Camp Jack Hazard...WHERE EVERYBODY ROCKS OUT!!!

A place filled with the laughter of young children, the warming rays of golden sunlight softly filtering through the dense pine trees, and the smell of red clay dirt and old pine needles permeates the air. The road to camp is marred with boulders and worn ruts that send you bouncing violently to and fro if you dare to drive faster then the 5 mile an hour speed limit. It is humble, and sparse. It is crude by most standards...and yet is it is the most wonderful place on earth. The people, the passions. A love of nature is the reason, but the people are the key. Humble Olive green shacks, lacking doors, with a single light bulb run by generator, filled with 4 sets of simple bunk beds are the basic cabin set up. The walls are covered with names and signatures of adoring children from every session leading back to the beginning of camp that go all the way up to the ceiling. The most beautiful graffiti in the world... art drawn in love by children. This is what I think of when I think of my childhood summers at Camp Jack Hazard. I got to go back this past weekend with my children in tow to the place I left my heart so many years ago. This was a journey of reflection for me, as well as an exuberant embrace of what I have become. 13 years have past, and so much has changed... and yet standing there in my beloved cabin #6 the memories flooded back to me, with over whelming clarity, and I seemed to be transported back in time...only to realize nothing had changed. The most surreal part was that this time I got to share it with those I love the best... my boys. My heart raced as I got to tell the tales of days gone by, of stories told of their mother once young and beautiful, and in love with her Mother Earth. The way my boys listened with bright eyes as I told them of the thunderstorm that overtook the camp one summer day. How it darkened the sky, and the thunder shook the cabin so violently. How the rain came down like buckets dumped from heaven and how I had to stay huddled in the cabin calming the fears of 8 little boys in that very cabin as Joel and Jay frantically worked with pick axes and shovels to make trenches to divert water flow to save the cabin and the camp from flash flooding, and being washed away. It was eating dinner the first night at the Kennedy Meadows Inn and showing them the saloon that I used to love to dance in, and awakened my love of country music, saw dust, hay bails on an old wooden floor, of dusty stinky old pack mules, and real mountain men who work hard, and play even harder. It was standing on the porch of the inn looking out into the meadow and remembering playing in the leaves by the babbling brook with my first love. It was all these memories and more that bring you to the realization that I was in a place of youthful magic. I was back at The YMCA of Stanislaus county's very own Camp Jack Hazard. Their motto is " It will change your summer, and possibly your life." I disagree, it will change your life. There is not a soul that can come here and not be positively altered by the passion, and the people here. The sense of family, and of coming home. I spent much time alone and to myself this past weekend, but not because I was distant, or morose. I was soaking it all in. A human sponge. The sights, the smells, the depth of colors, each footstep on every trail saved back into memory vault. This was the closest I have ever came to heaven in my life. The relationships meant more there. The friendships were weighted in values more meaningful then any precious metal or gold. When life was unjaded by reality, and we knew nothing of heartbreak, disappointment, pain, or sorrow. When your summer was over, and you had to leave your heart shattered because you knew you were leaving it behind on that mountain.

For the most part the camp was exactly the same as I had left it. The natural beauty of the trees, the nature hut all boarded up now, brought to mind visions of mattresses and sleeping bags on the cement porch. I expected to see a beloved wood rat nesting somewhere in someones make shift clothing dressers made from milk crates. :) The meadow was full of sunflowers and how I delighted at watching them turn during the days to keep track of the sun. It was fun to play with my own children in front of the cabin throwing Frisbees, reading stories, and kicking balls. Doing nightly devotions and watching them drift off to sleep in sheer exhaustion from a day well spent. Just to rise at the crack of dawn eager with anticipation for the first melodic ringing of the bells and shouts of good morning from all different directions. The latrines still smelled as you walked past them, and the shower room still had standing water on the floor. The outside wash basins still sputtered out ice cold spring water when brushing your teeth, and the campfires were still on campfire rock overlooking the expanse of tree lined mountain tops. The sky was still a deep azure blue during the day, and the stars still shone so bright there was no need for a flashlight at night. The flying Kazenza's acrobat (family)team from Lithuania were still eccentric, wild, and crazy, and smelled of musty old damp clothing. The acoustic guitars played on the mountain,with the sound of aspen tree leaves rustling in the wind, and the river rushing softly as back up. All of these things brought tears to my eyes and warmth to my heart. I was home.

Some people say I am too happy, but this place oozes it from every nook and cranny of every piece of matter up here. 7000 ft up in the Sierras. It is impossible not to be infected. The fists pounding on the tables, chanting camp songs, in unison as the children stare on in sheer amazement and wonder. Their expressionless faces were truly priceless. Like every parent, and every adult, had not just lost their mind, but had morphed into some total stranger, and was possessed with vitality, youth, and transformed by boundless amounts of pure excitement and energy. They were visibly stunned.

Little had changed... Just the staff. Seeing how everyone grew up and has children, and families of their own was delightful. Who the staff have turned into. When growing up and life takes the reigns... Most of us were generations from the 80's and 90's... but there were those as far back as the 50's, 60's and 70's as well. We all grew older, and had families of our own. To watch and see who married whom, what camp families were created and thriving both under the banner of true camp spirit... pure in love... high in loyalty,... and raised in honesty, and strength. Marriages unlike those of the real world... guided by the foundations set by the ragger's creed. I delighted in watching them, the creativity, and personal strength of their children. One who was rock climbing at the age of 2 was doing the high ropes course at 6. I am not so sure I would do the high ropes course at 19 or at 35 let alone 6. I was impressed by their imaginations, and their sense of wonder that has obviously never been stifled. These are the best of parents, and the kids are the next wonderful generation of soon to be campers, kitchen crew, leaders in training and staff. What a blessed legacy we are so fortunate to get to leave them.

My favorite part of the weekend was watching the evolution of my own son...George in the course of just 3 days at camp. As many know, George has Asperger's, and is rightfully very serious and shows very little emotion. So let me tell you taking him camping I knew he was excited because he packed himself without much prompting. And not a single argument or peep from any of the boys on the 6 hr car ride there. It was peaceful. Upon arriving at the camp a new high ropes course had been erected since my years at the camp. It stood looming 20 to 30 feet in the air high above what once was the lower parking lot where the camp carnival was once held. He looked at it staring up in amazement that first day and said "I am going to do that." Still a mother, and no longer a counselor, I diverted his attention to other less challenging adventures. I mean, this was my bookworm child, the solitary, quiet, soft spoken little giant. The child that needed his little brother to coax and prod him to go to the top level of the playhouses found at McDonald's or Burger King. There is no way he would ever really do anything like that. And that was OK... We all play a role at camp... but this one was not for George. Problem was George didn't know it. Over the course of the next two days we did the low ropes course, we swam in the pool, we did so much arts and crafts that Michael's would be proud... and yet my 9 year old son still burned to do the high ropes course. Finally the last open program time came. While his brothers and I packed for the trip home he proudly got into pants and a long shirt, and declared he was ready and asked if he could go. I chuckled to myself... yeah sure go ahead... it was not like he would ever do it anyway. George, my George, would take one look at someone else doing it, get scared, watch a dozen people, and chicken out as he finally got the courage to put on the harness. My George was safe. "Sure you can go... we will be down in a minute when we get the car packed up." I told him. And with glee in his heart he ran off to program. We finished packing, and took a load of sleeping backs and frame packs full of clothes all the way down the mountain to the car... Colton, Dustin and myself. We wasted no time, and made our way back up the hill to the lower portion of camp where the high ropes course was set up. Colton saw him first... "Is that George?" he asked me. "Where" I said scanning the horizon searching the ground not even thinking to look any higher. "Up there on the pole" Colton both laughing and speaking, amazed at his little brother. Jovial gloating with all bets against him. Mentally delighting in the fact he just knew George was going to have to be rescued by the ropes course director and how he was not going to miss this for the world. I looked up and stopped. Oh my God, it was George. Climbing nearly at the top of the 20 foot tall pole. Strapped in a harness, breathing so hard, and scared to death that I could hear him panting from 100 feet away. I dared not call out to him. Fuzzy, the ropes course director spoke calmly to him. "Now put one knee on top of the pole." And Georgie did. "And now the other one" And George did again. the crowd grew silent, and you could hear a pin drop. "Now put one foot on top of the pole." Fuzzy told George. Always the serious child he commented in his normal monotone " You know this would be much easier if the pole would stop swaying" George projected down to Fuzzy. Fuzzy and the crowd laughed, and Fuzzy told him" You know, I think you are right." With that George lifted his foot and caught his balance and the whole crowd erupted with applause. This was the hardest part. And now the second foot. His eye on the bell. He stood a moment erect and fell in a wild leap for the bell. It rang out and I saw him gently caught by his belayed rope. And watched him gracefully lowered to the ground. I stood there stunned. He did it... George, my George did it... I can't believe it... he really, really, really did it. I must have looked dazed because an old, once deeply cherished, friend asked "Mom, are you OK??" A pause filled the air... was I OK? Was I OK? "Yeah, Oh yeah, I am OK..." I stammer out, as I watch them take the harness off of George. And then I see it, the most beautiful, most amazing sight in all the world... he smiled. Not a grin, but an ear to ear, beaming full of pride and accomplishment smile. George knew he wanted to do it, he set his mind on his course and without hesitation he took the bull by the horns and conquered the beast he called fear. The strength of a man is not the absence of fear, but it is the ability to go on in the face of it. I expected this lesson to be learned from watching my oldest, Marine Corps driven son... but instead I was pleasantly surprised to be taught it from my book worm, solitary, silent, quiet son George.

Camp Jack Hazard changes lives... it enriches lives... and it promotes strength... it infects your heart...it is a place of pure magic, endless beauty, and time stopping grace. I wish I could share this place with the world. I wish I could see every bed filled with vast amounts of children and not enough weeks in the summer to accommodate all of the future dreamers and doers of the world. So few places in this world can you see, feel, catch, and bottle inspiration. Camp Jack Hazard is one of those places. In humbleness comes greatness. My story is merely one of many, George had 3 days here... I had summers, and summers, and summers here. Someday I would love to write a journal of all my memories on this sacred ground. The story of my first real love, the golden unbreakable friendships, the journey of my respect for this planet, and how the flame that started here, flickered deep within me when my life took its darkest turns... How Camp Jack Hazard is more then a place... More then a time... More then a story. Camp Jack Hazard is a shared experience. A life altering trek to self awareness, strength and pride.

I love you guys, and I thank you all for your hard work, dedication, devotion, inspiration, limitless, and timeless love. Every generation, every person leaving their foot print on my life, and within my heart. I am blessed to have experienced it with you.

Thank You,

Desiree Marie Sylvia

The Blessing of Angels...

I have always wondered about Angels... I think most of us have.

There are those that believe in guardian angels who watch over us and protect us from stepping from the curb when a distracted car is carelessly zooming by our location at break neck speeds totally oblivious that we are there. Some think of spirits, such as of old family members who speak to us via a medium like Silvia Brown, or John Edwards who are in limbo, or in paradise, but need our help to cross over because of some unfinished business here in this world. Some believe in something darker like in the movies "The 6th sense." or Beetlejuice. Where there is an evil or scary feel to the haunting of a house or possession of a human host. There are as many sides to the equation as there are grains of sand within this desert.

I for one have always entertained the thought of angels... beautiful, protective, light, and loving.

I remember in the mists of my mind, of years long gone, as a child... wishing, praying, or simply day dreaming about angels. They were beautiful in my mind, cloaked in brilliant white rays of cleansing light, with fantastically airy fabrics of billowing white. Men and Women, alike, so beautiful and fair, of all colors and skin tones, all shades of hair and eyes. They would be surrounded by clouds so soft and welcoming I thought I could reach into a foggy night and almost touch one. A place of warmth, peace, and tranquillity. The perceptions held by that little girl no doubt delivered by countless hours in Catholic Mass, or CCD classes. Possibly from a bedtime story book, or an after school special movie long forgotten. Where ever the image came from, I , as an adult, in all my dreaming have held it close to my heart, even as a painting could never begin to capture its fullness of essence for me. A richness, a fullness of embodiment... my vision of what an angel might, could, or should possibly be.

I think I knew it, until I knew, what I knew, was wrong. OK, maybe not all wrong, but definitely not all right.

As an adult, I found angels, real angels. Lots of them. Disguised in plain clothing, hidden in familiar faces all around me. From the beginning of Dustin's tragedy to now, I have been very reflective on the people I have been blessed to know.

Some are angels for the moment or the minute...like the nurse who shows up just when you need her to, to tell you her story and give you the faith to carry on. How when she was 6 years old, just as old as my son, she too had 2nd degree burns down her arm, and how it healed in 2 weeks. And how she can barely see the scars today. An Angel with a gift...A simple story, a moment of time, a gallon of hope.

Some angels come for the day... like the paramedics, the firemen, the sheriffs, or even the neighbor that showed up with dinner that fateful day when the world stopped spinning if only for a moment. Angels that show up unexpectedly at the most critical moments of our need, ...there solely for us. They came and took the reigns when I no longer could. When parenting is not enough. And as quick as they came, they were gone... but what they brought to my house, to my son, to myself... These angels in the blink of an eye, brought needed strength in our time of weakness.

Some Angels come for the month... like the wonderful burn nurse, Mrs. Frances Williams, who neither talks down to us, nor pities us on our journey to recovery. How she encourages us, and praises us, when she knows how hard it is to have to hurt your child to clean a wound, for their own good. How she takes the time to give step by step instructions, and is equally gentle with Dustin's physical state as she is with our emotional states. She is an angel and we were put in the right place at the right time to have the blessing of her healing hands, and healing heart. An angel who dresses in smocks, and simply heals.

Some angels are here for a lifetime... like the beloved Aunt who shows up at the door to stay for the week because she could hear in my voice, over a telephone line, that I, while strong for everyone else, was truly weak and falling apart. A woman who saw a need, and dropped everything to address it. No money, no thanks needed. Just to be there. To help with laundry, meals, children, and dishes. Her life is crazy, her commitments are many, her need is great at home... and yet she is here with me. She shoulders my load, bares my burdens. My angel of sanity she brings on her wings a gift for me... a gift of much needed rest.

Some Angels are here for however long they are needed with no set times or limitations... like this amazing guy from work. Carl Baccus. A guy who just shows up, who is not smothering or imposing. He just is...there. There at the hospital when I had no idea how I was going to get home. Just there to call and vent to... just there to pop in to check on us. Just there to come by and say hello, if by telephone, instant message, or in person he just is there. A shoulder to lean on, an arm to hold you up. A badly needed pair of arms to just hug me. A battery of strength in which to glean from when I am running on beyond empty. He is my angel and his gift to me is a friendship, a gift of diversion, a gift of peace.

There are angels that surround us so numerous and vast that the sea of faces turns into a blur of lines and colors. And yet there are still more. Those angels that stand quietly, motionlessly, in the backgrounds of ones life. The ones that get little to no credit for the roles that they play. The ones that are faceless, and often nameless. Angels who donate their money, when they so do not need to, but just did unknowing that my need was great. How at the perfect time an angels card with $20 allows me to pay the co-pay I did not know how I was going to swing, to get Dusty to the burn center that week. Or co workers that collected money and gave it to me literally moments before already paid co pays from the ER were about to bounce in my account. One handed me the money and told me not to cry... I did anyway. How groceries were taken care those few days remaining before payday. How dressings, tapes, over the counter pain meds, and special burn creams were funded by the gifts of faceless angels. The weight it lifted from my shoulders. The blessings of scores of angels. They gave me money, but what it brought was more then what money can pay for. It was the gift of caring, support, and family...that I did not realize I had.

And so many more still. The angel who in the mist of this medical drama found out my washing machine broke, and who knew I had no vehicle to transport it to get it fixed... and came to dropped it off for me. The angels who offered up their washing machine so that Dustin could have fresh linens for his dressing changes. The angels who shared their burn stories with me to better allow me to cope and assist my son. The angels who called just to hear the tale and know that we were OK for themselves. The angels who sent Dustin care packages with things to do on his tummy while he recovered. The angels who cleaned their rooms and did their chores without being asked because they could see I was over my limit. The angels that I called, and who's heart broke along side mine... with me.

I have seen angels, I have know angels, I am surrounded by them every moment of my days. I thank my Lord for sending them, each one of them to me. For lifting me up, for carrying this family, for blessing my son. For the prayers, the support, the hope, the strength, the healing, the caring, the strength, the peace, the friendships, the diversions, for all the moments of knowing how truly loved and blessed we are. As well as for all the wonderful good things that have come from this is.

For all of our many angels... All I can say is... with the most sincere of heart... Thank You.

A Burned Child... and a Blessing.

I am beyond words mortified by the events that have enfolded about this family in the last couple of days. These revolutions of a globe have been horrifying and tragic at best. To help wrap my own mind around the developments of what happened last Tuesday I seek to tell the story just one more time. A story that has been uttered with an increase in volume, and strength with each rendition of it. A story that with each slow playback becomes less surreal and more a clinical reverberation of the events.

The day was Tuesday, July 28th, 2009. It started out as all the others before it. Leaving for work early in the morning and with the same amount of harassing phone calls from bored children at home. Eager for school to start, they played with the same toys, the same games, the same pets that they had spent all summer with. My 15 year old had a friend come over. Mainly staying in his room they watched TV and listened to music.

After lunch the boys became restless, and the swamp cooler was doing little to keep the house cool in the 115 degree heat. They all were sweating and needed a cool down. Colton, my oldest and most responsible son, took his friend and his two younger brothers into the backyard to play in the sprinklers. Upon turning on the water they spayed themselves, the water was cool, but not cold. So he started spraying down the two younger boys with squeals of delight filling the backyard... the game was a foot. Colton being the bigger brother, grabbed his youngest brother and shoved the hose down the back of his shorts. Brotherly games of playful torture... no harm no foul.

Except, that is when tragedy struck. The light green hose, 150 feet in length, had been laying half under the protective shade of the tree in back, and half on the radiating sand of the Mojave Desert. The water was cool to the touch from the comfortable shade of the tree, but once it was in the back of Dustin's cotton shorts, it turned scalding hot from the portion that had been laying in the sand and sun. An innocent hose, a lazy summer day, a playful group of young boys, and tragic accident.

Dustin began to scream a blood curdling scream, one that Colton knew was wrot with terror, fear, and pain. He grabbed for the hose yanked it from his young brother's pants and rushed the 6 year old from his feet, whisking him into the house, down the hall, and into a cold shower. With the cool water raining down on him he seemed to be fine for the moment. Dustin was calm and quiet. Colton ran back outside to turn off the water so that the shower would have greater water pressure. He knew he was hurt, but not how bad. As he finished turning off the water spicot, the screams of terror and pain came flooding back to him from inside the house. He grabbed the phone and frantically called me at work... no answer. "Come on Mom! Pick Up, PLEASE Pick Up!!!" He in a frenzied panic dialed again.... MOM PLLLEEEAAASSSEEE! No answer. I was in a meeting. By this time the blister were starting to form and breaking in the cool water, and Dustin was really hurting bad. The terror and panic was getting thicker by the minute, Colton knew this could not wait until I could be reached. He ran across the street and got a good family friend and neighbor the boys affectionately call Grampy. He ran over, and soon had Dustin out of his shorts, keeping him in the shower for as long as he could stand it. He was freezing, shivering, within the cool water flowing down his little body. And Yet his flesh was burning still from within. Donnie (Grampy) Called me twice more, but this time left messages on my work phone, which Colton in his heightened state of dealing with the situation was unable to do.

10 min. later I got out of my meeting and got my messages. Grampy's voice was cold, and stern, more direct then I was use to. The words did not immediately register but the tone of voice did. Someone was hurt. I listened to that message and I got only two words... call immediately. My heart sank, and ever thankful for the missed call button on my phone I immediately redialed his cell. Grampy was curt and direct. The words were a jumble of my own heart beat ringing in my ears and muffled sounds coming from a phone. The whole office where I work seemed to get deafening silent, and the whole world began to slow down. My arms took so much more time to move, my feet were heavy and planted to the ground. In trying to run I found myself in a slow frame of a bionic man movie, waiting in the back of my mind for the music to begin. My thoughts became s rush of who to call, what to say, how to get approval to go. I chased down Rob and Ken, my bosses, who had moments before walked out the door to go to another meeting in another building on the NASA Dryden site. They granted me leave and asked me to check in to give a status update later on. I agreed, ran to grab my things, shut down my computer, and run as fast as I could, stuck in slow motion hell, to my car. Once inside I drove the speed limit for about 2 min. and then could clearly not care if they took my license away or not. I drove like a bat out of hell... easily reaching 100 miles an hour on the short stretch of freeway between the Edwards AFB exit and Clay Mine Road. It was amazing as if God himself had cleared me a path. Cars and Big Rigs ran side by side in front of me far from the exit, and again in my rear view mirror... but nothing and no one was around me. OK, so it was not the parting of the sea, but it was the right mini miracle that I needed for the moment.

Once on Clay Mine Road it was the gates wide shut, stuck behind an old man going 5 miles an hour in a beat up mini van... I glance to the on coming lane... no cars. I take the hop. This is not in my nature... I would rather wait and make my trip 45 min longer then ever pass another vehicle. It is unsafe, and it is scary. This moment, I did not care... one of my sons was hurt and they needed me. I did not know how bad, or if there was anything that I could do, but I needed to be there... and I needed to be there NOW! The drive while only moments long was hard and tedious. When I got there and saw him, I thought for a moment on what I should do. A million thoughts flooded through my mind. Do I take him to the ER? Do I call an ambulance? Do we have insurance? Does it freaking matter? What do I do, What do I do, What do I do. I grab the phone and pause looking at it unsure if I should or should not call. Silently arguing to myself. Until finally a voice from deep within me cuts though the voices. IT IS YOUR BABY JUST CALL!!! So I did...

911 what is your emergency? My son has been burned. Where is he now? He is on the bedroom floor. Is he coherent? I uh ummm. Is he answering you when you talk to him? Yes, Yes, he is fine, answering fine. Put him in the shower, cold water Mame. OK, I hand the phone to Colton... And I begin to mobilize the troops... My voice is calm and steady... My thoughts are clearer and more direct... Colton, I need you to play relay tell me what they say and tell them what I say. All the while scooping my son, Dusty Joe, scared, wet, and hurting into my arms. I carry him to the bathroom and place him back into the cold water of the tub, he just got free of. He begins to cry softly. I ask George to get me two cups, I begin pouring water over each butt cheek one at a time. It is blistering and the skin is falling away from his body. I keep repeating this process over and over and over again. Not daring to stop until help arrives. I tell George to go out front and wait for the ambulance to wave them in. I lean into him closely and as softly and calmly as I can I tell him he is going to be OK. I tell him that I love him, and that I remind him that I have never left him before and I am not about to start now. I ask him if he trusts me... He says yes. I ask him if he believes me... He says a little stronger...yes. Good, I tell him, this is my job, this is what I do... I take care of you. Just do as I say and it is going to work out... I promise. He seems comforted now, still cold and afraid...

Donnie comes in and asks if he can take over pouring cold water on his poor burned bum. I, grateful for the relief, say yes. I leave the room pacing waiting for help to arrive. I place blankets on the front room floor for when the paramedics arrive, a pillow too. Dustin will need to be comfortable while they stabilize him. Symptoms of shock are racing through my head... Cold clamy skin ( He is wet in a cold shower), what else? Hypotension (like I have a blood pressure cuff his size), next! ummmmm irregular breathing, rapid pulse... I run back into the crowded bathroom looking at the veins in his neck... and the rise and fall of his chest from the back... all the while changing a toilet paper roll that somehow got neglected to hide my true intentions for being there. A little elevated, but not much, in fact I think mine is more rapid then his. He is doing well... where are the paramedics? I make my way back to the front yard... no sign of them. I hear sirens off in the distance... they are coming... coming for Dustin... what a wonderful sound... sirens...a moment of time when seconds turn into minutes. And there is a feeling of peace. But before you can get comfortable or even take a breath you are snapped within an instant back into reality. What are some other signs? Weakness, confusion, anxiety, loss of consciousness. I mentally review Dustin's condition. OK, so far so good... A big truck rolls up... my first thought was, you aren't the ambulance... then it dawns on me. Duhhh it is the fire department, they get here first. Moments before the paramedics... within the flash of an eye they are off the truck and coming into my home... Do you want him out of the tub? So you can get to him easier? I ask in half relief and half pleading for help. Yes was all I heard before I was running back to the bathroom to swoop and scoop my son once more to the front room. By now more people were swarming about... So many different uniforms, partnered teams, stretchers... I had to get out of their way. Mom Mode kicks into high gear... Colton, George get back, get out of here so they can work. The boys move to the far wall just beyond the couch, but still within close view of their brother. Fear in both their eyes, my heart bleeding for both of them, but more intent on making sure Dustin was stable. Then out of the corner of my eye I see Tyler Irish. A young man from the church who just weeks before was sitting having a late dinner of homemade tacos and corn chips at our very own dinner table with his sister and my children. He was working on the Hall Ambulance rig today, and Dustin was his call. I hear Grampy talking to Dustin; Dusty, you know Tyler don't you? You remember Jessica's brother? Little man turns his head to look over his shoulder and recognized a face in a sea of would be rescue heroes. Yes, Hi Tyler. He says before resting his face back onto the pillow. Hey little guy, I am going to take good care of you OK? I am right here. Dustin's body relaxes and he knows he is going to be OK. In the blink of an eye, the stretcher comes in and so many hands are on it, it seems out of some movie scene. He is only 55 lbs. soaking wet, I could pick him up. Within the moment, too quick for my mind to registe the thought, he was on the stretcher, burn blankets were already in place, and discreet blankets draped his tiny frame as he was being belted in for the ride. Dustin was scared for just a second... his eyes wide with panic. Don't worry, I am not leaving you. I am coming with you. He is put into the rig, and I in the front seat. There is a little square window that allows the paramedic and the driver to communicate. Dustin is wildly looking about. I call out to him. I am right here son, I am right here... he searches for my voice and upon seeing me settles down and relaxes. Tyler the paramedic is busy placing electrodes, taking vitals, starting two IV's. He works silently, quietly, efficiently. A graceful dance of life saving ebbs and flows as the rig sways gently with the road. Dustin is at ease. He is calm. Tyler the driver trys to calm me down with small talk, and then the rig becomes silent. The road becomes long, and the stillness, the unknowing of how bad it is, and where will he be going, how long will he be gone, how far away will the hospital be from the rest of the boys, how am I ever going to make this happen? All these flooded thoughts drowning me. I don't know the answers. I say a little prayer... Dearest Heavenly Father, I don't know your reason for his trial, I just know that it is for his greater good, please let your will be done, take care of us. Amen. Tyler offers a tissue, as tears stream down my cheeks. I agree. He hollers for the medic to get me one.... no, no, no I grab for some left over napkins from one of their lunches... this is good. Tyler smiles. Good Enough.

I think to myself...yes, good enough. I begin in that moment to see the many blessings. How well he is doing, how calm he is. How well taken care of he is. I call the pair of Ambulance guys Tyler Squared. Young men, both doing an excellent job. I am amazed at the way his little boy is designed to tighten up to the pain of the burn and his vital areas are left unscathed by the searing heat of the water. How he takes no meds on the way there and only a single cc of morphine upon getting to the ER. This kid is a trooper. He talks to the nurses and tells him his pain level is a 6 on a scale of one to ten. A 6! I know some women who would complain that their own menstrual cycles are a 6, and his entire butt cheeks are bubbled and blistered and nearly gone. Is he serious? Yes, a 6. They give him the morphine shot.

Colton had offered before I left to go with Dustin to the hospital. I told him, I had to be the one to go now to do the insurance paperwork , but if he is admitted he will be staying with Dustin if he liked it or not. This thought comes to me... our family is blessed. Richly and deeply blessed. My immediate family is not close. And I have often wondered how I could teach my own children about having each others backs, and the meaning of family when mine is such a loose interpretation of that word. And yet, today, going trough the trials and tribulations set before us this day. Amongst the painful dressing changes, and the truly bleak financial situation this places us within... we are blessed. Blessed beyond measure, because we are wealthier then most. We are a family by every definition of the word. In times of strife and tragedy we can and will mobilize all of our talents and abilities to rise to the challenge, meet any hardship, and overcome any obstacle. This road is not an easy one, but the right roads never are... so I take solice in knowing we are on the right path... going in the right direction, and this team I call family is only growing tighter and stronger with each day.

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.

LDS Adult Prom

I went to the 2009 LDS Adult Prom with my good friends Donnie and Sandra Hewes. The night was beautiful, and the hall was decorated to the hilt. Donnie and Sandra were as adorable as ever, and I was the token single person there. BUT the dinner was wonderful and I did get to dance twice.. once with my soon to be ex brother in law, Sir Jeremeh Job, and of course Donnie. It was great seeing the loving happy couples enjoying themselves together. It gave me hope that maybe... just maybe it could happen. Until then it is a delight to have great friends like the Hewes's and the Van Gorter's to take me under their wing and make sure that I continue to participate in the opportunities that life as a single woman still holds. I had a good time, and it was fun getting ready for. I do miss that part of married life... date night. :)