Tuesday, 25 September 2007
War. Now there is a tiny three letter word with controversy buzzing around it like flies around...well, you get the picture. War. It is all around us..."This means war!" "Battle of the Sexes" "You gotta fight for your right" "Halo 3."
We live in a nation that fought hard for independence, that fought hard to preserve the rights of individuals being killed for their religious beliefs...we fought because we wanted claim to land we "discovered," we fought because we believed others "needed" our help. We fought, sometimes for right, and we fought, sometimes for wrong.
When our enemies attack, flying over our own soil, killing thousands of innocents simply because we are "Americans," we retaliate. We reach out the large hand of American Power and slap those enemies to submission, showing we are not a country to disturb…
Yet…
We have also gotten that war lust glint in the eye, leading to senseless massacres of thousands of innocents guilty only of living upon “enemy” soil. It makes me wonder, whatever happened to turning the other cheek?
Now, do not get me wrong. I do at times understand the necessity to protect and preserve a freedom we fought hard to gain. But when does it cease to be a war of rights and turn to a war of power?? We have all seen the headlines. The media goes on feeding frenzies around politics, world leaders, who is "in" and who is "out" and why everything is wrong. I want our military to come home, but I also do not want our country put at risk of being shot in the back by cowards...again. But mostly, I do not want more senseless killings to continue on either side of the ocean. There is nothing worse than death for greed. And I just pray that neither side continue for this sick lust.
I do not know enough about the politics of war to continue these thoughts without sounding like an ignoramus. What I do know is that wars can get out of hand, like a sibling fight “She’s hitting me,” “He hit me first,” “I barely touched you,” “You didn’t have to hit me twice.” I remember the ol’ days with my two brothers, I know how it all goes. Little bro hits, you hit little bro harder, big bro offers a right- left combo to your face, you reach for a baseball bat…
NO!! That last bit was an exaggeration…though I cannot count on one hand how many times we have had to visit the emergency room…
Anyway, back to today. What is going to happen? That is my question. We were hurt. We retaliated. They can possibly retaliate further (wait, did we actually find any W.M.A.s…) So before they have the opportunity to retaliate, let us continue to push down with all our force. For how much longer? Why do we have to keep sending…when will they come home, duty done, world safe (well, I guess never would be the answer to that last one).
I do not like thinking about conflict. It hurts. But what hurts more is the fact that he, an “ex” with whom I have spent 8 years of my life, will be flying over to Iraq around midnight tonight. I fear for him. Do not get me wrong, he signed up for this… It is by his choice. Which is where I have a hard time offering sympathy when he calls with the “if I do not make it back” conversations. It is where we are divided. He says he will die with pride, I say he will die with stupidity. He is excited, I am sick to my stomach. He has chosen his path, and I will pray for his safe return… that is all the support I can offer.
May this marine go, may he stay strong, “…may (he) keep the courage to be proficient in (his) daily performance. Keep (him) loyal and faithful to (his) superiors and to the duties (his) Country and the Marine Corps have entrusted to (him). Help (him) to wear (his) uniform with dignity, and let it remind (him) daily of the traditions which (he) must uphold. If (he is) inclined to doubt, steady (his) faith; if (he is) tempted, make (him) strong to resist …
Guide (him) with the light of truth and grant (him) wisdom by which he may understand the answer to (his) prayer.” {portions taken from “The Marine’s Prayer”}
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Friday, September 21, 2007
Bird by Bird
Thursday, 20 September 2007
I have not yet been able to begin.
I have tried several times to just start, but as I look at the blank screen, I know that nothing I type feels right.
It reminds me of being in school, and a paper is due the next day. I know what to include in the body of the report, I even know how to illustrate the conclusion, but I sit, and look at blank sheets of paper. All because simply, I do not know how to begin. You know what I'm talking about. Some call it writers block, but don't you have to at least be moving before blockage occurs? What do the proverbial “they” call it when you cannot even begin: writers stall at the go line?
Anne Lamott tells a story of her brother. He had a paper to write. The assignment was something to do with North American birds, and like a normal student, he waited until the night before to begin writing. With a panic rising in his chest, he turns to his father the writer, asking, pleading, hoping, I assume, for his dad to write the paper for him. But his dad offers simple advice, advice which later Anne borrows to title a book I love to turn to in my own moments of writers fuzz. Dad says simply, “son, take it bird by bird.”
My cousin emailed me the other day, well, in light of my proficient ability to procrastinate, it may actually have been a month ago…alas my brain wonders…
Anywho, my cousin excitedly messaged me that her English class had discussed an excerpt from said Lamott book, ma cousine remembering my winds of praise over the book during her past visit. Thus a spark of inspiration. Luckily, said spark lasted over a month - with me, staring at a blank sheet of paper trying still to figure out how to begin.
I have them, several little birds of ideas fluttering about in a spiral, waiting to be drawn upon with letters, paragraphs, grammar, syntax, rhythm, vocabulary, WORDS. And I just need to put them out there, bird by bird, topic by topic.
Yes, they are there, nesting in my spiral. Such snippets come and run circles around my imagination while I am trying to sleep, the time already ticking WAY past my bedtime. Better yet, they come while I am driving and cause serious road faux pas as I try to write (yes, write…writing and driving, I do not suggest) a quick word or phrase to re-spark that train of thought when I am in much safer writing conditions (sitting at a red light). Or my mind is moving so quickly between one idea and the next item on my to-do list, the next program plan for my youth, or the next song lyric, which reminds me of that sensational idea I had yesterday for a title, what was I going to say about it? hm…the spaghetti squash needs to be cooked tonight before I forget…did the dog just fart again, phew he reeks…now what was I just thinking…
Think my mental flashes are job hazards in and of themselves, just wait until I pull out my soap box. I think a major excuse for me not posting my little birds is that lurking soap box, graffitied with ideas and opinions like an old sea trunk plastered in travel stickers. It is true, each of my topics stand alone…with me perched at some point upon a box with a “now here is my issue with this situation…” This actually does scare me because I do not like sharing a strong opinion in any direction, except to those friends and family whom I trust will offer decent conversation rather than degradation. Really, I would rather not share some thoughts on a public blog site so every person’s mother’s uncle can read and think me ig-nant. And really, I do not mind you having your own opinion, it is just that I would really hate to tell you how wrong and ig-nant YOU are!
Just Kidding.
My birds are there, I hear them fluttering in my head. Often, though I sit, and words fail. Getting these birds into readable print proves difficult. But when they do light inside my spiral, I will gladly toss them on to you…and though I will try to keep the soap box under the nest, I cannot guarantee I will never stand tall when something really pulls at my feathers. Just allow me to my opinion, as I will allow you to yours.
So, do you grow weary of the bird-brained vignettes? I promise to quit chirping about it tomorrow, when the early bird finishes her worm.
I have not yet been able to begin.
I have tried several times to just start, but as I look at the blank screen, I know that nothing I type feels right.
It reminds me of being in school, and a paper is due the next day. I know what to include in the body of the report, I even know how to illustrate the conclusion, but I sit, and look at blank sheets of paper. All because simply, I do not know how to begin. You know what I'm talking about. Some call it writers block, but don't you have to at least be moving before blockage occurs? What do the proverbial “they” call it when you cannot even begin: writers stall at the go line?
Anne Lamott tells a story of her brother. He had a paper to write. The assignment was something to do with North American birds, and like a normal student, he waited until the night before to begin writing. With a panic rising in his chest, he turns to his father the writer, asking, pleading, hoping, I assume, for his dad to write the paper for him. But his dad offers simple advice, advice which later Anne borrows to title a book I love to turn to in my own moments of writers fuzz. Dad says simply, “son, take it bird by bird.”
My cousin emailed me the other day, well, in light of my proficient ability to procrastinate, it may actually have been a month ago…alas my brain wonders…
Anywho, my cousin excitedly messaged me that her English class had discussed an excerpt from said Lamott book, ma cousine remembering my winds of praise over the book during her past visit. Thus a spark of inspiration. Luckily, said spark lasted over a month - with me, staring at a blank sheet of paper trying still to figure out how to begin.
I have them, several little birds of ideas fluttering about in a spiral, waiting to be drawn upon with letters, paragraphs, grammar, syntax, rhythm, vocabulary, WORDS. And I just need to put them out there, bird by bird, topic by topic.
Yes, they are there, nesting in my spiral. Such snippets come and run circles around my imagination while I am trying to sleep, the time already ticking WAY past my bedtime. Better yet, they come while I am driving and cause serious road faux pas as I try to write (yes, write…writing and driving, I do not suggest) a quick word or phrase to re-spark that train of thought when I am in much safer writing conditions (sitting at a red light). Or my mind is moving so quickly between one idea and the next item on my to-do list, the next program plan for my youth, or the next song lyric, which reminds me of that sensational idea I had yesterday for a title, what was I going to say about it? hm…the spaghetti squash needs to be cooked tonight before I forget…did the dog just fart again, phew he reeks…now what was I just thinking…
Think my mental flashes are job hazards in and of themselves, just wait until I pull out my soap box. I think a major excuse for me not posting my little birds is that lurking soap box, graffitied with ideas and opinions like an old sea trunk plastered in travel stickers. It is true, each of my topics stand alone…with me perched at some point upon a box with a “now here is my issue with this situation…” This actually does scare me because I do not like sharing a strong opinion in any direction, except to those friends and family whom I trust will offer decent conversation rather than degradation. Really, I would rather not share some thoughts on a public blog site so every person’s mother’s uncle can read and think me ig-nant. And really, I do not mind you having your own opinion, it is just that I would really hate to tell you how wrong and ig-nant YOU are!
Just Kidding.
My birds are there, I hear them fluttering in my head. Often, though I sit, and words fail. Getting these birds into readable print proves difficult. But when they do light inside my spiral, I will gladly toss them on to you…and though I will try to keep the soap box under the nest, I cannot guarantee I will never stand tall when something really pulls at my feathers. Just allow me to my opinion, as I will allow you to yours.
So, do you grow weary of the bird-brained vignettes? I promise to quit chirping about it tomorrow, when the early bird finishes her worm.
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