shoot me now

re-post in advance of Mother's Day






Somebody (I don't recollect who) posted  on their blog an observation that if you know a young person who wants to be a writer, shoot them now while they are still happy.

I remember when my son, a playwright, had his first play showcased in college.

This is the son who taught me to LOVE criticism of my works.
"Mom, you cannot be a writer unless you lay your ego aside and allow critics to rip your works apart!  That's how you learn to craft something that others want to read.  You are not writing for yourself.  You are writing for others. I have taken one whole semester on submitting plays and having a group of experts and other students dissect my writings as pathetically flawed while I had to sit and listen.  It began as humiliation and ended with exhiliration that anybody considered me good enough to criticize."

So we, his family, sat in the crowded theater
whilst he, the playwright, sat in a special box in the balcony.
latest-hairstyles.com

He was dressed to the nines, voguish, all plucked from the local thrift store,
hanging on his confident frame
like icicles gracing a mansion.

.seacoastonline.com

We were all so excited.

The play began by explaining, before the curtain opened, that this play was "adult in content" and R-rated.
My heart  did not have time to skip a beat before half..... HALF..... the audience got up and walked out!
I was devastated for my son!

But  he was happy.  Later he explained, "You want those people to leave.  That's why you announce the R-rating.  You don't want people ruining your play by getting up during it and leaving."
And he taught me how important it is to target the right audience.  How everything is not for everybody and that is "ok".

But I was cringing on my seat, not only for him, but for ME.  R-Rated?  Oh, dear.
But before those feelings could overtake me, we heard the people behind us discussing the walk-out.
"Are YOU leaving?"
"Oh, no!  I heard this play was written by a drunk sophomore and I have got to see it!"

These are the things that make your face look like ten miles of bad highway by the time the kids are grown and gone.

The play began.  We sat there mesmerized by a play so poignant, so tender, so great we could scarce believe we were related to the "drunk sophomore" who wrote it.
Those who walked out to protect themselves missed something so human and tender they would have been touched.
The play won awards and was showcased elsewhere, bringing a touch of success to my son.
I felt no part of the success since we in the family all recognized that the main character was actually my son, the playwright and the antagonist, the pathetically flawed failure, was his dad.
Thank goodness his dad wasn't there!

Still and all, I felt a little smug, no compassion whatsoever, actually, for my ex.

I might have felt sorry for my ex had I any idea at that moment of what was coming downstream, in a couple of years,  on stage, for me!!!!!

Don't even ask!



..........


So, it is no surprise, me being interested in criticism and all, that yesterday at a belated Mother's Day Lunch, I asked my daughter to critique my blog honestly.  Her age precludes her from my target audience but I know she reads "I've Landed!".

The desert sun shone muted through the blue tinted restaurant window, casting soft relief to the 30 year old wall paper and unchanging decors we have enjoyed in our favorite restaurant for decades.  The flowering trees outside were made deeper in shade by the tinted glass.  The smell of pizza was everywhere.

         

                                                                                                                 deviantart.com

When my daughter visits, we always try to get at least one  meal at this the watering oasis for decades in our personal desert.

bayfieldbunch.com

"Well", she said as she gazed out the window, "I think you could improve your blog by leaving out the statistics.  They are boring.  And leave out the education also.  If people want education there are multiple sites they can go to."

"But my blog is meant to be educational!"

"Well, skip it.  Nobody wants educated.  Tell the stories.  Do the expose'.  That's what's entertaining.............reading other people's stories."

"Do I put too much religious stuff in?"

(pause......)   "No.  Not really.  That's ok.  But you are a little edgy with the UFO stuff.  You might want to leave that out because, frankly, you seem like a nut sometimes."

"I am a nut!  I am not ashamed of being related to lunatics!  Besides you are only saying that because I am a tea party enthusiast."

"They are nuts!"

"So?        .....What's your point?"

"Stay away from the UFO's and the Tea Party."

Undaunted,
Riverwatch

Happy Birthday, Milo

http://earthchanges.ning.com/

Good Morning!

Thank you for your visit,

Riverwatch

Sunni and Shia

Learning about Islam on the Arabian Peninsula

So much to learn that blogging has taken a back seat.

Once upon a time, the rich took advantage of the poor.

In the Information Age, the informed take advantage of the uninformed.

One organization of Muslims who cannot safely speak out against what some other Muslims are doing, show their own peacefulness by role-modeling peace, with their focus being about teaching and interfaith dialogue.

In the Information Age, being informed is essential.

Teaching.  

Learning.
Dialogue.

Sunni and Shia

dailymail.co.uk

Learning, with a long way to go,

I thank you for your visit and gracing my life.

Riverwatch

Kincade

In Memory of Thomas Kincade

ishareimages.com

Driven into the Shadows

Driven into the Shadows

Free speech has never been free. It is guarenteed, true, but you always, always, always pay for your stand on anything controversial.

"Free" speech (the right to say what you want to say)  in America is under fierce attack and has been for some time.

So is freedom of religion.

It is becoming clearer and clearer that it will take more and more courage to be openly religious acknowledging there is a Creator .

It is becoming clearer and clearer that it will take more and more courage to “go on the record” about anything.

The world is filled with billions and billions of people and there will always be somewhere-someone who disagrees with you and dislikes you and dislikes people of your ilk....and others who disagree with me and dislike me and dislike people of my ilk.

So why be religious?

Because life makes more sense when we have hope.

The hope that there is a hereafter, a hereafter that is better than here.

The hope of love that surpasses all understanding.

The hope of peace that surpasses all understanding.

Since we each only have a brief moment to splish-splash through our experiences here, let's make it count, I say.

Christ hung on a cross at age 33, changing the world forever.

If we get to last into old age, let's make it count, I say.
 Let's make every minute count.

Let's start by having hope.

We are not equal to life! So let's hope Someone is (and that "Someone" is certainly not our polilicians!!!)

For this Easter Sunday as I remember the hope and thrill of the resurrection, I am going to “be brave” and share again with you a nursing story. It did not happen long ago. But its happening in a local emergency room, staffed with outstanding educated medical personnel, was revealing to me of the fact that, yes, Riverwatch, there is a satan.
Satan is as real as you are.

It was a busy busy night and I was supervisor for the hospital for that night. It was the kind of night that ER personnel “recognize” as a humdinger in the works even before they begin their shift!
Our one and only Security Guard arrived on duty, his face pale with some kind of fear.
 “The moon has a cross on it! Look!”

Some of us took a quick peek from the parking lot, but we saw only a full moon.

Only the Security Guard saw a cross, and ….well, you know, we all knew then that he was “ a mental case” and we dismissed him. Easy to dismiss him because we were getting slammed.

As a nursing supervisor, when I wasn't busy running all over the hospital, I hung out in the ER. Certified in trauma nursing and advanced life support, I was “back-up” if the ER became overwhelmed.

We were getting overwhelmed that night.

When the radio call came in from an ambulance on its way with an out-of-control young girl, found alone and unconscious on the street at 3 in the morning, the paramedic revealed that they were bringing her in sandwiched between 2 stretchers because the three of them could not restrain her even though she was unconscious.

The most experienced nurse in the ER turned to me and said, “Don't leave, Riverwatch. You are going to see something you have probably never seen before. Besides, we are going to need you.”

Belinda …..I shall call her Belinda....arrived. She was a small young teenager, 80 pounds at most. As forewarned, she was sandwiched between two stretchers and her writhing was still going on. As the three paramedics transferred her to an ER stretcher, it took 6 of us to do the job of holding her down and getting restraints on.

She was unconcious and dressed totally in black with long black hair that had obviously been dyed. Blackish reddish fingernail polish. No identification for who she was.

Breathing on her own, Belinda did not need intubated but she needed much care. I was assigned “the head” to hold her head with both of my hands as others tied (and re-tied!) her down in bed as tests were run trying to figure out what was in her system.
A tube was inserted through her nose and into her stomach to pump out the contents of her stomach. There was the prompt return of alcohol...lots and lots of alcohol...but nothing else.
Her drug screen showed nothing but then screens do not screen for everything.
Her blood alcohol was comatose level.

It became a waiting game: hold Belinda down until her system is flushed with IV fluids and the alcohol begins to wear off.

Still at the head of the stretcher, I tried to talk soothingly to her while some of the crew and the police got busy  finding who she was.  Her name was supplied to us by the police.

Slowly she began to come out of the unconscious level, still threshing and writhing but talking.
Three medical people were still at her side constantly: 2 RN's and one MD.
Her voice was “tiny”, the young young female teenage voice.

Here is a transcript of her words:

“Mommy, Mommy, HELP me! He's taking me down. He's taking me down.”

Naturally I thought she must have been raped!

Me: “Belinda, who's taking you down?”

“Help me. Help me. Help me. Mommy, the fire is burning me. Help me!”

Me: “Belinda, we are here with you. Nobody's going to hurt you. We are helping you.”

“Mommy! Help me. He's taking me down.”

Me: “Belinda, we are here with you. You are ok.”

Suddenly Belinda's face contourted into a look I have never ever seen before in any patient. Her teeth were completely bared, the grimace contourting her entire face was not human, but maybe, maybe some kind of animal.

and then from out of the throat of a 80 pound girl came a deep loud male voice: “Belinda is not here. Belinda is dead. I want to kill you ALL and I will kill you!”

Stunned, we three medical personnel looked at each other and then the male RN said, “Enough of this.”

He called one of the medical division units on 4^th Floor and had another male nurse come help him and together they prayed over this young girl, demanding that satan depart.

After the prayer, Belinda lay quiet of her writhing as deep gutteral "gruff male" non-human growls came occasionally from her throat.
Eerie scarey growls.  Like nothing I have ever heard in a human.
Her face, having relaxed, occasionally contourted to bared teeth again, but finally relaxed completely.

Her parents arrived on the scene, having been found. Belinda had gone “partying” with a young friend early in the evening. Her young friend was found and said some man "in a truck"  had tried to pick both of them up offering another party “where you can have some real fun”. The young friend declined and begged Belinda not to go, but go she did.

Her mom revealed that Belinda had been dressing totally in black for sometime now and kept talking about demons being in their home, but the mom thought she was just “acting out”.

Incidently, the mom and dad were not speaking to one another. (ER personnel are excellent at noticing those small nuances.)

Belinda made a full recovery. Well, we think it was a full recovery.

I celebrate Easter this year, as always, grateful for my Savior.

As I watch the senseless killing across our globe that is so poorly understood, I have insight as to what is behind that.

And I praise God for the sacrifice He has made for me, for all of us.

I have hope.

Thanks for sharing this moment with me,

Riverwatch

Sight

Second Sight

by Riverwatch

Between times, between the last clutch of dark and the first break of dawn,

Between times, like when the day is gone and before twilight blooms full,

Between times like the exit from living and the entrance to dying,

they come. 
Unbidden. Strangely welcome. Unworldly.

They do not stay.

Between places like water and land,

Between places like arriving and settling,

Between leaving and disappearing,

Between landed and airborne,

Between islands,

Between home and new places,

they come. 
Unbidden. Strangely welcome. Unworldly.

They do not stay.

Between the waking and the sleeping

and the sleeping and the waking,

Between the wellness and the illness

and the illness and the healing,

Between the turmoil and the peace,

they come. 
Unbidden. Strangely welcome. Unworldly.

They do not stay.

Between the home and the refugee camp,

Between the time of prosperity and the time of loss,

Between the freedom and the jail sentence,

they come. 

Between the entering and the being there,

Between the dryness and the misting vapor,

Between the motion and the stillness

they come. 
Unbidden. Strangely welcome. Unworldly.

They do not stay.

I cannot touch them with the windy fingers of my soul,

but like a flash of light illuminating the world around me, 
there is a brief touch to my mind,

dragging me for a nano-second into a dimension beyond my world,

changing me in ways I cannot control nor imagine, 
nor know in any way except for sure.

Between.

Ahhh!

Where the Sidewalk Ends

by Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends

And before the street begins,

And there the grass grows soft and white,

And there the sun burns crimson bright,

And there the moon-bird rests from his flight                  

To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black

And the dark street winds and bends.

Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow

We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And watch where the chalk-white arrows go

To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,

For the children, they mark, and the children, they know

The place where the sidewalk ends.

If I Were an Indian

    

If I Were an Indian

by Riverwatch

If I were an Indian,

I would walk in nature, talking to my friends, the trees.
youwall.com

   

If I were an Indian,

I would look at the inferiority of the pale faces and be at rest within my soul.

If I were an Indian,

I would look upward to the Great Spirit and rest in the peace that all will be well.

If I were an Indian,

I would drink only fresh flowing clear water from Mother Earth and bathe in it daily.

If I were an Indian,

I would be monogamous and I would die for my family if need be.

If I were an Indian,

I would mold families from the remains, the disinfranchized left-overs, the bits and pieces of humanity found on the landscape.

If I were an Indian,

I would listen more than I speak, so as to surprise the pale-faces.

If I were an Indian.

I am an Indian.

I sit under my silk tree and cry to my tree, my best friend.

I am an Indian.

I listen intently to one and all, including the trees.

I am an Indian.

My family is ever changing, ever growing, ever changing.

I am an Indian.

I find the waterfall and stand with head bowed, long dark hair loose over my face, letting the water splash over my back.

I am an Indian.

I am a hybrid.

I sit under my silk tree and cry outloud and noisey to my silk tree, sometimes screaming.

I am a hybrid.

I listen intently and speak many many words.

I am a hybrid.

I walk separate and apart in nature, fearing man yet knowing I am surrounded by rocks and trees who know me and wish me well.

I am a hybrid.

I long for fresh water even as I drink chemicals.

I long for the waterfall on my back and long dyed hair.

I am a hybrid.

I am too fierce to be monogamous and too proud to be polygamous.

I am a hybrid.

My family is ever changing, ever growing, ever changing, while I whine about change and judge the ungodly.

I am a hybrid.

Great Spirit, have mercy.

Remember me when I was an Indian and judge me not for the Way being lost.

I

Desiderata

Desiderata

by Max Ehrmann   1927

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter;

for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery.

But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals;

and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.

Especially, do not feign affection.

Neither be critical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings.

Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars;

you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be,

and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be careful. Strive to be happy.

Just for you,

Riverwatch

Soldiers and Patriots

Catchy phrases!  I love them.

So when my brother John described a slothful Christian we know as a summer soldier, sunshine patriot , right off the bat I swiped that phrase. 

Summer soldier.  Sunshine patriot.  

Kool.

Naturally I would bumble.  "Are you talking about the Seahawks and the Patriots????"  (That was when we were still thinking the Patriots were gonna lose for sure.)   

  "What???  This has nothing to do with sports."

So I looked it up on the internet before commenting further.

Thomas Paine opened "The American Crisis" with these words: "These are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman.   

 Paine also wrote "those who expect to reap the blessings of freedom, must, like men, undergo the fatigues of supporting it"--they must be winter soldiers and snowfall patriots in order to attain freedom.

Winter soldiers and snowfall patriots!   

Now that's another catchy phrase!

At this Christian Season of Lent, as I have thought what to give up for Christ for 40 days, I am reluctant to give something to Him and then take it back, that is if I had anything to give Him.   I realize I have nothing to give, not really.

I own nothing, not really.                                                                                                                         I am nothing, not on my own.                                                                                                      My sins, missteps, stupidities, and flaws are covered.                                                                      My griefs are borne. 

Even when I go to partake at the open table, I go to be served by Him for He has invited me to the feast.  He has done it all.  I go as His guest to a place where I am welcome.  Even at the feast, I go, not to serve Him, but to be served by Him.

Perhaps I can practice for 40 days being a winter soldier and a snowfall patriot for Christ.
You know, dragging out of bed, showing up at church even on Daylight Savings Change Day.  

Winter soldier.  Snowfall patriot.

Kool.

This is the day which the Lord God has made.
Rejoice and be glad in it.

Loving your visit,

Riverwatch

Every Single Day

Every Single Day

Every single day is a rare occasion.

Hope you enjoy yours.


Thank you for your visit,

Riverwatch, RN

Why all the depression?

Is the food you eat killing you?

Globally, one person dies by suicide roughly every 40 seconds.

Around the world, over one million people commit suicide each year - an increase of 60 percent over the last four and a half decades.

Incredibly, farmers have one of the highest rates of self-inflicted death.

Although factors such as poor yield, financial stress, erratic weather and animal disease certainly contribute to a high suicide rate in farmers, 
researchers are beginning to suspect another cause: exposure to pesticides.

20-year study establishes a connection between

 depression   and conventional farming chemicals

Researchers at the National Institute of Health completed a historic study earlier this fall which confirmed that seven pesticides -- some of which are widely used -- contribute to clinical depression in farmers. Over the last two decades, the team interviewed almost 84,000 farmers and their spouses.

The findings were startling. Dr. Freya Kamel, lead researcher for the study, said that two specific types of pesticide were responsible for the massive uptick in depression -- organochlorine insecticides and fumigants. Each increases the risk of depression by an astounding 90 and 80 percent, respectively

. One of the more common varieties is called malathion and is used by approximately 67 percent of the farmers surveyed. 

It also just happens to be banned in Europe.

This isn't the only study that links pesticides to depression.

"A group of researchers published studies on the neurological effects of pesticide exposure in 2002 and 2008. Lorrann Stallones, one of those researchers and a psychology professor at Colorado State University, says she and her colleagues found that farmers who had significant contact with pesticides developed physical symptoms like fatigue, numbness, headaches and blurred vision, as well as psychological symptoms like anxiety, irritability, difficulty concentrating and depression. Those maladies are known to be caused by pesticides interfering with an enzyme that breaks down the neurotransmitter that affects mood and stress responses."

In the end, both studies beg the question: If farmers who utilize conventional pesticides as part of their profession are experiencing the damaging consequences of the chemicals, what is the effect on the general public who ingest the substances through their food?

http://thewatchers.adorraeli.com/2015/02/06/landmark-study-links-pesticides-to-high-depression-rates/




Thanks for your attention,
I appreciate you,
Riverwatch

Longing

Longing

If you want people to build a ship, teach them to long for 

the endless immensity of the sea.

Antoine de Saint Exupery

pixshark.com

  

               

                            Where two oceans meet 


Longing,
and grateful for your visit,
Riverwatch