Sunday, 26 February 2012

Can you spell "S-C-A-R-Y????

I'm watching NCIS (instead of finishing the English curriculum I told the boss he'd get tomorrow!), and a man has been shot, and almost killed, because he thought he was receiving e-mails, and love, from a woman whose pictures he had been sent, whom he had been e-mailing for months, whom he thought loved him, and whom he thought had invited him to her home to play rape games.  According to her profile, they both enjoyed rape fantasies, which is why he showed up at her house to play.  When he got there though, and began the game, she shot him, twice, almost killing him.  Turns out her ID was hacked when she joined a website for people looking for sex, and all the e-mails and everything this guy was receiving was from the hacker, not her.  And they almost arrested her for attempted murder, even though she didn't know him from Adam! 

  *looking around me in horror*  What a world!!! 

For goodness sake, people, WATCH OUT!!!!

Saturday, 25 February 2012

Fiction in a Flash #77

(This photograph was taken from the Internet.)

The "rules" are few and very simple:
* Your entry will come due each Saturday, when a new picture will be posted.
* You may only write 55 words.
* Your entry must be fiction.
* You may not alter the picture in any way.
* Post your entry as a blog on your page, and drop off the link in the comments section on this page.
 Have fun!  (Yes, it's a rule!  )

Sunday, 19 February 2012

Questions of Identity

Are those African Americans who are rallying to end Black History Month buying trouble for themselves and the black community? 

Do their arguments that "black people only have a history as slaves in America", that outside of February, blacks have no history, and no significance, that they are even more exploitable now that they have a month that can be commercialized, with huge financial gains for folk other than blacks, hold water? 

Is the idea that since there are no months for Jews and Latinos and Asians (and so on), that there should be none for blacks, a valid idea? 

Does the argument that "Black History is American History" sufficient rationalization for the abolition of Black History Month? 

Is the organization that founded the commemoration right in labeling this "postmodernist identity games"? 

Is an America without Black History Month an America without black history?

Hard to explain to someone who has no clue. It's a daily struggle being in pain or feeling sick on the inside while you look fine on the outside. Please put this as your status for at least 1 hour if you or someone you know has an invisible illness (PTSD, Anxiety, Bipolar, Depression,Crohn's Disease, Diabetes, LUPUS, Fibromyalgia,TM, MS, ME, HS, Chronic Fatigue, Arthritis, Celiac, Cancer, Heart Disease, Epilepsy, Autism,M.D. Scarcoidosis, etc.) " Never judge what you don't understand.

Moving Images Challenge #50


The silence broken

only by the hissing steam --
kettle calls for tea.

Motion suspended,
except where he and she touch --
slowly pulsing heat.

Their bodies aligned,
noses, beating heart to heart --
aching groin to groin.

Time marking their place,
waiting for the rolling boil --
passion's lazy play.

Table, patient, waits,
almost knowing, food or lust --
either end fulfills.

Copyright © 2012 by Teri K D Bannerman

Saturday, 18 February 2012

K's FIAF # 76


I watched the animal snuggle against his neck, watched him hold still, tensely waiting for another attack, and my heart broke.  Even a gift as simple and profound as a pet could not reduce the fear with which this small boy met life.  I held my breath, waiting for the puppy's magic to enchant him...

Fiction in a Flash #76

(This photograph was taken from the Internet.)

The "rules" are few and very simple:
* Your entry will come due each Saturday, when a new picture will be posted.
* You may only write 55 words.
* Your entry must be fiction.
* You may not alter the picture in any way.
* Post your entry as a blog on your page, and drop off the link in the comments section on this page.
 Have fun!  (Yes, it's a rule!  )

Wednesday, 15 February 2012

Stolen from Facebook: "This happened on TAM airlines. A 50-something year old white woman arrived at her seat and saw that the passenger next to her was a black man. Visibly furious, she called the air hostess. "What's the problem, ma?" the hostess asked her "Can't you see?" the lady said - "I was given a seat next to a black man. I can't seat here next to him. You have to change my seat" - "Please, calm down, ma" - said the hostess "Unfortunately, all the seats are occupied, but I'm still going to check if we have any." The hostess left and returned some minutes later. "Madam, as I told you, there isn't any empty seat in this class- economy class. But I spoke to the captain and he confirmed that there isn't any empty seats in the economy class. We only have seats in the first class." And before the woman said anything, the hostess continued "Look, it is unusual for our company to allow a passenger from the economy class change to the first class. However, given the circumstances, the commandant thinks that it would be a scandal to make a passenger travel sat next to an unpleasant person." And turning to the black man, the hostess said: "Which means, Sir, if you would be so nice to pack your handbag, we have reserved you a seat in the first class..." And all the passengers nearby, who were shocked to see the scene started applauding, some standing on their feet." SHARE IF YOU ARE AGAINST RACISM!"

Sunday, 12 February 2012

Am watching BAFTA...sleep is elusive.

"Love is all you need, but a little chocolate every now and then never hurts." ~ Charles Schultz, PEANUTS

Is it me, or is there a delicate and telling irony inherent in the fact that so many folk, in their effort to show the depth of their indifference to and even disgust for Whitney Houston because she had a troubled life, post items on the subject at her death? Seems like a memorial to me, albeit a less than stellar one. Of course, given her notoriety, even THAT is as good as any other kind of memorial. Fortunately for her, if not for those who loved her, words really no longer can hurt her!

Monday Music Magic ~ "Heart"

This is all that's on my heart today...

Valentine's Day is this Tuesday.  I know I won't be doing any blogs for it, so this will have to suffice for all I want to say about romantic love, and every other kind.  I'm not in a terribly happy frame of mind right now, but thinking about the ones I love brings a smile to my face, and warms my heart.

First, in honor of the genre I write most often in, here's a borrowed perspective on the subject which I find to be very much on the money for me.  How about you?

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest, and it opens up your heart, and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you. Then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life.  You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it.  They did something dumb one day, like kiss you, or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore.  Love takes hostages.  It gets inside you.  It eats you out, and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like "Maybe we should be just friends" turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart.  It hurts.  Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind.  It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. But, "Don't hate love!"

Obviously, not all of us experience the second part of this description, but I'm pretty sure all of us have had the first part.  And for me, that part was worth all the shivery, trembling uncertainty.  Much of what I write comes from that's where I am my most open.

I know the depth of my passions, and who has my heart for all time!  I love you!

Next, that love that makes you want to tear your hair out, and grab hold of the loved ones and smoosh them and protect them, even when you want to throttle them.  I'm talking about mother love.  Or father love, if you're a dad.  I suppose, though I cannot know for sure, that fathers share some of the paradoxical quality of this kind of love...the need to nurture even as you wish you could "take them out (of this world) again", to quote Dr. Cliff Huxtable (Bill Cosby) in "The Cosby Show".  The love of a parent for a child is no more of an easy emotion than is that between lovers.  And those of us who have children share some, if not all of the fruits and frustrations of being custodians of the youth entrusted to us.

My children have my heart, and I miss them when they leave. 

Love of children for parents, and of siblings for each other, are a kind of mirror image of that of parents for children.  The bond of blood, or familial ties where there is no shared blood, makes all our dealings fraught with the power that such a bond inevitably bestows, whether for good or ill.  You know the saying "You can't live with them, and you can't live without them?"  That sums up a lot of sibling bonding and love of children for parents.  And as we age, and the needs of our parents change, we are often forced to re-evaluate those feelings we may have been holding on to, and to reassess what is truly important in our lives.  Growing up changes the feelings between children and their parents and between siblings.  Growing older changes them some more.

My parents and my siblings have my heart, even with all the angers and frustrations and fears, because there is also love and laughter.

Last is the love we bear for our friends, those people who, as someone has said, are "the family we choose".  That love is almost like that between lovers, except you don't want to make wild monkey love to them -- they are "neutral", neither as close as lovers nor as far as strangers, but possessing the unique perspective of both sides.  And the hurt can be as great when things go wrong in a friendship, as the joys can run high when they go right.  What would we be without our friends?  And how unhappy must those people be who cannot share their hearts with someone as "neutral" as a friend!

All my true friends, and we both know who you are, have my heart.

Goodbye, Mama! We Love You!

It's about that time, now...

Myrtle Sylvia Bonnick,
née Walters, was born on June 28th, 1926.  She died on January 31, 2012.  She is survived by her husband Keith, her children Yvonne, Hugh, Michael, and Ronald, and numerous grand- and great-grandchildren.  She will be laid to rest later this afternoon, in Dovecot Memorial Park, Kingston, Jamaica, West Indies.

All who had the privilege of knowing her, and being touched by her love and care for others, loved her.  She was a woman of faith, a disciplinarian, a lover of her family, full of joy and laughter, and strong, enduring the pain of loss with dignity and grace.  She gave freely of her means, small though they were, to those who had a need, and her home was always open. We will miss her greatly!

These are the pictures I could find of her in our old albums, from the days when we still printed hard copies of pictures.  When my hubby returns from Jamaica, I will post more pictures in a separate album. 

This first one was taken when my hubby was very young.  He is standing next to her.
This next one was taken when our children were still very young, a year after we arrived in the US, and were living on our own for the first time.

This last one is of three generations -- Mama (on the left), Hugh, her son (my hubby with the bald head), and Jalel, her grandson (my second son, aged 1+, forehead touching his dad's) in some mall in the US.

She WILL rest in peace.  I just know it!

Monday Music Magic ~ "Together"

This has been a rough few days for me, what with my hubby's leaving for Jamaica to bury his mother and reunite with his family there, most of whom he hasn't seen in twenty years.  It got me to thinking how I thought I knew how I would feel about his not being here in the house -- I wrote a poem about that -- and how in fact I DO feel...not what I was expecting at all!  And that got me to thinking about how long we have been together, as I try to explain these feelings. 

We human beings take being together with those we love for granted most of the time, until something happens to threaten the status quo, or to ruffle the smooth surface of our accustomed existence.

 Departure, whether by death or planes/boats/trains/cars, is always the thing that makes us stop and wonder, stop and think...stop and fear.  We want to be together with others...we NEED it -- well most of us do, anyway! 

It's why we come here, isn't it?  To be together with people of like mind, with some of whom we forge deep and lasting relationships.  Together, we are better than apart.  Together, we are stronger than apart.  Together, we are safer than apart.

Thank you all who come by often, some of you every day, to be with me, to encourage and tease, and challenge, and argue, and love me.  I appreciate your presence much more than I can say.  And now, when I feel most emotionally vulnerable, as I contemplate death, I thank you even more for being here...together with me!  *BIG HUGS*

Saturday, 11 February 2012

Rest in peace, girlie!

Join me in celebrating the life of the divine Whitney...a voice for the ages!  Come here to listen to her music, unfettered by blame and judgment.  Come here to enjoy the beauty that was Whitney!

K's FIAF #75


She never would have dreamed that something as simple and pure as a touch could shatter the wall she had erected around herself, but when he took her hand, she broke.

Fighting to hide the devastation his touch had caused, she held herself still, a stone in a quiet pool.

But she knew he knew...

Fiction in a Flash #75

(This photograph was taken from the Internet.)

The "rules" are few and very simple:
* Your entry will come due each Saturday, when a new picture will be posted.
* You may only write 55 words.
* Your entry must be fiction.
* You may not alter the picture in any way.
* Post your entry as a blog on your page, and drop off the link in the comments section on this page.
 Have fun!  (Yes, it's a rule!  )

Rose: "Can I ask a dumb question?" Dorothy: "Better than anyone I know!" ROTFLOL!!!

Friday, 10 February 2012

And of course, the vicar's ending joke: "Q: Why did the lobster flush? A: Because the sea weed." *chuckles* ~ Geraldine Granger, Vicar of Dibley

"It's the worse plan since Hitler's dad said to Hitler's mum, 'Let's go upstairs, Brunhilde, I'm feeling a little saucy tonight!'." ~ Hugo Horton to his dad, David Horton, in "The Vicar of Dibley".

Moving Images Challenge # 49

She stared at the image, her mind going to the novel she'd been reading only that morning -- vampires who moved so fast you couldn't see them. The picture was part of a visual anthology composed for Valentine's Day, so she assumed she was expected to see some message about love in the two who stood perilously in the midst of traffic, the young man hugging the unresponsive young woman in his arms.

She tried, but couldn't see that.  What she saw, the thoughts that came to her as she tried to see love, she wrote down in a poem...


The reality is -- 
strange though it may seem -- 
that WE are calm 
in the midst of chaos.  
WE are reason 
in the face of madness.  
WE are stability
in the face of uncertainty.

The reality is --
strange though it may seem --
WE are knowledge
in the face of ignorance,
WE are hope
in the face of doubt,
WE are love
in the face of hatred.

The novel was supposed to have been giving her some inspiration to finish her own fourth novel, her first about a vampire.  She was enjoying it, but was not so far inspired by it, and this digression into picture viewing had instead stimulated a different kind of writing than the one she needed to do.  She sighed, adding the poem to her aptly named "Scraps" file, hitting "Save", and then closing the laptop.

Time to go back to work.  She picked up the novel...

Moving Images Challenge # 48


"There's no escaping the fear, is there?" she thought, trying not to be mesmerized by the sight of the churning water.  She felt herself swaying dangerously, feeling dizzy and ready to fall overboard.  She could almost feel the crushing water closing in over her head, cutting off her supply of air, choking her.

She screamed...

Saturday, 4 February 2012


It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.

I want to know what you ache for,

and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.


It doesn’t interest me how old you are,

I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams,

for the adventure of being alive.


It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon.

I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow,

if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed

from fear of further pain.


I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own,

without moving to hide or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own:

if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers

and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic,

or to remember the limitations of being a human.


It doesn’t interest me if the story you’re telling me is true.

I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself;

if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.


I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see the beauty even when it is not pretty everyday,

and if you can source your life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge

of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes”!


It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.

I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair,

weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.


It doesn’t interest me who you are, or how you came to be here, I want to know if you

Will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.


It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.

I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself

and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

- Oriah Mountain Dreamer

K's FIAF #74


The villas by the lake towered, silent ghosts.  The line slack in her hands,
her hair growing back after months of gut-wrenching loss, she inhaled the joy of life restored, exhaled the fear.  She needed time away from the anchor of the shore, to tell herself she was for peace, and finding it.

Fiction in a Flash #74

(This photograph was taken from the Internet.)

The "rules" are few and very simple:
* Your entry will come due each Saturday, when a new picture will be posted.
* You may only write 55 words.
* Your entry must be fiction.
* You may not alter the picture in any way.
* Post your entry as a blog on your page, and drop off the link in the comments section on this page.
Have fun!  (Yes, it's a rule!  )

Wednesday, 1 February 2012

"Rara Avis..."

...means "rare bird", and this is a series of pictures of one such creature.  Sent to me via e-mail by a friend, I happily share it with you all!  Enjoy!

A Rare treat... an albino hummingbird. Something that is seldom seen and almost NEVER photographed.

Albino hummingbird

Fifteen-year-old photographer Marlin Shank was fortunate enough to capture 
several images of a rare albino ruby-throated hummingbird while in a park in 
Staunton , Va

Very high quality photographs for such a fleeting subject...

Pass this on so others may enjoy

this rare and beautiful sight!