L.C. Russell's Blog, page 2
July 11, 2011
Casey Anthony, Jaycee Dugard and my mom
Sometimes when I'm doing something utterly mindless—like walking Gus-the-Newfoundland on the beach in the morning my mind begins to play what I call the puzzle game. Here's how it goes: something catches my eye and a random thought sticks to it like a piece of carpet fuzz to the bottom of your foot. And that leads to another and then another—well you get the idea.
Such was the case this morning as I watched Gus lope over the sandy shoreline in search of elusive sand crabs. As I mulled over the responsibilities of this particular day, I spotted a woman and two small children at the water's edge. The sun was just rising—a big red ball threatening scorched bare feet and peeling shoulders later on. The little girl, no more than four or five found a shell and rushed to show her mom who crouched in the surf a short distance away. Before she could reach her however, the little boy (no doubt her older brother judging by the resemblance) grabbed the shell and threw it into the waves. Observing all of this, the mom rose to her feet and approached the children. The boy hung his head and the girl howled. Mom reached out to both children and bent to speak to them.
I'll never know what she said, but both children raised their faces up to her like newly formed flowers turning toward the sun. In a few short words, she'd managed to solve the issue without so much as a furrowed brow. Saintly mother..? The stuff of greeting cards? I doubt very much that she'd agree. She was what she was—a mom.
And then the fuzz, those random thoughts that plague me and worry a topic to death until they've run their course set in. No, not all moms are created equal. To lump them into two camps is not only incorrect, it's insulting. Motherhood is not a job—it's a vocation and a tough one at that. But too often we want to slap a tag; "Bad Mom," and "Good Mom" on the backs of those we know nothing about. Oh, we think we do because the omnipotent Media tells us we do.
So what is your take? Is Casey Anthony the quintessential "Bad Mom?" Did she kill her tiny daughter and then go partying..? Did she..do you know for sure? And what about Jaycee Dugard? She told Dianne Sawyer that she stayed in that dreadful situation for so many years—not trying to escape—because she was worried about her daughters. What tag should she wear? "Brave?" "Devoted?" "Cowardly?" "Nuts?"
Rachel Jankovic says it best in her new book, Loving the Little Years: Motherhood in the Trenches. "This is not a tender reminiscence from someone who had children so long ago that she only remembers the sweet parts. At the time of writing this, I have three children in diapers, and I can recognize the sound of hundreds of toothpicks being dumped out in the hall.
This is a small collection of thoughts on mothering young children for when you are motivated, for when you are discouraged, for the times when discipline seems fruitless, and for when you are just plain old tired."
And then I think of my own mom. She bestowed a good portion of her life and love on all seven of us. I wonder what tag she's wearing now, in that great beyond? The last time I visited the only tag I have left of her—I placed flowers on the ground before it, then read the message we all chipped in to have inscribed upon it. In the end I suppose that's the only tag that matters.
June 29, 2011
An Old Diary – whispers from the long dead
Every once in a while I come across a chance to own a piece of history. Nothing so spectacular as a handwritten note from Ben Franklin, or a scrap of the original Bill of Rights, but an original document penned by an Iowa farmer in the early 19th century. His diary is a one-way conversation with a bit of this country's past. The words, however, move me in ways no history book ever has. Here are some excerpts from Josuah Penn's life:
January 2, 1886 – "Took the sleigh into town today to fetch Rev. Gill. Mother is poorly. The snow is piled so high that we almost didn't make it back. Reverend is spending the night, possibly mother's last."
January 4 - "Many turned out for the funeral today. The ground was cold and I wept on the inside so others would not see my pain as J.K. and Moss helped me prepare the frozen ground. Mother was beloved. It was good to my heart to see so many turn out on this dark cold afternoon. She is with the Lord, she is at peace at last."
April 18, 1886 – "The rain! It runs in rivers down the roof shingles and floods the yard, overflowing the duck pond. The wagon wheels are dragged down with mud until they stop solid and refuse to move anymore. Daniel and I have tried in vain to move them with the aid of the mules, but no good. We will try tomorrow. "
August 10, 1886 - "A new life! Another boy! I cannot express my joy at this wonder of beauty and sweetness! Hannah is well and resting after her long ordeal and my precious new son will be named Elijah, for her father. A parting and a new beginning within the span of half a year. The miracle of life brought full circle." 
On August 10 2011 , baby Elijah would be celebrating his 125th birthday. Yet as I read the joyful announcement of his son's birth, the span of time melts and I am drawn into the celebration of a new life. Words have power and when written down, they endure. Joshua Penn is long gone, but his diary whispers his story to those willing to take the time to listen.
June 27, 2011
Birthday Allergies…
Today is my birthday. There it's out in the open. Another year older but not necessarily wiser. And when my family asked me what I wanted to do today my mind conjured up a picture of me lying in a hammock beneath a shady tree—reading. Although I'm a writer, or maybe because of it, I find that with life such as it is now (mine anyway) there is rarely any left-over time to read—just for fun. Just for entertainment. Just to escape.
But I can't complain. My wonderful clan treated me to lunch, (my son gave my old Land Rover a badly overdue oil change) and my 11 year old daughter patiently tried to teach me how
to play a Sherlock Holmes versus Jack-The-Ripper game on Xbox. Even Gus-the Newfoundland gave me a present by letting me sleep in, rather than hike to the beach at the crack of dawn.
So, did I get to read?…sort of. At one point in my busy birthday I grabbed a book that has been sitting patiently on the dusty shelf for some time and disappeared into a room of the house little frequented by my family—the laundry room. Now don't sneer, it's a great place to find real peace and quiet (if you ignore the hamper.) So maybe it's not exactly a hammock in a leafy glen, but at least it's quiet.
And what did I read? Don't Kill the Birthday Girl: Tales from an Allergic Life by Sandra Beasley. And a great read it was too! Ifyou suffer from any type of food allergy this book gives you a generous dose of hope—and makes you laugh while you're receiving it. Beasley takes a pragmatic approach to the topic by sharing her experiences in living
with numerous, potentially deadly allergies. Both moving and downright hilarious at times, the author touches all the bases. I recommend reading it if you, or someone you love has food allergies—or if you're like me and simply allergic to birthdays.
"Till next time….remember, before you criticize a man—walk a mile in his shoes, then when you criticize him you'll be a mile away and you'll have his shoes..! Fantastically yours, LC
June 26, 2011
Go the F*** To Sleep–Are you kidding me..!?
Now let me begin this blog with a disclaimer. I'm one of those people who shy away from the soapbox, and I save my "rants" for when Gus-the-Newfoundland has an "accident" on the livingroom rug. But sometimes something so low, comes along that I just cannot keep quiet. And like that pile of you-know-what sitting on the Mowhawk carpet, the book Go the F*** To Sleep stinks.
I mean REALLY..? This is considered funny? Entertainment? "Pure Genius?" Now for those of you mumbling into your sleeves "Oh come-on, lighten up." I put the question. Where does taste leave off and the gag reflex kick in? Evidently anything Samuel L. Jackson (who I adore as an actor) reads aloud is considered good literature. But for god's sake, would you invite Jules Winnfield to read your kids to sleep? I have experienced this book, seen the Sam Jackson video and watched the commercials ad nauseum. I suppose we'll see the T shirt on the market soon. And all for one thing–the almighty… ( it rhymes with the bleeped word in its title). Might I suggest instead, a book, for all of you "parents who live in the real world." It's called Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown. 
Read it–to your kids and maybe… just maybe you'll find that those little people you spend so much time trying to avoid can touch your soul instead of getting on your last nerve.
End of rant.
Grab today–tomorrow is coming. Fantastically your, LC
"Death leaned over my shoulder and said "Live…I'm coming."
June 25, 2011
Homeschooling and "unschooling," What's the difference?
As a teacher, both public and private, I've used a variety of approaches and state guidelines in the classroom. From the day I passed through the doors of the College of Education I was "trained" to deliver a type of curriculum practiced since the days of Aristotle. I never questioned it–why would I? It was the way I had learned as a child and of course it is the "only" way to truly educate children–right? One method for all–and all for one. 
That may be fine for The Musketeers, but do our children all fit neatly into those square holes society has waiting for them? A few years ago I decided to take my first grader out of the rat race and try the homeschooling scene. I mean I had two degrees in education so it should be a breeze. Boy was I wrong. One of the first things I did was join a homeschooling group. This was in response to the wall of resistance that sprang up each time I told someone I was considering homeschooling. The "how will she socialize?" question rose up like a great ghoul–overshadowing all of my enthusiastic ideas and best intentions. So, hence the Mom's Meet-up at the park each week where I learned quite quickly that my carefully crafted curriculum was not real home-school at all. It was just a homemade version of the mind control practiced in pubic school. The purists among us warming the bench were "unschooling." 
I must admit here that the term had an ominous ring to it. I mean unschooling–as in "unlearning?" I found myself inching down the bench as I gathered up plastic cups and crayons, flinging them into my tote. Before I could make my getaway however, a nice young woman who had recently joined our group pressed a book into my reluctant hands. "Here." She said. "Read this–I think it does a good job explaining the concept." The book was entitled The Unschooling Handbook: How to Use the Whole World as Your Child's Classroom. by Mary Griffith
She was right–it did a very nice job explaining the concept. Now, I'm not saying that I'm a convert. My daughter attends a "virtual" school with a traditional curriculum (some habits die hard). But I can honestly say there are a lot of good thoughts and theories in this neat little book. Check it out on Amazon where you can "See inside the book" for a peek about the world of unschooling. If nothing else it may open your mind to another way to share learning with your children, and maybe learn somethings about yourself in the bargain.
Till next time…enjoy today, tomorrow is where it belongs. Fantastically yours, LC
June 24, 2011
It's fun at the beach – but would you want to live there?
I live at the beach. This hasn't always been the case, however. A little over ten months ago I lived in the desert. In the Phoenix Valley in perpetually sunny Arizona to be exact. In Arizona it is always dry. Bone dry, mouth sticking dry, eye slamming shut and staying that way dry, tenderly watered and beloved grass going brown and sharp– dry. Well, enough of that. You get the point.
After twenty two dusty years of scaly skin and blisters on my feet from running from the mailbox, my hubby and I thought it would be really, really cool (in every sense of the word) to move to a beach somewhere. The salt air, sand between your toes and of course all of that endless water..! When we discovered a tiny island off the coast of Texas where they don't even have so much as a McDonald's, we thought we'd found heaven! Well, I must admit that not having anything but colorful beach cottages and a few mom and pop stores is refreshing.
But as goes with most things in life, there is always another side to the story. Life at the beach full time is: 
Everything metal, your car and every nail on your house rusts ten times faster than usual. [Unless you galvanize it].
The windows of your car are always dirty because the salt spray makes sure of it.
During the rainy season every closet along with most of the stuff in it as well as your walls have mildew.
The sun reflecting from the sand, bleaches everything, your couch, carpet, wallpaper, black dog (cat) etc.
Friends and relatives think it is so wonderful to live near the sea, they want to come visit you all the time…..
And that sand between your toes thing..? Think fungus. 
So, the next time you find yourself daydreaming of escaping to the beach. Or you look at the jar of pennies you've been saving for the past two decades to finance that tiny cottage by the sea. Think of me. And I'll be right here–looking out my window at the foamy Gulf waves rushing toward the dunes like a kid for its mom. Not much to do during the idyll days of June but count Pelicans and gather sea glass on long morning walks with Gus-the Newfoundland. Yeah, life at the beach isn't Heaven. But it's as close as I'm ever likely to get…. 'Till next time. Enjoy today–tomorrow is where it should be…. fantastically your, LC
June 23, 2011
Midsummer wild weather–so what's up with those sun spots?
The weather this year has been, in a word–bizarre! Mega earthquakes in Japan, off-the chart tornadoes in the south-land, flood so severe they defy the record books dating back more than 200 years. And then there is the drought in the southwest whose malicious offspring, the wildfire, has already destroyed hundreds of square miles of pristine forest along with many homes and ranches. So what's going on? Is it the result of global warming? Or is it the beginning of the next ice age?
Of late, scientists seem to be scratching their heads and muttering about the next "Mini Ice Age." Here's what's been bandied about around the water cooler in recent days:
"The solar cycle may be going into a hiatus," Frank Hill, associate director of the National Solar Observatory's Solar Synoptic Network, said in a news briefing today (June 14). 
The studies looked at a missing jet stream in the solar interior, fading sunspots on the sun's visible surface, and changes in the corona and near the poles.
"This is highly unusual and unexpected," Hill said. "But the fact that three completely different views of the sun point in the same direction is a powerful indicator that the sunspot cycle may be going into hibernation." …
"If we are right, this could be the last solar maximum we'll see for a few decades," Hill said. "That would affect everything from space exploration to Earth's climate."
Solar activity has long been thought to control weather patterns. The folks at MSNBC report:
Storms from the sun are expected to build to a peak in 2013 or so, but after that, the long-range indicators are pointing to an extended period of low activity — or even hibernation.
"This is important because the solar cycle causes space weather … and may contribute to climate change," Frank Hill, associate director of the National Solar Observatory's Solar Synoptic Network, told journalists today.
In the past, such periods have coincided with lower-than-expected temperatures on Earth. The most famous example is the Maunder Minimum, a 70-year period with virtually no sunspots from 1645 to 1715. Average temperatures in Europe sank so low during that period that it came to be known as "the Little Ice Age." 
—- So, as you head out into the world today take a moment to look up at the sky and reflect on the fact that we are only as "in control" of our destinies as the elements allow. Be it global warming, or the next ice age–humans are "naked mammals" sweating, or shivering depending on Mother Nature's mood. Enjoy today–tomorrow belongs where it is… fantastically yours, LC
June 22, 2011
Obscure, but possibly interesting facts….
Today is the day after the longest day of the year (Summer Solstice) The kids are out of school–bored and maybe driving you crazy? Well, slow down and enjoy the 15+ hour day with some little known (and most likely cared about) tidbits. Share these and show others how nerdy you really are…
Buried Alive
The Legend:
Some poor fool is committed to his or her eternal resting place, even though they aren't quite ready to take that final dirt nap. Scratch marks are later found on the coffin lid along with other desperate signs of escape.
This not only happened, but back in the day it happened with alarming regularity. In the late 19th century, William Tebb tried to compile all the instances of premature burial from medical sources of the day. He managed to collect 219 cases of near-premature burial, 149 cases of actual premature burial and a dozen cases where dissection or embalming had begun on a not-yet-deceased body.
Now, this may seem ridiculous, but keep in mind this was an era before doctors such as the esteemed Dr. Gregory House gained the ability to solve any ailment within 42 minutes. If you went to the doctor with the flu in those days, he'd likely cover you in leeches and prescribe you heroin to suppress your cough. Their only method for determining if a person had died was to lean over their face and scream "WAKE UP" over and over again. If you didn't react, they buried you.
The concern over being buried alive back then was so real that the must-have hot-ticket item for the wealthy and paranoid were "safety coffins" that allowed those inside to signal to the outside world (usually by ringing a bell or raising some type of flag) should they awake 6-feet under.
Unfortunately safety coffins aren't in vogue anymore, so if you're at the cemetery and hear a muffled voice calling out "OK guys, joke's over. Let me out!" it might be a good idea to inform someone with a shovel quickly.
Of course, that last sentence was merely facetious, there's no way something like this could still happen today. Uh, well, except for this story about a Venezuelan man waking up during his autopsy. On second thought, you might want to consider adding a line in your will that states you're to be buried with a gas-powered auger in your casket when you go.
Nathan Birch also writes the disgustingly cute webcomic Zoology.
Read more: The 5 Creepiest Urban Legends (That Happen to be True) | Cracked.com http://www.cracked.com/article_15628_the-5-creepiest-urban-legends-that-happen-to-be-true.html#ixzz1Q2fe7PBz
