My Son Branden – My Very Own Prince

I am the proud mother of three children, 1 girl and 2 boys.  Christee, the oldest is 20, Chris, the oldest boy is 19, and Branden who the youngest, is 17.  I love each of my kids for their own unique and distinct personalities.  Christee is my beautiful, modern hippie.  She wants to save the planet from humanity’s ills, and has enough intelligence and compassion that she will probably be the one to acheive it.  Chris is my handsome, athletic, care-taker.  He has always looked after those he cares about.  He also takes very much after his British father in that he always displays the “stiff upper lip” attitude, no matter what.  Branden is my handsome baby-boy who has yet to “find himself”.  And that is what his personality is.  He is a little bit of everything:  a skater, a cowboy, a rocker, an artist, a slacker, a worker.  But now he has told me he wants to add one more description to that list, soldier. 

As I have said to some of my friends, on the one hand I am extremely proud of Branden for wanting to join the military.  One would have to know my youngest child to understand how incredulous I was when he told me of his desire.  Branden has never been one to, shall we say appreciate rules and boundaries in his life.  Whenever his father or I would see the school’s phone number on our caller ID, we instantly knew it was Branden who had been in trouble.  So for him to decide he wants to join the military, which is synonomous with rules and boundaries, I was shocked.  And for him to want to do so during a time of war,  it shows a level of maturity and bravery that swells my heart.   However, on the other hand is my fear, the primal drive of a mother to protect her young at all costs. 

 I hate war, but I support the brave men and women who make up our military – and not just the USA, but the UK, Canada, and all allied forces.  I am extremely grateful to each and every soldier who is laying their lives on the line every day to provide all of us with the freedoms and security we all seem to have quite sadly taken for granted.  Each day I read the papers, my heart breaks for the families of the fallen soldiers in this, the longest American war.  I have a very close friend whose two oldest boys are in the Army.  Having met them has most definitely personalized this war in a way I never realized was lacking in my life.  I am embarassed to admit this, but until I met Julie and her family, stories I read in the newspapers about the war were just words on a screen, or printed on a piece of paper.  You see,  I didn’t actually know a flesh-and-blood person who was serving in the war.  I had friends in different branches of the military before, but they have all been honorably discharged after serving their time.  None of them were ever in a war.  But Julie and Ken’s sons are.  They have faces, voices, friends and family who love and miss them.  They are real people who I have shared a meal with, who I have had a conversation with, and who have made me laugh so hard, my sides ached for days.  And they, like every other soldier – no matter what country they hail from - are laying their lives on the line for all of us every waking hour.  They don’t do it for accolades, or medals.  They don’t do it for parades or news stories.  They do it simply because it is the reason they signed-up.  They believe we all should be free.  They do it because it is their chosen job.  Chosen, not forced-upon, but chosen. 


I was reading a story about Prince Harry of England today in one of Britain’s newspapers, The Telegraph.  In the article and accompanying video, Harry speaks passionately about his desire to be re-deployed to Afghanistan.  The prince said:

“At the end of the day you train for war, it’s as simple as that. If we could be at peace then fantastic but if we’re at war then you want to be with your brothers in arms”

These words were from the young man who doesn’t have to go back.  He could easily stay home and continue to watch football matches, play polo, or attend charity functions and no one would complain.  But Harry wants to go back to the desert, to fight side-by-side with his mates.  This is the kind of dedication that seems to run rampant thru our combined military forces.  Now I know what you may be thinking, that Harry will most likely not see any real combat.  Well, perhaps you’re right, I don’t know.  My response to that is quite simply, for the sake of his family, I hope he doesn’t.  This is my wish for all of our men and women in the armed forces.  I know it isn’t a realistic one, but aren’t wishes our most fervant hopes and dreams? 


My son, my baby, wants to join-up when he graduates.  I told him that no matter what, I am immensely proud of him and I will stand behind him in his decision, but in the deepest part of my heart, I wish he would change his mind.  The thought of him facing danger in any way grips me with a fear that I can’t explain.  As mothers, when our children are born there is that moment when you first cast your eyes on your child, that split-second that you realize that you would gladly give your very last breath for them.  You understand the true meaning of endless, boundless love.  You want to protect them from everything.  I’m not trying to imply that a father doesn’t feel the same, so please don’t think that at all.  But since I am a woman, I can only speak for moms. 


The idea that someone may actually fire a weapon at my son pains me, and yet at the same time, really angers me in a way that I think only a mother bear or tigress could comprehend.  Having been a mother for going on 20 years now, I can honestly say that William Congreve had it wrong when he wrote, “…Heaven hath no rage like love to hatred turned/ Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.”  (The Mourning Bride – 1697)  What he should’ve written was that heaven nor hell hath no rage and fury like a mother defending her young.  There is nothing I would not do to protect my children.  Nothing.  So with that, I have a new plan to propose to our combined military forces.  Quite simply put, I suggest that all  soldiers’ moms get together and go after Bin Laden ourselves.  I know what you’re going to say, we don’t have the training, but I beg to differ.  As mothers, we have spent a life-time in tactical war-fare with coaches, teachers, other children, sometimes law enforcement (thanks B.),  our spouses, and even our youngsters themselves.  No force on this planet is as wily, intelligent, stubborn, relentless, or strong as a mother.  Bin Laden would be begging for mercy.  Trust me.  Al Queda ain’t got nothing on a group of pissed-off moms defending their babies.  Just a thought.


Having said all of that, however,  I do know that there comes a time in every mother/child relationship when we must release our kids from our protective embrace and ultimately allow them to stand or fall on their own.  Whilst they are standing, we proudly look on, encouraging them all the way.  If they happen to stumble or fall, it is our job to help them to them to their feet again, dust them off and encourage them to keep putting one foot in front of the other. 

I will leave you now, dear reader with this:  I am infinitely proud of Branden  and will always stand behind him,  no matter what path he chooses -just as Julie and Ken do their sons, just as every military- and non-military  parent alike should for their children.  The second thought I want to leave you with is that I feel I can say beyond a shadow of a doubt,  Princess Diana would be incredibly proud of her youngest son Harry, and I hope that he knows that.  It couldn’t have been easy for him growing up in the glare of public scrutiny, with the predatory media always waiting gleefully for his next mistake.  In the end however, it would seem Harry is very much his mother’s son.  Well done Prince Harry.  The final thought I have for you with is quite simply, I wish this war were over.  I wish that all of our troops were home with their loved ones, and that we didn’t even have to have a conversation like this in the first place.  As I said, wishes are our most fervant hopes and dreams, and that is mine.

How to Fight a Case of the Dreary Ho-Hums

Hello dear reader.  Well, there seems to be so much going on in the world today, I quite literaly don’t know where to begin.  I am BEYOND ecstatic that both the USA and England won their respective matches in the World Cup today.  Now both teams will advance to the final 16.  Well done to you boys! Well done indeed.  And then of course there is the grand-daddy of all grand-slams, Wimbledon.  Today history was made on it’s grasssy courts with the match between the American, Isner against Mahut, from France.  Theirs is now officially the longest tennis match in the history of, well…EVER.  The match was stopped for the second time in as many days because it was getting dark.  The men stand tied at 59-all and will resume play on Thursday.  One match, THREE days. Incredible!  These two men might either be the greatest players the sport of tennis has ever known , or just two of the most incredibly equally matched players ever.  If they don’t end this soon, the world may never know.  Either way, their stamina and determination is now legendary, so well done to these two men also. 

But in light of all this excitement and celebration, I must admit that I was suffering from a case of the dreary ho-hums.  I cant’t exactly explain why, but I have just felt as though I was in a funk today.   No matter what I did, I just couldn’t shake it.  So finally, I decided to do the only sure-fire thing I knew to be a cure. No, it didn’t involve large amounts of wine or chocolate (this time). Instead  I, along with one of my best friends, got comfy and watched The Birdcage, starring Robin Williams, Nathan Lane, Gene Hackman, Dianne  Weist, Hank Azaria, and a then-unknown Calista Flockhart.  I simply love that movie! I have seen it so many times that I can recite it in its entirety, word for word.  And it still makes me laugh out loud.  There are some movies that, once you’ve seen them, they lose some of their appeal, but not The Birdcage.  I know that some of you may disagree, and believe me, I’m ok with that.  But if you do disagree, well, you’re just nuts and have absolutely no sense of humor. I’m just saying.  No, I’m only kidding.  Really.  It’s fine. (You poor dears with broken funny-bones. *sniff-sniff*)

But let’s move on, shall we?  As I was watching the movie, I started thinking about other movies that I keep as “pick-me-up stand-bys”.  We all have them, those movies/specials that we watch when we need cheering up, or a good laugh-till-it-hurts kind of thing.  So, I thought I would share a few of my favorites with you.

A movie that I truly love is a Frank Capra-Cary Grant classic, Arsenic and Old Lace.  Cary Grant’s comedic timing is flawless and the fact that he was so damn sexy just makes it all the better.  (Don’t look at me like that.  Ok. So I can be shallow from time to time.  Who isn’t?)  But if you haven’t seen the movie, or just haven’t seen it in a while, you should.  It’s wonderful.  Another favorite is Kid Auto Races at Venice Beach by Charlie Chaplin.  It is so fun to watch Mr. Chaplin in all of his genius.  And Charlie was just that, a GENIUS.  He wrote, directed, produced, starred in, and wrote the scores for all of his movies.  And if you factor in all the women he had in and out of his life during it all, well, the mind just boggles doesn’t it?

Robin Williams and Eddie Izzard are my two absolute hands-down, no-doubt-about-it, all-time favorite stand-up comedieans.  They are so perfect, so incredible,  I would have their children. That’s how amazing they are.  However, Robin would definitely have to do some serious waxing, and Eddie would have to agree to let me wear his boots from his Circle tour.  I’m just sayin.  But I digress.  There are a great many more stand-ups that I like, but none can come close to the comedic greatness these gentlemen possess as far as I’m concerned.  All of their respective stand-up specials are wonderful, and I have my favorite “bits” in each.  For instance, Robin Williams’ take on George W. Bush from Live on Broadway is great.  And I absolutely love Eddie’s encore on computers  from his Glorious tour.  However, if I have to choose just one full show for each of these gods of hilarity, then I have to pick Robin’s Weapons of Self Destruction and Eddie’s Definte Article. Those two concerts are ones that I will laugh at over and over again, no matter how many times I’ve seen them.  They are the heavy-duty, pick-me-up weapons in my arsenal of theraputic comedy.

Now, last but not least, I have to list my favorite feel-good movie.  It’s not a laugh riot, and in fact is very dark in some areas, but I defy you to not feel good after watching it.  That movie is Billy Elliot.  I find myself cheering and crying for this whole family during all of their struggles, fears, and triumphs. It’s like a roller-coaster of emotion,  finally culminating in the final scene of the movie which has me holding my breath every time.  It was such a well-written, well-acted, well-scored, well edited, well-directed, well-everything kind of movie.  Simply stunning and yet so stunningly simple. 

Well, there you have it, my lambs.  These are a few of my all-time favorites.  These movies/specials are always guaranteed to bring a smile to my face and laughter in my heart each and every time I watch them.  So I wonder, who and what would be on your list??

Stonehenge and the Disco-Sleestaks of the World

Today I discovered two very disparate and yet equally un-settling facts about this world we live in. The first is that everything I thought I knew about Stonehenge is actually wrong. And the second thing I learned is that two powerful news outlets and in fact, apparently the entire American government is indeed run by a race of hybrid Alien Lizard-People.

Yesterday morning was the Summer Solstice which was celebrated at Stonehenge with great revelry by many, err uh revellers. I believe the last report I read stated that only 30 people were arrested out of the estimated 20,000 who were on hand to dance at sunrise. This leads me to deduce (sadly) that most would-be Druids are actually quite well-mannered and orderly. This revelation (are you sensing a pattern here?) negates my life-long belief that the Druids were the ultimate party-happy religous zealots, living to dance naked in the face of authority. I don’t quite know exactly where I heard this information, but it is the thought that has always come to mind whenever I hear the word Druid. I also have always thought they were little people with questionable grooming habits. Kind of like hobbits with long beards. Now I can tell you where I got the idea that they were small. That came strictly from seeing This Is Spinal Tap as a teenager. Remember the scene with the little leprechaun-esque people dancing around a tiny Stonhenge monument onstage ?  Classic! But as far as the Druids being wholly un-kempt as a group, I haven’t a clue where that idea came from. Let’s just chalk it up to being raised in the Bible-belt of America. You see, here in the Bible-belt one is utterly force-fed two staunch beliefs. The first is that everything in the Bible is truth. No questions asked. EVER. The second is that anyone who dares question or believes differently than the word the Bible is in fact a heathen – unkempt and unclean. Sadly, there are still a great many people here in the USA who subscribe to these beliefs with every fiber of their being. This would be fine except unfortunately, these are also some of the same people who advocate blowing up abortion clinics, and partaking in hate-crimes against the LGBT community, preaching in-tolerance and hatred. And all of this is done in the name of the Lord. So much for the message of christian love and charity, huh? Don’t misunderstand me here, dear reader. I am not anti-christian at all. I am however, anti-sh*thead. But there are a great many religious people who have done some AMAZING things toward the betterment of the human race as well: Mother Teresa, Ghandi, Martin Luther King Jr, Bishop Tutu, Nelson Mandela, along with literally countless others who remain nameless, faceless, unknown angels to the masses. I have the utmost admiration and respect for these people. In fact I hope to be just like them when I grow up. Ok. Sorry. Climbing down from my soapbox now.

The second truth I discovered about Stonhenge is that the stones may actually have been transported from Wales to the area of Salisbury Plain not by way of sheer human determination, but instead as glacial erratics. The term glacial erratic refers to a stone that differs from the size and type of rock native to the area in which it rests and was carried by glacial ice. Also, as if that wasn’t bad enough, I discovered some scientists now believe that it was never actually a completed circle but in fact, was left unfinished. What?? I was so disappointed! It was always such a romantic notion that I had; These small hobbit-like people, so intensely devoted to their religion that they transported these massive stones over 160 miles to build this wonderous monument. A perfect circle of enormous stones built in a time when the accomplishment would have been almost other-worldly. I mean, it is still a really wonderful site to behold. But now that some of the mystery is gone, I feel sort of sad. I am all for scientists continuing to question this world we live in. But I just think that when they discover facts that will seriously deplete something’s cool-factor, you know partially diminishing the idea that when someone visits the site for themselves they’ll hear the ancient melodic chanting of ancestors past, the scientists should have to keep such cold, hard facts secret. Lock them away where only the elite geeky few who know the super-secret password have access. Let the rest of us hopeless romantics live in blissful ignorance once in a while. We are quite happy here. I suppose the next thing you’ll tell me is that I can’t really get a good salisbury steak dinner there either. Great! Perfect! *heavy sigh*

And now a trip to the completely opposite end of the spectrum. Another disturbing fact (and I use this word in the loosest possible sense here) that I discovered today is that 2 of the major news networks here in America, as well at the entire government is being run by a race of reptilian humanoids. If you go to YouTube and search for the words “Lizard People” you will find literally thousands of videos supposedly showing “proof” that hundreds of news reporters, government officials, indeed past Presidents and their families are all shape-shifting reptiles. I’m sure you’re saying to yourself, “Of course they’re two-faced, slimy, cold-blooded bastards. We already knew that.” No, good reader, I am saying that the people who have posted these videos truly, honestly believe that these people who make laws, and report our news are indeed a hybrid race of half human, half reptile beings, hell-bent on bringing about the end of civilization as we know it. Not only do these beings have a completely second set of eyes and eyelids, some of them hiss, and all of them possess the bio-kinetic cloaking ability similar to the alien in the Predator movies. I’m not kidding. The thought that kept popping into my head was, if this is indeed supposed to be a superior race, what the hell happened to George W Bush?!? I mean seriously. I would think that if they truly wanted to bring the world to its knees, “Dubya” is the LAST lizard they’d want in power. He’s like Forrest Gump, only not as intelligent, well-spoken, or even well-liked for that matter. Think about this. Do you remember watching Land of the Lost ? The Sleestaks were the huamnoid reptiles that gave the Marshall family hell. The only intelligent ones were the those who actually wore clothes, albeit gold lame’ and sequins, but clothes none-the-less. These Disco-Sleestaks not only had fashion sense, but were also bi-lingual. They had full command of their native language as well as english. Suffice it to say, George W Bush would definitely NOT have been a Disco-Sleestak. We all know he didn’t exhibit any prowess with the spoken word at all. No. I’m afraid George-y boy wouldn’t have even been allowed within 300 yards of the club, instead forever relegated outside the proverbial velvet rope. He was almost taken down by a pretzel, for God’s sake! Reptiles don’t choke on anything smaller than thier mouths. I looked it up. Why can’t these conspiracy theorists ever come up with something that actually makes even a little bit of sense. You know, things like the government is filled with people who are so corrupt in their own lives, they’ve lost compassion and common sense when it comes to the rest of the world. Why are the theories instead always so incredibly insane?!?

There are literally thousands of videos, and one can get lost in the lunacy for hours. Trust me, I almost did. I can just imagine the earnest people who continue to monitor our government officials and the media that we blindly watch like sheep, completely unaware of the danger. There these warriors for the survival of humanity are, sitting in their darkened bedrooms (most likely in their parent’s houses still) wearing their foil-lined hats, to self-lessly and dilligently bring us – the unbelievers – the real truth. All I have to say is please take your medication people. And if you are taking it, perhaps it might be time to have the dosage checked. I really worry about these people. I truly do. What an odd, sad existence they must live. I actually feel a bit of pity for them. However, having said that, if I ever meet one of them, I’m going to smack them on the head and demand that they give that hour of my life back to me! Argh!!

Father’s Day, Tchaikovsky, and Snoring Dogs

It’s Father’s Day and as I write my first entry here, I am listening to Swan Lake Ballet Suite by Tchaikovsky with accompaniment by my loudly snoring dog, Reggie. Reggie is a King Chas Cavalier Spaniel who only weighs about 20 lbs but he snores as loud as a 250+ lb sailor. How could I possibly know what a sea-farer of that size sounds like when he snores? Easy, my brother is 6’2″ and weighs over 250 and he was in the Navy for 6 years. So see? I know of which I speak.

Now where was I? Oh yes, Tchaikovsky and Father’s day. My father passed away 25 years ago when I was only 14. When daddy died, everyone told me (endlessly) that the pain would be less as time wore on. Of course, at the time I always secretly wanted to scream “Shut up!!” at everyone who said those words to me. I loved daddy far too much for the pain to ever dissipate. I was convinced that I would never get over the profound loss I felt. But something occured to me this morning that hasn’t for 25 years. The intense pain has indeed dissipated, the emptiness is gone. I don’t know when this all transpired. I don’t know if it happened all at once or if it has been going on at a slow, steady pace over the last quarter century. Don’t misunderstand me here, please. I still love and miss daddy every day, with every breath. There are times when one of my 3 children will do or say something and I will have a fleeting thought that I wish I could call my father and share it with him. He would’ve gotten quite the kick out of my kids. They have his sense of humor and sense of irony, especially the youngest, Branden. But what has gone is the seemingly unbearable pain and emptiness that I felt. Should I feel guilty?? No. I have come to the conclusion that the most important factor to my healing has indeed been my children. They have occupied every aspect of my life, every corner of my heart for the past 20 years to the point of overflowing. And in doing so, in just being themselves, they have healed it all.

It’s struck me as humorous that I am listening to Tchaikovsky while reminiscing about my dad because in all honesty, he would have asked me, “What the hell is that crap you’re listening to baby-girl?!?” Daddy was a great guy but he didn’t like ballet, classical music, rock music, R&B, jazz or anything that I find enjoyable. He was strictly a Hank Williams Sr kind of man. However, I remember being a little girl and sitting enthralled in front of the TV watching Mikhail Baryshnikov in The Nutcracker on PBS every christmas, my father reading the newspaper, groaning and sighing until it was over. But he never insisted that I not watch it. Instead he would sit thru it’s entirety with me, including those annoying pleas for pledge money…all 2 million of them. Incidentally, I now pledge regularly to my local PBS station, and not just out of a sense of guilt for all the times I’ve watched Mishka, but Monty Python and Falty Towers as well. (Mom’s the world-over could learn a thing or two about guilt-trips from the always-so-sweet and cheerful staff at PBS.) But I digress. Needless to say, all of those airings at christmas-time set in motion my crush on Baryshnikov that I still have today. Daddy would shake his head un-comprehendingly at the fact that while both of my sisters had posters of teen idols covering their walls, I had a man in tights with a bad, early eighties hair cut. My father may not have understood my all-over-the-map tastes in music, books, movies, or well, everything, but he was supportive.

That’s what being a great parent is all about: supporting your children and loving them, no matter what. I am reminded of something Eddie Izzard’s father said in the documentary: Believe – The Eddie Izzard Story (and if you havent seen the film, you must. It’s the kind of story that will make you want to get off of your sofa and pursue all of your dreams, no matter what they may be). Now where was I? Oh yea, Eddie’s father, Harold says, “…there comes a time when you have to acccept your children for who they are.” Wise words from a wise man. But not just wise, these are poignant words filled with such incredible love for his son. Brings tears to my eyes as I write this.

So here I am this Father’s Day, with Tchaikovsky, my snoring dog, and a huge smile on my face with wonderful memories of daddy. Imagining him saying, “Well for God’s sake, at least turn it down so the rest of the world doesn’t have to be in pain too!”

To which I reply, “Ok daddy, just a minute though. I want to hear this part first.”

Rolling his eyes he’d say, “I swear baby-girl!” But he’d say it with a smile. And I would turn the music down…just a bit.