I had the weirdest case of déjà vu today in the city. I took the subway up town to spend some time at Central Park on this beautiful warm afternoon and buy Goose an ice cream from one of the local vendors. After walking block after block through the packed city, I hoped and prayed for an empty seat on the stuffy, crowded subway car, but to no avail. Instead I was pushed to the middle of the aisle where the only way to balance myself as the train raced across the railway, was to grab the overhead steal bar. I reached up with my left hand and grasped the horizontal bar with my fist. Only a few steps in front of me was the side sliding doors that I would exit through. I looked down and noticed my feet were shoulder width apart, one slightly in front of the other. Then I realized that my right hand was placed over my purse, which had fallen to the front of my waist to keep the crowd from knocking it off my shoulder. That’s when I realized it. If the metal bar was a static line, my purse...

Today, we made our first trip to the Jersey Shore since our move to this area. It was complete with unnaturally toned muscles, orange-tanned bodies, and a long, wooden boardwalk lined with funnel cake vendors and carnival rides. I’ve heard that the freezing ocean up here is not fit for swimming until at least mid-July, but the beach was packed with sunbathers nonetheless who worked up the nerve to go mid-calf into the chilly water. Seagulls flew overhead, shrieking as they swooped near open bags of potato chips. Sea shells covered the fine, golden sand. Umbrellas sprang up from the ground to form an insignificant, but appreciated dot of shade among the barren dunes that stretched on either side of us as far as we could see. Eddie, Goose , and I laid on the beach relaxing and getting some much needed color on our pasty legs, when the sweat began to trickle down our faces. We decided to sacrifice our toes and ankles to the cold water in exchange for momentary relief from the heat. As th...

They say the first step to overcoming a problem is to identify it. I am the queen of psyching myself out. I can talk myself into circles and make the most microscopic problem into a catastrophic ordeal. There. I identified it. Actually, I’ve known for quite some time. It’s been my life long struggle. Since I was a child, I remember correlating two unrelated issues and tying them together to make them absolutely causal. If I didn’t memorize this one verse (out of like a thousand), I would never win the Timothy Award in Awanas. If I never won the Timothy Award, I would let down my parents, Mrs. Brooks, and myself. Therefore, if I didn’t memorize that one verse, everyone I cared about and looked up to would be disappointed in me, I would never earn their respect, and I would live my life sorry and alone. My first year in ROTC, if I didn’t max my physical fitness test (obtain the highest score possible), I would be a horrible officer when I was commissioned three years later. Being in th...

A true story.... (to hear recording, scroll down) "Maria" by Elizabeth Grimes, Copyright 2009 Vs 1: "Mi esposa bonita, te amo," he told her. And she cried with joy for she believed it was true. To prove his love for her, he endured the pain. On his right arm he showed her the fresh green tattoo. Te amo, Maria. Te amo, Maria. One day she found his lies. And he chose another. And she cried with grief as she watched them both leave. Oh, but his young, new chiquita won't let him go with out his pancho for when he takes it off she just can't bear to read, Te amo, Maria. Te amo, Maria. And now he must live wearing that sweet angel's name. Te amo, Maria. (Now he's missing Maria.) Te amo, Maria (He dreams of kissing Maria.) Te amo, Maria. (Now he's missing Maria.) Te amo, Maria (He dreams of kissing Maria.)

Gray, stormy clouds eventually gave way to torrential rain fall. For hours we remained trapped in the tiny, confined space. We wondered when we would be free from our aching backs, headaches, and discomfort caused by the cramped area. There was no end in sight. Every sleeping position was tested, then rejected. It was hopeless. There would be no sleep. No comfort. Not even a nice view to enjoy. And with hours to kill, there was only one thing left to do. Go surfing. Music surfing of course. On a ten hour car trip to pick up our little Goose (Eddie's cousin) from North Carolina, we made the best of a looong trip by rocking out to the iPod. By the time we were on the Garden State Parkway, we had choreography, back up harmonies, and microphones. No one can do Aretha Franklin like 2 mezzo sopranos and a baritone who halfway know the words to "Chain Chain Chain," but man, can we milk those high notes! We scanned the 8 kilo bites for the perfect tunes to lift our spirits and ...

Four notes were never so powerful. Slow, fluid, and pitch perfect. The short tune freezes us in our tracks, sends chills up our spine, and brings a lump to our throat. Taps. It pierces the dead silence at the grave of a fallen Soldier and when we hear it, we respect, give thanks, and remember. Today we remember in other ways. As I look out my window, I see the neighbor children splashing in a wading pool, their parents grilling hamburgers, all on a perfect summer day with the American flag blowing proudly above the front door. The perfect picture of Americana. We fly our flag today to remember. We hang wreaths today to remember. We tie a yellow ribbon today to remember. We say a prayer, look at an old photo, or visit a gravesite today to remember. And tomorrow, we’ll remember in other ways. Service members, wear your uniforms with pride. Brasso your buttons for Lt Gaspers. Iron your uniform for Senior Airman Goodman. Mothers, say a prayer for 2Lt Perez’s family. Fathers, take y...

I’ve written lately about my incurable case of writer’s block. You’ve seen song lyrics and videos that I’ve posted in order to buy me a few days in hopes that inspiration will strike me and my idle fingers will spring to life, clicking away with words of motivation and hope. I considered cutting back on my blog, from one magical moment per day, to one magical moment per every other day, or something to that effect (only a more poetic title, of course). When I mentioned that consideration to my older sister, I was met with an unexpected reaction. A resounding “No!” was her response. As I began to argue my case, “…I’m busy, it’s hard to think of something to write every day, I’ve done so many already…” I thought of all my past blogs. And then my mind rested on my very first post . I felt like giving up. I was tired. But I only needed one person in the whole world who believed in me and I was able to carry on. When I wanted to quit the most, was when I needed to persist the most. And ...