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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The Sound of Being Heard


Have you ever done something you wonder if you'll regret later? Not that it was the wrong thing to do. But that you just didn't think through the repercussions thoroughly beforehand. It's that feeling when your chest gets tight and begins to echo an otherworldly vibration reserved for Martians entering the wrong atmosphere. That's what I did.

I live in a little world right now. My surgeries keep me pretty much confined to my bed. Being confined to a bed without handcuffs is rarely interesting. But how much trouble could one get into when it's just you, in bed, with your laptop, and the internet. Wait. Now that I think about it...

What I'm trying to say is, writing is my release, and connecting with others through meaningful reflection is my daily goal. I just sometimes forget that others are involved.

My husband didn't fall in love with a blogger. I was a single mother with two small children, blond hair extensions and large breasts. So imagine his surprise when she turned into a flat-chested,dark-haired pixie-cut blogger with a big mouth. Ok, I've always had a big mouth. On the inside. Maturity just made it more noticeable.

I think that is the difference between youth and maturity. When you're young, you're too scared to say what's on your mind. When you hit forty, the fear of not saying something important, is greater than the horror of keeping silent.

A reporter emailed me about my letter. It was almost midnight, and I emailed him back. To help clarify the letter I had blogged about lions and tigers and bears.

I should have said "no-comment". But I've never been a no-comment kind of gal. I associate that with people behind black umbrellas who had done something wrong. I am human. But wasn't the whole point of my letter about being human?

So I sit. And sweat. That somehow I may have done something that someone in a big chair may not approve. But the only apology I have is to my husband. Who never asked to fall in love with a girl, who turned into a woman, with a voice on her sleeve. And on her blog. And throughout the internet. Who inadvertently struck a vibration felt by many, who for too long, had never felt the sound of being heard. And for that I am grateful.

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