| They loved. They were loved. And they will be missed. Stanley Almodovar III, 23 years old |
| Amanda Alvear, 25 years old |
| Oscar A Aracena-Montero, 26 years old |
| Rodolfo Ayala-Ayala, 33 years old |
| Antonio Davon Brown, 29 years old |
| Darryl Roman Burt II, 29 years old |
| Angel L. Candelario-Padro, 28 years old |
| Juan Chevez-Martinez, 25 years old |
| Luis Daniel Conde, 39 years old |
| Cory James Connell, 21 years old |
| Tevin Eugene Crosby, 25 years old |
| Deonka Deidra Drayton, 32 years old |
| Simon Adrian Carrillo Fernandez, 31 years old |
| Leroy Valentin Fernandez, 25 years old |
| Mercedez Marisol Flores, 26 years old |
| Peter O. Gonzalez-Cruz, 22 years old |
| Juan Ramon Guerrero, 22 years old |
| Paul Terrell Henry, 41 years old |
| Frank Hernandez, 27 years old |
| Miguel Angel Honorato, 30 years old |
| Javier Jorge-Reyes, 40 years old |
| Jason Benjamin Josaphat, 19 years old |
| Eddie Jamoldroy Justice, 30 years old |
| Anthony Luis Laureanodisla, 25 years old |
| Christopher Andrew Leinonen, 32 years old |
| Alejandro Barrios Martinez, 21 years old |
| Brenda Lee Marquez McCool, 49 years old |
| Gilberto Ramon Silva Menendez, 25 years old |
| Kimberly Morris, 37 years old |
| Akyra Monet Murray, 18 years old |
| Luis Omar Ocasio-Capo, 20 years old |
| Geraldo A. Ortiz-Jimenez, 25 years old |
| Eric Ivan Ortiz-Rivera, 36 years old |
| Joel Rayon Paniagua, 32 years old |
| Jean Carlos Mendez Perez, 35 years old |
| Enrique L. Rios, Jr., 25 years old |
| Jean C. Nives Rodriguez, 27 years old |
| Xavier Emmanuel Serrano Rosado, 35 years old |
| Christopher Joseph Sanfeliz, 24 years old |
| Yilmary Rodriguez Solivan, 24 years old |
| Edward Sotomayor Jr., 34 years old |
| Shane Evan Tomlinson, 33 years old |
| Martin Benitez Torres, 33 years old |
| Jonathan Antonio Camuy Vega, 24 years old |
| Juan P. Rivera Velazquez, 37 years old |
| Luis S. Vielma, 22 years old |
| Franky Jimmy Dejesus Velazquez, 50 years old |
| Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon, 37 years old |
| Jerald Arthur Wright, 31 years old |
Statcounter
Tuesday, June 14, 2016
The 49 . . .
VBS, Orlando, Hamilton, and the unimaginable
Most of what I knew about Alexander Hamilton was what I learned in school.
Namely, that he was a Founding Father of the United States, that he was our first Secretary of the Treasury, that his picture is on the 10 dollar bill, and that he died in a duel with Aaron Burr.
Last night I went to our Vacation Bible School. Before our minister started the lesson, he talked about what happened in Orlando. He shared the song, "It's Quiet Uptown," from the musical "Hamilton", which won the Tony Award for best musical on Sunday.
The song describes the grief of Alexander and Eliza Hamilton after the death of their son Philip. Philip publicly called out a man who had insulted his father. In the ensuing duel, Philip was shot and died 14 hours later.
I had not known that Philip, too, had died in a duel. Philip died in 1801. His father would die the same way in 1804.
Our theme for VBS this year is "Moses: Nothing Can Stop Us!" I'm sure that our minister intended for us to learn about Moses, about how God was "I Am", and that He would always be with us.
Instead, I left with the words and melody of "It's Quiet Uptown" ringing in my head, and with perhaps a tiny taste of what 49 families are experiencing right now.
The unimaginable.
Lyrics:
Angelica:
There are moments that the words don't reach
There is suffering too terrible to name
You hold your child as tight as you can
And push away the unimaginable
The moments when you're in so deep
It feels easier to just swim down.
Angelica/Ensemble:
The Hamiltons move uptown
And learn to live with the unimaginable.
Hamilton:
I spend hours in the garden
I walk alone to the store
And it's quiet uptown
I never liked the quiet before
I take the children to church on Sunday
A sign of the cross at the door
And I pray
That never used to happen before.
Angelica and women:
If you see him in the street
Walking by himself
Talking to himself
Have pity
Hamilton:
Philip, you would like it uptown
It's quiet uptown
Angelica and women:
He is working through the unimaginable.
All men (except Hamilton)
His hair has gone grey
He passes every day
They say he walks the length of the city.
Hamilton:
You knock me out, I fall apart
Company (except Hamilton and Eliza)
Can you imagine?
Hamilton:
Look at where we are
Look at where we started
I know I don't deserve you, Eliza
But hear me out
That would be enough.
If I could spare his life
If I could trade his life for mine
He'd be standing here right now
And you would smile
And that would be enough
I don't pretend to know
The challenges we're facing
I know there's no replacing what we've lost
And you need time
But I'm not afraid
Just let me stay here by your side
That would be enough
Company (except Hamilton and Eliza)
If you see him in the street
Walking by her side
Talking by her side
Have pity
Hamilton:
Eliza, do you like it uptown?
It's quiet uptown
Company (except Hamilton and Eliza)
He is trying to do the unimaginable
See them walking in the park
Long after dark
Taking in the sights of the city
Hamiton:
Look around
Look around
Eliza
Company (except Hamilton and Eliza)
They are trying to do the unimaginable
Angelica
There are moments that the words don't reacy
There is a grace too powerful to name
We push away what we can never understand
We push away the unimaginable
They are standing in the garden
Alexander by Eliza's side
She takes his hand
Eliza:
It's quiet uptown
Company (except Hamilton and Eliza)
Forgiveness
Can you imagine?
Forgiveness
Can you imagine?
If you see him in the street
Walking by her side
Talking by her side
Have pity
They are going through the unimaginable.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
Namely, that he was a Founding Father of the United States, that he was our first Secretary of the Treasury, that his picture is on the 10 dollar bill, and that he died in a duel with Aaron Burr.
Last night I went to our Vacation Bible School. Before our minister started the lesson, he talked about what happened in Orlando. He shared the song, "It's Quiet Uptown," from the musical "Hamilton", which won the Tony Award for best musical on Sunday.
The song describes the grief of Alexander and Eliza Hamilton after the death of their son Philip. Philip publicly called out a man who had insulted his father. In the ensuing duel, Philip was shot and died 14 hours later.
I had not known that Philip, too, had died in a duel. Philip died in 1801. His father would die the same way in 1804.
Our theme for VBS this year is "Moses: Nothing Can Stop Us!" I'm sure that our minister intended for us to learn about Moses, about how God was "I Am", and that He would always be with us.
Instead, I left with the words and melody of "It's Quiet Uptown" ringing in my head, and with perhaps a tiny taste of what 49 families are experiencing right now.
The unimaginable.
Lyrics:
Angelica:
There are moments that the words don't reach
There is suffering too terrible to name
You hold your child as tight as you can
And push away the unimaginable
The moments when you're in so deep
It feels easier to just swim down.
Angelica/Ensemble:
The Hamiltons move uptown
And learn to live with the unimaginable.
Hamilton:
I spend hours in the garden
I walk alone to the store
And it's quiet uptown
I never liked the quiet before
I take the children to church on Sunday
A sign of the cross at the door
And I pray
That never used to happen before.
Angelica and women:
If you see him in the street
Walking by himself
Talking to himself
Have pity
Hamilton:
Philip, you would like it uptown
It's quiet uptown
Angelica and women:
He is working through the unimaginable.
All men (except Hamilton)
His hair has gone grey
He passes every day
They say he walks the length of the city.
Hamilton:
You knock me out, I fall apart
Company (except Hamilton and Eliza)
Can you imagine?
Hamilton:
Look at where we are
Look at where we started
I know I don't deserve you, Eliza
But hear me out
That would be enough.
If I could spare his life
If I could trade his life for mine
He'd be standing here right now
And you would smile
And that would be enough
I don't pretend to know
The challenges we're facing
I know there's no replacing what we've lost
And you need time
But I'm not afraid
Just let me stay here by your side
That would be enough
Company (except Hamilton and Eliza)
If you see him in the street
Walking by her side
Talking by her side
Have pity
Hamilton:
Eliza, do you like it uptown?
It's quiet uptown
Company (except Hamilton and Eliza)
He is trying to do the unimaginable
See them walking in the park
Long after dark
Taking in the sights of the city
Hamiton:
Look around
Look around
Eliza
Company (except Hamilton and Eliza)
They are trying to do the unimaginable
Angelica
There are moments that the words don't reacy
There is a grace too powerful to name
We push away what we can never understand
We push away the unimaginable
They are standing in the garden
Alexander by Eliza's side
She takes his hand
Eliza:
It's quiet uptown
Company (except Hamilton and Eliza)
Forgiveness
Can you imagine?
Forgiveness
Can you imagine?
If you see him in the street
Walking by her side
Talking by her side
Have pity
They are going through the unimaginable.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
Monday, June 13, 2016
Can't deal, can't shuffle
I had several blog posts mentally written last week.
I was going to write about my first "Bye, Felicia," delivered to an unsympathetic male about the Stanford rape case.
I was going to write a serious post about that same case.
I was going to write about some of my observations about faith.
I was going to write about what I planned to do between now and Election Day (which includes, going off the grid on Election Day.)
But after yesterday?
After fifty dead in a pool of blood, the victims of slaughter at the hand of someone who, because he was angry at two men kissing in front of his young son, decided to take it out on an entire group?
After this same person claimed allegiance to ISIS in a 911 phone call?
After the outrage that has exploded on social media, and rightfully so?
I cannot.
There are people dead. There are cell phones ringing in the pockets of dead people that will never be answered. There are text messages that will never be responded to.
There is a city in shock and anguish.
Our President has, once again, gotten up to address a mass shooting, and called for tougher gun laws. It's the same cycle that has repeated itself too many times.
Since December 14, 2012, when 26 people died at Sandy Hook, there have been 1001 mass shootings in the United States. This statistic comes from the Gun Violence Archive, which defines "mass shooting" as an event where four or more people, not counting the shooter, were shot at the same general time and location.
Yesterday, I listened in shock and outrage. I whispered, "Oh, my God," when the news alert came over my iPad that 50 people were dead. I listened to the radio while I was waiting for my husband to come out of church. I listened to the radio again while I was lying down during the afternoon. After my husband and son went to bed, I watched CNN. I posted on Facebook. I read reactions.
Today's headline in the AJC simply reads: MASSACRE.
My heart is sad and broken.
And I am numb.
I have become numb to the reports of shooting, of terror, of hate, of anger and fighting. Shooting and violence and terror have become a way of life. Such reports are almost to be expected.
Today, I grieve.
And I also have to take my son for his senior portraits.
And I have 87 pages to proof.
And I have dinner to make.
And I have told my son that I will take him to our VBS.
And I need to get my prescriptions.
And I need some more frozen berries and eggs.
And I need to return two library books.
I can't deal.
Not only can I not deal, I cannot even shuffle.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
I was going to write about my first "Bye, Felicia," delivered to an unsympathetic male about the Stanford rape case.
I was going to write a serious post about that same case.
I was going to write about some of my observations about faith.
I was going to write about what I planned to do between now and Election Day (which includes, going off the grid on Election Day.)
But after yesterday?
After fifty dead in a pool of blood, the victims of slaughter at the hand of someone who, because he was angry at two men kissing in front of his young son, decided to take it out on an entire group?
After this same person claimed allegiance to ISIS in a 911 phone call?
After the outrage that has exploded on social media, and rightfully so?
I cannot.
There are people dead. There are cell phones ringing in the pockets of dead people that will never be answered. There are text messages that will never be responded to.
There is a city in shock and anguish.
Our President has, once again, gotten up to address a mass shooting, and called for tougher gun laws. It's the same cycle that has repeated itself too many times.
Since December 14, 2012, when 26 people died at Sandy Hook, there have been 1001 mass shootings in the United States. This statistic comes from the Gun Violence Archive, which defines "mass shooting" as an event where four or more people, not counting the shooter, were shot at the same general time and location.
Yesterday, I listened in shock and outrage. I whispered, "Oh, my God," when the news alert came over my iPad that 50 people were dead. I listened to the radio while I was waiting for my husband to come out of church. I listened to the radio again while I was lying down during the afternoon. After my husband and son went to bed, I watched CNN. I posted on Facebook. I read reactions.
Today's headline in the AJC simply reads: MASSACRE.
My heart is sad and broken.
And I am numb.
I have become numb to the reports of shooting, of terror, of hate, of anger and fighting. Shooting and violence and terror have become a way of life. Such reports are almost to be expected.
Today, I grieve.
And I also have to take my son for his senior portraits.
And I have 87 pages to proof.
And I have dinner to make.
And I have told my son that I will take him to our VBS.
And I need to get my prescriptions.
And I need some more frozen berries and eggs.
And I need to return two library books.
I can't deal.
Not only can I not deal, I cannot even shuffle.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
Sunday, June 12, 2016
Fifty
"Someone, somewhere will try and make this about something else. Many will blindly follow because they believe in philosophies, politics, and causes more than they love people, but all that happened in Orlando is 50-people made in the image of God were slain.
To think about much more at this moment, reveals our callousness to life."
--Sean Palmer, Minister at The Vine Church, Temple, TX
I don't care who you are or what political, social, religious, or whatever philosophies you hold.
No one deserves to be targeted for murder.
--Sean Palmer, Minister at The Vine Church, Temple, TX
I don't care who you are or what political, social, religious, or whatever philosophies you hold.
No one deserves to be targeted for murder.
No one.
No one.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
Tuesday, May 31, 2016
The power of a loaded camera
Thomas Nybo wields a loaded camera and he's not afraid to use it.
Like most professional photographers, he carries a camera with lenses that are comparable to a lethal weapon. And perhaps the comparison is apt, because we refer to camera "shots".
Sometimes the "shots" that the camera takes are just as, if not more than, effective as a loaded gun. Take the images that have won Pulitzer Prizes:
And how many of us remember the picture of the lone Chinese standing in front of the tank in Tiananmen Square?
For many, the most poignant shot of the bombing of the Murrah building in Oklahoma City was of a fireman carrying two-year-old Baylee Almon.
And how many photos of the Twin Towers have we seen, with the smoke billowing out of them?
"Every Picture Tells A Story" is the title of a Rod Stewart album, and it's true. The cliche is true: a picture is worth a thousand words.
Thomas Nybo knows the power of a loaded camera. He's put it to use in, among other places, Nepal and the Mediterranean. He was in Nepal when the earthquake hit in April 2015. His camera showed the world the devastation that followed.
More recently, he and his camera have documented the refugee crisis in the Mediterranean, putting faces to the figures of "millions of refugees fleeing Syria".
You can hear the news reports. You can hear the words of "earthquake," "refugees", etc., but sometimes, it's only when you see the images that the reality hits home.
Thomas Nybo attends my church. On Sunday, I saw a note in our bulletin saying that our church's website will be redesigned for the fall, and Thomas will be taking pictures for the next few weeks. If you see him, please just act normally. (To which I responded mentally, "Ha!" :-) )
During our sermon, I saw Thomas busy with his camera. I'd never had the pleasure of meeting him before, and I decided that I was going to see if I could meet him after service.
And I was lucky enough to do so. He's a very nice man with a bald head, a big smile, and a laugh.
I told him I'd seen some of his pictures, and commented that if you have been in a situation such as the refugee crisis, you can't help but walk away unaffected. He agreed with me. I said that yes, I was concerned about terrorists coming in, but what about those who are just trying to get away?
He said in response, "If you don't want them to become terrorists, then treat them as you would anyone else."
That hit home with me. Looking down our noses at refugees and immigrants and treating them as if they were already terrorists may indeed drive them into terrorism. ("They already think I'm a terrorist, so why not be one?")
(Incidentally, when someone is admitted to our country as a refugee, the term "refugee" has a very specific meaning. It is not just someone who has left one country and has entered ours. And before they come to this country, they are thoroughly vetted. That's not to say that terrorists can't pretend to be refugees before they get into this country. But tarring and feathering an ethnic group with the brush of "terrorist" simply because a few of them are terrorists does a horrible disservice to those who are running away from the violence and horror of terrorism.)
Our motto at church is "Love First". I'd like to think that, when Thomas Nybo's pictures are posted on our new website, they will be shots fired as ammunition of love.
Such is the power of a loaded camera.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
Like most professional photographers, he carries a camera with lenses that are comparable to a lethal weapon. And perhaps the comparison is apt, because we refer to camera "shots".
Sometimes the "shots" that the camera takes are just as, if not more than, effective as a loaded gun. Take the images that have won Pulitzer Prizes:
And how many of us remember the picture of the lone Chinese standing in front of the tank in Tiananmen Square?
For many, the most poignant shot of the bombing of the Murrah building in Oklahoma City was of a fireman carrying two-year-old Baylee Almon.
And how many photos of the Twin Towers have we seen, with the smoke billowing out of them?
"Every Picture Tells A Story" is the title of a Rod Stewart album, and it's true. The cliche is true: a picture is worth a thousand words.
Thomas Nybo knows the power of a loaded camera. He's put it to use in, among other places, Nepal and the Mediterranean. He was in Nepal when the earthquake hit in April 2015. His camera showed the world the devastation that followed.
More recently, he and his camera have documented the refugee crisis in the Mediterranean, putting faces to the figures of "millions of refugees fleeing Syria".
You can hear the news reports. You can hear the words of "earthquake," "refugees", etc., but sometimes, it's only when you see the images that the reality hits home.
Thomas Nybo attends my church. On Sunday, I saw a note in our bulletin saying that our church's website will be redesigned for the fall, and Thomas will be taking pictures for the next few weeks. If you see him, please just act normally. (To which I responded mentally, "Ha!" :-) )
During our sermon, I saw Thomas busy with his camera. I'd never had the pleasure of meeting him before, and I decided that I was going to see if I could meet him after service.
And I was lucky enough to do so. He's a very nice man with a bald head, a big smile, and a laugh.
I told him I'd seen some of his pictures, and commented that if you have been in a situation such as the refugee crisis, you can't help but walk away unaffected. He agreed with me. I said that yes, I was concerned about terrorists coming in, but what about those who are just trying to get away?
He said in response, "If you don't want them to become terrorists, then treat them as you would anyone else."
That hit home with me. Looking down our noses at refugees and immigrants and treating them as if they were already terrorists may indeed drive them into terrorism. ("They already think I'm a terrorist, so why not be one?")
(Incidentally, when someone is admitted to our country as a refugee, the term "refugee" has a very specific meaning. It is not just someone who has left one country and has entered ours. And before they come to this country, they are thoroughly vetted. That's not to say that terrorists can't pretend to be refugees before they get into this country. But tarring and feathering an ethnic group with the brush of "terrorist" simply because a few of them are terrorists does a horrible disservice to those who are running away from the violence and horror of terrorism.)
Our motto at church is "Love First". I'd like to think that, when Thomas Nybo's pictures are posted on our new website, they will be shots fired as ammunition of love.
Such is the power of a loaded camera.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
Monday, May 30, 2016
For Memorial Day . . .
In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
In memory of those Americans who gave their lives in battle.
And in memory of the uncounted others around the world who also did so.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army
In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
In memory of those Americans who gave their lives in battle.
And in memory of the uncounted others around the world who also did so.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
Friday, May 20, 2016
Breaking point
Both my BFF and I are at our breaking point.
She has a close relative in rehab who will be coming home next week, and my friend will probably be providing most of the care the relative needs.
She also has a friend involved in some very complicated legal troubles.
She's a writer, self-published, and these life rolls have really gotten to her.
I have a list of health problems that seem to go on and on and on and never get any better.
I also have a child with special needs that needs extra help, and dealing with his needs day after day can be wearying at times.
And I'm also trying to write and not doing it very successfully.
Both my BFF and I are very concerned about the state of the country.
And recently I read the following statement on a group I'm part of: "In June of 2017 you're going to be sitting here wondering why nothing has changed. And the answer will be the same. Because you personally did nothing to change it."
I do NOT need that guilt trip laid on me!
Because, apart from voting, I do not have the resources to "personally" do something to change things. And I truly resent being told that because I, personally, did nothing, that the fate of the country, world, etc. can be laid at my feet.
I have hit my breaking point.
So has my BFF.
Pray for us.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
She has a close relative in rehab who will be coming home next week, and my friend will probably be providing most of the care the relative needs.
She also has a friend involved in some very complicated legal troubles.
She's a writer, self-published, and these life rolls have really gotten to her.
I have a list of health problems that seem to go on and on and on and never get any better.
I also have a child with special needs that needs extra help, and dealing with his needs day after day can be wearying at times.
And I'm also trying to write and not doing it very successfully.
Both my BFF and I are very concerned about the state of the country.
And recently I read the following statement on a group I'm part of: "In June of 2017 you're going to be sitting here wondering why nothing has changed. And the answer will be the same. Because you personally did nothing to change it."
I do NOT need that guilt trip laid on me!
Because, apart from voting, I do not have the resources to "personally" do something to change things. And I truly resent being told that because I, personally, did nothing, that the fate of the country, world, etc. can be laid at my feet.
I have hit my breaking point.
So has my BFF.
Pray for us.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
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