Guest Blog Post #5

This blog post is by my very good friend, Stacey. It is about chronic pain, something I know all too well and I thank her for sharing. Follow her on Twitter at @ALHSMommy please.

Sixteen years ago, a man driving a pickup truck ran a red light and changed my life. I had just eased out into the intersection, when he slammed into the driver’s side door of the car I was driving, totaling my sedan. He walked around my car and talked to me while the firemen worked to free me from the wreckage of my car. After the police gave him a ticket for running a red light, he drove his truck away from the scene of the accident, completely uninjured, and I never heard from him again. His name is Jay Pickle and what follows is what I’d like to say to him.

Mr. Pickle, your one moment of careless behavior completely changed the course of my life. Perhaps you never think of that little mistake you made all those years ago. Most of the time, I don’t think about that day, but I deal with the consequences of your action every hour of every day. In the mornings, I get out of bed in pain, barely able to lift my arms or turn my head. I spend the first hour of every day stretching and soaking my body in a tub of hot water to get to the point I can function as a mother. I have all sorts of neat tricks to get me through a day of taking care of my children, too, and I’m very good at multitasking. For example, I can use an ice pack or a TENS unit while reading to my kids. Sure, it takes me twice as long as other mothers to do every little task. Certainly, I have to stop to rest in the middle of chores or lessons, but I still do it all. You ruined my back, but I didn’t allow you to ruin my life.

Yes, I have children, Mr. Pickle. The doctors were able to repair and save my uterus after you damaged it slamming into my car at 40 mph. My first baby was only six months old at the time. I thank God I had just dropped him off with my sister, because the crash completely ruined his car seat. You would have killed my baby. Six hard years later, and after surgery I was able to have another baby. Two years after that, a miracle happened and I had a third child. The doctors never thought that would be possible, but I am strong and determined, and I did it. The third pregnancy stressed my uterus to the point it could no longer be saved and in 2001, I finally gave in and had a hysterectomy. I am happy and fulfilled with the three children I have, but sometimes I get a yearning to have another baby. That will never happen. You took that option away from me.

With each passing year, my spine gets weaker and more deformed. There is a surgical option, but the risks that it could cripple me are too great. I’m not willing to risk it. So, I live in pain, every minute of every day. I no longer remember what it feels like to not be in pain. I give thanks for days when the pain is relatively mild and I use those days to catch up from the ones I spend barely making it through.

I wonder where you are, Mr. Pickle, and what kind of life you have had. I wonder if I ever cross your mind. I wonder if I’ll ever really forgive you.

Guest Blog Post #4

Here is an insightful and funny piece from Denise Swank. Please enjoy it and you can find her Twitter handle and blog addy at the end of it:

Socially Savvy

Social media is revolutionizing the world. Facebook and Twitter are ways to reach out into the world and connect with target audiences. But what about reaching a closer audience? Like your children?


It's a well known fact teenagers are repulsed at the idea of having an actual conversation. You only have to observe two teens sitting side by side sending each other texts to know this is true. But having a conversation with their mother? Shudder. Yet, we parents need to stay in tuned with our kids, so what are we supposed to do? Tap into their preferred communication technique.


Text messaging.


Lucky for my children, I am social media savvy. (I really want to insert an evil laugh here, yet I will refrain.)


My teens have cell phones, but the rule is if they don’t answer my phone call or text, they better have a REALLY good reason. Like they were driving. Or they were attacked by killer bees. Or they were under general anesthesia donating a kidney to buy my birthday gift.


Last Friday, my 8th grade daughter, Julia, went to the high school football game with friends. I told her to text me when her friend’s mother was bringing them home. What followed was deeply moving, bonding experience between mother and daughter.*


Julia: We’re on our way home


Me: Did you win?


Julia: No, we lost. The other team kicked the ball thru some posts at the end


Me: A field goal?


Julia: You know what a field goal is? Did they have football when you were in school?


Me: Of course. Back in those days we used T Rex bladders for balls. The Brontos' bladders were too big.


Julia:???


Julia: Oh! Abby thought you were funny


Me: See??? I keep telling you I’m funny.


Julia: No, Mom. No


Abby (to me): Ms. Denise you were funny


Julia (to me): Stop you are embarrassing me


Me (to Julia): What about Muffy? All my readers thought she was funny. (flatulent dog from my novel)


Julia: No, Mom


Me: :-P”””


Julia: Huh?


Me: It’s a face! With a tongue hanging out, spitting.


Julia: ?


Me: It’s a VERY sad day when a mother teaches her 13 y/o daughter an emoticon.


Julia: Oh Mom


Abby (to me): that was funny


Julia (to me): MOM!


Me: X-(


Julia: I don’t get it


Me: It’s an angry face. Turn it sideways.


Abby (to me): I see it! That's cool!


Julia (to me): Mom, stop, my friends think you are funny


Me: Oh, the horror! Did you have fun?


Julia: Yeah


Me: Any cute boys?


Julia: MOM! STOP!


(Car pulls into driveway. Julia comes into the house.)


“Now you’ve done it. My friends think you’re cool.” Julia mumbled when she walked in the house.


“Is that a bad thing?”


She gave me a dramatic eye roll as she left the room.


Is there an emoticon for that?


*This text conversation may have been slightly exaggerated for entertainment purposes.

When not tormenting her children, Denise can be found on Twitter as @DeniseMSwank or on very rare occasions, lurking on her own blog http://www.theresalwaysroomforonemore.com

Guest Blog Post #3

I am honored to present a heart-felt post by @SuthernGeekette aka Amy. Follow her on Twitter and visit her at http://sutherngeekette.tumblr.com/

Pregnancy and infant loss awareness day was October 15th prompting me to write this about my own personal experiences.

I think about the children I've lost everyday. I've had two miscarriages. People who have never experienced it sometimes can't comprehend the pain you feel. It is the deepest heartbreak I've ever felt.

My first was over 13 years ago. It was my very first pregnancy. I was about 8 weeks along. I was at work. Without going into graphic detail, suffice it to say, my miscarriage started and I immediately went into denial. My co-workers had to convince me what was happening. I went to the hospital.

Hours later when the ER doctor finally checked me out, he got me in to see the ultrasound technician. She showed me on the screen where the baby had been. I began to cry and shake, coming to terms with what had happened.

She then said, "Wait, you hear that?" I said, "Hear what?" I couldn't hear over my own crying. I took a breath and calmed down. I heard a strange woosh-woosh sound. She smiled at me and said, "That is your OTHER baby's heartbeat." It was the most wonderful sound I had ever heard. In that one moment, I felt grief, love and joy all at the same time.

Seven months later my son was born. He was purple and they had to help him take his first breath but he was alive and healthy. It was a true blessing. And we just celebrated his 13th birthday last week.

The second child that I lost was a lot different. It happened almost nine years after the first. I had been very meticulous about going to the doctor. I had seen my baby on the ultrasound. Looked like a little bean on the screen. I heard that wonderful woosh-woosh sound. They said she had a strong heartbeat. They said she looked good. Everything was fine as far as they could tell. No, they didn't say the baby was a girl, but...I knew she was. I felt it. I was scheduled to come back at 12 weeks. By week 11, I was spotting. I got scared, fast. The doctors worked me in that same day. I went in to get the ultrasound and the technician wouldn't say anything except that she couldn't answer questions. That I would have to talk to my doctor.

Seemed like hours before I got through the rigamarole to finally see my doctor. He told me the baby had died at approximately 10 weeks. I started crying, uncontrollably. He was very patient. He calmed me down enough to talk to me. He explained that it hadn't been anything that I had done. Even though, for some reason, I felt I had. He further explained that sometimes babies just don't develop correctly and that it was probably a breakdown on a cellular level that caused the baby to die. He kept reiterating that it was nothing I had done and for me not to take the blame for something I had no control over. Because I have a bicornuate uterus, it would be too risky to my health to perform a DNC procedure to get the remains of my baby. I would have to let "nature take it's course".

Again, without going into graphic detail, I'll tell you this: that miscarriage took 3weeks to reach completion. Those were the worst 3 weeks of my life. I was motionless as much as possible. I was basically bedridden. My body was slow to finish the miscarriage and my heart broke constantly. Not a moment passed when I wasn't crying and mourning the child I had come to love. I had named her in my mind and in my heart.

She wasn't "just a pregnancy" as I've heard some callous people claim. She was my baby. My child. And I loved her. I still love her and mourn her every moment of every day. She was my Katherine and I miss her deeply.

Guest Blog Post #2

The economy continues to affect many of us negatively. The 2nd guest blogger to appear here this week has thoughts on this subject. You may know her as @Lissy_Kuri and she is one of the first people I Followed on Twitter. Please copy my action and Follow her. And help her with a job, if it's within your power.

The American worker is said to be the backbone of our nation. Yet today many go unemployed. Or overworked and underpaid. To say the least, I am one of these workers. Work long hours never get that "pat on the back" and suddenly after working with a company they let me go. No explanations, just goodbye. Is it my fault for having a lack of education, my middle class family told me from when I turned 16, "miha ( daughter ) you need to get a job." Then after graduation, 19, "miha, you need to go to college, but we can't pay for it." Yet I did it, for a little while anyway. Working 40 hours then going to school for 20 was hard. After a while it got expensive. Then my parents said, "miha you need to help with the bills." So there I was, 22, working full time,.going from one dead end job to another, with no end in sight.

This is the fate of many young people today, working at food chains, and other customer service jobs. Not that there is anything wrong with an honest day's work. But at some point your experience is higher than a college degree, then you be come typecast as only working in the retail industry. You find you have to fill out applications and work alongside teenagers. Then wonder how did I get to this point. What other choice do I have, go back to school and get high interest student loans then after I get my degree become part of another problem with having a large debt that I won't be able to be rid of until I'm in my 40's?

Guest Blog Post #1

This week's first guest blogger is @1BlondeWonder, as she is known on the Twitters. She has decided to post on a topic I gave to those who were wondering what to blog about; what does Twitter mean to you? She's a lot of fun and I recommend you Follow her immediately:

Twitter

Twitter means different things to different people. I joined twitter to help take my mind off of a breakup. I needed the distraction, it didn’t make me feel better but it sure kept me occupied. It was strange at first, figuring it all out but it didn’t take long to learn the rules, there really aren’t any. I was fascinated by all these people who were somewhere in the world conversing at the same place and at the same time.

My first twitter friend was April. Even over the internet waves I knew I liked her, cyber chemistry. It wasn’t long before other friends came along. How do you explain twitter to someone who’s never heard of it or ever tried it? It’s a way to connect even when you feel disconnected. They can’t understand how relationships can form, but they do. There are many people who I have met who I would love to meet in real life. I know of several people whose relationships have carried over into the real (outside) world. There’s someone for everyone on twitter, to agree or disagree.

How many celebrities have I talked to? It’s crazy! How else could that ever happen, communicating in real time talking to them about whatever? It doesn’t. It’s a whole new way to connect and you either get it or you don’t. It has opened up a whole new world for me, a place to go when you feel isolated, a place to chat, share ideas, and expand your views. Incredible.

Guest Blog Post Details

So you want to rent space here, huh? Got something to say? Want to vent over here, in the corner of the internet where the dustbunnies thrive? Well have at it! It's free of charge and oh so easy to do. Here are the details:

• Offer open to anyone who has something to say.
• No minimum or maximum word count.
• I ask that there be no excessive profanity or sexuality.
• You may have your post entered as "anonymous"
• Please have your post to me sometime within the week of October 18th..
• Submit your post to my email at robjohnson22@gmail.com
• The sooner the better!

That's it. I eagerly await your nimble and intriguing posts in my email box. Have fun!

Begging

The business where I spend my time serving humanity and collecting a huge paycheck has a large parking lot located near one of the main streets that run through my hometown. Hint: it's name is NOT Main St.!! During breaks and lunch periods I spend time in my truck in this very parking lot, listening to classical music, eating healthy salads and concocting snooty lies about the kinds of things I do in my truck during breaks and lunch periods. At least once a week I am approached by beggars. They walk up to the window, wait for me to roll it down and turn down the volume on the local rap station and ask for money, food, or money. Mainly money. Whatever I can spare. Please.

How do you deal with people who approach you asking for spare change? Do you have a no tolerance policy? Do you give every time you are asked? Do you gauge the character of the person asking you before deciding to help?

My truck has a section near the gear shift for change and I keep pennies, nickels, dimes, and, how did you guess? quarters there. I usually reach down and tell whoever that all I have is a quarter. Will this really help someone out? Or does it do more for me by assuaging any guilt over the unfairness of the situation? When I am on lunch and have some spare snack on the seat beside me available, I suppose I could offer it to the individual. "Here, have a Pringles Potato Crisp." doesn't seem like much of a solution. Perhaps keeping a deli sandwich in a cooler for such occassions would be far more fitting. Should I do that?

This blog post was inspired by an incident from yesterday morning that I cannot get to leave my head. At 5:55am a slightly haggard woman approached my truck. It was far too early for this, I thought, and pretended to suddenly find something on the roof of my truck extremely interesting. Through my peripheral vision, I spotted her raising something and, fearing a weapon, I decided to look at her. In her hand was a photo. The color photo showed a large Mexican male, bald, with a bushy mustache, dressed in a sleeveless white T-shirt and white cargo shorts. He was standing near a brick wall with an air of weariness about him. I rolled down my window.

The woman, in English with a slight Spanish accent explained, slowly and without hesitation, that the man in the photo was her husband. They had 4 children together all of whom she was caring for because he was taken to Mexico. She wanted anything I could spare in order to hire a "coyote" who would bring her husband across the border so he could help her feed her children.

Quite a story. I believed her. She appeared earnest. A potato chip probably wouldn't have helped. Nor a sandwich. A quarter then? Her plan seemed to entail quite a cost. Would a dollar be enough? 5 dollars? 10? Or... wait. We are talking illegal immigration here. She wanted me to support, with my money, an act of illegal immigration. But there were children involved, weren't there? This was now an issue of humanity, not law. Right? What would it take for you to walk parking lots before 6am, asking for spare change from whoever you came across? Would you do this without hesitation, for your husband? For your children?

I won't tell you what I did, how I responded. What would you have done?

But here is an odd thing. I am attaching relevance to it that may not be appropriate. Something happened today at lunch break. In my truck, reading the Wall Street Journal, I put the paper down and stared ahead, pondering, not focusing on anything. Motion on the ground outside my window attracted my attention. A small, chubby bird was looking at me. I don't know bird types at all, but let's say it was a wren, because "wren" is a great Scrabble word. This wren hopped closer looking AT me. Waiting.

The damned bird was begging. And not for a quarter or for help in getting her wren husband out of a zoo in Mexico either. I was pretty sure. I cracked the window enough to throw something out at the bird. She hopped away a little. Then looked at the busy street. Then back at me, as if letting me know the coast was clear and to toss out the bit of food or whatever I had to give her. I took a potato chip and tossed it out the window as hard as I could. It curved down to the ground and cracked in two. She looked at me. Hopped over. Looked around, then back at me. She picked up a half in her beak and chewed rather quickly, if it can even be described as chewing". She looked at me again, her little bird face tilted slightly, as if trying to memorize my face. She picked up the other, larger half of the chip and hopped a bit before flying away.

This would be where I tie the two events together. How we are all, man and beast, reliant on one another. How sometimes we need to beg for what we need. Hard times eventually grace us all and no man is an island. We are the world. I am my brother's keeper and all that. No one gets out of this world alone and people NEED people and so on and so forth. But I won't do that. That would be cheesy. If I was being taught something by Someone larger than myself, well, that's not for me to bore YOU with. You get to go through this life in your own skin. And you get to give or not give to beggars as you see fit. And when you are in need they are free to treat you the way they wish.

Maybe when I need help, someone will toss me a potato chip, I will memorize their face, and thank them in my own way.

Overturning Prop 8 is bad for everyone, even Gay Rights Supporters

On August 4th, U.S. District Judge Vaughn R. Walker declared California's ban on same-sex marriage unconstitutional based on federal constitutional grounds. California "has no interest in differentiating between same-sex and opposite-sex unions" he said in his 136-page ruling. Vaughn said the ban violated the federal constitutional guarantees of equal protection and of due process.

More facts:

Proposition 8

Yes 6,838,107 52.3%

No 6,246,463 47.7%

Total votes 13,084,570 100.00%
Voter turnout 79.42%

So here's where the cheers went up, the Gay Rights Supporters, who were crushed when Prop 8 was passed, were now jumping up and down with glee. Supporters of the Proposition were crushed, wondering what happened. Something simple happened. A self-serving creep in black robes decided he would decide what was right. HE would nullify the wishes of nearly 7 million voters by overturning this Proposition. HIS vote was more important than 7 million people. One man, one vote? Not to Judge Walker.

This issue is shrouded by the nature of the subject. Gay Marriage is a hot button issue and emotions tend to get in the way of intellect. Let's remove the issue at hand, or, better yet, reverse it. Say the Proposition was defeated and Gay Marriage was passed in 2008. Now, stick with me here, imagine a heterosexual judge (Judge Vaughn Walker is a homosexual) overturning the decree based on a constitutional something-or-other. NOW are the Gay Rights advocates cheering? Doubtful.

A Proposition goes through tests of constitutionality before it is placed on a ballot. Proposition 8 passed this test. A majority of voters agreed with the stated goals of Proposition 8. This majority voted for its approval yet one person, one judge, decided he would thwart the will of the people. Take the sensitive nature of the Proposition out of the equation. A majority of the populace voted for something and one judge took it upon himself to deny this vote. Is this not a dangerous precedent? Should we not be outraged that one activist judge believes he can alter the vote of nearly 7 million Californians instead of celebrating this particular initiative? What if next time a judge overturns something YOU and the majority of your area voted for fair and square based on some loophole. If you celebrate this single judge's decision then you will have no right to rail against the next judge who places him or herself above the voters.

You see, it doesn't matter what the subject is. My point is that a grave miscarriage of justice happened on August 4th and it is being lost within a debate about whether two men or two women should have a right to get married*. Next up will be a decision by California's 9th Circuit Court of Appeals, a liberal institution that will, likely, approve of Judge Walker's decision. From there the U.S. Supreme Court will take it on. My prediction is that they will overturn it by a vote of 5-4. This entire circus will have gone on far too long and proven dangerous to our democracy. Try to look past the Gay Rights/Support of Marriage aspect of this situaion. There is a larger point here. Please consider it.

*California is one of the few states in which gay partners are granted all the civil rights of a married couple by the way.

Can baseball be perfected? With my plan, yes it can.

"I just cost that kid a perfect game. I thought he beat the throw. I was convinced he beat the throw - until I saw the replay" -Jim Joyce

On June 2nd, in a baseball game between the Detroit Tigers and the Cleveland Indians, Tigers pitcher Armando Galarraga had a Perfect Game going until the last out of the game when First Base Umpire Jim Joyce mistakenly called runner Jason Donald safe after Donald hit a grounder to First Base. Replays showed that Galarraga, covering at first, got the throw from Miguel Cabrera and touched the base a stride ahead of Donald, but Joyce inexplicably called Donald safe. Galarraga retired the next batter for a one-hitter that should have been perfect.

Both men handled the situation with class. The incident is a paragon for sportsmanship. However, let's face it, things need to be changed to make this sort of mistake impossible. I hereby give Major League Baseball permission to use any and all of the following ideas to "perfect" a game that is losing viewers faster than BP is losing market shares.

The human element in baseball is responsible for the blown calls and mistakes. Get rid of them. No more Umpires or Referees. Ditch them.

In their place, use technology. Infrared sensors can be calibrated so that Balls and Strikes can be called with incredible accuracy. Hey, they have it in tennis, right? Well, okay they don't, but they should. I will get around to fixing tennis next week.

In every ballpark install crazy lights on the foul poles. When a ball flies between the poles they light up in whatever team colors of the hitter who hit the home run. If the ball hits the pole and goes foul, no lights. Hit it and it goes fair, LIGHTS!

How about when a runner slides into a base and the ball reaches the mitt/glove of the player covering that base at what appears to be the same time? Sensors in the base and mitt/glove are instantaneously beamed to somewhere and computers do whatever they do and lights or sounds or something go off if the runner is either safe or out. I am an idea man, not a details man. Someone needs to figure out exactly what happens with this one, but you get the idea. SENSORS!

A questionable catch by an outfielder? Did he trap the ball or legitimately catch it? How about sensors in the glove and ball? Some tech company out there specializing in sensors will reap quite a large pile of money if my plan goes through.

I can't think of any other problem that can't be fixed by sensors. And you baseball purists out there; your sport is dying. Attendance is down, kids are watching football and basketball. The games take 3 days to finish. So don't get all huffy about my proposed changes. Your game is decided in ballparks in which the dimensions are not the same, the distances to Left, Right, and Center fields, etc. One league has a Designated Hitter, the other doesn't. The park in Seattle has a frigging HILL in the field, and you're gonna tell me this game is fair? Football and basketball games are played, universally, on fields and courts where the dimensions and rules are always the same. So embrace my sensors. EMBRACE MY SENSORS!

And give the kid, Galarraga, his perfect game. Don't let him be the only player in history to get 28 outs in a single game.

This post was inspired by a conversation I had on the Twitter with @twin2tim a great guy who helped me see the passion he has for the things he loves, baseball and human error being among them.