Mimi Writes.......

Goodbye To Our Friend, Sarge Charlie

2012-01-30T07:30:00.000-05:00

When I heard from Sanni today that our blogger friend Charles Cordle aka Sarge Charlie had passed away...it was a sad moment. The Old Sarge (as he liked to call himself) was a larger than life voice in the blogosphere with many friends and followers. He was an outspoken conservative, proud family man, and believed in fighting the good fight - no matter which fight he happened to land in. When he was diagnosed with cancer and began to blog about it, I was amazed by his positive spirit and willingness to share his struggles. There were good days and bad, but they were all classic Charlie.

Early in the fall of 2011 he sent me his peace globe ahead of time. I posted it on Facebook as an inspiration and example for others to see. He was pleased.
He wrote, "Our life is an open book, we dream of peace in our lifetime. Work to fulfill your dream before your book is closed."

Those words will remain with me. Thank you, Sarge.

His wife of forty-four years was truly the love of his life. Sarge and Miss Bee aka Empress Bee of The High Seas began peace blogging with us in 2006. Sarge usually made a patriotic statement and Bee held high court as Empress Bee "bringing peace to the high seas" she would say, as they were often found living life on some cruise ship in the middle of an ocean. Their relationship was one of solid companionship and love, as he recounted today in his farewell post, telling how he followed her to Baltimore way back in the day and won her heart.

Our sympathies go out to her and the rest of their large family.
Her blogosphere family will need to keep tabs on her and see that she is surrounded with support and far-fetched hugs.

I will remember him as a man who loved his family, served his country, loved his country and spoke his mind. How honorable a thing also, to be able to write your own epitaph which he did so eloquently today. It was a bittersweet and unselfish gesture.

Sarge Charlie, Saigon 1968

Many will curse the cancer that invaded his body and that is certainly appropriate, but the origins of that illness began in a southeast Asian country as the result of Agent Orange, the poisonous chemical that thousands of servicemen were subjected to and paid dearly for later in their lives. I learned a lot of history by reading Sarge's blog. He never sugar-coated the realities of combat or the hellish arena of war. He experienced it up close and personal and always maintained that a soldier wants peace above all. Sarge Charlie always wanted to be a soldier and that he was. Just once more I'd like to say....Dear Sarge, Thank you for your service to my country. We didn't agree on several things politically, but we did agree on peace.He lost his life because of war. We blog peace not only to keep the flame burning, but also for the Sarge Charlies of the world whose lives were forever changed and altered as a direct consequence of battle.

This was his first peace globe in 2006. He and Miss Bee are part of the original peace blogging crew. The slideshow above displays all twelve peace globes submitted by him over the years. They are all distinctively Charlie and very inspiring.I will continue to post them each year. His voice will be heard on and on for the cause of peace. I can't think of a better way to honor a soldier.
Sarge did not see peace in his lifetime but he knows peace now.Soldier on.
Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2012

#blog4peace #blogblast4peace

Mimi In A Minute #30 ~ It's A Bird, It's A Plane, It's Newt

2012-01-26T20:00:00.000-05:00

These things keep me up at night. They give me a headache.

I just need sixty seconds of your time to unclog my pencil brain so that I can get some sleep.

Do you mind?

I have a few things to say. This is Mimi unplugged.

Hide your children.

Today the news is full of sinking ships, sinking politicians, sinking polls, and stinkin' candidates. Some jumped ship. Some jumped the shark. Still others swam around in the dark. Not to fear. Google and Wikipedia climbed on board the murky waters of online piracy and threw out an anchor. SOPA protesters protested. Occupiers are still occupying anything and everything in sight. Even online thieves are at odds with each other. Have you noticed Google keeps trying to change its stripes? And there is no end in ~~site~~ sight. Meanwhile Mitt Romney released his tax returns, Newt released his vengeance and Google released a new privacy policy.

To all shark jumpers and wannabe shark jumpers on the campaign trail: Please, for the love of all that is salty, drop out now and save the rest of the country some toil and trouble. JUMP. We need a new batch of sharks.
To NASA space photographers: Do you reaaaallly think we buy that story about solar flares from the sun causing spectacular northern lights in our Minnesota skies? Don't you know about the Chinese New Year celebrations?

and you call yourself scientists

To GOOGLE on your new Privacy Policy:

I don't want you to read my mind. I want you to give me what I ask for and not what your advertisers want me to see. I am sick of getting pictures of Angelina when I asked for Brad Pitt.

To All who Googled Mitt Romney's tax returns:Get.A.Life.

Dear Newt Gingrich: (aka the United States Republican presidential candidate who wants to build a moon colony and travel in a spaceship to Mars during his time in the White House. Yes. Really.)

In the words of the great Democrats of the past.....
It does not take a full moon to build a village.

For the past thirty or so years I've watched my hard-earned tax dollars evaporating into thin air. If you want to send them into space we'll hardly notice. But if there's one thing I've learned to do well it's thrive on a shoestring.
I could save the American people a bucketful of money.
All you have to do is wait for a Half Moon Half Off Sale.

Simple. Do the math, Bloggy People.(I should run for office)
Eureka!! I found a man named Lee Kleinrock (thanks, Mr. Google!) who supposedly invented the Internet way back in the 1950s or at the very least he was the first one to write a paper about the process of connectivity. He didn't need any privacy laws because nobody knew how to work it but him. Now THAT'S capitalism. Do you see the words GOOGLE anywhere on this machine? I didn't think so.

And it was so clever of him to design it to look like a refrigerator door.

To the political people counters of I-o-wa: U-Owe-Us a caucus recount. Michelle Bachmann could have won that debate and she wasn't even there. Was she?

I know you're tired of hearing from me but Dear Mr. Google: Did you think to ask Al Gore? We all know he reaaaaalllly invented the Internet AND all the rain forests AND orange Kool-Aid AND paperless voting machines AND long underwear (I got that on very reliable terms). I'm telling you all this privacy nonsense is politically motivated!! I do not think it is fair to call the Captain of the shipwrecked cruise ship in Italy Chicken of The Sea. I heard he was having lobster for dinner when the vessel ran amok.

and finally... Dear Google: I said "Hugh Jackman" not Cracker Jacks. I will never get his attention with this interference!!
Your new privacy policy is that there is no privacy....
except on the moon, there's plenty of privacy there. Hey Newt! Have your people call my people.

Whew! I feel better. Thanks for listening.

Sixty seconds flew by. I think my blogsomnia is cured.

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2012*photographs Public Domain*

#blog4peace #blogblast4peace

Monday Mimisms ~ A Dream in The Year of The Dragon 2012

2012-01-23T20:00:00.000-05:00

It's been a strange week in the kingdom of Bloggingham. Highs and lows and emotional highways galore! Good thing I have my trusty friends to help smooth the pavement and lift me over the bumps.

Last night I had the strangest dream. (Do I hear John Denver singing?) Coupled with the fact that today is the Chinese New Year 2012 and the most important traditional celebration in Chinese culture, it's downright spooky. According to my research (which I did AFTER the dream - that's important) the dragon is a symbol of good fortune and intense power, ushering in a new day of prophetic significance. The Dragon carries a pearl in hand, symbolizing supernatural powers. All over the world today people are celebrating what is considered the luckiest year in the Chinese zodiac. And for those acquainted with astrological similarities, this year is to be a Water Year, associated with the Earthy Branch symbol increasingly flowing with unpredictable events. Since water is a symbol of life, I'll take that to be a good sign.

But I'm not so sure last night was a good sign in the Kingdom of Bloggingham. At least I wasn't at first. I was stressed out tired and fell into a deep sleep. It was strange you see...very very strange. Not long before I awoke this morning, I met someone. Someone awesome! She was the last framed page in a fast forward dream that came quickly and mightily through my brain at the break of dawn.

Let me explain.

I've been known to experience waking dreams, prophetic dreams, lucid dreams, in-color dreams and am a notorious sleepwalker. Strange dreams are not unusual for me. But this night it began in black and white. I was having a conversation with my son. He was in a little boy's body wearing his Little League uniform and spoke in his now grown-up voice. We talked about the year he was thirteen, a troubling transformational year it was for him, and in that discussion he explained to me - in his now clear-sighted way - what was going through his mind at that time and how he dealt with it. He told me things I tried to understand for years and never knew.
Now I know.

Then suddenly I was in another place in time. Scenes in color began to play out, one at a time, faster and faster they went. Many many pages turning forward like watching a storyboard come to life.... except they weren't stories at all - they were people I knew mixed with people I didn't know. And yet, somehow, I knew them and knew they were or would be part of my life. Baby Boy and his little brother were there - all grown up - and growing older with each turn of the page. I remember thinking, "This must be one of those your-life-flashes-before-you moments in reverse because I'm watching my whole future play out before me instead. Does this mean I'm not going to wake up?" There were gatherings, hugs, happiness. Crowds of laughing joyful events and monumental occasions. Graduations, weddings, memorials and parties. I was there.

The pages turned like watching a movie and I experienced my life flash forward. I knew I was dreaming and I knew I was watching. And I knew it was rare. So I paid great attention - not so much to who all the people were or trying to identify them all, but wanting more to participate in the emotional aspects of each page, enjoying the natural progression of change and time and movement. It seemed that all of the important things to me were included.

On the last page of the book I could see a young woman of about 25-30 years of age. She had a warm spirit about her and she was telling a story with great animation, talking with her hands and laughing. She had long auburn hair with more redness than mine, dancing eyes, a beauty mark like my mother's on her right cheek and eyes like my new baby grandson's mother. She bore my son's olive complexion and a wrinkle in her nose. That wrinkle. That wrinkle.
It was mine.

I knew the answer to the question instantly but I asked anyway. "Who is she?"

"She's your granddaughter," came the answer.

The frames stopped, the story ended and I awoke.

I don't know what the Year of The Dragon means for me or if it means anything at all... but I hope I never forget her face. Because one day I will meet her.

And more than anything in the world I want to hear that story. Don't you?

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2012

#blog4peace #blogblast4peace*photography Mimi Lenox*

I'm Greatly Afeared For The Birds ~ Aren't You?

2012-01-22T14:24:00.000-05:00

It's January. I've seen sixty degree temperatures, rain, more spring weather, a little fog and a lot of confused weathermen. Where is the snow? Where is winter? What happened to the birds that flew south? Has anyone checked on them?
They must be in a terrible tizzy by now. Will they ever return? I'm afraid they'll turn into cuckoo birds with all this confusion.

Last year I took these shots outside in the ice and snow. And even though I don't like the headaches and danger icy roads bring, it would be nice to see a flake or two.

Don't say it. Just don't say it.

I think I'll sit down on these steps and watch the weather for awhile. Wanna join me?

Peace

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2012

#blog4peace #blogblast4peace

There Are Weeks....and Then There Are Weeks

2012-01-20T20:50:00.000-05:00

Once in a while....you reach for somethingjust for the sake of reachingand realize that what you thought you were looking foris something entirely different. Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2012

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But Can He Boil Water?

2012-01-17T11:20:00.000-05:00

Relationships, relationships, relationships. They can be soooo complicated. And yet so simple. I don't think it's rocket science.
What do you think? Let's play a meme.
(The Queen's Meme #107)

1. What is the one thing in a relationship you will not compromise?

Trust

2. What is the one thing in a relationship you will not tolerate?

Lying

3. What is the main difference between the male and female brain?

I refuse to answer this question on the grounds that it may cause me to be dateless next Saturday night.

4. Instead of Mars and Venus, what would you name your love planets?

If my current interest and potential relationship doesn't work out, I can always date myself.

5. Do you believe in love matching astrology charts? Have you ever found them to be helpful?

I have found them to be helpful in hindsight. Had I only known that Water Sign was a big mistake, I would have worn a life jacket.

6. Is it more important that your partner be attentive to your practical needs or your romantic needs?

It depends on how hungry I am at the moment. As you know, I cannot cook. My significant other (aren't all others significant btw?) must know how to at least boil water and throw in a carrot. But I will clean up after dinner wearing my pencil skirt (or my hoola Hawaiian atrocity) which more than makes up for slaving over a hot stove - if he's paying attention (!!) he won't be in hot water. Then we can go on to the second part of that question.

7. How much do past relationships have to do with your present relationship?

Zilch in the sense that they matter in the present. Mucho in the sense that you learned from your mistakes and more about yourself. That is the only part of any past relationship that should be brought into a new one.

It's all good.

Over and out.

Monday Mimisms ~ Martin's Words and Gandhi's Fire

2012-01-16T19:25:00.000-05:00

In 1964 Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr received the Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts to end racial discrimination and segregation through the avenues of civil disobedience and other non-violent means. He was also awarded the Catholic Pacem in Terris Award (Peace on Earth). It is awarded "to honor a person for their achievements in peace and justice, not only in their country but in the world."

Four years after his work for social justice began in the streets of Montgomery, forcing social issues to the forefront and into the American and international psyche, he began to focus his energies on stopping the Vietnam War and ending poverty. He started a process of shifting, re-sifting, toppling norms and ideologies long held by establishments at odds with anything resembling human dignity and justice. These monumental shifts in the soul of our nation and the world are largely attributed to his courage and his voice.

Oh, but there was more to the man.

I was reminded today that he was inspired by the writings and teachings of another such activist.

When Dr. King visited India in 1959, he came away with a profound respect and understanding of the non-violent teachings of Mahatma Gandhi. He later reflected, "Since being in India, I am more convinced than ever before that the method of nonviolent resistance is the most potent weapon available to oppressed people in their struggle for justice and human dignity. In a real sense, Mahatma Gandhi embodied in his life certain universal principles that are inherent in the moral structure of the universe, and these principles are as inescapable as the law of gravitation."

He knew how to connect spiritual laws with scientific laws, science with morality, spoken words with unspoken fire, and generations of spiritual evolution into threads of commonalities within all cultures and religions while steadfastly holding to his own. Intrinsic ideas and truths became actions and deeds.

It is always the intrinsic that matters the most.

What I admire and appreciate about Martin Luther King, more than the amazing dream speech, more than his courage, more than his learned theological spirit, and even more than his political and social causes of injustice and equality..... was his ability to intellectually intertwine all of those attributes and aspirations into powerful common sense purpose. The sum of all those parts made his greatness. Sometimes we focus on a few shining moments of publicity and grandeur so long that we forget what made him great in the first place. He knew who he was. That was his true genius.
He surrounded himself with learned men, intimate and scholarly mentors, often controversial, books and a love of words, prayers, and a burning desire to pour out what was inside of him in letters and essays to the rest of us, even from a Birmingham Jail . Because he honored the wisdom of others, to his credit, we not only find a profoundly cerebral giant among men, we find humility. We mostly remember a speech, a bullet, a march, a statue, a remarkable iconic individual - and all those things are to be upheld and revered about the man - but what lay underneath is more important to me, because without that brilliant, questioning, analytical ability to connect the dots and eloquently espouse them into one cohesive truth the whole world could understand, there wouldn't have been a march, a speech, or a movement.
The rest of his legacy would have been impossible to achieve and he would have become not a shining human light upon a hill of ugly darkness or a seeker of truth in Gandhi's shadow, but just another speech maker, noise maker, rabble-rouser and activist marching down roads at the whim of every wind with no direction and no clear path. No leader can lead walking blindly around corners of pivotal change and unrest, and take others with him, unless he already knows what lies ahead.
So today I celebrate Martin the man. The thinker. The preacher. The spirit. The leader. And a man who understood who he was, where he'd been, and where he was going.This is one of my favorite quotes by Dr. King.
"All I'm saying is simply this, that all life is interrelated, that somehow we're caught in an inescapable network of mutuality tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly. For some strange reason, I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be. You can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be. This is the interrelated structure of reality."
—Dr. Martin Luther King Jr

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2012

#blog4peace #blogblast4peace*All images Public Domain*

D Is For Drive

2012-01-12T21:00:00.000-05:00

It was time for my 5,000 mile complimentary service maintenance on my car. So, today I drove through a torrential rainstorm and fog to get to my appointment, arriving ten minutes late because I drove 25 miles an hour through the streets and byways. The people behind me were most unhappy, but who cares? I know a dangerous mud-puddle when I see one.

The car dealership is highly customer-service conscious. I went to the lounge and waited with three others, eating the ~~cholesterol-laden~~ dinner I brought in with me and trying to de-stress from the monsoon drive. There was gourmet coffee waiting, a big screen TV and cushy chairs. One of the salesmen , a very nice man indeed, showed up with extra napkins (was I being messy?) just to be nice. ~~I was probably being messy~~
"I thought you could use some of these. Enjoy your dinner." And he didn't "ma'am" me. I so hate the ma'am. Mucho points. A few minutes later he brought back little wet towelettes for me to wash my hands with! Wait. Did I accidentally check into the Hilton?

I looked around. Nope. The desk sign said PARTS, not Hotel California. Wonder if he has any mints....no, just no, I won't ask.

Parts. Parts! Service! I forgot to tell them something. I went to the PARTS window. This is never a good idea in my world. Never.

"I would like to talk to my mechanic, please. I need to tell him something."

I realize that this is a bit like asking to have a word of prayer with your surgeon AFTER he's cut open your internal cuticles, but still, it was necessary. A few minutes later another nicely groomed but greasy man came to my rescue.
"I forgot to tell you that the car is making a sound."
"What kind of sound?"
"Well, it sounds sort of like vrooommmm vrooom vrom but it never gets all the way to vrroooooooooooooom."
Blank stares.

"You know, like it never changes gears. I keep waiting for it to change gears but I swear it never does. SOMEtimes it does, when I'm on the big highway, but usually through slow-poke town it just makes that noise."
"And what kind of noise did you say it made?"
Sigh.

"You know.....don't you? That noise a car makes JUST BEFORE it's about to change into 2nd gear, but then it doesn't. Like hhhhhmmmmmmmmMMMMMMMmmmmm!!!!" (You hear that, too, don't you Bloggy People?) Sort of anti-climatic and disappointing (I left that description out) He wasn't getting it. I decided to try the old process of elimination approach. Perhaps his learning style was not aural, but more verbal. Brilliant!

"It's not a tick-tick-tick-tick sound or a knock knock sound (trying to remember all the sounds that Goober would make at Wally's Filling Station on the Andy Griffith show) or a put-put-puttter sound. It's steady. And loud. And worrisome. It makes a crescendo. I think my car is going to blow up."
Don't they know ANYthing about music?

How could he not understand this? I am very good at making noises, in fact, I have a degree in it. I can even make the noise in another language if you'd like. The other guy looked at him and said, "I think she means the transmission."

"Yes! That is exactly what I mean. The transmission!"

"Your car is only six months old. It's probably not the transmission, but we'll check it out."

"And another thing, Mr. Nice Man. It doesn't drink any oil. None. Nada. Not a drop. I keep taking it to the service station. ('cause there's this NNNNNOISE) They do the dipstick thing and always say the same thing. That I don't need oil and everything is fine. How can I drive 5,000 miles and not need any oil? That is not normal....is it?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am" (curse of the ma'am!) New cars use new technology with synthetic oil. You won't need oil for another 5,000 miles."

I looked at him like the mere child that he was and sent him on his way to find out what was making the John Cage symphony in my car.

Meanwhile, I cornered the lucky salesman again, discussing installation of a remote entry and Viper alarm system. "Do you want to be able to start and warm up your car from your Smartphone?" he asked. "Heck no. Why would I want to do that? I don't want my Smartphone and all the people in it to know where my car is."

That settles that. "I would like remote control access using a FOB remote control like normal if you don't mind, please."
Using my Smartphone to start my car would be like using my toothbrush to make the coffee.

Enter mechanic with the news.

"I'm afraid to ask, but what is wrong with my car?"

"Nothing."

"But but but...there HAS to be. What about the noise??! It made it all the way here."

"We drove it. We didn't hear any noise. Tires are rotated, computer systems are perfect, everything is balanced and ready to go."

It was like when you go to the doctor and all your symptoms go away as soon as you get there. I was miffed. He walked me to the garage. I started to open the door to the betraying-little-thing sitting there silently smirking at me when I just had to ask one more time. "No noise? But. How? It's loud and ...steady..and hummmmmmming and...LOUD! Like it's in 2nd gear all the time!"

Then light dawned.
"Ummmm...are you putting the car into drive?

"Well, of course I'm putting the car into drive. How could it drive if I didn't tell it to drive?"

"Show me," he said.

Ah ha! He was a tactile learner. I should have known.

"Are you having trouble getting the cruise control to set?"
"Why, yes, yes I am!"

Are you ready for this? I was putting the car in OVERdrive, Bloggy People. THIRD gear. Not second, not first, not fifth. THIRD. I never heard the transmission change because it wasn't changing.

"See the "3" beside the odometer?"
"Yep."
"That is third gear. You want to always see the D there. D is for......"

"DRIVE!" I chimed in using my best coloratura accent. "D is for Drive!"

Who knew???! I was so happy to learn that D is for drive and that my car is not going to blow up and I had been over-driving the poor tired thing all this time with just a slight shift to the left instead of the right vowing to take a long hard look at the actual manual when I get home and wondering why it's more difficult to work the CD player than the gear shift even if I AM doing it wrong and actually quite delighted that he didn't ma'am me not once.

But still. He doesn't know a THING about music.

I told you there was a noise.

Monday Mimisms ~ Coffee and Curtains

2012-01-09T11:23:00.004-05:00

Do you suppose if I went around back and knocked on the kitchen door, she'd answer?I miss her.I need to talk to her.

The last time I saw her she was lying in a blue gown and her face was peaceful and still. She looked very much like a china doll. I kissed her face and tried to remember the last thing I'd said to her. It wasn't enough. I knew that.

A few years after my Papa died, she'd married again. The linens, the silverware, the china and bowls...all mixed in with someone's life she'd never known in a kitchen they shared when one left by death and the other entered in matrimony. But that didn't matter to me. While I missed the kitchen she shared with us all those years in the tiny house on the tiny street in town, I knew her magic began when I sat down across from her. She would bring a cup of coffee. Even as a child she let me drink coffee. I wanted to be "grown up" and have grown up conversations. She somehow understood that and then hid the coffee cup when my parents came in. That was our talk time. We didn't have enough of those days. Some of that was my fault.

There was a pantry behind the table in the corner. It was covered by a curtain, not a door or drawers. You had to draw back the curtain to reach for things you needed. It was blue and white, much like the tablecloth here. I often wondered what she hid in there.

How did my mind go down that whistling road today?

Oh because I smell her chicken

and I see her apron

and I feel the tablecloth in my fingers

and .... most of all
because I miss her so

The house is empty. No one has lived there for years. But one day soon, I'm going to travel back and peek in the window.She'll be there.

#blog4peace #blogblast4peace

2010 ~ On The Shores of Hats and Change

2012-01-08T22:54:00.001-05:00

**Each year I write a twelve month recap. It is much more for my benefit than my readers. Feel free to help me put last year in perspective though. I hope you'll do this on your own blogs. It's a great exercise in self-evaluation.**

Let's start at the beginning. Since I neglected to summarize the year 2010 in my usual fashion, I'll venture that the year of 2010 was ultra busy. Makes sense. What doesn't make sense is the ultra speed at which time is passing. Oh, I know the clock is ticking along as it should, it's the way of the Universe, but there comes a time in one's life when you'd rather slow it down a bit. So, I give you two years in one today. What the last 24 months have been like in my life and where I think I'm going in the year 2012.Part One in this post and Part Two to follow in a separate post. Don't worry. I'll go fast. 2010 was a year of poetry, photography, friendship. I dated a lot. I had fun. I swam in the ocean. And kissed sea-worthy gents in the rain. So much I learned about unseaworthiness. And men who aren't gentlemen at all. I wrote prose I'd put off for years, perhaps inspired by the changes I welcomed in my life on a personal level. It was about time to step into the water. Come along.
January 2010January held fleeting toe-curling kisses, a prayer service at midnight, presidential discouragement, blabbermouth blogging, in my own little world I began the journey of Zen. In the world at large we watched the devastation in the land of Haiti. The year began, as it always does for me, with a visit to this Quaker church at midnight on New Year's Eve praying for peace with the other steadfast parishioners who come every year to sit in silence and contemplation. Quakers are good for that. It's a lovely thing. I couldn't pass this sign by, now could I?

It was cold, raining and foggy. 11:30 pm on New Year's Eve. That did not stop around 50 individuals from walking into the Friends Meeting House and praying for peace as the new year began.

My seat. My pew. My view.

This blog post gets the most visitors of any Mimi In a Minute I've ever done. It was called Raise The Red Flag of Courage: Tiger WouldI needed to inform Airport Security of a few crucial issues.

About airport body scanners: Now we have to show our naked innards to the TSA because the world has gone slap crazy.Even royalty!! I am now going to have to buy pencil skirts without the Crown emblem sewn in for identification. I'll just start monogramming my tush to save time.
And while I'm at it and past my 60 seconds anyway....HOW LONG will it be before our naked selves "accidentally" get uploaded to the internet in some colossal "accidental" breach of online security? We have more accidental leaks in this country than newborn babies.

These things keep me up at night. They give me a headache.

It's simple. If you had a blog and a traffic widget you could keep up with people.

Sigh.

And January got colder, murkier, silently void of common sense.

I Voted For This??! What is happening to my country? What did my vote stand for?
Why is the dream shifting into something I don't recognize as hope?
Politics as usual in Washington has become politics as usual in Washington. Again.
We are STILL in Iraq.
We are sending another nightmare to Afghanistan.
Nobody can find a job.
We have spent enough money on this useless war to feed and clothe half the children in
Trillion dollar debt? Trillion?
Did I mention we are still in Iraq?

It was time for Zen and not a moment too soon.

So I looked around and started changing things to suit me and only me. Taped to my refrigerator I now have a goal for each room. Not a look - an environment.
Some rooms are already in the desired state. I just had to change my mind about how to use them and rearrange a few things. I've finished the kitchen and living room thus far. I am taking my lovely time too.
(another part of my new Zen personality. No rush. No panic. No blood pressure. No heart attack.) Zen In The Castle
I hope I have enough garbage bags. February 2010During the month of February I wrote two stories I'd been meaning to put to paper for years. One involved classic cars and the other classic ignorance. It brought the snowstorm of the century, my red hat on white fluff and a poem inspired by Dr. Seuss. Snow. Lots of snow. Memes. Lots of memes. Cue the UNValentine Grumpy Day. Add that to a wild ride with Daddy in a precious blue Ford and you've got yourself a memory. And I finally wrote the tale of bigotry I'd wanted to write for ages. But first, the world's car industry needed a tune-up. I needed a car.

1-800-Call-Toyota

Pffft! Toyota listen.....

Some people change lanes.
I change shoes.

I just thought my gas pedal was sticking because I got the leopard print 3-inch stuck behind the floor mat. My vehicle did not come with instructions on how to safely disrobe on the exit ramp. And NOW you tell me I've got a real problem here.

And then the Baptist men showed up, who most certainly would not have approved of my footwear.

Twelve deacons, a pastor, and me... in the bowels of the big old Baptist church of the south. I sat waiting for further instructions. Good little girl that I was.
Pay attention.

As the thirteen loud and boisterous back-slapping men opened the door for me to enter the hallway outside, after head-nodding prayers and amens to the amens to the amens, one of the deacons asked the preacher where he got his coat.

He said and I quote, “I got it off a n**ger.”

They all roared.
I’d just held hand-holding heavenly court with all of them.
I suddenly wanted to wash my hands.

So with hate on his lips and Jesus in his heart, he introduced me. For at least twenty minutes I would have a captive audience - a waiting crew of congregation sitting in bondaged pews of unsuspecting bigotry, putting their trust in thirteen leaders who discriminated loudly in the hidden places of prayer and staunchly scorned in silent rebuke any ounce of free thought or progress so much so that a woman couldn't utter a proper amen. Oh, but I could sing.

Pay attention.
This is where Mimi goes awry.
Again.

I only wish I'd worn the red dress.

To make matters worse it is the month of Cupid. And I am alone. All the single folks in the world are alone. Alllll God's chillin' are alone. And in no mood for tin foil.We all needed an UNValentine Grumpy Meme. At least I did.
4. How many roses make a dozen?
Men need to understand this. Women want flowers. Flowers that smell. Flowers you can water. Flowers that come from a florist. Flowers that can be delivered to our door or workplace with much ado and fanfare. Flowers you can show off to your ex-boyfriends. Flowers to make your girlfriends jealous. Flowers that say "I care enough to spend take out a 2nd mortgage for this bundle of love, my love."
We do not want to eat tin foil.

Pigtails In a Pine Tree

His mission that day was to teach me to drive a straight gear with a clutch before I got my learner's permit. These are my verdant memories of that fateful day.
Lots of pine trees, lots of cussing, pigtails, a thick Sears Roebuck Catalog to sit on, and Daddy's big shoes.
"You mean you couldn't see that pine tree?"
"I saw the pine tree, Daddy. No..I...well....I didn't see it in time."

"Why didn't you put on the brakes? I told you to hit the brakes!"

"I forgot where they were."You hurt my foot!!" I said with tears rolling down my face which only made him feel worse.... and thinking to myself that I would never learn to drive this stupid car. I needed a manual for the manual transmission class. And I'm sitting on a department store. Typical.

Nothing made him madder than when I cried. I think I would like to do that lesson over.
I wouldn't have cried.

March 2010

With March came winds of attic discoveries, bucket list memes and squirrels. Shadowy poems from the ceiling of the castle. A long lost painting came back into my hands, noise and more noise from people who just wanted to make noise to hear their own voice began to test my sense of peace and quiet. And sometimes animals. There was....

Panic In The Attic

Things were looking up without that nutty squirrel around.
And then I looked down.

I gathered her up and dusted her off. She looked perturbed with me really.
Lying face up in a box beside the Monopoly Game.
A long ago present from my mother
a bride doll with green eyes like her own

Daddy is gone. Time to wake up. Time to wake up for both of us.......

All that Zen cleaning and re-organizing led to the discovery of the diary. Homer rats me out to my readers. That dog!

Here's the 1st juicy entry I found from 1974:

And she calls herself a writer.

Flowers on the ceiling. flowers outside in the woods of Bloggingham's cold wintry earth, Flowers on canvas and buds everywhere!

....there's a flower on my ceiling
For the longest time she bloomed
unnoticed
by me

Whether on the ceiling or growing from the ground, I want to write about them.

Then Facebook got a little crazy. So I wrote a meme about it to get it out of my system. The FaceTwit meme (that's Facebook + Twitter for all you non-blog speakers) was anything but simple. I mentioned some clown named Mr. Anonymous whose mission was to push my online buttons in a mean but strangely familiar way. Games and very weird vibes. Doesn't he know I have site trackers? Hmmm? Seriously! Get.a.life. People need to mind their own business and stay out of mine. I said that, didn't I... Just because I put myself out there for millions of people to read doesn't mean they have to read it. Does it??!! ~~Oh, Mimi, you are so naive~~ So the mighty meme asked:

What is Farmville? I do not understand why people are asking me for margarine.
I’ve written to FACEBOOK management about this. It’s WHO-VILLE, people, WHOville. Not FarmTown. Not Cracker Barrel Round. Not Peanut Butter Frowns. . WHOville. (why am I rhyming?) As in WHO the heck are these people? See. They should have asked me first. That makes sooo much more sense.
BTW: I need to borrow a can of lard and a tinfoil skillet.

I became friends with friends of friends of friends and their friends I didn’t know were their friends who might be friends with ex-friends who used to be friends with me or my friend's friends and then his friend said why is her friend on his friends friends list....which can get a girl in trouble unawares. I don’t worry about it anymore. I can’t avoid everyone with an axe to grind, a Mafia war to win, or a cow to milk. It’s the nature of the Facebook beast. Social networking connects things you don't want connected. I've had to learn to deal. You can't untie all the tethers.

END. OF. SERMON.

Needing to climb back into the Zen cocoon, I clipped and snipped in Bloggingham's flowering trees,and pretty soon, in the year that was budding with creativity, Mimi Picasso arrived on the scene.

she liked the unadulterated

curves of a girl

falling into shades of the deepest deepest
blue
oh what a wild mess she was
that girl
she liked the way the words brushed
the petals
and dips that go nowhere
they
should

April 2010 April was no fool.Neither was I.

I went into the closet of hats and romped on the floor only to be thrown into my own dungeon for a meme violation. The nerve! The state of affairs in the world began to worry and irritate me and I ranted anew and anew (is that possible?) Not to fear. Spring Flings Eternal with this crazy meme by Yours Truly. Oh, what fun I had writing this one. All was good and right with the world, except for the spakes and sniders that showed up in various asinine and sundry forms. I stepped over them and kept writing, launching Peace Globes 2010 seven months early.

Then things began to get weird. You doubted? Forgive Me Father, For I Have Sinned..and sinned...and sinned... (Mimi In A Minute # 21) WHY is the legal standard different for sexual predators in the priesthood than it is for sexual offenders in the general populace?

Remove them. Arrest them. Convict them. Period.
God help the children of this world when adults can't tell simple right from wrong.

Some things just need killin'...

The phone rings. It is my ex-husband.
"How could you raise a boy who can't chop off a snake's head?! Who are these friends of his? "

"What is the matter? Why are you blubbering?" asked the boy's father.

"Because the snake in the grass got a reprieve while I wasn't looking and I had to kill a spider in my own shirt. It's been a horrible day and I need to shower with Clorox!"

He could not stop laughing long enough to even continue the conversation at which point I hung up on him for the fifth time in two weeks and vowed to never ever ever speak to another man for the rest of my life. He will be thrilled.
Read Spakes and Sniders to see who died.

The Hat Said

When I'm feeling unseemly and ragged, spidery and bosom-bitten, I visit the hat closet right here on my blog. It always cheers me up and is one of my favorite whimsy poems. Oh, but it's about love you see. And hats. And love of hats. I had a LOT to say...

It tells of a life I live backwards you see
Not to find her or flaunt her
But just to be
Me

Silly little blog. The pen kept moving.

April was one hell of a month.

Never mind that.

Spring Flings Eternal

Spring has flung and fling has sprung. It is time to put your imaginary hat on and step outside the box into the world of fantasy. Spring! Love! ~~Lust!~~ Pheromones! Broken hearts! Dares! Parties! Beaches! Trips! The world of flinging! Ahh....the romance. Ahhh...the migraines.

In my writing, in my relationships, in the resurrection of me.
I like it.

Read A Slow Red Drop To The Floor

Soon it was time for peace globes. My grandfather's clock emerged unscathed from the purging of Bloggingham's walls and rooms.

It is fitting that the clock shows up now.

Because it is time for the next phase of peace globes to begin.
All across the world at different times and days and hours and in villages with no clocks at time - it is time. From 50 countries and the others we will add this year, it is time.

From that creaky old floor to Bloggingham's sanctuary - it is time.

The Announcement came. And so we got ready to fly.....

Kites

And Love, Oh Do Not Forget

And I watched

In the lens of the love

Of my boy

And my boy

in a place

it remains

And no finer words had I ever heard

Than the mystery of boys on the wind

One lagged behind

The other ran strides

and one kite

That just wanted to fly

I wrote a Gratitude Meme.

What else?

May 2010

May came with kisses from a fabulous kisser of garlic and onion fame. I dared him to kiss me in the rain. Good move, Mimi, good move. I photographed flowers a lot, murdered a maraca, watched my dearest friend marry her childhood sweetheart and wandered back to the trees on my Grandpa's farm. I needed a whisper or two of direction from him. He gave me much more than that.

Peace. And the wisdom of waiting. Stillness. Sometimes saying nothing is saying everything.
I found this to be true as hell-April morphed mercifully into May.

I Take Thee, Vanilla, To Be My Wedded Wife

One of my dearest friends was getting married. It was a smashing occasion. So to speak.

I don't intentionally cause trouble everywhere I go.

It just happened.

All I wanted was a piece of cake ya see. And whatEVER was in that glass.

I merely walked by!

I swear it!

And wham.

You won't believe what happened.

What a day! All they wanted to do was get married! It was such a scathing catastrophe I had to find some solace. Perfect. My grandfather's home place. In the woods. It had been ages. Me And A Memory Lane

But the wind....it kept kicking up dust and reminding me of a few things I'd rather not be dealing with at all. Surely somewhere in that needle blown afternoon I'd find an answer to the puzzles left lately at my door. I could use Papa's wisdom. He would know exactly what to do and say. I so wanted him to pop out from behind a droopy limb and let me tell him what was troubling me.

He didn't.

So I sat under the branches of his childhood and listened to what the wind said.

Pondering where or not to chase that rabbit down the hole. Hmmmm...maybe I'd better not. Not a good idea when alone in the middle of the middle of the middle ....oh, you know.

Then I met the nastiest stumbling block I've had in a while. His name was Influenza. A hospital stay, an ambulance ride, an infection. Man, what a spring. The things I ask in memes. Then of course I have to answer myself. The Under The Covers Meme8. Completely dark or nite light?
I am not 12. I do not need a nite light. I do stump my toe a lot. Maybe I should reconsider.

24. Bedtime ritual?
Brush hair 100x as taught by my great-grandmother, who never in her entire life cut her long dark hair. It was so long she could sit on it. She was 90 when she passed and still had the most elegant hair put up in a French twist.

I hope great-grandmother isn't reading this part though. Enter Garlic Kisser. Man, could he kiss. But alas, he ultimately showed his true garlicky colors in the car after dinner. Bad move, Mimi, bad move.

Maracas were murdered in the making of this meme called The Last Time I Murdered A MaracaWhen was the last time you……

rolled your eyes
at my mother this afternoon. She sent me to my room. The problem occurred when she realized she'd actually sent me to HER room....which used to be MY room once upon a teenage time.
She was not amused when I jumped on her bed.

June 2010

I met bloggers Ferd (The Best Parts) and his lovely wife, Gail. We talked blogging and more blogging, kids, photography, our careers, houses, music, family, dating rules, rule breakers, deal breakers, piano lessons (yes Gail!) birdwatching, traveling, new beginnings, romance in my life (Gail had sage advice for me let-me-tell- you the woman should write a book), marriage in theirs (ahh...they are so sweet together) and even some of you were discussed. Were your ears burning? They should have been..but only in the kindest of ways. I had a meltdown of allergic proportions in the car one Saturday morning, and still found no shower in the car. Imagine!

Poetry struck again.

In Pools of Blue Stars

come boldly entangled
in layers
of red

the night shall bear witness
to said and unsaid

The Globe

"How much do you want for this globe?" I asked.

The store owner laughed. "You can have it," she said. "It's not worth much. You're welcome to it." Have you ever been so delighted you wanted to squeal and jump in a stranger's arms?

She wondered how holding the world might change her life.

Ever stuck in a situation with no where to go but under? I needed a shower. And fast.

10:20 I leave the shirt to soak and say 3 Hail Marys to make up for the cussing.
10:21 I leave AGAIN.
SIDEBAR: **I forgot to tell you about the floor** I'm stripping the hardwood and re-polishing the floor. Board by board by board. Just call me Cinderella. It is a huge area including 2 hallways. It will take longer to get this done than it will take them to collect all the oil in the Gulf. Why is this important? Because...

10:22 In the car. I break out in hives. Apparently from the floor cleaner on my skin.
10:22 In the car. I text 2 Johnny-on-the-spot friends.

"Hives. Tell me I won't die."
"Take Benadryl and shower, now" said the voice of calm.

I have no Benadryl or shower. I am in the frickin' car!!

Mi mi mi mi mi mi mi mi mi!

My Maestra knew how to push me into facing the inner first and gave me the courage to let it fly from my fingers and voice. Of course, there are consequences for this teaching philosophy.She knows where the bodies are buried.
You don't think all that opera drama is just onstage, do you?

A reunion with my gifted mentor, teacher, and friend.

July 2010

Beaches, kissers, ducks and quacking people. All showed up in the month of summer that was July. A fine time I had. It was the month of tangled hair. In more ways than one.

And then the Cherokee Girl and I had a candid conversation. But not before Baby Boy found weird wildlife in the middle of a lake. And he didn't know what a "circumstance" was.

Sigh.

"I'm so glad you listened to me. That is toooo close!"
Come ON, Mimi. It's just a turkey with duck feet. How does it swim?
(I am so not there.)

I Love It When A Day SideQuacks: Turkey Ducks and Clams

one of my favorite excursions with Baby Boy

Monday Mimisms ~ You Should Be Kissed and Often

My choice was to end it before it really began. Maybe it's not possible to have it all. Maybe you can't find knee-buckling kissing and a man of integrity in the same person. Maybe I'm asking too much. I don't care how much my toes curl if their lips tell lies in between the sighs.
(That rhymed.)

What would Scarlett do?

A plethora of kissers showed up. One after the other. It was kismet!

Rarely have I felt more relaxed than this summer. It was epic me-time. Thanks for letting me share it with you. I promised myself that not a summer would go by for the rest of my life that did not include toes in the sand. I mean it.

Beach Blogging in August, sand, castles (for real!) sunrises and sets
pier fishing, walks, storms on the sea
and me
what a great month

Curly waves

windy waves
tangled hair
I do not

Thinking about NOTHING AT ALL is phenomenal!!!!
I fell asleep in my chair (until someone stole my chair which is another story altogether), I had not one troubling thought in my brunette head and not one care in the world. In fact, a time or two I thought to look for my thoughts but thought better of it. Follow?

August 2010

brings a much anticipated soul vacation to Atlanta, Georgia. The plan? Meet up with bloggers and epic friends, Starr, Kidlet & company plus a disappearing entourage of people changing plans. Nonetheless, we had a great time. I found another beach in parts north. What a great summer!

Do you know how hard it is to maintain royal dignity with a vinyl umbrella attached to your body? Flying Umbrellas and Floating Chairs

And then I found it.
A girl could go through her whole life with a million pencil skirts and
not
one ofthese

It Went So Well With My Hat

hat

Goodnite Beach

or is that good morning. I'll see you soon again.

Cherokee Girl

I tried to wash my freckles away in the morning dew when I was 8 years old because she said they would disappear.

Forty-five years later I'm still trying to get them to do the same thing.

Stop the presses. My sweet Baby Boy has entered the world of formal education.
I write. And weep.
You are embedded and brimming over with all that is good in this world and I am proud of you, but I would like a word with you before you go out to conquer the world at recess.

There are a few things you need to know
An Open Letter To Baby Boy on The First Day of School

About that eraser.

It doesn't just erase wrong answers, it also makes room for better ones and brighter ideas.

With Baby Boy off to school and so much to look forward to...
We sent our peace globes into space with NASA's Face in Space program.

It was awesome!

September was quiet. Very quiet. And full of daddy memories.

October 2010

brought the 10/10/10 phenomenon. We all blogged it and lived to tell about 11/11/11 even.
Time for peace globes to crank up. I finally made peace with Facebook even if they are NOT very user-friendly. Nonetheless it was time to write
"How to Put Your Peace Globe on Facebook"

And man, did you ever.

All the annual albums are there. Have you found yours there?

The 20 Day Countdown Begins. I asked, "You have a voice. What will you say?"

Your words began to take on power. As they always do this time of year.

On the 15th day 'til launch, a blogger touched my heart.

What she said was so simple really. And yet so complex. What she said stirred me to action again and again and again you see....What she said, what she said, what she said. OH. What she said.
It is the reason I keep this movement going. It is the reason our words matter. It is the reason we blog the peace on a global level from hovels and homes turned stump posts for peace and platforms of passion. Oh. What she said, what she said......
Whenever I feel that no one is listening, that none of this matters, that our efforts are not being felt, I read this again.
And always. Always. Always...my heart flutters, I get tears in my eyes and I remember why.

She said:

I cannot stop the bullets and the bombs.
I cannot bring our soldiers home.
I cannot quell the suffering of the millions.
I cannot overthrow a corrupt
government and establish true democracy.
I feel that I cannot be heard.

Until today.

(thank you for the inspiration little Chocolate Girl)

I can't believe it's been a year. It seems like only yesterday to me. But on this day in 2009 just a few days before peace launch, my dad made his flight away from this Earth. I reposted The Bargain in his honor.

And this day, of all days, I need to find words.

November 2010
was eventful. Artists from all over the world sent in one-of-a-kind works for Peace Globe Day. It was some of the most beautiful artwork we've seen. Gifts from the sea and Canadian shores graced my home. Peace globes became tangible. Weren't they always?

It started like this. Reeeeeaaaaally? Wow. We're honored. Thank you!

We are named by The Top Ten Blog as one of Twitter's Top 10 People of the Week.

I fainted.

Apparently the hash tag strategy is working. Tweet and use #blogblastforpeace #peace or #blogpeace

Two Canadian Women and A Mission of Peace

They sent gifts to me from across the sea.

I can now hold some of these peace rocks in my hand....from her Atlantic to mine.
They bring me great comfort and joy.

Debra Percival and Dawn Drover. Extraordinary peace bloggers and women of integrity and friendship. What blessings this movement has brought of us.

Along with amazing photographer Aamir Mohammed at the website Dreaming In Pixels they collaborated on this year's peace globe creation. She writes:
I sent him the photos and explained what I was looking for... not "quite possible" but, his knowledge and ingenuity managed to bring to life my concept! Of course, I (also) wept when I first saw it...

Internationally acclaimed artist, Alicia M. B. Ballard creates a stunning work for peace globe day.

And just when I thought it couldn't get any better, the divine Jamie White, retired editor from Washington, author of Durward Discussion (and my friend) commissions the wonderful Colorado Bob to make a peace globe video. The bears start to sing. It's fantastic!! A huge gracias to both and may many more such collaborations take place in the name of peace. What could be better than a combination of John Lennon, polar bears and Give Peace A Chance?
Not much, I'll tell ya.

According to Google searches and stats we are making noise and news. According to the blueness of FACEBOOK pages we are making noise and news. And according to Goodnight Gram who knitted a peace globe, "Peace is worth it." See?

She knits a world. And we all come together again for what has become my favorite day of the year.
Another Dona Dona Pacem begins. Another BlogBlast For Peace is created. Another day of inspiring surprises from people who stop on this day and speak words that matter.
I took my cue from a love story.
Write on My Heart Every Word ~ Dona Nobis Pacem
For all her many quirks and eccentricities and no matter how many times the wigs flew off or the cigarette dipped in the morning coffee cup, he gifted her with unwavering love and devotion. Sometimes it was eye-rolling twinkled-eyed devotion - but devotion nonetheless.
She was and would always be the love of his life.

The most eternally rich experiences in life make no sense at all.

He learned to surrender.

No. I take that back.

He loved to surrender.

And that is the word we must put before any attempt at laying down of arms. I found his Cokesbury hymnal and made a startling discovery.

Would you like to take a wild guess where his page was turned down?

Here in Bloggingham tonight, bound to my grandparents' memory is a small bouquet of wild pink peace mums laid on a bed of uncommon love, shaped oddly like the sound of a far away tune in a church full of cheer in the middle of plowshares and pruning hooks.

"Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more."

Maybe we keep asking for the same struggle and getting exactly what we ask for because we’re not ready to lay down the most powerful weapon we have

Love

Their love got me to thinking about...well...love

I Wonder I Wonder What Manner of Man

She smothered the ruffles
Smelled through the torn shell
And wondered what manner of woman
Was veiled

How odd to find one of life’s most beautiful treasures in the middle of a smelly store poked with an odious orange sale sticker. A plastic hanger, a yellowed stain, sad wrinkles. Dreams on sale.But why did it call to me so? Why on this day?
I had a lot on my mind.

Skin Cancer? Holy Moley!

So that's what the Lady Doctor said. We'll call her Dr. Derriere Derma.

And thus began the story of the 3 moles.

We'll call them Molly (#1) Milly (#2) and Sully (#3)

Me?

I was just sulky.

"But that's the one we've been WATCHING. I KNEW I should have been watching. SOMEbody should have been watching and it certainly has not been me. I'm doomed!! All this time I've been watching the wrong thing, Doctor Death #1 has been watching the wrong thing and besides, I can't even see it unless I contort myself at an excruciating angle in the bathroom mirror. How am I supposed to watch something I can't see? What kind of convoluted medical advice is that??" You KNOW I'm a hypochondriac. I shouldn't be told to watch things I have no peripheral power over."

It's in the Constitution.

How did my mind go down that whistle road?

Oh because I smell her chicken

and I see her apron

and I feel the tablecloth in my fingers

and I still hear the grace

Wishbones and Whistles ~ her love of chicken, my love of her

What happens to the missing socks?
Until they appear on a milk carton they won't get the respect they deserve. I feel sorry for all the lonely little single socks out there. Don't you?

Single Socks and Prison Blues. Might behoove me to listen to pay attention to the sock monster.
Could my love life get any better in 2010?

December 2010

I Slept With A Polar Bear

But alas, our ~~torrid~~ chilly affair ended when I reminded him that we were polar opposites. MEN!

Bohemian Books and Beds of Gypsies
All I had on was a blue bathing suit and a pair of flip-flops. And I didn’t care. Where are your shorts?? did not even begin to describe the diatribe going on in my head from the mother-voice I hear periodically when faced with near auto collisions - you know the one - the always-wear-clean-underthings in case you’re in a car wreck warning. I ignored her question in the land of the sand and closed the door of the secret convoy vehicle with a giggle. Half-naked was no problem during the summer that was closely akin to the most freeing time in my life. Ever.

It's time to get back to the ocean, don't you think? This year seemed tied to the shore.

It's time to bring this year to a close even if I am recapping it two years later. at the beginning of 2012. As I said earlier. I've been busy! I learned a lot writing this post. If there's one thing I know for sure...there's no place like being under the watchful eye of Bloggingham's Moon. A lunar eclipse to end this sometimes loony year. How appropriate.

Goodnight, 2010.

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2012

#blog4peace #blogblast4peace

Cherokee Grace

2012-01-07T11:20:00.000-05:00

Let me tell you about a moment I had last week.A long moment. One that began many winters ago. It stretched for miles and miles through my memory house, tearing down raging roads of pain and wandering that seemed to go on forever and ever......just waiting for a day like this. This time. This pew. This moment. Through the crowd of crying people and sprinkling rain, he didn't see me come in. Back row. Dark glasses. I needed to look. He wore a tailored black suit. Dark hair neatly cut. Just a speck of a white collared shirt over leftover summer tanned skin and maybe, just maybe, I could see a little Cherokee. I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

I knew the curve of the jaw, the bump on his head The way his face held tenderness...and placed crooked kisses on soft new skin..... and tears that once fell slowly on my hands holding his in a moment of deadly decision said my memory said my memory said my memory - once upon a time of waywardness and rain.Oh, those scenes are locked in my mind. Who could have known that they would lead me to this place today. Who knew that they would comfort me in a sanctuary full of sorrow.... for someone's daddy, someone's grandpa, someone's brother, husband, friend. Sealed off in this abbey of wailing stones, far far away from the world I once shared with him - we sat silently holding onto daughters and cursing broken promises at a life struck down with no warning.
And all I could do was cry for joy. How dare I.

My confession you see.I'd come to watch.In a church full of handkerchiefs, leftover Chrismon trees and a freshly lined coffin, as if on a cue he knew well and heard often, this dark-haired man whom I loved with all my heart prayed mightily strong with a reverence and a knowingand a strength I hadn't seen in years as if all the bitter moments of heaven and hell had never happened
He didn't know his mother
saw only miracles

*photography Mimi Lenox*

Traveled Stories and Unwritten Highways

2012-01-06T19:35:00.001-05:00

I don't know what it is about spring.

For months now I haven't been able to shake the feeling that somehow, THIS spring, is going to be monumental in my life. I don't know if it's a good monumental or a bad monumental. I just know it will be epic.

Ever had those feelings? Intuitions? So, while I'm looking forward to spring and the secrets it holds, here are a few things from last year that made me happy. Random things I found tonight. Some you've seen before. Some you haven't.

2011 was an interesting year. I'm working on my annual recap post now. This is a preview for you and a memory trip for me. Oh, I think it's going to be a VERY interesting year indeed. More later. Enjoy!

My mother serving up her famous Hummingbird Cake at Christmas.

unwritten stories just hanging around

little boys and airplanes

possibilities

Bloggingham

A walk with my favorite boy

Homer and his unconditional love

Clouds, blue skies and country roads

Beach hats, sand.....

early morning waves

and Santa brought babies....

Breaking News! See No Caucus. Hear No Caucus

2012-01-03T21:30:00.004-05:00

Being the pencil reporter I am with your best interests always near and dear to my skirt, my plan was to live blog the 2012 Iowa Caucus tonight. Here's a screenshot from ABC News of Herman Cain preparing to speak. Wait. Is this the right affair?

But I am nothing if not tenacious, stubborn, and dedicated. I sharpened my pencil and everything. Stopped at the grocery store for red, blue, and neutral snacks, (I want to be fair) decided to mousse my hair with poofy stuff to further enhance brain cells during this mental event, got in my blammies (that's blog + jammies for all you non-blog speakers), turned on both TVs in the house and waited for news from the great state of Illusions...I mean Iowa. Yep. we're in the right place.

**wait maybe this is it!* Two gunman are running through a fake TV forest with semi-automatic weapons and Mark Harmon (my hero because he still has a pretty face) is facing off with the little punk. Please. Mark. Watch the face.
This IS riveting. **where is CBS?? They promised!**

Scott Pelley announced whilst I was still in the moussing stage that he would report "updates" throughout the evening. I am not amused. I don't want his updates. I want MY updates. In order for that to happen, I would have to actually watch it. But...but...where IS it?

I tried to find my Trailmixer buddy Craig Crawford on CNN tonight with no luck. He's always good for evaluating ~~this mess~~ these things. He should know. Where is he hiding?!

Eureka! Facebook! They should know the answer. Where IS that live feed?

Soon enough, my trusty readers tried to help.

This was not helpful.

Funny. But not helpful.

But really. Who else would have given you the important stuff like Michelle's wardrobe choice right down to her patriotic pumps? Me. That's who. And who is gonna psychoanalyze Republicans with the Freudian flair that I have? No one. That's who. Based on the Snowstorm of the Century reporting I did last year, there's no fairer reporter than I. And WHO, pray tell, will be able to spot liars and posers any better than Yours Truly? No one. That's who.

So far this is what I've seen.

Riveting, no?

Did they say anything else?

#blog4peace #blogblast4peace

Monday Mimisms ~ I Think I'm A Closet Quaker

2012-01-02T16:36:00.005-05:00

I was early.It was quiet.Very quiet.And time for my annual trek out of town to the lovely 24-Hour Prayer for Peace service held every New Year's Eve in the Friends Meeting House. I would like to thank them for welcoming my shadowy pencil self to their wreath-lined door each year. They've been gracious and kind, never minding that I keep their names a secret and take half pictures of their church.

Usually, I'm late. As providence would have it, my early-birdness (I love that word!! ~~I just made it up)~~ caused me to stand face to face with a handshake and a friendly smile. Outed! Trapped! My own fault. Might as well 'fess up. I explained my prior visits and how I landed in his sanctuary, carefully taking the camera out of the bag as I spoke. "Do you mind if I blog the service?" "Oh, no!" (I hoped that "oh no" went in the right direction) He was quite gracious and asked me to take a paper crane from the basket. You mean you're not going to take my camera? I secretly wondered. Hmmmm....he's much nicer than the bookstore police. That was a day I'll tell ya. Maybe I'd better not mention it in church.

It's impossible to convey to you what took place in my soul this night and early morning. Words to describe my emotions: happy. Oh. I just needed one. Happy.Let me show you, instead, what took place. Shhhhhhh... There were oodles of Japanese paper cranes on the table in the vestibule

poinsettias above and below

Candles

and lights ablaze

See! It's my seat. MMMMyyy seat. They must have saved it for me. My view from my pew.

Even the Zen-like green walls are at peace. The clicking had to stop soon. People were congregating to meditate, not hear my shutter go off every ten seconds. It is THAT quiet and still in this sanctuary. I so love it.

Mr. Crane and I sat reading the program. To my delight and surprise there were peace prayers from most every religion inside the little book. Hebrew peace prayers, Hindu peace prayers, Buddhist peace prayers, Shinto, Christian, Muslim, Indian, Native American and everything in between, including a portion of one of Abdu'l-Baha's addresses at the 1911 Paris Peace Talks. I knew you'd want to see.

Who knew paper cranes could read?

An instrumentalist played as my eyes fell upon these words from the Buddhist Prayer for Peace, "May all beings everywhere, plagued with sufferings of body and soul, quickly be freed from their illnesses".... ALL beings, Mimi, ALL of them. Not just your friends, not just your family, not just yourself, but your enemies too. All of them.

And look at this.

Am I in the right place or what?

Outside in the beautifully starred night through a church window with prophetic branches peeking into this cocoon of mine, I heard the occasional blast of fireworks as the speaker spoke gently of war - and the true meaning of peace. "What does peace look like?" she asked. Paraphrasing: Our troops are home from Iraq. Does this mean we are at peace? Do we really have peace? Whose peace? Where? What war? Are there other wars on earth? Whose peace is it? Whose war? What is true peace? Where is true peace? Across the street in our homes? Do we have peace there as well? Is peace merely the absence of violence? Her words rang true and I was so happy to be in a place that did not deliver unrealistic euphemisms to try and make us feel better in the midst of our questions and the mess we find out world in today. She honored the questioning. And the silences between the answers we didn't have?.....she honored that too.

We sang another Hebrew round and it was time to go home.

The-nice-lady-with-the-poinsettias asked if I'd like to take one with me. I declined, happy to have my crane. I slipped out the door quietly ~~that is so not true~~ ( Happy New Year! ) Shhh! said Mr. Crane as I shut the door which I couldn't get open in the first place because I pulled instead of pushed which started the door knob tug 'o war that made me blush and nearly crush my origami present."Goodnight, Mimi," said the pastor.

Was that a laugh I saw start to form?

I certainly hope so.
I'd better not cause a disturbance. He knows my name now.

I drove my sleepy-headed self home into the warm night. Where are all the party-goers? Not very many people on the highways. Good thing. I had my mind on other things.

Back to Bloggingham. The crooked Christmas tree still drooped and leaned, I never found Baby Jesus another crown to replace the one that fell off, Santa was lying on his back on the floor and Christmas paper strewn about looked anything but perfect. As I photographed the lovely paper gift .....I wondered if I could make it fly

and pondered the significance of cranes and wishes, thousands, symbols, and dying Japanese children, and I asked myself if anything half as lovely as this night could happen to me on a daily basis..... not just to me, but to you as well. Isn't it our birthright to be at peace? Does that mean sometimes or every day? Must we be void of hatred and smallness first? Or do we believe that peace is doled out only for the righteous....which is the truth? I'd taken your prayers and wishes and dreams with me as I do every year, silently voicing them in the still Quaker silence and each year when the clock strikes the beginning of day one in the new year, I don't want to break the spell and go home. I am sometimes overwhelmed with the simplistic power of silence. Perhaps that's why I find myself in this pew every year.

Symbols. Hmmm..Peace talks. Religions clothed in violence with written scrolls of peace prayers in their sacred texts. How do you make sense of whole nations of peoples and denominations saying one thing and doing another? Why do we think we have to argue loudly to have peace and quiet? Is it because man truly does not value quiet over ruckus?
Maybe some. But not all.

It's those not-alls that have me captivated. The paper crane makers and the white poppy layers, the peace sign button wearers, the bumper sticker crowd and you, too, the incredible peace globe makers. How much louder can all the symbol sayers become when stillness is the goal? And should they? Or would it be best if silence became the message they screamed.....
The real question is, will they? Will we? Will I?

If I believe that words are powerful - and I do - then I have to believe that the effects of those words have the impetus to accumulate mightily. The effects are paper gifts. And unconditional treaties. Deeds of love just because. Consistency. A persistent passion for justice, equality, tolerance. And one day soon, we might just find ourselves sitting not around a polished mahogany table of policy making peace players, but one strewn with all shapes and sizes of intricately voiced Japanese cranes, crying silently for this child and that one, white poppy wreaths tossed on top of that and artists hearts on canvas, ribbons from the caskets of soldiers and every name who ever perished in the name of some God's war scrawled lovingly on a piece of silk, one by one....can you see it? .... peace signs torn from our sixties jeans laid side-by-side with Brazilian white roses from the sea of midnight from some faraway New Year's Eve - and prayers, they would be there too, woven into aprons and headbands, beaded sweaters full of international symbols and knitted scarves with words we pray from every nation on the face of the earth. All piled high on a table of peace. Such a display of unspoken power could not be extinguished by the next loudest voice, the crowd with the most money, or the one with the scariest weapon.

What could anyone say that would speak louder than that?

Silence is good.

Very good.

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2012

*photography Mimi Lenox*
The story and history of the Japanese paper crane

#blog4peace #blogblast4peace

Holiday Hiatus

2011-12-18T16:34:00.000-05:00

May you and your family have a peaceful Christmas season.

See you in the year 2012 with a fresh blogging perspective and a new pencil skirt.

Happy Holidays!

Monday Mimisms ~ The House That Breathes

2011-12-12T20:40:00.000-05:00

My favorite antique store. A beautiful afternoon. A camera full of batteries and time on my hands. The family-owned business is small by mall strip comparison (who needs that? Really) but rich in ambiance and history. "Well look who's here. Our favorite customer. Come on in and bring your camera with you." This is what I hear once the creaky door is opened. Now that's more like it! Somebody FINALLY understands blogging. She didn't have to ask twice. I always get butterflies in my stomach going in. Strolling around in that shop is like a mini soul vacation. I could (and do) stay for hours. After catching up with our lives since for a few minutes and oohing and ahhhing over the talented designer's new/old Christmas trees in each room, I got down to shopping business.
No. I'm not telling you everything. Some of you just might be on that list.
Come with me! Let's look around.

It has a Blue Room just like the White House.

And a black and white checkered floor to match the cornice board

and treasures

Why didn't I come home with this lamp? What was I thinking??!

I found big trees

and little trees

red trees where trees ought to be

Villages

and villagers

in pudding cups

Stairs for climbing

Dolls in green rooms

naughty and nice

cruets and polka dots

and light from windows of branches and trees

spilling into a house that breathes

light on wood

where light ought to be

somebody is out of pudding it seems....

red red chairs and carrot-nose stares

and Santa, oh Santa, he was there

sitting high on a shelf
with his trusty elves

(even if they are on the plastic side)

But the room I love most isn't a room at all. It's not the biggest or the brightest. It doesn't have a tree or a chandelier. In a corner overlooking elm trees way up in the top of the top of the house, it sits just so.

Not much room and too many mirrors.

Hats on the walls and stained glass church without Jesus.

A tiny corner room overlooking the street. Secrets. Promises. Inspiration.

The muse lives here.... I do believe.

It is the infamous Closet of Hats where I once met a mysterious lady.

who blogged a lot

She's still around.

Monday Mimisms ~ I Just Want To Wash My Hair!

2011-12-04T18:30:00.000-05:00

Here we go again.

Some time ago I wrote a post called One Banana, Please. It was a scathing review of the ridiculous invasion of privacy protocol in our local supermarkets. Namely, my refusal to give out my personal information just to buy a banana.
I know you've heard this conundrum from me before, but it bears repeating. And this time it wasn't even about lonely fruit!
It happened again this week. Call it one of my personal pet peeves. In fact, it should be yours too.

"That's $21.89. Phone number?"
I stopped shuffling in my wallet. "You need my phone number so that I can buy something in your store?"
Big cheesy smile. "It's our policy, ma'am!" with fingers still poised to type in the seven digits he ain't gettin' no way no how. Seriously. This bothers me to the core. It's the principle of the thing. The presumption that it's OK to ask people to supply their personal information OUT LOUD in the store with people all around as if they are entitled to it. Yes, that's it. The expectation of entitlement. The information he wants is private. People still have unlisted numbers in this country ya know.

**go get a peanut butter and banana sandwich. I need to rant**
WHO thinks it is acceptable to blindly hand over your personal personal personal information to buy a bottle of shampoo? WHOO? Does this make sense to you, bloggy people? Living in the digital age has torn loose our common sense. WHY have we gotten so used to it that we just cave to these questions? WHAT would the world be like if more people refused to answer them? Or started asking why they're being asked in the first place. We tell our children not to talk to strangers but we give all our worldly stats and tell the bad people where to find their bedroom windows. Do you REALLY want your personal personal personal information riding on even more computer highways than it already is? WHEN did it become more complicated to buy beauty products in a real-live store with a real-live salesclerk waiting on a real-live customer than it is to apply for a car loan? WHEN did we start asking people for an oral report on the state of their demographics to purchase ordinary staples? I'm not ordering it online - in which case it is necessary for me to provide my shipping address and all other manner of information to get the product - I'm standing right there! I just want to take my little papoose home and wash my hair. I am going to carry the little bag in my own little hands and place it in my own little shower. Personally. The old-fashioned way.

I am not paying with a check. They are not taking a risk.

I'm standing there with Sacagawea's cash for Pete's sake.

And yet he wants my phone number.

Looking at me expectantly, he asked again. Again??

I've gotten used to this diatribe by now. I don't give my phone number ANYwhere. I'm stubborn that way. So, I was prepared for this conversation. I said flatly,

"I'm not giving you my phone number."
"We have to have it for our system."
"If you have to have my phone number in order for me to buy this shampoo, then you can keep it."

I cannot believe I am going through this to buy a bottle of shampoo.

He loudly punches somebody's phone number into the computer, or perhaps a fictitious set of numbers. Maybe his. I wonder. If he used his number, does this mean he will now get telemarketing calls in my stead? Oh joy!

And then...."I'll do it THIS time but next time you'll be required to supply it. "
Required?
Required???

Oh surely, he did not say that. I gave the shampoo police my best 'says who?' look and asked (really. just for the sake of this blog post) "Wwhhhhyyyyyyy?"

"Our corporate office makes the policy, I don't."
So. He is personally typing in the personal personal information of every stranger he meets today and is responsible for it, but he can't tell me why.

"Then I will be forced to give you a fictitious phone number in order to buy my shampoo. But most likely, I won't be buying anything else in your store."

Another insincere and cheesy smile. "And that's fine too!"

Here we go again.

The Queen's Birthday Parade (I can Troop colors, too, ya know...)

2011-11-29T18:50:00.000-05:00

Thanks to the kind folks on Facebook and email offering birthday wishes. It's a blast reading them! And so uplifting to me. I appreciate all of you.

I read in Wikipedia today that the Queen, HRH Queen Elizabeth II, has an Official Royal Birthday cake. The nerve! How did she get one before I did? I'll bet she doesn't have one like this. Bzzzzzzzzzz!

Here she is inspecting the last Trooping of The Colour at Buckingham Palace

I'm sure it didn't take her long. There's only one color.
This ~~frivolously expensive~~ exercise is also known as The Queen's Birthday Parade. I say it ain't no parade without a clown. Do you see any?

She has nothing on Queen Mimi Pencil Skirt of Bloggingham Palace of The Internet.
Here's my Trooping of The Colours. Salute!

Queen Elizabeth's birthday is actually April 21st, but it is celebrated on all kinds of different days throughout the calendar year depending on province, region, or whether or not the Queen has used all her frequent flyer miles for that month ~~I so just made that up~~ . It's been moved around depending on the whim of monarchs past in hopes of holding the festivities during decent weather. In England??! As long as she continues to feign confusion about the actual day, at least she'll get more presents. She's no dummy, that Queen. I feel for her. At least I know when my birthday is.

Even if my own mother doesn't. She called 3 days ago with a hearty, "Happy birthday!" in my phone ear. "Why, thank you Mother, but you are 3 days early. Today is Daddy's birthday."

"Oh. I always get those mixed up."

Sigh

I do take issue with the fact that Queen Elizabeth has her own parade. Here's the Royal Family in a not-so-recent balcony picture. They don't look like they're having fun.

Oh wait. Wrong picture. That's King George VI reviewing his birthday parade. They don't look like they're having much fun either. I'd like to know how he's going to Troop those colors in black and white. Don't they know anything??

Even if Queen Elizabeth II does wear better hats than her Royal Internet counterpart and even if she isn't descended from Cherokee southern blood and even EVEN if she can't get all those birthday wishes on her Facebook wall 'cause it's private (Epic Fail, Queen, Epic Fail!!).....

I'll bet her mother knew when her birthday was.

But then again, maybe not.

Monday Mimisms ~ Ordinary Secrets

2011-11-28T19:35:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking a lot about thankfulness lately. If you can drown out the screaming sales tags, endless commercials and constant pleas for help from a trillion questionable charities that seem to come out of the woodwork this time of year, well, then you might have time to think about thankfulness.

Last night, after cleaning and fru-fruing (that means making nice in the house ie: flowers and candles) for today's post-Thanksgiving-pre-Christmas-decoration party, I stood at the sink looking out my kitchen window, staring at an ordinary sunset through ordinary trees on any ordinary Saturday night. And I remembered, for a second, how good it is, how life-affirming....to stop and look through ordinary windows at masterpieces in the sky. I stopped rearranging and took a good long look. No inside ambiance conjured up by a fru-fruing woman can hold a candle to what I saw through that window.
I took a moment to be thankful for unexpected glimpses of heaven into ordinary days.

Take this for example. A small spray of daisies on my table. If I look closer I can see the presence of creation. The miracle of nature. The strength of extraordinary petals on an ordinary table. But I have to stop and look.

I don't mind if the lighting is all wrong. Or even accidentally all right. The best things seem to always come to me by accident. So, to me, it looks just right.
It's the same with people.
You have to take the shadow with the light for what it is.

And sometimes looking at the underside of a thing....

reveals much more than the presentable side ever did. It's the same with people.

If you want to know who they are, all you have to do is find out from whence they gather their strength. Unseen stems make all types of flowers - some beautiful - and some still in beauty school.

For weeks I've stopped dead in my tracks at the thought of one thing - spring. The weather has been unseasonably warm here. I feel a light breeze, turn around thinking spring has come, when it's only November. But something about this seasonal premonition makes me bubble up and laugh. Out loud. In the first trimester of winter. Like a happy happy secret. In my car. On the way to my ordinary mailbox in my ordinary driveway on any ordinary day. Suddenly, there is spring.

Perhaps that's why I bought a bouquet of daisies for my table.

Sometimes it's shadow and sometimes it's light.

All of it is beautiful.

Even as far-reaching and wondrous as my kitchen sunset was, I only cared for the moment that it was beautiful. And that was enough. Earth science and solar systems and all the scientific explanations in the world didn't matter. So I declare, today on the cusp of winter's bite, that I will stop trying to find ways of duplicating the obvious, when all I have to do is look through a pane of glass at eons of creation or find an eternity's worth of gratitude on my kitchen table. Spring wants to tell me something.

And something tells me....it won't be an ordinary spring.

A Thanksgiving Story by Mimi Lenox ~ Mama's Jail

2011-11-24T01:00:00.002-05:00

It is tradition on this blog to re-post this story every Thanksgiving. A lot has changed in the years that followed, but it still stands as one of the clearer defining moments of my life. I am thankful for so many things this year (look in my sidebar for a little tiny hint!) including the love of family and friends. I hope you and your family have a safe and wonderful holiday. ~ Mimi

When my son was fifteen he did something stupid. His dad, my ex-husband, gave him the usual “Atta boy don't do that again” talk, the school got their three days without his smart mouth and I was left with the what am I gonna do with this child? nightmare invading my dreams. In those days there was no imaginary blog dungeon, no chains, no rack – not that I would have used it ( I didn't even believe in spanking) – but you catch my drift.

What am I going to do with this child?

The conversation went something like this: “You know I love you so I'm not even going to preface this punishment with I love you because you've already gotten a slap on the wrist but OK OK I love you.”

“Yeah, I know Mom.”
He started to walk away.

“Well, I hope you'll still love me when I tell you what your punishment is going to be.”

Although I vowed never to give the think of all the starving children speech to my child (I broke that rule many times), this time I went for the jugular. Mine was bulging. “What were you THINKING?! Do you think you can just go through life handling things this way? Do you know how privileged you are? (yeah Mom) Do you understand that there are kids in this world who would love to have your life? (yeah Mom) Why are you choosing to mess things up for yourself? Do you know that you can't play sports now? (yeah Mom) Are you listening to me?! If you don't get your act together young man you're going to end up somewhere you don't want to be and I'm not bailing you out. Do you hear me? (yeah Mom) You have no idea how close you came to getting in serious trouble today, do you? Do you? Well, DO you?? (a surly yeah Mom....See, I told you, listen to the smart mouth.) What you do right now in school will determine your future. And now you have a bad mark on your academic record and a three-day suspension before high school. You are out of control!”

“So ground me,” said the smart mouth.

“No. I will not ground you.”

He halted.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“Just think of it as Mama's jail.”

The smart-aleck ceased for a moment and then....."Whatever, Mom.”

I was furious with him and at my wit's end. He needed to see how the real world works. I made arrangements. It took some doing but they finally saw it my way. "You want your son to do WHAT? But he's not a criminal (not YET I thought) and we're not a juvenile detention center." (well......) "Will you please allow us to do this? I asked the nun-like administrator of this facility. “I'm not trying to teach him a lesson here, that is not the point, but he needs to see and understand with his own eyes how lucky he is and how his actions now can affect the rest of his life.”

So for the next two months that summer we got up at five am, drove to another town and worked in a homeless shelter's soup kitchen. It was the worst of the worst neighborhoods. I had cleanup detail (you didn't think they'd let me near the food now, did you?) and he served the line.

“What are we doing here?” he asked.

I never told him why. He didn't need another lecture.
Think of all the starving children just got real.

After one week of losing his summer sleep to ride an hour in my car at the crack of dawn - with music blasting all the way - and mingle with very old people volunteers and stir canned creamed corn in a pot for an hour he said, “Why didn't you just send me to REAL jail?! I hate this!”

Uh huh, I thought. Just stir, buster.

In the middle of the second week he started to actually get up before I did. “Hurry up, Mom. We have to get going.” (Oh great, I thought. He's met a pretty girl at the homeless shelter. That's the only reason he would get up at five am. My plan has backfired. Drats!) And what was this grand revelation I expected him to learn? Heck if I knew. I was just a parent with an unruly fifteen- year -old with no respect for himself or his elders or his life. I didn't even know if it would make a difference.
All I knew was that somehow the corn and pintos and no-dessert-for-you rule would magically translate into a light-bulb moment for him. Osmosis maybe? I just knew this was the right thing to do but I didn't know how or why.

One early afternoon as I started to clean the lunch tables with a large wet rag and a bucket of soapy water, rearranging the napkins and utensils for the next meal, I looked up to see my sleepy-headed son talking with a man through the narrow serving window.

My boy had just served lunch. There was pie for dessert that day.
Pumpkin pie.The man had returned to the window for another slice.
He was dirty. Shaky.
No teeth. Scraggly. Scary. Smelly. And hungry.

The rules were clear. One serving per person. No seconds. Period.

No one was looking. And I'm thinking....We're going to get thrown out of the soup kitchen for not following the rules. Oh great! Suspended again. And this time I'm going down with him. Oh the shame. Until.....

The man who wanted more pie.

Up until this point he rarely made eye contact with anyone in the line. Especially not the kids. He plopped the food on the plate and reached for the next empty Styrofoam sadness shuffling through. People with their entire families in tow. Hungry folks down on their luck and needing not even a hot meal. Just a meal. Families living in cars through no fault of their own. On the street. Raggedy clothes crossing elbows with his Tommy Hilfiger jeans and watch.
Pork 'n beans, wax beans, any beans. Didn't matter. Please feed my child. My little girl is hungry. I saw it in their eyes. The sadness. And the shame.

I was so moved that summer. Apparently, I needed a reality check too. But that was not the point. Was it?

The man would not stop asking and he was forced to look him squarely in the eyes. I could see the wheels turning in baby boy's brown-eyed head..... “Will you shut up? I'm going to get in trouble if you don't go away.”

Silence.

And a hungry stare full of embarrassment that a life-giving gesture lay in the hands of this kid he did not know and would never know - someone young enough to be his grandchild - who held something he wanted.. something he had to beg for. And then I saw my son slip a plump piece of pumpkin delight (with whipped cream) onto the scraped clean empty plate. The man nodded appreciatively, lowered his head, and walked away.

By this time my wet rag had dropped to the table and the cleaning had stopped. My hair in a net, pretending to fold silverware sets, I watched what happened. He saw me sit down. I waited for someone to say something. I waited for him to get in trouble. No one saw his discretion that day but I'll tell you this - If I could have jumped through the tiny little window and wrapped my arms around that boy I would have done so.

He was shuffling his hundred dollar Nike-shod feet standing with a spatula and an empty pan, trying not to look at me. When our eyes finally met, the blur of tears between us said what no lecture ever could. We never talked again about the man, the pie, or his punishment.
But I was proud.

We finished our tour of shelter duty as promised and school started again in the fall.
That was seventeen years ago.

Did that summer stop him from forever being a knuckle-head? No.
Did he straighten-up-and-fly-right from that moment on? No.
Were there more nightmare dreams for me through the teenage years? Yes.

But I have to believe that it shaped his understanding of the world a bit and through all his troubles that most certainly came later, I did see – and continue to see – a great compassion develop in him for people in need.

And to this day, every time I'm offered a slice of pumpkin pie.... I see a homeless man, a prized piece of dessert and brown-eyed humility.

Mine.

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2012
#blog4peace #blogblast4peace

Shadows on Lace

2011-11-13T22:45:00.000-05:00

She laid lace in his handA most willing of manand trusted her secrets to keep

instead what she found
when the acorns fell down
in the mantle of gold

made her weep

*Photography Mimi Lenox*
still on hiatus

Winking at The Moon

2011-11-09T22:16:00.000-05:00

Siesta time.

A break from writing sometimes makes a better writer. I need serious rest and me time. I'll be back in a little while with a fresh perspective. See you soon.

*photo: Mimi Lenox*

Monday Mimisms ~ If I Red You Right

2011-11-07T18:00:00.000-05:00

I leaf you with many thanks for participating in BlogBlast4Peace last week.

It was a beautiful launch.

Now it's time for pencil skirt stories, mid-life muddling, peace post reading and kicking up some blog dust. Meet me here?

*photography Mimi Lenox*

Dona Nobis Pacem ~ The Cabinet

2011-11-04T22:45:00.002-04:00

**Many people who do not have blogs are also posting on Facebook/Twitter and not signing here. You can see the steady activity on the Peace Bloggers page or our Fan page. If you posted on FB you can also link it on the Mr. Linky below which would be most appreciated. I hope you are enjoying the peace globes. I'm seeing amazing and inspiring sights all over the globe.**

Something led me to the potting shed this morning. So, I put on some leaf-walking shoes to follow the muse.

It is clear and beautiful in Bloggingham today with a bit of breeze and the sound of falling acorns. Leaves are changing faster than I'd like for it's only a matter of time before they lay bare and naked the strength of my trees, losing their protection and grace.

For weeks now I've thought of spring. Remembering scenes in my life that happened - only - in springtime. I wondered why. The images so strong as if I were re-living them again. I could smell spring. Touch spring. In my chilly foggy forest surroundings, a season I love most of all, I needed, I suppose, to feel spring.
So on my way to the potting shed I stopped at my patch of wild mums and descended upon them with the camera lens. They were waiting like old friends to give me a breath of spring.

But back to the muse. The shed the shed shed. I must get to the shed.

Just inside the door of the little building in my grove of trees and overgrown wildness...is this

It belonged to my Papa. It was his tool cabinet. It hung on the wall of the garage where he made things and sawed things and stored things in it; including the secret stash of chewing tobacco in a can in the corner beside nails and rags and oilcans. He made picture frames and tables, stools and odd furniture pieces. I made mud pies and tried to leave him be while he measured and thought hard. It was a steady stream of stirring inedible cuisine (some things have not changed, my friends), him spitting in the can while I tried not to look, sawdust, the swing of the hammer and the sound of my grandmother's voice trying to shout above the bzzzz bzzzz saw that supper was ready and we'd better wash up.
He'd scoop me up in his grease covered arms and let me do my favorite thing of all: I got to close the wooden latch.

Opening it today without the benefit of hugs and the promise of butter biscuits was bittersweet. But something had led me to the shed today and I aimed to open it.

Hmmmm...not much left in here except spider webs and dirt. A very old can of something to do with grease, some iron rings, a few nails...and a brand new water hose head I bought last spring lying on the bottom shelf.

How did that get in there? I didn't put it there.

At that moment a large gust of wind starting spinning Bloggingham's trees above the A-line roof of the shed, branches swaying heavily above me soaring and tall in the blue sky while the bam bam bam of acorn bullets descended upon the roof at the same time above my head. Yow! It scared me so I ran out the door. Find the wild mum patch, Mimi! Mums aren't scary. Don't you go back in that building. That was a sign I tell ya, a sign!

Go back in, silly, it's just the wind.

OK. But only because you're a droopy mum and need cheering up. I'll go back.

I crushed a few acorns with my leaf-walking shoes and went back inside. Reaching into the deep storage shelf on the bottom, I gingerly removed the out-of-place water spout and laid it elsewhere. But what I saw underneath startled me so that I ran out again. This time stopping in the yard to put my face in hands, tears on my face with memories of dusty nails flying into walnut, pine and oak, now pounding in my mind as I wondered....

How did THAT get in there?

It was Papa's hammer.

All tools near and far were lost in the divorce, gathered from this cabinet and absconded with the swish of a legal pen. I never saw this before. His hammer. His hammer. How could I have missed it? His hammer. Why hadn't I seen it before? How long had it been there? No logical answers could I find, even after a phone call to said absconder-of-the-tools. He didn't remember it being there either. "I'm sure I cleaned everything out of that cabinet," he said. No matter. It's peace day ya know. It doesn't matter how it got there. But I have no doubt I was supposed to find it.

We might need a hammer you know.

To be builders of peace it isn't enough to declare it so, will it so, pray it so or blog it so. In between the words, which indeed are powerful ideas and mantras, we have an arsenal of tools at our disposal just begging to be utilized for good. Some have been lying around for years but all we want to do is talk about them. We're too busy sometimes to actually pick up a nail and pick a spot - any spot - to inhabit peacefully in our world. To make it better for someone we don't even know. We don't see the connectedness of lack in one person bringing the whole planet into a state of perpetual lack. And how one area of unrest brings the whole planet into jeopardy. Cause I'm here to tell ya...it's easy to cohabitate peacefully with people you love. But it's darn near impossible to build peace with perfect strangers across a ragged world of war.
Yet peace builders we must be with weapons of saws and plowshares.

And let's throw in some beauty, shall we?

It isn't enough to elevate people in dire need with food and clothing and somewhere-out-of-a-cardboard-box. They need - we all need - artists and writers and painters and dancers to lift our spirits to a place far beyond the basic tenets of existence. I never saw my grandfather's day end without a book in his hand, a song playing on the stereo

or a Spring in his smile.

In the meantime...we need sowers of seeds for crops of food and medicine, laboring hands to shingle roofs, diggers of wells and drillers of land, mattocks and shovelers, sweepers of oceans and singers to soothe those who can't understand this peace you say in front of their hungry children. We have to pick them up - these building tools - and make them happen in our homes and communities before we can expect anyone to buy into a word we're saying on the subject of peace. Then and only then can we call ourselves peacemakers. In my own personal space of planet Earth I will hold myself to that standard. I will try. I will try. But I don't believe it will take the world as long to arrive at the inevitable wisdom of peace as it did to lunge into the abyss of universal war. It seems to me that the tide of consciousness and awareness is turning.

But it won't last unless we get out of the realm of consciousness-raising and into the physical realm of working the work with more than manifestos. You all know how firmly I believe that words are powerful - but they are not the only tools we have. I have no trouble nailing my purpose to the plate with words. It is who I am. It's a bit more daunting to get my skirt dirty with your problems when I have a world of my own.

Have you ever noticed that in the cold dead winter of warring with someone, there comes a time when you just get tired of warring and you wonder, "Isn't there a better way?" Do I think there are people hellbent on destruction for the sake of destruction? Yes. Do I see and understand that not everyone in the world wants to go searching for spring? Yes. But I have to hope that somehow deep down even in the hearts of evil men lies a human seed of desire for survival. And if they can't reach peace for any other reason than that, then so be it. Because we're on a collision course that peace treaties and scribbled sanctions can't fix. The heart of man has to change...and that is nothing akin to changing our minds. It goes as deep as long-grained wood. That brand of human evolution requires that we sometimes allow the other person to open the door and sometimes we must allow them to lift us up to reach the door.

When my grandfather began a new project, he first chose the strongest of materials, the most sturdy wood. He knew that to lay a foundation on anything else was a waste of time. He knew that building things without the proper tools was a recipe for destruction. Then he threw in his ingredients: Solitude. Contemplation. Pride. Patience. Hard work. And a sense of service. He didn't build things to sell. Giving them away gave him great pleasure.

I was reminded by a friend today that it's good to use the tools of our fathers and grandfathers. There is something organic about it. I hope as the world churns and turns toward a new season, that we don't discard the hard-won sacrifices made before our time nor the wisdom those experiences bring to the table of peace building.

It is not enough that we learn to unmake war.

We must learn to remake peace.

Wanna borrow my hammer?

Slideshow of some of the peace globes coming in. Adding to it constantly with new submissions. Many folks are posting on Facebook only. Please visit our Peace Bloggers page or Fan page to enjoy those too. If you are a Facebook peace blogger only, please add your FB profile link to the Mr. Linky.

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2011
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The Eve of Dona Nobis Pacem

2011-11-03T10:47:00.000-04:00

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.
Back in the year 2006 she sent this photograph to me.
In the fall of 2011 she mailed a signed print to Bloggingham with a lovely letter. Blogging friends and peace bloggers are real? Who knew?

I blog for peace because a long long time ago, one significant man chose to impart the best of himself to me. I'd like to say I didn't know how remarkable he was at the time, that I learned that later on in life and took him for granted. But that would not be true. I did know. I always knew. And he never let me down. I'd like to introduce you to this honorable man.

The Silence of PeacePapa's Marblesas told on the very first Dona Nobis Pacem in the blogosphere in 2006

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 to 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 rough-hewn 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. Song after song. Tune after tune. Lesson after lesson. Tear after tear.

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 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 as the most power - wars are won; but not peaceful achievements. Nothing good can ever come of power at play for the sake of power.It never lasts and there's always a hideous price.

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 was 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 a guy in Canada 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?

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.The muse is here this morning and I am writing my peace post. See you in a bit.If you're ready to post in your part of the world, go ahead and sign below. I'll transfer your links to my new post Nov 4th when I post it this evening. Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2011

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2011

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Queen Calls For Globes

2011-11-02T23:57:00.004-04:00

I, Mimi Queen of Memes, Mimi Pencil Skirt, Her Royal Blogginess, Keeper of The Peace Globes, Owner of the Dungeon Keys and other names bestowed upon me by my royal subjects in the wee hours that shall remain unspoken, hereby request that you send in your peace globes.

It is time to let them fly.

Friday is BlogBlast For Peace

You have a voice. What will you say?

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2011

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Revisiting "The Doll Box"

2011-11-01T00:43:00.008-04:00

This week marks what would have been my grandfather's 96th 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. It has become tradition for me to share them with you during Peace Week. And for some reason on this particular chilly night in late October 2011 as I wait for another launch of peace globes, I can almost hear him speak and hover about waiting right along with the rest of us.
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 cent 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 that 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 overgrown feet that were firmly planted in front of me.
Steel-toe 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 too tightly across his tender feet, I turned 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?"

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

I sat down again, wondering 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.

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, somewhere - 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.

"But why, Mimi.....why do you need so many?"

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

I sighed. Doesn't he understand?

"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 humorously 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 and never with a scold. Any serious conversation he made with me always came on the palpable presence of one who loved me unconditionally. I never 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 of me on 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 trying to recapture on paper what other-worldly thing has just happened in my pansy world. In my mind's eye I am still there, on the porch with my Papa and we are planting pansies and the sun is hot and the leaves are falling, my pen is flowing 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 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. If I do as he asked then my time with him will be over and I can't stand the thought of that.

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 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 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 am 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 argue with electrons and atoms - but they always ended up smacking into each other 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. The globes, Papa....they all spin their own way, too, and yet they eventually make their way back to each other, 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 1960s. 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 turned to him with a knowing look 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-crossed 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 somehow I knew they'd been waiting for just this hour to make their second debut into my life. Pink. Plastic. Fragile. Soft spoken. Small. 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 how Idaho met Japan and tomorrow Italy promised to email Turkey..Israel and Poland and Tennessee and how 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 to land on his steel-toed shoes. 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. 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 through the years. 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 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 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 BlogBlast For Peace in November 2007. It is now time for Dona Nobis Pacem in the Blogosphere 2011. 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, nudges my memory and honors me with a story.
First it was marbles, then pansies and dolls.
And last year he told me a love story.
I wonder what he'll have to say on Friday....or if he'll come at all.
Maybe I'd better get some sleep.
It could be a long - very long - night.

Reason #4 to Blog4Peace: The magic of dolls. And love. And dolls. And love.

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2011

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Monday Mimisms ~ My World Is Turning Blue

2011-10-31T08:00:00.004-04:00

A few of the recent peace globe submissions.
Five days and counting. I thought you might need some inspiration.
And 3 more reasons

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Sophia Gin

San Marcos, Texas

Reason #7 to Blog4Peace: Because I know that only good can come of speaking peace. If nothing else, we spoke. No one can say we didn't try.

Reason #6: I blog for peace because the world has gone slap crazy. And we need stable steady voices to balance out the sound of crazy.

Denver, Colorado

Ireland

Shannon Wamsley ~ Wisconsin

Cocoa, Florida

Pennsylvania

Wisconsin

Inspired yet? I am!
With five days left to go as the tick tick ticking of the countdown clock will testify... this is my reason #5 to Blog4Peace
I blog for peace because its time has come.

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2011 #blog4peace #blogblast4peace

Reason #8 To Blog4Peace ~ I Owe It To My Mother

2011-10-30T15:57:00.003-04:00

I blog for peace because my mother said I was the most aggravatingly questioning child she'd ever known. "Shhhhh!!" she'd say. Stop asking so many questions." It just made me more inquisitive.
Thank you, Mother.

Reason #8 ~ I always ~~sometimes~~ listen to my mother.

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2011

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Reason #9 To Blog4Peace ~ YOU

2011-10-30T14:09:00.002-04:00

The number of peace bloggers we have is not as important as the substance of what we are saying. That is immeasurable.

Remember Debra James Percival? She's the Canadian artist who first blogged peace with her children at sunrise on the shores of Prince Edward Island. She woke them up early, her teenagers, and took them to Brackley Beach where they did this.

With her copper creations they planted peace in the sand and forever seeded a place in our hearts across the world. I will never forget them, or her. The next year in 2009 she developed a Copper Peace Dove and called it My Copper Spirit of Peace. Her work is a strong and beautiful statement. And as you can see from the 2011 peace globe above that she just submitted, the dove is still flying.

"Copper Peace Dove" by Debra James Percival

click above pic to walk through Debra's day dawn to dusk as she captured it in different lights

As long as there are people like Debra who teach their children to keep the hope alive,

there will always be hope.

There are many peace bloggers just like Debra James Percival. All you have to do is visit the gallery to see that. You all have a unique story to tell, a splash of soul from your corner of my world and hearts that give and give and give for the greater good.

I am honored to know you.

Reason #9 to Blog4Peace

I blog for peace for all the peace bloggers near and far. You are a wild and beautiful bunch.

#blog4peace #blogblast4peace

Deep Blues and Funky Vibes

2011-10-30T01:49:00.000-04:00

Grab these logos/graphics for Nov 4th and hang on. I feel a big ole' funky peace vibe coming on.

It might be epic.

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2011

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Reason #10 to Blog4Peace ~ I am stubborn

2011-10-28T23:41:00.002-04:00

I blog for peace because some say it is impossible to achieve. I am stubborn. Tell me I can't and I will. And besides, I get up every morning to challenge the impossible. Why stop now?Reason #10

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2011

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Is That Rumba Music I Hear?

2011-10-26T23:08:00.002-04:00

This is Mimi Pencil Skirt reporting live from the lovely land of the peace globes.

I've been out here for days on the lookout for peace globes. Weeks! Months even!
Okay okay I exaggerate. But seriously, the weather is turning and it's getting colder up in the blatosphere (that's blog+ stratosphere for all you non-blog speakers) and I need someone to send up a jacket. A warm cup of hot chocolate.

A longer skirt?

Hush Homer. Can't you see I'm busy? I have to make sure all the peace globes are safely launched and nobody has a collision or anything even remotely resembling conflict. If we're going to have an intergalactic demonstration, it must be peaceful.

I'll be home in around midnight on the Eve of Dona Nobis Pacem.

Is that rumba music I hear? Homer? Homer??!

My Reason #11 to Blog4Peace ~ For the right to hold peaceful intergalactic demonstrations

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2011

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Caution Children Playing by MadelineWoe

2011-10-25T09:58:00.001-04:00

Created by MadelineWoe. We thank! Please share this.

**Warning: Images are graphic**

My Reason #12 to Blog4Peace ~ The children of the world should have no fear of play.

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2011

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Calling All Bloggers ~ 10 Days Until BlogBlast For Peace

2011-10-24T21:35:00.004-04:00

Ten days from now we will sing Dona Nobis Pacem in the blogosphere. Grant us peace.

It's a simple thing. A basic idea. An uncomplicated march. And a powerful voice.

Join us

Reason #13 to Blog4Peace ~ "Dona nobis pacem pacem....dona nobis pacem"

This is not the traditional canon.

Rutgers University Glee Club performs Joseph Gregorio's "Dona nobis pacem" on European tour.

BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2011

#blog4peace #blogblast4peace

Monday Mimisms ~ I'm Not Going To Talk About BlogBlast For Peace

2011-10-24T18:50:00.001-04:00

Can we talk? I said something today on my Facebook that startled even me. For a fleeting minute.I wrote, "Oh, I know. You think I'm kidding. Every.country.in.the.world.blogging.peace.Yeah right, Mimi. You've lost your mind. Pfffftt! You know I'm not kidding!! I'm going for more coffee. Join me if you dare."

Funny thing is, they know I'm not kidding and I know I'm not kidding but still, it seemed a bit bodacious. But I'm not here to talk about BlogBl....you know....so I won't.

It's just that...take little Baby Boy #2 who is now just over two weeks old in this bright new world. One day soon I'll watch him fly around a second base steal on to third and stop, look around, spit in the dirt and then maybe, just maybe, he'll take off for home plate on his own whim. I'm not saying I don't want him to listen to his coach should the coach say STAY but sometimes you've just gotta run on your own intuition.

That is what his father (at left) used to do way back in the day of Little League bliss. See that determination? See that spit in his eye? He never let the second strike worry him. The boy knew how to keep his eye on the ball and he knew how to run.

So my goal will remain as simple and bodacious as it's always been: every blog and every country. All of them. Fifty-five nations already flying the thing I am not going to mention is nothing to sneeze at. And today I corresponded with Romania, Angola, Belarus and Bahamas - all wanting more information.

Sometimes it's good to go back and think about the beginning of a thing.
How you felt about it. How it sparked you on the inside and made you tingle. How the whole thing unfolded and spun out of control right in front of your eyes until one day you found yourself sitting on the Internet making outrageous statements while people shook their heads and prayed for your deliverance.

I don't know what it is about this movement but the more complicated it becomes for me in a technical sense, and the more important decisions I have to make about its future, the more I have to remind myself that the beginning is a fine place to start. So I go back. And I read what we all said when we didn't know what we were doing.
We just knew why we were doing it.

Admittedly there was an innocence then that now occasionally flirts with extinction. It's the way of the world when a thing is growing. You have to stave off germs and roadblocks and naysayers and out and out evil intent at times. But I believe you prevail if the premise is pure. The bones and sinew of a movement are no less tenuous than a baby's soft spotted innocence you know. Sometimes you have to fight to hold on to that spark.

I try to revive it on the inside of me. Because if I lose the original intent - so do you.

When blogs were blogs and Facebook was just a dream in some kid's head, we were the social networking of the internet. The blogosphere was....well...the blogosphere. I kind of miss that feeling.
We could be boldly naive about a little old thing like worldwide peace and not blink a blog eye. I wrote that bloggers were taking over the world one globe at a time before I even saw the first launch.

(Artist and peace blogger: Alicia M.B.Ballard, White Rock, British Columbia)

I was inspired that you were inspired. I was mesmerized by little blue globes sent to me from afar. Each one attached to a person like myself in another land, another life, another existence different than mine who just wanted what we all wanted collectively - peace.
I asked myself, even then, in this post how I could speak with such confidence about an idea that was barely two weeks old. My answer was, "Because I have unwavering faith in the power of words."

I still do.

That has never changed. Not because there are now thousands upon thousands of words but because the words carry meaning and power. It is their substance that distinguishes and propels this movement.

You can't keep a thing like a home base steal quiet for very long.

I see that spit in your eye.

Reason #14 To Blog4Peace ~ Honoring Origins

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2011

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Reason #15-24 To Blog4Peace ~ The Consequences of Conflict

2011-10-22T20:58:00.000-04:00

The consequences of conflict are many. The consequences of peace are just as many. I'm aiming for the latter in my life; on a personal level, on an international level. Because life isn't just about my little world, my little skirmishes, my little problems. What I do and say ultimately affects what you do and say and vice versa. Life is more about what effects my individual actions have on those I love. If they are not happy, I am usually not happy. It is also about what effect my individual actions have on the whole planet. If I pollute the atmosphere with carbon exhaust from my vehicle, I am not the only one breathing the fumes. Conversely, if I anti-pollute the warring atmosphere in this world with peaceful gestures, peaceful words, uplifting deeds and unselfish motivations, I am also not the only one benefiting. Everyone has an effect on the world. Everyone. Choose which consequence you'd like to be and hold yourself to that. You might be the catalyst for someone on the fence at the same crossroad. I don't want my influence to be the one that knocks him off and kills him. I want my influence to help him choose a way that will lift him up and set him on his own peaceful way in the world.

Consequences of war aren't imaginary. Here are just a few to ponder from the past and present.

They are all concrete reasons to blog for peace.

It's always the same no matter which war or what era or who is fighting. Any of these photos could pertain to any war, any region, at any time.

On a humanitarian level the stakes are not higher now than they've ever been. War and unrest has always scourged mankind in massively personal ways.

Reasons #15 - 24

Hunger

vs abundance

Displacement of civilians

Ivorians crossing into Liberia from fighting in the Ivory Coast

(credit: Department of International Development)

vs. peaceful places to dwell

Sacrifices and fear

"I drew an assault boat to cross in - just my luck. We all tried to crawl under each other because the lead was flying around like hail." Crossing The Rhine under enemy fire at St. Goar.

March 1945 Department of Defense

vs A peaceful play on the Rhine

Illness

Crop dusting with Agent Orange aka Operation Ranch Hand which lasted from 1962-1971 to destroy crops and foliage cover in the Vietnam countryside. Herbicides over 50x the normal legal limit were used on the land in possible violation of the Geneva Convention. The Vietnamese people and many American soldiers who served in Vietnam are still dealing with the long-lasting and deadly health effects of Agent Orange.

Environmental and Conservation. Ecocide: - the killing of the environment which includes

includes contaminating water supplies to a region by the explosion of bombs. The presence of landmines render much land unusable. The recent mishandling of radioactive material in Iraq in 2003 at the Tuwaitha Nuclear Plant following the dumping of uranium oxide into rivers. Destruction of the eco-system by heavy military equipment in forests and exposure to depleted uranium risks are also an issue.

Child soldiers
1860-1865 Civil War US

1968 Vietnam

2007 Democratic Republic of The Congo

Prisoners of war

April 1951

United Nations Prisoner or War Camp in Pusan - Korean and Chinese communists prisoners

Disruption of education

Herat, Afghanistan

Grief

Sgt. 1st Class Nathan R. Chapman - the first U.S. soldier killed by hostile fire in Afghanistan

Disruption of families

West Point Military Academy ceremony 2010

Returning from the Persian Gulf 2004

I want to see more returning and less leaving.

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2011

Reason #25 To Blog4Peace ~ Damned Disputes!

2011-10-21T21:50:00.000-04:00

Not a day goes by in my life and yours that we don't encounter some sort of dispute or disagreement with some individual, some entity, some company or even the status quo. Apart from my occasional desire to lash out with sarcasm (yes, oh yes, me) I usually don't settle my scores by climbing atop a military tank brandishing an automatic weapon because I didn't get my way. And while I may be ridiculously over-simplifying, it might also be true that in this case that nonsensical oversimplification is a little too close to the fire of truth.

Here's a picture of the Annapolis Conference in 2007 with senior officials from Israel and Palestine sitting down together. I suppose you could call it a photo op, a political stunt, or just plain nonsense if you're in a ~~sarcastic~~ realistic pithy mood. But I am just salty enough to believe that the folks at this table would rather see peacekeeping around rich mahogany......

than this

Three cheers for mahogany, my reason #25 to blog for peace.

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2011

Reason #26 To Blog4Peace ~ Biological Warfare

2011-10-21T21:03:00.000-04:00

The United States signed the Biological and Toxin Weapons Agreement in 1972 along with 163 world states and The Republic of China.
According to the United Nations Office website at Geneva, it was the first multilateral disarmament treaty banning the production of an entire category of weapons. In the past 30 years the agreement's effectiveness has markedly declined due to lack of monitoring and the rise of threats in other areas of warfare.

Wikipedia says: "Each State Party to this Convention undertakes never in any circumstances to develop, produce, stockpile or otherwise acquire or retain:

(1) Microbial or other biological agents, or toxins whatever their origin or method of production, of types and in quantities that have no justification for prophylactic, protective or other peaceful purposes;

(2) Weapons, equipment or means of delivery designed to use such agents or toxins for hostile purposes or in armed conflict." (source: Wikipedia)

I blog for peace to remind the world how disastrous a biological attack would be and pray that none such disaster befalls any of us.

Reason #26

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2011

Reason #27 To Blog4Peace ~ They Took My Challenge From 100 to Zero

2011-10-20T19:00:00.001-04:00

They took my challenge.
They've been blogging for peace for the past 86 days. Yes!! I said 86 days. It's the longest peace fest in history (well, I'd better research that but I'm betting we're close) In fact, most of them are STILL blogging the 100 Reasons. Why stop now? They've counted down from 100 almost to zero.

I have most of their wonderful posts in one article almost ready, but for now, I'd like to introduce you to some incredibly dedicated people who've made it their mission to search out just why indeed they blog for peace. You'll find some amazing posts and inspiration.

This is a partial list of those who took the 100 Days 100 Reasons to Blog4Peace Challenge and a few snippets of their work. Please visit them to read more. I will soon have them all in one page at the top of my blog. And if you blogged the challenge, please write me!!! I don't want to leave anyone out.

Terica's Flower Impressions expanded into a brand new blog just to hold her peace reasons. It's called Terica Blogs For Peace.
North Carolina

#21 Revolution Whispers #22 Nobel Peace Prize For Women #23 US Military Veterans #24 I Am Who I Am #25 Peace Art #26 America Falling? #27 A Good spirit Song #28 American Poverty #29 Stop Bullies

Laura Campanelli ~ Gainesville, Florida

i blog for peace today.. for all peaceful protesters
I blog for peace today for all the new children born into this world
i blog for peace today so children stay children and not force to carry a gun at age 10.. kill there own family so they can live
i blog for peace today.. for the lost children who live on the streets
i blog for peace today... for parents who have trouble teens

Daisy Mae Maus

I blog for peace because I can!
Cheysuli is blogging for peace as only she can...

The Matriarch's Corner ~ Kathy Duffy Thomas
Columbia, South Carolina
#65 I Blog for Peace Because I Seek To Redeem   #66 I Blog For Peace Because I Seek Redemption
#67 Reason to Blog4Peace: CoExist
2011 BlogBlast4Peace Peace Globe Act Locally: Reasons To Blog4Peace     #65-74 Peace Within Me   We Remember

Michelle Frost in Scotland, author of Crow's Feet and her specially made blog for peace blogging. She tells the story of the thimbles and calls it Peace Thimbles

#84 The Glory of War #83 Dominion of Dreams #82 Let It Begin with Me #81 An Unlikely Angel #79 Peace Globes 2010 #78 A Little Town With A Huge Heart #77 The Sisters Buried At Lemnos and Poems For Peace

Travis of Trav's Thoughts
United States Known as Dancing Bee for Peace and maker of most excellent peace globes (a Peace Globe Worker Bee extraordinaire), Travis posts a 30 day countdown each year featuring Peace Quotes. Even while blogging the 100 Reasons, he still carries on this tradition on his blog.

Reason 62: Because being willing to stand and defend does not mean I condone hitting first.
Reason 61: On the Turning Away, written by David Gilmour and Anthony Moore, recorded by Pink Floyd, released in 1987 on the album A Momentary Lapse of Reason
Reason 60: Because it can be challenging enough to make a prosperous life without the added difficulty of slogging through constant conflict.
Reason 59: Because I don't know how to be indifferent to the suffering that goes on in the world. I blog for peace because to be idle is to lend some measure of credibility to the idea that it's enough that I am not suffering in this moment. When one suffers we all are the worse for it.
Reason 58: I blog for peace so that I shall continuously renew the patience and persistence I need to re-dedicate myself every year to a path of fulfillment based in knowledge, responsibility, service, and respect for diversity.

Reason 20: In the Lord of the Rings films, Lady Galadriel (played ethereally by Cate Blanchett, says "Even the smallest person can change the course of the future." I am just arrogant enough to believe that I can change the future by my actions, and so my actions include blogging for Peace.
Reason 19: Because I can't control what someone else is going to do, and sometimes I can't control my own circumstances. The only thing I have control over is my decisions...to act or not. I choose to act as a Peace blogger.

Frank of Foxxfyrre's Honk n' Hollr in Canada

#79 We, Robot #80 Peeing on The Linoleum #80 Account Closed
#81 Colours #82 Love Letters #83 Right Now #2 #84 Right Now: At This Moment #85 Declare WAR For Peace #90-86 PEACE (letter by letter)
#99-91 Examining the word #100 The very first BlogBlast with Mimi

Shannon Wamsley @ Shannon's Moments of Introspection ~ Wisconsin

Shannon's Reasons - And she put them all in one post for me. Yay!
Reason #100 - So my children have a better world to live in.
Reason #99 - To stop the hatred
Reason #98 - To be free from pain
Reason #97 - Because peace is not something you wish for, it is something you make, something you do, something you are and something you give away (Robert Fulghum)

Eileen Trainor
San Marcos, Texas
Endangered Spaces
Texas RVTravel
Why do I blog for peace? If I can cause one mind to doubt, to study further, to ask questions, then I have done something that would not have been done if I had not tried. Try, won't you?

I blog for peace because I want the world to remember the words of Jimmy Carter: War may sometimes be a necessary evil. But no matter how necessary, it is always an evil, never a good. We will not learn how to live together in peace by killing each other's children. - Jimmy Carter

Randal H. Moomaw ~ Sugar Creek, Ohio
I blog for peace because we have ENOUGH historic dates!!!

Diane Hsz ~ Connecticut

I blog for Peace. The seasons are changing and in spite of how we treat Mother Earth, she survives. But is surviving enough? By promoting peace we bring peace not only to others, but to Mother Earth. But what does it do for us personally?
This week I participated it a drumming circle for International Peace Day. In a moment of drumming I could hear the heart beat of Mother Earth.

I blog for peace because there is hope.

EmmDee Writes
I Blog4Peace because Desmond Tutu said, "If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor."

Real Life 101 Reason that I blog for Peace ~ Reverend Fred Shuttlesworth
Real Life 501 reason that I blog for Peace - I have and I know love for all of God's children
Reason No. 502 that I am a peace blogger - w/peace there is the opportunity for open communication and love to occur no matter the known differences. So, give peace a chance ~ after all the animals do it.

Susan St. Clair
Toronto, Canada
I blog for peace because...
#81 The World Needs To Heal
#80 My Grandmother
#79 I Blog For Peace Even When I Do Not Feel Like It

Kevin Walsh ~ Carlisle Cumbria England
I Blog for Peace because without it we will not rid the world of hunger and disease. however thanks to many individual days of Peace we stand on the brink of eradicating the second human disease in history. On World Polio Day, Monday 24 October, let's support Rotary's End Polio Now initiative #rotaryendpolio

and Yours Truly
Click here for my Reasons

So tonight I blog for peace because they blog for peace and you blog for peace and cats blog for peace and dogs blog for peace and gerbils and goats and even squid.
Yep. Even squid.

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4, 2011