I am confused.

(So what else is new, eh?)

FoxNews has been running a ticker across the bottom of the teevee screen that caught my eye and prompted me to do a GoogleNews search.

What in the heck does Switzerland, sailing a magnificent yacht against New Zealand's beautiful black NZL82 yacht in the Hauraki Gulf (off the New Zealand coast) have to do with the potential war in Iraq?

Apparently some twisted group, calling themselves "September 11", believes that there is a connection.

Huh?

These believed terrorists claim to have 55 pounds of cyanide and will use it at the America's Cup yachting race venue:

"September 11 waits at the Americas Cup for instruction if Iraq is attacked by the host of satan all interests and there supporters will be attacked by September 11."

Now, in case you do not follow sailing (personally, it is a longtime love and passion) ... there are two competitors in the race: The challenger, Switzerland and the defender, New Zealand.

In actuality, the USA does not have a "dog in the hunt".

Supporters? Support? Huh?

Switzerland is historically neutral. Regarding the recent U.N. Resolution 1441 and USA's potential war against Iraq, Switzerland does not support military action and banned the USA war planes from the skies of Switzerland.

So ... um ... ?

And New Zealand? They do not support USA taking military action if it is not U.N.-mandated and will not commit combat forces in such an action.

So, yes ... I am confused.

Two basically non-aggressive countries are attempting to sail in their own vessels within non-international waters for the sole purpose of competition of boat against boat and man against wind and boat against water ... and some crazies are threatening to use deadly chemicals?

There are a lot of things that I do not understand regarding the U.N., other countries' viewpoint on military action, the USA politicos' need to start a war and so on ...

... but it appears that I am not the only one who is confused.

I do not sleep.

Wait. That is overstatement.

I do sleep ... but not well. I usually do not fall asleep until the wee hours of the morning (2:AM-ish) and I am always wide awake between 5:am and 6:am.

And in the few hours of snooze that I do get, I am fitful ... always vividly dreaming ... and find myself waking every 15-20 minutes.

I have always been like this. As a kid, as a teenager ... and as a young woman at university.

This natural need for only a few hours of sleep served me well as an assertive student with dual majors and later in my post graduate endeavors.

As a business woman, my sleeping habits affords me the luxury of catching the earliest uncrowded flights and the option to burn the proverbial midnight oil on client paperwork with no interruptions.

However, the older I get ... I find that these nocturnal time passages are too quiet. Too dark. Too alone. Too lonely.

Sometimes I feel isolated under the black velvet of nightfall. I feel that I alone am witnessing the early fingers of dawn stroking the nightsky.

This morning, as I watched the golden glow of the digital clock turn over minutes that achingly felt like hours ...

... I addressed the quiet of night by turning on CNN and I am told the good news:

Jesica Santillan is getting a new heart and lungs. This time, the match is correct.

A ray of hope.

Yes, the sun is rising on the darkness of my night.

Hope makes for a spectacular sunrise.

02.22.03 UPDATE: Now Jesica, you will shine forever in the hearts of those who love you. God speed.

"Ohhhhhh ... look at you."

"Mmmm ... you are so sweet."

"Wow, look how big you are."

"That body! So muscular ... it just reeks of animal sexuality."

"I could cuddle with you, sweet baby ... just sweep you up in my arms and hold you tight."

Subtitles from a "missing" Joe Millionaire episode? No.

Just a few of the words you would of heard if you were listening in my bedroom ...

... two nights in a row ...

... while watching the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show.

Congratulations, Mick (bark like a dog for me, baby) and to your handler, Bill McFadden ... and owner, MariLu Hansen.

I have heard all the clichés: You are as young as you feel and Age is just a number.

Well boy howdy! There is a lady living in Mesa (east of Phoenix) who must be feeling really frisky for a 71 year old woman.

Really frisky.

First, she has a boyfriend who is 27 years younger. 27!

In a world replete with double standards, I gotta give this senior seductress props. She has somehow succeeded in bashing the notion that all men are attracted to the idealized "sweet young woman".

Somehow succeeded.

Oh wait, I know! She allowed her home (in a rather fancy retirement gated community) to be used as a meth lab by her 44 year old paramour.

Pretty good cover, wouldn't you say? Granny is in the kitchen baking cookies and her boy toy is in the garage cooking up some crystal meth.

She, of course, says she didn't know what he was doing. Uh huh. Odd then, because she has previously been arrested after a traffic accident for driving under the influence of pain meds and cocaine.

At her age, I could perhaps understand the pain meds. But is that new pharmacology? A hit of codeine with a blow chaser? She was a youngin' at the time of this infraction, a mere babe at 69.

This story made all of the local teevee news and the saddest (and at the same time, most humorous) aspect was the image of this white haired distressed damsel pleading her case to the many microphones shoved in her face by saying that she "had no clue what he was doing" and her mistake was "falling in love with the wrong guy".

More clichés: Not only do we find that Love Is Blind but apparently it is stupid too.

I have an idea for a business.

It would be called "Gurneys On The Go" or "Prone To Party".

You see, I spend 90% of my life horizontal. Due to the severe injury to my back, I cannot sit for extended periods of time. Walking is limited, very limited.

Whilst the body may be broken, the spirit is willing. My brain functions in its relative normal capacity ... whatever the Hell that is!

And I have urges. I have needs.

... *clears throat while waiting for minds to get outta the gutter* ... ahem.

During baseball season, I would have paid a King's Ransom for a method to get to a game at the ball park ... the smell of peanuts and green grass ... the sound of the crack of the bat ... the camaraderie of being with like-minded fans.

At Christmas, I longed to be swept up in the fantasy of Christmas lights at the Phoenix Zoo ... feeling the brisk desert night against my cheek while the sounds of carols danced among the trees bedecked in holiday finery.

Until May 4th, there is an exhibit at the Phoenix Art Museum entitled, "El Greco to Picasso" ... and I am heartbroken that I will not be able to go see the works of the Masters that I have loved for so long. Matisse. Renoir. Monet. And more.

A wheelchair is out of the question. The ride to the ball park, to the zoo, to the museum ... it alone would paralyze me with pain.

However, horizontally ... I am pretty much pain free and longing to get back out into the world.

From my bed I have paid bills, made deals, shopped and shipped. I have been pedicured, manicured and cured a cold. I have computed, tutored and run a successful business.

So, the aforementioned business idea? Nicely dressed aides offering state-of-the-art gurneys in appropriately furnished vans run by a company that pulls all the strings and makes all the arrangements to get the "upright challenged" back into the world. For a moment. For a memory. For awhile.

Interested? How about "Wheeling Toward Healing"?

Today the USA and the world will honor, in memorial, the lives of the seven Shuttle Columbia astronauts.

I am sure it will be a day of mourning, sadness and grief.

Recently I have read the writings of some individuals who cannot understand and/or mock the sadness, the heartbreak and the sense of loss that people worldwide are feeling and expressing.

Of course, some individuals think of themselves as cool, hip ... perhaps edgy. And maintaining that persona affords them an audience who applauds their callous and cold remarks.

While it may afford them the luxury of basking within their own cynicism, I believe it costs them the elegance of compassion.

An elegance that is, without doubt, beautifully expressed by the men and women who are paid to be cynical ... to take a sideways glance at the world ... to mock and laugh at the human condition ... to express "edgy" in its most simple format:

The cartoonists honor the crew of Shuttle Columbia.


|| link via Cal ... thank you ||