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Can't Help It, I'm a Geek!
I'm being really honest here, I have a big part of me that is a geek! I don't like war, or bombings in general, or violence but I have this fasination with miltary aircraft. I live near Cal State Long Beach (no, not in a fancy neighborhood, just a regular one), so I get to see the planes fly north of me into the Long Beach airport. Thankfully they fly north of me and not over my house!!

Since Boeing is located there, I get real excited when the C-17's fly in. If I hear them when I'm in the house, I'll run out back just to watch the big dumbo's as the "waddle" through the sky. Brande has promised me that one day she will get me a ride on one. So, this morning, while I was babysitting Riley, I was reading our local paper and they said the big B-1 Bomber was going to land at Long Beach airport at 1pm. When my kids were little, my dad always threw them in his old VW bus (of course there were no seatbelts)and drove them over to the airport to watch the planes land.

So,after I read the B-1 Bomber was flying in, I loaded Riley in my car and off we went. I have a place, by the Auto Club, that I like to park, it is right next to the runway. So, me and Riley parked by all the other geeks, which were mostly old men, but that was okay. I had a big ass plane to show Riley. The B-1 Bombers weight 190,000 pounds! They are all black and really, really loud. Sometimes when they take off, they cause a sonic boom, awesome! So as I sat in the car by the runway anxiously awaiting the arrival of "my plane" Riley played with the steering wheel on my car, turned all the buttons, etc. BUT, she did get excited when JetBlue either landed or took off. On the landings, she would wave "hi", like as in "welcome to Long Beach". On the take offs she would yell, "WoooHooo", which was very cute, I must add. Actually she is very cute!

Time passed, jets landed and took off. Yet, no B-1 Bomber. Then someone had some bad news. It now was suppose to come in between 5pm and 10pm. Riley was still cool about it as we left. Me, I was disappointed. So, I've been out by my pool for awhile this evening waiting for the B-1 to arrive. It's now almost 9pm and it still isn't here!! What's worse, its dark and I probably can't see it now, only here it, that is if it ever does get here! What's with the Air Force, can't they make us geeks happy by being on time!

Summer At Country Roads
When Mom is working in the garden and watering on a great June day, and its summer, what better way to pass the time than a dip in the "pool"! In this case, Yesi decided her daughter Josalyn could spend some time in a Country Roads type pool...totally country!! It was just one of those great summer days here in SoCal. The best part about little kids is it just takes so little to make them happy. Josalyn turned three years old yesterday. Where does the time go so quickly. So, after Josalyn was done playing in her own private "pool", what better way to end the day than to have a nice, cold "Lunchable" from Rod's! And being the polite, little kid that she is, Josalyn even offered to share her lunch with me. So as she sat in the middle of the Annie's Annuals perfectly happy and content, eating her lunch,and when I glanced over at the empty pool,it reminded me why I love kids, Summer and Country Roads. Its the small stuff that is special, that holds memories in my heart. Seeing the smile on Josalyn's face and hearing her laughter today made me remember,that's what means the most in life, just the small, every day stuff!! Take the time to notice, your days will be so much fuller. Happy Summer!

Happy Father's Day
That's me and my dad when I was little. We got along pretty good then, mostly because I couldn't talk back to him yet! My dad died on Valentine's Day in 2007 from complications of Alzheimers and missing my mom who passed away five months prior. This is my sister Teri with my dad. She couldn't talk back then either, but she usually didn't anyway. She was more like my mom, she just would walk away rather then scream till her last dying breath like I would! Me and my sister grew up pretty much like the rest of the world at that time. My dad worked for Edison his entire life and there wasn't always a bunch of money left over for the extras but it was a good life. Our vacations were called, "let's go for a ride" which meant usually going to someplace close in the car. This is my dad and us at the old Pier Point Landing in Long Beach, which is still where I live. I still live in Long Beach, not Pier Point Landing, in case you were wondering.After my dad died I learned more about him. He saved and documented everything, and I mean everything! In his WWII scrapbook,he even had a paw print of his platoons dog. Guess that's where we got the love for animals. My dad had a whole scrapbook FILLED with EVERYTHING his grandkids (my three kids) gave him. Photos, notes, and every Christmas card, like this one. His grandkids meant the world to him, and when my son Bryce was born, he was so excited because there was finally a "boy" in his family. And actually, as my son gets older I see more and more of my dad in him. Like when I came home from the store the other night and he was working on furniture in the garage like my dad use to do. My dad had that antique bug like all of us. Bryce had some "miner" kind of light strapped to his head so he could see better while working on a piece of furniture. Yep, he is definately still grandpa's boy! The last ten years of my mom and dad's life was tough, bordering hell for me. As I said before, when you're caught up in the dementia/Alzheimer cycle you never have time to come up for air and understand what's going on. We had to take three cars away from my dad, turn him into the DMV, and finally my sister and I had to move my parents into assisted living. My dad knew he needed to be there, but still hated it none the less. When Katie had Riley, my first grandchild, my mom died four days later. She got to see a picture of Riley, then just let go, it was her time. My dad was never the same,except when he held Riley in his arms And he would always say, "your mom would have loved this baby". One of my friends Leslie once said, "everyone has got a story to tell Sue, you know". So, this is my Father's Day story. It's not about sadness, its about memories, good ones. My dad was an ass, but in a good way if that makes sense. I use to HATE going over to see my dad on Father's day because he would say stuff like, "why did you get me this, I don't need it", or better yet toss the present aside and not open it. Buy hey, that was my dad, the world famous Mr. Moore!! So dad, at least I don't have to get you some dumbass gift this year you'll toss aside or hear you say, "why in the hell did you buy me this, I don't need it"! But instead, I have a lifetime of memories. Thanks, and by the way, I miss you!

The "LONGEST" 15 Minutes Ever!
Riley goes to swim school once a week, for 15 minutes, at this great little place in Seal Beach. Katie had been wanting me to go and watch for awhile now, but I kept making up excuses not to go because I knew Riley cries when she goes and that bothered me! I use to feel sad at different times when my kids cried when they were little, but NOTHING compares to how I feel when Riley cries when she is scared ( I should admit it's more like when she is mad as well). I guess it's been my week. I went to the doctors with Riley on Monday, and I thought I was going to cry when Riley started crying!! It just breaks my heart to see her scared, or hurt, or mad. Okay, back to swim school. Riley needs swimming lessons because I have a pool and we want her to be safe and also everyone wants her to be able to enjoy the water. Katie convinced me to go tonight with them to watch. On the way to the swim lessons, Riley was a bit sleepy in the car and I'm thinking to myself, "this may not be good". Sure enough, once Riley got in the water, I was right! She screamed and cried the WHOLE 15 minutes!! Despite the crying, it's really cool the way they teach the tiny kids to swim. The first thing they learn is when you go under the water, you flip over your back so you can float, thus you keep from drowning. Of course if you were kicking and screaming as loud as Riley was there might be a good chance you would take in some water in the process! All and all, as Riley got to ride on the raft and float back to all of us, and the sun was setting, I was thankful the lesson was over!! But I'm also thankful that I get to be a part of Riley's life in such a big way. I know there are some of you out there that know what I'm talking about, that bond that grasps your heart more than it did with your own kids. And even though the longest 15 minutes ever was tough, I'm grateful that Riley will soon learn to love the water and ocean just as I do!

Memorial Day Memories
I worked all Memorial Day week-end. We had a big sale, which I'm thankful went really well. On Monday, Memorial Day, as I was working that morning I heard something really "loud" flying over the building. As I walked out into the garden, I ran into one of my customers that has shopped at the store since her son, Zach, was a baby and was always with her mom each time she came in. I looked up at the sky again and noticed the WWII Bomber planes flying overhead. My customer told me there was a Memorial Day ceremony at Fairhaven Cementary and she reminded me that her mom was buried there. It reminded me of my ex-husbands gramma that was also buried there, along with Dee-Dee, our first real gardener at Country Roads. The bomber planes circled back around, in what I "think" is called the missing man formation, you know when one plane flies ahead, and the other three fly behind. In a way that I can't really describe in words, there was something very meaningful watching those vintage planes and sharing that with my customer and what it meant to us. It also made my heart ache for all the parents that have lost their sons and daughters in Iraq, in other wars and in the streets of our own country. I just don't understand the violence and death, I never will. I thought a lot about my parents as well. They've both been gone for almost two years now. My dad served in WWII and I still have all his Army stuff he saved, his letters, etc. That's him in the picture and he was always so proud to have served his country. Even with all that said, I still am bothered at the "why" that so many have to die fighting others? Whatever happened to giving peace a chance?

After working three busy sale days at the store, I came home to "my girls". I had gotten some new Adirondack chairs at the store and myself, Brande, Katie, and Riley sat in the front yard as Riley played on her slide and with her bubbles. It was nice, it was peaceful, and I was very grateful that I am able to enjoy my family in such simple ways. Brande taught Riley about "rollie pollies", you know those bugs that roll up into a ball when you pick them up. Riley was fascinated as she held the tiny bugs in her little hands and then gently placed them in her bucket. But the best part is that for some reason, she understood the importance of "life" regardless of how small it might be. Rather than squishing the bugs to death, she gently put them back into the flower beds. In a world filled with violence, the care that Riley took with "life", as corny as it may sound, meant so much to me, especially on Memorial Day.

Katie and her husband bought my parents house after they died a year or so ago. They have been living with me the past four months because they have been doing a huge re-model on the house. Katie had been worried about colors, since the house was almost done and it was time to choose colors for all the rooms. So, after the rollie pollies were put to bed by Riley, we all drove over to their house to meet Vinnie to discuss color. It was nice helping Katie, sharing our thoughts on color. It was also really touching to me since I was brought home to that house as a baby. The magnolia tree my mom and dad planted 50 years ago is still there, but much bigger. Riley was getting fussy, so I took her for a walk as everyone finished up the color choices. We walked down the same street I did at Riley's age. I came across a young woman walking her dog. She shared with me how sweet my dad always was and how much he loved his ragdoll cat. I guess this woman had the same type of cat and my dad always loved to talk about Annie, his favorite ragdoll cat. Here was a stranger I didn't know, reminding me how sweet my dad was and how much he loved his cat. Sounds corny, but its importance to notice those "little" things in life, thats why they happen. When I went to bed last night, I thought about Memorial Day. I felt very blessed to have my family with me, to have the things in life that I do. And as I fell asleep, my wish was for peace. It sounds trite, but there is so much violence in our world right now. Why can't we all just take some time to appreciate the little things in our world. What's wrong with appreciating and respecting "rollie pollies"?

Being A Mom. . . Not Just a Job, an Adventure!
My Mother's Day dinner is kind of described by the picture of Riley, a little loud, a little crazy. I had decided to work on Mother's Day at the store because that is what I like to do. Afterwards, my kids were meeting me at our favorite little restaurant, Mexican Affair. Thankfully, it has a patio since Riley is at the age when its hard to sit still and be quiet.
This year, Riley's cousin, Appolonia, joined us. She is 3-1/2 and could be described as a "free spirit"
Dinner really went okay, considering we were dining with little kids. Bryce has always gotten Riley a balloon each time we go to Mexican Affair. They tie them outside on the patio railing. This time, for some unknown reason, maybe because it was Mother's day, the balloons were gigantic!! Next thing you know, the kids are hitting everyone with the balloons, Appolonia is starting to scream that her balloon is going to fly away. There is no way you can explain to a three year old that a patio cover prevents this!
You know, even with flying balloons, little kids screaming, trying to keep the majority of food on the table rather than the ground, I wouldn't have traded my Mother's Day for anything, including a quiet dinner at a fancy restaurant. My favorite movie of all time is from the 80's, Steve Martin's, "Parenthood". It kind of sums up what families are about, that roller coaster of life. So, as dinner was finished, balloons & kids loaded into carseats, I left with a slight headache, a full stomach, and most importantly, filled with GRATITUDE for having been taken out to dinner on Mother's Day by my kids, and reminded of how much I love each and everyone of them!

After A Year, A Family Again!!

Anyone that knows me well, knows my feelings on the hot topic of immigration. I despise the Minutemen for one, and secondly I think Mexico needs to fix Mexico, where the real problem lies. There is a reason so many people go through such high risks to cross the borders illegally. There, I said it, so you might not want to continue to read this. When I was in college I majored in Sociology and minored in American Studies. I spent a great deal of time on the Cocopah Indian Reservation that is near the Mexican border in Arizona. I saw then the poverty that the little Indian children lived in as I spent a summer living with them. Cardboard houses, dirt floors, no heat and temperatures reaching 115 plus in the summer months. Our country should be ashamed of itself. Prejudice and social injustice disturbs me very much. And now, with the immigration thing being such a popular subject and every Hispanic person, whether born here or not, is often scrutinized because of the color of their skin, I wonder what our country has become? It's sad, it's wrong, and there never seems to be a "face" on those that try to do the right thing and become a US citizen. No one ever talks about families with kids and jobs being ripped apart for over a year as either mom or dad is sent back to Mexico to wait, and wait till they can be re-united with their loved ones here again legally.

One of "my" kids, as I call my extended CR "family", has spent the past year waiting for Victor, her husband, to come home and be with her and their little girl, Josalyn. I've known Yesi since she was nine years old. She use to come in the store and hang around while her older sister Carol worked. I've watched Yesi grow-up into a remarkable, strong young woman, wife, and mother, and one of the most courageous people I know at such a young age. I've seen the tears in her eyes and felt the pain in her heart as Yesi has taken Josalyn back to Mexico to stay with her dad for a few months so she could work more and make up for the lost income in Victor's absence. It isn't easy being so young, and having your family torn apart. But I admire the strength and courage that Victor has shown in his desire to make his stay in this country legal.

After a year, the little family will be re-united next week. Victor is coming home to his wife and baby girl. And as you look at Josalyn's little princess face above, it's nice to know that this Halloween she will be with both her mom and dad as a family again. If I had one wish for the world, it would be for people to see people just as that, "people" who experience the same joys and heartbreaks in life regardless of color, race, sexuality and all the other prejudicial tags that people are labeled with. The love a parent has for a child is the same in any color or same sex relationship. I hope some day our world and those in it will take a step forward and get over themselves and open their hearts to others. The world would be a much more wonderful place to live in. Welcome home Victor, I've missed you!

The Life of Riley
My little grandaughter had quite the day today, lots of new experiences and new things to be discovered. Just as she fell asleep for a nap, I had to wake her up. Her dad and my son, Uncle Bryce, were working on the now famous "re-model" which is a long story for another time! The front porch on the house was finally poured today at Katie & Vinnie's house. They wanted to have Riley's handprints and footprints in the fresh cement on the porch. It would be special memory to have. Vinnie and Bryce were in charge of the above, and me, I drove Riley over to the house and took the pictures.
As you can see, its not always the best idea to wake up a sleepy toddler and put their hands and feet in wet cement. Let's just say it wasn't a "quiet" event, to say the least. And was somewhat of a task for "the boys" to get those prints and then get the wet cement off her hands and feet!!

Riley has always loved to dance. When she was an infant, her and I would spend many of our days together and we always danced! And for some unknown reason, and where it came from I don't even know, but every time I hum the theme song to the old Muppet Show, she starts dancing. What can I say, the kid just loves to dance!! This afternoon, after being put in wet cement, being bitten by one of my cats because she pulled his ears "really" hard, she figured out how to climb up on the coffee table in my bedroom. And off course, what did she do. . . DANCE! Not even two years old and she's already dancin' on tables. Riley was really into the dancing until the tragic moment occured! Nope, she didn't fall of the table, but when she looked down at those dancing feets of hers, she saw her SHADOW!! The faster she danced, that damn shadow kept following her, there was no escaping it. So, being Riley in a crisis, she did what she always does, SCREAM at the top of her lungs. But after a few minutes, even that shadow couldn't stop her from dancing on the table.

You know, little kids are really busy. And in our crazy world, I feel really grateful to have entire days to spend with Riley as she discovers and learns about the little things in life. Like how gross it feels to have wet cement on you, and even if your shadow scares you, never quit dancing!!

When Your Grandpa Dies
A couple of weeks ago, two friends in my Country Roads family that I care a lot about, lost their grandpa’s. They both passed away days within each other. I don’t care how old you are, there is something really tough about losing a grandparent. I was nine years old when my grandpa died. My grandpa and my grandma had gone back to their home state of Missouri to visit relatives. At nine years old, you are able to understand that you won’t see your grandparent anymore, but I’m not sure you grasp the whole concept of “death”. My grandma died when I was 21 years old. And I remember that heartbreak still. I refused to go to her funeral, and instead had driven down to the beach to spend the day grieving in my own way. Below is a picture of me, my grandpa, and my sister Teri. The smiles tell our story!

A couple of Saturdays ago, Brad who works at the store, got a phone call at work that his grandpa had died. He came up to me with tears in his eyes, saying he hated to do this but he needed to leave because his grandpa had died. Brad is huge, being about 6ft 5in, but is like a big teddy bear. It broke my heart to see the pain in his eyes. I remember when my own kids had lost their grandparents (my mom & dad) within months of each other. I sometimes think losing a grandparent, no matter how old you are, is the toughest. There is this special bond between kids and their grandparents.

A couple days later after Brad’s grandpa died, I got an e-mail from Stacey, who is a friend and dealer at the store. Her grandpa had died too. As I read the e-mail I thought about how much Stacey had done for her grandpa in the past few years as his health began to fail him. It reminded me of my own parents and knowing what you go through when bodies and minds starting failing with those you love. There are no words to describe it. Its a day at a time, hoping for the best when there isn't much left to hope for.

Brad told me that he was really going to really miss his grandpa on Labor Day. They always went hunting together on that week-end, every year. Stacey told me about her grandpa, he was a fireman in Santa Ana for 30 years! You always remember the special things your grandparents did for you as you grew up. When I was a kid, I use to spend the night at my grandma’s a lot. Every morning she would always make me oatmeal and chocolate milk for breakfast and I got to sit in front of the tv as I ate it! There is just something really special about our grandparents. Maybe its the unconditional love they give us and just the "time" they always make for us. If you are still lucky enough to have your grandparents around, make some time for time them. After all, their grandchildren mean the world to them! I now know this very well since I'm lucky enough now to experience that love with my own little Riley!

The Perfect Sunday!
Usually I work on Sundays. But today I had a chance to do something I hadn't done in a very long time. This is Bryce's truck as we get ready to unload our "stuff" at the store! And this is only the first load! It's been a really long time since I went out in search of "stuff", meaning my addiction to antiques. I guess life had just kind of gotten in the way of doing something I really love for the past few years. I spent the day with my son, Bryce, which that in itself is something I love to do. We went to a friends house in Chino. Her aunt had died and living on an acre of land and being a pack rat, there was stuff everywhere!! And my friend wanted us to see if there was anything we wanted.

Bryce and I both love architectural stuff. He found these way back of the property, buried in an old shed. I know to most people these wouldn't look like much, but to us, they are awesome. The patina on them, the wear, the shape, they've got it all. They originally were used as part of rain gutters, the top part that mounts to the roof. The yellowish, white one was a corner one, which has different angles on it.

I kept the white rain gutter below. Since Bryce found all the rain gutters and also found a dead rooster too and had threatened to throw it at me but didn't, we agreed he should keep the other two rain gutter pieces. It was amazing how much stuff my friends aunt had saved in her lifetime. There were boxes full of stuff like vintage clothing, hats in their original boxes, tons of Disney stuff, plates, silver, and much more. It reminded me of my parents who died last year, and didn't quite have as much stuff, but did have a life time full of memories as my friends aunt did.

As I was digging through stuff, I found a little, old box taped at the top. When I opened it I found this awesome wedding cake topper in perfect condition. I asked my friend if she knew who it belonged to, and she said it was her aunts. I asked her if she didn't want to take it and told her she "should". She said she had already taken what she wanted so I took it and told her she could come visit it at my house. And to be really honest, I've always wanted to start a collection like this so I guess I'm on my way! Sometimes its the simple, little ways we spend our days and who we spend them that mean the most. I ended my day by having dinner tonight at our favorite family Mexican restaurant in Long Beach with all my family, Mexican Affair. I feel very grateful right now for being able to have one of "those" kind of days today!!

When Do Little Kids Stop Get Killed by "Guns"?
Usually, I try to keep stuff on my blog that is light, happy or about the store and what goes on there. I'm off today, and finally got to sit down this afternoon and read our local paper, the Long Beach Press Telegram. There was an article about a little boy, 11 years old, that was killed while walking with a 20 year old at 10pm at night to get some doughnuts. I ask myself, "why wasn't this child safely sleeping in bed, it was a school night". Then I reminded myself, it is so easy to judge others, especially when you aren't walking in their shoes. The surgeon that tried in vain to save this little boy wrote a column that was published in the Press-Telegram today. It was the middle of the afternoon as I sat in my family room with tears streaming down my face. Tears for the doctor, the little boy and his family, and our world, the way it is now. My oldest daughter, Brande, called me last night. She teaches an after school program in Pasadena. There are many lower income kids there. Brande has them write in their journals, a way to be creative, a way to put your feelings into words. She sadly had to take a journal to the school counselor because a little eight year old boy kept drawing pictures of shooting his little brother. Eight years old, a baby! We've been in Iraq for five years now. My son's friend enlisted at a young age. Last year, while he was in Bagdad, he was messing around in the barracks and accidently shot and killed his commanding officer. Timmy just turned 21 years old, and to me that is still pretty young! Now he is facing life in prison for accidently shooting a friend while serving his country. I remember several years ago he was at my house helping his two older brothers and my son move a big display cabinet into my kitchen. I guess we never know what the future holds. I don't get it, the violence that is. Guns kill people, its that simple. But I guess its not simple enough to try and regulate "guns" just a little bit better. Anyway, the article I've been talking about is posted below. As gut wrenching it is, it is worth reading! There's got to be a better way for our kids to grow-up. They are still kids, babies, no matter what color and are "entitled" to their childhoods!

A heart that can't be mended
By Dr. Mauricio Heilbron Jr.
Article Launched: 03/17/2008 07:43:57 PM PDT

An 11-year-old boy was killed and a 20-year-old man was wounded in an apparent gang-related shooting in Long Beach Sunday night. The shooting occurred in the 2000 block of East 15th Street about 10 p.m. The victims were standing in front of a residence when they were approached by two suspects, police said. The 11-year-old and the 20-year-old did not appear to be related. Jose Luis Garcia Bailey, 11, was struck in the upper torso in the ensuing gunfire and declared dead at a hospital. The man was struck in the lower torso and is expected to live.
- News report posted on presstelegram.com

By Dr. Mauricio Heilbron Jr.
I just finished sewing up a dead boy.

I pronounced him dead at 10:34 p.m. Sunday. It's now 11:27 p.m. I know I won't be able to get to sleep for a long time. I feel like I shouldn't.

I'm a trauma surgeon at St. Mary Medical Center in Long Beach. I was sulking in my call room on Palm Sunday because I missed yet another important moment in my 5-year-old son's life. A tarantula crawled all over him at his best friend's birthday party, and my wife had e-mailed me a glorious photo of this big, hairy arachnid on my son's face. The phone rings, and I am summoned to the ER for a "gunshot wound to the chest." That's bad, but around these parts, sadly not a surprise. Then the ER secretary adds, "... in a 12-year-old." That changes things a bit. As I hurry down to the Emergency Department, I play out several horrific scenarios in my head - a mental exercise in preparation for what certainly was to be a difficult situation.
I arrive to a room filled to capacity with doctors, nurses, techs, volunteers, firemen, policemen and paramedics. The strictly medical people are swarming around an impossibly small figure, in a flurry of needle sticks in search of a vein, monitor-pad placement in search of a vital sign, stethoscopes vainly searching for a breath sound or a heartbeat. The non-medical personnel had formed a concerned and curious peanut gallery. One ER doctor blurts out the important points, "GSW to the chest, pulses in the field but ... ," while another ER doctor is prepping this small chest for an ER thoracotomy. In English, an "ER thoracotomy" is where you flay open a chest in a soon-to-be-dead patient, in the hopes of finding a hole you can quickly but temporarily fix. Once that is done, it gives you a chance to give the patient necessary things like blood and IV fluids (where they now will not simply flow out of those repaired holes), and get him to the OR so you can fix him properly. It is the trauma surgery equivalent of a Hail Mary football pass. This is not a "difficult situation"; this is a nightmare.

The ER doctor hands me the knife, as if to say, "Here. It's yours." I think the kid is dead, or if not dead, then he certainly is "unsalvageable," which is a horrible word to use for a human being. I don't think he's fixable. However, if he is to have any hope of survival, the only way to save him is to crack him open and try to plug up the holes. Cracking open an 11-year-old boy (he was two months shy of his 12th birthday) is going to tear my own heart in half, I think to myself, but this is part of what I do, so I slip the gloves on and take the knife.

There is precious little skin to cut through, and I'm in the chest in a few seconds. His chest cavity is filled with blood, which spills out of his chest like a macabre waterfall to the floor. There's a shredded tear in his lung, and a big, ragged hole in his heart. All the IV fluids that my associates are pouring into the patient are flowing out this hole and on to my shoes. I put my finger in this hole - such a big hole in such a small heart - but blood and fluids still flow unfettered. My other hand finds another, larger hole on the other side of his heart. My fingers touch. His heart is empty. Mine breaks.


The boy's family is brought in while I am bathed in his blood, as "studies have shown" that this is better for everyone involved, to be present as the end nears. I scramble for a way to just stop the bleeding. I just want it to stop. It's spilling over my hands on to the gurney. His mother is begging me to do what I can. I know I can't do anything. She tells me to take her heart, and give it to him. I know that's not possible, and she knows that's not possible, but she could not be more serious. The first ER doc is sitting alongside the mom, gently telling her that we've done everything we can do. His mother looks at me. My hands are still in the boy's chest, trying to do something, anything. In her eyes, I see a soul that I am about to crush with a little nod of my head. I do so.

As the howl of unimaginable grief shakes the entire ER, I am filled with anger. Why do we still sell guns in this country? What is this child doing on the streets after 10 o'clock at night? Why are we killing our innocent young soldiers overseas, and ignoring the merciless gangbangers - terrorists in their own right - that are invading ourstreets here at home? I try to put these thoughts away, because now, in front of his family, I have to sew him up. I have to close this huge gash in his left side, that I made. I place the first stitch, and as I'm tying the knot, I look at the boy's face. He's small for 11, not that much bigger than my son Ben. All the adrenaline is gone. My shoulders sag. I feel myself start to cry, and I know that I can't stop it. I have no way of hiding because literally everybody is looking at me, including his mother, and my hands are busy, so I can't wipe the tears away. I make eye contact with the mom, and whisper "I'm sorry." I finish closing his chest up, and shuffle off to the sink to wash this child's blood off my arms.


In the doctor's area, I start filling out the pointless paperwork. Several nurses and doctors come over to offer encouraging words, or a consoling hand on the shoulder. I want to quit. I don't want to do this anymore. I want to quit because that means I can go home. When I go home, I can quietly open the door to my son's room, and sit on the floor right next to his bed. I'll watch him sleep, that blissful sleep only found in young children. I'll watch him for hours, and tell myself how lucky I am to have him in my life. I want my son to put my heart back together.

But I can't go home, as I'm on call until 8 a.m. I can't quit. Tomorrow I have patients, surgeries, rounds - the usual stuff. Hopefully, I'll be home for dinner. When I come through the door, I'll hear his cheerful yell of "Daddy!" and he'll jump into my arms. He will in all likelihood never know how much that moment means to me, but it is precisely that resuscitative energy that will restore me. To keep coming back to this sort of work.

I will sneak into his room after he falls asleep. I'll give him an extra kiss good night. And then, just maybe, I'll close my eyes.

Dr. Mauricio Heilbron Jr. is chief of surgery at Little Company of Mary Hospital in San Pedro and a trauma surgeon at St. Mary Medical Center in Long Beach.

Ginny KNOWS Country Primitives
We have this dealer at the store, Ginny DeRosa. When I first met her, she had walked into Country Roads one morning looking for space. We usually never have space, but I thought we possibly were going to have an opening the following months. THEN, she pulled out photos, and it truly was a OMG moment!

When you look at the photos of her spaces, it doesn't even come close to what she really has in there. You see, Ginny also has this talent of getting a tremendous amount of merchandise in small areas! But nonetheless, its all great stuff!

The above "Funeral" sign didn't last long. It has this awesome gold-leaf lettering for a funeral business on old, thick, glass. I collect old signs, so you can guess why this great piece is no longer in the store! It was love at first sight for me.

Don't forget, and as you can see from the small sampling of photos, Country Roads has never lost the "Country" in the "Roads"!! And added bonus, we have great prices to match great stuff.

Happy St. Patricks Day!

As many of you already know, Old Towne Orange has a lot of local “color”. And because today is St. Patrick’s Day, I thought I would share with you what we saw early this morning. In the above picture (which isn’t the best picture) is an elderly man dressed as a leprechaun. And as you can see by his outfit, there is no denying that it is truly St. Patrick’s Day. The best part was that before I took this picture, he was leaving Rod’s Liquor, with a big bottle of booze and his walker. The little leprechaun was ready to start his own St. Patty’s day celebration before lunch, or maybe “with” lunch and some corned beef. Just one of the reasons why I love working in Old Towne Orange. Happy St. Patty’s Day to you all.

Country Roads. . . "always your favorite, never the same"
Yesterday while I was at work, I decided to walk around the store and take a bunch of pictures. I think sometimes I “visualize” how Country Roads really looks through pictures. I know that probably doesn’t make sense, but I think I take for granite sometimes how really awesome the store is and what we have to offer our customers. Many people remember back in the beginning when we opened our “door” that January 2nd 1993, we were primarily country. Somewhere along our journey, we’ve added a little bit of this, a little bit of that which makes me happy. And I admit that I am bragging that our prices are pretty affordable as well! Our displays our great, both inside and out, and if you copy & paste this link below,(it "should")have a little slide show to share with you. If you haven’t been in lately, you may want to stop by! And don’t forget to join us on Easter Sunday, March 23rd, from 10am – 3pm. We’re having another awesome sale you won’t want to miss. I hope you enjoy the slideshow!!
www.flickr.com/photos/susandulane/sets/72157604082217761

Max and Ruby

A Regular House in a Regular Neighborhood

Jack Johnson

Happy Birthday Mom!

New Years Resolutions

Wide Open Spaces