To some degree I like debating. I like it to go on for a while, but then eventually I like to drop it, because I know we might never come to an agreement. I like many people who have some very different points of view from me, because they are respectful to me about mine, and that includes all of you.
Some people, one I know in particular who I used to go out with, do not want to let you say anything. They just want you to listen to them. He was an extreme conservative, and I am a moderate liberal or what you might call a conservative Democrat, but I could not get a word in. Then he would make comments that I felt were racist, and I called him on it, which only further infuriated him, because he said he was not a racist, since he does not say epitaphs. Well, epitaphs are bad, but you do not have to say them to be a racist. I was sort of shocked though when he told me that his children who are German and live in Germany thought it was OK to use the "n" word because they heard it in school, and he told them not to. I thought Germans were really loving, liberal and progressive now after WWII. Maybe I was misinformed, but I do know that Germany and France were not in favor of Occupation Iraqi Freedom. In fact I do not think Tony Blaire was too keen on it for that matter. I think our former administration went against the United Nations on that one, I am afraid.
I voted for President Obama and will again, but I have some views that are slightly conservative, but not as conservative as say Sarah Palin who is a little over the top I think, not that she is a bad person, woman or mother. My hat is off to her for having a child with down syndrome. At least you can say she walks the walk.
A few months ago I got attacked on fb for saying a few pro-life comments. It was not that I was against choice or thought abortion should be illegal, it was just not liking the overuse of it, and especially the late ones are pretty horrible to even imagine. I actually think those should be illegal, because at a certain point a fetus can live outside the mother, and they are very violent and cruel I think to the unborn child. So, I think that is just wrong. I do not apologize for that. I was very respectful though, in what I said. I said that I believed in choice, that it was a personal matter, but that I myself was more pro-life in sentiment. Of course I do not think someone should have to have a child of rape or incest or if something was wrong with the child which would make what is called a 'wrongful birth' case like in Jodi Picouldt's novel, Handle With Care, the first book I read by her, and I think her best work, very sad like many of her books, but so well written with a unique style. I can recognize her style listening on talking books before even reading the author. Life of the mother is another exceptional case.
When I made a comment that had pro-life overtones, I was called all kinds of things, told I was for war..., that I was "one of those conservatives who believe in killing babies in the war." One person told me I should "adopt crack babies". Yes crack babies plural. First of all I would not be allowed to adopt, because I am legally blind, on disability, very poor, fifty years old, do not drive an automobile, and I have already raised kids alone for crying out loud. My kids are legally blind. Ted has a mental illness as well, the older one. I walk the walk too. Plus I am old enough to be a grandmother. Easily! Many women much younger than me are grandmothers. Geesh, give me a break!
And if I were a crack addict, I'd have my baby. Anyway off of this. I am just saying how mean people can be just because you happen to differ from their opinion. I do not say nasty things to them.
What is more important, God, love and peace or being right? I do not have to be right. Why can't people put spirituality before politics occasionally? Many people do, and I certainly am not generalizing because I really think most people are nice. Maybe even the ones who say some mean things are nice sometimes to somebody. I do not know. I am just saying that I am tolerant of what others think, so I think it would be nice if they would be tolerant of the way I do.
Please feel free to comment on by blog. I do not mind if you totally disagree with me, and you can even say why. My own mother disagrees with me I think, well maybe not about the partial birth abortion thing, but on abortion she is pretty liberal. So, as long as no one calls me names or says I should adopt crack babies, although I probably would if I could, I welcome comments, debate and even argument to a degree.
OK, I admit it. Every white girl wants a brother. I had one, wanted to marry him too, but it did not work out. I will not tell you how we met, because he does not belong to fb, and I know he is a very private person.
I went up to New York to live with him. He came to get me. It was so beautiful riding up there. On the way we stopped at a Holiday Inn, where he tried to get the brother
discount from the front desk clerk, another brother. But, the other brother said "I like my job." They seemed to get along famously. I am thinking "all black guys like each other?" But in the room I asked him, "so you liked that guy?"
"No, he was a jerk," he said. "He didn't even give me an extra discount." My friend who I will call William for anonymity, already got a veteran's discount.
I was happy at first. William was very considerate, and not wanting me to be lonely came home during his lunch hour from his executive job which he wore a shirt and tie to each day. I loved his apartment with its hardwood floors and so clean and roomy. His taste in colors were different from mine. He liked earth tones, burgundy and dark green, while I like bright colors I can see. He made fun of my neon green, spandex jeans while we were doing laundry in the basement of the apartment building, but then said it was because I could see them better.
So, why did it all go wrong? One day I asked him to open a jar, and he said, "don't talk to me like that. People have been talking me like that my whole life."
So, from then on I was like "uh, William, uh, can you uh please pass the salt, please, er - Sir?"
And, finally he told me I treated him like a "slave," because I was assuming as a woman I would get my way about our weekend local travel plans. I would have been the same regardless of the color of his skin. I was being myself. If I treat men like slaves, no one had told me that before. That was when I lost it and said I wanted to go home.
He said, "if you leave, do not come back. This is not a revolving door, so if I book you a ticket, know that it is one way."
I said "fine."
I never really looked back. I tried I guess. I did my best but in the end I wanted to go home.
Diary entry: November 10, 2008: I wish I never enlisted. I miss my sister, my girlfriend Suzanne and I cannot talk to any of them including my parents. We cannot have cell phones. I can talk to my mother in code on occasion.
I wish I could talk to Daniel and Robert, but I almost feel I have drifted too far. I do not know how much we would have in common if I ever go home. I have seen so much death here. We do not get to sleep much and when I do, it is hard to fall asleep.
They call this Operation Iraqi Freedom, our mission, but I have seen civilians die, like kids playing soccer near a car explosion. I saw a buddy get blown up, and several injured sent to the hospital in Germany, including Sargent Deborah. I liked her. I hope Suzanne never reads this. I mean I am pretty sure she is gay, because of certain things, but we still have Clinton's "don't ask, don't tell" policy.
I have been here for six months, but this is my second tour and it seems like forever. I am hoping that I can go home soon. They say some of these guys have done tours as long as a year. I would hate that. It would be unfortunate for me, but hopefully I can go home and see my family soon.
Obama was elected president. I know Mom and Dad were for McCain, but I know first hand this has to end. They say the exit date is around November 2011, a long way off, three years.
It is so hot in Bhagdad. It's like hell. We wash our uniforms in bottled water and bathe in it too. Soap is a luxury. Boot camp never prepared me for any of this, the mosquitoes, the death toll, the injuries. One thing they do not realize is the civilian casualties.
There's a doctor here, a real liberal. Once Fahrenheit 911 came out a few years ago, before I was was ever deployed, there were mixed feelings here from soldiers. Dr. John Carlson thinks Michael Moore is a genius. All I know is I wanted to serve my country, and hoped that after I would go to college. I think my parents are proud. Dad was a general. I just wish I could walk away sometimes, but you can't.
We walked through the muck yesterday, looking to take out a terrorist who I will just call Ali (we have a friend at home with that name) and we never did. Gunfire sounds sent us back. We begin again tomorrow, in search of him. Sometimes I know this is wrong, but I am here and I cannot change that.
I fear our brigade commander may be a "toxic" one. He has been reckless, causing us to go through an explosion in our jeeps, which was when Jimmy got injured, went into shock and died. It was the worst thing I have seen.
We are not to fire unless necessary, but he has ordered us to fire killing unnecessarily. I know the Iraqi soldiers as well as our enemies the Iranian Soldiers and insurgents are dying in high casualties. The death toll is higher than anyone in the U.S. knows.
Here I am and I do not even know sometimes why we are fighting.
I have been told by other soldiers that were here in 2004, that I am lucky to have missed Fallujah, the bloodiest battle of this war. Fallujah is at the center of Iraq. This battle was called Operation Phantom Fury or in Arabic Al-Fajr, which means "the dawn."
Two months earlier: Diary Entry: September 15, 2008: Now is the holy month in the Muslim religion called Ramadan. There have been bombings in Bhagdad randomly. We gained independence for the province of Anbar this month, in the northwest corner of Iraq.
I am tired but sleep does not come easy and I have nightmares often. The nightmares are hard to distinguish from reality. I wonder if I am really strong enough. Can I keep on through this? Sometimes I feel like I can't, but I do not have a choice. I have to keep believing that what we are accomplishing is for good. It just does not feel that way anymore.
Diary entry: November 14, 2008: We are still in pursuit of Ali. Our first team brigade led by Sargent Kincaid will head out in the morning before dawn. We have searched for him for days, following false leads, turning back from gunshots and explosions.
Traveling on that following day on the dawn of November fifteenth, Sargent Kincaid ordered Adrien and two other privates to pursue a lead at the house of a civilian where a bomb exploded.
"Adrien! Thomas! Michael! Intelligence has informed me that Ali is in hiding in this vicinity. Now, keep in mind these people are not hostiles. Do not shoot. I repeat, shoot if you get a clear shot of Ali. Be careful. The place may have a bomb set. I am going to be posted here with Carlos, Shane and Robin, to watch for hostiles in the area. I repeat do not fire. We cannot have more civilian casualties on our hands. We have already been questioned by General Bradshaw and Sargent Haynes. We can't afford to screw this up. Consider Ali to be armed and dangerous. I repeat, he may have explosives on him or anywhere in the vicinity. This is a highly dangerous mission. Wait until you have a clear shot!"
Ali was there, and reached for his rifle, ammunition strapped to his waste. Michael, Thomas and Adrien fired rifles in execution of Ali, but Adrien and both privates were injured and killed when they tried to save the family living in that house from explosives, two of which he got out, but Adrien and four other civilian Iraqis along with the two other American soldiers perished in the exploding building. Of the Iraqi family, the two survivors were children. The four others who were killed were the mother and two more children as well as the grandmother. Two more children went to an Iraqi orphanage that November day. Their father had already been killed months before.
Later that day another brigade's truck blew up when it hit explosives. Adrien was one of many casualties that day, and yet he had died trying to save the lives of others.
The U.S. Military came to Vermont to give a funeral for Adrien as a hero of the war. The day he died he had no thoughts of heroism. He thought of nothing, but trying to save innocent life, and he did, but Adrien was only eighteen years old. He had been brave, but he had been afraid, somehow knowing that doom was drawing near to him, disillusioned and saddened by the war.
Later, Sargent Kincaid was again questioned, since he had been considered possibly a "toxic" leader, because it may have been reckless to send in three soldiers, and could he have prevented the civilian casualties? However it was deemed that Sargent Kincaid had acted appropriately after the three other soldiers present had been questioned by Sargent Kincaid's superiors.
Author's note: In my research for this war story, I found casualties on all fronts in the hundreds of thousands, looking at every month that the Iraq war went on, including American soldiers, Iraqi soldiers, Iranian soldiers and sadly as well civilian women, men and children.
I also researched the individual deaths of soldiers, many of which said noncombat related or not to do with hostiles, which I find a little bit curious, and suspicious. I will continue this project, possibly write an entire book based on Operation Iraqi Freedom commonly known as the war in Iraq, which most of us knew was wrong, and yet we support our troops, for we must as Americans.
Soldiers are doing too many tours, and one soldier killed civilians and is in deep trouble. While there is no excuse for this, some think it may have been caused by PTSD or an overlooked condition of brain damage, which should have made him 4F. Also, it has been said that he may have been under the influence of alcohol.
Part of me feels: What audacity do I have writing about this? I am not a soldier. The only member of my family who was in a war was my maternal grandfather, Private Hyman Silverman who fought in WWI, and was highly decorated for carrying injured men off the battlefield to the field hospital with metal in his ear from the explosion. He could never hear well after that. It was a highly dangerous mission he had volunteered for.
In answer to my own question, I do not know why I want to write about this. Possibly my writing of American Boys which is where my fictional character, Adrien came from. He is not really a character in a sense, because he is universal and real, because there are others like him and many, although all individual human beings with courage, fears and sorrow like everyone, which is why I posted James Blunt's song, No Bravery in two separate videos on fb.
Note: I made one error which my brother brought to my attention. Although my grandfather Hyman Silverman was a private when he was injured and rescued fellow soldiers due to a very dangerous mission, he was actually ranked Corporal of the 60th division of the U.S. Army, and decorated with the Distinguished Service Cross in Vendum, France on October 27th, 1918.
During WWII, American women often went to work in factories building ships and planes, while the men were off fighting. In those days, women did not join the army like they can now, and men were drafted. I think it helped to pass the time while the men were gone, especially for married or engaged women, but it also gave them a sense of purpose, doing their part for the war. It was hard work, dangerous, and dirty.
It was a time of change in terms of American culture. Women who would have been teetotalers, began to smoke and drink, hang out in clubs, but most importantly working was a part of the women's movement which came later. Women need a sense of purpose, to find themselves, to do their part and to invent themselves. I know, since I am a woman.
I asked my mother who is from that time, if she remembers women going to work in the factories. She did, but she was in college at the time. I told her I thought that my grandmother, her mother, was more the type that would have done that if it had been the case when Grandpa went to WWI. She agreed with me. Grandma was head of the Jewish War Veterans Wives after WWI, and also had much to do with the establishment of Brandeis University being established. She had come from Latvia at the age of thirteen, spoke Russian, German, Polish, Yiddish and Latvian when she came, then learned English and became an officer manager as a teenager.
During WWII, Americans, even those serving in the army, had no idea what was happening in the camps in Europe, where people were being killed unlike the internment camps F.D.R. had the Japanese in here. People were shocked when it was all revealed, and soldiers did not even know until they freed the camps.
My mother did say that she applied to one of those factories, but she did not take the job. I think those days were a fascinating time.
Got new yoga pants. I wanted to get inspired to do more yoga, even if I cannot go to a class right now.
Lately I have been one of these green people who want to save a tree, when in fact the bags are plastic and I really have too many accumulating at home.
Last night I watched a video on youtube about how to roll your hair to look like the '70's or '80's, the Charlie's Angels look. I decided it was all too much trouble, and you really need to get layers.
Did you ever feel like the people you thought were your peops were really not, and they excluded you? Maybe they did not really like you to begin with, or maybe familiarity breeds contempt. So, you went looking for some new peops, only to find the same thing happening and you had very few friends that were not just fly by night fair weather. Then you kind of wonder, "is it me?"
I once told a male friend who was complaining to me about different girlfriends past, present, future, whatever, being vindictive and mean to him. I said, "what do these women have in common? You, obviously." I said, "you must be playing some part in this and attracting it in some way." He could not argue with that. I had been one of those women, but had come to be detached enough to counsel him because I was no longer emotionally invested or infatuated with him, even though I was and am still quite fond of him. I am just a little disappointed he does not interact with me on fb. My brother says it is because he does not like me period, the guy I mean. It was not even like, "he's just not that into you." My brother said, "he doesn't like you." And I'm like "uh, OK, I guess you are right," but my brother tries to be really nice to me, even though he also said I have no good pictures of myself on fb. I think what he means is they are not good quality, are not flattering and do not do me justice, which is why I have asked a photographer friend to take some better ones when he gets a chance. It is true most of them were either cell phone pics, computer shots, or just old pics, two of them, the one as a little girl and the one with my sister and my dad.
You do not need peops when you have a nice family like mine. Well, they are not perfect, but they are not bad either, and my brother's remarks are just normal brother to younger sister type remarks. I mean, what kind of brother finds his own sister attractive?
The truth of the matter is I think the reason my friend does not interact with me is it might piss off other women, lol. I am not the only one. It does not really matter because we are not together period.
The other thing is why am I so perceptive when it comes to other people's problems, and yet I just do not know what to do about my own? I could do psychic readings for a living just with my experiential knowledge of human nature, but that would be fraudulent.
Did you know that in grade II braille, all the letters made up of a combination of any number and pattern in a cell of six dots, stand for a word like in shorthand, the single letters mostly short words, like just and can, but k stands for knowledge and p for people? And, this my friends brings us back to the peops issue.
Actually braille was originally a French army code to communicate at night. Then the famous Louis Braille who was blinded in his father's saddle shop from an injury as a child figured out a way for the blind to read, and it was established in 1809. He brought it from France to America to a school for the blind, and it spread throughout the world. One of my braille teachers, Ms Sheila who was blind and very sweet, gave me a bicentennial braille coin that says Louis Braille 1809 on it. I carry it on my key chain everywhere I go. Ms Sheila passed away. She was a beautiful soul.
To all fathers, have a happy Father's Day tomorrow. Namaste.
It seems when people are young, things matter more. I mean you tend to get more upset about relationships and other things and depression is more prevalent.
Now that I am fifty, I feel worried sometimes that I am old now, but I have had so much drama and chaos in my past that a little boredom is welcome. I now, not only do not sweat the small stuff so much, but I do not get upset about men so much. I just show them the door at the first sign of disrespect.
I can now enjoy the little things like water rushing up on your feet, a cool night breeze, sitting on your back front steps, being able to see an occasional moon in the sky, a good talking book, a good cup of coffee, fifty cent tank tops at the local discount store, dinner with friends, buying clothing on line, hanging out with family, etc, etc..., and the list goes on like the book Forty-thousand Things to be Happy About, such as dusty red and blue, banana splits, etc..
Whenever I watch Cold Case, I get nostalgic for the late seventies and early eighties, the hairstyles and songs. It reminds me of college and the songs we listened to on the radio and the way we wore our hair, but I guess I would not want to be that young again.
A minister named James Brown, told me once that the next time a man showed me any disrespect, to show him the door. Another older father figure told me the same thing.
I would rather be with no one than with someone who makes me cry on a daily basis.
A wise woman once said "if a man makes you cry he is not the one."
Another thing is when I was young, jealousy made me fight all the harder for someone. For example: if I saw my boyfriend and another woman too close for comfort, I would make sure I got their attention in a big way. I once even slapped a girl over a guy. I got in a lot of trouble with the establishment where this happened, although it was night time and we were pretty obscure. My father condoned it to the director, which I thought was kind of sweet. One of the things I miss about my father is his loyalty.
Now that you know what a 'bad ass' I was, I will get back on point. I am just not like that anymore. Now, I just disappear at the first sign that anyone else is there in the picture, and I walk away.
I suffered and lost many a good thing for love, love that was not worth it, that was just a heartache, love for an asshole. It was not worth it, not the sex, none of it. Sex may be enjoyable momentarily like ice cream, but that does not last, and in this day and age it surely is not something that binds you, maybe temporarily bonds you, but it seems to have become meaningless in our society. I realize good sex can leave one with a sense of satisfaction and well being and gets endorphins to set in like other exercise does as well like yoga, swimming, sports, biking and running.
I will not go into Meher Baba's discourse called The Problem of Sex, which my parents had me read as a teenager, since that was their belief system. I was a good kid anyway, really never wild or rebellious, and a late bloomer, but I did get together with my ex-husband when I was only nineteen, moved in together, got married and pregnant at twenty, and had a baby at twenty-one.
I think it is meaningful when you are married and love each other or when you want to have a child or have a child unexpectedly.
I got off point. I just realized that I could
have saved myself a lot of unnecessary suffering if I had not stayed with jerks because of shallow superficial reasons like they were good looking. I remember trying to break up with someone, and this friend said, "he is so good looking. I used to have the biggest crush on him. You are always a magnet for the most gorgeous men." Thanks a lot, you should have told me what a major loser he is. Words can be powerful to some people who are prone to be effected by them.
I had so many chances to get out of one abusive relationship, mostly mentally abusive but a little bit physically abusive as well, but kept going right back for four years and then some. Like I said in a previous article, no one is bad to you in the beginning, so when you get hooked on someone, it is the good stuff you remember and are blocking the bad.
It is just that one knows when one is being mistreated, and yet when you have Stockholm Syndrome like I did, you get brain washed that everything is your fault, because you are a bad person. He said constantly that I was a bad person. I am really not sure what kind of bad person, because I was not doing anything, but he called my son a bad person too for no good reason. I guess I was crazy then to put up with any of this, so now I put up with nothing.
It took a lot of self-searching and actualization and reading books about misogyny, for me to change, but when you have had enough you had enough. That is all I can say. I hope I do not sound too jaded or bitter, because I want to see the past as nonexistent as well as time and to see all living creatures through the Holy Spirit thought system, ACIM.
If one cannot forgive, then one is not practicing the Course in Miracles. Of course ACIM is not for everyone. At my first attendance at Unity Church in 2009, many walked out. I did not see due to my tunnel vision, but a friend I was with told me.
I was thinking that if only I had had the course in the '90's, because the '90's and early 2000's were the worst period of my life, and then I remembered that in 1996, a difficult year for me, Return to Love by Marrianne Williamson based on the Course in Miracles, was the only book I owned, and I read that book often out in Boulder Colorado, where I was literally having the first nervous breakdown of my life. I read the words. I understood them, and yet they did not sink into my messed up mind, but to give myself some slack, I will say that I was not sleeping and my freshly divorced husband was living there in Breckenridge with my children and his girlfriend, my children being the reason for me being there at all, and here I was alone in a cooperative house alone with strangers who did not feel comfortable with me and a nice host who was a Meher Baba lover but was annoyed with me and my state of emotional disarray. Once things got so bad that my father showed up with his girlfriend, I think the severity of my state was inevitably established.
In the Course in Miracles, the miracle is when we change and find ourselves choosing peace. Yet, when our ego grabs hold of this it can be just another ego trip, but there is an observer in us which is not ego, the collective observer that knows this is all a projection and a movie.
To some degree I like debating. I like it to go on for a while, but then eventually I like to drop it, because I know we might never come to an agreement. I like many people who have some very different points of view from me, because they are respectful to me about mine, and that includes all of you.
