tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68478125718905239082024-03-19T16:03:25.441-07:00A View from a BlondThis blond is ambitious enough to start her own blog about comedy, bullies, motherhood, improvisation and whatever else tickles my fancy (that's what she said!).Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.comBlogger81125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-3926494461036966212020-04-19T20:21:00.000-07:002020-05-02T19:13:07.382-07:00Look for the Helpers<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "</span><i><span style="color: #252525;">Always look for the helpers," she'd tell me. "You will always find people who </span></i></span><br />
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<i style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #252525;">are helping." I did, and I came to see that the world
is full of doctors and nurses, police and firemen, volunteers, neighbors, and
friends who are ready to jump in to help when things go wrong.</span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Fred Rogers</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">"I should probably make masks for us," I selfishly mused a few
weeks ago as my daughter and I went on what would be one of our last in-store
Target runs. It seemed practical: making fabric masks would keep us as safe as possible
from COVID-19. While they would not keep the virus entirely out, it would prevent
us from spreading it if we coughed or sneezed in public. It would also reduce the
dwindling supply of medical-grade masks needed for health professionals from
being used by well-meaning citizens. The front line of this crisis was being
fought in hospitals whose supplies were sorely inadequate for the potential
onslaught. Home-made face coverings were one away to help solve the problem. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> The disturbing
ramifications of the potentially lethal virus and alarming reports of
infections and deaths were coming in daily from Italy, Spain, and other parts
of Europe, as well as New York, California, and Washington State. The state of
Georgia would soon have to shelter in place with only the occasional trips to
the grocery store for supplies. I kept a calm face but felt terrified that my
family might experience a significant health crisis during a pandemic that had
no precedent in our lifetime. But I was determined to at least make us a few
masks to keep us safe. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I took out my Singer Sewing machine and placed it on my
work desk. This machine had been used for years for holiday projects and memory
quilts to send to my brothers and sisters for Christmas. Now it took on a more
profound significance. I prayed it would help me make at least a few masks for
my family and neighbors. I went on-line to find a YouTube tutorial that offered
a thorough how-to on making pleated surgical masks. Rummaging through my vast
inventory of quilt fabric, I discovered that I had enough material to produce 100 face-coverings. There was enough elastic to make 10 complete masks
and quilt strips to make bias tape straps to complete the others. Finally, my procrastination was coming in handy. There
was a Facebook group making face coverings for medical staff who were finding it
impossible to order enough masks for the mushrooming demand across
the country. The group asked people who could sew to help the hospitals and
people who serve on the front lines combating the virus. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Suddenly, I went from frightened and powerless to activated.
<span style="background: white; color: #222222;">If you had told me a six months
ago that the yards of quilt fabric mocking me in my sewing basket would become
surgical masks, I would have politely inquired on the amount of crack you
had been smoking. The overestimation of my quilting abilities gave me the resources needed to make a difference</span></span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">These
brightly colored squares of fabric were a perfect size, and the flannel backing
was what the medical community preferred for a thicker layer of added protection. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">As I kept tabs on where to donate and how fast I could
turn around fifty, there were more inspiring posts on the Facebook group. One
included a woman whose 89-year old grandmother had made 100 masks. JOANN fabric offered free kits that you could use to make and donate to local hospitals. If you
made masks and dropped them off, JOANN's would distribute them to the places that
needed them most. People like me who felt helpless in the face of this epidemic
had a purpose that helped them take their minds off the deeply depressing rabbit
hole of COVID-19 coverage. I joined the army of Sewistas and Maskateers, ready
to make up for the lack of essential equipment needed by the medical soldiers
on the front line fighting against the invisible monster. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">As I started to look at the news less and focus on making
masks more, my mood dramatically improved. I was able to offer a service that
would benefit essential workers from the security of my home. In addition to
all my Zoom meetings, I found a new focus to get more masks done. After a few
days, I realized that creating bias tape from quilt strips took far too long to
complete. The ladies on the Facebook page were facing the same dilemma. They
suggested cutting up t-shirts as a considerably faster solution to making the side
ties. I ordered six white men's XL t-shirts from Target and did a curbside pick-up to be
safe. It became a game-changer and helped me complete the first fifty quickly. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The hospitals seemed to be requesting the N-95 shaped
masks, which is not the style I was making. I needed to find the right place to
donate. The stories about senior care facilities seemed particularly heart wrenching.
My </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">mother had lived on those types of facilities before she passed away from
Parkinson's Disease in 2017. The sight of family members only able to
communicate through windows was heart-wrenching to watch. Still, it gave me an
idea of who might benefit from the fifty masks I had in stock. I contacted a
Senior Care Center that I had donated Adopt-A-Grandparent baskets for
Valentine's Day and found that they could use the masks. On the drive over, I
reflected how much the world had changed since my daughter Amber and I had been
there seven weeks earlier. The activities coordinator that I worked with was
beyond thrilled that we brought them masks for the staff and residents who
would wear them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A week later, she
requested another 40, which I was able to fill with help from other neighbors after I put a request on the app NextDoor. Two very kind
ladies dropped off the items into my mailbox so we could limit our direct contact and get their supplies donated. Again, it was another example of how much people wanted to offer support, they just needed to know how to do it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">As I kept checking the Facebook page for updates, I saw
more amazing offers of help. There were folks with 3-D printers producing bias tape makers or creating plastic N-95 mask patterns and plastic
straps that relieved the pressure of elastic from the masks on the ears. There were offers for
food medical staff and first responders, people wanting to donate to food
banks, etc. In one of my networking groups,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>a print shop offered to make free copies of workbooks that teachers
could safely distribute to their students who might not have access to a
computer or reliable internet. The cold, cynical world of social media less felt
menacing as people posted the things they were doing to help. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">During a natural disaster like Hurricane Andrew, you could
go to help the people affected by volunteering to clear trees, organizing food
drives, helping patch roofs, etc. This national disaster asked us to stay at
home and keep your distance from your neighbors. You couldn't just go, throw on a
t-shirt and sneakers and help. I could sit at my sewing machine and turnout face coverings, but it lacked the human contact of asking how those affected were doing face-to-face. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">In the news, there was a new reverence for the medical
community, </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">especially the ones on the front lines treating COVID-19 patients.
Essential workers like my daughter, who is a cashier at a supermarket, were
also being praised. I made sure that my youngest had masks to wear at work
since she was in contact with countless people during her workday. Parents began to greatly appreciate the patience of teachers as their days included lessons and cyberlearning with their children. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My hope is that we don't forget how little gestures of
kindness can mean </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; letter-spacing: 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">so much. I remember standing outside my Atlanta workplace with</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">baby Danielle in a stroller a few days after 9/11 happened. A sudden wave of
sadness washed over me. As much as I tried to keep my emotions in check, I
started to sob uncontrollably. A woman exited the building and saw my despair.
She didn't ask me what the problem was, she instinctively knew. She said
nothing and enveloped me into her arms. I returned her embrace as my body trembled. She said softly, "It's going to
be okay, honey, we'll get through this." She leaned down and told my daughter that
she was the most beautiful baby she had ever seen. I never found out who she
was – just an angel in human form who lifted me up when I needed it the most. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I think about that now as we try to look beyond this
pandemic. I think </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">about how much we all want to be around each other, to
embrace and tell each other everything is going to be okay. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember how, after Hurricane Andrew, neighborhoods
pulled their meat supplies and had big block BBQs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without electricity or refrigeration, things
like steaks, chicken, and pork ribs would spoil quickly. Sharing was the
best option. There was a communal feeling of support, considering
all the destruction around us. The windows were open, and you could hear
children playing and laughing and adjusting to this new normal. You saw
celebrities in Miami like Harry Casey lead singer of KC and the Sunshine Band directing traffic
because he saw the need and filled it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You checked on your elderly neighbors to see how they
were fairing without AC during those sultry August days in Miami. You put down buckets
to catch the water because even months after the hurricane, your roof still
leaked and it would impossible to find a contractor to fix it. But you were grateful that you had a roof. Then as time passed and things got back to
normal, the windows closed as the air conditioners generated internal cool breezes. The neighbor that you had some profound conversations with was now someone you smiled and waved at. Sadly, you didn't communicate as much anymore because you had all the comforts of home. Your cable TV and a cold beer beaconed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">This pandemic does not allow us to be as physically close,
but offering a kind word over the phone, social media, or facetime can still provide emotional support. Providing food and encouragement to healthcare or essential workers can
do wonders for your psyche as well as making masks for friends, family, and
people you will never meet. JOANN Fabrics put forward the goal of 100,000,000
masks, and at this point, the army of Maskateers has completed 71,000,000. In the spirit of Rosie the Riveter – we are being asked if we can do it and
we are answering with a resounding YES, WE CAN!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Now when I feel overwhelmed by the pandemic, I look for the
helpers. They are all around us – they are us. For my money, that is what
really makes America great. </span></div>
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<span id="goog_1541152689"></span><span id="goog_1541152690"></span><br />Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-5377640452917646232018-05-20T16:07:00.002-07:002018-05-21T18:58:49.353-07:00If Now Now, Then When? Part 2<br />
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">"</span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If I am not for myself, who
will be for me? And when I am for myself, what am 'I'? And if not now, when?"<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; orphans: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"> -
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hillel the Elder</span></span></span></i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This was the
question I asked after the Sandy Hook massacre. If 20 small children – practically
babies and six adults could be shot down by an active shooter who was mentally
unstable but was able to get access to his mother’s guns – shouldn’t we do
something about gun control?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If the
innocent faces of those children were not enough for a grieving nation to act
with a Democratic President and Congress, then when would be the right
time?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It seemed
like a slam dunk to get guns out of the hands of the wrong people-to</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-O3Psd27qmrykA2rSCvfqCY_pSDC-liwPBkzEY_zhgvUXEmpRf0Pnz-bxOEZj-3SVVTt7MQ5QAHcwlNhNhd1bvq2y0ZEXp2j6Yvguw2fxC1VaDCfREcPwoNjHLdGOOXFNlmesczGsGd8/s1600/Toddler+at+march.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="537" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-O3Psd27qmrykA2rSCvfqCY_pSDC-liwPBkzEY_zhgvUXEmpRf0Pnz-bxOEZj-3SVVTt7MQ5QAHcwlNhNhd1bvq2y0ZEXp2j6Yvguw2fxC1VaDCfREcPwoNjHLdGOOXFNlmesczGsGd8/s320/Toddler+at+march.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> get
stronger background checks – to limit the age that a person could get a gun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But even as that Christmas in 2012 seemed
less merry because there were now 20 more angels in heaven but not on earth to open
their presents and six less adults to offer holiday cheer as we as a nation failed
again to pass any real gun control measures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The pull of the NRA was just too great and their campaign contributions
too grand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The misguided voices of their
members too strong to weaken the will and effectively castrate any politician
that wanted to stand up to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
a heart-breaking Christmas that year but unimaginable in the grief for the families
that would never tuck their babies in a night, never to hear “I love you Mommy and Daddy!” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Am I laying it
on too f*cking thick?!! Goddamn right I am – because I hate these senseless
shootings – it makes me shake with anger and yet we keep allowing this happen
time and time again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">According
to Gun Violence Archive, there have been at least 241 school shootings
nationwide since Sandy Hook. In those episodes, 450 people were shot, 149 of
whom were killed – these numbers include the Santé Fe and Clayton shootings which occurred on May 18th. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So, when are we going to wake up and
decide that the five million members of the NRA do not speak for the 326
million people who live in the United States?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Moreover, they apparently don’t speak for most gun owners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>According to recent estimates, one in three people
are gun owners which puts the total number at about 75 million.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With 5 million members, the NRA represents
just 6.6% of gun owners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many of those people
who have firearms in their house feel that the NRA is way off base.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So why do politicians continue to cow-tow to
them?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In Georgia, our own Lt. Governor Casey
Cagle punished Delta Airlines because they were not going to honor the NRA
discount anymore after the Parkland shooting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Cagle’s response was to take away the tax benefits that Delta receives
until they reinstated the discount.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
was a brilliant move because Atlanta was on the short list of cities that
Amazon would use for their second headquarters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But since that little stunt as a bow to the NRA and the punishment for not
extending the discount – Georgia has probably lost an employer who could bring thousands
of jobs to the state. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrLqGQYFDT_tKMOZULPTViGiQGMT6BwyEouNrhEzj9n3lfLF2gutkJIs3dEA32d6-Ej9ibYMgG5grXT_ZeH68LDkVooKFlKSXOHiDSLKhoib-gWNJZEb7x821_KpqD3DM5C_eLdNWXgog/s1600/trump_nra_slate_1920x1080_1163015747624.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrLqGQYFDT_tKMOZULPTViGiQGMT6BwyEouNrhEzj9n3lfLF2gutkJIs3dEA32d6-Ej9ibYMgG5grXT_ZeH68LDkVooKFlKSXOHiDSLKhoib-gWNJZEb7x821_KpqD3DM5C_eLdNWXgog/s320/trump_nra_slate_1920x1080_1163015747624.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sure – they throw money at candidates and
gave 21 million to the Trump campaign but it is selling your soul out to stop
keeping reasonable gun laws in force like reversing the ban assault weapons which
went into effect in 1994 under President Clinton but was reversed under George
W. Bush in 2004. More common-sense
measures like banning bump stocks which turn semi-automatic weapons to automatic
and was used in the Las Vegas shooting last year have withered because of NRA
opposition depending on which way the wind blows (initially they did support the ban).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now Oliver North, that paragon of virtue who
in the 1980’s sold illegal weapons to the Iranians and then gave the funds to the</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0LzZGBgcw_c0FGVx3WyZ-GQXubuzsYMb4MW9VPOE6F6shflVGckbs2FuHhAptc9JOLURqH2c5rYTNKAQUk3X-GAOD8wgQUM2sHcnSwkOq6uOSIzHy9htB6BIZyMgEOkWfBuY7omTGCPg/s1600/Oliver+north.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="551" data-original-width="980" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0LzZGBgcw_c0FGVx3WyZ-GQXubuzsYMb4MW9VPOE6F6shflVGckbs2FuHhAptc9JOLURqH2c5rYTNKAQUk3X-GAOD8wgQUM2sHcnSwkOq6uOSIzHy9htB6BIZyMgEOkWfBuY7omTGCPg/s320/Oliver+north.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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Contras in Nicaragua and is a former FOX commentator is the new NRA
President.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He seems perfect because the guy’s
reputation for being a scumbag is pretty solidified. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As a mother, I hate that in the back
of my mind as I send my 17-year-old to school is the silent prayer that I will see
her home safely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s not a police officer
or a soldier where something like an attack might be part of a day’s work – she’s
a f*cking high school student. She’s going to school with other children and
teachers who don’t get paid enough to teach much less get training to take down
an active shooter. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I used to
work security at a synagogue in Atlanta and with the world being what it is and
with a school on the premises – we would discuss active shooter drills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We even did one with a police officer dressed
as a sniper and discussed how to react.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As much as I thought I was prepared when he came into the office with a
ski mask – instead of getting out as fast as I could – I cowered under my desk
and was marked “dead.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It taught me a
good lesson – don’t under any circumstance get yourself in a place where you
can’t get out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One good video that I
have reviewed which is called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Run, Hide,
Fight</i> and is used by several law enforcement agencies to train people how
to try to save themselves in an active shooter situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5VcSwejU2D0" target="_blank">Click here</a> to look at the video.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It gives you some sound advice how to survive
something so horrific. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One of the
things that has bothered me when I hear about these shootings is that there
didn’t seem to be a plan much past putting the school on lockdown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kids are being trained to hide under their
desks which as I found out made me a sitting duck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The teachers need to be trained if they cannot
safely get the kids out of the classroom to a safe space, how to block the door
and arm themselves with mace or scissors and fight like hell to keep the perpetrator
out. It’s not something that might come naturally
but just like a fire drill – once you practice it a few times – it becomes
second nature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the Virginia Tech
shooting, the students who blocked the doors had the highest survival rate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even something as simple as a door wedge can
keep someone from entering a room and save lives. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It’s a given
that our national law makers will probably make a good show of saying we need responsible
gun laws and how this should never happen again until sadly it happens
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps over the summer, schools can do for
themselves what lawmakers won’t do – address the problem head on and have a
strategic plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the confusion of the
shooting in Parkland and other shootings, first responders wasted valuable time
trying to find the perpetrator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why not
install active shooter sensors that can detect gunfire and pinpoint where the perpetrator is during the shooting spree?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These
systems can also alert the teachers and principals where the shooter is so they
can plan escapes accordingly in real time. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK9eSVSNx2wq4Sz0D5rP2ccPlPpKQbwi1ymmIjhyU6BUoMlSH1MrdF0NvPyuN43eVIsRDbyj6Cwy_bhREFu3j5RMY6jkgN2LhTtrXozOwiz3fpBMgD-svFz-vlc4HGqq-5LpsRr5XDkjQ/s1600/Atlanta+March+for+our+lives.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="565" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK9eSVSNx2wq4Sz0D5rP2ccPlPpKQbwi1ymmIjhyU6BUoMlSH1MrdF0NvPyuN43eVIsRDbyj6Cwy_bhREFu3j5RMY6jkgN2LhTtrXozOwiz3fpBMgD-svFz-vlc4HGqq-5LpsRr5XDkjQ/s320/Atlanta+March+for+our+lives.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My prayer is
that the schools in the Atlanta area as well as all across this nation end the
school year without any more shootings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But in the tragic aftermath of these shootings, we need to work together
to find a solution.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, better mental
health services would help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But as our
President tried to weakly defend his stance at the NRA convention with false
stats about stabbings in Europe, it’s not just about mental health – it’s the ease in
which people in this country can get a gun either legally or by taking a parent’s
or friends firearm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">My daughter Amber
and I took part in March for our Lives and it was a very powerful event.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">There were all types of people and all ages –
from toddlers to people in their 80’s and it was amazing that it was over 20,000
people in the streets of downtown Atlanta.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">What struck me was that there were so few anti-protesters in favor of gun
rights – I saw two people.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I really
think that going into the mid-terms – momentum is on our side.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">What I
observed is that for these new voters GOP = NRA and it might spell trouble for
Republicans who don’t take a tougher stand on the NRA.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It should be
obvious that banning bump stocks, automatic and semi-automatic would lower these
casualties – but sometimes obvious does not win and paranoia can make any reasonable
argument seem like an enemy’s dictate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe
mandatory smart guns would stop kids from are taking their parents’ weapons and
turning them on schoolmates -maybe not - but it’s worth a try. Something needs to be done besides “our
thoughts and prayers” because prayer without action means nothing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But as I
asked five and a half years ago after Sandy Hook, are we going look our collective
paranoia in the face and decide to limit who can get guns?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How do
we end this madness or are we just going to continue with the status quo until every city has an incident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How do we
look our children in the face and say “Yes, this is a safe place to live” when
our innocents are being coldly struck down. We need to change the conversation
and offer concrete solutions that can be acted on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If not now, then when? </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-57089970009463203872018-04-17T21:26:00.001-07:002018-04-18T16:56:08.388-07:00The Journey <div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8-Q0Auf3KWS4hiG8uVwCyiEDykpeTdEG6to2Xz2IWrfHs9isfQrE-1tkf2VY-mYmc01nSTINbpRHfDSGoP0m3lQ2U1Dgh1umcGL28ZxRQ3_CLuPUWCzNqdgPkOwaAH0UQRbZt2yHgGsM/s1600/Bushes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="575" data-original-width="1023" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8-Q0Auf3KWS4hiG8uVwCyiEDykpeTdEG6to2Xz2IWrfHs9isfQrE-1tkf2VY-mYmc01nSTINbpRHfDSGoP0m3lQ2U1Dgh1umcGL28ZxRQ3_CLuPUWCzNqdgPkOwaAH0UQRbZt2yHgGsM/s400/Bushes.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">The news finally broke that Barbara Bush had passed
away.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">It was not surprising – the press
had reported days earlier that she had decided to forgo any more medical
intervention and live out her last days on her own terms in her own home.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Even up to a few hours before the
announcement there were stories that she was still talking as best she could to
well wishers and sipping bourbon waiting for her own inevitable journey. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">The news stations already had her obituary
reeled cued up – just as I’m sure they have her husband’s ready to go as well when the time comes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I started to cry when I heard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had always liked her even if I did not
agree with her family’s politics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More
than that, it stung because my own mother had passed at age 90 barely six
months ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had the sad knowledge of
the preparation but knew that everyone who needed to be there was, even if
George H. might not have been able to comprehend what was going on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I understood how important that last birthday was for both
her and George – how it must feel to know that it would be your last one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My mother requested a special birthday for
her 90<sup>th</sup> and we obliged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All my brothers and sisters were there – all five of us along with
grandchildren and great-grand children who called my mother “G-G” for Great
Grandmother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She ate slowly as
Parkinson’s had taken its toll over the last seven years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her caregivers were there to wish her well. As
best as we could guess – she knew people were there and she had a great time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was the second time in 16 years since my
father’s funeral that all five Cody kids had been together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The time before that had been at my mother’s
89<sup>th</sup> birthday – another milestone to celebrate.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">For years now at Christmas, I made a point of getting our home-movies
transferred to a</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82M9jHoYwxZSyTNpt1QzbknNkDpOsyftaYhJqYClCLwxThqH7hzYFQc_c1p64GexaONdNcf8WcyJ-eEvYB3cGbKrpKUqgrT_HElFpr2BKSAu921nqdwjbDy-lOFVG-OXinvZFOAFsJo4/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-09-15+at+7.33.02+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="679" data-original-width="904" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82M9jHoYwxZSyTNpt1QzbknNkDpOsyftaYhJqYClCLwxThqH7hzYFQc_c1p64GexaONdNcf8WcyJ-eEvYB3cGbKrpKUqgrT_HElFpr2BKSAu921nqdwjbDy-lOFVG-OXinvZFOAFsJo4/s320/Screen+Shot+2016-09-15+at+7.33.02+PM.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
digital format and putting it on DVD so my mother could watch
the memories she had chronicled so lovingly.
I sat with her after both her 89<sup>th</sup> and 90<sup>th</sup>
birthday and we watched the home movies but with songs that I had dropped in
like the Jackson 5’s <i>I Want You Back</i>
or Johnny Cashes’ <i>I Walk the Line </i>since back then there was no audio to capture<i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>We stayed up late – past midnight when my
kids had gone to bed – to watch my mother’s younger visage pushing strollers as
a new mother of a young daughter and a toddler son. We watched later as my mother and dad were in
a financial position to go to Puerto Rico and Mexico leaving their young brood in the
capable hands of our maid Etta. Going on
vacation without your kids? Unheard of in this age of helicopter parents and
yet my parents were married almost 50 years until death did literally do them
part when my father passed away in 2002 just a day after his 81<sup>st</sup>
birthday and months shy of their half century milestone. There must be something to not being around your kids 24-7 and just being a couple to insure your marriage's longevity.<br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Barbara and George H. Bush had been married for
73 years when she passed – the longest married presidential couple in
history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, many of our
presidents from the previous centuries did not live to see 73 much less have a
marriage that lasted so long – but it’s a tribute to Bushes and my parents that they stuck with each other through thick and thin – no matter what.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back when they were married – getting a
divorce was a stigma and literally for better or worse so you had to figure it
out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s what made the Greatest
Generation great – the ability to focus and not be distracted by an arrant
Tweet or Facebook rant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember
seeing Betty White on SNL when she hosted. She thanked all the people on
Facebook that had campaigned for her to be on the show and then said, “I’ve
seen Facebook and frankly it looks like a big waste of time.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She got a huge laugh from the very people who
put her there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I loved that Barbara took control of her passing – deciding
to go into that good night with a few sips of bourbon and her husband nearby
even if he probably didn’t understand what was going on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He, like my mother, is in the end stages of Parkinson’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’ll ask repeatedly
where his wife is and there will be the constant painful explanation that she’s
gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He will seem to comprehend it and
then ask again an hour later with no memory of the explanation. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">These are the rituals that the sons and daughters of
elderly parents must endure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My sister
Kathy was a rock the whole time my mother was up in Tallahassee after she was
diagnosed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was the key caretaker for
Mom, coordinating healthcare workers, schedules all while at one point battling
stage 3 colon cancer (she is now happily cancer free).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her dedication to my
mother was heroic and she took ownership of Mom’s care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of what the rest of us could do seemed
inadequate and the responsibility was overwhelming. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew because we had taken care of Max’s dad
who had suffered a stroke decades before and moved in with us after Max’s mother
Joan died of a brain tumor when we had been married less than two years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was under our roof, so we had to get up in
the middle of the night and help him to the bathroom, eat, bath and shave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew hard it was to see a strong vibrant
woman become someone who depended on the kindness of strangers to help her do
life’s bare necessities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She would ask
me and Kathy – “I always exercised and took care of myself – how did this
happen?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d listen and tell her no one
knew why.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I understood how you had to have the same conversation repeatedly
and how you learned to hide your frustration because as much as you want to
believe that they might be “out of it” they can sense when your nerves were
becoming frayed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>George, Max’s dad,
could sense that so I learned to try to hide it as best I could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I feel for the Bush family because their force of mother
nature is no more, and their father can’t comprehend the loss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least my father went when he was still in
full control of his faculties – it was quick – he sat in his favorite chair
fell asleep and basically didn’t wake up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My mother found him and called the EMTs but by the time they arrived it
was too late.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The last time I saw my dad
was over the Christmas holidays that year and the last thing I said to him on
the phone was “I love you!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> so I was lucky that I had no regrets in that department. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So when we got the call that Mom might have about 48 hours
at best, me we hurried down – praying we would get there in
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We prayed my brother Steve would
get there as well by bus from Miami and he did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We made
sure my mother was never alone and were told to watch for changes in her
breathing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our 24-hour vigils sometimes
included calls to come in and see Mom because we were sure this was it – but
for many times that weekend – Mom was not ready to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was not really conscious but I think she
heard us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She smiled when we sang her
favorite song – “Almost Heaven – West Virginia,” by John Denver.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was therapeutic to do a sing-along with a
young hospice caretaker who probably saw this all the time but still managed to
sing without a hint of sorrow – it was more like rejoicing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> My mother </span>smiled with her eyes closed and even
tried to mouth some of the words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Later that day, I pulled up the recording that we did the
night before Danielle was born in 2000 which was a recorded rendition of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Night Before Christmas.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was my dad, mom, Max and me reading the
book and reminiscing with Amber who was four at the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a joyous time and looking back I was so
happy I had captured the sound of that night – we’d have it always.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact when my niece and her husband Julio
heard it, they couldn’t believe it was her – the voice was so strong and sure –
it was the mother I knew.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We got Mom’s arrangements in order the day before she
passed and it all seemed to surreal. Maybe it was because you had 12 people sleeping
in Mom’s house which could only really sleep 4 people comfortably and we were
sleep deprived even though we took shifts throughout the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I worried how my kids would do seeing their
grandmother pass away and being in the room was optional – I was also not sure
about my own reaction. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But even as we
knew Mom would pass soon, everyone stayed positive – any squabbles that might
have been brewing were brushed aside for the sake of my mother which is what
she would have wanted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">On day three, it seemed like Mom still had lessons to teach
us and she was not ready to yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Sibs
had been in such a good place after her birthday that having us spend another
day together might have been part of her plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As the afternoon wore on- my niece Beth sat by her bed as Max, the girls
and I took a walk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we got back – we
watched a little of the 4<sup>th </sup>quarter of the FSU football game which was close but the
Noles lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My sister Kathy and her
husband Sal had gone back to their home to let out the dogs and were about five
minutes away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beth came out to tell us
that Grandma’s breathing had changed and after numerous false alarms this time
it seemed like the time had come but Kathy and Sal were not with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I prayed she would get back in time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother’s breathing started to falter and
still no sign and Kathy and Sal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our large group started to filter into the
room and I kept an eye out for my kids knowing that they had my blessing not to
be there if the spirit did not move them – just being near would be good enough but they stood steadfast with the rest of us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I remember the left artery in her neck kept pumping wildly
and it seemed rather surreal that she was going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother, my jogging buddy, my mentor, my
cheerleader – the person who encouraged me to “write your book,” she was leaving this earth in spirit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe the mom I’d known had been
gone for a while but as she was passing I remembered how warm her hand was as
we watched home movies to the beat of “We are Family” by the Pointer
Sisters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Kathy rushed in and told her to “Go towards the light,
Mom!” which I thought was strange because of course that’s where she was going
to be with Dad, her older sister Elyse, her baby sister Ruth, her parents, and
all her ancestors – they were just waiting on the other side – I was pretty
sure if it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Betty White’s mother once
told her, “Death is that great secret and when it’s your time, you’ll finally
know the secret.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was that pearl of
wisdom and oddly enough not a bible verse that gave me comfort. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We called the funeral home to pick Mom up which is another part
of the whole funeral business that just seems strange.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While we were waiting, we changed Mom’s
clothes, picked out the ones for her to wear for the final journey and we
decided to do her make-up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not in an over-the-top
“Let’s make her look really alive!” way but more as a tribute because my mother
would have wanted to feel like she looked nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This was another surreal moment as I picked out foundation and eye
shadow to put on my mother’s now lifeless face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I wondered if I would freak out but again this non-sequitur seemed to
come and go and my mind somehow grasped it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was Sal’s idea to toast Mom before she went into the hearse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We all got a drink, for me and Amber who is 21 it was a
very light wine cooler while other’s got wine, beer and the younger kids got a
soda. We stood around the bed that had been the monument of vigils and toasted
my newly deceased mother who was in a new outfit and fresh make-up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was very Irish as we told stories about
Mom and the funny things she used to do and we laughed together as a family
which is what she would have wanted. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
sister Sharon even quipped, “She must have thought – ‘Well the Noles lost again, I
might as well go.’” There was laughter but make no mistake there was heartbreak as the reality set in. The tears flowed in the hours, days, weeks and even months later - which is normal. Someone who brought you up, nurtured you, hugged you, cheered you on and believed in you when the world didn't was gone - in a better place no longer limited by their physical maladies but gone to you now on this earth plane. The hole in your heart seems gaping but as time goes on it will seem less painful but losses by others can pull it open again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The death of another 90 something has triggered these fresh
memories – and I feel for the Bush Family – I cry for their loss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It sucks to lose someone you love but at
least she was coherent to the end- making her own decision to die at home like
my mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s a blessing to live 92
years and have the legacy of children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d like to think that no matter what your political
affiliation – you can offer sympathy for a family’s loss and offer empathy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These
are not empathetic times that’s for sure – but if nothing else, a grand woman’s
passing should invoke respect, love and the awe of the gift we call life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one’s
journey is ever the same but each journey is remarkable and recognizing that
should bring us closer as human beings no matter which side of the political spectrum
you sit on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-35331439333304372082017-01-20T08:38:00.000-08:002017-01-20T08:38:56.599-08:00The March of Time<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The last
time I blogged for A View from a Blond it was pretty close to the election when
it looked like Hillary Clinton would be our first female president.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was optimistic, but scared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seemed then that this country was more divided
now than when I was five when the Vietnam War was something you heard about
every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You saw young soldiers
bloody on TV in a war zone– not fake blood – not something staged but the real
thing brought to you in living color.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">You also saw
demonstrators marching against the war– who also got bloody in the streets – red
fluid hemorrhaging out of real people trying to express their outrage at a
system they felt was unfair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were
two sides - the Hawks – the people who were pro-war and the Doves – those that
wanted peace. Their tug of war seemed impossible to reconcile. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The people
who were caught in the middle – the young people who went to war and came back
shattered or not at all were the ones that sacrificed the most.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the end, we lost Vietnam and frankly never
should have been there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From 1961 to
1975, over 58,000 soldiers were killed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Just to put that in perspective –in the Iraq War/Afghanistan Wars from
2001 to 2014 – we’d lost over 7,000 soldiers (Stats via Wikipedia).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For families that have lost a father, son,
brother, cousin, sister, mother, wife – these numbers just compound the pain of
losing someone you love and the only solace is that there are families out
there who have felt that pain on a personal level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure we can say the obligatory “Thank you for
the ultimate sacrifice,” but without experiencing that pain first hand it just
seems hollow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How a wife or husband or a
parent copes with the loss of their loved one – those things can’t be measured
in a debate on whether to increase or decrease spending on a military action. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet the people who declare war –rarely see
combat first hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Launching those first
salvos can have repercussions that last decades if not centuries and the
innocent always get hurt in the crossfire. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The weekend
after the election – my family and I went to Sweetwater Creek State Park which includes the
ruins of the New Manchester Manufacturing Company that was a cotton mill which
ran during the Civil War.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ruins were
both sad and exceptional in capturing a time gone by when factories were
powered by rushing water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During
General William T. Sherman’s siege of Atlanta, the factory was burned in July
1864 as a way to cripple and punish the South for the indolence of secession.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That part seemed pretty cut and dried to me
– the South had its ass handed to them because it wanted to preserve slavery. It got what it deserved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned
that the factory at that point was being run by mostly women and children who
were just trying to earn a living to keep a roof over their heads while their
fathers, brothers and husbands fought out of a misguided sense of loyalty for a
cause that benefitted the white aristocracy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The mill workers were poor, did not own slaves and many were actually
Union sympathizers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
General Sherman deemed them traitors because the cloth was going to the
Confederacy and had the factory burned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He told his generals to forcibly relocate the 500 women and children at
both the Manchester and Roswell Mills to Indiana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These poor souls had just a few minutes to
pack what they could carry, were put on carriages or made to “march” to
Marietta where trains would take them to Nashville, then Louisville and finally
Indiana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, Sherman’s sense
that they would find work in the Northern cities was extremely misguided.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cities were overrun with refugees and many
of the women and children died of hunger and exposure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Few of the women came back to Atlanta or found
out the fates of their husbands, sons, fathers or brothers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a classic guilt by region – they were
Southerners and they brought on their own destruction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never mind that they did not own slaves and
once they were sent up North, there were not enough resources to help them in
the “refugee camps.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their peril was
fueled by Sherman’s “March to the Sea” in which he burned and pillaged along
the way from Atlanta to Savannah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s easy to
demonize people based on where they live because that makes having to face the
more complicated issue of why they feel the way they do more daunting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dismiss them all as imbeciles, terrorists or racists
and you save yourself the time of looking at a complicated issue that is
multi-faceted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That in spite of where
they live whether it’s the American South or the Middle East– they might
actually have a completely different point of view than what is the assumed
outlook for that region – i.e. – maybe they are not racists or
terrorists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Politics
like war is never that completely cut and dried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would be too easy to cast one side as the
ultimate villain and one side as the ultimate hero – there are shades of gray
on both sides (Christian Grey not withstanding).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
is where we are now with politics in America.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Eight years ago, we inaugurated at new president – a black man who was
young, had a beautiful wife and two amazing little girls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seemed like anything was possible and that
this man with the kind smile would pull us out of a very bad recession and give
people universal healthcare. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His
predecessor had served eight years, but the first four were contested with
hanging chads, an appeal to the Supreme Court who declared him the winner of
the delegates of Florida after weeks of uncertainty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a peaceful transfer of power even
if for many like me – it did not turn out in our favor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was re-elected with a more decisive margin
in 2004.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But for eight years, the
disappointment of the year 2000 still stung.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then 2008 brought not only a Democrat but a black man as President and
it seemed that American had finally arrived as the land of opportunity and
anything was possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dream of
Martin Luther King, Jr. had finally come true. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Watching
President Obama take the oath that day – I could hear the</span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifuAk8uz6yZLO0Ev9rDuwy2Sks4_oTHx5cmmnjhHcDVRpfTRQd_oyEQpAh9_Lwub3suov06m_BaM4HmkjXuR26TgvwpGJus8ytGB95RN1Fy9GaLQcmsLDKSaCOIDvygtBIj656HV65_ro/s1600/gty_march_on_washington_martin_luther_king_ll_130819_16x9_992.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifuAk8uz6yZLO0Ev9rDuwy2Sks4_oTHx5cmmnjhHcDVRpfTRQd_oyEQpAh9_Lwub3suov06m_BaM4HmkjXuR26TgvwpGJus8ytGB95RN1Fy9GaLQcmsLDKSaCOIDvygtBIj656HV65_ro/s400/gty_march_on_washington_martin_luther_king_ll_130819_16x9_992.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> echoes of the “I Have
a Dream” speech by Dr. King which was part of the March on Washington for Jobs
and Freedom in August 1963.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a
shining moment – the dream had been realized and many white liberals like me
wanted to think that racism had finally been concurred.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sadly, the election did not always bring out
the best in America and racial tensions continued to swell throughout President
Obama’s eight years even when he again won a decisive victory in 2012. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br /></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The reality
of a white majority was fading and states like Georgia now have counties like DeKalb
that are minority majorities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> T</span>he difficult conversations about race between black and white America have been stifled by political
correctness. Rather than have an open discussion about frustrations about this
shift in culture - <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>many were driven
underground where groups of people who could feed their own prejudice and anger fueled the divide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Inequities
in urban areas were also not being openly discussed and tensions would boil
over when yet another unarmed black man was killed at the hands of a white
officer or a person on a neighborhood watch. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There would be more marches by Black
Americans that would be peaceful or marred by violence by people who just
wanted to detract from the central message of inclusiveness and their frustration
with a system that seemed rigged no matter who was president.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">So here we are
eight years after a black man took the oath to a man who is a
billionaire and has no experience governing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A man who has made racist and sexist comments and freely admits grabbing
women by the genitalia to assert his power over them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He won but not just on the strength of the
angry white guy vote (although that was a huge factor) but by white women that
didn’t want to vote for a woman – either because they didn’t trust
her or just frankly didn’t want to see a woman as president.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sadly women not supporting each other has been a reality since the fight for suffrage and the Equal Rights Amendment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Which brings
me to the marches that are happening all around our nation</span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrfs9xzcIR-41NyVk3wnOEFF_qHzGUYVmJvXeAsO7G3bsBx6MhSN6B5DxyLGV6kdxs7XO-5CraOczCVvOw8g4yGC1GxPXCNEU3vSDVWb9y6iN04UmsnPv9pu5zX9V2ppQsN10H8Iq2OAM/s1600/SIERRA%252520Marchers%252520WB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrfs9xzcIR-41NyVk3wnOEFF_qHzGUYVmJvXeAsO7G3bsBx6MhSN6B5DxyLGV6kdxs7XO-5CraOczCVvOw8g4yGC1GxPXCNEU3vSDVWb9y6iN04UmsnPv9pu5zX9V2ppQsN10H8Iq2OAM/s400/SIERRA%252520Marchers%252520WB.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> the day after the
inauguration and why I’m marching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve
done plenty of Pride Parades, walked in the MLK parade with my church and
supported other groups financially that wanted to protest the social ills that
I thought needed correcting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m upset
at the prospect of a Trump Presidency and his use of Twitter as a
bully-pulpit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I worry for the women
like me who are in the workplace and face the real possibility of
discrimination, sexual assault or harassment (all of which I have experienced).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I fear for American Muslims, for race
relations, the LBGTQ community, the arts, education, the environment – the list
sadly keeps going on. My presence at the Atlanta march is a testament to the fact that I don't agree with the new administration and I'm exercising my right to peacefully demonstrate with others who share the same viewpoint. I also hope that those people who I know that support Trump can respect my right to march and might actually ask me about my experience. </span></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Sometimes a
post in Pantsuit Nation on Facebook just doesn’t have the power that standing
around with thousands of like-minded people can. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If anything good can come out of a Trump
presidency is that it’s getting more people engaged in a process that includes
marches, going to local council meetings, calling your representatives and letting your voice be heard in
person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s getting young people to take a more active role in their government.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia_bHHye6LP5sZfqSnd3vzeGGP1kNOVSO1irWwrMjhW5hCAjbd2n_zm5bleUmRGJXp2hVHuEUrfgOxI3ozTou_gJ14aCK_MnH6rFSTLyDV-Kwtn4u0BSpHj7JboyAqI3qgJSA4MO7ZcNg/s1600/CivilWarPhotos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia_bHHye6LP5sZfqSnd3vzeGGP1kNOVSO1irWwrMjhW5hCAjbd2n_zm5bleUmRGJXp2hVHuEUrfgOxI3ozTou_gJ14aCK_MnH6rFSTLyDV-Kwtn4u0BSpHj7JboyAqI3qgJSA4MO7ZcNg/s400/CivilWarPhotos.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The last
time in my lifetime that the country felt this divided was over Vietnam and 100
years prior to that it was the Civil War - a war that to date has had more
deaths and causalities then all the rest of our wars from the 1770’s to the
2010’s put together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over 750,000 people
died in that war – 2% of the American population.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To put that in today’s context – that would be
over 6,000,000 people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That war left
the entire country physically and mentally devastated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
Union managed to stay together but the price of human lives and suffering was a
scar that took decades to heal. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">So as the
fissures that feel like they have divided the foundation of our country keep
growing - keep in mind that we’re all Americans and that our finest hours have
happened when adversity has stricken but served only bring us closer together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>December 7<sup>th</sup> brought our parents
and grandparents into World War II to stop Japan and Germany from their tyranny. D-Day
brought rejoicing. The Kennedy Assassination shook people on both sides of the
isle and made everyone examine their own mortality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>9/11 had people like me crying in the
streets, but were comforted by strangers who didn’t ask if I was a liberal or
conservative – just someone who needed compassion and a hug because we were all
hurting. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">In doing my
research for a documentary on the Civil War, I ran across a
</span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiVmteIfQp6-1MJCe3pmGzu0MDBbS-IWTrZMpqVMsgntuHGT4LoCJsVo_4sEdEbntNdRjDxrM2zU61aj3gJNDyV72ZshqafubsOGlwrJ4YIi29sG00idX_UF3xUlVFIhXtP3JyVRpppIs/s1600/0_12%252520surrender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiVmteIfQp6-1MJCe3pmGzu0MDBbS-IWTrZMpqVMsgntuHGT4LoCJsVo_4sEdEbntNdRjDxrM2zU61aj3gJNDyV72ZshqafubsOGlwrJ4YIi29sG00idX_UF3xUlVFIhXtP3JyVRpppIs/s400/0_12%252520surrender.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">passage from Ulysses S. Grant’s memoirs in which he talks about Robert E. Lee’s
surrender at Appomattox Courthouse. General<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lee
was the proud Southern General who was literally fighting to his last man and realized
that the end was near -he could not sacrifice anymore souls for such a
lost cause.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grant showed up in a working uniform which contrasted with Lee's formal one. They
started to talk to one another – not as enemies but as human beings. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We soon fell into a conversation about old
army times…Our conversation grew so pleasant that I almost forgot the object of
our meeting.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grant was very respectful of
Lee who was actually Lincoln’s first choice to lead the Union Armies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You got the feeling that if they had not been
on opposite sides of the war they might have been friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grant even offered Lee’s starving army access to
his rations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He did not gloat in his
victory but gave him a dignified exit because now they were once again
Americans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the very definition
of compassion. </span></span><br /></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzvSpJ6agLHpdCMc3H5Kun1RsUDXNPcK3vF6jufynQ_b9rRa0e2NELmUdhAE3-olVYs78LhrU5ZrPi2-7oXd2kwsaAHPc9YLFZsEcSy7Wf9KJ6u2ZdFhsXEGKEyg3v28AAKqOxXzAoR1U/s1600/eric-sheppard-challenge-665x385.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzvSpJ6agLHpdCMc3H5Kun1RsUDXNPcK3vF6jufynQ_b9rRa0e2NELmUdhAE3-olVYs78LhrU5ZrPi2-7oXd2kwsaAHPc9YLFZsEcSy7Wf9KJ6u2ZdFhsXEGKEyg3v28AAKqOxXzAoR1U/s400/eric-sheppard-challenge-665x385.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s vital
at this point in our democracy that we try reach across the divide which now
feels like the Grand Canyon to talk to people whose viewpoint is not
necessarily our own – to listen to what we have in common like how much a baby's laughter makes us smile, bringing up our children in the digital age, dealing with aging parents and not what separates us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next four
years are going to be a challenge – no matter who was going to be
president.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The challenge now is to march
forward together and do our level best not to fall apart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-43321629208659329302016-11-06T07:58:00.001-08:002017-01-19T14:45:06.487-08:001968 - Frightened at Five - Film at 11 <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJrm_0Vu0rAZt9k-4rmG4EVDUTVl6Cucgdvd3O8zOyFaehYK_tst7CkBve2PhIipUgQ7riwH8OcGhwQEwbtcGWWJ4MTxr-LuLNZNImQFSVEGwh_vJDslYKRziPTis8tMNMEXpLACmbwhg/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-12-08+at+8.54.55+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJrm_0Vu0rAZt9k-4rmG4EVDUTVl6Cucgdvd3O8zOyFaehYK_tst7CkBve2PhIipUgQ7riwH8OcGhwQEwbtcGWWJ4MTxr-LuLNZNImQFSVEGwh_vJDslYKRziPTis8tMNMEXpLACmbwhg/s320/Screen+Shot+2014-12-08+at+8.54.55+PM.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">I was
walking with my daughter taking our morning constitutional on a brisk fall
morning. The leaves were starting to
turn and the sky was a calm blue. I
tried to keep my mind focused on the positive – the beauty around me and how
blessed I am to have my sweet children and a loving husband. But for some reason I felt panicked. I felt lost even though I knew exactly where
I was. I started to think about the
election and the twinges of panic started to build – that helpless feeling I
used to get in my parent’s living room when I was five waiting for dinner and
seeing very disturbing images from Vietnam on the evening news with Walter
Cronkite. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At five, I wondered how adults
could watch such a show – a show at that young age that I knew was real and not
pretend. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The newscasters would talk
about the war and good kind men like Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy Jr.
would try to make the world a better place.
I liked both those men – they were dads and with big families like mine. But sitting in the living room holding my
Barbies, the world which should have seemed ordered became very
unpredictable. </span><br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjSGxICW_TojeKxuhoe_msh0Hh53D31z3YegvWBJWvBotogogeAYSfF6CbudbUA_J2EAweP7Qd_K_svKpfvFCPHhdgQn-6wjFu8wDsZ5pDeOtuj7epdiU6Tua81QEpcnjjKzxfB3eNq4g/s1600/IRA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjSGxICW_TojeKxuhoe_msh0Hh53D31z3YegvWBJWvBotogogeAYSfF6CbudbUA_J2EAweP7Qd_K_svKpfvFCPHhdgQn-6wjFu8wDsZ5pDeOtuj7epdiU6Tua81QEpcnjjKzxfB3eNq4g/s320/IRA.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">I would
see and hear terrible stories about the IRA (Irish Republican Army) who creating acts of terror in the name of my culture and religion and innocent people were
being killed in the crossfire. I was
afraid that somehow because I was in this country and those things were
happening in Northern Ireland that people would think my family was part of
those acts just because we were Irish and Catholic. I would imagine it’s the same terror an
American Muslim child feels when something bad happens in the name of Islam
either in this country or other places. They feel that they will be blamed
because they share that same religion but like me would never raise a hand to
hurt another human being but the stigma of being part of group that was
actively trying to bring down the status quo in a very violent way is there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">I was
afraid that my older brothers would be drafted into a hell hole that would not
allow them to leave alive or if they survived they would not be the same people
that I loved. My mother threatened to
send them to Canada if they were drafted which put my father who was a veteran
of World War II in a bind because in his heart of hearts he knew that he could
not send his sons over there. Luckily,
the war ended before they were old enough to be drafted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">As
adults we seem to forget that current events can leave its mark on our children
and the terror that I felt in 1968 when the world seemed so upside-down is
probably the same that our kids feel now with an election that is filled with
frightening predictions no matter who is elected, a year of mass shootings, talk of
deportations, race riots and the threat of armed insurrections after election
day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"></span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUvdgZIzxaCt0Z8pyArQDhpYU1vyfeWL5G3yjrIhW3iPXzi7PNi5gup3yY76VgAip0fMiHLXcvV2MLThDshQ_nPc5ksKWeN_LspaefwBVK-yTFPMjtp0bo2RSpFaG67WVusPkQJtEn1QE/s1600/150604-rfk-2-editorial.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUvdgZIzxaCt0Z8pyArQDhpYU1vyfeWL5G3yjrIhW3iPXzi7PNi5gup3yY76VgAip0fMiHLXcvV2MLThDshQ_nPc5ksKWeN_LspaefwBVK-yTFPMjtp0bo2RSpFaG67WVusPkQJtEn1QE/s320/150604-rfk-2-editorial.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">For
instance, I remember my older sister Kathy was having a slumber party the night
that Bobby Kennedy was shot. My child-like
mind loved that the girls were going to play games and my younger sister Sharon and I got to have M&Ms in
Dixie cups in our room just like the teenage girls.
Then the news came through and I distinctly remember seeing a brick wall
and police sirens and red lights. My
mother was crying because another Kennedy had been shot and it brought back the
memories of November 1963 which was also the year I was born. The next morning the girls in the slumber
party awoke to the news that Bobby Kennedy had died at 4:44 am. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ8ZrCoheSQJU-w5hyphenhyphenJXh3W-diTh92MpwmO62sOzVZ7MQdUdxI27heY5wqXiF_Zt04C4hLHKiwITqx_qCuGu4TdQJtDL1kgZiANQHdHx8YUSbyoDDumOQPEGPSarqy4aB27Ro_4xKemiw/s1600/1396622964000-Kennedyspeech2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ8ZrCoheSQJU-w5hyphenhyphenJXh3W-diTh92MpwmO62sOzVZ7MQdUdxI27heY5wqXiF_Zt04C4hLHKiwITqx_qCuGu4TdQJtDL1kgZiANQHdHx8YUSbyoDDumOQPEGPSarqy4aB27Ro_4xKemiw/s320/1396622964000-Kennedyspeech2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">The day
before my 5<sup>th</sup> birthday on April 4, 1968 – Martin Luther King was
shot and killed. Ironically Robert
Kennedy was the voice of reason in Indianapolis when he had the terrible job of
announcing the passing of MLK to a crowd that was not aware that he had been
shot. His words were pure eloquence and helped keep
that town from rioting when so many cities were plunged into chaos in those
days after the assassination – here are some excerpts from that speech:</span><sup><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></sup><br />
<br />
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“For those of
you who are black and are tempted to fill with -- be filled with hatred and
mistrust of the injustice of such an act, against all white people, I would
only say that I can also feel in my own heart the same kind of feeling. I had </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_F._Kennedy_assassination" title="w:John F. Kennedy assassination"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">a member of my family killed</span></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">, and he was killed by </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lee_Harvey_Oswald" title="w:Lee Harvey Oswald"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">a white man</span></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"></span> </div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">But we have to
make an effort in the United States. We have to make an effort to understand,
to get beyond, or go beyond these rather difficult times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">My favorite
poem, my -- my favorite poet was </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aeschylus" title="w:Aeschylus"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Aeschylus</span></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">. And he </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oresteia" title="w:Oresteia"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">once wrote</span></a><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Even in our
sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, until, in
our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"></span> </div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">What we need in
the United States is not division; what we need in the United States is not
hatred; what we need in the United States is not violence and lawlessness, but
is love, and wisdom, and compassion toward one another, and a feeling of
justice toward those who still suffer within our country, whether they be white
or whether they be black.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">We can do well
in this country. We will have difficult times. We've had difficult times in the
past, but we -- and we will have difficult times in the future. It is not the
end of violence; it is not the end of lawlessness; and it's not the end of
disorder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">But the vast
majority of white people and the vast majority of black people in this country
want to live together, want to improve the quality of our life, and want
justice for all human beings that abide in our land.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">And let's
dedicate ourselves to what the Greeks wrote so many years ago: to tame the
savageness of man and make gentle the life of this world. Let us dedicate
ourselves to that, and say a prayer for our country and for our people.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">1968 saw too
many good people cut down their prime – not just the Kings and </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfB5TIVP8IuUkf3XpmL-nqjj6zXEb-2lSVb_oQ_o8aXAP-KuhdRlS9ybkXWVrXnUF6yeWYL_rNdMKAIybaq_HQApYrETmuWxq6cOH6Xvpq4UL8ECVluyZfGmXrJyNffuCvVMXn7y_V3-0/s1600/vietnam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfB5TIVP8IuUkf3XpmL-nqjj6zXEb-2lSVb_oQ_o8aXAP-KuhdRlS9ybkXWVrXnUF6yeWYL_rNdMKAIybaq_HQApYrETmuWxq6cOH6Xvpq4UL8ECVluyZfGmXrJyNffuCvVMXn7y_V3-0/s320/vietnam.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">the Kennedys but
fathers in Vietnam who would not live to see their child’s next birthday</span>. <span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">1968 was the most expensive year
in the Vietnam war with the US spending $77.4 billion ($527 billion
by today’s standards) on the war. The year also became the deadliest of the
Vietnam War for America and its allies with 27,915 South Vietnamese (</span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ARVN" title="ARVN"><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">ARVN</span></a><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">)
soldiers killed and the Americans suffering 16,592 killed compared to around
two hundred thousand of the communist forces killed. Compare that to<span style="color: #222222;">
4,486 U.S. soldiers who died in Iraq and 2,345 U.S. soldiers who died in
Afghanistan during our current conflicts. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">As adults I think we assume that our children
don’t pick-up on the world around them outside of their school, after-school
activities and latest shows on the Disney Channel and Nickelodeon. We try to protect them from the bad things
that go on outside, but they do pick-up on what is going on- with all the
wall-to-wall coverage and the inevitable election they are seeing our anxiety
no matter which side of the isle you sit on.
I knew my parents were upset about the things with the war, gun violence
and race relations. It was tough trying to reconcile why anyone
would think sending young men to the dangerous jungles of a foreign land to
fight people we didn’t need to have a fight with. The sights of Vietnam from
the news are still locked in my memory and the terror of those images as a five
year old is stored and accessibly managed from the safe distance of 48 years
hence and the assurance of my parents that everything would be okay even when
they had no idea if it would be. But
that’s what American’s do – we pull it together and get it done when we need to
and many times we’re there for each other – that’s our baseline. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Our country has endured a Revolutionary War and
the redux in the War of 1812, the Civil
War, WWI, WWII, the Korean War, the McCarthy Hearings, Civil Rights, Vietnam
War, Watergate, Dessert Storm, Hanging Chads, 9/11, the War on Terror and any
number of mass shootings – and somehow we managed to work together and get
through it. I remember crying in the
aftermath of 9/11 outside a building and having a stranger give me a hug- I
didn’t even have to say why – it was just understood. Yet here we are 15 years later and the vision of
American could not be more far apart between the Trump and Hillary supporters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Just as much as I want to put on my game face
and tell my kids that it will all be okay – I’m not entirely convinced it will
be. I remember people worried that the
election of a black man would cause racists go to nuts and there would be
carnage in the streets – but there wasn’t.
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A co-worker of mine at the time told her husband to get their boys from
school because now that there was a man
of color in the White House the black kids wouldn’t listen to their white
teachers and there would be gang fights everywhere in the suburbs. Of course that didn’t happen (although race relations has been dealt several set-backs over the last few years.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The transfer of
power during the election of 2000 was a perfect example of how our democracy
works. It didn’t work out in my
political favor but there were not riots or calls for an armed overthrow of the
government. </span><o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">But even as I despair about the divisions here
in the US, I see hope in an unlikely place like Vietnam. It’s now an international tourist destination
– beautiful and a foodie haven. Recently
Anthony Bourdain went there and not only visited some wonderful restaurants but
showed how US Vietnam vets where making peace and getting closure. John McCain - a man who was captured and a prisoner for five
years in Hanoi - was instrumental in getting relations normalized between the US. In fact the Vietnamese people in their 20’s and 30’s
have never even known war – that’s how far that country has come. When I saw that on CNN – I cried because if a
country that lost so much over 40 years ago can move on – so can we. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;">So considering all we’ve been through America –
are we up to the task of this election?
Can we look past diatribes and demagoguery to make a rational choice for
president? Are the next four years
going to be nothing but each party blocking the progress of the other? Will our children be able to sleep knowing that
the adults have it under control? These questions have been keeping me up at
night and there are no easy answers – I wish there were. My optimism has dimmed but maybe we’ll rise
above the pettiness of this election and forge a new path and show the world we’re
better than what they’ve been seeing on CNN and FOX . That’s my prayer and the thing I’d tell that
frightened five-year old both now and back in 1968. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-30995575135393659082016-07-16T21:20:00.004-07:002016-10-12T18:40:03.389-07:00Finding Amber 2 <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZkD7aoIRvfQlgoeCTHrHhb-D2SIL5Pm8XEOmPKRq9H5RmGfb0cTzAfkxk7QEaNdsFN3b4RBw9TK_-inkH286O_FcAO0H5xul6G6_H88kdCyswsubXjXxHgDBL_A_BoHlSKzYx8IywrDo/s1600/IMG_0127.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZkD7aoIRvfQlgoeCTHrHhb-D2SIL5Pm8XEOmPKRq9H5RmGfb0cTzAfkxk7QEaNdsFN3b4RBw9TK_-inkH286O_FcAO0H5xul6G6_H88kdCyswsubXjXxHgDBL_A_BoHlSKzYx8IywrDo/s400/IMG_0127.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was Amber's 20th birthday - the birthday that </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">straddles </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">the winding river between teenage-dom and adulthood. My sweet daughter - true to nature wanted to go to Skate Country and spend the day with her sister skating and having icees and pizza. We figured that on a summer afternoon on Friday the place would be open and didn't bother to see if was before we left the house. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We drove up to a completely empty parking lot and learned that the skating rink was only open at night. Quickly recalculating, I said - "Hey do you want to see <i>Finding Dory</i>? I know I have Group-Ons for it." Both girls gave a resounding "YES!" and we were on our way. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have blogged before about what the movie <i>Finding Nemo </i>had meant to me. I had seen it with Amber in 2003 when she was seven and had been diagnosed on autism spectrum for four years at that point. Here is the link for the original blog. <a href="https://view-from-a-blond.blogspot.com/2012/09/finding-amber.html" target="_blank">Click here to read Finding Amber </a>. We had seen the movie again in 2012 and it touched me as a parent of a child with developmental disability and how far our journey had come: from Amber's first diagnosis as a toddler, fearing that she would not be able to take care of herself, over compensating by doing everything for her and worrying about how people would treat her. So here we were in a dark theater getting ready to see Dory's journey as a fish with short term memory loss and her flight into adulthood. One of the really cool things was the audience was not so much composed of little kids but of teens who loved <i>Finding Nemo</i> and wanted to relive the magic of that first movie. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As the young sweet little Dory works up the confidence to ask questions of her parents or other people - she must always preface it by </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"</span><span style="background-color: #f6f6f5; widows: 1;">Hi. I'm Dory. I suffer from short-term remembery loss." </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> She also worries that she's constantly letting her parents down. Of course, I got the feels immediately. The sight of this sweet little thing trying to find her way in the world hit home and having to apologize for her disability was heartbreaking. Her parents try to keep her safe but a rogue current carries her away and she is lost. Unlike Nemo, young Dory can't remember exactly where she lives and as years go by, she starts to forget who her parents are. It's a worst case scenario for any parent but for a mother of a child with a developmental disability it exposes your worst fear. You then see Dory over the years - growing up, constantly asking for help, explaining her disability and swimming further away from home. Eventually, she meets Marlin and helps him find Nemo. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It didn't dawn on my then, but in <i>Finding Nemo,</i> you had two characters with disabilities who had to take control and eventually help save the day when most people would have written them off. I was so focused on Nemo and his handicap that Dory seemed more of a comic foil than a character who was also struggling with her own challenges. But her way of handling life actually made sense - she had confidence in herself because she didn't have any other choice. When Marlin talks about wanting to protect Nemo from everything her response is a wake-up call to any overprotective parent:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arialmt" , "sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: ArialMT;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Marlin: I promised I'd never let anything happen to him.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arialmt" , "sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: ArialMT;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Dory: Hmm. That's a funny thing to promise.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arialmt" , "sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: ArialMT;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Marlin: What?</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arialmt" , "sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: ArialMT;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Dory: Well, you can't never let anything happen to him. Then nothing would ever happen to him. Not much fun for little Harpo.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arialmt" , "sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: ArialMT;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arialmt" , "sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: ArialMT;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I first saw this - Amber was a child and the idea of her</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arialmt" , "sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: ArialMT;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">being out in the world was theoretical - it would be years before she would be on her own and it was just something I didn't want to deal with at that point. I just wanted to keep her out of harm's way, keep her from getting her feelings hurt from kids who might make fun of her, keep her from trying something new that she might fail at and feel embarrassed. But the reality was that I wasn't so much protecting her - I was protecting me. The idea that the world would not embrace your child because they are out of the norm is scary so you overcompensate. You answer for them, you do as much for them as possible to soften the blow of anyone hurting them. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There are so many plans that you make from the time your child is born - the birthday parties, the dances at school, the first boyfriend, the prom date, the wedding day. Then you are told that they are on the autism spectrum and will go on the special education track. The idea of how they will be as an adult one day is sidelined so you can get them from pre-school, to kindergarten, to grade school, hoping they can make it through the challenge of middle school and then high school. At graduation, they will get a special education diploma which means that after 12 years of school they still need to take a GED to get into a community college or get a job. You see the posts from parents who spend the spring of their child's senior year on social media wondering if their child got into the college of their choice. You are just hoping that your child will be able to find a job, find an apartment and make ends meet. You worry that you need to plan financially to still support them in adulthood and provide for them in your will to help them when you're gone and pray that her sibling will keep an eye on her finances. It's pretty heady stuff to deal with when your kid is just getting out of their teens. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As time goes on - you realize that your plan was just that - an idea but that nothing is set in stone. You have a chance to create something out of the norm and because there are so few books about girls with autism. You realize that you are going to have to make it up as you go along. A plan is not really something you can ever really count on and you have to take things day to day. D</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">ory exemplifies that and says rather forcefully at one point, "I've never had a plan in my life!" </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">For us control freaks that line seems like heresy. How can you never have a plan - how can you go </span>through life without knowing how to get from point A to point Z - there always has to be a plan for God's sake! <span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> But as Dory explains further, </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“The best things happen by chance." So I reflected on that quote and having a daughter who has what </span>the<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> world </span>perceives<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> as a disability - </span>autism. <span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> She is in my life to teach me that the most wonderful things happen when God </span>laughs<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> at your plan, throws it aside and gives you </span>something<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> incredible that you might not be able to comprehend at the time. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Amber cannot be simply defined as someone with a </span>disorder<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">, a disability, or a disease - she is my daughter and one of the sweetest, kindest people I've ever met. While some signs</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> of autism, </span>particularly<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> Aspergers, can seem like the person you love is not connected and can be obsessive/compulsive - we've been lucky that Amber's </span>symptoms<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> are pretty mild and how they</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> manifest are different in girls than boys. She gets jokes, has a sense of humor and loves animals. She still has a hard time making eye contact but her social skills have come a long way since she was younger. She's rarely given me any type of female teenage drama that most parents must endure. I can count on one hand the number of times that she's ever rolled her eyes and said "Whatever!" </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In a recent interview, the director of <i>Finding Dory </i>Andrew</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEVbIIcpgCwfhU2_gGy1zzf_1N7I90KMgqSMZ249wNJYUVdWbwbSIuv2L9kWlKIAj4PCmRKFPp-X9DnhpoYj1ZtLqeiaUZJG-eILzESkpFPb1V0cYtUQHLyyaPbruKboxU37WNc6cSfBo/s1600/1280_finding_dory_baby_dory.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEVbIIcpgCwfhU2_gGy1zzf_1N7I90KMgqSMZ249wNJYUVdWbwbSIuv2L9kWlKIAj4PCmRKFPp-X9DnhpoYj1ZtLqeiaUZJG-eILzESkpFPb1V0cYtUQHLyyaPbruKboxU37WNc6cSfBo/s400/1280_finding_dory_baby_dory.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> Staten explains how he sees Dory and how he wanted to bring in her back story and relationship with her mother and father. "Her parents don't try to change her. They just want to help her own who she is. Bein</span><span style="font-size: large;">g a parent and seeing my kids grow up and enter the world, I realize that all kids are born with certain temperaments, flaws, quirks — and it will probably be who they are. You probably spend most of the time worrying about those things as a parent, too — you don't lose sleep over the things they do well. The best quality I could give Dory's parents is that they never doubt her." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">At the end of the day, I think most parents worry if their kids can make it on their own. If we've done our jobs hopefully they will be creative, independent and loving people you've always prayed they would be. Dory, even in light of her short term memory, is strong, smart, loyal and can even speak whale. To quote Dory, "You have to let go and see what happens," because despite your best efforts - you won't be around forever no matter how hard you try. And when that day comes - hopefully you'll have a good laugh with God about your plan. </span><br />
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Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-11170009425412044282016-06-24T10:13:00.001-07:002016-06-24T10:15:13.004-07:00How to make Boffer Swords/#LightSabers<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/wzPLViifnfo" width="480"></iframe>Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-65300809846121060952016-06-11T20:54:00.000-07:002016-08-10T20:15:59.651-07:00A Guide to Women’s Rooms for #Trans-Phobs and other stuff<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbePl89tUVV1CGbCdnGQVaOyPlwKDKpuigNUmBrWOCJliRbkNJnaWWeGgLM441bXpSPa1XtqxvILAz154kvfdZ9wIXmw8HKW4WPOa2ZzUul_x36Nk0-gkO9ysiCk1U91hI4b00gx9j_fY/s1600/bathroom-stall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbePl89tUVV1CGbCdnGQVaOyPlwKDKpuigNUmBrWOCJliRbkNJnaWWeGgLM441bXpSPa1XtqxvILAz154kvfdZ9wIXmw8HKW4WPOa2ZzUul_x36Nk0-gkO9ysiCk1U91hI4b00gx9j_fY/s320/bathroom-stall.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">As a mother of a trans daughter, it amazes me that some people believe that men are going to use the trans-bathroom issue as an excuse to throw a
skirt over their Johnsons to accost us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I thought I would give the law makers of North Carolina, </span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, Maine, Oklahoma, Tennessee,
Utah, West Virginia, South Dakota and Wisconsin, as well as the Arizona Department
of Education a tutorial on how women’s and girl’s rooms actually work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">Okay, so you know how women
usually travel in packs especially to </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF3sFQRq7l5NpukWRpECN44Vwhyphenhyphenp-whmLAbtx9ulkBIbPqPtTrcsaXNklpp4xMb3g8cVzTQj9zQMfyMX_tsojNAjshdnRwN6aSmDXDs4HQ9IuCSjRv04tzJ3A4k6Ah3hlzyjZ2PZWJbEA/s1600/line.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF3sFQRq7l5NpukWRpECN44Vwhyphenhyphenp-whmLAbtx9ulkBIbPqPtTrcsaXNklpp4xMb3g8cVzTQj9zQMfyMX_tsojNAjshdnRwN6aSmDXDs4HQ9IuCSjRv04tzJ3A4k6Ah3hlzyjZ2PZWJbEA/s320/line.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">to the restroom
right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You see the lines going out the doors because
there is very little downtime in a ladies’ room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you actually think we are going to stand
by and watch a man accost a young girl or woman on our turf?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>REALLY?!!!??<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I mean have you ever seen a cat fight between two women – that is
nothing compared what we would do a man that was posing as one of us and then
trying to assault a little girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
would be bad, super, super bad. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN8xccWH2UO7AF-kDSlNPQdY4EqT7M00jJbIv8YVL8241z3-8f_mOlCHZ9gOvPU6P5NZ_zKmBoGndlFJswWKKyyEAYoMeXK4zlsaN6jjIaVkwakzMzijAvqdBVOw6Lk4JtYDt9W3IBafI/s1600/dispenser.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN8xccWH2UO7AF-kDSlNPQdY4EqT7M00jJbIv8YVL8241z3-8f_mOlCHZ9gOvPU6P5NZ_zKmBoGndlFJswWKKyyEAYoMeXK4zlsaN6jjIaVkwakzMzijAvqdBVOw6Lk4JtYDt9W3IBafI/s1600/dispenser.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN8xccWH2UO7AF-kDSlNPQdY4EqT7M00jJbIv8YVL8241z3-8f_mOlCHZ9gOvPU6P5NZ_zKmBoGndlFJswWKKyyEAYoMeXK4zlsaN6jjIaVkwakzMzijAvqdBVOw6Lk4JtYDt9W3IBafI/s200/dispenser.jpg" width="149" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ll let you in on a
little secret – for you men – those tampon or napkin dispensers that are on the
wall –simply for show.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We actually keep
those supplies in our purses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So while
we are in the bathrooms not only do we plot total world domination but we get
vital training.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because those
dispensers have weapons and switch blades in them so that if the event a man
posing as a woman with a skirt over his Johnson tried to hurts us – we have the
training to slice his Johnson in half.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtyD1T6IOSZXn3GSlB-Nl1MZ40wpJbitkOtyRtRuqxmNiLFg8RK0a4edRJSchg8RBwXQOjTpzXZicT9BmdRj46LEcvK7pTE2DtUoZrXtFMNfroFhZHCwBlxHIoTj4763FYWSzYOwMX1qE/s1600/switch+blade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtyD1T6IOSZXn3GSlB-Nl1MZ40wpJbitkOtyRtRuqxmNiLFg8RK0a4edRJSchg8RBwXQOjTpzXZicT9BmdRj46LEcvK7pTE2DtUoZrXtFMNfroFhZHCwBlxHIoTj4763FYWSzYOwMX1qE/s200/switch+blade.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">Now many of you legislatures
might be thinking that “Wow – I have never heard of that.” There’s a good
reason – it’s because we’ve never had to use it because it’s a 100% myth that a
man dressed as a woman is going to attack us in a public bathroom. You’re
trying to legislate against something that does not exist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">Let me tell you what
does exist – in </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">encounters involving trans
people in bathrooms, you know who does get attacked? Trans people. A </span><a href="http://williamsinstitute.law.ucla.edu/wp-content/uploads/Herman-Gendered-Restrooms-and-Minority-Stress-June-2013.pdf" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: #2e7061;">survey of 93 transgender adults</span></span></a><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"> in DC found that 68% had been </span><a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/monkey-cage/wp/2016/04/18/the-north-carolina-bathroom-bill-could-trigger-a-health-crisis-among-transgender-youth-research-shows/" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: #2e7061;">verbally attacked</span></span></a><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"> in a public
restroom, while 9% had been physically assaulted. Over half of trans people developed
health problems like urinary tract infections from avoiding using bathrooms in
public.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">Another survey found
that 70% of trans respondents reported being denied access, verbally
harassed, or physically assaulted in public restrooms.</span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">And ironically, it’s anti-transgender legislation
that will put men — transgender men — in women’s restrooms, and transgender
women in men’s rooms.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">Not only that – most women bring their
young sons into the ladies room rather than having them go into a men’s room
unattended. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you really going to tell
an already stressed out mother that her five year old son can’t be in the
women’s room because his gender does not fit those perimeters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God help the cop or security guard that tells
a mother that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously – snip, snip. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">For you educators that are also fighting
the federal government over the use of bathrooms by transgender students, a </span><a href="https://www.insidehighered.com/quicktakes/2016/04/21/transgender-students-bathroom-access-and-suicide" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: #2e7061;">study by Georgia State University</span></span></a><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"> has connected anti-transgender policies with increased suicide
rates among transgender students.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt;">Now I realize that in 2008, many of the trans-phobs got freaked because Barack Obama was elected president
by a majority of Americans and in 2012 he was re-elected by a pretty decisive
margin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were not hanging chads
like in 2000 when the election was between two white guys. But this is the year
2016 and trans-phobs - you can’t tell people where to go to the bathroom – you lost that
right in 1964 with the Civil Rights Act.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgToH5HjAx7Iu8CwGmJEZZvo3AIbE5F4hzNMxzMd48I38NiWZAzSBK2f7Z9FoeLzVZKlzI3x2EK97LZRvo-M_azRnhIBmrxKxGlyAzU9I8OEiexL0vJJHiA2nSqdmmEiGCXRhfJjOjoFos/s1600/trans-bathroom-law-south-dakota.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgToH5HjAx7Iu8CwGmJEZZvo3AIbE5F4hzNMxzMd48I38NiWZAzSBK2f7Z9FoeLzVZKlzI3x2EK97LZRvo-M_azRnhIBmrxKxGlyAzU9I8OEiexL0vJJHiA2nSqdmmEiGCXRhfJjOjoFos/s400/trans-bathroom-law-south-dakota.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt;">The
Federal Government is telling states if you discriminate against transgender
students in schools - you will lose Federal funding for your state education
program under both Title 9 and the Equal Access Act.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So now some of these states like Texas want to
make it a State’s right issue when it comes to transgender students and their
access to using bathrooms and are suing the government.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>REALLY!!
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ9WgcdlUbGPqfkCn6TQoC2ttWvYoZ-_OFkapZeqvsV21ZE4Y7BzK_OvhH3zl6kTTu-dut1papgU1eXzjgguHbxI7oZmzy3S_s2HF5_9S1hyphenhyphenvK5tk1HeH8zRoSubnZ1ROaiTUotTLRS3k/s1600/lincolngettysburgsmall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ9WgcdlUbGPqfkCn6TQoC2ttWvYoZ-_OFkapZeqvsV21ZE4Y7BzK_OvhH3zl6kTTu-dut1papgU1eXzjgguHbxI7oZmzy3S_s2HF5_9S1hyphenhyphenvK5tk1HeH8zRoSubnZ1ROaiTUotTLRS3k/s320/lincolngettysburgsmall.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt;">Let
me back it up another 100 years from the Civil Rights Act to the Civil War when
the Federal Government had to let folks know that you could not use “States
rights” argument to justify enslaving another group of people because it’s just
wrong on every level – there’s no defense for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
took a Republican like Abraham Lincoln and four bloody years of fighting to bring
the country back together after over 620,000 people died in a conflict that
never should have happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s
probably spinning in his grave that now that his party is supporting all this
state’s rights crap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt;">But
there are people like the Target Lady who has 12 kids and wants</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNGpEVV_x2Kn5iOcdq1PZgWcyyG4Eu-4Owd57qPmbC-Q01Ll8WYSrzUgRXX47cNtpZ9GiV1RKjIT5lxL5rHB6wWfjl6EYZgJDaissV0DGjMbzmMmuMKysds7CrgCe0N4nirfLMt719pdM/s1600/founding+fathers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNGpEVV_x2Kn5iOcdq1PZgWcyyG4Eu-4Owd57qPmbC-Q01Ll8WYSrzUgRXX47cNtpZ9GiV1RKjIT5lxL5rHB6wWfjl6EYZgJDaissV0DGjMbzmMmuMKysds7CrgCe0N4nirfLMt719pdM/s320/founding+fathers.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt;">wants
to use the bible to legislate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s
back it up to 1776 where we had the Revolutionary War in which we fought England
to separate church and state to insure that all men are created equal and
entitled to Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another fun fact, our founding fathers wore
wigs, ruffles and hose so maybe being trans is actually guaranteed by our
constitution. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt;">Look, my daughter is one of the sweetest kindest people I know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she uses the bathroom she uses for the
same reason we all do to just pee and nothing more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d
be the first one to bring down anyone who wanted to hurt a child in a bathroom.
<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbDwtctBEg4EqC1Z3Vrz3_DunQh6_k6B8G8ywW3YLYJETS4pEHOZC-fsPcXLd7q7Pcn98iPCp06Z_tO9Erd0Q04ikoES-kf6CwhS5V6YbG6KVMp7Jyf0OUdVgnZGD8kir8IRiqhvwrDhQ/s1600/no-kid-hungry-1024x682.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbDwtctBEg4EqC1Z3Vrz3_DunQh6_k6B8G8ywW3YLYJETS4pEHOZC-fsPcXLd7q7Pcn98iPCp06Z_tO9Erd0Q04ikoES-kf6CwhS5V6YbG6KVMp7Jyf0OUdVgnZGD8kir8IRiqhvwrDhQ/s200/no-kid-hungry-1024x682.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM88vYzJgsE_gHDQtKnkGbtGhwcpGvcxuH_k2KycK_2Z9FGNC0B_ayEFhoHl2_Fy0ksDdl_sUeZ39Akukj_OCHdAgrsIiy0zCdzu8g_svPyei_UFT7edpzsOxTsgu9hCcBcazsRRFP8xY/s1600/hungry_child_sad_face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM88vYzJgsE_gHDQtKnkGbtGhwcpGvcxuH_k2KycK_2Z9FGNC0B_ayEFhoHl2_Fy0ksDdl_sUeZ39Akukj_OCHdAgrsIiy0zCdzu8g_svPyei_UFT7edpzsOxTsgu9hCcBcazsRRFP8xY/s320/hungry_child_sad_face.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt;">If you want to put your righteous indignation to something real that helps
children - how about the fact that 13.5 million kids in our country do not have
enough food to eat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s one in five
kids in the greatest country in the world who go to bed hungry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the law makers in Mississippi – it’s 29%
or roughly one in three kids in your state – if I were you I’d be more focused
on getting your constituents help for something that really exists like hunger rather
than a fake problem made up by homo-phobs. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now that summer is here – many of those kids
won’t have access to subsidized breakfast and lunches that they do during the
school year which makes their hunger more of a crisis. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt;">Heck
– 12 children bible totting anti-Target Lady – I’ll stand by your shoulder to
shoulder if you take community hunger on as a cause and we ask people who are
shopping<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>at Target to donate groceries
to their local food banks and your first Starbucks is on me. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt;">So
to recap, you can’t segregate people by bathrooms as per the Civil Rights Act
and Title 9.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mothers are probably going
to bring their young sons into the bathroom because they don’t want to expose
them to a men’s room. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s work to stop
something real like food insufficiency in this country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXrNV0cKoHd_BehW1pVstiOfUW9noTbwhKeCkuNgDth3JE_4Y5k0dZPD2baREplb8ptfNwMnWyPthWeiKATJiguz0MtSugUTPvbKhfPKCdGOgYCcAbeEM7ZhES4cq8vetEWSV3Hngw04k/s1600/krav-maga-595x228.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXrNV0cKoHd_BehW1pVstiOfUW9noTbwhKeCkuNgDth3JE_4Y5k0dZPD2baREplb8ptfNwMnWyPthWeiKATJiguz0MtSugUTPvbKhfPKCdGOgYCcAbeEM7ZhES4cq8vetEWSV3Hngw04k/s400/krav-maga-595x228.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt;">And
if a guy comes into our public bathrooms with a skirt over his Johnson and
tries to assault us- we ladies can handle it and by handle it I mean cut his
penis in half – so we got this REALLY!!</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 24pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-27521394977441787902015-10-26T20:06:00.001-07:002015-10-30T03:31:45.528-07:00The Fine Art of Failure <div style="font-family: Arial; line-height: normal; margin-left: 73.5px; text-indent: 0.7px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5px; text-shadow: rgb(255, 255, 255) 1px 1px 1px;"><i>“</i></span><span style="font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: 0px; text-indent: 0.5px; text-shadow: rgb(255, 255, 255) 1px 1px 1px;"><i>I have learned that success is to be measured not so much by the position that one has reached in life as by the obstacles overcome while trying to succeed.” </i></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-shadow: rgb(255, 255, 255) 1px 1px 1px;"><i> - Booker T. Washington</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px; text-shadow: 1.0px 1.0px 1.0px #ffffff;">I </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-shadow: rgb(255, 255, 255) 1px 1px 1px;">was doing some research on a completely unrelated topic when I stumbled across a <i>Psychology Today</i> article called “</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Declining Student Resilience: A Serious Problem for Colleges” by Dr. Peter Gray. It spoke to the fact many students are starting college without basic life skills to help them handle adversity or even (gasp!) failure. It’s a result of controlling parents who either push their kids too hard to be successful or refuse to see their own child’s foibles and blame everyone in sight for their own parenting misdeeds. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">These well meaning parents have been orbiting their children for years to prevent any adversity including dealing with disappointments or even simple life challenges to darken their child’s door. One university reported that emergency calls for counseling had doubled over even the simplest disagreements such as a student being called at bitch by her roommate or dealing with finances for the first time. Two other students needed counseling after they called the police when they spotted a mouse in their off-campus apartment. The officer was kind enough to set a mouse trap for the errant rodent. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My question is not so much what has happened to kids these days but what the</span><br />
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hell happened to us as parents that made us think that by wrapping our children in emotional bubble wrap we could keep anything bad from happening to them? I’m not talking about abduction or sexual assault. No, I’m talking about dealing with the consequences of being a total dumb ass - forgetting to do your homework, not studying for tests, forgetting to do things that they promised to do and just not knowing how to be a good friend because being self-centered takes precedence. Where has the disconnect come between the Greatest Generation, the Baby Boomers, Generation X and the </span><span style="color: #232323; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Millennials? Why can’t we let our children fail or stand to lose when clearly they were bettered by an opponent with a higher skill level? Why does everyone have to be a winner and get participant ribbons? The very notion is pulling down the whole idea of success. If our children don’t have obstacles - how will they grow?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Take learning to walk. Now, your parents could have coaxed you, could have held your hands while you took those first tentative steps but through trail and error - you finally figured it out. They didn’t get on the ground and lift one leg up and down for hours and days on end until the synapses figured out how to accomplish this basic life skill. Babies get up, they fall down, they get up again, they fall down. Sometimes they think it’s funny - sometimes they get frustrated but eventually they figure it out in their own time. It comes from failing hundreds if not thousands of times until the light comes on and then one foot goes in front of the other. I don’t know if you’ve ever been around a baby or toddler at the moment that they finally figure it out but the look on their face is nothing short of pure joy - the moment they develop that first sense of autonomy. It’s a bitter sweet moment for parents - it’s the first of many steps that they take away from us. Maybe that reality is why some of us work like hell to make sure they are never too far. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We're reaping the effects of making sure our children have every advantage and </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">over schedule them to the point the have little down time to examine who they are because each block of time is devoted to baseball, football, soccer, ballet, piano, etc. They are expected to exceed and when they don’t - it’s not because they might lack the drive or talent but it’s because the coach, the teacher or the director is not giving them a fair shake. Worse, some parents are doing their children’s homework to keep their grades up while they are rushing from one activity to another. The reality is that is that facade will crack - the test grades will prove that the brilliant insights these kids have at home for some reason do not transfer to the classroom. Further, because of those schedules, they are not expected to do housework, clean their rooms, learn how to do laundry or cook because it’s done for them. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Then when it’s time to go off to college and Mom and Dad are not scheduling every hour - they are at a loss. The parents struggle with that separation because while they’ve been running them everywhere - they have not developed outside interests so when that empty nest presents itself both parties are at a loss as to what to do. They both mourn the loss of this phase of their life but rather than move onto the next phase they are stuck. Parents are literally calling college professors about poor grades the same way they did in grade school and totally unaware of how frankly messed up this is. The kids feel unworthy at the dawn of any adversity and the rate of depression among young adults is at an all time high. A 2012 <i>Healthline </i>article written by Michael Kerr found that:</span></div>
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<li style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">1 out of every 4 college students suffers from some form of mental illness, including depression</li>
<li style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit;">44 percent of American college students report having symptoms of depression</span></li>
<li style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit;">75 percent of college students do not seek help for mental health problems</span></li>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">These statistics keep some college professors from giving bad grades for fear of causing emotional distress that can lead to serious psychosis. As a result, colleges lower their standards because they are afraid of lawsuits resulting from nervous breakdowns or suicides. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Of course, this is not news to teachers who have been seeing this trend for years and now those overly protected children are off to college no more able to handle things then when they were in the sixth grade. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtBjaV5LJREn1LL2UvIo6v71TW-HlBxilWPchyphenhyphenBIBtsD3OMotL0sukuUONaORtj8_RfcLJJBBN8XgYdZZVv33wvSUiXqaWNxpFHXZmntd-miYiWZpxKW02XzSH7QLqfIFgtpwOumpWx2A/s1600/JFK_ASSA_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtBjaV5LJREn1LL2UvIo6v71TW-HlBxilWPchyphenhyphenBIBtsD3OMotL0sukuUONaORtj8_RfcLJJBBN8XgYdZZVv33wvSUiXqaWNxpFHXZmntd-miYiWZpxKW02XzSH7QLqfIFgtpwOumpWx2A/s320/JFK_ASSA_1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Which is why we need to sit our kids down and tell them it’s okay to fail. It’s okay to try something new and not hit it out of the park the first time at bat - hell it might take many times at bat to even make contact with the ball. That’s okay - it’s life and not everything you try to do is going to go perfectly the first time or the sixth time or the 100th time. It might even be good to abandon the whole concept of perfect - it just doesn’t exist. Sorry you A-type personalities, you can try for excellence, you can try to go beyond the parameters of the project but it will never, ever be perfect - so let yourself and your kids off the hook. Studies have shown that many successful CEOs and American Presidents were actually C students who could see the big picture rather fixating on small details that just slowed them down. Mark Zuckerberg and Bill Gates were C students as were John F. Kennedy, Lyndon B. Johnson and George Bush both Jr. and Sr. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">One of my colleagues told me recently that her son was asked to do a paper on a historical figure and one of the paragraphs had to be a time that person faced adversity or failure. That is an important lesson for kids to absorb - that greatness is not achieved overnight and it can be a lifelong process. Here’s a short list of great people who failed many times before they finally got it right:</span></div>
<ul><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px;">
<li><b>Thomas Edison</b> tried 1,000 lights prototypes before he finally was successful creating the light bulb. </li>
<li><b>Albert Einstein</b> was expelled from school and refused admittance to Zurich Polytechnic School. </li>
<li><b>Oprah Winfrey</b> was fired from her job as a TV reported because she was “unfit for TV.”</li>
<li><b>Dr. Seuss’</b> first book <i>To Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street </i>was rejected 27 different times. </li>
<li><b>Steven Spielberg</b> was rejected by the University of Southern California film school three times. </li>
<li><b>Elvis Presley</b> was fired after one show at the Grand Old Opry and told to go back to driving a truck. </li>
<li><b>Michael Jordan</b> was cut from his high school basketball team but it didn’t stop him<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM5SqnZKZVCF4r0H_F_YRUIcfLzGjLpNAG8iKriddLSE53zO4AxKY1Z1g6SlydPPZMgySnFHsLXgst7EeYOkc3q78E_hTGGSEiQO85HbPJ9mTusczAbkiE6qt3ZaGVEq8hqWwq8kKhHmQ/s1600/michael-jordan-2011-portrait-plus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM5SqnZKZVCF4r0H_F_YRUIcfLzGjLpNAG8iKriddLSE53zO4AxKY1Z1g6SlydPPZMgySnFHsLXgst7EeYOkc3q78E_hTGGSEiQO85HbPJ9mTusczAbkiE6qt3ZaGVEq8hqWwq8kKhHmQ/s320/michael-jordan-2011-portrait-plus.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
from pursuing what he loved doing. <span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">"I have missed more than 9,000 shots in my career. I have lost almost 300 games. On 26 occasions I have been entrusted to take the game winning shot, and I missed. I have failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed."</span></li>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Success takes risk and risk comes with failure. I’ve bombed on stage more times then I’ve felt like I’ve done a good sketch and I’ve been doing comedy improv for almost 30 years. But I learn so much more from the stuff that tanks than I do from the scenes that are a hit. Failure helps me figure out what audiences want and by eliminating the parts of scenes that have failed in the past - it helps me figure out what will work in the future. </span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><i>“Success requires passion, perseverance, emotional intelligence and the ability to understand the value of failure.” </i></span><i style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-indent: 0.2px;">- John Haltiwanger, Elite Daily</i></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">If we don’t allow anything to happen to our children then nothing will ever happen for them. The reality is that failing is part of life - it should not be feared - it should be embraced as part of our learning process. As parents we must give our kids room to fail and give them a soft place to fall. Just don’t rob them of the opportunity to take that leap of faith because falling before you reach the other side is half the journey. </span></div>
Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-56467407130384344962015-09-06T21:38:00.001-07:002015-10-01T03:53:15.056-07:00The Sonny Side of Life <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwnx-WBHxtMp8eosU7J6W5wttk9lx9zipQ0VtrS6N3j-MmITSDM4ShluO9EUg0odDMboWWBZFF7qxNLlPBbdu19M7Q9HAJjHudakVHlxFKx-34ev8CW9ZQ1aJ83pGytohDgQRh1yS0eQY/s1600/10590699_10152277759808247_1589181447663480318_n-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwnx-WBHxtMp8eosU7J6W5wttk9lx9zipQ0VtrS6N3j-MmITSDM4ShluO9EUg0odDMboWWBZFF7qxNLlPBbdu19M7Q9HAJjHudakVHlxFKx-34ev8CW9ZQ1aJ83pGytohDgQRh1yS0eQY/s320/10590699_10152277759808247_1589181447663480318_n-2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The first time the kids and I saw Sonny is was at a
shelter called CatNip Cottage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were
looking for a companion to our tuxedo kitty Skittles who had just lost about
1/3 of his tongue in an accident and was now permanently regulated to
being inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We felt bad and wanted to find him a companion
to make up for the friends he was losing on the outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I had researched places to adopt kitties and found this
lovely shelter that had a website where you could look at videos of the cats
before you went to adopt them. Sonny’s profile had the headline “Instant
Purrer” and in the video you could actually hear him purring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His on-line bio stated that he had been
abandoned with his sister in a box at a stop sign in Alpharetta.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some volunteers noticed the kittens and
brought them to the shelter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sonny’s
sister was adopted first and he was left there just waiting for a family to
love him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">So on that Fourth of July weekend eight years ago, we
went to the shelter after selecting him on-line hoping that our hunch would be
correct- that this little </span></span><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">kitty </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">would be the right match for the cat we had at
home.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">The woman at the shelter opened
the crate and this little black and white cat immediately walked
up to Amber and licked her face.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">We were
smitten and knew immediately he was meant to be part of our family.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAeZMqL295G7MwwYUOBkh-EV62ap30QQ4VlKLo6TmjW3VO6SDZYWUW3SpGE0u1wwop62ocgzySU4GHrXWA_rPsMkUKE6SpgOPn0ZYBzKOtECZt9nhOb_1nIDe8AUqmYUsHc800yVRm0lI/s1600/Sonny+%2526+skittles.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAeZMqL295G7MwwYUOBkh-EV62ap30QQ4VlKLo6TmjW3VO6SDZYWUW3SpGE0u1wwop62ocgzySU4GHrXWA_rPsMkUKE6SpgOPn0ZYBzKOtECZt9nhOb_1nIDe8AUqmYUsHc800yVRm0lI/s320/Sonny+%2526+skittles.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We brought him home and our other cat Skittles was not so
sure- he hissed and spat at him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sonny
took it in stride and didn’t answer back – realizing this other feline was the
alpha cat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We reassured Skittles that he
was still our baby and by the end of that Independence Day weekend – they were
grooming each other and the best of friends. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Amber finally had a cat who she could put in a baby
blanket and hold like an infant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sonny would
gladly oblige because being loved by his girly bear beat being in a shelter any
day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Skittles realized there was someone
who actually liked playing baby-time with Amber and it took the heat off of
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="line-height: 115%;">As Sonny grew – he got taller than Skittles, but he never
forgot the pecking order.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">One time I saw
them both standing at a door that was closed.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="line-height: 115%;">Skittles looked a Sonny who got on his hind legs and tapped the door
until it opened – he then waited for Skittles to walk through before he also
went inside the room.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> It was hilarious </span><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">and</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> almost a little cartoonish but that was there relationship and Sonny never pressed his size over Skittles. </span></span></span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF_sZ_0b_WoiRp-EN5kAARFhGy61NtdX1svNZ5gudEOrabEKsATV4MvwslR22rrYXsjDzwxJC5BfKxM0tdpmB86H7oX57E2ILjcO2vZal_ibCY8tEGPbAptjEGbNQRdHoSCSia_fElXYA/s1600/Daniel+%2526+Skittles.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF_sZ_0b_WoiRp-EN5kAARFhGy61NtdX1svNZ5gudEOrabEKsATV4MvwslR22rrYXsjDzwxJC5BfKxM0tdpmB86H7oX57E2ILjcO2vZal_ibCY8tEGPbAptjEGbNQRdHoSCSia_fElXYA/s320/Daniel+%2526+Skittles.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Then one day four years later, Skittles started to not
feel well and was losing weight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
tried doing everything we could to help but nothing – even feeding him with eye
droppers and making kitten glop seemed to help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had just been laid off and we just didn’t have the money to take him
to a vet to find out what was wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sonny stayed by his friend’s side even grooming him because Skittles
didn’t have the strength to do it himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was pretty
weak and I gave him a bath to make him feel better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were posting updates on Facebook and people were sending prayers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The next morning he was gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After we said good-bye to our little cat, our Son-bear would lay down in
the spot on the rug in our bathroom where his friend had died.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> He often stayed there for hours at a time. </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">In the months that passed, Sonny became more serious and
not as playful because he </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_HaytAjTn699wEBEdZyAWgnMIgePQQgqnidlOAPNsNXLwywEy_1TDWs9fsk-2K2mqBPiNVnhvDNglMnRTvNt8YDNONZ4pi1UiQb9sR2PcZDV0IXL5zQKGryCHU9d-BQT8iyFGVbZvtM4/s1600/100_3032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_HaytAjTn699wEBEdZyAWgnMIgePQQgqnidlOAPNsNXLwywEy_1TDWs9fsk-2K2mqBPiNVnhvDNglMnRTvNt8YDNONZ4pi1UiQb9sR2PcZDV0IXL5zQKGryCHU9d-BQT8iyFGVbZvtM4/s320/100_3032.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">missed his friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>People like to dismiss animals as not having good memories or not
capable of grief but he was grieving. He visited all the places that his
friend used to go in the house to hide from the chaos that two kids can bring
about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He did start to jump up on the
chairs or even the table at dinner time and wanted to be part of the
conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wouldn’t try to steal
food (at least not most of the time) he just wanted to be included in the
conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would still tolerate
baby time with Amber but it was more out of duty then being playful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjljMlhmmpuy59tUez7tjWJTB34KDn6Vx-qYrGHkJphP7s9JO-qzzFr1UNaMSYMFTBbHQS0aRLfJyLO26JoUxm1MZohRwkUQajqtIe59Cw1oAR8iYRuhgK4vBl9ymzB71N7FAe7c_UMSU/s1600/IMG_0091.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjljMlhmmpuy59tUez7tjWJTB34KDn6Vx-qYrGHkJphP7s9JO-qzzFr1UNaMSYMFTBbHQS0aRLfJyLO26JoUxm1MZohRwkUQajqtIe59Cw1oAR8iYRuhgK4vBl9ymzB71N7FAe7c_UMSU/s200/IMG_0091.jpg" width="149" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Four months later on New Year’s Eve, we decided that like
Skittles, he needed a friend to play with and went to the same shelter were we
had adopted Sonny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time it was a
six month old white kitty named Vanilly who was ironically the last cat to be
adopted out of that shelter since they were closing their doors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We brought him home in a pink pet
carrier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was afraid to come out of
the little box since he had spent almost all of his short life in a shelter not
used to the sights and sounds of an actual home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sonny
was near-by wisely trying not to scare this new-comer who warmed up to him and
after a few hours left the security of the carrier and began to investigate
things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He started to play with Sonny
who played back but without the vigor he had before Skittles died.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He felt more like the elder statesman and
Vanilly was the young brash cat who had a knack for knocking things over and
running to Sonny for help. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Many times Sonny felt like </span></span><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">more</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> of a dog than a cat.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">He’d beg for lettuce even though he was well over 20 </span><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">pounds</span><span style="line-height: 115%;">. He would sit on the couch </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">and watch TV with Amber or make a hammock under the lining in Danielle’s
box spring and hang out there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> He would come when I called and asked him to "see mommy." </span>On Sunday
nights, he’d come upstairs and watch <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Desperate
Housewives</i> with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would actually
turn to him and ask if a specific plot point seemed weird – he’d just look at
me and meow in agreement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">DH</i> went off the air, he’d sit and watch <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Walking Dead</i> with me, Max and Amber
or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Breaking Bad</i> with us on
Netflix.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More than anything he wanted
to be part of what we were doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many a morning, I would wake up to find Sonny
at my feet – touching my toes while purring in his sleep. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">On Max’s 50<sup>th</sup> birthday, Sonny started to choke
on a piece of food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Max was home luckily
and gave him the Heimlich maneuver and the food was expelled but for a minute
there it seemed too late and Sonny got limp as if he was dead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he came back while Max was holding him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After that day, he was seemed to be his old
playful self, bopping Vanilly on the head, pinning him down and chasing up and
down the stairs – all of which Vanilly loved and thanked him by grooming him on
the head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our best guess was that he was
dead in that minute but the angels and Skittles sent him back knowing how
heartbroken we would be if he left us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLnGqIGVAFOkEcBQXwCgkRC57rtDOEXKOcx8xzMkhsSyMEClrVN78nGK8fst-uVD8TSpxaasxa0cmhQFRNshap0rGhi3wsxauEqnAqld2BRU6oszIEE5v7HmhnsZVNtEWwAe56tBabPZo/s1600/Sister+Mary+cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLnGqIGVAFOkEcBQXwCgkRC57rtDOEXKOcx8xzMkhsSyMEClrVN78nGK8fst-uVD8TSpxaasxa0cmhQFRNshap0rGhi3wsxauEqnAqld2BRU6oszIEE5v7HmhnsZVNtEWwAe56tBabPZo/s320/Sister+Mary+cat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Sonny also had a knack for being the center of attention
and when I would record my Princess or Ann Coulter videos, he would jump on the
chair I would be using with the lights blaring – ready to perform with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d write parts for him such as The Royal Kitty;
Ann Coulter’s Stupid Cat named Stupid and most recently – Sister Mary Cat in a
web-series about a rogue Nun who says what she thinks and ends each
segment with a chat with her beloved kitty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It would amaze me how well he would put up with me and the cameras but
he seemed to genuinely enjoy it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as
far as acting partners go, he was one of the best I’ve ever worked with –
on-time, hitting his mark and always knew his cues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He also was not distracted by his cell phone
which also helped speed up the production process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
also looked great on camera. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A few weeks ago while getting ready for a visit from the
Vice President and High Holidays at the synagogue where I work, Max called me
to tell me that he thought that Sonny we not feeling well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That morning I had seen that one of the cats
had gotten sick on the carpet but didn’t think much of it since Vanilly does
that from time to time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got home and
tried to see what was wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He seemed
to be dry hacking and spitting up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later
that night, he went into the bottom of our master bathroom shower and just wanted to
stay there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to get him to drink
but he was not having it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had been
sick before – in fact when he choked and Max saved him – he was having hard
time getting food down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He spent the
night in our bathroom and was purring but not really connecting too much with
us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I woke up that morning and tried once again to get him to
eat but he was not interested which for a 20 plus pound cat is not normal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked
Amber to keep an eye on him and she said around noon that he still had not
moved much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time around – we had
the money to take him to the vet’s office so I made an appointment that
afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Max picked him up and
brought him in a laundry basket because being the big boy he was – we did not
have a carrier big enough to bring him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Max called me and let me know that the exam revealed that he had a
blockage in his bladder and that they could unblock it and he should be
fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt a huge sense of relief and
moved some money so that we could pay for his care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">When I got home – he seemed out of it from the procedure
so I just figured it was the anesthesia.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">I sat down and got him some water which he started to drink and really it felt like we had turned a corner.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">That
night – he wanted to stay in our bathroom and we brought in his litter box,
food and water so everything was in one place.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">The next morning he was still
groggy but again I figured he was still wiped out from the vet's office.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">I brought him into bed and
told him how much I loved him.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">I got
ready for work and asked Amber to keep an eye on him and see if he managed to
get something to eat. </span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">We had a case of
special food and antibiotics to give him that </span></span><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">the</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> doctor had prescribed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I was in a meeting all morning and when I got out – I
called home and Max answered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
surprised and wondered if he came home for lunch to see how Sonny was
doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked if he was doing okay –
Max paused and said “Sonny passed away about 30 minutes ago.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lost my breath and I uttered a very loud
“NO!! NO!!” over the phone to the point that a co-worker came in to see what
the matter was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told her that Sonny
had died while trying to keep from completely losing it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Max told me that Amber had called him after
she checked on him and he was not breathing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He cancelled the rest of his meetings and went home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was not sure how to tell me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told him I would be home early from work
that I could not leave immediately but I would cancel the rest of my appointments as
well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went into the bathroom and
closed the door. My body shaking because I had just lost a very dear member of
the family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I managed to pull myself
together – do the rest of my work and get some checks signed to cover the Vice
President’s visit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was amazed at how
well I was able to function probably because I was still in shock and the
reality had not really hit me yet – maybe it was just a colossal mistake and he
would be just sleeping when I got home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Once I was in my car, the tears started to flow and the song “See You
Again” played.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just let it play as the
warm salt of my tears flowed down my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I got home and asked Max where Sonny was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He’s actually in the same place that
Skittles died.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I went upstairs and saw my sweet little guy – looking
like he was asleep but obviously was not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His pink nose was now gray.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
touched his fur which was still soft but his purr box was silenced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Max said that he would wait until the kids
and I said good-bye and that there was a special place in the garden just for
him – next to Skittles and Coogy – a stray baby cat we tried to nurse back to
health but who died 10 days after we found her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told him how much I loved him and how much
I valued his friendship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I talked about
the shows we watched, how wonderful he was to Skittles and Vanilly and how much
we were going to miss him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had the
kids come in to say good-bye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
talked to him too and petted him – Danielle even got some of the fur and put it
in a plastic bag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted them to see
that death could be peaceful and not something to be afraid of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I told them how lucky we were to have known him and at
least he didn’t suffer for long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He knew
we loved him and that maybe God found a family that needed someone like Sonny
to help them and that’s why he was called away from us and back to heaven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Souls like Sonny are very rare and there is
only just so much to go around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the
point that we had said all our good-byes – Max wrapped him in our best golden
towel and buried him under the rose bush in our garden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">That night I hugged my family a lot tighter.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">We sat around saying how on Sunday, Sonny was jumping on the counter, drinking out of
the faucet and chasing Vanilly and now on Wednesday night – he was gone.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">This one really hit hard.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Skittles had been sick a long time so at the
point that he died, it was sad but not unexpected.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">We had Coogy just 10 days so while losing
one so young was tough – we had only known her 10 </span></span><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">days</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> We had a cat expert tell us that something was wrong – her mother sensed it and left her behind – so there was nothing more
we could do for her but love her and make her comfortable.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">But Sonny was a huge blow – we just thought
we had more time with him. </span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> We tried to do right by him - w</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">e had money
to get him the medical treatment he needed. The vet assured us that he would be
fine in a few days but it was not even 20 hours after the appointment and he
was gone.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">In the days that followed, all of us would veer from sad
to sobbing to feeling better and then feeling bad that we did not feel
worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s the nature of grief – it’s
not consistent and you never know when you’ll go from laughing to crying. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wondered if Sonny had been living on
borrowed time after he nearly choked to death and if God had extended his time
with us because we needed to learn more from him. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZTAe7iB3Tmrpw3bSPhTMi9vWqYVfbMiiZUzUastdE5Z6uvYyv9uIkzfHAGUwVrb_4D3211aic1djXgSfjoZrFxmyn-UE1_QC0_N6pqDLnR8L3ytRp0bGzn9YzXPDfEXU9PC0kHvzqW0I/s1600/cel+phone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZTAe7iB3Tmrpw3bSPhTMi9vWqYVfbMiiZUzUastdE5Z6uvYyv9uIkzfHAGUwVrb_4D3211aic1djXgSfjoZrFxmyn-UE1_QC0_N6pqDLnR8L3ytRp0bGzn9YzXPDfEXU9PC0kHvzqW0I/s320/cel+phone.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Some of my greatest teachers have been my pets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They give you love and understanding and see
you as someone worthy even when the world can make you feel lower than pond
scum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They teach you how to love, how to care for
something greater than yourself. They teach you
that miracles can happen – that animals like my cat in college Gizmo can
survive being hit by a car and falling off a third story balcony, that Skittles
can survive losing 1/3 of his tongue and that Sonny can get the Heimlich and
come back to life. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They teach you that
life goes on and while you may swear that you’ll never get another pet and open
yourself up to that kind of heartache – the universe sends you another creature
to love just as much but without forgetting those blessed pets that came before
whose lessons will help you become a better person. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Their greatest gift is to teach us how
to deal with their loss so when we lose someone that we truly love and feel that searing
pain that brands our hearts which </span></span><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">seems</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> impossible to overcome - we've learned there will come a day where you
can talk about that person not in sadness but about all the wonderful things they
used to do that made you happy, that made you love them and as long as you have
that – they are never really gone. They are as close as that blessed memory. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN4xQbX2i88PzKs34mUxRJnemPBd-1rgAfy7GMBTmeP3z9at9dOK1zfQGcm3vrOEWf2WMPnxzMxyVF011UjE9VcGgIs0c7gHYdN7KUrWM7dDYFll556L90EsgHnm8-KrJTNEm5LP1epJE/s1600/bear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN4xQbX2i88PzKs34mUxRJnemPBd-1rgAfy7GMBTmeP3z9at9dOK1zfQGcm3vrOEWf2WMPnxzMxyVF011UjE9VcGgIs0c7gHYdN7KUrWM7dDYFll556L90EsgHnm8-KrJTNEm5LP1epJE/s1600/bear.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Yesterday, we were pulling into the parking lot at Target
and we saw a little stuffed bear in front of us that looked like it had been
left behind by a child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We put it up on
the cart area so that if the person who had lost it came back they would find
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we came back 90 minutes later
and the bear was still there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We decided
to take it home rather than have someone throw it out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I put the little stuffie on the dashboard
I realized he was waving to us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I then
started to cry because we used to call Sonny our little bear and as much as
some people think the universe is random – this sign was not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was Son-Bear saying “Hi- it’s me and I’m
fine – tell everyone I said hello and I love them too.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That seemed a fitting message and wherever
possible – I’ll always try to see those little miracles whenever they
pop-up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was my friend’s greatest
lesson - to always look at the Sonny side of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /></div>
Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-89614375826622876862015-05-22T21:36:00.002-07:002015-06-21T20:45:44.137-07:00Age Appropriate<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUGv6QHjumM7kbb63lPXFKXgXeEycK4pv9UwQWHBZNX7uJnThCjyJwPneI1FF7Etn-6tiab-3H5jeouaEDjCyh0_QVOwlGxxESRpnWViKjS-gAoLWnvo_vQSTxKmkqrGpo20B-Wshcp_8/s1600/madonna-drake-coachella-593x330.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUGv6QHjumM7kbb63lPXFKXgXeEycK4pv9UwQWHBZNX7uJnThCjyJwPneI1FF7Etn-6tiab-3H5jeouaEDjCyh0_QVOwlGxxESRpnWViKjS-gAoLWnvo_vQSTxKmkqrGpo20B-Wshcp_8/s320/madonna-drake-coachella-593x330.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I have to say I recently felt a little sorry for
Madonna.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here she is – the epitome of
sex from the 1990’s and still trying to rock it at 56 – wearing hot pants,
black thigh high boots, a tank and serenading Drake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the end of the song, she leans over and
lays a passionate kiss on him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At first
it seemed appreciated and then it became a something out of a Pepe Le Pew cartoon
– Drake trying to get away and Madonna oblivious to his resistance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, the look on his face and immediate need
to wipe it off his mouth made it seem all that more unseemly – a woman hitting
on a man half her age and him definitely not digging it. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I like everyone else, wanted to poke fun at it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Madonna’s ego – had been taken down a few
notches because she stepped over the line of sexy into ridiculous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then I began to wonder at the tender age
of 52 if trying to be sexy in your fifties was crossing a line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course – it’s important to know when to
flaunt it – and hitting on a guy who’s young enough to be your son was probably
not the way to go about it even if you were the ultimate sex goddess in
1993.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s a tough road from your 30’s into your 40’s into the
50’s and beyond – </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkL-TAp4BUYPaFwJ-no9ZZb-Jz1lpja9wljNELwfP5_dwJgENoN97-1zPkVmK8Yn9dUdlZbIXOK3lAaK4f0TdCzBSqvTbCKpepMXGqXdWHeWr7lWt1lfpGqWq86i3IOQu7039Ax-gs3Os/s1600/janice-dickinson-plastic-surgery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkL-TAp4BUYPaFwJ-no9ZZb-Jz1lpja9wljNELwfP5_dwJgENoN97-1zPkVmK8Yn9dUdlZbIXOK3lAaK4f0TdCzBSqvTbCKpepMXGqXdWHeWr7lWt1lfpGqWq86i3IOQu7039Ax-gs3Os/s320/janice-dickinson-plastic-surgery.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">particularly if you’re a woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really feel for female celebrities hitting
those milestones and having to compete against their younger selves thanks to
YouTube and Netflix.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now the movies you
made 20 or even 30 years ago are a reminder of how things used to be – when you
were forever young– free from the worries of Botox and the necessity of a nip
and tuck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The worship of youth has
always been there – but the availability of plastic surgery and the practitioners
who claim to be able to fix all your problems is way too alluring to those that
make their living with their appearance and sadly those physicians don’t always
deliver the desired results.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not
like a haircut – a botched face lift will not grow back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will require more surgeries to fix and
with each one – new news stories on someone leaving the back end of a cosmetic
surgery center trying to be unrecognizable – and sadly they are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those parts of their face that made them
interesting and unique have now been replaced by a face that is shiny and
immovable. </span></div>
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<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_C1Uw3QuvzJjN69WxK65PqGIPZhq3DLQ1NjV5Mpi5dA3UMaogdd5IbgJfSzrFeKRdLC69VYPUH4FdYUdSnJox7ew6pGenmH4p-30SM53-oTXPO8s2ng_rfK27qfAbxKZo5X5Axdj9KRI/s1600/Jamie-Lee-Curtis-image-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_C1Uw3QuvzJjN69WxK65PqGIPZhq3DLQ1NjV5Mpi5dA3UMaogdd5IbgJfSzrFeKRdLC69VYPUH4FdYUdSnJox7ew6pGenmH4p-30SM53-oTXPO8s2ng_rfK27qfAbxKZo5X5Axdj9KRI/s200/Jamie-Lee-Curtis-image-3.jpg" width="156" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvaiovvdeNu39D00dIAvlgfxZEb_tmIhu8kwqRq2BnLO4hPJEzxhGhHZJkYkgkS8oWt_emYeBCQJXDw-cZPIU4eurzv6WDsaDxRioQD7GdP0q_TE-4UDcRpAQ-VLu4T78rP_g622F8T-g/s1600/george-clooney.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvaiovvdeNu39D00dIAvlgfxZEb_tmIhu8kwqRq2BnLO4hPJEzxhGhHZJkYkgkS8oWt_emYeBCQJXDw-cZPIU4eurzv6WDsaDxRioQD7GdP0q_TE-4UDcRpAQ-VLu4T78rP_g622F8T-g/s200/george-clooney.jpg" width="142" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Of course, men rarely have to do those things to mask their
age.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>George Clooney can look as
rough-hewn as he wants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But if Jamie Lee
Curtis decides not to color her hair – she gets flack
for giving up and looking old rather than being celebrated for her authentic
self and forgoing hair dye and plastic surgery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s a very confusing message. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">So why do we have such a hard time allowing a woman to
grow old naturally and at the same time we condemn a woman who wants to celebrate
the fact that she’s still a sexual being well into her 50’s?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The Most Interesting Man in the World” is in
his late 60’s and has young women around him – in awe and laughing at his
jokes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has charm, wit and money –
that apparently transcends the fact that he’s old enough to be their
father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is even a little over weight
but his worldliness overcomes that as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Now, put a woman in her 60’s surrounded by young men and either it’s
creepy or more like Mae West where the tongue was firmly in the cheek. The message is clearly an older woman could never really attract this much attention from young men
in real life. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFaZ8agW4PZf_3HUiq7dpBA_nfx2BQK_cFha3aidLIIZGnHh9bd6YF8irOIuNmVUu6mRcKB9PAszyfOVQDGQkEYz9d2rZyiChBOzcgJDkCDhY47p5C_vAPehFkGJtbdB76KtE09DJX14M/s1600/barbara+stanwick.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFaZ8agW4PZf_3HUiq7dpBA_nfx2BQK_cFha3aidLIIZGnHh9bd6YF8irOIuNmVUu6mRcKB9PAszyfOVQDGQkEYz9d2rZyiChBOzcgJDkCDhY47p5C_vAPehFkGJtbdB76KtE09DJX14M/s320/barbara+stanwick.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">In the films of the 1950’s and 60’s – a fifty year old
woman was regulated to being a grandmother and probably was one – since she
more than likely started having children in her early 20’s and then her
daughter would follow suit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At 40 back
then – the best you could hope for was being handsome – sort of like Lucille
Ball and definitely not sexual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A woman
in her sixties would probably be like Barbara Stanwick but at that point – her
face would became softly fused with a filter so her features would be slightly
out focus – a silly way to mask her age because it only made it that much more
glaring. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmJZrVEsCuCcbnBLJ3bv5u8ABK9ky9UYUx_0EuSDii11AidIwn4ib8P8sJn1kX0GOSrlvKooMYDp2-uzPcsJBmh1lCB-s1qkdyLEry7SZStpFoxTHjO8Jcr7rW2s35E1776Hil63SnwY8/s1600/kelly-clarkson-pink-gi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmJZrVEsCuCcbnBLJ3bv5u8ABK9ky9UYUx_0EuSDii11AidIwn4ib8P8sJn1kX0GOSrlvKooMYDp2-uzPcsJBmh1lCB-s1qkdyLEry7SZStpFoxTHjO8Jcr7rW2s35E1776Hil63SnwY8/s320/kelly-clarkson-pink-gi.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">But even a woman’s weight at any age is not off limits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look at someone like Pink or Kelly Clarkson –
who are not anywhere near their 40’s or 50’s but God forbid they gain a little
weight doing something as prized as being a mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The expectation is that if they don’t
immediately get rid of their postpartum Lbs. – they are excoriated on social
media as being too fat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily they both
have the wisdom and strength of character to take their attackers to task and
being proud of their bodies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">But for those of us that grew up during the Twiggy years
– the unrealistic </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisSNjPcZtuhCim9CO7Znl7Yx-MhK9C1yO9N564OR0R3_z429GigpElO8shzPkUiWs1e8Sb62HCMn_hCkXtCLpqtJd1Uv34B-jPSfYHAYINYkVwOzCpJWj-5MoRjYY-HJd7cGyzQqLT9a8/s1600/r-TWIGGY-MARILYN-MONROE-large570.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisSNjPcZtuhCim9CO7Znl7Yx-MhK9C1yO9N564OR0R3_z429GigpElO8shzPkUiWs1e8Sb62HCMn_hCkXtCLpqtJd1Uv34B-jPSfYHAYINYkVwOzCpJWj-5MoRjYY-HJd7cGyzQqLT9a8/s320/r-TWIGGY-MARILYN-MONROE-large570.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">expectation of weight and beauty has become ingrained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The curves of the 1950’s gave way to the boyish
waif look which was impossible for 99% of young women to pull off naturally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It touched me so much that when I was in
middle school – I developed an eating disorder and tried to keep my calories to
fewer than 400 a day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was 5’3” and
about 90 pounds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kept fixating on my
thighs and how big they looked to me compared to the rest of my body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My chest looked bony and my shoulder bones
were poking out of my shoulders but still in my mind I was too fat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It finally took my sister to point out that I
was too thin before I snapped out of this self- induced haze of body hating to
see the truth – I was radically too thin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I put on a few pounds to look healthier – but my weight for most of my
life has been a slippery slope. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWyeOwRNvytPTIyJ9uRDqXZm8UJJsSmic1RL74xNV_h1ZIJmO1RKZco0mVHFitlMz4se3G4dWlX6RG05y1XD9sleTwzEcL4_5DPshjG2I-24OnyKIBOzolh9ar9q7nhfet2zgWgDRsT_4/s1600/max+and+pregger+kel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWyeOwRNvytPTIyJ9uRDqXZm8UJJsSmic1RL74xNV_h1ZIJmO1RKZco0mVHFitlMz4se3G4dWlX6RG05y1XD9sleTwzEcL4_5DPshjG2I-24OnyKIBOzolh9ar9q7nhfet2zgWgDRsT_4/s200/max+and+pregger+kel.jpg" width="131" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2q1xtRzu4MSU_DAacGbGLthQmDNN6RoEZtvpMyBseSw8R3_Zex4HQQNitz2SZBZ-hCyOTZHo0dhtDeVrWWtzX1XZQlliewsgv360VOW05XM3sWxvqDGDTuyMWcomi-g6A8axJQhqwMl0/s1600/Kelley+beach.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2q1xtRzu4MSU_DAacGbGLthQmDNN6RoEZtvpMyBseSw8R3_Zex4HQQNitz2SZBZ-hCyOTZHo0dhtDeVrWWtzX1XZQlliewsgv360VOW05XM3sWxvqDGDTuyMWcomi-g6A8axJQhqwMl0/s320/Kelley+beach.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I guess pregnancy can put that all into perspective
because having a big belly that was full of my future progeny was a wonderful
and blessed thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even got a pretty
nice set of boobs!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the first time in
my life I had crossed over the A-cup line and was spilling out of a B-cup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband Max got the fringe benefits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew that he loved me for better or worse
but having an awesome set of knockers was definitely the better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once
the babies were here and I was breast feeding they got even bigger – I was
easily a 38C cup and curvy like Marilyn Monroe to the point that even the gay
stage manager at the theatre where I was working at was checking me out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">It took me 20 years to finally get it but it turns out
men aren’t necessarily turned on by waif like bodies – they want something they
can hold onto.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I’m okay with not
weighing 105 pounds– but I’ve always gotten a certain amount of attention
because of my looks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the point that I
was at the end of my pregnancies, I rather enjoyed it because I got attention
for being the pregnant lady and not necessarily being the pretty lady (although
people were quick to assure me that I was still beautiful even as I waddled up to
thank them).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">But now that I am hitting my 50's, I know that the
days of being able to rock</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW2fb3X1fvvRXbJjLQkwSuBESL5aCwA_tshANGxBPVzkpfVOd9t95wrL2vtb8KMYFzauT2W9WqmB70mnNf9kKLupVlI755305JWYbhJTJEQ9AtcS3LC6p12RKjwqq5brAun3j7BAkUJrY/s1600/80s-madonna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW2fb3X1fvvRXbJjLQkwSuBESL5aCwA_tshANGxBPVzkpfVOd9t95wrL2vtb8KMYFzauT2W9WqmB70mnNf9kKLupVlI755305JWYbhJTJEQ9AtcS3LC6p12RKjwqq5brAun3j7BAkUJrY/s320/80s-madonna.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> a pair of white shorts and a short sleeve button
down shirt tied to my waist with a pair of sneakers are well behind me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unlike Madonna, I have not made my bread and
butter on the fact that I used to wear a corset and belt buckle that said “Boy
Toy.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never had my father preach that
I needed to be “Like a Virgin.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the
bulk of my career, I’ve had to look professional and not provocative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">But I still feel for Madonna who is not ready to lose her
sexy but has to tread a fine line between edgy and creepy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being
confident is sexy but being arrogant can add years – so maybe a little humility
can go a long way to make you seem younger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There’s definitely a glow about women who feel good about themselves at
any age.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even entertainers who have had
the media focus on mostly their good looks vs. their talent have had to make
that transition into their 50’s and self-confidence can go a long way to
achieve that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I also think having a sense of humor about yourself is
important in keeping your sexy up and your angst of aging down. My husband Max
recently showed me a sketch Amy Shumer recently did on her show about aging in Hollywood
with Julia Louise Dreyfus, Tina Fey and Patricia Arquette. It’s a hilarious
reflection on the double standard of a woman’s sexuality in tinsel town as the
group celebrates Julia’s last f**kable day – the last day that a female movie star is
can screw realistically on screen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XPpsI8mWKmg" target="_blank">Click here to view the sketch</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was laughing pretty hard and Max mentioned
that in his eyes they were all still very f**ckable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s nice to have a husband who appreciates
beauty at any age. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Most people would tell you that Sandra Bullock is downright
hot and she does it effortlessly which is the key to her allure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My guess is if she, Mary Louise Parker and
Laura Dern could give some advice it’s that you don’t need to work so hard to
be hot – just let it happen and people will still notice you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For God’s sake – don’t buy into having to get
so much work done that people can’t take you seriously anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meryl Streep is Meryl Streep and she has the
street cred to do just about anything –but <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>she doesn’t need to look younger to get
roles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Granted there are less and less
roles for 60 year old women, but people will watch her perform because they
believe who she is – her face is still as amazing as it was when she started
back the 1980’s – it’s just older as it should be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Max recently commented that he would nail
Helen Mirren in a New York minute which was reassuring but made me think I need
to be in the room when he’s around other women over 50. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Betty White is a beautiful woman in her 90’s who can tell
you that being relevant is key but not so over the top that you look like you
merely want attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The night she
hosted Saturday Night Live was the highest ratings that show had gotten in 18
months – she was great because she has the show business savvy to know how to
play to her audiences – both old and new.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When she was on the SNL 40<sup>th</sup> Anniversary – she locked lips
with Bradley Cooper and he didn’t try to wipe it off – probably because it was
rehearsed and he was in on it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just
about every woman watching would have loved to have switched places with her –
and she pulled it off with just the right amount of tongue in cheek –
acknowledging that she still had it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Which brings me back to Madonna – and my own struggle to
reconcile the fact that I’m getting older and not the fresh young
thing I once was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Interestingly enough,
I actually I agree with one statement she recently made: "I don't
understand. I'm trying to get my head around it. Because women, generally, when
they reach a certain age, have accepted that they're not allowed to behave a
certain way. But I don't follow the rules. I never did, and I'm not going to
start."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So maybe we need to ease up
on her and see where her blazing trail takes her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m way past the shelf life of most improv performers –
and yet I still go out there and perform because I love it and I’m okay with
making fun of my age.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hell, I even poked
fun at Madonna in a recent show in her get up in which I felt sexy and just a
bit ridiculous at the same time. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe
the road most of us need to go down is confident in our own skins and not worry
about what the world thinks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need to
not hold myself to unrealistic standards as I have in the past and accept the
fact that you can get older and still be sexy and interesting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if you happen to be out in public and a younger
guy checks you out – smile back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
never know - maybe you just made HIS day!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-30657841982911717432014-11-24T19:02:00.001-08:002018-09-23T20:49:27.107-07:00Cos Cé·lè·bre<div style="color: #2d2d2d; font-family: Arial; font-size: 18px;">
<i>cause célèbre - noun</i> - <i>a controversial issue that attracts a great deal of public attention</i></div>
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"Yeah, but you rape women, Bill Cosby, so turn the crazy down a couple notches," Hanibal Buress shouted in an on-line video. "I've done this bit on stage and people think I'm making it up.... when you leave here, Google 'Bill Cosby rape.' That sh** has more results than 'Hannibal Buress.”</h3>
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I was scrolling through my Facebook page when this video hit me square in the face. It was an accusation that I had heard before - 10 years ago during a lawsuit that had been settled out of court but the vehemence that this young man had towards Bill Cosby struck me. Bill Cosby – Heathcliff Huxtable – America’s Dad in the 1980’s being accused of a horrible crime. It caught my attention and it sickened me. I prayed it wasn’t true and then in short order new women started to come forward one after another: same and different details – a wide range of locations – hotel rooms, green rooms of <i>The</i> <i>Tonight Show</i>, her apartment, his bungalow – pills that immobilized the victims and made them unable to fight back or Cosby intimidated them by telling them he would ruin them if they ever told anyone. </div>
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Still, I tried to keep it out of my mind because it was just too awful to grasp and I didn’t want to believe it. Then in 2014 a gunman opened fire at the <span style="color: black;">Strozier </span>Library at FSU – my alma mater and images of my old college came flooding back. In the same news thread – more troubling news about Cosby. I tried to make sense of it and then in the hour commute to work it all hit me – Florida State – 1986 – a night when I got drunk and a male friend tried to help me by taking me home. But instead he raped me.</div>
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The DJs on the car radio talked about Cosby on their celebrity buzz segments – additional accusations – again similar circumstances – he overpowered them and they were not able to defend themselves. They felt guilty and powerless after it happened - wondering if it was their fault because they said something that gave the wrong impression, drank too much or were drugged. They did not report it because they felt like no one would believe them or they didn’t want people delving into the past to make them out to be a slut so they went on pretending that nothing happened for years that eventually turned into decades.</div>
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I knew what it felt like - like a part of you was yanked away violently. Your sense of personal security gone because you trusted the wrong person. That’s how I felt when my “friend” Greg offered to help me. </div>
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My terrible night started as a way to celebrate graduation for the people at the seafood restaurant who had completed their degrees. My favorite drink at the time was a madras – which was vodka with cranberry and orange juice. Bill the bartender suggested doing <span style="color: black;">Rumple Minze<b> </b></span>shots which I had never tried - but it was a celebration so why not? Some of the shots were Rumple Minze and some were tequila - he just never said which. After about three or four shots and a couple of madras’ I was very drunk and in no condition to drive home so when one of the cooks named Greg offered to drive me home – I accepted. But we stopped at his place first. I felt sick and threw up in his bathroom. He offered to help me freshen up in his shower and then proceeded to assault me in the shower then in his living room where I proceeded to throw up again on his carpet (obviously a vomiting woman was not going to stop him). Finally, I managed to get my clothes back on and he dropped me back at my apartment. At that point, he asked if I was alright. I told him I could go in by myself and he left. I took another shower and cried. I went to bed and cried. I tried to eat breakfast and cried. </div>
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I pulled it together later in the day and asked my sister to help drop me off at work so I could get my car. The people who worked at the restaurant thought nothing of it because I was pretty drunk the last time they saw me and of course my car was still there because I had gotten a ride home. A few days later, Greg and I were working on the same shift and he asked me if I was okay because I seemed a little freaked out that night. I mumbled I was fine. I never reported it to police because who would believe me? It was a classic he said/she said situation and I was drunk and so many of the details were hazy. </div>
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Greg was also black so the whole date rape thing took on a whole new level that I was not ready to deal with. If this went public, I did not want to be the cause célèbre for a bunch of North Florida bigots who were looking for any reason to stir up racial tension. I could not bare the thought of innocent people getting hurt because of a racist vendetta. <br />
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I told my boyfriend at the time who initially didn’t believe me - then did and of course wanted to kill the guy. When we broke up a year later, it took time for me to trust being with someone again. Oddly enough I was grateful that it happened when I was drunk because I never got that drunk again and knowing that as long as I was sober I could defend myself. I realize now that false sense of security was very native. </div>
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So the Cosby scandal hit home. It made me mad – it made me feel disillusioned because of course those women would trust him. He’s Bill freaking Cosby! How could the guy who created <i>Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids </i>do that? Many people in their mid to late 30’s claim that Cliff Huxtable was like their second father. I remember waiting tables on Thursday nights and when the crowd died around 7:30 p.m. you knew it was because families wanted to get home in time to watch <i>The Cosby Show. </i></div>
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Still, that lawsuit from 2006 got some traction but it did not seem to do him in then? Why? That lawsuit was settled out of court <span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> by Andrea Constand, 32, a former Temple University employee who claimed Cosby drugged and sexually assaulted her in his Philadelphia-area mansion in 2004. Constand even had 10 other women who claimed similar experiences with Cosby. Constand has been silent based on her settlement, but the other women who were named as Jane Doe's in her lawsuit are finally feeling that there is strength in numbers and are telling their stories and are finally being believed.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">“</span>I think our society really has changed," says Tamra Wade, a data analyst who now mentors young assault victims who herself was attacked by a college professor in a class room a decade ago. "Ten years ago, it was much harder for a victim to get an audience listening to her. Now there's less of a stigma, and that gives people more confidence to come forward."</div>
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Let’s hope so because here’s a sad reality - one in four women in this country will be a victim of sexual abuse in their lifetime. According to the U.S. Department of Justice, just 40% of the women that have experienced a sexual assault will report it. From there, approximately 5% of the time, a man who rapes ends up in prison - so 95% of the time he does not. Why go through all the pain of reliving what happened and having the other side try to make it out as something you wanted if the chances of your attacker going to jail are very slim? It's a truth that victims of this sort of crime understand all too well. </div>
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Of course the denials from the Cosby camp keep coming because it’s defense lawyers and that’s what they do - protect the rich and discredit those that might be a threat. According to Cosby’s attorney Martin Singer: "The new, never-before-heard claims from women who have come forward in the past two weeks with unsubstantiated, fantastical stories about things they say occurred 30, 40, or even 50 years ago have escalated far past the point of absurdity," he said. “These brand new claims about alleged decades-old events are becoming increasingly ridiculous, and it is completely illogical that so many people would have said nothing, done nothing, and made no reports to law enforcement or asserted civil claims if they thought they had been assaulted over a span of so many years."</div>
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Okay Mr. Singer, do you want to know why we stay quiet for one year, two years, five years, 10 years and decades at a time? Because it’s people like you that try to make us feel like we are the lesser - that we consented - that we wanted this. You’ll never know what it’s like to keep quiet because you were afraid of being judged - labeled a slut or a whore because of what happened. Men can be sexually active and they are studs- women are considered whores if they have sex with more than one person - it’s just that simple. I reiterate that one in four women in this country will experience some type of sexual assault in their life time. I sure as hell hope you don’t have four daughters because the law of averages is not on their side. What would you say if your daughter told you she was raped in college a few years ago. Would you tell her she was illogical for doing nothing - would you ask her if there was any chance that she consented? Would you hope to God that the attacker was lawyered up so his ass is protected? No, you would probably want to punch the shit of out of the asshole that did that to your daughter. Worse you would look at her differently. That’s a big reason why I could not say anything while my father was still alive because I didn’t want him to see me as a victim and I knew it would hurt him down to his core - so you protect the people you love by not saying anything. I pray you and your family never feel that pain.</div>
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Now however, there is a public conversation about believing the women in the <br />
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Cosby case in a way they wouldn’t have 10 years ago. While the legal team has accused the media towards bias in the publishing the accusers allegations, a comprehensive article in the Washington Post claimed that “the allegations are strung together by perceptible patterns that appear and reappear with remarkable consistency: mostly young, white women without family nearby; drugs offered as palliatives; resistance and pursuit; accusers worrying that no one would believe them; lifelong trauma. There is also a pattern of intense response by Cosby’s team of attorneys and publicists, who have used the media and the courts to attack the credibility of his accusers." </div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">One of the things that helped me heal is the words of another celebrity - Jimmy Stewart in <i>The Philadelphia Story.</i> When Katherine Hepburn’s character gets drunk - Jimmy Stewart takes her up to her room and does nothing. When she asks why he didn’t take advantage of her, he replies - “</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">You were extremely attractive, and as for distant and forbidding, on the contrary. But you also were a little the worse - or the better - for wine, and there are rules about that.” With that one line from a 1940 movie, Jimmy Stewart explained that men should know the rules and that he chose to follow them. It’s called giving consent and if a woman is not in any condition to give consent, it’s rape - plain and simple. It made me feel better and in time I was able to forgive my attacker and move on. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">When Robin Williams died, there was an intense interest in his work and one scene they were playing constantly was the one from <i>Good Will Hunting</i> in which William’s psychiatrist tries to break through to the Matt Damon character who was abused by repeatedly telling him “It’s not your fault.” Damon’s character tries to shake it off and agrees but after repeatedly being told by Williams, “It’s not your fault,” he breaks down and finally accepts it. That’s a mantra I think all people who have been abused need to hear - “It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault, IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT!!” Intellectually you know it, but until you can say “It was not my fault. I did nothing to deserve this! IT WAS NOT MY FAULT!!” and really mean it you will have a very hard time forgiving yourself for not saying anything. </span><br />
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Ironically, this new interest in Bill Cosby’s sexual misconduct seems to be to have been sparked more by Hannibal Buress’ remarks and not the accusations of the 10 women ten years ago. It took one man calling out the other to shake all of us out of that Cosby complacency to start to see the real issue. The reality is that we live in a male dominated society and we need men to use their male privilege to call out sexual predators. We need to define rape in sex education classes for pre-teen boys and make it very clear where the line of demarcation is between consent and assault. Girls need to be told how to protect themselves and that there is safety in numbers. Boys need to see girls as equals and to respect them enough to put the bro-code on the line if they think a girl is being abused at the hands of another guy. One example of this an ex-NBC male staffer <span style="color: #323333; letter-spacing: 0px;">Frank Scotti who told the New York Daily News that he sent money orders for thousands of dollars to numerous women on Cosby's behalf and was there when Cosby invited models to his dressing room. "He would tell me to keep the women in there, don't let anybody in, and it was very obvious what was going on," said Scotti who is now 90. He eventually quit working for Cosby because of the situation. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Only time will tell if Mr. Cosby will see any legal ramifications for these accusations. But the court of public opinion seems to be turning. On the November 22nd episode of Saturday Night Live’s Weekend Update, ancho</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">r Michael Che commented, “I don't know Bill Cosby, but Cliff Huxtable practically raised me. I love that dude. And the only thing he ever tried to sneak when people were asleep was a hoagie. So while I’ll never forgive Bill Cosby, hopefully someday I can forgive Dr. Huxtable.” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">If you are a victim of a sexual assault, I can tell you that time will help heal and you will find someone who will love you and who you will trust. It will take time to feel comfortable having sex again. But I can tell you 28 years out from my attack that I don’t think about it very much because I’m lucky that I have a husband who makes me feel safe and I know I’m loved. But for better or worse, it's a part of me now and I have to see that it's helped make me who I am today. I have two daughters and I will do everything I can to protect them but if the unthinkable does happen - I will believe them, love them and make sure they don't feel ashamed. For victims of sexual assault, sometimes forgiving yourself and your attacker is the greatest gift of all. I hope we can all find the strength to do it. I know I have. </span></div>
Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-56852414243121626652014-10-11T16:26:00.002-07:002014-10-11T16:30:59.937-07:00The Little House in Miami<div style="text-align: left;">
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“The house is closed. Your keys are now mementos,” was the text that I received from my brother Steve after the family home had sold last week. I stood there in my office and let out a small gasp. I knew the closing was supposed to be that Friday or Monday in Miami depending the last minute details from the buyers. Still, the idea of never going into the house which we had owned since 1958 seemed at bit surreal. My arrival at the house on 90<sup>th</sup> court did not happen until 1963, so my sister Kathy and brothers Bill and Steve had some extra time to make it their own before they had to deal with a new baby. Sharon was born in 1964 which then made the family complete. </div>
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I had not been home since my father died in 2002 when I went down for the funeral. Being in the house and not seeing him sit in his recliner also seemed to be surreal although ironically that’s where he passed away. Max and I had moved to Georgia in 1998 and had been down periodically, but Mom and Dad came up so often it didn’t seem necessary to go down there to see them. A few years ago when Mom could not live alone anymore she moved up to Tallahassee so the house had been vacant since then. My mother still had to pay the taxes and run the AC so that her South Florida home would not be overrun with mold which the moist tropical weather can do in just a few weeks. </div>
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The words of the text were still stinging. Fighting back tears was a losing battle so I quickly ducked into the bathroom so none of my co-workers could see me. The house I grew up in was no longer ours - I could never go home again. I had to work late that night so I didn’t get home until after 10:00 p.m. I told Max the house was sold and he could see it affected me. He hugged me and said it was a very good house. I told him I wanted the new family to laugh and love as much as we did. </div>
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The next morning I cuddled with my husband, put my head on his chest and started to cry. A large chapter of my life was now most definitely closed and could never be reopened-and now it belonged to someone else. So much had happened in the Cody house. I knew how rare it was that one family could own a house that was not a farm or an estate in England for over 56 years - in the South Florida suburbs that is just unheard of. </div>
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Gazing out of the second floor window of my own house, I thought about when I was a little girl. I would look out my bedroom window during the Christmas season and I felt especially safe seeing the holiday lights. I guess as a kid, I reasoned that nothing bad could happen as long as my window was framed in multiple colors of red, green, blue and orange. When I put the Christmas lights up at our house, I make a special effort to have lights frame our bedroom window so I can look outside and feel that all is right with the world. Our ranch house did not have a fire place (we lived in Miami, which is not a place known for cold weather hence the lack of a hearth) - so my parents would tell us that they would stay up and let Santa in. </div>
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On Christmas morning, the Cody kids would descend on the presents that were in five different piles that all had the same number of presents. We got to open two before church and then the rest after services and going out to breakfast. Since Miami never really got cold in the winter, we’d run around in Miami Dolphin Jerseys with shorts and go to our friend’s houses to see what sort of holiday haul they got. Yeah, back then, you could just walk down the street and hang with your friends - there was no cell phones, Facebooking or Tweeting. You could also smell the different holiday feasts being cooked as you walked on the sidewalk from house to house. </div>
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Our backyard had a swing set that my sister Sharon and I would play on since we were close in age - just 16 months apart. Unlike Georgia, the terrain in Miami is pretty flat so our backyard was fenced in but connected to four other houses in the back and to the side. You could cut between the yards to go directly across to Southwest Sr. High which was literally a stone’s throw from my house. If the <span style="color: #252525;">jalousie windows were open, you could hear the marching band practicing for football season. The backyard also kept a little plastic kiddie pool which Sharon and I splashed in as little three and four year old girlie bears. It was an idyllic little house on a little lot in a simple middle class neighborhood - it was home. </span></div>
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It was the place I learned to walk, talk and have my hair done by my big sister Kathy. It was the place where we did Easter egg hunts year after year even after we had grown up and gotten our own homes and apartments nearby. It was a place where you could walk for hours on Halloween and come back with a pillow case full of candy. It was the place where my family discussed around the dinner table what was going on the Vietnam War and my sister’s need to demonstrate against it, the assassinations of the Kennedys, why Nixon was a crook, the first gay rights demonstrations with Anita Bryant, the Dolphin’s perfect season, etc. It was a place where you could eat politically incorrect food like a sausage noodle casserole, ham & corn pudding and bacon and swiss cheese quiche (which my dad and brothers devoured easily because they didn’t care whether people thought they were real men). It was the place were I got my two front baby teeth knocked out riding a bike in the street and where I hit my head on the water heater and sliced my forehead open both of which resulted in panicked runs to South Miami Hospital (luckily, my being a genuinely clumsy kid did not warrant a visit from DFACS). It was where Max and my dad bonded over cooking and our refrigerator made chirping sounds like a bird - that went on for years which Max found charming. </div>
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As I look out my own living room window writing this, the leaves are beginning to change because it’s autumn - something I never got to experience in Miami. We’ve lived in this house for 10 years and it’s bigger than that petite house in Miami. Each of my kids has their own rooms and the bathrooms are a pretty good size. It’s two stories which is not something you saw a lot of in Miami in the late 1950’s to 1970’s. We get snow here from time to time and are not any better prepared then the folks in South Florida were when it snowed in 1977 as Snowmaggeon this year so painfully pointed out. I’m not sure we’ll live here for 56 years, but I hope that my kids have the sort of happy memories I had in that little house that managed to shelter two parents and five kids who could not have been more different. Maybe the proximity in that house helped us learn the fine art of having to get along. The beauty of having a big family in a little space is that it’s always noisy and sulking quietly in your room is impossible because once one sibling pisses you off something else happens and you form a temporary alliance for pay back. </div>
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As I texted back to my brother Steve - he reminded me that I still have the </div>
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memories and I reminded him I still had the canisters of home movies in which I transfer every year for the family to look at for the holidays. Maybe this year I can find footage that is strictly about the house - that little house that held a family together through for almost six decades of Easter Egg hunts, Halloweens, Christmas mornings, Thanksgivings, five weddings, 14 grandkids and a funeral. Maybe my brothers and sisters will remember how close we were physically and emotionally - even though we live in different states. And maybe my kids and I will watch TV together in the master bedroom because watching TV in your parents room while sitting on their bed is the best thing ever and we’ll have bacon and swiss cheese quiche for brunch. Yeah, Max was right - it was a very good house. </div>
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Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-22343873865267282942014-08-20T17:36:00.002-07:002014-08-21T03:24:30.315-07:00The Long Goodbye<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I came home from work on August 11th to find my husband looking shocked. He was slowly taking out dishes from the dishwasher and said, “You know Robin Williams,” he started. “Yes,” I said smiling wondering what the punchline was going to be. I didn’t expect the next sentence. “He died and the early reports are that he killed himself.” “Wait - how? Why?” I asked as millions of people around the world did when they heard the news. Those of us who do comedy improv, looked on him as our Pavarotti - the man with perfect pitch and timing. </div>
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I was in shock and I hoped that this was some sad prank like the fake internet hoaxes for Eddie Murphy and Bill Cosby. I figured if I waited a couple of hours, the internet would figure out it was all a big cluster fuck and the man who made me laugh thousands of times would be fine. But once I went to the computer, truth was all too real. Legitimate news sources were reporting on his suicide. Suicide - I knew he had a problem with depression but Jesus, suicide? I was numb. I mean I’m a very emotional person, but I could barely cry. I posted my shock on Facebook as many people did and even posted his best moments on <i>Whose Line Is It Anyway? </i>a show that does improv games. I cried a little more but not the soul wrenching sobs that should have come. This guy was a comedy legend - what happened? </div>
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As the days went by, and the details emerged it got more heartbreaking - he had financial set backs, his sitcom <i>The Crazy Ones </i>was cancelled - he was deeply depressed. The depression was the one that was getting me. I’ve suffered from depression off and on since high school and when people would talk about how selfish he was for killing himself it was obvious they just don’t understand depression. Some people self medicate with drugs and alcohol. For me, it was obsessing on my weight, purging, crying and never feeling good enough no matter how pretty and thin people thought I was. I tried to explain on Facebook that depression is like a cancer of the mind. You would not say, “But she has such beautiful breasts, they had everything how could they get cancer?!” It’s the same thing with depression, you can have wealth, success and be considered the funniest person on the planet but once that tumor takes hold of your psyche, it can over power you if it goes undiagnosed and untreated no matter how big a movie star you are. </div>
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I remember in college having crying jags so bad, I was not sure if I would ever stop crying. It was pretty bad after Danielle was born which really sucked because I had this beautiful baby but just felt like I was letting everyone down. That’s what depression does, it pulls you into a vortex of self doubt, zaps your energy and you close off from people. Worse is when people take the “just get over it” attitude because once you go down that slippery slope, it’s hard to pull yourself back up. You would not tell a person with cancer to just snap out of it, don’t ask a depressed person to do the same thing. But still the commentators on FOX, Rush Limbaugh (who also self medicated and has experienced depression) commented on how cowardly it all was. Fucking A - these people had no idea and just because you are laughing on the outside doesn’t mean you’re not hurting on the inside. </div>
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But you learn to cover up and for some people, humor is a great defense mechanism. It keeps people at arms length if you can keep them laughing they won’t get too close - just keep them distracted by good humor and they will think everything is fine. When the life of the party actually stops trying to crack you up and is serious, it’s a good sign - it means that they trust you enough to let the walls down and they want you to come in. So I understood in my own way what is was like to be a funny person and still be someone who could walk off stage after making a packed house laugh and feel unworthy. </div>
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A few days after his death, I was feeling a little better but then word came out that he was also suffering from Parkinson’s which had been recently diagnosed. That hit me hard because my mother has Parkinson’s and I know first hand how that disease can take a healthy person and make them lose the ability to walk and do things for themselves. It clicked as to why he might have done this - maybe he wanted to go out while he could still do things for himself. My mother ate right and exercised and she got it - what was to keep me from getting it too - even if they have not be able to establish a link through heredity? Shit, is that my future? Would I want to be a burden to my family? I sat on the computer that Saturday, tears rolling from my eyes because while I hate what he did maybe that was a saner reason than just depression. </div>
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I needed to shake this funk and the kids really wanted to see a Robin Williams movie. That night, we watched <i>Mrs. Doubtfire </i>and decided to recreate the cake in the face </div>
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“Heellooo!” scene. Each one of us - the kids and Max and I got to have a ton of whipped cream on our faces with all the giddy silliness of toddlers. You can see the video see by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BtCtTWZdoRk" target="_blank">clicking here</a>. After it was edited and posted - I have to say I felt much better because I was remembering him for the comic genius he was not the person who had killed himself. </div>
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I would have left it at that until I saw the Twitter posts from Rob Schneider claiming that the Parkinson’s medicine is what killed Robin Williams. That really fucking pissed me off because again my mother suffers from Parkinson’s and if he was in the early stages then he was probably not taking a ton of medication but then I don’t know that and frankly either does Rob Schneider. To use the reasoning that he had lived with depression for 20 years without offing himself and then blame the dangers of Parkinson’s medication is stupid and fucking irresponsible. My conjecture (because I don’t know for sure and won’t make an declarative statement) is that his wife was probably keeping a close look at his medications and would alert a doctor to to any severe side effects or complications beyond the depression he had already been experiencing. If you use that argument then why isn’t Michael J. Fox a victim of suicide as well? He was diagnosed in 1991 so by using that logic, he would have been gone by his own hand long ago and yet here he is raising money and doing the best he can with what he has. </div>
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I think in the end, we’ll never really know what happened and that’s the sad part. It leaves us mourning harder then if it had been a random act of fate like a car accident. I don’t know if Robin will be our generation’s Marilyn Monroe - it’s still too fresh to figure out and there will always be someone who will try to give you the definitive answer as to why - but unfortunately there is none. In a more spiritual sense, I’d like to think that maybe the manner of his death encouraged people to call suicide hotlines which kept them from taking the same sad path. There will be no way to know the number of people his final act might have saved. </div>
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I was running with my earphones and <i>Never Had a Friend Like Me</i> came on from my Pandora feed. I went from a run to a walk and started to cry. My prayer is that I’ll be able to hear his voice and not feel loss but a genuine joy that this comic genius brought to the world. Now when I look at a plate of whipped cream - I giggle. Laughing with him and not crying because of him is what he would have wanted. </div>
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Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-41806011292754280252014-07-15T19:24:00.000-07:002015-04-11T20:19:53.573-07:00A Fresh Coat of Paint<h4>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><i style="color: #323333; letter-spacing: 0px;">"You can fail at what you DON’T want... so you might as well take a chance on doing what you love." - Jim Carrey</i></span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTBIaIHmGEUfCGXTsjTetxtSDaQqmyCPRJafwwXGHybEHYUNfEFLM1rFLHXz1kQFIB3xsMcpNiHuqJy6XoLN19wZf5SYxAVGAvycBApS4j-TXXGMXfe-4kpzvLwC_EeNHb7yNesec9CzY/s1600/howto_header.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTBIaIHmGEUfCGXTsjTetxtSDaQqmyCPRJafwwXGHybEHYUNfEFLM1rFLHXz1kQFIB3xsMcpNiHuqJy6XoLN19wZf5SYxAVGAvycBApS4j-TXXGMXfe-4kpzvLwC_EeNHb7yNesec9CzY/s1600/howto_header.jpg" height="107" width="400" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;">Long weekends seem to scream for ambitious home improvement projects. Weeks before those three day weekends stores like Lowe’s or Home Depot run cheery commercials telling you that you can get it all done in just a few hours and then you are on your way to enjoy your weekend. From time to time, I fall into that trap and this past 4th of July, I overly enthusiastically needed to fulfill the promise of not only redoing my oldest daughter’s room who had just turned 18 and my 13 year old daughter’s room. It was just a paint job so how long could it take? I could probably knock out both within a day. Of course I forgot the first rule of home improvement - estimate the time it will take to finish the project and then double or triple it. However, in the process of cursing your own ambition you also need to keep in mind that makeovers can also give you a new perspective. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><br />Amber’s room was the one in the most need of updating. Her room was the first one that I had painted</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD2LcyfEGY-8Y_2c6fWSD79bQbL9YLBM2latRWa1wXmBdJVb8zKdaBJi_LCfPx1gp693wvNpiU0UnVd3zy9NcC7epallw2VjH6mNWe6QjV5-ILRAgGzndClSXgdtClhdL5u1y2uR94_iA/s1600/Amber+before.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD2LcyfEGY-8Y_2c6fWSD79bQbL9YLBM2latRWa1wXmBdJVb8zKdaBJi_LCfPx1gp693wvNpiU0UnVd3zy9NcC7epallw2VjH6mNWe6QjV5-ILRAgGzndClSXgdtClhdL5u1y2uR94_iA/s1600/Amber+before.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"> before we even moved into this house 10 years ago. We had just closed the day before and I wanted to give the kids rooms a facelift. The original colors in the house were floor to ceiling Army beige. So before we moved in I had my girls pick out their paint - light pink for Amber and eggshell for Danielle. We also picked out Amber’s flowered valance, the matching border and matching flowered stickers to put around the room so it would look like random wallpaper. It was everything an eight year old girl who was into Disney Princesses could ask for but now it was no longer a room that an 18 year old girl wanted to hang-out in. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;">That I understood, but that room had been frozen in time - a snapshot of our lives 10 years ago when I was still working in the international healthcare industry and I hadn’t had the shit kicked out of me job wise so many times. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuXJcpBjP1tc6CWO5O3EDUZE_pYPZmwzjAnvVSByYcnEaulZ6ejAtW7ST47xZdxJleRusOI5_f9_FcqF2AdDLqEDVmCRyYvtA_CguaOwhgFqePGAbqbdbfjKraGab09U5kHKwhOYtM42E/s1600/pink-paint-roller-lg_A2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuXJcpBjP1tc6CWO5O3EDUZE_pYPZmwzjAnvVSByYcnEaulZ6ejAtW7ST47xZdxJleRusOI5_f9_FcqF2AdDLqEDVmCRyYvtA_CguaOwhgFqePGAbqbdbfjKraGab09U5kHKwhOYtM42E/s1600/pink-paint-roller-lg_A2.jpg" height="208" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;">I remembered painting her room the first time at the height of that Georgia summer in 2004 - sweltering under the noon day heat since we had not turned on the power and there was no AC - just stagnant air and a faint breeze every now and then from an open window. I had on my painting leggings and my white t-shirt which was drenched and clinging to my arms, torso and back. The smell of latex and stale perspiration wafted in the air with each roller full of paint that was slathered on the walls erasing the dull beige and replacing it with something more kid friendly. After about an hour, Amber’s room was done and I went over to Danielle’s room and made it a clean crisp white. Since we were moving in the next day, it was easy to get around and paint both rooms without furniture. By the time I was finished, I was covered in sweat with pink and white paint specs clinging to me - my hair was sopping wet (I’ve never been one of those women who glowed when it’s hot - I can perspire to the point that sweat balls roll off my nose and into neat little puddles). I prayed as I left that none of the new neighbors wanted to meet me because I was literally a hot mess. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><br />So here I was, 10 years later with my daughter who is a legal adult, moving things around her room that had not really been changed since we moved in. We carefully took the posters off her wall, took off the flowered border, peeled off the adhesive daisies and made the walls look empty. Empty walls to fill with new ideas and adventures. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><br />The need to refresh was not lost on me, not just because my oldest daughter was now 18 years old. I was now reconsidering a job change or more accurately - a career change. Did I want continue to work in non-profits or did I want to strike out on my own and be my own boss? The week of Amber’s big birthday, I had edited down our web series <i>Death By South</i>, made it into a sit-com and submitted it to the New York Television Festival hoping for the best. But after that more questions started to emerge - did I want to develop a career in which I could do improv for business and also use improv to work with at-risk kids and police officers? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGXJH_ngUpGAz5brYgyMBMLLm6mTiMd2VkXEf5_8Tz6IEiwL8hb7tmUwik2cqU4X46xZxMsiBHcuhZkCV9DzP1Fvz841oUGUI_9CdtkUkI5Kth5Qqq-sSNrSiTeLlXhOH49rQZpQp2hg0/s1600/Rabbit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGXJH_ngUpGAz5brYgyMBMLLm6mTiMd2VkXEf5_8Tz6IEiwL8hb7tmUwik2cqU4X46xZxMsiBHcuhZkCV9DzP1Fvz841oUGUI_9CdtkUkI5Kth5Qqq-sSNrSiTeLlXhOH49rQZpQp2hg0/s1600/Rabbit.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;">Would I once again retreat into the relative safety of another non-profit job with benefits in which I would attempt once more to save the world only to have the world slap me in the face after it was saved over and over again? I contemplated that as I put the paint onto the walls over the two and a half days it took to actually finish their rooms (note to me - expecting to do both places in one day was definitely overreaching). </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEbm80oenSoAxccweB4-p-GLBv-_tYO3ecbE3wg5dtphVAKoTpSvI-JaVBibnuc-0-pVdEAr7CEfJewnl6K_VIA9cyjU9dExK5zynzNhruLti5Lfny10qxmoMAv0z0dz3i5zvP5i50r8A/s1600/Improv+group.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEbm80oenSoAxccweB4-p-GLBv-_tYO3ecbE3wg5dtphVAKoTpSvI-JaVBibnuc-0-pVdEAr7CEfJewnl6K_VIA9cyjU9dExK5zynzNhruLti5Lfny10qxmoMAv0z0dz3i5zvP5i50r8A/s1600/Improv+group.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;">I thought about the past decade - going from my forties to the beginning of my fifties. The improv group had been started in 2005 and had seen many incarnations although interestingly enough it’s been the one professional constant in my life. I had been doing international healthcare for about two years when we moved in and an additional three years after that, then local healthcare for almost four years and finally working with adults with developmental disabilities. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;">Amber had gone from being in elementary school, to middle school to high school. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;">My mother had gone from being active to needing to be in assisted living with a diagnosis of Parkinson’s Disease. My older sister’s 30 year marriage had ended, she battled colon cancer and had gotten remarried to a really great guy. We have also lost and gained two cats in these 10 years - my kids learning hard lessons about love and heartbreak the way only the loss of a beloved pet can teach you. So much had happened since these walls were first painted. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><br />Now, I was standing in this same room - this time filled with furniture that I needed to paint around. I was in a different place in my life - not getting ready to start a new job in a new house but struggling professionally. My baby girl will be graduating from high school this time next year and her adult life is stretching before her - independence closer then it was 10 years ago. </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC01QYXmbpbVfn1b2EjZPXbwgnRKL7xHvE-0YGKLxpn88ibr28VWMJuNZLVHQpI2eZ-Xb7iKvVnztwkj04PbAteMfRFP6jx1Ig9inYvoHqS9Ka6h0vl89JiROmNwqvcCQzPE3ZUgOMPUA/s1600/Amber+after.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC01QYXmbpbVfn1b2EjZPXbwgnRKL7xHvE-0YGKLxpn88ibr28VWMJuNZLVHQpI2eZ-Xb7iKvVnztwkj04PbAteMfRFP6jx1Ig9inYvoHqS9Ka6h0vl89JiROmNwqvcCQzPE3ZUgOMPUA/s1600/Amber+after.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;">So as each wall was finished and the touch-ups applied, I wondered about striking out on my own as well. I’ve spent so much time making money for other people - writing grants to fund programs, making videos to promote charities, doing special events with the gala ladies from hell who could definitely give any nemesis that the Avengers encountered a run for Tony Stark’s money. Not having to deal with bosses who would throw you under the bus to save their own asses would be nice. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;">I might be working for myself but at least I’d have some sort of control. Not that being on my own would be a piece of cake- I would have to collect money owned for services rendered. I’d have to keep track of what I would owe tax wise as an independent contractor. I would need to market myself and be out there selling constantly. I would need to find my own health insurance but I would have a bit more control over my schedule. I also had connections thanks to all my years raising money so folks might be willing to take a course from someone who had won awards doing special events or a course on how to speak confidently to a group of people since I’ve won awards doing improv as well. But how irresponsible would I be to turn down a sure thing - a JOB with all the benefits to support my family? The security that my paycheck would be the same thing every week so that we could budget - rather than feast or famine. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;">The biggest difference in me at 51 versus me at 41 is that I’m older, hopefully wiser and well shit - just tired of saving the world instead of myself for a change. Maybe I’ve been handed this opportunity to breakout and give it a shot for six months or a year and if it doesn’t workout then hell yeah, I’ll go back to sacrificing myself once again to make the world a better place but at least I will have given it a shot. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_-ztx2R3JJM0UQe1t8pKFzbtlQg22f8nC6qTr9f3lDllQiwNe9TjZ2siF0LAV39S3qX_FaRlrgFN-AFpilGXZhV2ECa0TrMsdxvFj7f1IncettI02MmYIXtMM2a2xxtJO8oo9rC9a7UY/s1600/She+Hulk+PMS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_-ztx2R3JJM0UQe1t8pKFzbtlQg22f8nC6qTr9f3lDllQiwNe9TjZ2siF0LAV39S3qX_FaRlrgFN-AFpilGXZhV2ECa0TrMsdxvFj7f1IncettI02MmYIXtMM2a2xxtJO8oo9rC9a7UY/s1600/She+Hulk+PMS.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;">Sounds like I’m pretty sure that’s what I’ll do right? Not so fast, I have two job interviews - both with decent pay and benefits beaconing me to put my superhero cape on one more time to fly in and save (fill in the blank) again for old time’s sake. I’m really torn - I mean to the point of tears because like most superheroes - what if the riskier path is the one fight I don’t come back from? What I lead the people who trust me down a roadway of ruin? What if I’m not as strong as I think I am? My theoretical self is a total bad ass able to handle anything - even a Hulk with PMS but disappointing people I love because I wanted to start my own business - that would be my Kryptonite. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><br />So there you have it - my moral dilemma unfolding and I just don’t have the luxury of distance or time to say - “Hey I was scared shitless but it all worked out - so follow your dreams, kids!” Maybe it doesn’t have to be all or nothing - maybe a part-time job to start until the business gets going - that I could live with. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: normal;"><br />Maybe it’s just one wall at a time - with random brush strokes that merge into one solid color and the imperfections which can be fixed later with a little touch-up paint. Those random pieces of furniture that somehow come together and make the room look like there was a grand master plan all along that you can step back from and say “Well hell, yeah, I meant to do that!” Maybe - but just like any good home improvement project - it’s not going to happen as quickly as you thought. </span><br />
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Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-69607856166502544972013-08-11T17:42:00.001-07:002013-11-01T17:38:34.897-07:00A Profile in Courage<h3>
<em>Courage - the ability and willingness to confront fear, pain, danger, uncertainty, or intimidation.</em> </h3>
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<span style="color: #444444;"><i><br /></i></span>I was sitting with my son’s fourth grade teacher during a regularly scheduled conference. She showed me his papers, how he was doing in math and language arts and areas we needed to work with him on. Then she told me that he had asked to make a special announcement to his class. </div>
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He got up in front of the class holding a few papers and turned to them and said: “I know that many of you might have heard, but I wanted to tell you that it’s true – I’m gay.” I let out an involuntary gasp, when she told me this, not because I didn’t know or was ashamed but because admitting something like that could cause problems for him at school and I didn’t want to see my son hurt. But then she told me that he continued talking to the group.</div>
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“I’ve been bullied because people think I’m different and being bullied can really hurt people.” Then taking his cue from a show we’d seen on Nickelodeon called <i>Sticks, Stones and Cyberslams,</i> he then took out a photo of a young boy named Carl Walker Hoover who was polite and well mannered but who got teased for being gay. The pressure and the teasing got to be too much and hung himself at age 11. </div>
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He also had a photo of Phoebe Prince, a young girl who was bullied to death because she was different. He told them that words can hurt and that no one should have to die because they feel life is unbearable because they can’t be who they really are. He then he asked for a show of hands of the kids in the class who had been bullied – all the hands went up. He then asked if any of the kids in the room had bullied other kids and a few hands went up. His teacher seeing a definite teaching moment opening up asked the kids how they felt when they were picked on. The class discussed what it felt like to not be accepted and how words could hurt. They talked about how everyone was different and that could make them a target for bullies. After about an hour, it was time for the kids to go to recess where no one got bullied. </div>
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The teacher was afraid that she would hear from angry parents who had a problem with a discussion about homosexuality but she didn’t get a call or e-mail from a single parent. Her guess was that the kids understood that my son was different in his own way like we all are and that’s what they took away – not that it was wrong to be gay but that it was wrong to make people feel bad about themselves. </div>
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I sat back from that meeting happy that my son had the courage to speak his mind but honestly feeling a little ashamed that if he had told me in advance what he was planning – I would have probably tried to talk him out of it. I would have been afraid for him to take that chance – that he could have been rejected by those children – that his effort would have failed and the bullying would have intensified. My protective instinct would have been a huge mistake because after he had that talk with his class, the bullying stopped. My misguided effort to prevent failure would have taught him and his classmates nothing. Instead, the powers that be allowed me to stay out of it and to let things unfold as they needed to. This time it was in my child's favor. </div>
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When you first hold your infant in your arms you wonder what sort of person your baby will grow into and project all those hopes and dreams into your child. I remember when my daughter was born I was planning her wedding in my head when she was just a week old – seeing her as a future Disney Princess. I’d dress her in pink overalls, a white hat with pink satin bow to match her pink cheeks. She looked like a baby doll and for a certain time through her toddlerhood, she would wear frilly dresses like Cinderella. She was my girly girl. But as she got older, she rebelled against the onslaught of pink and frills. In fact, I don’t even look at that side of the rack when I’m picking out clothes for her now, because I know that she won’t wear it. I’ve had to change that expectation of my daughter because she is the awesome person she is - just not one who is going to wear dresses, pearls, and a ton of ruffles to the school formal – that’s her- not me, and I’m really good with that. </div>
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If I’ve learned anything as a parent, I’ve learned to release my expectations about who my kids are supposed to be. But sometimes it’s hard to release the image of who you feel you’re supposed to be – the pretty blond girl - the middle daughter who always tries to keep the peace. I wanted to be straight A student and I would pressurize myself to exhaustion try to get there. I guess I thought it would make me happy. I was an honor student and finished in the top 2% of my high school class with a 3.8 a grade average. I should have been over the moon, but instead I felt like a clown that was hiding behind a mask that was supposed to make everyone happy but me. This me at age 12. I look like a deranged Jan Brady. </div>
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How many people out there have felt like this – showing one mask to the outside of the world, but inside you feel like you’re just barely hanging on? Whether you’re trying to get good grades, get that internship, get that job that is supposed to solve all your financial problems you have this façade that the world sees, but inside you know better. I think it’s because we can’t release the image of who we think everyone wants us to be – and you end up you feeling like this. Eventually, I figured out that I'm not wired like everyone else and that I see the world differently which is good - but it’s still a work in process and some days I still feel like the teenage girl in this picture - good God don't we all? But at least I can project the image of what the world finds acceptable - but what if you're gay and tired of trying to be something you're not. </div>
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When I realized that my son wanted to be different – wear make-up, nail polish, wigs, etc., I was concerned about how the world saw him and I knew that sometimes if you’re gay or transgender, it’s not safe to be yourself, especially in some parts of Georgia. I tell him he is like Harry Potter and that home and church are Hogwarts – he can practice his “magic” with us and no one would make him feel bad about himself but around the muggles, he’d have to be careful. He could wear his hair on a pony tail, but over the top make-up and bright nail polish was out. After school and on the weekends, he can dress or be however he wants. It’s the compromise we have for now but frankly we’re making it up as we go along. </div>
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When we got to march in the Gay Pride Parade in the fall, he got to see that there were all kinds of people like him and we had a blast. I was very grateful that our Unitarian church was part of that event and that both kids got to see people who were happy in their own skin, marching, hugging, singing and supporting each other. It felt like the happiest place on earth and really personified the word "gay." Even the Westboro Baptist Church idiots could not diminish everyone's good time. In fact, those folks had long scared my kids but when they saw them standing by the side of the road extolling their misguided philosophy that God hates gays, they walked over to them and told them it was not true. The progressive Baptist church that was marching with us did the same and it made me smile because it helped my kids see that not every Baptist church felt the same way as these hate mongers did. </div>
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In Georgia, the school year has started and he is more open this year about being transgender - his hair is longer, his ears are pierced and his wears a bit of face make-up but not eye make-up. So far, so good - but when school begins - everyone is on their best behavior both the students and teachers. So far, we've been lucky that his elementary school and middle school have had people in the administration who are gay and have his back. I know that there are other places in the country where that is not the case and gay students are picked on and bullied unmercifully. They are made to feel like they are wrong and worthless for being gay, transgender or different. Hopefully, they'll have the support of their family and church but I know that many kids do not have the support systems we do and I pray for them. <br />
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I pray for the gay people in Russia who are systematically being abused and oppressed because they are who they are. I pray for all the kids who will be bullied this school year to have the courage to get through it because it will get better even if the idea of getting away from school and your tormentors is still years away. It's interesting that polls can show that 93% of Americans support gay marriage but many gay kids in school wouldn't know it because the 7% who don't feel that way can still make your life a living hell. I think the most courageous thing we can ask our children to do is not only be themselves but to stick up for those they see being bullied because you rob the bullies of their power. The definition of courage is the ability and willingness to confront fear, pain, danger, uncertainty, or intimidation. My son showed me that. He is one of the most courageous people I have ever known. </div>
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Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-23652222224707565602013-03-31T18:05:00.001-07:002015-12-24T20:45:05.898-08:00Clarence and the Superhero Factor<div style="font-family: Arial;">
<i style="color: #323333;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?" - Clarence the Angel - It's a Wonderful Life</span></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSqdmmeiA6W-bLs6VFc07GjjoLc8QTGA_TyyH-2t5y70Ct_5gubPedg0_maxEs9DG1d9WbJkIU1c83PVxPcdaIRob6nPtZwZkCh-ciRSP0yyQbrsLNv9g5Ey18cpymZm4ZqrNGA-KxcpY/s1600/Guardian_angel_clarence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSqdmmeiA6W-bLs6VFc07GjjoLc8QTGA_TyyH-2t5y70Ct_5gubPedg0_maxEs9DG1d9WbJkIU1c83PVxPcdaIRob6nPtZwZkCh-ciRSP0yyQbrsLNv9g5Ey18cpymZm4ZqrNGA-KxcpY/s320/Guardian_angel_clarence.jpg" width="251" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">I'll be the first to admit that the last few weeks have been downright awful, depressing, physically, emotionally and spiritually draining. The kind that make you question why you're here - a genuine George Bailey moment. For those that don't know the movie, <i>It's a Wonderful Life</i>, George Bailey is the kind of guy that sacrifices himself to do the right thing, to follow in his father's footsteps at the expense of his own dreams of being an engineer overseas. When a financial crisis befalls the business he has given up so much for - he is ready to give up in a big way - as in take his own life. Now, I wasn't quite there but I was really depressed to the point of wondering what God's plan for me truly is. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I have worked in non-profits for most of my adult life. I've helped abused and abandoned children, women in developing countries get education and healthcare, worked on international AIDS prevention, brought open heart services to the local hospital, helped to market edgy theatre to the Atlanta and helped adults with developmental disabilities. It's been a wide range of experiences and to all walks of life. Accomplishing those things should make me feel fucking awesome - like a real superhero. But lately, I've been so burned out that the idea of helping people seems to be a big drain. I give way more than I get back - and that realization has shaken me to my core. I try to look at the spiritual gifts: the smiles on the faces of the children who used to get the presents from the toy drives I spearheaded; the reports of women in Kenya being able to get a cart to start their own businesses thanks to a micro loan I helped facilitate; the associates at the local hospital who were able to show their talents at the staff talent show in a venue that made them feel like a star. Those moments are valuable and impossible for a paycheck to capture. But then, when you work 70 to 90 hour weeks on a project, pull miracle upon miracle out of your pocket and the committee people that you're working with don't have the decency to say thank you because it didn't turn out as perfectly as they would have liked - it hurts. Maybe if you weren't so burned out you could roll with the punches, but sometimes you just feel like hanging up your cape or like George Bailey on Christmas Eve - wondering if the world be better off if you had never been born at all because all the good you do doesn't seem to amount to much. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">There is actually a term for it - it's called Superhero Burnout which is tailor made for people who work at non-profits. It can be hard to have to deal with having little time or resources, lack of money, and constant stressors over the economy. We have to do so much with so little and it can take it's toll. The book, <i>The Superhero Handbook</i> by Glenn Campbell (the author not the singer) explains why being Superman can be so exhausting. "Every superpower, no matter how impressive, has its load limit, and if you exceed it, one way or another your powers will be rendered useless. It is like piling too many apples on a cart. Each apple seems small and easy to carry, but if you keep adding more, eventually the cart has to collapse. You don’t know exactly when it will happen, but as long as you keep adding apples you know it will happen, and when it does, your cart won’t carry anything anymore. That is the fundamental problem of super-heroism. You want to do as much good for the world as you can. You want to improve your society, but you must not compromise your precious core powers that allow you to do anything at all." </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Most superheroes have their own weaknesses or Kryptonite. My weakness it's setting boundaries and self-doubt. When my efforts are barely acknowledged, I feel slighted and hurt. I doubt my skills and try to do more to make up for it. It's the sort of thing that the Lois Lanes of the world prey upon. Why should Lois be more careful when she's involved with a dangerous story? She knows that Superman will always bail her out. If there was no superhero, she'd be more be more responsible. Why should the folks in Bedford Falls worry when the big bank closes? They have George Bailey giving away his honeymoon money to save their asses until the bank opens in a week. So falls the great problem with being a superhero - there is just so much of you to go around and the people who put themselves in peril know that. They know that you won't let them fail, they know that you'll do anything you can to help them. They'll take the help and will at first be grateful but after awhile they will take it for granted. But as a superhero, your drug is feeling like you can change the world and the world will be grateful. You work to relive that first buzz of appreciation but as they ask for more and more, you get more and more drained - then you begin to resent the people of Metropolis and Gotham. "For God's sake, get a grip and do something to help yourself for a change - stop coming to me for all the answers," you want to shout. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So as I look back at the last few weeks - the crazy hours and time not spent with my family it strikes me that my pursuit of being good and kind might be causing my apple cart to collapse. Why do I feel so unworthy if I want to do something for myself? If things happen that are out of my control yet still effect my family - how am I to blame? How come I can't save everyone who needs my help? The reality is no superhero, no matter how noble - can. It's impossible. You have to focus on the people that you have helped - in whose life you had made a difference and frankly screw anyone who doesn't have the capacity or decency to show some type of appreciation for the sacrifices you've endured to help them because they'll never get it - it's just not in their wheelhouse. They will still ask you for more and more until you can't give anymore - you're physically, intellectually and spiritually bankrupt. This is why you need to set limits. Sadly, once those people see that - rather than offering support, they'll move onto the next superhero in the Hall of Justice that they can latch onto. </span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was thinking the other day about the most important things I've ever done as a professional fundraiser. I did toy drives for abused kids in Miami for a charity that I used to work for. I would drive myself to exhaustion to make sure each of the 600 kids in the different programs got at least a few presents for Christmas. I would come back to work the week after the holidays and try to clear my desk from the December push still fighting post-holiday burnout. I knew our kids got what they needed even if I never saw a thank-you note from them because it wasn't necessary - they just needed to know that there were people who wanted to help them. The presents that came into "Santa Central" went out with little fanfare because that was not the point. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">One year, I had a social worker named Andrea call me and relay what a parent had told her. One of the programs at this organization was to help families affected by HIV. This mother and son both had been infected with AIDS. The mother was in bad shape, with maybe a few months left to live. Her son Octavius was five or six and had HIV but was not full blown AIDS just yet. The social workers knew this would probably be their last Christmas together. I wasn't aware how bad it was, I just treated Octavius' wish list like any other in "Santa Central" - it needed to be filled the best way I could. Andrea told me that she had just gotten off the phone with Octavius' mother and while she was weak and her voice was raspy - she was able to say "Thank you, Thank you, Thank you," over and over again. You could hear our tears on each end of the phone. That one simple act changed their lives and gave a dying woman a happy and ordinary moment to share with her son, free of hospitals and medicine. She died that spring and Octavius a year later. But for that one glorious moment, they were just a mother and son ripping into Christmas presents and smiling. To this day, I think it's one of the most important "Superhero" things I've ever done. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Another superhero moment was when I helped organize a talent show at the hospital where I used to work. We invited associates and volunteers to audition for a chance to perform to win prizes. We had many people audition including a man named John Sullivan who sang <i>Unchained Melody</i> by the Righteous Brothers which was the song that Max and I danced to at our wedding. He was a guy in his 80's who had that old world charm and could sell the song even if his vocals were not the strongest. We invited him to compete even though my boss thought it was a bad idea because his voice was not that great. I explained that we needed the hospital volunteers to support the event and having John in the contest would bring them in. My intuitional hit was that he would go all out during the actual show. The night of the show finally came and while the younger contestants were acting like Diva's, John showed up in a tuxedo, ready to do his sound check and encouraging everyone who stepped on stage. When his big moment came, he was as poised as Frank Sinatra and totally wowed the crowd which gave him a standing ovation. He ended up winning the contest and you could see the pride on his face. I made a video for him and also posted his performance on YouTube where his family who were not able to attend could share in his triumph. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BskFwYuGa_0" target="_blank">Click here to see the video. </a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I found out later that Mr. Sullivan had gotten sick and passed away about six months after the video was taken. But before he left this earth, he got to sing and entertain people. The video on-line has been viewed over 1,300 times and his family left some very sweet comments after he died. They will always be able to share in this moment which shows him doing what he loved best. I helped give them that. I'm not sure how many superheroes get to see that but thankfully I can. I need to not lose sight of that. </span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">"Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?" </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So for all those superheroes: doctors, nurses, first responders, teachers, police officers, firefighters, soldiers, case workers, social workers and legions of people who work in non-profits who don't make the money or have the recognition and fame like Kim Kardashian or Donald Trump. I know it's easy wonder why we bother sometimes. It's easy to give into the Mr. Potters, Lex Luthors, the Jokers and the Green Goblins because no matter how many times you save the world, the world will still always need saving. Those supervillains will want to pick off the good and make us look bad. But it's the people that you touch that you can't always see that need our help the most - theirs are the lives we can transform. It's not that they are ungrateful, it's just that there might be so many degrees of separation that they might not know who to thank. For what it's worth, the world needs us - whether it's in Metropolis, Gotham City, Bedford Falls, or Metro Atlanta. Sure, it's exhausting and people can be incredibly insensitive. Sometimes it just really, really sucks. But if life has taught me anything, it's that people like Octavius and John Sullivan can randomly walk into your life and make you stronger. So thank you Clarence for reminding all us ordinary superheroes that when we jump in to save someone like you - we are actually saving ourselves.</span> </div>
Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-22589012400489108332013-02-17T15:19:00.001-08:002014-05-08T18:15:10.906-07:00Unconditional Love <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14px;">"I hope the new Pope will allow priests to marry," I commented to my husband Max after hearing that Pope Benedict had resigned. "The Catholic church really needs to change." "I don't know about that," Max replied, "But there is nothing in the bible that says that priests have to be celibate - Jesus probably wasn't." That statement felt like a sucker punch to the gut. "What? How can you say that?" I asked more out of surprise than wanting to jump under the dining room table to avoid a lightening bolt for my husband's blasphemy. "He was a man, a man who hung around with a wide variety of people. Why would God send him to earth and not allow him to experience everything human and that one is pretty basic," he paused looking at me, "C'mon, don't tell me you had never considered that." My eyes started to well up with tears because I had never really thought of Jesus as a man, he was someone I used to run to as a child for protection. He would comfort me in the middle of the night when I had nightmares. He was someone I could talk to in my room when I had a quiet moment and was lonely (which wasn't often in an Irish Catholic house with five children). I felt like he had my back as a kid and he would talk to me in my dreams. He was more than a guy, he was my Jesus. He was the literal Savior who would take the time to make me feel better when I had the nightmares about the giant crushing all the houses in my neighborhood and my sister Sharon and I running as fast was we could to get away from him. Then there was the nightmare with Frankenstein who would crash down to earth from the sky and would try to get me. I would open my eyes, my face and pajamas covered with sweat and I would ask Jesus to help me. He would comfort me and my heart will start to go back to normal. I would dream about him walking with me at Fort Myers Beach or just sitting next to me. </span><br />
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I thought about those times as tears rolled down my face as Max and I talked and I was taken aback by the emotion that I was feeling. Yes, I had considered that Jesus had a wife and I knew of Gnostic texts that talked about that. In September 2012, there was even the recent discovery of an Ancient Greek text in which Jesus is quoted as mentioning his wife, Mary. That honestly was not what was upsetting me. It was that after about the age of nine, Jesus became for me someone to fear more than someone to love - that realization at age 49 really made me very, very sad. I had told a someone, I really don't remember who, about my dreams of Jesus and how he would comfort me when I was upset at night. I was told that if you dreamt of Jesus and there was light behind him, it meant that you were going to die and that Jesus was taking you up to heaven where you would never see your parents or family again, until they died and went up to heaven too. I loved my family and didn't want to leave them. Why would my friend Jesus take me away from them? This was also around the time when as a nine year old, you learned more about the gory details of Jesus' death, the suffering, the crown of thorns, the spear to the side and the stations of the cross. My friend who I envisioned with light brown hair and blue eyes with flowing robes, was being tortured for standing up for what he believed in. This poor man on the cross was the guy that I ran to for help and he helped me without thinking of himself. He'd smile at me and I felt better. Instead of his angelic face, I finally noticed him with the crown of thorns, bloodied with nails in his hands and feet. My friend was a victim of evil people who didn't understand him, who didn't believe in him. He didn't have the power to stop it when he was alive and my nine year old brain couldn't comprehend why God, his father allowed such a thing. He felt abandoned at the hour of his death after all he had done for mankind which is one of the most basic human fears. My heart broke for him, but worse, I just couldn't feel close to him anymore, it hurt too much. I guess I could have asked him about it and not felt so guilty but I could not shake the new images of him suffering enough to ask. The dynamic changed and I was afraid of him. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpaVpwwX4FXP-2Qp2dHeB8RZ9AFhW7CXP31xklx_cCy2s_ydCsg8uMQXSDu66U_yuiaEMShbef7KGylF8rykqSiPA6GaL5ljMoOvfasP-a8m-VWjrPftiyfgJYT78d6wCjUMA3pHRXvOk/s1600/virgin+mary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpaVpwwX4FXP-2Qp2dHeB8RZ9AFhW7CXP31xklx_cCy2s_ydCsg8uMQXSDu66U_yuiaEMShbef7KGylF8rykqSiPA6GaL5ljMoOvfasP-a8m-VWjrPftiyfgJYT78d6wCjUMA3pHRXvOk/s320/virgin+mary.jpg" height="320" width="210" /></a>I guess growing up Catholic, you get a lot of mixed messages. The Virgin Mother is the epitome of the perfect woman and yet she would not be able to be a priest in today's Catholic Church because a bunch of guys in the Vatican have decided that women can't serve that way. You have this really high bar to live up to with the Virgin Mother and if you want to be a mother, you'll have to have sex which seems very unholy. After all, we were told that Jesus and Mary led their entire lives celibate - so even thinking about sex automatically makes you unfit to be a religious leader in the Catholic Church. So as you move through the sacraments of the Catholic Church, starting with Baptism which you get as a baby and have no say in. Then you have your First Communion in which you take the body of Christ in the form of a host wafer (again another image that is hard for a nine year old to fathom). There is the First Confession in which you go into a small dark confessional and tell this unseen priest what you've done which for me was usually the same - fighting with my brothers and sisters, not always listening to my parents and the occasional lie about who had finished the last of the Farm Stores chocolate marshmallow ice cream. Sometimes I would confess to sins I hadn't committed yet (like not doing my homework and fibbing about the last of the Halloween Candy) to get absolution before I did it - sort of like banking some sinful credit. I know that God could see what I was doing but I avoided looking at Jesus on the cross as I left the confessional because he had died for the sins that I kept on doing and that did not make me a very good person - it just made me feel more guilty. </div>
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It was at this time I turned to God and his angels who were more amorphous and open to interpretation. You had the stories in the bible of God's voice and the picture of him on the Sistine Chapel, but he didn't have the human qualities that could make you feel bad for him, after all, he's God. He is omnipotent. His angels are his emissaries and they can appear in human or angelic form. I was not aware of their suffering so they seemed to be entities that I could ask for help without the guilt. Jesus had been hurt so much by humans and who was I to ask him for anything especially something as seemingly small as helping me feel less alone, but my God - that's what he does - that's what he excels at and I just turned my back on that because I was afraid. Why did I believe that seeing Jesus in my dreams was a bad thing? I guess when you're nine, you don't reason those things out too well. You run from trouble and things that make you feel uncomfortable and sad, and sadly for me at that time, it was Jesus. </div>
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When I met Max, he had long hair and tattoos. I felt an instant chemistry with him that I had not felt with any of my previous boyfriends. He was sweet and kind and I knew after a few months of dating that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. While we were still dating, he grew a beard for a part in a children's production of <i>A Midsummer's Night Dream</i>. I don't think it really occurred to me that he had a savior quality about him until we were out and a little boy saw him, ran up and said, "Hi there, Jesus!! Hey Mom, look it's Jesus at the mall. He is everywhere!" Max smiled sweetly and said hello while a mortified mother wisked her well meaning child away. It was nice to see that childlike belief, one that I used to have when Jesus was someone I ran too instead of away from. But I never saw that connection - Max with beard was still Max. I had met him clean shaven, so I was not trying to work out any weird hang-ups. He looked more like Kenneth Branagh with a beard then the Son of God. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv0QbEqYgoruS87_IS3VLKqciR6ljyjXq_vHzxPZVU1Jy87A1_YG7V_dOuahCS01h2onrsNcya_HCHCAYFl2isffskd0Fy4l-NkAEX_Un1TeV8L5yln9lu4_y28hLDf_8AZbsEA5T5ol0/s1600/virgin-mary-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv0QbEqYgoruS87_IS3VLKqciR6ljyjXq_vHzxPZVU1Jy87A1_YG7V_dOuahCS01h2onrsNcya_HCHCAYFl2isffskd0Fy4l-NkAEX_Un1TeV8L5yln9lu4_y28hLDf_8AZbsEA5T5ol0/s200/virgin-mary-2.jpg" height="200" width="153" /></a>When I got pregnant with Amber, I felt a real connection to the Virgin Mother although our ways of getting pregnant were vastly different. When I held Amber for the first time, I thought that this is how Mary felt when she held her son, that sense of love that is universal and timeless. I felt really close to Mary because I could finally identify with her although I knew that I was probably not raising the direct son or daughter of God, I was still raising God's children which is still a huge responsibility. When I was pregnant with Daniel I was very happy. The pregnancy was going along well until I had to get the alpha fetoprotein (AFP) test which I felt at the time was taken too early and it came back a little low. My mid-wife saw the score and suggested that there might be something wrong with the baby and that I needed an amniocentesis for further screening. If that came back with a problem, then I might have to consider terminating the pregnancy. Now, granted, I'm a liberal and I support a woman's right to choose, but that choice was not for me. I also knew that the risks in getting an Amnio done which could harm the baby. I prayed and asked the Virgin Mother for help. I meditated and she came to me, much like you see her in the paintings, with long dark hair and blue and white robes. She took my hand and we went inside my body where I saw my baby who looked healthy and perfectly fine. I would risk the baby with an Amnio, she told me, but if I wanted another blood test, then to go ahead and get one. She told me not to worry, that all was well and that the baby would continue to grow normally. She smiled and looked luminous. She then turned into a wall of roses and disappeared. I opened my eyes and felt calm for the first time in weeks. I called the doctor's office and asked for another AFP test which came back normal. Daniel was born as a perfectly beautiful child and I knew that angels attended his birth. I held him and thanked Mary for her help. I didn't even think to ask Jesus for assistance which looking back I regret but I know he sent his mother because at that point in time I needed a woman's touch. </div>
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So now here I was in the year 2013, contemplating my failed relationship with Jesus. I sat at the kitchen table with all these suppressed feelings coming to the surface - how much I missed my friend, who became a savior who then became a victim of human nature. To this day, I have a heard time going to church and looking at the altar and seeing him outstretched in the cross, looking down, sad, broken and bloodied. I know that we have to remember that he died for our sins, but I also want to remember the guy who made the loaves and fishes feed thousands of people, the man who John the Baptist baptized. The man who could walk on water. The man who was bad ass enough to throw the money lenders out of the temple. The man who wanted to make the world a better place. It took a few days for me to realize that maybe while I didn't turn to him for help, he was guiding my life in ways I didn't realize. I've worked in non-profits for most of my adult life, with children who have been abused, abandoned and neglected. I've worked in global health to help women have healthy babies or to educate people on how to stop AIDS in developing countries. Now I work with adults with developmental disabilities. I thought of one of my favorite quotes in the bible, Matthew 25, when Matthew describes the importance of being of service to others: "Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? <b> </b>When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? <b> </b>When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?" Jesus<b> </b>replied, "Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me." </div>
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All this time, I was helping Jesus and didn't even realize it. I knew I was trying to live a good life, but it was not until now that I made the connection. He's been around me the whole time, guiding me - allowing me to follow in his path without saying a word. God, my guardian angels and Mary helped lead me to that wonderful conclusion. So on those days when the bank account is low and we're just barely getting by on $10 a day before payday, I have to realize that it's all for a higher purpose. I've always seen the world in a vastly different way than others and tried to see the good in everyone even when it's not always worked out in my favor. But you can't stop trying to do your best, to help people, to be compassionate. That's what my friend Jesus has taught me. I know he's standing behind me as I write this and I'm not afraid. He has loved me unconditionally all this time. It's taken me forty years, Jesus, to realize this, but I'm so glad we're back together again. </div>
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Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-68702385147214118782013-02-04T19:26:00.000-08:002014-07-07T20:56:42.242-07:00Tina Fey, Liz Lemon, The OTC and Me<br />
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I got misty eyed last Thursday night when my friend Liz Lemon (Tina Fey) decided it was time to move onto the next phase in her life. She'd been producing this comedy show for seven years and knew it was time for something new. She's a new mom - in fact she had just adopted two eight year olds and recently got married to a man she's been seeing for a couple of years - so those major life changes in such a short period of time were mind blowing. The effects of trying to produce a weekly comedy show with egotistical actors like Tracy and Jenna were tough enough, but now with two kids, it seemed that she needed more - from her life and herself. But being the martyr she is, she was going to shoulder on and take care of everyone else because that what female producers do - we take care of people. We make the other actors look good, we make sure they have enough to eat, we work on things after our kids have gone to bed with their stuffies having sweet dreams because our dream is sitting there in front of us barely in reach sometimes and so often at the mercy of other people. We go to our day jobs which are important - sure, but a little bit of us wonders, "Man what if I could write or perform full time and make a living at it - what if this regular job safety net was gone - could I do it?" Then the cold reality of the light of day hits and you tell yourself - it's better to strike a balance because in both worlds - your actors and your children depend on you to have the answers and to keep going. So the dream gets pushed aside to after-hours when it's affordable. </div>
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The ironic thing for me watching<i> 30 Rock</i> was that I have what Liz Lemon spent seven years trying to get - a husband who loves me for all my quirks and two kids who are pretty remarkable so that should complete me. Yet the idea of producing a show on a network even one as dysfunctional as the fictional NBC would seem like a dream come true. Even though I've spent the bulk of my professional career working in non-profits and in my own way saving the world - I've always thought I would make a good producer because I've also had to put up with a parade of crazy actors, theater owners, and people who come to see our shows over my seven years at the OTC Comedy Troupe. Like Liz, I've had actors do outrageous things like call an audience member an "Asian Bitch" because he thought he was being funny and couldn't understand that he had crossed a line. I had an actress not show up for shows until we were half way through the performance and still expected to go on. I had another woman who did stand-up arrive to rehearsals late, leave early so she could perform at the open mike at the Punchline Comedy Club. She would also promote her projects to the audience while I was paying her to do my shows. The advantage to just being their director and not their mother was when it was obvious that these actors were not going to change their egotistical ways, I could fire them which I did. That might not seem very maternal but for the good of the "comedy" family, they had to go. </div>
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I could understand why Tina Fey decided that after seven seasons she was done with <i>30 Rock</i>. According to an article in <i>Rolling Stone</i>, she was trying to balance raising two children - one a seven year old and one whose 18 months old. Those sleepless nights were taking their toll - she was just wiped out at the end of the day. I can understand that - I went back to doing improv when Daniel was about a year old and I was working full time. Trying to maintain your identity doing what you love and yet the people that you love need you too- sometimes the guilt can really get to you - and you feel like you're trying to scale a very slippery slope. Add to it the fact that women in comedy have to work twice as hard to be taken half as seriously, and it's not wonder why we're sucking down chocolate and junk food like cheesy blasters just to cope. </div>
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Junk food can help because both Tina and I have had to stomach our share of overt of sexism in comedy. I remember being in the improv group <i>Mental Floss</i> back in Miami in the late 1980's where half the cast was women and the other half were men and still the attitude was that women would not make up a big part of the show. In improv, you have set the pieces or games and put in the people to perform in them — so it doesn't matter if it's a man and a woman or two men or two women in the scenes because you make up the action as you go along with a relationship which can be husband and wife, co-workers, puppies -- just about anything. Yet in groups like <i>Mental Floss</i>, the women would be lucky to get four pieces to the 16 pieces that the guys were doing. Her experience with the legendary Second City was similar, "We were making up the show ourselves. How could there not be enough parts? Where was the 'Yes, and?' If everyone had something to contribute, there would be enough. The insulting implication, of course, was that the women wouldn’t have any ideas.” Yeah, I've been at the condescending end of that equation and it pisses me off — it's so arrogant and yet in comedy it's so pervasive - the cards are stacked against us which is why I finally said, "Screw this, I'm starting my own company," which I have twice — once in Miami and currently in Atlanta. </div>
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But even being in charge doesn't guarantee that things will be smooth sailing for me or the other women in the group. I've had guys come into the OTC Comedy Troupe thinking they could weasel their way in, take over and force me out. Big mistake - because if you want to really take down a funny woman, you'll have to try harder then being underhanded, because we'll see it before you can act on it - call it women's inituition but we generally have a pretty good feel for who is going to work well and who is going to be an asshole. I've had guys leave the group because I would not let them do sketches on pedophiles, incest or make fun of the handicapped. They think it's edgy and I know it's just in bad taste and borders on bullying - but because I won't let them do it makes me "a fascist." Apparently I just don't know what's funny and those topics should be fair game. True comedy does not come from putting down people who can't defend themselves or making fun of taboo subjects. My attitude is that if you don't like it, start your own company and perform for the prepubescents who might laugh but won't have the theatrical or corporate dollars to book you. </div>
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So it's on those days when I've had to sit in an empty rehearsal hall 20 minutes after rehearsal was supposed to start and wondered why I put up with it. What is it about doing comedy and improv that compels me to sit in a freezing back room in an old church with no heat and breaker that trips when you plug in the heater to wait for a bunch of actors to sheepishly meander in? Why do I care so much? I've wanted to any number of times to say - "That's it, we're done - workshop is over - next time show up on time. Good God, is that too much to ask!?" I've wanted to melt down like Liz Lemon any number of times, but I know it's not worth it. So I swallow my pride and welcome them in because maybe we all need to laugh. We start to goof around and then it all makes sense, laughter makes those shitty life moments bearable. Those web shows that we used to do at the coffee shop that made people smile when they had a lousy day - that's worth it. Reaching out to a lonely teen and making them laugh in their room while they watch us on YouTube doing a sketch like drunk menopausal Barbie and having them leave a grateful comment on your channel - that's worth it. Watching seven seasons <i>30 Rock</i> that my kids and laughing together - those things are priceless. Laughter has it's own wonderful power and it's a currency I trade in - dammit, it's what makes me who I am even when I think I can walk away - it's not long before I come running back with my hands in the air wearing a silly hat. Me, Liz, Tina, Ellen - we're silly people who want to make the world better place by getting people to forget their troubles for a few minutes - because if you can genuinely laugh at yourself, you can't hate and you can't hurt. You can go further with a strength you never thought you had. Maybe that's why men and women don't see comedy the same way - for us it's a way to heal - not a way to dominate or inflict pain like the Three Stooges - call it a girl thing. If that means a guy might not find my kind of comedy funny then I'm okay with that. </div>
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So as the sun sets on <i>30 Rock,</i> I want to thank Tina Fey for us showing women that you can be funny, strong, silly and a hot mess at the same time. I always laugh hardest when I realize what a total dumb ass I'm being. I also know that after spending all that time taking care of other people, you need to take a break and try something new. As I look at my work with The OTC Comedy Troupe, I understand the importance of new chapters. While I love performing live, I'd like to move us into developing a series for the internet or a cable channel so our work can live beyond the footlights. One of the sweetest last images you see of Liz on <i>30 Rock</i> is with her two kids sitting on director's chairs laughing at the show she's producing. God, I can relate. My kids used to love to come and watch the web show - they were my laugh track. I'm starting to write my own show and develop characters that grow week to week rather than ones that last just a few minutes in an improv sketch. I'm hoping it will have a successful run even if there are bumps in the road which I know there will be. But you have to take chances and you have to try something new because staying in the same place will just stagnate you. I know as long as I have people around who will laugh with me I'll be okay. I'm probably going to fail a few times before I get it right - that's the scary part. But that's how you learn and that's what defines you. Thank you Tina Fey for not being afraid to show me that. <span style="font-size: 14px;"> </span></div>
Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-84675263312445328822013-01-27T19:32:00.000-08:002013-01-28T03:33:39.076-08:00Strange Vibrations <br />
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I was in Walmart last week when the overriding feeling of being surrounded by zombies overtook me. I walked over to my son Daniel and half-way joked that we were surrounded by "Walkers" (a term they use for the Undead on <i>The Walking Dead</i>). He laughed nervously but I could tell he knew the energy in the space was off — way, way off. The back of my head started to tighten up and I was having a hard time being able to focus. We had gotten some gift certificates to Walmart for Christmas and decided to use them even though I rarely shop there because I get a weird head buzz (not in a good way) almost every time I go. Some Walmarts are better than others, but the one near us is really hard for me to shop in. I decided not to say anything more until both of the kids begged to go because they were feeling dizzy and uncomfortable. We gathered up what we could buy that day and walked to the register - walking past people with blank expressions on their faces, glazed looks in their eyes and not really looking like they were enjoying their shopping excursion. Our cashier looked miserable and our discomfort got worse, but we were so close to finally being out of there. We fled the glaring fluorescent lights and managed to exit to our car as sunshine dissipated our angst. Both of the kids asked me how I was doing and I responded "Fine, now that we're out of there - but next time we go on-line to shop at Walmart." </div>
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We drove to the peaceful repose of Target where we grabbed a quick bite and some Starbucks and finished the list of items we thought we could buy at Walmart. I've always liked the vibe at Target - the icies and popcorn to keep the kids happy while you shop. There are smiling salespeople who look like they enjoy working there. It feels like home - it should because I'm usually there at least once or twice a week. It's comfortable. It's the retail version of "Cheers" - they might not know my name - but the folks at the food court usually remember my order. It's that sort of positive energy that I'm drawn to. This is not a knock at the people who work or shop at Walmart per say, but just an observation of how I perceive the energy at Target as being positive versus the energy of Walmart being negative. Target is a physically and emotionally more comfortable place for me to shop. Now my kids have started to pick up on that same kind of Walmart energy with very little prompting from me except for an occasional snarky zombie comment. </div>
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It can be tough to be sensitive in a rather insensitive world where you can leave anonymous insults on Twitter or YouTube or create fake Facebook accounts to trash a perceived enemy. People are not always receptive to the needs of others which creates angst which causes more anger which causes more angst so it becomes a vicious cycle. If you can pick up on those types emotions like me, it effects you on numerous levels. If I walk into a room and the energy is off - I'll feel it no matter how much of a happy face someone tries to put on. I know if a co-worker is having a bad time even before she opens up to me because I can just sense it. Sometimes I can feel their physical discomfort - like a stomach cramp or a fight they just had with a spouse and how tight their chest feels. I've learned over time how to seal off my aura so that other people's emotional turmoil doesn't imprint on me. It's sort of like a psychic raincoat - I can still feel the rain, it just doesn't get me as wet. </div>
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I guess that's why I've never been a fan of certain kinds of horror movies - like the ones that show serial killers or evil entities that destroy people. Sure the vicarious thrill of seeing other people suffer at the hands of Jason, Jigsaw or The Grudge is scary fun when you know that you are safe in a movie theater but being in a place where that much fear is conjured up for sheer entertainment just makes me uncomfortable. I'm more likely to see <i>The Walking Dead</i> or <i>The Lost Boys </i>which show how people manage to survive and depend on one another. It's the triumph of the human spirit that really appeals to me in those shows or movies. </div>
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So it's natural that I've always been drawn to comedy. I've loved sit-coms since I was a little girl who would watch <i>I Dream of Jennie</i> or <i>Bewitched, </i>or<i> I Love Lucy </i>over and over again. If I woke up with a bad dream, before I would go into my parent's bed, I would try to think of a funny sketch I saw on <i>The Carol Burnett Show. </i>I'd think of Nora Desmond, or the dentist sketch with Tim Conway and Harvey Korman which would make me laugh under the covers and would dry my tears. It would reassure me that everything was alright - in fact I used to pretend that Carol was my second mommy. Laughter always sent the bad things away. </div>
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It's interesting that I learned that approach at an early age since there are tons of research that back up the fact that being positive and having a sense of humor helps you feel healthier, helps you combat disease and improves work productivity. According to an article in the British publication <i>The Independent</i> by Roger Dobson in 2008,<span style="color: #010101;"> "</span>Happiness and laughter have been shown to increase natural killer cell activity in blood and free radical-scavenging capacity in saliva, as well as lowering levels of the stress hormone cortisol. It is also thought that laughter causes the release of special neurotransmitter substances in the brain, endorphins, that help control pain. And there are more direct physical effects of laughter, including increased breathing, more oxygen use, and higher heart rate." He goes on to report that according to the Oxford University Press medical journal, <i>Rheumatology</i>, an additional study showed that blood levels of key inflammatory compounds dropped considerably after patients with rheumatoid arthritis watched a humorous film. </div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Laughter can change the whole feel of a room. It can literally lighten the air and make just about anyone feel better. Yet, there are those that know that people are more vulnerable to negative energy. If they can keep them in a state of constant agitation they can exploit them easier. </span>According to a study by UCLA Chicano Studies Research Center entitled “<i>Using Biological Markers To Measure Stress In Listeners Of Commercial Talk Radio</i>,” hate speech increases the amount of a stress-related hormone, salivary cortisol, which has the potential for negative health implications including the development of cancer and other inflammatory diseases. The research indicated that listeners of a radio segment with high prevalence of hate speech, experienced clinical anxiety and in turn had higher levels of the stress hormone, regardless of their race, ethnicity, ideological alignment with the speaker, or their level of previous knowledge on the topic. You have to wonder if all the health problems that Rush Limbaugh has been experiencing over the years are products of the negative ideology that he has been spewing for decades - the man is a former prescription drug abuser, has a heart condition and yet lives in denial by still being overweight, smoking and drinking wine. I honestly can't listen to more than five minutes of his show without feeling my own blood pressure increasing. But even people who share the same ideology are going to feel upset by agreeing with all the terrible things he's saying. It's a lose/lose situation for everyone but Rush who makes $64 million a year peddling his form of demagoguery. </div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;">There is a darker spiritual side to constantly imbibing negative ideas and the energy that it produces - it can actually form a</span> poltergeist. Unlike what the movies would have you believe, poltergeists are actually created by negative energy, anger and stress brought on by living people. It can manifest by causing all sorts of problems from making noises, to moving things to even attacking people. I was going through a really tough time at work about two years ago along with my mother going into assisted living and my siblings at each other's throats. The stress was taking it's toll. I was constantly upset and angry - going to work was extraordinarily emotionally draining and hearing about the family squabbling didn't help. It really could have consumed me if I let it. Worse, those feelings could have created something I couldn't control because I was feeling so depressed and angry. Luckily, I have a supportive husband and found a book called <i>Healing with Angels</i> by Dr. Doreen Virtue which helped put things in perspective. I began to snap out of my funk and even when I was eventually let go from my job, I was emotionally strong enough to handle it. On my last day in my cubicle, I stayed back while the rest of the staff went to a Christmas Tree lighting. I used a few prayers in <i>Healing with Angels </i>to cleanse my work space of all the negative energy that might have accrued there because I didn't want it to affect the person who would eventually be at my desk. As best as I could, I released it and tried to forgive those that needed to be forgiven more for my peace of mind then for theirs. </div>
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Having the comedy troupe helped me forge through that difficult period because creating shows that made people laugh helped me and I knew it helped the audience. When we used to do our comedy web-shows at a local coffee shop, folks would walk in not really knowing what we were doing. Once they caught on, they would stay and enjoy, laughing with us and at us. Sometimes they would come up and say that they were having a horrible day but being there with us completely turned it around. I always love getting that feedback because while it's great to hear that we're funny and talented - hearing that we helped lighten their mood means way more. We'd hear from isolated teens in the chatroom that our show was cool because they could make suggestions for scenes. We would perform them without judgement because that's not what the show was about - we just accepted our audience for who they were not because we wanted them to think like us. We were not there to push anything more than a very silly agenda - and being a part of the show helped people feel better. </div>
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It's ironic that when the Taliban took over Afghanistan, one of the first things they banned was laughing in public - because if you can spread anger and misery, you can control people. If you are happy and laughing you are more likely to think clearly and objectively which is something that ideologues don't want you to do. If you are angry they can control you because misery loves company. It makes you wonder how Bill O'Reilly's studio must feel most of the time or Rush Limbaugh's or Mike Malloy's radio booth. They might not believe in poltergeists because - they are making money spreading their angst about anyone who does not think like them and that probably makes them happy. But what about the people who believe in what they say hook, line and sinker. What about those that believe the only credible sources of information are FOX News or talk radio? The ones who believe that the president wants to take away all their freedoms and they are victims of a "liberal" or "conservative" agenda. They are the folks I truly feel bad for because most of the time they must sit around with like minded folks feeling a false sense of oppression that is self imposed. Their anger is high, so is their blood pressure and the myriad of health problems it causes. I feel bad that those folks feel so bad. </div>
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I'd like to propose an experiment to those that are hooked on their afternoons with Rush and Mike Malloy and their evenings with <i>The O'Reilly Factor</i> or Rachel Maddows - try just not tuning in for a week and see how you feel. Is your sense of outrage less? Is the vibe in the room different because you choose to watch <i>The Big Bang Theory</i> or <i>The Middle </i>rather than the usual talking heads? Life can be full of laughter if you just take 15 to 30 minutes a day to find it. Laughing for half an hour will improve your health and your psyche. Maybe the fine folks at Walmart need to learn that and pipe comedy albums over the sound system instead of soft rock. I might also suggest cutting back on the fluorescents and making it a fun place to work for your staff. Maybe if those changes are made, I might consider going back sometime. In the meantime, I'll find my happy place at Target. </div>
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Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-85331775924416141222013-01-20T19:23:00.001-08:002013-01-22T13:42:18.598-08:00The Paranoid Conspiracy <br />
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It always amazes me how easily people will believe in even the stupidest things. The latest and saddest one to date is by the "Truthers" who believe that the whole Sandy Hook Massacre is a hoax because they have uncovered conflicting accounts from witnesses and police accounts to lead them to believe that the entire tragedy was created to take guns away from law abiding citizens. Their smoking gun includes a photo of a six year old girl named Emilie Parker who was reported as one of the Sandy Hook victims who was later seen in a photo with President Obama wearing the same dress that she wore in a different photo. The reality for those supposed "truthers" is that the girl with the President is Emily's sister who looks like her and she just happened to be wearing the same dress her sister wore possibly as a way to feel connected to her. For them, it proves that the President is in on the conspiracy and is using it to further his political agenda. Forget that if that was true, it would be very sloppy for the President to be seen with someone who was assumed dead, but for those want to believe in the unbelievable, nothing is impossible and the truth that's out there is the one they manufacture. </div>
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The "truthers" would be easily dismissed if they were just a group of whack jobs who congregated in basements or in chatrooms and kept on writing weird letters to the National Enquirer editors. But unfortunately in this electronic age, they have unleashed their collective fury on people we would consider heroes of the Newtown tragedy. Somehow by harassing people like Gene Rosen they feel righteously indignant at the possible fall-out of Sandy Hook - which in their minds includes the repeal of the Second Amendment. Rosen, who lived just one-eighth of a mile away from the school, found six shell shocked kindergardeners on his lawn and offered them food and comfort. He is now the subject to terrible harassment for this kindness. These "truthers" have set up false websites and Facebook pages that suggest that Rosen is a pedophile or an actor looking to be in the movies. These paranoid people will stop at nothing to discredit those they see as threats even if it proves to everyone else the extent of their lunacy. A few YouTube videos that uses some of these "truths" have gotten anywhere from 45,000 to over a million views. I'd like to think the bulk of these views are from people who are outraged at the hoax implication but why do I think most of the views are from like-minded nut bars who need to prove that their crazy theory is true. It's a sad state of affairs but then conspiracy theories are not new — and for those that are easily duped into believing them, the simple truth does not hold the mystique that an elaborate hoax does. Think about it - first there was Hurricane Sandy and then the tragedy took place at Sandy Hook - both incidents in the same part of the country within weeks of each other - somehow it has to be related, right? </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU92ZpKPon8aKAc4GefA7n00_-cTuoU4txpErADqy_0ZXpolvYgKrw1DtFP_nhojRkTr0tMx2rhRVUruMt4iMOaVdjZBEepwEhDqV_NhmHj2NkRhP7DKeYI-Jz9Idrg9GtibhEYesLeAs/s1600/042211trumpap-300x193.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU92ZpKPon8aKAc4GefA7n00_-cTuoU4txpErADqy_0ZXpolvYgKrw1DtFP_nhojRkTr0tMx2rhRVUruMt4iMOaVdjZBEepwEhDqV_NhmHj2NkRhP7DKeYI-Jz9Idrg9GtibhEYesLeAs/s1600/042211trumpap-300x193.jpg" /></a>Of course, President Obama has been plagued by another set of crackpots called the "Birthers" who insist that he was not born in this country even after he submitted both this birth certificate and his long form birth certificate to prove he was born in Hawaii and is a legal citizen worthy of being elected. It's interesting that 13% of Americans still believe that he was not born here - of that number, 23% of them are Republicans. However, the problem with paranoid conspiracy theorists is that no matter how many actual facts you throw their way, they will find a way to dismiss it as forgery. There are lawsuits trying to block the President's inauguration as illegal or even suing John Roberts, the Chief Supreme Court Justice who will swear him in. It would seem that after two resounding wins in 2008 and 2012 that those "birthers" would be silenced and realize they are in the minority because the rest of America is not buying their level of crazy. But alas, the more the reality of a second Obama term is coming to fruition the more these people want to vehemently deny it because the rest of us "just don't get it". In their minds, he was obviously born in Kenya. The talking head of this movement has been Donald Trump, a rich man who has a vested interest in defeating President Obama both for publicity and political reasons. His constant demand for documents which are produced, authentic and certified never seem to satisfy him - because like many conspiracy theorists, anything can be forged. You will never know the truth until it's admitted publicly. Interestingly enough, Macy's and NBC are standing by him, possibly to allow consumers and viewers who are not in the majority of his viewpoint to vote with their wallets. If <i>The Apprentice </i>ratings are dismal (which my guess is they will be this season) he will be cancelled, ironically with his own tagline - "It's not personal, it's business." </div>
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What's interesting in the minds of those that believe in conspiracies is that if they believe in one conspiracy, they will likely believe in multiple ones even if they contradict each other according to an article on <i>LivingScience.com.</i> "They're explained by the overarching theory that there is some kind of cover-up, that authorities are withholding information from us," said Karen Douglas, a study researcher and reader in the school of psychology sciences at the University of Kent in the United Kingdom. "It's not that people are gullible or silly by having those beliefs. … It all fits into the same picture." In the first of two experiments, Douglas and colleagues asked 137 students to rate how much they agreed with five conspiracy theories surrounding the death of Princess Diana in a car crash in 1997. "The more people were likely to endorse the idea Princess Diana was murdered, the more they were likely to believe that Princess Diana is alive," explained Douglas. "People who thought it was unlikely she was murdered were also unlikely to think she did not die." </div>
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Of course not all conspiracies are make-believe. The attacks on 9/11 were coordinated by a group of terrorists who wanted to kill the most number of Americans that they could. Their coordination of the attacks were by definition a "conspiracy." However, the conspiracy folks would have you believe that that Bush administration knew and allowed it to happen or even coordinated the attacks so they could invade Iraq. If that were the case, wouldn't they have done a better job coordinating the size and scope of the war? Eleven years of fighting is a long time to be mired on a conflict that was manufactured by "big government." Obviously the conspiracy folks have a greater confidence that our government is efficient enough to hide the facts for over a decade with brilliant accuracy than I do. Have you ever had to deal with the federal government to correct a tax issue or to get a name change for your Social Security? Good luck getting it corrected the first or even the fifth time. The reality is that our government bureaucracy is not set up for that kind of collusion. I mean really you can't expect thousands of government workers to keep those secrets under wraps - it would be impossible. Yet, for conspiracy experts the government is all knowing so it's all plausible. </div>
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A prime example that the government simply would not be able to handle a huge conspiracy is Watergate. The whole scandal started out simply enough - a few burglars broke into the Democratic National Committee offices at the Watergate Hotel in Washington in June 1972 during the course of the Presidential Campaign to wiretap the headquarters. The original five were arrested but their arrests led a FBI investigation which led to the White House and President Nixon recording key conversations that would implicate him and eventually led the way for his impeachment. On August 9, 1974, Nixon took to the airwaves and resigned. Later his Vice President Gerald Ford pardoned Nixon. Keep in mind, this was back before there was the internet and thousands of places to keep information - yet Nixon was brought down by the dogged fact finding of two Washington Post reporters. After Nixon's resignation and subsequent investigations, 48 people were found guilty of the cover-up. While many different branches were implicated including the CIA, in the end, all the President's men fell including Nixon himself. Yes, there was a conspiracy, but it started to fall apart almost immediately after it began. </div>
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The Kennedy Assassination is another topic that is ripe for a full on Government or Mafia conspiracy. How could Lee Harvey Oswald have acted alone to kill the President? It seems impossible for it to be so random - it must have had to be something more - part of a larger plot because that one moment changed the course of history. History should not change because to the act of one insane individual. It had to have been a plot - there are just too many contradictions. Yes, there are conflicting witness reports but ask any detective about trying to piece together a crime scene and they will tell you that it's not unusual for there to be wide variety of differences in witness accounts. The third shot that was captured on film was more than likely the exit wound and not a fourth shot from a second shooter. Jack Ruby killed Oswald within days after the assassination - surely that must have been part of the plot. All indications are that Jack Ruby also acted alone. The movie <i>JFK </i>perpetuates many of the myths and actually adds more for dramatic effect. Filmmakers like Oliver Stone feel that it must have been a conspiracy because Kennedy was going to pull troops out of Vietnam and if that had happened the war would have ended. All those young soldiers would still be alive. Someone must have ordered the murder to prevent that from happening. If Kennedy had lived, Stone would not have gone to see the horrors he witnessed as a young man serving in Vietnam and documented in<i> </i>his film<i> Platoon. </i> His friends would not have died in that horrible place. The government had to be behind the President's murder that extinguished Stone's own youthful innocence because the universe cannot be that random and cruel - and yet sadly, sometimes it is. </div>
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I was discussing the content of this blog with my 12 year son and told him that there are some people who would dismiss Sandy Hook as a hoax because they see conspiracies in everything, including things like Global Warming, 9/11 and the death of Princess Diana. I took the Devil's advocate role when he tried to explain that global warming is real. My answer for all the photos that he tried to show me of the Polar Ice caps melting was that they were forged and unless he had been there himself to witness it, he had no definitive proof to offer that it was real. I could see him getting frustrated even though he knew that we were role playing. Later when we were getting ready to go to church and I couldn't find my keys or make-up, I jokingly attributed it to a conspiracy. It was meant as a joke but then I realized that if you see the world as full of plots and conspiracies, you don't really have to take responsibility for how messed up your life is because there is some puppet master making sure you don't get to where you need to go. Your relationships fall apart because those around you don't possess the same level of understanding that you do or they are part of the plot to undermine you. Your search for the truth will never end because the truth you are looking for was never there to begin with. </div>
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So for those that bought into the Mayan Apocalypse and now have a whole basement full of rations much like the ones you had for Y2K, sorry things did not work out. To those that think the government is watching us through our DVRs or tracking us via our driver's licenses, I would suggest that if you are going to turn over any more rocks looking for plots, try going to an actual park with real rocks where real human beings are taking in the sun and enjoying life. You'll hear children laughing and feel sunshine basking on your face. You might even remember a time before the world became a cold sinister place. However, if it does make you feel any better, I will admit that there is someone who is after you. They are closer then you think - I mean really, really close. Just get up slowly and go into the bathroom and take a good hard look in the mirror. You'll find that the truth is staring right back at you because if all you can believe in are conspiracies, you are easy to manipulate. People like Donald Trump who perpetuate these crazy theories know that. Don't get paranoid though, it's not personal - it's business. </div>
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Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-72296972141675622912013-01-13T20:27:00.000-08:002016-01-05T09:53:46.422-08:00The Undecorated Truth<br />
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If there is one thing I really, really hate doing after the holidays it's taking down all the decorations. It's not just the hassle of packing away everything - taking down the outside lights, the Christmas tree, the ornaments, the Santa figure who is dressed in gold and ready to golf (I got that one at a 75% off sale the day after Christmas) and putting it all in the attic. It's that the holiday season is really, really over. No more anticipation of presents or buying things to make everyone else happy, no more pressure (okay - so why am I missing Christmas, again?). I guess when I was a kid at Christmas time, anything was possible, things were sparkly, and the time leading up to December 25th was so much fun. The school parties, the car rides to see Christmas lights, and the Sears Roebuck Toy catalog where a child's fantasies could come true. You had a only few presents to buy as a kid and the weight of Christmas was not on your shoulders - it was on your parents. Putting up decorations was fun and seeing Christmas lights (back then it was the big bulb kind not the little twinkly lights kind so they were extra bright) made me feel really secure. I remember being able to see the Christmas lights outside my bedroom window and falling asleep happily because I was sure that nothing bad could happen as long as they were up. When Christmas was over, I would close the shutters on my windows because the lights were gone and now my eight year old brain could conceive of robbers claiming through my windows - somehow the glow of the holiday lights or the possible burns they might receive from the bulbs kept them away. </div>
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I guess the thing that strikes me most as I put those decorations away that get used from year to year is how different things will be the next time I get them out. Last year when I put them away, I was still unemployed with no real job prospects on the horizon. I had only been out of work for two months so my spirits were still pretty high. I wondered then as I wrapped up the angels in newspaper what my life would be like in late November when all of it would go up again. Would I be working? What would I be doing? This year I am lucky enough to have a great job that I enjoy going to rather then a job that used to give me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach because my ex-boss made me feel like nothing I did was good enough. What difference two Christmas seasons can make!</div>
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There were the milestone years when I had put away the ornaments in January 1995 when Max and I had been married for three years and I found out that I was pregnant. I knew that I would have a baby to buy presents for by the next Christmas. I remember how stressed everyone was during Christmas 1999 wondering if the Y2K would bring down everything we knew in just a week. When New Year's 2000 was rung in with barely an interruption, I was able to put the decorations away knowing that the world as we knew would not descend into the chaos that you see on a show like <i>Revolution</i>. I knew that Max and I would try for another baby, but had no idea if that infant would be on the way in November 2000 when everything would go back up again. December 2000 brought with it a bouncy baby who was three weeks old when Christmas arrived that year. </div>
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I guess for many people, Christmas more than any other holiday brings about those milestone moments. It's different than an anniversary or birthday because all those are celebrated at different times of year - it's not a mass experience. It still means so much to you personally but not everyone in the world is taking part in it. For better or for worse, Christmas comes on the same day every year - it never varies and that deadline is always there. You have the same amount of time to get everything done that everyone else does and how you deal with that holiday pressure is up to you. You can be the sobbing mass on the floor certain that you will never get your projects done in time (okay, so maybe that's just me) or the person who has it together and all their presents wrapped and ready by the first week of Advent or those that go shopping the a day or two before Christmas and still get it all done (for the record, both those types of people are irritating!) </div>
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But there are the good things too. There's the ornaments that your children make in school, or an art class or Sunday School that will forever be part of your decorations. Those imperfect little ornaments with the paint splashing inelegantly all over the place because their little hands or minds were not able to stay within the lines. You remember their faces as they put their latest creation on the tree - facing out for everyone to see. It was messy, it was uneven, it was theirs and it was beautiful. There's baking with your kids and trying to keep their fingers out of the cookie dough. The smell of banana nut bread which was the same as when you were a kid because you're using the same childhood recipes that your mother used to. You sit back and think - "Okay, for all the hustle and bustle - this right here is the good stuff." </div>
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What makes Christmas more special then any other time of year is that the world is awash in red, green, blue, silver and gold. The world is brighter and shinier. I can also tell you as a person who has worked in non-profits for over 20 years, December brings in a ton of donations both cash and in-kind. People want to carry that holiday feeling forward and help others. It's not that they aren't generous at any other time of year, it's just that at Christmas you feel for those that don't have what they need and in your own little way you try to help even if it's donating $20 worth of board games to a toy drive because that's all you can do. </div>
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Then the bleakness of January sets in. Yes, it's a New Year, full of promise but all the pretty lights are gone and you're left with the starkness of your resolutions. It's generally cold, overcast and unless you live in a warm climate, not very sunny - wearing shorts is a non-issue. The lacy tapestry of barren trees paints the sky - their limbs naked for months before spring brings back their light green leaves. So you're left in a bit of a funk. Valentine's Day is near, but it's just not as much fun as Christmas. The momentum of the Halloween-Thanksgiving-Christmas-New Year's train comes to a dead stop - three months of holidays gone for another year. It just goes by too fast. </div>
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Last night, exactly 18 days after Christmas, Amber and I took a drive from our house all the way to Downtown Duluth which is about 2.5 miles. Our lights were still on as one of the last die-hards in the neighborhood and we wanted to see who else were still holding onto the holidays or were too lazy to take their decorations down. We found just four homes in those miles rather than the dozens that had lined the streets in the weeks leading up Christmas. By next week, I imagine those three other houses will be out - tonight our house is back to normal. The mantel has the family photos back up and the burgundy and gold have been replaced by blue, yellow and white. The cats are upset that the tree is not a permanent fixture. The decorations are down and things look ordinary again. </div>
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I guess this stuff hits me harder now because eleven years ago, my parents came up after Christmas to visit after staying with my sister Kathy. It seemed like any other visit. I was starting a new job and was glad to spend New Year's Eve with them, to go out to lunch and ring in 2002 with my husband, six year old daughter and my year old baby. The lights were up, my parents were visiting and absolutely no one could climb through the windows and try to rob the place (we lived in a third floor apartment so that robber would have had a very long reach). They left to go back to Miami and as per tradition, the decorations would stay up until after January 6th which was my father's birthday and the Feast of the Three Kings. Then on January 7th, we got the call that my father had a heart attack and had died suddenly. I remember going to the airport and passing those houses with decorations still up on the way and crying. I remember the blur of those days afterwards, being with my brothers and sisters together in the same place for the first time in years and crying. I remember flying back and seeing still more of the diehards with their outside lights still up and crying. The worst part was coming home and taking down our decorations because when they went up, my father was still alive. Now, I had to take them down. The world seemed very dim, gray and sad. There would be no bright bulbs to make it better. </div>
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I always feel so sad when the lights have to come down. I seem to relive that every year now which is why I dread doing it so much. This year though, I didn't cry as hard and I did not seem as heartbroken. Maybe it's because life goes on, and that little infant from 2002 is 12 years old and makes me laugh everyday. That six year old little girl is a teenager who is smarter than she gives herself credit for. My husband is kind, brilliant and uses his strong arms to give me hugs when I need them. Right now, life is good. So who knows what the next 12 months will bring. I know I will always miss my dad - that's a given. But maybe it's finally getting easier to let go - to miss my dad but not feel destroyed at the the loss. The ornaments will come out next year with all their imperfections and those stupid animated deer will probably not work the way they are supposed to. It's those rituals in life that keeps us going, living and remembering those we loved and have lost and holding those we have closer then ever. For whatever it's worth, that's my undecorated truth. Sometimes it's great and sometimes it hurts - but now, I'm finally okay with that. </div>
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Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-72506757686989804812013-01-06T20:04:00.004-08:002023-10-23T12:42:22.524-07:00A Ghost of a Chance<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">I was walking down a dank, dark aisle in an old theater called the Cinematheque in Coral Gables, trying to find the bathroom. I was alone as the rest of the cast was rehearsing in the green room. As I got about halfway down the aisle, the hair on my arms started to stand on end, and I felt like I was not alone. I tried to shake off that uneasy feeling, but the mustiness got more robust, and the air around me got colder. I knew what was going on, and I started to panic. I tried to step further, but something was blocking my way. The path to the ladies' room was getting harder to see and it felt like I was moving on one of those moonwalks — my feet were suddenly very unsteady. I was really starting to get uncomfortable and cold. I breathed, closed my eyes, and said, "Hey, I mean you no harm - just respect. I just need to use the bathroom. I tried to hold it, but I had this Diet Coke Big Gulp before rehearsal, and now my back teeth are swimming. OK, you probably didn't need to know all that, but I really need to go, and if you end up scaring me - I might pee all over the place. No one wants to see that, so please let me by."</span><div><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">When I opened my eyes, I was right in front of the bathroom door, but I didn't remember walking the rest of the way - I was suddenly there. I ran into the stall, did what I needed, and ran out of there saying prayers and a big thank you to the entity that took pity on a poor human who just wanted to take care of business. I returned to the rehearsal room with my 25-year-old face as white as a ghost. Max asked me what was wrong, and I told him. Max understood as he had seen a full female apparition on the main stage, so he did not doubt my story. He told me it might have been the gangster ghost standing in the way, but the woman ghost probably helped me get to the bathroom. I didn't care; I was just glad to be out of there and vowed to never have another large drink before rehearsal if it meant I had to go back into that dark theater alone.</span> <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Later in the run of that same play, <i>The Man Who Fought the World</i> (you've probably never heard of it, and for a good reason - it was awful), at the Cinematechque, some of the teens in the play asked Max and me about the curse of <i>Macbeth</i>. We told them immediately never to say that word in a theater and that if you had to refer to it, it should be called "The Scottish Play" or "The Scottish Tragedy." The legend of the <i>MacBeth</i> is that it's cursed. The first time it was produced, the boy playing Lady Macbeth died suddenly, and Shakespeare himself had to play the role. Theater people, being the superstitious beings that they are, don't like to mention the full name of the play lest they invoke those dark forces themselves. Many people believe that the three witches' mutterings at the play's beginning bring about evil and cause a myriad of production misfortunes. The teens thought it was exciting, but one of the more sarcastic young men immediately said, "I don't believe it, and I'll prove it to you - MacBeth, MacBeth, MacBeth!" just to see what would happen. A minute later, the top of a plastic trash can popped up, flipped over three times, and landed right back on the can. The snarky teen looked at Max and me wide-eyed and asked what to do. We told him that the theater ghost had felt disrespected and knew of the curse; therefore, he had to undo his actions. He had to go outside, turn around three times, say, "Piss Pot," and ask to be let back in. The teen ran out, did as he was told, and returned to the theater a minute before his cue to go on. After that, he showed way more reverence for theater traditions, and I doubt he ever said "Macbeth." </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When Max and I considered moving to Atlanta, we decided to have lunch at Underground Atlanta. I remember sitting at the table across from Max and seeing what looked like a faded Super 8 movie playing behind him with a parade of Confederate men with their heads bowed, strolling, covered in blood, and feeling defeated and upset. I'll never forget how sad their faces looked. They seemed to be walking in slow motion, and I looked up to see if a projector was near us that was showing the movie. There was nothing. I asked Max to see if he could see it as well. He didn't see it but asked me what my impressions were. I described it as I saw it, and it faded away. We've lived here since 1998, and I've never been back. I found out later that Underground Atlanta was near a Confederate hospital, and the injured might have been brought there. It was mostly a train station and one of the many places General Sherman burned when he ravaged Atlanta in the Civil War. It might explain that overwhelming feeling of defeat that I sensed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">These are a few encounters I've had with ghosts or otherworldly entities. I'm what you call a sensitive - I can pick up on things that most people can't. I've found that I'm more sensitive to angelic presences, earth, and animal spirits - but I can pick up on ghosts if they are in the area and want me to "feel" them. Most people can if they open themselves to the possibility but dismiss those funny feelings as a cold draft of their imagination. They refuse to even consider the idea of a ghost because they have been told they are evil demons or that it's not Christian to believe in them. Yet, ghosts have been in folklore for quite some time, even in the Bible. In the Old Testament, Book of 1 Samuel chapter 28:7-25 — the King of Israel visits a medium when God does not answer him when war approaches. The prophet Samuel has died, and King Saul asks the medium to bring Samuel from the dead to see if he has additional insight for the upcoming war. The Ghost of Samuel tells him that his fate is sealed as it was when he was still alive. The Bible clearly states that this is the Ghost of the prophet Samuel, so believing in ghosts does not go against traditional biblical faith. There are references to ghosts in ancient Egyptian writings, and most cultures believe in the presence of ghosts. But somehow, that belief is frequently scoffed at as being flaky. Recently, Regis Philbin admitted that he had seen a ghost while on the <i>Late Show with David Letterman. </i>Letterman frequently told Regis in the interview that he didn't see a ghost and that it was all in his imagination. Regis could hold his own while telling his story, no matter how often he was dismissed. I'm sure he and Dave are still best friends, even if Dave tried to make it out as a drunken vision when Regis was younger. But what about those who have seen something like that but are told they are crazy or that it was evil and never to speak of it again? Many of us have had encounters that we can't explain but weren't lucky enough to have someone like Max to tell and be believed. Luckily, many cable shows will validate what they've seen, and those individuals can feel less alone because of what they've witnessed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My kids love the show <i>Ghost Adventures</i>. It has three guys named <span style="color: #2d322d; font-family: Helvetica;">Zak Bagans, Nick Groff, and Aaron Goodwin</span> who go into "haunted" places and try to get proof of ghosts with EVPs (Electronic Voice Prints), which capture ghostly voices, and full spectrum cameras that can capture apparitions and EMF thermometers which can trace changes in temperature since they can drop dramatically when you are around ghosts. They try to debunk any evidence they find so that when they get something ghost-like, it can be proved scientifically by ruling out things like outside light or noises. They do capture some exciting things that cannot be easily explained. The biggest problem with the show is that Zack, Nick, and Aaron seem to invade the area where the ghosts hang out and harass and sometimes threaten them to get a reaction. If it's an evil spirit they're after, they will ask that the entity "come out and get them" and then jump back and squeal like little girls when the ghosts do what they're asked. I just don't get that, and it bothers me. From what I know, most ghosts are lost between worlds. Some are "unintelligent," which means they are trapped doing the same things repeatedly because they are unaware they are dead. Then there are the "intelligent" ghosts who can communicate how they died, know who is visiting them, and show themselves by knocking over things, touching people, and making them feel funny. Being a ghost is like being on a lost highway and looking for that exit that will finally take you home. You see a film crew who might be able to help you, only to have them disrespect your plight, film you being lost, and then leave without giving you directions on how to get to your final destination. I tend to root for the ghosts when those guys do get their comeuppance, especially when they ask a ghost that many consider a demon to try to do something to them. That's like going into a strange neighborhood with gang members and saying, "I don't believe in you, so come on out and kick my ass." Don't be surprised if you get an ass-kicking later when the cameras are off. It's very irresponsible. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>The Dead Files </i>takes a different approach. It uses an ex-NYC detective, Steve DiSchiavi, and medium Amy Allen, who "sees and talks to dead people." Steve researches paranormal activity at a location where their clients request help because they are experiencing ghost-like hauntings. Amy takes a walk to see what psychic impressions and entities she can pick up. Amy even sits down with a police artist to sketch out the entities she sees to help prove or disprove what people see or identify a specific person they think might be responsible for the haunting in the afterlife. Steve and Amy communicate when the reveal when they reveal their findings. She also offers advice on how to help the ghosts move on because often they are just trapped where they are, scared, and they act out on humans. This approach makes the most sense and can offer peace to a place perceived as haunted. It's up to the property owners to take that advice — sometimes they do, and sometimes they don't. Even worse, sometimes they take advantage of the Dead Files experience to promote their business as haunted by ghost seekers. Again, that lack of respect is just asking for a celestial bitch slap. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyNbQDOZZHSBEsA7bc-ru5m1GvaknMhb6TonvncwY4Wpabkrd7R5b7gYgkOzKT3U1pSYMiyhqkvBYfjqwzyjmijEoozpSjN-5CZNFnbDHzneIG9mZEufxix23Zp3YM_0ug5pm1CWVrD4s/s1600/ghost-1.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyNbQDOZZHSBEsA7bc-ru5m1GvaknMhb6TonvncwY4Wpabkrd7R5b7gYgkOzKT3U1pSYMiyhqkvBYfjqwzyjmijEoozpSjN-5CZNFnbDHzneIG9mZEufxix23Zp3YM_0ug5pm1CWVrD4s/s320/ghost-1.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="clear: left; float: left; font-size: large; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOZ9Ix6DEblVbBdODx0tzPXbLnetzq3nV-fwgUuiga0oP3mbUWXCMUAAEqW8Oy3sVYZ7n35Mmob5EWe3lYZxPNzPNqrBQ5VT7Pt3hYdOQyfzIVy8Uc-q_YfsZP3nA_ZFuNugNadms5MU8/s320/Ghost2-photo.jpg" width="320" /></span><span style="font-size: large;">When the kids were smaller, we had an unintentional otherworldly encounter caught on film. We went to see the Christmas lights at Dorothy Oven Park in Tallahassee. My mother took a picture of the lights as we left. Later, we found some exciting impressions once the photos were developed. It looked like a ghost in a tri-corner hat from the Revolutionary War traveling with one or two other entities. We looked at the other photos, and none had the same anomaly - just that one. We showed it to some "Ghost" experts who looked at the photo and asked if it was a digital photo or taken on film. When we replied that it was taken on 35-mm film, they said that we had captured something and that it might be ghosts, which was inconclusive.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">The following year, we went to see the lights again and had no intention of trying to capture anything on film - it was just our annual holiday outing. My mother wanted to get a photo of the kids on the swing. When we developed the film this time, we noticed four bright white misty figures standing behind the kids, and the tri-corner figure was to the left looking away. They seemed to be gathered around the kids, saying, "Hey there, happy holidays from your friends, the ghosts!" I was a little disconcerted when I saw the photo because these things were around my kids, and I wanted to ensure they were good and not negative spirits. I sent the photo to another occult investigator, who returned with a different interpretation. She felt the entities were too light to be bad and that more than likely they were spirit guides who just wanted to make their presence known. My sister thought that my dad might be the one with the hat since he was a Revolutionary War buff. I wouldn't rule anything out. It did make me feel better that my kids were surrounded by loving entities who were there to protect and guide them. We've been back many times since and have never caught those images again. That could be all we were supposed to see. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So, for your naysayers who don't want to consider that there is something out there that logic cannot explain - open your mind to the possibilities. Ghosts are mentioned in the Bible; there are similar ghost stories in ancient texts that would have been impossible for the authors to have copied from one another. Shakespeare sincerely believed in ghosts and incorporated them regularly in his plays like <i>Hamlet</i>. In the opening scene, Horatio, who is Hamlet's best friend, doesn't believe in ghosts even though the castle guards claim to have seen the Ghost of Hamlet's father walking around the castle at night. Hamlet reminds him, "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." So, for those who refuse to believe, don't scoff at those who have claimed to see a ghost or something they just can't explain. It's not all bad - and sometimes death is not final. Ghosts are just entities that have yet to find a way to walk into the light. They are just like the rest of us - they need help finding their way home. What's more human than that?</span> </div>
</div>Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-20011672318982758902013-01-01T12:24:00.002-08:002013-01-01T12:47:32.255-08:00Super 8<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">For
those of you that are under 40, you probably don’t remember the ritual that was
watching home movies. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not to sound like
an old fart, but back in the 1960’s we didn’t have the instant playback that
you have with digital video, your cell phone or hell even VHS video back in the
1970’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First you had to get a super 8 camera
where you could take home movies and purchase the cassettes which held about 50 feet of film or two and a half minutes of
action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Needless to say, you couldn’t
linger too long on one subject because after a little over two minutes, your
film would run out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This situation led
to wedding movies going from a quick ceremony, to a few seconds of the first
dance, a quick look at the sharing of the wedding cake, a few seconds of the
tossing of the bouquet and finally leaving the reception in a hail of
rice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your wedding could be condensed to
a few minutes with no editing needed, and no audio. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no sound to go with the movies until
1973 when a sound track was added to Super 8 film. So if your drunk uncle got
up to give a toast, there was no audio record of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All you saw was either people laughing or
mortified but no sound to give you a hint that he blurted out that it would
never last, he slept with his sister-in-law or that he was pretty sure the
bride was knocked up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When it was played
back, the only sound you heard was ticking of the projector as the film popped
up and down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The
limited amount of time that you could record on a movie cassette led to people
trying to pack in as much action into 150 seconds as possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many of these movies ended up feeling like
you were seeing the 1960’s through the eyes of someone who had Attention
Deficit Disorder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if you had 10 to
15 rolls to record that special event, it still took a few seconds load between
switching out cassettes so you would still have lost pieces of action between
where the last roll ended the new one began.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Worse, it would take at least a few days to send off the film and get it
developed so you couldn’t really be sure that you got everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Primitive as it seems now, it was the best
technology that we had at the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was the only way we could go beyond capturing<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>a nanosecond of action in a photo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Rather than explaining how your child learned how to walk, you could
show them taking those precious tentative steps out into the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You could see them doing it in those
ridiculous puffy pants with ruffles on the back, the hair in a silly sprout and
toddler saddle shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You could see the
pride of the Mom or Dad taking their child's hand and leading them down that path with
a big silent smile on their face – and appreciate how timeless that moment is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Different clothes, different decade, but
still those tentative steps have to be taken by every toddler and experienced
by every parent. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I guess
the reason I’m waxing nostalgic about all this is because for my holiday
project for my mother and my brothers and sisters this year, I decided to
convert a few reels of personal home movies into digital video.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried at first to do it myself but trying
to get a 40 year old projector to gently play the precious moments of my
recorded childhood didn't work out so well. I found that the decades of dust made the machine smoke
and when I tried to un-jam the film, my finger got shredded in the sprockets
before I could even get my video camera set up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I decided then and there to have the professionals transfer it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The quality would be better and the chances
of bloodshed were much lower. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My brothers
got a selection of home movies from my mother’s house which has been pretty
empty since she moved from Miami to Tallahassee to go into assisted
living.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The films spanned from 1957 from when
they lived in Medford, Massachusetts to various vacations up to 1974.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother was pretty meticulous about
labeling the outside of the film canisters so it was easy to see what year it
covered and what activities were documented.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I got a dual 8 mm viewer from the place that I was having the film
transferred so that I could see the movies in advance to decide which movies were
worth transferring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Putting the film on
the spools and cranking them through the viewer brought<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>back to life those memories that had remained still for all these decades.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Birthday
parties with pony rides, trips to Mathason Hammock, a family vacation to
Pioneer City, or just playing in the backyard were all subjects of these long
forgotten films.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
picked out the best of our collective toddler-hoods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got 200 feet of film from 1957 when my
parents still lived near Boston and my sister Sharon and I were still six to
seven years from existence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
interesting seeing my older sister Kathy playing with her baby brother Bill in
the pool in their backyard, seeing her climb on monkey bars and totally mug for
the camera.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again, these films were
silent so any sound of her little voice singing to her brothers was never
captured.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s the footage of my
brother Bill’s second birthday which proved that no matter how advanced we as a
species become, kids will always love ice cream, cake and getting presents –
those emotions are pretty timeless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then
there are the images of my brother Steve as an infant being passed around and
adored as infants always are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then there
is the footage of my parents young and just starting out with their
family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother is wearing bright red
lipstick which was your make-up basic back then with matching nail polish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She looks vibrant even in light of the fact
she had three children in five years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
dad looks thin and has no problem pushing a stroller or shooting some of the
movie footage so that my mother is actually documented in the movies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My grandparents still look like my
grandparents but with less gray and more energy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a little freaky to see all these people and
how they looked before I was born.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not jealous mind you, just interested in
the dynamic before I came along.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
is one part where my mother is throwing back her head and laughing out loud - something I rarely saw growing up probably because probably after having five kids to
look after, she didn’t has as many LOL moments. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">When I
got to the footage of 1966, I got to see myself at three and my sister at two
playing in the backyard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My brother
Steve who is about nine at this point is clowning around as I douse him with a
hose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My sister Sharon running around
topless in the backyard with me in my favorite bathing suit (I still remember
how much I loved that suit!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two of
us were so close then, she was my little Dee-Dee. I was 16 months old when she
was born and I couldn’t say Sharon but I could call her Dee-Dee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It stuck through the time we went to
college.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remembered how much she
hated sand on her toes and would insist on sitting in a chair while the rest of
us played in the water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s those
little seemingly small details you remember the most. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I
decided to get about 600 feet transferred which would be about 40 minutes of
digital video.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ironically, I had to drop
off the film and wait for about a week for it to be transferred much like my
mother used to when she took her movies to be developed at Zayre’s or
Walgreens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked them to put it in a
Quicktime format so that I could edit on iMovie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I uploaded the video into my computer and
watched these images come to life once again but without being washed out by a
projector bulb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There we were, the Cody
kids in all our youthful glory – just learning to walk, play and swing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked at one scene of me at three getting
ready to jump into a plastic pool with a blue two piece bathing suit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I take a running start then hesitate and go back
and run back before stopping again and then plopping with both legs bent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d watch that piece and want to tell that
little girl that it’s okay to be bold – jump in without hesitating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I grew older, I would often hesitate –
sometimes it worked in my favor but most of the time it didn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess that’s why I became so attracted to improvisation
in college – you can’t hesitate if you want to be any good at it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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finished the editing the video and put the holiday footage together at the end from
1957 and 1963.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hoped my mother and my
siblings would like it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took it with
me to Tallahassee so that my sister Kathy, my brother Bill, my mom and our
families could watch it together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also
uploaded it on Vimeo for my sister Sharon and Steve to watch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The time came for us to watch it in Kathy’s
living-room on her DVD much like we used to as kids when my mom got our the
projector so we could see the footage she had just gotten back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was amazed how much Kathy and Bill
remembered of their Massachusetts days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We laughed at the our antics as children and at the patience my father
had at trying to keep a band of five kids together while my mother documented
what she could. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother remembered
people we couldn’t and it felt good to hear her connect to those old memories
and see herself as that young mother excited to have her daughter try on a coat
from Felines Department store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here’s a
link to a 60 second mock movie promo I did for <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Omb_UiYB32Q&list=UUmUFZarUZnE00cE6Qfi0bfQ&index=2" target="_blank"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Codys – A Party of Seven</i>.</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I guess
my hope with all this is to remind the Cody kids how close we used to be before
adulthood, marriage and our own families got in the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our
mother is beginning to lose her memory and soon these home movies will be all
we have to connect us to our past because she won’t be able to recount those moments
to us anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a way, I guess that’s what
this blog is about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If my kids ever
wonder who I was, they can look here and get an idea of what their mother
thought and the things I went through, both good and bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It also makes me think for all the video
equipment I have around here - I need to take video of them and save it because they will be grown and out before I know
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll want them to remember the good
times and not all the times I had to say that we need to watch our money. You know, the silly times in the park or on vacation in Chattanooga or just playing around in the living room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I'm going to be 50 years old this year and yet I still remember vividly playing in my childhood Miami backyard, the smell of the fresh cut grass and how much my brother Steve used to make me laugh. It seems like yesterday and yet it was 47 years ago. </span>I just want my kids to remember their childhood and to be able to smile about it
because it all goes by so very, very fast. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6847812571890523908.post-57747619413192195292012-12-23T18:42:00.002-08:002013-01-05T14:41:40.644-08:00Where Angels Fear to Tread<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The other night at dinner I looked at my husband with tears in my eyes and confessed something that I had never really felt before. I was having a crisis of faith. I've always believed that no matter what, God and your guardian angels would have your back. Even if things didn't turn out as you had hoped, there was a grander plan, a reason you didn't get what you wanted or needed - a lesson that needed to be learned. But after the massacre at Sandy Hook, I was having doubts about this whole divine intervention thing. I was angry, sad and felt like everything I believed in had been blown to bits. Max told me that I needed to stop reading about it on the internet, but even if you didn't read the articles - when you checked your e-mail and you would see the smiling faces of children who were barely out of toddlerhood being buried by their families and a grieving community. You don't have to read the stories - you could draw your own sad conclusions. I sat there at the dinner table, just crying for what was the fifth time that day. At work I would feel the wave of sadness come over me and then would excuse myself to go into a private bathroom and sob. It turns out there were other women where I work that were doing the same thing. Max tried to comfort me - told me that the children were in the arms of the angels now and they were safe and feeling no pain. A part of me knew that, but those last moments of their innocent lives were the ones that grieved me the most. How the hell could God have allowed this to happen? Where were their guardian angels when they needed them the most? Why did this have to happen in the season of love and good cheer when those sweet little ones were excited to see Santa Claus? Why? WHY? Please God, why?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I remember the shock of 9/11. I remember seeing people crying in the street and strangers comforting each other. I asked why then but at that time there was a common enemy - people from another land who wanted to hurt us in the misguided name of God. In the days, weeks and months after it happened we found a common resolve, we were united if only for that short period of time before the talk of war surfaced. But this act is different - for some reason - it's personal. The actions of the 9/11 terrorists were part of a larger global political unrest that just happened to hurt thousands of innocent people who were just trying to get through their day. It hurt for a long time and we all felt vulnerable but as we've seen since, there are ways to stop terrorists from getting on a plane with a gun or a bomb and over powering the crew. A terrorist attack of that scope has not happened since 2001 because the government knew what to do to stop it. But how do you stop a very disturbed person who is trying to take his rage out on little children and the people who are responsible for them with a gun? It's too random - too unorganized to try to stop anymore than you could keep a madman from shooting out a movie theatre or a Meet-the-Congressmen event. This one hit too close to home - it was a school shooting with children who were just infants six years ago. My God, they never really had a chance to come into their own and that's the real tragedy. My children are in school - they are the most precious and amazing people I've ever known. I can't imagine the grief the parents of the 20 children who were shot are going through. I pray for them which is interesting because that's my default no matter how royally pissed I get at God. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You hear in times like this, faith sustains you. But what can you say about a mad man that senselessly mows down the innocent and the virtuous women who tried to protect them? I would hope the grieving families did not hear - "It's God's will," because as reverent as I try to be, my response would be "Then God's will sucks!" It hurts to feel this way. But my soul is wounded and the salve is looking for some higher purpose - a reason in the grand scheme of things of why this would happen. I imagine that even men and women of God are struggling with this. Minister Mark Wilson in Hayward, Wisconsin wrote about the shootings in his blog. He quoted the poet John Blasé who observed, "Of the things that befall us, this one pierces deeper, for the lost are the least of these. The killing of children is the killing of everything." He also said his most articulate answer for this event was to simply and honestly say "I don't know." I can respect that. There is no pat answer and there shouldn't be. He goes onto say that it's easy to have faith when things are going well, but in the darkest times, you have to ask the uneasy questions. It's in those dark times that God whispers to you to urge you on - to give you the strength you need even if you are cursing his name in anger like a teenager because I think God understands that and like any compassionate parent, he loves us anyway. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHGLY_X44h299yoIiPWAF7j5uO-6ka66i8fDNAO8AmF-mqMW7xOSdWloRDUgNmVAK08wV4N8voYOFE1-DUScCz7b8QOGRv4ud918JfsgUw7Qf5PyXDaexGu79_Afndx7u2TGbBmaUoInw/s1600/hysellf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHGLY_X44h299yoIiPWAF7j5uO-6ka66i8fDNAO8AmF-mqMW7xOSdWloRDUgNmVAK08wV4N8voYOFE1-DUScCz7b8QOGRv4ud918JfsgUw7Qf5PyXDaexGu79_Afndx7u2TGbBmaUoInw/s320/hysellf.jpg" width="229" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Some cultures believe in a group soul in that when many people leave the earth in the same place at the same time it's because the agreed to be part a movement to help mankind. Before they are born, the angels literally give them their marching orders, who they will be in this life and when they will end their days. No one really remembers that in utero conversation but it gives us certain affinities in life and lessons to be learned. For instance, no matter how tired I get of working for non-profits and think I want to do something else, I keep coming back. The reason is probably because my mission is to motivate people to help important causes. I've tried doing comedy improv full-time, but never with the same success as when it's combined with a day job that makes the world a better place. When I'm doing both the improv and working for a worthy cause, I feel balanced. I guess other people have felt that affinity as well. Good or bad, that's why they are attracted to the things they might help or hurt them - for instance, getting out of an abusive relationship might be the lesson you didn't learn in the previous life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My spiritual path is for the most part the road not usually taken. Yes, I believe in God, Jesus, the legions of angels, and the saints. I'm definitely a product of my Catholic upbringing. But I also believe in reincarnation because I tend to believe that God gives us more than one shot to get it right before we finally ascend into heaven. For me, the soul is an evolving spiritual entity and one lifetime does not give you enough time for your soul to be complete. I guess I feel like I've been here before beyond this life as a 49-year old mother who works in non-profits and loves to do improv. I have been able to slip easily into the world of international healthcare and grasped that topic easier than I would have expected. I've had a few people in the New Age community tell me that I've been here a few times - okay more than a few - anywhere from dozens to hundreds of times. I've got to wonder when I'm finally going to figure it out and my soul's mission will be accomplished but I guess that's not for me to decide. It's in times like this that believing in reincarnation helps me cope because I know that the victims of this crime will be back again to make the world a better place. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGLsnMTW_wKPn2cJ7aPZX1CKaYsPadBJoi6YsrCdXVHvvX6JYYw84KvKHRWnX25JXknOR96FGCprXXOeJTtY0UWgBXVJn8Ni5sx5HjELaH2l3PBwysGGSfBXU33I33Dl81zvJkbKWAOBA/s1600/victor-cruz-pinto-shoes-16x9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGLsnMTW_wKPn2cJ7aPZX1CKaYsPadBJoi6YsrCdXVHvvX6JYYw84KvKHRWnX25JXknOR96FGCprXXOeJTtY0UWgBXVJn8Ni5sx5HjELaH2l3PBwysGGSfBXU33I33Dl81zvJkbKWAOBA/s320/victor-cruz-pinto-shoes-16x9.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH9yWxXxC_HLlrF7OgOA7h9xB2aZW0AFGxTT0wHIZpJ1N0jTv_kSoRMY5QwETqfWCzHuH_5V6kaDYxiDWF1LgkMFvPX5kehBbYgO7a6Hsdp1umHXLt0Mm64j4cLYqGQCZWTqNtwOmKChU/s1600/jack-pinto-420.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH9yWxXxC_HLlrF7OgOA7h9xB2aZW0AFGxTT0wHIZpJ1N0jTv_kSoRMY5QwETqfWCzHuH_5V6kaDYxiDWF1LgkMFvPX5kehBbYgO7a6Hsdp1umHXLt0Mm64j4cLYqGQCZWTqNtwOmKChU/s200/jack-pinto-420.jpg" width="200" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">What strikes me about this incident is that it's reignited a passion to help that many people were not sure that they had. Sure we've seen it during the Aurora shooting when all those innocent people were attacked at a movie theater - but they apprehended the shooter and at least there were some answers - some closure. The shooting at Sandy Hook was just too terrible to put into words. It especially hit home for anyone who is a parent. But it has also inspired people to do better, to be better and to love their children more. It touched New York Giants receiver Victor Cruz. After learning that he was the favorite player of one 6-year-old victims, he wrote "R.I.P. Jack Pinto," "Jack Pinto, my hero" and "This one is for you" on his shoes for the Giants game against the Falcons in Atlanta this past Sunday. Before this, he probably knew that kids were fans and that many probably idolized him but now I doubt that he will take that celebrity for granted ever again. When he was told that Jack would be buried in one of his jerseys - his response was <span style="color: #323333;">"</span>I don't even know how to put it into words, there are no words that can describe the type of feeling that you get when a kid idolizes you so much that unfortunately they want to put him in the casket with your jersey on. I can't even explain it." He even went to the Pinto family with his fiancee and daughter to spend time with them and offer his condolences. No one told him to do that for PR reasons. There were no TV cameras documenting what he did - it was just the right thing to do. He later commented that he knew now "how short life can be, how much you have to cherish every moment, how much you have to cherish every opportunity. Every chance you get with your family, never take anything for granted because just a day at school can change all that." If we can all come away with that perspective, then those sweet innocents would not have died in vain. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">So as much my faith is shaken and as much as I am still tearing up at the thought of that horrible day, I know that there had to be a higher purpose. I don't have a pat answer as to WHY but then I guess I'm not supposed to. It's not supposed to be that easy. I know that it's okay to question because other people have those same questions too. I just know that love will help heal and love is the most powerful emotion there is. Love trumps hate. Love trumps anger. Love gives you the perspective to give more than you ever thought you could physically, emotionally and spiritually. It's just not all that easy to summon when your heart is broken. I know that our nation loves and prays for the people of Newtown, CT. We all share their sorrow. I know that right now, I'm not as mad at God as I was a few days ago. I'm grateful for the gifts I have including my wise husband and my two wonderful children. On Christmas Eve I will pray with all my might that the world will be a better place because of what happened. I will come back to God like a rebellous teenager who ran away and learned that leaving that home is a cold and lonely existance. I will step back into the warmth of the light and know that even with all my questions, it's the one place I should never fear to tread.</span> </span></div>
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Kelley Cody-Grimmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02354310473411061821noreply@blogger.com0