May 11 - It's Been One Year

     It's been one year since Rocky died. My grief has been slow and I've felt worse somedays than others. I have found solace in sharing my thoughts and feelings with my friends. I'm not one for public show except when telling stories.
     I do not consider myself a poet. I do not think poetically with every thought. However, I do appreciate metaphors, imagery, and other forms of speech that makes up a poet's vocabulary. Occasionally I am overcome with emotional thought and lines of a poem come up for me. That's what happened with the following poem.
     On December 10, I had the phrases, the "gist," and the ending. But I knew it needed to simmer and I didn't want to publish it until the anniversary of Rocky's death. It simmered until today when I opened it up in the word processor. By now, it easily assumed a poetic form, and some new words make it stronger, in my opinion.
     Here it is, in honor of Reginald B. Rockwell, my beloved Rocky:

The Music Dies Away

The Hospice room has been full of Rachmaninov,

Music from that foreign land and long ago time,

Well-loved by my mate throughout his eighty years,

Always playing in the background,

As he toiled and played and loved me,

His body moving to the rhythm of a concerto

With the look of an eighteen-year old,

Our bodies touched and our damp hair mingled,

Sometimes I could tell he'd become the melody,

The notes, the staff, the harmony,

Sometimes he'd wave his fists into the air to conduct

   the energy,

And the concerto became the foreground, the background,

And all of it became the All Of It,

My love's energy unites with the music now,

The CD woos his worn-out heart,

Caresses his medicated mind, calms his slowed breaths,

He slowly drifts along with the fading life's flow,

The end of the last Track is here,

The Bose turns itself off,

The power of a vibrant creator hangs in the air,

The room becomes still as the beautiful music 

.....dies away

Rocky at age 18 playing his beloved music.

Dialogue In Line At the Post Office

 

USAMA BIN LADIN IS DEAD

LONG LIVE AMERICA!

     I take the 10 commandments seriously so I feel a twinge of guilt as I, along with the rest of the United States, celebrate Usama Bin Ladin's violent demise yesterday. But the twinge is easily swished away by the pride I feel that the USA could perform such a difficult job in less than an hour without the deaths of many civilians.

     I heard the news late last night and tuned to CNN so I could stay abreast of what was happening. What a wonderful sight I saw as people, mostly young adults, gathered in front of the White House to cheer and wave flags and then actually begin to sing our impossibly-difficult-to-sing National Anthem. There was no hint of this news in advance for public relations people to take advantage of, so I believe these wonderful displays of patriotism arose spontaneously.

     I had another surge of pride this morning as I tuned into Morning Joe and saw a clip of students at The Ohio State University jumping into the campus pond to celebrate. I also saw crowds in Times Square but the OSU students made me smile and my chest puff out since that university is my alma mater. 

     I thought you might find interesting the following dialogue I had this afternoon while standing in line at the Bristol post office:

     Old Gent (my age) ahead of me called over to one of the PO clerks who was actually busy with another customer: "Hey, have you got the stamp yet of Obama with the hole in his eye?"

     PO Clerk: No, he has to be dead 10 years before you can get your picture on a stamp.

     Me, totally confused and bursting with curiousity as to why this gent would think there was a picture of Obama with a hole in his eye. Addressing my question to him: What did you say? A hole in his eye--on a stamp?

     Old Gent: Oh, he was killed last night. They shot him in the head, right through the eye.

     Me: Oh, you're talking about Bin Ladin.

     OG: Yeah. Osama Bin Ladin.

     Me: (quietly) You said Obama.

     OG: Did I? I probably did. As far as I'm concerned, they're both the same.

     Me: (shocked) Oh, no, come on now.

     OG: Yeah, What's so good about him? I didn't vote for him.

     Me: (I lost it here and my memory of exactly what was said is gone. I'll make it up the best I can recall.) Well, I did. He's done a good job.

     OG: Well, who killed him? Who actually fired the shot?

     Me: Navy Seals is what I heard.

     OG: How do you know they even got Bin Ladin? That's just what they're telling us. Why did they drop him into the sea?

     Me: They didn't want a place where his followers could erect a monument to him.

     OG: That's what they say. That's what they tell us. They don't tell us the truth. How do we know it's him?

     Me: They've got his DNA. (Blank look from OG) And lots of pictures.

     OG: Well, they can be faked. 

     Me: Oh, you are cynical.

     OG: You can't believe 'em.

     Me: I believe 'em.

     OG: Why?

     Me: You have to have some hope. If you don't have hope, you'll get too depressed.

     OG: Well, then why didn't he show us his birth certificate?

     I breathed a sigh of frustration and relief when the OG moved to the head of the line and the PO clerk called, "Next."

     This is why politicians have to spend so much money--to speak louder and more convincingly to overcome stubbornness, cynicism, and ignorance

      

Elder Spirit Tour

Bittersweet News--A New Chapter Begins

     A new chapter will soon be starting in my life  Today, I was notified I have been accepted as a member of the ElderSpirit Trail View community in Abingdon, pictured above, and placed on the waiting list to buy one of the homes.

     I am very excited. No one knows how long it will take for a home to become available. My plan is to consult a real estate agent to find out what I need to do regarding updating and redecorating Castle Yonder to prepare it for sale. Also, there's going to be some major downsizing that has to be done.

     Thinking about moving to this community is bittersweet for me. Leaving  Castle Yonder, the unique home in the mountains I've known for 27 years, is so sad. I won't be able to take any of it with me except lots of memories, photographs and a few daylily roots.

     But the thought of moving to ElderSpirit is absolutely rejuvenating for me. My life has been like a book, divided into chapters, and I am now ready to conclude the Castle Yonder chapter. I don't know what awaits me, but I've always been a good mover and have adapted to geographic change well in my past. 

     What I love about ES is that its mission is to sponsor a participatory community of aging adults who accept the values of tolerance, cooperation, and governance by residents through compromise and conciliation. They also encourage a later life journey in spirituality. Many religions are represented among the members and the Spirit House is scheduled for various meetings for Buddhists, Quakers, Franciscans, and AA, among others. The community is designed to include all financial levels also. 

     ElderSpirit has three expectations of each member; one is to attend monthly general meetings; the second is to serve on one of the committees, of which there are many; and the third is to be on a cooking team which prepares a meal every nine weeks.  I have visited there three times and now that I'm an off-site member, I'm looking forward to my next visit, the general meeting next Saturday morning.

     I'll keep you all posted on future blogs as to progress toward beginning this new chapter.  

April Showers Bring May Apples

What do May Apples and Scotchmen have in common?

They both have something under their skirts!

Rosalie

     
     This is my niece Rosalie. I was six years old when she was born, the first child of my older sister, Velma. So we are close like sisters. She loved my mother and came to stay at our house as often as she could. 

     As adults, we both followed our own paths and had families, but always, always kept up with each other. I  knew where there was a bedroom and a kitchen table when I went back "home" to visit family from one of the many states I lived in.

     When Rocky got sick a few years back, Rosalie and her husband, Leslie, who live in Ohio, came a couple times a year to help us out. She and her daughter, Annette, came to visit and help last April less than a month before Rocky died. Then she and Leslie came again for Rocky's memorial service in May.

     Last Friday they arrived again to visit and help me in my flower beds. They more than helped. They did most of the work, not only in the garden but some odd jobs in the house, and together we found time to cook. 

     It was delightful to be with one of my family in two of our favorite places, the garden and the kitchen.

     

     Here's the words that came to me when they left to go home this morning.  

Proust had it right when he remembered things past,

He must have had a rich family--rich in living, that is,

We are aging now, but rich in memory,

Rosalie has come to help me with my garden,

and we pat the coneflowers into the earth 

and recall our child labors from the past,

We pull out weeds and speak of losses we've had,

We prune out dead branches and toss them
into the woods to transform,

And on the knees of our Levi's

we kneel and hope and plan,

And wear out our garden loving genes.

Mimi Rockwell

April 20, 2011

Mimi and Rosalie taking a break from weeding.

A New, Yet Old, Friend

Photo taken by Taylor Bracher

     We here at Castle Yonder have a special love for Grouse ever since one became friends with Rocky several years ago. He preceded Rocky in death by nine months as the result of an auto accident.

     So we are all delighted that Grouse I evidently had a son who has now made himself known. (Well, my good friend, Jay, has spotted him a couple of times in the woods while on mushroom forays, but I, the Queen of Castle Yonder, had never seen him.) 

     But he allowed an audience as he posed for a picture this past Sunday.  I imagine he had been flushed up into the trees because my good neighbor, Rudy, was chain sawing a tree that the Sat. night storm had pushed over and across the road.

     Now our new, old, friend needs a name (as well as a mate!) Perhaps I'll call him Grousey II until someone comes up with something better.

     I guess we could call him "Ruffie" or "Ruffles" since his specimen is called the Ruffed Grouse. They are noted by their sometimes elaborate displays of mating behavior, "drumming" the air by beating their wings rapidly. They also strut, raise their breasts upward, and spread special feathers on the head, neck, and tail. They strut their stuff; how could any gal resist? 

     Grouse are land birds who forage on the ground for seeds and insects. They can fly but they are not fast and seldom fly more than a few hundred feet. They can burst into flight from a sitting position when they feel the need to remove themselves to another location. This is called flushing and causes the heart to beat a little faster in any human observer who might be out for a walk.

      Flushing is likely why Grousey II posed for the photo in a tree.

      

Mimi's 77th

Jessica wearing her Grandad Rocky's cap

A Big April Fool

  Seventy-seven years ago, April 1st fell on a Sunday which just happened to be Easter that year. At 9:00 that evening, I came into the world. A mid-wife and my mother's best friend, Ardella Rahrig, was with my mother at our home in a small town in NE Indiana. My two sisters, Velma, age 16 and Vi, age 13 went to Ardella's house to take care of the younger children. The mid-wife, Annie Wessell, pretty much had me delivered when the community physician, Dr. Klinger, finally arrived. He finished the job. I was cleaned up, wrapped up, and laid beside my mother in her big iron bed.


     When Vi and Velm heard they had a new little sister, they were very excited because they had been wanting a girl to play with. And play they did! They dressed me up, played with my hair, taught me nursery rhymes, and took me along with them to the ice cream shop, friends' homes, the drug store that had a soft drink counter, and more. They coaxed me into reciting poems and paraded me in front of visitors. In short, they taught me to love receiving attention and feel comfortable speaking in front of others.

     The only problem I had was I never liked the name they gave me. I was named "Irma" after a female organist my parents liked to listen to on the radio, Irma Glenn. They added "Rose" which was after my mother, Rosa. She had been called "Rosie" all her life. They wanted me to use both names, "Irma Rose" and proceeded to call me that. "Go sit down by Irma Rose," they would tell my Alaskan Spitz puppy, and she would.

     Then I went to school. I noticed that all my classmates had only one name like Carol, Carolyn, Shirley, Sally, Pat, Donna. So I told my teacher to call me "Irma" only and drop the "Rose." My parents were upset; they wanted me called both names. Now as a clinical therapist, I think I did it as a step towards independence, a way of keeping my "self" separate from my mother.  I didn't want the teachers to think that was my mother sitting in their first-grade classroom. Then someone called me "Wormy Irmie" and I realized I hated, hated, hated being called the single name"Irma" more than ever. 


     So for over 40 years I lived with a name I detested! Why couldn't l I have been called "Bunny" or "April"? "Irma" sounds as German as sauerkraut. And we, as Americans in the 1940's, were at war with Germany! Admittedly, due to my Dad having been born in Germany, he was a citizen now. So that made me a second generation German immigrant; but I felt as American as apple pie!


     In middle age, when I was expecting my first grandchild, I was leafing through a book, Choose the Right Name For Your Baby, with my daughter-in-law who was eight months pregnant. Just for the heck of it, I turned to the definition for "Irma." "Irma," I read "means strength, power, regal, Queen." Wow, I thought, and my imagination began galloping across the northern European landscape. Maybe I had had an ancestor named "Irma" who was powerful, royal, a Queen. I could picture her in my mind--a female Viking with brass breast plate, a helmet with horns over two blond braids, a sword in one hand, and a battle ax in the other! Queen Irma the Wagnerian Visigoth!!!


     Then my daughter-in-law asked me what I wanted to be called by this new little person who was coming into the world. In truth, I was to become a step-grandmother and I thought the two biological grandmothers should have first choice. They had chosen, my daughter-in-law said. I began remembering that I had wanted to change my name for a long time. Here was my chance. I would choose a name that could be used in non-grandmotherly situations, too. I had just started storytelling and wanted to develop a persona with a different name from "Irma." I remembered I had recently heard a grandchild call her grandmother "Mimi" and I knew that Puccini had found it a fine name for his Bohemian heroine. Daughter-in-law liked it, and the decision was made. 


     And that's how one of the biggest April fools made a wise decision, because "Mimi" fits me and has served me well both as a grandmother and a storyteller.

Irma Diederich performing a monolog (storytelling) in high school.

"Irma" performing a monolog (storytelling)in high school.

Carmen & Sam's Visit

 Sam Horne and Carmen Wren Beckett spent the last two days with me. They are University of Maryland students who live in Takoma Park, MD just NE of Washington. D.C.  They plan to be married in August, and I'm excited to be planning to attend their wedding, which will be a Quaker service.


I've known Carmen since she was about two years old. She was a very independent little girl and had a mind of her own. Her mother wisely home-schooled her and she proved to be a natural learner with definite likes and dislikes. She and her parents moved away to Elkton MD when she was about 6 or so. But they continued to come for visits as Carmen's mother, Leslie, who I had met as a girlfriend of my son, Alan's, and I had grown to be very close friends. Leaving me very disappointed and Alan heart-broken (for awhile) Leslie married someone else, Spencer.

Eventually, Spencer became welcome at Castle Yonder too, and either or both parents would bring Carmen to visit. One of her favorite things to do was to go to the comic book store in downtown Bristol. She was a fan of Buffy, the Vampire Slayer.








Mimi and Carmen, close friends already, at the comic book store.

 On this most recent visit, Carmen said, "Why did my parents let me go out looking like that?" I thought she looked cute (and I still do). She's a young teenager here.

And then she discovered the Jonesborough Storytelling Festival and came several years in a row to attend it with me. I remember she loved Patrick Bell and Carmen Deedy. She's about 14-15 here. Before she left that year, she asked if I'd be her Grandmother.
So I now refer to her as my "foster granddaughter." 

And here Carmen is on this visit. A sight for nostalgic eyes.  

She is now 23 years old, is making wise career decisions, and still knows what she likes and dislikes.
Thankfully, she still likes me.

This weekend, we spent time knitting. Carmen is an amazing knitter. When I saw her web page, I said to myself, "I've been knitting for 50 years, and I can't knit like that!" Yesterday, she gave me a lesson in using a circular needle!

Sam is in his late 20's and will enter graduate school in the fall to get his teaching certification. He plans to teach Middle School and is passionate about history, especially the Civil War. With this generation, the computers come along on trips.

Friday, Sam and Carmen went on a hike while I made brownies. We ate out at a Japanese restaurant, then watched The Girl With The Dragon Tatoo  on BlueRay. Note Sam's scarf above knitted by Carmen. She's an expert on sox, too!

Sat. we played the board game "Ticket To Europe," knitted, and ate at home with stuffed chicken breasts, creamed corn, biscuits, wine spritzers,  all pulled from the freezer and frig since no one wanted to go to the grocery store. The best kind of meal for the cook! 

And here we are this morning, Foster GrandMimi and Granddaughter, she in her traveling clothes and me still in my bathrobe. Big hugs and kisses and looking forward to a beautiful wedding on August 20.

Rocky's 81st Birthday

Rocky's 81st birthday would have been March 4, last Saturday.

Here's a poem I wrote to remember and honor him.

Smile down on me from the moon beams,

Smile up at me from the Caribbean seas,

No matter where your spirit is

It's your smile that emergizes mine.

Smile up at me from the bloodroot, the coltsfoot, the may apple,

Smile down on me from the mist and the rainbow,

I feel your warmth and wit always

Hugging me around my shoulders

Like your old grey sweater 

On a chilly day,

Smile down on me,

Smile up at me,

Smile at me across the land,

Smile at me from wherever you are,

So I can smile.

                                                                                      Mimi Rockwell

                                                                                      March 4, 2011

Review: SOUTH OF BROAD by Pat Conroy

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       South of Broad by Pat Conroy held my attention although it wasn't that hard to put down and take a break. Full of characters, the primary one is the city of Charleston, South Carolina. It is lushly developed with Conroy's substantial vocabulary, and rarely does a place take on the character that Conroy's favorite city does. 

     The author chooses a clever way to develop his favorite character. The protagonist and narrator is a newspaperman who is writing his memoirs beginning with his life as a young teenaged newspaper boy. This gives Conroy the ability to describe the homes and characters along the newspaper route of Leo King, nicknamed "Toad."

     It also provides more than a glimpse of the boy's mind as he recounts his traumatic experience of finding his idolized older brother's body drowned, suicidally self-mutilated, in their shared bathroom. Leo cannot deal with this tragedy and is admitted to a mental institution. 

     He continues to ruminate about the six other young people, new to Charleston, that he meets during his summer before starting high school. Along with three Charleston natives who have gotten into some minor drug trouble, they all become friends. Four of these are emotionally disturbed with lives that began in tragedy. None of these characters are developed fully to my satisfaction like Leo is. Conroy focuses more on their behaviors and victimization than on character. He tells the reader a lot about what they say and how they look, but little about what's going on in their emotional lives.

     There is a tremendous amount of drama that happens over a period of 20 years, but all of it during high school, or mid-life. I wasn't even sure what the career was for one major character, Niles, who originally came from the North Carolina western mountains, until near the end when it was casually mentioned. The intense drama includes childhood sexual molestation, alcoholism, a murderous perverted father, exciting football games, a cold distant mother who is also the high school principal, a Hollywood star, a wayward wife, Hurricane Hugo, suicide, a perverted Catholic priest, and a search in San Francisco for one of the friends who is a lifelong effeminate homosexual dying of AIDS and kidnapped by a villain who is taking his welfare money. Whew!

     There is just too much of one thing throughout this novel and not enough of another.

Everything is tied up in the denouement, however, although two of the glamourous friends have had tragic endings. Everyone else ends up with the spouse they began with. Except for Leo, our narrator. But even then, there is a small hint that there is a woman for him waiting in the wings. 

     The real story here is the relationship between a man and his city. I quote from one of the last pages when Leo, now a middle-aged man takes a bike ride along his old newspaper route, "I am riding hard through the most beautiful streets in America, my native city. I know I have to cure myself with Charleston. There is nothing that the Holy City cannot right...I ride past concealed gardens flush with morning glories, ligustrum, white oleanders, and lavender azaleas galore."

     Yet, I read the entire book which is on the lengthy side. The lushness of the descriptions of Charleston was one thing I enjoyed, and the dialogue was another. I admired the structure. Overall, I couldn't help but think that Conroy was writing about himself. That would have been enough to satisfy me without adding so many tragic characters to create a literary overload in hopes of producing a best seller. You have so many fans, Mr. Conroy, that just your last name guarantees a best seller. I'm glad I read your book because now I can see Charleston with more appreciative eyes.

Happy Valentine's Day 2011

    This is my first Valentine's Day without Rocky. However, Mr. R. wasn't very sentimental about birthdays, let alone Valentine's or Mother's Day. That didn't mean I stopped nagging him, but I finally settled for gently reminding him, and then buying something for myself if he didn't come through, which was often. In our later years, he finally caught on and at least gave me a card, although sometimes they were typewritten notes from his word processor. They were always funny sweet, so I adored getting them.


     I usually gave him something like a funny card or sour ball hard candy.

    Last year was different. Valentine's Day was only one month before Rocky went into the hospital and he was having lots of down days. On Feb. 14, he felt good enough to drive the two miles to the dump where the trash man helped him empty his truck. He didn't come home immediately, but as I found out later, he had driven up to a small country florist a few miles away. He finally brought me six red roses for Valentine's Day which really touched my heart.


    So, it isn't unusual for me to think about my Valentine's gift to myself, especially in the middle of a cold winter. I jumped the gun and bought it last week. A month before, I had admired it at the 606 State Street Gallery where our group told stories. Then I couldn't get it out of my mind, and decided I could afford it for a Valentine this year. Here it is:

    The title is "Watch Out, Little Red." Look carefully and you'll see the shape of a wolf in the background. The artist is Elizabeth Scroggins of Bristol. It speaks to me because I live in the woods, I tell fairytales, and I love the color red. Also, as a widow I need to "watch out" too. After all, Little Red's Granny got swallowed up by the big, bad wolf. (Although somedays I say "Bring him on!) 


     Happy Valentine's Day to you all. And instead of moping around if you don't get a valentine, go buy or make one for yourself! Flowers, candy, costume jewelry, books of poetry are within most budgets. Be kind and love yourself!  


Mimi

An Open Letter To My Family and Friends

     My daughter-in-law, Ann, is in the real estate business, so it was only natural that she became upset when she received an e-mail saying the Obama Health Care Plan contains a section saying that people selling their homes will have to pay an additional 3.8% real estate SALES tax. One quick click onto www.snopes.com showed that this tax will only be applied to certain wealthy people who sell their homes for at least $500,000, and then there are qualifications that this is connected to investments. Very complicated but definitely not applicable to ordinary middle-class sellers and in keeping with Obama's campaign speeches.

     I noticed that she had sent this real-estate email to her children as well as her husband. These are my grandchildren and since I live 4 hours away and don't get to see them too often, I decided they need to know my simple philosophy of my relationship to my country's politics as I'm sure they're bombarded with Internet messages of all kinds. I want them to know what I have learned through my 76+ years.

     Now I've decided I will let all my friends know where I stand. I am no economist and no public policy expert let alone a politician, so this is pretty simple advice.

Dear Ann, Jessica, and Christopher, Don't believe everything you read sent by a political party. Go to a website that is objective. I use www.snopes.com and www.fact.com

This thing about a 3.8% real estate tax is covered very well on snopes.com. If you're interested, read it. 

If you are watching Fox commentaries on tv, switch once in awhile and watch MSNBC. If you're watching MSNBC, switch once in awhile and watch FOX. Then watch CNN; personally I find them the most objective of the 3 channels. 

Politics can be fascinating, but in my 77 years, the ones BEHIND the one running for a political office are often very dishonest and will do anything to WIN. The playing of the game is what is important to them because they are trying to outwit the competition, and they lose sight of consequences. When you live in a democracy, you've got to be watchful, compassionate, and educated and then keep yourselves that way as you age. (I say "compassionate" because Jesus taught us to watch out for our brother, and his teachings have made up my personal ethics.)

The reason many politicians get so far is because they are charismatic. They may have speechwriters who are literally putting words in their mouths, then they make fantastic promises, and uneducated people respond just like they would to a celebrity. The common man (some educated, some ignoramuses) casts his vote and then has to abide by whatever becomes the law.

What it comes down to is that as long as we live in a representative government, someone has to take money from us (taxes) to build roads, schools, bridges, National Parks, the mail service, the Treasury jobs, dams, reservoirs, utilities, communication systems, etc. It seems like the Preamble to the Constitution which says make laws "for the general good of the people" causes most of the arguments. Is the Health Care Plan for the general good of the people? Is an educational system for the general good of the people? Are National Parks for the general good of the people? Is the Post Office for the general good of the people? Is an agency dedicated to helping people during and after a national disaster for the general good of the people? If the national disaster is in New Orleans, is it? If it's in North Dakota, is it? Is providing money to support college education for the general good of the people? Is providing money to support music programs for the general good of the people? Research for a cure for cancer? Alzheimers? Money for Dance programs? Sports? Olympics? Theater? Paintings? Storytelling? 

The way you answer these questions places you on that continuum between Conservatism and Socialism--the right wing and the left wing, neither of them are all good or all evil.  Conservatives want a minimum of government services, with a minimum amount of federal aid. They want the states to provide more and pay for it (which means American people may get some services in Virginia and very few services in Indiana). The Socialists want government to provide a lot of services and have departments to be in charge of them so there is uniformity across the country, but it creates a huge bureaucracy. (Bureaucracy means, however, lots of jobs for data processors, computer technicians,office managers, accountants, lawyers, window washers, teachers, mining administrators, Park rangers, pollution experts, water control experts, social workers, and foresters, as examples.

A helpful thing you can do for yourself is to figure out just what you believe. Do not copy whatever someone else thinks. Each one of us fits on the continuum in a different place and we all have a right to our own beliefs. No one is all good, and no one is all evil. Figure out what your ethics are (do you ascribe to courage, honesty, loyalty, abiding by the law, citizenship, friendship, trustworthiness etc.) Who or what do you value? Family? Children? Teenagers? The Elderly? Neighbors? Music? Education? The Handicapped? Sports? Nerds? Clubs? Community Service? Who or what are you willing to care for and nurture?

Well, your email about the real estate tax set all these thoughts off in me and I felt a need to share them with you. The United States of America needs thoughtful, educated, and compassionate citizens. Then our country, no matter whether it goes left or right, will be on the right track. 

So remember, this advice and philosophy is coming from a woman who has been married three times, has given birth to three unique children, has lived 70 years with a physical handicap, grew up in a working class family, put herself through college after she had started a family, who was born during the Great Depression and lived through World War II, the Korean War, the Cold War, the Space Race, the Viet-Nam War, Desert Storm, the Iraqi War, and now the Afghan War, who got a graduate degree, became a clinical social worker in the mental health field, ran her own business, is personable, makes friends easily, loves her family of origin and her adopted family, tells good stories, and has taken care of innumerable cats and dogs throughout the years.  I think I ought to know something, even though I am left of center on the continuum. Love, Mim