Last Sunday I witnessed a crime. I was on the computer and just happened to look out and saw our neighbor's boat out in the middle of the river. At first I thought it may have broken free from the dock, but then I saw 2 guys on our neighbor's boat and one guy in a small boat with a motor. The two guys were tying our neighbor's boat to the small boat. They were stealing it! To make a long story a little shorter, they were caught a little later that evening. The police came and picked me up so that I could indentify them since I was the only witness to the crime. It was an unbelievable experience. The officer put me in the back of the vehicle as I would be safe there. We went to a parking lot just 5 blocks away. They made sure that I could not be seen and then proceeded to take them out of the vehicle where they were being held. They were the guys that I saw. The police told me that my being able to identify them took the case from a misdemeanor to a felony.
Last week we received a call that I would need to appear in court today for a preliminary hearing. I was a little nervous, but I knew that it was something that I needed to do. Before our case was called, there was another case where a woman had been attacked by two guys. As the two guys were brought out, I gasped a little. They looked awful, like something from a nightmare. As the lawyer for the woman asked her questions and she told her story, I felt so sorry for her. She had been tramatized and physically hurt. The lawyer for one of the guys was a woman. As she questioned the victim I grew more and more angry. The lawyer did everything she could to make this poor woman out to be the criminal. Thankfully the judge cut the lawyer down and the case will go to court.
Now it was my turn. I was very nervous about facing these guys for the first time, but that quickly disapated when I realized that the same lawyer that had been so cruel to the woman in the prior case was also the lawyer for one of the guys in my case. My lawyer asked questions and then it was the other lawyers turn. At one point, she tried to put words in my mouth. I quickly replied, "I DID NOT say that the boat was floating down the river." She asked a few more questions, but realized that I would not fall for her abuse. Carl said that it was very obvious that I was angry and that I was not going to put up with her. The case will now go to court.
When I was only 6 years old, there was a man who was driving around our school trying to get children into his car. I told my teacher. The school nurse came to my home and asked me questions about the car and what I saw. Because I spoke up, the man was arrested. I have always been very proud of that. Who knows how many countless children were saved because I did the right thing.
So once again, I have done the right thing. It wasn't easy. In situations like this, doing the right thing is seldom easy.
For the last week I have been quoting a scripture from Romans 8:31, "If God be for us, who dares to be against us?"
Monday, September 27, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Angels Among Us
Many years ago I took a wonderful Creative Writing class at Wright College. To this day, it was the best class I have ever been a part of. The teacher would have us turn in our work, she would then make copies that she would pass out to each class member. We would then take the pieces home, read them and then talk about the pieces the following week. Obviously, this was before email (computers have made things so much simplier, well, some things anyway). It was the most wonderful experience. I still remember so many of the stories that we shared.
There was a young man in the class that I didn't even realize had paid that much attention to anything that I had written. On the last day of class, he gave me a letter that I have cherished for the last 21 years. I keep it with my writing book and pull it out whenever I am a little (or a lot) low. It's been a source of strength and comfort. I will share it with you now.
Dear Rhonda,
It seems that so many people have exited our lives and the only consolation is the appreciation and devotion which we acquire for those who remain. Family members learn how to embrace--and mean it!
Anyway, I've enjoyed your writings and readings in class. In some ways your sensitivity and insight reminds me of Ruth. So keep doing whatever it is that you do--we need more people like Ruth in the world.
The poem which I've enclosed was taken from a book which belonged to her. I hope you like it.
I'll miss this class!
Take care,
Tony
From "Kites At Empty Airports" by Joe Pintauro
Harper and Row, New York, New York, 1972
Forty Million Mornings
My sister was told to do her typing away from
the rest of us, where it wouldn't disturb us.
We did our homework at the dining room table
while our mother crocheted big white stars according
to plan on the instruction sheet. When she
finished one, she would tie the yarn and flatten the star on the table. "Look boys, that makes eleven."
We looked up as bored by the stars as our homework.
We were too young to understand. She had decided
between dying and making a bedspread, and her
stars were all very important.
We went to bed those nights with Julius Caesar
on our minds, with Napoleon, Spartacus, photosynthesis,
zinc, granite, and names of all the rocks of the earth and the constellations.
All that knowledge inside us,
we fell asleep, assured that there are forty million
morings in unheard of places...
While she lay awake vaguely wishing there were
angels who would accept the coming of a new
bedspread into the universe, in exchange for her life.
Recently I was going through the junk in the
cellar and I found the bedspread. It was torn
and unravelled and stuffed into an old pillowcase.
My sister recalls washing it once, adding too much bleach
to the machine. When she took it from the dryer
it fell apart in her hands.
A few weeks ago I decided to see if I could find Tony. I did, on Facebook, where else? I wanted him to know just how powerful the simple gift of a letter has been in my life.
This past weekend was a very difficult weekend for me. Actually, this summer has been difficult. Back in July I participated in a design contest. I thought I could design. I failed miserably. At the time, I knew that I had been accepted in another contest, and thought that I didn't want to put myself through that experience again. But as the summer wore on, I decided to put the experience in July behind me and give it another try. After all, it was a learning experience. So off to Michigan I went. The challenge is a type of Project Runway contest. We arrived on Thursday night and were allowed to choose a model. After measurements were taken and our stations were set up, we left for the night and were told to be back the next morning when we would receive our challenge. The challenge was to design an outfit inspired by a vintage car. I chose a 1958 red corvette. While I was thinking about what my design would be, I was told to think about the type of woman that would drive a car like this. That seemed easy, me, I would drive a care like that. I thought about what I like to wear. And as of 3 days ago, I thought that I was rather fashion forward. I learned that I'm not. Again, I failed, horribly. I was humiliated. I wasn't even in the top 6, much less the final 3. I had already made plans to have dinner with some friends. It seemed that the night just wouldn't end. All I wanted to do was go back to my room and be alone. I ended up crying myself to sleep, the little sleep that I got. And then there was the 4 hour ride home. I cried almost the entire way. I finally came to the conclusion, maybe realization, that I am not a designer. I do have great technical skills, but these are nothing that anyone can't achieve if only they put their mind to it. Actually, there is nothing that I do that can't be accomplished by determination.
When I arrived home, I was met by hugs and kisses fom my husband... and my dogs. My little dog quickly realized that I had been crying and licked away the salt from my face. I felt, I feel broken. But there was a light at the end of the day. I came up to check my emails and there was a response to the message I had sent asking if this was the same Tony that had given me that precious letter so many years ago. It was. And once again, there were special words, words that I needed,
"Hi Rhonda, I am that Tony. You're very welcome for the note and the copy of the poem! Life is too short not to write notes with poems when the opportunity presents itself. To know that I impacted your life in a positive way, and that you would find me to let me know that, means a lot to me.
I see from some of your Facebook photos and comments that you love dogs and use your plane for rescue flights. So, one of your pastimes is helping creatures that don't have the ability to compensate you or to vocalize the words "thank you." I think the world could use more beautiful, selfless people like you."
He went on to make another comparison of me to his sister Ruth, "She loved dogs, too. I remember that she dislocated her shoulder while trying to seperate two dogs who were fighting(they were't even hers)."
What a gift. He's been an angel in my life. I'm so very fortunate. I just hope that I have been or will someday be an angel in someone's life.
There was a young man in the class that I didn't even realize had paid that much attention to anything that I had written. On the last day of class, he gave me a letter that I have cherished for the last 21 years. I keep it with my writing book and pull it out whenever I am a little (or a lot) low. It's been a source of strength and comfort. I will share it with you now.
Dear Rhonda,
It seems that so many people have exited our lives and the only consolation is the appreciation and devotion which we acquire for those who remain. Family members learn how to embrace--and mean it!
Anyway, I've enjoyed your writings and readings in class. In some ways your sensitivity and insight reminds me of Ruth. So keep doing whatever it is that you do--we need more people like Ruth in the world.
The poem which I've enclosed was taken from a book which belonged to her. I hope you like it.
I'll miss this class!
Take care,
Tony
From "Kites At Empty Airports" by Joe Pintauro
Harper and Row, New York, New York, 1972
Forty Million Mornings
My sister was told to do her typing away from
the rest of us, where it wouldn't disturb us.
We did our homework at the dining room table
while our mother crocheted big white stars according
to plan on the instruction sheet. When she
finished one, she would tie the yarn and flatten the star on the table. "Look boys, that makes eleven."
We looked up as bored by the stars as our homework.
We were too young to understand. She had decided
between dying and making a bedspread, and her
stars were all very important.
We went to bed those nights with Julius Caesar
on our minds, with Napoleon, Spartacus, photosynthesis,
zinc, granite, and names of all the rocks of the earth and the constellations.
All that knowledge inside us,
we fell asleep, assured that there are forty million
morings in unheard of places...
While she lay awake vaguely wishing there were
angels who would accept the coming of a new
bedspread into the universe, in exchange for her life.
Recently I was going through the junk in the
cellar and I found the bedspread. It was torn
and unravelled and stuffed into an old pillowcase.
My sister recalls washing it once, adding too much bleach
to the machine. When she took it from the dryer
it fell apart in her hands.
A few weeks ago I decided to see if I could find Tony. I did, on Facebook, where else? I wanted him to know just how powerful the simple gift of a letter has been in my life.
This past weekend was a very difficult weekend for me. Actually, this summer has been difficult. Back in July I participated in a design contest. I thought I could design. I failed miserably. At the time, I knew that I had been accepted in another contest, and thought that I didn't want to put myself through that experience again. But as the summer wore on, I decided to put the experience in July behind me and give it another try. After all, it was a learning experience. So off to Michigan I went. The challenge is a type of Project Runway contest. We arrived on Thursday night and were allowed to choose a model. After measurements were taken and our stations were set up, we left for the night and were told to be back the next morning when we would receive our challenge. The challenge was to design an outfit inspired by a vintage car. I chose a 1958 red corvette. While I was thinking about what my design would be, I was told to think about the type of woman that would drive a car like this. That seemed easy, me, I would drive a care like that. I thought about what I like to wear. And as of 3 days ago, I thought that I was rather fashion forward. I learned that I'm not. Again, I failed, horribly. I was humiliated. I wasn't even in the top 6, much less the final 3. I had already made plans to have dinner with some friends. It seemed that the night just wouldn't end. All I wanted to do was go back to my room and be alone. I ended up crying myself to sleep, the little sleep that I got. And then there was the 4 hour ride home. I cried almost the entire way. I finally came to the conclusion, maybe realization, that I am not a designer. I do have great technical skills, but these are nothing that anyone can't achieve if only they put their mind to it. Actually, there is nothing that I do that can't be accomplished by determination.
When I arrived home, I was met by hugs and kisses fom my husband... and my dogs. My little dog quickly realized that I had been crying and licked away the salt from my face. I felt, I feel broken. But there was a light at the end of the day. I came up to check my emails and there was a response to the message I had sent asking if this was the same Tony that had given me that precious letter so many years ago. It was. And once again, there were special words, words that I needed,
"Hi Rhonda, I am that Tony. You're very welcome for the note and the copy of the poem! Life is too short not to write notes with poems when the opportunity presents itself. To know that I impacted your life in a positive way, and that you would find me to let me know that, means a lot to me.
I see from some of your Facebook photos and comments that you love dogs and use your plane for rescue flights. So, one of your pastimes is helping creatures that don't have the ability to compensate you or to vocalize the words "thank you." I think the world could use more beautiful, selfless people like you."
He went on to make another comparison of me to his sister Ruth, "She loved dogs, too. I remember that she dislocated her shoulder while trying to seperate two dogs who were fighting(they were't even hers)."
What a gift. He's been an angel in my life. I'm so very fortunate. I just hope that I have been or will someday be an angel in someone's life.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Missing Vera
On Sundays I always make a special breakfast. During the week it's every man for himself, but Sundays are special. This morning I made my grandmother's biscuits. They were wonderful. The key is to use buttermilk and to cook them in a hot cast iron skillet. The recipe is simple;
1 cup flour
2 teaspoons of baking powder
a pinch of baking soda
1 tablespoon of vegetable oil
enough buttermilk to soften
Put a little extra oil in a small (8 to 10 inch) cast iron skillet and heat on top of the stove. Mix all the ingredients, the dough should be rather moist. Put some extra flour on a board and put dough on top of flour. Fold a little flour into the dough until it can be cut easily with a biscuit cutter. Pat the dough out until it is about a half inch thick. As you put the cut rounds into the skillet, coat one side with the oil and then turn over so both sides are oiled. Bake in a 350 degree oven until done, about 20 minutes. When I take them out of the oven, I put a plate on top of the skillet and turn the biscuits over onto the plate and then slid them back into the pan and put them on a burner on top of the stove so that they will brown and get a little crunchy on top.
My grandmother, "Vera" was such a special lady. She never had any children of her own. She was married to my maternal grandmother's brother. My maternal grandmother and she were best friends and lived across the street from each other. When my mother was 5 months old, my maternal grandmother was diagnosed with colon cancer and died 10 months later. The night before she died, she called Vera who was taking care of my mother, and asked her to make a pan of biscuits and to dress my mother in a dusty rose outfit that Vera had made for her. She did. That night my maternal grandmother told Vera that she was tired and could fight no longer and asked Vera to raise my mother as her own. Vera told me many years later that as she walked out of the hopital that night, she looked down at the sleeping baby in her arms, and thought of how much she had always wanted a child. This child came with a price, the life of her best friend and sisiter-in-law. My maternal grandmother, Lilly, died later that night. Vera became the best grandmother I could have. Not only was she my grandmother, she was my friend.
As I was cleaning up my kitchen this morning I thought of how I wish I could have Vera for just one day. But then I thought of how painful it would be to have to once again give her up as the day would draw to an end. So many nice things are happening in my life that I wish I could share with her. In the next couple of months I will share some of these things on the blog.
Although I can't have her with me to share a cup of tea and some wonderful conversation, Vera is always in my heart. I see her in so many things that I do. She taught me to knit. So when I knit, she's with me. She taught me to tat, crochet, cook, embroider, sew. My life is rich because she was a part of it. All I can say is, Thank You .
1 cup flour
2 teaspoons of baking powder
a pinch of baking soda
1 tablespoon of vegetable oil
enough buttermilk to soften
Put a little extra oil in a small (8 to 10 inch) cast iron skillet and heat on top of the stove. Mix all the ingredients, the dough should be rather moist. Put some extra flour on a board and put dough on top of flour. Fold a little flour into the dough until it can be cut easily with a biscuit cutter. Pat the dough out until it is about a half inch thick. As you put the cut rounds into the skillet, coat one side with the oil and then turn over so both sides are oiled. Bake in a 350 degree oven until done, about 20 minutes. When I take them out of the oven, I put a plate on top of the skillet and turn the biscuits over onto the plate and then slid them back into the pan and put them on a burner on top of the stove so that they will brown and get a little crunchy on top.
My grandmother, "Vera" was such a special lady. She never had any children of her own. She was married to my maternal grandmother's brother. My maternal grandmother and she were best friends and lived across the street from each other. When my mother was 5 months old, my maternal grandmother was diagnosed with colon cancer and died 10 months later. The night before she died, she called Vera who was taking care of my mother, and asked her to make a pan of biscuits and to dress my mother in a dusty rose outfit that Vera had made for her. She did. That night my maternal grandmother told Vera that she was tired and could fight no longer and asked Vera to raise my mother as her own. Vera told me many years later that as she walked out of the hopital that night, she looked down at the sleeping baby in her arms, and thought of how much she had always wanted a child. This child came with a price, the life of her best friend and sisiter-in-law. My maternal grandmother, Lilly, died later that night. Vera became the best grandmother I could have. Not only was she my grandmother, she was my friend.
As I was cleaning up my kitchen this morning I thought of how I wish I could have Vera for just one day. But then I thought of how painful it would be to have to once again give her up as the day would draw to an end. So many nice things are happening in my life that I wish I could share with her. In the next couple of months I will share some of these things on the blog.
Although I can't have her with me to share a cup of tea and some wonderful conversation, Vera is always in my heart. I see her in so many things that I do. She taught me to knit. So when I knit, she's with me. She taught me to tat, crochet, cook, embroider, sew. My life is rich because she was a part of it. All I can say is, Thank You .
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