With all the negative press regarding law enforcement officers, I’d like to share a note from 5 years ago when I gave shout of praise to one special officer my life.

The police officers I know have huge hearts, although those big hearts aren’t always visible to all. Mostly we see their tough exteriors not the soft and sweet interiors.

This special officer is my son who is a LEO in Colorado. At the time of this event he was a detective and part of his job is handling elder abuse cases. He had been sent some information on an elderly lady who officers met due to an arrest they made at her residence. When the officers were there they noticed the lady had a rotten floor in front of her doorway and passed this information to him wondering if someone could help her get it repaired.

He made some calls and got a donation from Home Depot and he went on his own time and made the needed repairs her stairs and her floor.

As he got to know the lady, he realized she had been living in this home in Colorado for 44 years and for the past four years without a furnace. 

So he made some calls and located a company to donate a furnace. Because she had no furnace, her pipes had frozen and she also had no water. He also located a company to donate that repair.

Her roof leaked, he found someone to fix her roof.

There were relatives (ne’er-do-wells) that had been taking advantage of her over the years and had left junk all over her house; he organize teams of volunteers to help clean it up.

Then he organized donations for new carpet and new appliances.

All this was done over a month’s time – he worked on his free time and his days off to help her.

We hear all to often about the “bad cops” (the less than one half of one percent). That means for every 5 bad cops there are 995 good ones, generous ones, caring ones… ones that go above and beyond to help the helpless, give a strength to the weak and elderly, and put their lives in the line of fire to protect strangers and members of their communities.

Law enforcement is a tough job. Everyone should walk their walk a few miles to fully understand the challenges and rewards.

PS: I did not get approval to tell his story. He’d never seek accolades on his own. I’m claiming Mother’s privilege.

Yes, both of these subjects are constantly in my mind. What is the purpose of life and what is like to die? Where do we go?

Perhaps these in my mind because I have an elderly mother who is slowly losing her memories. I know she is getting old and she won’t be with me forever.   I know she wonders about death because her friend has told me she has asked  her what it might be like to die.

I wonder what it will be like when I lose my mother. Will I cry? Did I do all I do  for her out of obligation or love? Will I have regrets?

What about when my time comes?  I have regrets now. Things in my life I wish I could do differently. When I die will my soul be at rest? Will I rest in peace?

Does our essence (soul) live on on another realm?  Do we convey messages to living souls through a cosmic communication line that we have not even an infinitesimal amount of knowledge or concept of its existence?

I often, as I wander in these deep sentiments,  question whether there are lessons around us everyday that can give some insight into the unknown. Lessons that help us understand and carry us through circumstances or periods of grief and sorrow we will soon face.

Several times in my life I have had what one might called premonitions.   One of the first that had a lasting impact on me was when I was only 18 years old.   I lived far away from my family and I had this overwhelming feeling of doom and that someone I loved was going to die.  This went on for several weeks and I was always contemplating who it might be and sadly always hoping it might be someone I was not so very close to… however soon I was to know. A sister of my step-father’s. Although not related by blood at all, she  was a woman who loved me through a very difficult time in life. She was a shelter in my storm. When she was murdered by a jealous ex-boyfriend, I was devastated.   I grieved for weeks. The experience left me puzzled by the purpose of the premonition because it did not ease the sorrow.

Today, I heard this quote from a movie, “Rumors of Angels,” and I pray that it is true. I pray to leave this earth with excitement and glorious expectations of what lies ahead.

“The soul leaves the body as a school boy jumps from a school door, suddenly and with joy. There is no horror in death.”

Cursing, swearing and dropping the F-Bomb, something that was not really part of my make-up until… the past few years.

It start around 8 years or so ago.  I had a conversation with a person in their 30’s who told me dropping the F-Bomb was not as shocking in their generation as it was in mine.  Then true enough, I started hearing more and more.  I can’t really say how it start for me but once it did it grew until I couldn’t stop.   

The first time, I was upset, angry, frustrated and it just came out of my mouth.  I had an immediate guilt pang, disappointed in myself but it did seem to carry a release of some kind.  From there it went out of control, I still had that momentary guilt but it was accompanied with a feeling of justification because, after all, the situation (whatever it was) called for an F-Bomb reaction. Right?

Slowly, it became part of something I said but really didn’t like.  I would read posts and comments full of F’ing and flailing and I didn’t think it was civil or proper or edifying.  I made a decision to stop, I’d say a prayer for forgiveness every time I slipped but it seemed to have grabbed me, it was not going to give up easily and it was not going to let me go.

The more I struggled, the more I realized it was a controlling spirit that was destroying mine.   It no longer brought release of frustration; it only tore me down spiritually and emotionally.  The more I heard it, or spoke it, the sicker I felt.  It did not raise me up, it torn me down in my own eyes and in the eyes of God.

I was having dinner with a friend recently in a restaurant/bar.  The air was full of swearing, cursing,  F-Bombs and I was filled with sadness. The next day someone called me regarding a legal dealing with my mother, every other word was F this and F that… F it, F it, F it.   I kept my cool and after a while I said, “I am going to say goodbye now, as I see this conversation is going nowhere.”

It was then I knew.  No one had ever spoken to me that way before and that form of speech was not something I wanted as part of me, even occasionally.  I should never have accepted it as  a common form of speech.  If it is for the younger generation, it makes me sad for the generation that follows theirs.

I felt God was dealing with me and opening my eyes to this evil I had let enter my life.    I am ashamed and with God’s help, I am going to drive this spirit of destructive speech out of vocabulary, out of my soul, out of my heart.

“Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.”

Psalm 19:14 ESV

My mother is now one year in nursing care.  She lived alone for the previous nine years since her husband passed in 2009. 

She had not been able to care for her old house that had been her home for the past 45 years. She couldn’t, and she wouldn’t allow anyone else do it for her. 

Every stage of this process has its own heartache. During that period of time it was hard to choose between allowing her to make decisions in her own life and watching her live in those conditions. 

After several minor incidents, and some we found out later she had hid from us, she fell and broke her pelvis.  She was sent to a nursing facility for rehab.  After physical rehab her Dr told her because of her dementia it was not safe for her to live alone. It was a sad, tearful, yet sweet moment.  There was few moments of mourning but she wiped her tears and went forward to this new phase in life. 

I thought telling her she could not return home would be the most difficult moment I’d face.  However, the tough choices come in stages. 

For the past six months, I have been trying to clear out that old house. I say I, but also a brother/sister-in-law and a sister, not my biological ones but the ones I gain through the marriage if our parents 46 years ago and they are ones that are closer than blood. 

We all live out-of-town.  At Thanksgiving last year, we converged on that old house and worked for days tossing five decades of things that our parents could never let go of. The WWII generation that knew rationing and shortages, never tossed anything out, because they may have needed it someday. 

Four trips later traveling from my home 2000 miles away, I have fine-tuned my sorting and clearing, shipped home more than I needed or wanted. I did it because my Mother wanted to make sure these things, many if which belonged to her parents and grandparents, stayed in the family. There were also things she wanted me to keep because, “I had those since before you were born…”. These things were her treasures, but I am finding hard to make the same treasured connection. However, I have honored most of her requests.  

My mother constantly asks what about this or that.   We discuss again and again things that I told her I have already safeguarded.  No matter how much I take, it seems there is always one more thing. 

Now, I find myself nearing the end of this process. Unable to find an organization in this final stage that can help liquidate what is left, I realize I must donate the remaining items to charity. 

This too, is a terribly difficult thing to do. I am dismantling my mother’s life and she is still living. I try to be as honest with her as I can.  I try to explain in a delicate and loving way what is happening.  She was always a person that helped those in need. I try to paint a positive outlook for her as I can, like telling her there was a person that needed a bed and dresser and I offered him one. Although, she says, “Good,” she starts to cry. 

Here is the dilemma, I either tell her the truth (maybe sugar coated) or I lie. Lies are not my thing, but the truth, even sugar-coated,  hurts.    

When we discuss the same things again and again, she will say, “Why didn’t you tell me?”  I’ll remind her that I did and she’ll reply “I don’t remember.”   I say I know you don’t remember and that’s not your fault. 

Sometimes I silently give thanks that tomorrow she may not remember today’s discussion that brought on her tears.  I think, after everything dementia takes, not remembering today’s heartaches may be the one small blessing in this disease. 

My great little town is again in a rabid debate, this one over whether a Marijuana shop should be given a license to open a shop in town.  As per the strong opinions that live here, the discussion has resorted to name calling and insults.  It seems as with many things civil discourse is a thing of the past.

My thoughts:

I am of a certain age and generation that has lived a lifetime of hearing warnings about the evils of drugs including marijuana. Because of this and a perception through media or  the entertainment industry that puts marijuana in a category with seedy areas of town, when I hear “pot shop” I envision Aurora Ave… strip joints, bars, pot shops and yes, even tattoo parlors.  All those things that have been ranked in the “there goes the neighborhood” category. 

I grew up in blue county in small town America that didn’t even sell alcohol.  I have lived all over the US and abroad. I have to say comparing my childhood home to Colorado 30 years ago where there was a liquor store on every corner with a big red sign,  leaves me yearning for the former. 

When I moved here in 1983, I found it refreshing that there weren’t private liquor stores filling every strip mall. 

So old indoctrinations are hard to overcome but as with everything there is a balance. Certain medicinal benefits from Cannabis is widely accepted and I have often wondered, “ Why is not sold and marketed by licensed pharmaceutical   companies?” Because having to go to little shops in the seedy areas of town to get it seems to stigmatize it further. 

All that said, it leaves me with mixed feelings about it’s use, abuse, benefits and  harms. 

Generally,  I have felt it was no worse than alcohol, however, it was illegal in the past.  Being an employer, over the years I have seen the bad side of both and how they affect lives in a negative way.   Some can use both socially with no negative effects and for others it leads them to poor choices that can destroy their future.   We often have jobs in the construction industry and they drug test employees, like with LEO members, there is a zero tolerance drug use, even marijuana since it has become legal and we have been forced to dismiss long-term employees because they choose cannabis use over their job. 

In my heart, I long for the old small town America but I know times are changing and, as in all things, not always for the worse.  

Que Sera Sera

I, at most times, believe I am pretty savvy when it comes to tinkering with things to get them working.

Many years ago I worked at Citibank; I worked as clerical worker in the credit department but I was also a person people would seek to see if I could sort out issues with office machines because I seemed to have a knack for fixing them.

As part of my job I operated an Address-o-graph 6400 Graphotype machine. It was this big clunky over-grown typewriter punch machine that embossed credit cards and then heat sealed the gold foil over the top. Yes, I in my life have made thousands of credit cards. One card at a time, placed in the machine, typed the number and moved across the make those embossed numbers shine. That thing would break down daily. I was always clearing jams and straightening the ribbons.

So there you go, I am a self-sufficient woman, I can accomplish a lot with a hammer, screw driver or a butter-knife. Just give me the manual and I figure it out, the vacuum, the sewing machine, and a variety of household appliances. Last summer I discovered something even better than the manual, YouTube. With the help of a video, I replaced the pump on my washing machine.

As I am boasting a little here I must confess that all my “fix-it” attempts have not always been successful or without drama.

There was the time just after my son left home and Chris was traveling and I thought I should be more security conscious, so I came home and shut the driveway gate and ran a chain around it to hold it closed. I came in poured a glass of wine and decided figure out the alarm system.

Now sometimes my thought processes jump from one “what if” to another which often leads to problems. I set the alarm and turned it off. I thought: I should change the code…someone who lived here before knew it. I changed the code. I set the alarm. I see there is an emergency code. I decide to change it. I set the alarm, and I turn it off. Good. It works. Well about 5 minutes later there is someone banging on the front door. I jumped up, terrified, and look downstairs — there is a policeman at the front door and one at the back door. First thought, “Oh my, I’ve got to figure out how to turn off the alarm.”

When I finally answer the door, I discover that my brain misfired because when I “tested” the new number, I actually triggered a panic call. I, totally embarrassed, apologized profusely. They covered all the bases and checked the house just in case someone might be holding me hostage and had told me to tell them I was OK. The worse part was because I had locked the gate the officers had left the cars at the end of my 1000′ driveway and run down to my house. Such heroes… they protect silly old ladies too.

That was 11 years ago, fast forward to last night. Husband out-of-town again. I come home to take a shower and no hot water. We have a tank-less hot water heater outside the house. I had noticed the power had gone out at some point in the day and I thought maybe it tripped the switch. I flipped all the breakers, no water. Then, I went looking for the manual.

My thinking was if it was something simple, I could fix it, surely I could. Troubleshooting instructions say make sure you have gas. Yes, the tank was just filled last week. Make sure there is power, check, already did that. Thirdly, make sure the water line is not clogged. Yep, I deduced, I think that is the issue. Last summer we had to replace our water line and sand and grit got into all the fixtures. It seems the hot water flow has been slow since then.

So I put on a robe and some clogs and go outside, it is dusk but still a bit of light, I start following the steps to remove the drain plug and filter. One: close the water supply valve… it showed this one-arm valve at the base of the appliance but I can’t find one that looks like that. I look around and the only valve I see is a double wing black shut-off dial. So I turned it the right. Next it says have a bucket ready as 1/2 gallon of water will drain out of the appliance, and remove the inlet and outlet plug. Check I did that. However, what came next was like opening the floodgates of the Hoover Dam!!!

With the final turn the plug shot out like it was coming full force from a fire hydrant. I am frantic! I reach down trying to locate that dial but when I touched it I received a nasty shock!! The water was coming out so forcefully I assume it had intruded into the electrical outlet. Calamity of calamities, my brain was in overdrive!!! I am thinking, here I am standing in puddling that quickly turning into a pond and I can’t turn the valve off. I frantically find the plug and try to put it back in against the force of the rushing water! Futile, I know… I was like the little Dutch boy putting his finger in the dike.

Finally, brain kicks in and I realize I need to run to the well house and turn off the water. Slogging across the yard in soggy shoes and soaked terry bath robe I find the shut-off valve and turn it. Dear me, I took a deep breath. It is off.

I go back over the lake now formed under the hot water heater and I am thinking, it is only by the grace of God I did not kill myself here. The thought flashed through my head of being found dead in this lake under the rushing water still spewing from the hot water heater by the barn workers in the morning and with nothing on but a white terry bathroom with the Waldorf Astoria embroidered on it. Can you imagine how that story would have gone down?

I get the plug back in and tightened it best I can. When I turn the water back on there is constant drip, drip, drip, from the plug. Further reading in the manual it says, “Take care not to lose the washer to the plug.” Well heck that thing is probably a mile away with the force that plug came out!!

After all this drama, I come back in and still no hot water, which is a shame because by this time I could really use a hot bath!! I sit down with the manual and start from the beginning. It says, “Setting Up Your Water Heater.” Step One: Set the water temperature on the thermostat (the thermostat is in the closet downstairs), Step Two: Turn the power on.” What??? Yes, apparently there is a power button on the thermostat. How, in 13 years did I not know that? I go downstairs and push the button. I have hot water.

My Mother used to say, “God watches over fools and drunks.” Well I am not a drunk and I’d like to think I’m not a fool, but thankful He was watching over me last night.

The strangest things I see often send my my mind on weird thought processes.

This morning driving into work there were two little birds in the road, as I approached one flew off but the other was struggling to pick up something in the road. As I got closer, I could see it was a large feather, it seemed to be a little too cumbersome for the bird to be able to fly off with but as I got closer it did manage to take flight just as I was applying the brakes.

I started thinking about that little bird and it’s treasure…this feather. Why was it willing to risk its life to collect it?  The other bird obviously sensed the incoming danger and abandoned the quest. What value did he see in the “right now” need to hang onto it? Possibly unlike us he couldn’t comprehend the feather would still be there after the car passed, possibly the other bird was trying to steal his treasure feather and he felt if he let go the other would steal his find, or maybe it was his own feather and he was trying to rescue a part of himself. I will never know, however the incident has rolled over in my mind and I try to find a correlation or lesson it it all.

I don’t know why I tend to do this but it is me, and I often say, “It is just the way God made me.”

What’s up with this little scene? What do I do that I might take some understanding from this? Do I hold onto things when I should let go? Do I risk my physical and emotional health on things that will be there after the storm has past? What things am I holding onto that are weighing me down and keeping me from flying freely?

Well, as the day wore on, the answer became more clear. Continuing troubles, old problems, dealing with things I cannot fully control … I need to let them all go and let God be in control. I don’t have to keep picking things back up that are too heavy to carry. I can just do what I know is right in my heart and let God sort out the the fine details.

It was only a feather, but for the little bird it far too heavy, however for me it would have been easy. For me the troubles of life are sometimes overwhelming, but for God managing them is effortless.
Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth.  He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom.

He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.

Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall;

but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.

Isaiah 40:28-31 NIV

The creation of the blue line flag had no roots in the Blue Lives Matter and has nothing to due with racism, it was designed by a Michigan college student at age 19, to honor and give back to the police. If other groups have usurped it’s symbol for negative cause does not make it as a whole a negative symbol?

Recycling this message as we are now down to 48 hours left in 2018 and my thoughts remain the same ❤️

************************

Down to 48 hours left in 2013.

Going to think through the ups and downs, happiness and heartaches, blessings and curses, those who I lost and those who I still have close to love and appreciate. In that final group, my family and friends including you my online friends and family, who encouraged me, prayed for my family and helped me through this long year.

I thank you and wish for you all a new year of success, warm times with your family, and peace.

I still remember the words from CBS reporter Lee Cowan after the marathon bombing and explosion in Texas. (The bombings) ” do remind us we don’t get to set life’s clock.
While we may think we’ll have a tomorrow to say all the things we want to say, or should have said, what this week proved is that sometimes, that tomorrow doesn’t come — and the things left unsaid could end up one of our greatest regrets. ”

Have no regrets. Tell your loved ones how much you care for them, forgive and heal old wounds if at all possible, if not forgive yourself. Live everyday to its fullest and if you are reading this know you are appreciated and loved by me. 💕

Today is my youngest son’s 29th birthday. I called and texted to send my love and birthday wishes, but, I have heard nothing. 

The last birthday in his twenties and he is unable to get out of bed. He is sick, suffering from an autoimmune disease and various other diseases and inflammations in his body.   He struggles to just function everyday.  The medications he takes have as many negative effects as the disease and then there is the pain. The pain that is relieved with opioids and the battles he fights because the war on opioids is a battle for those who truly need them. 

It hurts. It causes heartaches to see him suffer, struggle and battle for life. Suffer in pain. Struggle with decisions.  Battle the health industry to get compassionate care and care that understands he has seen the hard side of this illness, the downside of bad decisions and a medical team without preconceived ideas of what is the “real problem.”

What is the real problem? There is a disease with no cure. A disease that no matter how many disposable body parts you remove there still others that are affected.  Still inflammation in your body.  Still no answers how these manifestations are related or connected. It is a disease that has stolen most of his 20’s.  A time you are a young and unstoppable, a time when every door is an opportunity. 

So here it is the 29th anniversary of one of the happiest days of my life. The birth of a child that I worked for, longed for, prayed for and had so many hopes for… hopes for a happy life and a future. Today is his 29th birthday and he can’t get out of bed to celebrate or to feel the love. 

10-18-17

For that matter most don’t really want to hear about it either.  Sexual abuse and the exploitation of young women and girls.  Please refer back to My Voice  where I attempt to explain the modern movements for transgender rights and how they infringe on the rights of the sexually abused.

An abused child… a young child abused by family friends and family members.  I am in my sixties and I still can not reconcile my emotions about it all.

I didn’t speak of my abuse until I was nearly 50, when I attempted to explain the trauma and effects that still haunt me, I was met with responses like… ‘That was a long time ago, what difference does it make now.” Or “You should move on and stop living in the past”

It made people uncomfortable that they had turned a blind eye to this scourge and assault against children. Abusing them at the same time telling them to be pure and moral.

#MeToo.  There is an  outrage going on right now with a social media hashtag #metoo. Does a wink, a proposition or off color joke equate equally to a violent rape or the rape and a molestation of a child? Does #metoo lessen the seriousness and  the tragedy of  these victims? In some cases is the response disproportionate to the event?

Why the outrage now? Did it become fashionable to be part of #metoo?

The ‘casting couch’ was something that was talked about for years.  Hugh Hefner exploited women and was lauded for years for his progressive views on sexuality.  Hollywood regularly puts out ‘art’ that shows abuse of woman.  Some woman were often willing to participate in quid-quo-pro arrangements for varying reasons that benefited their objectives.

So if someone #metoo and 20 people respond with sad emoticons, that should make it all better now, right?

No, it doesn’t make it better for victims, true victims of true crimes.

We live in a fallen deprived world.  Teachers abusing students, priests abusing children, fathers, brothers, cousins abusing young family members, it is going on maybe as close as next door.   

Someone asked me, how do we find these victims?  Sadly, it is difficult if not impossible. Fear, threats and intimidation keep children silent.

This note started almost one year ago, but never published because… because it’s complicated, because I had opposing views on the issue that I couldn’t quite articulate in a way that fully explained my views.

Now, one year later, we have a situation where an accusation is made from 36 years ago.  Who to believe?

The events that occurred in my youth have taken me through varying stages; Secrecy, declaration, aggression, anger, shame, acceptance, understanding and forgiveness.   It will always be part of my history and there are times it causes a reaction that surprises me and can instantly transport me to a place I thought I had moved beyond.

Yet, when I hear people say, “Every woman should be heard.” My response was, “but not every woman should be believed.”

All women are not inherently pure, honest and free of evil.  Nor are all men inherently dark, deceitful, and predators.

Both groups are human.  Examples of good and bad in each are recorded throughout history.

I have known several men who have been falsely accused for various reasons by women, all of which are or were self-serving so that they could obtain what they wanted  by any means necessary.  It is a disgusting evil, not in the same category as the former but can destroy a person just the same.

I don’t have a firm opinion who is right and who is wrong in the current media circus and collective outrage over the confirmation hearings.  However, the manner in which these accusations were handled and politicized, are suspect to me. Because of life experiences, I cannot condemn him or her.

It is tragedy all around being played out before our eyes.   I am not a fan of the media and this cynical assessment of them started over 30 years ago.  I have always felt they have a lot of power to manipulate, indoctrinate and influence people.  I question the motives of the political ruling class and I don’t have a high regard for attorneys. All of the above can twist information to cross the line of truth, travel along the path of truth but never truly tell the truth and nothing but truth; only a shadow of it.

In the end, I will maintain my peace.  Nothing that is going on is going to destroy my relationships with my family or friends.  Each of us have a history that leads us to our own conclusions. I believe the ultimate goal is to divide us, build up hate and resentment between us so that they, those in power or those who want power, can achieve their objectives.

Remember this and if you are a victim of abuse, assault or false acquisitions have faith that in the end, like Job, we don’t know why we suffered these tragedies but it one day it will be made clear.

Psalms 34:19

The righteous person may have many troubles, but the LORD delivers him from them all;

Be it ever so humble there is no place like home. This old house had been my mother’s home since 1974. She wanted to breath her last breath here but it was not to be. Today she accepted that her new home is the nursing facility in her hometown.

A long emotional week but I know it is the right decision.

So many things fell into place today, I know God was guiding us through every step.

Another season of life.

I am so thankful for my friend and sister Paulette for her love and support. Sisters not by blood but by heart ❤️ We struggled, laughed and cried through it all. I love you sis.

We are without time
Drifting in an empty space,
Somewhere between earth and eternity
A holy solemn place.

Waiting, waiting, holding on
Counting every breath,
What’s the purpose of this slow suffering,
Lingering between life and death?

Oh Lord, we wanted him so to stay,
We prayed his life you’d extend
But now oh Lord we have let go,
Please let his trials end.

Please touch us Lord
Hold us close, send us your peace
Call your angels to his side,
For heaven is where his glory will increase.

We are without time,
Drifting in an empty space
Waiting God’s final call
With His mercy and His grace.

©️Trish Bee

September 2018

• These thoughts from 18 months ago reached out to me again today and seem more relevant than ever.

3/15/17

I’ve been thinking a lot about life and the cycles of life and how sometimes it can change, in a short period if time, never to be how it was before again.  

It is not the subtle changes, it is the significant ones.  The cycles can remain unchanged for years, there may be bumps and slight detours along the way but basically you are on a journey and the path is familiar and comfortable.  Then comes an event that totally turns your world around, and returning to the previous day and age is not possible.   You enter a new cycle it seems to be a dramatic step in the direction which your life will make an irreversible change. 

Adapting to this change in  cycle feels hollow, you are lost, unsteady in your action and unsure of what even tomorrow might bring.  You can no longer look at tomorrow and somewhat predict its possibilities.  So each day begins with a deep breath and faith that you will survive whatever comes your way. 

Hatred is like a weed that grows and spreads its seeds with the wind.

Hatred is the wind that blows its discourse through the trees.

Hatred is like tree with a shadow so great that nothing grows beneath it.

Hatred is like a shadow that darkens the depths of your heart.

Hatred is like your heart with no blood and nothing to pump to your veins.

Hatred is like your veins with no life left in them.

Hatred is death.

Hatred disguises itself as things that Sound so gentle… seeds, wind, trees, shadows and hearts and life giving veins. That is how It creeps into your life recognize it before it’s too late.

Trish ©️ 2018

I was recently reminded of three coalescing events that came together to create a humorous story and possibly set biologists in search of a mystery.

In 1995, I had a 5 year old son and a 21 year old son.

First, the older son bought his little brother a battery operated motorcycle. A police motorcycle with a siren and flashing lights.

Secondly, months later my little son and I bought a children’s movie called , The Mouse and the Motorcycle.

Lastly, we saw a mouse in the house!

Our house sat in the middle of five wooded acres and as many know a mice can enter through a hole the size of a dime. In the winter these little creatures of the forest find there way inside of food.

One evening we spotted one of these adorable little creatures with it cute nose, dark eyes and big ears. Really, if you look objectively at these little furry guys they are adorable.

Well, the rest of the story goes like this. Five-year old spots adorable mouse and is convinced he came to ride his motorcycle, just as the mouse in the video does. We are not allowed to trap and kill this adventurous police motorcycle seeking mouse.

The next day we proceed to the hardware store and purchase a live trap. That evening we bait the trap and voilà, 45 minutes later motorcycle-mouse is caught. Yes, he was adorable and disregarding all the pleas from the five year old to keep him. He was marched into the woods and released.

Problem solved… except maybe just to be sure, we set it again. Again, another mouse in short order was marched into the forest. And again. And again.

You get the picture here. Lots of mice evidently. We began searching for the draw into the house. All food items in paper boxes or accessible packing were tightly sealed in plastic containers. As we searched, we thought possibly they were getting into the trash. We pulled the bag out of the bin and took it outside.

To our surprise, the next morning there were two little little mice inside the trash can doing high jumps trying to escape the tall sides of the can.
The trash can was quickly marched into the forest. When a stick was placed into the can the furry little pests scurried up the stick and leaped off the end of the stick onto the forest floor below like cliff divers swan diving into the sea.

The next night, we threw some crackers in the bottom of the bin Score four. The next score three. The next five… you get the picture. All of these little furry friends, like the ones before, made their bold climb and free fall into the forest.

About this time, DrB begins to wonder are we catching the same mice over and over. I personally don’t believe it is possible as it is a long way back to the house. However, he believes they probably make it back to the house before we do.

The next night, the bait is set again. And again, three mice (not blind). To prove his theory, DrB takes some yellow model paint and paints stripes down each of their backs before taking them to make their death-defying leap.

The next night catch four. Again, yellow stripes and release. The next five, paint and release.

By this time, after a week we had caught and released around 30 mice and never did a yellow-striped one reappear. Our compassionate solution had run its course. We called a pest control company and the technician told me something that has stuck with me. “Where there is one, there is a hundred” and “a family of six mice can multiply into 60 over the course of three months”

In short order, the problem was solved. Now comes to the question that may never be answered.

Around that time King County was placing insect collection boxes on trees. We wondered, what if one day a biologist that came out to collect the boxes happened to see one of these yellow striped mice, maybe he’d still be out searching for this new breed even now.