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All the recent activity in the newspapers about adults in responsible positions who molest children in their care is and should be thought provoking.    The stories demand action and words because the nature of the act goes against all that is sacred in childhood.  Because these stories continue to make news it is clear that the actions of these predators have not abated.  Blaring headlines continue to generate a feeling of distrust for the integrity of institutions which have not protected our children.  Victims who may or may not have remained silent over the years continue to suffer.

Every time child molestation becomes a subject of public debate, some long time predators are exposed but at the bottom of anyone’s caring list is the long line of victims who continue to suffer various forms of post traumatic stress because they re-live the events personal to their own lives.
Before this most recent spate of chatter in the news, I started writing *a story about the fallout of childhood sexual abuse.  Although the narrative is fiction, it contains elements of someone’s truth. I hope that those who read it will be able to know that they are not alone even though loneliness is the hallmark of keeping such secrets hidden.                                                                                                                                         We don’t know what threats are forced on children making them have to lie about the abuse but that is another part of the story separate, but also ancillary to the effects of the actual abuse.
I hope to see the end of this predatory action on children.
What was done in the wake of other major well publicized events has been helpful but hardly seems to make a dent in the consciousness of predators past and present who are still out there. There is no group of survivors marching the streets in support of victims but there are tireless workers who try to help children of all ages, forever trapped in the mists of a murky childhood, struggling with normalcy as an adult, but wanting to see justice and an end to this disgusting criminal act.

*Fanfiction – Blunt Thou The Lion’s Paw

** Other real life stories available at Discover the Path – Women of Courage

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I know that many people travel by air every day,  others not so much. This is my third trip this year. For a non business person, I felt like I had reached my maximum.
Instead of travelling by Air Canada, I had to use Delta for the first time. It turned into a marathon, partly by choice. In the interests of saving money, we did the plane, train and automobile and bus route. The bus ride to Buffalo was uncomplicated but crowded. Going over the border still remains a measure of your ability to look honest and answer the questions as if you never did anything wrong in your life.
Timing is everything. A four hour wait at the airport fin Buffalo or the first flight out was hard. A little bench sleep helped the time to pass only 6% faster, as least in my estimation.
Delta has zone loading. they invite the rich and famous first then load from front to back. Seems to me that back to front would work better. In four days, I had four take-offs and four landings. God bless the Sarasota to Atlanta pilot. Best and most comfortable landing. Hated being squashed on a full plane…totally unnecessary on a plane with several empty seats.
Buffalo airport was comfy. Atlanta was a city unto itself. Sarasota was a mini version and very manageable.
Kudos to Michael in Sarasota who was funny and engaging while we waited for luggage. Would like to fly again with the nice man who helped me with a light bag. Loved the friendly Delta crew on the Sarasota to Atlanta flight. They were standouts in a company that already provides friendly respecful service.
To the greyhound bus driver in Buffalo whose sarcasm was unnecessary, I will use the Megabus guys anyday if you are a typical representitive of your company.
Thirty-two hours of travel time for a forty-eight hour visit was worth the effort. To spend time with my extended family in celebration of a 90th birthday is a rarity in many families and not a missed blessing in ours.  Happy birthday again dear cousin and thanks to all my other cousins who made the journey.

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Happy Birthday

To whom much is given, much is expected.  You have already done more than was expected of you.  Keep on the same path.

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He is not my President but he is an inspiring man and I wish him a very happy birthday today. For my 50th birthday I got my first grandson. He is fourteen now and entering high school in September. Time flies.
For his 50th, the President got more grief than he needed from a congress in America which seems to want contention more than it wants to continue its role as a world leader.
If the TEA Party really wanted to bring change to Washington, they should be working with the President. He is the real agent of change. Siding with the establishment has produced a stalemate of world crisis proportions and stalled any hope of recovery. Too bad..
In any case, I wish all the best to Mr. Obama and hope he will continue to try in the face of irrevent opposition.
BTW…I love Bill Maher but he was a real downer on The Ed Show. If you want magic then try to understand the role of POTUS. He does not have absolute control. He works with Congress not in his own sphere of law making and cheque signing at will. You can’t compromise with uncompromising people no matter how hard you try but you do have to try because he is the president of all America not just democrats. Now I see why you were never married Bill Maher.

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I wrote here extensively earlier this year when I was deeply disappointed in our national airline for failing to meet what i thought was the simple task of getting my luggage from the point of departure to the point of destination.  I received a heartfelt apology from the airline and of course some minor compensation was offered.  To be honest, I didn’t think I would ever use a discount because I hadn’t planned to travel but sometimes life surprises.

Indeed my recent trip to Hollywood was an unexpected bonus and the apology discount saved me a little bit.  Apart from the activities I needed to work on in Hollywood, I actually looked forward to experiencing a five hour flight.  I must say that the seats are far more comfortable on the wide body plane.  My long legs usually touch the chair in front of me and make for quite an uncomfortable and stiff ride.  I had a little more leg room.  Peoplke were helpful and friendly.  I was not entirely happy however.  It isn’t that I am picky.  I have been flying since 1949.  My first really conscious flight was in 1961 and my longest in 1966.  I am not a frequent flyer but longevity has given me some entitlement to speak on the subject of comfort flying.

I miss the food.  As a diabetic, I need to eat when I take insulin.  I don’t want to eat but the needs of my body overtake the needs of my circumstance and my desires.  I can eat all I want before beoarding but if my inner workings say I need food then please present me with meal options.  What happened to the days when you could get a hot meal.  I am not a sandwich eater, nor am I a lover of the meat wrap.  Nuts are good protein but hardly filling and chips are a no-no.  I smelled hot food on the plane and hunger for something substantial tore at my insides but there was nothing.

My latest complaint…we all pay for food.  Let one of the options be a hot meal for those who need it.  A five hour flight goes well beyond my time even if I stuff myself with a hearty breakfast but in this day and age, much preboarding time is spent taking off shoes and walking through metal detectors to make sure that there are no concealed weapons on your person.

I wonder if they consider a hot meal a weapon.  Next time I will get to the airport another hour earlier in order to eat and buy food. Or, I will save and save so that i can afford that delightfully expensive upgrade which gives a perfect bathroom, a seat that looks like the pod in a spaceship and leg room to not only stretch out but also elevate aching legs, and superservice which will include hot food.

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To the young man who I met on the shuttle bus, I wish you well.

Sitting next to me on the shuttle bus was a young man with ‘locks’, Jamaican style.  He listened to the adults speaking before tentatively asking some interesting questions of his own.  He told me a little about his background in Louisiana and what he hoped for his future.  He was just seventeen, three years older than my grandson but so poised and informed.  I was surprised that he was travelling across the country to attend basketball camp all by himself.  I thought he was pretty courageous and told him so.  He talked about his mother and what he hoped to do with his life.  I found him engaging and interesting, able to hold a conversation and be most amenable.  He asked a few quesitons about Canada.  I was able to show him how alike we are in both places and what makes us different.  His mother should be proud of him.

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Today as I walked around the boxes which contain artifacts and treasures from the past ten years of my life, I reflected on the sadness which loss always brings, even as I look with anticipation towards the future.
I have never been one to dwell on negatives but I often think about the difference between losing a loved one and losing a dream.
Our family and close friends are tied into the plans we make for our future but a dream is born of ourselves and represents the creative forces which drive our soul forward to its life lessons.
Women have traditionally had this creative force  realized with the conception and birth of a child. What of women who never conceive?  What do they have to drive their lives forward?  It has always been a question in my head and a reason why I celebrate all women on Mother’s day.  I was once told that the ability to create is not confined to procreation but all things which are born of our desire.

I have been lucky to have children and a strong creative drive. I thank my teachers past and present for their input.

Many years ago, I realized a dream to become an interfaith minister.  My hope was to establish and operate a small church or sanctuary which would be the home base of  services geared towards women affected by a challenging history.  The Sanctuary at Hestia’s Hearth became a reality. The loss of my business partner and best friend just after our opening didn’t derail the program and services,  but the energy needed to sustain it.
Five years after her death, I finally acknowledged the realization that the dream was not to be fulfilled in the way it was first envisioned. With a few prayers, I found a loving couple, or rather they found me and chose to live in the home attached to the Sanctuary.

As I survey the boxes  filled with treasures and collectables which had been chosen to grace the walls and tables and corners of the sanctuary, I have come to understand that they represent nothing unless I choose to make them the symbols of a failed enterprise.  They are not the dream nor are they  attached to the dream.  The dream is with me and dies when I die unless I allow it fall by the wayside of self defeat.

So I have said my goodbye to the dear friend who taught me much about life.  I will say my goodbyes to the building, the things, the space and even the person I was ten years ago and move on to a future whose enterprise is yet to be realized but whose dream is alive and well.

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