Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Sunday, August 10, 2008
The most captivating book I've read in 7 years. I grieved for three days upon completing its story. So moving, and painfully gripping with each word that I felt the humiliation, loss and suffering each of the seventeen women in cell #52 endured. Jean Sasson's writing is so breathtaking, so vivid it literally draws you in to Mayada's world. A world that few if any American woman could fathom. Her courage to survive when few would find the hope or faith to do so compelled me. This tragic miraculous story is one of triumph and fear. Mayada referred to the women she shared dark chamber with as "shadow women," cellmates that suffered more severe punishment then her own. Yet they nursed her when she was sick, cared for her, listened to her story, prayed for each other daily and even gave up their own small food ration to give another the strength to endure a morning torture.
I am haunted by each woman's story. Only one survived, Mayada daughter of Iraq. This painting deplicts my gratitude for her survival, and is also in memory of those woman who suffer daily in Baladiyat prison cells with no name, or face to save them.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
My thoughts were in a tither; do I offer to pay for the tomatoes? Do I politely give him money for groceries? I didn't want to offend him, I didn't want to embarrass him. He struck me as a man who had worked hard all of his life, a man of good character and virtues (Like my father). My thoughts went so far as to ponder if he had children? Did he loose his wife? But still I did nothing, I said nothing. I am left with a deep regret, and an ache in my heart for those who do not beg, who do not seek assistance but silently suffer in poverty.
Mother Teresa's spoke with tender wisdom when she said, "To smile at someone who is sad; to visit for even a little while, someone who is lonely; to give someone shelter from the rain with our umbrella; to read something for someone who is blind: These and others can be small things, but they are appropriate to give our love of God concrete expression to the poor."
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
I've been thinking of Sylvia more lately. I stood in back of an old woman last week. I couldn't see her face, but I could smell her fragrance, the same perfume my grandma wore. My subconscious mind could hear Sylvia's voice hollering in my left ear, "Hello Chris! I'm still here, smell me..... Grandma had sass and lots of it!. Sometimes her stubborn ways made people mad, but her ways made me laugh. She didn't like conformity either. I think of her words, words she could only say in her own fashion. So many of them, they just pop in and out of my my mind so fast like an unsuspecting breeze. "Stick in the mud," that was one of her sayings. She told me once on one of my last visits with her, "I didn't weigh more then two cents. She never went a visit without calling me her little angel, and reminding me of the day I was born. She called me by a variety of names... "Stink Bug," just popped into my mind.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
I'm a nonconformist, but I don't like to argue like one. Jake reflects my nonconformity, and though it may seem like a crack to some I see it as an attribute.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
|Chief Wolf Robe Rendition|
Thursday, April 24, 2008
I'm a lover of words, and short stories. Eugene Fields & Mark Twain are my favorite story tellers. It is as if they enter the room when I read their words. Eugene tickles my feet, and Mr. Twain.... Well, I recognize the aroma of his freshly packed pipe.
I wrote a series of short stories seven years ago. The writer in me hit an iceberg and I've not written stories since. My characters have been nudging me to come out and play, so I believe I will return to them some peaceful day. I don't know exactly how or when. The moment I do know.... I fear they may leave me.