Dona Nobis Pacem ~ Updated

What an amazing couple of days. You are inspiring! There are thousands of peace globes floating in the atmosphere on blogs, on Facebook, on Twitter. While the discussions have been full of peace and hope, they have also turned to the tragedy at Fort Hood, which ironically happened on BlogBlast For Peace day. Convictions shifted, writing became more intense, personally relevant, and even more full of the compassion. In the face of this and other atrocities, we still blog peace.

I will read each and every one of your posts and document the globes in the Peace Globe Gallery as I go. I've seen some incredible offerings! Please take the time this weekend to visit each other. Note that there are two Mr. Linky lists. The one you see below and the one on the original page here. Between them as of this morning there are 408 signatures but I am finding many many more through Google Alerts and on Facebook who did not sign in. I will add their names to the lists as I go and consolidate them. I believe the best part of BlogBlast is the sense of community and sharing during BlogBlast time. Enjoy them. Learn from each other. Make a new friend in a different country. Walk in the peace vibe through their eyes. You'll be astonished by the perspective you'll gain. I will see you in a little while to report new findings. Thank you all for participating, for offering your words that MATTER, for sending me personal condolences and love as well. I will never forget it.
Have a wonderful day! I will talk to you soon.

The Bargain

Once in a blue moon I am speechless.
And this day, of all days, I need to find words.

One week ago today I buried my father.
Had you been in my home fifteen minutes ago you would have seen a very different Mimi than the one you might have imagined. You know...the one who writes glowing sonnets tripping over a moonbeam of golden light in the middle of La-La land while dangling in a skirt and perfectly manicured nails - and let's not forget the feathered pen on golden threaded linen. Thoreau-ish? Not today.
Well, the nails are right. The rest? Not so much.

How, I asked the Universal Powers That Be, can I be expected to spout forth inspirational puff and fluff when all I want to do is rail against the indignity of the past five weeks. And loudly, I might add.

I am angry.
I am tired.
I am tired of being angry.
I am tired of being sick.
I am sick of goodbyes.

You see, when he was a living breathing roller coaster of complicated medical terminology, I could eek out a measure of hope. At least he was still breathing. Sometimes. I could imagine another day, another month, even another year at times...on the good days. Reality didn't pan out the way I wanted. Comas don't lie. No faith healer showed up. The best medicine in the world couldn't save him. I couldn't take away his pain nor could I erase what my eyes saw in that god-forsaken bed of hell he lay upon for thirty-two days and thirty-two nights after years of spiraling in and out of survivable mode. And now what do we have?

Reality.

I hate it.

The truth is, sometimes life is beyond difficult - it is overwhelming. It is energy-depleting. It is raw. Watching someone die agonizing slow is not pretty. The memories are not pretty. And no matter how hard I try to fashion a tale of peaceful prose this full-moon night in the South, I can't.


So I stood in my house and let fly out of my mouth what I really wanted to write in this post complete with words a Queen shouldn't say and an entire upside down string section of sorrow...that I am exhausted and resentful. That I don't want to write a War and Peace novella on this blog for peace day. That I am human. That I am overwhelmed. That I miss my daddy. That I can't stand the thought of him lying in a box of dirt. That I wish I could have done more to ease his suffering. How inadequate I felt at times. How mortal.

And then I remembered what the preacher said.

It was a graveside service. The violin had just played "Amazing Grace" I followed the trail of a spider along the vault mechanism and marvelled as a butterfly landed right in front of me on top of Daddy's casket flowers- all personal signs to me of graces and gratitude I needed to remember.

He told a story I'd never heard before about my father. One day while visiting Daddy for one of those are-you-right-with-God-discussions, the preacher asked a favor of him. You see, the pastor had lost his son in an accident just a year ago. With a shake in his voice standing under the green tent in the middle of a stone field full of my kin, he retold this conversation with my Dad. "Could I ask a favor of you, Walter? When you get to Heaven, I want you to promise me that you will look up my son. And then I want you to ask him to take you on a tour of Heaven. But when you do, be prepared, because he will take you on a tour like you've never experienced before. He's quite a character. I think the two of you would get along and it would mean a lot to me.
Let him show you around. Will you do that for me?"

Daddy smiled and agreed.
They struck a bargain.

He said he'd never before or since felt inspired to ask anybody else to do that for him. After the service I reassured him he'd made the right choice. "That's a safe bet," I told him. "Daddy will keep his word."

Then he picked up a handful of dirt from the ground at his feet and laid it squarely at the head of my father's pine box coffin. It wasn't a pretty moment for me.


My emotions raged. Inside the core of that damn box lay someone I loved and I couldn't touch him or smell him or get to him again...oh but I could see the dirt fly up under his cleats and the spit in his eye darting cross the shortstop line one more time. Rounding third base and digging in home base dirt with a powerful unassuming charge as if to say "My work is done. Your turn." A flock of birds flew over and I knew he was making his flight towards home, seeing new sights, wondering at the design of the Universe..and yes, I knew the pastor's young son would be waiting to escort the aged ballplayer laughing through the park on a firefly night full of stars.

And even as I remembered the nights he would scoop me up in his arms and carry my sleepy dusty self off the bleachers and to the car, the preacher kept talking about dirt. He said he wondered when my dad was playing baseball all those years, if he ever thought of the symbolism in the dust he kicked up and played in.....If he ever realized the evolution of Earth and sod and life and death returning to Earth. The cycle of resurrection and renewal.

When I saw him lay the handful of Earth on the box - it was right.

It was so right.

There is a place between two worlds I've heard of. Some say it is Holy.

I stood in that sacred space last week. I saw redemption and grace in a split second of time when one breath ended and another began. I am here as a witness to tell you it is full of Spirit.

Full of energy.

Full of peace.

In this life on the planet we share and walk around on, there is the world of peace and the world of war. The world of grace and the world of strife. The world of forgiveness and the world of unrest. Some live their entire lives with one foot in each space.

But I don't believe that is how it should be.

Daddy taught me to keep one foot on the base if I wanted to stay safe on a steal and to run like the wind in a split second of decision at the sound of his voice. When I told him on the day he died that is was OK for him to go....he took that safe-stealing foot and flew home. Just like that. At the sound of my voice. And just like his base-stealing eye always had my best interests in sight, so did my pigtailed pencil skirt heart feel him go.
I wanted to love him all the way home. I wanted to stand and cheer. I wanted to make his journey safe with both feet off the base so that he could fly into joy.

Sometimes peace comes kicking and screaming....as it did for me tonight... as it did for my dad in his final days. I am still struggling with the memory of those days. Sometimes the way to peace is not easy. But that doesn't diminish the promise. Nor should it delay the reality if we can help it. Even when peace comes knocking at the door all ugly and ragged and worn out - it's still full of hope.

Today on this blog and many many other places on the Internet, out of the living breathing earth rose a cry that somewhere....somehow....someday...there will be peace.

So today let us speak Dona Nobis Pacem in large loud numbers.

It is documented.

It is promised.

It is recorded.

When even one voice stands up to be counted among the peacemakers of the world, there is hope.

We all live on the same ball of dirt.

I'd forgotten about it, this photograph, from a few weeks ago at my father's bedside.One thing is perfectly clear:
It wasn't I who covered you, Daddy.
It was you who covered me.

There is a profound difference in

standing for peace

and standing in peace.

**NOTE** Hundreds of Bloggers are signing HERE too. Please do the same so that you don't miss any posts. Amazing day.

The Eve of Dona Nobis Pacem

Somewhere in the world BlogBlast For Peace is dawning. It wouldn't be the same without Annelisa's sunrise photography. Taken in East Sussex, I am proud to call her my friend from across the pond. She has a way of bringing peace through the lens of her magic camera. Though this is her neighborhood in the United Kingdom, it also reminds me a bit of Bloggingham Palace. Blanketed by a gloriously brilliant layer of sky, my world seems a bit closer to hers....and to yours. We live under the same sky. The same world. In fact, we've been sharing this blanket for some time now.

Peace bloggers know how to do that very well.

Dawning anew for me this year is the story of my Papa's marbles, seen here in a wooden bowl that still sits atop my piano. If you are a veteran peace blogger, you have read the story that unfolded, as written below, on the very first BlogBlast Eve in 2006.. It was four hours 'til midnight and I had no peace globe post. Until.........

I received a loving, gentle tap on the shoulder by someone I loved and lost. A simple bowl of rocks changed my mind forever about the absurdity of a notion called coincidence. I am still amazed at how the story of the Peace Globes really began. Many of you are posting a globe for the first time today and do not know this story. For you, I shall tell it again. And for those who began this journey with me in 2006, thank you for allowing me to re-introduce you to this honorable man. I am proud to know you. So is he.

The Silence of Peace

Papa's Marbles

They've been sitting on my piano for more years than I care to count, on the corner of the Kohler and Campbell my grandfather gave me when I was fourteen years old. After he died, I found them in a tattered and dirty bag at the bottom of a box full of his personal things. He wanted me to have them.

His marbles.

Handmade roughhewn marbles crafted from rock by my grandfather and his brothers. The year was 1920 and there was no money for toys.
I often wondered why he didn't leave them for a male member of the family. Honestly, folks. It wasn't until just tonight - the eve of Dona Nobis Pacem in the blogosphere- that I discovered the answer.
I know stranger things have happened.

I just can't recall when.

I knew this post would not be written until the last moment. I made lots of notes but I just couldn't quite make it happen. It is still a little while before midnight in my part of the United States and I'm supposed to be spinning out a masterpiece of goodwill and peace prose - maybe a stunning poem like those we've already seen. A song, a lyric, a new tune.

Instead, Mimi Pencil Skirt wants to talk about rocks.

So I went into my study and began to polish them. One by one. The bowl, the piano, the granite. How many times have I sat at that very bench and casually glanced into that bowl? Thousands of times. Song after song.

Tune after tune. Lesson after lesson. Year after year.

He didn't have a lot of money it seems to me now, my grandfather. At the time though, he was the richest man I knew. And he has been on my mind this week more often than not. Well over six-feet tall and always impeccably dressed, my Papa was the most humble man I've ever met.
When he passed away I met scores of people who told me what he'd meant to them. "He helped me when I needed money"......He gave me his shoes" and on and on.
His kindness was not news to me. The fact that a large portion of the town showed up at his wake was, however, a stunning surprise.

I didn't know I'd been sharing him all those years.

He made me feel as if I were the only one in the world.

Strange, those marbles. All different shapes and sizes. Colors, too. Yet they've co-Existed for years right there atop the long-lovingly-played strings inside my piano - the one Papa used his savings account to buy for me while he worked two jobs at the factory and made time up on Saturdays when he missed work hours to drive me to my lessons.

I was a bit different. Artistic. Content with solitude. Always writing in endless journals and playing broody piano music. Papa understood me but he didn't pamper me - even though that's a disputed fact to this day in my family.

What he did was more earth-shattering.

The one on top. That one.
Different... that one. I know that's the very one he made. I'm sure of it.

When I think about peace and what it means to me, I always wander back to a time when I first felt it. Because I know on an unconscious level that world peace cannot - will not - be achieved without inner peace. Adversaries on both sides of the conflict have to have it. You can't weave magical tranquility out of thin air and conferences. Peace is a state of being.

It has a life of its own.

Real lasting peace is born of creative jumble and hard work. Victories are never won by the one who has the most power - wars, yes - but not a state of peace.

Papa's Marbles. Not a pretty one in the bunch.
Every one brown or taupe. Almost every one.

I started thinking this week about those times in my life
when I first felt real peace.
For me, it came in the presence of God at an early age. Not because I am privileged or special. But simply because I was loved. Unconditionally.

Sometimes it takes just one person to unlock magic in someone else.

I watched that kind of magic flow through my grandfather's life. He was in tune with who he was. He knew the simple meaning of love.
He knew how to pray.

I often wondered how other people sensed that about him without the benefit of those life-giving hugs he saved just for me.

He chose the color himself.

Papa.....he must have spent hours honing that rock.

I often went with him to backwoods church services. Informal revivals, formal services, anywhere there was special music and a spirit of God - he was there. I can't explain it really. We would visit churches and the minister would ask him to lead the invocation or say the benediction - even though they'd never met. How did they know he could pray? I knew he could pray......but how did they know?

Taking his hat off and bowing his head, he would very quietly hold audience with his Maker. It didn't matter how many people were listening. His prayers always began the same way......"Dear Gracious Heavenly Father......"
No matter where. Or with whom. Or in front of whom.

Hat in hand. Head bowed. He knew how to reach God.

And people sensed that when they met him.
If peace can be worn like a garment then he was always finely clothed, my Papa.

One night he took me by the hand and led me to the altar with him. He knelt down on one knee, elbow resting on the other and silently voiced his heart. I was right there! I heard the whole thing and he never said a word.

He made them with his own hands. He molded them into shape.
Created them and lovingly took care of them. He chose the color.
Not a sonata or a novel. Certainly nothing brilliant or fancy.
Just ordinary marbles.

Tonight I'm sitting at my table writing stories on an electronic device that sends messages to people halfway around the world about globe graphics and insomnia, making pots of endless coffee to stay awake, answering emails from Germany, London, China, New York, Oman and beyond.

Could Papa have ever imagined such a thing?

Did he?

What was he praying about all that time anyway?

Papa's marbles.....There's something odd about them.

Oh forget about it. They're just a bunch of rocks. You've got a story to write. Can't you think of something brilliant? It's past midnight and everyone has their peace globe up but you.

I struggled. There's something missing here, I thought.
It's about Papa. I can't stop thinking about him.

What would he say to me tonight? How would he pray?

The marbles.
Look closer.

When it hit me, I was way past the point of arguing with myself about miracles and such. I've seen too many come through my mailbox today to argue with God about that.

Do you see it?
The blue one on top.

It looks like a globe.

Dona Nobis Pacem did not start with Mimi. It started in 1920 when a little boy in the rural southeastern United States decided to shape a small blue marble -

for his granddaughter.

And that's how it started.

With a visit from my grandfather and a bowl of handmade marbles. Now it's time for you to continue the story and spread the message of a peaceful world from your own places of rest, in your own voice. Tonight, from every corner of the globe I see little blue marbles....I mean globes.......and they are a beautiful, beautiful sight.

This is Mimi Pencil Skirt reporting live from the lovely land of the Peace Globes.
See you tomorrow.

Dona nobis pacem

Grant us peace

Mimi Lenox Mimi Pencil Skirt Mimi Queen of MemesBlogBlast for Peacepeace globesPeace Globe MovementDona Nobis Pacemmimi writes All rights reserved.

The Doll Box

Tomorrow would have been my grandfather's 95th birthday.

As you know, he is the reason that little blue globes continue to spin out of control this time every year. I wrote this peace post for the November 2007 BlogBlast For Peace in his honor. As always, he taught me a lesson. I would like to share it with you tonight. His stories are an integral part of this movement. So Papa....I miss you. I love you.
Happy birthday from all of us.


(The Doll Box)

“Put them in the pot, Mimi, just that way.”

I planted the last Black-Eyed Susan in the clay pot on the deck, richly purple, and staring at me with an eye in the center of royalty's colored fall beauty.
I dug and rearranged and poured in fertilizer. Watered. Played in the dirt.

"Plant one more in the pot, Mimi. She'd like it that way."

"They remind me of her," I said out loud. "The dark ones she loved best. The Black-Eyed ones I don't care for, but I plant them anyway because she loved them so. I think they look disheveled and untidy - if a flower can be that way - and as she could be in the morning times. Her hair a mess and a cigarette over coffee, frying bacon at 5am so you'd have a great start to your day, wrinkled robe and a smelly kitchen. One bright spot of colorful charm – like my Black Eyed Susan - was you, Papa."

I stopped planting and looked up.

My Papa stood looming over me with that jovial smile of his, a burst of sunlight behind his balding head and a brightly gleaming twinkle in the midst of the smile I adored. I was still unbalanced with a trowel in one hand and a pile of dirt in the other which prevented me from jumping immediately into his arms, but it didn't seem to matter; a warm wind blew straight through the curl hanging down the front of my right shoulder and moved it behind me to rest on the back of my sweater. I was sure of it. My Papa was always telling me to get my hair out of my face. No surprise to me now.

“I've been watching you, Mimi."
I laughed.

"Well you know she had to have things just right. Two purple here, one pink there, large petaled, small-petaled and a very straight row or you had to start all over."
He laughed.

"I remember."

I fixed my eyes upon the face of the man who held the key to my heart ever since the day I took my first breath. I put the trowel down, the dirt fell from my fingers and I found myself sitting in the fall sunlight, listening to leaves drop playfully from the trees that surrounded me. I watched them fall almost on command at his huge overgrown feet that were firmly planted in front of me.

Steel-toed shoes, huge shoes, painful shoes.

Important shoes.

It would take him forty-five minutes in the mornings before work to lace them up. Rheumatoid arthritis claimed his quality of life, pain a constant companion, everyday tasks a monumental chore - and yet he rarely missed work (thirty-three years in a furniture plant) and most days he tilled the garden out back in the evenings. For today, I was content to sit at his feet and plant flowers. He was there to give me a warm breezy hug. Of course, I knew he wasn't really there.

Was he?

Resigned to never again help him unlace the knotted shoestrings that strangled too tightly across his tender feet, I turned away to wipe a tear.

I miss him still.

"I've been watching you - you and the peace globes," he said.

I smiled and stood up. He was right.
Pansies could wait.

"I know, Papa. I've known for some time. You always give me courage when I need it, inspiration when I've lost it, and the biggest laughs....I get the most joy from your far-flung sense of humor. It is always with me." He roared a belly laugh I thought I'd never hear again this side of Heaven. It nearly rocked me off balance, causing me to drop the flat of pansies on the deck.....

.........so deep it was, so rich.

So Papa.
And then I realized that I was starting straight into the face of providence. Or ghostly luck. Don't stumble now, Mimi....."I need to ask you! Papa! I have so much to ask you. I don't know what to do about.....
Will you stay?"

"Mimi," he said with that tsk tsk expression, "I need to ask you a question."

I sat down again, wondering somehow if I'd done something wrong. He sounds serious. Does he want to talk about the marbles? Yes, that must be it. The marbles. He wants to tell me how he made them. He'll tell me and I'll tell my readers and they'll tell people and he'll explain it all.

I waited.
His eyes to me looked young, as young as he must have been the day he married my pansy-stricken grandmother. They were in the prime of their lives and so in love; both prepared to begin a new life. Together their vision saw miles and miles of happy years. Twinkles and smiles. Always laughter.

I remember - oh I remember - how they adored one another.

And now, they were both gone.

I had her pansy pots and her azalea bush and her quirkiness. He had memories not to be shared with a granddaughter but sacred scenes I saw playing behind the youthful grin. I did not let on. But I knew there were stories he must - he surely must - somewhere - somehow - still share with her.
"Ask, Papa. I'll tell you anything you want to know,” digging a new opening in the dirt for one more yellow pansy. I just wanted to see him smile again.

"Why? Why Mimi?..........why do you need so many?"

I sighed. Doesn't he understand?

"Because she said if you planted enough of them really close together it would make the bouquet brighter and....."

"No, Mimi. Why do you need so many peace globes?"
I stopped digging.

"I don't need them, Papa, they just keep coming. From everywhere. There are so many I can't get them all planted....er....counted. In the mail and through the strangest streets.
Back alleys, front pages, small blogs, large blogs, no blogs.

In the middle of the night. In the morning. In the evenings. All colors, all creeds, all walks of life. All species, all reasons, some frivolously made, some seriously woven and others with a single signature. Those I like, too."

He sighed.

Had I disappointed him?

What does he want me to say?

If there's one thing about my Papa that was always the best thing, it was his deliberate ability to cut through my facade and get to the truth - usually without a word, never with a scold. Any "serious conversation" he made with me always came on the palpable presence of one who loved me so unconditionally I could never have doubted his intent for my good or his wish for my clear understanding. Laden with well-worn common sense wisdom, I soaked it up often, playing carefully at his painfully laced shoes which criss-crossed in front on me in the living room floor at the bottom of the green leather recliner he loved.
And today, I felt much like that seven-year-old.

Papa had one more story to tell.

"Do you remember the dolls, Mimi? The 100 Dolls?"

"Oh yes, Papa. I still have them. I keep them in the box for safekeeping. They are in perfect condition though the box is yellowed now and torn on the edge. I still see your address, your name, the paid postage stamp and the tape."

He suddenly got a serious look. "I remember the day you asked me for them. We were thumbing through a catalog and you squealed with delight. "One hundred dolls!! How could 100 dolls come in one box?" you asked.

“I remember,” I said. "They costs one dollar and we had to send away for them all the way to New Jersey and add our postage fee. I was so excited and couldn't wait to get them in the mail. I think I was seven? Yes, just about that age."

"Open them, Mimi. They hold a secret. Open the box."

I went inside to get the box. I'm writing this story at my usual perch at the table but of course, in my mind's eye I am there, on the porch with my Papa and we are planting pansies and the sun is hot and the leaves are falling and I don't want to leave. We are having such a lovely day. All is right and he has chosen to visit me now. I don't want to break the spell. I don't want to open the box.....but it is there. It is there in front of me, on the table.
I picked it up, put my reading glasses on, trying to make out the fine print. I reach for a magnifying glass to help but for some reason, I put it down. I couldn't.
I couldn't look. I just couldn't.

And when have you ever been able to disobey him? Never. And when have you ever disappointed him? Sometimes. And will you do that today? No.
I picked it up again.

Bulk Rate. US Postage Paid. Newark, N.J. Permit No.4396.

100 Dolls Dept R
285 Market Street
Newark, N.J

What's so special about this old box of dolls? They're plastic and probably a few are missing. Pink. Flimsy. Tiny little things.

Not at all like I.....

"Right," said Papa, " you were disappointed. You were disappointed when they arrived a few weeks later. I could see it in your face. I never forgot how cute it was when you said, "NOW I know how they got so many dolls in one box. They don't look like the picture in the magazine at all. They are very small and I think I might even break them."

"So you sat at the kitchen table night after night and lined them up. Trying to figure out which was a cook and which was a nurse and which was a girl and which was a boy. I told you that they all have a face and they all have a voice, even if they are on the small side. You made up stories to go with them and then, once you'd brought them to life, there was a sadness about the way you stored them away.
Back in the box. Back in the box. Always back in the box."

He shook his head.

This was not going to be easy. What does he want me to see? There won't be an obvious blue world globe-like marble sitting there this time, we're talking about prissy dolls for a prissy girl who turned into a prissy woman who has no idea why she's crying at her keyboard in the middle of this unfinished story.
Until......

I decided to open the box.

And there it was.
Something I'd forgotten about. On top of my dolls in the lower right corner was a matchbox size toy.
He'd sent away for that too. It came with my dolls.
Tricky Dogs. They were magnets. One white dog. One black dog. When you start to play with them, they always gravitate toward each other. After forty years the magnet is still strong. I turned them over in my hands and read the back of the box.

Directions: Place one Tricky Dog on a surface (polished wood or glass) Push the other Tricky Dog up to it from behind, or sweep the second Tricky Dog in a half circle around the first one. Watch them twirl!

My tabletop is made of glass. I took the black one and put him up front, made a sneak attack by the white one and voila! the black dog began to spin in a circle - in an energetic frenzy - and aligned itself with the other one smashing into him, wagging their magnetic tails and gravitating together: smooching, the way only magnets can. When I was little, most often I played with the dolls, but Papa......he would gently nudge me to I lay aside the Barbie doll brain and chase my dream in another direction. He was like that. Always dropping life lessons in my lap, at inopportune times like today, when I'd rather be planting pansies.

I laughed. I'd forgotten the hours of entertainment we'd had trying to make the dogs do something else. I tried to separate them so many times - so like me to want to even argue with electrons and atoms - but they always ended up smacking into each other no matter what I did and the twirling little dance always ended with a dog collision. Inevitable. Worked every time. Without fail.

"The globes, Papa. They all spin their own way and yet they eventually make their way towards one another spinning together and with one purpose.

Is that right?"

He smiled.

Now my grownup mind understands such things. I know there really is no "trick" - I know they're just heavily plastered metal toys with magnet skates on the bottom - but I'm not a grownup today. I'm a seven year old on the floor with my Papa and we are playing from the box he mail ordered for me in the 1960's. And I am laughing. The dogs - and the dolls - and Papa.....still make me laugh.

I sighed. This observation is just too obvious. Magnets. Globes. Spinning earth balls. Earth Science. I get it. I get it! I turned to him and said, “I know all about this little analogy. I went to college and got a degree since you've been gone ya know. And anyway, I need to finish planting these pansies and get them all in a straight line the way she would....the way she would.....Papa?”

Papa?

He was gone.

And I was left with a tabletop full of little pink dolls piled on top of each other, delighted to be free of the box, criss-crossing on top of one another and laid crosswise in the jumbled life of another doll, too many for a seven year old to count, too tiny for a middle aged woman to see in great detail and yet.....somehow I knew they'd been waiting for just this hour to make their second debut into my life. Pink. Plastic. Fragile. Soft spoken. And yet....when I put them all together they make an enormous pile.

Like my globes.

“Why Mimi? Why? Why do you need so many?”

I never answered his question. That must be why he left. I suppose he is angry with me. I'll have to tell him another time about the blogger from Hong Kong and the man from Singapore and Idaho met Japan and tomorrow Italy promised to email Turkey....Israel and Poland and Tennessee and Michigan is helping Ireland make a globe and it doesn't matter how small their blogs may be, they all have a face and all have a voice and they just want to speak their ....oh never mind.
Hmmm.....It's been forty years and I still haven't played with all those dolls.

No time like the present.

So, I took them out of the box.

One by one.

A nurse, a dancer, an Indian man, two clowns, Spanish people, a ballerina, a little girl, a man speaking, a roping cowboy, a smiling cowgirl, a Buddhist monk, a Chinese man, a Mexican hat dancer, a Gypsy girl playing a tambourine, Bolero dancers, Little Bo Peep, all nationalities, all creeds, all expressions, all costumes of origin and a world of imagination at my fingertips that now played alone without the fumbling arthritic hand of the man who gave them to me so long ago.......a Peruvian girl, a small child playing ball, a colonial doll with a full skirt taking a bow (My favorite. She bowed a lot in those pre-pencil skirt days). I remembered how his hands were so large and gnarled, fumbling with the small creatures as they fell in his lap. I would laugh and we would start the dance again. The Buddha man would twirl with the Peruvian woman while the little boy with the ball - perhaps it was a jack-in-the-box - sat quietly in the middle of it all. They all got along in my peaceful box universe. The dolls in my box lived in one world, dancing and spinning around.

"I'll get that for you, Papa,” I said, “ the lady from Spain would like to dance with the Russian ballerina now if you don't mind........Papa!?”

I looked up from the land of pink twirling peace and saw a tear roll down his cheek and land on his steel-toed shoe.
I could tell he longed for our pink doll world of friendly global dancers and I so wanted to never see him sad again. “My life went sailing by," he said, "like a thin silk pansy leaf falling on the wisp of a breeze. I blinked and it was gone. Not much older than you are today. So much left to do. So much left to say. Many more flowers to plant. Many more stars to catch. More dances to dance. My work was not done...... But you knew that, didn't you, Mimi?

I did?

“All I know, Papa, is that I wasn't there that day. I canceled our outing and you left without me. You and grandmother went to the doctor and after that day, I never saw you again. Not ever again. I was angry because you did not say goodbye. I was angry that I did not say goodbye. And I longed to tell you all my tales and all my stories. I've waited for you to tell me what to do."

I put down the dolls and looked at his wisdom worn face, anxious for the answers that I needed. But he had a way of making me figure it out for myself. This day was no different.

“You do not need me to tell you what to do. I am proud of you and you are doing just fine. Just remember one thing: It takes all the dolls in the box to make the world a beautiful place, Mimi. . They can't hear what the other one has to say unless you introduce them to one another and set their feet to dancing.
Take them out of the box.”

Just take them out of the box.

That's it? That's the secret? Take them out of the box? But what about the globes? And the marbles? I jumped up to give him a hug the way I always did but he was gone.

Again.

In the bottom of the box I found a piece of yellow paper. It had my name on it, folded, in my grandmother's handwriting. I opened it. It was a speech I'd made in church for a Christmas program when I was 3 years old. He'd tucked it away in the bottom of my doll box. I smiled as I remembered that the best part of that day had been running down the church aisle and jumping into his white-sleeved arms for a hug and a kiss. If I ever doubted what my grandfather gave to me, and continues to instill in me even now, it is the simple power of love and a respect for all creatures large and small...

pink and Peruvian.

And that, my friends, is all we need.

*********
The Doll Box was written for the last BlogBlast For Peace in November 2007. I never know what I'm going to write until the last minute. Some strange sort of sensation hits me about the stroke of midnight on the eve of each launch. That's when Papa shows up. And honors me with a story.

First it was marbles, then pansies and dolls.

I wonder what he'll have to say on Thursday.....Maybe I'd better get some sleep. It could be a long - very long - night.

Be The Face of Change on November 5th ~ Blog Peace

This says it all.

It is why we blog peace.
The faces, the children, the soldiers,

families torn apart, chaos in a world of unrest.

These pictures tell a story.

You can voice your concerns with thousands of others this Thursday.

I am appalled by the needless suffering in my world.
I believe that words are powerful.... this matters.

Let The Peace Begin

It seems so odd to begin writing a regular blog post after posting about my dad's death on October 27th.

Oh. That is the first time I've actually put those two words together. Big sting. Deep breath. It's like I don't want to cover up what I wrote the day he died....it feels wrong....I can't explain it. I was alone with him when he passed and somehow his presence on this page helps me keep that sacred moment close to me. Does that make sense? Although the pain of watching him take his last breath was wrenching, there was a stillness and a raw electric energy I've never ever felt this side of Heaven's gates before. It was like being in a Holy place. I literally felt him leave. Call it the presence of God, the life force, or whatever you will....Holy Ground is Holy Ground.

It was an extraordinary moment.

And one I will write about later.

I know this too shall pass...the falling apart when I see chainsaws in the hardware store,
or fresh tomatoes on the vine (see his homegrown tomatoes here) or a Peanuts cartoon strip. So my friends tell me. And even though we laid him to rest on Thursday in his favorite Carolina shirt, it doesn't seem possible to me that he is really gone. This too shall pass?

So my friends tell me.

Today I asked my Papa, who must surely by now, be having a grand conversation with Daddy - to talk to him about the peace globes. Along about dinner time I started feeling OK about posting again and to talk to you like the friends you've become.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Your cards, your virtual hugs, your real-time hugs, your phone calls, your blessings, your poems, your marvelous peace globes, your letters, your chat messages, your candle lighting for my dad, your Facebook comments, your text messages, for forming a posse of Peace Globe Worker Bees to keep the peace spinning...I will forever be grateful and amazed.

Thank you for your Reiki and most of all your prayers.

One blogger brought me a real live hug all the way from his corner of the world. He knows.

Another blogger named Ferd (The Best Parts) brought his lovely wife Princess Gail and their son to stand with me at my dad's wake. Please visit his blog when you get a chance.

We met for the first time there and will share a peace globes celebration next week on November 5th at Bloggingham along with a few more bloggers in our area.

Can you imagine how special it was for me to meet them under those circumstances?

They showed enormous compassion to me and my family.

I have been inundated with overwhelming kindness.

I have been uplifted and held afloat by people I've never met.

I have been blessed with prayers for healing of my body and soul.

I have received support from many corners of the globe and held high in prayer by people of all faiths.

I wish for all of you the same in return a hundred times over

when you need it

when you least expect it

when you fall down in private

when you fall down in public (I seem to do that a lot)
I am living proof that there are angels on this earth walking around in human form..
I've met a whole slew of 'em (as Tarheel Daddy would say)

Thank you for holding me up
Thank you for holding my hand
Thank you for allowing me space
Thank you for giving me time when-oh-my-Lord-there-are-only-THREE-days left-til-BlogBlast-for-peace - I'm sure I will need some more downtime in a while.

Most of all, thank you for honoring my father with your words and deeds of compassion.

This sculpture stands outside the hospital where daddy spent the last few weeks of his life. Everyday I would pass by and think of the people who were taking time out of their day to hold me up. I felt your squeezes (Ann, that was for you)

your touch and your strength.

When I held my father's hand, he could feel it too.

And that made his journey home all the more filled with warmth and joy

Let the peace begin.

*My Daddy Is Gone**

How To Get Your Peace Globe

My Daddy Is Gone

Breathe in......Breathe out....

7:15 am October 27, 2009
When I step outside his room and close the door, it is just like he is still here and I am a teenager trying to sneak past the famous snore ......which always assured me I had time to make it back to my room without getting caught. Somehow this morning I am still in our house and he is still here and I am safe in my bed across the hall in this makeshift room.

So I will do now what I always did then.
A journal. A flashlight. A pen. .



7:20 am Today is not a good day to be in a coma Daddy..... Mimi wants to write.

They say hearing is the last sense to go. He could always hear my pen on the paper - even through a closed door.


But I would risk days of being grounded in my room with nothing but bread and water said she in her melodramatic teenage way if it would bring you back to me. Wanna know a secret? Solitude was never my punishment. It gave me pause to splatter my angst on papyrus sheets under lock and key stuffed under a pillow with only the sound.....the sound...the sound...



In. Out. Breathing. Breathe. In.

So if you don't mind - and I'm not being too grownup - I'd really like to make a rumble of a mess out here on the other side of this door cause we all hear that famous snore halfway to Liverpool and who can sleep with a sound like....

In.....Out....Breathe....Breathe....Out....Please Daddy Breathe....

7:25 am
Somewhere today if you let go of my hand and fly far far far away into a sea of fireflies spiraling in a well-lit park, know that it's OK and that I am fine.

You can go.

I mean, Daddy, really....I am fine.

And after all, it's time for you to teach some other pigtailed girl to step on a feedsack of sand and catch fly balls in the cool night air. Why do my feet feel like I'm running through molasses?
Breathe in. Breathe out.....

So when you take your virgin flight and hear someone at the door rustling the paper and the pen...........

don't look back

know that it's me flying with you, not you flying away, or me watchin you leave

but two on a journey we've never flown before

I know in a moment like this I should say 'Rest well'.
But that is not what I want you to do.
No.

I want you to fly headlong into some peaceful beautiful sky with your arms wide open full of base runs and golden apples

and me
I'll be here.
Just outside the door

The moon is full
Run the bases, Daddy.
Run the bases

November 26, 1933 - October 27, 2009

My daddy

He brought me into this world

and allowed me the tender honor this morning of ushering him out

Thank you for your prayers, your hugs, your love, your kindnesses, your support these last thirty days while I helped him make his journey home. His passing taught me more than I can begin to retell at the moment. But I will. Tonight the rain is pouring buckets of gratitude, grace, and visions of lessons learned at my father's bed.

From The Great Book of Starr Ann

What do peace blogger say? Hear their cry. One voice at a time.

"As for my own thoughts on Peace this day? I'm trying to reconcile the hope in my heart over President Obama's election with my despair over the plight of those who won't make it to see whether he lives up to our incredibly high expectations - new refugees in the Congo who aren't going to make it, American troops who are yet to be killed, all the species that aren't going to make it - the list could go on far longer than we have time for here.

Starr Ann and I will keep reminding ourselves of the Osiris myth - the one where the main goal in life is to make it through with a light heart - and in that spirit, we'll allow our souls to soak up the peace while scanning the horizon for ways to spread the joy around."

So sayeth Margo Moon at The Starr Ann Chronicles from peace globe #1352

What will YOU say?

Join us !

9 days and counting....

November 5, 2009
The Peace Globe Gallery

**Thank you for the continued prayers and support for my dad.**

Luggage Can Be Peaceful Too Ya Know

What do peace bloggers say? Hear their cry. One blog at a time.

"World peace... Folks, work on creating peace in your homes, in your circle of friends, in your relationship with your mate. Small gestures have great impact...Be honest, respectful, because "peace is every step.... "

So sayeth a girl and her luggage from the great land of Canada....and someone who is my most excellent friend. The blog is Transition (formerly known as Anndi's Luggage).

The girl is a peace globe worker bee. The message is faithful and true.

What will you say?

Join us November 5, 2009
November 5, 2009
The Peace Globe Gallery

Let It Begin With Me

What do peace bloggers say? Hear their cry. One voice at a time.

"And many decades later, I wonder if everyone were to think of the words in that simple hymn, say them over and over again and then, try to practice doing just that by recognizing the equality that should be present between all races, all cultures, male, female, if by remembering and doing that, we might -just possibly -bring about an end to all the conflict that exists........
Worth a try isn't it if it might, just might, resolve, bit by bit, a small conflict here, a little larger one there and on and on it could go but only if we each resolve to give it a try.

I'm willing. Are you?"

So sayeth Jennifer Ertmer at Down River Drivel in Grassflat, PA - November 2008 Peace globe #1327

Then along came Mary from Ontario, Canada (Mary's Writing Nook globe #1347) writing her own incredible post
and commenting on Jennifer's post,

"Too many try to love with clenched fists."

and the circle of peace keeps going.


What will YOU say?

Join us November 5, 2009

The Peace Globe Gallery

**Thank you for continuing to pray for my dad and our family. I do feel your support.**

Mickey and Jamie Nudging Peace

What do peace bloggers say? Hear their cry. One voice at a time.

"Words are innocent. If you get the right ones in the right order, you can nudge the world a little: Say "Peace"

So sayeth Jamie who writes Durward Discussion and Take This Tune in Washington in a comment on Mickey's Musings in Nova Scotia, Canada last November. I like it!
What will YOU say?

Join us November 5, 2009

The Peace Globe Gallery

Ripples of Peace from Suffolk

What do peace bloggers say? Hear their cry. One voice at a time.

"My one small voice may not be able to stop the wars around the world...but if it will make you stop and think and prevent one petty squabble...who knows...maybe like a pebble dropped into a lake...the ripples of peace will spread."

So sayeth From Ruth who writes Me, My Life, My Garden in Great Cornard, Suffolk, United Kingdom ~ No
November 2008 ~ Peace Globe #1318

What will YOU say?
Join us November 5, 2009

November 5, 2009
The Peace Globe Gallery

Montenegro Weighs In On The Power of Peace

What do peace bloggers say? Hear their cry. One voice at a time.
"I live in a country right now that endured a sanction. A country that had nothing to do with the conflicts. While the trouble-makers were a small rebel group, the rest of the world believed it was the entire government and the ordinary citizen who were behind 'atrocities'.

A country where the ordinary people had to line up for bread and oil, and those things were only available on certain days. Where there were no jobs, little hope, and nights were passed watching cross-fire in the distance. For what? For some Big Shots to line their pockets in a faraway land. War is big bucks, to the Big Shots."

So sayeth From Holistic Mama ~ Montenegro ~ November 2008 - the first peace blogger from that country - Peace globe #1300
What will you say?Join us November 5, 2009
The Peace Globe Gallery

Global Thinking of A Gigantic Kind

What do peace bloggers say? Hear their cry. One blog at a time.

"We cannot control those who make the decisions about war or absence of war. We cannot control the troubled minds that seek out conflict or violence against others or themselves. We cannot control each and every motive and decision that affects our world.

What we can control is the way we think. What we think has very real effect. What we think is more important than policy, regulation, deregulation, the price of oil, wallstreet, mainstreet or the next Saturday Night Live skit.

The way we think in our own lives changes everything for us and for everyone who comes in contact with us and this is true of us as a nation, a global village, and as a planet.

If we could train our minds to truly see peace, we would have it. Not in a "poof, there's peace" way but I think it would be in measurable, visible ways for those with an eye to see them.

It's powerful. It cannot fail. If we do this together, the Universe will make it happen. I promise."

So sayeth Lisa Plummer from Groggy Froggy in Roanoke, Virginia peace globe #1295.
What will you say?


Join us November 5th

**Please continue to pray for my dad. And thank you for all the emails and cards that are really lifting my spirits.

Giving Voice To The Passion of Peace

What do peace bloggers say? Hear their cry. One blog at a time.

"I try to live peace on a daily basis. I don't always succeed. Sometimes I let anger and frustration rule. Peace is far more productive. And, I sleep better than my enemies do."

So sayeth Quilly from Honolulu, Hawaii in a comment to Maremagnum who resides in Spain.

What will you say?

Join us November 5th

How To Get Your Peace Globe ~ 2009

Welcome to BlogBlast For Peace Day 2009. Please sign HERE on today's post and below as well if you wish. Have a wonderful day reading peace on the Internet.

November 5, 2009
Bloggers from all across the globe
will blog for peace.
We will speak with one voice.
One subject.
One day.

How To Get Your Peace Globe
Here's how to do it in 4 easy steps!

1. Choose one of the Peace Globe designs shown below. Right CLICK and SAVE in JPG format.


2. Sign the globe using Paint, Photoshop or a similar graphics tool. Decorate the globe anyway you wish. You can even include the name of your blog. Click here for hundreds thousands of inspiring examples from previous BlogBlasts. If you don't feel comfortable with design, simply use any that you see on this page.


3. Return the peace globe to me via email ~ blogblastforpeace at yahoo.com and sign the Mr. Linky below. Leave a comment and your blog's name and url in the Mr. Linky. Your submission will be numbered and dated in the official gallery . Your globe and post will be listed on the Official BlogBlast For Peace website and The Peace Globe Posts page.


4. On November 5, 2009 DISPLAY YOUR GLOBE IN A POST on your blog OR POST IT ON YOUR FACEBOOK PAGE or WALL. Title your post "Dona Nobis Pacem" - Latin for "Grant Us Peace". This is important. The goal is for all blog post titles to say the same thing on the same day. Write about peace that day or simply fly your globe. Click here for examples of peace globe posts from previous BlogBlasts. If you'd like to read about the history of this movement, go here.
   

Please post this badge on your site to promote

or feel free to use it as your globe on November 5. November 5, 2009

The Peace Globe Gallery<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://http://mimiwrites.blogspot.com/2009/02/how-to-get-your-peace-globe-2009.html" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297542485759732738" border="0" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 90px;" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IMCsoHEmcok/SYSm0r4_rAI/AAAAAAAAraI/guAb2aiEQXw/s200/blogblastlogoblankcroppedoriginallogo.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><center>November 5, 2009</center></span><br/></span></div><center style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><a href="http://peaceglobegallery.blogspot.com/">The Peace Globe Gallery</a></span></center>

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Our IPEACE Group


Other Related Links: Why BlogBlast is now ANNUALLY instead of twice a year A Call To Send Our Peace Globes To The White House Thirty Days Thirty Reasons To Blog For Peace
Blue Whales and Bubbles Sharing My Heart The Official Site of BlogBlast For Peace The Peace Globe Gallery Happy Birthday, John Lennon Voices from Iowa Peace Globes Came Calling ~ On Television? Monday Mimisms ~ Why? What Have You Heard? Wild Peace I Do Not Intend to Sleepwalk ~ Remembering 9/11
Shadows On a Stone ~ Voices of Our Time (my November 6, 2008 peace post) The Silence of Peace (#1 Nov 2006) Dona Nobis Pacem (#2 June 2007) The Doll Box (#3 Nov 2007) A Revolution of Words ~ Changing Queen In An Upside World (#4 June 2008)

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Copyright © 2006-2009 Mimi Lenox. All Rights Reserved.

Monday Mimisms ~ You see, there were these bees....

....and before I knew it, they were a'flittin' and a'flying around the internet dropping ripples like sweet dripping honey on a sweetness starved day.

Where did they come from?
Glad you asked.

Once upon a time in a faraway right here on this blog universe, there was a very tired Queen. Ahem. That would be moi.

She was busy tending to personal matters of an extremely painful kind. Her father was very sick, still is very sick, and the Queen was overwhelmed...with worry and to-do lists and angst and not enough hours in the day to brush her hair much less wage a peace campaign. But that's not what this is about really. And this where the Queen steps out of her third-person-3 dimensional- Internet self and speaks from her heart. That would be now. Ahem.

Has there ever been a time in your life when it was so full of hurricane force winds that the days start to run together? You can't tell day from night? You forget what day it is? My life for the past 22 days has been like that. I've been sitting with my dad at every possible moment as he fights with his liver and his heart in a Palliative Care unit not so far away. He is still very sick and will most likely be moved to a Hospice facility soon. My sister and my mother have also been there. It has been and continues to be one of the most sobering and painful times in my life....watching him slip away and try with all his might to stay.....reversing the roles....his pain, his struggles, learning about end-of-life stages of a disease....and becoming a parent at times to the man who raised me.



This was and is my view from the third floor.

Had it not been for a certain group of blogger friends - and I do mean friends - I'm not sure I'd even be posting this tonight. But I had to take a moment to do so. It would not be like them to want credit, to ask to be named or to seek glory or praise for themselves, in fact, they might just be embarrassed. I am not. I am honored and humbled at the lengths to which they've gone to keep me surrounded with concern, laughter, advice, prayers, offering open safe spaces for venting, phone calls to and from them at all hours of the day and night came my way and continue to.. At one point there were over 300 emails in one day within the group (!) and when it was impossible for me to respond I'd always read what they were saying as I wandered the halls to the cafeteria or sat while Daddy slept, while I tried to keep working and singing and carrying on running on empty and full of adrenaline. They cracked me up. They made me cry. They were - and are - my net...........so Vinny and Nancy, Travis and Pam, Julie, Katherine, Starr, Desert Songbird, Anndi and Dawn.....you're busted.

My heart and mind has not been on blogging, my posts have been sparse. They knew how much the loss of that connection, especially at this time, would bother me. They started an email thread to make it easier for me to keep in contact with all of them about my dad. This little group, in addition to so many of you who've emailed regularly offering comfort and hugs - literally has become my lifeline.

I will post the details of some of my shenanigans later when things calm down and how some of you played a major role in them at a later date (I'm talking to you, Julie) -like the cute security guard caper in the House of Death or the night I spent in the emergency room downstairs from daddy in the same hospital with a half-crazed man on a stretcher (don't ask) and really, do you want to hear that the Queen cussed in the hospital Chapel?
I didn't think so.

But back to the Bees and me.
I had a Blackberry. I had a laptop.
They had a plan.

Just when I was about to break out in hives - literally - they started a hive.
Literally. Vinny had a brainstorm and it was all a buzz from the get-go. There is no stopping them, I tell ya. Remember how every year the CAT BLOSOPHERE is a force to be reckoned with? (and still is...I bow to the kitties) Now we have winged bees!
I know they love me and I love them. We've been through a lot of "stuff" together. I also know they love peace globes. Many of them met through the movement way back in 2006 (that's a loooong time ago in blog years) and are fiercely passionate about it. We've grown together as a group of bloggers with a common purpose and some sort of magical thing that gets hold of all of us this time of year. I can't explain it. They can't explain it. But the first week of November is nothing short of inspiring. And that is because of all of YOU.

The globes spin, the world speaks, the tears flow, and every year the posts I read become more powerful. And although the Universe has thrown a huge challenge my way this year, I have a solid inclination in my heart-of-hearts that this year is going to inspire all of us in ways we never expected. For my dad I want peace.....in whatever form that takes. I am ready for him to be at peace and out of pain. That has taken some internal work - work I couldn't have accomplished without the time I needed to back away from the blog a bit - permission granted by the Worker Bees en force.

They said it was OK for me to let go.....in more ways than one.
I don't know all of what they've planned in that Beehive of theirs (I've been politely told to BUTT OUT and GET SOME REST) but I know that today they're planning to launch a massive meme offensive sometime around midnight Blogosphere Standard Time.
I am quite sure the United Nations missile defense system is not as well-organized, from what I hear through the brapevine.

Don't be surprised if Google goes down today. It could happen.


Sidebar: No, you are not hallucinating. There is an ocean in the hospital...and it makes wavy sounds. Baby Boy loves it!

I have had some downtime and rest today. It's been good to focus on the Facebook peace project and simple household chores for a change. The upcoming week promises to be difficult. I am still tending to my precious dad, making decisions about work and his placement, and feeling the stress of the time crunch of this launch.....but not nearly as much as I did before the bees showed up.

I'm quite sure that tomorrow's thread convo will be back to "Why did they give him this medicine NOW??" and "Why can't I find a decent cup of coffee in the whole hospital??" and "PUHLEASE somebody keep me from having a meltdown right here and now." ....to which I will either receive a "Snap out of it, Mimi! Don't make me come over there" from Starr, a virtual hug from Nancy, a prayerful tune from Songbird, a poem from Travis, an across-the-border Canadian phone call from Anndi, a stern "Drink your water, Dear" from Vinny, marvelous sage advice from Kat, a giggle from Julie or simply "Just checking. You're in my heart and my prayers today" from Dawn, who by the way, climbed a rock in the wilds of Newfoundland to wave at me and take a picture which she won't let me post. .....

To say "thank you" is totally inadequate and besides, I will admit, I still need them and depend on them. And YOU guys, my readers, just to know you are here and praying for my dad and the whole situation with comments and letters and chats to check in...how can I ever repay you? I've had to learn to lean on somebody else - all of you - and trust that it will work out.

I now understand that's OK. That's what they expect. That is what they do. It's in the Worker Bee Manual or something.

I must do my part and let the bees buzz.
Hands off the Beehive.


So if you see this Worker Bee thing buzzing through the sphere, consider offering them a hand if you feel so inclined and know this: It was not borne of minutiae, cuteness, boredom, or trivial fodder ran amok; but of concern for someone who needed help, of friendship, and a commitment to a common passion known as Peace Globes.



When one fell down - that would be moi - a whole hive came to my rescue.

It's not likely I'll ever forget it.