Hi all! Still resting from last week's drama. Zippy'll be good as new by the end of next week and I should be back to "normal" by mother's day. Hope you are all well and I'm sorry for not getting around this past week. I've been so tired I haven't had the energy to do much. But the sun is shining and I'm feeling pretty good today so I'll be out and about this weekend. I HATE not having a car. It's very limiting. But oh well, there's worse things in life right? Be well everyone and I'll be surfing about this week to catch up!!

Here's my Saturday Night Blog Fever selection for this week. It's an inspiration to anyone who thinks they CAN'T......

Today was a rather eventful day. I was in a car accident with a NYC Sanitation vehicle, only blocks from my job this morning. My NEW car was badly damaged. The damage clearly shows the other vehicle at fault.  I had a melt down. A huge melt down. I was sobbing like someone had died. Yes, I probably overreacted, but that is (unfortunately) me. I am an extremely emotional soul.

So, yes, I sobbed. Not good. I am supposed to, under doctor’s orders, keep my stress level to a minimum. So my pressure went up, I felt the pressure in my chest and my palpitations took on a new measure of pounding. My uncontrollable sobbing continued. My coworkers showed up, the Sanitation supervisor arrived on the scene, got concerned about how I was handling the situation and called EMS. Police of course showed up, and while the EMTs took care of me inside the ambulance, my dear, dear friends took care of my paperwork. I could really care less about myself and really didn’t want to stay in the ambulance and certainly didn’t want to go to the hospital. I wanted to stay with my precious car. I went to the hospital.

I have to say, every one of those people, the EMTs, the police, the sanitation supervisor, the hospital staff without exception, were absolutely wonderful. God Bless them all. They were concerned. Of course the sanitation worker driving the other vehicle also requested to go to the hospital, claiming shoulder pain. So both of us were transported to the hospital. Calmly. And after all the tests were done and my pressure went back to normal, and after everyone made every attempt to make me laugh, I was released to go home with a couple of prescriptions in hand. But not before the sanitation supervisor, along with a sanitation sheriff, stopped by my bedside to see how I was and to apologize on behalf of the City of New York. Wow. Very unexpected.

My friend Ruthie stayed with me and walked me back to the car, which was only a few blocks away, so I could take a few photos. And so, we walked out into the pouring rain, (oh yeah, it was raining cats and dogs since last night) without umbrella (it was in my car) and took some photos with my cellphone.  We walked back to the job, (also only a few blocks away) and I called my body shop guy, he sent a tow for me. I called the insurance. After the calls were made, the car was towed and me standing at the curb with my shopping bag of stuff from the car, looking pathetic as I watched my car on the flatbad of the tow truck. I am tired. I am so angry. I am a pedestrian. *sigh*. And so, I walked, slowly, and took the bus home.

I am so tired. I am starting to feel a little sore between my shoulder blades and I am so very upset. I know my car will be fixed as good as new. But that’s not the point. My beautiful little car, that I baby, that I park so far away from all the other cars in the parking lots so no one will hit me, the car that I drive carefully around the big potholes and inspect for scratches and dings like an obsession, my car, has been hit so badly that I swear I heard him groan. My poor little car. My poor little Zippy.  

During the Vietnam War, one of the ways we citizens protested was the wearing of a POW/MIA bracelet. For every soldier reported captured or missing, metal bracelets were made, engraved with the soldier’s name and the date he was captured or went missing. We wore those bracelets, NEVER taking them off, until that soldier returned home. Many people sealed them with a weld further preventing it from being removed from their wrists.  In 1972, as I approached my 12^th birthday, I asked my Dad to get me one. He brought me home “PFC David Winters, 4-21-67”. But he wouldn’t let me weld it.

I put that bracelet on and never removed it until 1976. I was nearly suspended from Junior High School for refusing to remove it during gym class. I took a stand and refused to take it off, requiring my father to come up to speak with the principal. I wore it faithfully, never doubting that I’d some day take off that bracelet and give it to PFC Winters when he returned home. When Saigon fell and the War was over, our POWs returned home. I remember watching it on TV. But PFC Winters was not one of them. He remains listed as missing in action, and his name is among those listed in remembrance on the Wall in Washington D.C. I wore the bracelet for almost a year after that, always hoping he would return home. When I finally took it from my wrist, I felt guilty. As if I was giving up on him. As if he would be forgotten.

I wear it every 4-21. I wear it as a private memorial to a man I have never met and a man I know very little about. I wear it to remember someone’s son. A kid of probably 18 or 19yrs old who never had a chance to live his life. A man who probably got caught up in the draft straight out of High School and ended up in that horrible war. Maybe he was married or had a sweetheart. Maybe he had brothers, sisters. When I went to see the Wall in D.C., I looked up his name in the book and found he was from North Carolina and that he had been posthumously promoted to SSgt. I took an etching of his name from the granite Wall.  Seeing his name there was a powerful moment and I stood there weeping like so many other people touching the names of those they loved and knew. I wondered if anyone had been there besides me, touching his name and crying for him. Another precious life lost for someone else’s agenda.I wish I could find his family so I may send them this bracelet I have kept in his memory all these years.

It made me think. This war, the Iraq War, will not produce POW bracelets. There are no POWs in this war. They take no prisoners. All are killed and tortured. Our men and women fighting out there now are fighting another senseless war based on someone else’s agenda. Many joined the Armed Services, because their economical circumstances gave them little options to make a better life for themselves. They thought they would use the military to support themselves and their families, perhaps college. I watch those names of those soldiers killed in action each and every Sunday. Most are kids of 19, 20, 21. But many are in their 40s and 50s. It makes me so angry.  I watch their names and mourn for them. This war is another Vietnam. We must leave Iraq and leave it now.

And so today, on the 40^th anniversary of the day SSgt David Winters of North Carolina went MIA in Vietnam, I would ask each and every one of you reading this to say a prayer for him and for every soldier lost to their friends and families from both the Vietnam and Iraq War. I know they all walk with God.

Peace.

Today is my one year anniversary here on Blogstream. I came across Blogstream in the newspaper one day, when Pioneer gave a short interview in an article on blogging. I had always been interested in blogging, having had no idea how or where to start. I read the article, looked into it one day, (April 15, 2006 to be exact), and BAM! Another blog was created on Blogstream.  Pioneer, Bless his soul, made it easy, even for a novice, HTML virgin like myself. I was up and running in just a few minutes.

It was a little nerve-wracking at first. But also very exciting to post my thoughts and writings to people who had never met me and receive unbiased feedback. I was hooked. The very first people who commented on my blog were Colo, Keltic and POH. Their encouragement and advise made me feel welcome here. I will never forget it and I am eternally thankful. Then of course Lucy and Biggie, Chey and the Captain stopped by. And of course Big Chris, who is usually the first to comment on my posts. My blog, like so many others here, took on a life of its own.

But it has also been a tumultuous year for me, and I had to take a long break from the Stream for several months. My personal crisis took over my entire life and I became an emotional hermit. I dropped out of sight. I had no desire to even check my email for weeks at a time. But when I did finally return, thanks in part to POH and Lucy, Bless them both, you all welcomed me back with very open arms. It was like coming home. I was so afraid that because I dropped out without any explanation, you’d all forgotten about me. Shame on me. I should have had more faith in you and in myself.

I love this place. It is home. I know most of you know what I’m talking about. This is my private home. I don’t tell any of my friends and family, including Loverboy, about this blog. I want to keep this one to myself. I don’t want to feel inhibited or censored in any way. I don’t want to be monitored. This way, I can post my thoughts and writings without fear of disapproval or comment from my people. My Dad, (rest in peace) would have been the only one I would have told, but alas, it was not meant to be. He would have loved it here. As I said, this is my private home. You all know me in ways they do not. Maybe someday, I will show a few close people this blog, but for now, I am free and unfettered here.

And so, on my first anniversary, I would like to thank ALL of you who have opened your arms to me here on the Stream. The list is much too long to list here, and forgive me for not mentioning you all personally. But I love you all. You are the most talented group of people I have ever encountered, and I wish we could all meet in some kind of Blogstream convention one of these days…. (maybe Vegas….. Pioneer are you listening??) We are a family here, we fight, we leave, return,  we love, we laugh, we joke, we celebrate, we mourn, we pray, we help, we carry, we lean, we vent. We are family.

So here’s a toast to all of you, Happy Anniversary to Pilar! You are my family and I love you all.