The Large Yellow Home.

At the bottom of our hill, between the tall Oregon pines and the scrub oak, sits a large yellow home.  In the summer the squirrels scamper amidst the flowers in the garden and dogs on leashes strain anxiously trying to join in the fun.  The large verandah overlooks a farm where the sheep lazily graze and the sounds of the tractor in the distance is a low, soft hum.

Cars drive up and down the hill, past the large yellow home, the farm and the pine trees.  The drivers oblivious to their surroundings eager to get to their destination. College students on bicycles with their headphones placed firmly in their ears cycling to the beat.

As the sun begins it's journey to foreign destinations the lights in the large yellow home turn on.  There are no curtains or blinds to obstruct the view.  As I drive up the hill I notice an older man sitting in his chair, gazing out his window.  My eyes glance up as I drive by and then focus back on the road and my mission.

There is a sign in front of the large yellow home.  It informs all who pass that this is an assisted living facility.  As the seasons begin to change and the squirrels sleep, the one thing that remains constant is the man, sitting in his chair, gazing out his window.

I wonder what his story is?  What does he see?  Does he have a family?  Did he abandon those who loved him in his earlier years now only to sit alone gazing out his window? Does he remember the days when he was connected to the rest of the world? Does he have regrets? Does he see the cars zooming up and down the hill?  Does he dream of days and moments lost? Does he want to close his eyes and see no more?

Does he see me, looking at him.

Reason Bajillion on Why I Love Twitter.

As many of you know I am a Twitter groupie.  Twitter gets things done.  Twitter has introduced me to some great people who I would never have otherwise met.  Alexis, Dr. Rob and Erin are some of those people.  

After the tragic event at Newtown, Alexis sent out this tweet.

My response and the response from Erin Ashe and Dr. Rob Williams with Oceans Initiative.  

I received an email from Dr. Williams letting us know that they were working on this.

Today I received an update from Alexis with an article that was on the news.

How cool is that!

Alexis, Erin and Rob you are the most rocking group of Marine Biologists out there!  Thank you.



Go follow these wonderful folk on Twitter and blogs.

Alexis Rudd - Sounding the Sea - http://bioacoustics.blogspot.com/

Erin Ashe and Dr. Rob Williams - Oceans Initiative - http://www.oceansinitiative.org/

I Still Remember.

Daddy at my Uncle's home in Madeira.

11:00am, 31st December 2001 is when my life changed forever.

11:00am, 31st December 2001 is when my brother called to tell me that my father was missing.

11:00am, 31st December 2001 is when I knew that my father was gone.

11:00am, 31st December 2001 is when I knew that I wouldn't ever see his smiling face, hear his infectious laugh, hold his caring hands and receive anymore robust hugs.

11:00am, 31st December 2001 is when I knew that I was so blessed to have spent time with my father in March 2001 on a family vacation.  Who knew it would be the last.

11:00am, 31st December 2001 is when I knew what it felt like to have a part of your heart taken away, never to be replaced.

11:00am, 31st December 2001 is when I learned that you never let the sun set on your anger, that you love with abandon and that you never miss an opportunity to let someone know how much they mean to you and how much you love them.

Daddy, you are missed, every day.  

Vicodin Filled Christmas.

Doesn't my foot look fabulous

Yesterday, Christmas Eve, I had surgery on my right foot.  The alien that was growing out of my ankle has now been removed.

Bear made a wonderful Christmas dinner, ham, gratin potatoes, sweet butternut and corn casserole.  Trevor contributed with much bitching. I gave orders from my comfy chair. I am very thankful for Vicodin and trying to stay ahead of the pain.

Hope your Christmas was filled with great food, family and wine!  I miss wine.  Wish I could sip on a glass, but Vicodin wins.

Merry Christmas everyone.

So Many Times We Forget to Say Thank You.

My favorite picture of T and Mr. Harris at graduation 2010

I was going through my pictures the other day and came across this picture of T. and his biology teacher, Mr. Harris.  This photo was taken at T's high school graduation.  I love this photograph as it epitomizes the relationship that Mr. Harris had, not only with T, but with all his students.  I never did get to say thank you.

So here it is.

Dear Mr. Harris,

Thank you for always believing in T and for never accepting work from him that you felt was inferior to what he was capable of doing.

Thank you for challenging T to think outside the conforming box, to question, research and question again.

Thank you for never giving up on T when he had those bad days when he didn't complete an assignment.  You held him accountable with his grade, but you showed compassion and kindness.

Thank you for respecting T as a human being and not blowing off his questions with condescending criticism.

Thank you for making Biology fun.  The classroom made up as a cell with masking tape was brilliant.

Thank you for your geekiness and nerdiness that helped T and so many other students deal with being stereotypes.    

Thank you for being firm, but gentle when lines were crossed.

Thank you for keeping me, the helicopter mom, informed of T's progress weekly and not surprise me with any "He did what?" at parent teacher conference. 

Thank you for dipping into your own pocket on more than one occasion to make science fun. 

Thank you for touching so many students lives in a positive way, it is no surprise you were regarded as the coolest teacher.

Thank you for allowing T to fail at certain things, to make him try harder, to make him understand that nothing comes easy or is free.

Thank you for making a difference.

With warmest regards,
T's Mom