I Will See You Again, thanks to Carrie Underwood for the Inspiration

Outside my French doors this morning there was nothing but rain, so this afternoon we went up to Warrior Mountain. Mist coated weather passing, sun caressed the moment. It made me think of Carrie Underwood's performance last night on the CMT awards. Her heart was obviously with those still mired in the tragedies of the tornado, yet, she was able to express a firm belief in a better tomorrow. See you all then. May the vision, the moments of your tomorrows be filled with joy. Sweet dreams.

When the Tornado Hit Oklahoma

Outside my French doors, the landscape pulses with new life, swollen with the ripeness that signals the health of our Earth. My mind shifts to images telegraphed over airways in the past two days, stark smears upon the surface of Oklahoma, lives swept away in a fury of nature. Having seen the destruction of a tornado up close, though I personally wasn't affected, I sense the pain of sharp shards under the feet of the survivors, the raw wounds that will leave lifetime scars on those living this nightmare in the Midwest. 

We cannot know what all they deal with as they shift through the rubble of their lives. It seems so little to simply hold them close in my thoughts and prayers, but I remember survivors eyes when we showed up to help patch a roof, when they heard of an offered prayer. The people of Oklahoma need even the little things to move forward. May God bless and keep them through this difficult time. May we hold them tight and continue to let them know they are in our hearts.

Boston, may hope overshadow the sadness

I look at what I wrote four hours ago about the beauty and peace of a spring day in the South, and I am sad. Dark clouds of hate have burst forth in Boston since then. They've taken the gift of light from the day we'd been given. 
Please world of my fellow humans, at least the few my words reach, let's begin a movement of emphasizing the beauty of being alive. Let us send hope of a world without violence. Let us stop shouting about our differences and start finding our similarities. Let us love one another, at least here, in our own country. Let us not destroy. Let us focus on the wonderfulness of our world, not on the evil thoughts of a few. Let us reach out and hold the hand of peace. Amen.

Time to Leave?

Soggy. That's how my right side feels, above my butt, below my ribs, with a knife made for sharp stabs protruding from it. It's what I've gained from sitting, listening to the rain for too long, and typing gibberish about moments in time.

I cock my head at the airy tap-tap of tennis shoes headed down the stairs. His tread is lighter since the attack. Before, the steps were like rocks being dropped one at a time, huge breadcrumbs leading to destruction. I'd heard him, ignored the warning. Minutes wasted.

"Going running. Hi George. Leave that inside when you're finished." He says the words loud enough for our "good as it gets" neighbor to hear, happy enough to twist the knife in my back.

I try to get to my feet, but the planks of the floor smack my face. It hurts. It hurt when he was laying down new ones and hit me in the head with a 2x4 last year. I got up then. I can get up now.

My hands slip in the wet goo of my insides spilling on the hardwood. Eight quarts, two probably gone in the first couple of minutes. That leaves me about six to live.

"Linda?" George drops the rake he'd borrowed, envelopes me.

"No." I think I say the word, push at him, but he doesn't let go.

"Forgot my phone. What's happened? George, what the fuck have you done?" Boulders landing, unmistakable, right outside the evidence pool of red. "Hold on, Linda. I'm calling 9-1-1." He backs away. "Help. The neighbor attacked my wife."

"No." The word takes all my breath. It will take a minimum of ten minutes for EMS to get to our house.

Last time, he'd gotten in nine punches before then. Said I'd be dead, if he'd wanted me to be and he'd get away with it. Said keep your mouth shut. I'd told them all was okay. I figured they were too late to save me anyway.

He edges forward, smirks.

The scarlet pool spreads. I am ready to go. Not one quart at a time though.

"No." My focus shifts from the man outside the red zone to George the Good. I take his hand, press it to my wound. I hold on tight to the moment. It isn't quite right for leaving. This time, it's not too late.

Honor Veterans -The Symbol

This is a piece I wrote some years ago to honor a veteran who never spoke about his service.

The Symbol

Every Veteran’s Day I hang the flag that draped my stepfather’s coffin, every year except for one. That year I did not look forward to the holiday as I had in the past. I did not hang the flag, for I had hung it on the front porch on September 11th of the preceding year and had yet to take it down.
That September 11th was a nightmare of a day, and my heart ached as I watched the flag unfurl in the breeze. The reason I hung the flag was sad. The reason I owned it was sad. They both dealt with death. The flag hung through a complete cycle of the seasons and throughout that year I would look out the window and see the flag twisted into a tight spiral. It seemed appropriate that Old Glory wound around upon itself since my feelings were also twisted tight within me.
There are no words for how I felt. It was as if my ability to express emotion was shattered in the explosions that shook our nation that September. I stared at the tangled flag and could not summon the energy needed to set it free. There was a void inside me. The internal essence of the United States of America, that treasured part of my identity, had been damaged and I was afraid. I grieved.
Then one day as I stared at the flag the wind changed and this special piece of cloth unfurled and snapped in the breeze as if irritated at having its independence stifled. In a wild, daring dance of red, white and blue it cavorted, made me grin in spite of my fear. I watched it and my heart relaxed, the pain eased. I smiled deep inside for the first time in months. You can’t kill a good idea, I realized.
The spirit of America is meant to be free, not twisted and confined. We are a people who dance upon the winds of our dreams. So today I will take a long moment to thank my stepfather for the flag that lay across his coffin. Then I will go outside, hang his flag, place my hand over my heart and saluted the vision that symbolizes our country. I will twirl around, synchronize my movements with those of Old Glory and I will celebrate the ones who released me from fear. They gave so much for me. The least I can do is honor Veteran’s Day for them.