A Caring Christmas ~ Help a Hungry Neighbor


Sisterhood of the World Bloggers Award!!
Sisterhood of the World Bloggers Award!!

I don’t participate in Black Friday or any of these buying sprees but God gave me a way to challenge this mindset and help my neighbors at the same time. This morning as I was doing my laundry I was very upset to hear that the Police had to get involved because yet another customer was nearly trampled and beaten at Walmart in New Jersey over a Flat Screen TV!! Outrageous!! Also Walmart workers barely earn a living wage while the Founders live the lives of Kings, Queens, Princes & Emperors.

Earlier this Saturday I was shopping at one of my local grocery stores. As I got on the line  there was an elderly woman in front of me carefully counting out her few dollars and change trying to pay for her groceries. She did not have enough money. Right then and there I decided to pay the difference. The clerk and the woman were in shock. My contribution was only $2 bucks but hopefully I made a positive difference in this senior’s life. She was grateful. As I turned to give her some extra change, she had disappeared. My heart is filled with joy being able to help a senior citizen in need. If you follow the news you know the budget for SNAP aka Food Stamps has been cut. This means the poor, disabled and elderly are getting less food stamps and going hungry. This should not be! I live in one of the poorest neighborhoods in New York, Brownsville/Bed-Stuy.

THIS IS MY CHALLENGE TO ALL WHO WISH TO PARTICIPATE FOR THE NEXT 60 DAYS.  PAY FOR AN ELDER’S OR DISABLED PERSON’S GROCERIES AT YOUR LOCAL STORE AND/OR PLEASE CONTRIBUTE TO HELP HOMELESS PEOPLE & PETS!  THANK YOU.

Sisterhood of the World Bloggers Award
Sisterhood of the World Bloggers Award

In the spirit of spreading Love, Joy and Understanding I want to Nominate a Woman who embodies Faith, Love, Caring and Compassion, Ms. Catherine Townsend-Lyon for the Sisterhood of World Bloggers Award.

Please read Catherine’s highly relevant post on the evils and greed of Black Friday.  http://catherinelyonaddictedtodimes.wordpress.com/2013/11/29/black-friday-brings-out-the-evil-in-others-so-why-bother/

 

http://catherinelyonaddictedtodimes.wordpress.com

Holy Trinity vs. the Trifecta of Terror?


Holy Trinity vs. the Trifecta of Terror?

Horror is a literary and film genre I’ve always loved from a child. Give me a good Bela Lugosi, Lon Chaney, Jr. or Boris Karloff film above the over sanitized song & dance Busby Berkley movies any time, any place or anywhere. Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy drove me nuts with their bursting into song at the most inopportune moment during the story.  I’ve never had any external or internal conflict concerning my Christian faith with my fondness for Vampires, Werewolves or zombies. Why? Because I know that they are not real.  Just scary entertainment and nothing more.

Albeit back in my college days there was a Goth girl in my school who drank human blood. Believe me I gave the Goths a wide berth but then again since I was an older (36 year old) night time student we never crossed paths so she and her minions never had the opportunity to access the quality of my veins and arteries.

Like many women I’ve dated a guy with a hairy back. Poor fellow had more hair on his back than on his head but at no time during the months that we were together did he become a snarling libidinous ravenous Wolf Being after Midnight. If he had made some sort of hirsute transformation in the midst of our eating dinner or watching a play then I would have become Cat Woman.

Cat People 1942 Film
Cat People 1942 Film

 

No, not the Cat Woman most of us are familiar with from television and movies but the old school Cat Woman in the film, 1942 flick “Cat People” where the woman upon sexual arousal turns into a real cat! A Panther!  Yes I know there was a 1982 remake of Cat People but I did not like that one.  The original 1942 version was much better.  Did you get that visual of the Cat People Woman and the Werewolf changing during their most erotic moments?  

The Trifecta of Terror: Vampires, Werewolves, and Zombies all came from the overly active imaginations of writers mixed with folklore from various parts of the world.  Bram Stoker created Dracula based on myths and legends from Eastern Europe coupled with a healthy dose of hidden references to repressed sexuality. Mary Shelley gave birth to Frankenstein or as was in the original title The Modern Prometheus which may have been a possible response to the debate on evolution and of course the forbidden realm of the occult.

1942 Cat People
1942 Cat People

As for Zombies, I’m not really too keen on them but I see Zombies aka The Walking Dead in my daily dealings with the general public who display a shocking lack of basic historical knowledge, good manners, common sense and a lack of respect for the rest of the visitors or for my hardworking fellow co-workers.  The Walking Dead is also an accurate description of our government, i.e, the Congress and Senate as well as an apathetic public that believes the hype and drinks the Kool-Aid.  Unfortunately with the advent of modern media such as personal computers, tablets, the Internet, the Web, Smartphones, Laptops, Facebook, Twitter, Google+ and other social media perhaps the true horror and terror of the movie, “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” has come to pass.  Many have been sucked into the mindlessness of Reality TV resulting in assimilation into the Borg Hive.

My favorite Horror sub-genre is psychological horror. It’s that seemingly, quiet, peaceful mundane happenings in small towns and pastoral villages across the globe, that have a hidden under current of evil. Stephen King and Anne Rice are Horror Masters. You know those small towns that exude normalcy but are really the Belly of the Beast. The late great Rod Serling hit the name on the head with the unexpected with the classic TV series, “The Twilight Zone.”  A television favorite of many viewers’ decades after his death.  I’ll leave you with two links to Two of my favorite disturbing Tales of Understated Terror.

A great literary example is the Shirley Jackson short story, “The Lottery.”   http://sites.middlebury.edu/individualandthesociety/files/2010/09/jackson_lottery.pdf

AND

A Rose for Emily by William Faulkner    http://xroads.virginia.edu/~drbr/wf_rose.html

 

Be a Stronger Story


Be a Stronger Story! Walk in your Anointing!!

A Call to Witness

Jan Garrett & JD Martin wrote a song called Tell a Stronger Story. I had the pleasure of listening to this inspiring song via a Unity podcast. It inspired me not just to Tell a Stronger Story but to Be a Stronger Story. Be a Stronger Story other than what Life’s experiences are telling or handing you. In Psalm 42 you can tell the writer is having a really rough time but he encourages himself.

Psalm 42
New King James Version (NKJV)
Yearning for God in the Midst of Distresses

42 As the deer pants for the water brooks,
So pants my soul for You, O God.
2 My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
When shall I come and appear before God?
3 My tears have been my food day and night,
While they continually say to me,
“Where is your God?”
4 When I remember these things,

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*Celebrating My B-Day a Wee Bit Early ~~ With A Friends Awesome Reblogg Post!


*Celebrating My B-Day a Wee Bit Early ~~ With A Friends Awesome Reblogg Post!.

My friend Author Catherine Townsend-Lyon is truly Awesome and Amazing!!   Cat! Thanks for the Vote of Confidence! Thank you for having faith in me! I’m touched that you chose to re-post my humble blogs. My major goal in life has been to touch other women’s lives. To encourage and support Women. To uplift All My Sisters Worldwide No Matter what race, religion, faith, ethnic group, or country. I’m so very honored that you decided to share my writing!! God Bless you My Beloved SisterFriend!! Much Love to You!!

http://catherinelyonaddictedtodimes.wordpress.com/2013/11/13/celebrating-my-b-day-a-wee-bit-early-with-a-friends-awesome-reblogg-post/comment-page-1/#comment-1531

* HAPPY VETERAN’S DAY ~~ A Photo HONOR To Our Military & Vets As They INSPIRE US!! *


The pictures say it All! Happy Veterans Day! Sp4 DeBorah Ann Palmer, U.S. Army, 569th PSC & 101st Airborne Division, 1977-1981.

Recovery Starts Here! A Gambling Free and Sober Blog~Sharing Hope In Recovery One Day At A Time.

As we CELEBRATE and HONOR all our Veterans, those lost, and all those who serve and have served our country, I want to say THANK YOU for your Brave and Passionate service in giving us ALL THE FREEDOMS all AMERICANS enjoy today.
God Bless you ALL………Author, Catherine Townsend-Lyon

*Photos that will inspire you to thank military families today*

Five-month-old Ayanna waits to meet her Marine father for the first time on Sept. 14, 2012 - © Marine Corps Base Hawaii via Facebook

Sailor Richard Gonzales gets a welcome home kiss from his dog, Glitch, on Aug. 31, 2007 (© Larry Steagall/The Kitsap Sun/AP)

And this little doggie reminds us that our PETS, family members MISS their Heroes too!

Family greeting a returning soldier with a sign playing off 'Call Me Maybe' - MilitaryAvenue.com via Pinterest

Army Staff Sgt. Travis Mills navigates a ramp with wife Kelsey on Oct. 4, 2012 (© Carlos Osorio/AP)

Army Staff Sgt. Travis Mills plays with his daughter Chloe on Oct. 4, 2012 (© Carlos Osorio/AP)

 ..A Daughter who, who clearly adores her father!

1st Lt. Keith Wolowodiuk greets his 5-month-old baby girl Kaitlyn with wife Adrienne on March 6, 2008 (© David McNew/Getty Images)

 This little guy wants to be JUST LIKE DADDY!….

Katherine Cathey is guarded next to the casket of her husband's remains the day before he was laid to rest (© Todd Heisler/Rocky Mountain News/AP)

 Bless this wife’s heart, she spent the night by her husband’s casket the day before he was buried….

Army Staff Sgt. Brian Eisch hugs his sons before returning to duty in Afghanistan in 2010 (© Marcus Yam/The New York Times)

 These kids saying Goodbye……

Dalan Wells kisses his partner Sgt. Brandon Morgan on Feb. 22, 2012 (© David Lewis/AP)

 And this wonderful couple saying HELLO,…….

Janet Allegra hugs her son Spc. John Allegra IV in Windsor Locks, Conn., on Aug. 25, 2010 (© Jessica Hill/AP)

 A Mother Welcoming her son home….

Camo quilts made by the Camo Quilt Project - Courtesy of Bristol-Warren.Patch.com

 And this mom (not pictured) who sent 52 camo quilts to her son’s deployment group.

Girl holding a sign for her returning father - © Lauren Nygard Photography via A Military Story

 This little girl who couldn’t smile bigger if she tried.

Brian & Nicole embracing at Camp Pendleton - © Adele Moore/Adelezcoeur Imagery via A Military Story

 This…

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Fort Tipii


Fort Tipii

Tepee-Hut
Tepee-Hut

I couldn’t build a proper tree house.  Too high up and anyway I’m afraid of heights, so instead I built this little fort of sorts as a place to gather my thoughts after a hectic day.  Made my best efforts with whatever materials the forest floor offered up as building materials.  There were enough twigs and branches to construct more ground level tree houses or make my current enclosure larger but I chose to save some for kindling for warmth against the chill night air and the rest I kept stacked as a type of cord-wood in a womb like nook Mother Nature had carved into a tree that had been struck by lightening. Eventually I decided to construct another Tipii twig abode to store my few belongings I had gradually began to sneak away from The Family Residence.

These Tree/Tepee/Tipii/Twig aka T3 structures became my holy sanctuaries and safe havens I return to again and again to re-connect with Mother Earth and nature. Too small to stand upright clicking my heels together three times was not an option so I was forced to remain seated. With some degree of discomfort I could lay down in a fetal position while I imagined myself re-entering an alternate womb to be reborn into better circumstances. Mine were a tepee shelters without the buffalo skin covering all exposed bones and framework.

Tipii Stick Hut
Tipii-Hut

Sometimes I’d hug my knees and rhythmically rock back and forth while repeating what I thought were calming mantras, occasionally wishing that the earth would open up and swallow me whole transporting me some place free from pain, misery and cruelty. Like a shaman I chanted using my homemade rituals attempting to silence the drumbeat of voices incessantly chattering inside my head versus the declarations of the Family.  They created a dissonance tear in the time frame continuum of my thoughts.

You see our house, The Family Home if you could call it that is a ramshackle structure; a hodgepodge mixture of stone, wood and stucco additions and afterthoughts as different parts of the building were constructed at different times upon the whims the directors and caretakers.

I was forced to share this mishmash cottage with twelve other inmates, bordered on this expanse of woods providing me a refuge from leaky roofs, busted walls, peeling wallpaper, lukewarm baths, moldy musty scented showers, not to mention all the yelling, screaming, arguments, fights, thefts of food and personal belongings and constant disagreements of a house too small to accommodate the number of people residing within its creaky ramparts.  The Family nicknamed it the Hotel California. You know the place where you check in but never check out. The nails across chalkboard voices of The Family were constant knife thrusts to my brain making daily life a constant battle that did not end even has the diurnal gave up residence to the nocturnal for they all snored, wheezed and gasped through the night abyss.  The utter desolation of the place crept into your bones and took root nourished by hopelessness.

The Family’s house sits on an oddly place piece of land, our house gives way to forest which in turn after several miles gives way to craggy, rocky shores of a steep cliff, where if one sits perfectly still you can hear the violent waves crashing against rough jagged rock formations that looked as though they were designed by the devil himself. It is said that in olden times there used to be many shipwrecks where sailors were either impaled on the razor sharp Stalagmites. Sometimes you can even hear the shrieks, moans, cries and groans of the unfortunate wretches mixed in with the howling winds. The few who weren’t dashed to pieces by the razor sharp jagged rock formations tried to climb up to safety but were thwarted by the steep incline.

Forest Hiding Place
Forest Hiding Place

So I periodically retreated to my exoskeleton asylums as a sentry medium between earth and sky. I can never turn my mind off completely but within my secret hiding place the voices were kept to a low roar and bid to change direction and pace.

The last straw that broke the camels back came when my moronic addled brained cell-mate Pearl kept throwing her nasty, dirty towels, underwear and flip-flops over to my side of the room. When I returned from the canteen or our common dining area there were moldy wet towels plastered to the floor like throw rugs that accosted the dividing line between our two living areas.  Pearl was known as the filthiest female in our wing tossing food and drink to and fro fully expecting that a squad of personal maids and sweepers were following in her wake. One night after I returned from my many woodland sojourns I decided that I had, had enough and soaked all her grimy towels in gasoline and lighter fluid obtained from an unlocked supply closet near the motor pool.  Pearl had a tendency to drink like sailor on shore leave and sleep just as soundly so she never had an inkling as I piled the towels around her bed, built a kindling fort for good measure and added effect, led a fuse from a doorway to an open window, climbed out and lit said fuse.

The Kindling delivered me from The Family’s vocalizations. I tried to warn them before. I tried to silence the voices through escape, but it was not working so I had to try another plan. The crackles and pops of my campfire seem to be in sync with the screams and cries for rescue from the patients locked inside their rooms but eventually those voices will die out also, and then sleep.  Blessed sleep.

Love,

Cassandra Verity

My Secret Hiding Place


My Secret Hiding Place

The Hiding Place
The Hiding Place

I couldn’t build a tree house.  Too high up and anyway I’m afraid of heights, so instead I built this little fort of sorts as a place to gather my thoughts after a hectic day.  Made my best efforts with whatever materials the forest floor offered up as building materials.  There were enough twigs and branches to construct more ground level tree houses or make my current enclosure larger but I chose to save some for kindling for warmth against the chill night air and the rest I kept stacked as a type of cord-wood not too far away.

It has become my sanctuary and safe haven I return to again and again to re-connect with Mother Earth and nature. Too small to stand upright clicking my heels together three times was not an option so I was forced to remain seated. With some degree of discomfort I could lay down in a fetal position while I imagined myself re-entering an alternate womb to be reborn into better circumstances. Mine was a tepee without the buffalo skin covering all bones and framework.

Sometimes I’d hug my knees and rhythmically rock back and forth while repeating what I thought were calming mantras, occasionally wishing that the earth would open up and swallow me whole transporting me some place free from pain, misery and cruelty. Like a shaman I chanted using my homemade rituals attempting to silence the drumbeat of squatter voices incessantly chattering inside my head versus the declarations of the Family.  They created a dissonance within the time frame continuum of my thoughts.

You see our house, if you could call that ramshackle structure; a hodgepodge mixture of stone, wood and stucco addendum and afterthoughts as different parts of the building were constructed at different times upon the whims the directors and caretakers.

I was forced to share this mishmash cottage with twelve other inmates, bordered on this expanse of woods providing me a refuge from leaky roofs, busted walls, peeling wallpaper, lukewarm baths, moldy musty scented showers, not to mention all the yelling, screaming, arguments, fights and constant disagreements of a house too small to accommodate the number of people residing within its creaky ramparts.  The Family nicknamed it the Hotel California. You know the place where you check in but never check out. The nails across chalkboard voices of The Family were constant knife thrusts to my brain making daily life a constant battle that did not end even has the diurnal gave up residence to the nocturnal for they all snored, wheezed and gasped through the night abyss. The Family’s house sits on an oddly place piece of land, our house gives way to forest which in turn after several miles gives way to craggy, rocky shores of a steep cliff, where if one sits perfectly still you can hear the violent waves crashing against rough jagged rock formations that looked as though they were designed by the devil himself. It is said that in olden times there used to be many shipwrecks where sailors were either impaled on the razor sharp Stalagmites. Sometimes you can even hear the shrieks, moans, cries and groans of the unfortunate wretches mixed in with the howling winds.

So I periodically retreated to my exoskeleton asylum as a sentry medium between earth and sky. I can never turn my mind off completely but within my secret hiding place the voices were kept to a low roar and bid to change direction and pace.

The Kindling delivered me from The Family’s vocalizations. I tried to warn them before. I tried to silence the voices through escape, but it was not working so I had to try another plan. The crackles and pops of my campfire seem to be in sync with the screams and cries for rescue from the patients locked inside their rooms but eventually those voices will die out also, and then sleep.  Blessed sleep.  As I drifted off I thought I heard sounds creeping up on me.  Maybe it could be…. Naw.  How would those deviant mutations get all the way out here.

While pyrotechnics roared and exploded beyond the glen my dream state thoughts went to Calista and Cassandra those Kudzu Chia matronly tumbleweeds who wreck havoc and chaos wherever they spore and spawn and their equally troublesome and problematic one-legged Siamese twin cousins Morton and Milton.

Love,

Cassandra