And then it became real...

Gun control. Violence in our country's classrooms. The right to bear arms. Adequate mental health services. All the bees that have been flying around in my head concerning the tragedy at Virginia Tech a week ago were silenced, really, when I found out that someone I knew and loved, someone I worked with at the holiest place on earth, Camp Glisson... someone that was kind and intelligent and creative...was one of the professors that was killed last Monday.


So the debates on gun control and parenting and bullying and rights and amendments and all that crap? Shove it. File 13. My friend Jaime, who once for reasons I have long since forgotten gave me a tennis ball with the word Nermal (and subsequent Nermals I and II when the campers dropped them in the pool or got them too muddy to handle) written on it in marker, is dead. That's enough to wrap my mind around for one day. I'll let the rest of you sort all that other rubbish.

The link above in the title is to Jaime's artwork...amazing stuff.
(edited 9/27/2019 to add that the link is no longer active, sadly)

Where I am now...

Have I been sleeping?
I’ve been so still
Afraid of crumbling
Have I been careless?
Dismissing all the distant rumblings
Take me where I am supposed to be
To comprehend the things that I can’t see

Cause I need to move
I need to wake up
I need to change
I need to shake up
I need to speak out
Something’s got to break up
I’ve been asleep
And I need to wake up
Now

And as a child
I danced like it was 1999
My dreams were wild
The promise of this new world
Would be mine
Now I am throwing off the carelessness of youth
To listen to an inconvenient truth

That I need to move
I need to wake up
I need to change
I need to shake up
I need to speak out
Something’s got to break up
I’ve been asleep
And I need to wake up
Now

I am not an island
I am not alone
I am my intentions
Trapped here in this flesh and bone

Oh I need to move
I need to wake up
I need to change
I need to shake up
I need to speak out
Something’s got to break up
I’ve been asleep
And I need to wake up
Now

I want to change
I need to shake up
I need to speak out
Oh, Something’s got to break up
I’ve been asleep
And I need to wake up
Now

-M. Etheridge

Important: Kevin Sites in the Hotzone

We may see the news shows or listen to the radio. Some of us are NPR junkies and can't get enough. Others get up an hour earlier than we have to in order to catch the world service from the BBC.

Here's something else to add to your routine. It's a Flickr member who also is a contributor to Yahoo. He is called Kevin Sites, and he has taken some breathtaking and earth-shattering images from around the globe, specifically in the "hotzones" of the world. He has images from Sri Lanka, from Afghanistan, from Kashmir, and all of them remind us that behind the news stories and the wartime rhetoric there are real people that are just like us in the world that are suffering, rejoicing, and living, just as we do.

Click on the link in the title. You'll be glad you did.

Wow.

Y'all, I am scared of guns. I will admit that right here and now. Scared Stupid Of Guns. Before you ask, I have fired two guns in my life, a .22 and a .45 on a shooting range. I have had a shotgun fired in my general direction by two high school "friends" who had too much to drink and didn't recognize the car I was in coming up their driveway. I know people who own guns. I will say that I wish that it was illegal to own handguns in our country like it is in others.

The events yesterday at Virginia Tech have me thinking, and y'all that know me know that's a dangerous thing. But I just feel moved to post, so bear with me.

I did a little research this morning on the internet about gun laws in Alabama where I live now and I was horrified. Horrified. Just google "gun laws + Alabama" and you'll see what I mean. For that matter, just google gun laws + any state, specifically those in the south, and I think you'll get the jist.

Alabama has no law that requires adults to either store loaded guns in a place that is reasonably inaccessible to children, or use a device to lock the gun.

Alabama does not require a permit before purchasing a handgun, rifle, or shotgun. There is a 2 day waiting period required before purchasing a handgun, but explain to me how that works? If there's no permit then how can a two day waiting period be enforced? The only requirement I could find is a permit to carry a handgun.

After I got out from under my desk, I went on with my research. Check out these pearls of American wisdom:

From an About.com article on the lifting of the assault weapon ban:

A free human should be entitled to own any gun that he or she desires, both as a basic human right to an effective means of self-defense against everyday evildoers, and as - brace yourselves, oh ye trusting masses - a hedge and defense against oppressive government... just as was intended by the founders of this great nation.

Meanwhile, I will hope for a respite from new idiotic and ineffective laws, and hope that someday soon our world will tilt back onto its axis so we can get back to enjoying the freedom we were promised by the many men who perished in founding this nation. Tough to envision that when you can't even take your fingernail clippers onto an airplane these days, but it could happen I guess. I'd like to live to see that happen, and here's hoping that you will, too.

I find it disturbing but unfortunately not surprising to share my country with people who truly hold these opinions. There was an occasion recently where a person who was a guest in my home talked about "having to shoot" a neighboring dog that was apparently a nuisance. Had to. No other choice. People who think that is a method for problem solving should not have easy access to guns. People who have severe mental illnesses that are going untreated should not have access to guns. I understand that there are those in this country who do take the time to be trained in the use of firearms and who have their weapons licensed and registered and permitted and whatever else you can do safety wise if you must own a firearm. But I'm sorry to say that there are far more that don't than those that do.

Just look at this statistic I found in an AP article this morning:

Britain's 46 homicides involving firearms was the lowest total since the late 1980s. New York City, with 8 million people compared to 53 million in England and Wales, recorded at least 579 homicides last year.

One city in our country had more homicides involving firearms than all of England and Wales. One city! And it isn't just one or two more, it's 533 more. That's 533 people that might still be alive today.

What does the rest of the world think? This sound byte from an Italian online newspaper comes via Yahoo News:

"The latest attack on a U.S. campus will shake up America, maybe it will provoke more vigorous reactions than in the past, but it won't change the culture of a country that has the notion of self-defense imprinted on its DNA and which considers the right of having guns inalienable," Corriere wrote in its front-page story.

I know that stricter gun control laws won't put an end to the violence in my country. It might curb the numbers, but I think that we are past the point where we could conceive of an end to the kind of horror we saw at Virginia Tech yesterday. It's in our culture, in our blood.

My thoughts and prayers are with the families of the victims, the survivors, and the family and friends of the shooter. My hope is that some sort of change, however small, will come out of this tragedy and make my country a safer place to live.

Thanks, Easter Bunny...BOK BOK

So this morning when I came stumbling out of the guest room to feed the dogs there was the cutest little basket waiting in the hall! In the tradition of our mother, my sister...I mean the Easter Bunny had left me an easter basket with lots of yummy diet busting treats inside. Yay for Easter!

But wait...there was a toy in the basket, something that the "Easter Bunny" also used to always include when we were growing up. This toy, however, is a classic combination of humor, yummy bubble gum, and one of the symbols of the season, an egg laid by a chicken.

May I introduce...the Clucker.



Little dude...err...dude-ette...errr....okay the chicken works like this. Twist its head off, insert no more than four of the bubble gum "eggs" (because to do so, according to the warning, would jam the mechanism...so true, isn't it?), then wind up Clucker and let it go. It walks, it...makes a grindy noise, and it poops out a bubble gum egg.

Yay Easter. This may be the best easter basket toy I've ever gotten.

From "Waiting for Daisy"

Thursday, 22 March

Week three for Daiz has gone pretty well.

• On Monday, we learned why it is important not to sit on Mommy when she's home sick from work. It makes her already laboured-due-to-allergies breathing even worse when your boney heiney is on her lungs.
• On Tuesday, we learned not to run underneath Hunky when he is going out the back door. He will eventually move if we are patient, and lifting him a foot off the ground while he's trotting only serves to make him cross.
• On Wednesday, we learned LOTS of things. We learned that if Jeany eats poo in the backyard Mommy brushes EVERYONE'S teef. We learned that taking the glass that Mommy had tea in that she left on the coffee table to a dog bed is not the smartest idea we've ever had. Further, we learned that if Mommy is asleep on the couch and we step on her windpipe in an effort to snuggle up as close as possible to her she turns a very interesting shade of purple.
• Today we learned about the BROILER. When Mommy has something yummy under the BROILER we should not put our noses anywhere near it. Mommy says that if we do, it becomes a BROIL-HER and that it will hurt a lot. Also, we learned that sitting in the chair and a half that Mommy sits in WITH Mommy will make her get up and move to the sofa, therefore giving us more room to stretch.

Other random things we've learned this week:

1. Pot holders are not toys.
2. Mommy's pants are not toys.
3. The cat is not a toy and can get very cross.
4. Noses and tongues go in water bowls but back feet do not because then they sliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide across the kitchen and create a pond.
5. When Mommy leaves the house she always comes back, or at least she has so far. We're not sure when she comes home and then goes right back out again, like to a place called the post box.
6. Jeany does not like to be bounced on, nor does she like having Daisy's mouth around her nose.
7. Hunky does not like having Daisy's mouth around his nose but will tolerate that longer than Jeany.
8. It is not a good idea to body slam Hunky OR Jeany when one wants attention from Mommy.

Daisy...I still look at her sometimes and have to pinch myself that she's real...

Friday, 30 March

Week Four was a little better than three...

• When you put together a bookshelf, make sure that you've collected all the little plastic pieces and put them away when you're done. If you don't, your Leelo Baby will eat them but then give them back in a nice puddle all over the living room carpet.
• If you are running late, give up the ghost. Your Leelo Baby will sense that you are in a hurry and absolutely refuse to enter her crate without being picked up and tossed.
• We have sort of learned that stuffy toys do not live in the backyard. Sort of.
• Daisy and Mills are tolerating each other. Mills likes to stare her down and back her up by putting his ears back and puffing up his tail.
• Daisy is just as good as Jeany at helping me clean up cat vomit.
• There is absolutely NOTHING better than being half asleep at 6am, letting the dogs outside, and seeing Daisy dance around the yard with her tennis ball in her mouth. If the world had one teensy fraction of the joy that she has at ANY given moment of her life...

As Seen on a Church Sign, v.2.5

On the PCA sign this morning: "If we believe in the new covenant why do we learn the old one?" My answer? Those who do not learn from History are doomed to repeat it. Just look at the war on terror...

There was another great one on the sign in front of a UMC this morning but of course I can't remember it now. It was very positive...last week's on that same church was "I was going to waste but Jesus recycled me." Sounds like a hippie and someone from Campmeeting got together to write a gospel song, doesn't it? I like it though...promotes the never-ending forgiveness that is one of the best parts of what I believe in, considering what a screw-up I tend to be.

OH WAIT, I've remembered... "Love sees with a telescope, not a microscope." Isn't that fantastic? Love includes everyone. Love does not discriminate. Perfect.

Wait, is that a shoe?

Wait, is that a shoe?
Originally uploaded by NanLassiter.

Daisy has redecorated my house a million times over with the toys from the toy box. See if you can find the object that she brought to the den that WASN'T one of her toys...

She's Home and So Is My Heart

There was a huge hole in my heart when Profile died. He was such a big part of my life. I wanted to just curl up in my bed and never get up again. But something miraculous happened the first week of March that has given me back my Home and taped up the shattered bits of my heart. Two somethings actually.

Just in time. Thank you Daisy for filling the hole in my pack and my heart that Profile left gaping. I'm sure he would have loved playing with you. And Simon? Well, ta. Just ta.

Reflections on a Month

For the past four weeks, I have been the only interpreter at the hospital. (Now to be fair, I was gone for five working days in the middle, so technically it's only been three weeks.) Today, in honor of surviving that month without a single fatality or screamingly huge contract interpreter bill (well, other than the week I was gone but I digress), I wore a striped shirt and tennis shoes along with my jeans for Casual Friday.

For those scratching heads at the moment, interpreters tend to NOT wear stripes or plaid or anything other than solid, non-distracting, colors that contrast with one's skin tone.

There were days that I didn't sit down but once or twice all day. There were days that I was literally ready to fall asleep while actively interpreting just because I was so tired. Some days I could spell trazadone but couldn't spell my name. But it's over and Brian will be back on Monday.

I've learned that I know myself pretty well when it comes to my job. My flat out refusal to interpret anything longer than 45 minutes without a team interpreter does not come from laziness, as I'd feared, but rather from the fact that the message DOES indeed suffer when my brain and hands start to tire.

I've learned that I'm not as afraid of my job as I thought recently. It's hard to be worried that you're going to get socked in the teeth when you're running 90 to nothing all day long. Just doesn't occur to you.

I've learned that I really love interpreting and really don't want to do anything else. Ever. I don't want to be a teacher or a psychologist or a social worker or a secretary or anything...I like what I do, I know how to do what I do, and I feel that I do it pretty darn well.

I think I've earned a sick day next week...

Steam

I am a professional.

I am fluent in both languages. I'm not sure that you're even fluent in English.

I don't need to be told how to do my job. I had to have been pretty clear about what I was doing for my college to grant me a bachelor's degree and my professional organization to grant me national certification.

I'm fairly familiar with mental illness and working in this setting. The past 9 years of working in this setting have seen to that.

I know what I was hired to do, and I know what you were hired to do. Let's not confuse the two, shall we?

Until you know what it is like to be a necessary evil...until you know what it is like to be a walking after-thought...until you have been spoken about in front of your face as though you are an appliance or a chair in the room...

(Here's where my more sensitive readers might want to scroll down, by the way.)

Until you can understand sign and English and work between the two, get the hell out of my face, my business, and my way and let me do my job.

Whew.

As seen on a church sign on my way to work today...

"Do not love the world."

How disturbing is THAT? I know what they are getting at, being the good preacher's daughter that I am...I'm sure it's a reference to the passage in Romans that says to be of the world but not in the world. But do not LOVE the world?

What about "love your neighbor as yourself?" Or one of my favorites from friends that lived in the same little conservative town where I grew up: "hate the sin but not the sinner?" In my mind, "Do not love the world," is equivalent to "Hate those that are not just like me," and those of you that know me should know how well that idea would sit.

Our world is a miraculous, marvelous, terrifying, beautiful, horrible, interesting place and if we do not love it, embrace it, include all the people on the earth in it...then we do not deserve it. For the more fundamental Christians among us, how can you follow Christ's missive to "go make of all disciples" unless you love them first? If you don't love them, then who cares if they go to Heaven or Hell? For those in helping professions, how do you help someone if you don't first love them...not love as in Barry White, chocolates, hearts, and flowers but love as in care for as a fellow human being? In my world, you can't help if you can't love.

If "Do not love the world," means keep your eyes/focus/mind/heart on your concept of a reward after death, a Heaven or Nirvana or whatever your tradition recognizes, then I feel sad for you. The God that I believe in put us on the earth and made the earth for us to enjoy, not to shun and seclude from, keeping only to other like-minded believers. The God that I believe in is represented in every tree, every plant, every face of every person that comes into and out of my life. Why would I not love the world? God made the world.

So I say love the world. Love the people in the world. It's a lot harder to destroy or wage war against your fellow humans when you love them, wouldn't you say?

Unpacking Adjectives, Digestives, and Dog Toys...

The time since 28th February is a bit of a blur for me. Let me try to catch you up to speed so you can see why I'm not sure where I've been for the past two weeks...
28 February
Work half day at the hospital. Go home, sling dogs and belongings into car. Head north for Austell. Drop dogs off at sister's, head to Atlanta to pick up Simon. Pick up Simon, go back to sister's house, out to dinner, then resume restorative coma...that hasn't been restorative since I left London in August.

1 March
Load belongings and dogs and Simon in car and head for Jekyll. Swim down I-16 to meet Kimmy and Leah in Savannah. Continue swimming south through torrential rain to Jekyll Island. Check in for Sandy Paws and move into the Sistah's Villa. Again seek out coma.

2 March
Attend various and sundry Sandy Paws events and pick up Daisy from Anne and Cathie. Decide Daisy is the most perfect greyhound girly ever to be born. Host dinner for Follow That Hound folks in the Sistah's Villa. Sort out Daisy's first night with me and proceed to not sleep until around 3-4am, thanks to Daisy pacing and intermittently trying to open the door by biting the door knob.

3 March
Am awakened at 7amish by dogs wanting out. Am allowed to sleep a bit longer by the most wonderful man on the earth who takes the dogs out. Jeany and Daisy have a minor arguement resulting in a boo boo on Jeany's face. Resume attending Sandy Paws events and showing off the new baby, as well as getting to know Simon.

4 March
Pack up the villa and head for Jacksonville. Are not permitted into room until 3pm, make it to Cathie's for dinner around 5pm. Watch Daisy and Hunky run in the puppy pens and feel heart swell three times its size.

5 March
Do absolutely nothing all day but hang out with Simon and the pups, then head to the track at Orange Park in the evening for the FTH party. Totally enjoy evening. Become sad at the prospect of my vacation being almost over.

6 March
Drive the most boring road EVER, I-10, back to Alabama. Deposit dogs and go grocery shopping. Begin to mope that Simon is going back home on Wednesday.

7 March
Call Delta and extend Simon's stay till Saturday. Rejoice, give thanks, and sing. Take Simon to meet parents. Coma at the end of the day.

Thursday and Friday
I had to work, and Saturday my heart broke sending him back home on the plane. Now...I have to work again?? Ugh. Pictures to follow I'm sure.

It's 1am, do you know where your ability to sleep is?

If it's with mine, would you kindly send it back to Montgomery? I am still awake at 1am, staring down another day of work and so much left to do to be ready to go on my trip Wednesday.

Hmmm, why the insomnia?

In 3 days I will meet someone in person that has become a very dear friend over the past five months.

In 4 days I will meet my new babygirl for the second time, only this time she'll be coming home with me!

In 6 days I will be back again with all my FTH friends, people who know me better than most and whom I love dearly.

Yeah, I'd say that's plenty. I still have to change the oil in the car, pack my suitcase, make sure I have all that the dogs need, and get the car packed and ready to roll Wednesday morning.

I may not sleep till Wednesday night.

Post office labels

A few hours ago I went to the post office to pick up the certified copy of my divorce papers. It's real now, official, in print, etc etc that I'm soon going to be single again. But I won't be single, I'll be DIVORCED.

That word means different things to different people I think. I'm still struggling with whether it means brave, free, stupid, deficient, tainted, used, or just no-longer-married. I've had a roller coaster of emotion since the phone call that let me know the papers were on the way...am I happy to be almost into a new chapter of my life? Am I relieved that what has been, at times, a very unpleasant time in my life is almost over? Or am I back to being out of the norm as far as most of my friends and family are concerned? Unmarried. No children. Over 35.

I've just about forgotten who Nancy Elizabeth Allen is, but I suppose I'm going to have to find out...as soon as the judge bangs his or her gavel, that's who I will return to being, like the Cylons do after death on the TV show Battlestar Galactica. All my old thoughts, feelings, opinions, memories, everything will remain intact, but I'll be in a new shell, so to speak. A new/old me.

The thing I've been struggling with that I thought was just fear of being alone is really a bit deeper than that, and it hit me as I was reading over the court papers. It's a fear that I will be alone forever...somehow, twisted though it seems, at least while I was still married to Scott I didn't feel alone even though I was two states and a gazillion emotional miles away.

Watch this space for more developments. You'll see it here when I pop back into my new body on board the base ship. Too bad I can't look like Number 3 afterward, hey?