What is to be is Not

Today is one of those days. It started out with such hope, fresh promise and my devout desire to Get The Book Out There. Where upon reality laid waste to everything and all I got done was profuse apologies to my husband, God and myself.

The book is only half Out There but I am slogging onward. Okay, so some of that slogging was looking at Pinterest which had some great ideas and a couple of plot points that had to be examined. Okay, all you snickering thoughts in the background should be quiet. So I spend a bit of time on YouTube. Some of that was research. Some.

But I did get some things done. I fixed lunch.

For all those of you from a northern upbringing,  to fix does not always involved with broken things, promises or hearts. To fix as in to prepare is a grammatical construct from the 14th century, as to fasten on or attach. Also used in English around 1809, a situation from which it is difficult to move. Also, usage from the 1600’s referring to preparing a meal, a project or an intended action.

So, I did so some intended actions producing a result. Technology is not always my friend or even acquaintance. One of my goals for this next year will be to no longer view misbehaving computers, programs or graphic design tools as platforms to question the heritage or birth situations of those things. I promise. At least not in the hearing of small children or husbands.

Lunch was tasty, filling and ended with a satisfying dessert. Which I created two days ago. It was the last of the shortbread cookies, and now I have room for some other sweet tidbits. Hmmm. Homemade caramel popcorn?

Appropriate for the evening. And much too sticky for my fingers to achieve any worthwhile writing. I’ll save plotting and dialogue for tomorrow. When I can stop attempting to throttle software. Writing murder mysteries concerning software is so unsatisfying, boring and plebian.

Heavy sigh. Again.



The things I think.

A crazy thing about life, the more ya know, it turns out the more ya want to know. And the more ya know ya don’t know. This trip thru the Panama Canal reinforced that realization on me. Again. Well, not just the trip. Seems I’ve been thinking. Again.

LSH (long suffering husband) smiles when I say that. He says it’s to prevent loud fits of laughing. Ah, well. He knows me well.

But back to the original direction… Once I clear out all the debris drifting in on me.

Back! Back, I say!

Now I can see my feet once again. Dust bunnies are one thing, but thought bunnies have burrs.

Original thought trail: The things one learns when least expecting it. Humans are more than flesh/bone/action/reaction. The pretty fantasy of empty oblivion after a moment of existence doesn’t have any legs when you look at what people actually do. We dream, work and know those that come after us will stand on what we produce. And we do this as naturally as breathing.

Buildings, cities, nations. Ever wonder why we create, over and over and over? Nations, like people have life spans, cities and buildings the same. Have a thought, we do this because we know inside in the reality of every individual, Eternity is real. Not just a mental concept, or some filmy word picture. What we do today is part of Eternity.

Just as humans exist knowing Eternity is real, assaults on this certainty happen as well. As in Robert Frost’s poem, where he says “There is something that doesn’t love a wall…”, there is something that doesn’t love humans knowing Eternity is real.

Gotta wonder. And fight that which would steal truth from us. Here I am, tightening up the boxing gloves. And the bazooka.

Oh, the places I’ve been

Just got back from a trip through the Panama Canal. It’s been on my list for a long time and it lived up to everything I’d dreamed. We went all the way through from Atlantic to Pacific, with several ports along the way.

Actually going through the Canal took 8 hours (surprised me it took that long) and we were able to see the locks open and close on ships beside us. All the rails were filled with people watching from as many angles as possible.

Learned a lot, not just about the Canal but what it means to the world. At least 20% of the economy of Panama, the country comes from the Canal, for employment, maintenance and development. They made a new wider canal to better service bigger, longer freight ships and cruisers and new taller bridges crossing the Canal.

Several ships go half way and turn around because they’re too tall to go under one of the bridges. Plans are in place to wider and raise that bridge but it’ll take a while.

That region, from Columbia to Nicaragua is a beautiful, lush place, poised to be in a new place for world attention. The mix of peoples amazes me, from indigenous peoples to almost every other continent.

Have a lot to process about what I saw, learned and heard, so in the next few weeks or months, between story installments, I’ll talk about it. And of course, the knitters group was a mine of information and revelation.

But you’ll hear all about it. Later.

Scratch the Scrabble

Part 2

Steve twisted his mouth to a lopsided grin. “You all trying to get back those points I won?” He laid out the word nutty. “I’m cleaning up tonight. Fifteen points.”

“You could say that,” Ward agreed. He handed Steve a sandwich. “Have one of these. Peggy’s speciality.”

Steve took a big bite before Dulcie could stop him. “Hey, very good, Peggy. Could use a little salt though. What kind of sandwich is it?”

“I don’t use salt. Just something I like to whip up for company. Have one, Dulcie.”

Dulcie smiled, setting the sandwich beside her glass. “My turn?” she asked brightly. Turning her and Steve’s pockets might give some small protection. It once saved an ancestor from a death trap. One hand to her chin, she used the other to pull the pocket of her slacks out.


She brushed each tile with the ring then spelled out the word strong. “It’s a shame no one else from the office is here. I was looking forward to meeting everyone.”

“There’s just Steve and me.” Ward’s smooth explanation sent warning tingles to Dulcie’s mind. The room felt cooler now. Shadows flickered in the hall way. “My turn. Mind. Now that’s a good word.”

“I can top that, darling. Doorkeeper.” Peggy’s eyes opened wide for a moment as she smiled at Ward. He glanced at Steve, one eyebrow raised a fraction.

“That you did, my dear.” He turned a bland face to Dulcie and Steve. “Your turn.”

Steve screwed up his face, studying his tiles. “Wow, this is getting tougher. You two play this game a lot?”

“We find it’s a lovely way to pass the evening.” Peggy put her hands in her lap. Somewhere in the back of the house, Dulcie heard a creak, as if something shifted against a wall. The air grew close, cooler. Darkness hung outside the lamp lights.

“Got one. Skill. Talk about reaching.” The word attached to Dulcie’s last word. “Your turn, Dulcie.” His words slurred but he didn’t notice.


She had to get him out of here before the game ended. A sharp scent from her untouched sandwich bit her nose. Studying her tiles, she leaned toward Steve. She twisted her ring but what little protection it afforded did not go past her hand. “Let me see.” She fiddled with the tiles. Nothing. She racked her mind for something, anything.

Her nose tingled. “Excuse me.”

Dulcie picked up her purse, digging. Debris from past lunches, salt, ketchup packets, old napkins met her fingers. She grabbed a napkin, palming the salt packet and dabbed at her nose.

She sat upright. “Looks like I need to trade letters.” Thrusting her hand in and out of the bag, Dulcie felt the cold clinging of worn leather. Reading the tiles, she allowed a tiny smile. “Raven. The guardian.”

Ward frowned then shifted his face to a bemused pout. Peggy’s mouth twitched. “Guardian?” She shifted, hands under the table. The shadows thickened.

Ward leaned back in his chair. “Ravens. We don’t let any roost around here.” He clicked out three tiles to make a new word on Dulcie’s. “Ravenous.”

Steve shook his head, forcing his eyes open. “Is it getting warm in here?” He blinked.

Peggy and Ward watched him, cats eying a canary. Peggy’s tiny pink tongue flickered in and out. Dulcie swallowed. Behind her, faint scrabbling noises came from the dark hallway.

“Here, Steve.” She shoved the glass into his hand. He drank automatically, a slightly dazed smile on his face. Quickly, she turned the pocket of his trousers. The Kellers didn’t notice.

“Thanks, Honey. My turn?” He studied the board, frowned and began to hum an old pop tune. “How about this. Vain.” A silly grin creased his face.

Ward and Peggy sat back in their chairs, predators gathering muscles to spring. Twisting her ring, Dulcie looked around the room. Steve sat on her right, the front door beyond him. Until the game ended, they were safe. She had to act soon. But with what?


The tissue in her hand brushed the ring. Her purse. Salt. “Oh, this nose.” She bent as if getting another tissue. Palming a salt packet in her left hand, she wiped her nose with the new tissue then shook the leather bag. Thumb against the tiny paper tube now inside the bag, she pressed it open scattering salt among the tile. Acrid smoke began to curl out.

Peggy jumped up, sweeping the bag to the floor. Tiles, salt and bits of leather scattered in front of Ward. Dulcie jerked Steve to his feet, racing for the front door. As she dragged it open, a huge raven, wings blacker than the darkness swooped overhead, settling on their car roof. Steve stumbled, almost balking when the bird lifted its wings.

Dulcie shoved him in the suddenly open car door, scrambling in on the drivers side. A rising howl tore from the now dark cottage. Peggy, humpbacked and huge stood over Ward. He groveled, just out of reach from her claws.

“No, Peggy, No! I’ll find someone! I promise!” He crouched, arms flailing in the grip of the dark form growing from Peggy. Dulcie started the car, eyes on the rear view mirror, Steve passed out beside her. The raven cawed once then beat its wings, pushing the little car to safety down the narrow lane. As they sped away, Dulcie heard a ragged gnawing sucking of something being drawn down behind the stone walls of the cottage.

and now for Different

Hey y’all. Thought I’d try something different for the next few posts. A friend suggested I offer a taste of my writing stash. So, stepping out on a bit of a limb here.

Today’s post is half of a short story I did few years back. I’ll post the first 3 pages this week and the last 3 next week. Let me know what you think.


The tile bag lay slug-like on the table top. Thin wrinkles gaped like worn teeth in a dry mouth. Dulcie steeled herself for her turn. Scrabble. She didn’t like the game in the first place, and playing with strangers made it worse. Steve insisted they come.

“Just for a little while, Honey. An office party. To thank Ward for thinking of me.”

After the dry misery of being laid off, mindless warehouse jobs, fast food, and any part time he could find, this job, offered by an old college classmate sounded like salvation. Dulcie welcomed any signs of Steve digging out of that hole. But these people! She stifled a shudder.

Red headed Ward Keller, tombstone white teeth in a Roosevelt smile, chomped the cigar trapped in his rubbery mouth. He seemed to relish flexing his huge arms over his broad chest. His wife Peggy curled like a cat in her chair, black cap of curls studded with red highlights. Her languid smile ebbed and flowed with Steve’s replies to Ward’s mindless jokes about women, politics and money.

“You’ve sure changed since college, Ward.” Steve drew seven tiles from the bag. “I remember your have terrible health problems. Asthma the main one, wasn’t it?”

Ward laughed. “Not since I met Peggy. She cures all my ills and chills.” Peggy smiled indulgently, dragging her nails along his arm.


“As long as you give me what I want, darling,” Peggy purred. “Your turn to draw, Dulcie.” She smiled, the glint of the lamplight making her teeth sharp and pointed.

“Sure.” Dulcie rubbed her thumb on the underside of her wooden ring. It felt warm and smooth, like the rowan branch it came from. Holding her breath, she extended her hand into the bag.

The leather clung to her fingers but as the curved surface of the ring touched the bag, it retreated. The cool tiles clicked between her fingers like bones, skittering away from her hand. Dulcie managed to scoop up five, then two more slipped out, face down.

“I go first.” Ward slapped out a five letter word in the center of the board. “Claim.”

Peggy smiled tolerantly at her husband. “Such melodrama.” She looked across the table to Dulcie. “So you’ve been with the library for several years then.”

“And she just got a promotion. Dulcie handles all the cataloguing, getting books into the computer network.” Steve’s eyes shined with pride at his wife.

“Sound’s like you got a bright girl there, old man. Come on Peg, your turn,” Ward boomed.

“Slay, on your Claim, Darling.” Peggy and Ward exchanged glittering smiles. Dulcie stifled a shudder. Everything they said seemed to have more than one meaning. She glanced at Steve but he was studying his tiles. Peggy winked at Ward, the barest tip of a pale tongue licking the corner of her mouth.

“Disclaimer,” Steve said, laying out the word. “19 points. Right?”

“Yes, sir.” Ward said, dutifully writing down the score.


Dulcie rubbed her ring. Her finger tingled, hand muscles throbbing. The silver chain around her neck lay quiet, the bell pendent silent. She frowned at the small lettered squares before her. The markings quivered in the lamp light. She picked up a tile. It brushed the rowan ring. Instantly, the letters stilled.

She held her breath, pretending to rearrange her tiles. Touching each white square to her ring, a word emerged. There was more at stake here than a simple game.

“Deny.” She smiled in relief at Steve. He grinned and Dulcie’s heart flowed with love and cold resolve. Whatever these two people wanted, they weren’t going to get it at Steve’s expense.

“Anyone care for snacks?” Peggy asked, rose to her feet.

“Sounds good. I bet Steve here could use some goodies.” Ward stretched his hand toward Steve like a blessing.

“I’ll help.” Dulcie bounced up and headed into the kitchen ahead of Peggy.

Peggy shook her head. “There’s no need.”

“We can get back to the game quicker this way.” Dulcie ignored Peggy’s brief frown. The small kitchen, old like the rest of the house, gleamed. The floor, glossy black, contrasted to the white of everything else. She put a hand on a cabinet door. The knob felt oddly slick. “Glasses?”

Peggy rearranged her black brows. “Yes, on the right. I’ll get the wine.”


“Oh, Steve can’t take wine. Allergies. I’ll fix him some water.” Anything they ate or drank in this house would have to be watched. She ran water from the tap, sniffing for strange aromas. Nothing.

“Allergies? What a shame. I couldn’t help but notice your ring. Family heirloom?”

Dulcie looked down at the swirling design. Protective, alive on her finger, the swirls of the endless knot looping and turning around and around. “Yes, from my father’s people, the Pellings.”

Peggy’s languid eyes blinked. “Pellings.” Her mouth twisted then smoothed. “How interesting. You know your family history?” Her cat like smile tilted. The green eyes narrowed.

“A little. I know my dad’s people were from Ireland. You interested in genealogy?”

Peggy answered with a throaty chuckle. “Oh my, no. All that I am now comes from those who gave me life.” Her pink mouth smiled at Dulcie, eyes half closed.

“And who gave you life?” The words were out of Dulcie’s mouth before she realized it.

Peggy lifted an eyebrow. “Those who went before. I could ask you the same.”

“Ladies?” Ward’s bellow sounded from the living room. “Where’s the refreshments? You’re holding up the game.”

“Coming, darling.” Peggy took a tray of sandwiches from the counter top. Dulcie picked up the drinks, mind working furiously. There was old magic here, but she could not be sure of what kind.


“Dulcie tells me she’s a Pelling.” Peggy’s lips curled around the words. “They’re rumored to be descended of fairies, you know. Sorry to hear about your allergies, Steve.”

Ward raised his eyebrows. “Oh.” He frowned.

Steve looked puzzled but before he could speak, Dulcie handed him his glass. “Here, Sweetheart. The water is very cold, right out of the tap.” She kept her tone light. “Now, who’s turn?”

“Keep,” Ward said firmly, eyes on Steve.

Peggy studied her tiles for a moment then laid out a word. “Kill.” She brushed a finger to her lips, watching Dulcie.

Calm before

Today feels like the calm before the storm. That slight awareness of large shifts about to come, sudden and unseen. This morning beautiful late summer clouds rolled around, puffy with rain. They fell for a few minutes after 10 a.m. then moved on with more showers to the south west of town.

But the feeling persists. Something on the offing, not yet ready to reveal itself. So I pray. For wisdom, clear vision, truth. Not really sure if whatever is coming should be averted.

The sense of waiting rests inside. So I wait, eyes wide, ready to receive or resist. Waiting

Fluffy dogs and Dry Dust

In the past few days had a lot of fun reassessing all kinds of stuff. And coming up rested. Like a fluffy dog wallows in dry dust, then shakes out all the burrs and brambles of the last few travels, I took time to rummage around, reassess and look at what is actually occurring, not what I thought was occurring.

For a navel gazer like me, this is good. A bit of sweating, poking, prodding and tugging at what looks immovable (and of course isn’t) produced a welcome realization that It’s Not About Me!

Shocking, I know.

And to be honest, the sweating was more mental and emotional that physical. Did some of that too but my idea of exercise is enduring the treadmill for 30 minutes, couple of times a week. Rearranging my office? Much more fun. And revealing.

‘Cause those files were piled to the ceiling, hard to find anything and worse to decipher my notes. Found materials I thought lost (and oh, so needed), dumped trash ‘til the waste basket cried uncle (yours doesn’t?) and at the moment am sitting in an almost orderly office, enjoying the desk I so love surrounded by Clear Floor Space.

Those last few words are writing in glowy, glittery sparkles in my head. I have now have working lists, tidy to-do files and Clear Floor Space!

The struggle is to daily beat back clutter creating habits that sneak in while I am deep in creation thought. One perk of aging (which no one mentions) is the inclination to tidy and keep tidy is much stronger. I call it the Picture Straightening Syndrome. It does make life easier. Would never have thought that while in my 20’s but it is there and sometimes an unconscious action.

Started a new study recently on Prayer and have to say, what I found is pivotal for me. Spiritual battles are not simply psychological phenomena but actual occurrences that reveal past and future structures. Wow, that is a mouth, or brainful concept. I’ve always known and often engage in spiritual conflicts but I’ve been lazy and let all the parts of it get in my way.

What Jesus said and did matters. It impacts my life. Praying with expectation means I have to expect consequences. Not just feelings but verifiable actions and reactions of other people.

Anyone who reads this blog knows the past few months were drama-filled for me. Not the fun kind. And I’ve let that drama hurt me. I’ve let what other people do or expect of me pressure me. Organizations always pressure because the organization, like every living thing, fights to survive. I know that, but I sort of forgot.

Last week, I had a real come-to-Jesus meeting and the result was, Jesus/God/Holy Spirit wants me to fulfill His plan for me. Not anyone else’s plan for me, or for them either.

Knew that too, but again, sort of forgot.

I am who I am, they are who they are and they do what they do, which is none of my business. Keep my eyes on the prize, my fingers in the pies my God tells me to take part in.

Ahhh. Peace.


Waiting. Watching.

Starting a new thing today. Dealing with waiting. Something I’m not so good with. Still, because I am a child of Depression babies, I do know how to wait with anticipation. For those who don’t remember the Great Depression, it was a scary time for most of the world. Massive monetary collapse, in the U.S and every other developed country.

And my parents were born immediately prior to that, so they raised their kids as if it could happen again, at any moment. That meant saving plastic containers, wires, odd bits of furniture all because, You Might Need It and Better to Have It and Not Need it, Than Need It and Not Have It. Some of you know exactly what I’m talking about.

Waiting skills are still in my psyche, kind of rusty but there. Applying them, not so much fun. So, today, I am looking at the value of waiting, for something specific, something expected, something not yet tangible.

Maybe it’s the tangible part. That lovely ah of having what you know is good and right in hand, where you can look at it, appreciate the security of touching it.

Security? Hmmm.

Maybe. The American Heritage dictionary defines security as freedom from risk or danger, safety; a pledge, assurance of the fulfillment of an obligation, confidence. The root word carries a sense of being among your own people.

Now that rings a bell, a good solid peal of all being right and good. I’m one of those who don’t often feel i am among my own people. Large groups, organizational gatherings more often than not turn into quagmires of social trials and traps.

See that word trial? So many times it means trail, as into dark, spooky woods. And that is not secure. Ever.

Finding my own people. Most of them, like me, are wary, especially in places that should be safe, like religious groups. But then there is that word, Religious. Which really means, rules, regulations, requirements. Punitive, forceful social structures of What Is Right because we say so. And don’t ever, ever ask how did they come those conclusions.

That will get you pilloried. As in publically held up to ridicule and debasement. Which was the point of being pilloried, because you won’t do what WE want you to do.

Not so really sure God/Jesus/Holy Spirit has ever been asked to put in His two cents on those issues. All I know for sure is, He tells me to look, look, and look again. He is on the move and His purposes come to fruition.

Which ties into the waiting part. He assures me He has this and He has me. That part I know. For sure. Not a single doubt. He’s never lied to me or dropped me on my head. Some people who claim to speak for Him have done both. And been very proud of it.

He considers me so very important to His plan that He says, Wait. Watch Me do this thing. It will be good.

So, I continue to read, think, pray, rest and praise. He’s got this.

World Travel on a budget. In Texas.

Took a short trip to Palestine. Went through Bethel to get there. Trip lasted two days with no jet lag. We thought about Paris and London, opted to skip Italy this time. While still speaking Texan. Ah, road trips.

Not sure if you can do this in other places but I bet ya can. People name towns for other towns and it creates a wonderful sense of Where Am I Really? In north-central Texas where I live, Midlothian is a 30 drive away, while Rhome is further north by a hour or so, give or take the traffic crunch. Corinth is a bit further, close to Hebron.

Not really sure of all the stories behind the names, but the one about Midlothian is most likely similar to several. Seems as how a homesick engineer, far from his native Scottish hill country worked as a surveyor, laying out routes and roads in early Texas. This particular section reminded him of the faraway place of his birth, and he named the small township, Midlothian.

In Scotland, Midlothian is a farming county, with rolling hills dotted with rocky outcroppings, a good place to raise cattle. Probably not much barbeque though. Steeped in history, lots of castles. In Texas, it’s a warmer version, most of the time, but when you squint, it could look like Scotland. Except we have barbeque.

And we went to Palestine to ride the steam train. Thoroughly enjoyed the town. True east Texas, piney woods and rolling hills with tons of history and pride of place. Did find a great place for barbeque, of course. Shep’s B-B-Q and Catering service. They haven’t changed the décor or the recipes in 30 to 40 years, smoker out back and lots of napkins. Always a good sign.

Sweet tea and marvelous potato salad took a back seat to perfect coleslaw. Not made with sugar, vinegar based to go with the spice in the barbeque sauce, my personal favorite. Husband’s choice, ribs, done exactly the way he likes.

When we go back, I get the ribs and he gets sausage. Hmmm. Best part? No need for a passport, no jet lag and no need to ask if they serve sweet tea. Ahhhh.

Forgive? That?

Had a rough Sunday. Emotionally and mentally. So, like the sturdy introvert I am, I’ve been processing. A lot. Which led me into repentance and forgiveness. Actually, unforgiveness led to the repentance, which is hauling me to forgiveness.


The whole crazy thing.

Digging into it, I remembered a fight with forgiveness I thought I’d nailed down. Years ago, an event took place and I took up what I thought was an offense against someone I love. Carried that offense for weeks, a couple of months, nursing it, feeding it. Really enjoying the feeling of RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION. (All caps on purpose.)

But physically I felt awful, headachy, half queasy most of the time. And oh, so very grouchy. Nothing satisfied, felt comfy. I was Wronged. And other people were Wronged. And I was Right to feel wronged.

The guilty party? Not a smidgen of awareness or remorse. How dare they! The party I thought of as wounded? Not a smidgen of awareness of being wronged. They didn’t feel slighted or hurt.

Not really sure how it started but I decided I Would Forgive. Magnanimously, because I am a Christian and Christians do that, regardless of the Assault.

Yeah, by now, all of you are yawning.

So, by faith, I went to my bedroom once a day, said Father, I forgive. For weeks. Inside me nothing. Well, except the crazy Righteous Indignation started looking silly. It got to the point where I just started talking to God about the whole thing. One sentence. I shut up. Next sentence. I shut up and listened.

After a few weeks, it became a conversation.

Then one day, everything happened. I actually forgave. Without conditions, or criteria, I forgave. The slogging load in my gut fell off, the room literally brightened and I felt Peace.

The only solid memory I have is that moment. Light, joy, goodness around me. The carpet under my feet, soft, air around me like a soft breeze in a meadow. I felt alive once more.

The rest of it, all my self-righteousness, it’s in a journal somewhere. Remember writing the words but the details, fuzzy.

So, because I’ve done this before, I can do it again. With a bit more gold in the treasure. The word Repent, in Hebrew is related to the word, Spring. It means to turn from that which is cold and dead, winter, to that which is warm and alive, spring. And I’ve learned to repent at every opportunity. A gift of life in the midst of my own stubborn coldness.

Repent for even listening to the desire to strike back, allowing the whisper of Self Righteousness to curl into my heart. I do make mistakes, often when I speak first, think later. So, take the correction and apply it. God is good with mistakes. He wants mature kids and that means I’ve got a lot to learn.

Forgive the intended stab, forgive the angry glare.

Know that I was hurt, rejected, criticized and judged in anger.

Because when I forgive, all those emotions are recognized and validated. They are real. And forgiveness allows me to drop the chains someone else wanted me to carry. I forgive because I am free to forgive. The same way I am free to repent. The hurt, rejection, criticism and anger spoken to me weren’t from me. So I don’t have to carry them.

The one who meant me to feel all that still carries all that. And it’s awful. I am so sorry for them. I wish all the hurts, rejections, criticism they experienced didn’t happen. But it did and I can’t change that. So I forgive.

God, in His infinite Love and Wisdom, said for me to give Him all that stuff. He does take it. He doesn’t deny any of the pain or sorrow, isolation, rejection, abandonment. He sacrificed Himself for me and forgave me before I ever drew an earthly breath.

Because of Him, I can do this. The wound is there, but it will heal. Scars are signs of battle survived.

Right now, light, joy, goodness. Peace/Shalom. I am whole, one more time.