Badunkadunk

New song to go with the picture...

Damn, that's a fine ass! (No, it's not mine.)

My man is back, baby! Yeah!

Just a quick shout out before I go on vacation. Don't forget to vote for Kaysar!!!

http://www.cbs.com/primetime/bigbrother7/

Have fun, people. See you when I get back!

Ari

Spring Cleaning

"I like my new room," said Kade.

He doesn't have a new room. It's just CLEAN now.

In two days, Chris' family arrives for the reunion. A week after that, my family arrives because I've missed them so much. This means that I've been a cleaning machine for the past two weeks. It's a Spring cleaning sort of thing. Only mine happens every two years... hehe.

The result of my effort is that not only have I deep-cleaned the house, but I've gotten it much more organized, as well. Before we bought this house, I had imagined a place for everything and everything in its place. Unfortunately, clutter has a way of making one say, "Oh hell, I'll just put this here for the time being." There it lay for years at a time. But now, I can marvel that all the towels in the laundry room are folded on the shelves exactly the same way, facing the same way, even color coded. Now I can marvel at the fact that I no longer have to hop through Kade's room, avoiding the pitfalls of Legos and dinosaurs. Now I can marvel at the fact that I have my formal living room back, after having been taken hostage by leather coats and motorcycle helmets lining the sofas. I suspect that most people do not have this problem. For some reason, leather just explodes in my house. One minute, it's a living room and the next, it looks like a display at a Harley shop. And I have to wonder... how is it that there were six or seven helmets in there when there are only three of us living here?!

It has been a fight over that living room. You see, we have a family room, too. That is where we watch tv, etc. The formal living room is nothing more than eye candy. And I like it that way. Unfortunately, Chris just cannot understand having a room with no other function than for guests to sit when they visit. Last Winter, he even tried to sell me on the idea of putting the Metatron in there, because he didn't want it sitting in the shed all Winter. A motorcycle.. in the house.. in a living room, no less! That one didn't fly. We don't have normal arguments in my household. Don't even get me started on the big Holly Hobbit Blanket Debate of 2005.

Nevertheless, my house is shaping up. It's becoming my vision of orderliness. Now, if I could just keep it that way!

To hug or not to hug

I've been watching a little one for one of my husband's employees. I had to get registered with the state and get a background check and all that good stuff. And that's all fine and dandy, I don't mind that. When speaking the baby's mother, she told me she just couldn't rely on her old daycare provider. There were times when she'd ring the doorbell or call and the lady refused to answer. The final straw was that the little one would end up crying all day long until his mother came home.

I was only supposed to watch him for a day as a backup, because she couldn't find anyone else. But after just one day, she arrived to pick him up and he was smiling and happy. I guess it was a big change for her. So much so, that she asked me if I would continue. Did she need to ask? I get paid to play with a baby all day?! Yes!!

I realize that since I am babysitting out of my home that my methods are different from the methods used by daycares. To be honest, I'm not even sure what normal daycares provide for the children. But the mother told me that some do not allow the providers to hug or kiss or soothe the children at all. I explained to her that I am not like that. Don't get me wrong, I have no intention of taking her "place" as mother, but I do want a bond to form between the child and myself. I can't imagine trying to nurture and take care of a child where there was no kind of bond whatsoever. She agreed with me, saying she could tell a difference immediately. He came home happier, she knew he ate right, etc.

So this just makes me wonder... do daycares really provide such impersonal care? How can children (babies) be nurtured in an environment where they aren't even allowed to hug? I kid you not, I babysat this baby the other day and spent the whole day hugging and rocking him just for fun. I can't imagine what daycares do to lull children down for naps. What is the standard for a daycare? (You'll have to pardon my ignorance on this subject, as my son has never been in one. I haven't had the experience of dealing with one before.)

Maybe I'm just used to my ways. I'm not sure. My son is the last kid out of school each day, because he is known for going around hugging all the teachers. The sense of touch is one of the most powerful ways to express oneself. I thought children needed that. Am I wrong here? Should I be more impersonal? I just can't imagine sending my own son to a place where he couldn't get the attention that he deserves. Maybe I'm in the minority on this one...

Honoring Gary Rovinski

I can't sleep before these missions. I don't know what it is, but I end up just laying in bed all night. I am writing this now in sheer and utter exhaustion, physically and emotionally. This one should have been completely similar to the last mission. Same church, same town, same staging area. And when it came time to honor Petty Officer First Class Gary Rovinski, it was the same. The Patriot Guard Riders were there in full force. Local people came to stand on their lawns with flags, honoring him when we rode out to the cemetery. Some people even lined the highway.

But for me, it was not the same. Kade and I had gone to the store to buy teddy bears to present to his daughters from the Patriot Guard. Chris had arranged a condolence card for everyone to sign for the mourning family. He took Kade and I inside to present it to them. I think this is what makes this so much harder for me. I saw Mrs. Rovinski, her eyes... I know those eyes. They're the eyes I see when I look in the mirror each morning. They're the eyes of anyone who has ever lost someone they loved so much.

We came outside. Chris went his way to do his part, I went mine to take pictures of the PGR and to help run water down the line. Or at least, that's what I had intended to do. I got a few feet down the line, snapping shots. I turned around to make sure Kade was behind me, when I saw a reporter racing all along the hearse taking snapshot after snapshot. I had been very cautious in my own shots, that I did NOT get the hearse in the picture. Here he was practically using it as a jungle gym to get better angles and shots. I know I stood there for a few moments in utter shock, I know I felt my eyes begin to well up. That's when I turned away and hurriedly walked back down the line to the water truck. Chris saw me, then pulled me aside. I told him about the guy, but being that he was part of the press, there was nothing anyone could do. But ... how could someone in good conscience DO THAT?! For some reason, it just really hit me hard. I had JUST met the mourning family, then to see a guy being so disrespectful... I had to take a few moments to compose myself. I had Kade fill up coolers with water bottles in order to keep distracted. A few riders came by to offer words of encouragment. I didn't lose it altogether, but it was very hard to keep all that back. It was hard to keep from sobbing. Later in the day, while standing with another rider, she gasped in indignation.

"Look at that creep!" she exclaimed.

I looked over at the church, not surprised in any way. It was the very same reporter standing with his camera at the glass of one of the windows, trying desperately to get a shot of what was going on inside the building.

"That's the guy," I told her.

It was a very long day. The weather alternated between raining and full-on heat. I know everyone was exhausted. We did a twenty mile ride to the cemetery. This time I stood with them. I don't what it is, but the twenty-one gun salute gets me everytime. Even when I know it's coming, it still shakes me to the core when I hear those shots fired.

Afterwards, the VFW had a luncheon for everyone. They did a fabulous job. It was a nice oasis for all the guys that had stood all day. This one just really hit home for me. I can't imagine what the family is going through. My tears are for them, really. If anything, it just makes it even more clear to me. I'm glad I went. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I hope I don't have to.

God Bless You, Gary Rovinski

Rest In Peace

The Darlings of Summer

The summers of my youth were spent at a resort campground. I miss this place terribly, to tell you the truth. It was very much a "village" type atmosphere in that, all grown-ups were considered "parental". If someone else's mother told me to stop hanging upside down from the monkey bars, I stopped hanging upside down. Being that we had so many grown-ups around us, we were allowed full reign of this resort. The property lines were outlined to us many times; we knew them by heart. And we did stay on the property at all times, we really did. But honestly, there were days when I kissed my mother good-bye at eight in the morning and didn't come back to our campsite until well after dark.

That would never be allowed today. So, I am grateful that I got to have my summers basically free to do what I wanted. Yes, I admit that I would never let my own son roam free. If we went somewhere, he would always be in my line of sight. But that was a different time. And being that I was free to roam, I had many an adventure.

Most of the time was spent swimming. If I ever develop skin cancer, I will know why. I almost never had sunblock on, but again, that was a different time. After swimming, we (and when I say we, I mean a group of us kids that had banded together into this tightknit little mini-gang) would go to the playground. I would fashion my beach towel atop my head, go to the highest point of the jungle gym and declare myself princess. For some reason, this was not challenged by anyone within the group. I wonder why I can't seem to get people to recognize this now. Maybe, I've lost my touch.

There were times when other little mini-gangs of kids would try to challenge our hold on the resort. This was unacceptable. Let me regale of the tale of my brother's first bout.

We were at the playground, swinging on the swings. And if you know anything about swings, you know that they are nothing more than child rockets. One has to know how to effectively pump your legs back and forth, so that you swing higher and faster, which makes for a better launch when you let go of the swing altogether. Again, this would never be allowed nowadays.

Another little mini-gang happened to come upon us. As it just so happens, they were the sons of the karate instructor where I took lessons. I knew them. I knew their arrogance. The eldest, Tony, always threatened that his father was a black belt. Big deal, because his father couldn't save him in a fight with me. And he knew that. The youngest, Robert, was the biggest brat this side of the Mississippi. Robert and my brother were both four years old. I was ten at this time. Robert and my brother started fighting over a swing. I told Tony that my brother had had it first. Tony said that we were hogging the swings. While Tony and I debated over who had rights to the swing, Robert and Krystopher started duking it out.

Robert had been trained. Yes, I know he was only four, but the kid knew karate. My brother knew none of this. He only knew that he had had the swing first. I remember this with full clarity. Tony leaned back against a pole with his hands behind his head.

"My brother will kick his butt," he told me.

I looked over at my little bro, worried that he might get hurt. Robert tried to kick Krystopher, but my brother moved out of the way. While my brother was busy dodging the kick, Robert grabbed the swing and defiantly took his throne. Krystopher, not to be outdone, merely walked over and pushed Robert backwards off the swing, where he landed in a rut of dirt. Robert began crying and wailing. Tony threatened to tell on us, but we had our gang, who were all witness to how the fight began and who started it. I told Tony that if he kept threatening people with karate, that these types of things will always happen. If Robert didn't want to get hurt, then he shouldn't have tried to kick my brother. And to tell you the truth, it had been a beautiful kick. The style and form were just lovely, but it never connected to the target, unfortunately for Robert. Tony and Robert left, defeated. Our hold on the swings remained intact.

After that, Tony stopped his "my dad is a blackbelt" rants. For the most part, our groups got along. It could be because his father had a talk with him. It could be that he didn't want anyone to get hurt. Or it could be that he had seen me in one of his father's classes and got scared. Who knows? (One time, while in this class, another kid hit me square on the nose. I got a nosebleed and everything. I wasn't hurt, I was pissed, but my mother made a big deal over it. I pushed her away and demanded back into the sparring match. The kid was much bigger than I was. I did a roundhouse into his stomach, leaving him heaving on the floor. Sweet justice! I had to do fifty pushups for that one, but it was so worth it.)

To tell you the truth, we really didn't fight that much though. Other kids just automatically conceded that it was "our resort". Even the teenagers had a certain amount of respect and would sometimes let us play pool with them. And the adults... well, we knew where to go for all the good stuff. An elderly camper, Evelyn, would always give us gum. She was so sweet. But the greatest of all were Jack and Margaret. We always told her that her name should have been Jill. They let us play cards with them, even teaching us new games. This is where I learned Shanghai Rummi. Don't ever bet money on a game of Shanghai Rummi with me, I have been taught by the best. We sort of adopted them as our secondary grandparents.

The people were great, but our gang was the best. Shaun was the eldest, older than me by a year. We were the best of friends during the summer. Then there was me. Next up was Shaun's brother Jamie. Then there was Missy and Molly, sisters and daughters of my mother's friend. Then Krystopher, Christopher (Shaun and Jamie's youngest brother) and my cousin, Lesley. Out of all of us, Molly and Jamie were the most accident prone. Jamie jumped into the creek once and got glass stuck on the bottom of his foot. But even he could not compare to Molly.

She was the same age as my brother -- you never saw Krystopher without Molly. Molly had no fear. Once she stood next to a fire goofing around, only to fall face first into it. Her mother was fast enough to pull her out. Thank goodness only her bangs were singed. But the worst moment was the hill. There was a gravel road that went all the way through the park, even down this one hill. Molly wanted to go down that hill on her scooter. It was a goal of hers, she was determined to make it. The older kids were far too smart to try something like this, so we played at the sandbar near the lake at the bottom of the hill. Molly dragged her scooter up that hill, planted her foot squarely on it (no helmet). That's about the time a car came up behind her. Now, logically an adult would see a child on a scooter and stop to wait until that child cleared the road. And the car did. But Molly was certain that the car would run her over if she didn't get down that hill fast enough. So she took off down that hill as fast as she could. Sadly enough, the front wheel of her scooter hit a rock and her face smacked into her handlebars, vaulting her over the top and in front of her scooter. Her body then slid down the gravel hill. We all heard the scream. We immediately knew it was Molly. We all ran.

The driver of the car waiting at the top of the hill got out and ran to her. All our parents came upon a crying Molly. You know, that child went down that hill like a ragdoll and the only thing she got was a lost tooth and a few scrapes to the face. Who does that!? Leave it to Molly.

When I think back on all our past adventures, I come to look at my son with a fear greater than any I have known. Because I know with all my heart that if he were to start a mini-gang of his own that he'd end up being the "Molly" of the group. He'd be the one in all the accidents. Still, when I look back, I smile. Maybe I was a little hellion. I miss those days.

(Edit: I have a picture of myself at this resort, but blogger won't let me get it on here!!!!)

The kid is no good under pressure.

I download demo games all the time. I try them out, if I like them, I buy them. If not, I delete them and move on. Lately, I've been getting more family oriented games that Kade can play, too. The other night, I downloaded a web version of Family Feud. Kade and I sat down to play it. They asked the question, "Name a favorite Thanksgiving dish."

Kade - "Oh oh oh! I know this one!"

Me - "Hurry, tell me what you think it is before the buzzer goes off!"

Kade - "Plate!"

Me - "Uh, no. Hon, they mean what is your favorite Thanksgiving food. You know, dish."

Kade - "Ohhhhh... bowl?"

I swear, this kid takes these games way too literally.

Six Digits

The other night, Princess Bride came on tv. My son had never seen it. I told him how great of a movie it was. He sat with me and watched it. Those of you that have seen it, know of Inigo Montoya.

"Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father, prepare to die!"

Now I haven't seen this movie in awhile, but this actor kept nagging at the back of my brain. I knew I had seen him somewhere recently. That's when it finally dawned on me. This is the lead agent, Gideon, in Criminal Minds! Good show, btw.

The very next day, I saw a young woman wearing flip flops. Her feet caught my attention. I couldn't figure out why they looked strange. But who am I to talk? I have strange looking feet, too. Still, there was something different about them. That's when I noticed. She had six toes on one foot! My first thought was Princess Bride! My second thought was, Good for her. I'm glad she didn't let that get in the way of wearing flip flops. I'm glad she wasn't self-conscious about it. You know, that made me feel better about wearing sandals with my ugly feet.

Faces of the Patriot Guard

I had lost almost all my pictures from Memorial Day, but one of the other riders was so sweet, in that he sent me some. The first is my favorite for obvious reasons...

Kade looks on, while the names of fallen soldiers are read during the Memorial Day service.

Chris and Kade wait to ride out to the parade site. That's Max's van leading the way.

That's Linda from Wal-Mart posing with a PGR Vet, as she sits on a motorcycle for the very first time.

The next set of pictures are from the funeral of PFC Caleb Lufkin. No shots of the family or friends of Caleb were taken, as I did not wish to impose on their time of mourning. I took over 250 photos. It was hard to choose from them all.

This is the plaque that Chris presented to his family.

The Soldier's Angels

Kade gives a thumbs up at the staging area for the ride.

I got a few of the Patriot Guard riders to smile for the camera.

Max looks on, as people file down the street to hold the flags.

Andrea Zinga's husband takes a moment to rest, camera by his side.

Chris walks the line.

I'm going to shut up now and let these next pictures speak for themselves.

Jessie from Hy-Vee stands on the line.

Family and friends are surrounded and honored by the flags of the Patriot Guard at the cemetery site where Caleb was laid to rest.

Honoring Caleb Lufkin

I just got home about two hours ago. I spent the time home eating dinner, while catching a glimpse of my husband on CNN. I've learned to just go with the flow. It's all so surreal it can be overwhelming, but sometimes you have to think to yourself that life is strange like that. I also saw Jesse singing on there, the woman from Hy-Vee who made all those ribbons to honor Caleb. It's amazing to watch national news and see familiar faces. And oh so strange.

"Hey I just saw you today! And now you're on the news!"

Those types of things (media coverage) are amusing, but truly not as important as what went on. Caleb Lufkin's funeral was today. The Patriot Guard came to honor him in full force. My mind is frazzled, I'm fatigued, I'm sunburnt, but I don't care. I have to write this. I just apologize in advance for any grammatical errors.

Let me start at the beginning. It's been one heck of a week. To tell you the truth, most everyone knows not to call my house before noon. This isn't exactly rocket science, people. It's summer, I won't be awake before then. Needless to say, CNN called me at nine-thirty one morning, waking me from a lovely dose of beauty sleep. This must be why I looked to ragged today. Or at least, I blame them. Because I can. Anyway, they were calling for Chris and like usual, I referred them to the cellphone number, where he can be reached. Actually lots of people called about this funeral, but CNN is the only one that annoyed me. Nine-thirty. I'm just saying.

Fast forward to today. It all began in the parking lot of Wal-Mart. They were generous and let the Patriot Guard use their lot as a rally point. Looking back on it, it HAD to have happened that way. No other place could've held so many people. I was to take pictures again. This time I did remember to hit the save button on all my screen captures, so I shouldn't have lost any pictures. I hope to put some up tomorrow. Bikes rolled in. They just kept coming. I raced up and down the lot taking pictures. More and more people kept coming, until I just had to stand back and take a moment to really get an eye-ful.

Chris debriefed the riders, everyone loaded up and off we went. Kade and I rode with Max, who is truly one of the sweetest, kindest men I have ever known. We arrived at the church, knowing the WBC protestors (Phelps and co.) were going to be there. I never saw them. I actually looked for them, but they were gone by that time. I never heard them. Don't get me wrong, they were there. Local residents stood on other blocks singing to drown them out. But the important thing is that the family didn't see them or hear them. At the end of the day, they are nothing more than fleas to flick away. Honestly, I didn't even know whether they truly were there or not. The Patriot Guard captured my full attention. They stood proud with flags waving in honor of Caleb. You could've heard a pin drop. It was just that amazing. Silent and strong.

The media was there as well, camped out on a resident's lawn. I ignored them. Come to find out, the woman from CNN that had called for Chris (and consequently had woken me up from my blissful slumber) sought him out for an interview, which he bluntly denied. Sweet justice. She had come all the way from Chicago with her cameraman in tow. Too bad, so sad. She said something like, "But I have to get my story!" Chris looked at her, looked at all the people that had come to watch, looked at all the supporters, then turned to her and said, "So get it." Then he turned his attention back to his men. I have spoken to Chris about public speaking before, but on this instance, I have to chuckle. The man is blunt, if nothing else. She ended up leaving in a bit of a huff right before the funeral procession began. (Now that I think about it, I bet it burned her a bit to know they'd shown a glimpse of Chris on the news tonight. Just a shot of him, nothing important, but hahah she didn't get her story out of him!)

I also met Andrea Zinga's husband. She was not there today, but he was. He came right over to meet Chris and me. I spoke to him for a few short minutes. He seemed really excited to be there. When I say excited, I only mean that he was revved up by seeing the Patriot Guard, not that he was excited by the death of a soldier. I just want to make that clear. He was still very reverant.

Being that it was so hot today, Soldier's Angels made their way down the line, giving out water, keeping people hydrated. Pretty soon, local residents came out and stood, too. I walked up and down snapping off picture after picture. Meanwhile, Kade was busy charming the policemen out of their cards. I don't know if this is a nationwide thing, but the cops and firemen around here have cards, much like baseball cards, that depict an officer. Kids collect them. Kade has a few of them. He was very proud of himself.

After the funeral, we all loaded up to ride the funeral procession to the cemetery. Andrea Zinga's husband (I can't for the life of me remember his name! Chris has his card, I should check that.) rode on the back (with his camera) of one of the bikes. I thought this was pretty awesome. He promised he would send us copies of any video he took. The Patriot Guard had put the flags back in Max's van in a hurry. I admit, I was helping out with this and with so many people turning their flags in at once, things got hectic. So the flags weren't put in there as neatly as they could have been. I say all this, because shortly after we began the procession, Max and I couldn't hear anything coming from the back of the van. I turned around to see Kade sleeping (it was two in the afternoon by this time, we'd been going since 6 in the morning) in a pile of American flags. I didn't think to take a picture, but upon seeing him once the van was stopped, another rider did. I hope he sends me that picture. It was really one of those priceless precious moments that makes your heart just melt.

Being that Kade was asleep, I was loathe to wake him. So while the other riders saluted flags at the cemetery site, I stayed behind at the van to watch over Kade. While there, I straightened the remaining flags in an orderly and neat way. I don't know why, but that just made me feel better.

Upon looking at the ride waiver that everyone has to sign before each mission, I counted over two hundred names. The bike count was at least 176, not counting four-wheeled vehicles. The procession had been over a mile long. People came from everywhere to honor this young man. They stood in the blazing sun with no shade. They didn't complain. They barely moved. They stood strong. I can't put it into words. This is the way it should be.

I will quote another rider I'd heard over the course of the day...

"The Patriot Guard is great, but the sooner people forget us, the better. When we are no longer needed, the better off we'll all be."

They don't come for personal glory. They don't come to get their faces on tv. They only come to honor America's fallen soldiers. They will be there, protestors or not. They will be there, media or not. I can't imagine a better way to honor Caleb. Not only to honor his sacrifice, but this life as well. To see men and women riding from all across the country merely to stand outside the church where his body is being mourned... It's amazing and it brings tears to my eyes to know that there are people out there like this. To know that there IS good out there.

Yes, I will admit, it's overwhelming when I read a column a certain newspaper that writes a scathing article of Chris and mentions him by name. And it's amusing to see him on television ignoring the cameras. The truth is he cares for none of these things. They can write what they want. They can say and show whatever images they like. I know the man he is. I know why he does this. And I know that when the media vans have long sinced packed up to rush off for another story, my husband will be there to hug the parents. My husband will be there offering a flag to them. Not because he is special, but because he is just like every other Patriot Guard out there. He merely does what any one of them would do in his place. He is great, but so are they all. He is but one among many. And they are all magnificent.

God Bless You, Caleb

Rest in Peace