11.13.09
One to Two Hours Per Week.
Imagine if each person in the world volunteered one to two hours per week in the field that they were trained or experienced in.
Crops could be planted and tended, people imprisoned falsely could be freed, neighborhoods could be safer with more people taking shifts at the local parks with our children, free music and art lessons could be given, children without a mother or father could have one on one time with a mentor, single parents could have one on one time with family counselors, elderly people would know what it was like to have visitors, families could learn how to budget, healthcare and medications could offered at no charge . . . but we are too busy watching television, watching the stock market and waiting for Obama to make it all better. I know that a lot of these programs exist but without the volunteers, they just don’t work. When was the last time that you volunteered if ever?
Remember that awful thing that happened to you that you survived? Someone needs you to be on the other side of a crisis line. Let them know how hard it has been because you are a homosexual but you are still here. Share about the time that you failed suicide and then picked up the pieces after that. There is a woman being beaten worst than you were and she feels she just can’t leave due to her children. There is a man that was raped as a child and feels he is less than a man because of that terrible thing that happened to him. Won’t you tell him how you went on to have a wife, kids and did not let your rape stop you?
Even if you only volunteer in some area for one to two hours per year, what you get back is amazing. To hear a sincere thank you from a person you will probably never meet, on the other end of a phone line, to listen to the stories of a man with Alzheimer’s and no family and to receive hugs from five children of a single parent when you deliver Christmas that year . . . I promise you that no money or recognition on any job can ever compare to what you receive from giving back. Even if you have nothing to give, give your time. Karma will find you and bless.
11.12.09
Reflection
“Never forget the power of hope, Emmy . . . “
Emuna held the letter she had recently written to her chest, closed her eyes and imagined her father speaking those words to her again. After all the hope she could gather was filled into the letter, she released it into the winds as she stood on the docks of Erie Isle. She found it amazing how the thin piece of paper soared with direction; knowing where it was going. She turned on her heels and walked up Erie’s main street, reflecting on all the things that had happened since the journal opened to her.
Passing the cathedral, she thought of Victor bringing her there. She then stood between the apartment complex and the graveyard. It was painful for her to visualize the night she drug Xaphan’s lifeless body from her old apartment to the crypt. None of them expected for him to be stabbed when they kidnapped him . . . she walked on. Each building caused floods of visions to bombard her. She found herself standing before Club Dread. The new sign made her ill. Now remembering Baaz’s face as he gloated about being the owner enraged her. Walking in, there were new faces and even the scent was different. She walked through the club, making eye contact with those she knew to be Dread members. Reading the journal seemed to have aged Emuna. Not in appearance but she had been forced to mature and embrace who she was to fight against the evils of Erie and the ancestor that wanted to walk among the living again. As she stood in the alley, the sweet winds from the Nomad’s camp embraced her. She whispered Ms. Nellie’s name. Emuna was drawn to her and her gypsy charm but they never seemed to have the time to talk. Really talk like Emuna needed. The sound of electricity surging drew her attention to the fence that now surrounding what used to be opened land. Men appeared to be working on the barrier. Maybe the company that put it up lost their fight for it to stay. A prison in Erie did not bother her. No facility in the states would house the criminals that were in Erie. Humans love to ignore the creatures that cause the bumps in the night. Why did humans fear truth? She then turned to her left to gaze upon the spot where she had noticed Ben laying as a woman stood over him. Although the incident happened days ago, she could still see them. Emuna jogged up the alley to get closer. It all played out for her again. Ben fighting to stand despite his wounds and Sea staggering away from him as blood cascaded from her mouth. At the time, Emuna thought Sea had been attacked like Ben and needed help. She tried to help Sea, not knowing who she really was but Nero came to her rescue and led her away, leaving her blood behind. The blood that Emuna collected but not for evidence. Something in her forced her to collect the blood and store it. She had started walking again without realizing it. She stared into the Sheriff’s office but did not enter. She watched as detectives studied video tapes, read over statements and argued over theories. “Do I belong here?” She asked herself. Unable to answer, she turned and walked south for home. Reaching her block, she slowed her stride to make sure that Baaz and Hel were not outside of her townhouse. In her mind, it was not possible for them to have been there for her. Maybe they had come to speak to the editor of the Seer. He was constantly on their bad side. Finally making it up the stairs to her door, she began to believe that maybe Zah had given them her address. So eager to get out of the mess she put herself in, Zah had given up the names of all of her friends to the Dreadshift. She was now dead to Emuna.
When evening came, it was too quiet. When things were this quiet back in New Orleans, something was coming. This led Emuna to the window to see if maybe some dark figures were lurking below and waiting for her light to go out so they could have their revenge but instead, there was light. The light in the eyes of her parents as they looked up to see their only child staring down at them. Roberto and Dia were in Erie Isle, bringing answers of their daughter’s past with them.
11.11.09
I’m a Science Project . . . Should I be ok with that?
I have been having a problem with my feet swelling on the weekends. I thought that it had something to do with my surgery which I promise to writing more about before the year is out. I mentioned it to nurse practitioner in my primary doctor’s office and she stated that as we get older, women retain more water. GREAT! I was going to be a short water barrel with arms and a head. She gave me some water pills to use as I needed to but I am not a pill person after having to depend on them for so long due to pain. Plus, they kept me up all night running to pee. I was going to be old and swollen.
About a month ago, the swelling stopped. I was not going to be old and swollen. I could not figure out what had caused it. I was watching what I ate. This past weekend, they were swollen again so I brought my 14 year old daughter in on the case. I did this because she is always in my face about what I wear, how my hair is and just my resident pest. Always on my bed, in my bathroom and going through my stuff. She claims that if I start dating, she will stop pestering me. At any rate, she mentioned that maybe it was because I did not get a coffee from StarBucks that Friday. Lights went off in my head. About a month ago, I stopped drinking the energy drinks I was getting to stay up late and treated myself to a coffee that had about four shots of Espresso. The friday that she was speaking of, I got an energy drink instead because I did not feel like driving to the StarBucks. The lights went off in her head. She was like, “Mom! You can be my science project!” I was like, “Da hell I will!”
Long story short, I am her science project. She is going to kill me for a good grade . . . that’s my girl. She bribed me with a pedicure every week at no charge. I had to take the deal. A pedicure from her costs me about twenty-five bucks and she is using my stuff. But I know the really reason for the pedicure. There are going to be pictures taken of my feet and she does not want them to reflect poorly on her. She is so much like my mother.
I’ll make sure to post what grade WE get!
