?

What would you bring into that horrid rampage of the night?  Shoes, water, fuel?  So many things to consider, such little time to think.  The seconds explode upon the clock face, panic ensues and tears flow heavily down the screaming faces.

I think about the refugees’ fleeing those war-torn countries.  Fleeing through the night, hoping against hope that those they meet at the border bring promise of shelter, food, water…

Or is there a tent city, a train, razor wire and an onslaught of interrogations fueled with mistrust and burgeoning burdens too great to endure this massive refugee count?

Are these fleeing from the night simply fleeing from one to another?

The mere thought of their exodus conjures up visions of those trains boarded, families separated.  Dark journeys, unknown destinations.  False promises.  Dead ends…

I read about, The Death Camps in my innocence of youth.  I learned of them in the safety of a harbor where food and water were aplenty.  These were stories of unknown terror, read while I wrapped myself within my blanket of safety.  I look around me.  Comfort within my zone.  I am helpless to help and so I write…

This is a note to those who traverse a landscape amidst the agonizing anxieties of the unknowns that await them…

I fear for all of us.  Whether you wish to accept this or not, each and everyone of us have a responsibility to look at the direction our footwork takes us…

This is the night we must acknowledge.  We own the night.

Benghazi – 9/11/2012

•September 10, 2015 • 2 Comments

Source: Benghazi – 9/11/2012

International Literacy Day 2015: About That 16%

•September 8, 2015 • 5 Comments

A beautiful reminder of how we can each impact the world. Bring hope to those who believe there is none, open a book before them and teach them how distance is not measured by miles or kilometers, but by their entrance upon the landscape when measured through knowledge.

Who do we blame?

•September 6, 2015 • 8 Comments

When we see a little boy’s body washed ashore?

Can we ask ourselves that dark question, the one we push against each time another tragedy strikes:

Who am I, and how can I make a difference?

That question:  Can we ask it?

We certainly refuse to accept our part in it.

How can we?  It belongs across another continent, far from the recesses of the lines that delineate our own State lines, the Continent upon which we rest.

It’s too much burden to be taken upon, to put as, Task #1.  To hold accountable those that made it what it became.

It is beyond the ignorant minds of those who are governed by greed, contempt, hatred, and all the parts of deceit.

Dirty and disgraced because we did not understand the minutiae, only the perceived reward.  The lies.  The rhetoric.  The consumption of hatred.

When do we no longer allow them to be ignorant and hold them in contempt of things we do not want, fathom, believe?

How do we reach them before our reserves are among the vultures that feast the harvest of our own wasteland?

If we bellow loudly, take to the streets, rally peacefully, will there not be someone hell-bent upon charging forth and creating mayhem where understanding set out to be our tone?

You can bet on it!  No one likes a goody, two-shoes.  Take one look at what is rising in the ranks of an upcoming presidential election.  Where have all the good men gone?

How sick do we have to become of the anger, mistrust, the propaganda of the agent before we steady ourselves before him and ask, simply:  What is it that you want from me?

And so we are back to that lifeless little body, forever etched upon the seascape of our minds.  Innocent of all deceit.  He was, he is, he will be our napalm girl.

This is our week.  What will we do with it?