Real Bloggers United: The Blog

A (Final) Message from the Founder's Keyboard

2012-02-21T22:57:00.001-06:00

Greetings.

As you can probably tell...there's not been a lot of action here at RBU. In fact the truth is...there has been NO action.

When I sent out requests for submissions for January 2012's edition wherein the topic was '5 writing resolutions for 2012' I truly expected to get some responses because, quite frankly it was sort of a 'no brainer' sort of topic. As bloggers I've no doubt we all have 5 things we'd like to see happen with our blog or perhaps with other writing with which we're involved.

But sadly, we didn't receive any...as in NOT ONE SINGLE SUBMISSION. I knew the luster of RBU had faded a few months back but I honestly thought that with the coming of 2012 and such a simple sort of topic that there would at least be a nibble or two.

However, as I said...there was nothing.

So after thinking about it I came to a conclusion with many different routes of thinking. First, perhaps many of our members weren't 'members' so much as they were people who wanted to be able to say they belonged to 'a blogging guild' of sorts but didn't want to do more than simply belong. Second, maybe several of our members lost their spark for blogging and just sort of signed off from the blogging world. And third, possibly those bloggers who were ardent supporters of RBU saw their blogs (or other writing) take off and simply didn't have time to devote to a thoroughly nonprofit, purely for the fun of it, site that was designed as a a place where members could challenge their writing chops in ways they might not get to on their own sites.

But it makes no matter what the reasons may or may not have been, as I've finally come to the conclusion that I cannot continue to beat this dead horse. RBU was terrific while it lasted and for me...I'll always be a member in my heart!

And by the way, these are MY 5 BLOGGING RESOLUTIONS FOR 2012...
1. Be more consistent in my posting.
2. Try video blogging
3. Try to get noted Southern women to agree to brief, relaxed interviews.
4. (Non blogging but still writing) Get my book "Fly Home, Earli Byrd" online by June.
5. (Same frame of mind) Get my book "Alden: The Journey To and From" online by August

There you have it. See. It wasn't difficult. It took me all of about 3 minutes to jot them down.

If any of you happen to wander over to my blog, I'd love to hear from you! Here's wishing you all much blogging success!

And who knows, maybe...one day RBU (2.0) will resurface and be even better than it was before.

Cheers to ya and much thanks for letting me be your Editor-in-Chief for nearly 2 years.

Most cordially,
L. Avery Brown
www.whenasouthernwomanrambles.com

Until we meet again!

On My Way to Christmas

2011-12-28T14:37:00.000-06:00

By Maureen Blaseckie

http://suddenalarm.blaseckie.ca/

It is crunch time in the annual Christmas solo relay race. When you swing out of bed each morning feeling like the “before” picture in the toilet cleaner ads and haven’t gotten as far as the bathroom light before you’ve made at least three separate mental lists of things you need to do before noon. And then comes a voice crying in the wilderness – “Mommmm, I think the dog did something on the floor and I just stepped in it…” Rather than asking whether it went splash or splat, you just start another list.

But enough about my day.

This is also the time of year for greetings and wishes to friends, family, near, dear and far. It is difficult to be original right now but that is also why there is so much tradition involved with the season. So here goes.

To everyone who recognizes the need at this time of year to take a few minutes for reflection on where we have been, where we are going and allow a little thankfulness into their hearts, I hope you find those few minutes. In this world, even a few people taking the time to be actively quiet can make a difference.

If you want to give thanks for the victory of the sun over darkness; commemorate the miracle of the Maccabees’ rededication of the Temple or indulge in the Christian birthday celebration, this seems the right time of year for it. Let’s not fight anymore over what this time of year is called because it just gets too silly. You call it Kwanza, I call it Christmas and Canadian Tire calls it a healthy profit margin. Mention it again and I’ll be forced to send you the paper on the “Cross-Cultural Origins of Mid-Winter Feasts and Festivals in the Northern Hemisphere” I wrote for a social history course. After that one the Prof told me I’d never have to write a paper for him again. Made me promise I wouldn’t, as a matter of fact.

It’s a tough time of year for people living in financially difficult circumstances. Food banks can at least feed the body and there are big campaigns to fill their shelves at this time but they struggle year round to meet the growing need. My wish for them is that more people will remember we need a little Christmas in the summer months, too.

The street I live on is into Christmas lights in a big way. Each year we go all out to win the highest accolade our local daily paper can award an Esquimalt neighborhood – 2nd place in their annual Winter Festival of Electric Illumination Displays of Conspicuous Consumption.

At the beginning of December the gang was out with ladders and extension poles hanging huge snowflakes from trees lining the streets. Any of the elderly neighbors or those otherwise reluctant to scamper up a ladder fretted not as they knew someone would come by to hang their lights for them. It is friendly and a neighborly way to open our doors to the spirit of the season.

Then a group of grinches in training decided to help themselves to the snowflakes. And to grab some other decorations and collect as many hot light bulbs as they could stand. One neighbor chased the lads and recovered some of the snowflakes. The next day I saw what looked like candies on the street. Broken bulbs, it turned out. Looked pretty, I guess, and obviously a bunch of fun to smash on the pavement.

At first I wanted to find these kids and administer a little Biblical justice. It’s hard to remember they are just puppies who’ve reached a rather unattractive stage of life. Then it occurred to me probably they’ve experienced a lot of anger already in their lives. Even if it isn’t part of their family life, it’s on TV, in their music, everywhere in the world around them.

These kids don’t need any more anger. They will remember that night when they are older and standing in a line with their babies to see Santa or every time their 2 yr old squeaks with delight at the sight of Christmas lights. And when that happens, I hope they help an elderly neighbor put up Christmas lights, do a volunteer shift at a Salvation Army Kettle or take a moment to be thankful. My wish for them is the cure to anger: I wish them happiness and, corny as it sounds, I wish them love.

Now, let's see, I have to get wrapping paper, organize the gifts in ascending alphabetical order, vacuum the dog, take the kids for a walk, re-point the bricks in the chimney. After lunch: replace head gasket on car…

Enjoy the season.

Editor's Note:

Unfortunately this post got a bit lost in the madness of the season and didn't get it's fair share of time in the RBU limelight! We hope you'll pop over to Maureen's site to let her know you got a chance to read it...even if it came a wee bit after the holidays!

Veggy Christmas

2011-12-25T23:20:00.000-06:00

By Glen Staples
Managing Editor, RBU: The Group Blog
www.glenslife.com

Barry looked around him and waited for quiet. The room was boisterous and tense, nervous with excitement and it was going to be up to Barry to calm things down.

With a sigh, Barry surveyed the room. As usual everyone was huddled into their little teams. No matter how many different morale boosting events Barry had organised, no matter how many memos he sent around about inter-team communication, nothing ever changed. They still grouped together, never really trusting anyone from outside.

As wizened and experienced as Barry was, he couldn’t see the concern that everyone else saw every day; even though he was staring right at it.

The answer was right in front of him as he looked about him trying to put names to faces. Faces that were new. Faces that kept on changing.

No one felt safe. Old faces were going all the time, replaced immediately with younger ones. Only one team seemed safe and that was Barry’s own team. Everyone else in the company called Barry’s boys ‘The Untouchables’. Anyone and everyone else could expect to be marched out of the door at any time, but The Untouchables just sat back and watched.

Barry called the meeting to order and personally invited his first speaker to take the microphone, or he would have done if he could have remembered his name. Instead he stumbled a little and simply announced that the ‘Head of Night Vision’ should come to the stage – what was his name again? It seemed like these boys completely changed every week – they were so hard to keep. Luckily, there were always more of them knocking at the door looking for work.

Christopher, the longest serving carrot in the vegetable cupboard, stood up and walked slowly forward, giving Barry a cold stare as he did so. No one liked Barry, nor did they trust his favoured team of smug brussel sprouts. They just sat there in the cupboard doing nothing but getting old. The ‘Great Human Resources Hand’ from the sky never picked them for redundancy. Not for them the one way trip out of the company, never to be heard from again. No, Barry’s special team of baby cabbages just sat there as everyone else bit the bullet.

No wonder everyone hated them.

But today Christopher had an announcement to make, something that was going to wipe that smile off Barry’s fat face and turn it into panic. Christopher knew something that Barry did not. The time was right for a coup. From now on things were going to change.

“Yes, thank you Barry, good afternoon everyone, I’m glad you could all make it for this special meeting. There are lots of new faces here as I’m sure the break-room lawyers have already noted… You know who you are! Anyway, it’s time to put the rumours to bed and put the record straight.

You are right, our numbers are growing. Not only that but I happen to know for a fact, because I heard the ‘All Mighty HR team’ – blessed be thy name”

“Blessed be thy name and glory to their wisdom”, chorused the crowd with well-practised fear.

“We carrots were bought here separately from Waitrose as you know, and I overheard a discussion as we were being carried from the Holy Car-Boot.”

As Barry carefully joined in with every single vegetable in the cupboard and made the sacred sign of the steering wheel at the mention of the Lord’s Nissan, he also coughed. This was not on the agenda and he wasn’t happy at all. Where was this going?

“Our numbers are not yet fully grown. There are more vegetables coming. A team we all will know. Ladies and Gentlemen – The parsnips are coming!”

The crowd gasped, the potatoes practically screamed in excitement while the sweed just sighed inwardly.

Barry could hardly breathe. He hated the parsnips. They were full of themselves and arrogant. They would challenge his authority from the moment they arrived. Why were the parsnips coming anyway? What did that actually mean?

Unless? Oh God no! Before Barry could think any further, Christopher continued.

“Yes, the parsnips are coming and that is NOT all. Everyone prepare yourself. There is a Turkey on order. There is a huge pot of cranberry sauce out there. It’s Christmas people. You all know what Christmas means don’t you? Barry? You do know what Christmas means don’t you?”

Barry knew. All the Brussels knew. Their days were numbered. Everyone’s were. The cupboard would be emptied. The whole company would be put into liquidation.

For some reason the bombshell came as a relief. The loneliness and rejection of being the vegetable that everyone loves to hate was coming to an end. As he looked around him he could see that he wasn’t the only one feeling like this. The Untouchables were no longer despised. Everyone was in the same boat, all were now equal. There would be no one left behind this time.

As his fellow sprouts shook hands with peas, and carrots patted runner beans’ backs he made a decision. Slowly, he walked over to red cabbage. Barry had never actually spoken to Red before, they had never hit it off. They never really could accept each other, but the time was right for one of them to make the move. Barry stood and smiled awkwardly, as did Red. They both thrust out their hands to shake but it just didn’t seem right.

“Oh sod it!” shouted Barry as he moved forward and threw his arms out. Red laughed as he took the embrace and warmly gave it back. No words would do the moment justice, I’m welling up just thinking about it. Barry and Red nodded at each other; they would face this together.

Barry turned, caught Christopher’s attention and banged his hands on the table to gain attention.

Once the crowd was quietened he spoke. “I’d just like to say a big Thank You to Chris for bringing this news to our attention. Things are going to be difficult but we can do this. We stick together people. All of us.

Somebody break open the emergency ale and get some music on. Come on everyone let’s party, let’s dance. It’s Christmas people – start smiling.”

The crowd cheered and began to bustle as preparations for a party began. Meanwhile Christopher came over, patted Barry on his broad shoulder and said, “So this is it then?”

“Yep”, said Barry, “Happy Christmas”

And he meant it.

Meanwhile, in a field by a farm in the next village along, Trevor the Turkey looked over at the smiling farmer who was walking towards him with a sack in one hand and his chopper in the other and thought, ”Oh now that’s different, I wonder what he wants?”

What I Want For Christmas

2011-12-20T23:21:00.003-06:00

By Laura Rogers
http://www.stoopinitinthesuburbs.blogspot.com/

My lofty ideals of the past and what I want for Christmas now has definitely changed over time. As a single mom of two teens, I have to keep it real. I have always been an idealist, but a positive stark reality has taken over. That is not all bad either. I think the lessons learned in life and on my journey as a single mom have taught me my priorities in life. I have much more common sense than I did as a young mom and I feel proud of that.

We are living in a tough economy. Just one year ago I escaped a foreclosure on my home. This is the home that I was able to keep after a bitter, ugly divorce. This is the home my children have lived in for most of their lives. I am so very grateful that US Bank worked with me to lower my home mortgage. I am sure that they felt safe since I have been employed with the same non profit for many years. I had like so many others, lost one of two great jobs.

My Christmas wish is that I can buy at least one gift for each of my children. One gift that they really want. My kids are teens, so they only want those "pricey gifts" that we single moms wince at. In their defense, I have them begging me to go to consignment shops now. Ahhhhhh.

I want to be able to pay all my bills all the way through the holiday season instead of the dreaded staggering pattern. I know I am not the only mom that does this to stay afloat. Going paycheck to paycheck is a pretty common scenario in this economy of ours.

I work as a director at a non profit organization. I love getting up each and every day knowing that the work we do with families actually Saves families. I have such a caring and passionate staff and the volunteers are absolutely amazing. We help at risk families and children who are homeless, have a new start in life. Unfortunately, we are being furloughed during the holidays, so this rearranging of the little I do make, is being compromised once again. I am grateful I have a job and know that others have issues far worse. I thank God for all I have.

I wish for Christmas that my children know how very much I love them and that money does not make life necessarily easy. In fact, at times when I have less than ten dollars left at the end of the month, we have spent more quality time and laughed and smiled more than we did when we "Had" what we wanted.

My wish for Christmas is that each and every one of us can be conscious of those around us. During the holiday season, so many families struggle. Please look around you and do what you can to help. It may be just smiling at a mom in the grocery store when she is feeling overwhelmed as she shops. Maybe you hear of someone close to you that can't afford Christmas dinner. I took over a complete thanksgiving dinner to a family in need. Where is the need in your community? Please, let's all pay it forward and remember when someone helped us at some point in our life.

You just never know how loved you can make someone feel at this holiday season.

Laura

The 'Wee Folks' Christmas Special

2011-12-12T10:29:00.000-06:00

By
Gary Pennick
http://klahanie.blogspot.com/

And thus, Fidelina, the beautiful fairy princess, Geoffrey the garden gnome, and their wee son, Einahalk, rejoiced in the warm, reassuring glow of the twinkling Christmas lights.

The 'wee folks', such wondrous, magical creatures, had come in from the cold and gathered in the comfort of the living room. All different, all equal, celebrating the magic of a special time.

Such diversity. Their's is a world where all is possible and no judgement is ever passed.

See the joy, the sheer delight on the faces of the wee folks. They know that life should be a celebration of all that is good.

And the party continued. They danced and they sang to sweet tunes of love, hope and understanding.

In the above photograph are Venetia, the sister of Fidelina, and bridesmaid from the enchanting wedding of Fidelina, the beautiful fairy princess and Geoffrey, the garden gnome. Standing beside her is the 'best gnome', Teagan. There was a hint of romance between the two of them at the magic-filled wedding on the first day of summer. Note the gnome in the background, Yrag, who is the best friend of Teagan.

And here is a happy little monkey, with his great long arms, wrapped over a couple of friendly garden gnomes. Nice tinsel effect, happy little monkey.

Dreams can come true. Dare to believe in yourself. Fidelina, Geoffrey and their beautiful little boy, Einahalk, wish you a peaceful, happy and so very positive Christmas.

And the wee folks gazed out the window. They looked out, looked up, at moon drenched sky. Tis a marvel to behold the shining orb through winter branches. Soon they would leave. Return to their world of love and peace.

Their message to us is simple, yet profound. For the wee folks live in their wee world, where stigma, labels and the passing of judgement, are bizarre and baffling concepts. May we learn from them. Let us celebrate and rejoice the diversity of mankind. And just like in their world, we can truly be, all different, all equal.

A little glitz

2011-12-06T11:05:00.000-06:00

Ryan

http://currentripple.blogspot.com/

So, here we are rocketing towards another Christmas (yes I am using the "C" word) Season filled with bright eyed kiddies, stressed out parents, the shopping, the hustle and the bustle, the wrapping, the mailing, and the chocolate. Oh, let's talk about the chocolate. Chocolate. But I digress.

I am avoiding the stress this year, by basically having no shopping to do for anyone, well unless I, myself, spot that glittery trinket that I just have to have. I guess it's another one of those stages of getting older, when the gifts of the gatherings are about conversation and catching up, rather than the gifts of "stuff".

Don't get me wrong, the giving of gifts is still something I love to do, just now on a more personal nature, more often something "just because" fits where I am right now. The surprise "something" that shows up on a friend’s desk, or the arrival of an "I appreciate you" card in their mailbox. It’s those personal “I was thinking about you and wanted you to know you are special to me” things, marked not by a single day on the calendar, but because, just because.

I sent a wicked arrangement of flowers to my boss, who happens to be a beautiful friend, some months ago, and I only signed the card with "We appreciate everything that you do.” She still has no idea who sent them...that is my kind of giving...

I am also not given to use VISA this year, which makes me happy. I won't have to wait with baited breath come January; to heft the 8 page bill onto the kitchen counter, enjoying at last, the hangover from overindulging on my PIN protected chip card.

So what about you? Have your giving ideals changed this year? Have you cut back, cut down, and revved it up? What say you, Christmas Shoppers?

Now…where is the chocolate?

A Message from the Founder's Keyboard

2011-12-02T00:39:00.000-06:00

Greetings and welcome to the December 2011 edition of RBU: The Group Blog!

What a year it's been for us here at RBU:TGB! Honestly it amazes me that it's nearly 2012! Where has the time slipped away to? Because it seems just like yesterday that I was tapping out the very first of these little messages from the founder's keyboard. Oh it's not been all gumdrops and lollipops here on my end...there were a few moments where I really doubted whether or not we'd make it this far. But it seems like just when I thought no one out there cared about whether or not RBU continued...I was pleasantly reminded that I didn't need to worry because no matter what, we always wound up getting terrific submissions that set my mind at ease because there have been some wonderful moments here at our little blog site filled with submissions by members whose work I truly believe rivals the writing of many 'big time' writers!

I'm not just saying that to puff up anyone's chest either. No! Because when I look back at some of the posts that have appeared here I'm genuinely proud to say that I know the writer...granted it's in a wholly virtual way considering that most of our members are thousands of miles away from one another and are scattered all across this fabulous big blue marble spinning madly around the sun.

Being that it's now December and many of our members are prepping for one (or perhaps more) of the joyous and festive activities that come during this month including things like Christmas, Chanukkah, or Kwanza or whatever other festivities our members may choose to celebrate during December, it warms my heart to know that our little spot in the blogoverse has been able to weather some writing/submission doldrums. And now that 2011 is winding up and we've entered into what is commonly referred to as the 'Season of Giving' regardless of whether you make your home north of the Equator where winter is already in full swing or if you happen to live 'down yonder way' in the southern hemisphere where your Christmastime (or whatever festive occasion it may be that you celebrate during this time of year), comes amid sweltering high temperatures, I have great hope that we can and will make it through another year (or two or three or more!)

That having been said, this month our theme was quite simple: all we asked was for our members to tell us about what traditions they celebrate during this particular time of year. We didn't care if the submissions were goofy or sentimental or were a pleasant blending of the two...because the work our members have submitted has always been top drawer. I hope you'll pop by again in the next couple of days to read the submissions because I'll wager a broad smile that you'll agree with me!

Here's wishing you and yours a peaceful (insert your particular festive seasonal occasion here) this December. I can't wait to see what 2012 has in store for all the wonderful bloggers here at RBU!

Cheers to ya!

Broken Without You

2011-11-26T12:27:00.001-06:00

By Glen Staples

Managing Editor

http://www.glenslife.com/

The minutes crawled into hours. The hours crept achingly slowly into days. When the days became weeks I began to fall apart, and as the weeks lurked hopelessly into months, the numbness took hold of my soul and wrenched it to pieces.

My heart never even noticed when the months became years.

I am broken.

Every hour that passes.

Every minute.

I am without you.

You are not with me.

The weight of your absence presses a tonne of despair upon my every breath. You were my air, you were my light

Without you I cannot see, I cannot breathe.

My chest tightens now, as I look at the photos of us together from those days; those special days.

We were together.

We were one.

On the good days I laugh at the memories we shared – the closeness we felt and the warmth that you gave me.

On the bad days I crumble, the pressure of my loss forces my head onto the table, and I revel in the pain from the hard surface pushing against my temple.

The pain is physical.

The pain helps.

I lost you then, and I’ve been losing you ever since

I am not me; without you I am nothing but a shell; an empty vessel drifting along the tide of life.

I’ve lost you.

And you are never coming back.

Well, not on my head anyway...

I notice you have no problem growing out of my nose or on my back, you bastard.

“And all because the lady loved...”

2011-11-21T22:39:00.000-06:00

Antony Waller

Submissions Editor, RBU: The Group Blog

A Shimmering of Northern Light

http://antonyjwaller.wordpress.com/

Do you remember the tv adverts from the 70s and 80s? The ones for Cadbury’s Milk Tray. A man dressed in black would leap from a helicopter, swim through shark infested waters, scale the side of a sheer cliff, drop over a high garden wall to a house where he would shin up the trellis and climb into the lady’s bedroom window and all so he could leave a box of chocolates and a rose on a table by the side of her bed. Yes, I know times have changed, and the lady would probably sue the guy for making her eat chocolate and put on weight, but bear with me. (It might even be the lady leaving the chocs for the man!)

Anyway I was reminded of the advert the other day.

We were staying with a friend and just about to go to Cheltenham for an afternoon event at the literary festival. The usual rush. I know how you ladies like to look your best and the time it can sometimes take. The front door was slammed shut, we were sat in the car and just about to set off when you suddenly hear those dreaded words, “Oh no, I’ve picked up the wrong keys. I haven’t got a door key. We’re locked out.” (Note the use of the word “we” when what she meant was “she was locked out”. It was her house!)

Sure enough “we” were! Locked out.

A search through her cavernous handbag confirmed the worse. No keys. Just about everything else you could wish for but no keys or anything useful for breaking and entering. (There was half a packet of biscuits in case “we” were a long time breaking in and got hungry).

“I may have left the bedroom window unlatched and you can push the lower pane up. I do that in case I lose my keys. There’s a ladder in the garage.”

Only the garage was locked and, yes you have guessed, the garage key is in the house. So “we” began knocking on neighbour’s doors to borrow a ladder. Now it’s not often a ladder is too long but the one we managed to borrow was. Great for gaining access via the chimney, not the bedroom window.

Now the bedroom window in question also happened to have a stone windowsill festooned with flower troughs. A colourful and lovely sweet scented display in summer but a bit of a barrier for anyone wishing to climb in or elope. Anyway I, not “we”, managed to get the lower window open but because of the size of the window (and the length of the ladder, remember) meant I had to crawl in forwards. Cue gales of laughter from down below at the sight of a pair of legs slowly disappearing less than elegantly through the opening and into the bedroom.

It was never like that in those adverts. Still I didn’t leave any chocolates or a rose by the lady’s bedside either, just a set of dirty handprints on the carpet.

We did, however, manage to make it to our event at the festival on time!

A Little Bit in Love with...

2011-11-16T23:27:00.000-06:00

By Nicone

My Little Sketchbook

http://mylittlesketchbook.com/

Not speaking any Italian, whilst living in Italy, can cause a few headaches. The average Italian doesn’t speak English very well, so you have to resort to body-language, mimicking, pointing, or speaking very loudly (kidding… the last one won’t help at all – it just feels strangely natural).

The language barrier is extra awkward when you are face to face with the Italian bureaucracy. Regretfully, there’s no way to avoid it if you want to obtain the right to live, drive, park your car, go to work, or go to the doctor’s office in Italy. There is always a form or contract you have to fill out and sign, after you’ve figured out which office to go to! When you finally get there you are in company of dozens of Italians presumably in the same errand (how do they get anything done in this country?). There will definitely be a line-up, so you must take a number, sit down and wait for your turn. If you are lucky there are one or two persons who can understand a little English and express something intelligible to non-Italian ears.

At the *** office in Pisa this person is Antonio…

I’m a little bit *in love* with Antonio… He swooped in to rescue his mono-lingual, and much younger, colleague. Then he gallantly waved me inside the counter, and guided me through all the red tape. Granted, the multilingual Antonio has a severe limp, and I’m not sure all his teeth were intact. Furthermore, it might have been a while since he took a good long bath and changes his clothes… Still, oozing with charm and personality, he is my hero! (Of this post, at least.)

Later, when I had to return to his office (with a vast amount of documentation), all I had to do was whisper the name of Antonio to the woman behind the counter, and there he was, readily limping towards me. After a period of courtship between the two of us, everything worked out for the best! I am now the happy owner of documented proof of residency.

Oh well, it turned out to be a temporary document, which only proved that we have applied for residency, but at no fault of Antonio’s! It was even good enough for the police officer, to whom we had to apply for a parking permit. So now we can park our car within the city walls, where we now live. (I tell you; the world is moving forward!) In order to get the actual proof of residency we need more documentation (birth certificates and marriage certificate) sent from Norway, formally translated to English or Italian and to get it so called Apostille stamped. All this to prove we are an actual family, and not just a group of strangers living together…!

At least now I know that once these papers arrive in my mailbox I will once again meet my dear Antonio!

At a Loss

2011-11-11T11:07:00.000-06:00

Ryan
http://currentripple.blogspot.com/

I must admit that I have neglected my postings lately...

See these past 12 months have been filled with a whole shit-load of loss. It's taken the proverbial wind out of my sails for the last little bit. Melancholy is right now, a very good word.

It seems to have started with the death of my two and a half year relationship last December, and all that comes with the decision to end a relationship. Next a revisiting of memories of what I/we had hoped would be on into the future. The undoing of the promises and dreams, comes down to some procedural filings and a countdown to the day they can be processed into the end of what once was.

Then came the death of my dear friend's 14 day old grandson due to a heart defect that could not be rectified. That was a tough service.

So raw the emotions of losing such a wee one
So loved and nurtured during his short stay here on earth
How he touched the hearts of all of us who prayed for a different blessed outcome, that sadly was not to be...

Those of you who follow my blog know that in June I lost someone who I considered to be the matriarch of my family, my beloved Rita; who stayed with us and kept us hopeful for 5 weeks following her stroke. So extremely blessed were we to have the time we did with her before she peacefully drew her last breath and moved onward across the horizon, leaving us shattered and alone. I still feel so blessed that she allowed me to be with her when she made her journey home, and that still brings me great peace that she drifted off so easily; it was my miracle to witness.

Then, just 6 weeks ago, the news that a friend had passed after a tragic motorcycle accident jarred my reality as to the uncertainty of time we are allotted in this place. Waiting for updates and eventually traveling to be with others to celebrate this young mans incredible spirit; tears, laughter, photos and fellowship rounded out a fitting tribute to someone who touched many.

And then again 2 weeks ago, the unexpected news that one of our team had passed suddenly overnight; complications of surgery undertaken in the weeks prior. The shock was palpable, she was an amazing lady; full of life and love for her friends and especially her beloved family. A true Angel here on earth, who worked with numerous community organizations, opened her arms and heart to whomever needed a lift, and who was so in love with her husband of just 5 short years, her children and grandchildren whom she adored more than life itself. If you wanted to see Linda glow, mention her family.

So here I find myself, on the other side of all of this loss and I am myself lost. I read back the words I have written about my life and how at it's end "it will not have been one moment longer or shorter than was precisely planned for my journey..." and I am no longer quite as sure. I understand that we are all headed in the same direction and that no one or no thing will stand forever, but this onslaught of "leaving" has jarred me a bit.

These past months have seen more loss than the entire previous decade. I can say that my faith is intact; I am just lost within the questions of why, and when. How and when is my time? Will it be peaceful? Will we have the time to say our words to each other? Why do the good ones get taken so soon?

I hold fast to the knowledge that I am loved, and that I love. My existence is filled with an array of amazing persons whom I adore. I understand more clearly that to love them and cherish them, adds colour and texture and depth to my world, and that it will also in time add sadness and grief as we inevitably lose one another; all part of the same painting, all plants in the same garden of life. For to love someone today, one must include that they were brought into life to live their seasons, to flourish and then decline and fade away. Just as summer roses or spring tulips burst forth into life, blossom and grow, and then fade at season's end, so to shall we fade at our seasons end.

So I guess I am "at a loss" as to how to catch my heart up to my head. Time I know will smooth the emotions into memories and smiles of all who have gone on ahead. Time will take the edges off of the grief and fill the garden with life anew. I guess time will walk my path with me. And time will allow me to say the words I need to say; will allow me to hold and touch, cherish and support and love...

The Calm Before the Day Begins

2011-11-05T11:25:00.000-05:00

By Maureen Blaseckie
A Sudden Alarm of Donkeys
http://suddenalarm.blaseckie.ca/

I fall asleep to podcasts or audiobooks because I find it helps distract the wee hamster in my head from running on the wheel all night generating misplaced static electricity from what I'm going to do about the pile of laundry, whether I should I go to the pool tomorrow, why am I a complete screw-up and will Beijing or Mumbai become overlords of Victoria following the post-economic apocalypse. This means I still have earbuds in at least one ear in the morning and the iPod has generally slipped under my back during the night.

With this in mind, I've taken technology in hand, trashed the clock radio and programmed the iPod to play the "harp" alarm to start my day. It isn't all that effective at getting me up right away. It usually takes a few minutes before I realize why my dream includes a somewhat tinny, repetitive harp riff and there's something buzzing near my left kidney. But that is all part of my plan.

I've tried a few other of the alarm selections - the Marimba felt like someone was playing a tune on my teeth, the sonar is just plain annoying and the alarm alarm [taken directly from movies where the world is about to end, everything is flashing red and that damn woman's voice say's, with calm reason, "The nuclear device will detonate in 5 minutes"] resulted in my ripping 2 cords out of a wall and running full tilt into the door. With the harp alarm, I usually twig after about 10 minutes that morning has made her return to this side of the planet.

What follows is about 2 minutes of precious calm. Still warm and completely relaxed from sleep, settled deep into the covers, eyes closed. I don't even think about what is ahead or what I'll need to do five minutes after the essentials have been seen to. The morning plans can wait for review while standing on the step waiting for the dog to pee.

This is precious time. Nothing hurts, nothing has been forgotten or discovered. There are no questions, no reproach, no expectations. Suspended between worlds.

Then I hear my beloved's iPod begin to buzz; he'll reach over tenderly, jab me in the ribs and mumble something about coffee. The dog is whining in his crate and the morning fusillade begins. As the feet rotate towards the floor joints pop and crackle: the full body symphonic follows with wood winds and brass.

Cue the damn birds, I'm ready to face the day.

A Message from the Founder's Keyboard

2011-11-01T23:32:00.000-05:00

Greetings Fellow RBUers and all you other visitors, too! Before I go any farther, I’d like to offer a HUGE thank you to Glen Staples for coming to the rescue with the October edition of our little blog because my life has been a crazy whirlwind these past few weeks. And I think the October posts were fabulous…as always! So kudos to you, Glen.

And now, with that bit of business out of the way I’d like to say welcome to…I can hardly believe it…November! Good grief, where has this year gone? November is just one month away from December and then, GADS, it’ll be time for a whole new year. Sometimes it boggles my mind how quickly time flies when you’re (doing whatever it is that you do which is supposed eventually lead to you to) having fun. Yes, I suppose it does sort of lose its oomph when you really stop to think about it, doesn’t it?

But that’s why we have blogging isn’t it?

What’s that, you ask? How did I come to that conclusion?

Well, first of all when we post to our own blogs and when we get the chance to pop over to visit the sites of other blogthurs, time sort of stops and we get to live not only in our own little moments but we also get to be a part of snippits of time that our blogging friends share with the whole world. And second, if we should ever feel so inclined, we can very simply ‘revisit’ all the special moments we’ve particularly enjoyed with the simple click of a button. Come now, I’m sure you’ve done it before. I know I have. Oh yes, there have been some blog posts my blogging buddies have made me giggle so much that I’ve gone back a few days later to reread them just to see if they were still funny.

And lo and behold, I’ve determined that about 96.3% of the time…those posts still get me to grinning. Of course, I’m sure you’re wondering about the other 3.7% and about that let me just say that I’ve recently discovered that somehow my giggle reflex has something to do with the amount of caffeine and sugar I ingest in the moments directly preceding when I read or rather reread a post. So based on my wholly unscientific calculations, I’ve decided that from now on…if I really want to give a fair shake to any rereads…I’m going to keep a stash of chocolates in my desk drawer and a few soda pops in my mini-fridge upstairs.

Alright so right about now you’re probably wondering where this is all leading to as my ‘Message From the Founder’s Keyboard’ usually discusses the theme for the month at hand…and in a weird, roundabout, rambling sort of way, this month’s intro does describe the theme for November 2011 because our theme is ‘BLOGGER’S CHOICE’ which means our members were asked to send in anything their little blogging hearts desired (so long as it fit the guidelines…as the editor, I always have to point that out.)

Now doesn’t that just whet your whistle to ponder what little gems our members have sent in? And aren’t you hoping that you’ll get to find a bit of quiet time in the coming days to pop over to RBU:The Group Blog to lose yourself for a few minutes in the thoughts of someone other than yourself? I know it does for me!

So remember in the nonblogging world, tempus may feel like it fugits past us at supersonic speeds but here in the blogging world we can make time stand still as we lose ourselves in the moments of others.

Enjoy November!

When my time has come

2011-10-27T10:02:00.000-05:00

Ryan
http://currentripple.blogspot.com/

When my time has come...

when my time has come, and I stop for a moment on my journey to look back over my shoulder to see those who have gathered, I wish to see hands up, I wish to hear voices raised in joyous song, I wish to see smiles and hear laughter... for when my time has come, the days and hours and minutes I was blessed to be,

will be to the exact specification of Him, my Creator...

it will not have been one moment longer or shorter than was precisely planned for my journey...

when my time has come, hold to all the moments we shared with each other and warm yourself in these memories we created... sing the silly songs we sang, laugh at each others human faults, frailties and missteps...

walk the highways of our blended journey and stop to take in all that beauty, drink in the knowledge that we somehow found each other and shared of ourselves...

when my time has come, know that I loved you, respected you and always held you in the highest regard, for that is what you deserve my friend... know that in our times apart, you were always in my thoughts and never far from my heart... allow your tears to come if you must, but use them only to wash away the sadness and morph into sweet thoughts of glorious elation for all that we shared... my dreams for you will always be with you, coaxing, prodding, supporting...

when my time has come, know that I am just over the horizon, walking ahead on to the next adventure for my soul to experience, but I am also as close as your next thought of us together... what we share is never lost, only packed temporarily away until the next time we unwrap the moment and let it touch us again...

good bye's are never forever, just momentary... know that when it is time for you to take your journey, when your time too has come, that I will meet you with outstretched arms, smiles, laughter and tears of joy as you appear in the distance, with each step moving closer to our blessed reunion...

http://currentripple.blogspot.com/

With Hope we Cope

2011-10-23T10:02:00.000-05:00

klahanie
http://klahanie.blogspot.com/

With Hope we Cope

I gazed out my window. And the rain wept down, tears filled my eyes, as the rain wept down. Yet through those windswept droplets, through my own distorted view, I heard a gentle voice, the voice of my inner child. "See beyond the window. See beyond the rain." And thus, no longer street lamps on a desolate road. The glowing lamps became twinkling stars in a cosmic fireworks display.

There is many a day I wake up and I feel I cannot breathe. Waves and shivers of panic immerse my very being. It's a constant battle with the inner critic and the inner child. I'm struggling. Oh, how I'm struggling. I have done my utmost to maintain a positive environment. An environment that has been attacked by indifferent people who caused such stressful problems. And with the remaining remnants of my dignity, they leave me to pick up the pieces of many a shattered dream.

Yet, I know I must, with every fibre of my positive self, stay strong, stay resilient, stay determined. If you are feeling helpless and hopeless. Alone and isolated. Please know that I am here for you. I have seen beyond the window, beyond the rain. I know that what appears to be a negative, can be reborn and nurtured into a heartfelt positive. It's what our inner child would want. Together, with hope, we cope.

http://klahanie.blogspot.com/

Slip sliding away

2011-10-19T10:02:00.003-05:00

Nicone

http://justaddyoga.com

http://mylittlesketchbook.com

Slip sliding away

I devote a little time every day in the interest of present- mindedness, but it keeps slipping away from me. On my tiptoes i can catch a glimpse of my life with the kind of inner peace i expect to have once I stop running. - The calmness that will come once I truly stop trying to be someone I’m not. Here’s a poem I wrote a couple of years back which I feel touches on the same subject. Some goals seems to always be hiding in the distance, but we really should recognize what we have achieved and help it manifest and grow.

Windowpane reflections

Passing by I look for myself in the windowpane reflections

But I don’t recognize the person looking back at me

All I see is a woman hurrying somewhere, it looks important

I cannot see me in there

What can be so important that I left myself behind?

Sitting down on a bench I search the thoughts

Flowing lazily through my mind

For some sign of my true presence

Is that me obsessing about work

Or enjoying the sunset before me?

Feeling depressed about my limited scope

Recognizing only issues

I lose myself in the scenery

The sky and the sun painting their watercolor palette

Dissolving into the lush green forest,

Diving into the cool embracing waters

Taking in the whole picture

The ever present, ever changing, beauty of it all

I discover myself

…

Feeling fulfilled and rested I get up to go

Slipping away from the present moment

Going on to search for myself

In windowpane reflections

http://justaddyoga.com

http://mylittlesketchbook.com

Hold my Hand and Count the Miles

2011-10-15T10:02:00.001-05:00

Maureen Blaseckie

Sudden Alarm of Donkeys

"Hold my Hand and Count the Miles"

As a child I was terrified of lightening storms. On the prairies this meant just about every summer evening I would end up huddled under my covers, crying.

And then my grandfather, Gagah, came for a rare summer visit.

I have since learned he was a cantankerous, no-nonsense kind of father but, apparently, grandchildren changed him for the better. I only knew him as a kind, patient man.

Anyway, while he was a visiting a real corker of a storm rolled in. He caught me as I was fighting the dog for the furthest corner under my bed. With the promise of keeping me safe as houses, he took me out to sit with him on the front steps.

Now, girl, how high can you count...past 10? past 20? Good. Now, next time you see lightening we’ll start counting until we hear the thunder.

Look there, 1-2-no a little slower-5-6- that’s it-8-9...ah, hear that? it’s still pretty far away, 9 miles. Now is it coming closer or going further away?

Before I knew it the rain started and the storm was rolling on to the next town. We sat in the cold, fresh evening air, holding hands, in the dark, waiting a little longer just in case there was one last rip in the black velvet sky. Finally mom poked her head out the door and it was time for me to go to bed.

Now, I can’t wait for lightening season to start. Electric storms are regrettably rare here on the west coast. At the first distant rumble I hurry out to the steps to watch the precious show roll in over the water.

I must have counted at least a million miles since Gagah’s summer visit but whenever the storms begin, he is right there beside me.

http://suddenalarm.blaseckie.ca/

Calling long distance.

2011-10-13T14:51:00.001-05:00

Antony Waller

http://antonyjwaller.wordpress.com/

Calling long distance.

Rachel had only caught a brief glimpse; she was more intent on grabbing the now empty table. A slightly dishevelled man somewhat out of place on a warm day wearing a worn tweed jacket with the collar turned up and a striped yellow silk scarf wound tightly round his neck. It was his eyes as they passed. Dark eyes, blue and deep, yet bright and twinkling had held hers for a moment. He smiled, released her gaze and then was gone.

It was only after she dropped her shopping bags by her chair she noticed the phone half covered by a paper serviette. He must have left it. An unusual looking object small and silvery grey in colour. Rachel jumped up hoping she could see him. But she was too late and the street was thronged with people, a sea of hustle and bustle, and he was nowhere to be seen. She sighed and turned her attention to the phone wondering if it would yield any clues.

It felt cold in the palm of her hand when she picked it up which seemed at odds with such a hot day. She turned it over and then over again. It was completely smooth, thin too with no obvious way to open it. Suddenly the palm of her hand tingled and the phone glowed and became a translucent rainbow colour. A face appeared and Rachel saw those same blue eyes smiling at her.

“Hello Rachel. Thanks for picking my phone up. Stupid of me to be so careless. Can you keep it safe till I come back tomorrow?”

What! How did this complete stranger know her name and why did he think she would be back there tomorrow. Why tomorrow. Where was he? Perhaps she should get up right now, walk away and just leave it.

“Please, Rachel, don’t do that. Don’t walk away and leave it. Rachel. No, wait!”

Rachel was half way out of her chair and reaching for her bags. The tone of his voice made her stop and freeze. The woman at the next table stared at her distracted by the noise of the chair scraping on the pavement.

“I didn’t mean to shout, Rachel. Please sit down and listen. Then leave if you feel you must, but I know you won’t.”

Rachel looked at the phone in her hand again and at the stranger’s smiling face. A warm engaging smile and those eyes, almost hypnotic, twinkled even brighter. She plonked down into the chair.

“Thanks, Rachel.”

Not daring to raise her voice Rachel hissed into the phone, “How do you know what I’m doing? Where are you? How do you know my name?”

“Rachel, don’t be frightened, please let me explain. My phone, it’s special. Let’s you contact people by thought, anyone, just by thinking of that person. So I can hear you thoughts, know what you are doing. Know your name. Look, I have to go. See you tomorrow. Your office. Promise.”

Rachel was struggling to understand. It all sounded preposterous. She had never heard of such a phone and if anything she was confused and now more than a little frightened. Tomorrow, at the office. How? It was at times like this Rachel thought about her Mum and wished she was here. Suddenly her hand tingled again and there she was, her face beaming. Instantly re-assuring.

“Hello, Rachel. What a nice surprise.”

Rachel was overcome by an overwhelming tide of emotion and her eyes filled with tears. It was over two years since she had lost her Mum.

http://antonyjwaller.wordpress.com/

Lost in a book

2011-10-11T10:02:00.002-05:00

Glen Staples

http://www.glenslife.com/

Lost in a book

The rain clattered against her window, hurled hard against the glass by the howling winds of a Lincolnshire Autumn night. The sound of yet another strong gust outside distracted her for a moment, but all she did next was to pull the covers further up her shoulders and smugly cuddle into them.

The very finest luxuries in life can’t be bought in Selfridges or any shop, as far as Sally Johansson was concerned, they were right here at home. The safety and heavenly opulence of being warm in your bed and lost in a book was everything she needed. All her worries and fears were far behind her as she dipped in and out of the fantasy world before her. The double glazing would hold the rain back as much as the heating would keep off the cold, but the Kindle in her hand gave her so much more than just warmth and shelter, it gave her hope.

Hope is possibly the biggest luxury of them all.

So, snuggled deep into her duvet, Sally pressed the button and turned the page. It was late, very late. She should have been asleep an hour ago, but no matter how hard she tried Sally just could not switch the Kindle off. Every page sucked her into the next, never once providing closure. “One more page” Sally told herself earnestly, before once again being dragged callously back into the story.

Each line demanded that she read the next, the paragraphs wrapping themselves around her brain like a mother’s cuddle. Sally had to keep reading, had to know whatever the next page would tell her.

A crash rang loudly in her ears, followed by a car alarm squawking like a deranged parrot on helium. The Kindle was thrown aside as Sally jumped out of bed and threw open the curtains. Already people were running around in dressing gowns assessing the situation. A tree in her neighbour’s front garden had fallen and landed on their car. Everyone was safe, if somewhat vexed. Sally watched as her neighbour reached out and gave his wife a bear hug, which worked well, even if only to soak up her sobs.

The cries of frustration and anger died quickly into the laughter of relief, as the realization of how truly lucky they were not to have been hurt kicked in. The car can be replaced, their lives clearly couldn’t. In Sally’s mind she suddenly felt a warmth towards her neighbours that she had never felt before. They had everything they would ever need, right there in each other’s arms and Sally understood that completely.

As she closed the curtains the bed moved and a sleepy voice asked for details. “Go back to sleep love, I’ll tell you in the morning” was all she could say before giving him a gentle kiss to aid him on his way. Her hand hovered over the light switch before the Kindle caught her attention.

Hmm, well maybe one more chapter wouldn’t hurt. So Sally picked up the best Christmas present she had ever been given, and flipped it back on.

In seconds she was back where she had been a moment ago, reading Matrimonial Dyslexia, by Glen Staples.

Smiling once more, she snuggled backwards into her sleeping husband, and lost herself deep into the book.

http://www.glenslife.com/

In the distance

2011-10-07T10:02:00.004-05:00

Scott Riddick
http://atypicalread.blogspot.com/

In The Distance

I have been trying to break into publishing for some time now, writing novels (yes, plural), writing blogs (breaking all the rules of blogging in the process), and submitting very little to wait seven months to be told; “thanks, but your submission does not fit into our current theme”. I have battled a trying marriage for almost a decade (10 years next month!), trying to understand the woman I love and mother to my only child, while understanding what the hell it is that Scott wants out of life. I have broken against the unruly winds of change with my family for even longer, curtailing the efforts of a vengeful mother, living without my father (running away before I took my first breath), preparing for the moment my beloved grandmother passes away (which looms ever closer to the horizon), and forcing myself to accept the small unit of people I have as family; separate from the immediate family I continue to build upon daily. At work, I have spent many hours learning alone how to survive in a corporate world, absorbing the political bullshit thrown at me, fighting the urge to scream and shouting at myself under a cold shower in the evening; “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Everything, it seems, is my fault. In the distance, a doorway beckons to me.

In the distance, the door calls to an impatient soul, offering me a chance to change the course of my life. In the distance, fear waits for me to come closer so that I can have one more damn thing to consider. One more problem on top of an already leaning tower of honey-do list, reports, unfinished degrees, unedited novels and, of course, a mountain of diapers to contend with. In the distance, something smells to high hell like trouble; because of this, it must be something really exciting and unknown ahead.

Today I interviewed for a supervisor role with my company. (In the distance that door is looming closer) I am partially qualified and full of gusto to make sure I exceed in all avenues as I have with my current position, but, aside from the increase in pay and career advancement, what about the lone writer stranded among his unfinished stories? In the distance opportunity is knocking. More money would take less stress off of my wife, earning me that missing link in our marriage, the respect a man deserves when he provides for his family. Now I can provide. In the distance, the writer places all of his work into a folder and tucks it beneath his arm. There is real change well within my grasp all I need to do is take it. I need to come to terms with my passion and the fire burning, recently stoked into a raging wildfire of excitement and confidence that has breathed new life into the dying writer within. In the distance, the writer stands alone a beach, the warm breeze against his face, the sounds of seagulls passing overhead, the rush of ocean spilling onto the sands and tickling the bottoms of his feet. The position is not official and anything could happen between now and then, but I feel good about it. For the first time in my life, I feel good about being me. There is a real sense of accomplishment now, where so many red penned rejections lay. In the distance, a boat drifts along the horizon. It offers a way off the island, a chance to be free and live among civilization after so many years spent in solidarity. I was told by my director that he was glad that I had applied. My own manager took me aside and offered advice. First the first time in a very long time, someone, other than me, spoke pleasantly about me, acknowledging my achievements and praising my work. No red pens were used, but black and blue marks on high notes of my accomplishments with the company. I could not help a sneak, eyes quickly drifting towards the pad, “Approved”. I don’t know what this meant, I assume my message was received and approved- politics.

In the distance, a ladder unfolds at the feet of a writer who is asked to come aboard, but leave all of his belongings behind. There is a long uncomfortable pause. A sign on the side of the boat reads; U R Opportunity. A second sign just below this one says; this is not a dreamboat. Pfft, politics. You cannot avoid them even on remote islands it seems.

In ten minutes I am due for my HR interview. I have never had one of these before. I suspect I will need a passport or something to verify my intent, or maybe a pinky swear to never do anything bad that might cost the company whatever fees a future settlement might have. I am nervous, but anxious to get it over with. I need to feel something other than the constant nudge of rejection, be it from family, my wife, my work, or the occasional themed editor with a rubber stamp in his or her hand. In the distance, a boat sails into the horizon, leaving in the foreground a folder of dreams that will eventually wash out to sea, along with the rest of the washed up hopes of writers who stood on this same familiar island before and long after the ship has sailed.

http://atypicalread.blogspot.com/

In the distance

2011-10-03T10:02:00.003-05:00

Kathy Combs

http://gigglingtruckerswife.blogspot.com/

In the distance

It was a hot sultry summer day. The humidity was high and the air heavy making it difficult to breathe. I had volunteered to drive my mom to dialysis because it was obvious she wasn’t feeling well. She accepted my invitation without any fuss which was unusual for her. Usually she demanded to drive herself. I could ride along, and she preferred I did…but it was her car, her appointment, and she was perfectly capable of getting there on her own power thank you very much.

Today was different. Not a good day, but she would never admit it. I was in my early 20’s at the time and simply loved my little Dodge Shelby Charger. In my younger days it was my habit to crank the tunes and floor the gas pedal. On this particular day, I also cranked the air conditioning. We made it to the kidney center without incident and my mom did her time on the machine. Amazingly enough 4 hours always passed pretty quickly. I often would lose myself between the covers of a good book, or would take along my latest crochet project to work on. It was also fun to roam the corridors under the hospital taking the dark eerie passages up to the sunny cafeteria where the food was better than fair. One little girl who always was in the waiting room made a constant practice of grossing me out with the doll she was never without. It was one of those “Baby Alive” dolls that when fed poops. This kid loved performing dipstick checks on this doll hoping against hope that some of this doll’s fake poop would come out on her finger. Disgusting!! I vowed then and there that if I ever had a daughter, she would never own a doll that pooped.

After dialysis, the heat seemed just as oppressive and I could see my mom was not feeling well at all as I cruised onto the interstate, floored my little car, and headed toward the sanctuary of home. All of a sudden I noticed the traffic behind me falling back and a tire bouncing away from my car into the distance toward the ditch. Oh Lord!! That was my tire!! I was going 85 miles per hour and struggled with the wheel as I let the car cruise to a stop alongside the road. Traffic zoomed past as I came to a stop and looked with panic at my mother who was looking a little green under the gills. What to do?? I glanced in my rear view mirror and spotted a police car with lights flashing cruising to a stop behind my car.

I can honestly say I have never been so happy to see a police car with flashing lights stopped behind me before or since!! The officer was very kind, and as soon as I explained the situation about my mother’s condition and the tire which was pretty obvious, he volunteered his assistance. He arranged for a tow truck, helped me get my mom into his air conditioned squad car and drove us home. The thought of being stranded alongside the road with my mom who was sick didn’t bear thinking. After my tire bounced off into the distance, a police officer appeared to save the day. It seems objects really are closer than they appear in the distance.

http://gigglingtruckerswife.blogspot.com/

A Message from the Founder's Keyboard

2011-10-01T10:02:00.002-05:00

Well, perhaps not exactly the Founder’s keyboard if you want to be exact. It’s a little less exciting than that.

Think of it as like being told George Clooney is coming to open your local KFC, but it turns out to be a look-a-like, or Piers Morgan. Word hits you that they are giving away free ice-cream next to where you work, but when you run out to collect it, you discover that it is actually frozen yoghurt.

I’m thinking that is the level of disappointment you probably feel right now, because this is not Avery writing here, or for that matter anyone who even owns a thesaurus. It’s me, Glen, the one with the penchant for lager, pizza and generally getting told off by my wife.

Yep – him.

Avery, for those of you who don’t know, usually spins around like TAZ the Tasmanian Devil getting all your posts sorted and posted. Generally re-editing them, after I’ve made my usual cock up of doing it the first time (I really do need to buy a thesaurus – maybe I should hint to the kids for Christmas, but then I also need a new pair of slippers so maybe not). My boss here is always putting in so much time to keep this place ticking over, that it is just plain scary. I for one will never know for sure how she does it, but I suspect she cheats by being a woman and therefore slyly multi-tasking. I’m genetically prevented from such activity, so I simply can’t squeeze that much time in.

Anyway, to get to the point, Avery has had a nightmare of a month where she has had to cope with, and help, her Mum who has been very ill indeed, at the same time as moving house. Now when Avery moves house she doesn’t do it like I do, where you have to decide if you need to get a van or simple throw your stuff in a wheelbarrow – oh no. She up-sticks and moves half way across the planet (possibly a slight exaggeration but America is a bloody big place). Please click here to go and find out just exactly what she has been coping with – NOT YET, at least let me finish – and then you will understand why it is that I’ve been covering for her last month and again, here in October.

So I’m afraid you don’t get the 5* editing, or the extra touches of pictures and drawings to illustrate your work – you just get me.

Not that you need it.

I’ve read this month’s submissions and all I can say is YES!! Talk about making it easy for me. You lot are, quite frankly, the dog’s knackers (Which, I’m fairly confident you will find, is the very first time that phrase has ever been used in this segment – and probably the last, somehow I can see Avery politely never letting me write this forward ever again). You are though.

Well done you lot – I really do believe in RBU, you may have already spotted that from my emails, if you are already members. It’s all about US. Not as in America, but us – all of us.

Now, please go and read Avery’s post and leave her some love, because she deserves it.

Happy reading – ‘In the distance’ is October’s theme and personally speaking – I’m really impressed with what’s coming.

Especially mine.

Yours – er – cordially?

Glen Staples from Glen’s Life.

Unravelling

2011-09-27T12:01:00.001-05:00

Submitted by Maureen Blaseckie
http://suddenalarm.blaseckie.ca/

Unravelling

Why is the line always longest when I'm almost late for work? Is there a new person on the till this morning or is one of the morning team taking an impeccably timed smoke break?

Weight shifts from one foot to the other as I surreptitiously sway out to peer around the people ahead of me. At the front of this shuffling parade of impatience a woman thoughtfully places her order with an in-depth consultation regarding the daily roasts on offer, the types of milk, the size she would be most likely to enjoy without wasting or be left wanting.

And with the beverage, of course, an examination of pastry vs. muffin.

The debate continues as the man in front of me checks his watch, catches the attention of a friend optimistically holding a table. He mimes walking with two fingers and a quick twitch of the head towards the door. I am now one space closer to being a little over 5 minutes late for work.

Maybe there is something different on the chalk board, something I've missed as I examine it again for a total of four hundred and three times today.

The deliberate customer, splendid red ballet flats, black tights just above the ankle--is that pedal pusher length or toreador?-- long black hair in wet curls, looks familiar or maybe I've grown accustomed to the sight of her there at the till. And now she is moving to the pick-up counter shifting the pressure back onto my shoulders to decide quickly and get the hell out of there.

As I shuffle closer to my turn at the till, I notice the lady in the ballet flats has received her brew: steaming, rich, just right. I assume it must be because she carefully raises it to her lips, sips and nods with happy surprise and satisfaction. There is a little smack of approval as the lid is firmly placed and she moves to the door.

And now I stand, money in hand, order given, trite, predictable: skinny matcha, 16 oz, and a blueberry bran muffin. When I have my beverage in hand I am desperate for the comfort of the warm, milky sweetness and that little mood altering, calming kick that drives my addiction.

A sound outside distracts me from my final meditation at the pick-up counter. Is it an animal making that desperate squalling sound? No, a child. A very mad, very upset toddler. A woman standing at the door looks at me as I approach to see the source of the fuss. "Someone isn't having a good start to her day", she says and we, mothers both, laugh at this shared experience.

As I walk to the car, I pass by the scene of all the fuss: a 2 year old struggling in a stroller. The mother trying to tuck her back in and settle the issue is the woman in the red ballet flats. I remember when my girls were at that age when no child can bear the feeling of a restraint on their need to be out exploring, running or wiggling around. Not in a buggy or a car seat or on an airplane. I remember the battles and the launches into space, catching them a moment too late, brushing off the skinned knees, and issuing that standard, "see, that's why mommy wants you to stay in the buggy."

Briefly I consider stopping long enough to say something reassuring to the woman, "Don't worry dear, we've all been there". But something keeps me back, an unusual moment of reticence; maybe her patience won't bear an intrusion, no matter how well meant, just now.

It isn't until I am in the car, buckling myself in and getting ready to start the desperate dash to work that I am stopped by the realization of what is tugging at the back of my mind, what is wrong with this picture. I could not, at any point while in the coffee shop, recall a stroller with the child parked inside the door.

Even now, no matter how I parse the details of that woman, of her moment with her coffee, there is no part of her with a stroller or pushing it through the door as she leaves.

And now I can't forget that wild sound of the child crying.

http://suddenalarm.blaseckie.ca/

Why Do You Fly Upside Down?

2011-09-24T15:38:00.000-05:00

Kathy Combs
http://gigglingtruckerswife.blogspot.com/

Why Do You Fly Upside Down?

If you have ever noticed, life changes constantly. I am a person that dreads change. Once the change arrives, I meet it head on and handle it. Before that I tend to worry myself into a real state resulting in either raging diarrhoea or a migraine headache. The most recent change in my life occurred just yesterday and I am still trying to find my way.

Eleven years ago I quit my job to become a full time stay at home mom. It was a horrible transition. Even though I loved my baby, I missed my job. I missed the identity that it gave me. I missed the daily grind and the daily stress. I must have been barking mad, right? How would they possibly survive without ME?? I learned a hard lesson there. Everyone is replaceable and life at my old job went on just fine without me. Before long I settled into simply being my daughter's mommy and enjoyed it. I finally forgot my need to be in charge of ordering at the local library and transitioned into focusing on wiping butts and noses and keeping my little one fed and happy. She kept me on my toes waking me up for feedings and as she grew I thrived on witnessing her accomplishments first hand. I actively played with my daughter, took her to the library for story time, made crafts, took her to the park, and was completely hands on in every way imaginable.

About a year before kindergarten beckoned, I became pregnant with my son. Surely I would continue on with him being a stay at home mommy and being there when he needed me as well. It was a foregone conclusion. I was good at it and I had experience now. No changes on the horizon for me!! I settled into the everyday task of taking care of my son. My daughter went off to school, and he and I remained. I found out quickly he was completely different than my daughter had been and I kept wishing constantly God had provided an owner’s manual for this cute baby who screamed bloody murder at me. It took me awhile, but eventually I figured out what made him tick and we finally got along splendidly.

This fall I am faced with another life change. My son has flown the coop to go to kindergarten. The change didn’t really sink in until he left my side and boarded the bus. Suddenly, I was left to return to my house alone. It wasn’t long before I noticed the silence that engulfed me after I walked through the door. Even the dogs quickly fell asleep leaving me utterly alone. I marvelled at the silence that was only broken by the buzz saw snores that echoed from my Boston terrier. It was almost a full hour before the realization hit me that I had no reason to be quiet. No one was here but me and if I wanted to play my tunes at full volume, there was NO ONE here to complain. What a sense of exhilarating freedom!! If I wanted to watch a movie, read a book, and play the Wii…I could!! I can write to my heart’s content with no one begging to play on the computer. No listening to the bickering about what the kids want to do or don‘t. It is all me!!

The kids leaving the nest to go to school isn’t quite as drastic as if they had moved out or someone near and dear has died, but still it is a change. Life is all about changes. Nothing stays the same. Even if life appears to stay constant, we are all still aging and time is still ticking by. As I watch my kids grow up before my eyes, I relate to Woodstock in the Peanuts cartoon the most…”Little birdie, why do you fly upside down???” I am the little birdie, and why?? Because I can!!!

Kathy

http://gigglingtruckerswife.blogspot.com/

Dare to defy the crowd

2011-09-21T11:40:00.000-05:00

Submitted by Eric

from http://inspirationsjust4u.blogspot.com/

Dare to defy the crowd

“In questions of science, the authority of a thousand is not worth the humble reasoning of a single individual.”

~Galileo Galilei

How in the world could a mere consuming of oranges and other citrus fruits cure scurvy – an epidemic case for sea voyagers killing a large number of passengers and crews?

Perhaps this was the question the world threw at James Lind, a Scottish surgeon in the British Royal Navy.

As Wikipedia describes:

It was a Scottish surgeon in the British Royal Navy, James Lind who first proved it could be treated with citrus fruit in experiments he described in his 1753 book, A Treatise of the Scurvy, though his advice was not implemented by the Royal Navy for several decades.

It was not until 1932 that the connection between vitamin C and scurvy was established by American researcher Charles Glen King, of the University of Pittsburgh.

Imagine this, from 1753 to 1932 - that is 179 years! One hundred and seventy nine years – such a long time and a large number of passengers and crews from sea voyagers still dying from a disease, where its cure is just around the corner. If only the world had listened to James Lind!

It was the same case for Galileo Galilei. Wikipedia narrates:

In 1610 Galileo published an account of his telescopic observations of the moons of Jupiter, using this observation to argue in favour of the sun-centred, Copernican theory of the universe against the dominant earth-centred Ptolemaic and Aristotelian theories. The next year Galileo visited Rome in order to demonstrate his telescope to the influential philosophers and mathematicians of the Jesuit Collegio Romano, and to let them see with their own eyes the reality of the four moons of Jupiter.

In 1612, opposition arose to the Sun-centred theory of the universe which Galileo supported.

In 1614, from the pulpit of the Basilica of Santa Maria Novella, Father Tommaso Caccini (1574–1648) denounced Galileo’s opinions on the motion of the Earth, judging them dangerous and close to heresy. Galileo went to Rome to defend himself against these accusations, but, in

1616, Cardinal Roberto Bellarmino personally handed Galileo an admonition enjoining him neither to advocate nor teach Copernican astronomy.

In October of that year, however, he was ordered to appear before the Holy Office in Rome.

Following a papal trial in which he was found vehemently suspect of heresy, Galileo was placed under house arrest and his movements restricted by the Pope.

What if Galileo Galilei hadn’t stood for the truth and created the change? Then the world might still be in the belief that the earth is the centre of the universe!

Even Jesus himself suffered from such a case! The Pharisees (the High Leaders of the Church) questioned Jesus’ authority. Luke 20:1-8 says:

1. One day as he was teaching the people in the temple courts and preaching the gospel, the chief priests and the teachers of the law, together with the elders, came up to him. 2“Tell us by what authority you are doing these things,” they said. “Who gave you this authority?”

3. He replied, “I will also ask you a question. Tell me, 4John’s baptism—was it from heaven, or from men?”

5. They discussed it among themselves and said, “If we say, ‘From heaven,’ he will ask, ‘Why didn’t you believe him?’ 6But if we say, ‘From men,’ all the people will stone us, because they are persuaded that John was a prophet.”

7. So they answered, “We don’t know where it was from.”

8. Jesus said, “Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things.”

And in verses 45-47, Jesus said:

45. While all the people were listening, Jesus said to his disciples,

46. “Beware of the teachers of the law. They like to walk around in flowing robes and love to be greeted in the marketplaces and have the most important seats in the synagogues and the places of honor at banquets.

47. They devour widows’ houses and for a show make lengthy prayers. Such men will be punished most severely.”

Jesus added in Matthew 23 the seven woes to the teachers of the law and the Pharisees:

1 Then Jesus said to the crowds and to his disciples:

2 “The teachers of the law and the Pharisees sit in Moses’ seat.

3 So you must obey them and do everything they tell you. But do not do what they do, for they do not practice what they preach.

4 They tie up heavy loads and put them on men’s shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to lift a finger to move them.

5 “Everything they do is done for men to see…

13 “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You shut the kingdom of heaven in men’s faces. You yourselves do not enter, nor will you let those enter who are trying to.

15 “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You travel over land and sea to win a single convert, and when he becomes one, you make him twice as much a son of hell as you are.

16 “Woe to you, blind guides! You say, ‘If anyone swears by the temple, it means nothing; but if anyone swears by the gold of the temple, he is bound by his oath.’

17 You blind fools! Which is greater: the gold, or the temple that makes the gold sacred?

23 “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You give a tenth of your spices—mint, dill and cumin. But you have neglected the more important matters of the law—justice, mercy and faithfulness. You should have practiced the latter, without neglecting the former.

24 You blind guides! You strain out a gnat but swallow a camel.

25 “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence.

26 Blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup and dish, and then the outside also will be clean.

27 “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside, but on the inside are full of dead men’s bones and everything unclean.

28 In the same way, on the outside you appear to people as righteous but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness.

29 “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You build tombs for the prophets and decorate the graves of the righteous.

30 And you say, ‘If we had lived in the days of our forefathers, we would not have taken part with them in shedding the blood of the prophets.’

31 So you testify against yourselves that you are the descendants of those who murdered the prophets.

32 Fill up, then, the measure of the sin of your forefathers!

Ouch! It seems the heaviest teachings Jesus made were for the Leaders of the Church!

Do you feel like you’re all alone standing for the truth as you create a great change? Well, if you are in the centre of God’s will, then you are not all alone anyway!

As we share God’s love to everyone, He promised never to leave us!

Therefore, go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

(Matthew 28:19-20)

Would you dare to defy the crowd to stand for the truth?

http://inspirationsjust4u.blogspot.com/

Changing the dream

2011-09-19T11:29:00.000-05:00

Submitted by Glen Staples
http://www.glenslife.com/

Changing the dream

When I was, now let me see, about 6, or maybe 5 – it’s not easy to be exact with the age so let me start again.

For as long as I can remember I wanted to join the Navy. To be more specific, that would be the Royal Navy, over here in good old England town. My much older cousins were in the Navy and they would come home on weekends and make it sound so very, very exciting.

I wanted some of that.

I wanted excitement.

So I worked hard at school, and found myself at the interview on my 16th birthday. By November of the same year, I was in the military.

No – I was in the Royal Navy.

I had never wanted anything else – and I could not be happier. I was, quite literally, living the dream. I knew that I would be in the Navy for the rest of my life. I was also very, very young.

Worse still, I was also kidding myself.

A life at sea is just that, a life, there is no getting away from it at all – it is not a job at sea, it is your life. When it is good then it is amazing, like when you are among friends and you hit a town somewhere wild and new, like New York or Fort Lauderdale you just cannot even start to explain to people how good it is. When you are in Kuwait with school children asking you for your autograph – well words just won’t suffice frankly. I can look back and remember some really wild and brilliant moments in my late teens, and I just could never be without those memories. I'd wanted excitement, and boy was I getting it.

However, it isn’t always good.

The problem for me was in that as much as I liked the Navy and wanted to be there, I just was never very good at it. I wasn’t a great electrician if I’m honest, and when it came to team sports I lacked an awful lot of what the military likes to see. I also drank like a toddler. It’s true, I’m a rubbish drinker. I don’t think I really fitted in either, I just wasn’t strong enough socially at that time. I suffered bullying of really quite oppressive proportions, both mentally and physically. I spent many lonely nights without a soul that I felt I could turn too – even though I was surrounded by people. Later, when I was at my lowest, I was to find myself passing on that bullying to others. I don’t know why. I don’t think I ever will be able to like the Glen that I had become at that time – but those were the most miserable years of my life.

Part of the reason why I found it hard at that time was because I was still desperately trying to convince myself that I was where I wanted to be. All of that was to change, thanks to two amazing throws of Fate’s dice, which landed within a couple of months of each other.

In the middle of 1994 I learned that I was to be drafted to Naples in Italy for two years. I was very excited about this, firstly because it heralded the end of the three years of pain that I had just been suffering, but also because the idea of living in Italy was just awesome. I also got to spend a couple of months at a base in Harrogate Yorkshire for a while, as a filler gap.

In September 1994, I managed to bump into a young woman who would turn my life upside down.

These two events changed my life forever.

The base in Harrogate was a great warm up. It was fun. Proper fun. The people who were there didn’t seem to be full of hate. Somehow they accepted me in a way that other people never seemed able to do.

The young lady I had met was a bit of a problem, because though the chemistry was very strong, with an imminent two year separation, we both knew it was never going to work out – so ground rules were set, and we would split up as a couple. We would simply stay friends.

So I went to Italy, where I learned something very important. I learned that there are some brilliant people in the Navy, that it was possible to have the best time of your life with them. I learned that in an environment that absolutely nothing like the Navy. Essentially, I learned that I was a crap sailor.

I learned that the Navy wasn’t really for me.

In Naples we were treated like adults and allowed to do our work. We did this, without any issue. We also formed the strongest bonded team I have ever come across. I loved it. I also began to learn how important that ‘friend’ back home was.

After Italy, Jo and I got back together and became stronger and stronger as a pair. Jo introduced me to a world I could never have imagined, that included people from all sorts of cultures and sexual preference, and taught me just how sheltered and ignorant the Navy had kept me.

It didn’t take long for two very important life changing decisions to need making, and for me to see just how importantly intertwined they were. I needed to leave the dream behind and see the reality, and to do that I had to leave the Navy. I also had to accept another truth.

I had to stand up and accept that I loved this girl, and should really do something about that.

As I waited for my notice period to expire while serving on my last ship, things hadn’t really changed and I wasn’t having a good time. There were some really nasty people on that ship. However, I no longer allowed it to get to me. I knew exactly what the problem was, which was that I shouldn’t have been there. The problem wasn’t the navy; the problem was that I was just not a sailor. There was (I should point out) some pretty decent people on that ship too – you know who you are!

So here I am, almost 15 years since that decision was made, totally changed. I’m a married father of two who works as a telecoms engineer. There is nothing – absolutely nothing – exciting about my life.

But I’ve never been happier.

http://www.glenslife.com/

Changes

2011-09-17T11:58:00.001-05:00

Submitted by Anthony Waller

http://antonyjwaller.wordpress.com/

Changes

If you want to be philosophical everything is in a constant state of flux, changing from the familiar to the not so familiar. We are all affected by changes whether they are good or bad, funny or sad. Some of us just smile, get on with it and cope whilst others grimace a little and vent the odd emotion or two.

I met a lady in a park once who didn’t like change. She gave me, in no uncertain terms, her views on economic changes in Ireland! I’ll share them with you.

It was late one afternoon and we were in Dublin on a short break. It was our first time in that fair city and the weather was warm and sunny for the time of year. We had enjoyed a nice lunch and it was time to pursue a bit of retail therapy. Now being a typical bloke I said I was more than happy to sit in the local park, a busy thoroughfare just off Grafton Street, read a newspaper and watch the world go by. I eventually found a bench to share with a student and a couple eating their lunch adjacent to a raised water feature. A fountain with water shooting out of a statue’s mouth into a raised pool.

I settled down with the sound of the splashing waters tinkling in the background. After a while the tinkling waters became louder and a glance in that direction confirmed it. The waters were rising, flowing over the low wall and across the path. A park keeper with a long handled rake which he swished over the surface of the water was making the flood worse. He was scratching his head.

Just then a shadow fell across me. I glanced up at a tall, well-dressed lady wearing a long raincoat. A complete stranger. She smiled so I smiled back, as you do. Then she put her hands on her hips and in a very rich Irish accent she articulately let rip.

“Would you just look at the feckin’ state of that,” nodding towards the fountain and the park keeper. And the feckin’ eejit who calls himself a park-keeper. Now what’s that all about. I feckin’ ask you. Jesus, what is it about men and water that makes them go so gaga. They spend their time either playing with it or pouring it down their feckin’ throats and rolling around steaming drunk. The eejits, the lot of them. And does n’t it just sum up the sad state of this country of ours. It’s always changing. They wont leave things alone. I ask you. If I had me feckin’ way I’d be on the next plane out o’ here and off to somewhere else. But I’m not. I can’t afford to. And that’s another thing …….”

She continued in this vein, hardly stopping to draw breath for a good five minutes or more. Wagging her finger and berating change. Suddenly she stopped and drew a breath.

“Well as nice as it’s been talking to you, I can’t stand here all afternoon discussing the changing face of Ireland.”

And with that she smiled, turned on her heels and stomped off across the park. I sat there watching her go, speechless. In all that time I had not managed to utter a single word.

Some things never change!

http://antonyjwaller.wordpress.com/

A Genuine Love with a Modest Amount of Hope

2011-09-14T15:15:00.000-05:00

Submitted by Scott Riddick

http://atypicalread.blogspot.com/

A Genuine Love with a Modest Amount of Hope

The morning sun warmed against the Professor's skin, draped in a hand-knitted cover his wife of ten years had made for him for their fifth wedding anniversary. He took his mind from his work long enough to admire the snow capped lawn out front. Winter had always been their favorite time together, lying in front of the fireplace with wine and a selection of cheeses, talking, embracing one another and making love to the sound of crackling embers. It was...tranquil in its simplicity, just the way he preferred most things- simple. The Professor took the strand of hair, placing it inside the metallic slot of the machine behind him, closing it until the box locked in place. The machine was cylindrical in shape, similar to an MRI casing but far more chaotic in both its construction and purpose, which was mostly made up of old discarded household items like a washer, a dryer, a black and white television, a tanning bed and lots of kitchen things, welded together and wired appropriately.

He called his Hostility Oscillating Prefect Extractor, HOPE for short. It was to be his greatest invention, his passion outside of his wife who had seemed to grow just out of his reach over time. He loved her as the sun loved the moon, as stars loved to shine, as gravity loved the force that made it so. But something had happened between him and his beloved, something that his brilliant mind could not wrap itself around or even begin to ponder a cure for. Years he postulated schemes to snare her heart back, the way he remembered when they were young inspired twenty-something’s in love. Nothing he did seemed to work, though they never lived apart, even in her recent death, they were always separated by miles and miles of hostility. Her untimely death had nearly brought upon him his own demise, saved only by the love he had for her and her wish for him to live on without her. A love that was boundless, even when Science suggested otherwise. His craving and thirst for her touch fueled his genius that constructed his cloning machine. There was Hope for him after all.

It would only take a few minutes for the DNA from the hair to fully extract into the binary coding of the complexity distributor, also used on occasion as his toaster oven finding it difficult to pass up a perfectly crusted bagel in the morning. Then the DNA would mix with a number of experimental Petri dishes and some borrowed stem cells he had procured from a friend at the local hospital inside a centrifuge, which was also the spin tubs from the washer and dryer that poured into the molding tray at the end that once moonlighted as a tanning bed. HOPE looked like some monstrosity pulled from a terrible b-movie film roll, but was quite extraordinary and had already worked once before, so he knew it would not fail him on this latest run. The molding bin glowed in a hot blue light, like the end of a flame, sizzling and beeping and blurting all over. He watched from an old computer display as the load bar slowly filled, and then inside a great cloud of steam the lid of the molder slowly opened.

A pair of thin pink fleshy legs eased over the edge onto the floor, toes wiggling as the heels dug into the cool surface of the basement. When the steam cleared, the Professor shined his light on her and smiled proud and wide. She was just as he remembered her. Slender with all of her cute freckles in all the right spots, her beauty mole, still perfect and beautiful, just below the corner of her bottom lip and her hair was black and sheen like a vinyl record under the sunlight. Last time, things did not go so well, what with that minor setback of memory recall he did not quite expect to occur so quickly. He took the blanket from around his shoulders, offering it to her. She looked at it, tilting her head to the side like a puppy, moved her hand to touch it, feeling its soft slightly loose fabric with her fingertips and clutched the end of it, yanking it from his hand.

He then rushed over to a nearby table and poured them both a coffee, still warm atop the Bunsen burner, and carefully approached her, always smiling, always deeply consumed by his adoration for her. His eyes watered, blotting them dry with his shoulder.

"Half milk, one sugar, three stirs just as you like it...my love."

She took the coffee and smiled to him, sipping it. It splashed on her new tongue and swished around her new mouth for a bit, and then dropped into the back of her new throat, down into her new belly warming every one of her new bits. She moved her lips, sliding her tongue along the bottom lip and around to the upper lip, the air rushing out from her mouth tried to formulate into a word that came out as meshed whistles. Learning to speak for the first time was always easier than relearning how to remember.

"Jocelyn, my love. It is so good to see you again darling."

She looked at him, studied his old face, his bearded jaw and mustached lips, his thick bushy brows that suddenly showed more life in them than they had managed in 30 years. In her new mind, she searched for a name to attach to the face, unable to find anything satisfying.

"Can you nod if you remember me?" He said showing her now to nod with his head.

She remained still, eyes fixed on him, like a child remembering her favorite dolly and the memories that came with it. Eventually, she learned to shake her head and he tried not to have this motion affect his own emotional state. Memory recall was tricky for any brain, much less one that has been generated by the life of another brain like it, but only genetically. She could never be her original, but with time and patience and a lot of love he had to give, she could learn.

By late evening, Jocelyn had picked up eating. Cheese was the preferred taste, even though he had offered her many different fruits. She seemed to respond the best to any one of the Goudas, which were always her favorites. This was an extraordinary breakthrough, showing signs of the original were completely unexpected, but welcomed. It meant he could spend less time on training and more on preconditioning. He would start slowly, with other items that would test her sense recollection. The blanket had already been a success for touch, the cheese for taste, her song for hearing, her favorite book for seeing and what he saved for last as "The Kicker Sense" for smell, a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket of ice nearby. If she responded to each of these things, he could take her into the final phase of preconditioning, assimilation.

Jocelyn sat down her cheese wedge, looked at him hard for several minutes, and then ran her hand along his beard, while she ran her other hand along her own face, feeling the textures of their skin, the wrinkles of their faces and the lack of youth in his own complexion. He could on her face that of worry, quickly stamping out any doubt.

"Not everyone can ripen to that perfect age as you, my dear. The aging process differs from my own face to yours, because HOPE has removed the aging gene from your DNA. I know that sounds preposterous to you, my love, but, in time, I promise you will understand, if not be grateful for my added incentives."

"Come. Please." He said extending his hand to her.

She took his hand and assisted him over to a large wooden bookshelf. Dozens of books lined the four shelves, all ranging in size and shape and color. He released her hand and stepped back to observe. Like a curious child, she gazed over each book, running her finger along its binder, attempting words and managing, to his astonishment, some small one syllable words. Jocelyn 2.5 was, thus far, had exceeded his own expectations. It might have been premature, but his thoughts of Paris, London and then a stint in Greenland seemed like feasible goals within the next few months at this rate. He tried not to allow his heart get in the way of Science and progress, but knowing she was there now and the possibility of her loving him once more, as she did so long ago, overcame the Scientist in him and replaced it with the hopeless romantic he never had the chance to know.

Her hand moved over the books, one by one, one row followed by another, until she paused over a thin book, wedge between two thicker volumes on the third shelf. Her finger tapped against it. He could just make out a half smile from behind her. She dug her finger along the top of the book, pulling it out from its compacted hiding spot. It was a thin book, but one with several short stories within, which was the real challenge. He waited patiently, watching with delight as she turned the page to the exact story.

"A Modest Genius" he said. "Your favorite. One of my own favorites as well. Do you remember the first time you read this?"

Jocelyn stood blank. Her memory, if it were in the shape of a glass, had a mere drop of recollection sweating down along the side. Still, the story plot assisted with additional droplets of memory that followed a beautiful smile. The ingenuity of the Genius reminded her of someone else, close to her but far enough away that his identity still remained a secret. She closed her eyes and focused on the sights and the new sound flooding her ears. The music made her feel good. It made her feel...happy, but also terribly sad. She turned to the Professor perplexed. He stood over by an old phonograph, gently rocking from side to side with his eyes closed, recalling a memory he hoped they now shared.

"We danced to this song at our wedding. You were so beautiful. I acted as though I had two left feet though, because I had slipped at the altar and twisted my ankle. Everyone laughed, even the priest...what was his name?"

Jocelyn hesitated for several long moments, but then suddenly, and amazingly, spoke the name.

"Moar."

"That's right, Father Moore. My god, Jocelyn, you are breaking new ground! Soon my love, soon we will be basking beneath the Paris sun and dancing in the glow of its moonlight!"

His excitement was soon overshadowed by Jocelyn's tears. She sat down; her hands shook uncontrollably a side effect to the process and new symptom he had not seen in the previous clone.

"Rest now. You have made such progress! I too tire from all the excitement. I am going to lie down for a moment over there on the sofa. Please, lie down and try to relax. I have one last thing I want to share with you...but, now we rest, yes?"

The Professor walked over to the couch, unable to take his eyes off his cloned wife for more than a minute, laying onto the couch all smiles. He watched her until his eyelids felt like tiny anvils forcing his eyes closed. Exhaustion is funny sometimes, the way it allows you to sleep almost comatose for hours on end. Then you wake the next morning feeling younger more refreshed than those few moments after a hot shower. The Professor woke and felt very similar to how he felt when he found version 2.0 a month before. Admittedly, this time, his feeling was one of humility and darkness...darkness. An unveiling darkness that spread over him and throughout the basement with each foot step he took towards the chair, where he last saw her. A puddle of genetic material pooled in front of the seat. The bottle of wine sat empty on the table next to the chair, and a note was scratched on the surface of the table next to the bottle. The Professor leaned closer and read the message.

I remember now

The Professor could not help but cry into his hands. She was gone, again. How many times would he have to endure the same processes with the same outcomes and the same heartache? He had made progress though, which left him with HOPE. He turned to his cloning machine and then reached into his pocket, pulling out another strand of hair. It was his last lock, a final foray into the unknown to retrieve the memory that might lead him to understand why she had left him.

Soon Jocelyn would rise once more.

A tiny bell rang. The Professor opened the toaster oven and removed his bagel. He ate his bagel and contemplated the last two Jocelyn's. The first immediately melted the moment she laid eyes on him, and the last made it as far as four of the five senses. There was no common ground among the two he could use to expedite the process. He opened the Hostility containment and added a page from the book, a wedge of cheese and shut the lid. He hurried over to the phonograph and switched it on, turning up the volume as loudly as it would go. He then tended to his bagel as he waited for HOPE.

Not long after, the lid opened under a canopy of hot steam. Jocelyn 3.0 sat up and looked around the room. Her eyes were wide with wonder. Her eyes displayed fear, but not enough to draw her from her thoughts. The professor ate the last bit of his bagel and then called to her.

"Jocelyn, my love. It is so good to see you. How do you feel?"

She did not smile. Her head did not tilt. She simply stood dead still and focused on a deep embedded memory. There was great pain in the memory, which came to her visually as pitch black. It was silent and cold, void of content and fashioned with intangible ideas that stemmed from a long history of hurt. It was dread. It was the unexplained emptiness that no reasonable amount of telling could soothe. It was hopelessness. Devoid of healing no matter the prescription, whatever had brought on this feeling was never going to leave, even in death. How did she feel? She felt...dead...on the inside.

The Professor hurried over to the ice bucket, removing the wine, pouring them both a glass. He turned to Jocelyn who was standing immediately behind him, her hand already reaching for the glass.

"To second chances!" He said with his glass raised.

The two glasses touched. The wine resonated in their glasses. They drank the wine, each sharing a pleasant look on their faces. One hoping this would be the moment long awaited, while the other curiously thought this same thing. She took the Professor by the hand and held it close to her chest. He could not feel a beat. He did not understand why, but in that moment she started to weep a single tear that ran down her cheek, hung on the edge of her chin for a moment, and then splashed down into her wine glass. Then, Jocelyn began to breakdown. All of her molecules suddenly lost their way. Her skin lost its texture and then her body its shape, like she was an ice cream cone in the hands of a boy under a hot summer sun.

The Professor wrapped his arms around her as best he could, crying as he begged for her attention.

"Why, Jocelyn? Why did you leave me all those years? Why did you shut me out? I loved you so much and wanted your love back. When did I lose you, and why did you not say something, anything, to me? My love has kept me alive, it was the inspiration to build HOPE and bring you back to me. Yet, you still elude my heart. Please, do not go away. Do not leave me, alone, again!"

Knowing he had used the last lock of hair, he took the opportunity to kiss her one final time. And he did. Their lips embraced one another and for just a moment he felt the warmth of her lips against his own, and then she was gone. It was not the best way to remember her, a fuming pile of plasma at his feet and covering his hands, but he had to try. He could only hope she would forgive him, when he too passed on. The Professor stood silent for a little while, unable to work out why she had broke down so quickly, why she never could tell him anything and why she seemingly left him right when she started to understand him...then a thought pushed itself ahead of all the others. Now he shed more tears that needed very little prodding from guilt to flow. He walked over to the chair and took the blanket Jocelyn 2.5 had wrapped herself with, draping it around his shoulders. He then stepped outside onto the porch and took in the winter air. He had spent so many hours trying to create the machine he would need to bring her back to ask her his questions, when he had the answers inside of him all along.

How long had it been since he walked in the snow? He stepped off the porch and walked out into the snow, stopping and sitting down, for a moment, and then laid down into the snow. Maybe he was the reason. Maybe his own insecurities had driven her from him, never quite to the point of divorce, but just enough to keep her at bay and imprisoned inside her own inability to cope or understand why he had inadvertently pushed her aside to focus on his career, to concentrate on his inventions, to write his journals...to be everything but the husband he thought he had been. He moved his arms and legs up and down until an imprint of a snow angel was made. He then carefully climbed out and lay next to it. It was one of her favorite things to do each time it snowed. He reached out with his arm and touched the snow angels hand and closed his eyes.

It had started to snow again. Thick heavy snowflakes that would surely cover him entirely within a few minutes. As he waited to be buried, he thought of Jocelyn and no matter how much the freezing snow rained over him, her smile managed to keep him warm throughout.

http://atypicalread.blogspot.com/

The Office of the Jury Commissioner for the Commonwealth

2011-09-12T11:30:00.000-05:00

Submitted by the Hot Dog man - http://www.thehotdogtruck.com/

The Office of the Jury Commissioner for the Commonwealth

Whew.

Just reading that title makes you shudder. Imagine how I felt when I got this letter:

They were threatening me with being a criminal jury duty evader for missed jury duty in 2002!?!?! Apparently evading jury duty is an arrestable offense. I did not evade jury duty though, I actually last served sometime in 2003. That jury duty in 2003 was a rescheduling of the one they were accusing me of evading. The reverse side of the letter had instructions on how to remedy the situation:

So The Office of the Jury Commissioner for the Commonwealth expected me to come to the courthouse within the next 30 days to serve jury duty. Now I am not in ANY way one to shirk my civic responsibilities. I have served jury duty 4 times and I actually sat on a jury and deliberated in a two day drunk driving trial back in the late 1980's. We acquitted the accused. The arresting officers found him asleep in the back seat of his car at the side of the road at 3:30 in the morning. The arresting officer booked him for drunk driving since he appeared "red eyed and disoriented" when they woke him for questioning. The defendant claimed he was homeless at the time and was living in his car. His defense was he was just sleeping and anyone woken from a deep sleep would be red eyed and disoriented. Seemed like a reasonable defense to me. The state offered no evidence of a field sobriety test or blood alcohol test. While there may or may not have been more to the story, based on the evidence, we acquitted the guy.

But I digress. In 2003 when I served, I read a novel and was never called for a trial. I went home knowing I had done my part to keep the wheels of justice turning.

The Office of the Jury Commissioner for the Commonwealth said I hadn't served. I needed to show up in 30 days or be arrested. I don't like closing my truck for ANYTHING in the good weather months because it costs me money. I read the letter and called the 800 number.

I sensed a bureaucratic, on hold music listening to morning waiting to speak to faceless drones in a largely patronage populated state agency clearing up their oversight. I was right.

I explained to the person at the other end of the line my predicament and in very typical state hack language he told me they had no record of my service in 2003 and I absolutely had to appear or face arrest. I kind of flipped out on the guy and said I was OFFENDED that they would brand me a criminal jury evader when I had actually served. I asked him how I could go about getting information from the court where I had served. He gave me another phone number to call. Total talk time (including "on hold" time) for this call: 27 minutes.

When I called the court, I explained my dilemma to the guy on the other end of the line. I told him I served sometime in the spring of 2003. I knew this because I remember having a Little League game that night and I remember what level my son was at the day I served on the jury. The guy informed me that they kept no records more than three years old an he had no way of producing any evidence of my jury service in 2003. Total talk time for this call (including "on hold" time): 19 minutes.

Pissa.

So now I called the first number again and asked them how they could cite me for evading jury duty 5 years ago when they don't keep records more than three years? The irony was lost on the voice at the other end of the line and we kept coming full circle to the fact that if I couldn't come up with evidence I had served in 2003, I'd have to come in in the next 30 days or face arrest. Total talk time for this call (including "on hold" time): 24 minutes.

At this point I figured I might as well go through "the files" at home and attempt to locate the now very important paper I received on the day I served jury duty in the spring of 2003. While going through "the files" I found many things, but nothing remotely resembling evidence of having served. I was resolved that I was probably going to have to sit jury duty for a day, I just needed to find a way to postpone it (like until wintertime) so I wouldn't lose a good volume day at the Hot Dog Truck.

The next morning I called the 800 number again, repeated my tale of woe to another bureaucratic drone. I asked him if I got any points for finding a cable TV bill from the last century and he replied that their computers had been reset on January 1, 2000 and they had no online data going back that far. Honestly, the whole concept of irony is completely lost on these people. Total talk time for this call (including "on hold" time): 12 minutes.

At this point I was transferred to "LEGAL" to plead my hardship case for extending the 30 day time frame for defaulting on a jury duty evasion charge that I was completely innocent of. I felt an overwhelming sense of dread as the hold music played.

Then a funny thing happened. After only 7 minutes on hold, a woman picked up the phone and said "June 5, 2003."

"What?" I said.

"June 5, 2003. That's when you served jury duty."

"How did you figure that out?"

"I got your information from the other gentleman and punched it in on my computer. Its right here. June 5, 2003."

"So am I clear on this evasion violation?"

"Absolutely sir. I honestly don't even know why we generated that letter. Its quite clear you aren't in default. I'm going to disqualify your default right now."

"Will you confirm that in writing?"

"Yes sir. Our office will generate a letter to disqualify your default, you should receive it in the mail in 10 business days."

After getting her name and extension number, I thanked her and said goodbye. I will be laminating this letter and keeping it with the old cable TV bills for safe keeping. Total talk time for this call (including "on hold" time): 13 minutes. Total talk time for all these calls (including "on hold" time): 98 minutes.

Winner: Verizon Wireless.

http://www.thehotdogtruck.com/

Dreading the Change that is Necessary for a Better LIFE!

2011-09-08T08:10:00.001-05:00

By Keianna Johnson
http://www.chichisophistication.blogspot.com/

Dreading the Change that is Necessary for a Better LIFE!

My life is totally the opposite of what I envisioned for myself as a little girl. When I was younger, my lifelong dream was to be married to the man of my dreams, give birth to our child & have a huge career in Criminal Justice. My lifelong goals were all written out perfectly. It was so perfectly written out, that I forgot to make room for mistakes.

At age 21, I had my first child who I love dearly. It's just that in my Book of Plans, I was to be graduating from college. Instead of college, I attended a Nursing Trade-School program to become a CNA Nurse, so that I could begin to provide for my family.

At age 25, I had my second batch of children....."What did you say doctor? TWINS! OMG!"....The money I was making from my Nursing job wasn't going to cut it. I was only a CNA Nurse for Christ's sake!

I needed to make a quick career change. I decided to become a Child Day-care Provider. I attended a few classes in Early Childhood Development & in a few months, I was working in a Day-care....The money wasn't all that great, but it was better than working as a CNA Nurse in a Nursing Home.

At age 26, I was ready to go to school for Criminal Justice. I enrolled in college; night classes, to be exact. My dreams were finally coming true! I'm on top of the world!....Or.so I thought.

Once I began attending the classes & learning about the life of crime, mentally, I couldn't take it. Attending those classes made me fearful of death. Doing writing assignments on Kidnapping, shootings etc. hurt my heart deeply. During this time in my life, I was constantly worried about the safety of my children. I had begun to dread taking those classes. To attend those classes, I had to walk to & from the Metro Station alone at night. Talk about panic attacks!

I can remember my last day of attending Criminal Investigations Class. My teacher kept using me as an example of a murdered police officer. Each time he mentioned my name, I would cringe inside. He joked about me getting shot in the head for being too nice to a criminal. Lord knows his comments hurt my heart. "What is this dude's problem?" I said to myself. "Why is he hurting my feelings?"

At the end of the class, my teacher pulled me to one side. He asked me to stay after class after everyone left. I was afraid. I wasn't sure what he was going to do to me. In that moment, I wanted to call my mom, tell her thanks for all she had done for me & that I love her.... Dramatic! Anyway, my teacher told me in a nutshell, "This is not the profession for you. I have been watching you since day one. You are not ready for this career field." I was relieved at his statement, but I said to myself, "What am I going to do now! This was my lifelong dream."

When I left class for the last time that night, I felt lost. I felt like none of my plans were coming true. I felt hurt. I felt like a failure. I felt like a loser. I felt like a bad mother because I didn't have a real sense of direction as to how I was going to take care of my children. I questioned, "How did I get here? When did I lose my way?" I dreaded the change in my life that was necessary to provide a better life for my children & I. Depressed is such an understatement. In that moment, my soul died.

My point is just to say, while you are planning out your perfect ‘Happily Ever After’, make sure you leave room for mistakes. Leave space for a U-Turn. Provide a way out if a detour is needed. Always have a plan B. There is nothing more devastating than believing within your heart that you are an underdog.

http://www.chichisophistication.blogspot.com/

Changes

2011-09-05T14:53:00.000-05:00

Submitted by Sandbox Gems

http://www.sandboxgems.blogspot.com/

A Message from the Founder's Keyboard

2011-09-01T14:59:00.000-05:00

Welcome to September!

If you happened to drop by RBU: The Group Blog in August and were kind enough to read my ‘Message from the Founder’s Keyboard’, you will no doubt recall that it seemed as if I was feeling a bit blue about the fact that we’ve not had as many submissions and activity within our group. Some of you probably even thought that I was ready to throw in the towel…until you got to the very end of the message and read that I wasn’t going to give up on RBU because giving up is entirely too easy and I care about this group and what it represents entirely too much to do that.

Sure I was feeling frustrated…but don’t we all at one time or another? I imagine somewhere around attempt #345, Thomas Edison, the Wizard of Menlo Park, might have thought he’d never figure out how to make a filament that could resist an electric current without burning up or outright exploding within the glass bulbs in which he placed them. But he didn’t. He persevered and when he finally did figure it out he said of his hundreds of attempts before achieving success, “I have not failed. I’ve just figured out 10,000 ways that won’t work.”

I rather like that attitude. So much so that whenever my students used to say things like, ‘It’s hopeless, I’ll never figure it out’ or when my daughter gets down on herself and says, ‘Everytime I try to do ‘x’, it never works’ I remind them of Edison and point out that had he given up…who knows where we’d all be today. Granted I’m sure somebody would’ve figured out how to make a filament but who knows how long that would have taken or how many things wouldn’t have happened because there were no light bulbs to illuminate the way for those other inventors? And if it wasn’t for Edison…what would go over our heads when we come up with great ideas?

So when the time rolled around to come up with a theme for September, I thought long and hard about what it should be. I wanted something that reflected the fact the way RBU and its members have grown over the year and a half that we’ve been around. Most our members, the ones who’ve stuck to blogging, have seen their site mature. They’ve become more confident in what their blog is all about and as a result their craft which more likely than not started out as nifty little hobby…has become an extension of themselves. So I decided what better way to relay that than to have a theme that embraces the very essence of how we’ve all grown.

Which brings me to this month's theme…Changes. Yes, that’s the theme for the month of September. I think it’s fitting because our group and our little site has gone through some interesting changes recently. We’ve got a Google group page now where our members can post questions for discussion about all things bloggy. We’ve also started using our Facebook fan page and group page more effectively and as a result have found a few new members which only helps to broaden our base so that our members have more potential viewers. And we’re working to update the group blog page with a few goodies including a, hopefully, some contests! Threre are some logistics involved with that though so it might take a while…but that’s okay because all the best changes come to those who are patient! Yes, I think the theme ‘Changes’ is quite apropos.

Of course, I’ll must be honest and say the theme of Changes was also chosen for a purely selfish reason, too, because for the past 4 months or so I’ve been busy prepping, packing, I and moving halfway across the United States because my husband’s place of employment transferred him. Needless to say, the routine of my simple life has been rather topsy turvy of late. But instead of lamenting the way things used to be, I’ve decided to grab hold of those changes because I know that eventually I’ll wonder why in the world I ever let myself get so discombobulated.

And now to wrap this up, I’ll put on my thoughtful, philosophic fingers so I can type out something meant to inspire you as you go forward this month...

For those of you in the northern hemisphere summer is slowly drawing to a close…the once fresh green leaves on the trees have darkened after spending long, hot days baking in the sun and the flowers that once bloomed brightly leaving their scent on the breeze have all faded and are ready to fall into another long slumber, and the sounds of children playing in sprinklers and splashing in pools has given way to bagged lunches and the sound of school bells. For those of you who live on the flipside of our beautiful big blue marble, the trees are starting to bud and the bees are starting to buzz as springtime creeps onto the scene. Before you know it there will be spots of cheerful color everywhere and you’ll be fighting the crazy urge to clean house or perhaps your vehicle or boat or maybe even spiff up yourself. Yes, the world, wherever you may be, is in a state of flux…changing…so hold on tight because life is one bumpy, thrilling ride!

Cordially,

For the First Time

2011-08-22T12:28:00.000-05:00

By Ry

http://currentripple.blogspot.com/2011/05/if.html

"for the first time" is the title to my latest can't possibly live without piece of music... sung by "The Script" from the UK... link is at the bottom of my post... I had listened to the lyrics many times before... but today the words hit my brain... maybe it was the continuous loop on my iPod but they sank in today... I started feeling the words and letting them flow into my life and all my experiences... he sings about his girlfriend but I let the words drift to encompass myself and I...

maybe it's the approaching 44th birthday that has me waxing philosophical but I find myself looking at who is looking back at me in the mirror and it sometimes feels that we are meeting for the first time...

who is this dude with the increasingly grey hair looking back at me... I know he is a good guy, but could he have been more, given more, loved better, been more patient...

not been so damned scared of everything...

how have all my experiences been engraved onto the face I see... this person I present to this world, friends and family...

I am at that age where I remember my parents and the more "mature" people in my world starting to leave us... more funerals than weddings, seeing their pain as they moved their loved ones into care or into hospice for their final days... all the broken hearts and all the "Jack" drunk alone in the local bar... all the smiling but at the same time close to tears... all those ripples under the surface that we all smooth over so as not to be "that person" who is always in the shit... never has anything together... the one we all avoid....

I'm not giving up, not by a long shot, I just really wonder do we really ever know that we made a real difference to this place, the people we know, this great, colourful mural of humanity... do our brushstrokes even count... are we even supposed to know?

I look around my life and it is a good one, I have few regrets, but have at the same time, never truly "had it all"... or maybe I have, but just used the wrong scale to judge... always seem to have had employment that I loved, and when it wasn't great anymore, had the strength to walk away and allow a new door to open, family is good, those I have chosen to call "family" have my back, and I theirs... but the great love of my life eludes me, and maybe that is my lot in life... I am loved, that much I know down to my core, but I have never been able to hold on to a significant other... never found quite the right balance between holding on and letting go I guess... maybe that's my lesson this go round... that and patience... not good at either...

So I put it out there, look around and look deep, look at those eyes in the mirror and all the secrets and fears, love and tears, laughter and joy...
what would you say to that face if you were to meet it again for the first time...
maybe take it further, honour who you see, love who you see, respect who you see, cherish and comfort who you see looking back at you.. .
for some of us doing that, will truly be the feeling that you're meeting ... for the first time...

http://currentripple.blogspot.com/2011/06/for-first-time.html

The Bell

2011-08-14T17:00:00.001-05:00

In your head, a bell rings.

After 25 years you still think that the end of the working day should be signalled by a school bell.

Your watch says it is five twenty nine, and that is all you need to know as your laptop simultaneously turns off and undocks itself. The clock ticks on.

At exactly half past five the laptop is in your bag and you are running for the door.

Excitedly, you shout your goodbyes to everyone, as they try and work out who the blur running past them actually is.

You have somewhere important that you need to be, and you need to be there now.

Home.

You really need to get home.

So you swiftly power walk to the tube station and fight your way through the crowds.

You know where you need to be, but so does everyone else.

The heat builds up, but you do what you can. It is really crowded on the platform, but onwards you push until you find a quarter of an inch of space on the train. It doesn’t matter, you convince yourself, you can handle twenty minutes of airless crush on this underground train. Soon you will be home and home is what matters.

The train trundles along and only ever seems to get fuller at each stop, is nobody getting off?

At last you get to the mainline station.

Everyone gets off the train at once, leaving you pressed against the wall. Slowly you shuffle along, squeeze through the exit, and queue for the escalator.

Never mind, you say to yourself re scanning your watch, there is still five minutes before your train. Stay calm, it is still early, there might even be a seat.

Soon you will be home.

You take a couple of breaths as the escalator nears the top and a new batch of air hits your lungs.

You have beaten the system. The tubes may have been an airless furnace, packed in so tightly that you didn’t have to hold on, but you are through that now. You are ready for the last leg of the journey. You are nearly there. You are a winner.

In no time at all you are through the turn styles and walking out into the main concourse of the…

…Somewhat crowded station.

Too crowded.

You look up.

The weight of defeat crushes your shoulders into despair as the system wins again. Silently you curse everything.

Absolutely everything.

If only you had paid more attention at school then maybe you wouldn’t be here now. If only you had listened to the teachers.

Instead of listening for the bell.

The Year I Accidentally Poisoned Myself

2011-08-04T20:23:00.001-05:00

By Pierre Le Roux
http://gaywarfare.blogspot.com/

This past June was our 14 year anniversary. Quite a feat, in my opinion, seeing as these days it seems that relationships don’t last longer than 14 months. And for all those folk out there opposing gay marriage, we have been legally married for 6 years now and the world haven’t ended, society haven’t gone to shit and the only people destroying the sanctity of marriage are those folks who are getting divorced. Something that also is not the gays fault. But I digress... Like any proper gay couple hubby and I decided to celebrate our anniversary at a fancy French restaurant, have a ridiculously expensive meal and then go back home and have some romantic sexy time in front of the fireplace. But as fate would have it that is not what happened.

You see, in my life nothing ever works out as planned and like I have said so many times before - optimism has never served me well! Firstly, some freak show in the USA predicted that the rapture was scheduled on the same day as our anniversary, which I thought was quite inconsiderate as I always thought Jesus would return on a Sunday. Secondly, on Saturday we discovered with quite a shock that we had a termite/ant infestation and the fuckers had constructed elaborate villages around our swimming pool pump and various other places. To be honest, I didn’t pay much attention to the rapture but I did freak out about our bug invasion. So hubby and I promptly decided to go and get some toxic compound so that we could make like Saddam Hussein and start our own campaign of terror and release our weapon of mass destruction.

An hour later we returned home with our poison ready to commence with Operation Genocide. Hubby diluted to compound and off we went and sprayed the hell out of their nests; a procedure first done by hubby and then repeated by myself 30 minutes later. Having confirmed our status of being on top of the food chain and Queens of our own yard, we were satisfied that the little invaders were dying and our problem was solved. So we showered, made ourselves pretty and set off for a romantic night of good food and romance. For once the lady that lives in my GPS gave us proper direction and we arrived at the restaurant only 7 minutes late, not that the hostess noticed. And our romantic evening was off to a great start.

We opted for the restaurant’s 5 course tasting menu inclusive of wine and the first 3 courses were absolutely scrumptious. After our 3rd course we had to go and stand outside in the cold in order for me to have a cigarette (I hate South Africa’s stupid smoking laws and yes I am still smoking). Admiring the view and puffing away our romantic evening come to an abrupt halt with me suddenly falling ill. My stomach was turning and I needed to get to the loo as I was nanoseconds away from shitting my pants! The gentleman that my husband is he took my coat, and off I rushed to the toilet trying to get there in a dignified manner. Half way there I decided screw dignified and leaped into a sprint and almost didn’t make it in time! A good few minutes past before I managed to return to our table looking pale, feeling lightheaded and no longer feeling fabulous and sexy, but rather flat and almost soiled. Hubby looked concerned, but I was determined not to have our evening spoiled by whatever it was that I was afflicted with.

We finished the last two courses, paid the check and then drove home. At home my condition continued to deteriorate. I thought I had food poising and blamed the two minute noodles I had for lunch earlier that day. All astronomical food related illnesses I had suffered always, in one way or another, involved noodles. There was to be no sexy time for us and what followed was shit, literally! This Queen spend the better part of Saturday evening and early hours of Sunday morning on my throne crapping. As my bowels were being ravished and my sphincter not getting the kind of attention it was anticipating my mind drifted to thoughts about the rapture that was scheduled for 2am in my time zone.

At 1:30am I was asking myself many important life changing questions. Was this my apocalypse? Am I being ruptured through my anus? Or is the rapture going to occur through my anus and was I busy making room? Is this how I would like to meet Jesus, with my pants down sitting on the toilet with my BlackBerry Tweeting? If so God really had a strange sense of humor and I knew that he has a plan for my life but I couldn’t figure out how this fits into it. I am sure that at that point I was dehydrated and therefore also a tad irrational. At around 2am I was all crapped out and fell into bed wondering whether I should be wearing adult diapers. With that my last thought I fell asleep with hubby’s comforting arms tightly wrapped around me.

Waking up Sunday morning, the world was still there and the rapture did not occur sucking worthy Christians into my ass on route to heaven. I was still feeling weak but the diarrhea had stopped. It was a bit later during the day that we figured out what had happened that made me sick. I was poisoned but it wasn’t food poisoning – it was fucking ant poison!!! It seems that when I went in for phase two of Operation Genocide I accidentally poisoned myself. Either by breathing in the vapor or by getting some of liquid on my hands because I was smoking and so inevitably I ingested it. So what’s the moral of the story – don’t smoke and kill, always wear latex gloves when dealing with poison and don’t attempt pest control yourself; rather hire a professional!

Yes, our anniversary didn’t quite go as planned and our 14th anniversary is now known as the year I accidentally poisoned myself. I am sure in 10 years time I will be able to laugh about it, but for now it still isn’t very funny. More upsetting is the fact that the fuckers for who the poison was intended are still alive, they are still building their little taunting towers and diligently digging up our paving. But they will die this week, I promise you that much! I’m getting out a professional ant/termite Terminator. For them the apocalypse is nigh and their rapture will not be through my asshole.

Till next time.

A Message from the Founder's Keyboard

2011-08-01T12:00:00.000-05:00

Happy August to you all!

Welcome to another month of Real Bloggers United: The Group Blog. I’d like to say that this month we’ve got a plethora of posts because our theme was ‘BLOGGER’S CHOICE’ wherein our members could submit whatever struck their fancy whether it be poetry, prose or photography. Unfortunately, I cannot.

Yes, we did receive a few terrific posts that will be online in the coming days. But it was nothing like I expected the turnout to be considering our previous BLOGGER’S CHOICE months have yielded a good many submissions. And why is that?

To be honest, I’m not really sure. Oh, I suppose I could spend the next few paragraphs lamenting the fact that what is usually a winning ‘pull ‘em in’ theme fell flat on its virtual face. And I could try to plead a case as to why it happened using words like perhaps or maybe or even much more literary sounding words like mayhap or perchance. But I won’t.

Because over the past few months it seems to me as though the merry band of bloggers that came together from all walks of life and from all around the globe have grown more and more distant as the days have passed. And to be honest, there is no one to blame for it either because this sort of thing happens all the time, every day and everywhere.

Think back to when you where a child and remember how you were with someone you thought of as your dearest friend. You did everything together and everything was perfect. Nothing could separate you, save your parents calling you in for supper. Yes, when you were children you were invincible.

But then you grew older. And it wasn’t long until the invisible ties that bound you and your best friend together came unknotted and the two of you started to drift apart until one day you looked around and you realized you had drifted so far apart there was a world of difference between you. And so it happened that your bestest best friend in the whole wide world, the person who helped make you ‘you’, became the stuff of your cherished memories.

No, it’s not a bad thing. It’s simply a life thing. And like I said, it happens all the time, every day, and everywhere.

So why shouldn’t it happen here in this virtual world, too? When we came together there was a genuine buzz of excitement. Our members sent in loads of submissions. There were comments, too; so many lovely comments. But then the newness of our blog wore off and the number of submissions started to dwindle. Likewise so too did the comments. And now here we are, nearly a year and a half old (which in this world of megabytes, teradata, and clouds is more like ten or twenty years) and it appears that all the ‘shiny’ we had has dulled with age.

For those of you wondering where this is going, let me be clear in saying that I am not giving up on RBU:TGB because I know there’s still a lot of sparkle left in this group. So rest assured that I’ll keep updating our little blog page and sending out those emails urging our members to submit their poems, prose, and photo essays. And no matter if we get one hundred submissions or none, I’ll still be sending out my ‘Message from the Founder’s Keyboard’ on the first day of each month.

Why? Because I’m stubborn like that and the thought of giving up on our group and throwing in the towel does not sit well with me.

That having been said, I do hope you will pop over a few more times this month to read the submissions that did come in because they are fabulous, after all the members of RBU:TGB is a talented group with whom I’m mighty proud to be associated.

So, à bientôt for now my blogging friends. I’ll see you next month.

Warm wishes to you all,

Home...

2011-07-23T12:00:00.001-05:00

By Ry

http://currentripple.blogspot.com/

After All, There is No Place Like Home

2011-07-19T12:00:00.000-05:00

By Kathy Combs

www.thetruckerswife.com

I lived in the same house most of my life. It was where my parents brought me when I was born, and where they lived out the remainder of their days here on Earth. Sadly, that house was sold, demolished, and a CVS drugstore stands in its place today. I am saddened every time I pass the site of my childhood home. I still have vivid memories of that house and how everything used to be.

After I graduated high school I packed my Dodge Shelby Charger to overflowing with all my possessions and moved to the dorm on the Belmont University campus in Nashville, Tennessee. As much as I tried to make the space I resided in as comfortable as possible, it never felt like home. I was constantly homesick and missed my mother terribly. Like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, all I ever wanted was to go home. Eventually, I returned to the house on County Road 4 where I continued living until I married my husband. So many memories were packed into that house; happy and sad. At my parents' estate sale, I strolled through the house one last time. It was empty by then and to my dismay no longer felt like home. The ghosts of my past were gone, and I was sad to no longer find them there.

When I married my husband we moved all our possessions to a single wide trailer that we had purchased and placed in a community. I loved that little house! My husband and I had it built to our specifications with our favorite colors represented complete with a hot tub in the master bedroom. It was a house filled with love. It was where we enjoyed the first decade of our marriage and where both of my children spent the first precious years of their lives.

Before I knew what hit me, I was pregnant again. We decided to take what little money we had and invest in a new home to be built on an acre of land we had found in the country. The house was supposed to be completed 2 weeks before my cesarean-section was to take place. Unfortunately, when the time came closer to move in day, the contractor in charge filed bankruptcy. What that meant to us was that not only did we lose the home we were trying to build, we lost the money we had invested, and the home we had lived in for 11 years. We were devastated financially and emotionally. Instead of having the dream house we eagerly anticipated, we were left financially crippled and forced to move.

We desperately searched for a home we could rent to own and as fate would have it found the lovely home where we now live. Even though I was exited about the move, I still was saddened by our overwhelming loss. As I packed everything in cardboard boxes, I grieved constantly for the homes I had lost, until a cousin of mine pointed out to me one golden truth. Your home is not the structure where you reside, it is wherever you hang your hat, wherever you happen to be to live life with those you love. I no longer grieve for what I no longer have, but instead celebrate what I do. After all, there is no place like home!

With Love, Your Sara

2011-07-15T12:00:00.001-05:00

By Scott Riddick

http://atypicalread.blogspot.com/

I did not expect my interaction with you to lead beyond anything other than causal talk. I did not expect you to be so charming. I did not expect you to be so...available. More unexpected than all this, I never thought my heart would step aside and allow impulse alone to drive me into your arms. I am a happily married woman with a beautiful daughter and loving husband waiting for my return. Back home in the states, where my life can be sometimes complicated, things are generally warm and complacent in their simplicity. I had no other reason, selfishness always being a constant struggle within me, to turn my back on my husband, my family...myself. There is just something about you that the hard working mother and caring wife inside me deemed an acceptable risk to take. There is Something I can not quite place a finger upon that keeps me up late at night for the past five years trying to understand. How dare you enter into my life and turn it upside down!

I am sorry. I should not direct my anger and shame and humility toward you. It was I who brought you literally in from the rain into my hotel room, sheltering you from the elements and creating a quiet storm within me. It should have been nothing more than a temporary delay in your travel, wherever it is you had planned on venturing. I should have been the one to tell you then that someone was waiting on me back home. I should have bid you good day, after the lovely chat we shared over a cup of hotel coffee. Til this day, it was the best tasting cup of Joe that has ever come across my taste buds. Delightfully sinful it was, embarking down a path of error head first without regard to others. Still, my love, I did a terrible thing to those who loved me so.

I still reflect on that rainy morning. You looked me in the eye with those baby blue heart-breakers and asked, with a strong French accent, if I was in Paris for business or pleasure. I could not possibly have known at the time that it would be both, telling you that I was there on business, leaving out the part about being married. I regret not keeping my ring on, for it may have saved so many long hours of hurt and tears, but I never travel with those possessions I could never bare losing. Still, I wonder, did you notice the discoloration around my ring finger as we made love and, if you had, would it have made a difference? For me it would not have been a distraction, for I made love to you and never consider the love I had made before you. You broke my heart in two, and I allowed you.

After we made love, we laid in bed for most of the afternoon. You told me about life in Paris and I complimented you on how well you articulated your words in near perfect English. I recall how free and open you were about life. How you never allowed a past event, no matter how big or small, to impact the rest of your day. At first, I thought this to be a smug "French" attitude bleeding through that rugged exterior with the best looking five o'clock shadow I had ever seen on any man, but would learn how gentle of a man and lover you really were. I can still taste that Merlot from Cotes de Francs on your lips, and import a bottle now and again, when I want to whisk myself back to that day. It was an affair to remember and, no matter how hard I try, one I cannot seem to forget.

It was how you touched me, I think, leaving the most memorable impression. It was soft, as though running a feather along my skin, gentle, like smoothing out the wrinkles in the finest silk, admirably, focusing all of your attention on every inch of my body one caress at a time. No one has ever touched me like that, and likely never will again. When you held me, after we made love, it reminded me when I was a girl lying in bed at night, snuggling up to my favorite blanket. I felt secure. I felt as though I were the most important thing in your life, even though I am quite sure I was just another flavor in your mouth. You have left me crushed in your wake of passion and I am adrift in a sea of adultery, praying that my indiscretion not lead me to further temptation.

And even now, as I write this, I know my words will never reveal themselves to your eyes. Perhaps this is just another way for me to confess my sin, or maybe I am being gullible in thinking I could ever see you again. It's been five years since I have seen you, but each year I have come back to Paris, to this Hotel, to this room and left you this letter. I do not expect much to come from this trip. Perhaps once I had hoped for some fairy tale ending that never came. I guess I am reliving a memory to myself as I sit down in the lobby cafe, sipping on a cheap coffee, while writing this letter, and waiting for that symbolic glass of Merlot to come to my table. You should know, however, that this time it is raining outside. I find myself checking the window as a wave of umbrellas rush past, hoping one of them is you. I cannot lose the hopeless romantic in me. Not since you introduced me to her years ago.

Tomorrow I will leave back for America. And, like today, I will return here again this time next year and another letter will be left for you, my love. I will continue to dream and hold my fairy tale close to my heart. Never lose sight of the magic we created together and the passion we shared. Wherever you are, know that you are loved, still. You gave me something that I cherish, and like those things which I hold dear, I leave here with you, until my return next year.

With Love,

Your Sara

She took the letter and carefully folded it, placing it inside an envelope and sat it on the table next to the glass of wine her waited had brought her. She reached for the wine glass and placed it against her lips. She savored the smell of the wine, and then she drank it. One continuous sip after another until the wine was gone from her glass. She then casually got up from her seat, placing the money for her drinks on the table underneath the wine glass. She hesitated for a moment more, and then she walked out from the cafe, the lobby of the Hotel and out into the drizzling rain, without an umbrella.

Pinewood Paneling and Powder Rooms

2011-07-12T09:47:00.001-05:00

By L. Avery Brown

Founder, Real Bloggers United

Editor-in-Chief, RBU: The Group Blog

http://whenasouthernwomanrambles.blogspot.com/

When I was a little girl I, along with my parents and 2 of my 4 siblings, lived in a one story house that was built in the early 70s. It was a far cry from ‘big’. In fact, it was probably a tad smaller than most homes 35 years ago as it was somewhere close to barely 1,600 square feet. Though, barely 1,600 square feet was actually spacious back then. And today I suppose a realtor would describe my childhood home as ‘cozy’ but to me it was simply ‘home’.

Our house had 3 bedrooms. My parents had their room which to my youthful eyes was huge and it even had a small ½ bath. My sister and I shared a room and my brother got a room all to himself. And even though his was a room just slightly larger than the full bathroom minus the tub, it was, nevertheless, all his. But truth be told, I didn’t mind sharing my room with my big sister although I’m sure she wasn’t too keen on the idea considering she was in her early teens and I was only 7 when we moved into our house.

I had my side of the room with my twin sized bed and Barbies and stuffed animals. And she had her side of the room with her bed and her posters and her AM/FM stereo/record player that took up the entire top of her dresser. All in all we enjoyed a harmonious division of our space.

We never had to resort to drawing a line of demarcation down the center of the room. Especially since doing so would have been disadvantageous for both of us when one takes into account that her half had the door, a rather valuable commodity considering it would have been difficult for me to enter and exit the room via the window by my bed, and my half had the closet where she hung the majority of her clothes. Quite frankly, I think my side of the room was much more valuable because nothing must ever come between a teenage girl and her clothes.

Nearly half our house was made up of our ‘good-sized’ living room and our open kitchen/family room with its très chic pinewood paneled walls and built-in pinewood bookshelves filled with all sorts of books including what eventually became a complete set of Funk and Wagnells encyclopedias and bonus World Atlas. To this day I can still remember dashing excitedly out to the mailbox when our mailman came down our dirt road in his beat up old Buick hoping that this delivery would have the next encyclopedia in the set or maybe even...gasp...a record from the Columbia Record Club.

No one could beat the ‘Get one at regular price and get 11 for 1 penny’ deal offered on the back page of the Parade Magazine, the colorful Sunday newspaper insert. But waiting 6 to 8 weeks for delivery was tough even though it was worth it to be able to hear the mellow sounds of the Carpenters’ ‘Kind Of Hush’ or Foreigner’s rocking ‘Head Games’ and...be still my beating heart, Duran Duran's 'Rio'...even if my father did insist that we also order things like ‘Arthur Fiedler and the Boston Pops’ so we could get the special deal.

However most days the mail was filled with bills and advertisements for the local furniture store or the Winn-Dixie super market where you could not only get a six pack of 10-ounce bottles of Pepsi-Cola but you could also return your empties for cash. In our house we were Pepsi purists; Coca-Cola very rarely ever crossed our threshold. Of course every now and again one might find a few bottles of SunDrop hiding in the back of the fridge.

But sadly ever since the advent of plastic packaging you’d be hard pressed to find a store that stocks Pepsi in little glass bottles. Though if I close my eyes I can still remember the quick ‘pfffsst’ sound that was made when my father would open up a bottle releasing the pent up carbonated pressure. And what’s more, if I’m very quiet I can hear the unique clinking sound made by the empty bottles when we would drive to the grocery store to return them.

My humble abode also had 1 ½ baths. Granted ‘1/2’ baths are generally little more than glorified closets with a commode and sink but for some reason having that extra ½ bath can make a small home seem positively palatial. Unfortunately one cannot easily utilize a ½ bath in the pursuit of daily personal hygiene so the 5 of us all had to share our one full bathroom. I imagine the logistics of figuring out who got to use the bathroom in the morning and for how long, especially since 2 of the 5 were teenagers, was a real headache for my parents but somehow we managed. And whenever there was complaining my father was quick to point out that even the people in Hollywood have to suffer through a shortage of lavatories.

After all, the Brady Bunch lived in a massive home that apparently only had 2 bathrooms (both of which were upstairs) even though there were 6 children (who not only shared 1 bathroom but who also had to sleep 3 to a bedroom), 2 parents (who had a spacious bathroom along with their stunning master suite), and Alice, the maid (although no one ever saw where she stayed when she wasn’t over stirring cake batter or consoling lovelorn teens).

What I always thought was interesting about the Brady’s house was that it did not fit them. Which is odd because I seem to recall that Mr. Brady was a pretty good architect (after all his firm sent him, his brood, and his house keeper to Hawaii for 2 episodes) and that he had a grand home office that was larger than most people’s living rooms so why couldn’t he have thrown in a few more bedrooms and couple more bathrooms? For Pete’s sake, he could have at least turned one of the closets downstairs into a powder room.

But I digress...back to my reminiscing (after all one cannot go through life lamenting over a lack of bathrooms). Although maybe my lavatory deficient childhood is one of the reasons why whenever and my husband and I have had to go through the rigmarole of looking for a new house one of my basic requirements has always been multiple bathrooms. I wonder.

We didn’t have air conditioning until many years after we moved in although my parents did have a window unit that ran nonstop during the summer and kept their room comfortable. As for the rest of the house if it was anywhere near warm outside our windows were always open and all that separated us from the rest of the world was our screen door which would squeak no matter how carefully you tried to open it. In the summer when it was the air was thick and it was hotter than Hades in the shade, every single box fan we owned was put in the windows and set to high. And even in the dead of winter, when the cold north wind would twist and turn itself around anything that had the misfortune of being in its way, my father always kept the window above the kitchen sink opened up just a little bit for a breath of fresh air.

Yes, the cozy little house on Belvedere Drive was more than just ‘the house where I lived’ it was home. A home which might have been a bit smaller than the average but it was my castle albeit a small castle but a castle nonetheless. But small isn’t so bad. After all, I’m small and my parents always used to tell me what I lacked in size I made up for in personality.

My Countries ‘Tis of Thee

2011-07-07T12:00:00.001-05:00

By CK Wagner

The following was originally featured on Memorial Day this year at the London Relocation blog (http://www.londonrelocationservices.com/blog), where Colleen Wagner blogs daily on all-things-London as an American expat living in the UK.

Sporting red, white, and blue for both the
USA and UK. (at Westminster Abbey,
morning of the Royal Wedding)

Moving to London is a life-changing event that had wrought massive homesickness when I first moved over, which recurs each time I visit home and must return again. It’s funny, though, how after a couple years I did start finding myself a bit homesick for London instead during my first days visiting home—I miss my husband, my cute lil’ London apartment, my London friends, London architecture and culture, and just my casual London everyday existence as I’m taken out of my routine.

And yet here I sit, in my childhood bedroom the day before returning to London after two weeks in the States, and I find myself now acclimated back to my Chicago way of living—my family, my parents’ cute lil’ yellow house, my Chicago friends, Chicago spaciousness and convenience (like my car!!!), and just my casual Chicago everyday existence as I’m reinserted in my old routine.

It kinda sucks. And yet it’s also kinda great. This is the expat experience of straddling two homes, the home where you live and the home where you came from, though “home” might be, for some, not a matter of geographic location but where your heart resides. In my case, my heart is still in Chicago, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t made room in it for London. I feel like it’s thanks to my current London expat life that, when we repatriate, I’ll be able to embrace my Chicago life with an expanded outlook that will appreciate it differently, and perhaps I’ll live it even better from where I’d left off. For as much as I’ve remained the same, after moving to London, personal growth and awareness have snuck up on me.

Being an American expat living in London means having to say goodbye more often than I’d prefer, but it’s also getting to say hello with more and more enthusiasm with every next embrace. It’s focusing your lenses to better see what matters, taking stock of what’s no longer in your backyard and relishing what you do have for the time being before life takes you on another journey somewhere else or from whence you came. And just when you might think you’re only relocating for a job, studying abroad, or meeting new people, you just might find you’re moving to London to meet yourself again.

I tell you, “America the Beautiful” literally brought tears to my eyes for the first time when I listened to it yesterday with new ears; my heart likewise wells with pride when I see the Union Jack flag flapping amidst Britain’s celebrations. I’m proud to be a citizen of one fine country while the resident of another, and perhaps, in future, instead of singing the words to “My Country ‘Tis of Thee” or “God Save the Queen,” I’ll just hum the sweet little tune that accompanies both (FYI, if you didn’t realize that…) so I’ll never have to truly say goodbye to either home.

Home

2011-07-03T21:22:00.002-05:00

By Glen Staples
Managing Editor, RBU: The Group Blog
http://www.glenslife.com

The loud metallic thuds, clattered onto the roof of the car as the rain refused to lighten. Steam rose from the bonnet as the engine ticked regularly while it cooled. Jim just sat there and stared.

The already wet and blurred window began to steam blocking his view, so, almost dreamlike he rolled it down and didn’t even blink as the rain began to splash into his face.

He was frozen in time and space, the cool hits of water could do nothing to rouse him from his thoughts.

Jim hadn’t seen this coming at all, hadn’t recognised the address of the house he had come to see. Even when he had pumped the postcode into his trusty TomTom he hadn’t spotted it, all his thoughts had been whether or not this would finally be the right house for him to buy.

As soon as he had driven into the road and pulled up at number 53 he had recognised it though.

Why had he not recognised the road name? How could he have forgotten where he was?

Images of Christmas ran through his mind, the big tree would be in that big bay window, twinkling its cheap lights at you as you raced home from school on the last day of term. The excitement of running into the house, throwing his school bag into the corner and running up to his mum, buzzed through him like a lightening bolt. He wanted to run now, wanted to see her smile, feel her warmth as she hugged him. Jim wanted to see the tree, to have his father catch him trying to sneak one of the chocolate bells from the side and give a playful tickle as punishment.

The sounds of over excited children being held at bay by tired parents echoed around his head as the memories crashed into his skull all at once.

His dad standing at the door on his 8^th birthday holding a new bike.

Mum’s water thin gravy on Sunday lunch, desperately trying to stretch out the meagre shopping budget as far as possible.

The images were random and spread out over all the years – the happy years that he had lived in that house.

Home.

And then suddenly there it was. The memory that was bound to come back sooner or later – the strongest image of all.

He had practically bounced around that bend just there, excited at the idea of six whole weeks of summer holiday that lay ahead of him, another year at school had finished, now it was time to party.

And then he saw the ambulance.

What was that doing outside his house?

Jim had run then, and now sitting in his car his feet twitched as the muscles tied to run again. As he had run, he had dropped his school bag, forgetting instantly about the project work that was in it.

He got to the door.

He stood.

His feet firmly planted themselves to the doormat, refusing to let him walk in the house. Suddenly the door was the scariest object in the world and he just couldn’t go through it. No, this wasn’t getting him any where – Jim pushed through the door and screamed “Mum! Dad! What’s wrong?”

Jim’s mum had run up to him and held him tightly, his young sister clinging desperately at her side.

No words were said.

No words were needed.

In a blur, the house was sold and the three of them had moved on, his mother unable to live with the constant reminders of the man she had loved.

Jim’s cheek was stained with tears as he looked at the doorway, he could feel that embrace, feel the loss once more. Deep inside, he longed to be tickled again.

Twenty years had passed but that moment still burned.

Slowly the shock subsided and a smile crept across his face as the warmth from those happy years filled up the empty ones.

Finally, he would allow himself to remember; to remember everything.

His dad didn’t have to be a legend anymore, now he could just be his ‘Dad’ again.

With the giddiness of a child he sat there and made two calls, the first to the Estate Agent, and the second to his mum.

He didn’t need to view the house.

He already knew he wanted it.

A Message from the Founder's Keyboard

2011-07-01T16:31:00.000-05:00

Greetings fellow RBUers and nonRBUers alike!

It’s July. I can hardly believe it because it seems like just yesterday I was writing a greeting touting the romance of February! And what great work we’ve had submitted here at RBU: The Group Blog and this month it’s no different. Now, I know it seems I say it each month but it’s true. The level of literary craftsmanship is phenomenal and it only seems to be getting better and better as time goes by. Perhaps you think I’m a bit biased. But trust me, I’m not (well not too much, I think). Sure, I do like to ballyhoo and plug our little group whenever I get the chance but it’s something I do because I truly believe in and have great respect for all of our members.

This month’s theme is Home. At face value, it’s a simple word but when we asked our members to submit work that revolves around that seemingly straightforward term we found that Home is, in truth, a word with many facets. Like, for instance, there are those who see home as a refuge from the craziness of the world. For others it’s ‘where the heart is’. And then again for some it’s a place they dream of longingly.

As far as RBU and RBU: The Group Blog is concerned, I feel like we are a very extended family spread out across continents and oceans. And our group blog is the ‘cool house of the Internet neighborhood’. It’s the (virtual) place where the door is always open, there’s soda pop in the fridge, and fresh cookies on the countertop. Granted our address doesn’t roll off the tongue quite as easily as say…123 Mocking Bird Lane but it’s our spot in the blogoverse.

It’s a place we know we can always come to no matter what time of day it is or what day of the week it happens to be. So to put it into the simplest of terms: RBU: The Group Blog is our home and no matter where you may physically be here on this beautiful blue marble spinning in space, if you’re a member of RBU (or if you just like dropping by to read the terrific submissions from our members) you’re never more than a quick click or a few keystrokes away.

And that’s how I feel about that!

Make sure to drop by in the next few weeks to see how some of the members of RBU interpreted the month’s theme; I promise you won’t be disappointed.

*As the founder of this group, I suppose it makes me the ‘Mother’ & as such, I’m hoping all my blogging babes will call their mother--my subtle way of asking RBU members to please submit more prose, submit more poetry, and submit more photographic essays--more often! After all, you wouldn’t want to see your mother cry would you?* :o)

The Day My Life Changed Forever

2011-06-28T15:00:00.001-05:00

Kathy Combs

http://www.thetruckerswife.com/

My mind travels back in time to a sunny morning almost 18 years ago when prompted for a moment that changed my life forever. It was a morning which began much like any other. I rolled out of bed prepared to feed the cat, and see to the needs of my mom, whom I had taken care of ever since her kidneys failed over a year before. Five months later came the earth shattering diagnosis that she had multiple myeloma and the disease had spread all over her body. Over the course of the following months, I had become her caretaker and constant companion. She was not only my mom, but my best friend. We did everything together. We always had. I loved her unconditionally and would have done anything for her.

Even though she had a fatal disease, she was always optimistic and her attitude was infectious. She wanted to live more than anything and was determined to beat the odds. She often told me that she had so many things that she still wanted to do that there was no way in hell she would be checking out anytime soon. She had come so close to death and then would make a miraculous recovery. I never imagined life without her. She was only 51. She was to young to die. I believed her. I had no reason to believe she wouldn’t live till a ripe old age. In hindsight, I realize, I was in denial.

After feeding the cat I walked over to where she was sleeping. I spoke to her, but she didn’t respond. Again I called out to her, and touched her face. That is when I knew. Terror filled my heart as the realization dawned that she was gone from me forever. I was all alone! I didn’t know what to do! I ran to the phone and dialed my next door neighbor telling them to come quick. They came, and confirmed my worst fears. She was gone forever and there was nothing I could do to bring her back.

That summer day my life changed forever. I emerged broken and lost. That was the day I was forced to grow up. That was the day that changed the course of my life forever because I was forced to discover what it was like to be truly alone and stand on my own two feet. I was forced to find out who I was to become, where I was meant to be, and what direction my life was meant to take. I had to live for me. From that moment on, I was never the same person again.

The day my mom died, was in essence the day my life began. Never again would I assume that people would live forever just because I wanted them to. I finally learned that death is just another necessary facet of life in which we all must one day face. I learned life is about changes and nothing ever stays the same.

I Think

2011-06-25T17:00:00.001-05:00

By Keyara Fleece

http://infinitesoulsearching.wordpress.com

I think

I think and I am thought of.

I dream and I was dreamt up.

I see and He saw me.

I was and here I am.

I am a painter on hiatus.

I am a musician stuck in a slacker's body.

I am a world traveler stuck in Virginia.

I am a mother waiting for her children; and,

I am a soul separated from her mate.

I bring a sparkle wherever I go while

I leave a mark on the hearts of those I love.

I want some answers that I will never get although

I want to speak up but I’m scared.

Questioning reality has brought me some answers.

Questioning life has gotten me closer to happiness.

Changing my perception was the best thing I ever did

I think.

My Life Changing Moment

2011-06-22T21:28:00.000-05:00

By: Scott Riddick

http://atypicalread.blogspot.com/

There is a song called “I Write Sins Not Tragedies” by Panic At The Disco. Some of you might know of the group and the older (wiser) eyes peeling over these words might be drawing a well defined blank. In any case, the song title is what I wish to focus on here, because in many ways this applies to my own style of writing (those of you who are familiar with my work and “play” on my own blog certainly understand this more than others). That is the hardest and most rewarding part of writing, trying to convey something you feel in words and have others read in the same way they tearfully flowed from your fingertips, or dried onto the paper your pen dances across line by line.

I hope that you all will understand then My Life Changing Moment, which came a few weeks back, when I made the incredibly difficult choice to sever the cord between myself and my family in order to save the sinking vessel of my immediate one. My family weighed down the progress of my marriage, forcing me to constantly choose between hurting my mother or the mother of my child. Many times I had to choose a side I did not believe to be the right side, to save face with my own reflection in the mirror each morning. Last week I angered my wife, but, at least, my mother is no longer calling me hurtful names. Next week I will go with my wife and sour my mother’s feelings further, so my marriage does not continue to crack down the middle.

I would never wish this type of decision making on my own worst enemy. Having to choose one piece of the heart over the other should never be a factor in anyone’s life. I have never understood how someone who calls themselves “family” could so easily make a member of that family a complete wreck emotionally, and still have the audacity to smile over Thanksgiving dinner. There is this air about us all that states in all of its obvious depravity that I, being me, must be the one to forgive and forget and allow that forgiveness to return in various incarnations of family dysfunction. I never had the chance to say this, and I will likely not be able to do so in life, but I am sorry. I wish it could be different.

The moment I severed the cord, things started to change. My marriage started to heal, and my heart began to sow the seeds and mend the wounds. There is an unsettled calm throughout this house that only shivers nervously when the phone rings and the caller ID states with its electronic voice, “Call from Mom.” A shared look of Uh-Oh plagues my face and that of my wife. The reason for this is, we both know there is a high risk of frustration and anger to follow. As they say, such is life. I have come to accept the outcast looking into the family dining room window, watching the family laugh and eat Christmas stuffing, playing the role of bad guy.

It hurts, but with time, a film starts to develop over the eyes and it becomes easier to see through the bullshit. I am not the bad guy. I am just a good man caught in a bad situation with no happy ending. And like the song, I write sins not tragedies. After all, if I cannot honor my mother and my father who abandoned me, then how do I make amends for not only a sin, but a commandment? The tragedy is it’s out of my control. I am damned if I do and damned if I don’t.

Regardless, this is a change for the better, although the wording might suggest otherwise; but, again, if you have read this the way I write it you surely can understand.

And That's How I Learned My Purpose In Life

2011-06-19T12:00:00.000-05:00

By Maureen Blaseckie

http://suddenalarm.blaseckie.ca/

I moved to the west coast of Canada in 1982. Anyone familiar with the economic cycles of the time will immediately recognize this as the beginning of the great recession of the '80s. Not an auspicious time to move to a depressed area without any concrete prospects of employment. By the end of that first year my optimism was severely dented. My Unemployment Insurance was coming to an end and, bare subsistence though it was, at least it covered the necessities: rent, cigarettes, even food occasionally.

I augmented my income with a variety of temporary jobs: gardening, driving little old ladies to the grocery store, and one memorable month as an end of season deck hand on my future father-in-law's troller. Every day for that month I flung my five foot three, 120 pound body into rain gear usually worn by the husky, 6 foot plus, 200 pound regular deckie and scrambled on deck to do my job harvesting salmon on the mighty, heaving Pacific. I did a lot of my own heaving too, plus banging, sliding and flopping around in the back end of that diesel coughing troller. It felt like I’d found myself in a bizarre Captain Highliner ad directed by Stephen Spielberg's demented evil twin.

Within a week of returning to dry land, I found myself working in a restaurant. Six months later, a higher paying restaurant job came my way. Now, by standing on my tiptoes, I was above the poverty line by a chin hair.

Isn’t there something wonderful about that first pay cheque that doesn't disappear into rent and toilet paper before sunset on pay-day? To celebrate I went out and bought myself a luxury; for the first time in well over three years I bought....underwear. Nothing frilly or extravagant. Simply good, comfortable cotton panties with a pattern of itty bitty blue flowers.

I returned to work the next day strutting with that confidence only new and intact unmentionables can confer. At the end of that wonderful week the head cook called me into the back. She told me she’d developed concerns about my ability to carry the workload involved in the kitchen. As I felt the blood fall to my feet and all the solid matter beneath me turn to jelly, she smiled brightly and asked if I’d help out by staying on for 2 weeks to train her friend, er, ah, my replacement. The spring sunshine failed to warm me on that long walk home.

A few minutes after I walked in the door my roommate said someone named Angela had called. I I phoned the number she’d left. It had taken two years but the agency commissioned by the government to collect defaulted student loans had, at last, tracked me down.

I don't recall much of the rest of that day, someone brought me flowers, someone else removed all sharp objects from the bathroom. What I do recall occurred after I went to bed. I awoke sometime in the middle of the night to a gentle rustling of wind outside. I looked up and there was a white fog across the ceiling of my room. It became huge rolling clouds that fell back to reveal an enormous baroque balcony of gilded marble over which spilled the robes of the Master of the Universe Himself. Yucking it up on my ceiling was God and a few of His angels. All these billowing clouds were their celestial garments flowing around them as they rolled about, helpless with laughter. I even saw His Sandals as He whooped and fell over backwards squealing with delight at the wide-eyed bewilderment on my face. There was a flash of pink as two cherubs, wiping tears from their eyes and gasping for breath, pointed at me and then collapsed behind the balcony rail. Feathers, white garments, clouds, masses of divine, biblically white hair, interspersed with the pink faces, arms and legs of cherubim, seraphim, etcetarim, swirled around my head.

I don't know whether it was a vision sent from my guardian angel or or if it was from the revoltingly cheap scotch I had downed earlier but as it slowly faded I went back to sleep comforted in the knowledge that my suspicions about my purpose in life were correct.

First Kiss

2011-06-16T12:00:00.001-05:00

By Glen Staples, Managing Editor
www.glenslife.com

The faint smell of damp casually assaults my sinuses as the hard steps make their presence felt on my aching backside.

Neither of these things matter.

The aged stuffiness of the old theatre in which we sit, and the noise of the kids running about, excitedly bouncing around on the threadbare carpets only add to the excitement of the moment; nothing can take my concentration away from the significance of what I was about to do.

Nothing.

I can hear the muffled sounds of singing. I know they are singing for me. Everything is about me. This moment will travel with me for the rest of my life, having set the wheels in motion for the rollercoaster that my soul will ride upon forever more.

We are in the middle of rehearsing one last time, for the big show that is due to open tomorrow night.

I’m nervous as hell, but really excited about being a part of this year’s Gang Show, a vaudeville style production, traditionally put on by kids from the local Cubs, Brownies and Guides, as well as my Scout troop. I’ve even got a couple of speaking parts and I can’t wait to get the show started.

I am 12, and I feel like I was born for the stage. I am one night away from stardom, and ready for the fame. I already dance at my cousin’s dance school, so I felt at ease as soon as we began transferring our rehearsals to the actual stage. As long as nothing comes along and distracts me now, I know I will be a huge name in musicals one day.

What my acting career probably doesn’t need is a distraction such as sitting on these steps right now, holding Karen’s hand and looking into her eyes.

Earlier today she held my hand. And as the rehearsals progressed, I became increasingly friendly with Karen and I’d found myself wanting to spend more time hanging around with her than fighting and playing with my male friends, though I wasn’t really sure why.

Now we are wordlessly sitting on the hard damp stairs, backstage at the Newark Palace Theatre; right there in the wings, as we wait for the next song to start.

Suddenly, her face gets closer.

The hairs on the back of my neck tingle and stretch, as time adamantly refuses to tick by.

Her face grows closer.

My knee trembles as fear explodes through my nervous system.

Her face gets even closer.

I stop breathing, I stop hearing. I am no longer here. The singing, the children’s chatter, and even the damp have all gone. I am nowhere.

Her face stops moving.

Somewhere, deep down in my genetic coding, I know it is all up to me from here, I am the man and the next move will have to come from me. I am going to have to man up and get on with it.

Right now.

Right here.

I am going to have to kiss a girl.

I pause as I recall the bag of pickled onion Monster Munch I ate earlier, but it is too late to worry about that now, because the fracture in time is about to heal itself. I can put it off no longer. I’ve learned all that I can possibly learn from my friends about kissing; now I’m going to have to put it all into practice.

My eyes close as my lips part and move, with a false confidence, toward hers.

The softness of her lips can only be bettered by their taste. I explode with the power of this brand new connection that links Karen’s heart to my own.

I am distracted. The world blinks out of focus for an eternity as the software in my brain rewrites itself. With its return, a new world order is born. My priorities have changed forever, because I have just learned something that will dominate my every thought for the rest of time.

I’ve finally worked out what girls are for.

My Life Changing Moment

2011-06-13T12:00:00.001-05:00

By Jenn Pearson
http://wine-n-chat.blogspot.com/

I think we all go through life with many life changing moments. A birth, a death, a marriage, a divorce, a graduation, a retirement; the list goes on.

I’ve also had many life changing moments in each of these categories…but perhaps the one moment that changed me forever as a person, was when I felt encouraged once again about my abilities of being a mother.

My oldest daughter was born quite healthy. She was a whoppin’ 9lbs and 9oz and no, there was no C-section involved!! She was beautiful from the moment I first laid eyes on her and I fell in love all over again. She was my second child born, my first was a beautiful boy.
My daughter seemed to develop normally until the age of 16 or 17 months. Things such as speech and hearing seemed to regress. Her behavior became non-compliant. At first, it seemed to be a matter of wills; who was in control and who wasn’t. Even the pediatrician said, “she’s just going through a stubborn phase, similar to what parents call the terrible twos. Stand your ground as a parent.” So I did just that.

By the time she was 2 years and 2 months of age, I felt completely overwhelmed. I had three children by then, and her behavior was getting worse not better. I had stood my ground, but it seemed she would truly become some other wild-child in public. I can’t tell you the amount of judgmental and nasty stares I got in public places, because my daughter seemed unruly and out of control. I almost always had two other children with me and getting through a grocery store, a restaurant, or even a park was a challenge.

I was a young mother in my late twenties and I felt like a complete and utter failure. Because she displayed so many “stubborn behaviors” my oldest thought it was okay to try some of them, too. I felt completely out of control as a parent. I was at a loss for where to turn or what to do. Seeking any sort of help from anyone meant leaving the house, which always seemed to turn into a nightmare.

Around this same time, my daughter started speaking with an overly-open throat. I had a fear that she was going deaf so I made an appointment to have her hearing checked. They told me her hearing was fine and sent me to a speech consultant. The speech consultant spent almost an hour with her and told me she may have a “developmental delay” and to make an appointment with a Doctor at Children’s Hospital in the developmental diagnostics department.

This doctor spent a lot of time with my daughter, about a half a day. Some of the time I was in the observable room, at other times I was in the room with her. Then she told me that it was quite possible my daughter was mild to moderately autistic. She definitely had a developmental delay, I needed psychologist to confirm.

Six months later, my daughter was diagnosed with PDD-NOS an autism spectrum disorder, by the psychologist.

Why was this a life changing moment?

Because, I quickly learned that as a Mom I was not a failure. I just didn’t know that I was dealing with a special needs child. It changed things. At the moment I was given the diagnosis, my heart was both saddened and encouraged at the same time. I was sad because no mother wants to be told that there is something wrong with their child. I was encouraged because it meant that I had a chance to succeed. I also knew to be an effective mother, I needed to educate myself as much as possible about Autism and its related disorders and the treatments available. I had a way to gain back the control, and I set out to do just that.

I researched everything I could get my hands on. I learned as much about autism as I possibly could. I attended seminars and I looked into resources. I called just about everyone I could think of. By this time she was three and that was almost 10 years ago!

Her father and I started her right away on education intervention and applied behavioral analysis. We weren’t sure if anything would work, but we weren’t going to stop trying until we found out what would work. We soon found out she was so eager to learn. We also started her on a casein-free, gluten-free diet…and that is when we started getting her back.
To know my daughter today is to know a wonderful, loving, beautiful, young lady. You’d never know that she had such a tumultuous couple of years as a toddler. Most people don’t know she has a diagnosis. As a mother, I could not be more proud of who she is becoming. A little bit of information was all it took for me to realize that I wasn’t failing at being a mom…and my life changing moment.

Real Bloggers United: The Blog

A (Final) Message from the Founder's Keyboard

On My Way to Christmas

Veggy Christmas

What I Want For Christmas

The 'Wee Folks' Christmas Special

A little glitz

A Message from the Founder's Keyboard

Broken Without You

“And all because the lady loved...”

A Little Bit in Love with...

At a Loss

The Calm Before the Day Begins

A Message from the Founder's Keyboard

When my time has come

With Hope we Cope

Slip sliding away

Hold my Hand and Count the Miles

Calling long distance.

Lost in a book

In the distance

In the distance

A Message from the Founder's Keyboard

Unravelling

Why Do You Fly Upside Down?

Dare to defy the crowd

Changing the dream

Changes

A Genuine Love with a Modest Amount of Hope

The Office of the Jury Commissioner for the Commonwealth

Dreading the Change that is Necessary for a Better LIFE!

Changes

A Message from the Founder's Keyboard

For the First Time

The Bell

The Year I Accidentally Poisoned Myself

By Pierre Le Rouxhttp://gaywarfare.blogspot.com/

A Message from the Founder's Keyboard

So, à bientôt for now my blogging friends. I’ll see you next month.

Warm wishes to you all,

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By Pierre Le Roux
http://gaywarfare.blogspot.com/