Maybe Christmas Is...

Christmas used to be easy. The kids were small and the magic within their little hearts held the true Christmas spirit. Christmas Eve was filled with laughter and chatter and cookies and stories and songs and love. I would tuck them in, kiss each on the head and wish a good nights sleep so Santa could come visit.

I would then sit on the floor, watch "It's A Wonderful Life, sip hot cocoa and wrap the remaining gifts to place under the tree. My FAVORITE part was the arranging of the gifts for the perfect "Wow" moment. I would toss and turn all night with anticipation and excitement. I could hardly wait for 7:00 a.m. to roll around so we could start tearing into gifts. The kids knew that Christmas-present-unwrapping began at 7:00. Oh yes, they got up much earlier than 7:00. I would wait for their exclamation of glee. "Santa came!" and the shaking of the presents to start. I would hunker down under the covers and grin. I loved their excitement.

My kids are much much older now and starting families and traditions all their own. Gift giving is more difficult now that they are self sufficient and can buy whatever they want and need. 

In the past, Mark's mantra has been "Christmas is such a financial burden." I would get so mad! "Don't say that! I love Christmas!" Tables turned and I found myself the other day saying out loud to Mark, "I hate Christmas."

I expected this whole conversation about the evils of Christmas. The financial burden. The commercialization. The lack of spirit. Blah. Blah. Blah. Oh, I had all the complaints lined up and ready to spew from my lips.

Then Mark said, "That breaks my heart that you said that." I was astounded. Let me tell you, there aren't many moments in my life that I am without words, but that statement left me speechless. I didn't say a word and acted like I hadn't said such a blatantly ugly statement.

I instantly began evaluating myself. Why do I hate it this year? Is it really THAT BAD?

I watched the Charlie Brown Christmas Special. Frosty the Snowman. Rudolph. Santa Claus Is Coming To Town. I watched every show that I loved as a kid trying to wrap my brain around what it is that I'm missing this year.

Then the other night the doorbell rang. I had taken a hot bath to warm my bones and decided "Why not" and threw on my jammies. I was IRRITATED that Mark was in the shop and I had to be the one to answer the door. I flung it open, all the while, wondering who the crap was at my house that late (it was only 6:00 p.m.) and why they rang the doorbell. Nobody ever rings my doorbell. They just walk in. Don't they know that?

In front of me stood a smattering of youth from my neighborhood. I was handed a blanket and a mug with hot cocoa in it and they began singing "Jingle Bell Rock". They won't be awarded ANY trophies for their musical ability. However, it was the mostest bestest song that I have heard all year.

The message was huge. For standing in the cold, just doing what they were "told" to do, muttering some Christmas tune, was the Christmas spirit.

I squealed in delight and clapped ferociously. I shut the door and didn't share it with anyone. Mark will "hear" about it in this blog with the rest of you.

I will remember the joy of THAT MOMENT. I will lock away the cold air, the coats they wore, my jammies, the twinkling lights across the street, the color of the mug and the blankie folded in my hands. It was MY moment and for some strange reason I felt that sharing it out loud would somehow diminish the impact. 

I watched "How The Grinch Stole Christmas" (the cartoon).  I know you've seen the movie and quite possibly have seen little blocks of wood embellished with the quote from Dr. Seuss. You might even struggle with Christmas and finances and commercialism and the whole meaning behind it like I do. But, you know what? The Grinch was right. When his heart grew three sizes? That was his moment. He got it.

My family is pretty rock solid when it comes to worldly thoughts and needs. They are humble and good and kind and giving. They know the meaning behind the gift-giving well before they see the gift. They get oh-so-excited when we draw names and they think and plan and find the perfect gift for the family member lucky enough to be on the gift-receiving end. 

And that makes me proud.

And that, my friends, THAT is what Christmas is all about.

Love. Family. Kindness. Smiles. Simplicity. Giving. Joy.

"It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes, or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. "Maybe Christmas", he thought, "doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas... perhaps...means a little bit more!" ~Dr. Seuss

Merry Christmas to all.

The Circle of My Life

A few months ago, I was pulled over. I wasn't wearing my seatbelt. I have asked Mark over and over and over again to fix my seatbelt. Guess what? It's fixed now.

While explaining to the officer that my husband is a loser and that the seatbelt would be fixed, the officer asked why I was slurring.  "Are you on drugs?" "Are you drunk?"

"Um, no, I have a medical condition that affects my speech."

After talking with her for a minute, she slapped me on the butt with a warning ticket and sent me on my way.

I didn't think about it (much) until about a week later I received a letter from the Drivers License Division informing me that I had to get my butt into their offices, take a written test, have a physical evaluation, bring a Doctors note and perform a driving test.

WHAT?

I was beyond mad. Okay. Let's be honest. I was scared to death. I was so very worried that some random minimum wage employee was going to determine whether I could drive when I knew BEYOND certainty that I was fine to drive.

Ugh.

Test day came and I aced the written test as well as the physical evaluation. I wasn't worried NOT ONE BIT about the driving test. I can drive. Right? According to the Utah State Laws, I have a "signal when you're gonna turn" issue and they FAILED ME. My super up-to-date 1993 Jeep doesn't "click" when the blinker is on AND my signal switch needed replaced. (Sigh.) (Mark.) (Again.) So when the examiner took a gander at my dashboard, he didn't see a blinking light. Fail.

Upset. Crying. Gnashing of teeth. Seeing red. That was me.

Then depression set in. How am I going to handle the imminent loss of my independence? This soooooooo sucks.

Back in the day, we had a car that Mark and I lovingly called the La Bamba. Tanna and Shelby (not so lovingly) referred to it as the Loser Cruiser. They would come unglued if, while we were out and about, we happened upon someone they knew. For them, best case scenerio would be that their friends would be spotted BEFORE we rolled up and the extra time would enable my proud girls to slink WAY LOW in their seats so they couldn't be seen.

On the other hand? Goose and Tyson loved this car. They thought it was the coolest car that was ever built and proudly let EVERYONE share their joy in the 1974 Pontiac.

Goose was 13 or 14. He begged and bargained and petitioned and implored and desperately pled with me to let him drive. One day, I gave in. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I'm weak.

Goose and I took off for a spin around the block. We got 3/4 of the way home when I looked behind us and saw the flashing lights. Crap. We were being pulled over and Goose wasn't close to a practice-my-driving age.

"Hi officer. I'm just out practicing driving with my son TYSON." Yeah. I lied. Oh boy. Goose just froze and didn't say a word. If I was going down, he sure as crap wasn't going with me. Thanks Goose.

The officer simply thought that I looked too young to be THE mom (I say that proudly.), checked my license and sent us on our way. Whew.

Time passed. Tyson became a licensed driver. Goose learned. Tanna and Shelby became official. I spent endless amount of time teaching the rules of the road. "Push the clutch in BEFORE you stop." "Turn your blinker on." "Change gears" "Shift." "Shift." "SHIFT."

Today the Linnette Deason pancake finally flipped. Things in my life have been beginning to come full circle. It officially started in New York when Shelby had to help me put my shoes on before entering the buildings. I swear my feet are claustrophobic and I kept having to take off my shoes.  I had (I do mean HAD) to get them off. Shelby used her BEST mom voice. "Why do you keep taking your shoes off?" However, she would get on her knees, slip my Converse on my feet, tie them and ALWAYS would ask "Is that too tight? How do they feel?"

A few weeks ago, I fell. My face was dirty and my pride was wounded. Tanna went and got a wet cloth and oh-so-lovingly washed my face.

Tyson periodically kidnaps me and takes me to lunch or to a movie. He gets SO MAD if I try to pay. Half of the time, I don't even bring my purse with me any longer.

EVERY SINGLE TIME Jaden hears me come into the house or stumble around in the kitchen or walk down the stairs or mow the lawn or carry a laundry basket he asks if I'm okay or if I need some help.

When I eat, I'm telling you that no matter how careful I am, I end up wearing my food with my make-up. Mark is forever grabbing a napkin or a towel or his bare fingers and cleaning my face for me.

Goose took me to my driving test today. He sat in the passenger seat while I gave his car a whirl and adjusted my driving skills to power steering. He giggled and gave advice (most times unsolicited) while I practiced parallel parking.

And a few things crossed my mind.

I have really, really, REALLY good kids. I'm going to be okay when I can't do it "all" any longer. I'm so fortunate to be in the "now" with my family.

I remember when the book "Love You Forever"  by Robert Munsch came out.

The synopsis by Wikipedia is:

"The story details the cycle of life by chronicling the experiences of a young son and his mother throughout the course of the boy's life, and describing the exasperating behavior exhibited by him throughout his youth. In spite of her occasional aggravation caused by her son's behavior, the mother nonetheless visits his bedroom nightly to cradle him in her arms, and sing a brief lullaby promising to always love him. After her son enters adulthood and leaves home, his elderly mother occasionally sneaks into his bedroom at night to croon her customary lullaby. However she gradually grows old and frail, and her grown son visits his feeble, sickly mother for the final time. He sings an altered rendition of her lullaby in reciprocation of the unconditional love that she had shown him; vowing to always love her as she dies before him. After returning home in a scene implying the death of his mother, he cradles his newborn daughter and sings his mother's signature lullaby for her, implying that the cycle will continue."

I remember reading this book over and over to my kids. I thought it was cute. It struck a bit of a chord in my heart. However, it was simply a good book.

That book is on my mind. Heavy. Today, I learned the truth behind the circle of my life. For the first time EVER? I'm okay with it.

P.S.  I passed my driving test.

It's A Small World

There is a time in our lives where the world is huge. People enter our lives through work and school and neighborhoods and friends of our kids and parents of our friends and "regulars" at the Pepsi store, the gym, the grocery store.  Then as we age, our world begins to shrink. People we love leave and absolutely CANNOT be replaced.

Max was one of those people in my life. Max had a way of finding beauty in the small things. If I said he loved nature, your mind would wander to the mountains and the trees and the wildlife that comes within the "huge-ness" of our world. He did love nature as you might define it. However, when I think of Max I think of the beauty he found in the simpler nature. He found form and intrigue in rocks. In a wooden stick. In a pine cone. He would think and plan and work and form a piece of art that was useful and aesthetically soothing to your soul.

Early this morning, Max Peery passed away. Max is Aunt Shannon's father. Shannon was lucky to be with him and her mom when he died. Last Saturday Shannon found out that Max had recently been diagnosed with leukemia. The poor family didn't have time to wrap their brains around something so horrible, when his kidneys began shutting down.

Max and Gabe live in St. George, Utah and Shannon left Monday to go see how she might be able to help. I am so grateful that she was lucky enough to see her dad, hold his hand, fluff his pillows, and let him know in action and word that she loves him ohsoverymuch.

Max enjoyed thinking outside of the box. He was kind and gracious and giving. Yes, it's a smaller world now.

Take that minute to hold those you love close. Discover your unique-ness.  Learn from Max and embrace the beauty in the small gifts that are placed on our earth. Be loving and kind and give what you have. Envision potential in all that you see. Think outside of the box and challenge those you love to do so.

The Other Mother

There was a time in my life when it was necessary for me to find daycare. I was oh-so-fortunate to find two daycare providers that I lovingly called "the other mother". Calleen Adams was one of those gals.

I loved that lady immensely. When I needed a good back-up plan, she was there. She took the kids when I worked, when I went to school, when I was sick, when I needed to escape from reality.

She fed them. She read to them. She cooked for them. She bandaged skinned knees, wiped tears and offered free, unencumbered hugs. Trust me. There were many, MANY times that I was on the receiving end of wiped tears and huge hugs.

The earth wept yesterday as Calleen left our lives. Her sweet Sheldon, Tyler, Jenni and Chris will forever mark Tuesday, October 27 in their hearts with mourning and tears of sadness.

Selfless.
Kind.
Funny.
Weird.
Smart.
Beautiful.
Charitable.
Compassionate.
Generous.
Honest.

How lucky was I to have known and loved a person like that?

It's been a long day without you, my friend  

And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again 

We've come a long way from where we began 

Oh, I'll tell you all about it when I see you again 

When I see you again 

~Wiz Khalifa

Bagging a Trophy

October in Utah is hunting season. Rifle hunting season. Typically my guys do the bow hunt or participate in the black-powder-swirling-in-the-air muzzle loader hunt for deer or elk or whatever it is that makes them feel manly and outdoorsy.

Goose can't really go hunting anymore. The wildfire season is right in the middle of the muzzle loader hunt and bow hunt. So this year it was decided to rifle hunt so Goose could go. Planning began MONTHS ago. The cleaning of guns and organizing of the trailer, gathering of hunters orange and sighting in the guns were all completed excitedly as the time to head up the mountain drew near.

Then Goose was called to a fire. In Idaho. I swear to you that I thought Mark was going to bawl like a little school girl. "My hunt is ruined."

Thank you LonePeak Hotshots. They saved the hunt for Mark and sent Goose home. Hoorah.

Much to the dismay of my family, I opted out this year. October brings harsh weather to the mountains of Utah. My walking is painful watch. Painful to experience. And the cold exasperates these struggles. I wasn't up to the task. 

The food was packed, hunting gear gathered, warm clothes found and last Friday they all took off amidst grunts of excitement and every I'm-a-mighty-man hunting sound that they could muster.

Tuesday night was the planned night for Marks reluctant return to home life, work life and everything that he endures to get to the next hunt.

Mark rolled in around 7:00 pm. "How was today?" "Did you get anything?"

"I bagged a trophy."

"What?"

Then lies spewed from my mouth. You know - that's so awesome, good for you, ohmygoshthat'ssoexciting kind of comments. Really I'm thinking "Oh man I don't want the mess" "Blood is going to be everywhere." "I have to go get butcher paper and supplies." "Why-oh-why is he an accurate shot?"

In 1981 Mark went hunting with his Dad. It was a LOOOOOOOONG time ago and I think I went with them, and Mark THINKS I went with them, but truly we aren't sure.  He, however, DOES remember a nice four point buck wandering past and shooting at the big guy. And missing. And shooting. And missing. And shooting. And missing. (You get the idea). Four shots. Four misses. Buck runs away. Mark is mad. Come to find out something was wrong with the gun. I don't remember what he said it was. 

Anyhow, he pulled out his knife and carved Mark + Linnette 1981 in a tree. 

Every once in a blue moon, the missing-the-four-point-buck story comes out and it always, always ends with "And I carved our names in a tree."

A few years ago, fire swept through the canyon that held our tree. Mark told me about the fire and followed it with "I'm sure our tree was burned down." We were sad. But what could be done? It was gone and with it gone forever was our link to the past.

Monday brought full time jobs for Tyson and Diana and school for Jaden and the kids. The camp cleared out leaving Mark and Goose to fill the freezers.

Because he hikes and camps and trudges through the mountains 6 months a year, Goose is equipped with some pretty cool gear to get-the-job-done with as much comfort as can be gleaned on a mountainside. Mark and Goose decided to backpack through the canyon and get to where the deer FOR SURE would be.

The TRUE purpose had been discussed with all in camp. Yeah. They were going to see if they could find my tree.

It was snowing. They slept under a tarp to try to stay warm. They hiked and climbed and fell and cussed and looked and looked and looked.

And just when they were giving up? They found it.

Mark and Goose bagged my trophy. My sweet husband brought me the gift of a lifetime. We both wept. We NEEDED this link. And now it resides in my front room.

Shelby's Song

Shelby turns 24 today. How lucky am I to be able to say that? She brilliantly conquered 1,2,3,....(you get it) and she will be a marvelous 24. I'm sure of it.

I almost didn't get to witness Shelby turn 24. 

Mark and I divorced when I was expecting Shelby. I was wrought with distress. I already had three kids. How could I possibly take care of four? I was sad. So sad. I was depressed. I was lonely and broke and stressed and.... you get it. 

When Shelby was young, my aunt convinced me to go to college. My self esteem climbed and I was able to see the "old" Linnette in a different light. I took a creative writing course and so began my love for writing. I learned a long time ago that I needed to write what I know. And what I know is me. So that is what I write about.

For one of my term papers, I had to write an essay that would evoke emotion from the reader. After much contemplation, I chose a subject that was extremely difficult to share. It was so personal. I am human...filled with self doubt, wrong decisions, bad actions, pain, guilt. Yes. I have these thoughts, too.

I wrote and edited and edited and edited. I submitted a rough draft and my teacher was thrilled with my attempt. She wanted to publish my writing. However, remember self doubt was my friend? I would not give her permission to move forward.

The letter is fictional. It was suggested to me that I use this style to gain more emotion. Here is what I wrote:

Dear Veronica,

Thank you so much for inviting me to lunch. It has been so long since we have been able to sit and chat about the things going on in our lives. Isn't it amazing what can happen inside of a few years time?

I still remember us together as teens dreaming what our lives would be like. I guess neither one of us truly knew that each would be faced with the ultimate test of divorce.

I recall my divorce as if it were just yesterday. I have experienced every emotion you are challenged with. You are not going insane. The emotions you feel are a part of the process of learning and growing.

A long time ago I locked all these feelings away inside of my heart. I vowed to never release them again. Because of you, I am taking this opportunity to relate the story of my divorce. I realize that no single divorce is the same. However, many who have gone through this impossible situation have experienced many of the same things as I.

I remember talking with other women about divorce and thinking that they really couldn't relate to what I was experiencing. They could not have loved their husbands as much as I loved Mark. Their hurt could not have been as intense as my own pain.

On the flip-side, there were also those who have never gone through a failed marriage. Their support was appreciated, but seemed to fall on deaf ears. How could they possibly picture life as they know it abruptly ending and changing forever? As I listened to you share your saga, my mind began to drift to so many years ago when I was in the exact situation. Every word you said seemed to grip my heart like a vise. If I can buoy you up in any way by sharing my story, that is all I can ask for. The rest will come in time. Please listen with an open heart and mind.

I was pregnant with my fourth child. Life consisted of housework, diapers, bottles and band-aids. I viewed my marriage as something that needed remodeling – not realizing that the foundation had crumbled and at any given moment the walls would come crashing down. Nothing had prepared me for the words, "I want a divorce."

However, the words were spoken and the walls gave way. My world went spinning out of control. Instantly I was faced with issues of necessity. Where to live, how to live, and more important, why to live were constant companions in my mind. These children were depending upon me to get them through this physically, spiritually and emotionally. I had no time for tears of self-pity or loneliness. The only thing I could focus on was survival.

Can you see how much our stories already seem to intertwine? You refused to show anger or pain yesterday. But, I could see it in your eyes. I remember! The only side I would show to the outside world was strength. I would not tell anyone how many hours I spent screaming into my pillow. How could I tell how often I beat the walls, my bed or my couch until I was overcome with exhaustion. Then, there was the time I sat over three hours on the bathroom sink and wrote "I hate myself" over and over again in red lipstick on the mirror. There was tremendous pain involved.

Chaos was setting in. It was controlling each of our lives. The kids were miserable. I was miserable. I was still screaming into my pillow every night.

One morning, my rope snapped. I woke up and decided I had had enough. Self-pity had won. I decided I could not support the ones I already had. The guilt was too much to bear. I could not look into another set of questioning eyes and attempt to answer the very questions I was asking myself.

I placed a call to an agency. I found out the process of giving my unborn child up for adoption. It hurt inside my heart, but I could only focus on the better life I was giving to one of my children.

I worked my fill shift in a daze that evening. I kept trying to convince myself that I was doing the right thing. Wasn't this a true act of love? My sacrifice would bring peace to this baby growing inside of me.

As fate would have it, I went into labor that night and the next morning at 8:35, Shelby entered this world. What a miracle! As she was placed on my belly, still fresh with childbirth, a revelation came to me. It was my own personal revelation that I was meant to raise this baby. For the first time in my entire life, I felt complete.

As I have heard other women tell their stories of divorce, it seems to me that there is a specific turning point for each of them. I thought this was mine. Was I in for a surprise!

In the past, I had time to treasure the joy of bringing a precious spirit into the world. I spent hours rocking my babies while crooning my self-made lullabies.

With Shelby, it seemed I had no time to relax and just hold my baby. I couldn't quit wondering when I would be able to go back to work. I couldn't afford to miss a single day. My paychecks were barely enough to survive on as it was. I had no option. Three days after Shelby was born, I went back to work. Oh! How I envied the mothers who were able to at least take maternity leave.

I was exhausted. I did not want to be working. I wanted to stay home forever and simply be Mom. I dreamed of another life so long ago spent as a family with a Daddy. It was so unfair!

Post-partum depression set in and with it came an entire year of bottled up despair. I cried and cried. Just when I thought I was in control, I cried some more. I was angry. Very angry. I was scared, lonely and in need of releasing these feelings.

When I cried, the kids cried. We held each other many nights and sobbed ourselves to sleep. Many hours were spent with each child helping to release pent-up feelings.

We learned it was okay to cry. It was okay to be angry. It wasn't okay to bottle up all the emotions that come with a loss and pretend they would go away. Therefore, the kids and I talked about everything we felt when we felt it. If laundry didn't get finished, that was okay. Housework would be there tomorrow. We were healing.

I began to revise my life of values and priorities. My family consisted of individuals. Somehow, I needed to make us whole. It was important to keep my job for financial security. Yet, I believed that family security was my primary concern. I concentrated on the kids and myself in full. I no longer brought the frustrations of a full-time job home with me. I began to separate my two identities. 

My healing began. I had a stronger foundation that would never falter again. I was still scared. I was still angry. I wasn't alone. I began to see this as a "together" kind of thing. Together we could accomplish anything.

How could I have ever known that I would be strong – that I would rebuild my shattered existence into a formidable fortress. I thank God for this opportunity to see my life with renewed eyesight.

So, my sweet friend, cry. Scream. Yell. Stomp your feet. Release everything inside of you, then pick up what is left inside and start over.

I will do it with you. Together we will rebuild your fortress. You are strong. I can see it. You are not going crazy. You are feeling everything experienced in the loss of a loved one. The only difference between death and divorce is you cannot see the one you love and run to his arms to be held forever. The ghost is forever there, yet is no longer yours.

You do not need to validate your existence according to this man. You have a purpose here upon this earth. Find that purpose and set your sights now.

I will close this now. I love you. You deserve to be happy. I will help in any way I can, but your happiness depends solely upon you. Life is meant to be lived. Live your pain now and get on with life.

The greatest thing I can give you is my unconditional support and love. The greatest gift you can give yourself and your children is a strong foundation that will forever stand the test of time.

I hope that sharing my story with you will somehow help you trudge through the steps ahead of you. If I had known then what I know now...

Linnette

Shelby saved my life. Does that sound dramatic? Maybe. However, it is true. As you can tell, I was pretty sad. In fact, suicide was considered every single day. I would drive to work and watch the trees and poles whizz by. I would begin doing the math on how fast I would need to go and at what angle I needed to hit a standing object in order to kill myself. The kids were at a day care with a wonderful "other mother" Diane. She loved the kids. They loved her. They would be okay. However, I was pregnant and I couldn't murder my child. That alone, saved me.

After Shelby was born, she wouldn't eat. What little she did eat, her tiny body refused to process. She lost weight and was dying on me. She was diagnosed with Failure to Thrive. This innocent baby did not have the will to live. And it was my fault.

One evening after work (I was working Swing Shift when my kids were young) I drove straight to the hospital and held Shelby. While we rocked and sang I was overcome with the immense desire to verbalize how much I needed her, how important she was to our family and how much I loved her. Adored her. Treasured her.

And that's what I did. I talked and talked and talked to my sweet girl well into the night. I cried and begged her not to leave me. And she began to eat. And grow. And thrive.

An angel was given to me. And I'm a better person because of it.

When The World Stopped Turning.

I was standing in my kitchen trying to make sense of the fix-the-breakfast dishes and Mark-needs-a-lunch mess. Jaden was just over a year old and toddling around my feet when my phone rang. It was Mark. "Turn on the news. A plane just hit in the World Trade Center." "What?" I said. 'Ohmygosh. That's HORRIBLE." And I turned on the television in Goose's room.

I sat on the bed and watched in horror as ANOTHER plane hit the other tower.

I called Mark. Freaking out. I couldn't comprehend what was happening. I sat mesmerized by the news when the towers began to crumble. I don't think I could comprehend the horror that was developing before my eyes.

I watched with rapt attention to the interviews. The statistics. The pleas for help. The magnitude of fear and dread that filled the television screen enveloped me. And I wept.

I didn't turn my television off for three days. I watched endlessly as responders searched in vain for life. I cried at the still images of those left behind to mourn their loved ones. I prayed for those still searching and felt a sense of overwhelming dread at the "Help Find" posters hung throughout the city.

On day three, Denise called me. We were supposed to meet on some labels. We didn't meet. We sat in silence on the phone, neither wanting to break into the despair the other felt, until Denise finally said so lovingly to me "We can do this, Linnette. Our country is strong and good and proud."

I turned off the television and have not watched the news since.

I tire of the horror. It sickens me that our news is filled with death and pain and sadness. And I want no part of that emotion. Ever again.

Laurie called me. "I remember when I was in New York and toured the Trade Centers. I was in the gift shop and there was this cute little gal that helped me. Do you think she's okay?"

I loaded Jaden in his car seat and drove to the sell-a-flag-store not too far from here. I wanted a flag. I wanted to do "something" to show my support of our nation. I walked in. I must have carried the horror I felt because the sales clerk walked up to me and said "You are here for an American flag." Then this perfect stranger held me while we both cried.

Where were you when the world stopped turning on that September day?
Were you in the yard with your wife and children
Or working on some stage in L.A.?
Did you stand there in shock at the sight of that black smoke
Risin' against that blue sky?
Did you shout out in anger, in fear for your neighbor
Or did you just sit down and cry?

Did you weep for the children who lost their dear loved ones
And pray for the ones who don't know?
Did you rejoice for the people who walked from the rubble
And sob for the ones left below?
Did you burst out with pride for the red, white and blue
And the heroes who died just doin' what they do?
Did you look up to heaven for some kind of answer
And look at yourself and what really matters?

I'm just a singer of simple songs
I'm not a real political man
I watch CNN but I'm not sure I can tell
You the difference in Iraq and Iran
But I know Jesus and I talk to God
And I remember this from when I was young
Faith, hope and love are some good things He gave us
And the greatest is love

Where were you when the world stopped turning on that September day?
Were you teaching a class full of innocent children
Or driving down some cold interstate?
Did you feel guilty 'cause you're a survivor
In a crowded room did you feel alone?
Did you call up your mother and tell her you loved her?
Did you dust off that Bible at home?

Did you open your eyes, hope it never happened
Close your eyes and not go to sleep?
Did you notice the sunset the first time in ages
Or speak to some stranger on the street?
Did you lay down at night and think of tomorrow
Or go out and buy you a gun?
Did you turn off that violent old movie you're watchin'
And turn on "I Love Lucy" reruns?

Did you go to a church and hold hands with some strangers
Did you stand in line and give your own blood?
Did you just stay home and cling tight to your family
Thank God you had somebody to love?