This past weekend we went out to the Marching Thru History Exposition in Chino. What a great event! Military and historical groups from ancient times until recent history were represented by fantastic camps, amazing clothing, pageantry, pomp and circumstance, and weapons displays. We saw Roman Legions, a real-live knight in shining armor, Celts, German Landsknechts, English Civil War archers, American Revolution - both sides, War of 1812, Spanish-American War, American Civil War, Great War aka WW1, both Germans and Americans, New Zealanders, British India troops, World War 2 American GIs and military hospitals, Japanese WW2 officers, Philippine troops, Korean War and Vietnam War camps and soldiers. There were also numerous American Vets who were honored throughout the weekend.

We were camped in the American Frontier town and it was great to see familiar faces - Widow Peters, the Coffeys, the Deedees - as well as make new friends with the Mule Skinners, Seventh Calvary, and the Wayward Sisters. Lisa Taylor, the organizer for our area, did a great job at making everyone feel welcome and important. It was a lot more busy for us because traffic flow was more pronounced than at past events. We spent the days piecing a quilt, tatting, and knitting, and on Sunday hosted a tea party with the Captain and Sergeant of the Seventh Calvary. Now, that was an experience!

If you missed it this time, you can see it again on the weekend after Independence Day next year at Old Fort MacArthur Days. The picture above is of Mrs Bronner of the War Horse & Militaria Heritage Foundation. Click her picture to see more pictures from Marching Through History.

Next weekend we will be visiting Calico on Saturday for Calico Days! Check our the commercial here, you can see each of us for a split second if you don't blink! 

I can't believe tomorrow is September 11th.

Today, I made a donation to the National September 11 Memorial & Museum, in an amount that entitles me to a cobblestone. One small brick in the building of a memorial to one of the worst tragedies in American history. In the 8 years since this happened, a lot has been said and done to distract Americans from our outrage, our hurt, our grief and our fear. Today, let us be reminded of the actions of those on Flight 93, who said "Let's roll." Today, let us be reminded of not only those who died, but also what they lived for. This poem touches me every year and I hope it touches you too.

Two thousand one, nine eleven (2001-911)

by Paul Spreadbury

Two thousand  one, nine eleven,
three thousand plus arrive in heaven.
As they pass through the gate,
thousands more appear in wait
A bearded man with stovepipe hat
steps forward saying, "lets sit, lets chat"

They settle down in seats of clouds,
a man named Martin shouts out proud
"I have a dream!" and once he did
the newcomer said, "your dream still lives."

Groups of soldiers in blue and gray
others in khaki, and green then  say
"we're from Bull Run, Yorktown, the Maine"
the newcomer said, "you died not in vain."

From a man on sticks one could hear
"the only thing we have to fear."
The newcomer said, "we know the rest,
trust us sir, we've passed that test."

"Courage doesn't hide in caves
you can't  bury freedom in a grave,"
The newcomers had heard this voice before
a distinct Yankee's twang from Hyannisport shores.

A silence fell within the mist,
somehow the  newcomer knew that this
meant time had come for her to say
what was in the hearts of the five thousand plus that  day

"Back on earth, we wrote reports,
watched our children play in sports,
worked our gardens, sang our songs,
went to church and clipped coupons,
we smiled, we laughed, we cried, we fought
unlike you, great we're not"

The tall man in the stovepipe hat
stood and  said, "don't talk like that!
Look at your country, look and see
you died for freedom, just like me"

Then, before them all appeared a scene
of rubbled streets and twisted  beams
death, destruction, smoke and dust
and people working  just 'cause they must

Hauling ash, lifting stones,
knee deep in hell, but not alone
"Look! Blackman, whiteman, brownman, yellowman
side by side helping their fellow man!"

So said martin, as he watched the  scene
"even from nightmares, can be born a dream."

Down below three firemen raised
the colors high into ashen haze.
The soldiers  above had seen it before
on Iwo Jima back in '45.

The man on sticks studied everything closely,
then shared his perceptions on what he saw mostly
"I see pain, I see tears,
I see sorrow -- but I don't see fear."

"You left behind husbands and wives
daughters and sons, and so many lives
are suffering now because of this wrong
but look very closely. You're not really gone.

All of those people, even those who've never met you,
all of their lives, they'll never forget you.
Don't you see what has happened?
Don't you see what you've done?
You've brought them together, together as one.

With that the man in the stovepipe hat said
"take my hand," and from there he led
three thousand plus heroes, newcomers to heaven
on this day, two thousand one, nine eleven

* *  ***  * *

Former President George W. Bush gave an emotional and stirring speech in the week after this terrible attack, the most memorable quote being "We will not tire, we will not falter, and we will not fail." Whether it be militarily or emotionally, we must never forget what happened on September 11, 2001.  We must never tire of it, we must never falter in finding meaning out of the destruction, and we must never fail in our compassion for the survivors.

You may also be interested in learning a little about the Patriot Guard Riders, whose motto is "Standing for those who stood for us." These riders will attend military funerals in order to preserve a respectful means for families to mourn American heroes killed in the line of duty.

Today I was reading the news and there was a very long, long, article about hair. Michelle Obama's hair, specifically. Some people feel that there is controversy in her hair. Styled straight or curly, Michelle Obama is courting the critics' ire if she changes it from day to day, wears it too "white" or too "black." Most of us are aware that black women's hair is different that white women's hair or asian women's hair, etc. That is just the way it is. I accept that her hair is different from mine, and frankly, I am not really concerned if she wears it straight, curly, or shaved. It's HER hair. I see no political statement in her hair. Others differ, but that's because they don't have more important causes like terrorism, child abductions, poverty, illiteracy, or world hunger fashion to worry about.

[Insert random sociopolitical commentary here: when Laura Bush became First Lady there wasn't a surge of websites dedicated to librarians and advancing their cause. I find the fixation on Michelle Obama and the concept that she will somehow be the change agent for black women in America to be odd. We each affect our own change upon ourselves. There are women who have admitted to not wearing their curly black hair in its natural state to a new job because they feel it creates racial tension. I am so glad I don't work in the type of environment that would make any woman feel that way! /End random sociopolitical commentary]

I have always had curly hair. It was the bane of my existence for many years. See, there's this little proverb my Gram taught me: man is something of a fool; when it's hot he wants it cool; when it's cool he wants it hot; always wanting what it's not. It's totally true! I did not appreciate my curly hair, even though I came to realize that women with straight hair were perming their hair to achieve my natural look. While they were perming, I was straightening. I permed it straight, curled it straight, blew-dry it straight, used a flat iron and even the chemicals that some black women use on their hair to straighten it. I wanted what I couldn't have. Me and Michelle O have a lot in common. We want to have the versatility of straight hair we can pull into a pony tail, clip, leave straight, or sweep back, without all the frizz that comes with curly hair.

At some point I gave up and I don't do much to my hair now. I would think that if I can't keep up with my hair with one child and a relatively normal existence, it would be exponentially more difficult with two kids, a major career, and a President for a husband! When she does finally break down and just start letting her hair be her hair as it was intended to be, I hope she doesn't catch any more flack. It's just hair. It doesn't empower women worldwide and it doesn't say anything more about her than it does about me. Women just want to look nice in their concept of whatever that is.

Ironically, after all these years, my hair is starting to lose its curl. I blame Melody. Well, not her specifically, but the hormonal changes from pregnancy and delivery. It's fairly common after all. Even more strange? After all these years of straightening my hair, I'm a little sad for it to be less curly than it used to be.

We had to go to Walmart tonight because they were the only store that had something that we as a family wanted very much. So, we, as a family, went to Walmart in Westminster. I have never been a big fan of Walmart. The quality of the clothing is not real high, the place is like a warehouse store with linoleum, and in some areas, it doesn't attract the finer clientele, if you catch my drift.

Some Walmarts are fine, kept up nicely, not very disgusting at all. In my unscientific opinion, based on observation of about 4 Walmarts, these nicer stores are connected to malls, such as Buena Park Mall or Orange Mall. I have come to believe it is because there are numerous other shopping choices for customers, and therefore Walmart is forced to compete on a higher level. The disgusting ones have been stand-alone stores, or occupy the largest business in a strip mall. It's a destination store that people intend to visit. They know they've got you.

I should have suggested we head to the one at Buena Park Mall. The Westminster Walmart has a filthy parking lot that I didn't even want to walk through. There was trash and even an apple just strewn all down the walkway through the parking lot. The decorative fountains in the lot were not running, the concrete was broken up and in one place there was a chunk of concrete just sitting on the walkway. A big chunk, not a pebble, but a quasi-slab. Inside it just felt icky. Fortunately what we wanted was very close to the front of the store, we hit the self checkout and left. We had to walk that gauntlet back out to the car. Both times passing the stranded fruit, Melody said "there's an apple!"

I guess I should try to focus on the sunny attitude of my child at times like this.

UPDATE: here's #373, a shopper slapped a child - not his own - because she was crying. Read the story here.

I have long been a pet lover. As a girl, my family got a dog, a small, wiry, terrier mix that I named Lucy. She was a 10-pounder but her power over our family was enormous. One of the few times my dad ever sent my mom flowers at work was when Lucy passed away at 12 years old.

Some people don't have pets for various reasons, and some people don't like them. I respect that; everyone's different. However, I love pets. There is something wonderful about the unconditional love and affection that pets can give you. As a young woman in college, I went with a roommate down to a pet store and got a kitten. He was gray and white, the cutest little puff ball I had ever seen. We named him Robin. Really, his name was Robin Hood because the Kevin Costner movie was popular at the time, but that's so much more corny than Robin we just didn't have the heart to call him that. (And can you imagine the vet visits? "Uh, for Robin Hood Jones?") Even though my friend and I split the cost of getting this pet for us, my heart was forever taken by him and when she moved out he stayed with me. My little boy, Robin.

Robin has had a few buddies over the years - Caspian, an orange and white tabby I adopted from an old boyfriend; Wylene, my black cat from my friend Samantha; Lerxt, John's enormous and unusually named cat; Browser, our neurotic and terrible watch dog; and Nano, the most laid back Chihuahua I ever met. Some other buddies were roommate's pets: Fred, Barney, Simone and Figaro. Everyone seemed to find their place in the petting order.

We've been through a lot, he and I. We moved from apartments to houses, back to apartments, and back to houses. Twice he and I moved from one house to the house next door and he acclimated better than I did. I have bought him at least 100 collars over his life, and about 98 of them lost under the bushes in Orange. Although he was intended to be a house cat and was declawed, he loved being outside. At one house we lived in, there was ivy all across the front yard, and at times I would come up the walk and all I would see was his head sticking up out of the ivy. He could watch and not be noticed.

He was "cock of the walk" when we lived in Orange. He kicked ass and took down names, more times than I can remember. There were scratches across his nose almost as frequently as there were dead creatures left on my doorstep. Robin tried to continue this when we moved to Cypress and sustained a terrible leg injury from a dog attack. My mother in law and I nursed him back to health and the ability to walk again. But, the stress from the attack brought on a heart condition, and although he was fairly healthy, he never really was the same.

Between January and August of this year he had become very thin. On the day of Melody's birthday party, a large patch of hair had come off one of his sides and it never really grew back. He was stiff and slow, didn't hear well and didn't see well. His motor and his smeller worked, and he could always find the food or my lap. I think because he couldn't hear well, he tended to meow louder than any cat I've ever known. In May he celebrated his 18th birthday, which in cat years is something like 97 for a human.

Last week, Robin went out front, something he rarely did since we moved to the new house. He always stayed close though so I wasn't too worried. But by Saturday night he hadn't come back. By Sunday I was very worried and put out fliers in the neighborhood. Monday, I checked the pound website and registered for email alerts on new inpounds. On Wednesday I accepted that I may never see my boy again. It is just not like him to be gone this long when he knows he could be getting pets and loves and air conditioning at home.

Pushka Babushka, Mr Kitty, Fur Face, Little Boy, Robin Bee-Bobbin, Mr Man Cat, I don't know where you are, but in my heart I am hoping you are with Caspian and Lerxt, chasing bugs in the backyard, sleeping under a bush in the shade of the day, purring while you eat, and watching the dogs cower in fear of you.

One of his "lazier" days

Inside the cube of our cabinet on moving day 2005