Hit Delete,Butterfly’s Will Come…

Last Christmas my father told me about a wonderful invention called the delete button, and from my understanding it is on most keyboards.  Apparently if you get an e-mail that you believe will cause you distress, you can actually delete it before you open it and POOF, it never existed.  Time goes backwards, and the creator of this distressing e-mail is struck down by lightning, losing any recollection of why he even sat down at his computer.  Amazing!

I learned about this as my father’s brother was using me to try to develop his skills as a fictional writer.  I am all for creative writing, but writing fiction requires the ability to remember certain aspects of the story as you write.  If you do not have consistency, there is confusion and your creation will have no believability.  Especially if you are taking fact and twisting it into fiction.  If you cannot keep your story straight, you may want to rethink your plan.  Because when twisted fiction affects someone’s life outside your bubble of followers, it may not end like you want.

That being said, most of my family lives in a bubble. Too many of them like to hang out there, which results in brain damage from the lack of oxygen.  Common sense becomes non existent, and they lose the ability to understand that fact and fiction are not the same.  While fiction usually has some facts, the wanna be writer’s of my bubble family took fiction and passed it off as fact. This created such a frenzy, their demented crap leaked out of their bubble into the real world, my world.

When I asked my father to stop his brother from harassing me with his fictional e-mails, he put his beer down for a moment, and told me about the magical delete button. I could just touch that button, and butterfly’s would fill my room while his brother was hit by lightning.  All the e-mails that were sent to everyone saying I was a drug addict that steals from family, would go POOF, and rainbows would fill the sky.

I was astonished to find my delete button does not work like my father said, maybe because I do not live in a bubble.  I have since learned his retirement was getting boring, so he created some of his own fictional bullshit about me for my bubble family to enjoy.  They drank their Kool-Aid, and followed along like good little non-thinkers. Unfortunately for them, I do not like their Kool-Aide, it tastes funny. I do not follow anyone very well, and I could never live in a bubble full of bullshit.  However, I am just as stubborn and like him I do not back down easily when I think I am right.

People screw up, make their mistakes, and the universe has natural consequences that follow.  I have written e-mails that gave me a year long vacation from owning a gun.  A natural consequence I learned from.  I send the occasional e-mail into the world of my bubble family, letting them know I am not pleased about some of the things they have done lately.  It gets forwarded around the bubble and they talk about how horrible it is that I can type the word Fuc8, and that I need to move on and stop bringing it up.  They should know at this point, their acceptance is not really my concern, I know what kind of person I am.  Mistakes happened, natural consequences will follow, and life will go on.  As far as the irritating e-mails I send, they can hit their magic delete button, and watch the butterfly’s fill their bubble as my words fade away and go POOF!

Mom, I Am All Adventured Out..

Growing up I was blessed with being able to travel with my maternal grandparents several times a year.  Ranging anywhere from Disneyland and Sea World to camping and boating.  I was with my grandparents at  Lake Powell the day it was considered officially full in June of 1980. Lake Powell is my favorite place in the world and the resting place of my grandparents.

Except for the times my grandfather flew us in his Cessna, vacations were usually started with a Bronco pulling a trailer or a boat name The Beverly Anne II.  The drive was usually long enough for something to leak, break, fail, catch fire, or blow out along way.  Adding  adventure long before we were screaming at the darkness in Space Mountain

It was my grandmother who gave me the term “adventure” during those times that I still use to this day.  Living in a 30 year old pink single wide trailer with only a swamp cooler to get through the Vegas summer heat, was quiet an adventure.  My grandmother took one look at the trailer and told me to just pretend I was on a camping adventure.  There was even a big pine tree growing by the back door, reminding me of many Colorado camping trips.  After spending two summers “camping” and being pregnant with my second child we thought it better to end that trip and bought a house.

When the market went to shit in Las Vegas and we made the mistake of re-financing beyond our means we lost our home we had for eleven years.  So we started a new adventure in Arizona.  While most of my family lives there I was not really close to them.  I had spent 17 years in Vegas, I did not know them and they certainly did not know me.  They thought they did after reading all our private letters and journals, something I think they are proud of.  I do not think they would like me to do that to them. Actually, the thought to do that would not cross my mind.

A week before Christmas they kicked us out with our twelve year old son.  They have lied, stolen, and have turned into people I do not know.  I had an awesome childhood which makes what they did even more hard to deal with.  Something changed when my maternal grandparents passed away.  I know in my heart there is not a chance this would be happening if my grandfather were alive.

My grandfather’s favorite holiday was Christmas, and I think he sat in Heaven watching what was being done to his great grandchild, and if you can get pissed in the afterlife, I am certain he was.  My son was in a hotel room with his mom and dad who were on the verge of breakdown, while my parents got drunk with my daughter on a little holiday vacation at a bar in Laughlin.  Something is very wrong with that.

Two weeks after we were kicked out and we had been living in hotels, I told my son to think of this as an adventure.  I even said we could just live in hotels for a year while I wrote about our adventures.  Nothing is as easy as it sounds and hotels got expensive.  A twelve year old needs to be in school, not sitting in a McDonald’s on my laptop while his father and I figured out a way to get 60 dollars for a night at hotel in the ghetto.

A few weeks ago I was talking to my son about our adventures and he said something I will never forget.  He said “Mom, I am all adventured out.”  It broke my heart to hear him say that because I knew this adventure was not the kind my grandmother was talking about.  However, this adventure taught him to have compassion for others I have never seen, especially in a twelve-year-old.  Everyone we have come across has told me what a helpful and kind kid he is.  Teachers are telling me he is intelligent and articulate.  That being said, our adventure has done damage to his trust in people and given him a fear and an uncertainty a child should not have to deal with.

I know there are families and children who have horrible lives compared to ours.  I thank God every day for what we do have and I know it will only get better.  We will have the adventures my grandmother talked about, and our son will learn to trust again.

 

Our Valley Verde Sundays

I remember Sunday afternoons running through the trees. The sound of fall leaves being crushed under my tennis shoes as I reached the big flat rock I knew so well.  It was part of the mountain, but so barren and grand it looked out of place.   I felt the sting of the brisk air as I ran up the side, slowing only to drop to my hands and knees as the slant of the rock reached towards the heavens.  With the grand rock behind me, and my goal reached, I stood on the edge looking down. Not knowing how blessed I was to see the beauty of that untouched valley below me.  The sun setting and my stomach growling, I turned back to look towards the house. Closing my eyes I could see the chili simmering as the game of trivial pursuit was being put away. I raced the sun running back down the mountain,  Again, slowing on the huge rock as I looked like a crab climbing down. Reaching the house, I opened the mud-room door, the smell coming from the kitchen making my mouth water as I kicked off my shoes.  The chili warm and spicy, mellowed by the honey dripping corn bread filled my rumbling stomach.. As I half listened to the stories being told, I let the voices turn into a calming white noise.. I was content, I was safe. Years have passed. The calm voices are long gone and the beauty has been touched by greed. But, I will always be blessed to have known, and now be able to, cherish the memories of our Valley Verde Sundays.

Change is a Decision

Start by making a step in the direction of change…Keep putting one foot in front of the other…It wont be long before you look back and realize it would be a change to go back…

Simple Tom

Change is a Decision

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Rest In Peace, My Beautiful Friend…

When you hear about the loss of someone’s beloved animal, you call or send a card.  Being at what can only be called a war with that person, and  anyone associated with him, makes sending a card a non-option.  As does an order of protection.  While your war will continue, you make a choice that for today,  you will remember his friend.  The one he sat with late at night sharing his thoughts.  The one that gave him comfort when no one else understood.  The one who was unconditional love.

My Friend

For today… you will give your anger and pain to God…

For today… you will say a prayer for peace and comfort in your enemies loss…

For today… you will remember his friend…

May you be running free, across sunny fields of green…

With the warmth of heaven taking away your pain…

Know that you were loved, and will be missed by many…

Until we met again…rest in peace, my beautiful friend…

Follow Your Coyote

Their path you are to follow looks clear…It looks easy…It is like walking on air…For miles you can see the open space in front…Nothing clouds the view…you can see everything ahead long before you have to adjust your step..You turn to look over your shoulder…You can see a reflection of the path in front of you…Everything is the same… You start to wonder if this is all there is on this well-worn road…

The Monarch touches your hand for a split second, pulling your eyes to follow..He dances around the bright blooming flower that grows on the side…The humming bird drinks her nectar…You wonder…Can no one else see that beauty…Why do you stay on this path…

Spun360

Spun360

You continue on, every step becoming like last….The Coyote plays hide in go seek, watching as you walk…The flicker of his ears allowing the sun to reflect the morning dew as it flies through crisp air…His dark eyes searching your soul, wondering if you have the fearless craving to seek out more than you understand…

A small break appears in the cactus and trees that surround you…Sitting on a rock…the Coyote stares…waiting with his knowledge for you to follow…You stumble and you fall…You cry out as the cactus are sharp and rocks do not bend…

You stand proud with bloody knees and scraped elbows pulling the quills out…Next to you are those who laughed when you followed the Coyote to your own path…You will heal…Your mind is quick…Your heart softens into kindness…Your eyes able to see beauty they cannot….

And you will follow…What is Yours…

Leaving them to continue on What is Theirs…Only following their own refection…

English: Coyote at Ridgefield National Wildlif...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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Arizona’s Bullet Proof Paper

Hollow PointCreating one email to insure an order of protection will be placed on you is not that easy.  It has to be a detailed step by step run down of what you would like to do.  Involving the elderly will improve chances the judge will issue it against you.  However, if you really want to see your name after the word defendant, make sure the plaintiff writes fiction well.

With an OOP, they are going to arrest you first, ask questions later.  Which will probably stop most from contacting the plaintiff for the next year.  You do not want to spend the night sleeping on urine saturated cement, digesting a dry bologna sandwich and peanuts, with twenty other happy souls and one toilet .  If you are lucky enough to live in Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s county, you will get to enjoy your meal in a 120 degree sweat filled tent wearing pink. I do enjoy being outside, feeling the morning sun on my face, and I look good in pink.  However, I learned years ago that, I, in fact, do not like Joey’s bologna sandwiches.

You have to be careful, especially if you are not certain who is involved in wanting you to meet the sheriff. Situations will be created, enabling constant contact with the authorities.  While this can be stressful at first, most cops are understanding of the situation.  They have even heard the F-Bomb dropped once or twice, and probably will not freak out much if you slip. If they ask strange questions, remember they were probably told a story, so just answer the best you can.  Once enough police reports are written documenting you are not crazy, but the plaintiff may have some issues, the questions fade.

If you ask for a hearing, and it results in anything other than dismissed, Brady will apply.  Which means you are on the “Fed’s Gun Blacklist”  for the next year.  You probably want to re-frame from having a gun within your reach.  Notice, I said “a” gun, it does not have to be one acquired for yourself.  If you know it is around, according to Mr. Brady, it becomes yours.  You might ponder that idea into clarity, over the next five years in the Federal Pen, if it confuses you now.

I one hundred percent believe in the second amendment, and in Arizona’s gun laws.  If a criminal wants a gun, they are going to get one. Or five AK-47‘s with a thousand rounds, if that is their desire.  Regardless of the law, Mr. “What You Need”, is always standing on the corner, like a Walmart greeter to the black market.  Supply will never disappear as long as there is a demand.  Until society does a 180 and someone figures out why we shoot each other, I demand the right to defend myself.

Which brings me to the bullet proof paper that has me listed as a defendant.  The creative writer of fiction, the plaintiff,  is quoted as saying, ” I have no doubt, she would use a gun if she had one.”  I did have one, when I sent my OOP granting email, a nice Smith and Wesson 45 with a hair trigger.  The hollow point ammunition that filled the two clips may have even been illegal, I do not really know.  I can promise there is not a lot that would stop one of them once the trigger was pulled.  Certainly not a piece of paper.

I do respect the order, and the gun sold with me never breaking the Brady Law.  My beautiful Smith and Wesson will be replaced one day.  When it is, I will still continue to fight my battles with words, maybe even a F-bomb or two.  That being said, come at me with an intention to physically harm my family, it is a guarantee, I will use my right to replace F-Bombs with hollow points.