Thursday, December 9, 2010
Death and Hate
Elizabeth Edwards has lost her battle with breast cancer. Why is this important to me? Why was I crying for her yesterday? How can the death of an American political wife, mother, activist and author cause me such sadness?
It's the mourning of a life well lived, and the mourning of a brave loyal woman, who, to put it bluntly was shat on by life.
She was like a deer in the headlights when her husbands infidelity went national, not only did he cheat on her after her cancer came back, he also fathered a child with Rielle Hunter. This wasn't all exposed at one time but dragged out in fits and starts in front of the world, for all to judge and snicker.
Here was a woman who'd lost her 16 year old son Wade to a car accident, had undergone fertility treatments to have two more children late in life with this pig, and then he shits on their marriage and family by following the little head.
Here was a woman who stood by him and campaigned her ass off and jeopardized her health for her man.
She wrote it out in her book Resilience, she underwent treatments and she got on with her life, in short she made the best of it, here's a quote:
"The days of our lives, for all of us, are numbered, we know that. And yes, there are certainly times when we aren't able to muster as much strength and patience as we would like. It's called being human. But I have found that in the simple act of living with hope, and in the daily effort to have a positive impact in the world, the days I do have are made all the more meaningful and precious. And for that I am grateful."
After all was said and done she was grateful, how inspirational.
Elizabeth worked tirelessly for universal health care, even after her cancer came back, she was first diagnosed in 2004. She was an advocate for gay marriage, another quote:
"I don't know why someone else’s marriage has anything to do with me. I'm completely comfortable with gay marriage."
This statement and her unwavering belief in live and let live has caused the *hate group* or I guess I should say, * The Westboro Baptist Church*, to once again put on their robes of righteousness, leap onto their high horses, cloak themselves in their bigoted *moral* obligation and threaten to picket her funeral on Saturday in Raleigh, North Carolina.
This is the same group that picket soldiers funerals, Jewish businesses, claim Pope Benedict is a false prophet; and my all time favorite; Barack Obama is the Antichrist. Which I find pretty ironic, their freedom of speech was obtained on the backs and death of those same soldiers.
According to them Elizabeth deserved to die because of her tolerance for homosexuality. What about forgiveness? (not that she needs it) What about; “He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone at her." "Judge not lest ye be judged."
I feel that a group of 71 (2007) (mostly extended family) shouldn't be given the time, the press or the dynamite to blow them to Hell; they'll get there on their own.
The unfairness of this whole thing really pisses me off, a good woman lived and loved, made a family, made a mark and did the best she could despite overwhelming odds, that's what I'll be remembering on Saturday, not the petty small minded meanness of an inbred group of wayward hysterics from Topeka Kansas. Shame.
It's the mourning of a life well lived, and the mourning of a brave loyal woman, who, to put it bluntly was shat on by life.
She was like a deer in the headlights when her husbands infidelity went national, not only did he cheat on her after her cancer came back, he also fathered a child with Rielle Hunter. This wasn't all exposed at one time but dragged out in fits and starts in front of the world, for all to judge and snicker.
Here was a woman who'd lost her 16 year old son Wade to a car accident, had undergone fertility treatments to have two more children late in life with this pig, and then he shits on their marriage and family by following the little head.
Here was a woman who stood by him and campaigned her ass off and jeopardized her health for her man.
She wrote it out in her book Resilience, she underwent treatments and she got on with her life, in short she made the best of it, here's a quote:
"The days of our lives, for all of us, are numbered, we know that. And yes, there are certainly times when we aren't able to muster as much strength and patience as we would like. It's called being human. But I have found that in the simple act of living with hope, and in the daily effort to have a positive impact in the world, the days I do have are made all the more meaningful and precious. And for that I am grateful."
After all was said and done she was grateful, how inspirational.
Elizabeth worked tirelessly for universal health care, even after her cancer came back, she was first diagnosed in 2004. She was an advocate for gay marriage, another quote:
"I don't know why someone else’s marriage has anything to do with me. I'm completely comfortable with gay marriage."
This statement and her unwavering belief in live and let live has caused the *hate group* or I guess I should say, * The Westboro Baptist Church*, to once again put on their robes of righteousness, leap onto their high horses, cloak themselves in their bigoted *moral* obligation and threaten to picket her funeral on Saturday in Raleigh, North Carolina.
This is the same group that picket soldiers funerals, Jewish businesses, claim Pope Benedict is a false prophet; and my all time favorite; Barack Obama is the Antichrist. Which I find pretty ironic, their freedom of speech was obtained on the backs and death of those same soldiers.
According to them Elizabeth deserved to die because of her tolerance for homosexuality. What about forgiveness? (not that she needs it) What about; “He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone at her." "Judge not lest ye be judged."
I feel that a group of 71 (2007) (mostly extended family) shouldn't be given the time, the press or the dynamite to blow them to Hell; they'll get there on their own.
The unfairness of this whole thing really pisses me off, a good woman lived and loved, made a family, made a mark and did the best she could despite overwhelming odds, that's what I'll be remembering on Saturday, not the petty small minded meanness of an inbred group of wayward hysterics from Topeka Kansas. Shame.
R.I.P. Elizabeth, July 3rd, 1949-December 7th, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
Blog Blast For Peace
It isn't enough to talk about peace, one must believe it. And it isn't enough to to believe in it, one must work for it. ~Eleanor Roosevelt.
Friday, October 15, 2010
It's really happened!
I have been hesitant to blog. The joy of writing, (akin to the joy of sex for me) (on a normal day) has left me. I don't find any comfort in it. I'm struggling to write this opening paragraph, I'm tired of being mis-read, misunderstood and vilified for having strong opinions. I feel pressure to write *funny*, not truth.
I've lost a couple of friends over this blog. (well I guess it's this blog, as I hadn't seen them in person or talked to them or e-mailed them, and quite frankly the *other* reason is beyond comprehension)(picture if you will, my being dumped due to a friends blog) I was unceremoniously dumped, tossed out on my ass as it were, with no explanation or cause as far as I can discern.
People have always encouraged me to write, I always had a story or an anecdote to jot down, I still do. My head is full, but my heart isn't in it anymore. I have family and friends who pursue their passions with gusto. Riding, golfing, reading, collecting, building. All admirable ways to spend their leisure time. They get encouragement and praise, (rightfully so), they're living a life full of passion and joy for their chosen *thing*.
From the very first time I picked up a pencil and wrote something, just for me, (a story about elves) I was hooked. (Like a closet full of shoes for Imelda Marcos) I was six. I had stumbled across something that was sheer ecstasy. I wondered why everyone wasn't writing this stuff down that they had in their heads.
I loved creative writing in school, it came so easily. It was a thoroughly enjoyable 55 minutes. I was writing for my family and friends, I also kept an unorganized journal that I jotted thoughts or ideas in for the great "Canadian Novel."
I know I can still write for myself, this blogging thing wasn't ever supposed to be the only writing I ever did. I just don't feel it any more. I don't have that rush when my thoughts careen and I'm writing so fast that there's no punctuation or capital letters or defined sentences. No starting awake at 3am (unless I have to pee), no staring off into space writing and rewriting a sentence in my head. It appears to be gone, or on sabbatical or down south, or something.
So to those two *friends* (well one *real* friend, one fair weather ) thanks for stepping on my dream, think about me when you're out living yours. Hopefully this is a minor hiccup and I'll get that feeling back, ( that passion you both enjoy) that we all crave.
When I get it back, I won't compromise for either one of you, I'll still have strong opinions, I'll still rant and rave and if you find it so offensive or bothersome, it's been said a thousand times....Don't come in here, don't read it, don't slag me about it. Mind your riding, I'll mind my writing. Live your dream.
I've lost a couple of friends over this blog. (well I guess it's this blog, as I hadn't seen them in person or talked to them or e-mailed them, and quite frankly the *other* reason is beyond comprehension)(picture if you will, my being dumped due to a friends blog) I was unceremoniously dumped, tossed out on my ass as it were, with no explanation or cause as far as I can discern.
People have always encouraged me to write, I always had a story or an anecdote to jot down, I still do. My head is full, but my heart isn't in it anymore. I have family and friends who pursue their passions with gusto. Riding, golfing, reading, collecting, building. All admirable ways to spend their leisure time. They get encouragement and praise, (rightfully so), they're living a life full of passion and joy for their chosen *thing*.
From the very first time I picked up a pencil and wrote something, just for me, (a story about elves) I was hooked. (Like a closet full of shoes for Imelda Marcos) I was six. I had stumbled across something that was sheer ecstasy. I wondered why everyone wasn't writing this stuff down that they had in their heads.
I loved creative writing in school, it came so easily. It was a thoroughly enjoyable 55 minutes. I was writing for my family and friends, I also kept an unorganized journal that I jotted thoughts or ideas in for the great "Canadian Novel."
I know I can still write for myself, this blogging thing wasn't ever supposed to be the only writing I ever did. I just don't feel it any more. I don't have that rush when my thoughts careen and I'm writing so fast that there's no punctuation or capital letters or defined sentences. No starting awake at 3am (unless I have to pee), no staring off into space writing and rewriting a sentence in my head. It appears to be gone, or on sabbatical or down south, or something.
So to those two *friends* (well one *real* friend, one fair weather ) thanks for stepping on my dream, think about me when you're out living yours. Hopefully this is a minor hiccup and I'll get that feeling back, ( that passion you both enjoy) that we all crave.
When I get it back, I won't compromise for either one of you, I'll still have strong opinions, I'll still rant and rave and if you find it so offensive or bothersome, it's been said a thousand times....Don't come in here, don't read it, don't slag me about it. Mind your riding, I'll mind my writing. Live your dream.
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