Important Announcement

Be it known to all persons that any and all decisions from this point forward shall be made by proclamation according to the mystical powers of the Magic 8-Ball. That way I have someone else to blame when everything blows up in my face.

Thank you.

Teacher Home Visit? SHIT!

Oh my God. Somebody fucking help me! I got a message from LD's preschool teacher today that she'd like to schedule a home visit this week. THIS WEEK! As the message sank into my busy brain, I scanned my kitchen. All that came to mind was this:

I have been so stupid busy with stuff that my house is in desperate need of a TOTAL FUCKING MAKEOVER! Grab your mops and hike over. STAT!

Also: I had a great training run last night, so I celebrated by dancing my ass off to Milkshake by Kelis. Get up in your cubicles, your dirty showers - whatev. GO AHEAD, LADIES! Web shout to SALY! (Wish I could have posted the video here, but alas, there is no embed code.)

I'm off to defunk my house!

She Teaches Me

Life is not always pretty. Being a grown-up isn't easy. Making hard choices sucks. Trying to be the woman I want my daughter to emulate is a challenge. Sometimes, though, she is the one teaching me.

Last week was a little rocky for me. So many things in my life are changing that I get dizzy just thinking about it all. Occasionally, I become overwhelmed. She's the one that gets me through.

I was crying pretty hard after a rough afternoon. Little Diva approached me quietly and calmly with little soft steps and concern on her face.

"Mommy, why are you crying?"

How should I answer a question like that to a three-year-old? I wiped my face with a kleenex and pulled her onto my lap. We talked about how it's okay to cry because sometimes we just get so much built up inside that we have to let it out. We talked about how she cries when she's scared and sad, and sometimes mommies feel those things, too. We talked about how it's okay to feel all of these things, and that it's perfectly fine to cry.

She sat quietly for a moment. I could see in her eyes that she was thinking pretty hard. And then she blessed me in a way only a child can. She took my face in her chubby little preschool hands, looked me in the eyes, and said, "I love you, Mommy."

"I love you, too, boo," I said.

She gave me a sweet little kiss and said, "You're going to be just fine. We're going to be okay."

Yes, we are, boo. Yes, we are.


*************************************
In the Celtic tradition - a tradition from which I derive much of my philosophy - there are no words for "hello" and "goodbye." Each meeting and parting of souls is framed with blessing. Because I have been so blessed by Little Diva, I in turn offer a blessing for all of you and yours. It's a song called "The Blessing" that I sing to LD. Here's wishing you the warmth and wisdom of preschool hands upon your face...


"The Blessing"

In the morning when you rise
I bless the sun, I bless the skies
I bless your lips, I bless your eyes
My blessing goes with you

In the nighttime when you sleep
Oh I bless you while a watch I keep
As you lie in slumber deep
My blessing goes with you

This is my prayer for you
There for you, ever true
Each, every day for you
In everything you do

And when you come to me
And hold me close to you
I bless you
And you bless me, too

When your weary heart is tired
If the world would leave you uninspired
When nothing more of love's desired
My blessing goes with you

When the storms of life are strong
When you're wounded, when you don't belong
When you no longer hear my song
My blessing goes with you

This is my prayer for you
There for you, ever true
Each, every day for you
In everything you do

And when you come to me
And hold me close to you
I bless you
And you bless me, too

I bless you
And you bless me, too

Funny Shit

There is nothing funnier than people falling down. They glued this bastard's flip flops to the floor. Enjoy, fuckers!

"Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you walk into an open sewer and die." - Mel Brooks

Random Thought At Starbucks

I realized while in line for my chai today that Starbucks probably spent more money on tongs so they could put bananas in smoothies than the amount of money I paid for my house.

SBUX Pres: Hello, Target? Yeah, I need tongs.

Target Customer Service: How many, sir?

SBUX: Let's see. Well, I guess 15,011 pairs.

Target: Okay, sir. Is that all?

SBUX: Actually, make that double. Some jackass will undoubtedly drop them on the floor. So let's go with 2 pairs for every store.

Target: Okay. That's 30,022 pairs at $6.99 per pair with your volume discount?

SBUX: Sure.

Target: Your total is $209,853.78 plus shipping. Anything else?

SBUX: Yes! Can I return 1200 of those if I have the receipt?

Target: Certainly. As long as it's within 90 days.

SBUX: Perfect.

I Don't Mess Around

OK, so Landlocked Media, LLC's street team division is up and running. With college about to come back from summer break, I'll be recruiting. And since pix are worth a thousand words, here you go. I give you "2 Legit 2 Quit."

This is where handling multi-million dollar accounts in my pre-motherhood life will come in handy. Paperwork is filed, bank accounts opened, contacts being made. Here we go, y'all. Let's make a little magic.

Also, since this is actually a mom blog, here is a pic of Little Diva painting our back patio doors. Hey, when Mom has a good creative day, LD is allowed one, too. BONUS: J Dizzle flipped out. FUSSYPANTS!

MESSY IS FUN!

Then and Now: Pictorial Version 2.0

I've written this post several times. This is a difficult one for me because it is so intensely personal. The last one I had posted was REALLY long and drawn out. What y'all really want to see is what I look like having lost 40 pounds in under 12 months without committing to some diet. So I'm going to do that in a second. But first...

Weight is a subject we just aren't honest about, are we? But, bloggerdom, we need to be. There are so many things I'd like to say about this transformation, but I have one simple take-home message for all of you. For me, this transformation was completely mental. I did not get into running to change the way I looked on the outside. I started running - which began as walking - for the renewal of the spirit inside of me that wanted to be at peace again. All the weight I had gained since 2003 (I was pretty average up until then in my teen and young adult years) was the result of a ton of commotion, stress, and upheaval in my life, as many of us have in our twenties. Running has become my solace, my solitude - the place where I am most in touch with my soul. (A little Zen, anyone?)

The bottom line: Transformation is about the mind-body-spirit connection. If you'd like me to talk about that in a post, I'd be happy to do it. Just holla.

Anyway, without further ado, I bring you THE TRANSFORMATION:

Above: This one is making me cry because I know how I felt about my life. Last June. Me, on the left. Fat and happy? Bullshit.

Below: This one is making me cry because I can't believe how far I've come. 450 miles (and a whole reborn soul) later.

My doctor tells me that I have 14 pounds left to kick. At the most.

Will I ever go back? Hell no. I can't.

Questions? Ask anything, even my uber-personal stats. I'll give you whatever you want if it will get you thinking about dealing with your own issues. Someone dear to me was my inspiration. I'd be honored to be yours.

Peace.

Fat Girl Slim

OK. I'll probably get a shit-ton of hatemail from the politically correct set, but fuck that. Momma's feelin' great today. Girls, it's been just under one year, and here are the stats:

* 40 pounds down
* approx 450 miles run
* currently averaging a 12 minute mile
* running 5K a day
* signing up for the Nike Human Race 10K on 8/31/08
* sassiness restored
* spirit renewed
* running for the y'chi, baby

And since I'm feeling extra sassy and Tessie got me started with the quotes, here's mine:

"What do you know about game? I got ALL the game."

If I can get up the guts, maybe you'd like to see some then/now pix. But you'll have to comment/e-mail me and beg, because it's a pretty difficult thing for me to look at myself in those before pix.

Got to go hit another 5. Peace, y'all.

Let's Get It Started In Here

Hey, y'all! Well, I've been talking with Kerlin, the editor at Hip Mama, and the summer edition that includes my work is at the printer. Stay tuned, and I'll let you know when you can head over and order a copy if you'd like.

Also, I've started building the web zine (so far it's just a starter page that's live) and the Landlocked Media, LLC paperwork is being filed as we speak. Can you believe this shit? I've got some distributors talking with me about the print version and all kinds of crazy stuff. Shar and Matt - are you guys ready? I guess we're really going to make this happen, eh?

Aside: I think I just threw up a little.

Anyway, that's all for now. Have to go hit the trail!

Blogger Blows Goats. Also - How many coffeehouses can I visit today?

OK, so I've been trying to take a commercial break from the soap opera that is my life to bring you Gratuitous Vacation Pix. However, Blogger kicks me offline every time I try to upload. STUPID EFFING PROGRAM!

Ahem. I just had the most wonderful morning-creeping-into-afternoon coffee chat/solving-every-problem-in-the-world session with my friend Jim. He is an awesome writer, great thinker, and beautiful soul. Jim, if you stop by here today - thanks so much for being there and speaking The Truth in love. Us emotional-types will be just fine, yes? Much agape, babe. Much agape.

After coffee with Jim (uh, it was more like HOURS), I headed to Perk to journal a bit (stop fucking yawning, will you?) and had my favorite lunch. OH MY GOD! When you bitches come to town, I am SO taking you to lunch there. The hummus is the best I think I've ever had and that damn Mediterranean crepe rocks me so hard I could marry it. Forget men; it's me and the crepes. For reals, yo.

Anyway, I think I'm going to do something productive now and balance my checking account so I can see what the situation may be for registering the old LLC. I'll let you know!

And I'm sure I'll end up at yet another caffeinated establishment sometime today.

Peace (and caffeine)...

My Unmarriage

Well, y'all, pull up a chair. It's time for us to have a chat. Don't worry; I'm doing really great. Acutally, I'm probably the best I've been in years. I'll just let you know that from the beginning.

As many of you know from reading an earlier post, Hubs (J Dizzle) and I are no longer an item. I mentioned in that post that I didn't want to discuss it, and it wasn't because anyone is angry or hateful or anything; it's just that the situation deserves its own post. So here is the truth coming to you live and direct to quell any rumors or speculation.

We've been separated for about two months, and it's not about us having "a difficult time." This is long overdue.

I haven't posted this before because J Dizzle has friends that read this blog, and out of respect for him, I wanted to be sure that he was able to communicate with them on his own rather than having me drag our shit out into the limelight. We're cool like that. This whole thing is cool like that. We're grown-ups.

Those of you out there in the blogosphere who've been around a while know that this blog has become increasingly introspective over the last year. When I joined up with the bloggers last year, things had already been spiraling towards the end of our marriage for a long time. This blog was a place where I could hang and be all snarkalicious and sassy and foul-mouthed and all of that other shit (he he). The reality of all of this nonsense is that humor is the shovel for the shit-pile of life. My blog became a bulldozer, and I've known why for a long time.

J Dizzle and I have been living separate lives emotionally for many years. This separation is not about an incident that made us question anything, or some unforgivable something. This separation is because we are not a good fit for each other, and we have both acknowledged that we mutually deserve to be happy and in healthy relationships.

When I said I was going to rock my THIRTIES, I wasn't lying. Ya feel me?

The truth is, if he came home and told me that he met some woman that he wanted to get to know better, I'd go grab a couple of beers, plop down on the couch with him, and want to know all about her. Why? Because I want him to be happy. And I know that he's talked to some honeys, and it's all good.

I'm totally open to anything you all want to know. Seriously. You can e-mail questions to me at momoftheyearblog at gmail dot com. Nothing is off of the table. I imagine there are several of you going through similar things, and the best thing I can do to help any of you get through situations that may not be as amicable as mine is to offer up my story. So whatever it is - sex, money, living arrangements, support - just send it or post it in the comments.

Much love,
Mom of the Year

Reading at Borders Tonight... IN FUCKING FLORIDA

Some of you are vacationing in the the Florida panhandle as am I. If you happen to be in PCB, come by the Borders at Pier Park tonight. I've been asked to read at their open mic tonight at 7 PM. Weird. I was chatting with a barista there last night, mentioned I was a writer from STL, and she asked if I had any of my stuff with me. I popped my moleskine out of my bag, showed her a couple of pages, and she said, "Damn. You gotta be here tomorrow night to read this. This is awesome." WTF?! So, I guess now I'm on tour. HA HA HA!

Postcards from the Edge

Hey, everyone! Well, I did it - I'm at the beach with the entire clan. I must admit that things have gone really well thus far. I was going to upload some pix, but I forgot to bring the USB cable for the cam, so you'll have to wait until I get back to check out my vacation, nosey bitches.

Before I made the decision to hop on the vacation train, I had a short but intense conversation with my parents. Well, actually, that's kind of sugar-coating it. I basically sat them down and read them the pre-riot act, letting them know that at the first sign of them all up in my shit or whining about things they have no right to discuss, my ass would be back on a plane to St. Louis. After all, I'm thirty for chrissake; support my decisions or get off of the fucking bus.
There have been a couple of close calls, but I've stepped right up and told them to kindly shut the hell up (in nicer words USUALLY), and they've respected that. So, in short, it's all good.

Take home message for all of you with familial troubles: stop the hand wringing. Make your own decisions and give them two choices - support you or get the hell out. If they truly love you, they'll choose the former. PERIOD.

We're all laughing, drinking, and generally enjoying the wicked coolness of all things beach-like. I've managed to get in some running around the area, which I think does definitely put me in the "made lifestyle change" category. Speaking of that, my one year anniversary of running is next month!

Anyway, LD wants to hit the beach. Gotta go sunscreen up, pack up my books and journal (my sis just remarked that I look like a librarian right now with the glasses and all), and hit the sand.

Anti-depressants or anti-vacation?

Okay, here's the deal. My family (dad, mom, bro, sis) has been hanging out on the gulf coast for a week every summer since I was a fetus - literally. The last two years, this tradition has continued, except now it's a mass of my parents, my brother and sister-in-law, my niece and nephew, and my sister, plus us. The thing is, I'm debating whether or not we should go along this year. I have four days to decide - they are leaving this Friday and will be gone for nine days.

Which is the other interesting point - they drive. Two days of driving each way. I actually took my car last year, and I have to say that LD does well with road trips. However, this year it would just be her and me (hubs and I are no longer an item, and no, I do not wish to discuss that right now), and we'd be rotating cars with my brother and my parents.

And my parents are driving me CRAZY.

In addition to all of the stuff that's gone on inside of me over the last three years (and has produced a much more fabulous me), one of the stark realizations I've had is that my family was not as normal and well-functioning as I grew up believing. In fact, we were about as far from fucking normal as a family can get. Well, OK. I won't take that from the TRULY fucked up, but it's fair to say that there was plenty of shit that went down that certainly colored the way I handled my own life. Let's just say that love for me had always come with guilt and strings attached. Metric tons of guilt and more strings than a violin factory. And it should never have been MY guilt to begin with.

The beach would be lovely. I love the whole idea of returning to the one place I don't recall any Family Weirdness and Stress occuring when I was a kid. But I'm wondering how much of my time will be spent with my family all up in my grill about my personal shit, and how come I don't want to do this, or why am I doing that, or when will I just be the little typical suburban mom they all dreamed I would be.

So in case you were wondering, I had pretty much decided that I wouldn't go. But then, my sister (who truly is one of my best friends) had this to say. Are you ready for this???

"You know, though, Mom and Dad won't be around forever. And LD loves Niece and Nephew so much. It'd be really sad if she didn't get to enjoy this vacation."

UGH. MAJOR FAMILY GUILT PANG. WHICH IS ONE OF THE THINGS I'VE ALWAYS HAD HANGING OVER MY HEAD ANYWAY.

But she is right - my parents won't be around forever, and I love my bro and sis with every ounce of family love possible. And LD would love to be with her cousins at the beach. But nine fucking days???

Uh, HELP!!!!!!!!

How's this for timing? LD has just come into my office, picked up a large seashell, held it to her ear, and excitedly proclaimed, "The BEACH! I want to go to the beach!"

Fuck.

Hello from Portland!

Well, sort of.

Yesterday I received a piece of GREAT news. So I'm feeling the whole Joseph Campbell "follow your bliss" vibe here lately. Anyway, I got a phone call from a good friend just moments after receiving the news. I was still riding the "CAN I GET A HELL YEAH?" wave and doing fist pumps in my office. Now, said friend was excited for me and all but I detected a HINT of SMART-ASSERY as the friend said, "You know, you should blog that."

I love smart-assery. I can kick some smart-assery, too.

BLOG MOCKERY! HE WHO MOCKS THE BLOG GOES BACK TO THE HOUSE OF PAIN! There is a fun-loving history of such with this person, and it is slightly endearing. So here it is, JB, you lovely smartass. "It is what it is," yeah?

ANYWAY, THE NEWS... one of my introspective-retrospectives will be published in the summer issue (print version) of Hip Mama. TA DA!

Go sign up for a subscription to the print version of this zine for two reasons:
1) because it rocks; and
2) because I fucking said so!

Carry on.

No Longer a Virgin

A RACE virgin that is! Yes, all, I finally managed to get in that all-important first race - the Race for the Cure. I am happy to report that my adrenaline did wonders, and I have beaten the mental block! Because I'm all going on about my BAD SELF, here are some pix:

My friend Michelle was in town from the OC to run with me!

I ran to celebrate a family friend who is a 5 year breast cancer survivor.

Who lined up with the RUNNERS? Who?! ME, bitches!!!

Know why? BECAUSE I AM ONE!

Crossing that line was one of the greatest moments of my life.

For those of you arriving late on the set, it's been a long three or so years for me. I've done a lot of readjusting, a lot of getting real about myself. I started running late last summer, just a little at a time (and I mean a little at a time) just to find a good life-groove. I never thought that I would do this whole "distance running" thing, especially FOR FUN. Totally would have never believed I'd be doing this shit daily.

But I am. Running is my new religion. (Note: OK, maybe supplementary to my original faith).

I'm sure sometime in the future I will write some pithy Chicken-Soupy essay about it because I always do that introspective retrospective shit, you know? OK, just kidding - it's already in the works. Like you didn't know.

I kid you not, kids (heh heh heh)... this running thing has changed my life.

EVERYONE ON THE ENDORPHIN BUS! NOW!

An extra-special shout out to KW and MA for the training dates (I love you girls - you did me wonders) and to SY for cheering me on and enduring my narcissism (we'll do a 5K together SOON!).

Peace and good vibes,

mom of the year (AKA She Who Runs As A Goddess)

Bad Girl and a Mom

One serendipitous stoplight signaled the end of my identity crisis.

I slammed on my brakes at the white line silently cursing the intersection red-light cameras. I’d missed the left turn arrow by seconds. Milliseconds. Nanoseconds. My Honda Accord recoiled momentarily as the procession of drivers privileged to have a green light passed by my front bumper with mere inches to spare. Lucky bastards, I thought.

Little Diva and I were late returning home from our mother-daughter excursion. The dash clock blurted out 9:15 PM. I knew that this delay in our arrival home meant one thing – bedtime would be more hellacious than usual. As I considered the impending battle of the bedroom, a completely surprising remark came boldly from Little Diva's mouth.

“You’re a bad girl and a mom.”

I sat in a confused silence. Had she actually said what I thought she said? We never used the term “bad girl” at home. I needed to hear it again. “What did you say?” I asked.

“You’re a bad girl and a mom, mommy,” she smiled, as I watched her in the review mirror.

“Is that right?”

“Yes, ma’am. And I love you.”

The light turned green and I chuckled as we headed to the highway. Although I was sure that Little Diva wasn’t entirely knowledgeable about the term “bad girl,” there was truth to the idea, especially the way my life had been changing for the last three years.

Following Little Diva's birth, I spent a great deal of time in varying stages of depression. I sought counseling, wrote in multiple journals, and tried to deal with the silence that always ended in a late-night downward spiral of emptiness. One day last summer, I took a walk to clear my head. During my walk, I asked a lot of hard questions of myself, of my soul, of my beliefs. And something unexplainable happened – I rediscovered who I am.

I realized that my depression was not about the changes of life. The sinking hopelessness I felt was a result of me having changed who I was to fit the world’s expectations of mothers. When I returned from that walk, I resolved to get back to being the only thing that will ever satisfy my soul – me. The other woman that left the house to walk that day has never returned.

I am a bad girl of sorts. Always have been. What does that look like for me? What do I hope “bad girl” means to my daughter? I considered these questions as we headed down the dark highway. From that drive, I now have my own manifesto for bad girl motherhood. I know what it means for me, and what I hope it means to my daughter.

As a bad girl, I live my life unapologetically on the entire page – in the written ink and also in the white space. Sometimes it’s the white space, the place where things are only felt or understood, that matters the most. I honor my sacred space, the place in my soul where I am most at peace with who I am. Honoring that place means I can’t be everything to everyone all of the time – and I shouldn’t be. I respect my body in all of its unique perfection and imperfection. When I make time to love and respect my body, my body is good for my soul.

What else do I know about being a bad girl and a mom? I don’t have to be a part of the Proper Mother Minivan Cult or enroll my child in soccer to be a good mother. I’ll continue to drive my fuel-efficient four-door and allow Little Diva to choose the activities that fit her desires. I shouldn’t force myself into awkward playgroups or hang out at kiddie gyms to be a good mother. I’ll still hang out in bookstores to meet like-minded moms. I won’t wear a coordinated jogging suit complete with designer sunglasses to be a good mother. My jeans with funky t-shirts and Chuck Taylor sneakers or Doc Martens fit me better anyway. My music collection should be a collection of the music that speaks to me and not be replaced by the latest Create-A-Genius collection. Little Diva and I will continue our life-groove to everything from hip-hop and Sarah McLachlan to Ella Fitzgerald and Bach, and all of the indie noise in between.

All of the things that made me the person that I was before motherhood are even more important now that I have a child, especially a daughter. The best gift I can ever give Little Diva is the knowledge that arranging life to satisfy the status quo is not living. I want her to see that real living comes from understanding there are not good choices and bad choices – there are only choices. Her choices and her needs are different from every other person’s needs and choices. She is the only one who can understand the completeness of her soul. No one else can decide what completeness will be for her. And if believing these things makes me a bad girl and a mom, I’m all about it.

As Little Diva and I pulled into our parking space at home that night, I turned to face her and asked, “Do you like that I’m a bad girl and a mom?”

She shook her head intensely. “You’re the best mom in the whole world.”

Enough said.

Thank You

Just wanted to say a sincere thanks to all of you who commented, e-mailed, called, or sent your thoughts via carrier pigeon. I truly appreciate your sympathy.

I've been writing A LOT. In all fairness, I won't say it's GOOD writing; I've just been writing. So I've been keeping busy.

Anyway, just wanted to say thanks and send out a shout to let you know I'm thinking of you all.

Oh, and I've posted some ramblings above for your pleasure/loathing...

In Memory of David L. Leimbach

Dear David,

It's your cousin here in St. Louis. I wish I knew where to start this letter, but when it comes down to a time such as this, I suppose that it really doesn't matter. I know we haven't seen each other in ten or so years, since you made a career of the military and all, but I want you to know how much you mean to all of us, and how much we'll miss you.

My last visual memory of you is from Grandma's funeral back in 1997. I was nearly catatonic with grief most of that day, but I vividly remember you in your Marine dress blues. I remember how you stood at the rear of the chapel before the service began, your uniform arranged in perfect presentation, crisp crimson lines on deep blue, regalia placed upon your chest without a millimeter's imprecision. You balanced your white cap with perfect symmetry on your forearm as you held the solid presence and reserve we all needed that day.

As the service began, our whole family gathered in a small room to shield us from the finality of closing Grandma's casket. Do you remember that? As the doors to the room closed, I witnessed something I will never forget - your white-gloved hands holding the shoulders of your parents, the sound of your sobbing, your tears falling down your heroic face and landing on the tops of your impeccably shined shoes as we all mourned as a family. To anyone who says that the military turns people into savage murderers, I offer this image.

This week, David, we are mourning our loss of you.

My memories of childhood summers are dotted with you in the pictures. I recall the nighttime jug-fishing excursions with your dad and my brother (I was always left behind), flying leaps from a dock at the lake house in backwoods Missouri, playing endless rounds of cards with Grandma, hitting all the landmarks in St. Louis when you came to town. I can still hear you, at about the age of fourteen or so, near tears as you pleaded with your dad not to make you hurt that monstrous fish. I remember it all.

After your years in the Marine Corps, you went into the Army National Guard. This latest tour was your second in Afghanistan. Your unit from South Carolina came home earlier this month; you chose to stay behind. I know you chose to stay and help that unit from New York not because of any beliefs you held about this war, or about your service being the patriotic thing to do, or for any reason that the propaganda might offer. You stayed because you wanted to help some guys out - guys just like you, the kid I remember.

I found out today that your unit came under attack with small arms fire and rocket-propelled grenades. I don't even want to think about it. I want to believe that you were not the last one standing. I want to believe that you went quickly. Most of all, I want to know that God, in His divine power, let you feel all of the love from your lifetime all at once, carrying you on to the next place.

The one peace I have right now is that Grandma has her David back in her arms. Someday, God-willing, we'll all be together again just like we were at the lake. Until then, please know how much I love you and how immensely honored I am to have been able to call you family.

Hittin' the Streets

For those of you who've followed this blog for a while, I think you understand my love of both poetry and hip-hop. You also know I've been pounding the pavement and adding millions of miles to my car while street teaming for Jason and the Beast. Now you'll understand why. Check it.

You can leave anonymous comments on the site. Please show Jason some love. What he is doing truly crosses cultural, educational, socio-economic and a list of other boundaries.

Peace and love.