I wonder, is there a place anymore for people who do not want to live in the cities, who do not want consummerism to rule their lives, who would really rather live as the pioneers did than as we do in this society right now? It seems that the only way to escape such things anymore is wealth. I read somewhere that though here in the US our GNP might be the highest in the world our actual standard of living was eclipsed by several other countries. What does that say?

When we measure our lives by wealth and consumerism, what are we doing not only to our planet but to future generations? Ah, all of the questions that have been asked a million times before I did, and will be asked a million more times after me. Do I have a solution? Only for my own family. I don't believe there is a global solution save that each person must ask themselves these questions and more and then act for themselves.

That seems to be asking a lot of this country these days. We are pummeled day and night by propaganda.

You know, I took the day off from the news, the propaganda, and the strife a couple of days ago... It felt good. I felt refreshed, my psyche began to recover. Yes, I do feel guilty, there are so many who CAN'T 'take a day off' from it. It is hitting their homes, neighbors, and streets. But as I said, you can only ever really control yourself. So for me, I took a day off from it. If you haven't done so already, I really think you should. So much strife, fear, and negativity is not healthy for you and all of your worry and pain is NOT helping those people. The war will not suddenly take a different turn if your vigilance relaxes. It will still be there when you get back.

So please, this weekend, plan a walk outside, maybe a drive up to the woods... and when you get in the car, play a CD so you won't be interrupted in your musing by "breaking news". Take some paper and write your thoughts, or a blanket and just lay under the trees. Feel the breeze on your skin, say you silent "thank-you's" if you feel so moved, and let it all go.

Me... I plan on grabbing a couple of flutes (I play the Native American Flute), my kids, and my beloved and taking another couple of days off from anything but love, life, and the scent of the coming spring. And when I have de-stressed a bit, I'll play a mourning song for them, and for us all.

Ah, only a Monday could have sucked all the joy and energy out of so gorgeous a sunrise as there was yesterday. Mondays are the Feduciary Policy Manager that sucks all the joy out an otherwise damn fine week. Hence; the wise man takes his Tuesdays off when he can.

Woke up yesterday. It was early. Got out of bed. It was cold. Got dressed. Let the dogs out. Not so cold, now I was dressed. Got in the car. Know what? It was cold! Went to work.

No one enjoys being awake on a Monday. No one. Here's the thing though; ask yourself this. What the hell kind of person calls the Phone Company at 7:00 am about a $0.33 charge on their bill? A bill in excess of $60.00? That is a question I can answer for you.

The kind who loves to whine. There is a whole subsect of people out there who spend their lives looking for something to whine about. They scrape through life, turning over it's rocks, poking through it's old pockets, searching under it's old clothes in the closet, looking for something to whine about.

This fellow didn't even want a credit. He agreed to have incured the charge. He just wanted to complain. That was it. He didn't even want sympathy; I, being stupid enough to answer the phone, was obviously the one personaly responsible for this unimitigated assault on his fiscal freedom. Ha, little did I know he would see right through my supposedly genuine attempts to explain the charge, efforts to be helpful, and questions about what could I do to help. No; he didn't want such charges blocked in the future. He didn't even want it credited. He wanted me to feel bad that he had to pay $0.33 extra for something he used.

Question here; if you go to a gum-ball machine. Put in a quarter. Get a gum-ball. *CHEW THE GUM-BALL*. Then, write a letter to the gum-ball company complaining about having had to spend a quarter..... well, how much sympathy can you reasonably expect?

See, my problem is I'm a horribly empathetic person. My instincts are to do whatever I can to help someone with their problem. I also realize that just issuing credits is not the solution; then you just train people to be irresponsible. But, I'm happy to explain, educate, and if there is a mistake fix it as fast as humanly possible. I've even issued credits for things that were reasonable, just because I realized that while the truth may be that the charge is reasonable, the customer would always have a "bad feeling" about the experience, and what kind of customer service is that if they are not happy?

However, sympathy for someone because they are fishing for sympathy is another issue. We, as Americans, seem to have all but completely lost our sense of responsibility for our own actions. At what point did everyone else become responsible for making us do the right thing? At what point did we quit being accountable for our own actions?

So, I've made a new logo for my company:

"Qwest. We ain't yer ma'ma."

That, however, was Monday. Today is April Fool's Day, and a Tuesday, and the aniversary of the day I kissed my beloved Lyric for the first time. Stepping of a plane, throwing my bags down, running to each other, sweeping her up into my arms and kissing her.... absolutely Kodak/American Express kind of moment.

So on that note, I'm going to go chase down my lovely lady and play some re-runs *nudge-nudge, wink-wink*.

"Hope and despondancy, pleasure and pain, we mingle together in sunshine and rain"
By Someone Smarter Than I

Hello
Cookie has a book called Harry potter. In it there is a boy. Named Ron. he is my favorite character he loves candy and ice craem
he doesn't like to read but Hermione does. I do not like voldemort he is bad. He is the bad guy I don't realy have much to say
except tomorrow I will have a story

good bye )o(

A realy cool book! It's so funny, and the best part is it's a series so it continues.

Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer.

It's about a young boy who is only twelve years of age.
He is master mind... but he is the bad guy. With a plot. ( I am not going to tell the plot because that woud ruin the whole thing )
He captures a fariy, Holly, she is no pixie. No... Eoins own type of fairy different magic different language, and a different story.


You may think this is for kids because a kid said it was cool, not this story... my Daddy enjoyed it a lot to.

The secend book is called Artimis Fowl the arctic incident.


Peace )O(

Tempus Fugit. Time, that ineffible measurement of distance divided by velocity, marking our passing through the series of events which are identifed as "life", trudged on today at it's typical and relentless 60-seconds every minute. Ruthless, dispassionate bastard, isn't he? HE?!? Damn it. I mean, every culture I'm aware of identifies time as male. What is it about my gender that warrants identification with that "Ha ha, enjoyed that little bit eh? Never going to happen again! HAHAHA! *TTTHHHBBBBTTT!!!!!* Too old now aren't ya? Feeling stiff yet? Back hurt? Oooh.... no more staying up all night and being fine the next day for you! Now it's all 9-5 employment, depressing world events, and dull foot-wear. No more cool shoes for you! Go ahead; see if they make the nifty little sneakers with the flashing lights in the heel in your size! Legos? No more for you, buck-o! Get caught trying to make a moat and baily castle with dragon, wizard, and little army of knights and it's straight to the funny farm!" SOB. Women get Mother Earth, Love/Marriage/Life/Growth/Bein' Sexy deities. Mystery, sensuality, etc. All the yummy stuff. All arcross a dozen cultures. Like the cosmic sub-conscious made it clear who get's identified with what. Oh, and what do *we* (gender-speaking) get? Death. Time. War. Anal-Retentive Statician-esque Intellect. (Come on. Toth, Ibis-headed and all, has all the interesting personality of a pubic louse.) We get the dull ones, and the complete bastards. Thor? Come on; he's the unofficial god of Lighting Ones Own Farts. He can likely belch the runic alphabet, backwards, on the same mug of ale. Not quite the deep, thought-provoking type. Set? Maybe.... but he's a *bad boy*. But even our bad-boy deities just can't compare to the female bad-girls.

Face it my fellow fellows, when it comes to religion, we got the shallow end. And you wonder why so many Pagan men choose to dedicate to a female deity. That, and the chivalry thing. Face it; every young boy who read Le'Morte De' Arthur wants to live and die in service to their Lady. Open her doors, carry her heavy stuff, slay her dragons, and open her stubborn spaghetti jars. Yep. They left that out, in final print, but that's how Lancelot really got to Gwenhyfar; sticky jar lid. Charming smile, sly "Here, let me get that for you", grunt, flex, twist, *POP!*, and it's all over but the mattress dancing.

Time... friend and foe, companion and competitor, and the true blue oldest long-haired hippie. Tip o' the hat to you, Time. Keep at it; maybe you'll teach me patience some day.

Most likely not though. Better luck next incarnation :)

Bah. One of those days. I don't even feel like writing tonight. However, on the plus side, my sister will be praying for me and hopes deeply that I will find my way to Jesus. *smirk* Time for tea, bed, and a book. Blah.

Hello
My daddy. I love my daddy.
He is the greatest daddy I could ever ask for. He is fantastc. Not because he plays with me not because he plays on the computer. I love him
because he is my daddy. He is the perfect daddy for me. I love him. He is my daddy.



*I love you daddy*

Just a simple poem that I wrote:


THE TREES ARE MAGIC TO ME

The trees are magic to me as they move in the wind

The wind is magic to me as she sings to me her song like the birds song

The bird is magic to me when she whistles

She listens

She waits

She walks with me because the trees are magic to me


:)

Peace )O(