Birch Aquarium - San Diego, CA

Oh my gosh we had the best, on a whim, destination stop in San Diego when we decided as a family to go to an aquarium for the day. The day started out with a wonderful breakfast, at Mimi's Cafe, full of scrumptious hot chocolate, cold juice, sweet pancakes, rich quiche, warm omelets, fresh pumpkin muffins and much, much, more. It was Colton's idea..."Hey, why don't we go to an aquarium?" Great idea! We took out the trusty navigation guru, Garmin, loaned to us by a dear friend. We affectionately refer to the navigational tool as Jill. We punched in aquarium and low and behold, Jill found us one, less then 8 miles down the road. PERFECT! We set out on a fun filled adventure to Birch Aquarium.

There were these amazing live coral reefs set down so the kids could reach in and touch living sea anemones, hermit crabs, and star fish. My desert dune boys were not sure what to make of weird water creatures, and would not put their hands anywhere near them. Carl showed them they were safe and not going to harm them, but no way were they going to be coaxed into the off chance he might be wrong. Watching them learn and interact with Carl was fun for me from the other side of the camera. He is a natural teacher, and they are sponges when around him. Maybe it is his calm, quiet demeanor... maybe it is his vast amounts of knowledge... maybe it is his willingness to slow down and genuinely listen to them... what ever it is, it was nice to stand back and observe silently from the other side of a camera's lense.

The vast array of coral and brilliantly colored fish was so amazing. It seemed so peacefully tranquil to me, and yet to Dustin the negative ions seemed to wash over him with each new tank only amping up his level of exuberance and delight. A wound battery, ever ready, and delighted to skip ahead to announce the up coming attraction. Hyper and happy, he stayed within sight of us, but rarely within arms reach. His own sheer enchantment drawing us deeper and deeper into each of the tunnels.

The day itself was perfect. The weather was cool and crisp, with a gentle breeze to keep it nice. But it was not too cold, not cool enough even for light jackets. It was perfectly beautiful and serene. The waves crashing gently on the beach below was truly picturesque. Spending time with my children and with Carl was nothing short of glorious. The air show was nice, but it was the kind of excitement and happiness that drains you... This trip to Birch Aquarium was the slower pace of life kind of trip. The kind that was more fulfilling. A recharging of the batteries of life, slower, calming, peaceful. I love to see the boys learn... hands on is so much better then any in class study time. There is something special about places like these that can not be absorbed properly through a textbook. To watch the memory forming in them, the way they see and feel the experience. It is the true embodiment of pure untainted joy from parenthood.

This picture of Dustin does little to depict the sheer vastness of this tank behind him or the glee written upon his face, and yet it is one of my favorite places within this splendorous scenic destination. There are so many fish, sharks, and sting rays in this tank, and the soft glow on the faces of those that pass by it is as remarkable as the tank itself. An exquisite display of rich wonderment and its resplendent under water world beauty! I could almost see myself as an underwater princess straight out of "The Little Mermaid Movie" If there had been less people there I may have even danced or spun around in the soft blue glowing light...but I did not. I was good, and proper, and adult like in behavior. Not that I wanted to mind you, but I did. It was just truly breathtaking.

This is a distorted, but wonderful picture of the amazement and wonderment in the eyes of the boys as they peered into the tanks. This one is of George watching the jelly fish swimming in a rhythmic dance on the currents in the water. I have to admit even I was caught up in the simplistic ballet of the jelly's. The way they moved, and how their bodies looked so wondrous and magical dancing in the water. I never realized how many different species of jelly fish that we have out here. It was fun to watch them behind the safety of a tank glass window. Graceful little creatures for sure.

Of course Colton was as cool as ever, for being all of 15 years old going on 25. But there were glimpses of both the child he once was as well as of the man he is turning into. The self assured, confident, gentleman would set out a deep giggle when he had found something cool to focus on, or to direct our attention to. It was fun to see him enjoy himself, being carefree, respectful, and kind. Sometimes I think quietly to myself, and am pleased in how my children seem to be developing. I am very blessed by them.

Some people chase after money, possessions, or things, but these things... these days, these trips you can never afford to do or take... these are the moments of riches beyond all measure. Delighting in the time well spent close with one another. Laughing and delighting in Colton making a USMC water flow experiment, watching Dustin light up light bulbs in an awesome hands on experiment, watching George deliver a news cast to us on wildfires in the area, or watching Carl going over the different sounds each of the different kinds of whales make as they sing sweetly to one another... these are the times of unmeasurable joys and happiness for me. The bystander moments of how genuine love pours over your soul and warms you from within. Where happiness shines brightly, and peace is breathed in.

MIRAMAR AIRSHOW 2009

You know some people think they have me all figured out. And I laugh... The reason that I love going to Miramar is so complicated and so simplistic that it often escapes people. They act like it some big secret, and in fact it is as simple as knowing that someday I am going to soar... I am going to make it. That this battered and bruised battleship is being put back together daily, that my rivets are being rewelded where they once popped apart. The broken hull is being made stronger and tighter, and yes... someday I am going to fly. Not just merely a secretary in an office as the assistant to all... but for once I am going to fly, and shine for all to see. An airshow moment of my life... no longer the spectator, but to dance in the glory of the sun. The time is coming, I can feel it....

And yet it is deeper still and more complicated. For many that come to the tarmac hold a love of the planes, and a serious appreciation for the grace and beauty of flight. I love the feel of the jet wash ripping through the air and reverberating off the bones deep within my chest. The sight of a slow copper orange sunset glistening off the rivets of an old, polished, pristinely restored, B-52 Bomber, that makes the beautiful, brunette, bombshell nose art take center stage. It is the soft low hum of the crowd as a F-22 comes in for a tight pass, and a high banking turn. It is the clapping of appreciation as an armored tank drives by with honorable service men and women waving from the turrets. It is the peaceful, misleading dance, in the sky high above. Beautiful and graceful, and yet lethal if necessary. It is the show of magnificent skill and talent, coupled with engineering master pieced constructed by intellectual collaborations and designed by marvelous minds. They are the fantastic women of the sky. Symbolic in their beauty, grace, and stream lined prowess as well as in their vastly different shapes, colors, and job classifications. They are strong when they need to be, and gentle, and patient when they don't.

I was told by one of my sons not so long ago, that my fascination with planes and with flight was not feminine,... that it was not becoming of a woman. I beg to differ. It is how I see it that makes it what it is to me. Although no other may see it as I, it is the vision that makes me who and what I am. Some think it is this love and passion that is slowly deteriorating the fine tuning of my hearing. What I do know is I truly LOVE the sound of the engines, the roar of the after burners... it is magnificent,AWESOME, inspirational and it makes me smile from deep within my soul. Few things in life are worth losing your senses for... to me, this is one that just is. Not many would understand that concept... then again not many understand me, and that is OK. This time, this place, the moments I get to be at NASA, these are moments of my dreams. I cherish them. I soak them in and they become a part of me. I love planes... I love air shows... I love flight.

But the whole air show event is not limited to the enjoyment I get from the planes. The planes are just the tip of the iceberg for me. It is spending time with the my beloved family... and enjoying the time we get to be with one another. Enjoying the personalities, and uniqueness in all of us. Watching my oldest son light up in the glow of the Marine Corps propaganda booths, and all of the Marine Corps gear. Letting him go with limited freedom to get food and drinks on his own, without the watchful supervision of his over protective Mother. How happy he is to walk past the men and women in uniform all puffed up and dreamy of days and accomplishments just around the bend to come. A boy looking into the eyes of manhood, and his desired future profession. Not knowing the real commitment involved, but desiring it none the less. It is watching the eyes of my two youthful sons faces deep into their very first funnel cakes. The strawberry and apple fillings smothering the hot pastry waffle goodness in a shower of powder sugar. How excited they were to sell me out for the Mother of the Year Award when I announced that Funnel Cakes were an acceptable dinner for air shows. How puzzled the looks as to how to judge their mother being morphed from the vegetable forcing balanced food group policeman to the carefree junk eating glutton cheerleader. How they seemed to revel in the thought they were getting away with something.

It was sitting cuddled into the arms of the one that you love in the brisk night air watching the night show, the fireworks, and the Napalm Wall of Fire. The Ooooooooo's and Awes resounding from the crowds in all directions in a chorused crescendo of amazement and appreciation overcame everyone at the same time.

It is the happy little boy laughter coming from the barreled chests of grown men as the fire billows the mushroom cloud explosions high into the darkened sky and dusts you with a blanket of dry heated warmth. It is the love in the air, the positive feeling that surrounds you and holds you up long after the show is over. It is the patriotism, the love of nation, country, service, and yourself that hangs heavy in your heart long afterward. This is Miramar... this is Family... this is Southern California Fun. This is what I live for...

Agency CIO's Visit Dryden!

The new Agency CIO for NASA joined us today for a walk through and overview of our unique niche in the NASA family's big picture. Lind Cureton is not just an amazingly eloquent speaker, but she is very politically correct as well. She is an expert navigator of some torrential tempest seas. Her history is as colorful and in depth and remarkable as anyone you would expect to hold down such a distinguished career position as hers, but what struck a cord with me was how down to earth she was. How she easily, and with confidence, and great poise, communicated with all of us around her... no matter what our position, our given rank, or our title. She was diligent in attending to her duties as she was shuttled to and from every venue under the blazing sun at Dryden. And yet she was humorous and lighthearted when the moments called for it. She is an amazing choice, in my humble opinion, to be the spearhead of such a vital and needed chain of leadership for the Office of the CIO.

It was truly an honor to meet all of them. Jerry Williams, Bobby German, and Linda Cureton were so classy, gracious, and kind. It is not what I had expected from Heads of NASA power positons, and the rock of the Information Technology Team. Beyond vasts amounts of knowledge, there was a current which flowed forth of excitement for the technology, for the unique missions we support here at Dryden, and childlike curiosity. These are all amazing emotions that I as a fly on a wall was blessed to see first hand in the faces of these intellectual giants. It makes me feel comforted, and secure with our leadership knowing that they too feel the same currents of pride, and excitement that we feel everyday supporting our mission directive of exploration and innovation.

They took time to speak to the people even though I know that they really did not have the time too. They answered questions, and encouraged an open dialogue with our center. They never once let on how much they were physically dragging. They got in to their hotel at 0130 in the morning, which is 0430 their time. Then they were at Dryden by 0815. I know they had to be exhausted and tired... but they never let on as such. They were diligent in their quest to do and see what makes this place so special and so unique. I am impressed that our new CIO of only 2 days would want to do this. Obviously she wanted to see first hand for herself, and she did. Change is in the air for the whole I.T. branch of the equation, and yet with an uphill battle waging in front of us, I am excited. With Cloud Computing on the horizon, I think we have strong capable leaders to guide us to new heights.

It was a honor to meet them all, to shuttle them around and play. I did not wear the right shoes for the day, and I am paying the price even today for it. I would not have changed a single moment of it though. Getting to see them truly enjoy this wonderful center, to get to physically observe them really getting the big picture of WHY we are here. That was amazing, and a once in a lifetime opportunity. We are not paper pushers here at Dryden, we are the doers of NASA. The often forgotten, unspoken workhorse of the fleet. We are small in comparison, but we are mighty in mission and accomplishment, rich in history, and grounded in the security of NASA's continued future. I am proud of our foot mark on this agency, and it was neat to see the CIO's get a sense of that pride too. That is huge.

Linda and Jerry got to fly in the F-18 simulator, and if you saw the previous entry of my personal experience in them you know how exhilarating it is. I loved watching them light up just as I did. They may be the top line, but they are still very personable and human. Grown up children reveling in joy. I loved that. Enjoyment of the silver lining to a very stressful position. A chance of a lifetime also for them.

They visited Global Hawk plane as well as the control center. Spoke technology and mission with the boys that really make it happen. I showed first hand the importance of OUR I.T. support at the center at that level. I LOVED IT! What a great job that I have, to be witness to such things. THIS is what makes my job fun. THIS is why I do what I do. THIS is why I am the way that I am. I really enjoy my life. What a wonderful blessing.

STS-128

One has to wonder if STS-128 is going to be the last shuttle to come to California before they retire the fleet. The legacy of Dryden Flight Research Center's in the history of shuttled flights to space and the moon... almost over. The new era of space travel on the cusp of a new day. A new generation of space travel..... The Aries 1 and 5. No longer will we, as a nation, be able to witness first hand, the grace and skill of these piloted decents. Their job no longer needed on reentry. I, for one, will miss this. Watching the flight of the shuttle is a patriotic blessing from this nation to me. OK, so maybe not only to me, but definitely one of the moments of majesty that make me very proud to be an American. I sit there in awe and love every millisecond of the experience.

I will never in my lifetime get to witness a launch of one of these great beauties, I will never get to sit inside one of them and witness first hand the simple grandeur of their true simplistic machinery, I will never sit and chat with an astronaut over crumpets and juice, or even get to personally meet Mr. Charles Bolden himself and shake his hand... but what I do get to do is watch. I get to watch in awe, wonderment, and exhilaration as the symbol of this great agency comes successfully back to earth, to the home of the free and the brave. An emblem of what we stand for, not just as the front runner of NASA and all of her amazing accomplishments... but as the beacon for this country as a light willing to push ahead for the greater good of the entire world. I urge all who were there to cherish the memory, remember the smells, the sights, the sounds. For this is a precious yet fleeting gift. One that should not be forgotten or taken lightly.

Few people get to witness history. I may not be an integral part of it, but the fact is I am here. And the time is now. STS-128 is home, and I got to cheer her in. I am bias in the fact that her coming here is as much of a blessing to her as it is to me. We offer a unique experience here at Dryden... When the shuttle comes here they are welcomed back as heroes. Domingo's Mexican Restaurant opens its arms and doors at all hours of the day and night to welcome the astronauts first real meal back on earth. The Mexican restaurant is as much a museum, and celebration of flight, as it is an eating establishment. This is our home. The desert... a barren, boring little place, in the middle of no where, that lives for the love Space and Flight. No where on the globe can you find the passion of these people. These people are like me... and I am home.

I for one love this place. I love NASA, and all that we do. I love the environmental impact that we are still forging ahead on. Do you know what I love the most? It is being a part of the team. It is easy for everyone to look at an astronaut and know they are a poster boy for NASA, but so is everyone behind the scenes. Those who sit behind a computer uploading images on websites shot by those of us on the ground so that everyone with such a desire to witness it can. They miss getting to take the photos of their own. They miss the chance of a lifetime to be a part of the moment. Without them many of those that share in it, never would be able to. Those who sit in the stuffy mission control room talking to the pilot, problem solving, and supporting 100%, holding their breath... or those people who make the phones work that support the hundreds of phone calls that are generated before, during, and after the flights. The nurses who stand at the ready to address any potential gravity issues of the crew... or even the safety guys who just stand at the ready... with hopes they are never even needed... but there just in case. We all have a stake in it. We all have a moment of baited breath, and a collective cheer as the double sonic boom is not just heard, but also felt. We ARE the team. I am proud to get to share in it.

I got to sit in front of the opening of the shuttle discovery. It was AWESOME. I loved it. It is amazing to me how the blessings come when you least expect it. I was wearing the wrong shoes, and Tess, a co worker of mine, had an extra pair at her desk... so I got to go on the up close and personal tour of Discovery because of her preparedness. I had secretly wanted to go see Discovery... but I had corny reasons why, and I had not uttered them to a single soul. Discovery starts with a D, just like Dryden, and Desiree. She seems to me, to be the most like me. She is the most beaten up, bumped and bruised angel of the fleet. She has had a tough road, and still finds the strength to get back up and soar again ,and again when ever, and how ever she is needed. She reaches for the stars high within our orbit and dances with them. She takes care of her crew, at all cost. And Discovery is the name that captures the mission of space flight the best. I know it is just a machine, but to me, she is a symbol. A symbol of perseverance, ...of strength, ...of achieving her dreams. It seems to me, to be the one shuttle out of the entire fleet I feel most connected to. I am so happy that I got to be so close to her, feeling her energy, and taking a piece of that memory into my heart and soul forever. Discovery is my favorite. Always has been always will be. The neat trivial part of this journey for Discovery is the simple fact that she arrived here at NASA's Dryden's Flight Research Center on September 11th, 2009, and she was going home on the 747 whose call sign is also 911. For one who remembers 9/11 was a day of sorrow and of national devastation in 2001. Terrorists attached us as a nation viciously with our own planes, killing hundreds of our people... hitting the world trade center, a Pennsylvania field, and the Pentagon. I know all of us, as a great nation, knew where we were when we first heard or watched the news unravel that horrible day. And yet at that moment I never dreamt that 8 years later I would be blessed enough to be on the roof of building 4800 of Dryden's Flight Research Center at the same moment waiting on the arrival of one of this nations most majestic jewels. I never would have dreamed I would be in such a historic place for flight, watching such a magnificent sight so close, and with such private and special access. We just never get to know where our journeys are going to take us, how far we are going to go, or what we are yet to become, what we are yet to experience, or what we are yet to witness. I never could have dreamed this big. I never could have wished a wish this large. My bubble was so much smaller then, the glass ceiling so much lower. I love how my life has evolved before me. I am where I am meant to be... and everything has led me here for this moment. Getting to watch Discovery go back to KSC with my kids at the early moments of the day was nothing better then perfect. My tummy was rumbling with flu, but I would not have missed it for the world. How do they, as my children, get the chance to soak this in? The shuttle, directly in front of them! I love being able to spark that energy and excitement within them. To let if flow freely from me to them... my next generation. I wonder as I watch them, what it is they will do, how far they will go, what will they become, what will they get to witness, and be a part of. How will they seek out their own journeys, embrace their own histories, and find their own paths. How will they be a part of this great story we call America? We are all a part of a team, a part of a national story... an American dream. These are amazing and wonderful times in which I live in today, and I am eternally grateful for all of them. I thank the Lord, for my many blessings, for my experiences, and my memories. I am truly blessed.

I.T. Waffle Bar Appreciation Breakfast

We in the Information Technology Branch at Dryden were in serious need of a little moral boosting, and appreciation for the hard jobs that drive us day in and day out. The bosses got together and created a WONDERFUL treat for all of us. A wonderful waffle bar for all of us to feast on and enjoy. Yummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!

The food brought us together, but the laughter and the smiles came from within. It was delightful to see the light heartedness in the air, and to feel the air heavy with smells of fresh warm waffles! The toppings were ENDLESS! And the creations were extra special! It was so much fun just being in the midst of such hardworking and wonderful company.We really missed Rob on own celebration day. He was out ill, and missed yet another fun moment in the Data Analysis Facility history. I guess we will just have to do this or something even more wild and crazy next time. This was a blast none the less. What a great group. I love my job, but not just because of where I work, but rather because of who I get to work with as well. These are the best group of workers anywhere. I love Code V!

Thank you guys for making my job fun every single day I get to come to work. You have my back, look out for me, and are loyal to our department and our center. I love you guys. Thanks for all that you do behind the scenes that no one sees. YOU GUYS ROCK!!!

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.