Oh say can you see. . .

No matter how much the current president ticks me off, how annoyed I get by 'American bashing' abroad, I still feel that I am living in the only country I want to be in right now. I still get choked up when I hear the national anthem, a flag rippling in the wind still gives me a thrill. Maybe the factor that provided those feelings is due to actually living in another country outside of the U.S. --appreciating the benefits of American citizenship from abroad. Knowing that I can go home to my running water, comfortable home, family car and personal freedom, while billions of people don't have that reassurance. As far as politics go, I always feel that things will eventually get better--the universe has a way of unfolding as it should. Happy Birthday, U.S.A.

The beauty of the wing. . .

Is there anything more gorgeously delicious than a plateful of buffalo wings? With their crispy, gooey, saucy, spicy perfection, they hit the spot with any occasion, with any drink (yes, beer will do nicely) and with any kind of company. Try to congregate with those less enamoured of the wing than you, so as not to cause any wing struggles. The cool bleu cheese (or ranch, in a pinch) dressing and the celery sticks are also necessary for a true wild eating experience. It's also wonderful to have a waiter or waitress bring them to your table--eating them at home is OK, but not preferred. It is a social activity, best enhanced by good company, a good game and of course, good beverages. Yeah, I'm hungry RIGHT now!

June 7, 1991. . .the BEST day ever!

It's hard to believe it's been 15 years since that hot, still night in June in Arizona. It's a long way from where we started, but the perfection of that day is unmistakable. He was a fussy baby, but started settling down when he was about 6 months old. His childhood was spent on the dusty Navajo rez, where one day flowed seamlessly into the next. Sheep, sand, pets, matchbox cars, "little big cars", camping and riding bike everywhere. When we finally moved to Minnesota, the good life seemed to start. We had our own house finally, and when the fire happened two years ago, he barely complained or ever felt sorry for himself. Always the optimist, bolstering my confidence and making me appreciate the important things, like each other. The perfect, polite, charming son, he always makes me proud and incredulous that he could have come from my genes. Handsome and smart, he makes everything in my life worthwhile. All my selfish old days ended that warm June night, when I became a mom to such an ideal child. It will remain my greatest accomplishment ever. Happy birthday, baby!

In honor of Father's Day. . .

The Secret Heart
by Robert P. Tristram Coffin

Across the years he could recall
His father one way best of all.
In the stillest hour of the night
The boy awakened to a light.
Half in dreams, he saw his sire
With his great hands full of fire.
The man had struck a match to see
If his son slept peacefully.
He held his palms each side the spark
His love had kindled in the dark.
His two hands were curved apart
In the semblance of a heart.
He wore, it seemed to his small son,
A bare heart on his hidden one,
A heart that gave out such a glow
No son awake could bear to know.
It showed a look upon a face
Too tender for the day to trace.
One instant, it lit all about,
And then the secret heart went out.
but it shone long enough for one
To know that hands held up the sun.