In Honor of the Lakewood Fallen

 For The Families

  For the Families of the Lakewood Four

 
It was a long, bitterly cold day. Our mournful spirits were tempered by our warm reminisces, as most of us had met before. New faces had traveled from as far away as Indiana to join our mission: about fifteen indicated this was their first time as members of the Patriot Guard Riders.

As I had prepared for today, various family members had politely asked where I was going to be, if there was a chance the flag lines we were standing would be caught by the media.
I had joked with them: “Sure, I’ll be the one in black leather, holding a flag.

That was yesterday; today jokes were few and far between.

The day had encompassed the widest diversity of emotional experiences. 
Now, we were all bordering on exhaustion and eager to get warmed up, thawed out, and on towards the places we call home.

I thought back to the morning’s procession: 

A stoic, respectful flag line that I had been proud to be included in. 

Seven layers of clothing topped by leathers, with chemical hand and foot warmers had been barely enough to keep the frigid teen temperatures at bay, as I stood beside my brother and sister patriots. 
We stood proud for the three brothers and sister we had lost. 

While standing at attention, watching the cold air I had just previously expelled; I steadied myself as the hearses and family cars came into my peripheral view.

Keeping my head forward, to my right I noticed that each car was being met by officers and walked in up to the Tacoma Dome.

Officer Tina Griswold’s hearse came to a stop for what seemed like an eternity directly in front of me.

My heavily gloved hands held tight to the metal flag pole assuring myself that I was holding the flag at the proper height, quick to busy my mind with anything else but the memory that was eating it’s way through my brain.

I wasn’t her friend. I was simply one member of the public she enthusiastically had served.

The final time my eyes had met her’s was just this past September 11th.

September 11, 2009. I was a member of an escort to accompany a group of Strykers as they deployed….again.

 When the bike that I was riding as a passenger gently took a left turn to follow our small procession, she was standing in front of her squad car blocking traffic for us. Our eyes met, I smiled and gave her a big “thumbs up”….

She had returned my smile and waved. That memory I treasure.

November 29, 2009 was the day the four of them lost their lives: assassinated, in a coffee shop while beginning their day. 

While standing at attention out of respect for all four of our fallen heroes; tears silently flowed down my cheeks.

My chin quivering the slightest bit; it was the hardest I have ever cried without moving a muscle. The tears I wanted to evaporate, instead froze as they fell onto my leathers for all to see.

The day had included moments of comic relief. 

Friends shared good time stories of riding and families, mishaps, as well as tales from the ride to "get coffee" only two days prior:

The ride to get coffee was actually an unofficial (not PGR) ride for the fallen four. 
We had each donned the electrical gear necessary to ride our various makes of motorcycles in the 9 degree December weather. I rode a 2002 Harley Low Rider, my electric vest and gloves, plugged in to the battery ponytail that stuck out from under the seat from Olympia.

Less than 20 bikes made that journey. 

Our ride stopped at the Lakewood Police Department to drop off the donations we had collected from each other that morning.

Even though the donations we were giving, were more than the box could have held; a rookie officer, not understanding the deep relationship between the Washington State PGR and Lakewood Police Department, had fearfully hid the donation box inside when we parked our bikes to pay our respects at the memorial.

It seems there is never a shortage of comical misunderstandings when bikers and law enforcement gather together.

We laughed about other peoples’ perceptions and mis-perceptions. 
We laughed at some of our own.

The sun receded behind the hills shortly after we had walked our flags up to the dome. 
We had set ourselves where instructed awaiting further commands, then moved the entire line when corrected. 
While awaiting our duty, we had watched, then joked quietly with, a sniper opposite our section of the flag line as he gave a “one finger salute” to a sheriff’s helicopter that was flying very close. Apparently too close for the sniper's comfort.

We were positioned around the ramp, outside the Tacoma Dome. Directly within our view were the enormous amount of vehicles from law enforcement and fire departments across this country as well as  Canada. The support from around the world, for these heroes, was incredible.

Once the fallen and their loved ones had departed the Tacoma Dome, we were given the orders to assemble as two lines for the several-block walk back to our staging area. 
Gathering orderly into the column, we unintentionally encompassed a small group of Canadian Mounted Police who had curiously wandered close to the flag line as they departed the services . 
I hung back slightly to allow them through the line in front of me.

Me, being me, couldn’t resist saying something. 
Very quietly I stated, “ you are now in the US and you are surrounded by our flags!” 
One “mounty” got my joking nature and answered, “ Just a sec, I think I have something.” 
He reached into his bright red uniform pocket and proceeded to place a beautiful red and gold CMP pin into my heavily gloved hand stating, “you are now Canadian.” 
I tried to answer him, “my grandma was born in Alberta,” but tears choked my words; then he was gone.

I couldn’t feel the pin through two layers of gloves and hand warmers. I kept glancing at it on the walk back down; carefully holding my treasure tight in my numb left hand, as I carefully carried my flag with my right.

We returned to our staging area and stowed our flags in their various proper containers, having been brought from areas around the state. The area was now an eerily quiet dark parking lot. 

The small hamburger joint who’s owner graciously donated his parking, restrooms, hot beverages as well as a warm escape to defrost in and monitor the memorial from his television, was closing.

Distant echoes of emergency vehicles filled the night. 
Only a small corner of the road we had lined with our flags earlier in the day was visible from where we gathered.

We huddled closer together, preparing to be debriefed. 

Our “ride captain” for this mission was someone we knew well, Jim “BikerVet” Dixon. He thanked us for sticking around. 

We still had the majority of our numbers. Only about 30 had to leave before we were finished. As he disseminated various facts and figures of the day, I heard a firm voice from a ride captain behind me: “FAMILY.”

It was immediate. Silence. Turn. Face the street. 
BikerVet hadn’t even had the opportunity to repeat the word "family" before most of us had already turned to face the small corner of light that was 26th, the street where the family cars were traveling.

It would have been disrespectful to face the opposite direction. 
Nearly a hundred of us that remained, turned and stood gently at attention as the procession receded. 
My eyes glanced without moving my head, towards my right where I had previously noticed hands raised signifying this was their first mission. They got it.

Standing in the frigid black night, such profound silence struck me:  So still. Where just moments before the thumping of heavy gloved hands clapping as well as hushed sounds of light laughter and conversation had prevailed.

The silence in that dark corner reminded me of the significance of our actions that day, and every day that we gather. 
The reason why we as a group "The Patriot Guard Riders" exist. 
Respect, decorum, honor, courtesy, reverence and propriety. 
These are the only things we can offer the families. We owe them so much more.

In retrospect, I know in my heart no one in the vehicles that passed us could have seen, or even noticed our group standing for them in that dark corner lot as they passed. However, for any member of this proud group of patriots to be accused of “turning their back on a grieving family,” literally or figuratively would have felt reprehensible.

The families, the loved ones, the “left behind” are why the Patriot Guard Riders exists.
The families are our obligation.
They have all sacrificed for us, as communities, as a nation, and as a planet.
They are why we ONLY serve when invited by the families. We are here for THEM.
We respect, honor and thank them all for their painful sacrifices. We are forever in their debt.

It was the LEAST we could do.

Love and Lighte.

Wikipededia article on Lakewood Four: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lakewood,_Washington_police_officer_shooting

To learn more about the Patriot Guard Riders:  http://www.patriotguard.org/

To donate to the families of the Lakewood Four: http://www.lakewoodofficercharity.com/our-funds/fallen-officers-fund/

Euphoria

Merriam-Webster's online dictionary entry for "euphoria" is thus:

eu·pho·ria noun \yü-ˈfȯr-ē-ə\

: a feeling of well-being or elation

Synonyms: cloud nine, elatedness, elation, ecstasy, exhilaration, heaven, high, intoxication, paradise, rapture, rhapsody, seventh heaven, swoon, transport

Antonyms: depression

Stedman's Medical Dictionary defines euphoria as:

1. A feeling of well-being, commonly exaggerated and not necessarily well founded.

2. The pleasure state induced by a drug or substance of abuse.

The definition I, perhaps, like the most....comes from the Merriam-Webster's student dictionary:

Main Entry: eu·pho·ria

Function: noun

: a strong feeling of happiness

Happiness.

I seem to recall a document that was required reading in school with that term in it...said something like "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. "

Happiness. Euphoria.

Is it only to be pursued; never achieved?

In the case of Marijuana or "Medical Cannabis"; it is a controversial "side-effect." The "pleasure state" as in the second medical definition quoted above.

"Controversial" due to the fact that it is THAT particular effect that leads to so many judgments in regards to the use of cannabis, be it recreationally, medically or spiritually.

Let us assure ourselves as a society that this side effect is limited to only those "deserving!" Really? What does that mean? Who is to judge who has lived a "good enough" life to be allowed to legally experience euphoria, happiness, when they desire?

Perhaps a cancer patient who has fought a long, valiant and brave fight, yet is loosing?

If that patient is a child, dare we allow their innocence to be touched, their mind opened? Many would say no, even if that child was dying.

I am a huge proponent behind the research into other cannabinoids besides delta-9-THC. The cannabinoid with some of the most EXCITING research currently in regards to autism, aspergers, PTSD, depression, cancers, ADD & ADHD; is cannabidiol, or CBD.

An unfortunate side-effect of the excitement surrounding the research into CBD, is the vilification of delta-9-THC Due to the single fact that it can lead to "euphoria"!!!

The reason this is "unfortunate," is the more research is being explored, the more we are learning that ALL the various components of the plant cannabis sativa work in concert with one another, to interact within the human endocannabinoid system to regain homeostasis, or balance and health.

To take a solitary component of this plant and label it "bad," is to loose the message of healing entirely.

Let's go back to delta-9-THC for a moment though.... In our pursuit of balance.

In 2004, Dr. Ester Fride, an Israeli scientist, showed us that a newborn mammal can NOT suckle and SURVIVE without a functioning cannabinoid messaging system. Bred to lack CB1 receptors and unable to suckle at birth, when injected with THC, the mice were able to suckle and develop normally.

So....In spite of the fact this substance is REQUIRED by mammals, the side effect "euphoria" is a reason to withhold treatment to children?! Why?

Because our Judeo-Christian so-called "values" say that euphoria is wrong? So we should allow CHILDREN to suffer and DIE because for them to experience euphoria would be "morally wrong?!" Wow.

I am disgusted with the perception that FEELING GOOD is inherently BAD!!
If a person enjoys pleasure, they can be labeled a "hedonist," as an insult. Feeling good is "wrong," didn't anyone ever get that message into you?!

Seriously people, there is enough physical, psychological and emotional pain out there for all of us to share in. MORE than enough.

If those of use who awaken with physical pain on a daily basis....well, speaking JUST for myself, if I can manage to attain BIT of euphoria for an hour...maybe two, I consider that "pursuit of happiness" part of my rights as a human being.

Euphoria, indeed.

Relief, reLEAF, in FACT.


Spread enLIGHTEnment with EDUCATION.

Love and Lighte.



(writers note: this blog was picked up by "Toke of the Town" shortly after it was posted. 
http://www.tokeofthetown.com/2012/09/medical_marijuana_whats_wrong_with_euphoria_anyway.php)

Gramma Maggie 420: This Woman & Her Vote

Cannabis activism is very new to me.
I have been a patient for the past 7 years.
I have understood what cannabis really is, and have been an actively promoting it’s use, and legalization, for only the last two years.


Standing up for my beliefs, is not new to me. Throughout my adult life; I have marched in "gay pride" marches, sat on the board of directors of an alternative high school, talked to city councils about adding youth recreation alternatives, volunteered for many organizations while raising my children (three, now in their 20s), and I have done my very best to be a conscientious voter.

My grandmother was born in 1919. She and my grandfather both believed very strongly in understanding the responsibility that comes along with the right to vote. “We (women) haven’t had the RIGHT long enough to take it for granted,” she said.

In her house, it was widely known by the barbed jokes that flew across the house come autumn; that her and my grandpa “cancelled each others vote.” But to NOT vote, was NOT acceptable!

I agree with grandma. One of my proudest achievements during the past two weekends; was the fact that I personally registered 4 new voters.  (I also made certain my OWN voters registration was up to date with my address change.)

These last few weeks I have had the opportunity to educate myself further about the initiatives that are on the ballot this year.
I have also had the chance to debate one in particular, I-502.

Steve Elliott, of "The Little Black Book of Marijuana" was quoted in L.A. Times, "I never in a million years imagined myself to be on a stage advocating against the passage of a marijuana legalization law."

I ALSO would have NEVER imagined myself to be telling people to vote AGAINST a “marijuana legalization law.” Even before I understood that cannabis was a CURE, not just a palliative measure; I would never be behind a measure that would promote jailing someone for using marijuana. 

I-502 is NOT a good law. As I have been “yelling from the rooftops,” "FIVE ZERO BOOOOO!!!!"

When I read the text of the initiative, I didn't get past the first page without a flashback to a memo I have in my possession from Governor Gregoire stating that she could not conscientiously enact a law which would put state workers at risk of federal prosecution for their duties as state employees.

On April 29, 2011, she forwarded a message to her staff and the Washington State Dept of Health stating that, at that point, she was not comfortable putting her work force in the position of being left out to dry where it came to being criminally and civilly liable under federal law for actions required of their position in state government.

As a former state worker, I applaud her decision to do her research and to support medical marijuana while attempting to legalize it on a federal basis and doing her best to protect those who work for the public.

It unjustly penalizes our youngest patients. It unjustly penalizes our young adults period. Driving is a privilege, yes. One I can’t imagine denying an 18 year old cancer patient, just because she smoked a joint yesterday. I can’t even imagine telling a 20 year old crohnes patient that he couldn’t drive to work, after eating an edible the night before.  It isn’t right. It isn’t okay. If ONE person is jailed under 502, it is too many.


When the federal government re-penalizes our young people by prohibiting anyone with a "drug" conviction to receive federal financial aid for college; enacting a measure which would add to that travesty, is barbaric.

As for the FBI doing background checks of any “verified grower:” 

"The state liquor control board may submit the criminal history record information check to the Washington state patrol and to the identification division of the federal bureau of investigation in order that these agencies may search their records for prior arrests and convictions of the individual or individuals who filled out the forms. The state liquor control board shall require fingerprinting of any applicant whose criminal history record information check is submitted to the federal bureau of investigation."

Well, many people who I know that are currently growing some of the best medicine wouldn’t even THINK of  submitting their personal information to the federal government… Just sayin‘.

I believe that the best way to know what is in your food or your medicinal herbs; is to grow them yourself. It is especially important in a supplement that has the incredible wide-ranging effects, as cannabis does; on mind, body and soul.

I-502 would NOT allow “home-grows”.  That ALSO isn’t okay with me.

Do you want to create new ways to penalize cannabis users? If “no”, PLEASE join with me in voting NO on 502!!!!

This girl has read it. But I recommend EVERYONE always read EVERYTHING that they are voting on. Do your research for yourself. KNOW before you VOTE.


Full text of I-502 in PDF format:  http://sos.wa.gov/_assets/elections/initiatives/i502.pdf

A link to the Hempfest I-502 debate from Toke of the Town: Legalization Or Sham? The I-502 Debate at Seattle Hempfest

Sensible Washington's Deconstructing I-502: https://sensiblewashington.org/blog/i502/

Toke of the Town, "An Independent Review of Washington's I-502 Legalization:" http://www.tokeofthetown.com/2012/08/an_independent_review_of_washingtons_i-502_legaliz.php

Patience

Patience.


That one thing that in 45 years, I have never had. 


I have never found patience.


I am impulsive by nature and I enjoy it. 


Other people, not so much. My now ex husband hated it about me. 
I have been told by many that I need to find it. 


Where do I go to find patience?

I have gone into the woods.
I have traveled back and forth across the country. 
I have meditated deep into my soul. 
I found stillness. I found quiet. I found EnLIGHTEnment. 


No Patience.


Some say I have found patients. I know I am a healer.
I seek to be a stronger healer. 
Patients have found me. 


Still, no patience. 


Especially not with patients. 

THAT is something I feel I would like to learn:
Patience with patients. Patience with my self. 


But where, how, when, can I learn to have patience with finding patience to have patience with myself and my patients, NOW!?!?!?!

Grrrr.... patience. 

Suicide & Facebook

When the only person left to talk to, is a person you gave birth to; what kind of a burden do you place on them when your body and mind go through the hell that is chronic pain with prescription pain management?

I have had the honor to be allowed into the world of many young people. I was given this gift AFTER I had already put my own children through a hell I am only beginning to understand.

So many people in this country alone have the challenge of coping with chronic pain on a daily basis to the point that it has unequivocally changed their lives. A large percentage have been forced to stop working at their “normal work environment,” while being treated with prescription opioids, antidepressents then, more times than not, end up applying for disability. 

By this time, the people who you THOUGHT were your friends haven’t spoken to you in months. The only people, who will, came from your own body. Then there come the suicidal thoughts. Increased by the pain, and the medications you are taking to control the pain. But I will talk a bit about me, and my experiences.

When I was talking with one of my young adult friends, she (as MANY before her have) was expressing her frustration at her mother’s pain management by her doctor leading her to experience suicidal ideations. Also that a mom shouldn’t say things like that to her child. I agreed with all my heart, then reluctantly admitted that I have done the same. Not something I have ever been proud of, but I try to be honest. 

Our conversation had led down the road of the effects of chronic pain, and conventional narcotic pain management, on our families.  I began thinking about how I have managed to not only stay alive, but started to WANT to live, since Facebook came into my life.

First, a bit about suicide and my life: I have never been private about how it has affected my life, if you know me personally, but I guess I have never really written about it. It is time for me to do just that. 

I grew up with the knowledge that my father’s father had killed himself. He was someone that wasn’t talked about, although I remember hearing the story out of my father’s mouth on several occasions about the act itself. I also remember both of my parents stating that my brother would have been named George if he would have been the kind of person you named a child after. 

For the record, my grandfather, George, was injured by the butt of a rifle in the back of his head in battle in World War II; and due to the deplorable and archaic types of medicine practiced on our vets, was in and out of mental hospitals for that injury.

When my father was 5, my aunt 3, my grandfather gave my father his watch, closed the door to his office, and removed the offending object by shooting himself in the head.

Suicide first crossed my mind when I was only 13. By the age of 15 I had attempted to kill myself a hand-ful of times. The issues I have had with my own mental health have haunted me all my life, I will admit this freely. I am a multiple rape survivor having been abused from a very young age by both my father and my stepfather. I have challenges both physically and emotionally. Who doesn’t?

My savior was my grandmother; Margaret Ellen. I am her namesake. She was a woman anyone would name a baby after. I was that baby. Tomorrow would have been her birthday, but lung cancer took her from this world 19 years ago. One year after her passing, I was in the hospital with a suicide attempt while on antidepressants.

Daily, I wish that I could go back in time and make her a brownie. Her last words to my grandpa when he tried to kiss her were, “don’t, please, it hurts. Everything hurts.”  While on morphine, dying of lung cancer.

In the summer of 2000, I was given the news that my father’s body was found shortly after my birthday the previous year, after he had killed himself by the side of the road.

I had ceased all communication with my father 16 years prior, upon becoming a parent myself. I felt a need to protect my children from him, even before I regained memories of the abuse I sustained at his hands. His widow discussed with me at lengths, his obsession with me, culminating in his suicide after my birthday.

Suicide has touched my life constantly. It is time I came out of the proverbial “closet” about it. From my first love, Vic, who hung himself after discovering I got married, to the young friend and babysitter of my sons who committed suicide in his truck only a few hours after I gave him a hug in the local gas station.

Suicide. I can’t count the numbers of times I have wanted to leave this earth. The number of times I have expressed that to my children, when they were the only people left that loved me enough to care to keep listening; embarrasses me. Being on prescription antidepressants most of my adult life before being prescribed pain medication, left my mind in a haze for most of their childhoods. I wasn’t me.

Before Facebook, I had been confined to bed for about 5 years, on and off, due to chronic pelvic pain and digestive issues which had required several surgeries.

I had been able to work until 2002 (with the exception of months off due to surgeries and the recoveries thereof). In 2002, I was being prescribed 120 vicodin 7.7/750s as well as 25mcg fentanyl patch. I could not get out of bed.

By 2009, before enduring sudden withdrawls, only using cannabis for the symptoms, I was on Percocet & fentanyl had been raised to 100mcg for a year. Not controlling any pain at this point, but keeping withdrawls at bay. I prayed nightly that I wouldn’t awaken the next morning. But every night I would awaken, turn on my phone…and my friends were there to “snap me out of it.” I could do this.

When my daughter (my youngest child) was home from her first quarter at the University of Washington for holiday break, she and I set upon creating me a Facebook account. Being a computer programmer and an interested mom, I had previously followed my children to MySpace, so I figured this was not much different. I had no idea that it would LITERALLY save my life.

The first time I “friended” a stranger, I had no idea that those would be the people who I keep me alive from day to day until I was able to find a way out of prescription drug hell.

Every night, the pain was at it’s worse in the dark, but on my tiny phone screen, my friends were awake somewhere. The opioids had their way with my mind, making the pain sensations worse, attempting to feed the drugs’ hold on my brain. I screamed out, in my sarcastic, or not so sarcastic, tone. 

I was ANGRY at the world! It FUCKED me up! I felt the need to scream that out.

And they heard. My world expanded from 4 “stranger friends” to a few thousand. Every now and then I shout a bit more… some leave, some come back. 

My Facebook friends have called 911 when my withdrawals had my blood pressure down to 55/30, while my then husband, unknowingly, opened the door to the paramedics before he noticed I was passed out. 

They have been there EVERY time I needed to be reminded that I have a purpose in life.

I love them all.  And I am pretty certain my children are very relieved I now have someone else to talk to. 

Sending Love and Lighte to every last one of you!!!

Who am I May 2012

I am a 45 year old divorced grandma. I began writing while in college the FIRST time, at the age of 20. It was deemed a “hobby,” since I had children to support. I have recently rediscovered my “voice” while writing on Facebook. My Facebook friends (all 10,000+) are my daily inspiration!!!

A self-described biker, as well as a legal cannabis patient in my home state of Washington; I had been married 22 years, before leaving my husband 2 years ago.

In 2009 I found the strength to put my body through the hell that is opioid withdrawl. My physicians had been prescribing me pharmaceutical pain medications for over 7 years which eventually isolated me to my bed for 5 of those years. When I began learning about the medicinal properties of cannabis, I had been on 100 mcg of Fentanyl for over a year.

It took over six months to get over the withdrawls, about 6 weeks of that was acute withdrawl.  I am still working on rebuilding my health. The more I learn how to restore and maintain a healthy body through many methods, including the use of cannabis, the better I feel about life.  LIVE/LOVE/LIGHTE as my friend Keith would say.

I am presently on a mission to continue my research about cannabis while disseminating the information I discover  regarding that genus and it's uses as Industrial Hemp, Medical Marijuana as well as a Holy Sacrament, to as many people as I can reach.

Music leads my soul… I gave birth to 3 children, all currently musicians in their twenties.

My oldest son, recently signed to Platinum Trini Entertainment, has named himself, Menace Demarco. I actively encourage anyone I know who is interested in his genre (hip-hop, cannabis concentric) to look him up on Facebook & ReverbNation.

My other two children are private people who I do my best to respect. I also have 3 grandchildren.
My grandson, who was born 10 days before I turned 40 who is my life’s inspiration! I also have twin grand daughters who I didn’t have the chance to meet until they were almost 2 years old.  


On April 1, 2011, my constant companion and part-time service animal, Athena Brooke was born to friends I was staying with. She has been a part of my life since that date and has been traveling the country with me since she was only 7 weeks old.
She looks like a black lab but is half chocolate lab and half blue pit bull.

I am a patriot. Having been a member of the Washington State Patriot Guard Riders as well as ABATE; I am currently embarrassed by the amount of ignorance that predominates our culture.

My goal is to spread the enLIGHTEnment of education to every person I can touch. I want to assist in rebuilding the COMMUNITY paradigm.

My dream is to build a self-sustainable, hemp-based renewable community (Hemp-based "permaculture").

I would describe myself as a “gypsy hippie.” I enjoy traveling and would love to use a camping van to continue to visit my friends across the world. I love waking up to a different front yard every morning!!

I long to spread LOVE and LIGHTE to the world one person at a time with my own “Maggie Maggic.”

~Love and Lighte~

~Gma Maggic 420~