A Real Magazine. News, Writing, Interviews from LadybugBooks.com.

Patricia Rose Gilles is a freelance writer and poet residing in Eden Prairie, Minnesota. She has been writing for nearly thirty years. Her poetry has been published in many places including LadybugFlights. She has two children a son who is 30 and a daughter,twenty-one. Watch for her book of poems, Echoes of the Moon Flower, to be released through LadybugPress this Fall

This is actually a true story, but has all of the elements of good fiction so we thought you wouldn't mind if we took advantage of this space this month when we have so much to include. ~Georgia

Signs of Life
from Georgia Jones

This is a full-length novel so you will see a chapter a month in here, but if you can't wait to see how this turns out, Signs of Life is now available at the Kindle Store.

CHAPTER XV

The neo-Nazi kid was in custody. Lainey sat with her injured arm gingerly cradled on the sturdy arm of her chair. Her chair, her living room… It felt better here; everything did.

Detective Martinez had brought her home. She could come down and sign the complaint later. He had witnessed the attack, so her presence was only a formality. What was he doing there? She had had the audacity to ask him if he was following her, even after he had saved her life. Maybe he had not actually saved her life. She might have been badly injured, but not killed. Who knew? Since neither had happened, the worst would be assumed by her, and by him, too, she suspected, in gauging her indebtedness.

His explanation of why he was there was strange and, even he realized, incomplete. It was something about an anonymous call and a feeling. She knew that she had Elinore and the Santera woman to thank for that. He was not following her, though. She felt better knowing he had respected their agreement.

There was an instant this afternoon when she realized, or thought she had realized that her life was threatened, that some ominous force was determined to see that harm was done, harm to her. And she had wanted to fight back. She had felt anger of an intensity she had never experienced before, and in the instant she had seen, without knowing she had seen, the faces of her attackers. She had seen them broken and covered with blood, dead and dying. Lainey did not like admitting it even to herself, but, in her mind at least, she had killed those boys, not nicely, or neatly, or even justly. She had imagined them dying painful deaths and enjoyed the process she imagined herself inflicting. She did not want to feel that way again, ever, and she did not want to remember it now.

Lainey remembered looking around when it was over and realizing that Elinore and the Santera were gone. She was not called upon to protect herself or to test the line between anger, imagination, and the reality of action. It was that, as much as anything, for which she was grateful.

Billy Bartman was in custody, she thought with a great deal of satisfaction. It was only temporary. There was no court system in the world that could make his kind of hate go away, but for the moment at least he was off the streets. Lainey relaxed in her chair and dozed for a few minutes. Those pain pills made her drowsy but the pain was better. It had receded to a dull thump, like a sledge hammer beating in her arm. That did not sound like much, but it was an improvement.

She was startled to full awareness by a knock at her door. She clutched the arm of the chair in a reflex spasm of fear, unaware, for a moment, of the wilting pain that returned to her arm. The two sensations, pain and unreasonable fear fought for her awareness, but neither won. Lainey cursed, under her breath, at the pain, and shook herself back to a more normal state of control.

Billy Bartman was in custody. A knock at her door need not mean danger.

She looked through the peephole and was surprised to see the sleek dark hair and pale face of Andi Chen. Somehow, in her search for the child, she had managed to put Andi out of her mind. Odd, she thought, since she is the client.

She opened the door.

Andi looked startled by the bulky bandage and drained look on Lainey's face but did not ask any questions. Lainey assumed that Marty had probably told everyone what happened… Was it only this morning?

"Hi. I'm sorry to bother you." She apologized, not because she was sorry, but because, now that she was there, she did not know what to say.

"It's not a problem. I should have called you earlier." Lainey gestured toward the couch. Andi crossed the threshold with some reluctance and sat down where she was directed. Lainey should have been thinking about calling Andi; the look on Andi's face told her that.

"I know you've been busy, but I, we haven't heard anything about the baby and…" Andi finished the sentence with a questioning look.

"There isn't much news, but it isn't bad." Lainey did not know how true that was, but she hoped.

"What do you mean it isn't bad?" Andi's hesitancy turned to suspicion.

"I mean there isn't any bad news, but I still think it might be a good idea to call the police. It's been too long."

"No. I want you to keep on it."

Lainey was exasperated. What more could she do? She had found the child and lost her again. Andi did not know that, but she did know that Lainey had nothing to go on. It was her fault. "How can I work on it if you won't tell me what you know?" She demanded, tiredly.

"I don't know what you want me to tell you." Andi stated, stonewalling again.

"See what I mean?" Lainey started to get up. She was tired. Her arm hurt and her resolve to find the child in spite of Andi had slipped. Nothing that Andi said helped to renew her enthusiasm. This was not an investigation. An investigation followed facts to a conclusion. There were no facts here, only deceptions. Lainey looked at her friend and wondered what dark secrets were behind her eyes. They would have to remain secret. There was nothing more she could do.

"You have to…" Lainey was struck by the sharp, physical power of Andi's desperation, clear now in her voice. What was it she was not telling?

There was a knock at the door. The two women stared at each other for a moment.

"You have to help me." Andi pleaded quietly as Lainey looked toward the door and the repeated knock.

"All right," she sighed, and looked through the peephole.

It was Becca.

Which one of her friends had informed her mother of her situation, she wondered. It did not matter. Becca was here and that was an unavoidable fact.

"Hello, mother." She opened the door.

"I have to go." Andi mumbled and slid past Becca. "You promise?" she asked Lainey as she went. Lainey nodded.

Becca watched Andi go, and then marched determinedly into the room. "Not another Lainey-Hunter-Girl-Detective-rescue?" She demanded, but did not wait for the denial she knew would be Lainey's answer.

"You should be lying down." Becca announced. "Have you eaten?"

The dizzying energy that Becca put into her care for the next few hours reminded Lainey of why she loved her mother, and why she could not stand to be around her. She submitted to her mother's orders like a small child. It felt good to be cared for, to have everything she should be doing dismissed as unimportant next to her own comfort and happiness.

Marty looked in some time during the evening. Lainey heard his voice. He spoke to her mother at length, and she remembered hearing them talking about Robert's funeral. That was tomorrow, she remembered. Had she ordered flowers? No flowers, contributions to Hospice. She would send another check tomorrow. There was nothing to do then. They had all been ready for Robert's funeral for a long time. It seemed such an unpleasant thought. In a sense, they had buried him before he was officially dead. But Robert, the man they cared about, had been dead for some time and it was hard to deny it. She was too tired to feel guilty about that. Too tired to wonder what she was going to do about Mayin. Too tired, even, to imagine what Andi's secret might be.

She drifted in and out of sleep, always waking to her mother's comforting presence. It would be nice to make someone feel that way, safe and cared for, Lainey thought, as she finally closed her eyes for the deep sleep she craved.

Her arm hurt when she woke, but not as badly as yesterday. Maybe she could make it through the day without those pain pills that made her so groggy? Her mother had left a basket of fancy rolls for her breakfast and orders for Marty to come upstairs as soon as he heard her moving around. Lainey suspected that this last was as much for Marty as for her. She was dreading the funeral, and, if it was painful for her, how much more must Marty be feeling. The hours before Robert's service would be among the hardest ones for Marty.

Lainey remembered her father's funeral. Becca had been indomitable in public, but she heard her mother crying, alone in the room her parents had shared. To a child who had just lost the father she adored, her mother's tears seemed false. Who could have loved him as much as Lainey had? But her mother cried in private, shedding tears that would not bring sympathy. Her mother was a public person. That she could suffer, and that she would suffer alone made it important, and mysterious. Lainey had to consider the depth of her mother's loss and it frightened her. She never understood how such feelings could be survived even though they were, and often.

There would be more people than Marty could handle after the service, but now he would be alone, his most vulnerable time. Lainey was glad that Becca had thought to ask him to take care of her. It was good for both of them.

CHAPTER XVI

The sky was still gloomy; appropriate for a funeral. Lainey and Marty took a taxi to the church. Neither of them felt like talking and there was nothing that needed to be said, so they sat silently in the front pew waiting for the other mourners to arrive. As they arrived, most of them came up to Marty and touched his arm or hugged him. Lainey had held his hand in the cab on the way over, but now she sat to one side, allowing him the dignity of his singularity, and his other friends the comfort of consoling him.

Robert had asked Kurt to do the eulogy. When he approached Marty about it, Marty had refused to discuss it. There was nothing he could say, he told Lainey later. "I couldn't think of a way to put all that he was, all that he was to me into a few words. It's better if someone else does it." Lainey was not sure he was making the right choice at the time, but, as she watched Marty listening to Kurt talk about Robert's life, she decided that he had been right.

Robert had insisted on only one eulogist and no flowers. Lainey had wondered if his insistence on simplicity might make the whole thing worse than the pomp he was determined to avoid. But Marty had the church filled with candles in contrast to the gloom outside, and the choir sang Marty's favorite hymn, "Amazing Grace." The ceremony was simple, but special, and not at all stark or depressing.

"He left the 'little details' to me." Marty smiled his conspirator's smile when Lainey observed that the ceremony was different than she expected. He will be all right, she thought, getting her own comfort from the service.

They were driven to the cemetery in the limousine provided by the funeral home. Only a few of their friends went to the interment. Marty had given Kurt the key to his apartment and asked that anyone who wanted to go straight there go ahead.

The weather had turned cold to add to the gloom and what looked like a serious threat of yet more rain. Lainey suspected that Marty wanted a private moment before the final handful of dirt, and planned to stay in the limousine. She slid into the roomy interior of the vehicle, expecting to sit close to Marty, to hold his hand and provide some comfort, but the hard anger she felt from him stopped her. Lainey sat at the far edge of the seat, the space between her and Marty like a void.

Why was he angry? Had she done something to offend him? That was her fear as much as anything: her own feelings about Robert's death, about death in general. The thing she worried about, the thing that frightened her was the possibility that she would do something to make it worse. It was the same fear she had felt in the hospital, waiting for Robert to die, that she would somehow make it worse.

Had she done that? Marty stared determinedly out the window, his back turned to the space between them, creating the cold, resisting any warmth she tried to focus his way.

When they were almost there-she had watched the stone pillars at the cemetery entrance move past her own window. When they were almost there, Marty said, without looking at her, "I know you wanted the machines turned off."

Lainey could not respond. What would she say? Yes, she had wanted what Robert had wanted. She had wanted him to die in his own time, when his body chose not to live.

"I would have asked for a few more hours," he said, and she felt the anger behind his hurt. He got out of the car then, alone, and followed the casket, carried by cemetery personnel now, to a place where a hole had been readied. A hole. What else could she call it?

She watched out the window as he bent to the casket and then straightened and turned to walk back to the car. Robert had instructed that the only ceremony be at the church.

Watching Marty reminded Lainey again of her father's death and that sometime, sometime sooner that she wanted to think, she would be loosing Becca. The unfairness of it overwhelmed her. She wanted to shout at someone. Who could she blame for death, though? It just was, whether she liked it or not and grief seemed such a small answer. There must be more that can be done, she inquired of the cosmos, not really expecting an answer because she knew that there was none. I do not want to be left behind again, she thought.

When Marty came back he looked in the window at her and smiled reassuringly. Lainey noticed that it was usually the one who was in the most pain who took on the burden of helping. And now Marty smiled at her and said in the disparaging tone he sometimes used about his life, "I didn't throw myself in after him, if that's what you're worried about." They both laughed. It helped.

The ride back into the city was silent at first, then Marty cocked his head and looked at her sideways. If she ignored the red rim around his eyes, Lainey could almost pretend that things were back to normal. "I talked with Becca while you were sleeping last night," he said.

Lainey's shoulders heaved with resignation. Was this going to be another lecture about her life?

"She said I shouldn't worry about you so much. She said that you usually know what you're doing, what's right for you. She said she's proud of you." To Lainey's continued silence, he added, "I just thought you'd like to know."

"Thanks." She answered, and choked back a tear. This time, he held her hand for the rest of the trip.

Detective Martinez was waiting for her when the limousine dropped them off. Marty said a quiet hello followed by a polite goodbye and went inside to the gathering of friends in his apartment. The detective apologized for barging in on the funeral.

"I thought you'd want to know that Billy Bartman is out on bail, but that a condition of his bail is that he stay away from here and from Linda's house. We'll be checking to make sure he does that."

"How's her father?" Lainey asked.

"He'll be fine. How's your arm? You should be resting, you know."

"It's better, well, enough that I can get around without the pain pills."

Now that her case was solved, he really had no reason to be there, yet he seemed to want to linger. "Do you want to come in to Marty's with me?" She asked to be polite.

"No. I just wanted to let you know about the neo-Nazi." He hesitated again and then turned and got into his car. Before he pulled the door closed, he appeared to have an idea and stepped back out, striding up to her with that jaunty confidence that aggravated her so much. "I hope you're not still operating without a license?" He demanded.

"Don't worry. I promise not to get arrested on your watch," she shot back indignantly. He smiled happily and got back in his car. He even waved as he drove away. Well, I'm so glad I could make your day, she thought, but her aggravation stimulated action as well. It was time she went to see Elinore and found out what was going on, but she had to see Marty first, to make an appearance at the wake.

Marty's apartment was crowded. It was like any other party in every visible way. It was only the invisible presence of Robert that made it different. Lainey slid between closely pressed bodies, dodging cups and paper plates and responding to greetings as she went. She had to hold her arm up, like a carefully balanced tray to avoid a painful bump. Marty was in the bedroom alone.

"You couldn't have done any more. Nobody could. He was doing what he chose." She tried reassurance again.

"Yes, and he chose it over me." Marty's anger was close to the surface again and Lainey had to remind herself that it was a normal reaction that did not require any action from her.

"I don't think he saw it that way."

"It doesn't matter, really, not now. Besides, he left me with a battle of my own. I have to get ready to leave for DC."

He paused before adding, "Everybody needs a period of mourning Lainey, even little girls. I wonder if the Countess knows that."

Lainey started to protest, but the words would not come.

"You're looking for death and there's no reason for it. Look away, Lainey. Look at life for a change. You'll like it. That's what I'm going to do when I finish my mourning." He lifted a glass her way as a dismissal, and Lainey hurried from the room, indignant but determined to be tolerant. He was in pain after all and circumstances would propel him forward no matter what he decided.

Lainey thought about the letter on the walk to Elinore's flat. She did not want to think about what she must say to Einore and Marty was her concern-more than any client could ever be. The letter was from the Department of the Army and was addressed to Robert… You would think the Army would know that Robert was not at the apartment and that he could not respond to a letter anyway. Marty opened it.

"How did they know?" He demanded at her doorstep that afternoon.

"What? Who knows what?" That was before she was a detective so she did not feel any guilt in not understanding.

"Don't ask; don't tell. Robert is certainly in no position to tell and I never would… They say he can't be buried in a military cemetery. He's not even dead yet." Marty looked like he had been kicked in the stomach.

"Then forget about it for now."

Robert's funeral plans had included space for the usual military falderal but none of it would happen. Marty was determined to see that he was awarded the flag even if it was too late for the burial plot and ceremony. Marty's plan was to leave right then for Washington DC to meet with his and Robert's representatives and, as he put it, "get something done about this injustice." Lainey convinced him to wait. Robert needed him. There would be time later.

Neither Marty nor Lainey was ever sure who it had been who notified the Army of Robert's untold status. It might have been a nurse, another patient, or anyone who had seen the parade of Robert's friends who had come to the hospital, or Marty's own appearance at the bedside of the man he loved. They had obsessed over the culprit for a while, but, now, Marty was focused on what he could do to honor Robert's sacrifice and his choices. One thing he knew for sure was that he would be working like a hellion for everyone's right to marry… It had been so hard, not even having the right to be with Robert without someone else's permission.

Of course, there was some good fortune there, since there was no way the military could bill him for the care they now claimed Robert had no right to. Only Robert's condition, which did not allow for legal competency had kept them from Dishonorably Discharging him and leaving the injured soldier on the street or in a public ward at some lesser establishment.

She found Elinore's door open. It would have seemed odd, but Lainey sensed that she was expected. She fingered the crystal around her neck, whispered a prayer for the right direction, and started a painful climb up the stairs… Maybe she should have taken those pills. It was dark at the top of the landing and she wondered if she had been wrong about being expected.

"Come in, my dear." Someone called from the turret room in the front. It was not Elinore and it was not Wild Mountain Man. Lainey hesitated. "Come in daughter of Oshu`n." The voice called, but Lainey still hesitated. How could it mean her? Perhaps they were expecting someone else?

Footsteps behind her sent a cold wave of fright up her spine and caused her scalp to tingle. She almost turned and ran back down the stairs.

"It's me," Elinore's tiny voice reassured her. "Come meet my guest."

Lainey strained to see the pale face she trusted. It was Elinore. "What?..." Lainey asked, unsure of the rest of her question.

"We'll explain everything." Elinore stated with a note of irritation that seemed more real and calmed Lainey's fright. "You are right to be cautious," Elinore continued in a more sympathetic tone. "Not all powers are for good."

Lainey was ushered into the turret room, which, at first, appeared to be empty. Then the Santera stepped forward out of a shadowed corner and held her hand toward Lainey who met her in a completely prosaic handshake.

"My friends Lainey Hunter and Anna Fernandez," Elinore announced.

Lainey looked at the woman. She was, as before, neatly and expensively dressed. Up close, Lainey could see the weight of her gold jewelry and the grace of her beautifully manicured hands. She wore a cream-colored suit with a yellow scarf around her neck, and, if Lainey did not already know better, she might have taken her for an office worker or professional woman. The only hint of her dark path was a necklace of small beads, a series of five yellow beads separated by one red, barely noticeable under her scarf. Lainey did not know its exact meaning, but she was certain that this was a sign of office or power in Santeria. Were her questions really going to be answered, Lainey wondered, or would they evade?

She looked into the dark eyes that seemed to see everything, even through stone she remembered thinking the first time she had been captured in their depths. "You were with the child…" Lainey began as boldly as she could.

"All in good time," Anna Fernandez announced and sat down on the couch, nodding to Lainey to sit next to her. Elinore remained standing at the doorway where she had stopped.

"First, the boy will not try to hurt you again. You are safe from him. " She nodded toward Lainey's bandaged arm. "We have taken care of that for you."

Lainey looked at her suspiciously. She knew enough about the practice of magic to know that nothing was ever done without payment. What did the woman want from her?

"You will know in time." The woman answered her unasked question. "For now, you should know only that we are daughters of Oshu`n, you and I. You must never eat or give away a pumpkin or pumpkin seed. It is your mother's plant and she would be offended."

Lainey imagined from the woman's tone that it would not be a good thing to offend this Oshu`n and nodded her agreement.

"You don't have to be a believer to be loved by your mother." The woman stated flatly, clearly irritated by Lainey's lack of understanding.

Lainey looked across the room to Elinore. Surely she would make sense of this? But Elinore stood quietly waiting for Anna Fernandez to finish her explanation.

"You will bring the child's mother to a tambor."

Lainey recognized that this was an order. She did not know what a tambor was, exactly, but her own experiences allowed her to guess that it was a gathering of some kind. She was unsure about bringing Sonia to any ritual gathering. How could she take care of her there, where she did not even know what to expect herself? Lainey could not take that responsibility.

"I will come, if you want me, but Sonia…"

"Sonia is not the child's mother." The woman interrupted.

Lainey looked at Elinore again. This time Elinore nodded slightly, and Lainey knew that what the woman said was true. She knew it, too, because it made sense. It was beginning to make sense. Andi was Mayin's mother. She had seen it in the child's eyes. It was even clear in a photograph-to anyone who was looking for the truth. Lainey could not believe that she had been so stupid!

A few minutes later Elinore's voice from behind her startled Lainey. "You must go home now. It is time to say goodbye to a friend."

Lainey turned to ask what she meant, but Elinore was already out of the room. There were footsteps in the hall, quick, purposeful steps, and then Elinore appeared in the doorway again. She was carrying a book and held it out for Lainey to take with her.

Anna Fernandez had risen from her place on the couch and stood, framed by the arc of the turret window. As Lainey stood to go, Anna stepped forward and pulled her to her chest, embracing her, pressing her left cheek against Lainey's and then pushing back so she could pull her toward her again and press her right cheek against Lainey's. Lainey almost pulled away from such familiarity from someone she still did not know if she would call friend, but she could feel the power of Anna Fernandez and was caught in its web. When Anna stepped back from her, Lainey felt that this woman had given her some degree of cautious acceptance. Whether acceptance by this Santera was good or bad, Lainey did not yet know.

Lainey took the book Elinore offered, pausing in the hope that she would get some explanation for the strange warning she had just been given. She had already said her goodbyes to Robert, but this was not about Robert. She saw that in Elinore's face.

There was plenty to think about on her way home. Why had Andi abandoned her baby? Anna Fernandez had answered some of her questions, had filled in facts, but she had chosen not to tell her why. Perhaps even she did not know, Lainey speculated.

Andi's stepfather was a babalawo, but Andi had chosen to have nothing to do with the religion. That made it even stranger that she should get involved with the American, Eugene, because he was in Brazil to achieve an initiation. Andi's stepfather must be widely known in Santeria circles for Eugene to go all the way to Brazil to be in his tutelage. Lainey wondered what this initiation involved, but she had been told that the secrets of Santeria were not going to be opened to her.

So, Andi had become involved with Eugene and she became pregnant. Lainey was told that a divination was done over the baby prior to birth and it had foretold that the child was to be a Santera. Lainey imagined that Andi had objected to the process, both the divination and the determination that her baby was supposed to be important in a religion she rejected, but, somehow, her cooperation had been gained.

The bus stopped at one of its normal stops and Lainey leaned forward to determine what the delay might be. How could it be taking so long? Elinore said she should be home now. She should have called a taxi. The bus started forward again, and Lainey winced as she was thrown back in her seat.

The book Elinore gave her lay on her lap. It was a blank page book that Elinore had filled with quotations and thoughts, with prayers, and maybe even spells. Lainey knew it was a very personal possession and could not help but wonder why Elinore had chosen to give it to her, and why now?

She let the book fall open to a page at random. The first thing that caught her attention was a quote from a Chinese Zen master: "Nothing is left to you at this moment but to have a good laugh."

Read this feature from past issues.

Getting Schooled and Glued

School has been in session for a month. There has been a flurry of testing and placement for each subject for the kids. Due to budget cuts, class sizes are larger than normal. Rigorous academic requirements came out in force the first week of school. After a summer of reading programs at the local library, Emily's reading helped make her one of only two in her class to know all of the first grade sight words. When she came home to let me know she had passed all the "color" words, I thought she meant: yellow, purple, etc. and was pleasantly surprised to find out it meant all the sight words. Finding fun girly books for her new found reading skills has included some of my own childhood favorites.

Statewide academic testing has forced teachers to teach to the test because of merit awards and preferred class placements. Students will even receive grades based on their test performance at the end of the year. As part of a southern state that always has lagged behind the nation, I am not sure that moving from 45th place to 44th place in the country is worth the obsessive push-to-the-test. A nearby state is currently involved in a cheating scandal that involved teachers, administrators and the superintendent. Inner city kids were unaware that adults were changing their test answers. It is a sad statement on the state of education in our country that administrators and teachers feel so pressured that they take an eraser to honest kids' tests.

Joel came up with homework for me to check before he turned it in and I discovered that he had surpassed my academic memory. He asked for me to check it over and I stammered that I didn't know the answer and would have to look it up. Thinking that the internet would net me the answer quickly, I headed to the computer. Before I had a chance to look it all up, he had drawn me an in-depth diagram explaining the homework problem. The southern influence also came through in his recent spelling test. He had "biathlon" as one of his words. Even though he knew how to spell it; the southern drawl of his teacher added an unfamiliar and extra "a" between the "h" and "l". He heard "biath-a-lon". I have a feeling that the cheating administrators and teachers had some of the same mentality and sadly, probably could have done even better in their cheating efforts.

Changes unrelated to academics include Joel's need for a Trapper Keeper and subsequently a larger backpack that weighs nearly as much as he does. As the kids have grown, their tastes have changed as well. Cartoon character shirts are slowly losing favor on their wardrobe choices and feathers have replaced Silly Bands as the current trend. I assumed that fourth grade classrooms wouldn't need much mom help but have been pleasantly surprised to find that the increased class size still offers me the chance to help. I was also astounded that find that Emily's class needed 24 glue sticks each which totaled nearly 500 glue sticks for the year.

I remember as a child needing one new box of crayons, some paper and a few pencils with school beginning after Labor Day. Fourth graders don't even need crayons anymore; the elusive green highlighter has entered Joel's supply list. State testing is being pushed harder than it should be. School begins far too early with students laboring for nearly a month before the holiday weekend. Some things have remained the same. In our school district, the kids still say the pledge of allegiance and have a moment of silence each morning. The kids are reading sweet, classic books from thirty years ago that are a refreshing switch from vampires and wizards. I can still smell the waxy scent of crayons in the hallway. When I took a seat at Emily's desk, I felt my knees fold up under a table that didn't fit me anymore. In the thirty plus years since I was in elementary school, I no longer fit but still know the basics. The return to simplicity in some areas is refreshing while the push-to-test influence and supply is too complicated.

However, when Emily's teacher showed me the storage she had to buy for the enormous stash of glue, she also let me know they had used one third of the glue sticks already. The paper pile that has already come home does have a lot of glue on them. When I count our home glue sticks, maybe the school has it right with their supply list. I have officially been schooled in all things adhesive and with Joel's help, academic.

Read this feature from past issues.

Our guest columnist this month is Douglas E. Noll, author of Elusive Peace: How Modern Diplomatic Strategies Could Better Resolve World Conflicts.

On Higher Consciousness and Peacemaking

As a professional peacemaker, I am intrigued by the relationship between spiritual practice, higher consciousness, and the existence of peaceful relationships between human beings.

Higher consciousness is a concept of a spiritual transcendence at the core of various mystical traditions. Higher consciousness may refer to the awareness of an ultimate reality, a super consciousness (Yoga), an objective consciousness (Gurdjieff), a Buddhic consciousness (Theosophy), a cosmic consciousness or God-consciousness (Sufism and Hinduism), and Christ consciousness (New Thought). Generally, the concept of higher consciousness is associated with transcendence, spiritual enlightenment, and union with the divine. It often includes a sense of connectedness with universe and all living things.

In a secular context, higher consciousness is usually associated with exceptional control over one's mind and will, intellectual and moral enlightenment, and profound personal growth. In the positive psychology movement, higher consciousness may be called flow.

Peace is not the same as higher consciousness. Generally, when we refer to peace we may mean that there is an absence of conflict between human beings, that individually we experience calmness and serenity, and when something occurs that could disrupt our serenity, we are able to respond appropriately to it.

Peaceful relationships between people also do not imply the absence of conflict. It does mean that when conflict inevitably arises between people, they choose to approach the conflict from a place of cooperation, collaboration, and caring rather from a place of defensiveness, selfishness, or fear. One of the best terms I have found to describe peaceful relationship is shalom, the Old Testament concept of right relationships between people.

Interestingly, people sometimes assume that if they experience higher consciousness, they will also experience peace. The experience of higher consciousness may be a momentary, one-time event or it may be a continuous perception that guides one's life. The nature of human existence, however, guarantees conflict. Thus, having any sort of higher consciousness does not guarantee the absence of conflict with others. This is true if for no other reason than not everyone experiences the same degree of consciousness as a person who has a transcendent experience. After all, Jesus was murdered because of his transcendent perspective.

What higher consciousness offers us in terms of peace is the ability to choose how we will respond to the conflicts around us. If we are unconscious, we will default to our biology. This biology has been designed to protect us from danger. It has no ability to distinguish between physical, emotional, and social threats and can therefore be very reactive. If we go through life in a relatively unconscious state, we are allowing our fear reaction systems in our brains to dictate our decisions and ultimately our quality of life. Cultivating a higher consciousness, whether spiritual or secular, may give us a way out of being slaves to our biology. By becoming self-aware, we can watch our reactivity objectively and make conscious choices about how we wish to interact in the moment. This is the essential teaching of many spiritual leaders: be present in the moment.

Creating peace where conflict exists is a completely different set of skills than cultivating higher consciousness.

Professional peacemakers spend years gaining life experience studying human conflict, practicing interventions, engaging in multidisciplinary academic research and study, and testing practices in the real world. Out of this develops a body of knowledge that informs peacemakers about the best practices for creating peace. These practices include convening conflict parties to a peacemaking session, de-escalating emotions, managing difficult conversations, overcoming cognitive biases and deep-seated beliefs, developing mechanisms for effective problem solving, reaching agreements, building trust, and providing accountability mechanisms to make sure the people do what they say they're going to do.

Cultivating higher consciousness is essentially an individual effort. Unlike peacemaking, which is a group effort, meditation and other contemplative practices designed to facilitate transcendent experience is an individual effort. It may be done in a group setting, but it is still singularly one's inner work. This work does not guarantee peace with others. It certainly does not develop the skills necessary to create peace in highly conflicted environments.

Developing higher consciousness and developing peacemaking skills are therefore two very different activities. While they may be complementary one to another, doing one does not require doing the other. And, gaining mastery over one does not guarantee mastery of the other. Therefore, we would be wise not to confound our spiritual journey towards transcendence with our desire for peace. This is where spiritual practice and religious tradition go off track. When a spiritual or religious practice proclaims that it holds the path to peace, without teaching any of the secular skills and knowledge of real peacemaking, it is setting us up for unhappy results. Every religious tradition promotes peace between people in some form or another. However, we know from practical experience and observation that the existence of these religious traditions does not in any way guarantee peace. Sometimes, the opposite is true - religion is the cause of war and violence; not its solution. On the other hand when a spiritual practice or tradition guides us towards a personal transcendent experience that shapes our perception of reality, without making claims about peaceful relationships with others, it is being honest and authentic about its relationship to peace.

The take away seems clear. If you are interested in developing peaceful relationships in your life, study and learn the art and skill of peacemaking. If you are interested in transcendent spiritual experience, study and practice the techniques of the spiritual masters. Do not expect one to lead to the other.

Doug Noll is an attorney that focuses on peacemaking and moderation rather than litigation. He is the author of several books and gives tips on negotiation, peacemaking, and conflict transformation.

Read this feature from past issues.

Now you tell me which one looks more like a family?

One of my earliest parenting groups met in an elementary school in the poorest part of Baltimore City. The meeting room was just big enough to accommodate the 16 moms and me seated around a long metal folding table. The building was old and decaying. The water fountain in the hallway was covered with duct tape and a sign said, Do Not Drink. The windows were broken and dirty and the smell of rotting food emanated from a trashcan outside the cafeteria. When I asked one of the moms why she stomped her feet as she walked the hall, she said it was to frighten the mice away. We wore our coats during the winter months because the meeting room was not heated.

The first day there, I distributed required forms for the parents to fill out. It didn't take long to notice that some were not filling them out. I was about to ask why when one mom intercepted and rescued me, saying she forgot her glasses. It became clear, they could not read or write. I asked if they would tell me a little about themselves, and when the first mom said she was from South Carolina, the room filled with laughter. Turns out, most of them were also from South Carolina, and since this was the first time they met each other, it began to sound like old home week. They wanted to tell me "how it was back in the day."

Seems they brought a little bit of South Carolina with them when they came north. They told me about the "pot of beans." In each of their homes, they cooked a huge pot of beans and when a child was hungry, he and she took the big wooden spoon that stood straight up in the middle of the pot and ate until they were full. "No dishes to wash, no pots and pans, no jumping up to get the ketchup and the salt every minute," I said with a little feigned envy. They knew I was being lighthearted and they appreciated my acceptance of them as they were, where they were.

Later the same day, I facilitated another parenting group in the suburbs. Here a group of ten, well-to-do, educated women and I met in a cheery, brightly-lit library with coffee and cookies set up by the enthusiastic principal. The walls were covered with murals and the overflow books stood piled high enough to reach the top of the door jamb. The contrast between the two buildings was painful.

One day, out of the blue, I was summoned to the office of one of the administrators of the parent education program, Mr. Bill. He had heard what transpired that day in the group. His voice was serious, his look was serious, and he scared the heck out of me. "What the hell are you doing down there?" I heard myself stammer, "Uh, uh, huh?" "You heard me," he yelled back, "I said what the hell are you doing telling those ladies that it's okay for them to be feeding their kids from a pot of beans on the stove. Why aren't you trying to raise them up - raise up their standard of living? They ought to be eating like a family, around a table, with dishes and . . ." "Wait a minute, Mr. Bill. Let me ask you something. Who's going to buy the dining room table for them, or the dishes or the pots and pans or the forks and knives? They are doing the best they can with what they've got and if I can show them a little support and make them feel that they are doing okay as parents, then that's what I'm going to do. Now let me tell you something. I go to a school in the county on the same day and these are upscale folks who don't eat with their children around a table either. The fathers are out at business dinners and the moms are busy with their own activities. And the kids eat tv dinners by themselves. But the city moms have an evening ritual. At bedtime, everyone gathers in the living-room and the oldest child reads to them from the Bible. They sing gospel songs and they pray. So they don't have a dining room table, but they come together to listen to Bible stories and they sing and pray together. Now you tell me which one looks more like a family?"

After a little pause, Mr. Bill said, "Get the hell out of here." I took that as a vote of confidence.

Molly Koch is reprinted here with permission from Baltimore's Child Magazine. You can also find Molly at mollybkoch.com and keeptheconnection.org. Contact Molly with questions, comments or suggestions for this topic.

Read this feature from past issues.

Self Worth and Money

It's real easy for one's self worth to be severely challenged with the recession. When there is a question as to whether you can stay in your home for another month it's normal to experience uncomfortable feelings of fear, loss, uncertainty, confusion, and frustration. It's like these feelings run from your brain through your stomach and just sit there. Sometimes they go on downward and make your legs wobbly.

You are at the poop end of a terrible recession and along with all the lousy feelings of low self worth there's a strong sense of not living up to your own expectations. The Republicans are stuck on not raising taxes for those making a couple hundred thousand dollars a year. And you're thinking, "I'd just like to be able to make $40,000. The guy earning over a hundred thousand dollars doesn't think twice about spending $80 to go out to dinner, yet that same $80 would buy your family groceries for almost a week. In the grocery store, you choose the $1.99/lb plum tomatoes rather than the plump $2.49/lb tomatoes. There are many many decisions like this everyday that weren't there when you were employed. And you wonder, "Why are the Republicans addicted to not raising taxes for the rich?"

With all the confusions and uncertainties you question your sense of self worth. In your mind you run through all the choices and decisions you've made. If only you had taken the other job or position. If only you had not put any money in the stock market. If only you had stayed living in an apartment instead of buying a home. If only you had taken more initiative at your job or career. The if onlys are never ending. You lie awake at night and your days are boring and uneventful. No one is hiring. Jobs don't exist. You either have too much experience or not enough. You'd like to start your own business but have no idea what to do, how to do it, or where to get the money to start a business.

You're not even thinking of finding self worth as your self worth is down the toilet. You figure the only way you can get it back is to get a job so you can afford an apartment and not have to deal with handouts. You know that you are as good as the bastards making fortunes that laid you off. There's just no fairness. They go on making their hundreds of thousands of dollars and you have to beg for work to feed your family.

This is life for thousands of folks while the Republicans protect the rich from picking up their fair share of the tab. But that's not the real issue. The real issue is that the Republicans stale mate the government from moving forward which knocks the legs out from the confidence needed to grow the economy.

Nevertheless it's kind of a challenge to give self worth advice to someone who is in crisis. Pep talking someone into finding self worth in crisis is almost impossible. This is because most of us have been taught to feel good about ourselves when we accomplish things. We feel good when we have a good job or career, when we are able to provide for our family, and have enough money to take our family out to dinner we can feel good about ourselves.

Our self worth is totally dependent on how we judge ourselves to be doing. When we are blindsided by the economy and lose our jobs we feel like we are in the "poor house". But how else can one look at this failure? The fellow making $200,000 loses his job and he feels "broke," as opposed to feeling "poor." Does it affect his self worth? Answer: Somewhat but not nearly as much as the person who feels "poor."

Actually we are in the midst of a self worth crisis. And the recession only makes the self worth crisis easy. Why is finding self worth so difficult? Answer: Because as youngsters were were programmed to for low self worth. For instance, we were asked by our parents and grown ups, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

This provides a message to you, the youngster, that you are nothing right now and one day through what you accomplish or what you accumulate, or who you marry, or what degree of education you attain you will be somebody, but right now you are nothing. What more if you said you wanted to be a fireman or a policeman there was a chuckle and an insinuation that you'd make a great doctor or lawyer. The message was that blue collar workers are less than.

It's these messages that set us up for self worth crisis and the recession only makes it easy to happen. But just how do you get a sense of self worth when everything is against you? Answer: Building self worth is a daily choice that you make. First it's important to know, I mean truly know that each of us are a child of the universe. There is no one better than you and you are no better than anyone else. You are perfect the way you are. This subject alone deserves a chapter to fully get this point across.

Next is to realize that life has disappointments. In fact life is more often about the plans that fall through than it is about the plans we make. Loss of job, or making a mistake in the stock market, and so on are huge disappointments. The problem is that we become our lost jobs, poor decisions and identify with them. The goal is to feel and experience the emotions that go along with the disappointments and to choose to like you too. The problem is that we often avoid or resist feeling the emotions and stay stuck in them. The other benefit is also that when you choose to feel and experience the emotion the emotion disappears and creativity surfaces. With creativity comes answers to difficult problems.

In summary it's to say, "I'm disappointed with the (situation) and that I feel frustrated, upset, depressed and so on and I still like me. I am a worthy and capable person and always profit from my mistakes"

Richard Kuhns B.S.Ch.E., NGH certified is a prominent figure in the field of stress management and personal change http://www.DStressDoc.com and www.PanicBusters.com. He aims to redefine how we build self esteem. To find out more please visit SelfEsteemCure.com and claim your free monthly stress management bulletin-a $99 value-for FREE.

Read this feature from past issues.

NEW from our own Richard Kuhns

The Scale Conspiracy

It's a fact-95% of all diets and weight loss program fail. Why?
Answer: No, it's not the bathroom scale conspiring against you as it sometime seems. It's that the overweight person has a thinking (suggestion) problem or a problem dealing with certain emotions.

Are you a compulsive habitual eater, a compulsive emotional eater, or self defeative eater?
Answer: At any given time you may be one of three types of eaters (compulsive or not). The Scale Conspiracy in easy to understand terms empowers you to identify the type of eater you are at any given time. Then using specific easy to use common sense techniques and suggestion (self hypnosis too), you will handle it successfully so that you may remember you used to have an eating issue but forget what it felt like as you shed weight permanently.

Warning: Reading this book will provide you the means to build self esteem such that you will feel great about YOU even on the worst "bad hair day" imaginable.

The Scale Conspiracy

THIS MONTH:

Poetry Corner

	
		
Poverty

We've worn our social agendas out,
confused our minds with narrow thought
and constantly find fault. 
We blame others for happens
even things we've brought 
                        upon ourselves.
We do little for someone else,
never seem content
with who or what and where we are.
We form definite opinions,
judge and reject people
without ever knowing their reality.
We turn our backs on one another
and rarely share what joy 
we manage to secure.
We're impoverished by our lack of care,
yet are aware that in our circuitry
life's interpenetrating energy 
hard-wires us 
                        for compassion,
                        a radical proposition
that the opposite of injustice is 
not justice
but kindness,
and we really want just this: 
to take each other by the hand,
changing what we do, doing what we can.

L.A. Paveling

I live with my partner Andrew Gillert, a landscape photographer, in the center of Canada's beautiful capital city, Ottawa. My interest in writing began at an early age with a straight pin, scratching the newly-learned letters of my name into the flawlessly veneered surface of my mother's dressing table. Decades later, I'm still scratching out fresh words and ideas on a laptop. For me, poetry is language, and image, and sense, and sound unfolding to interpenetrate the deepest experiences of our lives. I think when we use words to locate reality in the present moment, our perspective shifts, and we see life's interconnected matrix in all it's subtle complexity.

PS Lesley Anne has been working out in the Writers Room. Join her there!

Read this feature from past issues.

US must do more to protect women from domestic violence
UN rights expert warns
from UN News Center

23 August 2011 –
The United States must do more to protect women from domestic violence after a regional body found it wanting in defending a battered woman and her three murdered children from her ex-husband, an independent United Nations human rights expert warned today.

“The US Government should reassess existing mechanisms for protecting victims and punishing offenders, and establish meaningful standards for enforcement of protection orders and impose consequences for a failure to enforce them,” the UN Special Rapporteur on violence against women, its causes and consequences, Rashida Manjoo, said.

The case at issue involves Jessica Lenahan, a victim of domestic violence along with her daughters Leslie, Katheryn and Rebecca Gonzales, ages seven, eight and 10, who obtained a restraining order against her ex-husband Simon from the Colorado state courts in 1999.

Not knowing where her daughters were, Ms. Lenahan contacted Castle Rock Police Department eight times on the evening of 22 June and the morning of 23 June 1999. That morning, Simon Gonzales drove his pick-up truck to the department and fired through the window. In an exchange of gunfire he was killed. The dead bodies of the three girls were found in his truck.

The Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACR) found that the fragmented police response did not respect the terms of the restraining order, and that Colorado state did not duly investigate Ms. Lenahan’s complaints. It called on the US to conduct a full investigation into these systemic failures and reinforce through legislation the mandatory character of protection orders.

Ms. Manjoo noted that she conducted a fact-finding mission to the US earlier this year. “In my discussions with Government officials, victims, survivors, and advocates, including Jessica Lenahan, I found a lack of substantive protective legislation for domestic violence victims in the United States, as well as inadequate implementation of certain laws, policies and programs,” she said.

While landmark US legislation such as the Violence Against Women Act exists to address the high incidence of violence against women, “there is little in terms of legally binding federal provisions which provide substantive protection or prevention for acts of domestic violence against women,” she added.

Ms. Manjoo acts in an independent, unpaid capacity and reports to the UN Human Rights Council in Geneva.

Get information on Domestic violence and violence against women at LadybugBooks.com

We invite any of you to contribute on this subject. We feel it is important to continue the discussion of domestic violence.

Read this feature from past issues.

We are looking for your stories remembering women's history. Send in your story and we will publish it.

Exceptional Women are Our History and Our Future:

Women

Learning to Bring Change
Adult education programs from Heifer International

Read this feature from past issues.

A little bit in writing about what's happening at
LadybugLive.com and TeenTalkNetwork.com

Help Wanted

This is the most difficult column to do each month... There is always new audio to talk about and it is never a single topic to tell.

Help Wanted: We are always looking for new talent but our most pressing need is for talented teens who want to gain confidence, maturity, something special for a college or first job resume—even credit to help with scholarships. We know there are plenty of talented teens out there but it takes a very special one to do a show for TeenTalkNetwork.com. We are open to subject, are primarily interested in enthusiasm; we can teach everything else! If you know such a teen, talk to him or her and pass on Georgia's email: Georgia@ladybugbooks.com.

Serious and Entertaining
We have it all

LadybugLive Hear It All Here
Be sure to check on TeenTalkNetWork.com, too!

This Month:

Dr. Sky has a whole list of great new guests and this month has been exceptional!
We seldom talk about Dottie Moore but it isn't because her guests aren't special. They are. Take a look at the environmental artists Mary Ellen Long (currently displayed) and Angela Manno and others in the library. Don't miss the activism of building contractor Traci Jo Isaly, also in the library.
Follow Desiree Nelso as she grows up. Desiree was one of our exceptional teen hosts and hs continued to document her life, now that she is in her early twenties, on LadybugLive.
We all want to know what to expect. Listen to Jim Dellicolli for answers.

Dr. Christopher Russell
Principal Investigator of the DAWN spacecraft mission to astroids
Find out more at DAWN.jpl.nasa.gov

LadybugLive, Audio, Webcasting, Web Casting

Know someone who might want to be a host at LadybugLive or TeenTalkNetwork.com?

We are always looking for new hosts so if you know someone who has something to say... There are lots of benefits to anyone hosting a program and for the teen who can do this, not the least of them is the experience itself. It's a great gig for any teen!

We know online radio is new to many of you but we also know how rewarding it can be. So, if you need help to get started, don't hesitate to contact Georgia for help... And, hey! Our hosts love hearing from you!

Our teen site, TeenTalkNetwork.com programming is safe — no porn or other unwanted promotions are attached to our files.