Football

It's been awhile since there has been a football post to this blog. So, in the interest of keeping all our readers up to speed on the state of the sporting universe around here -- a dose of football.

Way back last summer, T and I bought tickets for yesterday's football match up between the University of Cincinnati and Syracuse. We chose that game because the youngest son attends UC, and because Master is from Syracuse. We just figured it would be a fun game to attend...

We had no idea that it would turn out to be such a significant game. As the season played itself out, our UC Bearcats played their hearts out, and with the win yesterday over the poor, benighted Syracuse Orangemen, our kids are the champions of the Big East conference. They will be headed for a BCS bowl game -- expectations around here are that it will likely be the Orange Bowl.

In a state where it is usually THE Ohio State University that takes the championship honors, it is really quite the event to have the much smaller, much less well known, much less well respected Bearcats capture this kind of title.

We had a great day for the game. It was sunny and dry, and not too chilly. We were told to wear black for the game. Not a problem. Black is an easy dress up option. We enjoyed the game. We cheered when they won. We grabbed the son-kid and went with him to dinner. It was really a great day.

swan

Toy Collection Report #2

Friday I got paddled with the Cracker Barrel paddle.
It sucked.
I cried.
Then, I got angry.
So, I got paddled some more. That sucked too.
Then we made love.

This is a stupid project. I don't know what I was thinking.

swan

THANKSGIVING 2009

For those of us here in the U. S. today is the Thanksgiving holiday. Thanksgiving is a holiday that has always been widely and universally commemorated here in the states, and it is one that has grown greatly in popularity in recent years. I think this phenomenon it is in part due to the fact that it is not a holiday with a particular religious tradition behind it. It can be universally practiced if you are Christian, Islamic, Jewish, or Pagan or secularist (as are we), or whatever. The culture wars in the U. S. have become so intense, fed by the religious right, that the sense of community surrounding Christmas has been damaged. So it is wonderful to feel today that all of us can come together to give thanks for our many gifts.

Now there are certainly things to be pessimistic about. Two wars (one of which was purposeless) we visited on the world are raging. Our economy is in ruins in large part due to those wars, and has plunged the world into what is likely to become an economic depression. Disenfranchised and dis-empowered oppressed people the world over continue to use terrorism as their way to gain power and influence over their lives.

As for us here, I have added two new diagnoses in the last month to my collection of middle-aged woes (meralgia peristhetica and lumbar spinal stenosis) which in combination with my my severe osteo arthritis in my knees and hips explain why my legs haven't been working well the last couple of years. Actually this is a good thing in terms of finally knowing exactly what it is that is going on with me, and hopefully the beginning of finding effective treatments and/or curative interventions. Half of the condo that is technically t's and mine is torn apart with interior walls ripped out and carpet gone with a water damage restoration that is only half completed and awaiting approval from the insurance company before work can continue. All our Thanksgiving celebration will be in swan's and my side of the two condo home later this afternoon. I went through quite a rush of sadness about missing my Mom at Thanksgiving (she died with Alzheimer's nine months ago), and my father's future at age 90 is uncertain at best. I have to wonder if these are the last holidays I'll get to hold him in my arms again

BUT AMIDST ALL THIS DOOM & GLOOM WE ARE HAPPY AND VERY THANKFUL.

This is the seventh Thanksgiving that the three of have been together in our home. Saturday will be the tenth anniversary of the star struck magic night that t and I met and began a conversation that has never ended, and never will as long as we have breath. Sunday is the tenth anniversary of my being Executive Director of my agency. Remaining Executive Director of a nonprofit advocacy agency is not necessarily a career path that is noted for longevity. We deal with politics in accomplishing our mission, and people who are passionately oriented to political dynamics in their lives, create internal political dynamics that can be unsettling and can create palace coups. I have weathered those storms and this Sunday I will have remained there for ten years, and I hope my health and good fortune will enable me to be there another ten to retire at 70.

Last night as we (meaning swan and t) prepared the condos for today's celebration swan was genuinely happy. This has become home to her and she is looking forward to our holiday together. Her first few years here and as we came to host our extended family for Thanksgiving dinners in our home, she felt very much like a family outsider despite not only being included in the events but actually hosting them to a great extent. Things are feeling different for her. She talked last night about what an evil experience her mother always made Thanksgivings showing up at sue's home in Denver drunk and spewing vitriol at everyone in the family all day. She talked about how seeing her Mom a few weeks ago for the first time in five years has put closure on her past. She talked about how this has come to be her family Thanksgiving tradition now and how she is looking forward to it.

We are thrilled at the prospect of Sue's grandchild to be born next May.

We are hugely thankful that the evil "regime" that has been our government for the last eight years was banished in the last election and that soon we and the world can begin under exciting new leadership to begin correcting and healing the huge harm they have done to us all. We are wildly grateful that this new leader will be from a generation even younger than mine (in that we have always viewed ourselves as the generation of revolutionary cultural and political change), and that our new President happens to be Black. There is nothing magic in his blackness other than that it means that one of America's great self-inflicted wounds, slavery, may be entering a new stage in healing. It means too that a world which has come to see us an an evil and incompetent oppressor the last eight years can begin to see us once again as being the actualization of hope and liberty for all of us.

At 5:00 today my father, and my son and his girlfriend, and my daughter and her partner, and my ex-wife, and the three us will all sit down at a feast that my two wonderful chefs have been working to produce for days now. And we will truly be thankful in so many ways. Most particularly because we are together one more year despite all the exigencies of life, and still wildly in love with each other and able to be who we are together in our home.

Last but not least we are so grateful for the sense of community and frequently friendship we have found here through our Blog. We cannot be sure because there are so many folks who read us via reader services whose presence never hits our stats, but it is evident that we've had well over a half million visits since we began and we feel a closeness and warmth with many of you that has truly enriched our lives. Thank you for coming here and being with us.

I wish all of you the most wondrous, warm, and healthy Thanksgiving Day, whereever you may be.

All the best,

Tom

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.

Toy Collection #2

Moving, perhaps, from the sublime to the completely prosaic... here's another paddle in the toy collection. This is what just about every spanko will recognize as the "Cracker Barrel Paddle." The chain sold these, nominally, as a children's toy for around $5.00. They came with a small rubber ball attached with an elastic string, and the game for which this toy was intended involved bouncing the ball off the paddle repeatedly. Not as simple as it sounds.

This probably falls into the category of implements that are sometimes refered to as "pervertibles." Those would be objects that are intended for some entirely pedestrian and innocent purpose -- but which those of us with a kinky bent can easily convert to more nefarious "ends."

A couple of years ago, Cracker Barrel stopped selling these in its stores -- to the great sorrow of much of our community. Perhaps they finally tumbled to the fact that all those paddle sales were not indicative of a huge demand for these "toys" among the children of America? Duh!

As a spanking implement, the Cracker Barrel Paddle is fairly light, but stingy. There's a reason that it is such a popular spanking toy -- it really is an almost perfect size, shape, and weight. It just fits. It fits His hand, and it fits, shape-wise, my butt. For all of its "plain Jane" appearance, these toys are nicely finished with a satiny smoothness that makes them feel good on the skin. Too, all the edges are beveled off, so there are no sharp places that create the danger of leaving cuts. If I get a choice of paddles, the Cracker Barrel paddle is going to be one that I seriously consider.

In practice, we tend to lose track of our Cracker Barrel toy. It seems to have the ablility to sink to the bottom of the toy pile and disappear from view. Sometimes we go for months without thinking about it or remembering that it is here. Then, something will bring it back to memory, and He'll fall in love with it all over again. Classics are like that I guess.

Interestingly, there is very little information about the genesis or history of the wooden paddle ball toy. The conversations flare up in the spanko community about them every now and then, but it just seems there isn't much to say about them when they are seen as what they were intended to be -- toys for children. I did find a variety of newer and even some retro versions out there on-line. Here are a couple of versions that I can remember from my childhood...

swan

Subspace

Hermione asked about subspace in her comment on the paddle post. My "off the top of my head" response was that I really don't talk much about subspace. It gets "done" a lot other places, but since I don't always, or even often, get there, it isn't a huge topic of discussion for me. Master, though, thought differently. He was quite sure that I'd written about it at some length and could just look up and point out all the various bits I'd done on the subject. And, when I went to look, it turns out that He was right (of course). There's way more in my archives about subspace than I would have imagined:

Passages
Waking Up
Goodness
Variations on a Theme
Night into Day

Given all of that "babbling," I'm not sure what else I might say.
I know that "subspace" for me is not the same everytime. Sometimes it is quiet, meditative, floaty. Other times, when I find myself "out there," the sensation is much more "growly," and primitive feeling -- I roar and snarl and slobber.
I also know that I lost my path into subspace when I went through the hysterectomy and found myself in a mental/emotional space that was angry and grief-stricken. I really believed that I might never, ever find that place again, and I am thrilled to be finding my way there more frequently these days.
I don't know that making it to subspace is about the intensity of the session. It is much more about feeling safe, feeling capable, feeling at ease and sure with Him. Then, if He lets it happen, the drop into that other level of awareness is very simple.

swan

Toy Collection Report #1

Master wrote, in His comment on the first of the toy collection posts:

"I am wondering,since you are intent on writing about various ones of our toys, if after you introduce each of them we shouldn't use them so you can describe the effect from recent memory:) "



And so, of course, this morning's session included the paddle I spoke of in that post.



He wasn't mean (at least, not as mean as He CAN be...). The session began with a lot of hand-spanking. I felt myself settling in under His touch. Then, He traced the cutting with the point of His knife... deeply enough to bring intense sensations up, and deeply enough to send me far down into my mind, flowing with the meaning of that act for us both. I felt myself beginning to float away, and began to think that perhaps I'd simply fly through this session.



And, then... He drew me back up and sent me off to fetch the paddle off the wall. Fuzzy-headed, I stumbled off to the living room. When I brought it back to Him, He pulled me to Him and smacked my ass soundly with it several times as I leaned into His frame. It didn't take long for me to come up out of subspace and fully into the pain of the moment. By the time He sent me back to my pillow for the "actual" session, I was completely out of the headspace, upset, and on the verge of tears.

He held me, told me to go right back to where I'd been. I whimpered, He began again, repeating the hand spanking and re-tracing the cutting. I settled some.

I know that He used some straps on me. They felt sharp, but not heavy. At some point He switched over to a paddle, but not THAT paddle. I was processing the pain, and managing alright, not struggling horribly. It was work, but I was OK.

Then He started with the "featured" paddle. The first few smacks were just heavy; hard; un-yielding. I didn't count. I don't count if I don't have to. He counts. I hear Him sometimes.

Because I wasn't counting, I didn't have any sense of how many strokes it had been. Not many I think. Suddenly, I was not OK anymore. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed. I heard my own voice, crying, sobbing, and begging: "Please! Please! No more, please! Please, please, please!!!" I didn't move. Didn't flail. Didn't resist Him or fight -- just begged Him to end my agony. I remember He said something into my panic as He continued to smack my ass with that paddle. I have no idea what it was that He told me in that moment.

And then it was done, and I crumpled into Him sobbing. He held me for a few minutes, calmed and soothed me, and then told me that He was going to finish off with the cane. That was relatively, easy; after the rest.

Finished, I kissed the paddle, and asked His permission to snuggle into His arms. I cuddled with Him for a bit of time -- recovering and calming down. We made love then, and it was good. We finished happy and satisfied with ourselves and each other.

The whole business gives me pause. If there is to be a "featured" attraction to every session as I work my way through this toy collection project that I've begun, it seems that I have some ability to "control my own destiny" in a sense. I was simply planning to work my way along sort of methodically, looking at each implement as I came to them; organizing, perhaps, by type, but without much intent to "choose" them for any particular reason. Now, given this dynamic, I could, I guess, choose depending on my mood and "desire." As I've contemplated that notion today, it feels "icky." I don't want to be led down that path. I want to not direct things in that fashion. So... I am going to do my very best to follow my original plan -- to simply look at the individual toys in our collection, one after another, without being influenced by Master's plans around all of that.

swan

Toothbrush Intimacy?

This is Master's toothbrush. Mine is the same except that it is pink or red or some shade in between the two.

In the last little while, He seems to have become confused about which is which and, on a pretty regular basis, He grabs mine and uses it. That really does "tweak" me at a very basic level. I have to stop and think about it and talk to myself to find the place where it is really just OK for us to be sharing a toothbrush. I find that interesting and curious. After all, we share a good bit more intimately than the mutual use of a single toothbrush, so why fuss about it?

I'm quite sure that my gut level response is all about years of indoctrination in the "germ theory" of disease. The house in which I grew up was fanatic about toothbrush privacy. We didn't share -- we never even let the various toothbrushes come in contact with one another. It would have been the ultimate "gross out."

As I think about it, and I'll admit this is likely not the sort of thing most people contemplate deeply, I also am aware that within the context of my M/s lifestyle, ownership of something even as simple as a toothbrush is questionable. A point of nit-picking philosophical discourse perhaps...

I was curious about if/how others might view this particular set of intimate boundaries, and so I went back to my old friend, Google. Check out these links:

Intimate Gestures and Habits
Mouth Rules
Answer Bag
The Toothbrush Holder Tells All


So... clearly, others have contemplated the significance of toothbrushes in relationship. I didn't find any specific discussions of toothbrushes as symbols or tokens of power-dynamics. There is plenty of information about electric toothbrushes as scene toys, but no sense of how they might be shared within these dynamics. Anyone care to share?

swan

Toy Collection #1

We tend to talk about our toy collection in passing. The piles of implements are so much a part of our lives, that we really don't give them much thought, and we almost never focus strictly on one particular piece. Lately, I've begun to think in terms of spotlighting the various implements in our collection, chronicaling the range and variety of our toys.

So... to begin.

Most that read here know that Master is partial to paddles. I'm not entirely sure what it is about the paddle that He so enjoys, but it is one of His passions.

This paddle is, by far, the loveliest of all. It is a paddle that came, originally, from the now defunct Toy Bag Toys. They named it "Last Resort." Made of zircote and bloodwood, it is a beautiful as well as functional paddle. We keep it, as you see in the top photo, hung on the wall -- displayed as the work of art that it is. Visitors to our home seem to never comprehend what it is.

In truth, He very seldom actually uses this paddle on me. It is very thick (probably 5/8 or 3/4 of an inch) and very heavy -- more like a club than a paddle. It is probably 7-8 inches in diameter, and about 16 inches long overall. It leaves deep tissue bruises, and nowadays, it hurts my "old lady" hips. It is a jarring implement, capable of knocking me across the room.

The very hard woods of this paddle deliver an atrocious sting that almost feels like a burn.

I am glad that we have this piece. It is a beautiful piece of handicraft, and now that Toy Bag doesn't exist anymore, it seems very good to have this "collectible" paddle in the mix.

swan

Winter Wickedness

We've just made our reservations and our plans for the AIS Winter Wickedness event, scheduled for the first weekend in February.

Hooray! Some time for us to be "in" the community -- to play and learn and just hang out with those others who are "like us." We don't get to do it very often and it is always a nice break from the hidden life we generally live.

We've been to AIS events before and they do a great job, and put on a great event. Winter Wickedness will be held at an upscale hotel venue, and will feature excellent (and well recognized) speakers and presenters.

Check it out, especially those of you living near us here in the midwest. It would be a great deal of fun to meet up with friends there! Besides, it is my birthday weekend -- come and we'll have a party!

swan

Baby!

My son just called.

From Denver.

On a Wednesday night -- the middle of the week.

To share "big news."

He and his wife are expecting a baby!

I will be a grandmother in late May.

My children have made me a "grandmother" twice before this.

My daughter had a baby girl when she was only 16 years old. That little one was given to adoptive parents, and while the adoption is very open, circumstances make it very rare for us to see one another. That grandchild is now 14 years old, and I've spent probably less than a week with her all together.

My son and his wife became pregnant some 10 years ago (when they were still just dating), and had a baby girl. They had believed that pregnancy was not medically possible. That pregnancy was an absolute surprise. It was long before they were certain that they were prepared to make their relationship permanent, and they were very unprepared for the possibility of parenthood. So, that grandchild also went to live with adoptive parents. I held her in my arms hours after her birth, looked into her deep violet eyes, knew she was perfect and lovely, and have never seen her since.

This baby -- this one, will stay. This one I will get to see and know and talk with and rock and hold and watch grow up. I am thrilled!

My heart is full to overflowing.

swan

Darb?

Master's father is 90 years old. Born in 1918, he has seen most of the changes this country has undergone since the turn of the 20th century. He is a World War II veteran, about the same age as my own father would be had he lived past his 71st birthday.

As he has come to accept and simply expect me in his world -- come to see me as part of the family, he has taken to commenting to Master and T, on occasion, that I am "a real darb."

Darb. Interesting word. Not an expression with which any of us are familiar. The way he usese the expression, I've been sure that there was nothing bad in the use of the term. On the other hand, I've been curious to figure out what he might mean, exactly, by the word, "darb." So, tonight, when I had a few minutes to think about it, I Googled "darb." Here's what I found:

The Columbia Guide to Standard American English lists two slang terms; dab and darb as follows--

dab, darb (nn.)
These slang words have somewhat similar meanings, but their etymologies are unclear, and they are apparently unrelated. A dab or a dab hand is British slang for someone who is an expert; darb is an Americanism probably nearly obsolete today, a slang word from the 1920s meaning “something or someone very handsome, valuable, attractive, or otherwise excellent.”

Awwwwwwe....

swan

Once, I Called You Friend...

Well, another "Love Our Lurkers" Day has come and gone thanks in very large part to the efforts of Bonnie at My Bottom Smarts. I don't know, as I write this, if there are any numbers to show how many of us participated, or how many comments were left around our circle, but I know from the small bit of the community that I touched that there was plenty of participation. And that's a good thing I think.

It has caused me to ponder the notion of friends and acquaintances and the whole idea of community in general. I do seem to come back to that on a pretty regular basis. Oh well.

The thing that seems to be generated in me by the kind of exchange that happens on LOL Day is a sense of my own lack of over-flowing friendliness. I end up feeling surly and unfriendly.

I / we receieved some marvelous, wonderfully kind and generous comments, and I was honored and humbled by the sentiments that were expressed. Many of those came from people who really were "lurkers." They clearly had been around, reading "unseen" for some length of time. I also went from place to place leaving comments -- although, to be honest, I made comments that were pretty perfunctory. I did the equivalent of "sending holiday greeting cards" to the people on my list. Because, most of the places where I left comments were not really places that I read. Truthfully, if I read your writing, I make comments on a pretty regular basis as things stir my consciousness (not all the time, but consistently). If there are never any comments from me on your site, then chances are that I don't read there -- even if I keep your link up here.

My circle of "intimates" is pretty small. I am not one to gather a vast flock of "girl-friends." I invest most of my energy and attention in two places -- first, here at home where my focus must be singular and intense, and secondly, with my students. Their learning, their comfort, their emotional and intellectual well-being is a huge priority of my days. I simply don't have the time or energy to read every word that gets written out here in the spanking-circle, although surely much of it is likely to be interesting and worthwhile.

Actually, I think I was already in this mode of deep contemplation on the notion of friendship because I had some pretty intense and challenging IM conversations just after the election with a woman who was a very early compatriot on one listserve where I spent time when I was first exploring domestic discipline. We probably called each other "friend" in those days. Then I went the way I did, and she and her husband took another path. We lost touch for a number of years.

A while back -- probably two years ago now, she came back into my life. I'm not sure exactly how that came to be, but we began chatting now and again. Except that I have found that chatting with her is generally not a particularly satisfying process. She is one of those people who seem to find a way to make all IM conversations revolve entirely around themselves. If my "friend" gets around to a cursory "How are you?" she is almost always perfectly satisfied to hear "I'm fine" before she continues her ramble about her kids and her dogs and her church and... It usually isn't too long before I'm weary and hoping to find a way to escape.

I've pretty much ended my contact with her. There are circumstances to that ending, but it doesn't matter. The fact is that it felt like a relationship that didn't offer me the sustenance that I needed if I were going to keep investing energy there.

In the end, it is illustrative of my feelings in the aftermath of LOL Day. Friendship is something that I cherish. I can be a good friend, but I am no good at being a casual friend. I invest in the people that I care about. I think about those people and I wonder about their lives and I read their stories with care and thought. I've never laid eyes on most of the people that I currently call friends, but I feel solidly connected to them just the same.

I went back to My Bottom Smarts, after it was all over, and took a quick look at the list of participants in this year's festivities. So many people that I have no awareness of at all; way more than I have time to get to know. I go down through that list and feel glad for the diversity and extent of this community, and I am clear that I haven't got the capacity to participate with even a fraction of that group of folks. I imagine that, if I could spend time with all of them, there might be friends hiding in that list. I just don't know who they might be, and I cannot see how I'd ever find the hours and hours it would take to get to know them.

I am feeling conflicted by this. I feel bad that I am not more sociable. But then I feel resentful for being pushed toward a sociableness that I don't feel or embrace. I've taken part in LOL Day for a couple of years now, and may again. I just need to get straight what I think it really is, and what it is not.

I guess that is just the state of my thinking at the present -- unsettled and uncertain.

swan

A Successful Morning of Spanking and Fucking

We awakened this morning to a very satisfying long slow rain. We've needed rain here for some months, and overnight and throughout our day a steady (and very cold) rain has been accumulating to restore the water level in both our pond and water table. We awakened too with middle aged stiffness and grogginess. I've not been feeling all that well lately, struggling with the onset of diabetic neuropathy in my left leg.........a new and painfully unwelcome development in my life. Too, as Sue discussed in her previous post, we were recovering from a hugely stressful round of interactions with contractors and insurance adjusters which appears to have resulted in our insurance company's paying for an extensive repair and reconstruction of our bathroom and Master Bedroom. We will likely be hugely disrupted by a major construction zone for the approaching Thanksgiving Holiday in less than two weeks, but things should be restored by Christmas, and it appears the projected $12,000.00 cost will be paid for by our insurance carrier less our deductible. To say the least, we are hugely relieved. We have already been in the process of a huge financial restructuring of our assets to eliminate unacceptable debt levels for our family, and if this catastrophe had befallen us I don't know how we could have survived it economically.

After some more snuggling I had her get our "spanking pillow." It's actually one of those pillows you use to create a sort of couch like back rest up against a headboard when you are reading or watching TV in bed. It works great under her hips to present her bottom beautifully for spanking.

I began using my Henckel lock blade folder pocket knife. I love that knife for sensual play. It has wonderful quality hand turned German steel, and while the point and edge are remarkably sharp, the steel has this extra smooth, always barb free, almost buttery quality to it, that makes it perfect for more sensually pleasurable knife stroking. I traced the outline of her Cutting of my initials in the back of her shoulder again and again. That always seems to give her great energy as well as a luanching into calming bottom-space that readies her to be spanked. I began with my hand.....150 well placed sharp spanks. They were enough to pinken and heat her nicely. They were hard enough to sting her quite well and just beneath the level of intensity that would have created such stinging in my hand that I would not have delivered a prolonged steady spanking. She was quite stoic. Hand spankings really don't phase her much. She was clearly breathing and concentrating using this build up to phase further into bottom space.

Often lately at that point I've gone to our lighter leather tawse, but today that was not my vision. I went to the 13 inch solid lexan paddle. She is not a great paddle fan. It is her misfortune to be slave to a man who is. I gave her twenty-five medium hard swats which led to some satisfactory whining and squirming, as she very graciously and submissively accepted the burning sting. Her bottom became much more angrily red. I relented after only twenty-five swats, but swats enough to let her know this was going to be a spanking of some intensity. I then mixed the pace to our five tailed tawse.......50 quite intense licks. She was becoming quite well spanked and appeared to be increasingly "off" into "the spankosphere." I recalled her to me, turning her head by her hair and kissing her. I asked her how she was. She responded with some very welcomed and unintelligible subspace garble. She was fine...it was clear. It occurred to me she had not been caned for a long time. I got our our favorite Adam & Gillians cane and delivered fifty medium very whippy strokes. I used very little force but allowed the whippy heavy rattan to lash her bottom by its innate qualities. By the end she was wriggling beautifully, whimpering nicely, and approaching tears. Her bottom was a lovely shade of red with almost completely merged welts having formed over its entire surface. I was pleased and aroused. She seemed to be off in a really fine head space. I took up the hairbrush paddle. It's thickness and weight are quite a contrast to the lexan paddle she'd experienced earlier. She received fifty quite medium strokes that I know create a sensation that accumulates to a huge blazing fire. She clearly was struggling, squirming, whining and nearly in tears. She too was clearly in a very good space and working more and more deeply into subspace. I returned to the knife for a while and stroked her in places she didn't expect. Moving the strokes about without her knowing where the next one will begin and end and occasionally "pricking" her slightly with its tip, had her squirming almost as much as the paddle and the cane did. I told her I thought she was nearly "spanked" but needed one final round of paddling. I returned to the lexan paddle I'd used earlier. I smacked her 75 times administering medium hard smacks. This was an intense paddling of an already well whipped and paddled bottom. I relished the fabulously satisfying whacking sensation of the slightly flexible and dense lexan. The sounds of the paddle smacks mingled with her hisses and sighs and whines merged into wildly exciting music. I ended with a mighty crack. She realized she might be done and relaxed into reveling in her sensation. Her bottom was bright red and on fire. After a minute I touched her back. She turned her head to me and I presented the paddle to her lips. She completed our end of spanking ritual kissing the paddle and reciting, "Thank you for my spanking, Sir."

Spanking over, we held each other feeling great comfort. I asked her if she was ready to bounce her bottom up and down on me while we made love, or if she needed a little more time to recover. She indicated readiness so we assumed our positions with her astride me and began our Saturday morning fucking. I was lost in lustful haze when I realized that my orgasm merged with huge joyous tears from her. Those of you who read here know that she has struggled terribly with diminished sexual response since her hysterectomy three years ago. This morning she had one of those rare wonderful moments when, despite the alteration of her anatomy, SHE CAME! We both were in heaven. I was so thrilled that for once my pleasure was not unilateral, but engulfed her as well. She was thrilled to have discovered a rare reconnection with that seminal aspect of herself. Our day began beautifully.

All the best,

Tom

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.

Christmas Dishes

These are the Christmas dishes (sometimes refered to as the "winter dishes").

Master loves the Christmas dishes. There's a part of Him that honestly wants to keep them out year round. He takes pity on me and only requests that I have them out for the winter.

I really don't like these dishes. They seem too "kitschie" to me, and they are just not particularly substantial. They remind me of the inexpensive and sort of tacky dishes that I had when I first left home so many years ago. I start out feeling sort of alright about them, or at least feeling pretty "neutral" about using them, but by the time spring arrives, I am thrilled to be able to pack them away.

This year, the first of November arrived, and He hadn't even mentioned the winter dishes yet. We bought some new, cool, square, red dishes this year, and T and I had suggested that they could serve as the winter dishes. He wasn't crazy about the idea, but hadn't made any comments about the Christmas dishes either...

I was torn. I don't like the Christmas dishes. He hadn't told me to put them out. We did have the red plates. "Maybe," I thought, "He won't ever remember them, and I can get away with just not doing it this year." And as I heard myself thinking that "Maybe I can get away with..." thought, I knew that I just had to get out the winter dishes, and start using them. I didn't say anything much about it. Just made the transition.

It was T who really noticed it and brought it up at dinner one night shortly after they first appeared: "Why are you using these plates?" she asked. The question caught me by surprise, and it took me a minute to figure out how to answer her. Finally, I just shrugged and said, "Because I'm very good."

And that is really the explanation. Putting these dishes out, that He loves, without the actual spoken command was a simple, easy way of doing what He wants. It isn't a big deal, but it does matter -- to Him.

swan

Oh Shit!

The Clan has a major plumbing problem. We have a bathroom toilet that has completely given it up and leaked water all over the whole place. That has soaked the walls and soaked the carpet and made a thorough-going mess of the master suite on T's side. It seems this problem started slowly and has developed over time. By the time T became sure that it was a real problem that she couldn't deal with or fix it by herself, things were pretty grim here.

The good news is that we've found the appropriate contractors, filed the necessary insurance paperwork, dealt with the unbelievably nice plumber guy, and made arrangements for the damage to be repaired.

It has been a long and frustrating 24 hours, but we are better tonight. It will be some days before all is set to rights, but we are sure that it will happen. That makes all of the people and all of the cats a lot happeir than we were 24 hours ago.

Love Our Lurkers -- Again

Today is, once again, Love our Lurkers Day as decreed by Bonnie at My Bottom Smarts.

This is a fun game that everyone can play, but you are particularly invited and encouraged if you read here but never (or seldom) comment. Today is just for you. Leave a comment and let us meet you. We'd be happy to know some of those who stop by our little corner of cyber space.

Welcome, one and all.

swan

Just Like Family

We have never just came out with our parents. Tom's Dad and my Mom are aware that Swan is always included. My Mom treats Swan as a 2nd daughter. Tom's Dad just knows that she is always available to us or him. The other day, the wallet issue was one of those times.

After Tom called her and asked her to locate Dad's wallet on Tom's dresser, Dad just sat there and said "She is just like a part of the family." Tom said "Yes, she is". And I said "Yes, she is part of our family." He didn't get all fluffed up about it. He is just finally realizing that Swan is part of us. No questions, no aspersions, no eye-rolling. Just acceptance.

Now, I could have crawled out of the car and gone in to get that wallet....but then we would have to explain why I was going into Swan's condo to get the wallet off of Tom's dresser.... and that WOULD have got him going!

There was a day when Tom's parents were less than "pleased" to have me included in family events, even though his kids and ex-wife were more that accepting of me. It was not until we got married and had our reception, that his parents started speaking to me. Now we are good. Dad accepts me for the person I am, the crazy daughter-in-law who loves his son and grand kids, who gets along with the ex-wife, who sends him wacky cards ever few days with dirty jokes inside, the grocery runner and the hospital bag packer.

Now if I could only work on Swan's Mom....she wouldn't know what hit her!

....wink....

T

Feeling Hurt About This

My post-election eve euphoria has given way to a deep melancholy that is not related to the election of Barack Obama. Instead, I am finding that I am distressed and heartbroken over the passage, in California, of Proposition 8.



On the ballot, the text of Proposition 8 was only 14 words long: "only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California." Its passage nullified the California Supreme Court decision that made it unconstitutional to deny the right to marry to same-sex couples.


In the wake of the vote, gay couples and their supporters have mourned, held rallies, filed legal challenges and, in some cases, rushed to the county recorder's office to marry before the state stopped allowing it.



Paul Waters is among many who have expressed their feelings like this: "Straight couples don't have a way to be able to truly understand the depth of what this means." I do understand how easy it is to assume that there is no way for those who are not gay to really "get" what this defeat means, but for at least a few of us, this is a set back to a dream that we hardly dare to even give voice to... "That someday we might be given the right to be joined to our loves in a legal and publically accepted union just as couples can be." The truth is that, even as those in the GLBT community believe that their genders should not be barriers to their forming legal marriages, some of us, who are involved in love relationships with multiple partners believe that our numbers should not bar us from the benefits of marriage. Our road is probably much longer than that being traveled by the GLBT community, but hope is a sturdy thing.



Many who voted against Proposition 8 spoke of the need to protect "traditional marriage." Many were clear that their views on this were shaped by religious beliefs. So many continue to believe that marriage is and always has been defined as they seek to define it in these laws and ballot initiatives and constitutional modifications: "between one man and one woman." It seems to make no difference at all to these "true believers" that through the centuries, human societies have created domestic arrangements in all different configurations -- and raised their children and maintained their societies, and cared for one another just fine. Perhaps, we'd do well to create laws that hearken back to King Solomon and allow a man to have up to 700 wives, as 1 Kings 11:1-3 indicates Solomon did. Maybe, that would satisfy the fundamentalist believers who insist that we all must love and marry according to their religious view. The Mosaic Code doesn’t include the much touted “one man, one woman” definition of marriage. It does include laws governing how multiple wives are to be treated (Deuteronomy 21:15-17).



It all makes me sad. It means that for as far into the future as I can imagine, I and we will have to continue to live lives that are not fully expressed because our love is considered "wrong," and not as good as all those "one man and one woman" types. It means that I need to hide the reality of my love and my life for fear of losing my livelihood. It means that we are continually at risk that some malcontent or vindictive soul could destroy us entirely by making our lifestyle public. That is the fact.



As of today, our lifestyle and our love is not only "not sanctioned" within a society that only endorses "traditional marriage." Ours is within the realm of "moral turpitutde;" a legal construct that would be sufficient to prevent us from being able to enter the country if we were trying to do so as foreigners. Our way of living and loving is categorized right along with a whole list of other "moral" failings:

• Assault w/ Intent to Commit Abortion


• Attempted Assault w/ Intent to Commit Carnal Abuse


• Statutory Rape/Rape


• Indecent Assault/Sexual Battery


• Adultery


• Bigamy


• Prostitution


• Sodomy


• Gross Indecency


• Contributing to the Delinquency of a Minor/Sexual Acts


• Taking Indecent Liberties w/ a Child


• Incest


• Oral Sexual Perversion

What can I say?



I usually skim the surface of all of that and pay no attention, but it is never very far from the breaking through. For the last few days, I've had an invitation in my email box from a co-worker to a party at her home: "spouses and significant others" the invitation reads. Not for me. I can't bring my spouses/significant others to this sort of gathering. It would create a scandal and end my career. So, I am faced with the dilemma -- go alone, or don't go. And, if I decide to not go, I need to figure out some sort of explanation for my lack of sociable behavior. Soon, we will be into the holiday season. Soon there will be family gatherings all over the place, and of course, I will be there -- accepted and welcomed, but as ever, unexplained and unexplainable. My logical, reasonable mind understands the necessity for all of that, but somewhere deep in my heart, there is sure knowledge. I know. I know how disastrous it would be for the real, whole truth to come out. It won't happen, and that hurts.



Oh well. What is will continue to be the reality. This hurt does not overwhelm. This hurt does not overcome the good and rich and amazing joys of our lives. It is simply a hum that goes on in the background -- a wanting that has no way to be fulfilled.



swan

Sometimes It Surprises People

This afternoon, when Master and T went to pick up His father and take Him home from the hospital, I went to get my hair cut at the local Great Clips. I went into the shop and put my name on the list (they told me there would be about 15 minute wait). I had just taken a seat next to a fellow who was probably in his late 30's, when my cell phone rang. It was Master with a request. He told me that they were on their way home, and His father's wallet was lying on our dresser -- would I get it and meet them on the driveway with it. I did tell Him that I'd just gotten to the Great Clips, but it was no problem -- I'd go home right away and take care of it. I spoke to the woman in the shop, and told her I'd be back soon. She asked if she should take me off the list, and I told her, "yes."

I left the shop and hurried home. I found Grandpa's wallet, and was waiting on the driveway when they pulled up at the house. I handed off the wallet, made some pleasant conversation, and waved them on their way. Then I headed back over to the shop to get my hair cut.

When I walked into the store, I went back through the checking in process, and sat back down to wait. The man that was waiting when I was there before was still there. He looked at me quizzically, and then asked, "what just happened? You were here and then left, and now you are back."

I told Him that my "husband" had called and needed me to take care of something for Him, so I'd gone and done that, and now I was back.

He was astonished. He told me his girlfriend would never put up with that sort of thing. He said she would have told him he was out of his mind if he'd made such a request.

I told Him that it really was no big deal, and that my husband "thinks He owns the territory." I shrugged and we went on about our business, but it was clear that he was amazed and impressed at the POWER that Himself seems to exert from afar.

Sometimes people just get surprised. Grin.

swan

Farewell

Listening to progressive talk radio on Sirius as I drive to work in the morning, I heard this audio collage put together by the folks at The Bill Press Show. It commemorates the "finest moments" of President George W. Bush. Lest we forget, here's the sound we've been putting up with for what seems like forever:

http://www.billpressmedia.com/nsmpc/FAREWELL-Bushisms.mp3

Teetering on the Edge

I've been hungering lately. Needing to be spanked. It happens. For me, I can go along for long periods and not fall prey to the ravening need to be spanked repeatedly and intensely and unavoidably -- and then, from somewhere in the buried recesses of my psyche, the yearnings begin.

I'm sure enough these days of the nature of my sexual and erotic self that I know and understand the way the need for spanking rises up, and I embrace it as simply the way that I am. Fine. There it is, that pesky longing. When it first starts up, I often simply ignore it. Coming up out of the mental recesses, it is usually pretty quiet at first. But, ignoring it never does make it go away. Once it starts, the only "cure" is to answer the need.

Of course, answering the need isn't like taking an aspirin. Answering the need is about both or us having the time and the energy and the personal well-being to actually get to indulge the spanking urges. Time, energy, and personal well-being are an interesting troika. The number of occasions on which all of those elements actually combine in a workable fashion are remarkably few. So, we might spank, and that might or might not "go well" in the event, and the precise dosage might match what's in my head or it might not... and then, we will likely not get back to it for a week -- or sometimes even more.

So, the hunger grows -- it might get satisfied just a bit, but in the last few weeks it hasn't been put to rest. Every new hurdle; every single obstacle; every schedule issue; everytime that I fall victim to a blinding headache; every nighttime meeting; every chore and obligation -- all of it frustrates and delays the time when I might get my hunger fed. This weekend, it is a combination of a memorial service for a co-worker's father, and the fact that Master's father is, once again, in the hospital with threatening renal failure brought on (at least in part) by the stresses of diuretic medications used to treat his congestive heart failure. So... huge demands on our time and energies. Again.

And I can feel myself teetering at the edge. The edge is the point where I fall over the cliff from hungry for spanking to furious and angry and sure it is all just so much "bullshit." The edge begins to loom up on the horizon when the voice in my head starts to mutter and grump about how there's never any time and no real energy and it is all just down to the chores and responsibilities. All that connective stuff is for kids.... Mutter -- mutter -- mutter! I can hear it and I know it is not a good thing. I know that it is my responsibility to calm that voice down and soothe myself and stay "in place."

Spanking schizophrenia...

The edge scares me. I worry that, when we do finally find the time and the space and the energy, I'll be in no mood for any of it. Then, things will likely go badly -- I won't get what I need, and He'll end up frustrated and irritated.

Sigh.

swan

The View from the Patio

Sometimes, there isn't anything dramatic to share. Sometimes, life is just life, and we travel along the path that lies at our feet without much that is really all that dramatic.

But then, there are the larger cycles within which we move and breathe. It is autumn here in southern Ohio, and as is the norm, there is something almost irresistable in the shifting palette of the changing foliage.

After almost six years in residence here in our humble condominiums, the landscaping is fairly well established, and each successive autumn is more spectacular than the last.

Last Saturday afternoon, I stepped out our back door, stood on the patio and snapped a couple of photos of the absolutely glorious trees ranged across our back lawn. This is one of the things that I absolutely love about living here in Ohio. There is a real charm to the golden aspen of Colorado's mountains, but all that far flung shimmering gold never, ever came close to this vibrant color.

swan

It isn't what You Think it is

I hear it all the time, sometimes stated outright and sometimes simply implied. There is an assumption that people tend to make almost all the time, and it goes something like this:

"Since you are into BDSM and since you are polyamorous, your life must be one endless stream of kink and hot sex."

That is the sort of thing that is likely to make a person snort milk through their nose.

Let me see if I can clarify this for those who are looking at whatever it is that they can see of our lives, and figuring that they "understand" about BDSM and M/s power dynamics based on whatever image they've gotten. It isn't at all like what you think you can see. If you could get into a place where you could see the entirety of our lives with any clarity at all, you would likely be surprised by how far off your assumptions probably are.

Beginning with what the words that we use might mean to people, here's the reality. I am a masochist, and I identify as a BDSM practioner who lives in consensual slavery. I am also tall and 53 years old and caucasian and I have brown eyes. There are a thousand other bits and pieces of information that might be used to describe who I am and how I exist in the world. The fact that I am a brown-eyed masochist is germane in terms of understanding the person I am, but it really doesn't change the facts. I still need to work for a living, prepare and serve meals, do laundry, take out the trash, stay informed, scrub the bathroom, make the bed, pet the cat, stay in touch with my family, and all the other ordinary, everyday things that we all do as human persons.

Nevermind all the hot and steamy fiction that has been written about what BDSM slavery might entail. Please go find a decent dictionary and look up the meaning of "fiction." The M/s dynamic that is foundational to our lives is really about two things. It is a direct result and response to our shared sexual/erotic orientations. It "fits" us. It isn't something we do so much as it is something that we are together.

He doesn't spend His time (generally) sitting around trying to figure out kinky and perverse things to do to me, and I don't while away my hours locked in a cage somewhere. We neither of us have the time to even contemplate such things. I serve and care for His needs in every moment and everyday. However, that looks pretty mundane and nothing at all like what you might believe if you are out there reading about how slavery works. It looks a whole lot like "wife" work I imagine. I make sure He has a lunch to take to work everyday. I make sure His prescriptions are managed appropriately. I work to ensure that He has clean clothes to wear and that His house is reasonably comfortable. I take care of a variety of minor chores and details from day to day that help to make Him comfortable and keep Him healthy. If you didn't know that I was His slave, you probably would never guess from simply watching the patterns of my days.

We engage in SM relating together when we can. That's key, that "when we can." There are plenty of people that I talk to who have relationships that are defined as something other than BDSM who are getting spanked way more often than I ever do. Many of my DD acquaintances have regular schedules of maintenance and disciplinary spanking encounters that have them immersed in SM relatedness multiple times a week. We are lucky if we manage to pull off one weekend session.

There is a defined power dynamic between us, and there was a time when we were much more sadomasochistically physical with one another. Life has brought its challenges and its changes. We are older and more often than not, days go by when our physical connection consists of falling exhausted into one another's arms to sleep. None of that changes the nature of who we are with and for each other. It is part of our journey together. It really isn't what you think it is.

swan

Oh What A Night! Cultural Implications of the Election

"What a Night!" has become more than an evocative rock song. Last night was a dream come true. As a man who remembers vividly the Grant Park street combat outside the 1968 Chicago Democratic convention in stark contrast to last night's ecstatic celebration there for one of the most wildly acclaimed new President's in American history (likely going back to Andrew Jackson); as a man who is a front rank veteran of other street combats with police in the Anti-War movement of the 1960's and 1970's; as a man who has made an over three decade career of advocacy to create inclusive communities of self-determined individuals; last night was the realization of a dream............a dream I still struggle to believe really occurred.

Thank you so much to all the well-wishers from around the world in the previous post sue placed here this morning about the Obama victory. It is wonderful to see how broadly reaching this new spirit is being felt.

Thank you too to our t who took the day off work Tuesday and spent it phoning voters, and passing out campaign literature for Democratic candidates.

I have two primary reflections at this point. First I want to tell you about Carolyn. Carolyn is the cleaning lady who cleans my office each night. Carolyn is a white woman about 40 years old, with little education, who lives alone and works two menial jobs to get along. She and I have become friends. I have talked to her about my agency and what we do. She has actually become involved in some of my agency's advocacy on behalf of expanded disability accessible public transit services, in that she herself is transit dependent. She was at first a little surprised that the Executive Director of the agency she cleans would deign to talk to her, let alone include her in our grass roots campaigns. Carolyn is bright, and generally greets life with a great smile, and is hungry to learn..........I suspect because she's had very few formal educational opportunities in her life.

So last Monday night I was sitting at my desk working, waiting for a meeting that would begin in an hour or so, when she came in performing her work. We talked some and I asked her if she was going to vote the next day, and if she was excited about the election. She said,"I've always voted in every election, but I've never voted for President....until now. I never could figure out who to vote for, but this time I know and I WILL VOTE." I struggled not to tear up and to grab her and hug her.

I saw her tonight and she is clearly still elated about last night's developments.

My other reaction is that this election is in many ways the ending of one era for America, and the beginning of a new one. America has always been the "Great Melting Pot." We assimilated people from all over the world and homogenized them into Americans.....people who pretty much all looked, thought, felt and behaved alike. If you didn't look like most others or behaved differently, likely your life was diminished or worse.

This President, this black president, was elected by a new majority. It was not primarily white voters who elected him although certainly many voted for him. It was not comprised of all educated people, although educated people voted heavily for him. It was not primarily black voters although the unanimity of the African American community and their turn out as voters was historic. It was Latino to a great degree and it was Asian and Native American and, Christian, and Atheist, and Humanist, and Muslim, and Pagan and oh yeah, gay, and legal immigrants and illegals too and............on and on and on.

This majority, that elected this President who looks so unlike any other, was not comprised of "melting pot America." It was comprised of a mosaic of American society. Our day as a homogenized melting pot is done. We are reborn as a multi-cultural mosaic, hugely strengthened in our diversity by the symphonic melding of our diverse gifts and virtues.

This new American cultural Mosaic means that the people I advocate for professionally, people with developmental disabilities, will have far greater opportunity to lead self-determined lives as part of our community than they've ever had in our society. They don't have to become "normalized." They can be appreciated for who they are in the multi-cultural mosaic community.

But more on point for this Blog, those of us with alternative sensual erotic orientations and family structures will have more opportunities to be included and respected in this new America.

My love for my country never wavered but my respect for it certainly did. Today it is reborn and I look forward to the day when I do not have to hide the family in which I live and love.

What wonderful rebirth! Oh What a Night!

Tom

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.

Good Morning, America

I am in awe.

Thrilled.

Jubilant.

Nearly speechless.

The long nightmare is almost over.

1-20-2009. We begin anew.

swan

Crotchety Old Woman Raving

I am not feeling "nice" at the moment. I am irritable and crotchety. I am full into a burning desire to cut connections; to prune my link list; to drop my membership on a variety of lists. I am swirling in a torrent of emotions that seem to have arisen in the last few weeks. Chief among the emotional responses that I am feeling these days seems to be some mixture of anger and impatience.



I am resisting. I go through this periodically, and inevitably, I end up wishing I hadn't done what seems so compelling to me in the moment. Usually, after I cut off all the links, I calm down and begin to restore the connections that I've destroyed.



I know that my present frustration has roots in a couple of places.



I recently dropped my membership in a Yahoo group list that was, at least to some degree, aimed at those who practice polyamory. The difficulty that I had, over time with this group was that I continually bumped into their sense of self-righteousness, and arrogance. It was, in theory a place that was supposed to be spiritual and loving and accepting -- largely driven by and people by pagan and wiccan types, but the reality was that it was one of those "in-group" and "out" kinds of situations. It came to seem to me that, just as one finds narrow-mindedness and self-absorption, and wicked exclsivity among those whose spirituality tends to follow a christian path, all those failings are just as common among practitioners of more alternative spiritualities. Perhaps it is the belief that one has somehow touched the "divine" that makes for total butt-wipe behavior.



In the end, the one thing that seemed to be most valued within the "in-group" was their self-declared "juiciness." Now, there is nothing wrong with juiciness in its season, but I can attest that it doesn't last forever. I've mourned the loss of that juiciness -- I've come to terms with the fact of my status in relationship to the celebrated ripeness of womanhood. I know and accept that I'll never travel that path again. There is much to be said for that stage of life that is "juicy." I'd happily travel back in time to live in that place again, but it is not to be. I do, however, reject the presumptive view among my young and robust pagan compatriots that there is no value or wisdom to any other part of the life path. This crone has experience and wisdom to share -- but I'll not force it on anyone, and I'll not spend my energy trying to educate those who believe they've achieved perfect wisdom simply as a function of their "juiciness." Gahhhhhh!



Too, this business with the hearing "event" has shaken me from my moorings again. I was "jazzed" for the appointment on Friday, and to have it end as it did was disappointing, but also aggravating. Where and how am I supposed to find the information that might inform my decisions with regard to this, except in consultation with a healthcare professional? That this doctor was so callous and cavalier about my situation, my hopes, and my fears, makes me question the value of continuing to deal with medical professionals on just about every front. Doctors aren't gods, but they sure as hell seem to think that they might be close. I know that I could chase after this. I know that I could push for further testing; find another doctor; make this a much, much, much bigger deal. In the end, I'd still be exactly in the same place -- hearing what I do, and not hearing those things that I don't. It is, to a degree, about the inevitable diminishments. No real upside to fighting against the march of diminishment. Gahhhhhh!



I've been caught up in the financial stresses of the last few months.



I am nearly hysterical about the possible outcome of this upcoming election.



I am only sometimes "good" about what is and is not physically feasible in my own intimate relating.



I know my frustration is all about my issues. I know that no one "out there" is really causing the upset that I feel. I know that youth and vigor and sexual fullness is not a crime. I know that the medical profession is not in the business of catering to my hopes and dreams. I know, but I am so tender that I simply don't want to have to confront it all just now.



I'm muttering away in my head -- telling myself that pulling into isolation is not helpful or positive. For now, the voice that mutters is winning the argument.



swan

VOTE!!!!!!!

VOTE!!!

I cannot express how important this election is at this very moment in time...

Everything within me SCREAMS that this will be the most important election of my lifetime.

I was barely a kindergartner when the last election of great importance happened. I was unable to participate in the country's election of John F. Kennedy, but I remember how proud my parents were. They knew, the times they were a'changin'. And I remember the great loss we all felt, when he was taken all too soon.

I am 50+ and the times, indeed, are a'changin' again. There is a hope. A bright chance of a better tomorrow...for my family...for my community....for the world....and for me.

Certainly, my preference would be for you to vote for CHANGE and HOPE.... But I want you to vote with your head, and yes, your heart. Who is going to support your heart's passions? Who is going to restore America's integrity with the rest of the world? Who is best equipped to drag us out of this economic nightmare? Who talks peace before war? Who is going to assist America's children to grow, and learn, and become one of the "Bright Lights" that will illuminate the world of the future? Who, for the past 21 months has had a steady hand and willingness to ask us to be better than we have ever been before?

America is a wonderful place. Full of caring, loving, supportive citizens. We ALL want the best for those around us. We want health care that will support us as we age or if we become gravely ill. We want an educational system that raises all children, regardless of their abilities, to become productive parts of our society. We want economic stability that will support all of us, not just the wealthy among us. We want an infrastructure that will run our country into the future and not into the ground. We want the lesser of us to be lifted to heights they have never dreamed possible. And... we want PEACE. A country that will not drag our citizens into senseless wars that only promote the worse of us and not our best.

VOTE..... that is all I ask. VOTE early, if you can. VOTE. It is a right that is not enjoyed in many nations, or by many people.

The time is now...

VOTE!

T