Written after December 2001:

She was a hero. Through and through. A woman I cannot to this day speak about without tearing up about. One that I will never forget.

Her name was Jen. Jenimae Dahl. Grandma Jen. She was an amazing young lady with an amazing history around her. She was an activist before she was a grandma, as my mother puts it. She was a fighter and you could always get a feel of her fighting spirit when you looked into her one eye. She lost one and it was always hilarious when she would tell us warnings about our eyes and how we need to be careful.

Got even funnier when she took the glass eye out and proceeded to clean it. Gotta love grandmas. And I did. Loved her for my twenty years I had her. For me, it was a lesson I would learn from her, about her and through her. She taught me so many things about life and about how it was. And most of the time it was never a “sit down lesson time” deal either. You just learned from her.

She died in December of 2001. I was coming out of the movie theater after having seen Lord of the Rings. I got to my car and my phone rang. I cried for fifteen minutes. It hit hard. Hard.

We traveled to Montana and had the funeral. I read something and it was my goodbye to her. I, for the the life of me, cannot find it. But it was adapted from a earlier draft when she still lived with us. Now, I present that, in her memory further down here. But I need to answer the question. Why was she a hero? Why did she deserve space in this column?

Because through all the time I knew her, she loved. She would never hesitate to reach out and hug and kiss and give and love and just overall give you something to go away with. She would open her house to us and do whatever it took to make it happen. Later in years she became less mobile, but we still came up. And other family members were there to help her. And we knew it was coming sooner or later. We were prepared when she died.

But we also weren’t. It came out of blue, in the middle of a amazing time. And now, as we approach the year anniversary of 9-11-01 and even December of 2001, everything starts to comeback again. All those feelings, all those memories and everything that has led me up to this point.

Tomorrow is another day as they say, but for me, I am hard pressed to forget the woman who made me want to become someone like her that respected, understood and loved you as you were. Her family and her grandson. I will never forget. In memory of my greatest Hero.

The following is something I wrote back in 1998-99. I wrote it from my heart and I still feel the way about her that I did then.

***********
My one and only Hero

By Aaron DeLay

Michael Jordan, Scotty Pippin, Sammy Sosa, Larry Bird, John Elway. These are all people that at one time in my life, I considered heroes. However, as I grow older, I become mature and more thoughtful. In 7th grade, we were asked to do a research essay. Much like this one, we were to write about out our hero in life. I chose Jesus Christ. However, that has changed too. I have given up on sports heroes, movie stars and other famous people. To me, the only reason that they could be my hero would be because they have tons of money. There are a few exceptions to that rule, but most famous people do not deserve hero status.

I have already written about the perfect person in the world, so now I am forced to reconsider. Just this last year, my grandma, Jenimae Dahl went under the knife and into surgery for 6 hours while doctors operated and worked to get her back to good condition. This was her 16th surgery in her 78 years on this earth. There have been pills, visits to the doctor and much more in those 78 years. That and more make her my hero

I am told that she never complained and that she has always done well with what she was given. In the Depression, she always �made do� and learned to save everything she could so that her kids (six of them) could have a somewhat nice life. This would probably explain my ability to save nearly everything I come in contact with.

She worked hard, along with my grandpa to raise kids and help them out, never giving up. Despite the losing a daughter at a young age, she has never lost her outlook on life. 16 surgeries are nothing to this woman. Her outlook has always been one of happiness and hope. Every time we have travel to Opheim, Montana, we pull up to the Grandma and Grandpa�s House and get ready to go in. This house is small, but sufficient, even for family reunions.

My grandparents have lived in that house for nearly all their lives. When we come in, grandma is always doing something and always at us, smiles, and greets us with a big hello. She always stocks up on the good stuff (pop tarts, candy) before we get there so we can have fun. Recently, though she has go through some tough times with her aging body. She has had a breast removed because of cancer, an eye removed because of complications and heart problems. Yet every time she goes in, her attitude is one that cannot be squashed. On her last surgery, when they came to get her, she was playing cards, which is a trademark of Jen. She protested when they came to get her because she was not finished yet. She told everyone that she would see them when she came out. Indeed she did.

She has always loved me and tells me that quite often, giving me hugs and smooches on the cheek. She reads a lot, because she doesn’t want to miss what is going on. However, in recent months, Alzheimer’s has begun to take a toll. She has called me names of my cousins, uncles and brother. She will forget many times what is going on and will ask questions about people who are not even there. It’s sad to see her slowly decrease in health like this, and it is even worse to see my grandpa to have to deal with it. He has been married to her for so many years it’s amazing. Through it all he has been there. Both of them are my heroes, but when one is needed it is my grandma.

Famous people are heroes to some, while historical figures are to others. I like to think that when you find a hero, they are good at heart, good in soul, good in mind and have qualities no one else has. That is why I picked Jesus Christ my seventh grade year. That is why I picked my grandma Jenimae Dahl my sophomore year. She is strong, courageous and is someone I strive to be more like every day. I love her very much and when she leaves us, I will preserve her memory to the best of my ability. For she is my one and only hero.

Originally Written on February 9th, 2003

I hope you are all madly in love with me! I hope you can’t wait to propose to me! And I hope you know what kinda man you are getting’. One that likes long walks on the beach; reading books in the moonlight and watching the sun rise and fall by the beaches of Bali.

How I wish the above were true. But there is this thing called reality and with reality comes this day we all know so well. That would be February 14th, 2003. Valentines Day. The day of love. The day of couples. The day of Public Displays of Affection. The day to be happy and kiss your other half.

The day that I have eternally hated for all time. Now, I’m not going to rant about my relationships and that fact I’ve been single for two years this June and that my relationships are 0 and 2 on the failure count. Because I’ve done that already. Just now. So, instead, I will write about something more important.

How much Valentines Day needs some serious updating. Now, you may scream bloody murder the mention of such an idea and you may be plotting this moment to join me in my bunker near the Saskatchewan Border in Canada. But hold fast, dear friends and plotters of my demise. This idea has thought and has intent and depth that has never been seen before in all time.

Valentines Day needs to be sincere. Now, most of us “guys” out there do love our other half a good part of the year. Some of us manage to do it all year. And others of us manage to never have someone to express this emotion to, but we won’t talk about them. Mostly because I’ll then lose track of this essay.

Valentines day for many of us offers a chance to cash in the gushy, mushy and sushy feelings and make that lady just melt at our feet and forget all those things we’ve done wrong. Admit it, you’ve wronged her tons. You’ve made excuses and lied, but you haven’t cheated and if you have, off to the Middle Ages with you. If you’ve done her wrong or not treated her right and you use this day to gloss over all of it, I will personally see to it that ninjas (about 432) attack you in the night and give you the greatest wedgy ever to have been taken upon by a human being.

So now you look at me with that look of fear and pain in your nether regions and ask me how you should fix the wedgy. I shrug and you fall over in utter disbelief. Then I answer the other question you were going to ask, but you were busy trying to keep from crying, your girly man.

How should you celebrate this Valentines Day with that special someone? Say to them, “After all we’ve been through, after all the mistakes I’ve made, I’m still amazed and deeply thankful that you’ve stood by me all these times. And I love you for what you’ve taught me in life and in love. I love you and thank you for your daily love you give me each moment you are with me.”

Now, that’s brutally honest and it takes fault for all the stupid and dumb things you’ve done. And it extends to her the respect her deserves and needs. You see, women deserve your adoration, you love, you compassion and you compromise. And you deserve the same back from her. And if you don’t ascribe to this, I’ll send in the ninjas again and have you whitewashed in the snow here in Denver about 549.7 times and then fed to penguins. They’re funny little guys, until they poke you.

So this Valentines day, take the bigger step and make it more special. Invest in that person. And let them know you care, most than just 1 day out of that incredible 365. Because those 364 are the most amazing, most frustrating and most entertaining times. And those are the times you need that love to shine through.

Much love to you all. Remember the Ninjas.

originally posted May 2, 2003:

I’ve come to rant about money. And about how it should really actually grow on trees. Seriously. Think about it. All you’d have to do is plant some seeds (cost you about 1.50 tops), plant them and then suddenly, with the addition of two cups of water, the tree would spring up five feet six inches and within 5.3 seconds, assorted five, ten and twenty dollar bills would pop out and be ready to pick five minutes later. It would re-grow the picked money daily. All you’d have to do is water it with water and fertilizer and give it good sun and care.

Now, you’d have to protect this tree obviously and I would recommend large electric fences in the style of Jurassic Park and you may want to genetically create your own T-Rex’s that you chain near the tree that you train to not eat you and some of your friends. You would also want a cattle prod turret gone on the top of your house so you could defend the tree in case they took out your four ton defenses.

Then, if that failed, you would then create cyborgs that would spring out of the ground and give the attacker a massive wedgie that could only be fixed by Doctors in France, but since they don’t like us, you’d have to go to Tibet where the Dali Lama would cure you by slapping you upside the head and calling you the Tibetan equal of “idiot”.

Now, of course this would cost you a fortune, but if you follow my plan to become a millionaire, you should be ok. Simple. Ready? Invest right. Play the lotto. And be famous. See, how hard can it be? I myself have become a successful millionaire in my last few months, but nobody knows. I keep it all under my pillow where I talk to it and tell it to grow.

So, get your money trees while you can. Please send 34.94 in three installments to…

Now we come to it at last, the new year. And we’ve managed to survive another Dick Clark New Years Eve Party, one filled with stars, music and people who are way to attractive for thier own good. The obvious question is, when will Dick Clark die? I honestly don’t know when he’ll keel over, but I almost think he’ll actually outlive me.

Some people think he made a deal with the devil, while others think he’s found the fountain of youth and he’s keeping it all for himself deep down in the ABC bunker they have. I personally think he’s carrying the One Ring from Lord of the Rings. I mean, he’s lived for years and years and kept walking and managed to secure a very high paying position within ABC that gives him one heckuva paycheck at the end of every year because he stands up and hosts a show that just keeps running.

Something must be done of this Dick Clark and his Ring of Power. I’m not sure who made this ring and gave it to the man, but it’s was forged deep inside the Magic Kingdom and all the power, magic and flowers of Disney were slapped into it with an ounce of evil from the stepmother from Snow White.

With it he lords over the world, taking control day by day of the governments of the world, replacing them with Disney lookalikes. I mean, you know why Goofy isn’t in any movies? He’s taken the place as the prime minister of Canada! And Donald Duck? Australia. Mickey Mouse? France. Minnie? Spain. You’d be surprised how powerful they can be, these Disney Characters. So we must rise against them you see.

We must harness the power of the lesser rings. Looney Toons, Cartoon Network, Nicolodean and the Power Puff girls. With them by our side, we stand a chance against the Disney Camp. We can defeat them, if we unite. If we ignore this sign, if we persist in allowing Dick Clark to continue to rule the earth with the Ring, all will be lost.

We’ll all be turned into mousekateers.

Quickly, light the fires of the other Networks. We must join together. Or we all turn out like Brittany Spears.

I’ve decided to move to Timbuktu.

You heard me.

I’m tired of John Kerry and I’m tired of George Bush. I’m tired of Ralph Nadar. I’m tired of John Edwards. I’m tired of Dick Cheney. I’m tired of the Swift Boat Veterans For Truth. I’m tired of people acting like little children because they want to have their twisted and unproven point of view heard and will go to any length to do so.

I’m tired of protesters. I’m tired of them posting names and addresses of the delegates homes. I’m tired of them assaulting a plainclothes police officer. I’m tired of waiting for the anarchists to actually become what they are: little whining terrorists who have no cause and no direction except against everything this country stands for.

I’m tired of reading the rhetoric, I’m tired of the propaganda. I’m tired of the infighting. I’m tired of the hate. I’m tired of the awful things people do to each other. I’m tired of waking up in the morning and knowing something horrible may have happened. I’m tired of watching my fellow age group go to hell.

I’m tired of people not standing up for what they believe, in a way that doesn’t involve bloodshed, damage to property, traffic jams and otherwise counterproductive actions. I’m tired of reading people whine in the newspaper about life, when they could have simply accepted that life isn’t fair and most of the time it’s your fault. I’m tired of people posturing to get into the news.

I’m tired of Olympians cheating. I’m tired of people behaving badly, just because they can and it’s “cool”. I’m tired of riots in Fort Collins and Boulder because simple idiot college students drink too much or generally have no thought process behind them and their actions. I’m tired of these people sitting in a classroom when they really don’t care.

I’m tired of a world spent, used and having just been through it’s fourth wind.

I’m simply tired.

The old words of Franklin Delano Roosevelt ring through my ears each day as I wake up, the sun hitting my window and screaming into my eyes. The bright sunshine is a welcome break from the darkness I’ve been sleeping in, night after night. The world I face watches me and my every move, as if waiting to pounce.

I walk into the air of the morning, hoping to face another day. Without failure. Without stumbling. And without becoming part of this world I detest. It is a struggle for many of us each day. From the morning traffic to the office rabble that rises above the cubicles, the world waits for us to fall, to fail. We strive to be as good as the next guy, but eventually something trips us up. We swear, we think the word we shouldn’t or we even caste a glance that our face should never have formed.

Each moment we walk in this world on that ever troubling straight and narrow, we are touched by that tempting of the words from the side of the road. Take a ride this way, do this and be that. Drink this, do some of this and then try those over there. It is about whatever can stop us from walking on the straight and narrow. It is about our weakness.

It is about our strength. Do we hold true to what we know to be right and wrong? Do we hold that line that we dare never to cross? Or is there surrender in our eyes as we drive full length into trouble? It is about our courage.

Do we stand up for the Truth? Do we say enough when it is enough? Do we call ourselves on something and keep ourselves more honest? What do we do with the right and wrong of the world that has been pointed out to us since the day we arrived in this bright world?

There is a daring truth in all of this. A terrifying awful truth.

We have the power to become something different. To transform ourselves from the old being that did whatever everyone else did, that allowed certain things to pass while expressing outrage at others to the creature that did stand up for what was right, true and pure. And was ok with walking away from it, no matter what it meant to themselves and what those around thought of them.

It is in that where we find this guy named God. For without him, without that strong arm he reaches to us with we would fall each time we tried to transform. We would scrape ourselves and call out in pain as we realized we cannot do this journey alone.

It is in Him that we can prevail. I’ve always had this image of God, with Jesus at his side as a friendly, smiling Lord of Lords. And he is. But there is something else about this God. He isn’t safe. Whoever follows him accepts that there will be trials, there will be trials and there will be times with little money to spread around. There will always be those moments that seemed to dig deeper into our soul until we literally scream for mercy.

And yet, I have a simple and almost stereotypical answer.

God Loves Me. No matter the troubles. They will strengthen me. No matter the trials. I shall learn courage. No matter the tough moments. I shall learn patience. No matter those that drive me up the wall. I shall learn compassion. No matter the world that looks at me with it’s giant teeth and waits for me to step away from the comapanion at my side.

We live in a terrifying world. There is no question. There is the answer.

We serve a terrifying God. And in that, I feel comforted. I face a world of hunger, pain, horror, terror, blood, death and destruction. I hurt for those thousands who lost lives in flooding because of nature. I hurt for those that suffer for the faith they practice. I hurt for those that have never been given a chance in the world because of who they are, what they look like or how they were born. And yet, I serve a God who cares so much he would sacrifice his Son for the awful things of the world. A God who asked his servent to sacrifice his son.

A unpredictable God who moves in the most amazing, mysterious and more often than not, unknown. I am evidence of this. I have struggled, fought and been up and down. And yet, through all of this, I know who cares to see me come away from these things that weigh me down.

A God who knows where I’m going, even if I have no freaking clue.

Now THAT is something I can put faith in. If God can use me with my scars, my past and my experiences and all the lost hope, there is a chance. A chance for all those that never believed in a chance reaching them.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. And we are free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last.

Damn the torpedoes. Full. Speed. Ahead.

What follows is a tale told most sarcastically. I�m not really this crazy. Really.

He�s my brother. To this day I can’t remember how that song goes. I think I must hate America or something. At least that’s what my friends on the liberal side of the street tell me. They tell me a lotta things, but I have mastered the ability of the “head nod” and the smile followed by the, “I see…uh huh.” Selective listening is a beautiful thing when employed correctly. Of course it can lead to some very embarrassing situations in which you are nodding while their hand is headed for your face.

Kidding and rambling post aside, he is my brother. His name is Nate. I’m extroverted. He’s quiet. I’m talkative. He silently watches you. I draw stick figures. He draws DaVinci. I flirt with girls. They slap me. He looks at them and they faint. It’s a terrible curse.

I was having a delightful IM conversation with him earlier today (read: like five minutes ago) and catching up. He�s going to school and partying hard and doing crazy things that I never dreamed of doing in a life time. Like…homework. Get your mind outta the gutter y’all! I was chatting with him when he dropped the bomb. It was like Hiroshima to my soul. He said I should talk about Columbine or something. I was thinking about that when he typed…

[08:17] MY BROTHER: ive become greatly dissalusioned of late

I stopped staring at the adult diaper that adorns my wall (don�t ask) and shook my head. I asked him about what and my sneaking suspicions sneaked a little more.

yeah i dont know about dubya anymore

Holy Mother of Mongolia! What had happened to my brother who curses all the time about crazy liberals and how he loves “TEAM AMERICA: WORLD POLICE” and how cool “Dubya is”. My baby brother who swore on a blood oath that he would never turn to the Democrat ways no matter how desperate he was for a women? What hath God wrought? This was treason! I must stop him! I briefly considered getting on a plane and flying halfway across the ocean to tackle him and slap his hairy head around (his head is a monster of hair folks. It�s scary) and getting some sense knocked into him. On the account that I can�t afford it and stowing away on a international flight *might* get me into trouble, I nixed that idea.

I took him to task over IM. He then confessed having an interest in libertarians. I passed out at this point and struggled to keep my heart from beating. He was killing me softly with his nightmarish words. Oh the humanity! He then used some talking points I had heard from the other side of the fence.

“I think he manipulated the public a little bit and on top of that he threw out his fiscal roots. There was a huge surplus before he entered office and now the deficit is ungodly.”

I prayed to the gods of Michelle Malkin and even caste a few stones to the Lizardiod* pentagram I had drawn up on the floor of my office. I was starting to sweat. Alarms were going off. Images of my brother in a flowered moo moo waving a rainbow flag screaming, “I WANT TO HAVE A CHOICE!” filled my mind as I tried to formulate something to put into the keyboard to stop my little brother from going all Bonny and Clyde off into the depths.

I talked to him about libertarians. My brother is a smart kid. He�s logical and quite fun to talk politics with. He’s a lot like my dad. Patient and willing to get it all on the table and worked out. I talked to him about being a republican and a moderate and still getting away with it. Yet, this wasn�t very troubling. What was even more troubling was that my little brother was feeling the same feelings that I have over the past few months. I�ve lost a little of my right wing faith. The rosary with W2004! scratched in hasn�t been doing the work it should have been. I’ve started to wonder about my own political heart and if I was really still with “the party” and the ideas of the conservative. My eyes started to glaze over. I started mumbling.

Then I saw Rosie O�Donnell* on The View. My eyes were opened. My soul was cleansed. My rosary was shining. All was well in the world. Well, not all. I went back to my brother and asked him what he was thinking now after we talked about stuff. I waited.

but im still considering the libertarians

That’s it. He’s disowned.

********

I don’t talk about my work here often for one solid reason: This place is very public and I have no doubt my co-workers would find this place or even worse, my bosses.

Therefore, I don’t talk about my work here. There’s not actually anything bad about work, I’m fully enjoying it to the max. Let’s talk about where we’ve come from, as it’s a bit eye opening.

We all started on a Wednesday. Nine of us trainees. All bright eyed and bushy-tailed. We’re were excited, we were ready. Energy flowed through our muscles, blood pumped through our veins. Our company logo was printed across our foreheads. Well, not really.

We got in at 8:00am to start our training. We made it into the classroom (we had to shoot some crocodiles and several lions on the way, but we all managed to make it there, without too much blood spilled. We arrived and sat down. Now, it’s about 8:05. Not a minute later, one of us walks to the front, talks to the lady, steps outside with her and then comes back in, gets his things and is out the door faster than you can “Hey, where ya going…guy we don’t have a name for yet!”

It was the sad truth. We hadn’t even met the guy. And he was gone into the wind of external job opportunity. Sad times. Down to 8.

Week 2: One us decides he’s going to Dish Network, which has proven to have higher turnover rates than Rosanne’s husbands. We warn him. Several of us who worked there before warn him. He leaves. Down to 7.

Week 3: One of us, the only girl in the class is with us one day and the next is gone. Into the mist she walks without a parting word. We cry and sacrifice two computers in her name, tearing our robes from our bodies. Down to 6.

Week 4: One of us is given the boot. Rumors run rampant. We don’t know why he left. His reason is he needs a part time job instead of full time as he’s going to school full time. We wonder where his brain was when he went through the interview process. We decide to create a shrine in his name from assorted chairs and desk pieces we find. It is destroyed at night by unnamed janitors. We swear vengeance. After we have our morning coffee. And then we forget about it. Down to 5.

Week 5: One of us has been targeted. He feels it in the water. We smell it in the water. We pray to the gods of employment to save him from his fate. He walks out and is never seen again. We surmise he was looking for a “PRUNS” from his history log on his computer. Sadly, the IT guys mistake it for PRON aka PORN and send him packing. We mourn his passing and create a sorrowful dirge that sounds like Happy Birthday To You, but a lot worse as we can’t carry a freaking tune. Gunshots ring out and we stop. Down to Four.

And so that is where we are. With two weeks to go, we’re closing in. So, needless to say it has been an adventure. Just wait. Next week Godzilla will come crashing through our office and our dedicated four will join together and cry out some ancient curse and send him back to Japan.

If we could just do that to Celine Dion. Well, truth is we do, but she keeps running the damn border crossing.

I went over to our Aurora Campus of the my church to hear the message tonight, cause I don’t get to church on a Sunday Morning because I teach Sunday school both services. What follows is inspired from the message delivered by Dr. Craig Williford, the President of Denver Seminary.

****

Morning Comes…

On the Road of Life, there are times when the you have detours that take you places you never thought you’d go. There are times when you wish the world would simply stop twirling on its eternal axis. All of us have experienced this in our journey through the days. No matter how much money you have, how many things you own or how little you have in your home. We all go through it.

There is little hope in those dark places when you feel alone. At times you wonder which shoe will drop next, cringing in those moments. You feel like everything means nothing in the world anymore.

It is those moments when we are against the wall with nothing but our hands against the madness. There is a way to combat all of this. Three words.

Faith. Love. Hope.
Hope is what keeps us moving each day. Hope that life can get better. Hope for a better day. Hope that this too shall pass. Hope is that spark in the darkness that you hold onto each night as you lay yourself into bed. That spark gets you up in the morning and pushes you through the day.

Love is the strongest of these. There is no doubt. When you have love, when you feel loved and know that someone loves you can keep that one hand you have left on the ladder. For me, the Love of God has been the greatest motivation in my days. That’s what saved me from middle school. It’s what saved me from depression. It is that which motivates me to spread that love each day I live.

Faith is the last, but also important. Faith couples with Hope in giving you the future outlook that things will improve. Faith is not simply hoping, not simply looking at something and saying, “I have faith.” It is devotion in believing completly in whatever you face, whatever stares you down, you will survive. Faith is the litmus test, the proving ground. Love and Hope can be done with work. Faith requires a blind leap.

It is with these three things you can know you will live to see another day. You may feel like you entire world is collapsing. You may be up against the wall. The darkness may be closing in on you.
There is one hope, one spark, one piece of faith you can hold onto.

When you close your eyes to sleep, or when you’re up in the wee hours of the morning, watching the clock pass hour by hour, there is still something that will remain.

Morning will come. A new day will rise. And Hope, Faith and Love will have another chance to make a difference in your live and those around you.
Reference on Faith:
Hebrews Chapter 11
Reference on Love:
John 15:12-17
Reference on Hope:
Romans 15:13

Welcome to 2004, a year in which the pages and pages of history have yet to be written. A year that we hope will be filled with peace and hope. A year in which we want to feel better than we have for what feels like forever, but in our minds we know it’s just been a little over two years since that day the towers fell.

This is where many feel they can start new and freshly minted. Today marks a time when New Years resolutions are made all over the world, and then quickly broken, put off or just forgotten. It is the year 2004, and the clock is running. What have you done so far today that makes this year any different from last year?

Well, for me I went to Downtown Denver for the very first time with a friend to see the fireworks and just kinda wander around with the other five billion people who had somehow read my mind and had the exact same idea as me. Darn them. Met up with friends, one was very imbibed (as in drunk), and then went back home to rest, relax and just laugh at our friend who seemed to only go further downhill. He’s sleeping in my bed as I’m typing this in the living room. He’ll wake up tomorrow and I hope he doesn’t try and kill me when he has no idea where he is. I should go and strap him into bed. That’ll make him know it’s ok when he wakes up from the haze of last night.

So, 2003 is behind us. Gone. Bye bye. Adios. Good riddance. There was some good times and bad that stalked us through those days and months as we struggled to understand all the pain and suffering the world was still going through. From bombs to shootings and back again, we saw the worst in people. Yet, we also saw the best in those we call our brothers and sisters.

We watched, we listened and read about Iraq and Afghanistan. I think that 2003 proved to be a climatic year for the United States and even the World as a whole. Nobody dropped The Bomb. World War III didn’t break out one sunny December day. And yet, it was a challenging time. Protests against the war, for the war, people hating the US, people loving the US and others just not caring in any way state or form.

Now we look forward to today, tomorrow and the rest of the week. What events will shape this new year, this baby just learning how to walk? Will we experience another World Trade Center? Does War come to our doorstep again? Will there be a cure for cancer or the all disease? Where do we go from where we left off from the last year? How do we begin again from all of that history we’ve carried with us until last night? What does tomorrow bring that yesterday hasn’t already thrown at us? I cannot predict what will happen this year. I can’t even begin to try to foresee what breaking news will splash across our screens in the year two thousand four.

I can look forward to many new adventures, many new tales to tell and unexpected suprises around every corner I turn. And I will be ready to hit them head on. What will you do this year?

What will you do with the time that is given to you?

Do what Frodo did in the Lord of the Rings.

Save the world.