I’ve never heard that about Saddam, Bella. Unbelievable! On our trek to Peace, seems to me we have to look at the dark sides of us human beings — acknowledge that they exist and go on from there. Otherwise, we’lll never make it — in my view.

Ah, Maggi — like that boy. Pretty good Mom, too. :):):):)

‘Mugsilicious”, Ms. Dee. Zum folks got soul and a twinkling spirit that barges in from time to time. Loved that word & the poem.

Nice poem, Jeanette. The Tibeteans (sp) say that ‘spirits’ run around looking for a copulating couple when they want to come back in human form. Just imagine, all those little ‘spirits’ flitting about. Those Tibeteans may be right. What happened in China the other day is beyond immagination. Not sure I can even attempt to understand how the people must feel. I understood though, that the government was right there trying to help, as opposed to the Myramar situation. One thing that earthquake might help to change is relations between China and the rest of the world or even some of China’s practices practices, their behaviour towards Tibet and Taiwan. Think it will ease ill feelings at the Olympics and maybe give the Chinese government second thoughts about a lot of things.

Oh, Lily, we knew that. :):):):)

Thanx Esther Bradley-DeTally — GREAT NAME — I hesitated to put my poem up as Mark IS still alive, but went ahead anyway. Glad it was not seen as inappropriate. We moms do understand. Thanx for your understanding.

Thanx, Arlene. God’s blessings back.

Thanx for your kind words, Ms. Dee. We’re having a bit of a problem at our house right now — Mark’s depressed and I’m overwhelmed. So support like yours feels very good! :):):) I got so mad at the world last night, I was up until 4:00 a.m. this morning. Fussin n fumin, ranting and raving, cussiin and duming — all by myself. Even Emmy de grouchy Himaylan went to bed; zumtimes I think that cat usless. Up early today, stirring up trouble and prying loose solutions for both of us — for all of us in the TBI community. Thanx again.

UUUUUUU, Patrice — I hates good stackies like you. My desk, too, is — well, can we say, full! AND I CAN’T FIND A DURN THING! Ah, zum peeple is zo lucky to be zo organized. Well, anyway, I applaud you. Maybe zum day I’ll make it. Pray fer me! P.S. Hope y’all realize I’m just playing here. Don’t hate Patrice, ur anyone else for that matter, but shore am envious. P.P.S. I’m sure Liz understands my plight. Thank you, Liz. You gotta DESK too!

Guess only person we can trust is M A R K K L E I N! Hip, Hipp, Hipppp Hooray!

What a lesson for everybody, Flora. Thanx. I’m still raging, not sure I’ll ever stop.

My thoughts to you and your family, Arlene. Way too much pain.

My poem about one difficult period in the early years after the accident. Shattered Son You slam your manhood against these walls, shake this house and threaten our foundation. And, yet, I understand. I watched it grow; chucked it to a tempered beat that rolled like mercury underneath your skin, this sinewy vibration that hums this ancient song and coils — a golden snake, eager to unfold. This tamed, untamed pronouncement that bellows; This careful mold once formed and held to shape by some fine- tuned, magic will now confused and trapped in crushed and severed cells. This ancient tune that roams your spine and howls against submission. Be still my son, I cannot hold these walls. C Jenny Houston, Fairfax, California, August, 1987 P.S. Some people might see sexual intonations in this poem. I was not physically attracted to my son, it was his intelligence and power that I loved. Just thought I outta be clear! :):):)

There is nothing worse than having something happen to one of your children. Thankfully, my son, Mark, was not killed by the drunk driver who hit the car he was riding in, but I did not know whether he would or would not live for a couple of weeks. Now he is alive with a traumatic brain injury that took from him the life he had worked so hard for and determinedly intended to live — as a famous drummer. But who knows, he was so strong-willed, so self-disciplined and persistent, and such a ham — or scuse me, Mark — such a performer (He really was). He is also tall, dark and handsome. After the first five years after the accident when, as my daughter said, all my time, energy and thought went to Mark’s situation, I knew that I had to find a way for him — and me — to have a life. I’m still battling that battle, jumping back and forth across the line — for him, for me, for my daughter and grandsun. Even so, as hard as it has been, I am glad, for me, that this incredible child is still alive. I’m trying to help him be glad, too. Not no easy task, but we’re, well me, are working on it. The life of your child matters so much; to see them hurt is beyond words.

I heard that many of the houses were left standing, but the brand new school just recently built and occupied came down and killed so many of the children therein. What to say?