The Soldier and the Squirrel introduces children to the Purple Heart

through a loving story of a friendship between a newly wounded soldier

and Rocky the squirrel with his backyard friends. This story began as a

blog during my first year in bed after my incident. With much

encouragement, it is now a book and has been placed in the

Ronald Reagan Presidential Library & Museum. Please watch the video

on the About page to learn for the Soldier & Rocky are changing children's






Glorious Rejoice Dots Glitter





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Feed-ing Acapulco

I love acapella, but could never spell it. Until I wrote this. I was going to write about how much I love it, until spell-check brought up Acapulco. Then I wondered, why am I not in Acapulco? In a swimsuit, laying on white sand with my stomache sucked in 'just so'. Taking pictures of my manicured toes so I can Facebook my moment of euphoric bliss. I would post it, but not to make my friends feel bad. It would be because perfect moments so rarely happen, that with them comes the urge to scream to the world that something good is happening. That there is a moment somewhere in the world where life is ok. For a moment. Like when you hear good Acapella. If I were in Acapulco listening to acapella I might just split in two with happiness. As long as it's good acapella. Otherwise it would be like having food poisoning at the opera.

My heart swells when something good happens. It's a visceral reaction to tell the world that it occurred. That life's not all bad. It's not all flu and catfish. There's good out there. That never makes the news. That's why we have Facebook.

I Facebook when I want to feel good. Where I can look at other people's toes and feel a delicious jealousy reserved for hope. The kind of hope mankind could use. When most of the news is sad. It's amazing how the heart can ache, like two sides of a coin. How love and hate can come from the same place. I don't want to turn away from what's wrong with the world. Otherwise it will never change. But isn't it a glorious thing when we can stop to revel in something that's right? Like my friend's upcoming trip to Secrets. An image of new school in Haiti. My neighbor's children holding eachothers' shoulders in a photo from Disneyland, even if they didn't speak the day before. For that moment, a mother sees her children how her heart sees them. Perfect. Even if the world will never see what she does, posting it on Facebook says she cares about what others think of her life. I do. It's so hard to be alive and do it right. To live a life we were raised to live in magazines. My mother had Red Book. I have Pinterest. Which both inspires and depresses me. Like learning to spell acapella but not being able to do it.

So I live for the moments that aren't set by experts, but just my friends finding moments of perfection in their own lives that are beautiful even if bordered by imperfect bookends we don't ever get to see. It's what's between the bookends that is exquisite to me. Because it gives me hope as it swims up my feed. That others are searching for hope just like me. In our lives that aren't simple. Or easy.

Someday I'll make it Acapulco. Until then, I'll be nourished by my feed. And applaud my friends for posting things that make their heart ache in a good way.

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