Abstract Rantings

I came home tonight after spending a great evening with the knitster sisters to a quiet house. The girls and I had great laughs, the food was okay, the waiter was cute and I joked about the funny things I would put on my blog tonight.

This wasn't on the list and if you're expecting funny, look away. This is extremely "depressing", for lack of a better word. I don't even know what to call it.

Like I said, I came home to a quiet house. John and Hank were in bed so I turned off the television and decided to go through the bills. Among the bills, and other extraneous crap that is deliverd to my house, I noticed a small, but soon to be powerful envelope. One which I hesitated to open upon reading the return address. It was from my sister and my brother-in-law.

Their lives have been forever altered in such a manner that I still cannot even fathom. To say I cannot wrap my fucking brain around it would be an understatement. Bill's daughter, Rebecca, was murdered about a month ago by a man. Her cowardly husband, who was soon to be an ex, did the plotting, while some other slime-of-the earth carried out the deed. They will remain nameless, because evil deserves no fucking recognition and may they all ROT IN HELL!


I don't even feel right writing about this, but when I opened that envelope fully expecting to see the words "thank you" but instead I gazed upon her face I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. I don't know what it is I am experiencing, but the intense expression on her face, the sadness in her eyes, the manner in which she holds her head is haunting me.

Michael's Last Flight

Tonight we went to the beach to watch John's brother's ashes be scattered at sea by plane. It was such a beautiful experience.

The sun was setting behind the islands, the sky was clear, there were over 50 people all standing in silence at the shores edge as the plane flew by and made a complete circle around us then came back around and we watched from the shore as his ashes were released into the air like a stream of smoke that fell to the sea.

We all watched as the plan returned, tipped its' wings and dropped what looked like hundreds of butterflies falling from the sky. After a few moments, rose petals began to wash up on the shore as the sun turned a brilliant shade of red. Family and friends gathered rose petals for keepsakes. One last memory.


It was a wonderful night for his last flight.

Observations on Death

Each life is unique and each death is unique and all the self-help books that line the shelves make for good door stops and coasters. So saith me.

Christians who state "he's happy now" whilst smiling, in a chipper voice, in front of a roomful of mourners should be cited for bad manners or shot on site based upon their proximity to the greiving widow. So saith me, Goddess of the Yarn Room and all that is Good. Can you tell I miss my Knitster Sisters?

It's always the same thing, "they're happy now", "they are in a better place," (apparently Heaven is just a skosh past Disneyland) or "they are with God". It isn't comforting and what's worse is it isn't even profound!

And I can Rant on this issue (I rant therefore I am) because A: it's my blog and 2: I have had my own experience with these delusional Christians. After I had lost a child whilst being hugged by a bible thumper who was allegedly comforting me whispered in my ear, "God needed an angel." But wait, isn't he the guy that can make his own? Not only was it not comforting, but it pissed me off and God and I haven't spoken ever since. If it's such a great place, shouldn't they be dying to get it? I do love a good pun.

Christ said, "He that loveth his life shall lose it; and he that hateth his life shall keep unto life eternal." You never hear that one in a roomful of mourners.

And I have yet to hear Plotinus quoted and he wrote great stuff.

"For a superior soul, the stars are not only prognostics, but the soul is part of and evolves internally along with the All, in which it participates."

Now, it may not be profound, but at least it serves as a pleasant distraction.

And speaking of pleasant distractions, Elmo called, twice. We spoke for 15 minutes where he spun my head with ipso-facto-habeous-corpus jargon and that he thinks he might be getting out in ten months and then he called again and he and John spoke for another 15 minutes. From what I can gather he finally got a lawyer to listen to his argument who then sent in another lawyer with students to listen to his argument and they are convinced he can't lose.

Whether he gets out or not is yet to be seen, but it was great to see John smile again. Elmo always seems to call whenever we are at our lowest and from behind those prison walls he somehow manages to raise us back up again.

The Fight Must Continue

Safia Amajan, a leader in the rights for women, was laid to rest this week after being shot to death while wearing the traditional Islamic Burqa. Safia was on her way to work as director of Afghans Ministry to Women’s Affairs. Her requests for protection and safe transportation had been denied by her government. While a teacher for over 30 years, she also ran an underground school to teach girls.

In 2001, she opened 6 schools and helped teach over 1,000 women. This year alone, over 158 schools have been attacked in Afghanistan because they dare to teach women.

She refused to give up knowing the consequences of her actions because the future of other women's lives meant more to her than her own.

This week my biggest complaint was I was treated badly by a man over the phone because he doubted my female ability to interpret a specification.

I complain out of ignorance, because I forget how good I have it. I forget I can work where I want, wear what I want, learn what I want and say what I want and I want that for all women. I really do. But realistically, I'm not getting off my ass to do anything about it except send a check or talk about it.

But Safia walked the walk and for that she is my hero.