And everything shut up and gone to sleep,
All the troubles and anxieties and pain
Gone under the twilight.

Only the twilight now, and the soft “Sh!” of the river
That will last for ever.

And at last I know my love for you is here;
I can see it all, it is whole like the twilight,
It is large, so large, I could not see it before,
Because of the little lights and flickers and interruptions,
Troubles, anxieties and pains.

You are the call and I am the answer,
You are the wish, and I the fulfilment,
You are the night, and I the day.
What else - it is perfect enough.
It is perfectly complete,
You and I,
What more-?

Strange, how we suffer in spite of this.

D. H. Lawrence

More sweetness from Pookey here…

Is Your Child At Risk For Autism?

Does your 18-month-old child’s language development seem slow? Has he lost words that he had once mastered? Is he unable to follow simple commands such as "Bring me your shoes?" When you speak to him does he look away rather than meet your gaze? Does he answer to his name? Do you or others suspect hearing loss? Does he have an unusually long attention span? Does he often seem to be in his own world? At 18 months a child will typically do the following:

• Point to objects.
• Interact with his siblings.
• Bring you items to look at.
• Look directly at you when you speak to him.
• Follow your gaze to locate an object when you point across the room.
• Engage in "pretend play" such as feeding a doll or making a toy dog bark.

Autism is a developmental disability that impairs social and language development. It occurs in families from every class, culture and ethnic background. It is not a mental illness and it is not caused by trauma - it is neurobiological and its symptoms can be greatly reduced by early diagnosis and treatment. If you are concerned about your answers to some of the above questions, speak to your pediatrician about an autism screening.

An Early Diagnosis Provides the Best Chance for Success.

Children affected by autism often look like any other child. Like snowflakes, no two people diagnosed with an autism spectrum disorder are the same. What they share in common is a neurological disorder that causes impaired communication and socialization as well as unusual interests or behaviors and special challenges. April is Autism Awareness Month to learn more contact:

Unlocking Autism:
1-866-366-3361
www.UnlockingAutism.org

Autism Research Institute:
1-866-366-3361
www.Autism.com

You are the rare, the overlooked, yet incredibly useful dodecahedron: the d12. You are a creative, romantic soul. You often act without thinking, but make up for your lack of plans with plenty of heart. You easily solve problems that stump others, but your answers tend to put you into even deeper trouble. You write long, detailed backgrounds for all your characters, and are most likely to dress up as one or get involved in cos-play. You can be silly at times and are easily distracted by your own day dreams, but are at the end of the day you’re someone who can be depended on.

Take the quiz at dicepool.com

1. Remember to reread what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent.

2. There is to be absolutely NO talking.

3. Anything you wish to say must be written on the paper.

4. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached.

The following was actually turned in by two English students: Rebecca and Gary (last names deleted).

THE STORY
(first paragraph by Rebecca)
At first, Laurie couldn’t decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.

(second paragraph by Gary)
Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed, asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. “A.S. Harris to Geostation 17″ he said into his transgalactic communicator. “Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far…” But before he could sign off, a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship’s cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.

(Rebecca)
He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. “Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel,” Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth, when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspapers to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things round her. “Why must one lose one’s innocence to become a woman?” she pondered wistfully.

(Gary)
Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu’udrian mother ship launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dimwitted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through the congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu’udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret Mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion, which vaporized poor, stupid, Laurie and 85 million other Americans. The President slammed his fist on the conference table. “We can’t allow this! I’m going to veto that treaty! Let’s blow ‘em out of the sky!”

(Rebecca)
This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic semi-literate adolescent.

(Gary)
Yeah? Well, you’re a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. “Oh shall I have chamomile tea? Or shall I have some other sort of FUCKING TEA??? Oh no, I’m such an air headed bimbo who reads too many Danielle Steele novels.”

(Rebecca)
Asshole.

(Gary)
Bitch.

(Rebecca)
FUCK YOU - YOU NEANDERTHAL!!!

(Gary)
Go drink some tea - whore.

(PROFESSOR)
A+ - I really liked this one.

Have a sinus infection where anytime you sneeze while in the presence of others, they change sex OR have an inability to distinguish between babies and English muffins?

Briefly turn into Dom DeLuise every 45 minutes OR have skin 15 times bigger than it has to be?

Be unaffected by the Higgs field a theoretical superforce that permeates the universe, endowing matter with mass OR fart confetti?

Have sexual organs that glow red like E.T.’s heart when you’re attracted to someone OR have the faint sound of playground chatter perpetually emanating from your crotch?

Be able to avoid doing chores and facing minor relationship problems by hiding under some coats for a little while OR be able to bake chicken pot pie in your pants?

Have the head of Hervé Villechaize (Fantasy Island’s Tattoo) in place of your left hand, and the head of Ricardo Montalban (Fantasy Island’s Mr. Roarke) in place of your right hand OR be unable to go anywhere without an entourage of bickering Vietnamese politicians?

Belch the sound of a gong OR sneeze the sound of a bowling strike?

Have a chest of thick poison oak OR a sausage halo?

Have a life-size tattoo of Andy Griffith on your back OR be permitted to use only one deodorant scent: sour cream and chives?

Fight Mike Tyson OR talk like him?

Appear as Yasir Arafat in the mirror OR have a bizarre neurological condition where anytime you enter a room, Darth Vader’s theme sounds?

Be hole-punched to death OR be eaten alive by the cast of Diff’rent Strokes?

Collect lint at ten thousand times your natural rate (the average American accrues ¼ pound of lint a day.) OR have everything in life relayed out loud by Marv Albert?

Watch a porno movie with your parents OR watch a porno movie starring your parents?

From Justin Heimberg and David Gomberg’s book Would You Rather?? (Plume, 1997).

Although we modern persons tend to take our electric lights, radios, mixers, etc., for granted, hundreds of years ago people did not have any of these things, which is just as well because there was no place to plug them in. Then along came the first Electrical Pioneer, Benjamin Franklin, who flew a kite in a lighting storm and received a serious electrical shock. This proved that lighting was powered by the same force as carpets, but it also damaged Franklin’s brain so severely that he started speaking only in incomprehensible maxims, such as "A penny saved is a penny earned". Eventually he had to be given a job running the post office.

– Dave Barry

Happy 14th anniversary my beloved Pookey Bear…

KITTERY, Maine — Jane Brooks, 63, died Tuesday, Nov. 21, 2006, at Portsmouth Regional Hospital, after a sudden illness.

She was born on March 10, 1943, in Portsmouth, N.H., the daughter of the late Charles and Helen (Malinowski) Gryzbowski.

Mrs. Brooks was a homemaker and had recently retired from Flextronics. She enjoyed spending weekends at Mousam Lake, playing bingo, making ceramics and spending time with her grandson, Thomas.

She is survived by her husband, Richard, of Kittery; her son, Ramon Gagnon and his wife, Alison, of Portsmouth, N.H.; her daughter, Anne Shaffer and her husband, Michael, of Plano, Texas; her sister, Linda Grant and her husband, Dean, of Kittery; two grandsons, Thomas Gagnon of Portsmouth, N.H., and Morgan Shaffer of Plano, Texas; and many nephews.

SERVICES: Visiting hours will be held from noon to 2 p.m. on Sunday at the Farrell Funeral Home, 684 State St., Portsmouth. Burial will be held privately.

Right now I’m just numb. This obviously comes as a shock. My mother was only 63 years old, and though she wasn’t in the best of health, it wasn’t terrible either. She was ill from some bug she caught, and that is what they think contributed to her death. It doesn’t help that I got the news the day before Thanksgiving… A thanksgiving that we have 2 guests here for; though them being here has kept me from falling completely apart.

Pookey has been wonderful, and came straight home after my Aunt Linda called me with the news. The moment I heard her voice on the phone, I knew what she was going to say, but I didn’t want to hear it. Hell, even now I don’t want to even think about it. It’s like an unwelcome guest in my mind. A thought I keep bumping into as I go about my day. I know it’s something that I will have to come to grips with, but don’t know yet how I will. I will miss her each, and every, day. *sad sigh*

When we first moved to Texas we would go down and spend Thanksgiving there, though for the last few years we’ve stayed home. It’s nice to see people you haven’t seen in person for a whole year, but you still end up missing your own home. Plus, it always figures that I’d either be PMSing, or having my period during that time, or as I did the last year we went down, sick as a dog with the flu. *sigh*

So, this year will be especially nice… I’ll be in my own home, and won’t have any of the stress of being somewhere else. My mother came for Thanksgiving last year, so I know exactly what I’m getting into. Though I do anticipate that Martin, and Ellen, will be easier houseguests. *lol* Now, I just have to figure out what the menu will be for all the meals they will eat while here, and write up my grocery list. Thanksgiving day is the easiest part: Turkey (of course), my famous stuffing, mashed potatoes, a vegetable (or two), a pasta (or rice) dish, rolls, & several pies. The menu will evolve the closer to Thanksgiving we get. Just thinking about it is making me hungry. Yum!

If circumcision is too horrible for parents to see,
surely it’s too horrible for babies to experience.

Tonight, it dropped into the 40’s, with a brisk wind blowing in from the East, and I’m freezing my ass off. I know the 40’s isn’t particularly cold, compared to how cold it can get up North, but when you’ve gotten used to it being warm, if not downright hot, most of the year, then it is. It’s definitely a sign that Winter is well on its way. Brrrrrr!!!

Firstly, it totally depends on whether they knew the harm they were doing to their child. Sadly, most parents are not told the truth about what circumcision entails, and the detrimental effects it has on the penis. Many parents just assume that circumcision is something that happens to every baby boy. Kind of like baby boy = circumcision. This is especially true if the father, himself, is also circumcised.

This misconception is compounded by the highhanded attitude of doctors when they unlawfully approach the parents of boys, and ask them if they want their son circumcised. They also create the false impression that circumcision is good by whitewashing what it entails when they tell parents that it’s just "a little snip", equating it to something like cutting the umbilical cord. It’s not. Circumcision is a full-blown surgical procedure with all the inherent risks all surgeries have. Up to, and including, the death of the child. They also regularly cite circumcision’s unproven benefits, never telling parents that NO MEDICAL ORGANIZATION IN THE WORLD supports, or recommends, routine circumcision for newborn boys. I find this shameful.

When Morgan was born, I was personally asked by two different doctors, from the obstetrician practice I saw while pregnant, about whether I wanted him circumcised… All without bringing up the subject myself. If Pookey & I had been like many parents today, totally ignorant about the harm circumcision brings, then we might have made a mistake and said yes. Thankfully for Morgan, that was not the case.

Also: My best friend has two sons. The eldest is in his mid 20’s, and the younger is Morgan’s age. The older one is circumcised, and the younger one isn’t. Why? Simply put, she knew more about circumcision the second time around to make a truly informed decision, and she chose to leave her youngest son whole. After talking with her about it at length, she wishes she had known more when her eldest son was born, then she would have never had him circumcised. She doesn’t beat herself up over that fact though, as there is nothing she can do about it now. I respect that.

So, if parents are (or were) truly ignorant about circumcision, then I can’t hold them responsible. Not really. A lot of parents have found out the facts too late, and if they had known then, what they know now, they would have never allowed their son to be circumcised. I just feel sorrow for those parents, but I feel the most for their son who had no real choice but to submit to, and survive through, an experience I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

I was amazed that there are still people who do not go out with their elementary school aged children while they trick-or-treat. In this day, and age, kids need the protection an adult gives. It’s too easy for some sicko to grab a kid in the chaos that halloween generates. Too true. Though, thankfully there weren’t any reports of any abductions.

Morgan had a good time going out with Pookey, though Pookey got a little alarmed when Morgan was giving him a hard time about walking back home, and a cop stopped her car near them. He thought she was going to accuse him of kidnapping Morgan, or something, but all she wanted to do was give Morgan some candy. *lol* Morgan asked her to turn on her lights and siren, and she was nice enough to do so. I think Morgan was surprised by how loud it was, because he was talking about how it hurt his ears when Pookey was telling me about how Morgan’s trick-or-treating experience went. Of course Morgan wanted to go inside everyone’s house, and they all thought it was so cute. It had quickly ceased to be amusing for Pookey by the 3rd, or 4th, time. Soon enough, they came back, and Morgan had a decent haul of candy, though it seems like more people were handing out hard candy, instead of the chocolate kind. Oh well, at least we have some of our chocolate candy left over. Yum!

Morgan’s birthday party at school went better than I thought it would… Thankfully. His schoolmates, Pookey, me, and his teachers, were there to sing "Happy Birthday" to him, and the smile he had on his face while we all sang was priceless. His favorite gifts seem to be the basketball & football we got him, though now he wants a soccer ball as well. It’s amazing how kids seem love the gifts they get, but then are always onto new gifts they want. *sigh* Kids!

We’re all set for our first Halloween in our new home. A ton of candy has been bought, and Morgan has his Spider-man costume to wear when Pookey takes him out trick-or-treating, so we’re good to go. I have a good feeling that Morgan will have a good trick-or-treating experience in the area we just moved to, and that we’ll have more than a handful of trick-or-treaters visit us finally. I always loved going trick-or-treating when I was a kid, and there was nothing more satisfying that bringing home a good haul of candy. Mmmmm… Candy.

Happy Birthday To You!!! Happy Birthday To You!!! Happy Birthday Dear Morgan!!! Happy Birthday To You!!! Lots of love, Mom & Dad

It really boggles my mind that it’s been 8 whole years since the miracle of Morgan came into our lives. That eight years ago today I had just delivered my first (and currently only) born, and was, by this time, recovering from the accomplishment. I still remember, with perfect clarity, how happy I was to have our child safely delivered. That my yearning for a child of my own had, after 5 looong years of infertility treatments, finally been satisfied. *happy sigh* These are the thoughts that keep me from going stark-raving mad when he has asked for something for the millionth time, or is screaming his frustration at the top of his lungs. Otherwise he would have never made it to his eighth birthday today.