Always and Forever

Holy cow! I can't believe it's been a month since I posted.

Anyway.... I wanted to share something with you that I think is a very worthwhile cause but that also gives you something really beautiful by way of your help.

A local author and illustrator created a beautiful new children's book called Always and Everywhere as a means of helping her friend with metastatic breast cancer explain to her kids what was happening. I'm not sure I've ever seen a more beautifully illustrated book.

All the proceeds from the sale will go to help the family move from their multi-level townhome into a ranch style home since the mom can no longer climb stairs.

If you know anyone suffering from cancer who has younger kids, this might be a beautiful thing to share with them to let them know you care.

Temporary Love

Scott played a couple of shows up in Athens a few weeks ago. For those of y'all who don't know, Athens is the Mecca of indie music in the Southeast. He played two shows that week, one at Flicker, the other at Terrapin Beer Co. Both shows were fantastic. He was backed by Athens band The Cleaners. The amazing guitarist is Mark Wenthe. His brother Mike was in Scott's old band, The Snake Oil Salesmen.

This is video is of his newest song, Temporary Love. Hope you enjoy it.

Hope

As I've mentioned before, Brendan has an uncanny way of mis-hearing or misstating things that cuts closer to the depth and essence of something than the actual word he intended or the word that is actually used.

One word he used to use and that I allowed to some extent because I loved it was rainbrella.

Several times recently, a new one has cropped up. And it's actually so accurate in its heartbreaking truth that I get teary-eyed every time he says it.

Our neighborhood is situated so that there are several different ways to access the various Interstate highways that intersect nearby. And each of those exits, we are seeing an increase in the homeless as they are pushed out of Downtown Atlanta. Brendan has recently begun to notice them and ask questions. So, Scott and I have both had opportunities to talk to him about homelessness and what that means.

What he has heard instead of home-less is Hope-less.

Mommy, he will ask, how did they get hopeless?

And I am left to explain the heartbreak and tragedies of this world while trying to hold out hope as a shiny, never-fading reality to my own child.

When he asks if we will ever be hopeless, I tell him no because we have a wide and extended family and friends who love us and who would help us if something bad ever happened to us. I tell him that this is why family is important and that he and Beckett will always have one another and they should always help and honor and support one another. I tell him nothing is more important than his family.

I tell him, and I pray that it is true, that when you have family and you love one another and treat each other with respect that you will always have a home. And you will always have hope.

The Real Slim Shady

For a lot of folks, I'm sure going to a high school reunion is a chance to relive past glories, an opportunity to be hailed as the football hero or gorgeous and popular homecoming queen. When I attended my 20-year reunion a few weeks ago, I saw the possibility of resolution. For me, it was a chance to lay to rest old insecurities and see myself as an equal to the many people whom I thought of as superior to me because of the distinctions of class and clique that plagued my school. I wasn't some miserable slob that everyone mocked or anything. But I never felt as good as everyone else. I never felt like I belonged. I knew I'd never be on the homecoming court or go to cotillion or do any of the things the rich and popular girls did, but I was a smart kid which gave me some good standing. Everyone knew me and although back then I thought everyone hated me or thought they were better than me, most everyone (with a few notable exceptions) was at the very least polite. Still, I really didn't know what to expect at the reunion. I imagined that everyone would fall back into their same little cliques and that I'd hang out with my closest friends the whole night.

Thank God for Facebook. My friend Daryl created a FB group for alumni of our high school and over the course of several weeks before the reunion, several folks from my class found each other. By virtue of space, time, and goodness of the Internet gods, we were able to connect and soon I found myself interacting with people whom I never imagined I had any common ground.

At the reunion I found myself flattered and surprised by how many people remembered me and talked to me. In fact, I was only a little disappointed that people recognized me. I think I've changed dramatically enough that more people should have been surprised, but that's okay.

I didn't exactly get the resolution I was seeking. I got something both better and slightly more disturbing.

I found out that people liked me and I only wish I'd realized it then instead of wasting my time, energy, and emotions thinking no one did. I've also been surprised by the ways in which people remember me and disappointed in myself for not living up to the expectations I had for myself and for not retaining more of the girl I used to be.

My old friend Tim commented after the reunion that he was glad to see I still had "the same zest for life," that I had back then. It was only when I read those words and thought about how – even though I may have thought I was an outcast and felt unloved, unattractive, and unfinished – I still found a way to live my life with joy and verve. I used to be a totally different person.

When did she go away? Is she dead? I think not, but I think I repressed her. I think at some point after college I realized that it was not cool to be happy and to enjoy your life. All the cool kids were darkly cynical and judgmental of those who just wanted to be and to be happy. It seems like everyone I knew had to overanalyze and critique everything and everyone and sadly I let myself fall into that trap. And I got stuck there. And then I got bogged down in the workplace and got married and lost babies and had babies and somewhere along the way forgot all about the real me.

I feel so angry all the time and I rarely express it. But back when I was happy, I let myself be angry if I needed to be. There was balance.

I am so thankful I went to that reunion (I almost didn't.). I felt really proud of my classmates and genuinely happy to see how well they have all turned out. There were at least three moms with 4 kids who homeschool and I am in awe of them. There was an Air Force Lt. Col. with a beautiful wife and two young kids. Lots of teachers and lots of moms just like me. It was really great to see everyone looking so happy and beautiful. And I am grateful to have gotten to see myself in the slightest way as others have seen me, to know that I was liked despite what I thought back then.

I hope I haven't hidden that old me away too long or too deeply. I want to bring her back. I don't know what that will mean to my husband. I don't know if he ever knew me in that way or remembers me that way. I just know I have to find a way to make myself happy again. I can't resign myself to a life of feeling hurt, angry, sad, and inauthentic.

Try a Little Tenderness

Naturally, just as I sit down to write, Beckett bursts into hurt, angry, outraged tears. Brendan denies all knowledge of why.

I want to write. I miss writing. Yet, I have been uninspired. In a funk I can't seem to escape and consumed with Brendan's school issues, work in a field that is really not happening right now, and my self-absorbed-all-consuming thoughts about how to be a better ___________________ (wife/mother/friend/human being/writer/sex kitten/blogger/marketing manager/cook/cleaning lady/chauffeur/music lover/music manager/you name it).

I can't get my head out of .... well, my own fucking head, long enough to write. I have been uninspired and a slave to time despite having lots of interesting things to write about.

In summary, I had my 20-year class reunion, Beckett is speaking a lot!; Brendan may or may not have dyspraxia, and I pretty much continue to hate myself, although I am loving my life more.

If only I were more physically fit, smarter, more courageous, a better writer, more committed to my art, and had a full-time staff to do all the things I have to do (instead of writing), I might be able to stop being so negative. Being more positive is a major, major, major goal of mine and I have been consumed with working it all out before writing again.

Not quite there yet, but on the way.

Okay. I relent. I still hate myself today, but I don't hate anything else. Except the new Kindergarten report cards.

Help

I don't have to look far to figure out where my son is getting his self-esteem issues.

I don't say anything in front of him. Ever. But he says things like "I hate myself." Or, "You don't like me." Or, "I'm stupid."

None of which are true, of course.

Today, though, I look at the pictures my friend Patrick took of my last night and I see my giant, oval-shaped nostrils, stringy hair, fat face, horrible skin, wrinkles. I hate everything about the way I look.

And then, I open Brendan's report card which came home yesterday and the goddamn thing is so fucking complicated that I can' understand it. And I feel stupid as hell. It's called the Georgia Kindergarten Inventory of Developing Skills (GKIDS – I hate fucking cutesy acronyms.) A, B, C, D, F, U, and S make sense and are easy for parents to comprehend as a gauge of where their students are on the scale. This fucking "map" of the "curriculum and student's performance levels for the standard in the areas of English Language Arts, Math and Approaches to Learning." The report card is a grid that includes a description (Georgia Performance Standards Assessed) followed by a number that is the "number of elements included in the standad." This is then followed by another number: "the number of elements of the standard that have been assessed during the year." Then, the grades assigned to each element are: NA (Not Assessed), ND (Not Yet Demonstrated), EM (Emerging), PR (Progressing), MS (Meets Standards), EX (Exceeds Standards), AC (Area of Concern), DE (Developing), CD (Consistently Demonstrating).

Actually writing it out like this helps me understand it a little better, but I still think it's unnecessarily convoluted and pointless and good god, they're measuring these tiny little Kindergarten kids on 22 different areas. Just fucking tell me how he's doing in Math, Language Arts, Social Studies, Science, and PE like the good old days.

I never thought I was closed-minded, but this system sucks. It's designed to make parents feel like teachers know it all and they're idiots so they might as well cede control of their offspring to the public school system.

I seriously hate everything today.

The Weight

Sometimes the only way to get moving is simply to pick up one foot and put it in front of another. So...here goes.

The last few weeks have been so full. I feel like I've been jammed into my existence with barely enough room to breathe. Instead of writing, when I've had a free moment I've been trying to find something – prayer, meditation, hypnosis – that can take away the anxiety and stress that keeps me rigid and fearful and blind to the joy of this life.

I miss writing in this way.

I've been writing for work. And I've given a lot of thought to some creative writing that I want to do, although I haven't actually put pen to paper in that regard.

I miss writing in this intimate and meaningful way. I miss sharing the things that are challenging me and shaping me and hurting me and encouraging me.

Like the fact that I am incredibly worried about Brendan and my heart is breaking as I try to figure out how to mother him. He's so challenging right now. Defiant and frustrated and frustrating. He's not loving school. He tries hard and does really well in class. But getting him to do his homework is killing me. Like pulling teeth. For both of us.

His first parent-teacher conference left us shocked and terrified as the teacher suggested he has a fine motor skills delay. She told us how sweet and intelligent he his, but suggested he is falling behind because he lacks the fine motor skills to write and draw as well as the other kids. She suggested that he be evaluated by the school's occupational therapist, but then told me on Friday that the paperwork required is too extensive and that we should have him looked at sooner rather than later. I had already called our pediatrician and scheduled something at the Children's Hospital anyway.

I can't help but worry. I am terrified over what it might mean. Combined with his resistance to doing homework, his lack of interest in reading, and his stubbornness, I am so worried about his ability to live up to his potential, to become or achieve success and happiness in life.

How do you get a kid to enjoy homework? How do you make someone love reading if they don't? What do you do when those behaviors are so foreign to your own beliefs and way of thinking and living that you can't understand it and find a way to motivate your child?

I never imagined myself in this situation. Although it sure seems I've found myself saying that a lot these last few years.

I want the best for my son. If only I knew how to help him achieve it.

Once More with Feeling (Reprise)

I don't know where Jeremy found this quote, but it's too brilliant not to share with as many people as possible.

Check it out...

Let's Get It Started

Well, hey, y'all.

Wait. Are those crickets I hear? Am I all alone here after abandoning my post lo these many days, nay weeks?

I just haven't been able to get it together to write. I feel mentally fatigued. Lost. Wondering why I write and if I actually have anything of value to say. I was thinking about just walking away.

However, A. has a post on her blog that hit very close to home for me. I feel like I've been treading water in a sea of stress and dismay related to behavior problems (Brendan's and my own) and my inability to balance my part-time job, my duties as a wife and mother, and my desire to have a life that isn't solely consumed by cooking, cleaning, and child rearing. At least this blog gives me an outlet and keeps me connected with like minds – shoot, better minds! – and allows me space to figure out my purpose in this world.

Anyway, despite wondering how I can balance my need and desire to write and remain relatively honest with myself and you all with an apparently growing need not to offend or upset anyone else, I've decided to give this another go. I've thought about taking the blog private so that you'd have to register to read it, but that just seems too depressing. I might then find that no one actually gives a damn. I don't really want to do either of those things... Force readers to register or find out what a pathetic loser I am.

Or I could suck it up and be me, whoever that is.

So, I thought I'd start with a layout change. Unfortunately, I screwed up saving some of my links. If I've left you off my blogroll, please forgive me. I added the blogs whose urls I knew off the top of my head. If yours isn't there, it's because I'm going to need to find the url and add you. It's not that I don't love you to pieces!

Alright. Here we go. Again.

'Night, Y'all.

Michelle

I'm going to geek out on you a little now.

I cried a little last night hearing Michelle Obama speak. She was great.

I admire Hillary Clinton. But, sadly, she isn't what this country wants. This country is still looking for warmth and compassion in its leaders and their spouses. Bill's got that warmth. Hillary has never had it. Whipsmart she may be, however, she does not come across as warm, loving, and someone who could lift this country up in a time of crisis or need (she could be calm, cool, and stable, but that's not always what we want or look for in female leadership). From Eleanor Roosevelt to Jacqueline Kennedy and now Ms. Obama, I think what we're all hoping to find is a National Mommy. Someone who will help pick us up when we fall, remaining calm and strong in a crisis, but showing us her warmth, compassion, and humanity all the while.

I saw all of that, along with a blazing intelligence and passion for doing the right thing, in Michelle Obama last night.

I would be proud to have her as First Lady and to have her husband in office.

I pray that the Hillary delegates will put any bitterness aside for the sake of our country, that we can all unite as Democrats and come together to win the election and make real, substantive change happen in this country and in this world.

I'm excited. For the first time in a long time.

I felt like a kid on Christmas Eve yesterday waiting for the Convention to get under way last night. I was disappointed that we only got an hour of it on TV and had to listen to Katie Couric blathering away over Michelle Obama's brother.

I also have to say, I'm tired of the Kennedy's. They really don't matter any more and I wish they'd quit hauling them out all the time. Ted will be the last Kennedy to make a difference in political life in this country.

Of course, I don't want to get too excited. The last two elections have made me wary of getting my hopes up.

I guess it's just a waiting (and hoping) game at this point.

Hurt

And so, I rise from the dead.

I've been working. Getting Brendan settled in school. Dealing with hurt feelings. My own hurt feelings. I'm trying to figure out why some people are the way they are.

I found out through my brother-in-law that Scott's dad and stepmom had a "Grandson's Week" where they invited three of their five grandsons to spend the week with them. As you've figured out by now, our sons weren't included. I can understand not including the baby. But why not Brendan?

I sent an e-mail inviting them to attend Grandparent's Day at Brendan's school and when they declined because that's the day they're having some repairs done to their roof and Stepmom has a doctor's appointment, I told them how hurt I was that they didn't include Brendan and that they treat him like they don't love him. They've really broken my heart in a way that I have trouble expressing. The idea that grandparents who are supposed to adore their grandkids and love them absolutely unconditionally aren't able to do so, that they favor certain kids over my sweet, sensitive, bright, funny little boy because he's shy and not a rambunctious, eager child who craves their attention because they ply him with sweets really hurts, angers, and confuses me.

How dare they!

I've tried to have a relationship with them. But of course, they blame us.

Their response was that they haven't gotten to know Brendan because he's so shy and he doesn't try to talk to them when they try to interact with him.

They said the other daughters-in-law and sons just pop in whenever they're passing through. Here's the kicker. Both of Scott's brothers went to college in the town where my in-laws live. They go over for every football game in the fall. One of the brothers lives 30 minutes away. They told me that his wife leaves their kids with them while she goes to get her hair done and that's how they've gotten to know them.

I am really outraged when I think about it.

We live 2 hours away. If we're passing through it's because we're on our way somewhere and don't have time. How is it fair to compare me to my sister-in-law who goes to a salon a mile from their house because her nephew works there and she gets her hair done at a discount? And has free babysitting to boot. AAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHH!

I tried to visit them this summer and they gave me four days out of the month of July that they'd be available. On two of those days, we had out of town guests that we'd been anticipating all summer. Some of Brendan's favorite people in fact.

I tried to go the other two days, but had car trouble and couldn't get there because my car was in the shop. Of course, when I invited them to come here, they said they prefer to see the kids at their own home because kids react differently when they're at their homes and with their parents.

And they had the audacity to tell me that I misinterpreted what they meant when they asked me to leave with Brendan when they threw us out of their house.

I just don't know what to do. How do I get through to these people?

It hurts so much. I don't really care if they hate me, but how could they not love their own grandchild?

So, now you know part of why I haven't been around. I've been licking my wounds and trying to control my rage; not wanting to say anything too wrong. To fuck up by writing something I'd regret. But finding a way to express what I'm feeling. Sadly, writing about it makes me feel it even more strongly.

Sunny Day

This is our last Thursday before school begins and I've managed to fill it to the brim. I've scheduled a double playdate for both Brendan and Beckett today with my friend L. and her two little boys. Her oldest is a year younger than Brendan, but loves him and always wants to play with him at our house. Her baby and Beckett are just a couple of months apart and play very nicely alongside one another. This is the first time all summer we've been able to coordinate our schedules to make getting all six of us together at once possible.

Rising to the occasion (in multiple ways), I awoke at 5:30 so I could bake some Amish Friendship bread and make a fruit salad for snacks. I still need to vacuum and clean our guest bathroom and shower.

This afternoon, I've scheduled a swimming playdate for Brendan with his friend Mark at the neighborhood pool. He has talked about going to Mark's pool constantly since we went there in June.

Yesterday, we went and registered Brendan for Kindergarten. Scott and I were both very, very happy to learn that Brendan ended up in the class with the teacher who is widely regarded as being the best Kindergarten teacher in the school. Yay! I could dance a jig. She seems so smart and kind and organized. I volunteered to be a room mom even though she already had two other volunteers. I will offer my assistance on a "part-time' basis on the two mornings Beckett is at PMO. I am just so thankful he ended up in her class. A bit confused as to why there are so many boys in her class and so few in the other Mrs. S.'s class (each class had like a 3/4 to 1/4 divide between boys and girls), but that's okay. He has a lot of kids in his class that he knew from last year so hopefully that will ease the transition.

It's been yet another busy week. My boss is encouraging me to get my real estate license and I'm not sure that's something I want to do. Despite the fact that I work for a realtor, I feel like most real estate agents are just like Annette Benning's character in American Beauty. And I don't really think that's me. Not so much.

Whatever.

I clearly have nothing witty or profound to say today. Just a random update on the happenings at chez moi.

I hope everyone else has had a great week. I actually do have other stuff to write about, just not enough time! My mother-in-law is coming on Saturday so I'll be getting ready for her. Hopefully, I'll find more time to write later tonight or tomorrow.

Cars

I'm filled with links today. No. Not the sausagey kind. Linky goodness to let you know what is going on in this crazy world of ours.

Read this. And when you're done go get your tires filled and schedule a tune-up.

Fat-Bottomed Girls

"Parents want to feed their children healthy meals, but America's chain restaurants are setting parents up to fail," CSPI nutrition policy director Margo G. Wootan said in a statement. "McDonald's, Burger King, KFC, and other chains are conditioning kids to expect burgers, fried chicken, pizza, french fries, macaroni and cheese, and soda in various combination at almost every lunch and dinner."

I'm sorry? I must have misunderstood you, Ms. Wootan. Are you implying that as a parent, I have no control over or responsibility for what my child eats?

For God's sake, people. This is exactly what is wrong with this country. Trust me. I hate on corporate America as much as the next card-carrying liberal. But blaming fast food companies because of the crap our kids eat and their entitled little whining attitudes about what they want to eat goes entirely too far for this mom. And I say all of this as the parent of a child who begs to eat at Mickey D's every chance he gets, who is picky, and whose picky eating habits are a constant worry on me.

I pester, prod, and push my child to eat healthier. And I do indulge him in a trip to McDonald's or Burger King, knowing it's more about the toy than anything else, every once in a while. What I don't do is blame any one else for the way he eats or doesn't eat. I don't blame Kraft or Kellogg's or General Mills or RJR/Nabisco or ConAgra or any of the makers of convenience foods and snacks. If my child doesn't eat well it's because I as his mother and provider of nourishment have in some way failed to bring good foods to him or convince him to eat those good foods.

It's bullshit to say that "...America's chain restaurants have set parents up to fail." God that attitude sickens me.

Anyone who sat through a fourth grade health class or has watched a fucking PSA knows how to feed a child or how to eat healthfully themselves. To blame fast food outlets because people eat there is nuts. There's plenty you can blame them for in terms of the quality of food they provide, but they do what they do and we all know what they do when we choose to walk through their doors or drive up to their drive-thru windows.

No one is to blame for an obese America except Americans themselves who choose to eat poorly, sit on their fat, lazy asses and then blame someone else.

Boys Will Be Boys

This article pretty much confirms my limited experience raising children and highlights one of my biggest fears as the parent of sons.

For all the failings of the educational system over the past several decades to reach out to female students, it appears the ship has turned 180 degrees to the point that boys are being shut out.

I've been reading this research for a few years now... The lack of tactile experiences, the focus on test scores that requires endless sitting still in the classroom, the focus on teaching facts and figures at younger and younger ages while eliminating any experiences that teach the joy of learning, e.g. art, music, group activities.... These are all cited as central to the fact that more and more boys each year are diagnosed with ADD/ADHD when, in fact, they are just being boys.

We are trying to force kids to do things at ages four, five, and six, that their brains are not physically capable of doing. And it's worse on boys because their brains mature more slowly than those of girls.

And it's really easy to turn that all into a big joke, but ultimately, the joke is on us as a society. If we crush the self-esteem of a generation of little boys, tell them there is something wrong with them when they're simply being who and what they are, what kind of men will we produce.

I'm terrified of what this school year will bring.

But, I'm really glad there's research going on in this area and that others are noticing. I'm glad that a mainstream publication like Parenting is talking about it. I just wish it would trickle down to our educators. My fear is, however, that the ability to dose little boys with poison to the point that we zombify them and make things easier for our largely female teachers, is such a temptation that we will never recover.

I'm So Tired

I hate feeling dumb. But boy do I feel dumb today.

For a couple of weeks now I have been totally on edge. Snapping at people. My poor kids and husband included. I've felt edgy, achy, totally discombobulated.

This week, it kind of came to a head. I was feeling anxious about Scott's show. I had to make a decision about a job offer I'd received for a pretty cool job that would pay a fantastic amount of money but require me to go into an office one day a week and force us to hire a nanny and/or housekeeper because I'd need someone to help with Beckett. I walked around in tears or on the verge of tears for a week.

There were a couple of moments where I wondered if I might be having a nervous breakdown.

I was wondering what was up? Why would stuff that I could typically deal with without batting an eyelash push me so close to the edge?

Then, Saturday, it dawned on me.

I haven't had a break since May. Scott and I have gone out alone a couple of times, but most of the times we've had a sitter, it's been because he's playing. Or we've gone out with other people. I've been with the kids constantly except for the two or three times I've hired a sitter to go to a work meeting.

No down time for me since May. Even when Beckett has napped, I still have Brendan.

I love my kids. I love my life. But sometimes... I need some time. A bubble bath. A quiet hour with a book. To go to the bathroom without someone knocking on the door and asking me to come do something that could wait.

So, this morning, I planned to get up at 6:30 and work out. I actually woke up a bit earlier raring to go. I got up, did some Pilates, and only just now has Beckett awoken. Brendan is still asleep.

And I feel great!

Refresed, revived, and ready to go.

Coming Up Roses

I hate Back to School time. Well, I sort of love it. And I sort of hate it. As a student, I loved it. I loved learning and for me, summer was a long, boring, friendless time. I filled the days with reading books, listening to music, and counting down the days until school began again. While my friends were going to visit grandparents in far away places or making sojourns to the beach with their families, I was stuck at home all day while my mom worked.

This summer, we didn't go on vacation. The trip I planned for the boys to see their grandparents was waylaid by car trouble. It has been a long, boring, friendless time for me where I have felt cooped up and lonely. Even the things we've done haven't felt like things I wanted to do, but obligations.

This summer has felt long and exhausting. I haven't had a moment of me time it feels like. I haven't even exercised in months. I haven't had time to think or pray or do anything to rejuvenate my spirit. I feel aimless, hopeless, lonely, sad, confused.

But, I'm somehow not ready for school to begin again. Mostly, just because I don't like the school board deciding that school should go back in the middle of summer.

School starts in our county on August 11. August e-lev-enth! Can you believe that? It stinks for the kids.

We haven't even been on vacation yet.

AAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH.

I hate this frantic, frenetic, stupid, stupid world.

Black River

There are just a few more days to order tickets to Scott Downes Live at Underneath. You can get your tickets here. Remember, too that the ticket price includes beer and wine. It should be a great night of good music in a relaxed and intimate setting.

I know I'm shameless in plugging my husband's music, but I believe he is a gifted and talented songwriter and I want to share his music with as many folks as I can. If you're new here or you've never heard him, you can check him out on his web site. I suggest the live show at Kavarna.

Now, I said I was going to give away two tickets to his show this week and so I shall. If you live in the Atlanta metro area and you're interested in going to the show, visit Scott's site and listen to the song Black River. After you're done, come back here, and post a comment telling me what gets thrown in the water at the end of the song. I will choose one winner at random from the correct answers.

The contest starts now, Monday, 7/21, at 4:15 p.m. and will run through 4:15 p.m. tomorrow, 7/22.

Chimes of Freedom

Scott's cousin Valerie is an amazing woman. She's a gifted artist and one of the most awe-inspiring women near my age that I've ever met. I don't say it lightly when I say that there are some people that have the spark of the Holy Spirit in them and Valerie is on of those people. She has an unusual burden gift in being able to feel and carry the pain of others. It's not just that she can feel their pain, but that she wants to. Her empathy leads her to want to connect with others in this way, to truly experience what someone else felt or is feeling. She's a generous, and deeply beautiful human being.

She recently completed a 2100 mile bike ride that retraced the Underground Railroad from Montgomery, Alabama to Owens Sound in Canada.

You can read about her adventures here.