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Moving my blog

I am working on moving this Blog to here..  http://mywalkingpath.com/

 

I haven’t posted yet, I will change this sentence when I do :-)

 

*Warning some words in video maybe inappropriate for children*

I wrote the below email yesterday and then emailed it out to a few politicians in Illinois.

See the list at the bottom, a few of the addresses went through their personal web sites.

It seems that luck has been very evasive for everyone.  I would hope for some golden fairy dust to end all dismal grey, insanity dust that seems to be floating around.

Today, I am debating how to make some cash to pay my taxes.  I would love to get a job writing, or just getting paid to do any type of work.  If you have work for me email me: gerardinebaugh@gmail.com.

Really, not kidding!

This past week has been …interesting. I decided to do a rap-poetry rant on YouTube, (I am stuck to what else to do) its  aimed at my step-daughters biological mother.  I use the word frackin so it is not for little ones.

Here is the email.

“Help! My husband has been going to court for eleven years, at theMcHenry country courthouse in Woodstock Illinois, for his daughter, M, who is now sixteen and a junior at Hampshire High School.

Michael’s daughter lived with him and went to kindergarten in Huntley Illinois, until he filed to have paper work written up to insure his fathers’ rights.(2001), at that point Carol ran off and hid  M.  Michael’s lawyer had to get an order for Michael to see his daughter.

We were married in 2002 and he moved in with me in Hampshire Illinois, Kane County.

Michael has  had full custody since spring of (2006).  Michael got hurt in car (not his fault) accident in 2004. Then he got SSD in 2006, and the back child support was given to her mother, at that point, Carol dropped M off at our door.  She tried to control the SSD child support money and threatened to take M away if we told anyone she lived here, Michael ignored her and we reported that she lived with us.  

We have been living a nightmare with the courts and with, Carol Momani.  She gets away with everything.  She is fantastic at lying.  She has tossed garbage at us, lied to have us arrested, threatened our lives, sicced  her many boyfriends on us. Her family members have tried to damage our property and driveway. She won’t talk to us, she screams and yells and threatens.  She got married last year and her new husband doesn’t want to drive.

The reason I am writing this is that our lawyer messed up last week and signed it Without Michael’s permission, an order written up by Carol’s lawyer, and the judge signed it.

Michael sent his lawyer an email last October, “Carol O’Shaughnessy is as of today $10,656.00 behind in her court ordered child support.”… “I reported her to DHS in mid-September and the day I left the message for you I had received a letter informing me that Carol’s wages will begin being garnished as per the current court order.”
My husband has been in touch with DHS, so signing anything to reduce her back child support is ridiculous.

The court order (01-FA-23) signed last week cut her back child support nearly in half. WHY!!

My husband who is disabled and only able to drive locally (unless he has a seizure, which he did from the stress from this past week. ) was ordered , by that new judge to drive M to a half-way point. He can’t drive at all. He has a doctor’s appointment on the 23rd of October, so he doesn’t have paper work to back him up. But, it is in the court file, because the last judge tossed this out ‘Michael having to drive’, due to his health issues.

My husband  tried to talk to Carol telling her that this was a very dangerous situation, she told him she didn’t care. She also got on the phone with my stepdaughter and laughed telling M that she couldn’t wait to get Michael thrown in jail.

How could this have happened?   This is unbelievable to me, that a judge would order a disabled man to drive for an able body person.  

Whoa, I just got a letter from the county!!  Literally, a knock on the door and the mail person stood there with a letter from the county!

 Kane county doesn’t take payments on taxes!! I am behind on the second payment.  I just got a letter saying that my taxes are being sold- we cannot even make payments in Kane County.  Kane County doesn’t take payments! I emailed Kane County and got response ‘not my job’  I finally got to the right department and was told they don’t take payments. Really, in this economy you don’t take payments…

WTH!

My husband and I are both disabled. We try, and try and keep getting kicked in the teeth by people who lie and cheat. 

I am writing to you because I have no idea how to stop this from happening, so I wrote this and sent it out.

Judge James S. Cou..?  if he read the file how could he have signed such an order?

 

Thank you for your help,”

Sent to:

Durbin

http://durbin.senate.gov/public/index.cfm/footer-contact?p=contact

Tim Schmitz,  Illinois State Representative

info@timschmitz.org

Jack Franks-  State Representative

jackfranks@franks4illinois.com

Chris Lauzen,  25th, State Senator

admin@lauzen.com

Timothy L. Schmitz, 49th, State Representative

info@timschmitz.org

Richard J. Durbin, US Senator

www.durbin.senate.gov-sent

Pat Quinn, Governor

governor@illinois.gov

Sheila Simon, Lieutenant Governor

http://www2.illinois.gov/ltgov/pages/contactus.aspx  sent

Lisa Madigan, Attorney General

attorney_general@atg.state.il.us

Jesse White, Secretary of State

JesseWhite@ilsos.net

Dan Rutherford, Treasurer

webmaster@treasurer.state.il.us

Congressman Randy Hultgren  …http://hultgren.house.gov/contact-us/

Writing on bits

The founder and owner of, Men with Pens, James Chartrand, (her pen name) has a business writing course, Damn Fine Words, which is starting on September 3rd

She is also running a contest; it ends as the business-writing course begins on September 3rd.

Information on the contest:

  • Blog post article of at least 450 words on why writing is important to you and how better writing skills would change your business”
  • Two people will win a scholarship to the September edition of the Damn Fine Words writing course. (Retail value $1,599 each.)”

Writing is important to me because … I ‘need’ to use the written word to make money.  Luckily, for me the very act of writing makes me happy, because it is not generating any income.

At this point, I feel like I am writing something for school. You know, that dreaded paper that every teacher asks you to write.  ‘How I spent my summer vacation…’

I have no idea where I am going with this, so I might as well ramble on.

Last year, my fifteen year old complained about how much homework she was getting in her English literature class. When I had her show me the offending material, I was amazed and jealous of all the tutoring she was getting, everything from how to write a plot and characterization, to the ability to read and discuss literature at a college level.

We talked about how well she understood the class and her only complaint was that some of her classmates were trying to get out of doing their own homework. They would use sibling’s old papers or even get their parents to do their homework.

“Wouldn’t it be great,” I said.  “If the schools made parents take one class with their kids?”

Her answer was a silent glare. Teenagers can speak volumes without moving their mouths, and say absolutely nothing after talking for an hour.

“I would sign up in a heartbeat to take this class.” I said that aloud.  She said nothing.

I took my high school years for granted. The classes were just something I had to get through on the way to life, not realizing that life was right in front of me, never behind never ahead, just now.

I never know when to shut up so I added.  “My classes never had the content that yours have.”

Having an adult tell you that ‘your’ schoolwork is harder than theirs ever was, well, all the rolling eyes and heavy sighing let me know she was not taking it as a compliment.

Writing, for me, was something I wanted to do after I opened that first page of my mother’s encyclopedias, neatly placed, on a small bookcase in the living room.   I remember asking who made the books.

The answer I got was, “A writer.”

I often wonder if I were told, salesman or bookbinder or even garbage man, would I have felt that tugging at my soul.   Maybe it was God who whispered ‘Writer’ in my ear.

Let me try again.

  • Why writing is important to me… because I can’t see my life without that spark of creativity, pushing my hands to write.

Second question:

  • How will better writing skills change my business?   This one is easy. It will give me focus on the direction of my writing.

In order to take my writing to the next level, which would be marketing and ‘what-ever’ I am missing. I just know that I need to learn a completely new way of looking at my writing, and my life. Doing anything well is a progress, steps need to be taken, no jumping ahead I may miss something important. Learning the right steps helps keep me on the right track.

Earlier this year

  • I grabbed my domain name.
  • I have a couple of logos drawn out.
  •  I have ideas and a love of nature.
  •  I just need something or someone to help me pull it all together.

*I posted another article on this contest here…WikiHook  come by and read.  :-)

Anyone interested in trying out for a free class. Paste your link on the Men With Pens site. Do it soon! The contest ends on September 3rd.

Good Luck to all

Image

Rainbow’s Edge

by Gerardine Baugh

 

Rain,

moments before had pounded the roof and quenched the needs of my garden.

As the rains    slowed     the setting sun   slipped    around    the fast moving clouds.

Clouds

bluish-black tinged with yellow edges of gold,

bright,

quiet pillars of God’s rays mirrored inside those clouds painting a rainbow and exposing an invisible edge.

An edge of a planet that stays out of sight,

except when the earth drinks from the sky,

soaking up color,

then spiraling back to the Earth.

Giving rise to songs as it appears,

shimmering,

within a semicircle of color and hope.

                       Then quietly disappears.

I saw Jingle’s ‘ Jingle Poetry @ Olive Garden Poetry Picnic Week 26,’ I was intrigued by the theme ‘Seven deadly sins,’  Jingle said, “Take a sin and study about it, then write what you think of it…”

I choose greed. Why? Well I really, really want stuff right now, stuff that I can’t afford, so greed seems fitting.

Greed is not just ‘wanting’ what someone has, but, the complete ownership.

 

Winds battled over and around the Old Oak tree pushing,

Pushing a Squirrel out of its den of Oak leaves, sticks and tuffs of grass and chicory

Flattening his body into the deeply furrowed bark, the Squirrel weary and old,

Old hollow branches, and deep set roots, holding tight against the winds

Light slipped around the fast moving clouds, snow falling high above turns

Turns to water and ice spears rain down hitting the Tree and Squirrel carelessly

Fields stretch-out and around the Squirrel and Oak Tree, winds press the prairie flat

Flattening the tallest milkweed pinning it to an uneven ground,

Then pulling out what it can and combing over the rest

“Rest if you can!”  The winds mocked, ripping up and tossing pieces of dirt.

Seeds and human cast offs, controlled by the wind, the ground appears to be rolling

Rolling out with the same voracity that gale spun in with, the winds were moving on,

Seeds and berries were taken away from the Squirrel, the Tree lost topsoil inside the winds

Winds can be harnessed,” muttered the Squirrel, “Use its power to spread seeds and light”

The tree laughed, “Greed won’t allow it!  Greed is for one not all! Wind power profits are for everyone

“Everyone can survive, save and flourish with wind power. Think about it little squirrel and ask yourself

Is it Greed when the heavy winds blow away what can be used or eaten?

Is it Greed when a tiny rodent squirrels away food for winter?

Is it Greed when I, the mighty Oak, digs deep and drinks all I need?

Or, is it Greed when the fields are cemented over in the name of economic growth and profit,

Profit? What is profit?”  Asks the Squirrel,

Money to line your nest.” answers the Tree,

The Squirrel’s eyes got big.

 The Oak Tree laughed “You and I are not profitable.  

The ground vibrated under the tree the squirrel looked out.

“Hold tight, old Tree, Greed just rolled in!”

A walking path is never even. That was the thought in my head this afternoon when I headed out through the garage. The winds were coming at me from the northwest, cold and strong. First thing I wanted to do was collect one large bag of trash from the pole barn, there seems to be a never ending supply of junk in that barn.
As I opened up the barn I kept talking out loud to myself, I was hoping that the skunk who lives around the barn would scurry away when it heard me coming.

I consider it a good outing when nothing furry tries to chase me down:-)

After I had one bag stuffed and tied off I looked off towards the back path, or what use to be the back path. My tractor had stopped working this summer, as well as the gas mower. So parts of my lawn /field grass were ankle to waist high, making my walk an arduous excursion. I still had the narrow path that Uriah had carved. I decided to take a walk, before deep snow erased that path.

I stopped my non-stop, keep-away-animal chatter as I hit the lowest part of the path. I followed a line though the grass then turned to the left and walked on the incline, sidestepping a section riddle with burrows.

I made a mental note to bring with a small saw or heavy clippers next time, and cut the invading Bog Willows away from the old path.

I continued on towards the east invisible fence line. I turned towards the north and a wave of sadness hit. I kept walking.

I was in an area where, years before, I had been charged by a forty pound raccoon. At that time I had three dogs with me, they all saved my life.

I stopped and listened. Winds blasted over the oldest Bog Willows and rustled the tops of the four to five foot dried grass , then blew past me.

“ I think I need to walk a different path …” I said that out loud.

Instantaneously, a buck stood up, not more than forty feet from where I was standing.

I can’t speak for the buck,..for me, that moment moved in slow motion.

I stopped breathing and froze! I was hoping that he wouldn’t notice me standing in front of him wearing a bright orange jacket, I closed my eyes ..I really wished that would make me disappear!

A male deer’s mating, or rutting season is around November. Bucks are attitude with pointy antlers. And I found myself standing too close to one. If he charged at me he could use those antlers or stomp on me, yes they do that! Ouch!

When the buck rose up from where he had been resting, he slowly turned in my direction. I could see the wind slightly ruffling his fur as it blew towards me, lucky for me I was down wind. He snorted as he stood up and again as he faced me. He stomped the ground, and raised his head up and smelled the air.

At this point I was trying to become a turtle and shrink into my coat.

I didn’t breath! I didn’t move, that is supposed to work right? Or it that only for bears?

After a minute he turned and took a couple of steps away, snorting indignantly. Then with three effortless jumps, he disapeared in the trees. I got an impression he had springs for legs.

It took me a couple of minutes to relax and head back to the house.

Note to self… Tomorrows walk will be taken in the open, empty farm field next door.

oct pic. leaves have fallen off

Tall grass hidding deer

Male deer are called bucks, bulls, stags or harts. Female deer are called does, cows or hinds. Young deer are called fawns or calfs.~ http://www.veganpeace.com/animal_facts/Deer.htm

The sun slipped behind a dark cloud, and for a moment I felt
the gentle rain cry down.  I closed my
eyes and listened to the large droplets patter across the dried leaves.   I
opened my eyes and looked to the Bog Willows and four year old Maples whose
leaves were a deep gold and red.

In my mind I saw as the ghost of time replayed their planting:  Uriah grabbing a sapling running off with a happy bounce, expecting, hoping I would chase him down.  Zeus ran in a circle teasing Uriah with his favorite stuffed toy hanging from his mouth.  Samson barked at the trees keeping real and imagined foes hidden in the trees.

Pain shimmered as reality stopped and slid around me like
the mists that form over the dew laden grass.

Maple leaves clapped in the reappearing blue sky and sunshine,
and a warm breeze drifted past.

I felt the ghosts of
my dogs move through the tall grass.  I heard them panting as they ran, happily barking and playing between the trees, sounds that drifted from my memory into this warm October afternoon.

I fell to my knees as tears streamed down my face.  I stroked  Uriah’s thick fur  gently as he lay panting. He looked up at me then looked away towards the trees. I felt we were both hearing the same echoes.
He drank from his water bowl.  I whispered how happy I was to have known him
and what a good dog he had been.

He didn’t cry. I was the one who moaned as I pulled myself upright, leaning on my cane, he watched with a worried look and tried to stand.

I told Uriah I loved him so much, and it was time to run and
play with Samson and Zeus, and one day we will all walk together again.

I helped him into the house, where he fell asleep and never woke up.

When Uriah died tonight I thought of everyone here, and how much this blog kept me writing. I hope everyone is doing well.

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