So I attended a sort of “séance” last night that blew me away. It was pretty intense and there were quite a bit of things that went on that were kind of unsettling. It was not the weird, we-are-all-in-the-dark-and-the-table-levitates kind of séance, it was more of an updated version, where the medium is facing the gallery and delivers messages from heaven. I am kind of a skeptic but I have to admit, the guy was pretty good. So listen in on Monday night at 10:00 and hear us discuss this very unusual event on Chick Chatter. And if you are a skeptic and can help disavow this information, well, call in. I would love to hear a logical explanation for the things I am about to divulge.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Wild Things
With the release of the movie “Where the Wild Things Are” I can’t help but think of the book “Why the Wild Things Are”, a book by Gail Melson that discusses just why a relationship with animals is such an important part of the lives of children.
Children learn to be compassionate with animals, they learn to be sympathetic and nurturing, but only in the right environment. Children should be encouraged to love the wild things as much as we ask them to love companion animals, or even ourselves for that matter. In 1933 the National PTA Congress said that children trained to respect animals will grow up to be better adults (paraphrasing).So it’s important and incumbent upon parents to teach their kids to be gentle, kind and respectful of all animals. They should teach them the Golden Rule, as we understand it by our Golden Retriever…who loves everyone and treats everyone with respect and courtesy.
How simple a concept…the Golden Rule, yet so hard to follow.Thursday, October 8, 2009
Michael Jackson
Michael Jackson, by Michelle Rivera
I have always loved Michael Jackson. His music meant the world to me.
As a battered wife living overseas, I was miserable, and it was Michael Jackson’s music that helped me survive that awful time. I danced wildly and with abandon to his music every day resulting in a weight loss of 80 pounds. I used to think, “I wonder if that little black kid from Gary Indiana knows that there is a terribly unhappy military housewife living far from home and family who is depending on him to get her through yet another day.” If we had had the internet back in the late seventies, I would have found a way to send him a message to let him know. It’s ironic how he always said that his fans helped him get through the difficult times in his life. When news of his death reached me, I was heartbroken. I was hoping that he would schedule a concert tour here in the states when he returned from his Euro tour. But that hope was dashed and now he is gone forever.
When I tried to explain my adoration of Michael Jackson to my kids and grandkids, they looked at me like I was crazy. They never knew the adorable little Michael of The Jackson Five, they didn’t grow up with his amazing roster of hit after hit after hit. They never danced to Thriller or Billie Jean and they never heard the heartbreaking song he sang to a rat named Ben. I recently listened to a live version of Ben, Michael singing his heart out to a live audience and recorded on a “hits” album. The song is so beautiful and he sings it with such veracity that it brings tears to my eyes. Their frame of reference of Michael Jackson was the “Wacko Jacko” we saw in the papers. They only knew him as a possible pedophile, and they thought I had lost my mind grieving for such a nut case.
But I didn’t care, I still loved him and missed him and I devoured every piece of literature I could get my hands on about Michael. I watched his funeral and cried the entire time. I felt like I lost a beloved family member because indeed, he was about my age and we had grown up together. Him in infamy, me quietly loving his every note.
I have always loved Michael Jackson. His music meant the world to me.
As a battered wife living overseas, I was miserable, and it was Michael Jackson’s music that helped me survive that awful time. I danced wildly and with abandon to his music every day resulting in a weight loss of 80 pounds. I used to think, “I wonder if that little black kid from Gary Indiana knows that there is a terribly unhappy military housewife living far from home and family who is depending on him to get her through yet another day.” If we had had the internet back in the late seventies, I would have found a way to send him a message to let him know. It’s ironic how he always said that his fans helped him get through the difficult times in his life. When news of his death reached me, I was heartbroken. I was hoping that he would schedule a concert tour here in the states when he returned from his Euro tour. But that hope was dashed and now he is gone forever.
When I tried to explain my adoration of Michael Jackson to my kids and grandkids, they looked at me like I was crazy. They never knew the adorable little Michael of The Jackson Five, they didn’t grow up with his amazing roster of hit after hit after hit. They never danced to Thriller or Billie Jean and they never heard the heartbreaking song he sang to a rat named Ben. I recently listened to a live version of Ben, Michael singing his heart out to a live audience and recorded on a “hits” album. The song is so beautiful and he sings it with such veracity that it brings tears to my eyes. Their frame of reference of Michael Jackson was the “Wacko Jacko” we saw in the papers. They only knew him as a possible pedophile, and they thought I had lost my mind grieving for such a nut case.
But I didn’t care, I still loved him and missed him and I devoured every piece of literature I could get my hands on about Michael. I watched his funeral and cried the entire time. I felt like I lost a beloved family member because indeed, he was about my age and we had grown up together. Him in infamy, me quietly loving his every note.
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