A childhood revisited...

My Childhood...

There are places on this earth where the aspen trees sound more welcoming then anywhere else on earth. Where the smells are better then cologne wafting off a well dressed man, and the comfort you feel is more relaxing then 10 days at the spa. I call it home...

Home... An environment offering security and happiness, a physical structure, a place built on a literal foundation of concrete. A home that one grew up in, and built memories within. This is my childhood home. 1821 Rossmoor Way Modesto, Ca 95355. A safe, quiet neighborhood, with large established Modesto Ash trees lining the streets, a place where kids on bikes police the parks, an 35 mile an hour winter winds give cause for concern of toppling trees.

Memories flood me as I look upon this place... Pictures of little girls in roller skates, banana seat bikes, dark blue doll strollers, and an 18 inch high kiddie pool... bring a smile to my face. A place where laying on a blanket on the front lawn was peaceful, safe, and relaxing...where the suns rays infiltrating our suburban backyard warmed the blossoms of the privet bushes and yellow honeysuckle vines which made for an intoxicating mixture that embedded itself in our newly laundered sheets that hung from the family clothesline. The metal yellow mini blinds from my childhood room, and the delicate crystal teardrop that shone mystical rainbows across the starch white walls. A time when the melody of a single silver flute, or a petite piccolo would wander down the hall and dance in the air from my older sister's room. A place where the darkened shadow of an unlit bathroom flowing into a hallway at night caused us to vault like little gymnasts from the Olympics in unfounded fear after a scary movie on our tiny remote less television set.Where the hallway corners had worn paint, and worn carpets. Where Mom made the best homemade chocolate chip cookies, and the lemonade was always made from frozen lemon cubes that were squeezed with love from the tree in the yard.A place where catching Dad asleep on the floor in front of the TV gave us dreams of becoming the next great Picasso and Dad being our victoriously unwilling canvas. Where slumber parties were best held in old heavy canvas army tents next to an open sliding glass patio door in the early days of summer, and where a garden was a mere experiment of water flow, fire pits, and entomology. A place where the best dog in the world was a rescued mutt from the local animal shelter and almond blossoms fell like snow across the well maintained backyard. Where a liquid amber tree was as tall as the stars in the sky, and a little girl could embrace her dreams. I was a dreamer, I always have been, always will be. My dreams are my moments of peace.To some home is the people that make you feel loved and cherished and special. The people who lift us up when we are down, and believe in us even when we give up on ourselves. The ones who see past our own put downs, and negative banter. Life's cheerleaders and earthly angels. Friends with and without bloodlines. Treasured strangers who cling tight to us in all weather. The ones with faithfully open doors, and hot dinner's at the end of crazy days. The listening ears who hear our tears, and feel our sorrows... and still make us laugh in spite of it all. To some home is the tiny pitter patter of little feet. Of children that cry in the night and need your love, attention, and compassion. Of offspring that look and act like us, and those that never could. To be parents and friends to both human and animal family members the same. To nurse them back to health when they are ill, and love them even when they break our hearts. The mixture of personalities, and passions, of beliefs, and convictions. The greatest of all god given gifts. The relationships and personalities that complete the family structure as a whole. To some home is the community, the town, the structures, and places of our youth. The trees that were great for climbing in. The fields that welcomed us to a game of hide and seek with our friends or our siblings. The frequent vacation spots nestled in the perfect spot. The lakes that left us blissfully freezing to death, and the way the sun kissed our skin with warmth. The museums that you knew like the back of your hand. For me that was Pinecrest Lake, Castle Air Museum, and Mickey's Grove Park. I love these places. It was fun to go home, to play, and relax... but I am just as joyous about coming back to the moment of adulthood, the decision making, and job duties of today. For today is the childhood of my children's youth. Today their memories are being formed, and I am a strong partner in it. Who they become is being shaped today by the people, places, and events unfolding in this era. I look forward to their trips home to me, and the wonderment of their own childhood's revisited.

We need a Cure...

Tonight I got word of a fallen friend. He will surly rise from the ashes as the Phoenix and carry his two young sons with him into a stronger, more beautiful future. But today..., today he is broken. Let me tell you a story of a man. He is a retired Marine, a straight forward, by the book, tell you like it is Marine... retired in paper alone. He is a good man, an excellent father, and an outstanding husband. The Marine's are known world round for strength, and character, and moral justice. But I challenge that propaganda view of this man fore it only limits his inner greatness and valor. I think the truest test of the character and strength of a man is tested not one fought on a battle field, but in sterile, white, cold, dark, hospital rooms. Where a man versed in the battle of war, is helpless. Where weapons are useless, and love is the only true marker of relationships and the value of human life. Where a touch of a hand once taken for granted is absorbed into memory, where the gentle sound of a heart beat is transformed into musical melody. Where looks without words carry the most passionate weight. This is where true character is tested, and man's nature is pushed beyond limits. Where a Marine's strength is dwarfed by the strength of which is nested deep inside of him. The hardest battle, the steepest climb. This is where love abounds, life makes no sense, and relationships carry the most weight. This friend sat and watched his wife, and love of his life, battle breast cancer for 10 years. A Marine who can not bring a kabar, or a gun to a cancer fight. A Marine who could only sit back and watch. Helpless... and alone... His wife was diagnosed with breast cancer that had already spread to her lympth nodes upon birth of their last child... 10 years ago. She was a nutritionist and took excellent care of herself and her family. How he would sneak coffee at work, since she knew she did not approve of it. :) Oh how he loved her, oh how he loves her still. How the children have never known their mother not to be ill, and how this must be a shock to them. She could not die, would not die, not her. She had gotten close before, but she always pulled through...but this was different. She lost her fight, and the Lord took her home. He sits alone in the darkness of the night alone. He misses her, and he is weak. A weak that he can not, and will not show to anyone else. He must be strong, strong for the kids, for the family, for his co-workers, and friends. But alone at night when it is just him and his Lord... he weeps. We need a cure... My heart shatters into a million shards for this man, and yet I am helpless to offer condolences or sympathies. My heart bleeds for a man who alone feels that he should be better prepared for the title wave of emotions that now drown him because he knew this day would come...but isn't. I wish I could wrap my arms around him and take away his pain, and give him some of my own strength to help him make it through. How do you gift friendship, respect, and strength... when hope is lost? My best friend in all the world battled breast cancer twice and won the battle. The most beautiful, elegant, and strong woman that I know. I watched her then with the same unknowing of what to do or what to say as I watch my friend now. It deeply saddens me. Tanya is a survivor, and my friend's wife is not. We need a cure... My sister lost her husband a little over a year ago to colon cancer, he was only 36 years old. She too is left behind with two children. I watch and listen to her hurt and anguish, and cry for her. She too lost the love of her life... a Marine. A straight forward, by the book, tell you how it is Marine. Brad was her life, and he still is today. I watch her struggle with single parenting, and grieving. The waves still crashing upon her, wave after wave, fewer and farther apart, but still they're coming from out of the blue... a memory, a touch, a feeling, a smell. We need a cure... I do not know which road is the easy one? To be the one who has the cancer and has to fight, and go through chemo, and radiation, and medications after medications? To be the loved one who has to sit by and watch the decline of your lover, best friend, and hero die, and still be strong enough to carry on for everyone else around you when your whole world is caving in. Or to be the helpless co-worker, friend, or family member who sits in a corner from a far and weeps for your pain, and loss. We need a cure... I could not sleep tonight, I needed to write so that I could silence my mind, and calm my own spirit. I leave you with one last piece of this puzzle for me. I went to the temple on Saturday with a list of people to put on the prayer roll. Lists that others had asked me to write on their behalf. As I sat there, I said a prayer, "Dearest Lord, please bring to my mind, the names of those that need these prayers most." I instantly thought of a few people... some of which were my friend, his wife, and his sons. I thought this odd since they are not LDS, but did not bat an eye. I jotted their names on the paper and slipped it in the box while praying my own simple little prayer for angels to hold each of them within their protective wings.... A prayer is a prayer, and a blessing is a blessing...no matter which faith it comes from. I thank Heavenly Father now, for guiding me in the only real way that I can help this family... with my sincere and heartfelt prayers. My heart breaks, and tonight as I say my prayers, I thank him for all his tender mercies, and ask him for a cure, if it be his will. We need a cure...

May God Bless Us All.

Birthday Road Trip...

Well apparently I am having a midlife crisis...granted it is a small one, but I think it is one none the less. If anyone knows me, even a little, they know that I live in a self described bubble. Always have. I love traveling, but not alone, and never as the pilot. Actually not even as the navigator, I see myself more in the role of the happy, perky, easy going stewardess extraordinaire. I pack the car, get the kids ready, hand out drinks as needed, request pit stops for potty breaks, and have control of in flight movies, and occasional radio stations. What I do not do ever is drive. I hate to drive, in fact if I could ride my bicycle to and from work I would. Driving is a chore. In a world of expressionless lifeforms, merging and speeding from one destination to another, and anger all the rage when you are behind the wheel... I am not interested in the distraction or the added level of stress. Within my comfort zone this annoyance factor is manageable...but out there? Out there I become one of them, with the difference of instead of a vente Starbucks wonder concoction in my hand I have a steering wheel. Did I say I had a steering wheel with a full on white knuckled death grip? I do...really, I do. OK, Here is the problem... I live in the middle of no where. A vast expanse in all directions of tranquil, desolate, barren, desert landscape. With no spouse to take pity on me, and being as stubborn as a dang Borax 20 mule team mule, who needs no man in my life to take care of me...well, I have to take myself. That means driving. That is if I ever want to see anything but desert. I am dying to go and do, and yet all I actually do is sit and wait. Now, at the cusp of my 35th birthday, I feel like life is finally at the highest peak for myself, and I seek to push the envelope, burst the bubble, and forge new paths. 35 years while short on number, have all been hard fought years. I gladly celebrate living through each and every one of them... as well as my sincere gratitude for not having to relive any of them. I am going to celebrate in a fashion unlike the glitz, glamor, and over the top style most people think of when they think of me. I am going on a road trip...solo. A right of passage I guess. I am going to go to the LA Temple and spend a little time with my father. I am going to leave early and drive in darkness just in time to arrive at the crest of morning to watch the new day spill forth onto Temple grounds. I am going to sit by the fountain and watch the sunrise with my Dad. I am going to do a session and sit in the Celestial Room and thank him for my many blessings. I am going to ask him for his continued resolve to guide me, and his promise to see me prosper. I am going to weep for his tender mercies, and his loving spirit. I am going to share with him my hopes, my dreams, and for his will to be done. in spite of them. And when he has heard enough from me and grows tired of my countenance then I am off to a little Italian restaurant I love called "Earth, Wind & Flour" for lunch. A tiny little hole in the wall place on Wilshire Blvd. that has such rich decadent entrees, that you are never quite sure if you are eating the meal or the desert. And the buttered bread makes your eyes roll back into the back of your head. A place that is quiet and peaceful... and more aptly suited for the cobblestone streets of Italy then downtown LA. And when I have had my fill of my senses and my food, I will be headed for the serenity of the ocean. Malibu actually. I want to smell the salty sea air, and walk on a soft, wet, sandy beach. I want to take a moment to just breathe. I want to smile into the vast out reach of water, and waves, and cast my mental bottle of hopes, dreams, and aspirations yet to be fulfilled vigorously within. I want to be truly happy...alone. Not there for a child's pleading, or for a parental request, or a lovers desire, but for me. To know that I can go and do anything. To stand there in the sand and know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I can be anything that I want to be. That there is a horizon set before me of possibilities only limited by my own vision. I want to stand there, in my minds eye, with a jeweled corsage pin and pop my own bubble. Once I have done that... I am going to venture forth to Sylvia Park. I have no idea what to expect there, so it is an adventure all in itself. Maybe it is town of 2 people, or maybe it is a real child's playground. Maybe it is just a road in which I have to take to get me from here to there. Whatever it is, I am sure of one thing... it will be turned into a metaphor for my life. I don't know why I have to go... I just feel like I do. With the final days approaching of my divorce, my name will soon be changed once again to Desiree Marie Sylvia. No longer Desiree Job. The name that I have made for myself... the one that everyone in this chapter of my life knows me as. I have to come to terms with accepting the name I put, so willingly, up on a shelf so many years ago. I have to mentally dust if off, and try it on...I have to ensure that I know within my heart of hearts, and the deepest recesses of my own soul that with the loss of one name does not take away who I am, or what I have accomplished, nor does putting on the old robes that never fit me mean it is going to tarnish my spirit or limit my potential. I am who I make myself to be. A name means nothing, and yet it feels heavy. I am the self rescuing space princess... I can travel, and go, and do, and be... I can decorate the world as I choose with what colors I feel like putting on my canvas with each new sunrise. I can even wear a crown if I so desire. It means nothing to everyone else in the world, but what I see, and how I choose to view it, is what shapes me. I am going to stand there in Sylvia Park... and park my old baggage. I am going to leave behind the old and retain the new. I am going to choose to put the right foot forward... and then I am going to come home. Home, to the place where I belong... with my boys, my friends, and NASA. I hope to be come back stronger...less fearful. For each of us, it is a choice. Fear is a spirit, and I choose to let him in no longer... I will travel, and I will go, and I will do, and I will be. Fear will no longer hold me back. Without fear there is only horizon... Fear much like faith is the belief in something in which is not seen. One is a negative spirit, and one is a positive one. I choose the latter. I have faith that now is the best part of my road, and while it is still uphill, I am about to take off and fly. This is my birthday present to myself. My birthday trip is the gift of flight and freedom.

Things we learn...

Did you know that Dez in Portuguese means the number 10? I am Portuguese, and my name is Dez... so I have been a 10 all my life and never knew it. That is so cool. Corny, but Cool.

Bedtime Stories...

Once upon a misty sun lit day, there were two princes of peace and good will. They stood under a beautiful blue sky, dusted with soft billowy clouds, in wait of their next big assignment. As they waited upon the shore they listened to the waves gently crashing on the beach. The time for action seemed unbearable. They were poised and ready, but no word came. The stood their guard, never wavering in their faith knowing that the time would soon be upon them to be called into duty. Then finally it

happened, the call they had been waiting for had happened. It was as if the heavens had opened up and sent forth a welcoming rainbow to guide their way. There was a princess in a far away land in perilous trouble and needed help quick. But only one could go... the other was to stay and guard the post. It was quickly decided, the older more experienced, of the two hero's should go. Quickly he lit the fuse of his courageous mission and was off. Hurdling as fast as he could go in a race to be at the poor princess's side. It seemed to go by in the blink of an eye, as he focused on her destination... He rehearsed and went over and over the things that he must do to make her safe and operational again. His whole goal in live was to serve and this was finally his golden opportunity... and for a princess, how lucky was he. She was so far away, and he was fearful he may not find her in the vastness of her country. He knew he would have to report in his progress. He charged on, and even in his tired exhaustion, when doubts began to cloud his mind and pessimism reigned... as he thought to himself that he just could not go on any longer than he already had, he still pushed himself. And in the darkness there was a still small voice from deep within himself. A quiet comforter of peace and sanity, an inner spirit of moral righteousness, and strength. A little spark of resilience that could not, and would not, let the weak and weary princess down. He knew that she was counting on him to save her. He set aside his own burning need for rest to continue his journey and his quest to be at her side. He traveled in the darkness of nightfall, and found peace in his surroundings. He could sense he was getting close. He found his way by a wonderfully mystical feeling to her exact location. And what he saw stopped him in his tracks.

She was beautiful, more beautiful then he had imagined to himself. She seemed to glow and radiate with a depth of beauty that could not just come from the outside alone. He knew she was different, she was special. For a moment stunned by her intense aura. He had to cognitively regain the reason for his mission. She needed him. As he approached her he could see nothing amiss. He asked her what the problem was... She replied "I have a

broken heart" While our heroic prince wanted to be the one to rescue her, he knew the only way to save her was to teach her to open up her heart, let someone in, and let her learn to love them in return. While it would have been easy to whisk her away and bring her back to safety, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she needed to be able to stand on her own, strong and true, and beam out her gift to the world. He, with love and patience, guided her into becoming the woman that he knew she was capable of being.

And once she was strong enough to make it on her own, the prince of honor, left her... loving her all the more. For she was destined to do great things, and bring forth great advancements to the kingdom... and he knew that his continued presence would only serve as a distraction to the benevolent princess. His heart said one thing, while he knew the truth... he had to go home...alone. While parting was difficult, it was what had to be done. He loved her enough to let her go. The journey home was a lonely road filled with introspection and memories.

At last he made his way back to the place that he called home. To familiar shores, and the welcoming arms of his family. The day was warm and breezy, and it was filled with excitement and joyous noblemen and women standing at every corner to witness the great and glorious day. His people celebrated his return to the kingdom with parades, lights, and banners. The whole place was awash in great joy...with one exception. The prince. His heart was broken. In nobleness is sometimes pain. The right road is not always the easy solution, and this day he found no comfort in the knowledge of the justification of his actions.

With all of the attention, love and admiration of his people, with new beautifully hand crafted and precious robes placed upon his strong and sturdy shoulders, the world seemed a bit more dreary, with vast hues of gray, to him. He was happy to a point, but not entirely. The prince was gracious and thankful to his loyal subjects, and yet he thought "How could I tell them I have left a piece of myself on this mission?" The music and fanfare began to fade within his ears. He was more quiet then usual, more introverted... no one would have noticed it, if not for that one person that could always see through the facade...the queen...his mother. "Come with me, my son, tell me what weighs so heavily upon your heart." she softly asked him. "I can not Mother, you would never understand." The young prince retorted. "Try me" the queen whispered back. She knew her son's heart was breaking, and she had already received word of his love with the fair and beautiful princess from afar. He walked with his mother through the vast garden's of their palace. Telling her of the woman he had met and how he had loved her. He spoke of helping her grow and

of setting her free. As he spoke, his heart was lifted, and hers along with it. The pain and sorrow once felt was replaced with only joyous and loving feelings that encircled them both. The queen was very proud of the young prince. He had learned far more then she had ever taught him. Loving someone takes maturity, and strength. It takes selflessness, and courage. It even sometimes takes self inflicted pain...for the betterment of the other. The queen smiled to herself as she thought to herself "My son, my noble, handsome young

prince is indeed worthy to one day become our just and noble king"

The End

STS-125 Ferry Flight back to Florida from CA...

Oh how I wish I had more time to devote to this entry. There is no possible way that I can do justice with the limited time I have available to adequately convey my passionate exuberance for this experience. I love this job, I love this place, I love this country, I love my life. There are a limited number of Shuttle flights remaining, and June 13th's scheduled launch is the very last scheduled shuttle recovery for California as we know it. This is the next to the last, the end of an era. The sunset of a prolific time and place. I stand here at the neatest place on earth, doing what I do best... just being me, and I am loved for it. I am surrounded by amazing minds, technical feats unimaginable to most of us, and the spirit of potential wafting within the air like a man's cologne after he passes. I am passionate about the true treasures within my life, the experiences I get to be a part of, and of the deep abiding friendships which are being formed upon these sacred grounds. I know it is cliche to say, but I do feel as a flower before the bloom. I know that my greatest potential is yet to be. NASA helps me to define who and what I am without fear, and with confidence. I am in all aspects a part of this team, a part of this clay and sand, a part of this living legacy of greatness. I work everyday to reach my current potential, and continually strive far beyond it for all of those around me. I love that these people are humble, and do not see themselves as what we, on the outside looking in, see. NASA is a symbol of greatness, of amazement, of wonder, of technology, of conquering all odds, and personal growth and passion while all being neatly wrapped up in this mighty nation. No one on earth looks upon the shuttle as mediocre, or mundane. The droves of people parked on the side of the highway, or camped out in viewing areas, or standing on over passes with great cameras, all just to get a decent picture of this ferry flight. I am honored everyday I get to drive into this great place. NASA in name alone invokes excitement... I just wish everyone could experience what I feel. The whole nation, as well as those that work for NASA, need to feel good about this place, and what we do again... we need to have the pride, and passion, and not be afraid to be vocal of where we work or the contributions that are made here. To encourage one another not to stifle the energy that is on this campus. It is our passions that fuel interest. Today I came to work at 0500 to see the shuttle leave at 0530, only to find it had been delayed until 0830. So I went into work and helped with a ViTS between our awesome CIO at Dryden and the big guys at Headquarters. It was fun to be a part of the inner circle even if I was just a fly on a wall in full observation mode. Awed and honored, it was not easy to take notes, to stay focused and on track. However, as soon as I was able, I was back to the roof of building 4800 to watch the 747 taxi off. I had a good friend in tow running as fast as I could in heels to the tarmac... only to find the 747 was already halfway down the runway heading out of sight. I was disappointed, and ever grateful that I took some up close pictures at 0500 with limited sunlight rather then not getting any at all. My friend and I headed to the observation deck to watch it fly away. Once on the roof tear after tear began to fall down my cheeks, I was heartbroken I had missed her initial taxi maneuvering to the runway. No sobbing, just silent tears...but it was enough to draw some unwanted attention... called on the carpet by my friends, I told them to shut up. I know I am a geek, but this is my passion, this is what I live and die for. Not for a name, a logo, a plane, or even the shuttle, but rather I thrive for what it symbolizes and what it stands for. A seemingly impossible dream achieved... Watching STS-125 fly, lift off, and take to the sky was nothing less then inspiring... How such a big plane with so much weight, can make it airborne is a sight worth seeing. She circled around with her chase plane close to her side as they looped over the NASA logo on the roof of Hanger 4801... I stood there quietly knowing, without a shadow of a doubt, with clarity of thought, thinking to myself..."Dreams are obtainable, Passions are fuel, and Advances are still yet to be made." I am the luckiest woman on earth. I have found the love, inspiration, and passion, of my life... we call it NASA Dryden.