Goin' Out To Cally – Part 21, The Outhouse

In the time before built-in TV/DVD combos, laptop computers and portable CD players, traveling long distances in a car was a test of your imagination. As the sand started to pile up at the bottom of the infinite hour glass, you would begin to engage in any variety of car games to keep your sanity.

If you were smart and prepared you’d bring along a deck of cards or some other small board game. If not, you had to rely on the old stand-bys, such as 20 Questions, or finding words that start with every letter of the alphabet in order, or looking for the license plates of all fifty states.

When those ran out, you’d start singing annoying, yet time-filling songs such as 99 Bottles of Bear on the Wall. When that had run its course, you had to start thinking outside the box.

Thinking outside the box for Tim and I was usually a dangerous proposition. Our short history was scattered with non-traditional stupid ideas designed to fill our time, like impulsive late night drives to Orlando to go to one of Disney’s theme parks the next morning or staying up all night watching the newly created cable television in what was to eventually be called the Late Night Breast Search.

On this trip, however, our exterior box thinking ended up with a benign, yet fulfilling solution… a game called Coaster. As we logged hundreds of miles through the highs and lows for the mountainous terrain we decided to see who could coast, with the car in neutral, at over 45 miles per hour, the longest. During Tim’s shift behind the wheel, he started. We were atop a high mountain overlooking the New Mexico landscape when he put the car in neutral and let it go. His first attempt looked promising. Below us was a logic-defying geographically straight road that seemed to go on forever… no curves to slow you down, less friction to dampen your pace.

The engine slowed to a hum and the car became increasingly quiet. All eyes were on the speedometer as it crept up the dial… Ten miles per hour… 20, 30, 35… as soon as it reached 45 miles per hour, the clock started.

The car continued to gather speed… past 60, then 70 and the clock continued to click. As we reached the bottom Tim was going nearly 80 miles per hour. The car began to naturally slow as the ground leveled and with nary a car within visual distance, we all focused on the speedometer. When the car had finally slowed to 44 miles per hour, I checked my watch... Tim had officially coasted 12 miles.

Sure it was only a 12 minute escape from the monotony of this long trip, but it was fun and kept our spirits up… plus, it saved on gas. A winner all around.

A while later, sitting in the backseat was starting to get uncomfortable and my legs were starting to cramp, so I asked Tim to stop at the next available location so I could use the restroom. After a few more miles we eventually pulled into a local Native American jewelry store. It was a very simple building made of old wood with a welcoming air-conditioned interior. Beth and Sunday started browsing through the large collection of handmade jewelry, full of bright stones. I asked if they had a bathroom I could use and the woman who ran the shop pointed me toward the back of the building stating “There’s one out back.”

I exited the building and back into the brutal, yet dry summer heat. It was officially hotter here than it was in Florida, but without the south Florida humidity, it didn’t seem nearly as oppressive.

I walked around the cemented path toward the back of the store where I spotted a small wooden shack, about eight feet wide and five feet deep. It looked a little shabby, but a bathroom doesn’t need much, just a toilet, some running water and soap.

As I approached the shack I was hit with a wall of stench so strong that it nearly knocked me off of my feet. I’m not kidding. It was like hitting a force field made of invisible vomit. Still, nature was calling, so I pressed on. As I neared the shack, something seemingly impossible occurred… the odor intensified.

Now both disgusted and intrigued, I had to continue on. My senses told me to run, my heart begged me to take my own life, but my mind, driven by unbridled curiosity, pushed me onward. I walked around the shack and found a single door with the word “Outhouse” painted on the door. “So this is an outhouse?” I asked myself. “No wonder it’s outside!” I said as I fearfully and cautiously opened the door.

As the wooden door creaked opened, the mist of aged refused accosted me with such a force that my eyes began to water. Inside this small, hot and hellaciously despicable shack, was a homemade box that ran the length of the back wall with two holes in it… i.e., the toilets. Against all reason, some perverse attraction drew me toward the holes. I completely covered my face in the bottom of my t-shirt and tentatively peered in.

Fortunately, the holes were too dark to see the contents they so proudly held, but my eyes had begun to burn and I was forced to rush out, running passed the invisible barrier of gastric evil. When I reached safe ground I deeply inhaled the clean and hot New Mexico air, unsure if the remnants of the outhouse smell would ever completely dissipate from my nostrils.

Surely this wasn't there only bathroom the store had, but I guess it was the one they gave to idiots who stop at their jewelry store just so they can use the restroom.

Just as my uncontrollable gasping had returned to normal breathing, Tim exited the jewelry store.

He asked, “Where’s the bathrooms?”

“Right back there,” I said with innocent tones. “You’ll know it when you find it.”

Tim nodded and started on the cement path toward the back of the store. I watched with evil delight as he strolled calmly down the path, like watching a baby seal swimming with glee toward a swarm of killer whales.

His carefree trot came to an abrupt halt as he hit the invisible barrier of gastric evil. Stunned, he remained frozen, unsure of whether or not to continue on. Only moments later he too continued, drawn to the apocalyptic odor like a moth to the flame, eventually disappearing behind the building.

I plopped into the back of the Acura and waited for everyone in the car. Sunday and Beth made it to the car first. Tim eventually returned, his face flushed and sweaty, his eyes red and watery. He sat into the front seat and turned to me.

“That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen!” he exclaimed.

We burst into laughter. The girls looked at us with questioning eyes, but Tim and I both knew that such an event could only be appreciated by the males of the species. I’m not saying that’s anything to be proud of… I’m only saying that men are stupid that way.

Flashback memories of the outhouse was something that would cause inadvertent chuckling for the rest of the trip.

Tim started the car and we pressed on to our next stop... the Grand Canyon.

********

Goin' Out To Cally - Part 21, (Text, Audio) The Outhouse
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 20, (Text, Audio) Riding The Hump
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 19, (Text, Audio) Bob Hope, Lil’ Debbie And Restless Gods
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 18, (Text, Audio) Unlevel Headed
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 17, (Text, Audio) Starry Night, Confusing Night
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 16, (Text, Audio) Three Beds + Four People = Oh Crap
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 15, (Text, Audio) Masculinity At Stake
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 14, (Text, Audio) Texas: Latin For Shoot Me Now
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 13, (Text, Audio) Cars, Crossroads and Cosmic Convergence
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 12, (Text, Audio) Tumbleweed Dreams
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 11, (Text, Audio) Wet, Rinse, Repeat
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 10, (Text, Audio) Divine Misdirection
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 09, (Text, Audio) Getting Nowhere Fast
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 08, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows Nine
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 07, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 06, (Text, Audio) Leftovers
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 05, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 04, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 03, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 02, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 01, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted

No Difference

My kids and I were reading from a book of poems by Shel Silverstein and came across a wonderful, simple poem called No Difference...

Small as a peanut,
Big as a giant,
We're all the same size
When we turn off the light.

Rich as a sultan,
Poor as a mite,
We're all worth the same
When we turn off the light.

Red, Black or Orange,
Yellow or White,
We all look the same
When we turn off the light.

So maybe the way
To make everything right
Is for God to just reach out
And turn off the light.

18 - 8

Well, the impossibe became reality last night. Gabe's Angels... one of the worst teams during the regular season, played great again tonight to win the championship for 9-10 year olds, beating the Phillies 18-8.

I'll have pics in a few days.

Gabe did very well in the game. He pitched two very good innings to start the game, at the end of which we were winning 9-2 and caught a line drive in center field while looking into the sun. He was also 3-3, hitting two doubles, a single and walked once.

The entire team hit the ball very well and made all of the plays they needed. Its amazing to see how far we came... going from one of the worst teams, to scoring 7 runs in the last inning of the first game of the playoffs against the Braves, shutting down the potent Devil Rays in the second game and finishing it out by routing the Phillies.

Amazing.

I'm so proud of how well Gabe played in those three games. He hit two home runs, a triple, three doubles, numerous singles, pitched great and made a couple of diving catches. When I was his age I was lucky if I could understand the game, let alone excel at it. His ability, passion and competitiveness continues to impress me.

It's been a great ride.

Next week... All Star tryouts.

Turning Water To Fuel

If this video is accurate (and it appears to be), this is the most amazing invention ever. And the guy lives in Clearwater!

I only hope the guy doesn't sell his patent to the oil companies or we'll never see it again. Pray that this works.

And sign me up to be the first to have my car converted.

Here's a few helpful websites: http://hytechapps.com/applications/index.html and http://digg.com/technology/Water_Fuel_-_HHO_Gas

Goin' Out To Cally – Part 20, Riding The Hump

As sun broke on our fourth day, I woke up early. With shampoo, towel and toothbrush in hand, I stepped barefoot over the rocky, grassy ground, still wet from the morning dew. I was prepared to put my acting talents in overdrive as I approached the location of the micro-tent, but was surprised to find they had already pedaled toward their next destination.

I sure hoped they didn’t step in… oh well, that was last night. Time to focus on today. As I showered and dressed I could barely contain my excitement. Today we were going to the Grand Canyon.

My dad always signed up for the first book free Time Life series, canceling before he had to pay for subsequent editions. The beginning of one series on United States landmarks was a book on the Grand Canyon. As a child I would scan the pages, trying to understand just how big this natural wonder was, but the book could scarcely capture the full experience. This is something you have to see to completely understand.

In just a days drive I would be standing at the summit of one of the world’s great sights and turning those pages in my memory into real life experiences.

As the car hummed down the interstate, I was growing tired of not having anywhere to comfortably put my feet. I kicked at the small containers of toiletries on the floor but could not squeeze out enough space to get my feet through and onto the carpet. It reminded me of the long summer drives our family would take when we would go camping.

Being the youngest, I always ended up in the middle of the back seat, with my feet on the hump flanked on either side by my brothers, Paul and Charles. As the car would scurry across the country, the heat from the moving parts below the hump would start to make my feet sweat. The heat would move up my body to my legs, my hands and finally my head. The sweatier I became, the less my brothers wanted me near them.

My brother Charles was especially adverse to anyone “touching him” when we took these long trips. He and Paul were able to cool off from the breeze of an opened window, but I was stuck with only the lingering remnants of cool that were strong enough to blow across my face. In my own passive-aggressive way, I would seek my revenge by slowly pushing out my legs until they would touch my brothers’. After a few minutes, they too would begin to sweat.

Charles was always the first to complain with a loud “Stop touching me!”

I would turn, with a shocked expression and respond innocently. “Oh… I’m sorry.” But a few minutes later, my legs would start to move outward again.

“Will you stop touching me!” he’d yell.

“I’m not!” I’d lie.

“You are too! Mom, make Peter stop touching me!” he’d offer up to the front seat.

After a few more “are toos” and “am nots” invariably my father would respond with “That’s enough! No more talking! I want fifteen minutes of silence!”

“It’s all your fault,” I’d push.

“It is not,” Charles would respond.

My father would snap back with the classic “Don’t make me stop this car!”

And therein would begin the dreaded and now infamous fifteen minutes of silence. When you’re given fifteen minutes of silence you have two options. One, you could sit still and try to remain quiet for the entire fifteen minutes. Or, two, you could use that time where we are commanded to be quiet to irritate your sibling even more, knowing they were unable to complain.

We usually took the latter. In the end, the silence rarely lasted more than six minutes, but, to a parent, six minutes of silence in a car is worth more than gold. To quote the great comedian Bill Cosby, “Parents aren’t interested in justice. They’re interested in silence.”

How true that is.

So, even though I was not commanded to do so, I remained silent about my displeasure with the discomfort in the backseat of the Acura, knowing that everyone else was struggling with the same issue and voicing such displeasure would accomplish nothing.

We were now at the point in the trip where we take any opportunity to stop the car and stretch our legs. As we approached a small Native American jewelry stop, I pleaded for Tim to stop so I could use the bathroom.

It would be one trip to an outhouse that I would never be able to remove out of my mind.

********

Goin' Out To Cally - Part 20, (Text, Audio) Riding The Hump
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 19, (Text, Audio) Bob Hope, Lil’ Debbie And Restless Gods
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 18, (Text, Audio) Unlevel Headed
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 17, (Text, Audio) Starry Night, Confusing Night
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 16, (Text, Audio) Three Beds + Four People = Oh Crap
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 15, (Text, Audio) Masculinity At Stake
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 14, (Text, Audio) Texas: Latin For Shoot Me Now
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 13, (Text, Audio) Cars, Crossroads and Cosmic Convergence
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 12, (Text, Audio) Tumbleweed Dreams
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 11, (Text, Audio) Wet, Rinse, Repeat
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 10, (Text, Audio) Divine Misdirection
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 09, (Text, Audio) Getting Nowhere Fast
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 08, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows Nine
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 07, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 06, (Text, Audio) Leftovers
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 05, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 04, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 03, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 02, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 01, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted

Government Wasting My Money

I was listening to the Neal Boortz radio program during lunch and he read a study on government waste. He said that last year the government spent $6 million on airline tickets that THEY DID NOT USE!

They government is supposed to fly coach UNLESS a flight is over 14 hours, yet almost all of this unused travel was for First Class tickets. One of those tickets, from New Mexico to Africa cost $8000 and was not used and no refund was requested.

To put it in perspective, the average amount of taxes paid by a U.S. citizen is around $8000. So, they basically took my tax money last year and burned it on a plane ticket they never used.

Somehow they find time to vote for their own raises, but they can't follow their own rules that mandate fiscal responsibility.

Just another small example of why I don't want the government to ask for one more frickin' penny of my money until they get their financial house in order.

6 - 3

Our little league for 9-10 year olds has six teams, Angels, Braves, Devil Rays, Phillies, Red Sox and Yankees. At the end of the season we have a tournament where these six teams face each other in single elimination. Of those six teams, the Devil Rays and the Yankees, who also have coaches that rub some of the parents the wrong way, had the first round off because they were by far the top two seeded teams.

The first week:

• Phillies vs. Red Sox. (Gabe's best friend and neighbor across the street, Robert, is on the Phillies) Phillies won.
• Angels vs. Braves. As I mentioned in my blog a few days ago Gabe and the Angels came back to beat the Braves.

Afterwards we met up with the Phillies coaches and said how great it would be if our teams would be able to knock off the DRays and Yankees, teams neither of us had beaten all season long. If we were able to do that it would be just as fulfilling as playing for the championship.

So, last night was that night.

• Phillies vs. Yankees on Field 3
• Devil Rays vs. Angels on Field 4.

Before the game, Gabe and I talked about remaining relaxed and focused during critical points during the game. Gabe started pitching and did the best job I've seen him do so far. Plus, our defense, for the first time this season, was great. Gabe ended up pitching two shut out innings and we led 1 - 0. As the game continued our lead grew slowly, to 4-0 behind more solid defense and the pitching of a kid named Blake. It was just one of those games where everything went right.

At this point, the Devil Rays could not risk giving up any more runs so they put in their best pitcher, Zack, the coach's son. Gabe is extremely competitive and takes it as a personal challenge to play better than the other team's best player. All season long Zack had out played Gabe and the Angels had not been able to beat them yet. When Gabe got up to bat with a man on second against his nemesis, he remained calm. With a 2-2 count game drilled a line drive over the left fielder's head and it bounced into the fence. Gabe raced around the bases, beating the throw home for his second home run in two playoff games, putting the Angels up 6-1.

NOTE: At this age, kids aren't strong enough to hit "over the fence" home runs. But an inside the park home run is just as rare.

We looked over to the other field and saw the Phillies were beating the Yankees 7-1 in the fourth inning.

We headed into the last two innings. The Devil Rays started their comeback, scoring three runs. Down only 6-3, they had two men on, runners on second and third, and they had the tying run at the plate. Gabe was now catching, and Ben, our "closer" was pitching. They did a great job of not throwing any wild pitches and Ben struck out the last batter. The Angels had won, 6-3.

After the game all of our Angel players ran over to the other game and sat in the Phillies stands, rooting them on. The Phillies ended up winning 8-2 and we all celebrated.

So, tomorrow night the Phillies and Angels will play for the little league championship... two teams that were last in their division during the regular season, but have done everything right to make it to the finals.

Goin' Out To Cally – Part 19, Bob Hope, Lil' Debbie And Restless Gods

As I lay in the tent next to a sleeping Sunday, across from an unconscious Tim and Beth, my feet about six inches above my head and my body sloped unnaturally down the unleveled ground, the image of Bob Hope suddenly popped into my head.

This was not a good thing.

Being the last of many kids, it was very rare to be left alone in the house. It was rarer that you would be left alone with a pantry full of unopened junk food. One weekend, as a teenager, my family went out for the evening. I was left alone to fend for myself, so, naturally, I plucked out the package of Lil’ Debbies and scarfed down eight oatmeal cakes in about three point two seconds.

Surprisingly… well, okay, maybe just to me at the time… shortly thereafter I began to feel ill. As my stomach churned uncontrollably within me I tried to distract myself by watching television. I flipped through the three broadcast stations, the one independent and the one public broadcasting channel available to me and settled on a Bob Hope comedy special being shown on NBC.

I really needed Bob Hope to be funny or else Debbie and her eight oatmeal friends were about to revisit the house. I kept saying, “C’mon, Bob, make me laugh!” but, alas, the laughs did not come. I quickly ran into the bathroom and, from that day forward, developed a long-term distinct displeasure for Lil’ Debbie oatmeal snacks.

In the tent I rose up quickly and muffled an acidic burp, containing a mix of steak soaked in barbeque sauce and hot fudge. Whenever your body blesses you with a gastric expulsion containing multiple meals, you know you’re in trouble. My mouth began to water, sweat quickly formed on my brow… I knew I was about to be sick.

I quickly unzipped the tent and gingerly made a b-line to the restrooms on the far side of the campground. In the quiet night with only the sound of a slight breeze rustling the trees above me, I passed our neighbor’s RV and scurried through a number of campgrounds. The nausea continued to build.

I could see the restrooms only a few yards away… I was almost there! Yet, without warning I found I could hold it no longer. I put one hand on the tree with the locked ten-speed bikes and, at the foot of the entrance to the micro-tent, the Golden Corral dinner and mom and pop ice cream shop desert expelled from my body with such a loud, uncontrollable sound that I could hear it echo off of Tucumcari Mountain in the once silent desert night.

I followed up the first with a second even louder, more vigorous display. It was so intense, I would not have been surprised if my spleen suddenly burst from my face.

Surely the bicyclists would awaken to find me standing over my present I had inadvertently left at their doorstep, so I ran into the restroom to finish this unholy task. I presented myself at the foot of the porcelain god, but it appeared my sacrifice had been completed outside.

I cleaned up and peered cautiously out of the bathroom. Surely my guttural, vocal display had awakened even Tocom and Kari from their eternal slumber, but the tents in the K.O.A. remained quiet, the lights remained off. Everything was… normal.

Just in case I returned to our tent via another path. I re-entered our portable canvas cave and delicately moved my pillow so the event would not repeat itself.

What had started out as a romantic, yet confusing night had turned into a disgustingly memorable one. I could only imagine what tomorrow would bring, as we ended our third day on our trip to Cally.

********

Goin' Out To Cally - Part 19, (Text, Audio) Bob Hope, Lil’ Debbie And Restless Gods
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 18, (Text, Audio) Unlevel Headed
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 17, (Text, Audio) Starry Night, Confusing Night
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 16, (Text, Audio) Three Beds + Four People = Oh Crap
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 15, (Text, Audio) Masculinity At Stake
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 14, (Text, Audio) Texas: Latin For Shoot Me Now
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 13, (Text, Audio) Cars, Crossroads and Cosmic Convergence
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 12, (Text, Audio) Tumbleweed Dreams
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 11, (Text, Audio) Wet, Rinse, Repeat
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 10, (Text, Audio) Divine Misdirection
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 09, (Text, Audio) Getting Nowhere Fast
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 08, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows Nine
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 07, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 06, (Text, Audio) Leftovers
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 05, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 04, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 03, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 02, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 01, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted

Purification? Spiritual Realignment? I Wish I Knew

I've been doing a lot more thinking of suffering lately. Not because I've had to endure my own intense suffering, but I've had enough personal experience that the weight of suffering never quite leaves me. As you all know, I've been dealing with Crohns Disease since 1989. It's funny because, since I've had it for so many years, I can't really remember not having the disease. Sad, but true.

Most of my time with the disease has been unpleasant. When people ask me if I would want to go back and change any part of my life (other than my health), my first thought was "how bad was my Crohns then?" I've had to endure too much to really want to face it all again, so, I never long to go back and relive any part of my life. Its only since the advent of Remicade a few years ago that any sort of normality has come into play.

As I was in Mass Sunday, I felt a great sense of vulnerability for some reason. I don't really know why. My thoughts quickly traveled to the health issues facing both my father (Parkinson's) and my father-in-law (diabetes). Unless there is a miracle, I don't see their health getting substantially better between now and when the Lord finally calls them home.

So, why would God allow such pain, suffering, doubt, feelings of being a burden, feelings of helplessness? I was reminded of some of the things Mother Angelica said (I had just finished the book about her life and the creation of EWTN). One of Mother Angelica's takes on her numerous sufferings is that they are there to make her solely dependent on God.

That made sense to me.

Suffering strips away wants and goals and makes us live in the moment. If the suffering is hard enough or lasts long enough, you eventually succumb to the Lord. I know I did many years ago when my health was nearing the end of a constant three year decline. I was at a friend's daughter's first communion and I gave into the Lord, telling him of my fears and my frailty and just said "Whatever you want to do with me is fine." At that moment my fear of the disease, which had unknowingly consumed me, evaporated. Soon thereafter Remicade was made available.

So, perhaps so many people suffer during the last phase of their lives in order to prepare them for the next life... to remove everything but the Lord, to make us totally dependent on the Lord. In that way, if that is the end result, then such suffering is really a gift because, when we pass on, if the Lord is not our number one priority, then we are not focused in the right place.

Suffering is not easy. It is exhausting and humbling and can quickly eat away at your self worth. But, it does make everything else but God less important. And it does make you cherish all of the little things in life. The touch of your wife's hand. The comfort you feel when you look into her eyes. The heart trembling effect of the hug from one of your children.

Most of all it makes you realize how little control you have in your life. And, you turn to the only one with real control, God Almighty.

It also makes me think of the recent religious education one of the priests offered at our church. In speaking of purgatory he mentioned that it is there for purification. So few people (saints), when they die are purified enough to immediately stand in the presence of the Almighty. Purgatory is where our souls are purified so we can eventually stand in that presence.

Perhaps that is similar to human suffering here on earth. Perhaps it is there for purification, to realign our souls with God by taking away all of the things that we deem important and allowing us to focus on the only real thing that is important in the next life.

I don't know. I'm not the only one who has tried to understand suffering. But, every once and a while these thoughts do creep into my mind and make me wonder.

I keep asking questions, knowing that someday, perhaps after I've passed on, that I'll get the answers.

Happy Mothers Day

To all Mothers,

Thank you for your faith, for your strength, for your guidance, for your example and for your love. Without you, the meaning behind our daily lives would be lost.

Thank you!