HATE MAIL

I received a truly disturbing email response/comment today from someone from Rupert or Burley, Idaho who among other judgments and accusations, started out his histrionics with: I am fairly certain your pride will not allow you to make this reply visible to those for whom you put on a face of wealth, erudition, and self righteousness, but perhaps you can be edified by reading it nonetheless. Is that the height of sainthood or what?

He then proceeded to preach to me about pride, conceit, self-centeredness...etc etc etc and quoted many, many scriptures and words from prophets and general authorities. It was hell, fire and damnation at its solid best. Should I have posted his comments? Am I nuts? What scared me to death is that he mentioned my first name (spelled wrong of course...) which brings me to careful conclusion that this fanatic knows me or knows someone who knows me. I mean, if I had somehow written my name somewhere, I know I'd have spelled it right. There are other clues that point to this most probable conclusion. It was very obvious that he was not responding to any of my blogs and instead was responding to something else outside my blog. Perhaps his own heavy baggage. No, make that VERY heavy baggage. Curious.

The thing is, the tone of the email had so much disdain and strong emotion against me that I don't know if I am dealing with a nut who might have a gun. (I mean, Idaho....) And the fanatic undertones are quite disturbing. It was obvious that it was personal. And I have no idea why. He was so affected by whatever it is that he thinks he read or perhaps by some outside influence that he even started his own blog shortly after reading my site. He spent time on my site on two occasions at least, spending at least an hour everytime. His blog contained pretty much the same vitriol as his email. That's a whole lot of time to spend on just me. I should be flattered but I feel like I need to freak out now. Or hurl. I know there's a chance that he may be reading this and if you are, please do not contact me again because none of your words were "edifying" and I do not respond well to sanctimonious insults and self-righteous preachings. Who does? He also claims to be Mormon...yikes! I hope that's not so! This type of heavy handed pontification is what gives Mormonism a bad reputation.

I do "see" him on my tracker and I can "see" what pages he clicks in and out of. (Wooops...a dangling participle!) And for sure, he is spending time reading and wandering around my blogsite... at one instance my tracker showed him spending some time in my site at around 4:00 in the morning. Obsessed? I smell an agenda. And it is rank with venom. Pity.

In any case, this 'troubled soul' needs to lighten up and mind his own business. Whatever agenda you may have, your efforts and time will be better served concentrating on your own affairs and delving into someone's life especially when you know nothing about it is utterly judgmental, one-sided and unfair. If you are doing this in behalf of someone who may know me, be smart enough to realize that you know nothing about me . . . other than the one side you hear with all its colors, prejudices and obviously, rancor. And if you have a shred of decency, you should feel some measure of remorse for being so quick to judge...and preach.

In any case, go ahead and read my blogs. You may learn that you have sorely misjudged me. Shame on you. But then again, your choice of a handle (Baal) is so apropo. Baal: the name of a Judeo-Christian demon. 'Nuff said.

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Latest note:

Found out that the hater's email extension is the same as the relatives in Idaho and from the information from my tracker, I was able to infer many more interesting details regarding this persons's identity. Knowing this, I no longer have any curiosity to find out who exactly this person is because....well, it's obvious.

STRESS & CONFUSION

We will be going to Utah on Saturday to attend a wedding. I am already stressing about it because we will not be able to attend the ceremony. Hannah's last Jazz Concert is the night before and there is no flight to SLC late enough that we can catch. We will have to catch the earliest flight out the morning of the wedding in time to make it to the wedding brunch. Cost of airline tickets for three: $850 and change. We will have to spend the night to make it to the reception. That means we will have to pay for a hotel room and a car rental too. We will leave on the early flight back to LAS on Sunday morning to make it to church where Kurt will be conducting the meetings and I am scheduled to teach Relief Society. I haven't even read the lesson. Yikes.

Here's what I'm hoping: I am hoping that family members will appreciate our efforts of being there even if we miss the ceremony. I am hoping that there will be no fault-finding. I am hoping that there will be no criticisms and gossip and especially any kinds of assumptions, presumptions and/or judgments regarding our decisions and preferences. I am hoping that there will be no backtalk or complaining to each other about our motivations. I am hoping that there will be no veiled comments, insults that masquerade as jokes or attempts to "put one over me" or any member of my immediate family. I am hoping that everyone will just be happy to be together and forget about competing or other garbage.

Today, I found out that my step-sister who is only 42 years old has liver cancer. She has baseball-sized tumors in her liver that they have identified as malignant. There are still gargantuan tumors left in her liver and the doctors simply closed her up and sent her home. The doctors still have to figure out what kind of cancer they are up against. It feels so grim right now and I feel dark all over.

Also this morning, a close family friend took her father to undergo routine colonoscopy. They found colon cancer and they asked him to surrender to surgery ASAP---possibly today. It also sounds grim.

Family is so important. Life is so unpredictable. And we are at the age where things happen. There are three children who may lose their mother. My step-sister may not live to see her grandchildren love her, touch her, hug her, give her kisses. She is so young and had so many aspirations. She was on the track of improving her life. Now she is stopped right on her tracks. I am devastated.

There is a daughter who may lose her father at a time when she is just getting to know him better and enjoying his company not just as her father but as another human being. He may not see his grandchildren become teenagers. They will not enjoy his company and his affections....his quiet acts of service and sharing. He merely came to town for a short visit from a far away country oceans and times away and now he sits stunned that somewhere in his body, there are alien cells threatening to end his life.

For years and years, I watched as families pass on the many opportunities to communicate love and affection---dangerously failing to foster understanding, harmony and joy that they are in fact, a family. I watch as they deliberately and without thought, pass on the many opportunities to bond, grow and understand each other and instead, demur and choose to be distant, silent or disconnected. I hope that they do not get to the inevitable points in life where they have to be compelled to invest, nurture and care for every relationship that they have been gifted with.

As I ponder on the seeming inequities of life, I am beset with a sudden sadness and a sense of foreboding. Suddenly, going to a wedding where I can be shredded to pieces doesn't sound too bad at all. At least for right now.

PLANT KILLER

I am staring at a potted plant in full bloom that I got for Mother's Day. There is a wastebasket below it and I am so severely tempted to place the whole thing in the basket. It is a strange feeling. It's like an obsessive, compulsive notion that keeps on nudging me to do just that. There is a nagging voice inside me that urgently tells me that it would be easier to chuck it now than later when the flowers are dried up and the leaves are so brittle that I would simply make a big mess just by moving the pot. That same voice also tells me that it is taking up room on my already cluttered desk and the sooner I trash it, the easier it would be to tidy up. I resist the strong temptation. And I have a difficult time enjoying the blossoms because I know that in due time, it will die no matter how much I care for it. I am a plant killer.

Plants and I don't get along very well. I've had grandiose dreams of blooming flowers and healthy, happy plants thriving in my care. Make that dream more like a nightmare.

One time, I bought a beautiful bamboo plant from San Diego. It was most dense and had an undeniable character. I lovingly placed the pot in a large ceramic container making sure that there was ample drainage so the roots don't bound. Every morning, I would talk to Mr. Bamboo and spray some tepid water on its leaves and stems thinking that this would refresh it and make it happy. I made sure the soil was not wet nor dry. I fed it the recommended fertilizer and placed it in a sunny, southern exposure so its leaves will enjoy the sun.

Then the leaves began to fall off. There was a white, milky substance on the leaves and I didn't think too much of it until one morning, I noticed that there were tiny, tiny white dots moving on the surface of the leaves. Aphids! By this time, most of the leaves had fallen and I had no wherewithal, whim or fancy as to how to fix the problem. Mr. Bamboo died a sad, slow death.

Then there were the various flamboyant topiaries made of delicate ivy. I purchased several of them. Some where shaped like round wreaths, some where heart-shaped, others were round balls of happy ivy and yet others were double-rings. I loved ivy topiaries! I placed them in beautiful containers and pots. Sometimes, I even tied a bow on the stem. I lovingly cared for them, talked to them, watered them. But one by one, their leaves turned an ugly brown or sickly darkest green and then die. Every single time. I think I went through over a dozen of these vain attempts to keep them alive to no avail. I would kill them all haplessly and helplessly.

In due time, I simply bought topiaries with the expectation that they would last only a few days before I threw them in the trash. Presently, I no longer purchase them and have settled instead for the gloriously fake ones. Consequently, I no longer have live plants in my house.

I think that taking care of plants is a mystic calling that unfortunately, was not bestowed upon me by the garden gods that be. I accept that. I envy the stalward devotee who can, with just the touch of his or her hand, make plants happy, bountiful and thriving.

As for me, I've moved on accepting that there are other things that demand my nurturing.