Category: Compassion

Compassion

I. Am. Appalled.

Lisa Burbank

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I dedicated you, a prophet to the nations I appointed you. ‘Ah, Lord God!’ I said, ‘I know not how to speak; I am too young.’ But the Lord answered me, say not, ‘I am too young.’ To whomever I send you, you shall go; whatever I command you, you shall speak. Have no fear before them, because I am with you to deliver you, says the Lord.” (Jeremiah 1:5-8)

Nope. Not another blog post, article, or commentary, either for or against, the recent overturning of Roe v. Wade. Doubtless, you’ve already read enough of them to last you three lifetimes. Nor do I intend to argue when does life start. Doubtless, you’ve already made up your mind about that one, too.

It’s neither the headlines nor the emotional responses to them that appall me. This is a hot button topic. I expect emotional responses…as do our politicians. But that’s neither here nor there.

What appalls me is the direction of those emotional responses.

Babies are hated in today’s society. Truly hated.

I *get* having a medical condition that might necessitate having a pregnancy terminated. I *get* a rape victim not wanting to carry a child that she conceived in the most traumatic way. I *get* failed birth control. I *get* economic hardship. I *get* not wanting a living tie to a partnership that may have ended badly, or even a one night stand. And I *get* how that spark, that lump of cells, or however else society may refer to the start of human pregnancy, may have come at an inconvenient time. I also *get* that, for many, the decision is not an easy one and may lead to a lifetime of regret later on.

What I don’t *get*, what I haven’t been able to wrap my mind around completely, is how so many others seem to sneer with the attitude that that “spark” got what was coming to it. How dare you invade my body with the expectation of life? As if, with the exception of rape, or incest, it’s inconceivable (no pun intended) that they had anything to do with how that spark got there in the first place.

Are we not teaching sex education in our schools anymore? Are we misrepresenting the possible fallacies of birth control as our schools dispense it to both children and young adults indiscriminately? (Yeah, I *get* that, too…)

Misguided blame. Somehow, the unborn is to blame for the predicament of pregnancy rather than the intimacy that came before.

Again, not arguing for or against the recent SCOTUS ruling.

I. Am. Appalled…by the venom being lobbed at the unborn, regardless of where one stands on this issue. Again, I *get* the heightened emotions. But, if that spark is not yet a human being worthy of any rights based upon his or her inability to survive on their own outside of a womb, how are they capable of blame in the first place? Their moment of conception might have felt magical to the participants at the time but, that spark, that lump of cells, that we can probably agree has no voice one way or the other, didn’t magically come into being by waving a magic wand in unformed hands, and crying, “Abracadabra!”. That spark of being isn’t growing in your womb to spite you.

Nor is it a malignant tumor, a cancer, as I have heard and read as an analogy all week long.

That’s what’s appalling.

Regardless of where we stand on this issue, where is the compassion? Has it been eclipsed by society’s campaign to equate that spark as a *thing* rather than, perhaps, a seed that, if not cut down by either miscarriage or abortion, *will* grow into a tiny human? Where also is the compassion for the young woman unable to conceive, even via in-vitro, or the young man who knows he’s sterile and will never father a child, who hears these comparisons and would give anything to be so “maligned”? On the other side of the debate, where is the compassion for the woman who makes the ultimate decision to terminate a pregnancy, is grieving the loss, and hears her sacrifice dismissed so nonchalantly, as though it was no sacrifice at all?

I blame technology for this lack of compassion. We can’t see the hurt in someone’s eyes, the crumpled face, the tears they shed. All we see is a screen, blank and expressionless.

I blame the erosion of family and a society that believes every child *deserves* to make the team…instead of teaching them how to deal with rejection, disappointment, and most importantly, how to take responsibility for their actions. I blame society, too, for the sense of entitlement everyone feels that says they get to do what they want without consequence, and not only heap vitriol onto those who disagree with us, but also seek to end another’s livelihood for not doing things *my* way or the highway.

And, yes, I blame the erosion of a belief in something, a faith in *Someone* greater than ourselves. Whether you call that *Someone* Allah, Ganesh, Buddha, Krishna, Goddess, Kokopelli, or Jesus Christ, or the doubtless many omissions I’ve made here, is irrelevant. That *Someone* calls us to that compassion for others; there’s not a single holy text, or religion, that speaks otherwise…even when we disagree with each other.

And, even if religion, or faith, is not your *thing*, please stop pointing the finger of blame at the lump of cells for the inconvenience on your life. I think it’s called adulting today…

May God (or whatever name you place upon that *Someone*) bless you & keep you!

Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Compassion, Culture, Diversity, Faith, Family, God/Jesus, Lent, Open-mindedness, Prayer, Religion, Understanding

Ramadan Mubarak

Lisa Burbank

To all who celebrate Ramadan, bright blessings to you!

To all who do not and are unfamiliar with Muslim traditions, today marks the start of Ramadan. According to Wikipedia, Ramadan is when the “beginnings of what would later become the Qur’an” were revealed to the prophet, Muhammad, by the angel, Jibril (or Gabriel in English).

Muslims everywhere arose today before dawn to eat suhur (predawn meal) and will fast from food or drink until after sunset when they will break their fast with iftar. They will also abstain from tobacco products, sinful behavior, and, again, according to Wikipedia (not always the most reliable source but usually a good starting point), remain celibate during this time. They will do this every day for the next month. In addition to fasting, Ramadan is commemorated with prayer, reflection, the reciting and reading of the Qur’an, and almsgiving. Ramadan begins with the sighting of the crescent moon and ends with the sighting of the next crescent moon.

I am always amazed at the level of devotion and commitment Muslims show in their celebration of Ramadan. As a Catholic, I celebrate Lent, which also requires prayer, fasting–albeit only on Fridays when we abstain from meat, and Ash Wednesday and Good Friday when we can only eat one full meal throughout the day–and reflection. However, I often fail miserably. Is it a lack of discipline in myself? Or is it a lack of community support? Maybe it’s a little of both. But, whatever it is, I can’t imagine the dedication needed to fast from sunrise until sunset.

That being said, I offer up my prayers to those celebrating Ramadan that Allah’s blessings be many this year.

And, for all of my brothers and sisters of every religion and walk of life, may God bless you & keep you!

Works Cited

“Ramadan”. Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramadan

Abuse, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Compassion, Culture, Diversity, Emergency Preparedness, Exhaustion, Faith, Healing, Homesteading, Human rights, Humanity First, Politics, Poverty, Prayer, Prepping, Social Media

I’ve Joined a Cult…or, So They Tell Me

Lisa Burbank

“There is a saying, ‘Love your friends and hate your enemies’. But I say: Love your enemies! Pray for those who persecute you!” (Matthew 5:43-44)

I have a different opinion than my “leftist” brothers and sisters. It is an opinion based upon news articles, and both independent and foreign news outlets, because I don’t consider our own mainstream media trustworthy. Their advertisers, who support their programming, are all too often big pharma, big tech, big oil, agribusiness, monetized green energies, and/or corporate America. That creates a bias. Who, in their right mind, is going to bite the hand that feeds them? As I re-enter academia to receive my Masters, I am reminded again that biased information is to be avoided…and how to tell if it is biased or not. I look for peer-reviewed information, when I can find it, and really dig down deep for any reason that might create a bias when I can’t find a peer-reviewed article on a subject. I’m not perfect, but I do my best.

Sadly, it’s becoming dangerous to think for yourself. Were the men who orchestrated The Boston Tea Party to rise up against the tyranny of the British monarchy today, like the Canadian truckers, they’d be labeled fascists and white supremacists, even with no evidence to the contrary. How dare you fight for individual freedom? Considering the outcome of The Boston Tea Party, it’s not much of a stretch to think that maybe the Canadian government is afraid of a similar outcome. They’re certainly afraid of a loss of control.

And, by proxy, so are our U.S. leaders.

These are scary times. That almost cliched expression of our Founding Fathers rolling over in their graves is apt; they would be if they could see us today.

I’ve been homesteading and prepping for years, albeit with some major setbacks (shoulder injury with subsequent job loss, pending foreclosure, zoning challenge). I see the hardships coming as big pharma, big tech, big oil, agribusiness, monetized green energies and corporate America continue to crush the working poor, the small business owners and the family farms by ever stricter regulations…with these shutdowns being the final nail in the coffin for far too many. I see the challenges to our individual freedoms, the hypocrisy of “my body, my choice” when it comes to ending the life of an innocent child, but how dare you fight for that same bodily autonomy when it comes to getting jabbed with something whose long-term affects are still unknown and that has neither stopped the spread, nor protected any from contracting, this new *bug*. I see the attempts to keep us divided, distracted, and ignorant.

An acquaintance of mine posted a picture on social media of her well-stocked pantry last October after she’d finished canning everything from her garden. Her post was tagged. She is considered a “radical” and “a person of interest”. For canning her produce instead of wasting it?

Or for independent thought and action?

So, I guess I have joined “the cult”. Like Senator Bernie Sanders, who embraced the “socialist” label, rather than rebel against it, I, too, will accept the label. You may disagree with me. That’s okay. Sadly, though, by labeling each other, we shutdown the time-honored tradition of debate and discourse that has been the cornerstone of any grassroots’ movement, of any significant change or advancement of our society. Closing the door to one’s mind only leads to a dead end.

Open the door. Open your mind. And pray without ceasing.

May God bless you & keep you!

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-this-animal-sanctuary-grow-and-thrive

Abuse, Animal Rights, Animals, Christianity, Compassion, Exhaustion, Faith, Healing, Homesteading, illness, Love, Poverty, Prayer, Understanding

Animal Caregivers Hurting their own Cause

Lisa Burbank

“One should be kind to a fainting friend, but you have accused me without the slightest fear of God.” (Job 6:14)

Yesterday’s angst-ridden post had a foundation in a recent bad experience at the local vet office. Though I aspire to become a true sanctuary (i.e. at some point I would like to earn non-profit, or at least, not-for-profit status), at the moment, I have only a simple hobby farm where I have been homesteading and prepping, and, yes, taking in the occasional stray or sob story and providing a forever home. I do this out of love for the animals. The money usually comes from my own pocket, even to occasionally going without myself to provide the care these animals need…and that’s not a complaint. I take great joy in this.

When I had my pet and farm sitting business, which all but dried up during Covid, I received recommendations that proclaimed me as “one of the few people they would trust with their pets” and “my bond with animals was almost spiritual” (almost?). Another close friend, and pet sitting client, refers to me as the animal whisperer, the cat whisperer, because I have managed to befriend even her shyest feline.

Well, Covid has done something else to our way of life: there’s been an influx of unwanted (or, more likely, unable to care for due to home and/or income loss) pets. Shelters, spay/neuter clinics, vet hospitals are being overrun.

As are small hobby farms.

In the 20 years that I have been here, I have had the occasional stray show up. I’ve had a few just dumped off here. Six years’ ago, I actually caught someone running away from the window of my house one night, only to hear a cautious “me-ow!” under the window moments later. That cat became Priscilla, whom I lost in December 2020 to the Seresto collar issue I mentioned in an earlier post. She was pregnant at the time; hence, being left under my window. Ozzy and Emmylou have been beloved pets since they were born in August 2015. They have been spayed/neutered, received their shots, and are now on Advantage for fleas.

Last year, Mossy and Willow, two young kittens, showed up on my doorstep. A little shy, Mom and I watched them chasing leaves in the yard, worked to gain their trust and, using a Have-a-Heart trap, managed to get them into the house. Though I guesstimated them to only be about 5 months’ old, Mossy, the female, had a litter of kittens shortly thereafter. As Willow was a male, and knowing female cats can get pregnant almost immediately after birthing, I called my vet to get him in. The best they could do was book him 2 months’ out for shots; the neutering would be another month or two longer. We didn’t have 3-4 months to wait. By then, the 4 kittens she’d just birthed would be old enough to breed; that was a nightmare waiting to happen.

Northeastern Connecticut’s Petco store has a mobile cat unit that does low-cost spay and neuter clinics. I called. I got an automated message saying they would not be taking new patients over the next couple of months. I called another similar organization out of Hartford; same result. A friend recommended her vet who only does cats and is relatively inexpensive. Score! Willow was taken in, given his shots, neutered, and is now growing fat and happy in his forever home.

That was in May.

In August, I finally(!) managed to capture Zelda and one of her babies, Sox. I say “finally” because Zelda showed up shortly after Mossy had her babies. Extremely lovable and affectionate, I moved to pick her up to take her in and noticed she was nursing. Where were her babies? I tried following her; she wasn’t leading me to them. We kept the food supply going and, in late-June, early-July, discovered she’d birthed them under our back deck. I tried picking them up to get them in the house and to a vet (I live on a major interstate; as young as they were, I feared they might wander out into the road; it’s happened too many times here in the last 20+ years). Zelda went from lovable and affectionate to protective Mama. I put some Have-A-Heart traps out, kept them baited with food and treats…and caught half the raccoon and skunk population, but not any kitties. The wildlife were released without harm…except maybe to their pride.

Sadly, I came home from work one afternoon to discover one of Zelda’s kittens had been injured. I took her to the vet; her leg had been broken in two separate places (no, she did not get it caught in one of the live traps; I only set them up when I was home because I didn’t want anyone getting trapped while I was away at work and spending the day in it during summer’s heat); she had to be euthanized. I ramped up my efforts to capture Zelda, Sox and Shooz. One morning in August I managed to get Zelda and Sox; Shooz avoided capture but, she kept coming up to the living room window, meowing to her mother and brother. Despite numerous attempts, I could not tempt her into the house, or into one of the cages or traps. Then around 11 p.m. Shooz made a running leap, knocked the screen out of window and became my first breaking and entering case; she refused to be separated any longer from Sox (they have such a bond!).

Two days’ later, Zelda had 7 more kittens.

Jerry, the only boy born to Mossy, turned 6 months in October; he was neutered, received shots, treated for fleas and mites, etc; Sox, who is a little younger, was likewise cared for in November. Shooz, and Jerry’s 3 littermates are all female. As there are younger kittens up and coming, I have delayed spaying them. All are indoors and all of the males have already been altered; there is no danger of any of them getting pregnant. The plan has been to get the little boys in Zelda’s 2nd litter neutered then go back and focus on the females.

However, one of Mossy’s daughters, Bootsie, came down with a parasitic blood virus last week. Though we have Advantage for them, according to this new vet, Advantage and Revolution, the only two flea meds safe for both cats and rabbits (we are The Herbal Hare…) are losing their efficacy; hence, the reason we were still seeing the occasional flea. I took her in for treatment.

Because she is not yet spayed, I was treated like a piece of sh** by the receptionist (the vet was wonderful!); there is no polite way to describe it. Even when I explained the situation, the woman gave me such an attitude that, were it not for worry over Bootsie’s condition, I would’ve marched away and taken her back home. Had it been a routine visit, I most surely would have left. I realize, because my best friend is a vet technician, another friend is a retired vet, and countless other friends work in rescue and foster animal care, that they encounter countless cases of neglect and backyard breeders on a routine basis; I am neither. Mossy, Willow and Zelda were either dumped off on the farm (and this is a regular thing that most farmers also experience on a routine basis…), or wandered in from somewhere else, and I’ve been trying my darnedest to give them, and their babies, the best care possible…only to be abused by her attitude and obvious judgment.

It has seriously stressed me out.

I can’t help wonder if this is why they showed up in the first place. Did previous owner(s) keep hitting the same road blocks I did when searching for assistance in getting them spayed/neutered? Did they run up against an attitude by a tech or vet who scoffed at them as being nothing more than a sob story? Again, I don’t doubt they hear them but, even before Covid, I’ve been put off for weeks from getting shots/alterations. I’ve been told a shelter is full and not admitting any new animals. And, the one time I managed to reach a live person on the phone about getting help when Ozzy and Emmylou came into the world, I received a similar attitude by the woman who runs the place.

Isn’t this a little counterintuitive to the animal rights’ movement?

With these new guys, I’m going with the first scenario: they were dropped off. Zelda’s obvious affection and comfort around humans tells me she wasn’t a feral cat. And, while there was no sign of Zelda when Mossy and Willow first arrived, it’s kind of odd that Bootsie is Zelda’s spitting image, while Zelda’s daughter, Shooz and Mossy are often mistaken for each other. Perhaps Sox and Shooz were not Zelda’s first litter. Perhaps she spent nearly a year trying to fend for herself and being depleted while birthing one litter after the other. And, by the way she plays like a kitten herself, I’d guesstimate she’s not more than 2 years’ old. This last litter had to be bottle-fed she was so depleted. It’s heartbreaking. And here I am trying to do a good thing for them all and getting abused for it by the people that are supposed to be the good guys.

I touched yesterday about how the Lord seems to be stripping away all of my idolatry, my judgments, etc. I used to judge others ruthlessly when it came to animal care. Granted, my family seldom spayed or neutered their pets. Even now Mom doesn’t entirely *get* why I’m so driven to get these babies into their respective surgeries, get them vaccinated, etc. I grew up making frequent trips to the local dog pound (there weren’t “no-kill” shelters then), walking by cages labeled Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, etc. and knowing by Tuesday next, all of the animals in that kennel would be gassed. It was a sobering experience for a little girl and is the driving force behind my commitment to help as many animals as I can.

But I judged just as ruthlessly as I was judged last week.

“They’re lying; nobody dropped that cat off on you.” (happens all the time, especially to farmers)

“That shelter didn’t refuse those kittens; they wouldn’t do that.” (No facility has endless space or bottomless resources to feed and care for these animals)

“Your vet didn’t tell you it would be at least a couple of months before they could do the surgery.” (Most vets are perpetually overbooked striving to squeeze in as many patients as they can, not just for the money (though there are some that do that, too) because they care about their health and well-being and don’t want to turn anyone away who might need their expertise to survive; they know how much you love your pets; they want to help)

And now it’s happened to me…and more than once. It’s created a unique perspective. While I have connections in the animal care sector who, yes, are exhausted and overwhelmed and broken-hearted themselves for all of the hard luck cases they see, I’m also being made aware that, like everything else in life, there’s another side to the story. And, incidentally, if you’re low income, or simply fallen on hard times, I guess you’re not supposed to have any pets at all to bring you joy; that’s only for the elite who can afford to spend thousands of dollars all at once. These same “caring” animal care workers will wrinkle their nose at you like you’ve just trodden in something disgusting.

Yeah, I’m angry. I’m also hoping my post here will shed some light on these two different sides and maybe, just maybe, we’ll offer a little more compassion to each other and realize that most folks are doing the best they can.

Incidentally, Bootsie has made almost a full recovery and is on antibiotics. She’s not the easiest, and I have to call the vet to see if we can get an injectable form of the antibiotics as I believe that will be easier to get in her; I’ve lost almost a pint of blood trying to oral treat her. But she is under their care and we have a new flea med recommendation that will, hopefully, protect any future viruses from emerging.

If you would like to help with Bootsie, or these other babies, please click the link to our Go Fund Me campaign. Please keep us in your prayers. Send positive vibes. Many thanks in appreciation!

May God bless you & keep you!

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-this-animal-sanctuary-grow-and-thrive

19th century, Abuse, Addiction, Alcoholism, Animal Rights, Animals, Appreciation, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Compassion, Creativity, Emergency Preparedness, Environment, Faith, gardening, God/Jesus, Gratitude, Healing, Herbs, Homesteading, Love, Plants, Reading, Religion, Self-esteem, Writing

X to have Z…

Lisa Burbank

“For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not from you; it is the gift of God; it is not from works, so no one may boast.” (Ephesians, 2:8-9)

I want to be a writer, but I have to have some other career to support it, I have to do something else besides write…well, not all of us can be the next Toni Morrison or Stephen King so maybe there’s some truth to this one…but there must be something defectively wrong with me to not have found another career option that I feel just as passionate about…

Like some of my favorite authors who write 8 hours a day, I have to carve out 8 hours of my own to dedicate to my novel, my blog, etc; I can’t be a writer if I don’t write every day for 8 hours a day…even with a “day” job and a small hobby farm and the need to eat, sleep and, well, you know…

Like a favorite singer/songwriter, I do my best writing at 3:30 a.m. so, if I don’t get up at 3:30 a.m. every day to write, I’m not doing my best writing?

I can’t run a used bookstore; I won’t make enough money from it to support myself; I need another career to supplement it (it’s like the writer thing…)

I want to rescue animals, to offer them sanctuary–and often do–but, I’m a single female and I’m in danger of becoming a hoarder–or so the media tells me. If I was married, or a man, and still took in the occasional stray cat, and the free-to-good-home rabbits and goats, etc., found forever homes for some and offered a forever home to others, because their original humans were being evicted and no longer had a home to offer them, would I NOT be in danger of becoming a hoarder?

I want to homestead, to grow my own food and produce my own clothing, to live as sustainably as possible and lower my carbon footprint, but I don’t have enough land, enough money, enough knowledge, and I have to start right here…well, I have, sort of, but I’m also facing foreclosure myself so there’s a bit of apathy getting in the way. Why keep investing here when here may soon be gone?

In my youth, I wanted to be a rock star but, I didn’t keep my guitar strapped to me day in and day out. I only spent an hour or two each day practicing after work, so I guess I must not have wanted it so badly…

When I worked in living history, I told myself I didn’t know enough about either herbs or gardening to manage an heirloom herb garden. I felt like a fraud and everyone would find out eventually that I didn’t have what it takes. It’s called Imposter Syndrome; I just learned about it in my first class as I work towards my MFA in Creative Writing…

I made a mistake 10 years’ ago and rushed headlong into an abusive relationship with someone. I knew better, saw trouble coming a mile away, heard the voice of Reason in my ear saying, “Walk the other way” and ignored it; gave him a chance. I no longer deserve God’s grace…or His love…or the love of another man should I ever meet him…

These are the lies I tell myself, among others. Having just turned 55, “I’m too old” is another…even with the evidence before me that age has nothing to do with success or love or, well, anything…except maybe wisdom and experience, and the appreciation that usually comes with them.

“I’m not worthy” is the overall underlying message in each of these. I have to *earn* it. And, yes, if I want to write, I have to write. If I want to grow food, I have to plant a garden. If I want to be taken seriously at any endeavor and meet with success, I have to do the work. So, these things I tell myself each day have an undercurrent of truth and practicality ringing through.

The Serpent is cunning, to say the least…

There are conditions to everything, especially when you grow up in a house with addictions and abuse. A loving Father is an alien concept. And, no matter how much love, support, etc. you receive from others, that nuclear family unit that consists of parents, siblings and yourself, has the power to shape your way of thinking for life. So, it’s no wonder I’ve tied myself in knots and can’t seem to get out of my own way. Writing books, selling used books, caring for unwanted animals (or those on the receiving end of someone’s hard luck), homesteading and prepping, even learning an instrument by themselves may not be *enough* income to survive, let alone thrive, but together? Or, even if I still work a “day” job, I’m not allowed the joy that each may bring to me?

They’re idols.

That’s another lie echoing through my mind. The Lord has brought me to this place because I’ve made “idols” of animals and books, and I’m trying to live self-sufficiently, which means I’m not relying on Him…or so I’ve heard said. To punish me for this “idolatry”, He’s going to whisk it all away. Hence, the impending doom of foreclosure and zoning challenges…

Who would follow such a God?

Or am I wrong? Will I be stripped down to nothing? Am I being taught another lesson in not judging others for decisions they’ve made during hard luck circumstances? Again, I don’t deserve His grace because I haven’t always given grace to others…

Praise God we don’t get what we *deserve* for our mistakes. Ultimately, I know there’s nothing we can do to *earn* his grace; it is already freely given but, my faith needs a good bolstering today.

May God bless you & keep you!

19th century, Animal Rights, Animals, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Compassion, Creativity, Environment, Faith, gardening, Gratitude, Greenhouse, Healing, Herbs, History, Homesteading, Plants, Spices, Straw Braiding, vermicomposting, Weaving, Wool, Worm castings, Worm Tea, Writing, Zero Waste

The New “About”: The Herbal Hare Tomestead and Animal Sanctuary

Lisa Burbank

“A home for misfit animals and books, and makers of herbal, apian, and natural fiber products.”

Sanctuary – Focuses primarily on small livestock and pets that are being relinquished due to zoning regulation issues, foreclosure, or eviction.

Tomestead – A different sort of “rescue” or sanctuary, one that keeps used books out of the landfills.  The bulk of the books will be from donations.  Patrons will have the option of in-store credit (20% off purchase) or a check for 20% of estimated resale price.  Campus will consist of re-purposed sheds, RVs, trailers and/or mobile concession booths.  Each upcycled building will host a different genre, or subject(s) and be themed accordingly.  Additional outbuildings will host various natural fiber, herbal and apian products produced on-site and throughout the local community.  topography will include a 9000 square foot heirloom herb garden where walks and talks will be hosted; a petting zoo featuring some of the rescued animals at the sanctuary, and a cafe featuring menu items that would have been popular in the 19th century.  Proceeds from sales will be re-invested into the business, as well as providing for the care of the animals.

The Herbal Hare – Farm side of the campus will host various fiber-producing animals, in addition to rescues, such as sheep, goats, alpacas, and rabbits.  Spinning, weaving and dyeing demonstrations, herbal workshops, and “bee” school are future offerings.  Fibers will eventually expand to include basket weaving, chair caning, and straw hat making, and sericulture (silkworms).  Herb store will eventually be expanded to include a couple of greenhouses for growing heat-loving spices, such as cardamom and turmeric; mushrooms; microgreens, and sprouts.  

     Planned fiber products – primarily yarns and some woven products to start.  Straw hats, baskets, silks and linen in future.

     Planned apian products – honey, beeswax, candles

     Herbal products – seeds; dried and fresh herbs; young plants; skin care products; scent mixes and tea blends

All facilities will be zero-waste.  Reusable bags, boxes, upcycled Mason jars will be available for patrons.  We will also seek out compostable wraps, containers and utensils for our envisioned cafe. Compost will be re-purposed in the herb garden and future greenhouses.

Where is this wonderful place?  For now, it’s on the drawing board awaiting either an angel investor (or two) to help with start-ups, or a great, big pot of luck!  

What expertise do I bring to this endeavor?  Besides being a writer, I am a certified herbalist who worked in living history, both as a volunteer and as paid staff, for many years where I learned spinning, weaving and caring for natural fibers, and straw braiding for the making of hats.  I am also a Master Gardener with the University of Connecticut, and a librarian.  I have been rescuing and giving sanctuary to unwanted animals for much of my adult life–over 35 years!

This is my dream. With God’s grace, it will one day be a reality.

May God bless you & keep you!

PS The link to my Go Fund Me campaign to make this a reality:

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-this-animal-sanctuary-grow-and-thrive

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Happy New Year 2022!

Lisa Burbank

“For you have a new life. It was not passed on to you from your parents, for the life they gave you will fade away. This new one will last forever, for it comes from Christ, God’s ever-living Message to men.” (1 Peter 1:23)

I find myself unable to think of a word, or biblical phrase, to define this year. I’ve thought of “Intention”. “Trust”. “Discipline”. I need to work on all of these…and a phrase/verse from the Bible to help remind me.

Wow.

I guess I really am mired in depression. See? I need to work on that trust issue for sure!

But, as always, on New Years’, I like to take a moment to reflect on the year past and remember those loved ones who will never again grace The Herbal Hare in life.

Praise the Lord, my human family has been hale and hearty this year. =) However, we did lose the boss of the barnyard this past spring. Sgt. Feathers, my Polish crested rooster, is protecting his ladies in heaven these days. And while his sons, Radar and MIG, and grandson, Jeep, are doing their best to carry on with protecting our living flock, it seems strange not to hear his trumpeting anymore…followed closely by a little, squeaky half-pint of a crowing. Tank, the little Silkie, who, having followed so closely at Sgt. Feathers’ heels in life, followed his commander closely in death, too. I lost them within a few days of each other. With Sgt. Feathers, it had been expected; every day was a gift. He was quite old for a roo (10) and had started walking almost hunched over like the old man he was. Tank, however, is a mystery. No sign of illness or injury. But, because they like to peck the ground, parasites are always an issue…no matter how clean and careful you are with their environment.

Sgt. Feathers
Tank

We also lost two beloved felines this year.

Only a few days after I posted last New Year’s memorial, Mom’s cat, Rosco, left us. Rosco had an interesting life. He was found atop a house in Illinois during all the flooding in the Midwest over a decade ago. No clue who his owners were, he was brought to a local shelter. Mom and my stepfather were shopping at PetSmart one weekend. The store was hosting an adoption clinic this day. Mom saw Rosco and fell in love. But my stepfather said, “No, no more cats!”. She worked on him as they wandered the store and, as they reached the checkout, he relented.

But Rosco had already been adopted…

…by their upstairs neighbor in the apartment complex where they lived! Said neighbor did not take good care of him though. Mom watched in horror as this declawed kitty had his front paws intentionally raked over the rough bark of a tree, lost weight due to inadequate feeding, and lastly was kicked by the neighbor’s boyfriend. Mom saw them outside with him on a leash, marched over, picked Rosco up and walked away with him. When the couple protested and threatened to call the police, Mom challenged them to go right ahead so she and the other neighbors could all tell the police how cruel they had been to this little guy. Poor Rosco had to have his jaw wired from the kick. And had to be fed frequent, tiny meals for awhile until his shrunken stomach could handle more substantial amounts of food. He grew to expect the frequent feedings though. He was quite fat by the end of his days…except his tail, which stood up skinny and reminiscent of the wire used to guide the bumper cars at a fair. He rode shotgun on the dashboard of Mom’s minivan when she traveled across country from Missouri to Connecticut to move in with me back in 2014. His “hoot” will be missed (Rosco’s jaw remained misshapen due to the abuse he endured before Mom rescued him and he could not articulate a more traditional “Me-ow!”).

Rosco

Lastly, Kirby. We lost him in May 2021. Kirby came to “visit” for the first time in the spring of 2014. I heard some of the resident felines howling in protest in the kitchen, went to investigate, and saw a bright-eyed little face peeking in over the window ledge. He did this for several nights…all while I protested I did not *need* another cat. He probably belongs to a neighbor, he’s just passing through, etc. But he kept coming back. And, finally, I determined that, yes, God had planted another stray kitty in my path. I started feeding him, gaining his trust. It took a few months (!!??!) before I was able to trap him and get him indoors. And then another couple of weeks of him being isolated in a room by himself until I could get him to a vet.

He howled all the way to the vet office, ripped open his toes trying to claw his way out of the travel cage, and then shot out of the cage and placed bloody runnels down the exam room walls as soon as the doc opened the cage. He had to be sedated so she could examine him, patch up his mangled toes, neuter and give him his shots. I seriously thought this was one baby who was too feral for a forever indoor home.

He proved me wrong.

Mom had just arrived with Rosco and Max, her blue heeler we lost a couple of years’ ago, and Kirby and Rosco became bosom buddies, along with Paz, my geriatric tuxedo. Then, a few months’ later, when a pregnant Priscilla was dumped off on the farm, he minded her babies like the proud surrogate Papa he became to them. He, Ozzy, Emmylou, and Alice Cooper became inseparable, and he was a sort of ambassador to every poor feline this farm has taken in since.

However, I proved him wrong, too. I told him he would love laps someday…and I was right. Once he was reassured that he was loved and there would always be someone to care for him, he was the ultimate cuddle kitty. =)

Kirby with his adopted “sons”, Alice Cooper and Ozzy Osbourne (l to r)

Both Rosco and Kirby, Priscilla late last December, and earlier in 2020, my Pearl, all developed kidney and heart disease rather suddenly after using Seresto collars. I don’t know if there is a correlation, though I did see an article in USA Today in regard, stating that these collars are being linked to possible kidney and heart disease; I have not found the link to that article today but, I did find a more recent news article about how certain lawmakers are asking that these collars be recalled. There have been reported incidents in the thousands as regards these collars so, please, proceed with caution if you are using them for your pets. I have included the link below so you may read it for yourselves. My then-vet suggested the kidney and heart failure was simply due to their age. Granted, Pearl was 16 when she passed; Kirby and Rosco both estimated at 12-13 years’ of age. Priscilla, however, was only 7, a bit too young, in my opinion and experience, to be struck with organ failure. No sign of illness in any of them prior to these sudden downturns…and I do mean sudden. Rosco had been playing with me like a young kitten just 3 days’ earlier when all of a sudden, he just stopped eating and started shutting down. We have since found a new vet as the “old” one refused to take my concerns seriously when I voiced them to him. I may be wrong about the collars but, it seems, I am not alone in my concerns with them.

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/seresto-flea-collar-recall-pet-deaths/

Kirby; the best ones are the ones who choose you (sigh!)

In addition to these memorials, I think it is safe to say that 2021 was even more challenging than 2020. I’ve alienated a lot of friends due to my stance as regards mandating getting jabbed with something that neither protects one from contracting an illness, nor prevents one from spreading it. I’ve been a Democrat all of my life; I am seriously considering at least becoming “unaffiliated” as I cannot abide the hate and vitriol being spewed about by others of the party. The fear-mongering by mainstream media; the attempts to force us into a police, or authoritarian state; the lack of respect for others who do not share the same views have left a bitter taste in my mouth. I actually owe President Trump an apology for being so anti-Trump during his tenure. While he will never be a favorite of mine, yeah, it really was a witch hunt…one, I am ashamed to say, I contributed to widely on social media.

I don’t know what this new year will bring. The media continues to cry for the arrest, ostracism, and abuse of those who either cannot, or will not, take their (in my opinion) poison**. Gasoline is up to $3.60 per gallon here in New England for regular unleaded; I’m sure it will rise even higher as we approach summer. Empty shelves grace the local Walmart and grocery stores, and there’s sticker shock when you do find what you’re looking for. On a more personal note, while foreclosure is still eminent here at The Herbal Hare, I find myself even more committed to homesteading, and now prepping, than ever before. I cannot help but think a collapse of some sort is eminent. I pray I am wrong, but it doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing. Perhaps you’re all thinking, there goes another whacked out conspiracy theorist. But, maybe, just maybe, there’s something to those conspiracies. (No, I don’t think little green men are injecting tracking devices under our skin, but I do see changes in government, in our society, that make me think I may have to carry around special papers proclaiming myself “free” (passport anyone?), or don a special band marking me as some sort of enemy (face masks?))

However, I am committed to building a community of like-minded people, too. None of us are islands unto ourselves; we need community. Perhaps the word I’m looking for this year is “tribe”. Regardless of whether or not you agree with me on a social or political level, when all is said and done, this year I feel it is especially important to at least be kind to one another. We are all struggling during this turmoil. And our tribe, or family, is who we choose to care for.

But this is all just what I think. I invite you to share, whether you agree or not, in the comments below. I do ask that you be respectful of others, and of this blog, by refraining from profanity, name-calling, bullying or belittling; again, we are all one family, each a very special part of the body of Christ, none of us whole without the other. That being said, regardless of what you believe (or not!); how you look; who you love; socioeconomic status, or current “jab” status, all are welcome…to this blog, to this community, in my home and in my heart. We got through 2021 together, we can get through 2022 as well…and, hopefully, come out the backside of it in a much better place than we are going in.

Wishing everyone much love, much hope, peace, prosperity and, above all, a deep and abiding faith for the New Year! May God bless you & keep you!

**A note: though my opinion leans towards choice when it comes to matters of health, to everyone who has been *poked*, please know that I respect your choice to do so. It is your body and you have to do what is best for you and yours. I am not “anti” pokes; I am anti mandating personal autonomy. For everyone obsessed with forcing others to do as you do, stop for one moment, please, and think how you would feel if suddenly a mandate was issued that said you were no longer *allowed* to get poked, even though you feel in your heart it is the right thing to do for you and yours.

Again, may God bless you & keep you! Stay safe & stay free!

Abuse, Addiction, Animals, Compassion, Exhaustion, Faith, Healing, Human rights, Nature, Poverty, Self-esteem

Of Mice and Women…

Lisa Burbank

“I am leaving you with a gift– peace of mind and heart! And the peace I give isn’t fragile like the peace the world gives. So don’t be troubled or afraid.” (John 14:27)

This morning I watched Luna, Jerry and Sadie totally absorbed in catching a mouse. The tender heart here has learned just to let nature take its course. While I feel badly for the mouse, another part of me can’t help thinking, “What was that mouse thinking?” I am the crazy cat lady! Did he/she not smell the scent of feline before entering this house??? And then, if I gave in to the tender heart, captured said mouse, and set him/her free, he or she would only run right back in through whatever crack it came through in the first place. Mice are supposed to be intelligent creatures. That’s why we use them, and their rat cousins, in all kinds of mental health and behavioral studies (grrr…I hate vivisection!).

And then, for some strange reason, and it’s funny how these things come to you, I realized there’s a metaphor here.

You see, I was questioning the sanity of a mouse, the logic with which this tiny creature sought entry into a house, knowing by his/her quivering, whiskery olfactory that death awaited them inside. However, autumn is upon us. Chilly winds blow. Rain is falling, making everything wet outside. The scent of feline was overrode by the necessity of warmth that other senses undoubtedly picked up along with the scent of eau de ME-OW! Desperation for a warm place to over the coming winter won out over common sense (if mice even own such a thing as common sense; even most humans seem incapable of it these days…).

Again, I’m not sure how my mind went off on this tangent, but people do the same thing when it comes to abusive relationships. Maybe it’s not warmth (i.e. we may already have a roof overhead for the winter), but companionship. A fear of being alone. It could be economic struggles and the very real exhaustion that comes with it, wanting someone else to share the burden of this mortal life. And so…and while I know men also find themselves in abusive situations, I see more women friends going back…that seemingly intelligent woman either enters into a new relationship out of some sense of need, or worse, goes back to a relationship that had already proven itself abusive.

It’s this last where the mouse metaphor comes from. Like the mouse who’d been cornered by several felines, being batted about like a ping pong ball, who runs back in to those felines after being set free of their abuse, so often does the human run back. And, like the mouse whose intellect and sanity I questioned, those of us seeing this return to abuse, often question the sanity and intellect of the human who did likewise. Shame on us!

The good Lord humbled me several years ago with an abusive relationship. I used to judge those harshly who never seemed able to leave their abuser. I would scoff at their defense of, “But I love him/her!”

Until it happened to me.

No, I wasn’t physically abused by this person, though he threatened to do so at one point, but I endured a lot of mental and emotional abuse. And, still, to this day, wonder why I did. I, too, am an intelligent creature. Yet I stayed. And, yes, while it definitely wasn’t “The One”, there was at least a level of infatuation with this person. No, I don’t think the mouse loves my cats, or is even infatuated with them. But, like the mouse, I kept hoping things would change for the better…until I finally realized the only way that would happen was if I made the change happen by ending the relationship…instead of repeating the same actions and hoping for a different outcome.

I was able to do that. Not everyone has the courage to do so. More importantly, not everyone has the confidence to do so. Not everyone can reach the point where I did of thinking, “Even if I struggle harder financially, I will be better off without this person in my life” and so, I released the toxin. I also had the advantage of owning the house so I wasn’t faced with any practical considerations.

I was lucky. He wasn’t obsessive. He didn’t keep coming back, harassing me, or threatening me in any way. I haven’t heard from him but once since and it was brief. For many, their abuser is obsessive. Their abuser is a lot like my cats who, even after I have put said mouse outside in the hopes that he/she will seek safer enclaves, will continue to search this house high and low for their prey. Hours will pass with such single-minded purpose…until either the mouse comes back, or another victim crosses their line of sight. In short, we can’t change the abuser, unless they want to change. Put a mouse in this house and my cats won’t even come down for breakfast, an event they usually won’t miss on pain of death (no pun intended). And, for the mouse, unless he/she actually finds a cozier spot to occupy, will eventually meet that end. His is a simpler need of simple warmth and a food source. For humans, it’s a bit more complex given human emotions, the usual brainwashing of the abuser, etc. But, often, once a human is finally free of that toxic relationship, those who supported them on their journey out of it, forget about them. Yes, maybe they seem “needy”, and we find ourselves exhausted by that need, but loneliness can erode even the most iron will or confidence.

No, I’m not thinking of going back to any toxic relationships. I have shared often about my own financial difficulties. And, yes, occasionally, I do find myself thinking, “I wish I had that partner to at least bolster me up when my confidence–and faith–flags”. But, because I’m in such a place, I refuse to even entertain such a thing. It would be extremely unfair to another human being. And neither of us would ever be sure if we chose each other because we liked each other…or because we needed each other. That’s often how toxic relationships start in the first place. Like the mouse in this metaphor, I would be better served focusing on the scent of feline.

Now, what the heck was in my Chai tea this morning??? Lol!

May God bless you & keep you!

https://www.gofundme.com/help-our-farm-is-being-foreclosed

Abuse, Animals, Appreciation, Bereavement, Birthday Wishes, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Compassion, Exhaustion, Faith, Friendship, Frugality, God/Jesus, Gratitude, Healing, Human rights, Humanity First, Poverty, Prayer, Scripture, Self-esteem, Self-improvement, Sleep Deprivation, Spirituality, Understanding, Writing

True Poverty

Lisa Burbank

“Mocking the poor is mocking the God who made them. He will punish those who rejoice at others’ misfortunes.” (Proverbs 17:5)

I received an invite to an outing to go whale watching from a cousin recently…which was then recanted after seeing my Go Fund Me campaign link on Facebook. Of course, nothing was said initially. As the date of the outing was coming up, I messaged her to ask if we were still on. She didn’t want me to feel “bad”. I’m not sure exactly what that meant but, I want to believe her heart was in the right place, and that she was simply being sensitive to my financial difficulties. I sincerely hope she wasn’t thinking I might “mooch” off of her, or others, in order to go. The expense was minor and, despite my situation, I would have enjoyed the outing…as a day of respite, perhaps, from my situation. I confess to feeling rather hurt, even if good intentions were meant.

It seems a common theme these days.

For those of you new to this blog, I fractured my shoulder two years ago and lost a full-time position as a result from my injury. I have yet to find full-time work again and am behind many months on my mortgage. It has gone into foreclosure…and even Covid allowances aren’t doing much to stall the progression. My inability to get the vaccine is making it harder to find that full-time position, even if I trusted the “poke” enough to do so. I have new neighbors who got themselves on the Planning & Zoning Board and are challenging my right to farm, to raise livestock, despite having engaged a zoning attorney over a dozen years ago and getting the okay to do so. Now I have beloved animals at risk if I cannot find an attorney to take on this case…and, of course, pay him/her to do so. The roof leaks. There’s mold growing. Something is driving my electric bill up to $700 each month (from $100) and the electric company sends me to Community Action who sends me back to the electric company to find out what it is and try to remedy it. The yard is overgrown, as usual, because I lack the proper tools to keep it up…or the means of hiring out for what I cannot do myself. I’m getting the runaround from the DMV. And I have nowhere to go if I can’t save my property and pets that I cannot bear to lose.

All of this bearing down on me, and I’m trying hard not to succumb to “victim mode”, but I really hate how society treats those who are either inherently poor (i.e. from birth), or simply have fallen on hard times.

I may have recanted the aforementioned outing myself after taking a careful look at my finances. I do work. I do have some income coming into my home. It’s just not enough to cover all of my expenses yet. So, while I appreciate the concern, it would’ve been nice to have been asked/reminded of the outing and still be regarded as a thinking, feeling human being…

Even if I had determined FOR MYSELF that, no, I couldn’t handle this expense this month (I get paid monthly by the library where I work).

The poor, the downtrodden, the down-on-their-luck individuals are half-humans for most of society. We’re too stupid to manage our own money…even though I lived on the savings, 401K and other investments that most experts advise for two whole years after being laid off in 2009 from a corporate position.

“We brought our poverty, or difficulties, onto ourselves”…even though we work whatever menial job comes our way and carefully budget, save, practice a frugality that most of society would never be able to handle if they were in our shoes, and either we were born into poverty already and so have a tougher climb up the ladder of success, or our difficulties are the result of a recession, depression, or an injury or illness. Not sure how that equates to bringing it all on ourselves but, so be it.

“We don’t want to work”…oftentimes, the poor in this world work harder than anyone but, wages, and hours available, seldom keep pace with the cost of basic needs. Despite the media hyping a “booming” job market, most are still part-time endeavors…and now we have mandates crippling our economy even more.

The financially-challenged are not allowed to have any enjoyment. God forbid you should have pets. Or buy a pizza for dinner on a rare occasion…even if you save some of it for lunch the next couple of days and, thus, get multiple meals out of it.

Yes, I’m angry. Yes, maybe feeling a little sorry for myself. But, more, I’m feeling a sense of loneliness that has this computer screen blurring even as I type. When you’ve been struggling as long as I have, there’s a sense of apathy that settles over you. Anxiety and depression war inside in an endless cycle that can often be crippling.

Yes, I’m partly to blame for my loneliness. I don’t reach out. I don’t pick up the phone just to call and say “hello” or find out how others are doing, but rarely does anyone do likewise for me. Mom and I could die over here and it would be weeks before anyone discovered our remains. Granted, in my apathy, in the uncertainty that such financial struggles bring, I have let everything go. My home is a fright so I don’t invite anyone in. I’ve gained weight, been eating mostly unhealthy, and most of my social interaction has been work…or the doctor’s office (I have a stress test coming up). I sleep a lot more but, it’s rarely solid. The mind races at night when all is quiet. Insomnia visits from time to time…as do nightmares and chronic fatigue syndrome. In short, I’m suddenly ashamed and I don’t want friends seeing how badly things have gotten. I am overwhelmed. And pride goeth before the fall.

Of course, I know the Adversary uses all of this to whisper his lies, to drag us down further and further away from God…and humanity. I’m not worthy. I’m unloved. God has forgotten me. I’ve used up all of His grace. The litany drones on. Rather than praise, my prayer life–when I remember it–has been a pathetic begging to be taken out of this storm. Maybe my lack of attention to the blessings He’s already bestowed upon me is part of the problem…even as I acknowledge the lack of means to provide some of that upkeep. (See how the Adversary works…)

And yet, I’m mindful that He is teaching me a lesson in all of this, too. Like many others, I never really recovered from the Great Recession so, when I fractured that shoulder, there was much less to fall back on to sustain me. Since 2009 I have had to swallow my pride many times to visit food pantries, apply for heating assistance and medical coverage through the state, and a host of other things just to survive. I used to judge others…much the same way I am lamenting being judged. I looked down my nose, rejected friendships from anyone who might be too “needy”. Now the shoe is on the other foot and, yes, it pinches. Bad…

But the greatest lesson of all has been three-fold. First and foremost, I cannot do this without Him. He’s asking me to rely on Him. To trust Him…no matter what happens. To believe that He still loves me, always has, always will. That’s a tough one for a survivor of abuse, the concept of a loving Father in heaven. The Adversary’s still whispering doubt in my ear even as I type. Proof that I need to draw closer to Him in this storm, rather than reject and withdraw.

Second is to remember that picking up that phone costs nothing. Even in my own need, there are others who could also use a friend…and it’s nice to be remembered “just because”. Walmart sells boxes of generic cards for under $2 each. A remembered birthday, a sympathy card when a friend loses a loved one, a get-well-soon might be appreciated far more than a quick blurb on Facebook. And it’s always nice to be asked.

The third part is to start sharing my life again…even if it is in chaos. Rare am I going to have posts about some amazing workshop that I attended or an outing I enjoyed; it’s simply not possible. And, while I hate constantly posting about my situation, maybe those kinds of posts would be less if I wrote more consistently about other things…and not just when my anxiety is through the roof and I’m in need of an outlet.

To everything there is a season…and I still have hope that He has a plan in all of this.

May God bless you & keep you!

Appreciation, Bereavement, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Compassion, Culture, Diversity, Faith, Family, Friendship, God/Jesus, Gratitude, Grief, Healing, History, Love, Memories, Nostalgia, Politics, Prayer, Religion, Scripture, Understanding

Remembering 09/11/2001

Lisa Burbank

“The path of the godly leads away from evil; he who follows that path is safe” (Proverbs 16:17)

I had just come back from the company cafeteria with a cup of tea when a co-worker hollered over the foam-filled cubicle wall, “Oh, my God! Did you see that?” And then a cacophony of voices asking, “What?” “Yes, OMG!” “Holy crap…my sister/mother/brother just texted me; look at this!” “What happened?” and “This can’t be real.”

And, yet, it was.

As the images scrolled across every screen in our corporate facility, I remember glancing at the plate-glass window behind me and trying to imagine what it would be like to see a large commercial airplane heading straight for me. Granted, I was on the ground floor and our facility sprawled rather than rising up to touch the skyline but, at that point, I believed anything could happen. I thought of the family and friends those people would never see again…because, in that instance, you would know there was no escape.

Glancing at the clock on the PC, I picked up my extension (I wouldn’t join the ranks of cellphone users for many years to come), and called my parents’ house in Warwick. I knew they weren’t flying anywhere but, you know, you couldn’t help but check-in with all of your loved ones at a time like this. Every other extension was lit up with the same type of phone calls. Nobody was working on September 11, 2001…outside of first responders and hospital personnel. And, as news footage rolled, janitors, cafeteria workers, assemblers, accountants, executives and technical engineers stood shoulder-to-shoulder to watch in horror.

Mom wasn’t up yet. My stepfather had just awakened, poured a cup of coffee and turned on the TV. His two-plus-packs-a-day-early-morning-gravel declared, “It looks like something out of a Sci-Fi film”. As he could likely quote dialog from Star Trek, I agreed with this assessment. I still had that feeling of otherworldliness myself; it would not wear off for some time. For me, it was more like Freddy Kruger meets Godzilla, or something equally as fantastical and unbelievable.

My stepfather woke my mother up. It felt good just to hear their voices as I watched new footage rolling of people trapped in the upper floors of the Twin Towers jumping to their deaths.

Suddenly, my Mom mentioned a new neighbor of theirs who had sat outside with them a few nights’ earlier, showing off a new tattoo. She remembered it depicted an airplane flying into a pair of towers…

They hung up to call the local police station.

Nobody ever responded, took them seriously…even after they discovered only hours later that the couple had moved out in the middle of the night on September 10th.

Later, as the list of casualties scrolled across every news outlet feed, I learned that Mom had an old high school friend on board one of the planes. Carol was en route to her daughter’s wedding. I can’t imagine her last thoughts…or that of her daughter on what should have been a day filled with joy, not sorrow. And, as my mother’s side of the family is mostly police officers, I couldn’t help but grieve for those who lost their lives trying to save others, while also admiring the bravery that every emergency worker displayed as they rushed in, heedless of their own safety.

Of course, with the renewed sense of patriotism after these attacks, and the pretty much unanimous approval for our commander-in-chief to invade the Middle East, came a great fear in the hearts of many for anyone of Middle Eastern heritage. Or anyone just sporting a head covering of some sort. Memes spread via email hating on anyone Muslim or Middle Eastern…or both. I understood the fear behind it but, when one such meme surfaced quoting passages from the Quran, I decided to risk some censure. The quote and the book didn’t even exist in the Quran (and forgive my faulty memory for not remembering the fake quote from 20 years’ ago). Though I am Christian, I have a copy of the Quran in my home and have read it cover-to-cover. I double checked and then copied down text from the numbered passage the meme claimed as “gospel”.

Yup. I got reamed. Family, friends…was I crazy?

No. Just trying to do what I thought Jesus would do: counter the lie with the truth…and stop the persecution of innocent people. While all members of Al Qaeda and the Taliban identify as Muslim, not every Muslim is a member of Al Qaeda or the Taliban. It’s like members of the Ku Klux Klan claiming to be Christian, but not every Christian is a member of the KKK. Both are fringe extremists of their respective religions and cultures.

I was called un-American for pointing out the error in the aforementioned meme. I had a brother deployed to the Middle East right after 9/11. Of course, I was worried sick over his safety, and that of his brothers- and sisters-in-arms. Of course, I supported (and still support) our troops, our police officers, firefighters, EMT’s and other emergency workers.

And I always will.

As I sit here remembering 09/11/2001, my heart grieves for Every. Single. Life lost in this terrorist attack. I grieve and pray for all of the unsuspecting executives and office workers, maintenance and food preppers, blue color and white color, who went to work that morning never realizing what that day would bring…or the ultimate sacrifice they would have to make. I pray for the passengers and crew aboard each airline. I pray for the emergency workers and first responders who gave so selflessly. I pray for the lives lost over the last 20 years due to the myriad pollutants inhaled during and after the attack. I pray for all of our soldiers, many who also gave the ultimate sacrifice to defend our country, and for those who came back less than whole with limbs missing, sight and/or hearing destroyed, suffering from PTSD and, like so many of our vets from Vietnam, found themselves homeless upon their return to the U.S. (we can do better than this America…). And, yes, I also pray for those caught in a cycle of hate for their heritage and/or beliefs since this attack, whether Muslim or Sikh or any other individual mistaken and mistrusted for something they had no more control over than any other American.

Twenty years…

The children of the soldiers deployed in 2001 are now old enough to be soldiers themselves. 13 of them died as our current administration finally pulled out of Afghanistan. Yes, it was time and past for this war to end.

More criticism: I’ve been told I have no idea how hard it is to pull a whole army out of a country like that and I shouldn’t judge…even though thousands of American citizens and Afghan allies were left behind. I should focus on the, I believe the number is over 120,000, people that were rescued. Focus on the positive; this has never been done before (yeah, there’s an echo chamber here from the previous administration…). Those left behind are essentially hostages now. And, no, I really don’t know how hard it is to pull out of a country like that. But my brother could’ve been one of those 13. And I believe my critics are missing the point completely as we all mourn the loss of who I pray will finally be the last of those lost since 9/11 and the seemingly endless war that has followed in its wake.

May God bless you & keep you!

And may we never forget: 09/11/2001 – 09/11/2021