Last September, just after Papa passed away, Trish and I took a much needed breather by heading up to visit my Uncle Lee and his wife, in Smith River, California.  My grief was so fresh and raw and the ocean views, smell of the salt water and comfort of my family and best friend, helped me deal with the loss of the most special person in my life. 

Trish took this photo of me as I sat by myself on the rocks.  At the time I probably was wishing I could be swept away to join my father.  I know for sure I was contemplating life, and all it's pain.

Anyway, last night while playing with my new Photoshop Elements, I manipulated it to get this effect.  I am pretty pleased with the way it turned out.

An Exciting Oklahoma Night

I mentioned in an earlier entry that my recent trip to Oklahoma was pretty darn exciting. Yep. Well, there’s more!

Since 1988 after my Grandpa Sarge died, whenever I visited my Grandma, I’d sleep with her in her king size bed. She always had the most comfortable beds, including a dreamy “floatation sleep system” which was a partial waterbed. Oh, yeah, a waterbed. Grandma was always really cool.

Sleeping with my grandma allowed for late night “girly” chats and the opportunity to get to know her better, when she’d spill her secrets and life stories. The rest of the family would say….Grandma just tells you everything.

In the past couple of years, since Grandma’s health has declined and she now lives in an assisted living environment, I’ve stayed with my Aunt Mary instead. Grandma’s little apartment, although very cute and comfy for her, is kept way too warm for me at this stage of my life. Aunt Mary and I love to sleep under a huge fan and crank up the air conditioner, so it’s a perfect match.

So, the tradition continues, and now I sleep in my Aunt Mary’s bed. She doesn’t complain about my snoring and is always prepared to give me a hardy shake if I should forget to inhale, every time I exhale. It’s a comforting feeling. We talk and laugh until the wee hours, or until we pass out from exhaustion.

Sometimes Aunt Mary may have difficulty sleeping as diabetes has taken it’s toll on her feet. Neuropathy causes her to suffer with horrible pain that seems to really kick in when the moon comes up. Walking will often calm it down, so it’s not unusual for her to be up and about in the night.

That night was no different, and I didn’t even hear a peep when she left the room. The next thing I know, it's 4:00 a.m. and Mary is sitting on the side of the bed and I hear this very calm, one-sided telephone conversation.....

“Yes, my name is Mary (last name omitted) and I live at (address omitted) and my neighbor from across the street just called me and said that she saw a prowler put something down in my side yard, then go into my backyard. Could you send an officer over here?”

I am instantly awake and up on one elbow, listening with astonishment.

“Well yes. I just happened to be awake, sitting on the sofa and I heard something on the side of my house. I thought I was imagining things, until my neighbor across the street called. She said there was a light colored car in the driveway of the vacant house to the East of mine. That’s right, the East side. But the house on the West of me is vacant too. In fact there are two houses in a row vacant on that side. Do you suppose he’s burglarizing that house? Okay, I will wait for the officers. Thank you.”

I am thinking how impressive it is that these Okies know their directions as well as they do. East, West….geez. Californians simply say….Right side, left side. That’s why Papa, a pilot, always said I was “Geographically Challenged!“

I am also thinking how fortunate Mary is that she has a neighbor who happens to be awake at that hour, because if it were me, I wouldn’t have heard a thing. The burglar would have more likely had a pleasant, stress free heist, hearing the loud rhythmic snoring rattling the walls, knowing no one in that house is waking up anytime soon!

It was then I noticed that the kitchen blinds, facing the backyard were open. Since the bedroom was just off the kitchen and Mary had a light on beside the bed, our prowler who was still likely to be in the backyard, would be able to see right in there where two plump, middle aged women were sitting terrified in their shorty pajamas!

On second thought, I figured he’d probably throw up his hands and run away in obvious disgust at the sight, but I still told Mary to get over there and close those damn blinds!

A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door and there stood one of OKC’s finest inquiring about our call. Mary told him the same story as she told the 9-1-1 Operator a few minutes earlier, and pointed out the neighbor’s house, where he could get the details from her.

She told the officer, “I think that’s his light colored car in the driveway next door!” The confused officer said, “That’s not a light colored car, that’s a Taxi!” It was apparent at that point that neither of the aged women had superior eyesight.

Again, a knock at the front door. It was the same officer back with more questions. He’d called in back-up and there was at least 5 cop cars parked in both directions, blocking the street in front of her house. I figured it must have been a slow night in OKC, but I was terribly thankful for their presence and the journal fodder.

As the young officer pressed Mary for details about just where she heard the noises, we heard someone yell “I’ve got him over here!” The young officer nearly fell as he rushed from the porch to help his partners. There was so much commotion, I hollered to Mary, “Close and lock that door!” as I imagined the perp breaking away, running into the house and taking us hostage.

A few minutes later, the officer was back to inform us that he had the suspect in custody after finding him in Mary’s side yard, hiding in the bushes. We breathed a sigh of relief. But, I had to have the rest of the details for an interesting journal entry so I did what any responsible journal writer would do…I got nosy.

I threw on a pair of sweats and opened the front door and stepped into the night air. That’s when I saw something that didn’t quite fit. There was scruffy middle-aged, man with his waist length, graying hair pulled back into a pony-tail. He had a flashlight in hand, shining it around Mary’s yard as the police were grouped up near their cars, beginning their reports and not paying any attention to him.

I couldn’t stand not knowing, so I said, “Okay now…just who are you?”

He said, “I am the Taxi driver! That’s my Taxi!” as he pointed to the vehicle. “That guy stole my taxi from the 7-11 a few blocks away! I had just stopped for gas, went inside to pay and grab a cup of coffee and the next thing I know, this idiot in a TUXEDO has jumped in my Taxi and is driving off! I figured he was after the money, but I had the money on me! Right now I am looking for the keys, because I can’t go anywhere until I find them and it looks like he ditched them and my checkbook somewhere around here where the cops found him!”

I asked him how long ago the taxi had been stolen and he said, “Just 15 minutes!”

“The guy was wearing a TUXEDO?” I said incredulously and gave Aunt Mary a high five, saying she just solved the case of the Tuxedoed Taxi Bandit!

But, I had to wonder out loud why this guy was wearing a tux when he stole the Taxi. My journal entry would just not be complete without “the rest of the story!”

Aunt Mary, a real crime stopper said, “I bet he escaped from one of the local high school proms!”

Well….after all, it was that time of year.

But, when the young cop came to the door for the final time to let us know that they had everything under control and the bad guy was going to jail, I had to ask. “What the hell was that guy doing in a tux, when he decided to steal that Taxi?”

Again, Aunt Mary gives her thoughtful take on the situation, “I think he escaped from a bad date at the prom!”

The friendly cop just laughed and said, “I think he’s a bit old for the prom, but he is pretty drunk. Who knows?”

My guess…………..He’s a runaway groom?

Well…It could happen!

I guess we’ll never know for sure.

Army Memorial Services

Today a Memorial Service was held in Minnesota for CW4 Matt Lourey, a Senior Instructor Pilot in Fly Boy’s unit, who died with his partner; CW2 Josh Scott last week when their Kiowa was shot down by enemy fire in Iraq. Josh’s services are tomorrow in Wisconsin. My heart is so heavy with grief for the families and for those soldiers that they left behind, who must carry on.

CW4 Lourey will be buried at Arlington National Cemetery in the near future. On Memorial Day, my local country music station played a new song by Trace Adkins, entitled Arlington. When I heard the song, I just burst into tears because the lyrics are so touching.

Here they are:

Arlington

I never thought that this is where I’d settle down,

I thought I’d die an old man back in my hometown,

They gave me this plot of land, me and some other men, for a job well done.

 

There's a big white house sits on a hill just up the road,

The man inside he cried the day they brought me home,

They folded up a flag and told my mom and dad, we're proud of your son.

 

And I'm proud to be on this peaceful piece of property,

I'm on sacred ground and I’m in the best of company,

I'm thankful for those thankful for the things I’ve done,

I can rest in piece, I'm one of the chosen ones, I made it to Arlington

 

I remember daddy brought me here when I was eight,

We searched all day to find out where my granddad lay,

And when we finally found that cross,

He said, "son this is what it cost, to keep us free"

 

Now here I am, a thousand stones away from him,

He recognized me on the first day I came in,

And it gave me a chill, when he clicked his heels, and saluted me.

 

And I'm proud to be on this peaceful piece of property,

I'm on sacred ground and I’m in the best of company,

I'm thankful for those thankful for the things I’ve done,

I can rest in piece, I'm one of the chosen ones, I made it to Arlington

 

And every time I hear twenty-one guns,

I know they brought another hero home to us.

We're thankful for those thankful for the things we've done,

We can rest in peace, 'cause we are the chosen ones,

We made it to Arlington,

 

Yea dust to dust, don't cry for us,

We made it to Arlington.

 

   Rest in Peace Soldiers!

I'd Rather Be Taking in the View

I had such limited time last week in North Carolina, so we really couldn't do much sight-seeing.  Although we did take a ride to the Atlantic Ocean, which was on my list of must sees.  We headed to Ft. Fisher and oohhh and ahhhed at the new construction of ocean view homes, not knowing if it was an area being rebuilt after some destructive hurricane, or just recently developed.   It was my first time seeing houses on stilts, which I found pretty amazing, considering I live on the San Andreas Fault...and we wouldn't put anything on stilts around here, due to almost daily shakers! 

It made me wonder how a house would survive there on stilts anyway, considering the strength of the winds in an hurricane.  I am sorry, but I am just not going to live that close to the ocean and have to worry about whether the ocean is going to sweep my house away with flooding or gale force winds.  (Said by someone who's living on one of the biggest earthquake faults in the nation!) 

I did manage to get a few photo ops when we took a ferry from Ft. Fisher across the inlet to Southport, NC.  Here's one of a pelican taking in the beautiful sights of his habitat, enhanced with Photoshop Elements 3. 

My at home recuperation period is coming to an end.  In fact, I should have gone back to work today, but geez...it's mid- week, so I begged off until Monday. 

This practicing for retirement is just great!  The countdown to July 1, 2006 begins!  

Grandma and Fly Boy's St. Christopher Medals

It was so hard to leave Fly Boy in North Carolina last Thursday, knowing he'd be heading back to Iraq on Saturday, May 28th.  But, making a connection in Oklahoma City to visit with my sweet Grandma made it somewhat easier. 

While in OKC, we were devastated to learn that two of Fly Boy's fellow Kiowa pilots were killed when shot down by insurgents who fired on the two copters travelling together. One young man was from Fly Boy's C Troop and the other was a Senior Instructor Pilot, who worked closely with all of them.  Fortunately, the other Kiowa pilots safely returned to base. One of the young men in that chopper was my son's room mate. 

I cannot imagine how my son felt when hearing that horrific news. 

With a sense of guilt, I immediately gave thanks to God that my son was not involved in that incident and cried for the family, friends and co-workers of those who lost their lives in a war that I find harder and harder to believe was ever right or necessary.  My son, however, feels differently and I support him fully. 

The awful circumstances surely put a damper on Fly Boy's remaining time with Fall Girl, and he left with heartfelt sadness, returning to his unit to his buddies who dealt with the loss of their brothers first hand while he was home on leave. 

His pending return to Iraq made me ask tearfully..."Can't you just resign?" (He once told me that as an officer he has to resign to end his military assignment)  "I can't stand the thought of you going back again for 6 months?"  He replied...."Mom, they'd put me in jail!"

It was then I wanted to step into what I call my "Mama Monster" role.  It's a no-holds barred, taking care of business and fully in charge and YOU will listen to me Mister persona, and call the Governor, my Senator and Congressman, the President and his Chief of Staff, Fly Boy's Commander and anyone else who'd listen to a deranged mother and say.........."This is CW2 Fly Boy's Mother and I am calling to tell you he won't be back!  That's right.  I will not let him step one foot back there.  He's done.  He's not playing any more....he's taking his flight goggles and staying home!" 

Instead, I just cried and did what my Grandma told me.  She said in her sweet Okie voice...."Now Lisa, you just take this money and go buy him a St. Christopher's medal.  I want you to get one he can put in his pocket and one he can wear!"

That's exactly what I did. 

Here's Grandma holding them in her precious hands. 

Please pray that God and St. Christopher keep their hands cupped safely around Fly Boy.

Thanks.

 

 

 

A Soldier and Her Military Police Dog

John Scalzi, our Blogfather, has given us this photo assignment:

Your Monday Photo Shoot: Take a picture of something that shows what Memorial Day means to you. This can mean something directly related to remembering soldiers and others who have served their country -- but if Memorial Day also means fun, sun, cookouts or other things, you can use that as well.

Here's mine!  I decided to let you see something a little different involving someone who's serving her country.

Last week, while visiting Fly Boy in North Carolina during his mid-tour break from the war in Iraq, he took me to the Military Police compound to visit with some of his fellow soliders and buddies.  Fly Boy spent 5 years as a Military Police Officer before switching over to fly helicopters.  He trained and certified a police dog right before that change in assignments, so the working dogs are near and dear to his heart. 

I had the opportunity to witness the love and dedication of these K-9  handlers and the deep devotion of the dogs to their masters.  It was a fascinating experience.

This is Morgan, a military police officer and her dog who's trained to identify explosives.  Morgan is saying goodbye to her faithful partner of two years as she's rotating to a different assignment and base.  I am sure her grief is overwhelming.  I plan to send her a copy of this photo so she can cherish the beautiful moment. 

 

Don't Walk on the Grass

Well, I am home after a fairly exciting trip. In fact, I wouldn’t be terribly surprised if the someone from the FBI drops in this afternoon.

In these times of intensified homeland security and especially since the good people in the great state of Oklahoma experienced the ravages of terrorism first-hand, asking for wheelchair assistance at the Will Rogers International Airport can get you processed quickly and probably a little more thoroughly than an ambulatory passenger.

As a “special assistance” traveler, I was wheeled through elevators and back door entrances to a processing unit that dealt with airport staff and those of us who may not be able to pass a metal detector or required some additional searching for some reason or another. In my case, it was the fact that I wore the black knee high “walking cast” securely held with Velcro straps, and they didn’t want me to remove it for processing. "Not a problem!" I was told by a cheerful young woman from the Transportation Safety Administration, in a sweet Okie drawl.   “Ma’am, if you can take off your shoe, then walk through the metal detector we’ll just check that cast on the other side!”

My designated wheelchair pusher, who obviously had extensive training in the finer details of wheelchair mechanisms, locked the wheels in place as I pushed myself to my feet and proudly walked through the metal detector without it emitting so much as a peep! I was then told to sit back in the wheelchair, which had been rolled through to where my carry-on items, including my purse and tote bag had arrived at the end of the conveyor.

The TSA agent approached me with what looked like a cattle prod, with a Stridex pad attached to the end and told me she was going to swab the palms of my hands and my “boot” as she called my cast. I watched with great interest as she took her samples, then she headed toward the machine that would test the samples for traces of explosive material.

I began to collect my belongings from the gray plastic box that held them. The trip through the conveyor caused some of the items in my purse to spill out. I noticed that my highlighter was uncapped, possibly opened by the security people, and as I picked it up my hands became stained a pretty florescent yellow.

It was then that I heard the bells and whistles go off and the TSA agent frantically told her boss, “I’ve got an alarm!”

I looked her way as I worked feverishly to remove the yellow highlighter stains from my hands with hand sanitizer, and noticed every TSA eye turned toward me.

Me.

MOI?

I gulped, and with my eyes nearly bulging from their deep-set sockets, I imagined that I probably looked downright suspicious as I wiped the substance off my chubby mitts!

Immediately, her boss; an ample sized Black man with an intimidating deep voice said sternly, “Ma’am, I need to see your photo identification and boarding pass, NOW! And, where exactly is your final destination?”

“Ummmmm.” I searched my quickly fading memory bank, not knowing whether I still knew my name, considering the circumstances.

“Bakersfield, California” I replied, wondering if I took too long to figure out where I was going. Just my luck that would be another part of the profile. The TSA training guide probably says…“Look for dumb shits who can’t quickly articulate their destination.”

I figured next I would escorted to a small room outfitted with bright lights, with armed interrogators and tape recorders and be required to explain the reason I was in Oklahoma.

Pleasure? Business? Neither, honest. Sick 88 year old Grandma. Plain and simple. Honest. Visited my son in North Carolina for a few days. He’s an Army Helicopter pilot who was home from Iraq for his mid-tour break. ::beaming proudly:: Then I paid about a million dollars more to make this here stop in Oklahoma to see my Grandma.

The bad guy interrogator would cross his arms over his chest and say, “Yeah right lady. YOU have a grandmother at your age?” Then he’d laugh sarcastically. The good guy interrogator would smile, tell me not to pay the other guy no mind, pat my arm and tell me how much easier that this whole thing will be if I would just cooperate with them and be truthful.

I snapped back into reality when the TSA agent told me that I would need to submit to a “pat-down” search. I saw the boss man making telephone calls and writing down my identifying information figuring I’d now be scrutinized every step of the way. I asked the TSA agent if that would be the case as I had two layovers/connections on this flight home.

She informed me that I had probably just walked through a yard that had been fertilized and that caused the sample from my “boot” to test positive for explosives, yet they had to take things like this very seriously, as she proceeded with the pat down search of my person.

Understandable, of course.

I was then allowed to proceed to the gate, where I was early enough to watch the crew board the early morning flight. Two Pilots, several Flight Attendants, and two burly handsome men in plain clothes who held brief cases and newspapers, used their security codes to pass through the locked doors and on to the airplane.

As a special assistance passenger, I was allowed to board the aircraft in the first wave and then I saw him. It was one of those handsome guys that boarded with the crew. As I passed him, he was sitting in the First Class section. He lowered his newspaper, just below eye level and took a l-o-n-g, hard look at me.

I’m thinking it was because I look p-r-e-t-t-y hot since I lost that 20 pounds!

What d'ya think? 

Here I sit, when I should really be having my fanny in high gear, packing for my trip tomorrow.  Procrastination is my middle name and I've convinced myself that I work best under intense pressure.  So I suppose tonight about bedtime, I will be throwing too many things for a week's visit in an undersized suitcase and praying that I've packed the important stuff like......unmentionables.   

As much as I want to see my son and grandmother, I am dreading the overall trip time for the flight days, which average 10-12 l-o-n-g hours each segment.  Then of course, they are flying me all over the country...because you just can't get there from here.  This probably accounts for most of today's lack of enthusiasm.

Actually, I shouldn't complain too much, because I was fortunate enough to get a flight out of our "local" airport, which is just 45 miles away.  Our little back-woods airport is currently in the process of some major remodeling and growth to support the area which now tops 300, 000 people. 

I paid a premium for the privilege of flying from Meadows Field, but with gas, travel time, traffic frustration and 7-day parking fees considered, the cost may be comparable to a drive/flight out of LAX, which is about 2 hours away.  One thing for sure, it's got to be a whole lot less stressful than any mega-airport, regardless of location. 

But my biggest concern is on this trip is my comfort, or rather the discomfort that I am expecting considering the problems with this ankle.  Lack of leg room is a given considering that I am flying "economy."  But, with the addition of this clunky plastic, knee-high walking cast, the resultant swelling to my foot and ankle from the walking and sitting without elevating it, just flat-out scares me. 

I guess I will survive. (<---Somehow, a poor choice of words considering the fact that I am going to fly a zillion miles during the next week and my fatalistic attitude.) 

Flight insurance anyone?

 

The Honeymooners

Fly Boy and Fall Girl are enjoying their delayed honeymoon prior to the onslaught of family arriving this weekend to visit them in North Carolina. 

They spent a few days in Savannah, Georgia and loved the area's wonderful history and charm.  They talked about the awesome old houses and how they'd love to live there.  Of course he said, I'd have to move there too, so I could be close to the grandkids!  

Somehow, as much as I want grandchildren, I just can't bear the thought...at least right now, of leaving my beloved community here in California.  But, perhaps they could find a place with a Mother-In-Law apartment or guest house so I could come and go.  But, there is no sense in worrying about that right now, because we can just cross that bridge when we get to it. 

Yesterday afternoon they were in Jacksonville Beach, Florida and planning to fly to Miami this morning so that they can spend a few days of sun and big time fun in the Keys.  I believe they're going to start out in Key Largo and take it from there!  I did some online research for them and I think they're going for some snorkling and boating at the state park on the island. 

I am sure there are photo opportunities galore and I would love to visit that area myself one of these days.  In the meantime, I will have my own photo ops next week in North Carolina, hopefully along the coast....some lighthouses would be nice! 

I can't wait to give that boy a BIG hug on Sunday!

New 'Puter, New Photo Program, New Poster!

For the past few hours I have been playing with my new photo editing program, Adobe Photoshop Elements 3 and having a little fun with some of the effects and loving it!  Boy, there's so much to learn!  I think I will buy a video tutorial that Marie told me about.  Graphic arts is something that's always interested me and to be able to combine my love of photography into creative projects such as cards, enhanced photos and frameable artwork.   

When Papa was in the hospital last August, I bought him a bunch of daisies, and sat and played with my new camera as he slept.  Today I "posterized" one of my daisy photos with the editing program and I thought it turned out so cool!  I'm thinking that I may even be able to use some new creations for artwork in my remodeling project.  

For some reason over the past couple of years, I've been so drawn to yellow and will try to work the color into my kitchen and dining room as an accent.  

Let's see....what else is happening?  I found and bought the Italian tile for my entry way yesterday.  The tile itself wasn't too expensive for a 7x7' area, but those darn little inlaid borders cost about 7 bucks a piece for a total of $200.  I started asking myself if the borders were really necessary and then decided to go for it.  After all, as I tell the kids...I am spending their inheritence. And, home resale values are skyrocketing here, so I guess it's money well spent and recoverable in the long run.  

I'm working out the details for my trip to OKC and Fayetteville, NC this weekend.  Decided to leave Sunday to NC, then fly to OKC next Thursday to see Grandma Jessie, returning home on Sunday, the 29th.  A quick trip, but worth it to love on Fly Boy and my adored Grandma while the gettin' is good!  

Better go so I can get Ab signed up for the Power Chord Academy, which is a music summer camp for aspiring rock and roll artists!    

You all can say you knew her "when! "