What Makes Me A Christian?

I have been observing the world around me, reflecting.
I decided an evaluation was necessary. I do this often and highly recommend it to others.
I asked myself this question, "What makes me a Christian?", and the obvious answer is because I am a Christ follower.

What does that mean?
Really?
Does that mean I must live a perfect life?
A life without sinning, sadness, anger, fear?

According to some around me, what makes a person a Christian is perfection. I must be perfect. I can not stray from the path in the slightest. Any infraction will cause me to lose my salvation and be condemned to Hell and damnation. That's pretty harsh. Things have been going on in my life that have caused me much sadness, fear and anger, does this make me less of a Christian?
There was a time when I wanted to die and now I am eager to live for Christ. I laugh a lot and but sometimes I am sad. I used to hold things in and try not to lash out in anger.
Many may say that perhaps my spiritual life is faltering and I need to work on it. Others may say that due to the circumstances that are surrounding me, my recent emotional ups and downs are normal for any human being Christian and Non-Christian.

Jesus Christ himself showed anger when the moneychangers were at the temple selling thier wares. He was appalled and said, "This is a house of Prayer" He knocked over the tables displaying the merchandise and told them to beat it(paraphrased) Matthew 21:11-13

If my anger is justified and due to some type of injustice then I suppose I can still be a Christian. If my anger is rooted from nothing, no reason at all then there is a problem. Being angry for the sake of being angry, bitter or resentful is not really Christ-like. The Bible shows me that Jesus was sad at times too. He cried just before His crucifixion. He cried when His friend Lazarus died. I think my emotions do not make me less of a Christian. A Christian will be angry at the abuse of others, injustice, discrimination and then do something about it.

What makes me a Christian is if I am truly saddened by the circumstances around me, The War, Darfur, child abuse,death.
What makes me Christian is if I, in some way or another to the best of my abilities do something about it, pray, donate time or money, protect, nurture or mourn.

The fact that things around me get me angry should not be judged. The fact that I cry because I am sad does not mean I have no hope left or that I no longer trust in God. It makes me more human. It makes me understand my world and the people in it even more, having gone through similar circumstances that cause certain emotions. I, personally am not edified or comforted by anyone who claims they never went through any drama in thier life and life is nothing but perfect for them. I find comfort in knowing people around me have gone through what I have gone through and survived.
I find it abnormal that a person can walk around self righteous,"perfect" without sin that attitude is just creepy. "Judge not lest thou be judged." "He who has no sin cast the first stone"

This is my favorite Bible story. Condensing the story; A woman was about to be stoned to death for adultery and they tried to justify this action but Jesus said, "He Who hath no sin cast the first stone." Go ahead if your perfect cast the stone. Of course no one did.

Just some thoughts

Teachers Vent at The Diner

I went to the diner this morning. yes, after 20 days at home I went out. I can't take the Shut- in Life I thought I could so I don't think I am Agoraphobic after all. Anyway Hubby, Jake and I went to our favorite diner in B*y R*dge and at the table next to ours sat three miserable women. They talked so loud (or is it they spoke so loudly)as Brooklyn girls usually do (including myself) They talked about Bush and how he should be punished harshly. I'm not going to even tell you what they said, it was really bad.

They talked about husbands and all four women compared themselves to Kizzy from Roots. Nice I said sarcastically. Then they started talking about teaching and I said to myself "Oh God they're teachers!" All the while I am trying to distract myself and play with Jake but even he was annoyed by these women and kept turning back and giving them a death stare. His famous grill. They talked about their goal being that when their students see them in the hallway they should run in fear. They laughed. I got nauseaus. One of them talked about a F'n kid who bit her and how she had to go to the hospital to get tested, you know the girl was latina, so she could have had A.I.D.S That's when I asked as loudly as I could "Jacob quieres mas jugo?" (Jacob would you like some more juice?) They didn't even flinch. I continued eating my breakfast and tried to talk to my husband and whispered in spanish - that the women beside us are all miserable hags who teach helpless victims...I mean children. As always Hubby remained cool, calm and collected and tried to get me to calm down. I love him.

They talked about how much they hated their jobs and on and on blah blah blah. I wanted to tell them they did not realize how blessed they are so they should stop griping and if you are that miserable then quit and give the children of our future a darn break.

Teachers all gripe. We did. We griped about Curriculum reports, progress reports, faculty meetings, parents but rarely about the children and if the child was a problem we griped about how help wasn't coming fast enough.There's always that child that gets under your skin but we were never cruel like these teachers were/are But I can proudly say that I loved teaching and my friends who teach love it as well and respect the children they teach.

Then I went to B*st B*y with hubby to check out some computers. He is really having a hard time with them lately. He has a new flat screen and some B*se speakers and a new keyboard but the motherboard has to be replaced. We saw this cool PC from H*wlitt P*ckard . It was touch screen for about $2,000 It was very Minority Report but it's one piece monitor is attached to the system so if one thing fails you pretty much have to return the whole thing for repair. What was funny was that a computer guy from the store walks over to us and asked if we wanted to know more about it so my hubby asked a few computer Geek questions and the guy had a hard time answering. Then I asked about the sound and he said, "I'll show you."He went to Media Center and then he was lost. I said ,"Play music" and pointed to the option that read "play music" but he ignored me after several attempts and a lot of patience from hubby and I he touches (remember touch screen) "play music" but there is no sound. I reach across and touch the volume because I noticed it was on mute. He said, "no, that's not it." I said, "yes it's on mute see?" pointing to the speaker icon with the red circle and slash across, you know which one... you know the international symbol for "no sound". "No, that's not it." He says this time he is getting annoyed with me. I'm angry now and realize it's because I'm a girl and then I say one last time, "Yeah, It is on mute!" I get an elbow nudge from my hubby along with a smile, "Dejalo" (just leave it be) Another computer guy passes and sees the song title on the screen and says I love that song rev it up. The guy says he's having trouble with the sound and unplugs something from the computer while enthusiastic computer guy is investigating the computer. He says, "It's on mute." and touches the sound icon. " I say, "I'm going to go look at pretty things now because I'm a girl." and walk away.

Wrap it Up!

Tomorrow we celebrate Jakes b-day. My hubby and I got him some cool gifts.

Yay!

Fun!

Today I sent my youngest to get some gift wrapping. "How much do you need?," I asked. Then, I realized that I was shelling out money (and I'm not cheap) for something that will be ripped up in about five seconds and then discarded. What a waste! Especially since Jake is not going to remember the cute blue dog wrapping when he is grown up. He'll probably remember the gift but seriously now. It cost how much for wrapping four or five bucks? Then there's the cute bow, then the cute bag to put the cute gift wrapped in the cute paper that will go unnoticed by the cute kid.

The total will probably be somewhere like seven to ten bucks. Ten bucks can feed some people in some third world country. I hate that phrase "third world" but I digress.

Jake is not going to dress himself with the wrapping paper. He will not use it for shelter and he will not be nourished by it. What I'm trying to say is that he doesn't need the wrapping paper. It's a luxury, more for the grown ups than the child. The child just cares about what's under the wrapping. Gift wrapping is a waste. I have gone to plenty of parties and people ooh and ah about wrapping. The gift wrapping industry must be a money making machine and whoever came up with the whole colored ribbon held together with a staple is a genius and set for life, he or she along with his/her families...generations unless we can come up with something better.

I am not Silas Marner,(famous cheapskate) I will go all out for wrapping on Christmas because nothing says Christmas like shiny red, green, silver and gold wrapping. Ha!

I didn't have much growing up and when I had my first child, there was no baby shower or fuss. I remember getting a gift for my first born and it was the cutest outfit wrapped in the most precious paper. Cherubs all over the place, cute dimply plump ones, simply adorable. I was so touched that someone outside of my hubby and I acknowledged my baby and wanted to express their joy in her birth by giving a gift to my baby girl, and took the time to search for an outfit for her and then search for the perfect wrapping that I cut a piece of the wrapping out and saved it. I still have it. Really I do.

I save all my gift bags too. After saying "thank you" for my gift I always say something about the wrapping sometimes even before I open the gift I'll tell the giver of the gift that they will probably see the bag again because I will reuse it and I have a closet filled with gift bags. Some are so cute and some generic I use them as lunch bags or leftover bags for when Sofi or Debbie come over and take some food home with them. I used to meticulously unwrap gifts so that I could save the wrapping but many around me would grow impatient with my frugalness (is that a word?)

When did the whole gift wrapping thing start anyway? I have searched the internet for the answer to that question and have come up with nothing and I am a good internet researcher so if you know the answer, please share. Am I being too cheap? Am I getting too old? Am I being ridiculous because I haven't slept since the day before yesterday?

Im not sayin'. I'm just sayin'.

Rest in Peace Mama Sofia

The day of the burial was bright and sunny and we were all donned with the appropriate black. Keeping in mind my mother in laws humble nature, I wore a black skirt and minimal jewelry and makeup. The service would begin at the church where she congregated all her life. The service was scheduled for ten so hubby and I were on the road by nine thirty it was a good fifteen to twenty minutes from the hotel. When we left the town of Aguadilla and drove into the small town of Moca, we realized that the traffic was bumper to bumper!!!!

Today of all days there seemed to be hundreds of cars. Because we were in a small town there was no honking, flipping the bird or cussing, so unlike your average traffic demeanor in Brooklyn. Drivers just seemed to drive slowly without making a fuss but my stomach was aching at the thought that we might miss the church service. Traffic was unusual around these parts so neighbors came out of their houses and stared at the traffic, puzzled. The cows stood as close to the barbed wire that protected them from the gravel road as they could. They also knew this amount of traffic was unusual. It was no help that every turn that we had to make was preceded by the same row of cars and then it finally dawned on me. "Could all these people be headed for the church too?", I asked and hubby admitted, "This could all be for Mama."

So we calmed down and sure enough when we reached our destination the rows of cars were seeking parking spots. The church parking lot was filled to capacity and neighbors were signaling all other drivers to use their driveways, which they offered up so readily. So we parked in a strangers lot.

Small towns:)

There was music blaring as we approached the church. Later I found out it was Mamas favorite hymn Beyond the Clouds-Mas Halla Del Sol.

This was a personal request for her funeral. I also found out she paid for her entire burial and had her outfit especially made by her daughter Miriam. When we arrived before the doors of the church, Mamas casket was before us and was ready to be brought in.

Amazing Grace now played, as my hubby and the other late arrivers marched slowly and reverently behind her until we reached available seating.

She was placed before the altar, casket opened and the pastor began to speak the usual funeral speak. There were women dressed in white who stood guard on each side of the casket and every now and then would change guard with other women who were sitting at the pews also dressed in white.

Sofia's grandaughter, hubby's niece, Johanny read the geneology and some anecdotes about Mama Sofia. There were tears, lots of them. Then the Pastor called each adult child of Sofia by name, to approach the casket, and say their final goodbyes.

But before that my hubby, the only pastor in the family shared some thoughts and biblical verses, then he reminded his siblings not to forget their father who still needed them. Father and Mama were divorced after he tried to cut her arm off with a machete, that'll do it. The scar ran from her wrist to just below her elbow. Why mention this? Because, about seven years ago, he gave his heart to Christ and has been a changed man ever since.

On her death bed Mama asked him for forgiveness and he broke down and sobbed like a baby saying that he should be the one asking for forgiveness. They both cried and held each other for a while.

Many of the children had not spoken to their father for years because of his abusive nature and so when the pastor asked Jose (the father) to stand by his wife's casket, it was a bit awkward. The pastor started with the oldest son, Jose jr. and his wife Maria and thier four children, Maritza, Lizbet, Chono and Macho (yes macho). They went forward and said their goodbyes with much tears.

Each of the seventeen brothers and sister, (the seventeen surviving adult children of Mama Sofia) and their families were called, some took the time to embrace their father as a sign that he was forgiven and he embraced them back and held his head humbly down, you could sense that he was very appreciative of the show of affection while at the same time very ashamed of his past actions.

When it was our turn...Johanny read, "Angel and his wife Debra. They have three children Sofia, Debbie and Angelica and their grandson Jacob." With that, we arose from the pew where we sat, waiting to say our final goodbyes and I lost it and started sobbing.

Hubby and I walked hand in hand to Mama, who laid in peace. I touched her ice cold hands expecting to feel warmth for some reason, but their was no life and so obviously no warmth in the hands that consoled me in the past and who held them towards her in prayer. The warm hands that held my three children and my grandson, her great grandson. The same warm hands that embroidered little outfits for my girls and made them cheese pastellillos when they were hungry. These hands were so cold and lifeless.

We returned to our seats and the service continued. Her great grandaughter, a soprano, sang ha hymn. She sounded like an angel. It was beautiful.

The casket was closed and then rolled out of the church and into the hearst and driven away to the burial site.

There was a caravan of over forty cars with just family not including friends and even the Mayor of Moca, (her hometown) The caravan was led by a police motorcade courtesy of the four grandchildren who worked for the police department. Her favorite song blasted from the car especially equipped with huge speakers to play her favorite hymn as we drove across town to the cemetary.

This time as we passed homes neighbors came out and held their heads down with reverance. There was mention of her death in the papers because she had made history as the only woman who bore twenty children, seventeen still living in the town of Moca.

At the burial sight, I stood amazed at the beauty that surrounded her. She was to be buried on a small hill , lush with bright green perfectly manicured grass overlooking beautiful mountains. Among the dignified tears were birds singing and a nice cool breeze.

My hubby was a pall bearer and seeing him carrying his mother was touching and I know it must have been very difficult for him.

The next day hubby and I returned, alone, to say our final goodbyes.

He spoke to Mama and I stepped back to give him his space and time with her. The flowers arranged on her grave were beginning to fade and dry. There was a vase of flowers that toppled over. Hubby picked it up and placed it on the foot of the gravesight began to straighten the ribbons containing the names of the loved ones. He cried again and said goodbye.

He is not sleeping much these days and tells me he has a big hole in his heart. I understand the loss of a parent so I know what he is talking about. How different the world suddenly becomes. It is so different and the emptiness is so obvious. I tell him that he'll never... not miss her but the pain does get easier to deal with but for now it is still very raw and it will take time.

I know the holidays to come will be hard and every milestone that he cannot share with his mother will be bittersweet. Time does ease the pain but it doesnt heal it but God certainly does provide us with a peace that passes all understanding and an enormous strength to see us through.

All About Me

Warning: The Following is very narcissistic

When I taught second grade, there was a part of the curriculum called All About Me because seven year olds think of no one else but themselves. This is what they tell you in ed courses and curriculum workshops. I happen to think that is a little exaggerated. I think a seven year old could think and care about someone else. Anyway this isn't about seven year olds this is about me.

I tried to step outside of myself today and imagined what others thought of me. This reflection came about while I sat in church. The scripture reading was Luke 16:23 The rich man in Hades. I thought about the rich man in Hades for a bit. What did people think about him when he was alive.

When I looked up from my Bible I spotted Sister Margie looking at me, waving and smiling. Nice. I returned the smile. Then I started thinking about what she thought of me. I never spoke to her much but have known her since I was five years old. She was my Sunday School Teacher. Does she think I'm nice? Does she think I am super holy because I have been in church my whole life and because I am a pastor's wife? Does she think I am smart? This is not about me caring what other people think of when they see me it's more curiosity.

We all do it, we look at a person and make our assumptions about how we think the person is, what kind of life they lead, their likes and dislikes. We are sometimes surprised and this is a reminder for us not to make assumptions.

I never suspected my very conservative and demure friend, Jamaican Queen to be a Trekkie or Dad of twins to love R&B. A few teachers I have worked with would sit with me at yard and we would try to predict the futures of the children running around. We'd say things like,"He is going to work in construction. She will be in fashion design. He will need a therapist for the rest of his life. She will be a veterinarian." and so on.

What do I want people to think of when they see me? I want them to think I am smart. I want them to think I am trying to be a good Christian, a good mom, a good wife and a good friend. Not necessarily in that order. I want them to enjoy my singing and my art. But I don't want them to tell me to my face because it embarasses me. I want them to know that I am truly there for them if they are ever in need. I want them to know that I care even when it seems like I don't because I don't quickly react to their tears or rantings. I want them to know that I think about them a lot. I think too much my husband says. I think he's right but I can't help it.

A few years ago Beautiful Italian Mom Who Helps Boss was in distress and when she saw me she said,"Debbie, you are a praying woman ask St. Francis to help me find my wedding ring. I lost it." I quickly felt her distress and it took over me. This was soon after she lost her husband. So it was extra upsetting for her. When I went to the classroom it was all I could think of. Maybe she dropped it in the car, maybe she never put it on this morning. Maybe it fell down the drain!!! I prayed hard as I stuffed student folders and attended assembly and cut out scarecrows. Then there was a call for me on the intercom. "Ms. R please call the front desk." I immediately did and it was Italian Mom. "I found it, In the passenger seat of my car!"

I was so happy. I could carry on for the rest of the day without worry. Wow this seems like I am patting myself on the back but like I said I WANT people to think of me in the ways mentioned above.

I am just trying to be the best person I can be. Really. I can get angry (Don't laugh, I can). I cry too much about emotional things but won't cry when I am in pain. It takes a lot of pain to make me cry. I can be worrisome at times. I hurt very easily but at the same time I can be very, very strong. I can get hit by a van and not shed a tear but If you snap at me I become a big bowl of cry baby.

Many times people think I am reacting to something and they'll ask me what's wrong. I love people. I really do. I may be angry with them or irritated with them but I'll find something about them that reminds me of how they are still good. I think about my friends often and pray for their well being and their growth. I think of their comfort and pray that the changes in their lives are smooth transitions.

I try to eat but I am too embarassed to eat in front of my friends for fear of choking.

I am always surprised at my reflection in the mirror. It's never what I picture myself to look like.

I am an open book but believe it or not I have many, many secrets

I don't understand mean people. They hurt me even when their meanness is not directed at me. I love children but don't get too sappy about them. I mean cutesy. I talk to them as I would with any other person ,according to their level.

I miss my grandmother.

I cried at yard when my friend Welly moved away (We always had yard together)

I had more horrible experiences in my life before I was sixteen and after to devastate/ shatter. destroy the average human being.

I don't have super powers but I am resilient and resourceful.

I can't shake the belief that God Loves everyone not because I read it on a bumper sticker but because I feel it to be true.

I believe God knows that I am crazy and won't hold me accountable for my thoughts...sometimes LOL ...just kidding

I once took a test for geniuses that was taken at a book club. I didn't attend the book club meeting when the test was handed out. I was given the test the next day and scored very high which amazed the person who gave it to me because I got the answers alone in ten minutes when the book club members were divided into groups to do it and given more time. Don't be too impressed. I'm not bragging. I say this because I don't remember half of the things I am supposed to be so smart at.

I will ask a friend what "Equadistant" (sp?) means because I want to learn and then realize later on that I already knew what it meant.

I have read all of Shakespeares play but may recite four or five lines by heart and I have forgotten the plots of the plays but can suddenly remember what they are whenever my brain decides it's a good time.

I watched the Wizard of Oz over thirty times and know each line byheart.

I am a piler.I 'm clean and neat but I pile.

I can make a really good cup of coffee.

I can do a pretty good British accent.

I know a stupid amount of ridiculous trivia.

I can ramble on incessantly about myself and expect people to read my ramblings!!!

Jesus Camp

Where do I begin? I have never been so livid during and after watching a movie/documentary. Listo had recommended this movie to me and I was trying to put it off. I have been catching up on my movie viewing and I finally saw it, with both regret and thankfulness. I regret it because I am so angry but I am also thankful that I have an opportunity to tell about another side of being Pentecostal. I am filled with fear, anger and confusion.

Luke 18:16 - But Jesus called the children to Him and said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these." (NIV)

This verse clearly is demonstrative of God’s perception of children as innocent. So, their chances of going to Heaven are set. It is when we are old enough to make decisions, old enough to choose between right and wrong, developmentally able to understand the consequences of the evil we do, it is then, that we are held accountable and rightfully so.

The head of this Jesus Camp is a woman named Becky who scares the heck out of me, how much more a small, doe eyed, five year old? Her quotes are jaw dropping. “Bush has given Christianity credibility?” What!? She constantly spoke of the passion of radical Islamic children and how indoctrinated they are to be passionate for the cause and how Christian children should be just as passionate.
Children are passionate about Xbox, Barbies,Pokeman . It is a rare thing when a child is set off to minister. I do believe it occurs but it is something that is not seen very often. Jesus Christ preached at the temple when He was twelve but He, after all, is Christ.

There were so many things that set me off as a Christian, a mother, a grandmother, a teacher both in School and in Sunday school about this movie. Levi is a boy featured in this documentary and he just grew on me, mullet and all. His mother home schools him and there is a scene where she is yelling and asking him. “What are you going to say when your teacher says evolution is stupid!?” He is meant to have a quick fire answer, filled with intellect and profound in spirituality, an answer that will change the life of his teacher. No pressure. If I were him I would have answered, “I’d be shocked because you’re my teacher.” But I’m just a smart aleck.

Let the child be!

That's my short review of this documentary

I Tag Anyone who reads this

My Autobiography-
Prologue-

1. Where did you take/get your default pic? No Default pic yet.

2. Exactly what are you wearing now? black yoga pants and an aqua pullover

3. What is your current problem? Getting all my medical stuff in order

4. What makes you most happy? God, my hubby and my girls and my grandson

5. What's the name of the song that you're listening to? Dont ask me why but the song from South Pacific is ringing in my head "There is Nothing Like A Dame." LOL

6. Has anyone you've been really close with passed away? yes

7. Do you like MTV? Not since I've grown up

8. Name something that annoys you about people: Their obnoxious use of cellphones! I don't need to hear their conversations and I don't like getting interrupted 10x during a conversation because they have to answer their cellphones!!!

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Chapter 1.

1.First name:Debra

2. Nickname(s):Mostly Debbie but it depends almost everyone has their own nickname for me

3. Current location: home/ Dining room

4. Eye color:Brown

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Chapter 2:

Family...

1. Do you live with your parent(s)?No

2. Do you get along with your parent(s)?yes, now I do, again because I've grown up

3. Are your parents married/separated/divorced? My father passed away in 1980 and my mom lives alone in Columbus, Ohio

4. Do you have any Siblings? I have 2 sisters and 1 brother and some step siblings but are they still considered sibling after a divorce

Chapter 3

Favorites...

1. Ice Cream: Carvel, vanilla with rainbow sprinkles

2. Season: Spring and Fall

3.Color(s): Greens and blues and purples (Ha! like a bruise)

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Chapter 4

Do You..

1. Write on your hand? I use to do it all the time,not anymore

2. Call people back? yes as soon as I remember

3. Believe in love? yes

4. Sleep on a certain side of the bed? yes

5. Have any bad habits? Heck yeah!

6. Any mental health issues? who doesn't?

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Chapter 5

Have You...

1. Broken a bone? never

2. Sprained stuff? my ankle

3. Had physical therapy? no

4. Gotten stitches? yes...many

5. Taken pain killers? you betcha!

6. Gone SCUBA diving or snorkeling? I'm Puerto Rican we rarely scuba dive or snorkel

7. Been stung by a bee? no

8. Thrown up at the dentist's office? no

9. Sworn in front of your parents? yes and paid for it dearly LOL

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Chapter 6

Who/What was the last...

1. Movie you saw? Eagle Eye

2. Person to text you? Pastor Gaspar to give me a phone number

3. Person you called? My insurance company

4. Person to tackle you? my hubby

5. Thing you touched? the keyboard

6. Thing you ate? I've only drank coffee this morning

7. Thing you said? "What time will you be home today, Angie?"

8. Had a detention? Yeah LOL crazy

9. Been sent to the principals office? yes

Rejection

I think the reason why I haven't sent out my book again is because I have no feedback. I am so insecure about my writing. I need constant "okays", otherwise I feel like I am doing something I horribly wrong and I imagine that when my book lands in the hands of a publisher, he/she will call everyone into thier office and the publisher will read a couple of my paragraphs and have a great laugh ending with the publisher sighing in aggravation, "Everyone thinks they can write" and then he/she will toss my book into the wastepaper basket, followed by a styrofoam coffee cup holding a small amount of coffee in it. The remains of the beverage will roll onto the book, smearing it's title. The book will lay in the wastepaper basket in a totally pathetic and undignified position until the janitor picks it up at the end of the day.

He will be intrigued and will sit to read it. He will grab the cloth rag hanging on the side of his maintenance workers uniform. He'll wipe the coffee off of the title page, look around to make sure no one spots him slacking off then he'll sit on the plush, leather publisher's chair and begin to read but he'll become quickly bored and say, with a smirk on his face, "Everyone thinks they can write."

Then he'll reach into the bottom of his cleaning cart and take out a stack of copied paper enclosed in a manila envelope. It is his book titled, "Maintaining my life". He will place it on the top of the pile of manuscripts, on the publishers desk.

The next morning the publisher will it up and begin to read it. He will be totally entranced and riveted by the book and will call his assistant to find the author of the book. The assistant willnod in obedience and rush out of the office to perform the task of tracking down the writer. The publisher will then smile like a cheshire cat and will be pleased that he has the next best seller in his possession.

There are so many things that I have forgotten lately and then there are things that stand out in my memory.
Things like; My first kiss. My first love and the first time I met my friends. I remember my dad sleeping on the sofa and my mom sitting beside him while I was lying down on the cold linoleum covered floor. I must have been three or four. I had a Bic pen in my hand and was very excited about it. I smelled the Bic and stared at the ink and the small bubble surfacing in the clear plastic tube. I had a newspaper before me. It was open and I had circled all the letter A's I could find. I knew it was the letter A but I did not know how to read. There were so many A's! It seemed as if every word needed an A. I soon gave up and started to look for other letters.
It must have been summer because the coolness of the linoleum felt refreshing. I had nothing on but my shorts and my hair was wild. I looked like one of those sponsored children on TV sans the flies circling around me.
I have an older brother and sister but I do not know where they are in this memory. In my memory everything is gray; my mother's housecoat, the sofas and the stained wallpaper. If I were able to travel through time and I stand in that room I could tell you that there was a sadness in the room but not for the little girl in the room, she was oblivious to those feelings and lost in her world of letters.
How do I know that? How do I know for sure that my mother and father were not happy if I was oblivious? They say, a child can see and feel things that others can't? But then why was I not concerned?

Another memory is a dark green telephone on the table in front of me in Ms. Blumsteins class. It is a huge and intimidating piece of equipment and when I pick it up the reciever is very heavy. It is kindergarten and we are learning how to use a phone. We are supposed to know our phone number and address. My teacher, Ms. Blumstein, had assigned the class to memorize both. Ms Blumstein was tall and skinny and wore a really tight bun. She wore long skirts and seemed nice but I was frightened of her anyway. She was going around the room and asking us to recite our address and dial our phone number. We had to announce our home number before dialing. I was so scared of forgetting when it was my turn so I kept saying the number under my breath so when I was called I would know it. It must have been traumatic for me because I still remember the number. It was 633-3966 but I don't remember what I wore yesterday. Too funny. Anyway, in my memory, it was difficult for me to dial the numbers my fingers kept slipping. It was very hard to pull the rotary dial with my small fingers. For a very long time I had a recurring dream that I needed to make a phone call. It was a life or death csituation but every time that I was almost done dialing, my finger slipped and I had to redial again and would become inpatient, frightened and anxious when the highest number took forever to dial. I would wait for the familiar click before dialing the next number. It seemed to take forever. Those dreams ended when touch tone was invented.
I remember snack time in kindergarten and assembly. I remember the smell of tempura paint. A smell I still find comforting today when I walk into a classroom. I remember Elmer's paste and how I had to unscrew the top which was connected to a wand and that wand was what you used to apply the paint on the surface you wished to adhere. I remember how tasty the paste looked but I never tasted it, unlike my classmate Barbara who ate paste and crayons. I also remember always feeling as if I was outside of my body when I was little as if I was on the outside looking in and I wonder why that is. Nothing much to this blog entry but my rambling about things I remember there are lots more memories but I am getting tired. It is twelve midnight and I should start trying to sleep and maybe if I close my eyes and relish in my memories I could have a restful slumber.

Insomnia

Last night I couldn't sleep so at about two in the morning I took three Advil PM's and my other meds and tried to sleep. Hubby was sound asleep and his snoring mocked me. I look over at him and his mouth is wide open and I think "Gee, I love this big pain in the butt." I get closer to him and smell his shirt, it's a cozy familiar smell that makes me feel secure. He moves a bit and with his eyes closed he pulls me over to him and I pull away because I'm not ready to sleep yet.
The wind is moving the curtains in my room and the breeze feels cool at first but then it gets too cold and I get up and put a sweatshirt on but I'm still cold. I get closer to hubby and put my cold feet on his very warm feet and they feel better but I am still cold. I look at the clock it is close to three. I close my eyes tight and try to keep my mind at ease, try to avoid thinking too much . I fall asleep.
After a while the familiar feeling is rising in my esophagus and I quickly get up. I'm choking again. I run to the bathroom and try to vomit. I wash up and go back to bed and try no to fall asleep because I will choke again if I lie down. I sit up and eventually fall asleep with 4 pillows behind me.
The phone rings at 10:30 this morning the Advil Pm is still in affect. I pick up the phone and it's a friend I havent spoken to in a while.
Hello
Hey
Who's this?
Has it been so many years you don't recognize my voice?
(I recognize her voice)
I hang up, turn and go back to sleep. I don't care.
She'll call back and I'll tell her I was too sleepy to talk.
I can't go back to sleep because I feel guilty that I hung up on her.

I never hang up on anyone...well...maybe that one other time.
I get up resentful of the interruption and am quickly attacked by my famished cat.
I stumble to the kitchen cupboard, no cat food!!!
I go to the fridge and pour some milk into his bowl , that ought to hold him.
I throw myself on the sofa and turn on channel seven, Rachel Ray is wrapping up , she is so...very animated
She looks at the camera and waves "See you when I see you!" Credits roll. It's over. I watch The View and listen to the hot topics and get all huffy when I hear the ladies. One panelists says after a debate on torture tactics by Americans in Guantanemo Bay, "Our country is better than others, anyway."
What!!!???
I get up and ignore the cackling hens. I am irritable and apologetic. I need to pray and for some odd reason I am avoiding it. As we all do, we procrastinate when we know that the only reason we are restless and cranky and can't sleep is because we need to pray.

After brushing my teeth with a new toothpaste, mmm pleasant., I make myself a cup of hot cocoa then surf the net, looking up W*ndows V*sta complaints, pages and pages of links on the pain in the neck of W*ndows V*sta.
This is my morning.
I bet your lives are more complete after this play by play.
Admit it