Have you ever had sex with your husband, knowing that cops from Alaska to Arkansas have seen video of it? I have. And when I've met some of the cops while out in daily life, they have blushed bright red. So I know it's true.
The first hint of my life being videotaped came from laughing head himself. One day the head watching in the window became two heads. With a square black object held in front of one, a bit far away to tell for sure at the time. But later I would know my suspicions were spot on.
At the time, all I knew for sure is that every moment of my life was being monitored. Sitka being a small town, it's hard not to run into a cop in your everyday life. But seeing as I knew unauthorized psychological experiments were being conducted on me, the chief of police was taking an inordinate amount of interest in my shopping habits, and my home itself was ground zero for observation, I went with the theory that other happenings weren't so much happenstance.
I suspected that the two ladies running through the woods while Isaac and I took our walk were there for more than just the fresh air. And the jerky guy who always jogged up silently behind me so close he nearly brushed my shoulder, despite the path being four feet wide, then exhaled extremely loud in my ear - making me yelp - was most likely a cop too. That and most times at restaurants I could detect someone nearby trying to act as if they didn't know me or weren't listening - but obviously were.
One day while walking Sarge down the gravel hill, I stopped. Did they watch all people who were abused as a child this closely? I doubted it. It would be impossible. It was obvious they had predetermined in their minds what I was like based solely on what other people had done to me as a child. I was being treated like a criminal. I knew then I was going to be the most watched person in history. What a waste of time, resources and money.
Our Constitutional rights to privacy are a huge concern in modern life. I can tell you from personal experience what it feels like. When it goes on and on and on without stopping for ten years like it has us, you second-guess every move you make. What does it look like to other people? What do they think? How much of the videos have they seen?
So if you are thinking after reading the first six posts, how can she bare so much of her life? It's because it already has been. I have nothing to hide. And they know it. They have the videos to prove it.
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Sunday, September 27, 2015
Live Experiments
A bug under the microscope. That perfectly describes what they are doing to my life, to Isaac's life. Apparently emboldened by the fact I hadn't sued them, Sitka Medical Center decided next to turn my life into their personal laboratory.
The first experiment falls under the category of 'I can't prove it but I know in my heart what I am thinking is true'.
I was walking my 100-pound 3-foot dog Sarge up the gravel hill leading to the mountain behind our house in Sitka when three kids rushed us. I had to hold a hand up and tell them to stop immediately. They supposedly wanted to pet my dog. Ok. Let's examine this scenario. Number one, in fourteen years owning my dogs, not once has a child approached us for any reason. Why would they? Compared to the size of a child my dogs tend to be on the gargantuan end of the spectrum. The only people who ever stopped were adults driving cars who were so star struck by Babs' beauty that they just had to pause, lean out the window and comment. Yeah, Sarge never invoked that response. So I knew immediately something was up. Kids don't run at a behemoth like Sarge. Away from maybe. But never at.
So I paused. I could feel them. Watching me again. I looked at the apartment building where the kids had come running from. Trying to hone in on where the feeling was coming from. I couldn't decide where it was originating - second floor middle window or third floor corner window facing the ocean, the direction we had come from. Both apartments had the curtains closed so I couldn't tell for sure. I finally came to the conclusion people were watching in both locations, someone to say we were coming, and another to have a better view of when the kids rushed us.
First off, to even run an experiment like that is an insult to who I am as a person, to my character. It also told me a lot about what they thought of me and how they had already predetermined in their minds what I must be like just because of what other people had done to me as a child. What they did disgusts me on so many levels.
Apparently, I couldn't even now leave my house without some sort of weird experiment being conducted. The next one is even weirder.
Again, on one of our walks up the hill, construction workers were laying new tar on the flat roof of a strip mall across the street. Nothing unusual there right? Except one worker was wearing a brand new sparkling clean white long-sleeve shirt, pressed to perfection. Just like the shirt my preacher dad must have worn on Sunday mornings.
Seriously? Yeah. That sounds like the perfect choice for that job. So I knew they wanted me to look. Though it truly was beyond stupid. So I looked. And on our way back down the hill, a dark SUV with even darker tinted windows so you couldn't tell who was driving slowly pulled right up in front of us, the back window rolled down just enough so someone could see us, but we couldn't see who they were. And again, a little hard to prove but I'm leaning towards it was them because no one wears a long-sleeve white freshly-pressed dress shirt to lay tar on a roof.
Even the military which is infamous for conducting experiments on unsuspecting subjects, now acknowledges that doing so is unethical. Yet my whole life is being treated as no more valuable than that of a bug under a microscope.
The first experiment falls under the category of 'I can't prove it but I know in my heart what I am thinking is true'.
I was walking my 100-pound 3-foot dog Sarge up the gravel hill leading to the mountain behind our house in Sitka when three kids rushed us. I had to hold a hand up and tell them to stop immediately. They supposedly wanted to pet my dog. Ok. Let's examine this scenario. Number one, in fourteen years owning my dogs, not once has a child approached us for any reason. Why would they? Compared to the size of a child my dogs tend to be on the gargantuan end of the spectrum. The only people who ever stopped were adults driving cars who were so star struck by Babs' beauty that they just had to pause, lean out the window and comment. Yeah, Sarge never invoked that response. So I knew immediately something was up. Kids don't run at a behemoth like Sarge. Away from maybe. But never at.
So I paused. I could feel them. Watching me again. I looked at the apartment building where the kids had come running from. Trying to hone in on where the feeling was coming from. I couldn't decide where it was originating - second floor middle window or third floor corner window facing the ocean, the direction we had come from. Both apartments had the curtains closed so I couldn't tell for sure. I finally came to the conclusion people were watching in both locations, someone to say we were coming, and another to have a better view of when the kids rushed us.
First off, to even run an experiment like that is an insult to who I am as a person, to my character. It also told me a lot about what they thought of me and how they had already predetermined in their minds what I must be like just because of what other people had done to me as a child. What they did disgusts me on so many levels.
Apparently, I couldn't even now leave my house without some sort of weird experiment being conducted. The next one is even weirder.
Again, on one of our walks up the hill, construction workers were laying new tar on the flat roof of a strip mall across the street. Nothing unusual there right? Except one worker was wearing a brand new sparkling clean white long-sleeve shirt, pressed to perfection. Just like the shirt my preacher dad must have worn on Sunday mornings.
Seriously? Yeah. That sounds like the perfect choice for that job. So I knew they wanted me to look. Though it truly was beyond stupid. So I looked. And on our way back down the hill, a dark SUV with even darker tinted windows so you couldn't tell who was driving slowly pulled right up in front of us, the back window rolled down just enough so someone could see us, but we couldn't see who they were. And again, a little hard to prove but I'm leaning towards it was them because no one wears a long-sleeve white freshly-pressed dress shirt to lay tar on a roof.
Even the military which is infamous for conducting experiments on unsuspecting subjects, now acknowledges that doing so is unethical. Yet my whole life is being treated as no more valuable than that of a bug under a microscope.
Saturday, September 26, 2015
Always Watching
Do you ever feel like you're being watched? Yeah - me, not so much. In fact it was so rare in my childhood that the only two instances were so creepy that they are forever seared in my memory.
After school detention for, gasp, socializing, meant I often stayed late to write a hundred times on the blackboard that I will not talk with my neighbors. Backfired on them though - I actually liked writing and spending time with the teacher rather than go home to an empty house. The creepy thing though is someone else noticed me leaving later than all the other kids, walking home by myself.
I could feel him long before I could see him. So I slowed my pace. And that's when I saw it, his shadow move back deeper into the approaching alley. Fear ran through my body as I crossed over to the other side of the street. Now from a safer distance I dared to look between the old brownstone apartments divided by the alley. He was gone. But he had been there. He definitely had been there.
It's even worse when the watcher is someone you know. Like your own mother. I was now in 11th grade and a majorette with the East High School, Des Moines, Iowa band. A few twirling lessons back when I was five finally paid off with a spot on the squad. (That and the infinite patience of my new friend that actually propped her stereo speakers in her bedroom windows, facing out, so we could figure out a winning routine - blasting the Beach Boys over and over. Did you know that you can get amazingly good at throwing a baton super-high in the air, then twirl around to catch it when you are practicing outside? Good thing the band room where they held tryouts had two-story ceilings.)
It was a Friday night football game. The pep squad had decorated our lockers too, just like the football players, which I'm sure they enjoyed decorating more. Mom had drove me there. As I got out I told her to just go ahead and go home. I knew plenty of people I could mooch a ride off of. She pulled out a paper. I pled - seriously - these games are endless. I'll be fine. To no avail. She was not budging. This is stupid I thought as I walked away. I really wished I could have talked her into leaving so I could enjoy myself. I wasn't a baby after all. We were supposed to sit with the band so I took my appointed space and tried to relax. But again I could feel the watching. I squirmed. I looked off into the distance. I couldn't make out which car was ours in the over-packed parking lot. But I could feel it. The hate. Like a hot, searing blast of hate. Directed just at me. It made me miserable. I just wanted to have fun in this one moment of time.
So I do know what it feels like to be watched. That's why I could recognize it so fast when they started watching me in Sitka. It's not something you see. You feel it first, then sometimes it's confirmed by what you see, like at Sea Mart.
When you have the kind of childhood I did you end up with defense mechanisms. I didn't even realize I had mine until I stopped to think about it. They had become as much a part of me as my DNA.
What I do is... Watch. Everything. Everyone. Does. Says. Emotes. Infers. Tones. Moves. Looks.
Watch. My Environment. Changes. Scenes. Movements. To the point I do it without even thinking. To the point I can read what other people are thinking. To the point it becomes a version of psychic.
So I could actually feel his presence before he got close to the house. We had just brought Isaac home and spent our days cuddling on the sofa reading, strolling in the Sitka National Forrest Park, and dancing to music played over the tv channels. Our house had a beautiful view of the ocean off to the right, and the whole world could see us thanks to glass spanning the entire front. I loved that place. Light everywhere. But did I see him coming? No. I felt him coming. Long before the SUV passed by, I would look up, no matter what I was doing and see him watching me as he drove past. No matter which way he was coming from. No matter what time of day. Finally he figured out I was always looking back. So he started turning his rearview mirror in towards the cab and looked the other way. But I still knew. He was looking at me in the mirror.
Always watching my environment, I knew whoever lived in the house on the curve to our left was a shift worker. Only shift workers line their windows with foil. It's the cheapest, easiest way to block out the light so you can sleep during the day. And since there is no industry in Sitka - that meant a cop, firefighter or hospital worker lived there.
And one day the foil disappeared. A head appeared. Just the head since it was one of those narrow windows high up on a wall, for design effect. Isaac and I had a favorite game we played. I would push his walker to the end of the hall and tell him to wait. I'd rush back to the kitchen and hide around the corner, calling for him to come. Then say 'BOO!' when he reached the corner. Being the smart kiddo he is, it only took once for him to figure this was going to be fantastic fun. And it was. It was hard for me not to laugh before he reached the corner. Each BOO was met with squeals and hands in the air. Even the head in the window was probably laughing.
Sounds innocent enough right? Just watching right? But it was so much more than that. It didn't stop there. I couldn't hear them, I couldn't see them and I could only assume they entered while Isaac and I were on our daily walk - but I could feel them in the house. In Isaac's bedroom to be exact. The design is what provided the perfect hiding spot. A loft in his bedroom, accessed only by a ladder is where I felt someone. Second-story buildings have always creeped me out, so I had lined the ladder with stuffed animals, to visually take away the effect of having a loft overhead. None of the animals ever seemed to be disturbed. Still. Someone had managed to scale up there. Listening. Watching everything we did. I could feel them.
You only imagine things like this happening in Russia, China, countries where people aren't free. I was definitely not living in the land of the free anymore. People in those countries know they might be watched at any moment. I knew for a fact I was always being watched, inside my house, outside my house. No matter what I was doing. I couldn't even have sex with my husband without knowing someone was watching, listening. It creeped me out but I didn't think I could stop them. They seemed determined to do whatever they wanted with my life. I thought about telling my husband since I told him everything. But tell him what? Even I couldn't believe this was happening - even though I knew it to be true for a fact.
It was the beginning of what I refer to as feeling like a bug under a microscope. Unfortunately they didn't stop with just looking, always watching. What they did was so much worse. If I could have stopped them Isaac - I would have. Their looking at us, watching us wasn't so innocent. They had decided beforehand our futures. And we didn't have the freedom to stop them.
After school detention for, gasp, socializing, meant I often stayed late to write a hundred times on the blackboard that I will not talk with my neighbors. Backfired on them though - I actually liked writing and spending time with the teacher rather than go home to an empty house. The creepy thing though is someone else noticed me leaving later than all the other kids, walking home by myself.
I could feel him long before I could see him. So I slowed my pace. And that's when I saw it, his shadow move back deeper into the approaching alley. Fear ran through my body as I crossed over to the other side of the street. Now from a safer distance I dared to look between the old brownstone apartments divided by the alley. He was gone. But he had been there. He definitely had been there.
It's even worse when the watcher is someone you know. Like your own mother. I was now in 11th grade and a majorette with the East High School, Des Moines, Iowa band. A few twirling lessons back when I was five finally paid off with a spot on the squad. (That and the infinite patience of my new friend that actually propped her stereo speakers in her bedroom windows, facing out, so we could figure out a winning routine - blasting the Beach Boys over and over. Did you know that you can get amazingly good at throwing a baton super-high in the air, then twirl around to catch it when you are practicing outside? Good thing the band room where they held tryouts had two-story ceilings.)
It was a Friday night football game. The pep squad had decorated our lockers too, just like the football players, which I'm sure they enjoyed decorating more. Mom had drove me there. As I got out I told her to just go ahead and go home. I knew plenty of people I could mooch a ride off of. She pulled out a paper. I pled - seriously - these games are endless. I'll be fine. To no avail. She was not budging. This is stupid I thought as I walked away. I really wished I could have talked her into leaving so I could enjoy myself. I wasn't a baby after all. We were supposed to sit with the band so I took my appointed space and tried to relax. But again I could feel the watching. I squirmed. I looked off into the distance. I couldn't make out which car was ours in the over-packed parking lot. But I could feel it. The hate. Like a hot, searing blast of hate. Directed just at me. It made me miserable. I just wanted to have fun in this one moment of time.
So I do know what it feels like to be watched. That's why I could recognize it so fast when they started watching me in Sitka. It's not something you see. You feel it first, then sometimes it's confirmed by what you see, like at Sea Mart.
When you have the kind of childhood I did you end up with defense mechanisms. I didn't even realize I had mine until I stopped to think about it. They had become as much a part of me as my DNA.
What I do is... Watch. Everything. Everyone. Does. Says. Emotes. Infers. Tones. Moves. Looks.
Watch. My Environment. Changes. Scenes. Movements. To the point I do it without even thinking. To the point I can read what other people are thinking. To the point it becomes a version of psychic.
So I could actually feel his presence before he got close to the house. We had just brought Isaac home and spent our days cuddling on the sofa reading, strolling in the Sitka National Forrest Park, and dancing to music played over the tv channels. Our house had a beautiful view of the ocean off to the right, and the whole world could see us thanks to glass spanning the entire front. I loved that place. Light everywhere. But did I see him coming? No. I felt him coming. Long before the SUV passed by, I would look up, no matter what I was doing and see him watching me as he drove past. No matter which way he was coming from. No matter what time of day. Finally he figured out I was always looking back. So he started turning his rearview mirror in towards the cab and looked the other way. But I still knew. He was looking at me in the mirror.
Always watching my environment, I knew whoever lived in the house on the curve to our left was a shift worker. Only shift workers line their windows with foil. It's the cheapest, easiest way to block out the light so you can sleep during the day. And since there is no industry in Sitka - that meant a cop, firefighter or hospital worker lived there.
And one day the foil disappeared. A head appeared. Just the head since it was one of those narrow windows high up on a wall, for design effect. Isaac and I had a favorite game we played. I would push his walker to the end of the hall and tell him to wait. I'd rush back to the kitchen and hide around the corner, calling for him to come. Then say 'BOO!' when he reached the corner. Being the smart kiddo he is, it only took once for him to figure this was going to be fantastic fun. And it was. It was hard for me not to laugh before he reached the corner. Each BOO was met with squeals and hands in the air. Even the head in the window was probably laughing.
Sounds innocent enough right? Just watching right? But it was so much more than that. It didn't stop there. I couldn't hear them, I couldn't see them and I could only assume they entered while Isaac and I were on our daily walk - but I could feel them in the house. In Isaac's bedroom to be exact. The design is what provided the perfect hiding spot. A loft in his bedroom, accessed only by a ladder is where I felt someone. Second-story buildings have always creeped me out, so I had lined the ladder with stuffed animals, to visually take away the effect of having a loft overhead. None of the animals ever seemed to be disturbed. Still. Someone had managed to scale up there. Listening. Watching everything we did. I could feel them.
You only imagine things like this happening in Russia, China, countries where people aren't free. I was definitely not living in the land of the free anymore. People in those countries know they might be watched at any moment. I knew for a fact I was always being watched, inside my house, outside my house. No matter what I was doing. I couldn't even have sex with my husband without knowing someone was watching, listening. It creeped me out but I didn't think I could stop them. They seemed determined to do whatever they wanted with my life. I thought about telling my husband since I told him everything. But tell him what? Even I couldn't believe this was happening - even though I knew it to be true for a fact.
It was the beginning of what I refer to as feeling like a bug under a microscope. Unfortunately they didn't stop with just looking, always watching. What they did was so much worse. If I could have stopped them Isaac - I would have. Their looking at us, watching us wasn't so innocent. They had decided beforehand our futures. And we didn't have the freedom to stop them.
Thursday, September 24, 2015
Firecracker Baby
I was born on the Fourth of July. Just writing that makes me smile. It was the one day a year poverty could not touch. No matter what - the parade would march by, throwing candy at us kids. The carnival would take over the town square of Chariton, Iowa and even just one ride was a thrill. Ice cold watermelon juice dripped down our bare summer legs onto the front steps. When the sun finally called it a day is when the real fun began - fireworks overhead and sparklers in our hands, waving to make our own show.
It was just simple fun. The kind we almost take for granted here in the United States. Where we have peace to live our life the way we want. Even if all we want is just that one ride, just that one piece of watermelon, just a chance to dance with a sparkler in our hand. But what if it weren't that way? What if you woke up one day and uniformed militia guarded every bank, every large store with machine guns as you walked in? What if you had to take your child to the airport in the middle of the night, to greet the next flight from America - so you could point out the richest looking woman - 'Right there - her - go to her.' Telling them the most likely target to beg from.
What if instead you had been born in Guatemala? That was the future my son Isaac faced until we were blessed with the opportunity to rescue him. At least that is how it started. As I look at his beautiful face now it's obvious he rescued us from so much more.
When I turned towards the ocean that day at Sea Mart, my heart told him, you are home now. This shining place where diamonds play across the water - this is your future. At that point, we should have been left in peace to live our life. We were in America - right? I was soon to find out I no longer lived in the land of the free.
It was just simple fun. The kind we almost take for granted here in the United States. Where we have peace to live our life the way we want. Even if all we want is just that one ride, just that one piece of watermelon, just a chance to dance with a sparkler in our hand. But what if it weren't that way? What if you woke up one day and uniformed militia guarded every bank, every large store with machine guns as you walked in? What if you had to take your child to the airport in the middle of the night, to greet the next flight from America - so you could point out the richest looking woman - 'Right there - her - go to her.' Telling them the most likely target to beg from.
What if instead you had been born in Guatemala? That was the future my son Isaac faced until we were blessed with the opportunity to rescue him. At least that is how it started. As I look at his beautiful face now it's obvious he rescued us from so much more.
When I turned towards the ocean that day at Sea Mart, my heart told him, you are home now. This shining place where diamonds play across the water - this is your future. At that point, we should have been left in peace to live our life. We were in America - right? I was soon to find out I no longer lived in the land of the free.
Monday, September 21, 2015
Campaign of Terror
'Do not be afraid of them. The Lord your God goes before you.' Instantly my throat closed at words my soul knew by heart from Sunday School. Not like hands around my neck, but a force centered entirely in one spot, the center front of my neck, just where a barely noticeable scar remains, a tiny point just big enough to twist a knife into. I had not felt that force since the day my mother died.
The Alaska I once loved slid past my view, 100-foot spruce interrupted by a mix of empty rich-owned architectural envy, dotted with local homesteads marked with noticeable signs of life - the oft used half-crooked deck leaning down to the edge of the Inside Passage water's edge and matching wooden stairs up to the house, kitchen windows with light shining through simple cotton curtains, smoke puffs drifting off roofs to fly closer to the eagles.
I had expected to feel happy, welcomed even, back to where we had first started our new family in Sitka. But this wasn't Sitka. It was Ketchikan. And suddenly, two simple sentences my soul spoke to my heart gripped me in fear. Them. That's plural. How many are they? Do not fear them. What are they going to do that I should not fear?
The first time I had noticed one of them was at the Sea Mart in Sitka some nine years prior. As I gently lifted Isaac out of his car seat and turned to face an ocean surface sparkling like diamonds on a rare rainforest sunny day, I knew I had made the perfect choice for a long-awaited first grocery trip as a mom.
There was a cheaper place we could have gone. But I didn't care. I wanted to always remember this day. For it to be absolutely perfect. And it was. Hardly anyone else there, time to linger over shelves brimming with organic and fancy brands. No need to hurry. So when I turned at the end of the first row and stopped at the brownie mixes, I knew exactly why I was taking so long. Even though I had been making brownies from scratch for years, I figured a new baby in the house would require a few adjustments here and there - so I was looking to see what if any, were the new options for an easy chocolate overdose. But why was the man at the other end of the aisle taking just as long?
For someone who was not gay nor a chef, he was willing to spend an inordinate amount of time looking at the spices. A man shopping for his wife, yet stumped as to where the heck is something would have pulled out his cell phone long ago. So as a person with an equally inordinate amount of patience, I waited him out. A few moments later my answer rounded the corner, greeting him with a cheery, 'Hey Chief!'. A pained looked actually crossed the chief of police's face. Busted. Not that I was surprised. It was just a confirmation of what I already knew.
I didn't know him from the paper; I never bought it. What alerted me to their actions was an extremely weird incident at the doctor's office.
I had gone to the Sitka Medical Center for an annual PAP exam. Instead, Dr. Donald R. Lehmann, M.D., performed an unauthorized, unethical psychological manipulation and experiment.
The first tip-off was everyone's mannerisms and voice tones when I arrived. They were all acting weird. By the time I passed the new visiting medical resident with an Italian name a mile long - I definitely knew something was up. He looked absolutely terrified. I almost turned around right then and there.
When Dr. Lehmann entered the room, he walked slowly, in an apparent predetermined line, straight towards me then turning sharply directly in front of me to walk slowly to a chair at the end of the room. Obviously to make sure I had a good long time to take in the change. As if I wouldn't have noticed that my doctor who normally wore shoes that cost more than all the shoes I've bought in a lifetime combined, with pants that draped like butter - decided to suddenly shop at the thrift shop and left with poor mismatched choices at that. With holes in the shoes. Seriously.
He then proceeded to perform the exam, looking for a physical response. To see if my subconscious would present the past to him. Unethical. To say the least. Which is why the new resident looked terrified. He knew what was happening was wrong.
After that, I knew to expect almost anything out of them. So I wasn't surprised to see them following me. What I didn't know though is that it was the launch of a campaign of terror against my tiny family - even before Isaac arrived.
The Alaska I once loved slid past my view, 100-foot spruce interrupted by a mix of empty rich-owned architectural envy, dotted with local homesteads marked with noticeable signs of life - the oft used half-crooked deck leaning down to the edge of the Inside Passage water's edge and matching wooden stairs up to the house, kitchen windows with light shining through simple cotton curtains, smoke puffs drifting off roofs to fly closer to the eagles.
I had expected to feel happy, welcomed even, back to where we had first started our new family in Sitka. But this wasn't Sitka. It was Ketchikan. And suddenly, two simple sentences my soul spoke to my heart gripped me in fear. Them. That's plural. How many are they? Do not fear them. What are they going to do that I should not fear?
The first time I had noticed one of them was at the Sea Mart in Sitka some nine years prior. As I gently lifted Isaac out of his car seat and turned to face an ocean surface sparkling like diamonds on a rare rainforest sunny day, I knew I had made the perfect choice for a long-awaited first grocery trip as a mom.
There was a cheaper place we could have gone. But I didn't care. I wanted to always remember this day. For it to be absolutely perfect. And it was. Hardly anyone else there, time to linger over shelves brimming with organic and fancy brands. No need to hurry. So when I turned at the end of the first row and stopped at the brownie mixes, I knew exactly why I was taking so long. Even though I had been making brownies from scratch for years, I figured a new baby in the house would require a few adjustments here and there - so I was looking to see what if any, were the new options for an easy chocolate overdose. But why was the man at the other end of the aisle taking just as long?
For someone who was not gay nor a chef, he was willing to spend an inordinate amount of time looking at the spices. A man shopping for his wife, yet stumped as to where the heck is something would have pulled out his cell phone long ago. So as a person with an equally inordinate amount of patience, I waited him out. A few moments later my answer rounded the corner, greeting him with a cheery, 'Hey Chief!'. A pained looked actually crossed the chief of police's face. Busted. Not that I was surprised. It was just a confirmation of what I already knew.
I didn't know him from the paper; I never bought it. What alerted me to their actions was an extremely weird incident at the doctor's office.
I had gone to the Sitka Medical Center for an annual PAP exam. Instead, Dr. Donald R. Lehmann, M.D., performed an unauthorized, unethical psychological manipulation and experiment.
The first tip-off was everyone's mannerisms and voice tones when I arrived. They were all acting weird. By the time I passed the new visiting medical resident with an Italian name a mile long - I definitely knew something was up. He looked absolutely terrified. I almost turned around right then and there.
When Dr. Lehmann entered the room, he walked slowly, in an apparent predetermined line, straight towards me then turning sharply directly in front of me to walk slowly to a chair at the end of the room. Obviously to make sure I had a good long time to take in the change. As if I wouldn't have noticed that my doctor who normally wore shoes that cost more than all the shoes I've bought in a lifetime combined, with pants that draped like butter - decided to suddenly shop at the thrift shop and left with poor mismatched choices at that. With holes in the shoes. Seriously.
He then proceeded to perform the exam, looking for a physical response. To see if my subconscious would present the past to him. Unethical. To say the least. Which is why the new resident looked terrified. He knew what was happening was wrong.
After that, I knew to expect almost anything out of them. So I wasn't surprised to see them following me. What I didn't know though is that it was the launch of a campaign of terror against my tiny family - even before Isaac arrived.
Thursday, September 17, 2015
Time is Precious
This was not supposed to be my post today. But then again, what happened Saturday was not supposed to happen either.
It was intended to be an innocent father/son fishing trip right down the road - not the sort of trip you give tearful goodbyes over.
Then the hospital called at about 5 p.m. It's times like this that time moves in different directions than the clock itself.
That's why people say things like ' I remember exactly what I was doing when the World Trade Center Towers fell'. That's because time stood still while the clock went forward.
Will Smith's teenagers, Willow and Jaden, were ripped apart last year for daring to discuss ideas that reveal Standardized Testing/Common Core to be the joke they are.
See tmagazine/nytimes exclusive article by Su Wu for the entire interview. Personally, I found it refreshing to read about teens that are obviously using their minds to a higher potential. Willow challenged the idea of time, saying in essence that she views time as fluid.
While she expressed her views in a non-conventional way - when you think about it, society as a whole acknowledges those same views everyday. Whole industries are built upon the concept of building more time into your day by prioritizing goals. In effect, stretching days by hours. Has time ever stood still when you met your true love? Did summer seem it would never end as a child?
One time concept I still can't bend my mind around is presented by God Himself in the Bible. He says, 'I always have been and always will be.' I can totally get the 'always will be' because I believe in Heaven. But always was? We experience life on earth as finite beings that are created by God. So we have a beginning and ending until we go on to Heaven. As such our time here is precious. Every single second.
What is even scarier than the pictures - to find out two days later that on the other side of the tree that stopped our car - was a 35-foot sheer cliff that would have meant certain death.
It was intended to be an innocent father/son fishing trip right down the road - not the sort of trip you give tearful goodbyes over.
Then the hospital called at about 5 p.m. It's times like this that time moves in different directions than the clock itself.
That's why people say things like ' I remember exactly what I was doing when the World Trade Center Towers fell'. That's because time stood still while the clock went forward.
Will Smith's teenagers, Willow and Jaden, were ripped apart last year for daring to discuss ideas that reveal Standardized Testing/Common Core to be the joke they are.
See tmagazine/nytimes exclusive article by Su Wu for the entire interview. Personally, I found it refreshing to read about teens that are obviously using their minds to a higher potential. Willow challenged the idea of time, saying in essence that she views time as fluid.
While she expressed her views in a non-conventional way - when you think about it, society as a whole acknowledges those same views everyday. Whole industries are built upon the concept of building more time into your day by prioritizing goals. In effect, stretching days by hours. Has time ever stood still when you met your true love? Did summer seem it would never end as a child?
One time concept I still can't bend my mind around is presented by God Himself in the Bible. He says, 'I always have been and always will be.' I can totally get the 'always will be' because I believe in Heaven. But always was? We experience life on earth as finite beings that are created by God. So we have a beginning and ending until we go on to Heaven. As such our time here is precious. Every single second.
Here is where time almost stopped for us Saturday:
What is even scarier than the pictures - to find out two days later that on the other side of the tree that stopped our car - was a 35-foot sheer cliff that would have meant certain death.
How dare they. How dare they steal even one second of our life together.
Friday, September 11, 2015
From Des Moines St. to Guatemala City
As a child I stood in front of the Christmas tree and told my uncle that nine family members were raping me. I handed him evidence, in hope of getting a new family for Christmas. I had not even known he was a cop until one day he came to our house in uniform. They told me at school he would help. He didn't. His name - Danny Palmer - a now retired officer of the Des Moines, Iowa police department.
No one else would protect me, so I used the only weapon I had. My mind. I am now that child all grown-up. The military trained me to be a journalist; they gave me a voice I didn't have back then. A voice I now intend to use.
But this story is about so much more than me. I am on a mission. A mission to get my son's life back for him.
Our life together started Thanksgiving weekend 2005, when my husband and I flew to Guatemala City to pick up our new adopted son - Isaac. We were there for his first birthday and flew out late December as a brand-new family of 23 years.
We were thrilled and excited about the prospects the future now held. We finally had someone else to care for and worry about besides ourselves. If we had only known how the simple act of trying to pursue happiness by adding to our family would unleash a torrent of psychological terrorism and abuse spearheaded by law enforcement and educational agencies from Alaska to Arkansas - we also would have been filled with fear.
The details of how this all happened will unfold little by little throughout this blog. I chose the title 'So Help Me God' based on two reasons:
1. I alone stood with God as a child in that dark basement against evil no one should see. I alone stand today with God to protect my child from the evil he can't see.
2. So Help Me God is the last line in the legal oath you take when you testify with your hand on the Bible. For I tell the truth, and I can prove it beyond a shadow of doubt.
By now it should be clear that I have no reservations about naming names/locations for the guilty.
So here's the next one.
The actions of the staff of Arkansas Christian Academy, Bryant, Arkansas, should terrify every parent. In the less than four months that we paid this private school $500 per month for tuition and a person that masqueraded as a tutor - instead of educating my son - they stole his entire life. His past. His present. His future. Their actions make God Himself cry. They took our life that we had very carefully crafted day by day and destroyed it.
And I'm here to get my son's life back for him.
As a mother's undying, unconditional, always steadfast love to my son Isaac:
You deserve the life I had you ready to soar out into - not the one they wrapped their lies around. I alone stand today with God to proclaim the truth - So Help Me God.
To The Best Boy in the World
I Love You More than Anything Else in the Whole Entire World
Love, Mommy
No one else would protect me, so I used the only weapon I had. My mind. I am now that child all grown-up. The military trained me to be a journalist; they gave me a voice I didn't have back then. A voice I now intend to use.
But this story is about so much more than me. I am on a mission. A mission to get my son's life back for him.
Our life together started Thanksgiving weekend 2005, when my husband and I flew to Guatemala City to pick up our new adopted son - Isaac. We were there for his first birthday and flew out late December as a brand-new family of 23 years.
We were thrilled and excited about the prospects the future now held. We finally had someone else to care for and worry about besides ourselves. If we had only known how the simple act of trying to pursue happiness by adding to our family would unleash a torrent of psychological terrorism and abuse spearheaded by law enforcement and educational agencies from Alaska to Arkansas - we also would have been filled with fear.
The details of how this all happened will unfold little by little throughout this blog. I chose the title 'So Help Me God' based on two reasons:
1. I alone stood with God as a child in that dark basement against evil no one should see. I alone stand today with God to protect my child from the evil he can't see.
2. So Help Me God is the last line in the legal oath you take when you testify with your hand on the Bible. For I tell the truth, and I can prove it beyond a shadow of doubt.
By now it should be clear that I have no reservations about naming names/locations for the guilty.
So here's the next one.
The actions of the staff of Arkansas Christian Academy, Bryant, Arkansas, should terrify every parent. In the less than four months that we paid this private school $500 per month for tuition and a person that masqueraded as a tutor - instead of educating my son - they stole his entire life. His past. His present. His future. Their actions make God Himself cry. They took our life that we had very carefully crafted day by day and destroyed it.
And I'm here to get my son's life back for him.
As a mother's undying, unconditional, always steadfast love to my son Isaac:
You deserve the life I had you ready to soar out into - not the one they wrapped their lies around. I alone stand today with God to proclaim the truth - So Help Me God.
To The Best Boy in the World
I Love You More than Anything Else in the Whole Entire World
Love, Mommy
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