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Timely Manor

Welcome to my virtual salon. Please, come in and do stay awhile.

The Contessa's dream:

...And someday, I shall have a grand mansion where we all can meet, and I will call it "Timely Manor."

Timely: occurring at a suitable or opportune time; well-timed

Manor: the main house on an estate; a mansion

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

TeaBox Wisdom "Everyday Treasures"

Diamonds and fancy cars don't make a life we remember. It's the quiet picnics in the orchard, the sudden yellow of a dandelion bursting through a crack in the sidewalk, and warm sand between your toes at the beach. It's a small child grabbing your hand, the ecstasy of puppy tails welcoming you home. These are our everyday treasures, what we take with us as we drift into slumber and what welcomes us back to each new day.

-Naomi Hoshino Horii

"Lifted," without permission, from a Celestial Seasonings Vanilla Apple White Tea box.


Yesterday evening, when R got home, he asked me, "Did anything give you joy today?" and I looked at his youngest son, Little E, and I said, "Yes," pointing to E, "he gives me joy every day."

E and his brothers are my everyday treasures.

New life for old blankets & towels


Ever wonder what to do with those old worn-out blankets and towels?... Donate them to Annie's Blankets!

The mission of Annie's Blankets is to provide comfort to lost and injured companion animals and to promote public awareness regarding the needs of homeless and ailing pets.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Somehow (In memory of Pat Tillman)

After Pat's Birthday

Oct 19, 2006

By Kevin Tillman

Editor's note: Kevin Tillman joined the Army with his brother, Pat, in 2002 and they served together in Iraq and Afghanistan. Pat was killed in Afghanistan on April 22, 2004. Kevin, who was discharged in 2005, has written a powerful, must-read document.

It is Pat's birthday on November 6, and elections are the day after. It gets me thinking about a conversation I had with Pat before we joined the military. He spoke about the risks with signing the papers. How once we committed, we were at the mercy of the American leadership and the American people. How we could be thrown in a direction not of our volition. How fighting as a soldier would leave us without a voice until we got out.

Much has happened since we handed over our voice:

Somehow we were sent to invade a nation because it was a direct threat to the American people, or to the world, or harbored terrorists, or was involved in the September 11 attacks, or received weapons-grade uranium from Niger, or had mobile weapons labs, or WMD, or had a need to be liberated, or we needed to establish a democracy, or stop an insurgency, or stop a civil war we created that can't be called a civil war even though it is. Something like that.

Somehow our elected leaders were subverting international law and humanity by setting up secret prisons around the world, secretly kidnapping people, secretly holding them indefinitely, secretly not charging them with anything, secretly torturing them. Somehow that overt policy of torture became the fault of a few bad apples in the military.

Somehow back at home, support for the soldiers meant having a five-year-old kindergartener scribble a picture with crayons and send it overseas, or slapping stickers on cars, or lobbying Congress for an extra pad in a helmet. It's interesting that a soldier on his third or fourth tour should care about a drawing from a five-year-old; or a faded sticker on a car as his friends die around him; or an extra pad in a helmet, as if it will protect him when an IED throws his vehicle 50 feet into the air as his body comes apart and his skin melts to the seat.

Somehow the more soldiers that die, the more legitimate the illegal invasion becomes.

Somehow American leadership, whose only credit is lying to its people and illegally invading a nation, has been allowed to steal the courage, virtue and honor of its soldiers on the ground.

Somehow those afraid to fight an illegal invasion decades ago are allowed to send soldiers to die for an illegal invasion they started.

Somehow faking character, virtue, and strength is tolerated.

Somehow profiting from tragedy and horror is tolerated.

Somehow the death of tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of people is tolerated.

Somehow subversion of the Bill of Rights and The Constitution is tolerated.

Somehow suspension of Habeas Corpus is supposed to keep this country safe.

Somehow torture is tolerated.

Somehow lying is tolerated.

Somehow reason is being discarded for faith, dogma, and nonsense.

Somehow American leadership managed to create a more dangerous world.

Somehow a narrative is more important than reality.

Somehow America has become a country that projects everything that it is not and condemns everything that it is.

Somehow the most reasonable, trusted and respected country in the world has become one of the most irrational, belligerent, feared, and distrusted countries in the world.

Somehow being politically informed, diligent, and skeptical has been replaced by apathy through active ignorance.

Somehow the same incompetent, narcissistic, virtueless, vacuous, malicious criminals are still in charge of this country.

Somehow this is tolerated.

Somehow nobody is accountable for this.

In a democracy, the policy of the leaders is the policy of the people. So don't be shocked when our grandkids bury much of this generation as traitors to the nation, to the world and to humanity. Most likely, they will come to know that somehow was nurtured by fear, insecurity and indifference, leaving the country vulnerable to unchecked, unchallenged parasites.

Luckily this country is still a democracy. People still have a voice. People still can take action. It can start after Pat's birthday.

Brother and Friend of Pat Tillman,


Kevin Tillman


Courtesy of the Tillman Family

Pat Tillman (left) and his brother Kevin stand in front of a Chinook helicopter in Saudi Arabia before their tour of duty as Army Rangers in Iraq in 2003.

Tuesday, April 01, 2008

Ode to My Beloved Pogonip

My beloved Pogonip,
my heart calls out to you

My heart calls out to your majestic trees
and your beautiful meadow,
now green with Spring's emerald blush

My heart longs for the intimacy with my Lord
that I experience there,
amidst His breathtaking creation

My heart recalls many long walks
upon your familiar trails
with friends now gone from me

My heart desires to sit quietly and listen
for the sounds of your inhabitants
calling out to one another

My beloved Pogonip,
my heart yearns to wander your trails
and frolic in your meadow

My beloved Pogonip,
my heart calls out to you
in all your beauty and peace,
my heart calls out to you