I'm a Sucker For My Cell Phone

Puppies, babies and lollipops.  I used to wake up in the morning and be greeted by three little kids, those early hours spent making breakfast, packing lunches, ensuring backpacks were ready to go.  Before heading to work I'd take the time to walk my kids to elementary school, interact with their teachers, chat with fellow parents who were also neighbors.

Now mornings may find me arising to an electronic alarm.  Those salad days of analog clocks with a real bell long gone.  I used to open my front door and grab the local paper off my porch.  News is now delivered via internet and NPR.  When I was a greenhorn, a new Front Range arrival, the Denver Post was printed twice daily and the Rocky Mountain News was still a rival for my quarter and attention.  I'd hang out in bed with my husband on Sunday mornings, newspaper in one hand, coffee in the other.  My cup, a gift from my ex, proclaimed I was 'the cream in his coffee'.

Today I struggle with an addiction to my phone.  I self impose rules like no phone till after my first cup.  No FaceBook until I've written my morning pages.  But it is just me regulating me, so if I falter the only admonishment is in my head.   When I read statistics of how much time teenagers spend on-line, I check myself. I admit that I exist in an emotional vortex that spins between being a grown-up, and acting like a young adult who has only known this.  This electronic deluge.  This use of the phone for everything from directions to opinions.  This looking down, straining the muscles in the back of my neck.  Using my mid-life roll, what the teens call a muffin-top, as a handy shelf for my forearms to rest, allowing me to stand comfortably with my technological companion.

I pride myself on never having played a video game, and easily blame the proliferation of this pastime as a contributor to the violence of today.  But I don't really know.  It is pure conjecture; an opinion formed from reading and observation.  Is that how most suppositions come to be?  Is what we espouse really a value judgment, something carefully researched and pondered?  Or is it merely the meme du jour, featuring a well-known person who probably never said what is being purported, but hey - who needs fact checking - when we can just scroll down...

What can I do today?  How can I enjoy a baby, a puppy or a lollipop?  Metaphorically or in actuality. I can be kind to everyone I meet.  A smile costs me nothing, and will help to imprint a pleasant facial expression into my onslaught of wrinkles.  I can tell puppies that I see on the trail they are good dogs. Enjoy the licks and puppy love that seems so easy and free for a canine to deliver.  I can engage with my grandson who I rocked as a newborn while repeating just one word over and over.  Love.  I can carry that simple sentiment to all the children I see.  The littles running around a large tree in the courtyard of the Rec Center.  The kids in cute basketball jerseys every Saturday morning at the YMCA.  I can show them there are adults who pay attention to them, even if only for one concentrated moment.  Sans phone and device competition.  I can look for the sweetness in everyday life.  The brilliant Colorado sunshine. Cottonwoods on the trail that have endured cycles of drought and flood.  A meal with a friend, hands touching across the table, tears from laughter trickling down our cheeks.

Today instead of pressing a thumbs up and liking people on FB, I am going to enjoy people in real time.  The young man who scans my key tag at the Y.  My Pilates instructor who knows my body and makes accommodations to the workout.  The clerk at the store who is instructed to ask if I found everything OK.  Yes - I can find everything OK.

Today, I am not out to change the world one smile at a time.  I can only change myself.  My habits.  My interactions.  What will you change today?

Time to Write,

Jane

Magic Bullet

Birthdays are a good time to reflect and resolve.  My birthday is today and February is a great time to check in on my New Year resolutions.  Decide if anything I thought two months ago is still valid for me today.  Examine current events and see what has changed in the world climate to determine if my focus should alter, perhaps a softer line of thought, or a harder outlook on life.  Life.  Life.

Life is what is forefront in my mind.  Children's lives.  Police Officer's lives.  Politicians lives.  The president's life.  The first two, children and LEO's* are more about death than life.  Children sent to slaughter, like cattle.  The chute is the school hallway.  Both are shot in the head.  For cattle, that is supposedly humane.  For children it is the epitome of man's inhumanity toward man.

For Police Officer's lives.  Brave women and men that put on 45 pounds of equipment and armor each day in the guise of trying to keep us safe.  In this reckless, careless society.  Bad guys have guns, so more good guys need guns.  I can't wrap my head around this force needs to be met with force thinking.  Gandhi didn't think that, and neither did Martin Luther King.

Let's give teachers guns and ammo.  Train them to shoot active killers.  A side note here, I do not like the sanitized term of active shooter.  These mostly young men are not shooting, they are KILLING.  The euphemism rankles me.  I'm sure the NRA would prefer the word shooting, as that is what they purport to teach their disciples.  In actuality, it is killing.  Let's call it what it is.

Back to teachers being armed.  I shake my head at this notion.  Every single Police Officer ever killed in the line of duty was armed.  And trained.  And retrained.  And certified and recertified in marksmanship.  Most likely he or she was wearing a protective vest.  This very simple notion keeps me from thinking that arming a third grade teacher with a weapon would be just the right magic bullet to stop gun violence.  Pun intended, though I find no humor in this subject.

Please don't hold Israel up as an example.  Long before their teachers were educators, they were soldiers.  They don't arm and protect against fellow students, they defend the kids from terrorists.  Their society is different than ours.  America.  The only free nation in the world with a gun problem. But guns don't kill people - people kill people.  People with guns kill people.  Cars kill people.  Knives kill people.  Strangulation kills people.  Lack of healthcare kills people.  Lack of compassion kills people.  Maybe it is our government that is killing people.

Politicians lives.  I'm not in the mood to quote statistics or give attention to the corrupt congressional representatives who take money from the NRA and other special interest groups.  Even the name special makes it sound so benign.  The NRA is special.  You bet your ass they are.  They are so special, they literally pay off congress to look away.  Turn a blind eye.  Send thoughts and prayers.  Refuse to refuse donations.  Politicians who have lifetime pensions and fabulous healthcare and armed security where they work and play baseball.  They must be special too.  They certainly belie the notion of democracy.

Now to our president.  He lived in a house with gold toilets.  He penned the art of the deal.  He belittles those with disabilities.  He grabs women by the pussy.  He cannot even read a book.  He has turned the office into a twitter war with anyone who will play along with him. He holds a listening session and says nothing new or profound.  He has no original thought.  His life is affecting my life.  Your life.  Can he turn the tide?  I guess so, if his Mar-a-Lago guests tell him to.  If his sound-bite authors feed him some relevant fodder.  I would like to see him do something other than just undoing what our last president did.  Something.  Anything. But I don't hold hope for this.

Lives.  Today I celebrate the day my parents gave me life.  59 years ago.  My reflections are my own.  Please, take what you like and leave the rest.  If you agree or disagree, that is your option. If you have something to say  - write your own blog.  This forum is for all of us who possess the ability to think and tap a few keys.  Nothing special or magical about it.

I'm not here to argue.  Today, in this life, in my life, I choose love.

Peace Everyone,

Jane

*LEO - Law Enforcement Officer

The New Annihilator

The current day obliteration will not be

By troops in heavy boots and woolen coats

Arms outstretched in a superior salute

Our modern-day madman has an

AR-15 as his arm extension

His uniform is blue jeans and a backpack

A trench coat and blank eyes

His artillery; video games and available ammo

Soon there will be no more survivors

Holocaust survivors

Schoolchildren today are the last generation

To hear a real person

Speak the truth.  Sad guttural voices on tape

Now digitized for the times 

Telling us never - never again

Citizens stood and saluted

An evil man with no heart

Neighbors clucked their tongues

Disregarding the truth.  The glaring truth

One day any shard of light

That came from the ashes of the Holocaust

Will be forever dimmed

Today’s society has a different breed of survivor

Years from now a grandmother will hold a toddler

In the warmth of her bosom and tell

Of the time of terror

Terror of children being murdered in kindergarten

Teenagers gunned down in the halls of high school

That practicing your faith was dangerous

Churches were targets, unsafe

Movie theaters provided real life

Bolt-action, dive under your seat experiences

Our blind-eye is vapid

Thoughts and prayers

Hollow sentiments, candlelight vigils

Fallow filibusters

We must pray these current survivors of today’s reign of terror

Perpetuated by the new regime of a corrupt congress

And the NRA

Will find the strength to procreate

To overcome this satanic inhumanity

That values bullets over babies

My People Were Potato People

My people were potato people

Doughy peasants who stooped

To plant, then pick, potatoes

Resourceful to eat the lowly tuber

Boiled into thin soup

Day after day as sustenance

Over time, my people

Came to resemble their life source

Lumpy bodies sheathed in brown muslin

Polish women in babushkas

Held potatoes defiantly in their hands

A small sharp knife making swift cuts

Once I dreamed of Nana’s latke recipe

And that winter morning made

Perfect potato pancakes

Potato people are bygone

No longer hunched in fields

Filled with suspicious eyes

Choices. Careers. Community.

My son is a cop.  He makes responsible, thoughtful decisions and is of the age where he need not consult his mom about his choices.  I will tell my self this over and over again today, in the next few days.  These are the days leading up to a visit with my son and his family.  I will silently chant this mantra to myself because I know I won't be able to stop myself from talking to him about his career choice.  It is imperative.

There are plenty of dangerous jobs out there.  The other night my friend Ron showed me a photo of his son harnessed and joyfully dangling far above the Denver skyline.  He is in the construction trades, and like my son is good looking with a great smile.  I'm guessing both these men enjoy the adrenaline rush that comes with their work, but I really don't know.  It's wild conjecture.  I have no idea why some people choose altruistic professions and others work jobs that have inherent dangers.  Once my son told me he would die of boredom if he had a desk job.  Is an office job more benign than being a cop?  9-11 taught me that even people with seemingly safe office positions can confidently leave for work one day, not to return home that evening.

As his mother, just once, I am going to proffer my opinion.  Speak my mind.  Like many officers, my son has a spouse, a child, two sister, parents.  Family.  When he first starting as an officer I would go to bed each night thinking how while I slept, he was awake.  WIDE AWAKE.  Patrolling.  Protecting. Then Ferguson happened and all these people on FaceBook were bashing the blue.  I could barely sleep at night while fair weather FB friends would conveniently espouse opinions behind the electronic armor of their keyboards.  I unfriended anyone whose anger was the color blue.  Not because they disagreed with me.  I unfriended them because this mother's psyche did not need to be negatively fed with any more reasons to lie awake at night.

For some people the hot-button issues of policing are political.  For me, any issue regarding the police is personal.  For some being far removed either geographically or familiarly makes it easy to opine and whine.  It does not mean I want to turn a blind eye to injustice.  It only means that when one police officer is attacked - morally, for a split second decision, physically - all police officers feel that punch.  And so do their moms.  So when my friends speak badly about police, it is personal.  The men and women in blue go to work, say their good-byes to spouses, children, moms and never know if this is the last farewell.  Any given day could be their final shift.  End of watch.

2018.  My son now works days.  My childhood notion that daylight is safer then darkness is quickly dispelled.  Bad shit happens when the sun is shining.  In Colorado three officers are killed in 37 days.  Last night in Ohio two men in blue went to work, to serve and protect, and they will not be returning home.  Even though I do not watch the news, I also don't live under a rock.  There are many days when the news is grim enough to make me want to stay in bed, covers over my head.  Crying.  I don't.  This is how I process my grief and sorrow.  My anger and fear.  I write until my hand hurts and my hope is that my reader will find the same relief in this receiving as I do in the giving.  I find breath in the giving.

Choices.  Careers.  Community.  Where does this thought tornado leave me this morning?  This beautiful, sunny Colorado Day?  A day that finds my son on duty.  A day that will find me going about my business all the while pushing the dark thoughts of my son's career choice to the back corner of my mind.  He is trained.  He is professional.  Breathe.  I will breathe and allow my mind to wonder a bit to my not so steely resolve to confront my son about his choice.  His career choice to protect and serve his community.  My decision is never a good one if it is based on fear, and this urge to speak to him is beyond fear.  It is terror.  A mother bear like desire to push him back into my den and make him hibernate until this insanity passes.

I went to bed last night determined to have a talk with my son.  A more difficult conversation than any previous ones.  Don't bully.  Stand up for others. Respect girls.  No means NO!  Birds and Bees! Now I want to proclaim -  DON'T BE A COP.  This will be tough.

I don't usually go on FB till I've had a cup or two of coffee and have written my morning pages.  Today as I swiped right to silence my alarm, I saw I had a FB notification from my former neighbor in Colorado Springs.  Yesterday was the funeral for the third deputy killed in the line of duty in Colorado.  In just 37 days.  Fittingly it was an over-cast and bitter day.  I had posted a piece on my blog titled Blood is Not the Color of Colorado, and she responded with this:

I attended the funeral service today for Deputy Micha Flick. He and his family attended my church Jane. New Life church and that's where the funeral service was held. This was my first time attending a funeral service for a fallen law enforcement member.

I never experienced anything like it. It blew my mind to see so many people represented from all over the nation and even a law enforcement officer from Canada to honor this young 34yo dedicated man that promised to do his best to protect us and his fellow brothers and sisters in blue.

He stood in front of his killer and the other officers and gave his life up to spare theirs. There were thousands of people who attended. I couldn't believe how much I cried throughout the whole service. The two things that got to me the most was when they carried his casket in and when Taps was played. I'm not sure if you saw any footage of it on the news tonight. The things his wife shared and the strength that she showed was so powerful. Again, I've never experienced anything like this in my life.

Words can't describe what I felt. I'm glad I didn't let the weather stop me from going to show my support. Jovon came with me and he sat and drew the picture they had of Deputy Micha Flicker on the monitor before the service began. I told him we need to find a way to get it to his wife one day. I'll have to text it to you tomorrow.

Give Nick a hug from me and tell him how much he is appreciated for his service.

Wow.  Jeanne's words are moving.  Last night I went to bed thinking I had some magical motherly power to get my son to quit policing.  Re-invent himself.  Reading Jeanne's post I know my message is changed.  I know the only words I will utter, through choked back tears, on Wednesday will be these:

     "I love you son, and I am proud of you and your choices.  Your community is lucky to have 
      you.  Stay vigilant.  Be safe"

Cop Mom

Blood is Not the Color of Colorado

Does it really take me as long to settle in back home as it did to get ready to go away?  My mother taught me right, so all my laundry was done toot suite, other articles of clothing and shoes put in their respective places.  But I've yet to unpack my health and beauty bag - it stares at me every time I enter the loo -  and my writers box is acting as a catchall for my mail accumulation.

I really did cry when I crossed the line that demarcates New Mexico from Colorado.  'Hasta la Vista' proclaimed the bright yellow sign hanging from the underbelly of a bridge on I25.  The 'Welcome to Colorful Colorado' sign that met me moments later is always a laugh to me.  Brown wood with plain white writing proclaiming we are a colorful state.  Mmm...

But the news upon my return is solemn.  We have lost three sheriff deputies in 37 days.  One from Douglas County, very close to where I stay in South Suburban Denver.  My area was on lockdown that fateful morning with a reverse 911 shelter in place message.  While I was in New Mexico a deputy lost his life in Adams County, also on the front range.  And just this week an El Paso county deputy was senselessly slain in the line of duty.  These selfless public servants were each killed while fulfilling their promises to serve and protect us - the general public.  

As I mosey around town to go to the gym or the supermarket, I notice that the flags, Colorado  state and American are flying at half staff.  And each time I pass this silent testament to the ultimate sacrifice tears well up, my heart beats a bit faster.  How can I casually resume my life when three good men are dead, and their families are grieving?  What is it about the human brain that allows me to compartmentalize my emotions and continue with my activities, even when I am sad.  And mad.  Livid that thugs are taking over my beloved Colorado.  Angry that our population explosion has brought with it many negatives, including crime.  Gun crime.  Senseless crime.

I won't start a gun control debate here.  The issues are many and I am not even sure how I feel at this point in time.  Should I carry a weapon with me at all times because lawless psychopaths abound?  Should I contact my legislators and demand better, more thorough background checks?  Should our communities be providing the absolute latest technology in body armor to our law enforcement?  Will a state that is historically opposed to raising taxes allow money to be spent to protect those who protect us?  Is the right of an individual to bear arms more important than protecting police?  Children?  Theater goers?  Church worshippers?  Shoppers?  Marathoners?

Yes, this is a colorful state.  We are blessed with blue skies, white snowcapped peaks, blue spruces.  But the color of the red blood spilled by our law enforcement is ruining our state.  The color of hate and crime and drugs is sullying the formerly majestic view.  

I am a Cop Mom.  I support those who wear a badge, put on their Kevlar and brave the streets.  I think every man and woman has the right to return home every night.  Every single LEO*, every single night.

Welcome to Colorful Colorado should always bring us joy.  Not tears, not half-staff patriotism, not funerals.  We can do better than that.

Time to Write,

Jane

*LEO -Law Enforcement Officer

   

Turn the Gun

Here's the deal
How I feel
I don't care
If you grew up
rough, tough
Homeless
Privileged
'Burbs or barrio
City boy
Country mouse
Small apartment
Big ol' house
Fatherless
Motherless
Educated
Or berated

Here's the deal

How I feel

Work a job

Get a life

Straighten up

Deal with strife

Work some steps

Clean your act

Drop the pipe

Face the facts

Children born

Stick around

Plant your feet

Upon the ground

Abandon thugdom

Walk the line

Grow up 'fucker

Now's the time

Here's the deal
How I feel
I don't care
About you
Leave alone
Those in blue
They protect
You infect
They encroach
You're a roach
They are selfless
You are selfish
The time has come
Turn the gun
Time's a thief
For you?
No grief

Adios

Farewell Santa Fe.  This is my last full day in New Mexico, I'm 90% packed and ready to embark.  There has been much time to think and meditate here.  Whenever I have been at the casita I have been by myself.  That translates to many dinners alone.  No post-meal conversations.  No discussions about current events or the state of the world.  There is a small TV here, but I discipline myself to never turn it on before Jeopardy at six, then mute it for Wheel of Fortune, then off.  I came to Santa Fe to write, be in a different physical space, experience the museums and the dryscape.

I am not sad to go.  Being away for a month was an excellent reminder of how much time I spend with my children.  Hanging out with my offspring as adults is more relaxed and enjoyable than when they were children.  That was work.  This is pleasure.  I also miss my grandson, who will be taller, more verbal and just stinkin' adorable upon my return.  I have not gone this long in his 2+ years without seeing him.  It seems like every 10 days or so I find myself wandering up I25 to pay a visit to this little one and the people who birthed him.  

My best friend of almost 40 years once told me that a good sojourn has three components:

1. Anticipation
2. Enjoyment in the moment
3. Happy to return home

My trip has certainly held these tenets.  While a perusal of my blog post may make it seem that it has been a bit hellish here, the truth is that my happiness lives in my heart.  I try not to let outside negative energy affect my mood or inner serenity. (stop watching the news)  I have my personal formula for maintaining a positive outlook on life.  Do not mistake my cheeriness for lack of challenge or pain.  That is the human condition.

Every day I read Al-Anon literature.  I attend meetings two or three times per week.  This is my spiritual re-balance.  Every day I do something physical.  Swim, gym, NIA, Pilates, etc.  On the days when my body says NO - I almost listen.  I'll still take a walk or just ride the exercise bike at the gym.  Motion is the lotion to keep these RA joints healthy.  This is my physical practice.  Every day I take a few quiet moments to meditate.  It can be to a guided meditation or music on my IPod, walking a labyrinth, reposing in the steam room with a wet cold towel over my eyes.  This is my emotional wellness.  Every day I put pen to paper, hands on keyboard.  If I write crap, so be it.  If I am distracted or unable to create, so be it.  This is my writing discipline.  Every day, no matter what the weather, I go outside.  It can be a short walk or a hike.  It can be sitting in a chair and reading.  Hanging out at the hot springs, dining al fresco with a friend.  This is my honoring of Mother Nature.  Finally, everyday I read or enjoy some form of art.  Art and reading and listening to music of all genres allows me to see or hear how others decipher the world, and I am interesting in that purview.  It keeps my own inspiration to create in high gear.

 

Tomorrow some of these daily practices may not happen.  I have a 4.5 hour drive to Colorado. Springs. So even though I proclaim every day, sometimes that is in spirit more than actuality.  I can listen to Al-Anon podcast.  I'll do morning stretches before I begin and at every rest stop.  I'll let my mind wander and take me into the depths of my soul in the places where there is poor radio reception.  Perhaps I will let the drive itself be my moving meditation.  I'll write in my head as I am driving and hope that a kernel or two will be remembered when I stop, grab my pad and scribble.  The drive is quite beautiful, so even though I am not outside in nature I will view mountains and sagebrush as the landscape changes with each mile.  Finally I will listen to music along the way and just be.  Sit and enjoy the ride.  

When I press publish today, I will put away my laptop till I need it in Colorado.  First stop - seeing my youngest daughter.  Spending a night or two in my former town, where the bulk of raising my three occurred.  Then I'm up to south suburban Denver to be with my middle daughter. I'll be 'home' for a few days before I venture up The Valley Highway* to NoCo* to see my son, his wife and my grandson.  Then the trifecta of joy will be complete.

Time to Pack

Jane

* Valley Highway is an old term for I25

*NoCo = Northern Colorado