Being Loved deeply gives
you strength,
While loving someone deeply
requires courage.
Lao Tzu

I was thinking about this quote quite alot through the night. I came to this blogsite because I wanted to be able to write down what I was thinking. I was at another one before this and wrote things. Things that I was going through alone and things that were breaking my heart. In one of my first posts here, I wrote about being betrayed. A man that I used to love took my old posts and sent them to an old friend that betrayed me to save her butt at work. When you pour out emotion and feeling, you never expect it to be used against you. It took a lot of courage for me to blog again. To put things out there for the world to see. I haven't been as open as I was before. I write here, but I haven't yet been able to pour out raw emotion. The wonderful thing about this place is that I have been met with kindness, friendship and trust. Things that I was afraid to feel after my last blogsite. I have been thinking about that quote. I would love to be able to love again but it does take courage. I've been through quite alot in my life. I learned very early that the people that are supposed to love you, will sometimes hurt you the worst. Thanks to all of you, I am finding my way back to me. I didn't want this to be maudlin or a "poor me" post. I don't. I guess that it's just my round about way of saying thanks. All of you are giving me courage again, and trust. Maybe tomorrow, I will write again. really write. Today I am healing. Slowly ripping off the band aid. It feels good.

There are hundreds of old graveyards in the South. Usually, they are at the end of overgrown, red dirt roads. Surrounded by rusted iron fences with broken gates. They usually have names like MT.PLEASANT or GOOD HOPE. Maybe even MT.ZION. Most of the time the headstones are cracked and falling over and sometimes you have to be very careful of where you step. I go there and imagine the lives of those people. people long forgotten. Civil War soldiers. Men that fought in grey wool uniforms in the hot Southern sun. Fought for a cause that most of them didn't even believe in. Fought because the job of soldier payed a few dollars a month. Almost none of those farm boys owned slaves and din't even know a family that did. Rows of children from the same family lay together for eternity. Three years old, two years old. Nine months old. Died because of scarlet fever or pneumonia. Died because they were born 100 years to early. Before the days of antibiotics or walk in clinics. I try to imagine how ANY mother could survive that. Losing a child or all of her children. Mothers without hope. Wiping the brows of babies that didn't have a chance and then laying one more in the ground. Couples that were married 40 or 50 years. Side by side thoughout eternity. I try to imagine how hard they must have worked. The fields down here don't yield very much harvest and sometimes, it's a long, long time between rains. Did they clasp hands and pray at night? Beg God to send rain, just a little rain? Anything, so that they could feed thier children and livestock.
If you go to a cemetary at dusk, the Spanish moss hangs eerily from the trees. It's easy to imagine the ghosts of long dead people coming out to talk. I sometimes go and think. And try to set tombstones back upright. I go and wonder.. Whey are they neglected? Where are the familes of these long dead people? How easily we forget...

Captain Morgan posted something the other day about hands. The question on the test that he posted said, "What do your hands show about you"? I couldn't access his test because of computer problems but it made me think. My hands? Your hands? What HAVE my hands done for me? I can look at my hands now and know that they are aging. Still, no age spots but I hope that I am lucky enough to live long enough to get them. My hands as a child gathered herbs with my grandma. They helped me milk cows and gather eggs. They have delivered new life into the world and closed the eyes of ones that have left the earth. In war torn countries and In America my hands have wiped blood, sewed up wounds and helped to amputate limbs. They have caressed the face of a man that I loved deeply and dried my tears when he left. My hands have held an American Flag high and they have carried a protest sign against a war that I considered unjust.
They have cradled my children and children of others. They have painted faces for Halloween and taken pictures of the awe on childrens faces when they see something for the first time. They are writing a book and they have turned pages of books that I loved to read. They have written letters, sent get well cards and emailed the same man in Iraq. They close in prayer at the end of the day. My hands. I couldn't think of a reason that my hands were that important to me, but then I did. I am grateful.

STEP 1- Hi my name is ValAnne and I am a computer addict.Less then 10 years ago, I had to go to my friend Sharona's house and let her email a friend of mine. I couldn't do it, wouldn't do it. I was scared of computers.OK, maybe I'm wrong? Maybe I'm just a blogstream addict. You see, my computer is going off and on and I am rapid about it. They can't come and check the problem until next Wednesday. That's a long time. I was worried about all of you. Couldn't wait to see what everyone posted. I couldn't get on until about 11 Pm tonight. I remember the time when we actually had to sit down and write a letter to someone. Lick the nasty seal and stick a stamp on it. AND then the wait.... Running to the mailbox every day to see if you got a letter back. Sometimes it took a week. I admit that this is so much easier. But is it better? Will we have those memories anymore to pull out of a box and look at? I guess that we can print emails and put them away but somehow, it's not the same. Sometimes if we were writing to a man, we would spritz a bit of perfume on the letter before sealing it. Those days are gone but I am so glad that I got a connection tonight. I was missing all of you.

That was the lead in to an article that I read this morning and it almost made me sick. In One sting alone they found 3,000 sites and identified 10,700 individual addresses. One sting alone! I hope that I don't step on any toes by writing this. I take that back. If you are into child porn, I wish that I could stomp your toes to mush. The article said that there were many prepubescent children getting violently raped. I don't believe in the death penalty for child molestors/ and or rapists. It's not that I feel any good will toward them but I am afraid that they wouldn't leave any victims alive if they knew they faced death. A while back, I was nursing In Africa. I woke up early one morning because I heard a child crying in front of my tent. Crying like her heart would break. I picked her up and loved on her and tried to give her a lollipop and nothing stopped her tears. Her pain. She screamed even louder when a male nurse came near us. I took her to our Doctor and he examined her. He finally turned to me and said " Val, this child has been raped ". Then my heart broke. It seems that some men in Africa that Have AIDS think that if they have sex with a virgin that the "bad blood" will all go into the virgin. Her mother had abandoned her and I didn't get to stay long enough to find out her test results. But, I would imagine that somewhere In Africa is another tiny, nameless grave. Sometimes my memories keep me from sleeping.