What We’re Talking About Today (with my kids)

I started writing this post a week ago while I was visiting my kids in Southern California. OK, just the title.

Since then, a long standing and troubling subject of these talks has resurfaced – shootings. Be it a grocery store or a school it seems that shootings are somehow normal. That is, at least a segment of our population who values clumps of cells in a woman’s body, and guns, over the lives of living breathing people – especially living breathing children. They use the term “founding fathers” to justify owning assault weapons that are made for killing humans (not animals for food.) The founding fathers would be horrified if they know their words and intent were used to justify parading around guns like fools and brushing off mass killings of innocent people.

Grocery store home deliveries will last much longer than the current pandemic because people will live in fear of being killed for the simple act of grocery shopping. They’ll fear going out for a massage because some asshole said he had issues with his own perverted sexual hang-ups brought on by religion, bigotry, and his own sick and twisted selfishness. The school shootings will start up again because young men will have access to guns in the homes of their family members, or guns they easily purchase when they turn eighteen.

My daughter was born in 1999 the year of the Columbine killings. It should have stopped then and there. It should have stopped. There is NO REASON this should be happening.

There are patterns. A few diverge but there are patterns. The patterns are ignored. The shootings continue.

With the advent of Covid-19 and various other changes in my life I’m not writing as many blog posts because I’ve sort of lost my sense of humor.

It also had to do with the suffocating political environment we were all living in.

On a good note, since this is a parenting blog of sorts, my daughter has been accepted into the Masters program at a major Southern California University for a double Masters in Public Policy and Urban Planning. I am over the moon happy that this funny, happy, positive kid has worked her ass off and worked smart to get where she wants to be.

Of course I’m freely joking that my daughter got in and I’m not going to jail for it.

Cheating in anything is bad. Cheating at parenting is absolutely the worst. If you cheat to get your child into a school you don’t only set them up for failure but you also take a place from a child who deserves it. Of course if you cheat to get your kid to the front of the line you aren’t the kind of person who gives a shit about kids who aren’t yours.

My husband got the dog a new bed and the cat sleeps on it. The Internet if full of photos of cats sleeping on the dog bed while the huge dog sleeps on the floor next to it.

While I was in Southern California my kids and I walked along the beach and talked about everything under the sun and moon. We talked about movies, books, my daughter’s school, my son’s work, the environment, how huge cargo ships are, gardening, and dogs.

I always tell my readers to talk with their kids. Now that they’re grown we are still talking.

Museums are opening back up.

Restaurants are opening back up.

Maybe even movie theaters will start opening.

Werewolves and Ghosts have done alright, but believe me, it will be a lot easier for Vampires right now.

What is left in my coffee cup from a few minutes ago is getting cold, so I’ll stop my ramblings soon.

I miss those days of driving to school in the car with my kids and talking about whatever was on the radio or on their minds. I feel like those talks helped make them the successful young adults they are today. At least it got them thinking about the big picture – the world outside of their own small circle of family, friends, and school.

Stay safe. Keep wearing your masks. Be kind. Don’t be a dick. Talk to your kids. Hug your dog, especially if a cat has taken it’s bed. Check in on those who are elderly, alone, or need extra help. And kiss a Vampire – you’ll thank me for it later.

I’ll be back soon – hopefully with something fun.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

Brothers in Arms

When I read this I was touched by the power of the words and the subject matter. This is from my friend Rob Fletcher, a talented Welsh writer and photographer. Thank you Rob for allowing me to share your words.

Brothers in Small Arms

Born of metallurgy and chemistry I was:
Stamped, checked, moved, spilled and counted with millions of brothers in a grim piranha factory.
Automated, made, bought and sold with a quiet conscience of lethal exchange.

Destiny discovered fate and decreed my instant made
birth which heralds a coming death in a far distant country.
Cousins larger, nieces smaller…pieces put together quickly as
Productivity swears at innocence.

Tumbling shiny into green coffin boxes…
Stacked, steady, stable…waiting weds anticipation.
Sold in white and black markets and traded silently for a single drilled duty.
My sole mission to expend death.

Packaged and sent on a demon journey I’m:
Trucked, planed, boated and trained because my demand outstrips its supply.
I’m really wanted, loved and caressed.

Jungle appetites, African friendly
I arrive clinking and jangling…jostling my brothers for my
awaiting providence
My liaison with short life.

Strong black fingers pick me up admiringly…
I’m embraced, turned over and fondly kissed
under a hot and brooding war sky!
I’m wished upon…and I shall fulfil this desire.

Gently, I’m click-pushed first into my temporary steel curved prison along with my immediate band of siblings above me.
Then we’re snapped into our final position.
Smoke, noise and murder prevail…we are turned safety left, lorded and loaded and aimed not aimlessly.
Suddenly, mechanical release action jerks us free!

My brothers fly orgasmic allies
barrel tearing
and I explode
by engaging rifling as I spin free velocity charged, prior sighted and trajectory traced.

I speed towards a soft sweat-sheened forehead as young feared eyes see my untimely arrival and realize my tidings
bring death out of its hiding place as I thwack flesh and snuff out misplaced
youth soldier dreams in a lost sorry battle.

Fallen teen-torn blood spills from a 7.62 millimetre hole.
My slim body sent care of Kalashnikov and
with impartial human target remembrance,
bullet boy expires with diamond-fixed glory.

© Rob Fletcher. All rights reserved.

Author’s Comments:
“Death and life were not
Till man made up the whole
Made lock, stock, and barrel
Out of his bitter soul.”

-WB Yeats.

“Son, the only thing that guns are good for is making holes in things.”

-Eric Fletcher.
1921-1989.