The Wanderer - Part 2

There was no telling how far he had fallen. The ravine that claimed him had come from nowhere, and he landed in its valley with a bone crunching halt. The world swam as he tried to gain some point of perspective, some glimmer of his surroundings. All in all, it had not been a good few weeks. His health had fallen steadily along with his remaining hope of survival. A ragged cough had set in, and now each Velcro breath took every ounce of remaining strength to be separated from his raw lungs.

He attempted to sit up and found that his right arm had either been broken into shards or had suddenly refused to cooperate with him. He struggled upward with his left. The effort took longer than he had concentrated on in ages and finally, he was hauled into a sitting position against the tree that had bloodied and threatened his skull.

Blood ran thick into his eyes, and using his good arm he continually had to wipe away the red smear that formed across his vision. The rain didn't help. It had caused him to slip and now it prevented his sight. He was sure that this was the way the Earth eventually undid you. Slowly it would wipe away your capabilities until there were none that remained. He sat there for a while trying to convince himself that there was something worth getting up and walking on for. Every cycle of his internal conversation was answered with the simple fact that getting up and walking meant you weren't dead yet; you might be damn close, but you still had a claim on life. This alone was not initially enough to motivate him. What was life anyway? He asked himself a million times and always answered differently. Today, life was a way to walk and air to attempt to breathe. All in all, he decided, that was better than nothing. Slowly and quite diplomatically, his brain tried to convince his battered limbs to lift his weight. They were not swayed easily, but eventually he garnered enough support to struggle upward and onto his feet.

He remained there, leaned awkwardly against this tree blinking hard against the blinding efforts of his own body, his own blood until he could see well enough to move forward. Moving had brought him this far. His last hope was that it would continue to see him well. He staggered several feet. He had no way of knowing just how fragmented his skeleton had become, but even the idea of walking caused several places in him to mourn. There he was, all ragged breath and blood, trying in vain to keep living.

It was the very picture of pity.

He'd only gone a little ways when he saw an unfamiliar sight before him. There, in the distance, was a small structure. It looked to be some sort of outhouse. It leaned a bit in the downpour as if to protect itself from more exposure. He exhaled some sort of muddy laugh that reeked of internal demise and hobbled towards it, looking for a last place to lay that might be out of this damned rain. He wiped another fistful of blood and water from his eyes and willed himself again to move, but just as he began to lift his foot from the ground he halted in alarm.

Suddenly, he wasn't alone.

From behind the leaning shack, a din of familiar noise leaped out at him. And shortly after that, so did the dog. It cavalierly jumped out, barking, its hackles raised in alarm. His heart had almost ceased to beat, both in terror from the sudden appearance, and in joy for the slim hope that he'd found a companion who might provide some affection to a dying man, and who might possibly give him one last bit of happiness before the lights went out for good. He stared, all dopey and bloody at this welcome creature. But, just as easily as the initial smile had crept across his face it was replaced with doubt. This dog was not the type that he would see still living. It was some kind of house pet, completely unequipped to survive alone this many years. In fact, it reminded him distinctly, painfully, of a dog he'd loved as a boy. This was no survivor.

Slow tears found their places at the edges of his eyes. This was no friend and companion. This must be a hallucination.

Then, even as his incredible grief fell slickly down his cheeks, he laughed harder than he had in a long time. It was hilarious, really. Hilarious, and terrible. God, or whatever it was, had brought him a last thought of his former life, a harbinger that would bring not terror, but would welcome him into what was to become.

The dog yapped on as he approached, and his face contorted into a goofy scene of joy that foretold of madness and eventual death. It was at this point, when he was mere paces from the little, wet beast that he felt it: the swift, intentional touch of metallic coolness at the base of his skull.

Immediately he froze, his arms went stick-straight at his sides in spite of the pain that shot through his every fiber at the action. Even though he had never been at its mercy before, the cool steel of the gun's barrel was surprising in its familiarity. There was no mistaking the severity and finality present in its touch. His mind scattered to the winds of panic, but somewhere inside the knowledge remained that guns do not hold themselves. No, there was someone here. A person. With a voice.

"Who are you? State your name and business, or die in pursuit of nothing."

The voice was as steely as the barrel nuzzling his skull. He searched for the right answer to the question and came up empty. Panic rose fast and hard into his entire being, he urged himself to speak, to say anything, and urgently forced an ejection of air that he hoped would say the rights things. If you'd asked him to, he never would have been able to recognize the horrible rasp that now passed for his voice. "I, I'm dying. Please. I need help."

"Your name?"

He paused. It had been so long, he wasn't sure it meant anything anymore, but managed to choke out, "Matt. My name. It's Matt."

There was no pause in the gun's insistence for use. But in spite of himself, he could feel his mind begin to journey elsewhere. It almost felt like falling, or flying, or just drifting away somewhere. He didn't mean to, but the stranger's voice was fading now, like a dream or a memory of something lovely. Lightness filled his aching body and flooded out through his skin. And slowly a tunnel of darkness appeared around his vision. It was quite nice actually, an interesting picture of mixed Autumn leaves surrounded by a shrinking black circle. He swooned with movement and watched dimly as the leaves approached him and the circle tightened to a close.

He could not sense the unceremonious smack of his skin as it collided with marshy dankness of the forest's floor. He did not hear that one last painful breath driven sharply from his chest or the overlaying sounds of the stranger calling shortly to the still barking dog, "Logan! Shut up, you're driving me nuts with that racket!"

Rain continued to fall, the dog continued to bark, and the stranger looked down seemingly apathetic to the mess of human being sprawled indelicately before them.

Peace came. Blackness became the new world.

The Letter

It was one of those days that made you feel like you were suffocating, drowning, dying some awful death that made you feel too close to yourself. The temperature had risen steadily from an early 85 degrees to a stifling 102 by noon. She lifted the brim of her straw hat off her forehead and wiped away the slow rolling sweat that had formed too quickly. Stooped there, in her garden, she could feel the torturous sun peeling away her patience. Suddenly she couldn't stand to be there anymore. She had to get out of this heat.

Her knees popped and creaked as she stood. 67 years of wear and tear had taken their toll on the cushions of life, and now every movement was a reminder of how old she had become. Stretching her back she glanced idly at the glare coming off the blackened pavement. If she had looked down the street she would have seen the telltale glimmer of an oasis, a simple mirage that pointed out, not that relief was coming, but that you were so damn hot you were hallucinating.

She stripped off her hat as she walked up the back steps to her home. It was only just now becoming possible for her not to expect her husband as she walked in the door. It was only now that she was finally beginning to see that he was indeed gone and he wasn't coming back. All of his jokes about death had been leading up to the day when she would have to learn to laugh at the real thing. He’d always said, “When I go I want you to have a big party. No one is to cry, and there is to be no sad music. Everyone will have a drink in their hand and you will lead a toast. You’ll say, ‘This is for my husband, the lucky son of a bitch who got to go first.’”

And in the end she had done as he’d asked. But it wasn't nearly as hilarious as he’d made it sound.

The shocking cold of her air-conditioned home forced a grateful sigh from her lips. She slung the wide-brimmed hat over the coat rack and gingerly pulled her gardening gloves from each finger, the same way she had always done without ever having been told to. Simon snaked his way around her ankles, grating his angular chin upwards against her calf and revving his motor to prove he loved her. She, in turn, bent down to scratch his ears and say to him, yet again, the only praise she could muster: “Simon, you should thank God that you’re a cat.”

In the kitchen, she poured herself a cold glass of water and sat down at the table to pay the monthly bills. The stack of mail stood tall before her so she settled her reading glasses onto her nose, inhaled deeply, and opened her checkbook. As much as she hated the depletion of her checking account after paying her bills, she rather enjoyed the ritual. She loved to feel a job being completed. She loved the idea of progress, of moving forward. Even in the past few dark months she had found some sort of joy in simple tasks; it was as if by completing one she had moved somehow further from her grief. So it wasn't surprising that she found herself humming quietly and smiling slightly halfway through the pile of mail.

It was just as she was sealing the electric bill that she noticed it. Here, among her pile of junk mail and bills, was a letter. It took a moment for her to realize what it was; after all, people just didn't send letters anymore. And it took her even longer to recognize the lack of a return address and the use of her maiden name.

The letter looked as if it had been traveling for years. At least twenty different postmarks littered the dingy envelope and several forwarding orders had been put into effect. But, somehow, even with all its stamped on bruises and signs of wear, this letter was the single most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

Her breath became slow and shallow, the same way that, as a small girl, she would breathe in Sunday church service. It was the breathing of a reverent child. It was a sign of wonderment and innocence and all other things that had been lost. She carefully broke the seal of the martyred envelope, and she oh so carefully sidled the stationary from its pocket, laying it to rest in the light of her kitchen under the shelter of her eyes. She unfolded the pages and began to read:


My Dearest Olivia, 9/22/1998

Greetings from India! Oh Olivia, you would be absolutely smitten with this place. Everything here is so vibrant and rich and seemingly expensive…I cannot even imagine your face when I bring you here someday; you will probably do that thing where you light up from the inside and knock my socks off with how beautiful you are. Come to think of it, I probably shouldn't bring you here… the Indian government may be upset if I bring them the one woman who is more perfect and beautiful than their sacred country.

Work is going fine. Some of the action sequences have gone awry, and the narrator still refuses to learn the correct pronunciations of many, many words, but no one ever said being a hit documentary film maker would be easy.

I know it’s probably strange for me to be writing you this letter. I mean, I have only known you a couple of weeks now, but there’s just something about you that I can’t stop thinking about. I am hopeful that when I get back you will still be willing to go on that date we talked about. I am hopeful that at the end of it you may let me kiss you goodnight. I am hopeful that at the end of everything you’ll be my girl and we can celebrate the apocalypse together. I am hopeful that my blatant and, perhaps, premature declarations of love will not scare you away.

I will be home in three short weeks. I cannot wait to see you again.

Beyond Love,
Jack

Time no longer existed.

How could it exist when a letter from 42 years ago, from her dead husband, had found its way onto her kitchen table? She felt disconnected from the present. She came unhinged from her senior citizen status and flipped around until she was 25 again. She flipped around to the day they’d met, to the day she had found out what living was really for. She landed back in the late summer heat, back in time, back to the moment she’d stumbled across perfection in the public library.

He was nothing she had ever expected to deserve. She saw him standing amongst the stacks, comfortable, as if he had been grown from that very spot, as if he belonged there exclusively in a world of leather bindings and beauty. He was flipping through a copy of some peer-reviewed scholarly chemistry journal and smirking, looking thoroughly amused by a diagram of something too complex for her to fathom. She was impressed, not by his choice of literature, but rather by his nature. He seemed to glow somehow.

She had never been one for flirting with strangers, but when her search for Ernest Hemingway found her standing only inches from his frame she figured it might not be a bad time to start.
“Have you read this one?” she barely whispered as she held out a copy of “The Old Man and the Sea” for him to regard. He turned to her. His hands dropped casually into his pockets, and his angled frame rocked back on its heels. He seemed to consider his response for a moment, casting his eyes towards the ceiling and sucking in a deep breath. A knowing smile spread slowly across the fabric of his face, and he locked his eyes on hers and said, “I’d like to ask you for a date.”

And that was how it began. That was how it began for them, suspended in a library in a moment too great to be real, waiting for time to clip their heels and tell them to get moving, to tell them that daydreams can’t last forever. But when time’s pursuit never made itself known they both realized that this must indeed be love.

But time most certainly did exist. It caught up with them eventually; it caught up with them as cancer and it killed him as punishment for happiness. Time kills us all eventually. Time wraps its icy hands around your ankles and makes you slow and encumbered. Time takes you away from the bookshelves and summer heat and beating heart you had at 25 and turns you into an old woman clutching an ancient piece of stationary in an outdated kitchen. Time had turned her into this seated statue with the wide, glazed look of a terrified animal. She felt the rising bulge of grief edging up and out of her eyes. She let it all consume her. Slipping from her chair, she collapsed to the linoleum. Pounding, aching sorrow drenched the ancient olive tiles. Ferocious loss, impossible love, and undeniable hurt racked her widowed body. Incapable of speech she seemed instead to hum her pain, the sound of brimming over, the sound of finally breaking and not knowing what else to do.

And Simon, who remained settled on his perch, squinted his green eyes and felt nothing.

The Wanderer

Many nights were passed there, huddled up as tightly as he could beneath his jacket. This old tree had become his savior in a world where salvation seemed impossible. He'd lost track of the days now. There had been a time when he'd marked them down in a notebook he'd brought with him, but an unfortunately timed fall had brought him down hard into a swift stream; and his last piece of normalcy, his sense of time, had been swept away in its torrent. Now, he just walked. He walked and tried to find food and waited for death to come to him just like it had done for all the others.

The end had come just as no one had expected. They should have known it could never be predicted. The Earth makes its own decisions and follows no known time and pays attention to no creature's will or want. The plaguing population that had burdened it was eradicated by its wrath. And it had cleansed itself, leaving very few people behind to experience its rebirth. In truth, he often felt he might be the only one left. Even the sense of loneliness he'd felt so intensely at the beginning had waned. Loneliness, like any feeling, requires fuel. And without the reminder of others, without hearing a voice or seeing a face, there was nothing left on which the feeling could burn.

The sun shone brightly and warmed him through his jacket. Even though the days had grown a bit cooler, and the nights had become close to unbearable, the mornings still brought warm relief. He knew this wouldn't last long. Last winter he had managed to find a small house with a wood-burning stove. He'd made due in spite of nearly succumbing to hunger many times. At the remembrance of this a stab of panic brought him out of his slumber. He keenly realized that time was running short. He would need to keep heading south quickly if he wanted to survive that dead season again. Even more acutely, he knew that the blind luck he'd stumbled into last year would most likely not repeat itself. He would not likely find another antiquated cabin like the one he'd left.

He had laughed until he was delirious when he'd found it lingering there in the rough. Although unimpressive to look at, he could see it was solidly constructed and it's window panes remained in spite of all the rage the Earth had poured out onto it. He lurked outside it for several hours, hiding both in fear of an occupant, and in hope of one as well. When his voyeuristic surveying had born no fruit, he scurried forth in the dark to try the door. It had swung open easily, and unlike most of the homes he'd entered on his journey, the only scent to greet him was the distinctive plea of staleness. He sighed in relief. No matter how many times he encountered the remnants of death he could never quite pull back the sting of his own fear nor the heavy pool of disgust and grief that immediately gathered weight in his gut. The moon was in its height that evening, so searching the small space had been easy enough. The iridescent beams broke through the darkness and splashed irreverently across the contents of his new home, revealing the plump blackness of the stove, and sending waves of sweet relief streaming into his heart.

At the realization of what he saw, he'd laughed until he cried. He laughed until he was rolling around on the floor and clutching at his sides. He laughed for his good fortune until rivulets of tears poured forth from his eyes. He'd laughed until he sobbed and then he sobbed again for all he'd lost.

Hard time was passed there, but the inevitable spring had taken hold. And as soon as the weather felt consistent enough for travel he had taken what he could and continued south. Now, it was time to keep on with the trek. Now, the green was fading and falling. The autumn was taking its turn, and the deathly ice of winter was lingering on its breath. Now was a time for motion. So he thanked his arbor Christ, grabbed his things, and walked on again.

Know My Heart

I picture her flying.

I see her surrounded by coolness, by dark blue skies; cutting through them and swirling up around the stars. I see her here, in my breath, in my heart; unmaking the little tangles of grief that have caught up there and selfishly refuse to go. I see her and know her. I can feel her spirit singing with peace.

But I miss her, too. I miss her warmth and life and stubbornness. I miss hearing her bellowing voice. I had pushed it all away because it hurt too much. I had pushed her away because I couldn't see her there anymore. And now she's everywhere at once and everything always, and I remember how much I loved her.

In this universe, I am just a small piece. I am a separated piece that has fallen from the whole. I believe in this part of our lives we all are. We're little parts of the bigger picture, but we've lost sight of where we once belonged. Death brings back the longing to find that place again. Death allows us to remember that to pass on is to rejoin the celebrating center of this glorious Earth.

A person I loved is gone. My Granny. She fought the good fight and served her time as one of us. She lost everything to this petty world and its cruel devices. She died a mere shadow of the warrior she was.

But now, I hear that roaring spirit cascading over this good Earth with whooping enthusiasm. Now, she flies.

Free at last.

And in spite of my sorrow, she knows I'm laughing with her. Laughing at the silliness of it all. Laughing in delight at the speeds she can now conquer and the freedom that can only come when you are reconnected to the whole. The freedom of pumping in the veins of Mother Earth and kissing creation in each silver moonbeam.

Know my heart, Granny. Know that I hear you. Know that I see your presence in everything I do. I will hold on forever. I will hold on in the hope that in my dreams you'll take me flying with you.

I can almost feel it now; diving through the substance of everything. Holding your hand and rejoining the pulse. Understanding. A little piece reconnected. A little wave in the ocean of time.

Miriam West
March 30th, 1917 - July 19th, 2008

Indiana Summer

So, the weather is finally muggy. God love the midwest and its muggy-ass summers!

Husband and I were walking to work yesterday from the train, and we were both sweating our respective parts off, when it dawned on me that before I became an adult, I used to LOVE this weather.

I used to love the sweaty feeling of summer days, and the cooler (yet still humid) weight of summer nights. But, something has changed... oh, I remember, I've changed because I no longer get to enjoy it like I did. I am what is oftentimes called "a grown-up" and in many respects this is a good thing: I get to live without my parents, and drink alcohol. I get to order pizza whenever I want. I get to stay up late and watch whatever movies or TV shows I want. AND, I have the added bonus of living with a boy full time. Joy!

BUT, I miss summer vacation. I miss the feeling on the last day of school when everyone would sing that Alice Cooper song while walking down the hallways towards the exits. I miss that feeling of having the whole glorious summer ahead of me. I miss jumping off the bus at my stop and thundering down the street towards my house for the last time that year with all the carefree joy and abandon that my heart could possibly hold.

Mostly, I think back to long days at our neighborhood pool. I was lucky enough to grow up in a awesome subdivision. We had a big lake in the center where we could go fishing, tons of kid-friendly sidewalks to ride our bikes on, and a glorious pool (complete with a deep end and diving board) that was open to residents anytime, day or night. We'd pretty much go there every day, all day - even when it was cloudy. And we'd stay until our bodies got tired or the need for a mom-made sandwich drove us back onto our bikes and back home.

Even with all the daytime swimming, we were not satisified. And sometimes, at night, when dinner was over, our Dad would agree to take us back for a nighttime dip. I am confident that even when I am old and gray, I will look back on those precious times as some of the happiest of my life, and most certainly, I will look back to those times and remember my father incredibly fondly. He is an excellent swimmer. He was actually a lifeguard as a teenager, and he would delight us with incredible feats of underwater swimming, and allow us to climb onto his back and be a passenger on some of his trips below the surface.

Afterwards, we'd tumble home in the dark and rinse the chlorine from our bodies and hair and climb into warm pajamas. Even now, my nostalgia is no match for my incredible need to provide these kinds of memories to my children (which I will hopefully have someday). They're so precious. Those moments in life that elevate you and open you up to happiness are the most treasured possessions anyone can have. In spite of all the shit that we have to go through everyday, in spite of all the times Husband or I feel trapped or depressed or futile, I always have memories like that to go back to.

So, when the man's got me down, and the checking account balance is surprisingly low, and work sucks, and I look around and realize how far I still have to go, I just think about summer vacation. I think about the quiet beneath the water and the way it felt to joke with my sisters while we rode our bikes to our favorite spot. I think about my Dad's smile when he'd climb up the side ladder after a perfect dive. I remember us. And it never fails to give me back some of what adulthood takes.

Just a little good, old-fashioned joy. No responsibilities. No impending collapse. No worries.

Just us, a pool, and a summer to spend by it.

Me. In Pictures.

I'd seen this on a couple of other blogs and thought that it was very interesting. So, I am jumping on the bandwagon. The way it works: Answer the 12 questions below and then type each answer into a Flickr search. Take one of the pictures that comes up for your word and paste it into the mosaic maker at:

http://bighugelabs.com/flickr/

Then, when you're finished, post it for the world to see you in pictures! Here are the questions:

1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food?
3. What high school did you attend?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. Favorite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favorite dessert?
9. What do you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. One word to describe you.
12. Your Flickr name.






1. Van Dyke: Allison, after Picasso, 2. Homemade Pepperoni Pizza, 3. Homestead High School, 4. Verde no Aquarius, 5. Harrison Ford, 6. 8pm landscape, 7. The Night City, 8. kahlua chocolate mousse, 9. Young student with his teacher, 10. return for refund., 11. eyes so tender, 12. Going Up And Down

I do find it hilarious, that the picture for #10 was found on my search for Husband's name (as he is the thing I love most in the world). Return for refund... hmmm. :)

Fumbling Towards a Change

Hello friends. I'm so sorry it has been a while since I last posted. In truth, I have been pretty darned busy and blogging definitely fell out of the limelight and into the background.

What was I up to?

I threw a successful and fun shower and bachelorette party for my best friend last weekend. I was pretty consumed by making sure that everything went well and in addition to that, Husband and I had been entertaining houseguests for basically the entire week previous. Needless to say, the combination of those two things left little time for anything personal.

But, the guests have all left, and the party has been thrown, and Husband and I are looking forward to a blissfully open weekend (aside from one family get-together on Saturday afternoon). A little "down-time" is definitely in order.

In addition to these little events, I have also been feeling a larger event in the making deep inside of my heart. For a long time now I have been struggling with making the transition into being the best version of me possible. Although I know that becoming the best you can be takes a lifetime and is probably never really accomplished (because we are just human, after all), I have felt on the brink of making a huge stride in the right direction for some time now.

I have spoken before on this blog about my deep affection for all living creatures. I do indeed have very intense feelings about animal rights and about fighting cruelty and about becoming closer with nature and the Earth, but I realized the other day that I'm being a total poser. Yes, my feelings are legitimate, but I'm not really doing anything about them. The most overwhelming part of the realization was the fact that I had never even thought about that before. It had never really occurred to me that all of my rambling and my hurt feelings and my love for my dogs meant basically nothing on a larger scale.

I needed to take action.

So, I started. I decided first to begin replacing all of my beauty/hygiene products with ones made from natural ingredients by companies who conduct no animal testing. Because I wasn't sure who these companies were, I went looking (where else?) on the internet. I found a website called http://www.caringconsumer.com/ and another (which I found the most helpful and easiest to use) at http://www.navs.org/site/PageServer?pagename=ain_pt_whois. The Caring Consumer page is run by PETA and gives a list of all the companies that do and do not conduct animal testing. The second page is run by the National Anti-Vivisection Society and allows you to search by company or product to see if they are using animals for research there.

I was surprised both by how many companies have shunned the practice and by how many companies still refuse to see the light. The truth is that there are many ways of testing beauty and household products that do not rely on dropping chemicals into the eyes of a bunny. Companies that carry on these practices DO NOT NEED THEM. They are completely without merit and oblivious to the plight of the poor creatures trapped in their labs. Yes, some animal testing is required by law, and although I do not like it, I do understand that when a new medicine is released testing on animals can show the possible side-effects that might mean death for those taking it. Companies that do this type of testing are required to do so by the government, so my beef is not really with them. What I am protesting here is the fact that animals are losing their lives because I want to wear make-up. It's a simple and as ridiculous as that.

I urge you all to consider going to one of the websites above to check out which of your purchases are involved in this atrocious practice. You may be pleasantly surprised that you already buy products that are created by enlightened companies. For example, make-up companies like Almay, Revlon, Bath and Body Works, Bare Escentuals, and Smashbox are all created without the use of animal testing. However, companies like Cover Girl, Procter and Gamble, Aveeno, Johnson and Johnson, Neutrogena and many many others are still employing this barbaric technique.

Another line of products that are easy to replace are your household cleaners. This one is a little bit tougher as almost every single cleaning product that is commonly used is created by one or two archaic corporations that refuse to give up their lab rats. However, please keep in mind that not only are these types of products hurting defenseless creatures, they are also hurting all of us by polluting our Earth and ruining our natural water sources. You can check out the lists, but if you use Windex, Clorox, Tide, Pledge, or any of their associated products (plus TONS more) you already own an Earth polluting, animal abusing product. And I'm not trying to make you feel bad about it - I personally have all of those products in my house (much to my dismay).

The important thing to remember is that there are alternatives, lots actually. It may take you an extra trip to a different store, but there are a lot of Earth-friendly, natural cleaning products that are also never tested on an animal of any sort. The products I plan to purchase are found at my local Target store (and I'm pretty sure can be found at any Target):



Method, Inc is an AWESOME company that uses totally natural, biodegradable ingredients and has never participated in animal testing. They are very down-to-earth and all of their products are very reasonably priced. Some other suggestions I've received for similar types of products are Holy Cow, Ecover, and Third Generation. I know that Holy Cow can be found at several grocery chains and Walgreens.

The last bit of change I'm making for now is cutting back the amount of meat I eat. This is not just for purely cruelty-related issues. This decision is actually primarily based on the environment. The meat industry in this country is one of the single largest contributors to environmental issues - not to mention the fact that we could be feeding our country and others much more efficiently if we were using our land for raising crops rather than cattle.

True, if I were totally prepared for this endeavor, I would cut meat altogether. But I'm trying to take my Dad's advice and make "little changes that will stick rather than drastic ones that won't." I do see myself hopefully cutting meat completely from my diet altogether (as this is what my heart is telling me to do) but my head knows that 26 years of meat-eating won't be easy to break. So, rather than eat meat every day of the week, I'm going to cut down to 2-3 times a week.

Also, when I am purchasing meat I am doing my best to search for organic, free range chickens that have not spent their lives in a tiny cage with half their beaks cut off (which is actually what they do). It may be a couple dollars more expensive (example: I paid $15 for four organic chicken breasts at the store, while their non-organic counterparts would have cost me $12)but that price is worth it to me, if it means that the animal was able to live a more natural life before its death. I have also been buying the free-range, vegetarian eggs for quite some time and have been paying attention to which milk brands do not use hormones in their cattle. There are lots of options out there, so if these causes are near to your heart they way they are to mine, very few sacrifices have to be made in order to make a difference.

I apologize if I seem like I'm on my soapbox, but my mind has really been consumed lately with the fact that our environment and our world really are in trouble. We hear it all the time, but we do need to wake up and begin doing our part to ensure that future generations have a viable planet to live on. What's most exciting for me is that I get to establish a lifestyle now that I can pass on to my kids (when I hopefully have them). It is our human responsibility to take care of our planet and the creatures that inhabit it. We may have been given dominion over it by God, but that does not mean we have the right to disrespect the Earth or its inhabitants or to bend them to our will. We have a responsibility for their well-being. We are the only ones who can turn our behavior around, and I'm quickly learning that just a few small changes from all of us is the way to begin doing just that.

Thank you for reading. And please consider looking into some of these things for yourself. They are terribly important, and we would really be doing future generations a disservice if we continue on the way we are. I sincerely hope you are all having a great week so far, and I'll be sure to update you along the way of this journey. I'm certain it won't be entirely simple, but for once in my life, I feel like I'm really heading in the right direction.

Kurt Vonnegut once wrote, "Life is no way to treat an animal." And even though I used to agree, I really think that with some hard work, we can prove him wrong.