11th Hour, 11th Day, 11th Month

In memory of Air Force Lieutenant Colonel Charles Wayne Stratton, MIA Laos, January 3, 1971, to July 5, 2007. DNA determination KIA Savannakhet Province, Laos, January 3, 1971, age 30.

And in everlasting love for and support of his wife and their sons, my playmates, Butch, Scotty, and Stephen.

 

"The Star Spangled Banner"
by
Madison Rising

 Chuck, I remember you.

"Missing in Action," May 2, 2011

Speaking German

I'm German. Born American, born Texan, and proud of both. But the blood in my veins is German.

When I was growing up, my mother's parents and siblings frequently would speak to each other in German. They most often did so when any of the children were around and the adults didn't want us to know what they were saying.

At our family Christmas gatherings, the adults would sing "Ihr Kinderlein Kommet" (O, Come Ye Little Children) while I would sing "Oh Kinder and Comet, la lah, la la lah." They would sing "Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht" (Silent Night, Holy Night) while I would sing "Still a knot, la lah-ah a knot." And then there was the perennial favorite, "O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum" (O Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree), which I sang out as "O tannin bowm, o tannin bowm, la la la lah bletter, O tannin bowm, o tannin baum, la la la lah oh summertime..."

Certain German phrases were common in our household, though; we thought nothing of it. Words and phrases like Gesundheit (bless you), das ist gut (that's fine), vas ist das (what is that?), bitte (please), danke (thank you), danke schön (thank you well), ach du liebe Güte (roughly, oh goodness gracious), and, the one that has persisted through the generations and the family tree, schlaf gut (sleep well) and it's companion, du schlaf auch gut (you sleep well, also).

My father's nickname for my mom was Schatzi (sweetheart, darling), and whenever we asked my mother "how much?" of something, particularly when we were learning to cook, she'd say, "dumme Junge, bis es genug ist!" (dumb young one, until it's enough!). I never could say that one, though, so I'd ask, "how much? the hibiscus thing?"

I always assumed that when I entered high school, I would learn the German of my heritage and be able to converse with my family. As my two older sisters went to our neighborhood high school, though, we were horrified to learn that the school did not offer German! My cousins were happily learning the German language in their school, however, which was hardly fair.

But then a strange revelation occurred. When my cousins tried to speak to their parents and especially to our grandparents, they discovered they could not be understood! It was not poor pronunciation. It was not poor teaching. It was almost like, well, a different language.

That's when I learned that there were apparently two German languages: high German and low German. Apparently the American schools taught high German, and my family spoke low German. (I understand that now low German is called Swiss German). My great-grandparents, and their parents before them, were born in Germany, but, as an adult, my great-grandmother prepared French cuisine for a wealthy family in Switzerland, and my grandmother and her two younger sisters were born in Switzerland before the family moved back to Germany and then immigrated to America.

After my grandmother joined her Heavenly Father, and my grandfather could no longer speak due to strokes, my mother and her siblings gradually stopped speaking German. By the time of my mother's Homegoing at the age of 78, she could barely translate a few words of spoken German and spoken Russian.

So here I am. Now a genealogist, struggling with correspondence and newspaper articles and recipes that the translators such as Bing and Google don't seem to know how to handle. And I still can't speak low German. Or high German. Or any German.

But you know what? I can still hear, on the outermost edges of my consciousness, the tenuous voices of my Nanny and PaPa singing, "irh Kinderleine kommet..." To all my German-speaking family who are now with God in Heaven, Ich erinnere mich an Sie.

(Addendum 09/13/2012: It appears I may have the low German and high German reversed according to Wikipedia. I just need some help to figure out what my documents are written in and which aspect of the language I want to learn).

Living with Regret

The New Abortion Caravan

A big Texas "thank-ya" goes out to my sister for providing the follow-up information regarding "The Abortion Debate Changes Forever," a teaser video that I posted back in May. To get the scoop, click here.

You Can Take the Gal Outta Texas...

Jeremiah was a Bull Frog! da DA

His name was Bruce, and he lived across the alley from me. We went to the same elementary school. We were 11 years old.

When I think of Bruce, I see him in a bright yellow button-down shirt and khaki colored pants. (Boys weren't allowed to wear T-shirts and jeans in my school in those days). He had a slight build, bright eyes, and brown hair in a crew cut.

I recall running down the hallway with him after school one day, hoping we'd reach the Exit door before we were caught. We were singing at the top of our lungs: "Jeremiah was a bull frog, da DA, was a good friend of mine, da DA, never understood a single word he said..." About that time, teachers spilled out of classrooms and we slammed out the Exit door, doubled over in laughter.

One morning, toward the end of the school year, I got to class and heard deafening whispers. Bruce was dead. No one knew how or why. Some said he was POISONED. There was going to be an AUTOPSY.

I never heard or learned any more. I don't even remember hearing about a funeral. I think his family moved away. He was gone. The End

But Bruce, I remember you. "Singin' JOY to the world, ALL the boys and girls now; joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea, JOY to you and me."

Good Girl!

To My Sweet Cousin

I think about you so often, Kathleen! I've missed you so much since you've been gone. Lately I've been doing several things that especially remind me of you: visiting old cemeteries, cleaning headstones, and I recently saw a book about ghost towns.

 

I remember not just our Cemetery Weekends and our Ghost Town Weekends but also little things that happened on those trips. Like in that one extremely rural cemetery when we heard a strange wild noise up in a tree; you immediately headed away from it and I immediately headed toward it. I was under that spindly tree, craning my neck, and finally you convinced me to get away. Later we found out it was a bobcat!

And the time we finally made it to that really small old cemetery, the one we'd been wanting to visit for almost 2 years, and a funeral was in progress. You said, "The nerve of them! Having a funeral on the one day we could visit!"

Remember when we snuck onto the posted property of that abandoned high school, and you became apoplectic because I went inside to take pictures? You peeked in from the small, hidden door, and you kept up a running monologue. You called, increasingly louder, "Don't go IN there. You know we're trespassing, right? What if there's snakes? Watch out for that glass! There might be dangerous squatters in there. We're hours from home - who's gonna bail us out? You're gonna need a tetanus shot! Don't go up those stairs - are you CRAZY? You'll fall through those boards! That's it - you come out RIGHT NOW." I finally realized you were really in emotional distress, so I came back outside. It had been so dark inside, and you hadn't let me go very far. So all that for one photo. It was an okay photo, though, of the stage at one end of the gymnasium; the only well-lit area I found.

And somewhere we saw that child's grave, Bonner Boone Brown. For years afterwards, out of the blue, you'd say, "I still want to know who would name their kid Bonner Boone Brown!"

Remember that cemetery where a huge block of family graves was surrounded by a cement curb? We approached, as we always did at blocks of graves, planning to work through the familial relationships and the order of deaths. But at this one, we just stood and looked in disbelief. One man, surrounded by 8 wives whom he had outlived. In the great silence of nature, you finally whispered, "Do you think he murdered ALL of them, or just some?"

Last week I ran across the photos from that ghost town with the huge football stadium that had risers made of cement. We were so lost in the past as we looked across those ruins that had melded with the desert. I miss those moments.

And I remember the time we drove to visit the graves of our great-grandparents. We couldn't find them in the first cemetery in town, and you said, "This cemetery doesn't look right. This isn't it." Being older than me, you remembered more. So we went to the other cemetery in town. "This is it. This looks just like it. They're somewhere over - there!" But we still couldn't find them. So we went to the town library and asked the quite elderly woman how we could find the graves of our great-grandparents. She helped us look through a large number of cemetery records but kept asking us, "Are you sure that's the name?" And you just kept saying, so politely and patiently, "Yes, we're sure that's the name." Finally, long past the realization of futility, I said, "We'll just ask our mothers exactly where their grandparents are buried and then we'll come back some other weekend." The old lady sighed with relief and began to close the books and files. "Yes!" she said, "That's good! You come back with another name." You managed to make it all the way to the outside steps before busting into laughter. "That's right!" you choked out. "We just need to come back with ANOTHER NAME! Then we'll find out where they're buried!"

We never had the chance to go back with another name.

 (That's me in the background,

wearing black and standing with my arms folded.)

I haven't been to your grave since the week you were buried. You were only 57 years old. It gives me comfort, though, to know that you're buried next to my mother. Anne frequently puts flowers on your grave and the graves of our mothers. I sometimes wish I didn't live across the country now, because it would give me some temporary peace to visit all three of you. Even though I know you're all in Heaven and I'll actually see you again some day; in Heaven I'll have real peace.

My dear, precious, funny, interesting, and loving cousin Kathleen, I remember you.

Happy Father's Day

Happy Father's Day, Daddy.

I remember you.

Honor

On May 23, 2012, at 9:31 a.m., World War II veterans from South Carolina arrived at Gate 38 of Reagan National Airport in Washington DC to visit the WWII Memorial. Only moments before, the area was fairly empty and quiet until the gate attendant invited travelers to help welcome the vets.

 

See the article by Chris Muller.

"Double Depression"

I saw my new psychiatrist this week, and I really like her. I think this will be a good fit.

She asked me how my current meds were working. I floundered a bit, then said, "I've about come to the conclusion that I need to lower my expectations, that I need to accept that I won't ever be the person I used to be."

She said, "You do realize, don't you, that you have dysthymia as well as major depressive order?" I told her that, about a year ago, I noticed dysthymia as a diagnosis on my chart, but when I looked it up, it seemed to be contradictory to the diagnosis of major depressive disorder (dysthymia is defined as "mild, chronic depression;" I certainly knew that what I suffered with most of my life was NOT mild).

"Not at all contradictory," she stated, and she began to explain the impact of having both disorders. "Essentially," she said, "you have double depression." I was astounded. It explained so much. "So, yes, unfortunately," she continued, "you may need to lower the bar."

I've since researched her explanation, and now, dear reader, I will explain it to you. (Sorry, I just had a brief Brontë moment there).

Dysthymia is a chronic, depressed mood that lasts at least two years. Sometimes referred to as a "veil of sadness," this low, dark mood occurs nearly every day and persists for years. Dysthymia often begins in childhood. Since dysthymia is a chronic disorder, sufferers may experience symptoms for 10 to 20 years before being diagnosed, if diagnosis occurs at all. As a result, they may believe that depression is a part of their character, just who they are.

Symptoms of dysthymia include low self-esteem, a low capacity for pleasure, withdrawal from stressful situations, low energy, overeating, too much or too little sleep, feelings of hopelessness, poor concentration, chronic pain, headaches, and stomach disorders. People with dysthymia usually find little pleasure in regular activities and pastimes.

As time goes by, greater than half of people with dysthymia experience worsening symptoms that lead to the onset of major depressive disorder on top of their chronically depressed mood. This is known as double depression, a serious, potentially life-threatening condition. Double depression is under-recognized and harder to treat than either dysthymia or major depression by themselves.

A small study published in the Journal of Affective Disorders found that the distinguishing symptom of double depression, as opposed to a major depressive episode or dysthymia alone, seems to be hopelessness. People with double depression have given up on ever recovering from their condition and have a bleak outlook on life. It's difficult to motivate them to have treatment, such as medication and therapy. 

Symptoms of double depression are similar to both dysthymia and major depressive disorder but are greater in degree and impact. Extreme fatigue, feelings of guilt, withdrawal from family situations, delusions, and hallucinations are additional symptoms.

The constant stress causes changes in the brain and the body. Those with double depression are at a higher risk for heart disease, diabetes, and other major medical conditions. Double depression can also worsen other chronic diseases, such as rheumatoid arthritis and diabetes.

So. Now I have a much clearer picture of my depression, and hopefully my family will understand a bit better, as well. I'm always letting them down. I commit to things then cancel at the last minute. I get excited about family visits then back out. I've let down my little great-niece, age 7, so many times (including today), in both minor and major situations, that I worry constantly that she'll only remember me as an irresponsible person that was never there for her.

Guilt, worthlessness, fatigue, guilt, lethargy, hopelessness, guilt (did I mention that already?), withdrawal, self-loathing...

The battle rages on, but I'm a weary soldier.

Sources: WebMd, Mayo Clinic, National Institute of Health, Psych Central, Right Diagnoses, Florida State University, Depression Place, Wikipedia, and eHow.

A Woman on the Dollar Bill

Interesting fact:  Martha Washington is the only woman whose portrait has appeared on a United States currency note. It appeared on the face of the $1 Silver Certificates of 1886 and 1891 and on the back of the $1 Silver Certificate of 1896.

The Abortion Debate Changes

 What? The abortion debate changes forever? What is this all about? I can't wait to find out!

Whaaat??

I kid you not. I just got up from the computer, and NOTHING looks familiar. Just how many hours have I been on Pinterest, anyway?

Poem in My Pocket

Ozymandias

by

Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."

National Poem in My Pocket Day, April 26, 2012.

My Youth, Encapsulated

It was shortly before 8:00 a.m. CST on December 9, 1980. I arrived at my college class, taking one of the remaining seats.

The young woman across from me was speaking to her friend, and I heard her say, "I know! No matter what station you turn to, all you hear are Beatles' songs!"

I asked, "Why are all the radio stations playing Beatles' songs?"

She answered, "Haven't you heard?! John Lennon was murdered last night!"

And I said, "Who's John Lennon?"

Marxist America?

In this video titled "Marxism in America," Lt. Gen. (Ret.) W.G. "Jerry" Boykin discusses his background and training in understanding Marxist insurgencies and how current government actions parallel Marxist tactics. The video is annotated with links so that you can verify his information. Find out more about The Oak Initiative at http://www.theoakinitiative.org/

Yesterday's Drama

March 29, 2012

Dear Sheriff _______,

My name is Faith Louise, and I'm a resident at _______ Apartments. This afternoon I witnessed (both heard and saw), through an already open window, a relatively short stand-off involving two Officers of your department against an unidentified man. This occurred in the parking lot.

The longer I watched, the more impressed I was with your Officers. Both had their guns drawn. Although he had been ordered, many times, to put his hands in the air (which is what originally drew me to the window), the unidentified man continued to take small steps in different directions, wave his arms to the sides, move his arms in front of him, and one time, if I remember correctly, he also turned his back on the officers, moving his arms around while staying in the same general location. The Officer in front of him was additionally having to deal with someone off to his right, to whom he kept saying things like, "Get back!" and "Stay out of this!" (This may have been the woman who left in her car a few moments later, forcing your Officer to forward his position a bit). Both Officers remained rock steady. They did not appear to be the least bit disconcerted by the man's continuing movements and his refusal to obey their order. They were alert, authoritative, and extremely patient.

Eventually, the man reached his hands in the air, put his hands on top of his head when told, and cooperated with being handcuffed behind his back. (By now, more Officers had arrived). Watching this, I was additionally impressed that the Officers treated the unidentified man with the utmost civility. Of course, I could no longer hear what was being said, but there was absolutely no roughness. I expected a little bit of roughness when he was turned around and cuffed; I probably wouldn't have been so nice after his continued refusal to cooperate, which surely indicated to the Officers that he very well could be a danger to them.

I'm sure this was routine for your Officers. But it was not routine for me. Since Police Officers so frequently receive bad press about how they treat suspects and about how they conduct themselves, in general, during an encounter, I wanted to let you know that the professionalism I observed in your Officers was exemplary. I have always been thankful that I live in _________ County. I actually felt pride while watching this little drama.

Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,

Faith Louise

_______________________________________________________________________

March 30, 2012

Hi Ms. Louise,

All feedback about how we're doing is helpful.  And it's very nice to have such detail about some good work by our deputies.  Thank you so much for taking the time to write.  I'll ensure the involved deputies and their supervisors are appraised of your observations.

Regards

___________________
Sheriff

_________  County

_______________________________________________________________________

(I didn't think to grab my camera until almost the end.)

(There were 5 police cars by the time it was over.)

Telephone Poles

From my childhood:

Q: What's the difference between an orange?

A: Telephone poles, 'cause motorcycles don't have doors!

How I Feel Today

"The Scream"

Edvard Munch, 1893

Broken Girl

Although statistics vary by source, in the United States approximately 1 in 4 girls and 1 in 6 boys are sexually abused in their childhood. Approximately 95% know their abuser. That's about 135,500 reported cases. Studies indicate that only 12-20 per cent of such cases are reported, indicating the actual number could be as high as 650,000.

"Broken Girl"

by Matthew West

Look what he’s done to you
It isn’t fair
Your light was bright and new
But he didn’t care
He took the heart of a little girl
And made it grow up too fast

Now words like innocence
Don’t mean a thing
You hear the music play
But you can’t sing
Those pictures in your mind
Keep you locked up inside your past

This is a song for the broken girl
The one pushed aside by the cold, cold world
You are
Hear me when I say
You’re not the worthless they made you feel
There is a Love they can never steal away
And you don’t have to stay the broken girl

Those damaged goods you see
In your reflection
Love sees them differently
Love sees perfection
A beautiful display
Of healing on the way tonight
Tonight

 This is a song for the broken girl
The one pushed aside by the cold, cold world
You are
Hear me when I say
You’re not the worthless they made you feel
There is a Love they can never steal away
And you don’t have to stay the broken girl, girl
You don't have to stay the broken girl, girl

Let your tears touch the ground
Lay all your shattered pieces down
And be amazed by how Grace can take a broken girl
And put her back together again

This is a song for the broken girl
The one pushed aside by the cold, cold world
You are
Hear me when I say
You're not the worthless they made you feel
There is a Love they can never steal away
And you don't have to stay the broken girl, girl
You don't have to stay the broken girl, girl
You don't have to stay the broken girl

This song is for all my friends and family members who have been victims of child sexual abuse. May God restore your childhood. I remember you.

Erased from History

"I'm the girl who is lost in space, the girl who is disappearing always, forever fading away and receding farther and farther into the background. Just like the Cheshire cat, someday I will suddenly leave, but the artificial warmth of my smile, that phony, clownish curve, the kind you see on miserably sad people and villains in Disney movies, will remain behind as an ironic remnant. I am the girl you see in the photograph from some party someplace or some picnic in the park, the one who is in fact soon to be gone. When you look at the picture again, I want to assure you, I will no longer be there. I will be erased from history, like a traitor in the Soviet Union. Because with every day that goes by, I feel myself becoming more and more invisible..."  ~ Elizabeth Wurtzel

Write Your OWN Story

Sweet Rosemary

Rosemary looked plain enough. She was just a common baby doll, with plastic hands, feet, and head, and a body made of pink fabric stuffed with lumpy cotton. She usually wore a pink-and-white striped suit with a clock on it, even though she had other clothes. Sometimes I think pink was her favorite color.

But Rosemary was no ordinary doll. She had a sweet disposition. She had personality, she had feelings. And she was so affectionate, just what this little girl needed.

Rosemary and I had adventures together. She understood me when no one else did. She was always there beside me when times were bad. I loved Rosemary more than any material item I'd ever had. I hope she knew that.

The day came when Rosemary had lost too much of her stuffing to be operated on successfully. I'll never forget the day she died. My mother was at the kitchen sink, and behind her I saw Rosemary in the garbage, covered with food debris and used tea leaves and greasy paper towels. My heart stopped and then broke.

Soon my parents gave me another baby doll. She looked a lot like Rosemary. I named her Nadine. But we never bonded, because Nadine was just a doll. Being given Nadine after Rosemary was gone was like being given a stuffed dog after your puppy died. No one could ever take Rosemary's place.

Rosemary was the doll with something extra. And I miss her still.

Written by my 16-year-old self.

Copyright 1976-2012 Faith Louise

Nadine, I remember you. And sweet Rosemary, I will always remember you!

Weight Controls

Images from http://bravegirlsclub.com/archives/8812

Address in the Stars

Today is the 6th anniversary of my Mother's death. Although I function better these days, my grief over her loss is pervasive and continuous. I know she wasn't perfect. I know that some of her faults were great. Not all my memories are good ones.

But, as I've said before, I discovered after she was gone that she was my reference point. When she died, I lost my identity. It had been just the two of us for nineteen years, and she lived with me the last five. And most of that last five, I was her caregiver.

She's part of me, beyond the fact that she gave birth to me. I miss her every day. I start to call her several times a week. And every day, I'm mired in guilt.

I know she's in Heaven. I know we'll be reunited. If I didn't have that certainty, I wouldn't have gone on without her.

"Address in the Stars"
by Caitlin and Will
 
  I stumbled across your picture today
I could barely breathe
The moment stopped me cold,
Grabbed me like a thief.
I dialed your number, but you wouldn't be there
I knew the whole time, but it's still not fair
I just wanted to hear your voice,
I just needed to hear your voice.

What do I do with all I need to say
So much I wanna tell you everyday
Oh it breaks my heart,
I cry these tears in the dark
I write these letters to you,
But they get lost in the blue,
'Cause there's no address in the stars.

Now I'm drivin'
Through the pitch black dark
I'm screaming at the sky
Oh cause it hurts so bad
Everybody tells me
Oh all I need is time
Then the mornin' rolls in
And it hits me again
And that ain't nothin' but a lie.

What do I do with all I need to say
So much I wanna tell you every day
Oh it breaks my heart,
I cry these tears in the dark
I write these letters to you,
But they get lost in the blue,
'Cause there's no address in the stars.

Without you here with me,
I don't know what to do.
I'd give anything
Just to talk to you
Oh it breaks my heart,
Oh it breaks my heart,
All I can do
Is write these letters to you,
But there's no address in the stars.

Dearest Mother, I remember you.

Addendum: Right now, at 1:00 p.m. CST, I'm right back in that hospital room in ICU, holding her hand and sobbing my heart out. Family surrounds me. Mother's already been unconscious for 5 hours due to the morphine drip. Every conversation, every word we shared during the night is cycling through my mind. The last thing I said to her this morning before she fell asleep is, "I won't leave you!" And I guess I never have.

Angels Running

Using only song names from ONE ARTIST and NO REPEATING SONGS, cleverly answer these questions.

Choose your artist: Cher

1. Are you male or female: Dark Lady
2. Describe yourself: You Haven't Seen the Last of Me
3. How do you feel: Still in Love With You
4. Describe where you currently live: Dangerous Times
5. If you could go anywhere, where would you go: If I Could Turn Back Time
6. Your best friends are: Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves
7. You know that: We All Sleep Alone
8. What is life to you: Skin Deep
9. The best advice you can give: Not Enough Love and Understanding
10. If you could change your name, what would it be: Just Like Jesse James
11. Something you are looking forward to: Starting Over

What you're going to call this: Angels Running

I attended a Cher concert once, with my great friend Monica. We had General Admission tickets, which meant standing with scores of others on an expansive grassy slope. Cher can really put on a performance! At one point, the huge monitors played a series of clips from all her movies and included announcement moments from when she won awards. Then Cher said, "I REALLY appreciate all my fans, especially because you've always had to take a lot of #$*# for BEING my fans!" The crowd roared at that one. Unfortunately, the concert was ridiculously short, without explanation. But I'm still a fan.

So Cher, I remember you, but, more importantly, Monica, I so remember you!

Ape Planet

I really looked forward to seeing this movie. As a prequel to the Charlton Heston classic, I knew it could be extraordinary, and the trailers gave evidence to that possibility. But the animal cruelty is so pervasive that I couldn't finish the movie. I was in distress soon after the movie began, and my anxiety kept rising until I was in tears. I finally stopped the movie and sent it back. Am I overly sensitive? So I've been told. But life is too short for me to subject myself to watching animal cruelty as entertainment. I give it 2 stars out of 5.

Jesus vs. Religion

Endless Grief

"Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery's shadow or reflection: the fact that you don't merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer. I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief." -C.S. Lewis