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All about Eve
(for my parents)
I’ve been living underground
like graffiti, the grunge scene,
gravity and volcanic rock for the longest time. I’ve been many things in my life.
Feminist. Romantic. Poet.
Aunt. Independent woman.
Christian. Sister. Daughter.
Ex. Girlfriend. I’ve clothed
myself in veil-and-shroud.
Having the presence of a
child around me has changed all of that. I want to be a
good woman. I want to give and love
and most of all be kind. I don’t want to think that suffering is
noble anymore. I want to put away my loneliness
inside a kind of Pandora’s box.
Along with my solitude. The futility that
I’ve carried around like baggage with me for the
I don’t want to say things like,
‘the longest time’ anymore. I
want to be happy and loyal to
the people who love me. I want
to be loyal to the girl inside my mother, My sister, my aunts, my cousins
In the family way. Far away in America and Swaziland. South Africa.
I’m a nation. I’m a soldier. I’m a
warrior. I’m a servant girl.
I’m a nursemaid. Caregiver. Lover.
Fighter. Daily I take the vows of a nation, of
a Christian-soldier, warrior,
lowly servant girl, nursemaid, caregiver, lover, fighter.
I have the personality of the
sun on my side. The characteristics of
and morality of moonlight.
I can wail against the choices that
I’ve made in my short life or
I can embrace the watershed. The men and women,
the translations of them that I’ve
loved in my short life. If it’s been
it’s been that way from start to end.
And once I reach the finish line
I will meditate on the feasts and festivals
that winter has brought me and
I will savour the photographs, the special moments
that summer has brought to me.
Abigail George has two books in the Ovi Bookshelves,
“All about my mother” & “Brother Wolf and Sister Wren”
Download them, NOW for FREE HERE!
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The United Nations General Assembly has set 21 September as a Day of Peace. The day was chosen to be as close as possible to the start of the annual U.N. General Assembly, which is called upon to respond to a very diversified set of challenges. The response is usually to raise awareness of the particular issue through discussion. However, short-term geopolitical considerations and national interest, narrowly defined, have repeatedly taken precedence over action on human suffering and grave breaches of international peace and security.
Nevertheless the goals of the United Nations are set out in the Preamble to the U.N. Charter:
“We the Peoples of the United Nations determined
– to save succeeding generations from the scourge of war
– to reaffirm faith in fundamental human rights, in the dignity and worth of the human person, in the equal rights of men and women and of nations large and small
– to establish conditions under which justice and respect for the obligations arising from treaties and other sources of international law can be maintained
– to promote social progress and better standards of life in larger freedom.”
The Preamble is not a shopping list of unrelated goals but rather the result of a wholistic vision: the abolition of war, the re-affirmation of human rights based on the dignity of the human person, the conditions under which justice and international law can be maintained, social progress in larger freedom – all are interrelated. None can be achieved without the others. Thus the work of the United Nations should be carried out in a wholistic spirit.
This year the emphasis of the U.N. Day of Peace is on human rights as it is the 70th anniversary of the proclamation of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. In December 1948, the General Assembly was meeting in Paris as the U.N. did not yet have its permanent home in New York City.
The full article HERE!
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“Hazel, I have been Beamed !” Harry hollered as he staggered through the backdoor, and struggled into a chair at the Kitchen Table, holding his sweaty head in his large, work-worn hands.
Hazel stopped dusting her steaks into the flour mixture on the wax paper in front of her on top of the Kitchen counter.
“Harry, I hid your bottle of Jim Beam, ‘cause you’ve been nippin’ at it a bit too much durin’ the work day. So, how in the world could you be ‘Beamed’ ?”
“No, no, Hazel ! I have not been drinkin’, Lord knows I’d feel better about all of this if I had, but I have been Beamed !”
Hazel returned to the dusting of her raw steaks. “Harry, did you fall asleep watchin’ that ‘Beam Me Up, Scottie’ Space series you like so much ?” Hazel queried calmly. “Maybe, you just woke up from a bad dream about bein’ zapped by one of those E.T.’s you’re so fond of watchin’ on t.v. ?”
“Hazel, will you listen to what I am sayin’ to you, and stop floppin’ those steaks around in that flour ! Look at
me !” Harry demanded.
Hazel wiped her hands on her flowered apron and turned around to stare at Harry. “Alright, Harry, I’m lookin’ straight at you. You have my full attention.”
“Hazel, when I was workin’ on the leaks in the tractor’s radiator in the barn, all of a sudden, out of thin air, I heard these high pitched, super-sonic noises ringin’ in my ears that gave me a splittin’ headache on the spot !”
“Hazel, I have been Beamed by one of those Russian super-sonic, sonar devices !”
Hazel turned back around, and returned to dusting her chicken-fried-steaks-to-be.
“Hazel, I’m not kiddin’ ! And I’m not dreamin’ or drinkin’ although I could sure use one right about now. I have been Beamed ! My ears are still ringin‘, and my head is still splittin’ in two !”
“Harry, it’s probably an episode of Tinnitus that you’re havin’,” Hazel said matter-of-factly.
“I do not have Tetanus ! Especially not in my ears, Hazel ! I have been Beamed by a Russian Spy, just like those American ambassadors and diplomats who left Cuba !” Harry insisted. “Maybe they’re runnin illegal experiments in these parts, and have randomly chosen me to be one of their guinea pigs !”
“Harry, none of our neighbors are Russians. They’re all of Polish, German, Swedish, African and Mexican descent. They’re all ranchers or farmers, ranchin‘ and farmin‘ on land they‘ve had for generations.. They do not have time to be Spies for Russia or anybody else for that matter. They do not have enough time to run around zappin’ middle aged men with strange sonic weapons repairin’ their tractors. They‘re too busy makin‘ a livin‘ for their own families.”
“Don’t you care about what’s happenin’ to me, Hazel ? It‘s all over the news. These crazy governments all over the world are wastin‘ our Tax dollars on sonic weapons that make folks heads ring like rung bells and crack like over cooked boiled eggs. It‘s a wonder that I can still walk and talk.”
“Harry, of course, I care. And you’re right, you do not have Tetanus in your ears. But you do have Tinnitus. The Doc told you so over a month ago, and you argued with him about it. Don’t you remember ?”
“Of course, I remember. I’m not Senile. At least not yet.” Harry paused before continuing, “Hazel, what if gettin’ Beamed makes you Senile before your time ?”
“Harry, I’m gonna’ call Doc Boehne’s office first thing in the mornin‘, and get you in for an examination.”
“You don’t think that you should rush me to the hospital right now, Hazel ?”
“Harry, I have dinner to finish and livestock and chickens and hogs to feed and tend to. I do not have time for this ‘Beam Me Up, Scottie’ foolishness.”
“Now, Harry, do us both a favor, and take a deep breath, and hold it.”
Harry groaned, but when he saw the all too familiar set of Hazel’s Irish jaw, he took a big breath, and held it.
“Now, hold your nose and shut your mouth tight.”
Harry’s rolled his eyes, but he did it.
“Good. Now, blow as hard as hard as you can, and do not open your mouth or let go of your nose.”
Harry glared at Hazel, but he did it.
“Good, now hold it ‘til I tell you to stop.”
Hazel counted to ten Mississippi out loud before finally saying, “Alright, let go.”
Red-purple faced and gasping for air, Harry sputtered, “Are you tryin’ to kill me, woman ?”
“No, Harry, I Love you. Now, how do your ears and head feel ?”
Harry paused for a while, and said, “Well, my ears popped somethin’ terrible, and now they feel like they’re stuffed full of cotton.”
“Are you ears ringin‘,” Hazel asked mildly.
“Just barely. But I think that’s because I can barely hear the ringin’ or much of anything else right now, ’cause of what you had me do.”
“How’s the headache ?”
“It’s less achy.” Harry began to grin and relax just a bit. “Hazel, you are a Miracle Worker !” Harry got up from the chair, and headed toward the back door. “Thank you, Hon.”
“Don’t mention it, Sweetie. You headin’ back out to work on the radiator ?”
“Nope. I’m gonna’ go feed the cows and horses, and throw some scratch at the chickens, and slop at the hogs, while you finish fixin’ dinner,” Harry said as the screen door screeched shut behind him.
“Well, Beam Me Up, Scottie,” Hazel said grinning as she exuberantly flopped another steak into her special flour mixture.
Father always told me and my sister not to go looking for ways to cross the stream. “Never, never, never,” he used to say. “Our people always stay from this side of the stream, the other side is for the others.” And then he would bend a bit and with a whispering voice, always looking around first, he would say, “…the other side is for the spirits.”
So my sister and I spend springs, summers and autumns looking carefully on the other side to see the spirits. Occasionally we saw one or two but we couldn’t agree if it was a spirit of a man or a woman, a boy or a girl.
That was every year till I became seventeen. Then I left the house for the higher education and my sister didn’t want to return to the stream on her own.
Now, I’m thirty four and I’m standing at our side of the stream with my sister and for the first time we both agree, it is our father on the other side waving. He left us a couple of nights before.