Lock Up Your Meds

On July 2, Ken Cuccinelli, Attorney General of Virginia, held a press conference to launch, Lock Up Your Meds, a public safety announcement campaign, exposing prescription drug abuse among youth.   Cuccinelli appeals to families to safely store their meds under lock and key, so that “our medicine cabinets don’t become our neighborhood drug suppliers.”

Ann Reardon, a prosecutor with the AG’s office, kicked off the program by relating the powerful story of her 17 year old son, Robert, who died two years ago after suspected abuse of prescription meds.  She is working to increase awareness of this type of abuse in an effort to help prevent other families from suffering such an unspeakable loss.
http://www.nbc12.com/story/22746519/campaign-encourages-locking-up-prescription-drugs

As a co-founder and board member of the JHW Foundation, Roz Watkins was invited to attend the launch.  She and her husband, Johnny, also know firsthand, the agony of losing a child to alcohol and pain killers. www.jhwfoundation.org

I’m thankful Roz and Ann are brainstorming ways in which the Foundation may be able to support the State’s new initiatives.

What Denial Looks Like

You’re awakened one night from a deep sleep.
You detect the faint odor of smoke, but you hope that it was just a dream.
You’re too groggy to get up and check the source of the smell.
You roll over and attempt to go back to sleep.
Eventually you do.
Some time later, your senses are roused, haunted by a reminder of that familiar vapor.
You sniff the air, wondering if it’s in the room, here and now.
Something is definitely going on in your house.
Maybe not though.
Surely, you’re imagining it?
You pray that you’re imagining it.
But you anticipate real danger.
Wait – Now, not only can you smell something, you see it creeping
around the corner – swirls of smoke and an orange flash.
Is this a vision conjured by an active imagination? A day dream?  A nightmare?
You don’t want to be an alarmist.
You decide to wait and see because you’re still a little sleepy.
Things could change.
The flash could  die down.
Suddenly, you’re fully awake. You know the truth. It’s asphyxiating.
Your house is engulfed in flames.

Coloring Outside the Lines

Have you ever watched a child color? The look of excruciating pain fills the determined little face – a vice grip on the crayon, head cocked, tongue firmly pressing against the inside of the cheek. Sheer exhaustion before they put a lick of pigment on the paper.

It’s hard to remember the first time I sat down with a coloring book in my lap and a slick, awkward crayon poised between my fingers. I can imagine my facial expressions, because, years later, my own budding artists served as a mirror to the past. The focus comes from an earnest effort to be accurate and to color within the prescribed borders. Think back to that brand new box with all the crayons in order: perfectly sharpened and lined up, standing at the ready, and a coloring book with intact binding and a ton of possibility, by its side.

I may not remember the specifics but I do recall that even as a beginning colorist, I could not accept any errant marks. Large, heavy “X” marks of frustration, big scribbles over perceived mistakes, pages ripped out, wads of paper on the floor. I shed an occasional tear for sure.

Now that I’m in my fifties, I actually want  to color outside the lines.
Not all the way out to the edge of the paper, but far enough out to keep life interesting.

But what does this look like?
Do you mix plaids and stripes?
Do you garden naked just because you live in the country?
How do you do it ? How do you pull it off?
There’s some  tribal something  that still holds me back, just a little.
How about actually creating the lines as you go? 

Remember HAROLD and the PURPLE CRAYON, by Crockett Johnson? Harold begins a creative adventure, putting his trusty purple crayon to work on a blank canvas. If he wants something to exist, he draws it. Even at four years old, he’s figured out that there is a certain order to his world. His true character develops through wiggling out of tight spots and overcoming obstacles, which are encountered along with the way.

“But this is no hare-brained, impulsive flight of fantasy. Cherubic, round-headed Harold conducts his adventure with the utmost prudence, letting his imagination run free, but keeping his wits about him all the while. He takes the necessary purple-crayon precautions: drawing landmarks to ensure he won’t get lost; sketching a boat when he finds himself in deep water; and creating a purple pie picnic when he feels the first pangs of hunger.”  Goodreads

Take a yoga breath, relax and loosen the grip on your crayon. Trust yourself and create a masterpiece.

About Being Real ….

The Velveteen Rabbit,  written by Margery Williams, was one of many treasures on my children’s bookshelf. I unearthed it recently in our storage room. First published in 1922, “it chronicles the story of a stuffed rabbit and his quest to become real through the love of his owner.”

I somehow managed to open it to the following passage when I thumbed through it’s pages. I read it over and over, recalling the words from years ago, but extracting a new, (50 something) meaning.It’s beautifully simple.

————————————————————————————————————————-
The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. 

He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.

“What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.  Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

“I suppose you are real?” said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

The Skin Horse Tells His Story

“The Boy’s Uncle made me Real,” he said. “That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can’t become unreal again. It lasts for always.”