every post, tweet, and Facebook update worth a penny to Beat Cancer toward a Guinness record.

One day only!

eBay/Paypal and Miller Coors donating a penny for every mention of  #BeatCancer.

check it out here on Mashable…
…and here at BeatCancer.

ya’ know… I like his movies too… but an Academy Award is not a Get-Out-of-Jail-Free Card.

under the heading of forewarned is forearmed…I take the subject of sexual abuse of children extremely seriously.  There are no circumstances under which it is acceptable or humorous. 

Having artistic talent does not give anyone the right to drug and rape a thirteen year old child. Polanski raped a child. There is no question he did it.  To this day, he admits it himself.

Just because French politicians, Swiss Cultural Councils, and various American actors and actresses have voted him Mr. Congeniality, does not erase the fact that Roman Polanski has violated a little girl.

Should every artist of considerable talent not be held to the same laws of the land and basic human decency?  If he had only been nominated for an award, should he only have to serve half of his sentence?

Would it be okay with you if Michael Moore used beer and a roofie to forcibly sodomize a thirteen year old daughter, sister, niece in your family?

Should every surviving family member who had relatives slaughtered by the atrocity of the Holocaust be allowed to violate a young girl and not be punished?

Having a spouse and unborn child murdered is horrific. But should that give someone a free pass to forcibly sodomize someone else’s child?

If after pleading guilty, if a child rapist uses their resources to escape arrest for thirty years, should that conviction disappear? 

Polanski gave a series of interviews in the late 1970’s. In one he claimed the reason his case had so much media appeal was,

“But… f—ing, you see, and the young girls. Judges want to f— young girls. Juries want to f— young girls. Everyone wants to f— young girls!”

So basically because Polanski thinks everyone else wants to commit sexual child abuse, he should be allowed to.

A politician who has a consensual adult love affair outside of his marriage is battered incessantly, vilified in the media…but a film director should be allowed to sexually abuse a young girl?

Professional athletes go to prison for drug use and animal abuse. But a film director should not be punished for raping a child?

He ran to France, because he was afraid his crimes were subject to “heavy sentencing.”  For thirty years he has thumbed his nose at the United States of America.

I understand he is sorry now. But that does not give his treatment of that girl to go without consequences and without legal punishment. It does not erase fleeing after conviction because he thought he’d have to go to prison.

hey you…with the clippers

Imagine along with me…

You wake up in the morning and have no internet access.  No big deal…glitches happen.  Ten minutes later you try to text and realize you have no cell phone service…okay….so you pick up the land line…nothing.

You flip on the television and wait through fifteen minutes of fluffy GMA until the local news comes on. At this point you just want to find out what the sam hill is going on.  The familiar morning anchor out of San Francisco has it as his lead story. 

Fiber optic cables have been cut.

Four of ‘em.  Two in San Carlos….two in San Jose.   Beneath manhole covers weighing hundreds of pounds.  Down a couple of ten foot shafts.  In up to four feet of water amid poisonous gases.  Only those four cables were damaged. Nothing else. Someone knew exactly what they were doing. 

Parts of San Jose, all of Santa Cruz county and San Benito counties are without cell and land lines for fourteen to sixteen HOURS.

This is what transpired yesterday.  I am cognizant your initial reaction includes smug acknowledgment of how we have become far too dependent on our cell phones and internet access.  Those who know me got a little laugh imagining me without connectivity.  But there is far more to this story.

What was the result of no cell phone, no land line phone, and no internet service?

Stores, restaurants, gas stations, et cetera could not take credit or debit cards.  Which of course sent people out to withdraw cash…however…

No ATMs were working. (picture 40+ people in line for the teller) Hospitals without their medical records access, pharmacies unable to fill patient prescriptions.

And the kicker….  no 911 service.

All law enforcement and fire service personnel were called in.  Manning every available vehicle they drove around the city….through neighborhoods…up and down streets. People were suppose go outside to flag them down in case of emergency for cryin’ out loud.

So you….with the clippers….what is your deal?
Obviously you KNEW what you were doing.  Two o’clock in the morning. You knew how to gain access…you had right tools.  You chose two specific cables in locations two hours apart from one another.  You did not take down Silicon Valley or San Francisco which would have made national, if not international headlines, immediately.  You cut the cables that are 60-100 miles away from the affected area.  This was not a random act of vandalism.  This was targeted.

I heard the media speculation you are a member of the CWA…the communication UNION…with a not so subtle threat.  I get you all have been working without a contract for over a week.  My step dad tells stories of lines being cut back in the day during negotiations.  But really? Taking out banks and hospitals and 911?  You think the surfers and bohemian artist population of aging hippies in Santa Cruz won’t raise an uproar because we will be sympathetic to your labor union cause?

Was it a test?  Are you part of some nefarious terrorist cell testing what would happen if a couple wires were cut?  Making notes on how long it would take to identify and splice?  Were you monitoring how law enforcement responds to being cut off from the populace?

This little part of the world is pretty small.  Considered rather unimportant in the grand scheme of things. We have very few headquarters of industry.  But being just over the hill from the computing capital of the world provides us with a state of the art infrastructure. 

You hit a day before the spring break tourist crowd arrives. So the panic of visiting extraterrestrials not being able to phone home was avoided.  

You basically took away our ability to communicate out or operate business for the better part of a business day. 

This is where my conspiracy theory imagination kicks in.  I cut my espionage teeth on the likes of Ludlum and Clancy.

Why does this not make the national news?
Four cables strategically cut. No banking, no ability to contact law enforcement or emergency services. No communication out.  We have radio and television getting the message in…but no way to communicate out.  Think about it.

Not to mention the fact our ability to access to our own recourses to acquire goods and services was just about completely severed.

In a related story:
After the initial report by the Wall Street Journal, there hasn’t been much information on the infiltration of our nation’s power grid applications by foreign entities… potentially from China and Russia.  The electrical grid for the entire nation. Not just electricity either….the grid which includes the running of all our water and sewage systems.

Where is the media coverage on these events?

While the death of Natasha Richardson was a tragedy and Farrah Fawcett’s illness is very sad,  does the American public really need to hear about it day after day??  (Travis points out the inappropriate absurdity.)  We heard over a week of posturing from Congress and the Senate and the White House over AIG bonuses.  (Which by the way were paid…as were the ones to Fannie and Freddie and the automakers…) 

Where is all the outrage and demand for investigation over serious threats to our daily existence?  Why is the national main stream media not reporting on the vulnerability? 

I am reminded of a couple posts I read lately from Hammer and Gene about stocking up on supplies and keeping a transistor radio.   

Hostile foreign entities plugging into our electrical grid…communication lines being severed. Maybe I ought to establish a family meeting place if need be. I consider reinstating my gun permit, learning how to operate a ham radio…and burying a bundle of cash in the backyard.  At what point does making contingency plans  start to sound whacko….like Ruby Ridge and Waco?

I dunno. 
But I’m starting to pay close attention.

red and the pledge....

with my hand over my heart....

hat tip to sandee

Humbling and Heavy

So very cool. It is the only time I've received an award for something I have written. The Rising Blogger Post of the Day is given for a specific post….not the overall blog…or the blogger….which shouldn’t come as too big of a shock. I kinda keep my little blog somewhat frivolous in nature…and tend to be more of a reader than a writer… so when I read the email from Judd…I surely had that warm glow of pleasure.

I surfed right over to read his post….and felt a cringe...
"oh…my post about Marshall.” Heavy sigh.

I guess the adages “write what you know” and “write from the heart” are true.

My heavy heart over the subject matter does not detract from the humble honor I feel. I took some time reading thru Judd's blog…saw many people whom I admire…and found some interesting new sites. Cool.

Thank you again.

Damn.... Continued (part one is here)
While the repercussions and devastation for this other family are far deeper than I can even begin to comprehend…the selfish bitch that I am is far more concerned with how my kids are dealing with some of their own reactions and feelings.

This tragedy continues as a daily topic of discussion. Yet again this morning, her very first words were “did you read the paper? front page.” I know what she means before I even look. She asks questions about amnesia symptoms and suicide attempts. I know no more than she does. The tension in her voice reflects both her horror of the reported details…and her disgust at the tone and implications of the report. When I don’t provide sufficient knowledge…she demands…”well…what do you THINK then.” That 19-year-old exasperated tone which really means, “please…you have to explain this for me because I DO NOT UNDERSTAND.”

Old issues and new revelations…for Little Missy…but even more so for The Cub. He was closer to the man…for years. How do you reconcile the coach you admired and respected with the man who suffocated the woman who kept score…welcomed you in their home…cooked you dinner? At just under six foot and closing in on 300 pounds he is a true bear of a boy…who took the smartass freshman to task for making fun of the murder. “I had to teach him a lesson of RESPECT” he told me later. He promises me he didn’t push the little jerk into the wall…just advanced upon him so quickly the kid backed up into it.

We talk about being mindful of your anger. Of how it can become mindless rage and get out of control. Little Missy dealt with serious anger issues for years…still does to some extent. Ten years ago when I first came into their lives she would spike every few weeks. Now… she only spikes once a year or so. Two years ago, her righteous indignation exploded into anger during Lacrosse practice. The man who broke up the fight, soothed and calmed her was the murderer. She reminds me of the incident with a bit of fright in her eyes…from the thought of the murder….or recalling her own out of control rage…I don’t know…maybe both.

At the memorial the kids choose to stand although they arrived with plenty of time to find a seat. Easy exit if need be. They stayed in close proximity although not next to one another. The other coach’s wife was drunk and crying and held onto The Cub.

Hundreds if not thousands of people attended the memorial…many of which were in the 13-20 age range. Both The Cub and Little Missy (separately at different times) acknowledged to me later that they knew they were the only ones there who did not cry or have tears in their eyes. They did not tell me out of pride. They did not want to cry…but they damn well knew…it made them different.

They watched their three…now motherless...friends…reliving how they felt ten years ago when they lost their own Mother. Remembering by name how specific people acted toward them when it was happening…how people deal with their loss now …if at all.

The moments that have actually made me cry was when each of them admitted…with their wide-eyed shock and utter sadness…that hey… cancer is better than murder. Damn.

Faith, Love, and Cake (Bee Cake not Beef Cake)

Cancer is not an unknown enemy to me and mine. As most of you who read this are aware, Miz Bee, Empress of the High Seas (and heartmate of Sarge Charlie) is currently battling Breast Cancer.

Mags the Chef of cakes and other culinary creations has chosen Miz Bee to honor as she walks in the Making Strides for Breast Cancer Walk in October... somewhere way over toward the right coast. Any and all of you who flock to Empress Bee and Sarge Charlie's blogs...and those of you whose lives have been touched by Cancer may want to take this opportunity to donate to Mags effort. Even the smallest donation will help.

Heads or Tails ~ 11 September 2001

When I think of 11 September 2001, and the word "tail"…my mind leaps immediately to the word "tailspin". And then I remember the movie, “United 93” (not “Flight 93” which is a different film) If you have not seen it…I recommend you do.

A significant number of the actual airtraffic controllers, military, and FAA employees play themselves in this movie. It has very little conjecture, and depicts the realtime course of events from the time United flight 93 pulled away from the gate until the time it crashed. On the DVD there are interviews with many of the surviving families of the passengers on that flight. The scenes of them meeting the actors and actresses who portrayed their loved ones are intense.

Warning:
This account that follows is my recollection of where I was the morning of 11 September 2001. After rereading I realize it is sorta more for me and mine, and less for you my gentle readers..or you who are my not-so-gentle readers. It’s a self serving little trip down memory lane…with the exception of this:

All kidding aside. It has only been six years. Don’t forget what happened. The terrorists attacked us…you and me. It was a test. Don’t become overly complacent and allow yourself the warm cuddly safe assumption it is over. 11 September 2001 was merely a warning shot across the bow. They are not finished with their quest to take away our freedom and destroy the United States.

11 September 2001, Santa Cruz, California.
I was in bed. Asleep.
The telephone rang just before 6 o’clock in the morning.
Never a good sign.

The caller ID warned me it was my Mama.
I sat straight up…immediately wide awake…it had to be bad. She loves me too much (knows my temper too well) to call that early without a really good reason. My Gramma had died a few months before and my Grampa was devastated. He had just left California to go home to Indiana and I was SURE something had happened to him.

“are you up? turn on the television right now…the news”

I reached for the remote from my nightstand…and clicked on ABC. Damn. I asked her what happened while increasing the volume. Nobody knew anything at that point. I switched to CNN…I’m a news junkie and trust that even if they are biased CNN would have people on the scene. They had film…they reported it was a plane…but didn’t know what was going on yet. They first thought is was a small plane...which I knew was impossible. A small plane would crumple and do only a portion of that damage.

My daughter stumbled into my room scowling. It was the summer just before her third year at UC Davis and she was not pleased the ringing phone had woken her up…but she had heard my voice and came in to see what was going on. She climbed into bed asking questions. With my Mama on the phone and my daughter next to me we watched the second plane fly directly into the south tower.

I remember freezing and then swearing. One plane...accidental. Two planes...intentional. I assumed at that time it was foreign aircraft. It did not occur to me it would be ours. I handed the telephone to my daughter and jumped out of bed to get my laptop. Back on the bed I logged on, firing questions at my Mother. What had they said before?? She hung up to call other family members. I got onto the CNN site…and stayed on all day.

Phone calls flying between family and close friends. I switched back and forth between news channels. I was making coffee when the plane hit the Pentagon, Rhiannon and I went silent and looked at each other with tears. Jimmy? His offices were at the Pentagon. Where were Mel and Jamie? My cousin and his wife are F-18 Navy combat pilots on active duty. We watched the south tower fall with more horror than when the planes hit. The news reported evacuations and possible target locations. Annapolis was mentioned. My daughter raced to get her cell phone. Her highschool sweetheart Eric was at Annapolis. By the time the second tower fell we knew our nation was under attack…and wondered what would be next.

In the days following we watched the horror that had hit New York and Washington. The families of the passengers and crew on the planes, and those killed at the World Trade Center. I remember walls covered in pictures as so many searched for their loved ones.

I flew on 22 September to a friend's wedding reception in Chicago. I had been the maid of honor a few months before. It took four hours from arriving at San Jose International just to get to the ticket counter. Fellow passengers eyed each other with suspicion…especially if there was any hint of middle-eastern heritage. Military guards with rifles patrolled everywhere. On the return I had to wait six hours at the gate in O’Hare. That was after a very young man went thru every single item in my checked baggage. The bartender had a contest to see who could get the most juice out of a lime. All of his bar tools had been confiscated…but they still delivered the fruit. He also had us compete to open wine bottles (no sharp pointy cork screws) but most of us were from California and learned that in high school.

All kidding aside. It has only been six years. Don’t forget what happened. The terrorists attacked us…you and me. It was a test. Don’t become overly complacent and allow yourself the warm cuddly safe assumption it is over. 11 September 2001 was merely a warning shot across the bow. They are not finished with their quest to take away our freedom and destroy the United States.

I think I’m gonna go play a little Toby Keith.

Miz Skit (aka Barb at Skittles Place) has gotten her tail in gear and heads up a Tuesday challenge called: Heads or Tails. If you don’t know her site….WHERE have you been?

Damn.

This is one of those times I have no explanation. None.

At 17 and 19, two of my kids struggle with their shock, their loss, and their horror. They search their hearts and minds for a way to support three of their own. Among friends they discuss details, question with disbelief, stand silent with tears. My kids are making plans to attend court arraignments and memorial services. Damn.

A man who has been The Cub's Lacrosse coach for seven years and was Little Missy's for two, has been arrested for the murder of his wife by suffocation. She was found by one of their three teenagers. All three were home at the time. Their father had left in the middle of the night following an argument…and later turned himself in to police. It appears he killed his wife and left his children to find her. Damn.

She was a loving Mother and well known in the local greenbuilding community. By all accounts a good friend to many. Certainly someone whose home you were happy to have your kids hang out in.

I liked this man, you know. He was encouraging to my Cub…for whom Lacrosse is the only one of “his sports” he has permission to play since he broke his neck. When Little Missy first joined the team, he took the time to teach her the nuances of the game, which was brand new to her. He coached on his own time and promoted a co-ed high school team in a sport unknown to this part of the United States. He welcomed the Cub into his home. He made a point of chatting with Little Missy every time he visited the hardware store where she works. He has no history of violence or abuse.

My Cub and Little Missy are friends with these three kids…who have lost their Mother at the hands of their Father. They have been to their home on many occasions. A man who they have admired, respected, hugged, celebrated, and shared meals with has done this heinous thing.

Damn.

take a moment....give a listen...

My real life (non-blogging) friend Frank,

shared this with me this morning.

If I Die Before You Wake

performed by Dustin Evans

written by Dustin Evans, Rick Tiger, Dave Brainard

currently serving us and their country in Iraq.

wild child wisdom

a few months ago I embroiled myself in a mess with my sister, who is seven years younger. I had some stuff going on in my life....I completely confided with my kids, but only partially with our mother....and not at all with my sister. Her anger and hurt at my refusal to provide her with all the intimate details of my life, led to rehashing twenty-some years worth of instances and issues that she thinks I should have handled differently. The conversation ended badly with me admitting I did not consider her part of my "inner circle" and telling her she better get use to the fact I will never be a sister of the "Hallmark Card" variety. At times, I do not argue fairly. I absolutely have zero bandwidth for discussion from her on how I parent...or other choices I make in my personal life. She has since stated publicly that I do not want her to be part of my life....and has refused to be present where I am....except for major family events and holidays.

My Mama suffers from this greatly. So... I suggested we all might want to go out for coffee or breakfast or something. Try to rebuild some communication. (Can't we all just get along?) I have some ownership in this after all. Once we had a place and time...my defense mechanisms start to kick in...and true to form I confide in my daughter who sent me the following:

You need to have an intermediate level of indifference in regards to your sister.

You need to be the better person no matter how childish she acts - but NOT trumpet or tout the fact that you are being the better person - that negates it.

You can defend yourself and lies against you, but you need to be mild mannered in your defense, no matter how hard she tries to get your goat.

Tonight is not an open bitch session for the two of you. You are getting together to make things easier for your mother, and that should be your focus, not justice for yourself against your sister.

Not all problems need to fixed tonight - or ever.

You and your sister do not need to be best friends. You just need to have a feasible relationship to be in the company of one another for you Mother's sake - remember your Mother? - who is sick and aging?

Do not attack, and don't defend (much).

If she comes at you saying something that is not true about how you feel, or what you've said or done - do not focus on how she is wrong or lying or confused or whatever. Instead, reiterate the correct point or whatever she is screwing up.

and watch your eyerolling and sighing!!!

a good Man...a life well lived.

Yesterday Travis, that Thoughtful Wolf, was cool enough to send me an email, letting me know that Bill Walsh had died of leukemia at the age of 75. (check out his tribute) It was the first of many I would receive throughout the day as my friends and family learned the sad news.

Personally, I don’t hold celebrities…actors, politicians, and especially athletes to any higher standard. So…for the most part what you think about Michael Vick, Michael Rasmussen, Kobe Bryant, or my beloved Barry Bonds…really doesn’t matter to me whatsoever. Who are we to be the moral judge of exceptional athletes? They make decisions for which there are consequences. As do we all. If they break the law…let the long arm of the law deal with them. I love to watch their work…but I do not reflect on their moral code nor hold them up to be role models for me or mine.

Bill Walsh will be an exception.
Bill Walsh was a man of the highest caliber.

Not only a universally recognized genius in his chosen field, but also an insightful coach to men of amazing talent and incredible ego. Accolades and accomplishments are nationwide this morning…not just here in the San Francisco Bay Area. He was admired, respected and well deserving of the praise. His West Coast Offense was legendary. And his program to bring men of color into the coaching and front office roles will be his legacy.


Indulge me in my own personal little memory…

I met The Coach once about eight years ago at one of those NFL corporate team building seminars. Held in a posh hotel in downtown San Francisco the program focused on how to manage a “team” with a whole bevy of “stars.” The names of the conference speakers were not publicized…just promised to be members of the NFL. That could mean ANYTHING. Initially, I was an unwilling participant. Leaving the office at 6:00 in the morning, driving two hours, knowing full well we wouldn’t get back until long after dinner, and spending the day with eight of the most ego-testicle men in the world just did not appeal to me. But my boss John, President of the company, signed me up and insisted I attend. He eventually arranged for one of my female coworkers to attend to appease my contention that it wouldn’t be any fun.

We arrived in the conference room arranged with about 30 tables set for ten. There were actual place cards…assigned seating. I am usually the one to tell everyone where to sit. I’m none too happy with these arrangements. We dump our conference materials and coats at “our” table…and everyone heads for the breakfast buffet. I hang back…and am just about to start switching the place cards when John grabs my arm and steers me towards the coffee….”just leave it alone”…is all he says. Standing in line, he comments that there are only three women attending the conference. Okay…things are looking up. I fix up a cup of coffee and walk around the room checking out who else is there. Mostly high-tech, bio-med, and financial firms…an unlimited supply of testosterone.

Back at the table we realize there are ELEVEN seats at our table…one with no place card…coincidently at the spot to my right. The guys start up on how the stupid the hotel staff are…can’t even count to ten…can’t get good help anymore…when suddenly it dawns on me. I leaned across the table and told John we were one of the few companies that bought a whole table…I was willing to bet one of the speakers would sit with us. The guys doubted me…John just shrugged. John doesn’t really follow football.

Some dweeb is tapping on the podium mike…welcoming us all…so excited to have us here…whatever. I turn back to my breakfast…I have been to dozens of these corporate gigs…I don’t want to be here….I am bored already and its only 8:30. Things were about to change.

Suddenly I feel the room shift. I look up, the guys have quit eating. I turn around to the dais as most of the room stands applauding and cheering…so now I can’t see a thing. As I stand I catch a glimpse of who has caused all this commotion, Jim Plunkett, Jerry Rice, and Bill Walsh. The crowd goes wild. No kidding…it is bedlam. The cheering, shouting, clapping, and stomping goes on for easily a full five minutes. Hundreds of 40-50 year old men…decked out in GQ attire are acting like 13 year old girls at a Beatles concert. Our VP Gary has to tell John who they are. I am stunned. I just stand there. I canNOT believe it. Introductions are interrupted by more cheering and clapping. Finally, the days schedule and events are being announced and the speakers take their seats.

And…yeah…you know it…Coach Bill Walsh sits right next to me. Be still my heart.

My co-workers…these scientists, agricultural geniuses, and captains of industry were rendered MUTE. No one said a word…they all just starred down at their plates and didn’t move. I actually laughed out loud, and introduced myself to Mr. Walsh. I told him what company we represented, and that we had driven in from Watsonville. He graciously shook my hand. I think I said, “wow.” Held my hand in both of his. He said, “please…call me Bill.” I finally let go of his hand.

We turned in unison and looked around the table. Still and Silent. What a bunch of little boys. Coach and I looked back at each other... I just raised my eyebrows... he winked, he was accustomed to this. I am having the time of my life…I am now in complete control. I introduce each of my co-workers around the table and told Coach what role they played. MOST of them looked up and made eye-contact…a couple even reached over to shake his hand. John said something along the lines of, “we are pleased you are joining us” …no one else said a damn thing. Coach began eating and asked some questions. He was gracious and engaging and made each of them feel comfortable. At long last everyone was talking and laughing and enjoying the conversation. We learned Bill's father was in agriculture...so he felt a bond with the guys...and shared many memories from his childhood.

The program was interesting…if for no other reason than who was speaking. However…they were all three articulate, entertaining and truly a pleasure to listen to.

At our table, Bill was very attentive. The hotel staff was making sure he was taken care of…and he made sure his tablemates were given equal deference. During lunch I leaned forward and my hair started to slide over my shoulder heading for my soup.

“let me” …Bill reached over and gently moved my hair behind my shoulder. Making me blush with flattering comments about my hair, he played with it a little bit…pulling it through his fingers and letting it fall onto my back. Everyone at the table is watching and I give them a “whaaaat??” expression. But I can tell from the heat…my face is bright red.

After lunch, listening to Jim Plunkett…my back is to Coach. I realize that he is once again rearranging my hair….taking from between my body and the chair….so that it is all hanging down over the back of the chair. I don’t even turn around. I know the guys are watching Bill Walsh play with my hair. After Plunkett’s talk, there is a break for everyone to get books and photos autographed. John comes up to me and says “what’s the deal with Walsh and your hair…do I need to speak with him about it?” I look at my boss like he was a crazy man. “Don’t you DARE say a word.” Basically if he hadn’t been married…Bill Walsh could’ve played with anything of mine he wanted…anywhere, anytime, anyplace.

The crowds getting autographs were deep...and the time was almost up. Everyone was about a foot taller than I am…and not letting me through. Coach musta spotted my dilema, cause he said to Plunkett…”make sure you sign katherine’s book….and points me out. The sea of suits part and there I am in front of Jim Plunkett. (just remembering makes me quiver)

As a kid I would watch Jim Plunkett quarterback for Stanford…back when they were the Indians and had a little crush on him. I followed his career and comebacks cumulating in his MVP performance in the very first wildcard team SuperBowl win with the Raiders. What a game THAT was!!

The 50-something executive standing next to me won’t shut up. He asked if he could see the SuperBowl ring Plunkett was wearing…Jim smiled and shook his head no. The guy was obnoxious and loud in his quoting of stats and games...and just making sure everyone in the room knew he was a know-it-all-asshole. After autographing my book, I thanked him and mentioned that it really was some ring. He got a big ole grin on his face, and without breaking eye contact…took it off …AND HANDED IT TO ME. Wow. I am wearing Jim Plunkett’s superbowl ring. WOW.

This is a big ring…silver and diamonds…and the size of a doorknob. I can put two fingers thru it and its still sliding around. The jerk next to me is sputtering…whining like he’s a three year old…”how come you let her have the ring and not me…I asked first…” I stretched out my hand admiring the ring on my fingers…looking up at him with a smug smile…totally reveling in his hissy fit. Everyone around including Coach, is watching this little drama…and laughing at this poor guy…who is STILL wanting to know why I get to hold the ring and he can’t.

As I start to hand back his ring, Plunkett says “Because she is wearing high heels, and if she starts to run, I can still catch her.” I pull back my hand holding the ring close to my chest…. "really?…you think?" and I slowly take a step backward. Plunkett’s laughing…he ain’t worried….but the whiney guy grabs my shoulder like I’m really gonna make a dash for it. I glare at his hand and he lets go. Laughing, I give Plunkett back his chunk of silver and say, “well…either I’d kick off the shoes…or I’d just let you catch me.” Without a backward glance…Bill Walsh takes my arm and we return to our table.

(over the next year or so our company delivered various agricultural products to the Coach…and he sent 49-er stuff….and tickets once in a while.)

Bill Walsh was a man who led a life well lived.

heavy sigh with a heavy heart

This picture was taken just about two weeks ago.

(I snagged it from his blog)

Yesterday afternoon our dear friend and former coworker, Tim died at the age of 39 …the cause at this time is unknown.

Tim leaves his wife Julianne and his two young sons Harry and Thomas. His family…and Julianne’s were special and played at important role in his life. Tim was a great guy…a loving husband and enthusiastic father....with an amazing knack for technical troubleshooting. On the side, he was an onfield photographer for the San Francisco Forty-Niners. A long time ago in a galaxy far far away he was an eagle scout. (that’s suppose to be a secret….but I helped hire him and it was in his background.)

He was a good friend to me. He knew how to keep a secret and how to see through the bullshit. He had a great sense of humor and more than once made the craziness of our job bearable.

so many are gonna miss you Timas…

see you on the other side.

Yo... Fo Mo's.....

All you Friends Of MOrgen...

today....the first full one hour broadcast of the

Mo Show on Blog Radio

3:30 in the afternoon Pacific time

Today's topic is Why Do We Blog?

I know why I blog...what scares me is what all the other answers will be!

Click for where y'all can find the Mo Show

Hear you there!!

I try with a little help from my friends

seriously.

Just exactly when in a dating relationship should you admit to a guy that you blog.

And then at what point do you let him know where it is so he can read it.

or...don't you...???

Manic Monday with Mo ~ Independence

I had sooooo many different references for Independence swirling around in my brain I couldn't really nail down just one to post on. Then while surfing thru Reader for this morning's offerings, it occurred to me...that regardless of how you feel about our involvement in Iraq or Afghanistan...if you lived there you would not be allowed to blog.

In fact, most of you reading this would probably be punished, tortured, and quite possibly executed for expressing in ANY way the thoughts and feelings you so freely post up on the "world wide web". Your opinions. News commentary. Jokes. Even your sharing of the precious moments of your families, how you live, and who you love.

Take a moment to think about all that you have done...just today...that would have been forbidden "over there". Appreciate the Independence we are all so blessed to enjoy.

I considered listing the actual blogs I read that contain material which is punishable by death in the middle-east or elsewhere.

But you pretty much know who you are.

Rock On...oh my soul...

I’m not much of a blog writer…however I am a voracious (don’t you just love that word) blog READER. So I was rather all shocked and shaken to see that Mel had given me what she terms the Pink Bandaid Award Whozit Thingie. Otherwise known as:

To quote Oscar (played by Mr. Owen Wilson) in the movie Armageddon:
I got that "excited/scared" feeling…..like 98% excited, 2% scared….Or maybe it's more…..It could be….it could be 98% scared, 2% excited….but that's what makes it so intense, it's so….confused….I can't really figure it out.

Apparently the deal is that I pass on the honor of the RGB to five additional women. So...alrighty then...here we go.... Three of these amazing women most likely have no clue that I….let alone my little ole blog …even exist. Nevertheless, (why don't we ever say "alwaysthemore"?) I closely follow each and every one of theirs.

Mrs. Dub is the Wife of Sgt Dub who kept the home fires burning while he was deployed in Afghanistan. Many bloggers I read are Thankful he has recently returned home to her and Miss Dub. We must always be mindful that for every man and women in military service overseas there are spouses, parents, children, friends, lovers, partners, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles….et cetera. All of whom are making a sacrifice in their lives and livelihoods. Who must live each day with a strength and patience I can not imagine. I am thankful for their service as well.

Memoirs of an Inmates Wife is written by a young wife and mother keeping a different type of home fire burning in Pennsylvania. Her tales of parole hearings and prison visits will tug your heartstrings in many directions. A single mom by circumstance who is as strong as her opinions.

La Bella Noire's Ramblings is written by Tasha. Not that I am any sort of legitimate literary critic…but I think of her as the female Washington DC version of Teflon Don. From me that is high praise indeed. It seems she is recently sorta engaged….there was what seems to be a preliminary proposal….and something big is gonna happen on Saturday...

The Best Dirty Cuddle Down In The Park. Rebecca and I actually know each other up close and personal. We use to work together and at one point would begin each day taking a walk to a great little bakery for caffeine and sustenance. She is a writer by trade and in her heart. Rebecca taught me words like “amanuensis” and I miss our daily conversation and friendship. (Hey girl when are we having breakfast?????) Her sisters have followed her to California…and she’s gonna be an AUNT!!!!!

Mel’s Dream. If you’re concerned that boom-a-ranging this award is against the rules…then you best not be givin' it to the likes of me. Take the time to read back thru her Fairy gifts, and all the QFTDs and TFTDs. She has a precious Brit…and a job where her wisdom and experience make a real honest-to-God difference in the lives of young ones. I am envious of the wisepersoninherlife...and even when he is tough on her...I totally want one of my own.

I know you'll be enriched by each of these reads.

on a personal note

I sent this message to a significant number of people this morning....thanks to sarge charlie for the heads up

Dear fam, coworkers, colleagues, cohorts, acquaintances, friends, romans, and countrymen,

For some of us email is work related…dozens of exasperating messages asking us or tasking us for more of our time and effort. For others of us email is (to humbly paraphrase Leo McGarry) “a more efficient delivery system for jokes, gossip and porn”

The other day I was given the opportunity to use my email for a different purpose…and ask you to consider taking the time to do the same. You may even want to forward it on to encourage others.

I follow a couple sites published by actively deployed military…mostly individuals…but one or two units. (yes Rhiannon…by sites I do actually mean blogs) I came across an interview the other day which included the following:


GRIM: Is there anything that you and your Marines need that we could send you?

COL. SIMCOCK: (Chuckles.) I'll tell you what, the one thing that all Marines want to know about -- and that includes me and everyone within Regimental Combat Team 6 -- we want to know that the American public are behind us. We believe that the actions that we're taking over here are very, very important to America. We're fighting a group of people that, if they could, would take away the freedoms that America enjoys.

If anyone -- you know, just sit down, jot us -- throw us an e- mail, write us a letter, let us know that the American public are behind us. Because we watch the news just like everyone else. It's broadcast over here in our chow halls and the weight rooms, and we watch that stuff, and we're a little bit concerned sometimes that America really doesn't know what's going on over here, and we get sometimes concerns that the American public isn't behind us and doesn't see the importance of what's going on. So that's something I think that all Marines, soldiers and sailors would like to hear from back home, that in fact, yes, they think what we're doing over here is important and they are in fact behind us.

A specific email address was set up after the interview was published:
RCT-6lettersfromh@gcemnf-wiraq.usmc.mil

RTC – 6 is actually the Fightin’ 6th Marines
Regimental Combat Team-6, Camp Fallujah, Iraq
Their site is:
http://fightin6thmarines.vox.com/

The entire interview is published at:
http://www.blackfive.net/main/2007/06/roundtable_with.html#more

One more thing….those of you with an appreciation for intellect and insight should read thru the writings of Teflon Don on Acute Politics….thankfully he is stateside now.
http://acutepolitics.blogspot.com/

take care all….be well blessed,
katherine .