Senior Portrait Timeline

1. Consultation:

1-2 weeks before each shoo

During the session we will choose locations and props. My motto is “Unique is timeless”.

We will brain storm with the questionnaire.

Payment is due at this time.

We do offer the “BFF” package add on. Up to three extra people can be included in the shoot or shoots. This can be added on later. It costs an additional 50 dollar.

Pets are welcome at no additional charge on location shoots. However they must be up to date on their shots and the owner assumes any and all responsibility and liability for them.

In studio we use two backdrops black and white to create a timeless classical look.

The available location sites are Gram Park, Kawanis Park, Veterans Park, Downtown, and UTM. Plus your choice of up to 2 locations, an additional gas fee may apply.

I recommend 2-3 sessions ( 1 session for studio only and then 1-2 for on location sites.) However we can always schedule more at no additional charge, so please don’t think you need to tire yourself out getting it all done in a couple of days.

I recommend taking photos in the same locations each season, so there is a smooth progression , however this is completely up to you.

2. Photoshoot:

It is best to choose solid colors or simple patterns.

Make sure everything matches as I will take full body shots as well as head shots.

Avoid sunburn and tanlines as these can be impossible to fix post production.

If we are shooting on location please try to limit white clothing, as too much white can be difficult to work with post production.

On the day of the session please feel free bring music and even snacks or drink.

Also please feel free to bring any ideas or pictures you may have for inspiration.

Also for on location sites you might want to bring two sets of shoes. One for walking and then the other for the shoot if you plan to wear high heels or anything like that.

You will have up to 5 outfit changes.

The sessions can last up to four hours. This this does not include travel time. Please be aware of this when you are booking your sessions.

In the studio we have bathrooms available for your use. I cannot guarantee this at on location sites.

There is a weather cancellation policy.

Boys of Summer

“I love you.”

The worlds slipped into her mind and suddenly they became not her father’s gentle goodbye, but her mother’s. The last words she had spoken to her.

The girl slid into the car, feeling the heat of the summer evening no longer as oppressive as it had been, making the small car without the air conditioning seem almost unbearable.

“I love you.”

The words spoken over a phone 1,800 miles away, her partner. It was her car she drove, now. The car who’s radio she had blaring.

It was less than two months since her mother had died. It was sudden. It was unexpected. It destroyed the girl.

It was less than a month since her partner had left her, and she felt the absence. She had told her to go, but it was more than that. The phone conversations had become just like their regular conversations, there was impatience on the part of her lover.

“Why can’t you just get over it?!?”

That was last night. How could the girl explain? She didn’t think she was ever going to get over this. She slowed down, mindful of the speed limit not wanting to get a ticket. She didn’t need to have that conversation.

The radio was playing something old, something her dad had played her. Something she had played for her mom. The girl turned it up.

The sun was a burnt red in the sky, low. A breeze blew against her hot skin. It was cool. The girl sighed. There was a storm coming.

Suddenly she pulled away from the green light, knowing her home was approaching. She didn’t want to go into the emptiness. The quiet. Where her memories ached and she longed for people she could not see. She turned the radio up, and leaned back into the seat. Making the decision as quickly as her mate had made the decision to leave her this summer. As quickly as it took God to take her mother from her.

The house sped by and just as quickly the driving beat of the song urged her foot on the gas pedal. She knew she was in danger of getting a ticket, but she knew she needed this. So with no more of an afterthought, running on pure instinct; she turned on the nearest back road, away from prying cops. The dark clouds gathered in the sky turning the dying sun an almost bruised purple. The girl knew a storm would make the roads slick, but she didn’t care. Her foot pushed down further on the pedal. She saw the curve coming, and the warning sign.

“35 mph”

The girl looked down at the speedometer, 75.

She quickly applied the break, gentle, coaxing, it was at 55 when she rounded the curve. She gripped the steering wheel in her hand, unaware that a grin was on her face. She was only aware of the glorious feeling of adrenaline coursing through her veins. She focused on the curve, nearly turning in on itself. Still she wandered into the other lane, and said a quick prayer of thankfulness that there wasn’t another car coming.

The road ahead of her was straight she could see for miles, her foot bared down on the gas again.

55, 65, 75…

She didn’t bother to look down at the speedometer. She turned the music up loud. Allowing it to absorb her. Allowing it to block out the noise in her brain. There was always noise, a thousand different voices screaming at her, everything from insecurities to the howling grief and nearly crippling loneliness. She felt the breeze cooler now and noticed briefly the swaying of the branches as the wind picked up. The heady smell of the rain came to her on the breeze, mixed with the softly sweet smell of the honey suckle that grew in wild clumps along the road.

She felt the knot in her chest, ever present since April loosen a little. She was beginning to understand with a fatalistic resignation that it would never go away. That the hole carved in her heart would never heal. How could it? A piece was now missing from it.

She looked down to check her speed. 95. She winced, and began to apply the break. It was nearly dark from both the gathering storm and the gathering evening. She knew it was time to go home. She sighed.

She knew the area well. She had grown up here after all, and no place was secret to her. In her mind she began to map out the best course to get herself home, as quickly as possible, while still avoiding main highways. She was not ready for that.

On a sharp curve there was gravel, and she felt the back tires begin to drift. She carefully corrected the car. Briefly she thought about what it would be like just to let the car go. She shook her head, her mother would frown at that thought. Her partner would roll her eyes, and say she was being dramatic. The girl’s brows furrowed, and she bit her lip. She looked as if she were trying to solve a puzzle. How could the two most important people in her life, so different, be gone? It wasn’t just that her partner was gone for the summer. She felt a chasm between them, one that formed years ago, she wondered if her love would come back to and if she did would they last. She didn’t think so. Maybe it was because she had just lost her mother, so the concept of forever was splintered.

She was on her road, and had slowed down. After such magnificent speeds it felt like she was crawling. Maybe that was her brain trying to drag out the inevitable. She sighed as she saw her driveway, and again the temptation to just speed past it called to her. Just to keep driving, and see how far she could go. Maybe make it out west where her partner was, never leave, and just make a go of it out there. She knew she couldn’t. She had responsibilities here.

She pulled into the driveway as the first drops of the summer storm began to fall. She opened the car door as the last strains of the song drifted to her, calling for her to come again for another ride.

“I can tell you my love for you will still be strong, after the boys of summer have gone.”

Waiting is the Hardest Part..

When he did not come, she she waited. 

He would come. 

She had told him. He made vows to her under the pale light. 

She sat at the table, laden with a feast. 

She waited. 

The fruit began to rot and maggots bred in the rich meats. 

She waited. 

Her dress tightened and ripped, and she said nothing. Months passed, and she waited. She was not seen outside at the sight of her thickening middle her parents cried. 

Still she waited. 

One day there came pain and blood. The small wailing creature, looked so much like him. She smiled. Could this be him returned to her? The nights wore on, the wailing thing was not him. She returned to her waiting. After awhile the wailing stopped. She made no comment. 

Years marched across her face. The fine dress she wore became shabby. Still she waited.

 First her parents begged her. Then the screamed and demanded. Finally they left her to her waiting. They would come to see her. They would bring her food. She would nibble. Always looking out the window. 

Waiting. 

One day and there after it was just her father that came. Still she waited. Soon it was just a butler. Still she waited.

She grew tired and frail. 

She withered. 

She did not leave the window. She simply waited. 

The one days she stopped waiting, got up from her chair and looked in the corner. There she stood, young and shimmering in the sun. She walked over to the younger version of herself, and felt regret at all those wasted years. The aging butler found her by the corner of the room. 

She was dead. The waiting was over. 

Death had come to claim his love.

Take Me to Church

“Papa why are we going to church. It’s a Friday,”The young boy asked his father. 

The man said nothing and kept his slow pace. If the boy felt the heaviness in his father’s steps he said nothing. The small church lay on the far outskirts of the town. Many had come here from the villiage. He was the last one. They needed rain. The barren land gave no yield and many had died from choking on the dust that blew endlessly, just as many had died from hunger. He reached down, and hugged his son. The first born of his line. The boy hugged him back, little arms wrapping around him. He was afraid, but he knew his Papa would make everything right. 

He always had. 

The man stood. He wiped the tears from his eyes. They neared the church steps. Long obsidian tenticles writhed down from the sky. The boy flinched away. He clung to his father. 

“Come my son. He will not hurt you,”the father said. 

It was not a lie. The God would not wield the knife. The God would simply feed. They walked up the long aisle inside the church. The floorboards screeched, as if the were protesting the abomination to come. The boy balked at the sight of the alter. It was tacky with the still drying blood of his playmates. He looked at his father. The mad nodded. The boy, without hesitation, climbed on the stone vessel. 

“Close your eyes my son,” the man said. 

The boy complied. Tears fell unheaded down the mans face. He cleared his throat. Once. Twice. 

“And God said unto Abraham,’Take the first of your flesh, who you love, and upon a stone alter sacrifice him unto me.’“ the man said. 

He raised his dagger. 

Paused. 

Maybe he could take his family and leave. Surely there would be other places not affected by this God. They could find such a place. They would be happy.

The small thorn of doubt pierced him. 

If there was no such place, he condemed them all to die. The wails of the hungry and dying could even be heard this far out above the lamenting wind.

 No. 

“So let it be written, so let it be done,” the man finished. 

The knife arced down. The man had hunted. The dagger was sharp. The boy felt little pain. He looked up in hurt surprise at his father. 

“Papa, why is there screaming.“ he gurgled “It’s so dark.” 

The boy died. 

The man wept. 

He allowed himself very little time for grief. The work must continue quickly or his sons death would be in vain. Much like skinning a fresh kill, the man made it so his son was as if he had just come from his mother’s womb. He then took the small body out to the back of the church. When the God came and the rains ceased, the village fathers erected a crude circle out of stone. The man laid the boy there. 

“For this is our test of faith. A sacrifice I give unto you! Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood spilled that you may favor us. Take, eat this and be praised,“ as he spoke the words tenticles slipped down and craddled his son. 

The man turned away. He began the walk home. The wind could not drown out the rending sound. They waited. The man burried his sons clothing. As the other parents had done. 

A month passed. There was no rain. As the remaining children sat playing in the Town Square. The people watched. 

They began to plan.

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Play on Mr.Musicman

“They don’t even know what it is to be a fan. Y’know? To truly love some silly little piece of music, or some band, so much that it hurts.”

This is for my wife.

I found out Scott Wieland died yesterday. It hurts.

I wasn’t old enough to be active in the grunge era, but it’s the music I grew up on. Nirvana, Alice in Chains, Pearl Jam, and Stone Temple Pilots. These are some of the first bands I can remember hearing (my parents where cool like that).

They walked with me through my childhood, and then, I rediscovered them when I was old enough to make my own musical choices, and I gained a new appreciation for the music.

Nirvana died when Kurt died, same with Alice and Chains and Layne. Pearl Jam is still out there but it’s not the same. Things have changed. Time has eroded the harsh edges away, people just aren’t as pissed off anymore.

But Scott was the same.

In some ways this was bad, he battled addiction as long as I can remember, but it some ways, in the music ways, it was nice. I knew when I heard his voice what I was gonna get. I wasn’t going to get some once upon a time bad ass mellowed out by time and too content making money or too caught up in is own self to actually be good anymore.

With Scott, whatever band he was in, I was going to get a rough no compromise song. It was going to be raw and it was going to take you to places you didn’t want to go, but maybe you needed to.  It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t going to be played on the top 100, but, by God, it was going to make you feel something.

I needed that. We needed that.

Of course this whole thing is tangled up in the death of my mom. She’s there in those memories. The memories that have Scott’s music as a soundtrack. So this death just aggravates that grief, bringing up memories I really don’t want to deal with right now.

My wife often gets confused and annoyed when I get sad because some such celebrity has died. This time is no different.

Sometimes it’s just sad, like with Wes Craven. I liked him, and I loved his movies, and I was bummed for a few days but I moved on.

Sometimes it’s just tragic, like with Amy Winehouse.

Then there are those that just hurt, these usually are the ones that had a piece of me in some way. They where my childhood, or they helped in some way.

This was Scott.

Music has always been something deeper for me than just some notes and some words strung together. Music, for me, can lift me up so high I have to look down to see the stars, it has saved me, and it’s offered me a way to express emotions I otherwise could not express.  It’s in my genetics, both the love of and the desire to create it. This summer music kept me sane. It is because of these things I feel a special bond to those who truly enjoy music, those who are my compatriots in this art, and those who have been my salvation.

Yesterday I lost someone who was all three of those things.

Today, today I grieve.

 

 

A dream within a dream…

“I felt like I was watching a dream I’d never wake up from…”

“Couldn’t sleep?” He said
“Bad Dream.”

I sat on the window sill of the apartment overlooking the ridge of the town. He handed me a cigarette. We remained there in silence, brooding over the fact that she was gone. I missed her. I missed the kids.

“You could have went with them,” He said, as if reading my mind. It was unnerving.

“I wasn’t ready.”

It was hard for me to think of their big house empty. I was hard for me to turn around and see all of his boxes. It was as if the strong spring wind was moving them along. All my spectacularly unique friends. He made no move to touch me. He could tell I did not want the comfort. He read me so easily.

“Must you go,” I said after a moment, trying to sound like a grown-up and not the scared child I still was inside.

“I must,” He said and then wrapped his arms around me, I leaned back into them.

“You’ll be safe, he’s in the army now and he will never hurt you again, maybe, if we’re lucky he’ll get shot over there or something,” Sebastian said with a grim chuckle.

I had lived in fear for so long, that I did not know any other way. The thought that when I got home he would not be there waiting for me was a new one.

I toyed with Sebastian’s hands and let my thoughts wander. He would be leaving soon and I was not going to be able to go with him. The thought kept echoing in my mind why wasn’t I enough? Why couldn’t I make him stay? What was wrong with me? Why didn’t he love me like I loved him? My life had already had so many changes in it these past few years that I didn’t know if I was strong enough to handle this one.

“You are,” He said

“Will you stop that it’s creepy,” I snapped, shifting in his arms.

“I can’t help it,” He said and whispered into my ear,”You face, my dear, is an open book. You were never good at playing poker.”

I shivered and felt his arms wrap tighter around my body.

“You are going to be fine. You are strong, and beautiful, and amazing. You will never realize how stunning you are,” He said, removing his hand and running it slowly over the back of my neck, I melted into him.

“I will never-” I said.

“You will,” He said effectively cutting me off.

“Sebastian, will-”

“No, it would make it harder for you. I don’t want that. Not only because I’m leaving, but because you aren’t ready to, You will be someday, and when you are, there will be someone above you. They will make it just right for you. I’m too cynical to be romantic, but I do know that surrounded by all these boxes and on a mattress on the floor is not the right place or the right time. However,”He said giving me an arched brow,” If you would like to continue what was started last night…”

Rather than answering him I threw my leg over the window sill and wrapped it around him. He cupped my cheek and drew me in for a soft kiss. It was firm but still allowed me to set the pace. I was crying. Rather than pull away, he only deepened the kiss; helping me slide from the window sill. Still kissing me he moved backwards to his bed.He hit his heel on one of the boxes in our path with a mumbled,”Fuck.”

He moved me around back to the bed at the last minute, and I lost my balance, so that rather than landing gracefully on the bed, I fell and looked up at him through a cloud of hair. I gave him a rueful smile.

“This is so not like the movies,” I said biting my lower lip.

“Fuck the movies, this is real,” He said and lowered himself onto the bed next to me.

I looked into dark eyes and saw myself reflected in them. I saw for one of the very rare times his face unguarded. He hurt, He hurt to leave me, but he knew he had to. He opened his mouth to say something, maybe to try and make an excuse, maybe to try and explain something. I leaned up and kissed him, pressing my body as close to him as I could get. I didn’t want him to leave, I didn’t want to be a yesterday. I didn’t understand. Why wasn’t I enough? I wrapped my arms around his lithe frame His hands moved across my body. I was taken into a completely different space, one that defied all time. Then, as the fifth wave of sensation crashed in on me, I blacked out.

I woke up some time later and looked at his sleeping form splayed out arms above his head. I studied him for a long time, feeling like hell, but enjoying every minute of it. I lay on his chest for a moment, listening to his slow steady breathing, he would sleep like the dead. I felt my chin wobble, a sure sign of impending tears, and pulled away from him. I got up slowly and  walked on shaky newborn legs, I threw my clothes on, and wrote him a note, telling him everything I had already said once, and some things I never got the courage to say to him. Then still stumbling, I put the note on his forehead and walked out of the apartment. The tears making the trip down the stairs nearly impossible.

I woke up to wet cheeks.

It was an old old dream one that always left an after taste of sadness and regret. 

Why wasn’t I enough? Why couldn’t he love me like I loved him? Would I ever be enough?

The ever present chilled voice.

“You will use them up and they will always leave you.”

I curled up into myself. Searching for a focal point, feeling sanity slip, reality beginning to blur. A rainbow one canvas. A framed promise. Multicolored chords. Homemade “I love yous”.

The all had went away from the first one who broke me to the last one who fluttered away like a leaf.

Eleven years had passed since that windowsill. No one had ever stayed.

Except on.

He was right, she did make it perfect on all levels. She healed wounds old ones, ones I thought could never be healed, wounds that while he. himself, may not have directly cause, but ones he helped deepen.

I reach over pull the stuffed blue elephant, a gift from the fair, to me.

“38 more days,” I say holding onto that promise like a prayer.

I

Tonight We Build the Remembering Place

“Because the memories will have to do…”

I am having possibly the worst effing year known to mankind. Seriously if this gets any worse I’m gonna be writing this damn blog from a padded room wearing a self hugging jacket, no joke.

I mention this not only to let off steam but also to lead into my latest blog. It is, of course, about my mom.

Three months.

How is that possible? How have I survived? How will I survive?

I have heard a good deal of advice from people, some who have been in this situation and some who are just expressing there sympathy during this, and one of the most often heard condolences is,”Just remember the good times.”

This sentence is like a double bladed sword dipped in acid, on the one hand yeah good memories are great to recall fondly, but on the other hand, well that’s all they are, memories. You cannot recreate that memory, you cannot joke about that memory and share a laugh, you cannot share in the emotions that memory created. If you are like some people I know and have few good memories, this is even harder. We are by nature creatures of negativity and as such the good often is drowned out by the bad.

At first remembering at all is painful, then you can begin to look back a little, recalling what they said, and maybe looking for a gem of wisdom in it all, a scrap of advice from a similar time. For me that advice will always come with a look of disinterested disgust and the words,”Piss on ’em,” indeed. I find myself falling back on that one more and more here lately.

Whatever the situation, I think everyone is acutely aware that at some point the memories stop, and that is all your have. These are what must sustain you, what you must learn from, and these are what you will pass down through the generations so that this person will live on.

My memories stop on April the 9th 2015.

I was blessed to have memories to share up until the very last day of my mom’s life, and no they are not all pleasant ones (she was so very sick) but I have the best one ever hearing, as I left her room, her tell me she loved me. I also have the most painful one, the one of her adding she would see me soon.

I just came to that realization, like, five sends ago. Simply because I have been so focused on the relief I felt that my last words to her were,”I love you.” I forgot she answered me back.

The funeral custom of visitation is an activity of remembrance. You gather around with others that knew this person and you talk about them, you laugh a little, cry a lot, and you share your knowledge about this person, comforting one another and lifting them up. Usually the body is there in some form or fashion and people can go up to it as they wish, and say goodbye.

We were very adamant at my mom’s that no one should do what they were not one hundred percent comfortable with. We were also adamant that we did not want to be chained beside the coffin in a receiving line. We were not at a wedding, and it is the custom down home that everyone should mingle and talk, and not have to be forced to sit next to their dead loved one, and be cut off from those who do not wish to look at them constantly or may be uncomfortable seeing them. As a matter of fact a good portion of the viewing, I spent outside, hanging out with my cousin and greeting people as they came in.

In the preparations there are other memories being made, memories that you can look back on and say,”We did right by them.” , all of these practices from the planning to the actual main event, are designed to create not only a sense of purpose, but also of memories as well. It’s why a funeral home should be on top of it’s game, be the very best, because yes they make their money off the suffering of others, but they are not used car salesman and should not approach anyone grieving with such a callous attitude. Kindness, sympathy, a desire to serve, and see that this person you are entrusting to them gets treated the very best way possible.

We had all this and more.

I titled this blog after a line in a  favorite graphic novel of mine. There is an end scene were someone has died and one of the characters ask what his family is doing, and they reply with said blog tiitle.

The night my mom passed away we did just that. We looked through photographs and laughed as we shouted out memories and picked out songs she loved so much. We created a good memory one to sustain through the horror of what was going on, make the activity easier to bear. It was a good night. It was a good week, probably the best one I’ve had since my mother died.

That memory, building that remembering place, the beautiful send off, and the love and comfort enveloping us; is what I will cling to while my world is falling apart, because in the end all we have are our memories.

What’s it gonna be then, eh?

“How did this happen? Who’s to blame? Well, certainly, there are those who are more responsible than others, and they should be held accountable. But again, truth be told, if you’re looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror.”

Greetings and salutations! It’s that time again in America. Time when we bust out bunting, grill something, play with firey objects, and decorate everything we see in the colors red, white, and blue. Yep tomorrow is Independence Day. The day when we celebrate our nation’s birth. I love this country, and by proxy love July the 4th. I get nostalgic and emotional when I see the flag being waved, and get pissed to homicidal rage if I see it being disrespected (I really hated using the picture above, but, alas, points must be made.). I love the Americana feel of this time of year. The patriotic colors, and the wonderful music. Not to mention fireworks I am a sucker for a good fireworks display (though admittedly some can mess with the PTSD, so I do have to be careful). I am annoyed because we don’t have a parade here, because if we did I would stand and watch that sucker from beginning to end. In short I love my country and am proud to call her home.

What I don’t love is the fact that she is being destroyed from the inside. Corruption, greed, and apathy are gonna make this great land (the land that gave birth to democracy, a land where you can be whoever and make the life for yourself that you want, and a land that says all are welcome here) shatter and fall into complete ruin.

And please don’t chew on those old bones. Because you may think Obama is the Antichrist, and that Bush was the worst thing since Adolph Hitler, and you may screech like a howler monkey that if XYZ gets elected you are gonna move to where ever. Good go. We don’t need you here. We need people in this country who are willing in stand up for their rights. Willing to fight for them (and let me say I am in NO WAY saying with the use of conventional weapons, I mean within the legal means of our government), willing to look those oppressors in the eyes and say,”We have had enough, this is our country and we will not go quietly into that good night! We will stand and we will be heard!”

Because make no mistakes, my dear readers Republican or Democrat; they all have lobbyists in their own pockets, they all sit on Capitol Hill building little empires, and they all have one thing on their little minds,’What can I do to further mine and my parties agenda?’

What’s it gonna be then, eh?

The truth is this is our fault. The apathy that we allow ourselves to sink into. We have fast food chains open 24/7, we have big screen tvs with a bajilion channels on them so we can watch the news channel of our choice that spews what we want to hear, hi-speed internet so that we can play our mindless games and read about people who only agree with us. We have freedom at our finger tips, freedom that is being taken from us, and all we care about is why there are pickles on our triple bacon artery clogger when we clearly did not ask for them.

We sequester ourselves behind our opinions and put blinders on, so we cannot see the big picture (if you don’t know what blinders are, google them.)

I am no better! I will fall into this apathy sometimes, the whole, “Oh the country is going to Hell, I’m just gonna ride this thing till the wheels fall off.” or ,”Why should I even bother my voice doesn’t count. I can’t change anything.” or even worse, “I’m doing something! I signed a petition to save the narwhals my work here is done.”

You know what, screw that, screw all those excuses (because that’s what they are, excuses). This country is going to hell; I need to do something about that. My voice may not count and I may not change the world, but to paraphrase the words of a pink rhino I can damn sure make a dent in it. And as far at that petition goes, that’s great that’s awesome, but what am I doing to make sure those narwhals are being saved? Am I raising awareness about this narwhal problem? Am I learning all I can about it, so that when questioned I can sound educated and not like some ignorant knee-jerk narwhal hippie? And most important, if I have the means to do so, am I out there actively participating to the best of my ability in the saving of these narwhals?

I’m sure by now you have noticed I’ve used the word knee-jerk a few times, and you may be wondering what that means. So here is the definition as brought by good ole’ Webster himself… Ahem…

Knee-Jerk: (of a response) automatic and unthinking.

There you go.

Ever just spouted off your political party of choice because fifteen thousand of your relatives for as far back as creation are members of that party?

Ever quoted a stupid religious/political slogan (the one I always think of is, “God created Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve” because well God technically created us all.)?

If you feel like telling me why what I just said was wrong either because a) you are Christian and you quote the text that agrees with your opinion without looking and delving into the Word to understand the meaning and the levity of said verse, b) because your mommy and daddy told you it was wrong and so it has to be wrong, because no parents in the history of the world have ever been incorrect, so why should you bother to actually think for yourself?,  or c) because you are an Atheist and there is no god, there is only the black space of emptiness, and I am a weak minded fool,and no you have never looked into other religions, because really, why should you, they are all corrupt and nasty, and a way to keep the ignorant masses comforted so they din’t loose their fragile little minds.

You ever posted something on social media that agrees with your opinions without fact checking first (i.e. Obama eats children or Jeb Bush drinks the blood of unicorns)?

Usually the first thought that pops into your head when someone criticizes or questions your beliefs, opinions, etc.

That’s all knee-jerk reactions, and that’s what killing our country.

Now I’m not saying don’t have opinions or don’t express them. I’m say look into what you believe and your opinions, really look into it, study it. You believe that those narwhals should be saved. Why? You believe that God’s gonna let everyone into Heaven. Why? What’s your proof text? You believe there is nothing out there and death is a big ole’ pot of emptiness. Why? Have you thought about this? You believe that politician XYZ is Satan himself. Why? What has his political record shown that leads you to believe that?

After you’ve researched and learned all you can about your said opinion, when you meet others with a different opinion that’s ok. It’s their right. No that doesn’t mean you suddenly have to change your opinion, but that also means you don’t have to berate them or abuse them for that opinion, ether. Instead question them, learn their opinion,  their convictions, and if they themselves are just knee-jerk reactionaries, don’t just automatically assume all people with this believe are that way.

These reactions having grown inside of us, nurtured by sensationalized media and the blinders we have put on, and have given birth to the seeds of discord and have us loosing sight of what’s important. Why should you worry about war veterans not getting proper care, when Joe at work says that narwhals should be slaughtered? Why should you worry about the fact that our education system is taking away our children’s physical activities because they have to make a quota , when Mark down at the bar doesn’t like Jesus? Why should you worry that the government is trying to take our system of defense away and henceforth denying us a basic constitutional right, when Rick over there believes in a god? Why should you consider that the welfare program may do more harm than good in the long run, when Steve over at the Y thinks Joe Biden runs a sweatshop full of Canadians?

What’s it gonna be then, eh?

So like I said get educated about what’s going on. Ask questions, always. If you don’t understand something ask. Do it politely, use your manners, but ask. Educate yourself.

Vote! I don’t care if it’s just a bill passed for filling a pothole on main street VOTE! Not only have a whole bunch of people died protecting your right, but if you don’t vote then you have no right to complain, because you did nothing to assist in the outcome you wanted.

Understand the big picture. This government is not the government that George Washington  and Thomas Jefferson fought to defend. This is a government seeks to pacify us all with beer and circuses divide us with sensationalism, while they slowly take away every freedom we have, and when they have done that they will pat us on the head, and tell us it was all for our on good. They seek to silence those who don’t fall in line with their plan.

A man once said, “If you tell a big enough lie, and repeat it frequently; it will be believed.”

That’s what they’ve done.

They tell us America is ok, it’s not They tell you you still have all your rights, you don’t. They tell you you can’t make it on your own, the American Dream is dead, so here’s some money, because you can’t find a job and have a ton of kids you can’t support; here’s a house, because you can’t get one on your own; here’s a cheeseburger, because you can’t afford healthy food; here’s a tv with a thousand and one stations designed to pump a constant stream of shit into your house (that’s really ours) so that you and your family’s brain will turn to mush and you will never think; if you start to think and don’t like it, here’s a pill, and when that pill starts to give you problems we’ll give you another one, and another one till you are too fat, too stupid, and too stoned to give a damn what happens to this country.

I say bullshit!

I say you can get anything you want, be anything you want to be, and write your on ticket. The American Dream is not dead, it’s just been smothered. You want to get out of debt do it! You don’t want to live in government housing , don’t! You want to own your own business, go for it! The only thing you havd to do is be willing to work, and work hard. You may have to start by picking up cans on the side of the road, do it, and don’t rest don’t grow complacent, if our forefathers had grown complacent we wouldn’t have a magnificent country that spreads from one ocean to another full of rich and varied geographical locations.

I work two jobs already, get a third one! I can’t live on minimum wage, then get off this blog, and go find your local state representative’s e-mail address and send him one e-mail a week, demanding a raise on the minimum wage, and continue this, get others to do is, and don’t stop till it’s done. When women wanted the right to vote they didn’t go,”Jeez we don’t have the right to vote, let’s set around and complain, and if we complain and make excuses long enough we will SO get that right!” No they got out there they refused to back down. Anytime there has been a change it is because the American people chose to fight for it. So get out there, get mad, make noise.

Alright you say, well there aren’t any jobs. Ok I gotcha times is hard, that’s why we need to look to the past (seriously if I can encourage you to do nothing else it’s learn this country’s history. I would suggest “Democracy in America” by Alexis Charles. I would also suggest you pour gasoline in your eyes and set them on fire before reading ANYTHING history related by Howard Zinn, he’s not only historically inaccurate, he’s an idiot).

I mention history for a reason

After the stock market  crashed in the 1930s and kicked off the Great Depression the president created something called “The New Deal” for the love of God got to the link and read what it says.

Why hasn’t our government done this already? We could have millions of jobs available. We could have that American Dream, and no, doing back breaking labor  isn’t lighting twenties on fire just to watch Jackson burn, but it’s a start.

So what’s it gonna be then, eh?

This is the greatest country, period. We have a lot of problems, but we also have a lot of drive. We need to get out there and take this country back. We need to stage our own fight our own revolution (once again I cannot stress enough, let’s all do this the nice LEGAL way) Let’s write e-mails and letters to our local and state representatives. Let’s blog about what going on, and what needs to be done, let’s organize, and demand that our rights, the basic inalienable rights Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness be returned to us, that those damn politicians and their empires give us back our American Dream, because we the people want a government that is for the people,We need to scream this as loud as we can and as long as we can, and we need to do it with one voice because political parties are just another way to divide and conquer; because we are all Americans; and because whether your ancestors came over on the Mayflower, a slave ship, or a small raft, we are all here now we are all Americans and this government had failed us , so it’s time we get it back (once again LEGALLY!!!).

So yeah, have your Fourth of July. Celebrate this beautiful wondrous country. Honor our veterans,  and wave flags at passing parades. Eat lots of food enjoy family, and play games. But when the sun sets and you see those fireworks explode in the sky, I want you to make this vow; that those that came before us will NOT have died in vain, that we will get this country back, and we will make it a country of the people, for the people, and by the people.  I leave you with this closing quote, so that you may think upon it, meditate with it, and hide it in your heart. I wish you all a safe and happy Independence Day.

“Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn’t pass it on to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on for them to do the same, or one day we will spend our sunset years telling our children and our children’s children what it was once like in the United States where men were free.”

My favorite Mom memory.

“Maragurete, baby, Mama’s gonna take you shopping, girl!”

I love my mom, and have many fond memories of her. This has got to be one of my favorite, even though it is so very recent. I did not know then I was making a memory to help sustain me through all of this. A memory tonight I seek comfort in because I need her so much and she isn’t here. So I laugh even as I cry. I hope you enjoy this, as much as I enjoy remembering it.

So for my birthday this year my mom decided she was going to take me out and get me some clothes and then surprise me with lunch at a pretty nice restaurant.

So we go to Goodwill, I don’t really see anything I like, so we go over to this consignment shop which is high priced and full of snooty women (a common theme in this town). It’s not got the awesome bargains like Good Will, but hey at this point we were just looking not really going to buy anything. She goes and looks for a scarf (she was crazy about scarfs), and I’m looking at skirts because I am wanting to find just the right one, one I had envisioned in my head when I read a favorite story.

I find it.

It’s this absolutely GOERGOUS skirt and it’s everything I wanted. I fell in love. So, I show it to Mom, and I’m afraid to even look at the price tag!

Mom is like, “Well try it on!”

So I do, and it’s like the clothing gods looked down and said,”Lo unto you we shall bringth this skirt, and verily it will make your stomach look smaller and your butt look amazing. Oh and it’s gonna be all pretty and flowy too!”

So we look at the tag and it’s 29.99. (he original tag was still on it, and it had been 79.99). My heart breaks, we don’t have enough. Mom sees the price and her heart breaks too cause that woman loved her a good bargain. I take it in good stride and find a skirt that’s nice, and similar to the other, but still not THE skirt. My mom offered to get the other one too, but I knew they just didn’t have the money, I was ok with what I got, grateful that she even thought of me.

 

So we get ready to go, and I can tell she’s thinking about the skirt too. Suddenly, she pulls over and says with this intense look takes me by the shoulders.

“Margaurete (she always called me by my middle name) I have enough money to get the skirt, but we can’t go eat where I want us to. It’s your birthday though, it’s whatever you want.”

I look at her, the same intensity burning in my eyes, and I go,”Will we have enough for Taco Bell, cause I am down with some Taco Bell.”

“Yes.”

I put on my sun glasses,”Let’s do this!”

She, my mother who hated going fast and was scared of driving, flips a “u-y” in the middle of the road, and we’re off, speeding down back roads and all the short cuts we can think of, taking turns on two wheels. At this moment should a cop have attempted to pull us over, he would’ve had to follow us back to the shop, before arresting us.

 

I ask her,”what if someone is buying it?”

She says,”Oh you ARE getting that skirt! I will whoop someone’s ass over it!”

 

We get into the parking lot, she slows down enough for me to jump out,

“Go! Go!” She yells and I burst into the store.

These stuck up ladies who own the store look at me with fear in their eyes. I’m sure they thought I was coming back in to rob them. Behold! The skirt was not bought. I grab it down, like I am lifting up my first born child, and look at the woman at the counter.

“I want this,” I say.

Mom comes running in there slaps the money down on the counter, and says,”She’s getting this!” The tone dares anyone to argue with her or challenge that statement, thankfully no one did.

The lady, looking concerned  for some reason, wraps the dress up takes our money and we leave, and promptly share in a victory meal of tacos and nachos.

 

I wore that skirt to her funeral, and haven’t worn it since. I will wear it again, Mom would whoop MY butt if I didn’t. I just don’t know when.