tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36130989664499891622024-03-08T13:51:40.493-08:00K.E. StapyltonK.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-23082501563884746112011-11-24T17:03:00.000-08:002011-11-24T17:13:05.818-08:00My uber-healthy Thanksgiving - kicking and screaming all the wayOur Menu:<br /> <br />Curried parsnip, pumpkin and apple soup. Chopped walnut and apricot garnish.<br /> <br />Roast lamb with mint jelly<br />Roasted potatoes, carrots, onions and parsnip and steamed cauliflower, brussel sprouts and broccoli.<br /> <br />Hot fruit compote with Greek yoghurt creme fraiche.<br /> <br />Sterling 2006 merlot.<br /> <br />Well here we are - at critical mass. Breaking point. The last straw. I went to see my cardiologist yesterday, and his gift to me was that I am, healthwise, at a 'dangerous' place (his words - not mine. God knows - not mine.) The arrhythmia I had prior to the stent insertion and angioplasty last year has gotten no worse - but neither has it improved. My cholesterol is half what it was 5 years ago - and in fact within the recommended levels. But since I have a massive stent and a degree of heart disease, my LDL needs to be another 50 points lower still. Also, my HDL has dropped about 40% (not good) and my glucose has actually risen. My vitamin D is, literally, almost non-existent and my C Reactive protein levels are, as ever, ridiculously high. This may be significant or it may mean nothing at all. I have arthritis, so a CRP test is always going to be a blunt tool where I'm concerned. It's not a great result, tho, at a time when I could do with a great result...<br /> <br />At age 51, with 2 parents who died in their 50's, I am at a critical point in my life. I'm exhausted ALL the time, I have a lump in my thyroid, and I am a long way from home. What I'd like to do is get into bed, pull the covers over my head, and hide. What I'm going to do is try to take this mother by the throat and beat it to a pulp. I decided to start with Thanksgiving. <br /> <br />My intial goal is to lose 30lbs, drop my LDL 20 points and raise my HDL by 5. That's my goal. My secondary goal is to try to get a smile out of my cardiologist. Neither of these things is easy.<br /> <br />So I made my Thanksgiving menu with a goal to not dying. To be honest, if I had to say what my real goal was, it would be to avoid premature death and to see 80. I will settle for 70. If I don't make 60 - as neither of my parents did - I will be pissed. I gave up smoking many moons ago and gave up dairy in anything except minor doses a year ago, and completely (except for major holidays) a week ago. There should be some pay back for this. And God knows, I miss salt. <br /> <br />The average American consumes approximately 4500 calories and 200gms of fat on Thanksgiving. I decided I would not be part of that statistic. Consequently, our menu was highly fruit and vegetable based and the dairy topping to our fruit was predominantly fat free yoghurt. There was a very little olive oil in the soup, and a spray of olive oil on the roast veges, but otherwise the menu was cooked without added fats. I calculated the whole meal, and there was 17 grams of added fat, along with whatever fat was in the lamb. My lamb serving was 5oz and I removed anything visible and white, so I think it's looking good for a low fat day. Breakfast was oatmeal and I had a coffee with soy creamer in there somewhere, so all up, I think we nailed the whole fat thing this Thanksgiving. I'm not sure exactly what the calorie count was, but I can guarantee that we didn't pass our daily allowance and we were nowhere near 4500. <br /> <br />Was it a little dull? Yes. I spent whole minutes thinking longingly of cheese sauce and anything made from processed flour. But at this point in my life, the only bird I really crave is the one I wish to give my doctor when he is finally forced to say "My goodness, Kareyn! These figures are GREAT!"<br /> <br />Warmest Thanksgiving wishes to you all and may God grant you a happy, healthy year ahead.K.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-13240600560856371732011-03-14T12:22:00.000-07:002011-03-14T12:33:44.200-07:00Vote for Dapple!Marcia Leeder Photography is having a photography competition for dogs and their female-only owners. Given that I own one of the worlds most gorgeous canines, who happens to be a deaf rescue dog, I decided to enter.<br /><br />The competition is through Facebook only and here's the link:<br /><br />http://apps.facebook.com/contestshq/contests/103022/voteable_entries/17538342?ogn=facebook<br /><br />If you log onto FB and go to this page, it will firstly ask you to allow the app. Click 'allow' (this takes about 2 seconds), and it will then take you straight to Dapple's voting page. You have to scroll down an inch or two to see her large photo (and mine - sheesh!) and to the right of that is a green button which says 'Vote Now'. Click on that, and it will turn automatically into 'I Voted'. If it doesn't switch to 'I Voted', hit it again!<br /><br />Voters can vote once every 24 hour period; ie if you vote at 10am, you can't vote again till 10:01am the next day. A full 24 hours has to pass!<br /><br />It's a great prize, but will in fact cost the winner a lot of money as transport and accommodation are *not* part of the prize and will need to be paid for by the owner. But this is an opportunity for me to shine one small spotlight on the precious dogs that are abandoned in such appalling numbers, and the rescue organizations that take them in. <br /><br />Please vote for Dapple! She's a wonderful little dog, and she deserves her 15 minutes of fame. Thanks everybody,<br /><br />Yours humbly,<br /><br />K.E. StapyltonK.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-34099718873320182442011-01-02T04:22:00.000-08:002011-01-02T04:28:54.473-08:00Happy New Year!"Despite all the wishing in the world, you can never be anyone other than who you are. Mimicking others will not help. Instead, find the trails and pathways in your own character, and follow them - persistently, relentlessly, fearlessly - beyond what you've accepted as 'reasonable boundaries'. You are not limited by your own abilities - rather, you have not begun to explore yourself. The space in your soul is an untapped wilderness; look to the horizon! Go beyond the places you've always known. It's not who you are which is extraordinary - it's how far into your own uniqueness you're prepared to travel."<br /><br />Welcome to 2011. May this year see a fuller exploration of who we are, a more fearless quest into our own abilities, and a stronger embrace of our commitment to this world and our belief that we can make a difference,<br /><br />Yours with unshaken faith,<br /><br />K.E. StapyltonK.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-50979147107513115322010-11-09T10:07:00.000-08:002010-11-09T14:09:08.178-08:00For Everyone Who's Ever Made A Mistake...Welcome.<br /><br />I looked in the mirror today and had an overwhelming sense of time passing. That happens to me almost continuously now – a sense that time is running out and the best, or at least the majority, of my life is behind me. The youth, the ability to direct my life’s path – gone. Where I am now is who I am and the whole thing equals what I’ve become and the legacy I’ll leave, which is…<br /><br />What?<br /><br />When I was young I let myself off the hook often for my mistakes, feeling that my life was just starting and there were plenty of years to define who I was. The mistakes would get overwhelmed with the successes, surely? But then I hit adulthood, and I started to feel that my mistakes were of more monumental proportions; the hurts I caused were more severe, the choices more indelible, the relationships I was losing – my mother, my father - more and more substantial and irretrievable. By the time I reached middle age I had regret. Not just minor disappointments, but big, serious opportunities lost and life choices I’d give years off my life to undo. I’d made mistakes, done things wrong, broken things I’d valued to such a degree that I felt the hope and possibility of youth slipping away. By age fifty, I had sorrow, guilt, and at least some degree of all the major negative emotions that come with getting it wrong and screwing it up. I looked at people who had lived safer, ‘cleaner’ lives, and kicked myself daily for all the stupid mistakes I’d made.<br /><br />And I can’t undo it. I’ll never be fresh-faced, unsullied, naïve or innocent ever again. I’ve told too many lies, spoken too many harsh words, broken too many promises to ever be that girl again. And there’s tread on these tires and on this face. Faster and faster I am turning from the young, fertile woman to the crone – that female figure in Shakespearean literature, devoid of promise, who has been beaten down by life and loss, bad choices and inner darkness. My life is sliding past and I can't stop it, and I have yet to make my mark for good in this world.<br /><br />I suspect others feel like this – especially other women. That sense of panic – of terror – that ‘it’s all slipping away’. But nobody says it. We’re all so busy trying to convey a sense of success, a sense of contentment. At the very least we portray ourselves as domestic martyrs, wives and mothers worn out through trying so hard, making such an effort, for family, friends, or our community. A sense of being 'good people'. Nobody wants to say “I blew it. I had one life and I’ve screwed it up.”<br /><br />Well this is my confession; I didn’t work hard enough, I wasn’t honest enough, or loyal enough. I was too lazy, too self indulgent, too selfish. In the continual scrambling to get to a place of ‘ok’ – of ‘safe’ - I missed being the best I could be - or perhaps much good to this world at all.<br /><br />I don’t know – and will never know – what I could have become or what I could have achieved had I put my head down and truly tried, had I worked out my goal and gone straight towards it, deviating neither to the left hand nor to the right. That dream is dead and I will never know, and I am overwhelmed with regret and panic when I see the sand in my personal hour glass running away without pause and me being no closer to reaching some identifiable, valuable destination. No success, no definition, no sense of “I did this and this is who I am.” I’ve heard doctors say that it’s almost impossible to get an unhealthy person to change their life habits and that the dependence this society has on medication is because people simply won’t lose weight, stop smoking or drinking, take up exercise and adopt a truly healthy lifestyle. I’ve heard those same doctors say that the one window of opportunity they have to make people change is directly after their first heart attack; that that period of time represents the one open door for their patients to move from ‘here’ to ‘there’. Well, middle age was my emotional heart attack. It was my crisis of identity. This is my now or never moment.<br /><br />Afraid of taking a leap, I have hovered on the precipice of indecision for decades wondering what I should DO with my life – till that life has almost passed me by. Fifty may not seem old to some, but my parents died at ages 52 and 58, so this is a significant decade for me. Part of me wants to stay frozen, like a rabbit staring into the oncoming headlights. But something else in my heart has stirred, which whispers in my ear “Do it now, Kareyn. Do it NOW.” <br /><br />I have been sure of two things in my life; that I love Jesus and that I am supposed to write. Be it books, blogs, poems or letters, as sure as I am of my religion, I’m sure my gift is with words and that words are powerful. The pen truly is mightier than the sword. So to this end I thank God daily for this gift and pick up my ‘pen’ and write. I have three more books to go in the Prism series, one coffee table book to write with a friend, and then my time will perhaps be my own, to blog, to write poems and stories for little children – simply to add joy and innocence to the world. I have a passion also for animals in pain - emotional or physical – and I’m doing what I can to raise awareness on the issues associated with their plight. Words are my gift, and I’m trying to use them judiciously, sparingly, accurately, healingly, joyfully, and quickly.<br /><br />Will it be enough? Will I feel as though the contribution made will justify my existence, or even balance out the mistakes I’ve made and the black marks I’ll leave on this world? I feel as though I’m trying to shift a mountain with a teaspoon while somebody with a dump truck continually deposits loads of dirt and rubble on top of its peak. Will I ever make a difference? Is it even possible?<br /><br />Underneath the panic, underneath the feelings of failure, speaks a still, quiet voice:<br /><br />“Dig, Koo. Dig.”<br /><br /><br />“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. For by it the men of old received divine approval.….These all died in faith, not having received what was promised, but having seen it and greeted it from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For those who say such things make it plain that they are looking for a homeland, and if they had in mind the country from which they went out, they would have had a chance to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.”<br />Hebrews 11: 1, 2, 13-16.K.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-46722902148290429632010-11-03T11:25:00.000-07:002010-11-03T11:33:16.230-07:00I, The Consumer - One woman's refusal to accept violence against women as entertainment.For a long time now I have considered writing a post about the treatment of women in the media. I’ve put it off because I don’t want to be branded a zealot, a weirdo, a ‘pinko liberal commie bastard’, a ‘typical hysterical woman’, or anything outside the boundaries of what’s normal and socially acceptable female behavior.<br /><br />But it occurs to me now that what’s normal and accepted is exactly what’s wrong. It’s exactly what I want to stand against. So here’s me, leaping the barricades of mainstream behavior and baring my chest (or my back, for the more cowardly) and speaking against the great Nameless Faceless They – the mainstream media (those elitist bastards!) (NB tongue in cheek nod of the head in the direction of Alaska and its most famous export).<br /><br />Unless you’re blind or don’t own a tele, you’ve probably noticed the huge upswing recently in police/crime/detective shows. Crime, its detection and punishment as a form of entertainment, is on a seemingly exponential increase in mainstream media, and the vast majority orbits around crime against women. Call me old fashioned – heck, just call me old! – but these days, I’ve found myself sitting - unmoving - through things on the television I would never have seen thirty years ago and would have been outraged by if I had. I’m not entirely comfortable sitting through them now; I feel myself looking away, or feeling embarrassed if I’m watching them with somebody else. Somewhere, deep inside, I know – this is wrong. Women being raped, murdered, tortured, drugged, forced into prostitution, hit or abused in any way is not acceptable. But it’s EVERYWHERE – and I’ve learnt to suppress my own discomfort and accept it as a genuine part of common plot structure on tv. <br /><br />And yet, this is not ok. In fact, this is a very, very, long way from ok. When I did some post graduate training in the area of dispute resolution, I remember having members from the police force come and speak to us about crisis negotiation. They told us, and research later supported this in my own experience, that the most effective way of decreasing stress in any situation is to role play it. Role playing stressful events multiple times was the most effective way – in fact the only reliable means – of decreasing the stress associated with that same event when it occurred in reality. Numerous reports have been produced over recent years finding that violent video games lead to a deadening of sensitivity – of conscience, if you will - in some players to those same crimes being committed in real life. "But it's not real!" is no longer an adequate defense against what must be seen as gateway behavior. My firm belief is that continually seeing women portrayed as victims leads to an acceptance in the real world of women as legitimate targets of abuse. In other words, it deadens the shock. We’re no longer appalled and, while we find it sad and unacceptable, nobody seems to be standing up against the continual portrayal of women as punching bags.<br /><br />But the effect has been more widely spread. I spend a lot of time reading what’s on the internet. In fact, my friends often joke that – if it’s on the internet, I’ll either know it, have read it, or be able to point you towards it. And what I see in entertainment blogs is women being insulted in repulsive, verbally offensive terms if they deviate to any degree from what the blog commenter thinks is less than perfect. I’ve seen some of the most beautiful women in the world categorized as ‘dogs’ or worse; America Ferrera, Kim Kardashian, Jennifer Lopez, Jennifer Aniston, Jennifer Love Hewitt (anyone whose name is Jennifer, apparently!), Uma Thurman, Demi Moore, any woman more than 110 lbs, or less than 110 lbs, or too short, or too tall, or not enough to the liking of whichever man is writing the comment is fair game to be condemned as ugly and sexually unacceptable. We seem to have reached a stage where women are valued primarily for their sexual allure – a completely subjective and ephemeral thing – and pilloried if failing to make the grade. These women have their bodies discussed and ranked in intimate, descriptive detail, by men they’ve never met and who they’d never date in a thousand years. And yet, in that instant – in that snapshot of internet culture – women are pushed down into the role of valueless beings save for any sexual service they are able to render.<br /><br />I am aware that many men treat women this way due to their own insecurities. But when women are insulted, patronized, passed over for promotion, bumping into the glass ceiling, harassed in the press, their places of business or leisure, when they’re hit, ridiculed, assaulted, looked down on by a culture which has been allowed to form simply because from the beginning of time one gender has a little greater muscle mass, there is SOMETHING WRONG. And when we, as people, ignore it or, worse still, allow it to become a form of entertainment – a part of the general cultural landscape – it’s time to pull our heads out of the sand, shake them HARD, and take a look at who we are.<br /><br />But do we? On the whole – no. As women, we so often play the game. We buy into the culture and ‘try to compete from within’ – which is euphemistic for ‘being unwilling to exist outside’. As women, we often seem so desperate to be loved and accepted, we will sell our souls in an attempt not to be part of The Great Unloved – those unpartnered, or socially, relationally unchosen. I’ve seen the Facebook pages of young women where they’re made fun of and verbally debased by their own male friends – and they accept this because “that’s how everyone talks these days, Kareyn!” And then these same young women trot meekly behind these young men, hoping to be asked out, chosen, picked. They spread their legs, squash their own abilities and suppress their own views – all because they’re afraid of being alone or of having to fend for themselves. They embrace their own weakness and use it as a form of seduction, never seeming to notice that they’re writing checks for their own debasement.<br /><br />Women, take a long, hard look at your life choices and actions, and see in what way you’ve accepted an oppressive culture. Speaking out against it won’t be popular, I’m sure. But find your voice, and say ‘no more’. We don’t need to make ourselves less so we can be deemed pretty or popular or acceptable or loved. We need to find who we are, in our strongest, most talented, individual selves, and be that. We are more than sources of sexual satisfaction or a means for some men to feel better about themselves by making us feel worse.<br /><br />So tonight, let's look more closely at what we’re watching on television or at the theater. If that show or movie is not portraying women as strong, respect-worthy individuals, let's vote with our feet. We are the consumer. We control advertising, ratings, production. Let’s use the media to educate that we are strong and valuable and that violence is not ok. Let’s make hitting a woman no longer a form of entertainment. Let’s return it to the realm of 'horrific' and 'appalling' and totally, utterly unacceptable. <br /><br />We are not weak. We are equal.K.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-75627698321148615512010-10-27T09:27:00.000-07:002010-10-27T14:55:25.694-07:00For Shannon and Luckiest Fiona - Joy Unbounded.This week, an online friend of mine lost her beloved dog. I am aware that this holds a different level of import for all people. But for those of us, myself included, who have opened our hearts to our dogs as family members – as our children – this grief can be overwhelming.<br /><br />I often wake in the night wondering how I will cope when the time comes for one of my three. Dixon, Dapple and Poppy have been beloved members of my family since the day they set their first precious paw through my front door and, while I know there must be love greater than I feel for these wonderful creatures, I struggle to conceive what that might be, or how I will cope with the pain of losing any of these treasured members of my household.<br /><br />People involved with the animal world – most particularly the dog world of rescue or breeding – speak often of the Rainbow Bridge. We comfort each other over the loss of our dogs with the idea of a place on the other side of ‘here and now’ where owners will reunite with their departed pets who wait for them faithfully. To me, this place sounds like heaven. Perfection. Love in its fullest. When writing the books of Prism, I’ve tried to create a perfect world – the sort of world I would inhabit if I could create a world that reflected my own picture of perfection. Yet even in Prism, people die, families are separated and loved ones lost. Having recently finished Book 2, The Deeper Darkness, I am now about to commence Book 3 – Phantism – and during that book a sequence of loss will occur that will show the frailties that exist, even in Prism. Joy – bounded. <br /><br />But what if I could create a world where we, and those we loved, lived forever? What if we knew joy – unbounded? Love unending, health unlimited and life eternal? What if? What if all the things we loved and valued were never lost, never broken, never sullied? What if I opened my eyes each morning to the most glorious red and white face in the entire world, the deepest brown eyes, the silkiest ears, and my face covered with canine kisses? What if the air was clean, the water pure, the view clear and sparkling, and my day filled with joy, laughter, and all the people I loved most in the world? Where is the world with no pain, no death and no separation? I want that world. I want that world with all my heart. And right at the very front – between the welcoming gates – I would place a bridge with a rainbow stretched from end to end that connected – not this life and the next – but, rather, now and now, with no sense of separation. Joy – unbounded.<br /><br />What if?<br /><br />“Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to myself; that where I am, there you may be also.” John 14:1-3K.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-13303093205421211072010-07-04T10:59:00.000-07:002010-07-04T11:09:09.095-07:0020 Things I've Learned From My Dog DixonOver the years, I've learnt that animals have their own way of communicating. My dog, Dixon, for example, speaks to me with his eyes and his actions as clearly as any person I know, and over the years, I've learnt to listen. In fact, Dixon has taught me quite a number of useful life lessons, and I thought I'd share them here. So here are...<br /><br />20 Things I’ve Learnt From My Dog, Dixon<br /><br />1) It’s only the idiot on the end of the lead who cares how expensive the collar is.<br /><br />2) Treats are good – but nothing beats a walk in the park with someone you love.<br /><br />3) If you manage to escape your backyard, the person who loves you will be thrilled when you come back. If their first words are “Bad dog!” go find another family to live with.<br /><br />4) Communication is important – but at 3am, nobody cares what you have to say.<br /><br />5) There’s nothing to be embarrassed about regarding physical functions.<br /><br />6) Electric blankets are a gift from God.<br /><br />7) If you’re stuck somewhere and you have to go to the toilet, don’t be too shy to tell somebody.<br /><br />8) All things are better if they squeak. Even people.<br /><br />9) I want what you have. I don’t know why. I just want it.<br /><br />10) If someone growls at you, smile and show your tummy.<br /><br />11) Getting your nose up someone else’s butt is not normally appreciated; no really DOES mean no.<br /><br />12) Be prepared to do what your family tells you – about 1 in 3. They get such a charge out of it and I mean – really – how hard is it to ‘lay down’? The whole ‘roll over’, ‘fetch’ and ‘beg’ thing can be negotiated.<br /><br />13) Nirvana starts in our house promptly every night at 7pm when Dad walks through the door.<br /><br />14) If you look cute, even if you’re naughty, somebody will generally kiss you.<br /><br />15) There is no benefit in making your bed.<br /><br />16) If you nip, you’ll get attention. Just not necessarily the attention you want.<br /><br />17) Exercise is not negotiable.<br /><br />18) Sometimes, to scratch an itch, you have to get someone else to do it. In this situation, a nice lady with long nails is normally best.<br /><br />19) Life is better if you’re part of a pack.<br /><br />20) No matter how adorable you are, if you have Mom’s favourite shoe (gloves/wallet/project she’s working on) chewed up and hanging out your mouth, HIDE UNDER THE COFFEE TABLE.K.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-41870630796270044902010-05-27T11:48:00.000-07:002010-05-27T11:52:41.488-07:00The ApplectomyFor my favorite siblings, Eleanor and Nathaniel - something for you and children everywhere who are forced by their parents to eat things no child should (in their opinion) have to consume!<br /><br />The Applectomy<br /><br />I do not like vegetables,<br />I cannot stomach fruit,<br />It makes my tummy go all tight<br />And makes my bottom toot.<br /><br />Food should come in a packet -<br />I tell my parents that!<br />They tell me “Quiet!” and “Clean your plate!”<br />“Fast food will make you fat!”<br /><br />I particularly hate apples -<br />Delicious, granny, rome – <br />Their skin gets stuck between my teeth,<br />The smell makes my mouth foam.<br /><br />So I staged an applectomy- <br />The removal of a fruit -<br />I hid them in the basement,<br />I threw them off the roof.<br /><br />But my sister, Milly, saw me,<br />She said “Oooo, you’re so bad!”<br />I said “And you’re adopted.<br />When you leave home, I’ll be glad!”<br /><br />Unfortunately Mom heard me<br />And she was kinda cross.<br />“Say sorry to your sister -<br />If you don’t, I’ll tell the Boss!”<br /><br />“I’m SORRY Milly,” I said,<br />But didn’t mean a word.<br />I guess I spoke a certain way,<br />A tone she’d often heard.<br /><br />“So Jack, about the apples…”<br />She started with a smirk.<br />“I LOVE them, Mom,” I lied aloud -<br />To Milly – “You’re a jerk!”<br /><br />“You LOVE them, Jack?” asked Milly<br />A wicked grin in place,<br />“Mom bought a great big box of them -<br />A chance to stuff your face!”<br /><br />I hovered, and Mom saw me,<br />And raised her brows, suspicious.<br />“Don’t you like them, Jack?” she queried.<br />“The granny? The delicious?”<br /><br />“Have you seen the roof, Mom?” Milly asked,<br />And I saw my fate writ clear.<br />“I LOVE them, Mom,” I quickly said,<br />“A box is great to hear!”<br /><br />“Well, let’s go and eat some apples<br />Because you’re in luck today!<br />I took Milly to the doctor -<br />Guess what he had to say!”<br /><br />“She’s allergic to all apples!<br />Can’t even stand the smell!<br />So they’re all yours, you lucky boy,<br />You can have hers as well!”<br /><br />So months have passed and everyone<br />Calls me ‘the apple boy’;<br />My applectomy was a failure<br />And Milly’s filled with joy.<br /><br />Perhaps one day I’ll like them -<br />Grow to tolerate the smell -<br />But I’ll never love my sister,<br />That poltergeist from hell.K.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-42975412948421978102009-12-07T16:45:00.000-08:002009-12-09T09:29:45.295-08:00Merry Christmas!And so in the spirit of the festive season, here's my offering to you all this Christmas. Merry Christmas, and may you all know the true spirit of peace, from him who is the Prince of Peace,<br /><br />The B Team<br /><br />Twas the night before Christmas and at the North Pole<br />There was moaning and groaning and stoking of coal.<br />“Get off me,” said Dancer, “and stay on your side!”<br />“Can’t avoid you!” sniffed Prancer. “You’re five miles wide!”<br /><br />“Stop squabbling,” said Dasher. “It’s nobody’s fault.<br />Here – try this with lemon – or maybe some malt.”<br />“That’s disgusting,” said Vixen. “I can’t drink that stuff!”<br />“Then STAY ill,” snapped Comet, “Let’s see who’s so tough!”<br /><br />“This swine flu’s a nightmare,” groaned Cupid. “I’m hot!”<br />“And everything’s running – I’m pouring with snot!”<br />“Well, who cares!” bit Donner. “That’s not my concern!<br />My problem’s that sleigh and who’ll take my turn!”<br /><br />“We’re all in the same boat,” said Blitzen with gloom.<br />“Be quiet!” hissed Rudolph. “He’s in the next room!”<br />“I don’t care!” snorted Vixen, tossing his head.<br />“I won’t pull that sleigh! I’d rather be dead!”<br /><br />“That’s always an option, that snow’s deep, I’m bettin’.”<br />“That blizzard I’m seein’ shows no signs of lettin’!”<br />Said Rudolph, “Each year it’s the same sad depression,<br />The same ugly outfits of leather and hessian.”<br /><br />“The fact that he’s paying us time and a half<br />Means naught when it’s all I can do not to barf!”<br />Dancer threw himself down on the floor in a snit,<br />Kicked in Prancer’s direction who returned a sound hit.<br /><br />“Hate th’ hol’days,” said Cupid, from a mountain of tissues<br />“All those presents to haul and those brats and their issues!”<br />“I say that we strike, give ourselves one night off,”<br />“I cant work with this fever, this sneeze and this cough!”<br /><br />And so it went on – all the grumbling and bitching<br />Interspersed with their moaning and groaning and itching.<br />And none of them noticed the crack in the door, <br />And the man who was there now who wasn’t before.<br /><br />As they cursed at the flu and their jobs and the weather<br />Santa drew his great bushy brows down hard together.<br />“*Enough!*” he cried out, “you ungrateful deer!<br />You haven’t the tiniest scrap of Yule cheer!”<br /><br />“I’m taking the B Team,”said Santa with ire.<br />“By all means stay home and complain by the fire!”<br />“The B Team??? You’re joking!” (said through laughter and wheezing)<br />“Oh come on now, Santa, you’ve got to be teasing!”<br /><br />“Do I look like I’m joking?” – and their laughter grew quiet.<br />“Frankly, some of you pudgies could go on a diet!<br />You’re not the crack squad that you once used to be;<br />Not so much of an A now - you’re more like…a D!”<br /><br />“SO GET ME MY B TEAM! And be quick about it!<br />My word here is law, despite how you flout it!”<br />For a second a shocked sort of silence ensued;<br />“GET MOVING!” yelled Santa, his anger renewed.<br /><br />Ten minutes passed quickly, then ten more, then five….<br />Till finally the B Team began to arrive.<br />“Hello Santa,” said Slasher, “How’s the wife and the kids?<br />Nice to see you…I wouldn’t have missed this for quids!”<br /><br />“Er, yes, hallo Slasher…now where is your mate?<br />Why is it the B Team is always so late?”<br />“They’re coming, they’re coming – we had no idea<br />That we’d be on duty for delivery this year.”<br /><br />“I’m pretty sure Vomit is stuck in the john,<br />But Gonner and Stupid will be right along!<br />I last saw ol’ Screwdolph wedged under a bar<br />While Splitzen cajoled him to let go the jar!”<br /><br />“The rest…I’m not sure, though it might be worthwhile<br />To check the casinos along Vegas Mile.<br />You know what they’re like, Nick, - they’re fine in the pink -<br />Best reindeer alive…till you give ‘em a drink!”<br /><br />“They’re here!” said Saint Nicholas, relief plain in his voice,<br />It was clear that he questioned how wise was his choice.<br />“Line up in two’s please, we have work to do;<br />The A Team’s got swine flu – I’m counting on you!”<br /><br />“Who? Us?” “He say me??” The deer whispered in doubt.<br />“Yes, YOU!” bellowed Santa, who’d started to shout.<br />“You’re reindeer, it’s Christmas, now LINE UP EACH PAIR!<br />“Not a word! Not a whisper till we’re up in the air!”<br /><br />“Ok Nick, we’re going, there’s no need to yell,<br />We didn’t expect this and hangover’s hell.”<br />Mumbled Splitzen, “I’d have dropped a few pounds if I’d known,<br />These days, after take-off, I’m pretty much blown!”<br /><br />“Are you sure we can do this? I’m not all that certain…<br />Just thinking of exercise makes me start hurtin’…”<br />“Of course you can do it – you were born for this task...<br />But if you need some directions make sure that you ask!”<br /><br />“Now Slasher! Now Chancer! Come on Necromancer!<br />Stop Vomit! Wait Stupid! Move, Gonna and Pantser!<br />And Splitzen, stop squirming – I know it’s too tight – <br />Lead us out, Reindeer Screwdolph…NOT LEFT! NOT LEFT! RIGHT!!<br /><br />The hours ticked past and back at the house, <br />It wasn’t worth talking – not even to grouse. <br />Each reindeer was basking in knowing for sure<br />That – compared to the B Team! – they were cool to the core.<br /><br />That bunch of no-hopers hadn’t one single chance<br />Of having the stamina to make it past France! <br />As for circling the globe – there was no chance of that!<br />The B Team was ugly and most of them fat!<br /><br />They laughed to themselves as they pictured the scene,<br />And the more that they laughed, the more they grew mean.<br />They imagined the mess on each person’s front lawn -<br />Broken gifts, reindeer droppings - that would greet them at dawn.<br /><br />And then as the sun had just started to rise<br />A horrible sight met the A Team’s cruel eyes.<br />As the night sky turned blue and the morning clouds red,<br />A golden glow shone in their sights, dead ahead.<br /><br />Nine reindeer shot out of the last of the night,<br />And pulled up on the snow as the scene turned to light.<br />Nine reindeer as never had been seen before!<br />Glowing coats, deep, strong chests, and antlers galore!<br /><br />“Who are you? What happened?” they asked all aghast,<br />And finally they saw he who rode them at last.<br />Saint Nicholas, our Santa, leapt out of his sleigh,<br />His heart bursting with joy on the fresh Christmas Day.<br /><br />“Don’t you know them?” he asked his struck dumb caribou.<br />“Don’t they rather resemble…well, look like…well, you?<br />Oh – not as you now! – so judgmental and cruel,<br />When even God’s Son looks to you like a fool."<br /><br />“But you as you once were – or were meant to be.<br />Before you chopped down your first Christmas tree.<br />When you understood giving was the one single reason<br />To be filled with real joy at each sacred Yule season."<br /><br />"Well, this B Team, made up of the dumb and the slow,<br />Grasped the lesson that only the wise ever know.<br />As we traveled the world, met its children, its poor,<br />The B Team worked out what each Christmas is for."<br /><br />"They gave of themselves, poured their hearts out for all,<br />The young and the old and the big and the small.<br />And with each gift they gave, I gave them one too;<br />From the inside I remade each one of them new."<br /><br />"Each one of the B Team a new start received,<br />For each of them looked at the world and believed<br />That Christmas is not for a small, select few,<br />It’s for all men! And so Merry Christmas to you!"<br /><br />Yours with joy this Yuletide season,<br /><br />K.E. StapyltonK.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-80267561970549085272009-11-26T14:08:00.000-08:002009-11-26T14:49:05.053-08:00Swine Flu and a Sense of Wonder on ThanksgivingSo here we are again - Thanksgiving in the United States - and as I write this I'm in my pyjamas in bed, Tylenol on one side of me, throat lozenges on the other, and tissues scattered all over the bed; I have swine flu!<br /><br />It hit about 3 days ago and I ended up spending the night before last in the ER at Greenwich hospital reacquainting myself with the lovely Dr Stacy Donegan who has treated me there twice before; why *is* it that emergencies always hit in the middle of the night? Once again, the people there took great care of me, sent me away better than I arrived, and I seem to be slowly on the mend. <br /><br />But not so mended that I was up to doing anything substantial for this Thanksgiving. Consequently I ate a lovely turkey roast dinner in my pyjamas in front of the tv, and am now propped up back in bed. The good thing about being sick is that it gives me time to write. Unfortunately, the bad thing about being sick is that it gives me no energy to write with. Consequently there will be a post this Thanksgiving, but a short one.<br /><br />I wanted to take this opportunity to thank those of you who have journeyed with me to Prism. This year has been an enjoyable one. I've spoken in schools, had Prism read at book clubs, done my first ever radio interview, and had more positive feedback and contact with readers than I ever thought I would when I first picked up a pen and said to myself "I think I'll write a book..." People have reached out to me and to Prism in wonderful ways, and this Thanksgiving I'm grateful for anyone who has joined me in that wonderful world. <br /><br />To that end, I wanted to include a book review I received from Jake, a 10 year old boy from New South Wales, Australia, who sent me a book review last week. <br /><br />Jake - Prism was written for people just like you, and this Thanksgiving I'm thankful for you and for everyone like you who has visited Prism and enjoyed the color, the adventure, and the love that makes Prism the magical creation that it is. <br /><br />So with no further ado....this, in its exact form, from Jake...<br /><br />"The terror of prism fading – a book review by Jake Evans, November 2009<br /><br />This book is one of the best books I have ever read.<br />It combines real world troubles with mythology and adventure<br />It’s also strange how red represents courage and the colours represent their emotions and feelings, green-intelligence, blue-joy, yellow-love<br /><br />In the beginning Rabbit and Rupert get paired together in a school excursion to the coast and take a canoe and attempt to get to the other side of the river but half way across a group of bullies started chasing them and suddenly they were knocked into the water and couldn't breath. The storyline then switches to Prism and princess Aden wakes up after having a bad dream. Jasper a good friend of the princess then comes bursting into the room and tells her that 2 strange people have washed up onto the beach. The 2 people were Rabbit and Rupert. The story then continues with their adventure to try and retrieve the red crystal to help restore courage and the colour red to Prism after having previously been stolen by Addreadon le Griss. The reader is led on a journey with the main characters, Rabbit, Rupert, princess Aden, Jasper and Taw who is Aden’s chosen.<br /><br />Rupert is my favorite character, because he is little like me.- he is smart and funny and he he loves his food<br />It’s amazing how all the animals talk, I especially like Taw who is a bull and he is a strong leader and helps the children on there quest to get the red crystal<br /><br />I also like the griffons who have the body shape of a horse but look like eagles and attack the children many times throughout the book and they carry off Taw to Addreadon’s fortress to lure in the children who were already heading that way. <br /><br />One thing I don’t like is that a lot of the animals have very long unusual names which are difficult to remember, like Merryweather – a horse and Beaufeather – a peacock <br /><br />I think it’s funny that Rabbit, Rupert, Aden, and Jasper thought they would have to scavenge for food but the animals in the forest befriended and helped them and gave them a lot of food, weapons and armour.<br /><br />I can’t wait for the next book"<br /><br />Neither can I, Jake. Neither can I.<br /><br />Yours gratefully, <br /><br />K.E. StapyltonK.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-73860235905901349402009-09-13T13:02:00.000-07:002009-09-13T13:07:00.703-07:00Where Have I Been?My apologies for being away from this blog for so long. A lot’s been happening – both in the world of Prism and also in the world of K.E. Stapylton.<br /><br />The first half of this year saw me throw myself into the second book in the Prism series – The Deeper Darkness. Set largely underwater, I’ve rapidly discovered that this is a very difficult venue in which to set a novel! The difficulties center predominantly around movement; nobody just walks underwater – they have to manage a combination of swimming, gliding and floating. If somebody is cross, there’s no chance of flouncing out of a room - the most one can ever hope for is a jerky kind of swimming motion. The big difficulty, of course, is if the story contains (as mine does) a character who is unable to swim. Throughout the novel, one of my characters changes location either by a very slow sort of walking along the bottom of the ocean, or by being tied to another character and towed. This becomes extremely difficult in scenes of danger where one would normally ‘turn tail and run’. Time, instead, has to be written into the story for the character in question (no hints!) to be attached to another character who can swim, or an alternate route of escape needs to be devised. And most curious of all was overcoming the difficulty of sleeping! Do characters simply float out of the bed when they sleep? And what do they use for bedding? Is one aware of sleeping under wet blankets? And, if so, isn’t that generally disgusting?<br /><br />A concept which seemed like a great idea at the time rapidly became a logistical nightmare. However, being stubborn as I am, and being unfailingly entranced with the idea of an action novel set underwater, I was loath to give up the idea, so persevered. Consequently, however, the progress of the book has been slow and difficult, and my ingenuity has been tested! Hopefully the release of Book 2 will prove that my perseverance and original concept were worthwhile.<br /><br />August saw me take a trip home to Australia to visit family and friends, and while there I did a radio interview with Ariane Minc on 2SER FM for Final Draft, one of Australia’s oldest radio book shows. The 10 minute interview airs at 7pm (Australian Eastern time) on Monday, September 14th on 107.3FM (for those in Australia), or can be streamed from their website on www.2SER.com <br /><br />August – a busy month! – also saw the launch of the new Prism website, with all new graphics and artwork, provided by the lovely Laura Diehl. (www.ldiehl.com) Do drop in to www.TheTerrorofPrismFading.com and take a look at all we’ve been doing there! Feel free to leave comments either on this web site or to drop me a line via PrismBooks@gmail.com to let me know your thoughts. Feedback is always appreciated.<br /><br />That’s everything for now and it’s good to be in touch with you again,<br /><br />Yours with my nose finally above water,<br /><br />K.E. StapyltonK.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-87388202253710293772009-01-24T06:12:00.000-08:002009-01-24T06:14:15.948-08:00In Honour of Australia Day, January 26thIn honour of Australia Day, forthwith a poem about one of our national anti-heroes, Ned Kelly.<br /><br />Famous for his suit of metal forged from the farming implements largely given to him by his struggling Australian peer group, Kelly was of Irish heritage, born to a father who had himself been sentenced to penal servitude in Ireland and deported to 'Van Diemen's Land', now Tasmania, Australia's smallest state. It was here that Kelly was born and lived the first 12 years of his life before moving with his mother and siblings to Victoria after his father's death.<br /><br />After falling out with a neighbouring pig farmer (tho Kelly claimed this was over an argument about Kelly's sister), Kelly was declared a 'juvenile bushranger', despite the previous charges being dropped. From there Kelly went on to 12 years of law evasion, cattle theft, and, later, bank robberies. Disagreement amongst historians continues over whether Kelly was a common criminal, or the victim of police harrassment and the champion of an underclass uprising. Many see him as the defining figure in selector/squatter conflicts of this era of Australian history. Despite Australia's self-chosen identity as 'the lucky country', the holy grail, if you will, for those looking for equality and a new frontier, its settlement brought with it the old British conflicts of class, and Catholic vs Protestant.<br /><br />With the lengthy Jerilderie Letter (1879), Kelly sought to define his grievances and defend his position as one common to the Irish Catholic selector. Currently in the State Library of Victoria, the Jerilderie Letter is considered one of the most extraordinary documents in Australia's history. Jerilderie was also the site of one of the Kelly gang's most notable robberies. Having broken into the local police station, overcome the police and imprisoned them in their own cells, two members of the Kelly gang, then dressed in the policemen's uniforms, rounded up various townspeople and kept them hostage in the local hotel, where they all passed the time with 'drinks on the house'. In the meantime Ned Kelly and Joe Byrne broke into the local bank, stole 2,000 pounds, and burnt the townspeople's mortgage deeds. It was acts such as these which added to the gang's popularity and notoriety. <br /><br />The irony, of course, is that, although embraced as an Australian icon, Kelly's issues were largely those that related to his Irish heritage and that of his father. Despite being seen as quintessentially Australian, and even romanticized by some in the same manner as the swagman in the famous song, 'Waltzing Matilda', Kelly saw himself specifically as an outcast and a man on the run.<br /><br />When Kelly was eventually captured by police, over 30,000 signatures were submitted demanding his release and the reversal of his death penalty. But the penalty was upheld and Kelly was hung on November 11, 1880. He was 26 years old.<br /><br />The final stanza of the poem is written in the sing-along, heavily rhythmic style of the Australian poets of the 1800’s, such as Banjo Patterson. The fifth line, out of rhythm and rhyme, is as a theatrical ‘aside’ to the reader; ie although we’ve made of Kelly, with all his moral and legal dualities, a sort of anti-hero, Australia will always prefer their heroes, anti or otherwise, cut down to size. In Australia this is known as ‘tall poppy syndrome’ and is part of accepted Australian culture. In the case of Ned Kelly, we’ll accept him as an inherent part of our historical culture and laud him as such, but we still prefer him ‘dead and buried’.<br /><br />Despite his death over 100 years ago, the issues of class struggle, land ownership, especially as it affects Australia's aboriginal people, the morality of the legal system, religious conflict, and issues of immigration are still alive and well in Australia. As such, this poem asks:<br /><br /><br />How Dead Is Ned<br /><br />They say he hid to dodge the bullets<br />But I wonder if it’s true<br />That he hid to dodge adoring fans<br />The 30,000 signatures<br />That clasped unwilling Irish hands.<br /><br />Was his last view a policeman’s gun<br />A harbinger of death?<br />Or a hazy shroud of eucalypt<br />The tightening weight upon his chest<br />As Australia’s favourite wayward son.<br /><br />He saw himself the outsider<br />A hostage to his breed<br />Yet he became iconoclast<br />A symbol greater than himself<br />That held a nation’s essence fast.<br /><br />Wrapped in metal, slits for eyes,<br />No billabong, no Matilda air,<br />His coffin, responsibility,<br />His heritage his father’s rage<br />Long doomed before Jerilderie.<br /><br />Too many lies confuse the tale<br />Of that which died behind the mask<br />Did he willing go to an unmarked grave<br />Tired of an unfinished task<br />Uniting two sides of a broken grail.<br /><br />“We don’t know what to think of you,<br />But we’re glad you’re one of us<br />We’ll overlook your shortcomings<br />And share Australia’s secret trust;<br />We like our poppies dead and buried.”K.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-10192457462864731542009-01-02T18:51:00.000-08:002009-09-15T10:04:13.155-07:00I Am Rangawari TuritsinzeI am Rangawari Turitsinze and I am five years old. I live in Rwanda, of the Tutsi tribe, and my family is proud. Our life is hard, though not so hard as it was since people have come from outside my tribe and brought aid. I do not see those who aid us, but I go to school now, and my teacher reads my parents and me letters sent from a land far away. A woman who is not hungry sends us money for food, and for me to go to school. This makes my mother glad and my father says it gives him hope, though I do not know for what.<br /><br />Like all girls from my village, my hair is coiled into knots that spring from my head and they make my mother laugh. She catches me as I run past her, and tugs them gently. “Rangawari,” she says, “your hair springs from your head like the happiness that springs from your heart.” She says my smile reminds her of sunshine and of the dawn, in the way that all mothers say these things. My father says little, as is the want of fathers, but I feel his eyes follow me and I feel the fear in his heart. When I have asked why he is afraid, he has said little, though today I know.<br /><br />My dream has been to leave my tribe one day, and travel to a city far away, where I might learn to be a teacher also. I would return one day, and work in the school and marry Ashara, a boy in my class who is big and strong, whose family smiles when they see us together. Ashara says this will never happen and that he does not like girls. But my mother tells me that it is the role of women to hold our tribe together and to make babies and keep our village alive.<br /><br />I hear my mother and my teacher speak of the power of women and I do not always regret not being born a man. The boys in my class tease us, and tell us that our value is only to carry the water, and to help care for the goats and the plants that the men grow. But my mother says that with no water and no plants and with hungry goats the men would not last long, and with no babies to follow them they would soon be neither strong nor weak, but instead nothing at all. I tried to explain this to Ashara once, but his father heard me and beat me soundly. My father in the end made me apologise to Ashara and his father, and I saw Ashara smirking when I looked up quickly in the middle of the speech my mother had me learn. “Say these words, Rangawari”, she said. “But do not believe them – not even for an instant. We say what we need to say to survive. We do what we need to do to remain invisible. Pity the day when you are noticed by men.”<br /><br />And today that day came to my village. I was sitting outside our hut, drawing pictures of myself in the dust with sticks, and making my picture dresses from leaves. And then the air was filled with shouting. From out of the surrounding trees came many men, screaming and waving pangas with blades bigger than my head, and grabbing everyone in their path as they marched into our village. Some had guns, black and ugly, with long blades tied to their ends. I saw a soldier use his blade to run a man through as he waved his hands in front of his face and fell to his knees, begging to be left alive. I don’t think the soldier even looked at him as he pierced him through the neck, then used his panga to chop his head in one hard swing from his body. I tried to run but my feet felt like they were stuck to the ground with the sap we use to make the teething sticks for the village babies. The babies suck and chew and gurgle and slowly break them down till they dissolve right away. That’s how I felt – as though something in my belly had dissolved right away. I stood there, frozen, till I heard my mother screaming; “Rangawari! Rangawari! Run!” I watched her for a moment, then turned and ran as fast as I could to our school, and am hiding now under my teacher’s desk. I looked out only once, and saw my mother held from behind by two men while she screamed, bent double. It was a fear I never thought I’d see in one so strong, and it made me sick, so I hid my face, and in the end her screams went silent. Of my father there was no sign, though I saw Ashara as I ran to my hiding place, laying outside his hut, his neck cut, and his head resting in a spreading pool of blood. They had taken his clothes also, and between his legs there was a gaping wound and another pool of blood. He was dead.<br /><br />They come for me now, the men with axes. I know I am all that is left, and I know my mother would be proud that I was the last to die. I am indeed clever, and would have made an excellent teacher for my village, though perhaps there are more important things to learn than numbers and letters. I do not know if my passing will be as my mother’s, slow and ugly, or as the men of my village – short and bloody - and I pray to the God of the white men that it will be fast. I hear them now, on the other side of the door. I hear them and I wonder who will remember me.<br /><br />I am Rangawari Turitsinze. I am five years old and I will not see the dawn.<br /><br /> *********************************************************************<br /><br />Author's note:<br /><br /> Rangawari was one of my sponsor children when she, her family and her entire village were hacked to death in the Rwandan massacre of 1994. I've put her story here to speak for her. Her voice should be heard.<br /><br />But atrocities such as these continue today. The Democratic Republic of the Congo is seeing a concerted attack against its women by military terrorists who are seeking to destroy the very fabric of this nation by destroying and demoralizing the feminine heart and soul of the Congolese culture. The Panzi Hospital is dedicated to the surgical repair of these female victims of rape and the restoration of their physical, emotional and spiritual well being. Please, open your heart and consider giving to this worthy cause. Links to information about the Panzi Hospital are listed below.<br /><br />http://www.panzihospitalbukavu.org/<br />http://www.pmu.se/english/about/project_dr-kongo.php<br />http://www.msmagazine.com/spring2005/congo.asp<br /><br />To donate directly, use the drop down box in this link titled "Purpose" and select 'Panzi Hospital':<br /><br />http://www.pmu.se/english/donate/donation.php?pn=51450002K.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-11715833161012486912008-12-13T09:07:00.000-08:002008-12-13T09:08:48.210-08:00My Christmas ListMy Christmas list this year reads as follows;<br /><br />Handmade ring setting for currently-unset gems - $2000<br />Elsa Peretti heart shaped gold earrings from Tiffany - $1500<br />Black leather gloves from Nordstrom - $80<br />Slippers - $45<br />Enamel and gold passport charm bracelet charm - $275<br />Serving tray - $80<br />Bulgari perfume/soap - $125/$27<br />Williams-Sonoma Christmas dinner plates - $120<br />Crate and Barrel red glass wine glasses - $32<br />Platinum hoop earrings - $460<br />Troll beads - $25 – virtually limitless<br /><br />Now it’s true that I don’t expect to get everything on this list (and I won’t). This list is more of a ‘hope/vague suggestion list’ than a list of expectations. And it’s also true that I will be grateful for everything I receive. I’ve never been the sort of person to have a huge sense of entitlement and I don’t regret the things I’ll never own. However….<br /><br />It occurs to me as I read this list that there’s not one thing on this list that I truly need. And that suggests to me that my list reads as it does because all my needs have been already met. And that’s the sort of statement that should make all of us stop and think.<br /><br />Nowhere on my list does it say “fresh water”, or “food for my children”, or “medical care”. Nowhere does it read “education”, or “safety from violence”. I’m not asking Santa for a job, for the right to vote, for a roof over my head, for a cessation to fighting in my neighborhood or for healing for any harm done to me or to those I love. It’s the Christmas season here in beautiful New York and I am in the process of stuffing my stocking with as many luxury items and non-essentials as I can accumulate. As Bono once said when introducing one of his fundraising efforts:<br /><br />“I am a fat cat in the snow.”<br /><br />But as life would have it, I believe in God. And I believe in a God who is sovereign over me and who hasn’t taken his eye away from this world, or from those whose stockings will be significantly less empty than mine this Christmas. And I believe that the God I honor set a significant example – a template if you will - when sending his son to be born in a manger rather than a palace, and that it’s a template which God expects us still to fill. There is something appalling and rather less than lovely about my Christmas list when set against the lives of some other of God’s children in this world we share.<br /><br />I am aware that, were someone homeless, wounded, destitute or suffering to appear at my door I would not turn my back. And yet – people who suffer in all these ways are easily accessible to help. Am I simply benefiting from the ability to avert my gaze? Am I benefiting from distance? From insularity? Is the entire nature of my Christmas formulated around the unspoken assumption that I just won’t look beyond my own pine scented, fairy lighted living room? In other words, will it all be ok just so long as I stick my fingers in my ears and hum?<br /><br />And yet, I feel an insistent tap on my shoulder, and the urgent yanking of my fingers from my ears, and the Jesus of Bethlehem saying to me “Turn around, girl, and look.”<br /><br />And there they are – all in my living room. People with less than me. And not just a little less – a LOT less. People in pain, people with no joy, no hope, people dependant on me for help. People who need me to see them and not turn my back. Brothers and sisters around the world who need me to acknowledge their existence.<br /><br />So this year I’m going to rework the list, and I’m going to see if I can give a little hope, a little love, some health, some peace, some future to people who deserve it a lot more than I deserve a pair of platinum earrings. And when I do that, I just know I’m going to feel God’s approval that I’m finally getting into the spirit of Christmas.<br /><br />This Christmas, I’d like to share with you an organization you might find worthy of your financial ‘Christmas cheer’. The Panzi Hospital in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) is dedicated to the surgical repair of the victims of rape – a weapon being used throughout the DRC as an effective means to demoralize and destabilize a culture and society already torn apart by violence and poverty. Please have a look at the links below, and then you, like I, might like to rethink ‘The Christmas List’.<br /><br />Merry Christmas – with love to you all,<br /><br />K.E. Stapylton<br /><br />http://www.panzihospitalbukavu.org/<br />http://www.msmagazine.com/spring2005/congo.aspK.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-45131146784923793882008-12-07T05:47:00.000-08:002008-12-07T05:49:33.922-08:00Something BeautifulFor those of you with access to iTunes who appreciate atmospheric, beautiful music, I'd like to suggest '1 Giant Leap - featuring Michael Stipe and Asha Bhosle' singing 'The Way You Dream'. It's for sale on iTunes and is in the genre best described as 'world music'. Here's part of the write up from IMDB on the project;<br /><br />"1 Giant Leap is a unique project for the 21st century which fuses words, sounds, rhythms and images from across the globe to celebrate the creative diversity of musicians, storytellers, authors, filmmakers, artists and thinkers from cultures around the world. The results illustrate breathtaking artistic and cultural diversity with a clear message of unity running throughout."<br /><br />While the entire cd is beautiful in general and awe-inspiring in parts, I'd recommend The Way You Dream as a true highlight; it's the sort of music you listen to when you wish to contemplate the imponderable mysteries of life - or perhaps just close your eyes to concentrate on a single, undiluted moment in time. Either way, it should be on every mature music lover's play list.<br /><br />Enjoy!<br /><br />Yours Entertainingly,<br /><br />K.E. StapyltonK.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-80535054412468704592008-11-30T11:09:00.000-08:002008-11-30T11:26:25.243-08:00Happy Thanksgiving, AmericaThis is the Thanksgiving entry from my Facebook page. I thought I'd share it with you here....<br /><br />In February 2003 I was invited to a home for lunch. Not knowing the hostess well, nor having been to her home previously for any appreciable time, I didn’t know what to expect. Would it be casual or formal? Would the company be enjoyable, welcoming? Would the topics of conversation involve and engage me, or would I have nothing to contribute and little to learn? Most of all I wondered what sort of food would be served. Would it be boring, stodgy food which was a chore to eat? Or bland food that was all nutrition but no fun? Or what if the food was overly rich – delicious at the time, but leaving me sick and bloated by the end of the meal? I went with a polite smile on my face, but trepidation in my heart.<br /><br />And yet, when America opened her door to me, all the warm, wonderful, complex smells of an exquisite meal tickled my senses. After being ushered kindly to my seat I was served a tantalizing appetizer of career possibilities and professional opportunity which whet my appetite and made me hungry for more. This was quickly followed by a rich and hearty main course of freedom, justice, egalitarianism and tolerance which nurtured me and sat warmly in my belly. Finally came dessert; a light, complex dish made from the sweetness of new friendships, the tang of individuality, and the smooth creamy lushness of support and acceptance.<br /><br />At the end of the meal I collected my coat to leave. “Stay!” said America, and reached out her hand. I hesitated for just a second…then hung my coat back in the cupboard and replaced my hat on the hook by the door. To this day I sit in the big comfortable chair by the fire in America’s home, my feet curled up under me, content and grateful for the welcome I’ve received from this most gracious hostess.<br /><br />Happy Thanksgiving, America.<br /><br />Yours Gratefully,<br /><br />K.E. StapyltonK.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-11643620098529914572008-11-23T21:52:00.000-08:002008-12-06T13:47:01.928-08:00The Carrot and the StickThe Terror of Prism Fading focuses on the adventures of four children, Rabbit, Rupert, Jasper and Aden, each of whom have a remarkably different family experience. Rabbit has lived in a series of foster homes, her parents and young brother having been killed in a car accident when she was five years old. Rupert is an only child, and although it’s not explicitly stated in the books, has learnt to be the peacemaker in a family where both parents are alcoholics. Jasper has two wonderful parents, but his mother, a significant and powerful figure in the land of Prism, does not live in the family home and is rarely seen by her son. To all intents and purposes, Jasper is an only child in a single parent family. Aden also has wonderful parents but, as king and queen of Prism, they are rarely in a position where they can place family ahead of their public duties and enormous responsibilities. Despite a loving bond with her parents, Aden has been raised largely by a succession of nannies and tutors, isolated from her peers and with crushing expectations for the future resting on her shoulders. At their respective ages of 13 and 14, Rabbit, Rupert, Jasper and Aden already bring significant baggage to their experiences together in Prism.<br /><br />In creating these characters, I tried to recreate problems and struggles I’ve encountered during my life, particularly my years as a therapist. In a society where children are often indulged beyond what’s good for them, it seems there is still a striking lack of adequate nurture and appropriate support given to the children in our communities in general, and in our homes in particular.<br /><br />I watched an episode of Dr Phil recently where he discussed the topic of ‘sexting’ – the sending of text messages with a sexual content - and the exponential rate at which this seems to be generated by children. It was jaw dropping to have to see him say to the parent “Well, have you taken the phone away?” (no) “Well why not?” (multiple lame excuses along the lines that ‘my child needs a phone.’) This from the mother of a 12 year old girl who had been sending naked photos of herself out into the ether using said cell phone! He spoke also to a teenage boy and his mother. The boy had been practicing auto-asphyxiation at the local amusement park, riding on the roller coaster unconscious and oxygen deprived. When asked how the boy got to the amusement park, his mother replied “I drive him.”<br /><br />My firm belief has always been that the majority of parents try hard to do a good and self sacrificing job with their children. But it’s becoming increasingly culturally unpopular to say no, to monitor, to set boundaries, to say “You’re not old enough”, to punish, to deprive and to weed out the behavior in children that we deem to be culturally, morally and socially unacceptable. We have fallen victim to a twist on the ‘me generation’; the ‘you generation’, where we bring up children implying by our own actions that everything they do is precious and deserves our respect and consideration. In trying to empower children, it appears that we often go so far as to give them inappropriate levels of power, giving them possibilities, options and choices that their moral, ethical, social and emotional development simply has not readied them for.<br /><br />I would encourage – not all – but some parents to be a little less ‘respectful’ and rather more invasive. I spoke to a 17 yr old girl this week who told me – with a straight face – that she prefers to keep her family and her Myspace page separate “because she didn’t think adults would be interested in what teenagers talk about.” A request to join her friends list will be met by being blocked from her page. I talked to a 15 year old boy on Facebook this morning whose 50+ underage friends all had a photo of themselves up for all to see. Where are these children’s parents? In a world where people feel so anonymous that they seem to believe every aspect of their lives needs to be recorded before it’s significant, the role of the family is being eroded.<br /><br />The point is to make your children feel significant – to you, to make them feel as though they are essential – to you. We make a sad mistake when we imply to children that they are the center of the universe - yet largely invisible in their own families.<br /><br />There are few pictures more ugly than a world full of grown up children, each and every one believing that world revolves around them, few things more dangerous than children with electronic gadgets and no parental monitoring, and few things sadder than children who go through life with insufficient boundaries and a belief that nobody loved them enough to stand up and be a parent. When parents love children they set boundaries; they make them high and they make them intractable. And it keeps their children safe.<br /><br />I hope all parents will make the decision to be willing to be the bad guy, to notice all that their children do – the bad and the good – and to keep working hard to find that elusive balance between ‘the carrot and the stick’,<br /><br />Yours Protectively,<br /><br />K.E. StapyltonK.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-51829048718265570402008-11-07T09:43:00.000-08:002008-12-06T13:39:00.709-08:00The Most Wonderful Woman in the World.Fall has come to New York and we're deep into this most gorgeous time of year. The colors are glorious, the leaves are thick on the ground, and the air is rich with that toasty smell of damp, crusty foliage. Wonderful!<br /><br />More wonderful still is that I am sharing this beautiful season with my best friend of 32 years, Wendy, who has travelled over from Sydney to spend 5 fabulous weeks with me. (Now seems like a good time to assure you all that we met when we were children...more or less...)<br /><br />Last night, as we were taking my dog, Dixon, for a walk around town, Wendy said to me "if we met now, do you think we would still be friends?" The answer is a resounding "Yes!" So this post is a tribute to Wendy, the most wonderful woman in the world.<br /><br />Wendy and I met on a beach in 1976. I was at a camp and she was on vacation with another girlfriend. I noticed Wendy speaking with a young man from our camp who was, at that time, considered very handsome but rather arrogant and egotistical; the biggest impact his success with the opposite sex had made was in his own mind, though his general appeal was widely acknowledged. Both Wendy and the girl she was vacationing with apparently knew this young man via other people, and it was sheer coincidence that she had encountered him on the beach. After a short conversation, however, he wandered away, leaving Wendy more or less stranded in the middle of a large group of people she didn't know with no-one to talk to. She wandered off awkwardly and took up a position by herself on the sand; the girlfriend she had arrived with also apparently having evaporated. For reasons of my own, I knew what it was to feel alone in a crowd and, having been brought up a proactive kind of girl, I went up to Wendy and introduced myself.<br /><br />Was it an immediate synergy of souls? Nope. Did we have a lot in common? Not really. But we were polite and friendly, we chatted, we laughed over a few things, and we made ourselves 'socially available'. This conversation led to dinner together back at the campsite one evening, then phone numbers exchanged and phone calls made. From here we graduated to get-togethers in each other's homes when summer was over, a sharing of thoughts, a commitment to each other's well being, and a loyal bond that grew into 32 years of the most nurturing friendship I have ever known. When her boyfriend dumped her, I was there; when my mother (and later on my father) died, she was there; when she had her babies, I was there; when my husband and I bought our first home, Wendy was there - with her check book. When Wendy's marriage broke down, I was there - on the end of the phone for an hour or more every day and then with a plane ticket to NY and an open door for as long as she wanted. When living on the other side of the world gets too hard, Wendy is here - spending her vacations, her long service leave, and more time than she realistically has to spare, looking after me and simply helping me to travel successfully through life with fewer bruises than I would otherwise have. As we age, so we realize that we will face bigger and bigger challenges, and so we discuss things like living wills, power of attorney, euthanasia, and who we want to have 'grandma's good tea set' when we finally kick on. More to the point, we have the sorts of conversations only best friends have; "If I am ever incapacitated and in hospital and can't talk, promise me you'll regularly pluck out the hairs that grow out of that mole on my chin..." "Can't I just get it electrolysized?" "Well, ok - just make sure *something* gets done." "You could always get it done now of course..." "Hmmm...maybe I will..."<br /><br />Wendy and I are very different in nature. I am analytical; she is emotional. I want to discuss politics; she wants to read cook books. I want to grow roses; she wants to grow herbs. I cook complicated French cuisine with complex tastes and subtle, layered flavors; Wendy makes enormous, earthy Italian dishes you need your hands to eat and which make you glad to be alive. Wendy loves to shop for clothes, while I have a passion for collecting unset diamonds. Wendy loves the pre-Raphaelite school of art; I am all about the abstract artists - Kandinsky, Rothko, Pollock. And Wendy adores emotional, intense classical music; I would rather eat glass. In many ways we're about as different as two people can be.<br /><br />And yet despite all our differences, we both believe in God, we both believe in the responsibility of 'those with' to share with 'those without'. We both believe all people are equal, and we both believe in 'using our words, not our fists' - both in relationships and in international politics. We both strive to tell the truth, to be responsible, to make a positive impact and to leave a place better than we found it. We believe in being polite, paying our own way, and in making ourselves available to those we love. We both believe laughter is the best medicine, that points of view different to our own are not necessarily wrong and should be listened to, that we all could be better than we are, and that manners are the oil in the complicated machinery of life. And we both value loyalty and trustworthiness, and believe that all good relationships start with those things.<br /><br />Perhaps if we had met now, it would have taken us longer to be friends, to have found where each other fit into our lives and to see the value in each other. But I believe we would have ended in the same place, valuing each other - similar yet different - passing time together, a cup of coffee in hand, our feet tucked up on the sofa with laughter and love in the air.<br /><br />I think I still would have recognized the most wonderful woman in the world.<br /><br />Yours Awash with Blessings,<br /><br />K.E. StapyltonK.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-77043584857061223132008-09-22T14:53:00.000-07:002008-10-03T14:51:53.407-07:00But It's Not What I'm Used To....It seems to me that in political parties, there are seven key issues represented; small government, social welfare and reform, fiscal responsibility, the middle class, the working class, religious conservatism and social liberalism.<br /><br />In the US, small government, religious conservatism and appeal to the working class seem to coalesce around the Republican Party, while liberalism, social welfare and the middle class seem to coalesce around the Democrats. The issue of fiscal responsibility one would assume would be associated with smaller government, though this does not necessarily seem to be the case. In Australia, however, the issues align differently. The middle class, fiscal responsibility and religious conservatism (especially the Anglican church) line up under the Liberal Party (do *not* confuse the name with liberalism - the LP in Australia is definitely the conservative party), while social reform, social welfare, unionism and the working classes line up as issues centered around the Australian Labor Party. The Labor Party is more pro-environment (like the Dems in the US), while the LP is more about strengthening Australia's global economic position and using whatever methods possible to boost the balance of trade. The point is that the parties don't align with the same core issues from country to country.<br /><br />So it makes one wonder how your average rampant Republican or zealot Democrat would cope when transplanted from one country to another, or indeed, if the issues which they hold as being indelibly linked were, in fact, split between different parties. From there, it's a short step to questioning how these issues were ever joined together so inseparably and from there it's an even shorter step to wondering whether it is indeed the issues we hold dear, or our membership of the party merely. Are we truly committed to the issues, or are we blindly holding to a party?<br /><br />I have been interested to see, here in the US, people committed to a political party in ways which they simply aren't in Australia (where the chief religion is sport, and its subsets 'the weekend', 'my mates', and 'having a good time'). Watching the political process in this 2008 election year has shown a degree of partisan fanaticism and blind-eyed passion that is simply baffling to your average Australian. So I was fascinated to read *this* report;<br /><br />http://www.salon.com/env/mind_reader/2008/09/22/voter_choice/?source=yahoo<br /><br />Blind passion and commitment are excellent motivators but they do little to enhance objective reasoning. The concept of registering for a party - a system not employed in Australia - seems to have lead to a partisanship which has caused more harm that good in the US. Once people see themselves as Democrat or Republican, an attack on the party has become an attack on oneself. Could anything be more specifically tailored to preclude objective reasoning when assessing the candidates put forward by a party?<br /><br />I am more than skeptical when I speak to someone who says they have always been a Republican/Democrat and have always voted for that party. Are all men equal? Is every candidate interchangeable just because they belong to that party? Are we so naive as to think all moral men belong to only one of these parties? That the alternative party is incapable of putting forward a candidate of advanced capability? And are we really trying to imply that all the issues important to 'me' are covered by one of only two parties? People are not so simple and the issues important to me would be unlikely to be adequately covered by a hundred different political parties.<br /><br />The issues that I value are: adequate welfare, international responsibility and commitment to peace, international aid, environmental maturity and commitment, alternative fuel development, the mandated reduction of pollution, conservation of the UN and its powers, the Supreme Court, stem cell research, abortion, gun control, preservation of the free market, freedom of religion but the recognition of the US as a Christian country and the respect of its citizens to exercise their religious choice, prayer in schools, an overhaul of the ACLU, wildlife preservation, adequate health care, support for minority groups, and about a thousand other issues covered by neither party. My combined positions on these individual issues would put me squarely in...a political party which doesn't exist!<br /><br />The passionate and unyielding support of one party indicates a degree of emotional investment that precludes logical detachment. If indeed that 3am call ever does come, I'll be looking for a leader who can step back from his or her own fears and prejudices - as they relate both to this country and to him or herself - and make the truly globally responsible decision. As people who vote, I would encourage you to get to know your candidates...but also your own prejudices and fears. Work out what's important to *you*, and accept that it will change as history and the world change, and vote with your head, not your heart. Gut feeling, intuition and instinct, when it comes to elections, are generally poor substitutes for knowing the issues and finding the candidate who best represents them.<br /><br />Think, America. Think.<br /><br />Yours Informedly,<br /><br />K.E. StapyltonK.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-22702721041914621442008-08-28T09:43:00.000-07:002008-08-28T09:53:02.489-07:0020 Things I've Learned From My Dog DixonSo in the spirit of recognizing the contribution of animals in general, and in praise of dogs in particular, I thought I'd share with you a list of the 20 most fundamentally important things my dog has been able to teach me. I am, granted, a slow learner. But here are...<br /><br />20 Things I've Learned From My Dog Dixon<br /><br />1) It’s only the idiot on the end of the lead who cares how expensive the collar is.<br /><br />2) Treats are good – but nothing beats a walk in the park with someone you love.<br /><br />3) If you manage to escape your backyard, the person who loves you will be thrilled when you come back. If their first words are “Bad dog!” go find another family to live with.<br /><br />4) Communication is important – but at 3am, nobody cares what you have to say.<br /><br />5) There’s nothing to be embarrassed about regarding physical functions.<br /><br />6) Electric blankets are a gift from God.<br /><br />7) If you’re stuck somewhere and you have to go to the toilet, don’t be too shy to tell somebody.<br /><br />8) All things are better if they squeak. Even people.<br /><br />9) I want what you have. I don’t know why. I just want it.<br /><br />10) If someone growls at you, smile and show your tummy.<br /><br />11) Getting your nose up someone else’s butt is not normally appreciated; no really DOES mean no.<br /><br />12) Be prepared to do what your family tells you – about 1 in 3. They get such a charge out of it and I mean – really – how hard is it to ‘lay down’? The whole ‘roll over’, ‘fetch’ and ‘beg’ thing can be negotiated.<br /><br />13) Nirvana starts in our house promptly every night at 7pm when Tim walks through the door.<br /><br />14) If you look cute, even if you’re naughty, somebody will generally kiss you.<br /><br />15) There is no benefit in making your bed.<br /><br />16) If you nip, you’ll get attention. Just not necessarily the attention you want.<br /><br />17) Exercise is not negotiable.<br /><br />18) Sometimes, to scratch an itch, you have to get someone else to do it. In this situation, a nice lady with nails is normally best.<br /><br />19) Life is better if you’re part of a pack.<br /><br />20) No matter how adorable you are, if you have Mom’s favourite shoe (gloves/wallet/project she’s working on) chewed up and hanging out your mouth, HIDE UNDER THE COFFEE TABLE.<br /><br />Educationally Yours,<br /><br />K.E. StapyltonK.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-47221566006879337562008-08-20T09:46:00.000-07:002008-08-20T18:25:55.018-07:00Do Animals Talk?Well, do they?<br /><br />I remember when my husband and I got our second dog, Dapple. Our first dog, Dixon, had till that point slept on the floor in our bedroom, wandering in and out at will. But Dapple was a barker who suffered from separation anxiety. So we decided to keep Dixon locked up with her for the night for company. Unfortunately, when she came to us she wasn't as toilet trained as we would have liked (see this for the euphemism it is!), so at night we had to keep her bed in the kitchen so she had access to the back yard. In an effort to keep the house warm, we had to shut the doors in between her and us. All this to say - Dixon ended up spending, for the first time, nights locked away from Tim and me.<br />I remember the first night. Dapple, having company, barked a bit but ultimately curled up on her bed and went to sleep. No such luck with Dixon! He barked...and barked...and barked...till 1.30am, at which point he finally fell asleep, more or less out of exhaustion. At 6am the following morning, Tim and I ran downstairs to see how they'd gotten along. Dapple was still curled up asleep on her bed. But Dixon gave us a look which communicated his complete disgust with this whole idea, picked up his blanket in his teeth and dragged it to *just* the other side of the now-open kitchen door, and sat down stubbornly. And gave us 'The Look'. No dog in the entire history of dogness has ever communicated so clearly to his family; "Listen folks, I don't DO kitchens!"<br /><br />Dixon is also an extremely affectionate dog, and he loves my office chair which is on wheels. In Dixon's mind, this chair was created specifically so he could wait till I was in the middle of work, then jump up on the side of my chair, push me across the room, then pin me against the wall with his front paws up on my shoulders, and cover my face with licks. The more I laugh the more he licks! The dog has a sense of humor!<br /><br />Do animals talk?<br /><br />I remember some months ago my husband Tim and my friend David working in our backyard, trying to pull out the stump of a dead shrub. I was watching proceedings from the comfort of a garden chair and Dixon was standing next to me. Tim and David started to pull, but the stump was buried in deep. They dug some more, then lined up, one behind the other, and pulled and pulled. Standing next to me, Dixon watched proceedings for a minute or so, saw their lack of progress, then trotted over to the end of the line and took the end of the shrub in his mouth behind David. Together, Tim, David and Dixon worked on the shrub till they had it pulled out, Dixon pulling as hard as anybody.<br /><br />Do animals talk?<br /><br />When Dixon was a young dog, about 9 months old, I used to take him to the local park for off-lead running. I went there one day and the park was largely empty and Dixon was having a wonderful time. After a short while, we were joined by a woman who had a youngish male pit bull with her. Dixon's favourite game is chasings, and he was very used to taking turns with Dapple, chasing each other in our back yard. Dixon chased the pit bull for a few seconds, then turned around so the pit bull could chase him. I sensed trouble and it wasn't long in coming. In less than a minute a casual chasing game had turned into a pursuit, Dixon running faster and faster as he realized this was in earnest. Time and again he would try to run to me for protection, but every time the pit bull would cut him off, running between Dixon and me to stop Dixon from getting help. Within about 2 minutes the pit bull had caught Dixon and brought him down from behind. The pit bull stood with his legs either side of Dixon, his muzzle buried in Dixon's neck. I will never forget running to Dixon where he lay, completely silent on the ground, but his head turned to one side towards me, his eyes pleading with me for help. I looked deep into those beautiful eyes and he heard me as clearly as I heard him; help was coming. (Help did indeed come, and it did not bode well for the pit bull nor for his idiot owner who took an undisciplined attack dog to an off-lead dog park!)<br /><br />Do animals talk?<br /><br />Of course they do. And in Prism I've tried to give them the voices and the words we would hear if we were smart enough to understand their natural languages. Listening to my dogs and hearing what they have to say is one of the great joys of my life. I believe we all need to recognize that we are not the only species with something to say, and I'd encourage us all to talk less and listen more,<br /><br />Attentively Yours,<br /><br />K.E. StapyltonK.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-75299123294556772222008-07-23T20:23:00.000-07:002008-07-24T11:48:13.952-07:00Putting Some Flesh on PrismIt’s an amazing thing to realize someone can see inside your head! But that’s what Laura, illustrator extraordinaire, seems to have done with the beautiful cover art she’s been working on for The Terror of Prism Fading. Although not yet in its final form, the link below will give you a good idea – both where the cover is heading and also how very talented Laura is! <br /><br />A trip to <a href="http://ldiehl.blogspot.com">her web site</a> shows the various steps to this point, and they in turn are a pretty fair reflection of our various conversations and emails.<br /><br />As points were clarified and details given, so the characters came to life until, a few days ago, I was sent an email with an attached link. I opened it gingerly, not entirely sure what to expect, and took a deep breath….<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.ldiehl.com/wip/prism_wip4fo.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://www.ldiehl.com/wip/prism_wip4fo.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /> It’s a little off putting to see a scene - which has existed so far only in one’s imagination – suddenly take shape and appear on a page in full color! In many ways this image was, for me, too, my first ever glimpse of Prism, and I am wholly grateful to Laura for the opportunity to look into this wonderful world and see the characters I have already grown to love. I let out a deep sigh of relief when I realized the Prism I was looking at and the characters I was seeing were completely coherent with the places and people in my imagination that I had been living with for so many years.<br /><br />Thank you, Laura.<br /><br />Yours gratefully,<br /><br />K.E. StapyltonK.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-7843668577920940512008-07-12T15:45:00.000-07:002008-07-13T20:31:05.177-07:00A Mountain of Work...and then...Progress! <a href="http://theterrorofprismfading.com">The Terror of Prism Fading website</a> is now up and running! Currently in its most basic form, the website will soon be a place where you can download the book in e-book format as well as purchase it through Lulu. Various graphics and effects should be added over the coming weeks to make <a href="http://theterrorofprismfading.com">TheTerrorOfPrismFading.com</a> a fun place to spend a little time. And for those who make the effort to find their way there, there will be extra snippets of material on favourite characters plus a greater look into the history and legends of Prism. I can only recommend that you check the site regularly for updates and news!<br /><br />Speaking of news, as well as working on the second installment of the Prism series, I've begun writing a short book for younger children. I find writing for children of all ages deeply rewarding and it's a complete joy to communicate with them. Flights of Family Fancy is for children aged 4-9 (otherwise known as the 'pre-Prism set'!), and is a collection of poems and short stories that could be managed by the older children in this age range, or read by parents to those at the younger end of the spectrum. This collection of poems and stories is extremely precious to me as it's being written predominantly for the entertainment of one special 7 year old in California whose giggles and wide eyed gaze when her father reads them to her are the elixir of life for a children's writer. Perhaps one day I'll find an illustrator and do something more formal with them. In the meantime, Flights of Family Fancy is the way I spend my spare time, when I have any of it to spare, and the stories I write when I wish to enjoy the pastime of writing without pressure.<br /><br />But meanwhile, back at Prism....<br /><br /><a href="http://www.ldiehl.com/portfolio.html">Laura Diehl</a> has come on board as illustrator for The Terror of Prism Fading, and the concept draft I have seen so far is hugely exciting! After considerable back and forth, plus significant time spent on the phone, Laura seemed to grasp the whole concept of Prism and will do an excellent job of translating it to paper. As a result, I'm hoping that The Terror of Prism Fading will be available in paperback version by the end of August! This will be a major milestone and I can assure you that champagne corks will be flying in this house!<br /><br />In the meantime, work will be proceeding on Book 2, and I hope you enjoy the new website!<br /><br />Yours Progressively,<br /><br />K.E. StapyltonK.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-4652917631967108272008-06-29T10:06:00.000-07:002008-07-13T08:43:02.082-07:00Hallo Kindle....After much hard work and ingenuity on the part of a team of highly trained professionals, I am now <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Terror-of-Prism-Fading/dp/B001BQBJQQ">published on Amazon's Kindle</a>! For a child psychologist/mediator-turned-writer, this represents a big step in the change of career process. For decades I knew it was only a matter of time till writing became my profession, and the written word has been my passion for even longer, but making the leap from academic writing to children's fantasy author represents one of the most exciting and challenging things I've ever done.<br /><br />And the list of tasks is endless! Blogs, web sites, summaries, cross links, wikipedia entries, and more versions of my book than I'd ever thought necessary (Kindle, Lulu, Amazon, Borders...) all make this a process of almost limitless proportions. And it's all worth it! I feel, after 20 years of planning, I'm willing to do whatever is necessary to get my words read, to get the message out, to encourage children to see themselves as central and valuable, to use story telling to engage with children to touch their hearts and assist in their healthy development.<br /><br />I believe that, to write for children, one's motivation needs to be two fold. Firstly, one must want to tell stories. There has to be a deep seated desire to 'spin a good yarn' and to entertain. I remember the first time I read 'A Horseman Riding By'. Having studied literature of all kinds at university in Australia, and so much of it having been dry and boring, I was struck by the extent to which this story simply entertained me. And when I started writing the Prism series, I vowed to myself that I would write nothing dull, nothing that had to be 'sat through to get to the good bits'! I wanted to write things that would make children sit - wide eyed - on the edges of their seats, waiting with baited breath for the next word.<br /><br />But secondly, one must surely be committed to the healthy development of children. I believe that a children's novel must be committed to bringing an experience of increased health and joy to its readers. It should be a tool for parents whose aim is to raise healthy contributors to their communities. And it should light a passion for 'right' in the bellies of its readers - something which inspires them to be greater than they were when they started reading.<br /><br />A book is a powerful thing, and a children's book doubly so. I hope that the Prism series will dispel the haze of grey we so often wade through, and ignite instead a powerful spectrum of color in those who read it,<br /><br />Colorfully,<br /><br />K.E. StapyltonK.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3613098966449989162.post-12327765432888503642008-06-22T16:46:00.000-07:002008-07-13T08:41:47.947-07:00The Heart of PrismWelcome to my blog, created to complement the collection of children's books known as 'The Terror of Prism Fading.' Here I'll be posting news of the books' progression - their creation and dissemination - and an exploration of the themes they espouse. Even though these books are not yet published (hard copy available September 15th when the cover art is completed), more or less everyone in my circle of friends and acquaintances know that my time is spent on a day to day basis in the wonderful, magical land of Prism. As such, interested bystanders often ask me what the books are about. What they're looking for is a quick rundown of plot, character, and progression - a short wrap up of what I'm writing and where I am in the process. But today over lunch I was contemplating what it was I was truly trying to say.<div><br /></div><div>What, in fact, is the very heart of Prism and the story it tells?</div><div><br /></div><div>Prism is a land and a story filled with flawed, yet lovable, characters. Much like real life, there is no perfect individual, nobody who has completely 'made it', and many people who fall woefully short. Many people in Prism try and try hard, yet very few are inherently powerful. Many come from non-illustrious backgrounds - some even shamefully so. And few consider themselves to be the sorts of people destined to change the world; indeed, some of the characters in Prism are simply trying to get through life with as little embarrassment as possible.</div><div><br /></div><div>And Prism is full of difficulties and conflict. The goals of one are rarely the goals of the other, and people find themselves marginalized, ostracized and generally doubted on more than one occasion. Rabbit in particular finds herself the victim of scorn and suspicion almost from her first moments in this new and glorious land. There is little in her experience of life to lead her to optimism, self confidence, or trust in her fellow man, and her experiences in Prism by and large reinforce this mindset. Rabbit sees herself as small and weak, nothing special, and largely at odds with those with whom she has to work.</div><div><br /></div><div>And yet, through hardship and difficulty, loneliness and fear, Rabbit finds in Prism a chance for greatness. Rabbit discovers, when she puts her own goals to one side, a capacity for the heroic she would not have thought possible. Despite a history of rejection and loneliness, this one small girl knows more about love than anyone ever suspects and - through self denial and sheer determination - Rabbit finds she has a gift for healing greater than herself. When Rabbit steps out of the spotlight of her own life, she discovers a power she never knew she had.</div><div><br /></div><div>So perhaps if there is one central theme in Prism it's that there is a potential for greatness in all of us that we can only discover when we put our own dreams and aspirations to one side. When we live fully to serve others, even the smallest and weakest of us becomes strong and potent, and capable of great things. When our own comfort is no longer our goal, we can all become vessels of healing. And when we lay down the conflicts which are precious to us, we can, each and every one, become a chalice of peace.</div><div><br /></div><div>Powerful indeed.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hope the books of Prism will be like the very characters about whom I write; collections of individually powerless words which, when read in sequence, embolden readers to believe in the potency of service and the healing magnitude of humility,</div><div><br /></div><div>With hope,</div><div><br /></div><div>K.E. Stapylton<br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>K.E.Stapyltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707698681912161824noreply@blogger.com1