WARNING: POLITICS AHEAD

I needed to stop myself from starting arguments with people I care about on Facebook just because I wanted so badly to react to the stupid sh*t they were posting about Trump and about Hillary and about abortion law and all sorts of other things.

So here's what I posted (and then deleted) from Facebook today.

First, here's the stupid post that made me so angry I felt the need to respond: http://madworldnews.com/hillary-abortion-remarks-fact/. Posted by a friend, who has such strong religious and political ideas that I don't feel I can ever get too close to her because she would disapprove of me and I don't want to start that kind of fight with someone who may someday be family...

Here's a rebuttal, of sorts: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/donald-trump-confuses-birth-with-abortion-and-no-there-are-no-ninth-month-abortions_us_5808dfa2e4b0dd54ce389b61
My comment: I'm starting to have a really hard time NOT arguing with people who refuse to check their facts before stating their personal political opinions as "fact" based on biased news sources. Happy to discuss this with anyone who actually wants to have a rational discussion. Can't wait for this election to be over....

And then this one, which was really hard to read but really informative, and which I wish I could tell those friends to just take a look at, but again, I don't want to ruin friendships because I disagree with somebody else's beliefs... http://jezebel.com/interview-with-a-woman-who-recently-had-an-abortion-at-1781972395

Oh, and on the topic of Hillary "letting slip classified information" about nuclear codes? That's just nonsense.

Snopes: http://www.snopes.com/clinton-four-minute-nuclear/ Try checking your facts before you post. And the entire point of Hillary's comment was that there are specific procedures in place for this, and none of the people who have ever been in that position would trust Trump with the responsibility of making decisions about launching a nuclear strike. — feeling annoyed.
But again, this was in response to something posted by a family member of a good friend so I didn't feel like I could say anything. Ugh.

Oh and I deleted this one just for good measure, even though I thought it was funny: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/donald-trump-book-report_us_58085172e4b0b994d4c46953

Why Did I Stop Writing?

Hi all (if anyone is still reading this).  Just wanted to check in and say that I hope to resurrect this blog and to apologize for being absent for so long...

For one update on what I've been up to, check out this article which I finally got published as a feature with Shenandoah Living Magazine!!

http://cgregshields.wix.com/shenandoah-living#!indie-bookstores-alive-and-well-/fdzox

I'll be posting on here again soon, so thank you for sticking by me all this time!

I've been away for far too long...

Hey, all.

I recognize that I've been absent since about October, and for that I am truly sorry.  Every time it crossed my mind to write something, I realized that I didn't have anything particularly interesting in mind to say or that I didn't have the time.  The truth is that I've been very busy.

However, and I fully intend to write something more later today or tomorrow, I will break the ice here by sharing two poems which I read aloud at the college's annual Poetry Jam this morning.  Let me just preface this by saying that public speaking terrifies me, that whenever I've had to get up in front of people - even peers or small groups - and speak in front of a microphone, my voice quivers and my hands shake and I start sweating uncontrollably and basically become a blithering sweaty incomprehensible mess.

Or at least that's how it seems from my end.

Last year, when I heard about the poetry jam, I was intrigued but had no intention of signing up.  For one thing, though I've written poetry since I was very young, probably 90% of it was never seen by anyone except myself, and as hard as it is to share one's writing with others, it was doubly hard to share the poetry, which I always feared wasn't good enough and which was consequently extremely personal for me.

After talking to friends and coworkers about the poetry jam and being continually encouraged to sign up, I finally did.  Days of stressing and worrying and fretting later, my shaking and sweating self climbed to that stage without tripping or fainting and delivered a mostly coherent rendition of two poems I had written years earlier, trying not to make eye contact with the hundreds of students, faculty and staff in the audience or pay any attention the large video camera pointed directly at my face.

I survived.  And even watched the video later without cringing myself into oblivion of embarrassment.

So, when the announcement for this year's poetry jam came up, I immediately responded to sign me up, without waiting for nerves to let me question the decision.  I didn't have much time to think about it, as this past Tuesday was the largest event of the year for my department at work and I've been working my butt off with lots of long hours trying to get ready for the past few weeks.

Suddenly it was the day of the event, and I had only quickly read through my two poems at the last minute one time.  One of them is fairly long, and tells a story of a particular event which I shared with my dad several years ago.  I had written the poem that day, and later gave it to my dad as a framed keepsake, superimposed over a photo of the place where the story is set.  He has it mounted on the wall at home.  The title of that poem is "Bluebells" for the blue flowers in the story, and as our whole family took a trip to that park two weekends ago and saw the bluebells, I had only just remembered the poem and that's why it came to mind the day I signed up to read.

For the second selection, I wanted to pick something nobody had yet read or seen, so I used a short poem which I actually posted as a Facebook status one day last summer, a moment captured in imagery and onomatopoeia, if my English vocabulary has not yet entirely left me =P

As rare as it is for me to share my poems with anyone, it's rarer still for me to share anything that hasn't spent at least 3 or 4 years in the Disney Vault of my computer.  I guess I figure if I can leave it sitting awhile and still like it when I come back, it might just be fit for human consumption.  Like haircuts, I always seem to hate and regret my poems the day after and for some time, and need some reassurance that they aren't horrible before I want anyone to see them.  It's harder to hide a new haircut, though.

Anyways, enough preamble.  Here are my two poems, and a promise to write something else SOON.  Thank you for staying with me, my friends.  And I apologize because I don't think this posting format will let me do the first poem in two columns, so it will be a LONG post.  You can skip this part if you're not interested =p

Bluebells

One sunny day in April

Sitting by the TV

Watching the sun

Through the window

Dad asks if I want to go

To walk the dog

At the park

The one with the bluebells

Tying my shoes

Packing a couple of apples

And a chunk of cheese

A bottle of water

With a cup for the dog

And a couple of bags

Just in case

Out of the garage

Down the street

Through the town

Past trees in bloom

And yards full of flowers

Then onto the little winding road

Through the trees

We pass a neighborhood

Full of brand-new houses

With neat little lawns

That weren’t there before

Continuing on

We see horses in a meadow

Fences overgrown with vines

Little run-down houses

Surrounded by trees

And wildflowers

The shadows of the trees

Making patterns on the road

Into the park

Past the smiling attendant

Into the parking lot

Where I learned to ride my bike

When I was little

Blinking in the bright sunlight

We head towards the trail

The one with the bluebells

I remember that day

We came for the hike

More than anything else

But the closer we got to the river

The more of them we saw

Bluebells!

Little blue flowers

As far as the eye could see

Like a sea of petals

That drowned out the grass

We made plans to come back

To bring cameras

And take pictures of them

To capture the bluebells

On film

So we could never forget

But the next week

When we came back

They were all gone

Not a single flower

Could we find

We had been back

A few times since

Always hoping to see

The bluebells

Like they were that day

But it was never the same

I guess we were just lucky

It was around that time of year

When the bluebells could be out

We took a drive out there

Hoping to see them

It had rained

And the path was muddy

But we went anyways

Far from the busy world

Of school and working

The sounds of birds

And rustling leaves in the trees

Sloshing through the mud

Coating my white sneakers

Over little bridges

My dad had once helped build

Tiny white flowers

Flecked the sea of green grass

The occasional wild violet

Past a few other hikers

No bluebells to be seen

We trudged on

The dog pranced

A little breeze rustled by

Finally we saw them

Few at first

The blue buds

Just beginning to bloom

I smiled

Remembering

There were more of them

Mixed with the white

All overpowering the grass

Under the green canopy

Of the trees

A many-colored canvas

Just waiting for us

But we didn’t have a camera

We walked on

Beside the river

Which gurgled softly below

The flora over all

And the shadows of the trees

Making patterns on the ground

We came to a place

Where the ground was covered

Garbage everywhere

Among the bluebells

And the violets

And the trees

Beer cans and bottles

Half-buried in the mud

And Styrofoam cups

We finally reached a bridge

That had collapsed

The end of the road

We didn’t want to swim

Not with the dog

So we had to stop

Sitting amongst the flowers

We ate our apples

And the cheese

Sipped lukewarm water

Let the dog off her leash

So she could run around

My dad started to talk

He spoke of the future

And all the things I would do

That I preferred to forget

I wasn’t ready to leave home

Not quite yet

I ate in silence

Watching the dog

And picked a few flowers

To take home

Then stood up

Brushing off the dirt

And called the dog

It was time to head back

When we came to the spot

Covered in trash

My dad remembered the bags

So we stopped

And started to clean up

First one bag then two

We filled them all

But it wasn’t enough

We took as much as we could carry

And sloshed back

Through the mud

Over the bridges

And back towards the car

When the ranger drove by

He took our bags

Put them in his truck

And thanked us for helping

We took as much as we could

I said quietly

But couldn’t help thinking

It wasn’t enough

At the ranger’s store

We bought some ice cream

Which we ate on the lawn

Dad shared his with the dog

It was getting hot out

Then it was back to the car

Back onto the winding road

It reminded me of a poem

From a book I once read

“the road goes ever on and on

Down from the road where it began

Now far ahead the road has gone

And I must follow if I can”

It was a good book

Back past the little old houses

Back past the new houses

Back through the town

Where I grew up

Back home

We left our dirty shoes on the step

And went inside

Back to the hustle and bustle

Of our lives

With nothing to show

But muddy shoes

And a few little flowers

Just in case

===

"Summer Rain"

What is it I love about a summer rain?

For one, it cuts the heat.

Breaks the humidity into tiny pieces

and sends them shattering down on our heads

In soft, pattering trickles

The sounds of the world seem muted

Drowned in a blanket of moist droplets

That soften and liquify the hard edges

Wash away the dirt and dust and pollen

The sky may be dulled and darkened

But the earthy hues of grass and dirt and flowers

Seem brightened by their moistened reflections

Feet tromping quietly through puddles

As the patter, patter of drips ripple through

Freshening and invigorating and bringing life

To the otherwise dull heat of summer sunlight

Summer rain is a welcome respite

A thoughtful quietening

A drip drip dropping solitary walk

As thoughts meander through the rivulets

Of fresh natural summer showers.

===

Thank you, thank you *takes a bow* - until next time, folks!

Change is Not Like a Sunrise

Good morning, friends and readers.  I recognize that it has been quite some time since I wrote anything substantial on here, but for the most part it's because I felt like I didn't have much of anything poignant enough to share with the world.  Some whining, some bickering, some complaining... some good news.

If you have not already heard, my best friend in the world (my "brother from another mother") spent the past five months battling cancer.  As of last week, my dear friends, I am happy to share that the battle, for now, is over.  Six rounds of chemotherapy and fifteen radiation treatments, combined with loads of medication and hundreds of blood thinner injections, have rendered Mr. Robert Joseph Belcher CANCER-FREE!!  Just after his thirtieth birthday, we celebrated the last of his radiation treatments with a nice dinner out, just us and his parents.  He's still going to be recovering and regaining his strength for some time, so the big party will have to wait a few weeks until he's feeling up to it, but the occasion could not go unmarked.

As for my own life, I guess you could say things have started to "go back to normal", as if there is any such thing as "normal".  It's kind of a strange concept if you think about it, since every person, every moment, every routine is constantly changing in magnificent and subtle and lightning-fast and creepingly slow ways, some that we notice right away and some that we never realize until they are so far changed as to be unrecognizable for what they once were...

Change is NOT like a sunrise.  At least not often.  Change is as the seasons, always a little different from the year before, always subtly sliding from one into the next in constant swirling motion, as the leaves drift in many-hued swirls through the crisp breezy air, the clouds racing by overhead in not exactly the same way as they ever have before.  Each year seems like a huge year full of changes, but if EVERY year is different, then aren't they all, really, the same?  No one day, one minute, one second, can ever be EXACTLY the same as the one before it, or the one after it.  The whole world is constantly changing.

So what, then, is "normal"?  We could say normal is the least amount of noticeable change, that when things seem the most similar to how they have been in the recent past, that things are now "normal."  We could, on the other hand, say that Change IS Normal - that the state of being constantly learning, growing, altering and improving ourselves is what is "normal" - in that case, stagnation and inertia become strange and foreign concepts.

So many things have changed in the past year.  As we shift rapidly through Fall, at the time of year when my family recognizes and follows the teachings of the Jewish New Year (Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, which both occurred about a month ago), I am always given to reflect on the changes in myself and my life since this time last year.  What did I do that was new and different?  What big decisions did I make?  What do I regret?  What do I want to do even differently in the next year?

This year, I worked at a new job that I really enjoy, and stretched myself professionally in ways that helped me to grow in confidence and intellectualism.  I helped students to discover what the future might hold for them after college, and found the joy of knowing I have made a difference to a young adult not that much younger than myself.  I was able to proudly attach my name to projects, seminars, training events and publicity materials that I created and distributed, and add those materials and accomplishments to my portfolio and resume.  I started writing more articles and blog posts, and published a new article in an online news source for the first time in years.  I wrote for the school newspaper and saved copies of every article.

I kept a potted plant alive for an entire year.  This, sadly, is an accomplishment for me, as all my other plants and growing projects have died from neglect.  This poor little plant is scraggly and a bit pathetic, but it is still growing and living in my office, having survived the trip from Northern Virginia when my parents first came to visit and help me move after starting the new job over a year ago.

I have been in a wonderful relationship that is just about to celebrate it's official one-year anniversary next weekend.  My boyfriend has been sweet, romantic, caring, surprising, goofy, supportive, and fun through all of the trials and tribulations of the past year.  He saw me through some hard times that I don't know how I would have weathered without him.  We traveled together to Florida for his family's summer vacation and a family wedding, and he attended my brother's wedding as my date.  We've spent time getting to know each other's families, each other's passions, each other's friends and hobbies and a few annoying habits.  I've learned so much in the past year about how to be in a relationship, how to act and what to expect and how to balance my free time between self and friends, family and relationships.  I have learned to say "I love you."

I have learned to cope with more changes than I thought I could experience at one time, as in the midst of a change I was wrapped up in and freaking out about, something bigger and more unexpected came out of nowhere.  I finally made the decision to try living on my own for the first time ever, but was not quite ready to have to make that leap yet.  We had a whole plan where we would move to the new town, to the apartment I had picked out and which I believed I could eventually afford on my own, and Joey would work and save up for a few months until I was more settled and ready and Joey had some money saved up to move out on his own, potentially to somewhere out of state to start a new life for himself.

Well, that all changed when the cancerous tumor was discovered in his chest, just weeks from potentially becoming fatal.  As he lay in a hospital bed contemplating his own mortality, I cried and stressed out over having to move into the new apartment by myself - I blanched at the idea of having to do everything on my own, right away, without the comfort of the pre-planned months of transition.  I became sad and depressed at the idea of losing my best friend, and even after his prognosis turned very positive I did not know how to cope with the multitude of changes his new situation introduced.

I changed, albeit more slowly than I would have liked.  I worked my butt off exercising four days a week to train for a 5K race to benefit the Cancer Center Bridge Fund that was paying for Joey's treatments.  I spent every evening either with my boyfriend or visiting Joey, through the hospital, through the chemotherapy treatments, through days when he felt awful and did not want visitors.  We watched movies, we played video games, we talked online.  I made homemade chicken matzah ball soup in large quantities.  I showed up for many a family dinner unannounced and found a second family welcoming me with open arms through it all.

Eventually, as the chemo treatments progressed and then switched to radiation treatments, my schedule started getting less insanely crowded.  I spent a few nights alone in my new apartment, without crying at being lonely or needing company.  I played some online video games, watched some girly movies, cooked dinner for myself.  And I also let the house become embarrassingly dirty, let dishes pile up in the kitchen, stayed out far too late on work nights more than I'd care to admit.  I stopped going to the gym, gained a bit of weight, became aware that my cholesterol is pretty unhealthily high.

But at some point recently, I realized that I am not afraid of the way things are changing.  I have a good job, though I wish it paid a bit more.  I have a second job which is going to help me make up the difference for a few months, though I have to give up my Sunday evenings.  I have an amazing and inspiring best friend, who will always be a part of my life even if we are never going to be roommates again.  I have a boyfriend who loves me enough to think it's adorable when I fall asleep on the couch at 10pm with my Xbox live headset still on and the title screen music from 'Borderlands 2' blasting out of the tv.  I have a hectic life which is never boring, and in which I get to see my family, best friend and boyfriend as much as possible.

In the past year, I also got a new sister (-in-law), a new baby cousin, and new friends.  I stopped believing I was a complete failure for not being able to pay off my entire credit card balance right this minute.  I started taking on new projects at work, and acknowledging that sometimes it's okay not to make a deadline if you apologize and work to complete the project as soon as you can.  I stepped up and filled in for my boss for a week when she had an unexpected family emergency, and I didn't fall apart.

Change is not like a sunrise.  The sun rises every day, but never once does it look exactly the same.  But I say that change is not like a sunrise because when the sun comes up, it changes the whole world from dark to light, from stars to sunshine, from cool to warm, from black to a multitude of colors.  Change is sometimes colorful and majestic, and sometimes it is subtle and unnoticed.  Change is constant.  Change is life.

If you've read this far, I thank you.  This was not a pre-planned post, or something I wrote in multiple drafts.  This is simply the stream of my consciousness on a Friday morning spent in contemplation, and now I go back to a day filled with changes of various magnitudes...  Until next time, friends, I bid you adieu.

Published Article

This: http://augustafreepress.com/kathleen-herring-why-i-run/

Published in the Augusta Free Press this morning.  Enjoy =D

Sanity Walk

Every day after lunch, I take a few minutes to check email and make sure nothing pressing has come up while I was on break, and then I go out for my daily walk.

My 'walk' is to the college post office, where I pick up any mail for the department.  But really, that's my excuse to spend a few minutes outside, walk off a few calories, see what the weather is like, and clear my head before the second half of my workday really gets started.

I take the long way around, doing a full circuit of the 'Lawn' (or 'Quad' as I usually think of it) before stopping in at the post office on my way back to the office.  This way I get the best view of one of the prettiest parts of campus, while spending more than half my walk in the cooling shade of the trees lining the Lawn.

I walk out the door and my first thought is, "Man, it's hot out here."  I know they were forecasting 90-degree days all week, and had been complaining about it.  But at the moment, it feels good.  I've just spent 5 solid hours sitting behind a desk in my always-slightly-too-air-conditioned office, under my artificial lights, staring at a computer screen or working through the massive pile of notes, unread emails and to-do lists before taking an hour out to watch Gilmore Girls and eat my salad and half-sandwich and two cookies for the day.

The afternoon heat actually feels good, and even as I squint at the bright reflection of sunlight off hot sidewalks I feel the skin on my arms soaking up the warmth of natural light.  As I walk under the trees I ponder the strangeness of not feeling overheated.  It's not uncomfortable; it's not too hot.  It's just hot.  It's what Summer is supposed to feel like, that season which I feel like I've missed most of already while I was busy being stressed out and busy and working and sitting behind that desk at that computer in that always-slightly-too-air-conditioned office.  THIS is summer; THIS is me, out in Summer.

I can hear the soft clop, clop of my little grey ballet shoes on the pavement, and I contemplate how these thin little sandals both remind me of real ballet shoes and of walking barefoot.  The soles are so thin I can feel the unevenness of the cracks in the sidewalk.  I contemplate how it would feel to take off my shoes and walk in the grass.  I think how undignified that would look if anyone were to see me running around barefoot while I'm at work.  I keep walking.

I look up briefly to check that no cars are about to run me over then proceed into the crosswalk, coming out from under the trees into direct sunlight.  It is hot.  So hot.  I think of past summers that seem far away, summers with vacations and sand and swimming and sunscreen.  I think that I have already missed out on most of the summer because I've been too busy sitting in my air-conditioned fake lighting and staring at artificial words and pictures and videos on a variety of televisions, monitors and other electronic screens.

I chide myself quietly.  I have not "missed out" on summer.  I remind myself of the day spent at King's Dominion, of the feeling of butterflies in my stomach as we clicked slowly up the hill of the new roller-coaster, questioning my own judgement in boarding the ride in nervous anticipation of the height of the unknown hill.  I remind myself of the feeling of dryness in the back of my throat from screaming, screaming, screaming until my breath runs out and my world spins upside down.

I remind myself of the Fourth of July.  Of cookouts and fireworks and hundreds and thousands of fireflies twinkling in the trees, and thousands and millions of stars shining out bright in the night sky.  More stars than I've ever seen in this country.  More stars than I'd seen since that one night four years ago in the Negev Desert in Israel, when I stood still and silenced by the sheer enormity of the sky.

I remind myself of our tubing trip down the river, of how nervous I was about getting ready for the day.  About the copious amounts of sunscreen lovingly applied to every nook and cranny which had no effect whatsoever once I submerged myself in river water.  I remember the days spent wincing and cringing and cowering in a darkened room, applying rivers of aloe vera and plunking my raw red legs inches from a fan while watching Star Trek and playing Lego Lord of the Rings with my equally-sunburned boyfriend.

I remind myself of hours spent training and practicing and running and complaining about running, of the training log I've kept for months of how and when I exercise and my successes and failures in running practice.  Of the leading up to the Big Event, the 5K run this past Saturday.  Of the nervousness getting ready, the sheer panic of not knowing what I was doing or why.  The feeling when we took off from the starting line and saw hundreds of strangers running beside and behind and in front of me (the majority, I think, being in front of me).  The feeling of neighborhood folks sitting out on their front lawns at eight o'clock in the morning on a Saturday, just to cheer us on and tell us we are wonderful for doing what we are doing, waving signs that say 'Runners are Awesome' and waving as we pass them by.  They don't know me, but they're cheering for me.  While I'm doing something incredibly hard and that I'm not good at.

I think that a college campus in summer is a good place for a walk and a think.  These perfectly manicured green lawns, the flowers which never seem to wilt or droop despite the blazing heat of the day, the sculpted hedges and neatly trimmed sidewalk edges are empty save for me, no students talking or laughing or walking or playing on the Lawn.  This place, which was created for Them, which is currently devoid of Them, has a sort of haunted quality to it, like it, too, is waiting for them to come back.  Waiting for something to happen.

It's quiet.  And yet, there are many sounds in this Quiet.  The wind murmurs quietly in the tops of the trees, rustling leaf against leaf in a constant conversation of which I am not a part.  The birds twitter and chirp and flit from branch to branch.  A squirrel, startled from his search for food, scampers up the bole of a nearby tree, chattering to himself.  And the steady clop, clop of my quiet little shoes.

I'm beginning to sweat from the heat.  My eyes have glazed over and I plod along the straight line between the trees, looking vaguely towards the ground a few yards in front of my feet.  I think that I should get out more, that I should do more, but I'm tired.  I need to get back, to get back to work.

My feet carry me back up the steps and into the refreshing blast of artificially cooled air, into the darkened hallway and through the door to my artificially-lit office, and plunk myself back down in my leather swivel chair, back to my unread emails and to-do lists and words and pictures and screens.

I think if it were ever decided that I had to give up my after-lunch Sanity Walk, I wouldn't make it through the day.  It's ten or twenty minutes of essentially nothing, just a little sunlight and random thoughts.  Or days when I walk in the rain with my umbrella, getting my shoes wet and reveling in the smell of summer storms.  The days in the winter when I got all bundled up in scarf and gloves and hat to walk in the brisk cold air.  The fall, when I admired the leaves which seemed to change drastically each and every day of the week.

Until tomorrow, dear Walk.  For now, I have three more hours to sit in this swivel chair and muster up the energy from seemingly empty reserves to go work out at the gym again.  It's been over a week and I don't want to lose my rhythm.  Like my daily walk, the same route at around the same time every day, my workouts are a stabilizing force in my life.  A time to be alone with my thoughts in a quiet environment, while my body is too busy to get restless or bored.  And yet, after nine hours of work it gets hard to motivate to actually go in there and put my workout clothes on.  To actually get on the treadmill and force my lethargic muscles to burn away these excess calories.  All I want at that point is a nap.  Ah, well.

Until next time, then.