Conversations with Gianna

Late night conversation with my granddaughter.

"MiMi, where is Grandpa?

     Honey, he died.

Where is he?

     I'm not sure but I think he's in a place called heaven.

That sounds right.

MiMi, where is heaven?

     Honey, I don't know for sure.

It must be really far."

(The wisdom of a three-year-old.)

Boxes of Memories

As some of you know I’ve recently been inspired to clean out and get rid of things that no longer serve me and get them to people who can use these items. You know the likes – boxes of clothing a size too small that one-day will fit again, or coats for skiing when one no longer skis. These things are no longer of value to me, but for another person, it’s just the item they need. It’s been gratifying to let go of these things I’ve clung on to for so many years and to watch as they go to people who really need and appreciate them.

And then there are those things that you forget about, things that have incredible meaning and value, even if only to you. One of the things I found in a storage container last week was the top of a pair of men’s pajamas. They belonged to my late husband, Calvin. Although it’s been nearly 18 years since he passed away, I still remember buying him those pajamas and how he wore them those last two months until the day he died. Green and navy stripes with small red squares that look a bit like a Scottish tartan. Silky fabric.  Floods of memories…

Recently I came down with what I can only think is the flu as I was knocked down into bed for the past 48 hours. I pulled the top out of the drawer and wore it these past two days but it was only today I noticed it… the thing that knocked me down again, this time to my knees in tears. It was so small I might have missed it. A tiny pin attached to the lapel. I couldn’t see it clearly with out my glasses buy it didn’t matter. I knew immediately what it was and when it found it’s home on my husband’s pajamas, and why.

My husband was a good husband and father. His children adored him, all of them, but he had a special relationship with our youngest son, Tyler who was born seven years after our last child. Being older parents perhaps we were more prepared to enjoy him than when we were both working full time and trying to raise several children. Anyway, I digress… The pin.

Tyler had barely turned six-years-old when his dad was diagnose with terminal cancer. He watched, as we all did, his hero shrivel up and disappear. It was hard times for everyone. Dark days. But a light in everyday was when little Tyler came home from school. I could hear him as he ran up the stairs into his father’s bedroom every afternoon. “Hi Daddy”, he would say softly putting his tiny hand on his daddy’s shoulder. Cal would awaken from his near constant sleep and smile. “Do you need some fresh water Daddy?” he would ask. “Yes please,” Cal would respond.  And so it would go day after day.

One day Tyler ran up the stairs to his Daddy’s bedroom and he couldn’t wake him up, so instead he placed his new Boy Scout pin, Bear Cats, on the lapel of his daddy’s pj’s. “So he’ll know I was here,” he said with a smile.

Today, laying in this bed for the second day in a row I noticed this small pin on the pajamas I was wearing and a flood of memories washed over me—some heart wrenching, some sweet.

Life has a way of moving on when you aren’t watching. It’s astounding to me that in less than a month it will have been 18 years since Calvin died. That sweet boy Tyler now has a sweet son of his own.

I’m thankful for the memories, the good ones and the hard ones.  I’m thankful for a husband who gave me a beautiful family and a good life and in spite of all the stuff I’ve uselessly held on to for so many years, I’m thankful today I kept this silky pajama top and the pin my son placed on it 18 years ago.

© Cynthia Stewart is an international speaker and the author of many books, which

Include Dream Big! and Creating Wealth on The Web. Through many challenges that she has fought and won, Cynthia knows first-hand how to dream big and has dedicated her life to empower other’s to stand-up, step-out, and reach their dreams. She can be reached at www.cynthiastewart.com

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Thank you for your efforts. Please forward this newsletter in its entirety to all you know who could benefit and encourage them to sign up! Subscribe to cynthia@cynthiastewart.com, with "subscribe dream big" in the subject.

10 Steps To Succeed In Your Business

Every year thousands of men and women across America start a home based business, hoping to make money for new car, a vacation, or some new clothes. They sell a little merchandise to a few relatives and close friends. Then they are through. They quit before they give themselves a
chance to learn the basics of success in business. "I am simply not a born business-person!", they often say.

No one is born a businessperson; any more than one is born a doctor or born a lawyer. To be successful in any profession you must learn not only the basic techniques, but also how to apply those techniques. Success on the Internet makes use of all the abilities one is born with, plus all those acquired through education and experience.

If you are looking for a career opportunity or "extra income" to help with the family budget, Internet marketing offers you dream-fulfilling possibilities. However, you must give yourself time to learn the techniques of Internet marketing. Ask yourself. "How long does a doctor study, to become a doctor? A lawyer to become a lawyer?"

There is an old adage, which says "Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime."

The rewards of owning your own home-based business are many:

1. You can be your own boss.
2. You can set your own hours.
3. You can own your own businesses with little or no investment.
4. You can pay yourself more than any boss would ever pay you.
5. You can give yourself regular raises as your business grows.

It is only fair to tell you that there are failures, too. There are people who will not work for themselves. When working for a boss, they rise early, are well groomed, and get to the office on time. However, when they are their own boss, they are still in a bathrobe, drinking one more cups of coffee at 11:00 A.M.

If you can be your own boss and discipline yourself to do what has to be done when it has to be done, Internet marketing offers a most unusual earning opportunity.

THE TEN STEPS

Here are ten steps that will assure your success:

BE A GOAL SETTER. What do you want to accomplish? Do you want to save for college education for your children? A new car? A new home? A better life? You can have whatever you want, but you must want it enough to do the things that have to be done to get it. Whatever your goal, write it down and set a target date for reaching it. Divide the time period into blocks of achievement that are reachable. Work consistently toward accomplishing each day, each week, each month what you set out to do. Goal setting is a must in every area of life. Little is ever accomplished without definite goals.

2. BE ORGANIZED. Each evening list all the things you want to get done the following day. That gives you an organized approach to each day. As each task is finished, mark it off your list. It is amazing how much gets done when one works with a "things-to- do" list. Today a friend of mine, Steve, told me that one of the things he does with his "to do" list is to tackle the toughest things first in the morning. "By facing, and doing the most difficult tasks on my list first, I not only take care of them early when I am fresh, but by getting them off my list I free myself up emotionally. Putting them off until the last on the list wears on me for the entire day," says Steve.

Also, have a notebook, hand held palm device or contact software listing appointments, potential clients, repeat clients, and referrals, and keep it up to date at all times. You will be adding to it constantly.

3. BE ENTHUSIASTIC. Enthusiasm is the high-octane "fuel" that salespeople run on. Enthusiasm generates its own energy. Energy and good health are synonymous with busy, happy people, people who are achieving.

4. RECOGNIZE THAT THE MAGIC WORD IN BUSINESS IS "ASK." In Internet marketing you don't have to wait for business to come to you. You create your own business by asking for it. Ask for business, and then you will close sales. Ask for referrals, and then you always have a full list of potential clients. Be quietly, yet firmly aggressive.

5. EXPECT NO'S. Realize that no's are not personal. In business, as perhaps nowhere else, the law of averages work. Every no gets you closer to a yes. Keep track of your ratio. It will help improve your techniques. Are you getting ten no's to one yes? Is your ratio five to one? Remember, the yes's are your income. Also remember that "no" does not necessarily mean "no." Often a "no" is simply a stall for more time to think. It may be a request for more information about your product or your service. What your client is actually buying is assurance. Assure her/him by your helpful attitude and your complete honesty, that you want what is best for her/him. She/he will most likely respect you and do business with you.

6. SCHEDULE TIME WISELY. A schedule is the road map by which good businesses travel. It takes the frustration out of the day. It assures that the necessary things get done and get done on time. Plan your work then work your plan.

7. BE POSITIVE IN YOUR ATTITUDE. Success in business, as in all areas of life is 90 percent attitude and 10 percent aptitude. All of us must work at developing habits of constructive thinking. Be proud to be in your own business. Small businesses make the wheels of our economy turn.

8. HAVE AN OFFICE AREA. Internet marketers work from their own homes, but it is essential to have a place where you can work in a organized and efficient manner. An office plus a strict working schedule gives you dignity. Both are absolutely essential for efficient operation and accurate record keeping, so important to the success of any business.

I work out of my home and have two children. Certain “rules” are established and often repeatedly taught. One is that if Mommy is on the phone there can be NO interruptions unless there is blood or fire involved—and sometimes it even works! My girlfriend has a red baseball hat. She puts it on when she is ready to start her workday. Her children know that if mommy has on the red hat, she’s not home so to speak. She is at work. You determine what works for you and your family… then stick with it!

9. BE INVOLVED. Both in online communities and offline in your local community. Know what's going on and what's current in your field. Be a part of what's going on and network with other's in your field.

10. LEARN TO HANDLE MONEY INTELLIGENTLY. A regular nine-to-five job usually means a paycheck at the end of the second week. In your own business you will handle money constantly. Internet marketing is instant income and constant income. Therefore, it is absolutely necessary to become an efficient money manager.

Deposit every penny collected from clients into a checking account set up especially for its business. Since bank statements show an exact record of all monies collected, and business expenses can be verified by canceled checks, record keeping becomes simple and accurate. Everything except a few "petty cash" transactions can be directly taken from bank statements.

Money saved regularly and put at interest, soon develops a second income in addition to earned income. A long-term goal, which is realistic, is to be able to live in retirement off the interest earned on savings.

Would financial security mean a lot to you? If so, ask yourself these questions:

* Am I honest?
* Do I really like people?
* Am I willing to learn?
* Am I willing to work?
* Am I capable of being my own boss?

If your answers are yes, find a good product and a good company, one that you like, one that fills the need of a lot of people, and go to work for yourself! You can turn dreams into reality.

DREAM BIG!

© Cynthia Stewart is an international speaker and the author of many books, which include Dream Big! and Creating Wealth on The Web. Through many challenges that she has fought and won, Cynthia knows first-hand how to dream big and has dedicated her life to empower other’s to stand-up, step-out, and reach their dreams. She can be reached at www.CynthiaStewart.com

PLEASE REFER THIS NEWSLETTER
Thank you for your efforts. Let’s begin today to help a 10,000 more! Please forward this newsletter in its entirety to all you know who could benefit and encourage them to sign up! Subscribe to cynthia@cynthiastewart.com, with "subscribe dream big" in the subject.

May good fortune smile on you today!

A Story of Mother... from a son

Like No Other
Originally uploaded by CiCi Stewart

A Story of Mother... from a son
After 21 years of marriage, I discovered a new way of keeping alive the spark of love. A little while ago I had started to go out with another woman. It was really my wife's idea. "I know that you love her," she said one day, taking me by surprise. "But I love YOU," I protested. "I know, but you also love her."

The other woman that my wife wanted me to visit was my mother, who has been a widow for 19 years, but the demands of my work and my three children had made it possible to visit her only occasionally. That night I called to invite her to go out for dinner and a movie.

"What's wrong, are you well," she asked? My mother is the type of woman who suspects that a late night call or a surprise invitation is a sign of bad news.

"I thought that it would be pleasant to pass some time with you," I responded "Just the two of us." She thought about it for a moment, and then said, "I would like that very much." That Friday after work, as I drove over to pick her up I was a bit nervous. When I arrived at her house, I noticed that she, too, seemed to be nervous about our date. She waited in the door with her coat on. She had curled her hair and was wearing the dress that she had worn to celebrate her last wedding anniversary.

She smiled from a face that was as radiant as an angel's. "I told my friends that I was going to go out with my son, and they were impressed," she said, as she got into the car. "They can't wait to hear about our meeting". We went to a restaurant that, although not elegant, was very nice and cozy. My mother took my arm as if she were the First Lady. After we sat down, I had to read the menu. Her eyes could only read large print. Half way through the entrees, I lifted my eyes and saw Mom sitting there staring at me. A nostalgic smile was on her lips.

"It was I who used to have to read the menu when you were small," she
said. "Then it's time that you relax and let me return the favor," I responded. During the dinner we had an agreeable conversation –nothing extraordinary - but catching up on recent events of each others life. We talked so much that we missed the movie. As we arrived at her house later, she said, "I'll go out with you again, but only if you let me invite you". I agreed.

"How was your dinner date?" asked my wife when I got home. "Very nice. Much more so than I could have imagined," I answered. A few days later my mother died of a massive heart attack. It happened so suddenly that I didn't have a chance to do anything for her.

Some time later I received an envelope with a copy of a restaurant receipt from the same place mother and I had dined. An attached note said: "I paid this bill in advance. I was almost sure that I couldn't be there but, nevertheless I paid for two plates – one for you and the other for your wife. You will never know what that night meant for me. I love you."

At that moment I understood the importance of saying, in time: "I LOVE YOU" and to give our loved ones the time that they deserve. Nothing in life is more important than God and your family. Give them the time they deserve, because these things cannot be put off till "some other time".

Somebody said it takes about six weeks to get back to normal after you've had a baby ...somebody doesn't know that once you're a mother, "normal", is history.

Somebody said you learn how to be a mother by instinct ...somebody never took a three-year-old shopping.

Somebody said being a mother is boring… somebody never rode in a car driven by a teenager with a driver's permit.

Somebody said if you're a "good" mother, your child will "turn out good"...somebody thinks a child comes with directions and a guarantee.

Somebody said "good" mothers never raise their voices… somebody never came out the back door just in time to see her child hit a golf ball through the neighbor's kitchen window.

Somebody said you don't need an education to be a mother ...somebody never helped a fourth grader with his math.

Somebody said you can't love the fifth child as much as you love the first ...somebody doesn't have five children.

Somebody said a mother can find all the answers to her child-rearing questions in the books ...somebody never had a child stuff beans up his nose or in his ears.

Somebody said the hardest part of being a mother is labor and delivery ...somebody never watched her "baby" get on the bus for the first day of kindergarten ... or on a plane headed for military "boot camp"

Somebody said a mother can do her job with her eyes closed and one hand tied behind her back ...somebody never organized seven giggling Brownies to sell cookies.

Somebody said a mother can stop worrying after her child gets married ...somebody doesn't know that marriage adds a new son or daughter-in-law to a mother's heartstrings.

Somebody said a mother's job is done when her last child leaves home ...somebody never had grandchildren.

Somebody said your mother knows you love her, so you don't need to tell her ....somebody isn't a mother.

Pass this along to all the "mothers" in your life.

The Swan’s Song

Love. You don’t fall in love.

You fall down, fall short, fall apart; but you don’t fall in love. Besides, if you are going to do any ‘action’ in love then stand in love… don’t fall. Now I am assuming we are talking about romantic love, the sort of love that is lasting, one hopes. I agree there is a sense of weightlessness when one becomes enamored with a new relationship—there is a euphoria that exists and it is true a certain endorphin is released which might give one a sense of ‘falling’ I suppose. But love? Are you sure you aren’t talking about infatuation?Webster defines love

Love (1): strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties <maternal love for a child> (2): attraction based on sexual desire: affection and tenderness felt by lovers (3): affection based on admiration, benevolence, or common interests <love for his old schoolmates> b: an assurance of love <give her my love>2: warm attachment, enthusiasm, or devotion <love of the sea>3 a: the object of attachment, devotion, or admiration <baseball was his first love> b (1): a beloved person: darling —often used as a term of endearment (2)British —used as an informal term of address4 a: unselfish loyal and benevolent concern for the good of another: as (1): the fatherly concern of God for humankind (2): brotherly concern for others b: a person's adoration of God5: a god or personification of love6: an amorous episode : love affair: the sexual embrace : copulation8: a score of zero (as in tennis)

Verb1: to hold dear: cherish2 a: to feel a lover's passion, devotion, or tenderness for b (1): caress (2): to fondle amorously (3): to copulate with3: to like or desire actively : take pleasure in <loved to play the violin> 4: to thrive in <the rose loves sunlight>intransitive verb: to feel affection or experience desire

Clearly the word love has many different meanings—at least in the English language. Love can mean anything from something that gives one a little pleasure to the score of a tennis match. It’s no wonder so many are confused about love. Even Webster’s can’t narrow down a definition!

So what then is love?

I would like to suggest that, as my fellow blogger put it, “… the move of a beautiful woman’s hair, and the glimpse of a cute smile,” have little, or nothing, to do with the sort of love I think of when I consider long-term mutually loving relationships. Traps he says? How could one equate love and trap in the same subject line?

A few years ago, I spoke to a group of high-schoolers about the idea of love.

"Someone define love," I said.

No response.

"Doesn't anyone want to try?" I asked.

Still no response.

"How about this: I'll define it, and you raise your hands if you agree. Okay?"

Nods.

"Okay. Love is that feeling you get when you meet the right person."

Every hand went up. And I thought, Oh boy!

This is how many people approach a relationship. Consciously or unconsciously, they believe love is a sensation (based on physical and emotional attraction) that magically, spontaneously generates when Mr. or Ms. Right appears. And just as easily, it can spontaneously degenerate when the magic "just isn't there" anymore. As my fellow blogger Rob indicated, you fall in love, and you can fall out of it.

But is that true love?

I’ve had a few relationships where I felt what I deemed was “true love” for the fellow. Some of those moments of feeling love were when we embraced. Others were when we shared intimate personal truths together. And for some of them it was love felt when they left!

How do you define love?

Some say it's mysterious, magical, complex, difficult, imaginary, thought-provoking, inspirational, intuitional, joyous, immeasurable, ecstasy, and undefinable. Perhaps.

In one of Dr. John Gray's audio cassettes he defines love as follows:

"Love is a feeling directed at someone which acknowledges their goodness."

On the same cassette, he refers to the definition by M. Scott Peck:

"The willful intent to serve the well being of another."

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. - 1 Corinthians 13:5-7

My favorite is by ParamahansaYogananda:

"To describe love is very difficult, for the same reason that words cannot fully describe the flavor of an orange. You have to taste the fruit to know its flavor. So with love."

Love itself is a universal experience. Yet, every individual occurrence - while perhaps bound by a common thread - seems absolutely unique. Love is what love is! To everyone it expresses itself differently.

Could it be that Love is a story that can never be fully expressed?

Love is a bond or connection between two people that results in trust, intimacy, and an interdependence that enhances both partners. (quotation by me!)

Love is the ability and willingness to allow those you care for to be what they choose for themselves, without any insistence that they satisfy you. - Leo Buscaglia

Making Love is the highest level and the most loving way we can physically express or demonstrate our Love for our love partner. Everyone knows that the sexual experience can be the single most loving, most exciting, most powerful, most exhilarating, most renewing, most energizing, most affirming, most intimate, most uniting, most stress-relieving, most recreative physical experience of which humans are capable.

Love is More Powerful than Sex

Robert Roy Britt, a LiveScience Senior Writer posted a blog a few years back about a study announced in the July issue of the Journal of Neurophysiology which read:

Sex and romance may seem inextricably linked, but the human brain clearly distinguishes between the two, according to a new study. The upshot: Love is the more powerful emotion.

The results of brain scans speak to long-standing questions of whether the pursuit of love and sex are different emotional endeavors or whether romance is just warmed over sexual arousal.

"Our findings show that the brain areas activated when someone looks at a photo of their beloved only partially overlap with the brain regions associated with sexual arousal," said Arthur Aron of the State University of New York-Stony Brook. "Sex and romantic love involve quite different brain systems."

Well, duh! Most of us could have told you that without a scientific experiment. Or is that what we all were doing all along—a scientific experiment?

So what is love -- real, lasting love?

After all this rambling, I suppose I really can’t define love either. Love must be experienced. I can tell you that the opposite of Love is Fear. Think about it.

Expectations and Demands

Last week my buddy Jim said he and his girlfriend were having some troubles. “I love her,” he said to me. “And that is what is killing me.”

I said, “It isn’t love that is killing you, it is your expectations of the one you say you love. Love doesn’t kill.”

Is it possible to have unconditional love? Love for another simply to love them? Expecting nothing in return?

No expectations - no demands… used to be my mantra. That is until I realized I had plenty of expectations and demands of the ones I loved. I expected my husband to come home at night. I expected my children to honor their parents, and in fact, sometimes demanded it. But isn’t real love simply loving someone without expecting anything in return; no judgments, no restrictions; no limitations; no expectations?

My Buddist friend tells me that true love is loving what is. I’m still working on that one.

To me, I’ve discovered that love is embracing differences and discovering ways in which to build a common lifestyle, share decision-making, and taking equal responsibility for the results. True love has a foundation of integrity, respect, faith and trust. Love is the force that brings about unity and harmony.

Although love is at the root of our basic nature, Love for another human being must be cultivated. It takes time for Love to mature.

Robert Heinlein in "Stranger in a Strange Land" said, Love is. . . "That condition whereby the happiness of another is essential to your own." As one who has a strong affection towards eagles, hawks, geese, and so on; I think they may have it closer to 'right' than we humans do for most of these mate for life. Why then is it so difficult for us, the evolved species, to do the same?

So why is it that love receives less instruction than the average driver’s education class? We don’t learn to drive by crashing until we get it right, but this seems to be how we learn about love.

I’ve had my share of crashes. There was even a time in my life I gave up driving all together. But eventually, like most humans, the desire to have companionship won out over my fear of crash and burn. However the first thing I had to do along my own personal journey to love was to learn to love myself and what a ride that was!

And that is a story for another blog…

© Cynthia Stewart

Spirit Whispers

I BOUGHT A TIPI a few months ago—a big one—22ft in diameter with 30’ poles. I could tell you I bought it because I’ve always wanted one, or because I needed a place to put on the property for meditation, or for an escape. I could tell you I bought it because I thought it would make a good guest quarter, or a neat place to stay on a warm summer night. I could tell you a lot of things but the truth is I bought a tipi because one morning in mediation, I listened to a still small voice within and I followed it.

That voice led me to the top of a mountain on a road my 4x4 truck barely could manage and when there I saw a hillside filled with tipis and I felt my heart sing. I would then have to tell you about the feeling that came over me when I first pulled back the canvas door and stepped inside, but perhaps that feeling is best told in a quiet circle with a selected few…

I met two lovely people on the top of that mountain and witnessed a miracle that day that reminded me that dreams do come true, that life is worth living, and that there is still magic within those who dare to dream.

I bought a tipi. It sits, still, in the packing box it came in. I tried pulling it out once, with the help of a strong Native American man. With both of us we barely managed to get it out on the floor and were overwhelmed at the size of it. Both of us together could hardly open it so we decided to wait… wait until another day, when the time was right.



That was three months ago. I still touch it when I walk by the office… still look at the long poles stacked neatly beside the garden fence… still dream of hoisting it up one day and building a fire within… of making love in the firelight under a blanket of stars and of waking in the morning with sun’s light glowing through the canvas.

I bought a tipi. A big one. Big enough for family to stay over or for guests to enjoy. I drew a design to paint on it this spring. I gathered Red Tail Hawk feathers and owl, and raven for the top of the poles and for the inside. I have two rugs a friend loomed for me that will adorn the inside and I’m always on the look out for more. I have a hide, a big one, to lie on the floor for warmth and some Native art by a local artist.

When I listened to that voice inside that directed me to a mountain I previously didn’t know existed, I didn’t realize then, or even in the months that followed, that this tipi would actually be my home… now I do.



I bought a tipi one Sunday afternoon because I listened, and followed and in four months, when the spring flowers have bloomed and summer sun is knocking on spring’s door I will put my tipi upright between tall pine trees at the south garden gate and watch as the sun sets behind my other house… the one I hope to rebuild one day.

I bought a tipi. And I am glad.

© Cynthia Stewart

Sticks and Stuff

I STOOD AT THE KITCHEN sink this afternoon; hands plunged deep in warm soapy water and the smell of chicken soup bubbling on the stove wafting through the house. I stood there after the dishes were finished and watched through the large window that faces the pasture, the snow falling. Silver-dollar-sized flakes whirling in every direction one minute and then floating gently down in another and the two big chestnut trees are cloaked in white, their dark bark barely peeking under the white of winter.

I’ve watched summer come and go from this window. Watched autumn in blazing glory. Watched 375 thousand leaves fall from the trees. And now as the soft whiteness surrounds me it occurs to me that I have been living here longer than I’d imagined already and with no change in sight.




A week from tomorrow, the 28th, of February, will mark exactly eight months since my house was destroyed by fire. Eight months! Is that possible? Standing at this kitchen window it is an anomalous feeling. It’s been so long now that sometimes it seems as if it didn’t really happen at all. I could almost forget for a minute but that my days are consumed with insurance receipts, engineers, contractors, and county building departments… my nights too. Besides, all I really have to do is drive ten minutes down the tree lined winding road, turn the corner, drive up the hill and there it sits—a gapping hole of a house—a mere shell perched precariously at the top, empty. Charred trees still standing like sentinels over an open roof and new wood framing reaching up in the sky like fingers reaching… reaching for what? For help? For a roof? For the family that once resided here? For the love? Do the trees miss the laughter? I know the garden misses my hands.



I know every rock stack on the property, every daffodil planted by little hands over the past six winters and where the red-tail hawk perches watching for his catch. I know the trail cut through the Manzanita by deer and where they lay on hot summer days in tall cool grass under the oaks. I know the time of day by the way the light filters through my window and when winter bids adieu to spring. I know better than to be attached to such things for I know that everything is temporary, but one… and that is love.

I love that place I called home. It's not the sticks and stuff, or even the stones I've placed in a large circle in the garden or the stacks that stand tall around the skirts of the property… it's the feeling I have when my hands are deep in the dirt at planting time or the smell of ripe tomatoes in the summer. It's the screech of the hawk and the coo of the doves I miss most, and light of the full moon as it dances across the back of the house to taunt me awake. It's the sense of belonging and the feeling of utter peace.




Tragedy happens, everyday. People manage to keep going. It’s just a house… wood and walls. Stuff really. In the scheme of life this is but a trifle… a hiccup. I know this yet sometimes I forget.

© Cynthia Stewart

Through Janie’s Eyes

Over 30 years ago we didn’t have ESPN, or MSBC, or cable TV and 24-hour news, though it wouldn’t have mattered much to me if we had. I didn’t watch TV; perhaps all those hours of cartoons during childhood made television news seem boring. Besides, I didn’t have time to sit still, much less in front of a box and even had I been so inclined, I doubt very much I’d watch whatever news was airing because it made my grandmother cry when she watched it—morning, noon, and night.

I was just hitting my teens, typically self-centered and somewhat detached from the ‘adult world’, I don’t remember what I even knew about war, about politics, about Vietnam… but I do remember when some of the boys started coming home, and I remember when some didn’t.

I remember the look of emptiness in their eyes… blank, vacant, as if they were absent from their bodies in some odd way. I remember the ones who returned in wheelchairs, dismembered bodies crammed awkwardly into uncomfortable and cumbersome contraptions into a world ill prepared for them, or them for it. I remember people staring… I remember I stared too. I remember being afraid, scared of something, yet I didn’t know what. But what I remember most was Jerry.

Jerry served in Vietnam. His sister, his twin Janie, was my friend. She was older than I was, had a job, and provided a safe haven of refuge for a somewhat wayward teenager like me who was fighting wars and battles of my own. It was really through Janie’s eyes that I saw Vietnam for the first time.

Growing up in Texas, the twins, Janie and Jerry, clung together and clawed their way through, and out, of the middle of a family of twelve and into the world side by side. Identical twins couldn’t have been closer than those two. They went to school together, played together, and fought a little too, yet held on to each other through the ups and downs of report cards and rejections, dates and disappointments, elation, divorce, illness, and even death. They were best friends.

As I remember it, from the first day I met Janie she talked about Jerry. Jerry this and Jerry that… you’d have thought she was talking about a new boyfriend or God, or anything besides just a plain ‘ole dumb brother, that is unless you looked into her eyes. Those cavernous blue eyes, echoing the words her mouth couldn’t utter, and the feelings she was unable to release—those dark daunting feelings—the kind that eat their way through you from the inside out. The kind that show up suddenly when a song comes on the radio that reminds you. The kind that rise up in the middle of a sleepless night when you feel too weak, too tired to hold them a moment longer and so you let out the fear, the rage, the unspeakable pain. Those are the stories Janie’s eyes told me when she talked about Jerry, and about Vietnam.

Afterwards she told me many other stories about Jerry. She showed me pictures of their childhood; two towheads turned brunette, plopped in the middle of a mud puddle back yard, white teeth peeping through mud covered heads—pictures of small faces behind gigantic pink ice-cream cones, pink dripping off their chins and down their t-shirts—pictures of the past. Memories anchored to feelings held on paper, and Janie’s attempt to preserve the past, clinging to it, almost as if to postpone the uncertainty of the future. Pictures of perfectly groomed children preparing for first communion. Pictures of birthdays, of holidays, of high-school graduation… two blonde heads with big smiles in the center of a mass of blue robes; pictures of college; and finally of Jerry’s farewell.

As that year passed Janie let out more and more of those dark feelings that wrenched her gut through the day and held her hostage in the dark hours of night. I remember the night she brought in the carved wooden box that sat on her dresser and held her precious mementos. It was a dark mahogany color, carved on the top and sides with roses. I watched her holding it with reverence, as if the contents were more precious than rubies. Her petite white hands carefully unwrapped envelopes postmarked from Vietnam, from places I’d never heard of before, from a world I didn’t know. Letters filled with words I didn’t understand… “Fires in the hole” or “Gooks in the wire”. She read those letters to me from Jerry, her twin, her brother, her best friend; words on paper that evoked a horror and repulsion in me I didn’t even know existed until then. And then she cried. I’d never seen anyone cry so hard, and for so long and in the years that followed I remembered I’d only seen her cry twice. That night was one of them, and when Jerry returned home three years later was the other.

The pain that followed I can’t speak of, it isn’t my story to tell, but anyone looking could read the tale in Janie’s eyes. Those blue eyes spoke volumes. They spoke of fear, anger, and of heart-crushing pain. They spoke to me when Janie wouldn’t… couldn’t… but they never again shed a tear. Something changed inside of Janie the day we met the plane and watched as Jerry came home. Many soldiers came home that day. We stood in absolute silence as the boys came off the plane. I couldn’t tell which one was Jerry. They all looked the same; caskets draped in red, white, and blue.

I remember afterwards leading Janie by the arm through the airport towards the car, gently pushing our way through other families who had come for their own reunion with their brothers, husbands, children, or fathers; families who were forever changed, altered in an indescribable way through their loss. I remember the melancholy that hung so heavy around me and in me, I could barely lift my feet to move through the throngs of people, women with faces still buried in their hands, red-faced men, and children clinging to the legs of their mother’s or siblings. Then I remember the shock that followed, and soon the repulsion, and finally the fear and anger that came as we exited the airport that day.

War protesters they called themselves. I didn’t understand then. I do understand now. I remember thinking, “Why were they screaming? Why were they here?” Waving homemade peace signs while at the same time inflicting acts of violence on these heart-broken families… screaming obscenities, waving fists in the air, spitting on the clothes, shoes, and even some faces of these grief-stricken people who, with heads bowed, made their way quietly through their sorrow to their cars. I don’t remember what happened next, but I do remember the look in Janie’s eyes…

That’s what I really know of Vietnam… the Vietnam I saw through Janie’s eyes.

In memory of Jerry C ~ August 1974
© CiCi Stewart ~ Written Winter 2000