Happy New Year

Posting from the lovely and beautious Anne's in Logan Square in Chi-town on New Year's Eve.

Here I sit in my beautiful party dress
My life an utter mess
But as the clock ticks down by frown flips upside down
Because I get to start all over again - literally

(Let's hope this year I don't fuck it up so badly)

Ground rules for new year:
First - No more dating men who are nice enought to pack all my stuff up for me (while I'm away on active duty playing Army) making me homeless on Christmas.

Second - "No more Mister nice guy." The gloves are off and I'm going to do some serious smack-down in 2007 (ya, we all know that's a pipe dream, ha. I'm just not capable of being mean this is why men pack all my stuff and make me homeless on Christmas. What in the hell is wrong with me?)

Ok, the list not going so well.

I need another drink ...

(One martini later)

Ok. So, I guess the real spiele is I just need to be more careful who I go giving my stuff, like my heart and all, to. This is the lesson I'd be learning if we were in some fable or something, right? Thank goodness I decided to take the first two weeks of the year off - at least I'll have some time to cry like a small child (done), lick my wounds (doing - nice visual) and figure out where I go from here (I'll tackel that tomorrow, maybe).

Let's all hope the next year is a little easier to navigate.

Happy New Year.

In Michigan

I made it back to Michigan safe - only a little rain and a few antique shops to slow me down. Now it's back to work - there are stories to be written on last minutes shopping, on Christamas Day postal deliveries, and babies who will always get Christmas presents on their birthday.
Thank you to everyone who helped me get through this last six weeks. I love you all. Have a wonderful Holiday.
OX Olivia

Geek bait

Well, I graduated from the Digital Mutlimedia Course at Fort Meade, Maryland yesterday (I made honor graduate!) and am now hold up at a Hampton Inn & Suites in Fremont, Ohio. Tomorrow I will check out the Rutherford B. Hayes Center. Why not? I'm here.
If you'd like to learn more about our 19th president check out this website: http://www.classroomhelp.com/lessons/Presidents/hayes.html

It was odd as I drove down West 70 this morning I realized - I missed them. After spending an intense six weeks with my 11 fellow students and the instructors of the Digital Multimedia Course I missed not seeing them this morning. I missed their quirks, their odd expressions, their voices and their familiarity.
By now many of them are home for the holidays, some like me are still on their journey, all of us are changed forever. It's odd how each person you meet leaves an impression on you - sometimes revealing aspects of yourself that you appreciate or not. Regardless, all one can hope for is to learn from the expereince. I learned a lot about myself and about design.
I loved the course, I can't wait to start using some of the new tools in both my personal and professional toolboxes.

soldier journalists

Reading Ed Offley's "Pen & Sword: A Journalist's Guide to Covering the Military," and finding it a great resource. Also came across a quote by president of the Dominican Republic Leonel Fernandez in 2005 that fits the book's theme, "Journalists are guardian soldiers of human rights, public liberties and democracy." Ummm, food for thought as I switch hats again.

Anxiety Attack

Your body does funny things when it's stressed out. Or at least mine does. The last week, month, year - honestly take your pick - have not been without its tests. But recently, I've started to have these odd ticks - my heart races, my temperature rises, my ears are the color of steamed salmon. Most mornings, I get nauseous and dry heave, sometimes bringing up the acid bile that is slowly eating away at my insides. Each time I tell the universe I can't take anymore - something else seems to come down the pipeline to drench me in a new and even more unpleasant reality. It's like some sadistic game that I can't seem to win.
I've quickly moved through the 12 stages; angry; sadness. I bargain. I plead, but to no avail. I guess the universe wants to show me just how strong I am. And who am I to argue with the universe's plan.
To deal with it all, with everything, I've taken up running again. And it seems to be working. (I've lost 10 pounds since I've been here)
The heat on my face is from the 3.5 miles I ran this evening not from an anxiety attack. And my stomach aches because I am hungry. The exhaustion feels good. The exhaustion will cradle me as I sleep and dream of a moment when I will not want to cry or have to hide my tears.
The trail here on Ft. Meade is awesome. It's 3.5 miles of wooded bliss! The only down side is during the weekend you might have to dodge some errant golf balls but other than that it's beautiful. The leaves are gorgeous this time of year. Big, gigantic maple leaves (I think) the color of gold litter the ground and crunch beneath your feet as you run. I want to open my arms and take it all in and hold it close to me and believe life can be good.

Family, Loyalty and Love

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
We were born to make manifest the glory of G-d that is within us
And as we let our own light shine
We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same

Marianne Williamson
A Return to Love

I'm sorry, my life is a little busy right now. I haven't had time to process the thoughts I have, much less process them enough to share them.
Currently, I'm at the Defense Information School at Fort Meade, Maryland. I'm taking an advanced course, the Digital Multimedia Course, which rocks.
The instructors are absolutely brilliant - all experts in their fields. I'm learning so much my brain is sizzling. (if you listen hard enough you can hear it). But I wanted a challege and I got what I asked for. Of course, I wanted the challenge months ago - now not so much, especially with all the changes going on in my life and the rather deteriorated support network that I'm currently experiencing.
But more on that another time.
The Digital Multimedia Course teaches us how to scan photos, color manage and mathmatically calculate prints. This is a photo of me, my mother (and her awesome Jew-fro), my dad (Michael Preston) and my brother, michael junior; circa 1977. (I scanned this photo this morning and it's color managed - beautiful huh?)
We've also learned how to color manage a digital camera and today we are working with Adobe Illustrator. It's awesome! I love technology. I'd like a little more intellectual conversation. I was in the Editor's Course this morning and they seemed to be having a conversation about race in America (I was salivating). I got all geeked out and tried to jump into the conversation but I think I ended up just looking like an idiot. O'well. Maybe I'll find the guy and ask him what he was trying to say this morning. (Anyone read Black, White and Jewish?)
In our room everyone geeks out on the computer (not a bad thing) but I kind of miss the human interaction.
Anyway, lunch is almost over. I have to head back to school. Will send more love your way soon.
Olivia

In the eye of the storm

I stand on the horizon of my life -- my arms wide open -- I am ready for the change because I know that I will be stronger when the storm settles.

fast - day two

I'm sitting on the couch, surrounded by cats, tears flowing down my face. I just finished Mitch Albom's "for one more day." He's books seem to come when I need them most. I read "Tuesdays with Morrie" after my university mentor, Hank Trewhitt, had died. I read his "The Five People You Meet in Heaven" when I flew to Oregon for my grandfather's funeral. And now more than a year after my mother's death, I find "one more day" sitting on the table Sunday at my favorite bookstore in Holland.

I picked it up this afternoon and read straight through until just now 11 p.m. It's a story of a man who needed "one more day" with his mother to tell her how much he loved her, how sorry he was and to forgive himself.

Feeling rather "low" currently. Actually, down right depressed - so much that I didn't even notice being hungry today and consumed less liquads than the day before and my neck hurts so badly I can barely breathe from the tension and stress I'm hording in it. All of that combined -
the line that resonated most with me was on page 73 when his mother says "So," she said, moving away, "now you know how badly someone wanted you, Charley. Children forget that sometimes. They think of themselves as a burden instead of a wish granted."

I don't know when I'm supposed to get over my mother. I've tried reading self-help books, I've tried writing essays, I've tried therapy but nothing seems to fill that emptiness left by her absence in the world.

We didn't have a good relationship. And although I know she loved me, I also know that I suffered for that love. My childhood was a monument to that suffering - her's and mine. The abuse was bloody, leaving marks both physical and emotional, many which I still bear.

But I have to say some of that emptiness is my own unwillingness to forgive myself like "Chick" in the book for what I did to my mother - for all the years I refused to talk to her, for all the times I wished her dead.

I know there is nothing I can do or say to change that but if I had one more day - one day with her being sober and coherant I'd like to have a conversation with her.

The fast - day one

The fast started easy - a little hunger but not too bad.
The hunger helped me focus, an important aspect of the seven days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, on how I don't want to be reactive; I don't want to judge in the next year.
And more personally: I don't want to be a slave to what people think of me.
Changing your life and how you view it is hard. Deciding who you want to be, how you want to see yourself is even harder.
But it can be done.
Part of that on Monday was returning to Curves. I've been exercising regularly for about six months partly for my own sanity and partly to prepare me for possible deployment to Iraq or elsewhere. But in the last couple weeks with the stress of work mounting I've been slacking off finding it difficult to fit it in between interviews and council/committee meetings. I know that to be truly committed I have to make it a permanent part of my schedule - not just fit it in. So, I will start getting up early and going before work at 6 a.m. to 7 a.m. So, I don't have to stress during the day when my schedule doesn't allow time for the miracle 30 minute workout.
The hunger has also highlighted how hungry I've been for intellectual simulation. It's so easy when you come home exhausted - your brain a scramble - to sit in front of the television and be a vegetable.
I finished China Mieville's Iron Council last night and it felt good. (I prefered his earlier books - Perdido Street Station and Scar to this his latest effort - just incase you care)
I promised myself to tackle the ever growing tower of books on my nightstand. Some are fiction; some are books for work like Mathematics for Journalists or Statistics for Dummies. But all are necessary if I want to continue to grow, learn and understand the world around me.
For now the fast seems to be doing what it was intended to do - helping me clarify who I want to be in the next year and remember that not all people work from a place of light and peace.
Most important I'm not responsible for their actions. I'm only responsible for my own.
Peace.

The last meals

apple bread french toast with syrup, fruity pepples, apple with honey, pizza, two glasses of Blushing Monk beer at Founders.
(I'm a beer mug club member - # 242 - I love numbers that balance out. 2 + 2 = 4, 4/2 = 2 - I love balance in my life."
In the spirit of Rosh Hashanah I have decided to fast until Yom Kippur, next Monday. It'll be a seven day fast. It's a moderate fast - I'm allowed liquid and apples (in the spirit of the New Year celebration).
Traditionally, during the holiday you should meditate and envision what you want your life to look like in the next year.
My mother died soon after I took the job at The Holland Sentinel and since then I really haven't been myself. (I've tried to write about it but it's too soon I guess) I mourned, like an obedient daughter, I sat shiva, I mourned for a year - not going out, celebrating, living a life on mute.
I've been working at The Holland Sentinel for two years and that's a long time ... but I made myself a promise this year that I would start doing things again.
Today I got up early and drove out to Crane Orchards and U-Pick in Fennville to eat breatfast and pick apples - I picked Jonathans, Fuji and Golden Supremes. I went to hear U.S. Rep. Pete Hoekstra, R-Holland, explore the current political situation in the Middle East with an emphasis on Israel. And then I had a couple of beers while exploring website options. (new updates to come soon)
All part of my new future.
I guess what I see for myself in the next year is a stronger, more confident self, who waits for what she deserves, someone who asks for what she deserves, someone who doesn't accepts scrapes. A successful me. A less afraid me. Someone with a good job - a job where I am happy and financial secure enough to buy a house and adopt a child. A future where I am loved.
VAV VAV LAMED
I use this Name to unleash the power of mind over matter, soul over ego, and the spiritual over the physical. My goal is not to renounce the physical world but to eliminate its control over me and become the true captain of my own fate. Everything becomes possible!
I can
I'm doing
I can do anything I set my mind to
I love me
Too an easy fast and to making some tough decisions.

Response to Huang's column

After reading Huang's column the thoughts I've had rattling around in my head for weeks now begin to clarify and push themselves out.
Only two years out of graduate school I watch my as my friends flee: photographers putting aside their cameras, reporters their pens for higher paying in public affairs or advertising. Some so burned out that they've taken waitressing or retail jobs just to tide them over as they lick their wounds and heal.
For me, nominated by those same peers as least likely to sell out, I feel as if I have one foot in what I thought my future would be and another foot in what I want my future to be.
As a little girl, while my peers dressed up as princesses and held tea parties, I dreamed of being a journalist. I would run through the house, dodging imaginary bullets, paper and pen in hand, determined to get the story. I can not imagine being anything else. From the time I wake-up until the time I force my body to sleep at night I see the world with the eyes of a journalists. Everyone, everything, every experience a possible story.
And terrified that I will not have the rigor it takes to stay as I watch our newsrooms being dismantled. Sold off to the highest bidder. I agree with Huang that part of journalism, part of being a good journalist, is being uncomfortable and I wonder if I am brave enough to see a different future to myself - one that may not include journalism.
And I have to wonder when we, as journalists will say, "enough" and fight for profession, fight for ourselves and the passion that inspired us to be watch-dogs, to be the voice of the voiceless, to fight for those who could not fight for themselves or what ever other cliche' you'd like to plug in here.
I have to wonder why people who are so willing to stick up for others are so unwilling to stand up for themselves.
I have great respect for the people at the L.A. Times, people who have said that they are not willing to dismatle their newsroom for the sake of an increased profit line. Becaues we all know it's not the papers aren't making money, it's that the leadership wants to make more money.
When is enough, enough?
Olivia

What I do for the Army

So, if anyone was wondering what I do for the U.S. Army - well, I'm a journalist or more correctly a 46Q. It's nice to have synergy somewhere in my life. Not that it really helps. This is the most recent article that I worked on - it was for a health issues magazine our unit put together which I helped edit. Enjoy.

Spc. Olivia Cobiskey
318th Press Camp Headquarters

Chicago -- Master Sgt. Emilia G. Shumpert didn't eat the rabbit or the rattle snake during her survival course.
"I survived on wild spinach, pine needle tea, and ant eggs," said Shumpert, who has been a vegetarian for nearly four decades. "I was very weak and hallucinated a bit by the end of the week."
With longer deployments Soldiers like Shumpert, who for philosophical, religious, or medical reasons do not eat certain foods, are having to make some tough choices?
The hardest is when to compromise those beliefs. Shumpert said she fell off the "veggie wagon" for a couple of years after basic training in 1985.
"I've been an ova-lacto, pesce vegetarian since the late-70s," Shumpert said. "(But) I was so hungry and the drill sergeants didn't give you much of a choice."
So, she decided to start eating meat during basic training. However, she quickly returned to a diet that doesn't include meat. And remained one even though she later married a "carnivore."
"I just cook two different items most days. I decided to become a vegetarian somewhat for health reasons, but mostly for environmental and humane concerns. Factory Farms continue to pollute our waterways and destroy our land," Shumpert said. "Also, if you don't eat your dog or cat then why eat your lamb, or pig? They feel pain too."
She even managed to stay a vegetarian while deployed to Argentina, beef capitol of the world.
"I survived on bread, cheese and wine, salads, and onion and cheese empanadas," said Shumpert, who is currently NCOIC for Recruiting and Retention Joint Forces HQ New Mexico.
While Shumpert found local fare that met her dietary needs, for some being deployed means eating MREs at least once a day.
MREs, individual Meal, Ready-to-Eat have long been the source of ridicule from "Meals Rejected by Ethiopians" during the 1980 when a famine ravaged Ethiopia and killed nearly one million people or more recently "Three Lies: It's not a Meal, it's not Ready, and you can't Eat it."
The military has worked on improving the meals increasing choices from 14 in the 1980s to the 24 currently available, offering more exotic entrees like Chicken Tetrazzini, Jambalaya and Penne with vegetables and sausage in spicy tomato sauce. However, unlike a restaurant a Soldier can not ask the kitchen for substitutions or changes to the meal.
Army Regulation 40-25 (AR 40-25), Nutrition Standards and Education, published in June 2001, recommend 3,250 calories for male and 2,300 calories for female Soldiers, respectively, when they engage in moderate activity typical of most Soldiers. However, some Soldier's needs increase during military deployment, perhaps as high as 4300 calories a day or even higher for some active male Soldiers whose military duties are very physically demanding like infantry or combat engineers.
"No one calorie level meets every Soldiers' needs. Caloric requirements vary depending on sex, age, body size, and especially physical activity of military duties. The vast array of jobs Soldiers do, cause individual caloric requirements to differ widely," said Holly McClung, MS RD, Research Dietitian, Military Nutrition Division, U.S. Army Research Institute of Environmental Medicine in Natick, Massachusetts. "However, Soldiers with relatively sedentary jobs, even when deployed require fewer calories. For these Soldiers deployment may interfere with exercise programs, and weight gain may become a problem. Both weight gain and excessive weight loss impedes the performance of our Soldiers during deployment and therefore Soldiers need to learn to adjust intake to maintain stable body weight."
For soldiers who are vegetarian this makes getting enough protein a serious concern.
However, MREs are not the only source of nutrition for most Soldiers during deployment, McClung said.
"Typically one MRE is consumed at lunch with a more traditional meal eaten for breakfast and dinner," she continued.
The Military Recommended Daily Intake (MDRIs, listed in AR 40-25) for protein ranges from 0.4 to 0.7 grams of protein per pound body weight, or about 50 grams of protein for a small woman to about 120 grams of protein for a large male, McClung said. One MRE provides about 30 grams of protein per meal. And four vegetarian MREs are available - cheese and vegetable omelet, veggie burger in BBQ sauce, cheese tortellini and vegetable manicotti - which also each provide 30 grams of protein per meal.
Major protein sources within the vegetarian MRE meals range from the main entree (8-22 g protein/serving), sport bars (3-9g/bar), nut mixes/butters (8-14 g/serving), cheese spread (5-6 g protein/serving) and dairy shakes (20 g/shake).
However, while some vegetarians, lacto-ova, eat dairy produces others, vegans, don’t eat any animal products at all.
"Although the MRE provides the required protein, whether the Soldier actually eats it depends on the type of vegetarian restriction, lacto-ova vs. vegan, and individual likes and dislikes," McClung said.
Shumpert isn't a fan of the vegetarian MREs calling them "bland."
"I almost prefer a regular MRE that has peanut butter, crackers and cheese spread," said Shumpert, a member of the New Mexico National Guard. "I'm 5 foot 3 inches and 130 pounds, so for me those are enough calories to keep me going."
However, sometimes she carries protein bars, just incase.
With only four vegetarian choices in the traditional MREs units with Soldiers who keep kosher or halal have to order specially made MREs for their soldiers.
Kosher law is based on the tenets of the Old Testament book of Leviticus and regulates the preparation and cleanliness of food. The word kosher is an adaptation of the Hebrew word meaning "fit" or "proper."
Kosher products not only fulfill the dietary laws of "kashrut" for Jews, but meet the requirements of Muslims and some Seventh-day Adventists who follow similar dietary restrictions. One of the main requirements of "kashrut" is the separation of meat and dairy. So, many vegetarians looking for products that contain no animal by-products look for the dairy kosher products.
Muslims also will purchase kosher-certified food. However, even though both religions forbid the consumption of pork, Islam also forbids the consumption of alcohol. Food manufacturers use ethyl alcohol to create powdered products or dissolve flavoring which would make the final product "unclean" according to Islamic dietary law.
The kosher MREs are produced by a Chicago-based company My Own Meal® which has created and supplied the US Military with its kosher ration needs since Desert Storm, the first Gulf War.
According to the My Own Meal® website kosher military rations are not like standard military-issue rations. Unlike standard MREs, components in the kosher military rations are commercial products in commercial packaging with brand names you know. Unlike standard MREs which are produced and then stored for about 3 or more years before being sent to our men and women in the armed services to eat in the field, My Own Meal® kosher rations with names like My Kind of Chicken, Chicken Mediterranean, Chicken & Noodles, Chicken & black Beans, Beef Stew, Old World Stew, Pasta with Garden Vegetables, Vegetarian Stew, Cheese Tortellini, and Florentine Lasagna are assembled and shipped to sailors, soldiers, airmen/women, and marines to enjoy right away.
One of the perks of kosher MREs is they offer an entire case, 12 meals, of vegetarian entrees. The case includes six dairy meals and six pareve (non-dairy) meals. The My Own Meal entrees are also a great option for Soldiers with allergies to wheat, dairy, eggs, nuts just to name a few.
McClung said Soldiers can develop allergies as adults. Soldiers are advised to read food labels before consuming MRE foods. All MRE components have food labels similar to those on grocery store food which list serving size and content: calories, fat, carbohydrates, protein, vitamin and minerals. In addition, all MRE manufacturers now list the eight most allergenic ingredients: wheat (gluten), milk, eggs, peanuts, tree nuts, fish, shellfish, and soy that are in food on the food label.
"Any Solider with a suspected food allergy should seek medical evaluation and speak with a Military Dietitian for advice prior to deployment," McClung said. "Allergic symptoms vary from gastrointestinal bloating, abdominal pain, skin irritations such as hives, rashes, eczema, to more severe symptoms like migraine headaches, anaphylaxis or loss of consciousness."

-30-

SIDEBAR

Interested in ordering MREs from My Own Meal®
The exact procedure is unique to each service, but here is some general information to get the ball rolling. The NSN for the Kosher Ration is 8970-01-E10-0001. The point of contact is Tom Carlin at (215) 737-7348, DSN 444-7348 or by email at: Thomas.Carlin@dla.mil.

I love my job and emails I send my bosses

Dear gentlemen,

Who added that CAIR is, an organization that some have linked to terrorist organizations into my story Saturday on Somal and his family.

It should have read;

"The family's initial fear of reprisal was not unfounded, said Dawud Walid, executive director of the Michigan chapter of the Council on American-Islamic Relations, a Washtington-based Islamic civil rights and advocacy group."

A link to the full story: http://hollandsentinel.com/stories/090906/local_20060909020.shtml



If Kaufman from FrontPageMagazine.com was our source, well we have a problem. Saying that CAIR is a front for Islamic-terrorists or linked to said groups, I believe, is similar to saying the ADL or JUF, is "an organization that some have linked to a terrorist organization" because the organizations give money to Israel. (A country whose government many people, in the U.S. and abroad call a terrorist organization) A statement, I believe, is just as false as accusing CAIR of being a front for terrorists.
Not to mention, was it paramount to this story?
Also someone cut out the part from the Southern Poverty Law Center that explains why Walid made the statement that he did.
I offered to come in on Friday morning and continue working on this story? Why didn't anyone phone me? Why didn't anyone ask? I had my cell phone while I was "playing" Army.

Further more, when Ahmed Rehab, the executive director for the Chicago chapter of CAIR, said that the Muslim community is in a battle between perception and reality, he was talking about this moment right here.
Many of the terms which are used by the media because someone "official" uses them are in fact false: i.e. Islamofascists.
I agreed with Rehab when he said that the term, "Islamofascists" ( often used by our fearless leader) is inaccurate on two accounts.
One it lets one percent of the world's Muslims define Islam for the other 99.9 percent of the world's Muslim community. And two Webster defines fascism as "a political philosophy, movement, or regime (as that of the Fascisti) that exalts nation and often race above the individual and that stands for a centralized autocratic government headed by a dictatorial leader, severe economic and social regimentation, and forcible suppression of opposition"[3]. Which precludes the people in question would have to have a country at most; a dictatorial leader at least.

Just because our President or some Jewish-schmuck thinks that CAIR is a "terrorist" organization doesn't mean that it is true. In fact, I believe, it's our job not to perpetuate untruths. You're killing me. Oy, already!

I'm sure we'll talk about this some more soon. Thanks for reading.
Olivia

Chaos, Hope, and Love

I sit here before you a broken woman. My heart cracked, chipped and scratched. My dream job ripped from my hands.
But I must eke a life out of the chaos - faith, hope and love will carry me through. What choice do I have?
My real fear is that I will never leave Holland. It's not that Holland is a bad place. It's a great place to raise children but I don't have children. I'm not even married. Ergo Holland not such a good place to live for me.
I have to remind myself I didn't give up when my first mentor told me that I could never be a daily reporter because I was dyslexic. Yes, boys and girls I am truly dyslexic - I recently could "see" the different between council and counsel. They had always looked the same until this week when something just didn't seem right with a sentence in my story. I looked up council in the dictionary and saw a reference to counsel. Slowly I wrote each word out and said them a couple dozen times over and over again making sure to annunciate each as I moved my finger from letter to letter.
I have to remind myself that I didn't give up then or any of the other times someone told me that I couldn't do something. I have to remember that I have always worked harder than anyone else and that is one of my greatest gift. And everyday I learn more I become a better reporter and writer.
But not all was lost, hopefully. I got some good advice. And hopefully in a few weeks I will have a better idea of the steps I need to take to get closer to my "dream job."
At least that's what I tell myself to help me get through the night.

Starbucks is out, Dunkin' Donuts is in!

So, I'm here in Chi-town for a couple weeks on Reserve Duty and I can't get up on the net to save my life.
I have things to blog about - there is a whole city plus the Society of Professional Journalists conference with all its shine and spark. But no - walking around with my laptop: Can you hear me? Can you hear me? Wasn't quiet working.
I'm just about to give in and go to Starbucks and fork over my hard earned cash and buy another T-mobile account (Historical note: I had a T-mobile account my last semester of grad school - to use while I was interning in New York at the UN, bla, bla bla. Well, to make a long story short - didn't use it so much and then when I moved to Grand Rapids - no Starbucks with T-mobile and the b*astards made me buy out the account? What the ...)
Anyway, back to the present, I'm almost desperate enough to crawl back to T-mobile and my girlfriend, the wonderful and beautiful Annemarie Neff, decides she wants ice cream. Well, who doesn't want ice cream after a day of thrifting? (I totally found a Ralph Lauren dress for $1.91 - bring on the holiday parties, I say)
So, we head to the nearest place which just happened to be the Dunkin' Donuts off of California and Milwaukee and what's the first thing I see when I walk in the door - a guy on a laptop.
I order a double scoop of French Vanilla (that's vanilla ice cream make with eggs - so it's a little more yellow in color than regular vanilla ice cream) and one of Uber-duber Chocolate (my name for it) - all the while eyeing the guy in the corner. Does the store have Internet access and how much does it cost? I ask the woman behind the counter. Well, I about peed my pants - not only does the store have Internet access but it's free. Yes, you read correctly boys and girls - FREE. I am currently typing this from said Dunkin' Donuts (doughnuts for you AP-fends) for FREE. The only down side is they don't have soy milk. (You know me I love my soy milk)
But hey I can bring in my coffee mug (ode to credit card debt - pictured on my flickr site) with soy already in it and just buy a small cup of joe!
Anyway, here is to many happy years together - Free wireless and I.

Newest hat and scarf

The primary is over.
Election night was madness. All 45 of my precincts came in just before midnight as I raced to finish all four of my stories on deadline as it "whooshed" past me. Screams across the newsroom as I realized the numbers on "Election Magic," the state's website, were wrong. Well, there was little magic happening. But a phone call later and all was well. The numbers were corrected on the page before they went to print. Oy.
And now I'm busy working on hats, scarves and other knittable treats to put away in the gift pile.

I miss my air conditioner

It's ugly, hot.
I'm so exhausted. I don't have air conditioning at home or in my car. It's like 105 inside the house!
For the past week I've had to stand infront of my fan after I take a shower to get into my clothes. Without the fan, by the time I get my clothes on there already soaked through with sweat.
And the car is no better. It's like a 120 inside it and I drive about 45 minutes to an hour to get to work. I've been wearing skirts to stay cooler but my legs are slimey with sweat by the time I reach my destination. And by the time I get home it takes all the energy that I have left to take a COLD shower and sit on the couch infront of a fan.
Oh, I hope it breaks soon.
Is it? I hear the rumbling of a storm in the distance - could it be rain? Could it be? Please, I'd like a good nights sleep. I have so much work to do....

They have this lacey fringe

After a week of sweat and dirt I celebrated by buying myself a new pair of silky pink PJs. (Don't worry they were on sale - way sale)
My "rock-star" plans for the weekend fell through. So, I spent most of my time on the couch, knitting, cooking, drawing and playing with Ms. Chleo. (I also did laundry and cleaned the house - I know I'm sick) But alas it's time to go back to work. Need to pay the man - really I need to buy my friends gifts (at least that's what I tell myself to feel better)
Happy Monday Everybody!

I worked at the Crazy Ball booth Thursday

Oh, the glamous life of a reporter! I got to work on the midway Thursday! The people I'm meeting are just amazing. I'm really enjoying myself. Remember to check The Sentinel for the article

http://hollandsentinel.com/stories/072806/local_20060728002.shtml

And see how much money I had to "play" to win my flower. Hint: $4 gives you a 50/50 chance to win.

Demolition woman

I have three words for you: legal road rage.
All day Monday my body tingled in anticipation of getting to ram one large piece of metal into another large piece of metal.

Now this may come as a surprise to the people who know me. Anyone who has ridden in a car with me will tell you I'm "an 80-year-old woman waiting to happen." Their words, not mine.

But don't let the knitting needles and string of pearls fool you. When push comes to shove, I'm in it to win. And that's exactly what I told Hope College alumni Andy Crocker before I got into his car Monday at the Demolition Derby.

read the rest of the story at The Sentinel website.

http://hollandsentinel.com/stories/072506/local_20060725003.shtml

Your Fair Lady as a child

And it begins - my journey into the world of the carnival. I will be "embedded" in the Ottawa County Fair through July 31.

In a way, it is like going home, both my parents worked at state and county fairs while I was growing up. My mother always worked the "ring toss" a game were participants threw plastic rings at bottles of water. If they got a ring around the bottle they'd win the gold fish swimming in it.

My grandmother would bring me down to visit my mother while she worked and I loved watching the goldfish swimming in their transparent worlds. During the season the game provided an endless source of pets for me - I can't tell you how many goldfish funerals I attended standing beside a white porcelain toilet crying as my parents flushed down yet another fish that had gone belly up over night.

My mother's game was called a "walk down" game, where people threw down their money and than walked away, my father said. He worked the "shake down" rides, where "we shake them up until all the money falls out of their pockets," he said laughing. "It's not like we were going to run down the fairway saying 'Excuse me did anyone loss $3?"

Calling my father after I'd finished up at the office reminded me of the fun we use to have as a family. The season I became obsessed with the "ladder" and my parents kept forking over $20 to watch me try to inch my limps up this rope-ladder teetering as I tried to balance my body only to end up laying on my back under it like a stranded beetle.

Or the family tradition of riding the most volatile rides until one of us pukes. Oh, the nauseous-gut-wrenching memories - I wouldn't trade them for anything.

Well it is now hour 15 and I am finally heading to bed. It will continue tomorrow too early.

By OLIVIA COBISKEY
Staff writer
At 9 a.m. Sunday morning only the chattering of cicadas and birds could be heard at the Ottawa County Fairgrounds.
Fiberglass elephants, caterpillars and bees their smiles frozen in anticipation of the hordes of expectant child waited stacked on the back of semi-trucks to be brought to life.
But by 11 a.m. the carnival started to awaken and with each passing hour it took shape preparing for Monday's opening at 4 p.m.
One of nearly 20 food vendors, Marv Day of Hamilton was busy Sunday getting the signs ready for "55 B.B.Q."
Now, I'm sure everyone knows what pulled pork and ribs are but what are red neck fries? I just had to ask.
"They are fries with chile, pork, and cheese on them," said Day from the top of his 10-foot ladder. "We also have Hillbill-e Tea."
That's sweetened tea for you northern folk.

check out www.hollandsentinel.com for the rest of the column.

How big a fish can your cat carry

another crazy video from YouTube: a Japanese experiment on how big a fish wild cats in Japan can carry. No need to worry, you don't need to speak Japanese to understand or find the humour in this.

Truth found in Fiction

So, I'm reading an article on Biala, aka Janice Tworkovsky, Jewish, Polish a painter, at like 6 a.m. this morning and a quote from one of her husband's, Ford Madox Ford, books made me think that perhaps there is hope for me.
In "Parade's End" one of his character says, "You seduced a woman in order to be able to finish your talks with her. You could not do that without living with her. You could not live with her without seducing her; but that was the by-product. The point is that you can't otherwise talk. You can't finish talks at street corners; in museums; even in drawing-rooms. You may not be in the mood when she is in the mood - for the intimate conversation that means the final communion of your souls."
(So that's why men seduce women? Ummm?)
Ford was twice her age but they married and lived in Paris. She said she became herself when she met Ford. (she was 26 and he was 57 in 1930)
"In living for him - I became myself," she wrote. "He found a little handful of dust and turned it into a human being ..."
However, her most clever response was to her friends, who were dismayed that she would fall for such an aged womanizer as Ford.
"I have looked all my life for a man with a mind as old as my own," she blasted back. "And what difference does it make if, when I find the man, he has a potbelly!"
However, the "long passionate dialogue," came to an end after 9 years in 1939 when Ford died in her arms at a Deauville hospital at the age of 66.
Ah, I really am pathetic but it gives me hope. The story re-enforced what I had already been reminded of recently: that conversation - the act of talking, of connecting through speech - is very important to me in relationships. It helps me connect, it makes me feel safe and secure, more importantly wanted. So, I guess Ford had a point.
It is a point I will have to hold onto in the coming days, months, years as I dream of even a month, day, moment of that "dialogue."
I guess I'm a little more melancholy than usual. My birthday was this week and I, like so many women before me, am not were I thought I would be by this age. Don't get me wrong I am the woman who ran into 30 with my arms wide open ready for anything. But with the passing of each sequential year my fear as increased until Sunday I found myself sitting across from my friend Anne in Chicago, tears cascading off my trembling chin saying, "I don't want to be alone for the rest of my life."
Rationally, I know I need to give up my 1960s idea that marriage, a family, a home will fulfill me as a woman, will equal success. But it's hard.
I guess that is my goal for this year - give up my illusion of what success means and be happy with the concert success that I do have.
Love always, Olivia

Muhammad el-Dura

I remember he asked me if I could raise my children Muslim
I remember a Middle Eastern restaurant on Davon, smoking from a Hookah, burying my face in my hands, and laughing as smoke poured from my nose
I remember the smell of the Turkish coffee he brought me from Egypt - dark, rich, heavy in my hand, heavy in my mouth
I remember the email he sent me of the young Palestinian boy shot in his father's arms
I remember the limp body of a child not grown, brown hair, brown arm, crushed between concrete and a screaming father
I don't remember where, somewhere dry, somewhere hot, somewhere there
I remember my response
I remember begging him not to be violent.
I remember saying we need a Gandhi - a Martin Luther King - a prophet
I remember telling him that a man of violence cannot bring peace
Violence never equals peace
I remember his anger
I remember my tears
I remember the little boy who died in his father's arms in a place between - betweens
I remember his question, "Could you raise your children as Muslims?"
I remember my answer, "No."

Today I have an Agenda

Sometimes the words you need have been written by someone else. And your job is simply to open up your heart to them and let them guide you. I experienced this today as I listened to someone read "Yesterday, I Cried," by Iyanla Vanzant.
Working in several predominately male professions where crying is more often associated with a weakness, I am toren by my need to be viewed as competent and strong, and my need to be true to my nature. I will admit it - I am a crier. It provides a release for me that is essential to my emotional health and strength. I am stronger because I cry.
Sometimes. But selling that to a society in which crying is associated with shame is a little more difficult. And more often than not I find myself cloistered in the bathroom with the rest of the women staff, dabbing my eyes with rough toliet paper, and trying to look like I haven't been crying.
So, until some great societal shift happens - for all you criers out there - grab a tissue and settle down for a good release - I give you this poem.

Yesterday, I Cried
Angel Without Wings
By Iyanla Vanzant

Yesterday, I cried.

I came home, went straight to my room, sat on the edge of my bed, kicked off my shoes, unhooked my bra, and I had myself a good cry.

I'm telling you, I cried until my nose was running all over the silk blouse I got on sale.
I cried until my ears were hot.

I cried until my head was hurting so bad that I could hardly see the pile of soiled tissues lying on the floor at my feet.

I want you to understand, I had myself a really good cry yesterday.

Yesterday, I cried, For all the days that I was too busy, or too tired, or too mad to cry.

I cried for all the days, and all the ways, and all the times I had dishonored, disrespected, and disconnected my Self from myself, only to have it reflected back to me in the ways others did to me the same things I had already done to myself.

I cried for all the things I had given, only to have them stolen; for all the things I had asked for that had yet to show up; for all the things I had accomplished, only to give them away, to people in circumstances, which left me feeling empty, and battered and plain old used.

I cried because there really does come a time when the only thing left for you to do is cry.

Yesterday, I cried. I cried because little boys get left by their daddies; and little girls get forgotten by their mommies; and daddies don't know what to do, so they leave; and mommies get left, so they get mad.

I cried because I had a little boy, and because I was a little girl, and because I was a mommy who didn't know what to do, and because I wanted my daddy to be there for me so badly until I ached.

Yesterday, I cried. I cried because I hurt.

I cried because I was hurt.

I cried because hurt has no place to go except deeper into the pain that caused it in the first place, and when it gets there, the hurt wakes you up.

I cried because it was too late.

I cried because it was time.

I cried because my soul knew that I didn't know that my soul knew everything I needed to know.

I cried a soulful cry yesterday, and it felt so good.

It felt so very, very bad.

In the midst of my crying, I felt my freedom coming, Because Yesterday, I cried with an agenda.

Date night

Tonight was date night. It's nice I get dressed up, go to dinner, a movie. Sometimes, I even make a pass at myself. Who knows I might get lucky, right? So, I took myself to see The Lake House at Celebration! Cinema Grand Rapids - North.
It was a remake of a 2000 Korean film "Siworae" directed by Hyun-seung Lee and Ji-na Yeo. And we all know how much I love Korean films! or foreign films period. Total chick-flick. But sometimes you just need an excuse to cry that has nothing to do with the shambles your life is currently in.
The movie wasn't bad. A lonely doctor, played by Sandra Bullock, who once occupied an unusual lakeside home, begins exchanging love letters with its newest resident, a frustrated architect, played by Keanu Reeves.
Sounds simple enough? Nope.
Bullock's character, Kate Forster is corresponding from 2006. And Reeves' character, Alex Wyler, is corresponding from 2004. Just to recap: 2006, 2004. These time periods aren't exactly mutually exclusive.
However, Bullock's character still exists in the 2004 time period that Reeves is communicating with Kate Forster from and vice versa.
Now it gets a little complicated. So pay attention. See the 2006 Forster can tell Wyler where she was in 2004, and Wyler can cross her path, but the 2004 version of Forster will have no clue who he is.
Clear as a pane of glass, right?
So for them to actually met, the 2006 version of Forster has to figure out where the 2006 version of Wyler is so that they can meet in the present. Seriously, it's not that complicated.
Even though this is impossible, it's clearly amazing and horribly romanic. Exactly my kind of film
Bullock and Reeves are believable. I found myself identifying with their characters' isolation, with their frustration, and with their desire to connect.
(If you don't want the movie ruined for you don't read beyond here)
The plot was predictable.
I knew the moment she ran across the street from Daley Plaza in Chicago that it was him, laying in the street. I knew it was him she had tried to save that Valentine's Day in 2004. It couldn't have been anyone else in a story about time-crossed lovers.
However, by the end I was holding my breath with the rest of the theatre - wondering would he get her note? Would he wait two more years ... or would he rush to Daley Plaza, run across the street and die, leaving her heart-broken in 2006 clasping a mailbox.
It was a nice break after a long day.
I got up at 6 a.m. to interview a source at 7 a.m., ran to work, had five stories dumped in my lap as I was waiting for Gov. Jennifer Granholm to veto the bill to repeal the helmet law in Michigan. (Two reporters were out Friday)
Well, I managed to finish four of the stories and the A-1 package piece about the helmet law for Saturday's front page before I hit overtime. Exhausted it's easy to loss hope. Hope that you will survive another day, hope that you will find a better job, hope that you will find your soul mate.
This movie gave me the hope to hold on just a little while longer - if only for a moment.
Good night.

Reality comes in a 20oz. cup

The breath of youth still clings to your face in the morning

Eyes deep set in the looking glass wondering what happened to it all

The clock ticks

the youth, the passion, the fervor

loving with empty arms

hitting snooze over and over again

Still clinging still Clinging

to the ones lost in early morning dreams

Cracked open by the ringing of the alarms

Brushing teeth quickly

You flee the apartment

blow dry

I really like how this turned out. I had to get my car washed after the trees in the yard schwitzed all over it. Decided to play with my camera inside the car wash. This one is my favorite.

Gourmet Sloppy Joe

Nummy, Nummy!
After working out at Curves I headed to the Supermarket to get salad for dinner but all of a sudden started craving Sloppy Joes. Odd because I don't eat mammal an intrigal part of the Sloppy Joe's make up. But I spied a box of Boca Meatless Ground Burger, dropped it into my basket and headed home.
I totally kitsched the sloppy - added a touch of cumin, paprika, and chile powder - it tasted good!
Added a glass of Herding cats chenin blanc from South Africa! And it's the perfect gourmet meal!

Trailer!

TalkingSplash
Originally uploaded by olivia cobiskey.

Honey, I gotta get me down to the trailer park and get me one of them there dollies. Found this on http://www.trailertrashdoll.com/ - it was too friggin funny! Had to share.

Me and Swager

the new ACU - All Condition Uniforms
Originally uploaded by olivia cobiskey.

Moving on is always hard - even when it's your own decision. It was my last drill with the 126th Press Camp Headquarter in Battle Creek. Next month I'll start drilling with the 318th Public Affairs Detachment in Chicago. I'll miss everyone. It was a hard decision to make but there are more opportunities for me with the PAD in Chicago.

A desk of her own

A desk of her own
Originally uploaded by olivia cobiskey.

In an exstended essay, A Room of One's Own (1926), Virginia Woolf wrote, "a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is going to write."

I will go one step further I will say she needs a desk of her own. While working on Saturday's A-1 centerpiece on Yard Sales I saw this desk and fell in love. I swooned like an old Victorian woman, I knew it would be perfect for me. But alas it was out of my price range.

I decided to chance it anyway. Isn't anything worthwhile, worth a risk? I offered $100 and apologized that it was all I could afford. The woman holding the yard sale said she would talk to her mother-in-law, who was selling the desk.

Three days later I got my answer, yes. I was so excited. I can't wait to get organized. I'm tired of blogging from the couch, tired of my to-do piles spread throughout the house. Now, I have a chance get my life in order.

I plan on spending hours blogging from this desk, hours writing down my personal thoughts, and reaching out to the people I love.

I totally got flocked

I totally got flocked
Originally uploaded by olivia cobiskey.

I totally got flocked! It was so cool.
After the Allegan County commissioner meeting I found 10 plastic pink flamingos had landed on my desk. In May, I wrote about the Ottawa County Mentoring Collaborative's Flamingo Flocking fundraising campaign. http://hollandsentinel.com/stories/052206/local_20060522013.shtml
For a donation, volunteers from the collaborative will plant for you anywhere in Ottawa County a group of pink birds, known as a stand of flamingos, in someone's lawn or office space. But when I called up the collaborative office to find out who flocked me - I was told it was anonymous. Anonymous, huh? A secret admirer, maybe? Ummm. The potential, the mystery, the possibilities!
I was giggly the rest of the day. It totally lifted my spirits. Who ever you are out there, thank you. It made what had been a really hard week much brighter!
And if you'd like to flock someone - here you go. It's for a good cause.
For a donation of $20 to the Ottawa County Mentoring Collaborative, a flock of 20 pink plastic flamingos can be placed in someone's lawn. For $35, a super-size flock of 40 flamingos can be purchased. And a donation of $10 will put a flock of 10 flamingos in an office or indoor space of your choice. The flock will rest in the yard or office for one or two days before flying off to visit the next unsuspecting victim.
The flamingos will be available in Ottawa County until July 15. Order forms are available at area mentoring agencies, including the MSU Extension office in Grand Haven or call Schleede at (616) 846-8250.

Me and my sticky notes

what I see in front of me everyday
Originally uploaded by olivia cobiskey.

Me and my sticky notes

I love sticky notes. I write everything down on them, epiphanies I have, weekly lists of stories I'm working on and daily to-do lists.
My most recent, flying from the top of my laptop like a banner, is an epiphany:
"I'm the toy men play with before they get married - I'm their last Hurrah!"
Over the last six months when I've opened my yahoo account I've been welcomed by a slue of emails from ex-boyfriends who now want to share photos of their children and dispense love advice. It's not that I'm not happy to hear from them or that their children aren't cute.
It's just exhausting rehashing these old relationships through the rosy-colored glasses of time. It's not that I mind being told how inspirational and magnetic I was or how I provided a way for them to talk and open up like they had never done before. But it begs the questions why didn't they stick around? Rationally, I realize the only answer to that question is: We just weren't a good match.
But in moments when I am particularly lonely and impatient for the arrival of Mr. Right it is harder to hear that more rational voice and I end up driving down the highway screaming angry-woman music at the top of my lungs. Pushing the gas petal into the floor is both terrifying and liberating. I grip the steering wheel at 3 and 9 and feel invincible as I sing:

I COULD BE SO JEALOUS OF SOMEONE LIKE ME. SOMEONE HAS IT ALL YET THEY JUST DON'T SEE.
I SHOUT OUT ACCEPTANCE SO I WON'T GET HURT AND MOVE ON TO THE NEXT ONE WHO WILL TREAT ME LIKE DIRT
TREAT ME LIKE DIRT ... ... ...

(Patti Rothberg - Treat Me Like Dirt)

But it doesn't last, half way home I round a bend and hit traffic. I pump the break. And as the speedometer drops, my anger falls away from me leaving me chilled in the 90 degree heat. I whisper:

Will I need you like the brand new morning sun or will I grow to hate you like all the other ones?
(Patti Rothberg - Perfect Strangers)

I was grateful for the snail pace of the traffic as tears blurred my eyes and sobs shook my body. Finally, I dug a paper napkin out from under the passenger seat and wiped my face, took a deep breath, and continued singing:

It's alright I know I'm going to live because I know you gave the best that you could give.
(Patti Rothberg - It's Alright)

And as I sang the words, I started to believe them. The traffic speed up and I stuck my arm out the window to feel the force of the air as it blew past me. I'm worth the wait, I continue to tell myself, a little more confident with each passing mile. I'm worth the wait.

Life is a dream I'm going to give it a try. Because now is the time to change your ways, now is the rest of your days ... no more hanging on to yesterday
(Patti Rothberg - Change You Ways)

More of my sticky notes for your amusement:

I'm like a 2-year-old I'm uncomfortable without boundaries ...

"Nothing other people do is because of me - it's because of them." Don
Miguel Ruiz

"The boys are teasing Hello Kitty because her head is so big ... I told them it's big cause she's so smart and nice. It makes her so beautiful."
Teagan Knapp, 6

"Wounds breed self-absorption; that is simply human." Olivia to Jeff Sabatini

Holiday week: 32hr work week, day off paid 8 hrs, ONLY WORK 32hrs - note to self

Sycophant: a servile self-seeker who attempts to win favor by flattering influential people
Axiom: Universal truth
Curmudgeons - I've dated some

Percentage of increase: 2003=137 /2004=153 diff-16 16/137=.12x100=12 percent increase

Happy Memorial Day

Modeling our new body armor, is our own Ms. Cobiskey
Originally uploaded by olivia cobiskey.

Thank you.
I hope everyone has a wonderful Day!
Love, Olivia

Eating a Persimmon

Portrait of a Tulip
Originally uploaded by olivia cobiskey.

Kneading his back
I peel the skin slowly
rolling the taunt flesh between my fingers
exposing the fleshy insides
I rock on him - not knowing
rosier then mine
the fire I've kindled in him
richer then me
the passion I'm appeasing with my touch
I cut it into pieces
Slowly, he takes my hands
small enough to fit into his mouth
and pulls me down to him
I leave the seeds
curling my hands beneath him
Later, I will rip them out with my teeth
he inhales me
I take a small crescent between my finger and thumb
then slowly exhaling he kisses my palms
and slides it between his lips
my knuckles, my fingers
as he takes me in his arms
sensually, fully, completely
to dance with him in the kitchen
I am his

Drill Weekend

Drill Weekend
Originally uploaded by olivia cobiskey.

Jon Goke took this photo of me. We were "experimenting" to see how shadows affect the mood of a photograph.

It's my favorite.

The poop they've scooped

poop they've scooped
Originally uploaded by olivia cobiskey.

The "pooper scoopers" were the most popular kids at the parade. Even in the rain they jumped into action to complete their smelly job. What really got some laughs, however, was when yours truly walked through a "large" pile of the stuff while trying to interview the kids sitting on the back of the Army truck following the U.S. Army Blue Devils Horse Platoon, the Household Cavalry Mounted Regiment of the British Army and the Queens Cavalry Escort of Honor of the Royal Netherlands Army. Yep! I was standing there in my nice boots in horse manure while people applauded and cheered. Not exactly how I saw myself being cheered by a large crowd. But, hey! Beggars can't be choosers.

We are Hard Core

We are Hard Core
Originally uploaded by olivia cobiskey.

The last parade of Tulip Time wasn't cancelled and Dennis and I teamed up to cover it. At one point I called the newsroom, frustrated, and asked how the hell they expected me to take notes in a torrential rain storm. But all was well; I ended up being able to read my soggy scribbles. The photo was taken during the worst of the rain by one of the spectators. People would just watch and laugh as we ran up and down the parade route getting wetter and wetter. It was kind of funny. When I got back to the newsroom I looked like a wet cat and sure feel like one. But thank goodness I had some dry clothes in my car and changed.
Check www.hollandsenitnel.com tomorrow for the stories.

Covering the Queens Cavalry

Covering the Queens Cavalry
Originally uploaded by olivia cobiskey.

It took only a brief moment for Leslee Whelan to make the transition from civilian to soldier Friday.
Whelan, mounted, raised his right hand and became the newest member of the U.S. Army Blue Devils Horse Platoon.
Several hundred people braved cooler than normal temperatures and fierce rain to watch the ceremony from the stands as part of Friday's memorial service and skill-at-arms competition and horse show at the Ottawa County Fairgrounds.
Maj. Gen. Robert Pollman, commander of the Regional Readiness Command, said Whelan was the first soldier to take the oath of office while mounted in 113 years.
"It was common before 1900 for the members of the Mounted Infantry and the Cavalry to enlist from the backs of the horses they were to care for, love and trust," said the narrator of the event. "That care, love and trust would pay off in combat, as the horse would repay his rider with is life."
His parents, Buzz and Nancy Whelan of Hartford, watched from the stands tears in their eyes.
"I'm very proud," said his mother, tears streaming down her face. "I never imaged (him joining the military). It was the furthest thing from our minds."
But it makes sense for the young Michigan farm boy, said his mother.
"His grandfather had him on horses since he was 9-weeks old and he’s been riding ever since," Nancy Whelan said.
Riders and horse of the U.S. Army Blue Devils Horse Platoon, the Household Cavalry Mounted Regiment of the British Army, and the Queens Cavalry Escort of Honor of the Royal Netherlands Army stood at attention in remembrance of fallen soldiers. Army Sgt. 1st Class Rick Herrema, a Michigan soldier who was killed two weeks ago in Iraq, Huzaar J.G. Dykers, a Dutch soldier killed during World War II, and Spc. Randy Alyworth, a Michigan soldier killed during Vietnam were just a few of the soldiers remembered as Ruth Roon of Hudsonville, a relative of Alyworth, placed a bouquet of brightly colored tulips on the back of "the spirit horse," a horse that wears no saddle, carries no rider and says for all of us, "We will never forget you, you will live in our hearts, now and always," said the narrator.
Gina and Rick Hutchinson of Waterville, Ohio said they appreciated the memorial service.
"It was very moving," Gina Hutchinson said.
The couple arrived Thursday night with their four daughters and said they were having a good time in spite of the rain.
Cuddled tight against her mother, Lydia, 7, said the horses were "very pretty."
"I like the big ones," she said watching the Queen's Cavalerie perform a mounted charge, racing forward in a single line.
Coming in to visit with the crowd, Sgt. 1st Class Cindy Babb, dressed in a raincoat and hat covered in plastic, rode Norman, a 23-year-old Shire cross named Norman.
"He's really enjoyed himself," Babb said patting Norman on the neck. "He likes to play."
Babb said Norman was a gift to the platoon's Chief Warrant Officer Richard Dyk from the Queen of England.
"He was a police horse used for riot control. He's done it all, he's a great mount to have," she said before heading out to the field.
The ground closest to the bleachers was far too muddy to perform the combat exercises. So riders and horses used the further field to practice their maneuvers.
The horse show included several forms of combat from the Middle Ages to the end of the modern-horse cavalry when skill still mattered in war. Riders performed mounted and authentic lance charges.
After the show, Julie Haan, a Holland-native who now lives in Iowa, said the horse show was originally on her agenda.
"Everything else was canceled," said Haan, who had planned to see the parade and Dutch dances.
However, after watching the horses perform Haan said,
"I'd like to learn more about the history association with these horses, it seems very interesting."
Dressed in gloves and several layers Haan with several blankets pressed to her chest said she brought her three children from Iowa to experience the festival and see where she grew-up.
"I love Tulip Time. I love celebrating Dutch heritage," Haan said.
The appreciation of Dutch heritage is something Ritmeester, translated from Dutch it means Riding Master, Robert van den Berg, finds endearing.
This is the Royal Netherlands Army Head Officer's fourth year in Holland.
"I think we can be very happy and proud of how we succeed and trained with our horses," van den Berg said.
Chief Warrant Officer Dyk agreed.
"We couldn't practice yesterday because it was pissing down rain but I was so proud of them they did so well today," Dyk said. "It was like they knew why we were here."
Both men agreed the rain wasn't too much of a hardship for the horses or the soldiers. They're used to extreme weather changes in the Netherlands too, van den Berg said.
"Rain isn't new to us, only in Michigan is it new," said the captain as he laughed.

Two-Dimensional Zoo

Two-Dimensional Zoo
Originally uploaded by olivia cobiskey.

I commute more than 40 miles a day on I-196 between Grand Rapids and Holland, Michigan. I see the animals on the side of the road. I'm become fascinated by them. It all started last year, a raccoon was laying on the side of the road on the way to Holland. I'd see him everyday - no visual sign of trauma, his fur was neat, he looked fine like he was sleeping. I named him Fred.
I started talking to Fred. I think it was just after my mother had died. I was a little obsessed. I would round the bend of the highway and as I caught a glimpse of him I'd smile and say hello. I watched as his fur got matted and he started to swell and then as his body concaved. I eventually pulled over and buried him. I said Kiddush.
A little while later, the idea for the project started to evolve. Taking photos of the animals, a kind of two-dimensional zoo, to include in an art installation. But what would the installation be about: I'm still not sure. I've played with the idea of talking to the Human Society, getting numbers of how many animals are killed each year on U.S. highways. Or I would use the pictures to talk about how the increased number of child deaths at the turn of the century by automobiles changed how our society regarded children and childhood at the time.

It will eventually come to me.

Right now I'm just taking photos. This was the first photo I took. Usually the animals are raccoons, opossum, sometimes, deer. But seeing a cat is really rare. I decided to start my project with her. Check out my flickr page to see more.

Mother's Day

I'm working on the Sunday centerpiece for Mother's Day. It's a great story about a women who through her husband and sons, has indirectly touched the lives of thousands of children. See her husband and three of her six children are pediatricians. Great story but I found myself swallowing back tears during the interview this morning. (Don't worry I didn't let on) It's been barely a year since my mother passes away and I have to say it's still hard.

Reporter's Notebook on her death

It's over. At 9:05 a.m. Thursday Terri Schiavo took her last breath, 13 days after her feeding tube was removed by a court order. But I have to ask - is it really, over?
This case, which divided not only a family but a nation, challenged both our personal and political beliefs. In the years we have watched her parents, Bob and Mary Schindler, and her husband, Michael Schiavo, struggle over what Terri would have wanted, the case has shone light on euthanasia, the rights of state and federal governments to intervene, and the role of a spouse.
It has defined medical terms like "persistent vegetative state," "brain
damage" and "minimally conscious" for a new generation - many who will have to
decide for themselves what they believe when they are faced with similar
decisions.
In the end the story is less about Schiavo herself than about us all.
On March 9, a doctor phoned me at work from Oregon to explain that my mother's kidneys had failed that morning. He asked me if I was opposed to the idea that he stop aggressively treating my mother's liver failure and simply make her comfortable until she passed, I said no. Tears streaming down my face, I eked out the words, "quick," and "painless."
The doctor then made plans to meet with my grandmother and younger brother, who were already in Oregon, and my mother's current husband, Dan. After meeting with the doctor, my grandmother, my mother's younger siblings and my brother also agreed. We all hoped my mother's death would be more peaceful than the life she had led.
Like Terri Schiavo, my mother did not have a living will. And at first her husband wasn't sure what he wanted. He had watched as my mother got sicker - the ammonia levels in her blood rising -leaving her disoriented on good days, unconscious on bad days. Months earlier, the diabetes she didn't take care of had left her blind.
She rarely left her bed and had fallen over a dozen times. In the end, it was my grandmother who had a long talk with Dan, and eventually he too agreed. I know that I am fortunate that there was little disagreement between my family and my mother's current husband. It was difficult to accept that this man, who'd only been married to my mother for a couple of years, had more say over her life and death than her daughter, son or mother.
And I could not imagine watching my mother die more slowly then she, in fact, did. When I walked into my mother's hospital room all I could think was that this husk - skin grayish-green and
bloated - is not my mother. There was nothing left of the woman who had inspired neurosis and fear in my child self.
It is a misnomer for President Bush to assume these people are weak and need or want our protection - he did not know my mother. She was one of the most headstrong and stubborn
people on this earth and she would have hated lying there depending on anyone or anything.
As the nurses increased the morphine and my mother began to skip breaths, it was hardest for my grandmother - my mother was her oldest child. My brother and I sat on either side of her holding her hands, each taking our turn to make peace with her alone as the hours passed.
At 10 p.m. on Saturday, March 12 - only four days after the doctor posed his question to us - my mother stopped breathing and it was over.
As the days passed my family continued to mourn and discuss our own end of life plans. Many of us are planning to see lawyers and write living wills. We know how lucky we were - this time.
It will be years before my brother and I truly understand the implications and repercussions those days will have on our lives, and I do not envy the Schindlers or Michael Schiavo the years they will have to digest.

Honestly, I'm still struggling with ... I can't even explain what exactly it is I'm struggling with ... I keep staring at the book, "Motherless daughters" and wondering if I pick it up again will I make it pass page 10? I have an essay, meant to be cathartic and finished by my mother's yahrzeit, that I've start again and again but can never seem to finished. I keep waiting for the pain to lessen. Sometimes I think it has but then it sneaks up on me again and I'm a blubbary 5-year-old who's been lost in the department store.
I just hope I can channel my pain into a very beautiful story for her children in celebration of their Mother's Day. And I think I will.

Totally cool site!

I just love this site. It's full of cute photos of animals and odd things. And after a day of running up and down a parade route I needed a good giggle. I hope it does that for you too.

http://cuteoverload.com/

emails from my father

I open my yahoo account this morning and there is a message from my father with the subject line "Three things to think about."
I figure he's reacting to yesterday's blog post - I figure I'm going to be taken to task by the retireed Navy Master Chief. But then to my surprise I get this.

1. COWS,
2. THE CONSTITUTION,
3. THE TEN COMMANDMENTS.

COWS
Is it just me, or does anyone else find it amazing that our government can track a cow born in Canada almost three years ago, right to the stall where she sleeps in the state of Washington? And, they tracked her calves to their stalls. But they are unable to locate 11 million illegal aliens wandering around our country. Maybe we should give them all a cow.

THE CONSTITUTION
They keep talking about drafting a Constitution for Iraq. Why don't we just give them ours? It was written by a lot of really smart guys, it's worked for over 200 years and we're not using it anymore.

TEN COMMANDMENTS
The real reason that we can't have the Ten Commandments in a courthouse is you cannot post "Thou Shalt Not Steal," "Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery" and "Thou Shall Not Lie" in a building full of lawyers, judges and politicians......

It creates a hostile work environment!

(Snicker, snicker, snicker ...)
Maybe it's the lack of sleep - Chleo, the Korean-kitty - woke me up at like 4 a.m. She had the urge to kneed but can only seem to do that on the couch. So, I trek out to the living room and after 30 minutes of kneeding Chleo is fast asleep, head resting on my hip. Me, I am not so lucky. As is want to happen - the early morning hours are filled with the typos realized, nagging questions, still unanswered and regret.
But my father's email, on the face of it, brought a smile to my face. So, I tried to hold on to that and force my mind to stop reeling and rest.