It s finally here, Mother Rebel # 4. This issue is chock full of stuff to read. Including another ever popular essay by Clinton Graybeal, my dad, a positively scandalous Radical Sluts, and much more.

You can find Mother Rebel as Casco Bay Books and Bridgton Books, two very fine bookstores, or at the Morning Dew natural food store. If you aren t in the area sen 2.00 for one issue, 8.00 for a four issue subscription, two stamps, your zine or any fair trade to Kim Pratt 1355 Bridgton Rd. Sebago, ME 04029. Also check out chicanastuff.com to order Mother Rebel as well as many other wonderful zines.

Send letters, comments, essays, poetry, artwork etc. to the above address or to momrebel@localnet.com
Thank you for support- Mother Rebel.

Cover by Dawn Crowe
Artwork by Sarah DeLuca Sims

Dear Mother Rebel,
This letter is a reflection I had after reading issue #3, which was simply fantastic!

The question What is a rebel? Mother/father whatever ... I concluded a few things. The first, your father concluded his essay with Be strong in love, think . These are wise words indeed. Love being the first ingredient, it is by far the most important piece of a family. It goes beyond image, fad and convention. If love is not involved in an action don t do it!

Secondly, think! Love as a purely emotive action can be unbalanced. The chance for so many other things to become enwrapped in the concept of love is dangerous. Fear, anger, desperation, violence and smothering are all things that can be tied into the concept of love or loving. Thinking or rational helps to straighten the action, or aim truly maybe more appropriate. Rational allows us to see things wholly the whole picture and act according with love being the anchor if you will.

This combination allows us freedom of choice, authenticity, freedom of expression in a balanced, healthy way. It also brings in compassion for others and self. It keeps us intact in self or spirit and not engaging unconsciously in the latest fear craze or comfort zone. It can be said it is the truest compass for ones journey in any endeavor, this case parenting.

Another aspect of Rebel I feel is simplicity. Not joining the rat race is the common cliche. More so, using the motto be strong in love, think . Simplicity may be seen as the blossoming of the truth. What do we need? What do our children need? Food, shelter and health insurance maybe the simplest of answers there. Maybe some crayons, paper, a box and words beyond that.

So a Rebel is one who looks to provide a home simply, modestly, what is needed not extravagant estates, and extravagant debt. Health, this has two brackets. First being physical, a working relationship with a health care provider regardless of the type (Eastern, Western, Shaman, etc). Using a working relationship meaning self education, researching things for yourself and talking with someone with extensive knowledge and working on a good plan based on promoting good health. Also food is here. Good nutrition and being aware of what is going into your body.

Emotional health is next. Being supportive and understanding of another s journey. Encouraging self expression and not being critical.

A third element to a Rebel is service to others. This can take many forms, but the essence is to wish to help the world, to serve the greater good. Random acts of kindness applies here. There is also a continuum of intent to help others. Not just when convenient for me.

In conclusion of my reflection is that a Rebel may be categorized in virtually any socioeconomic label (green, up tight, white (Kim s dad), crunchie, liberal and so on). But the core in what is important here and ties all us Rebels across the globe together, Be Strong in Love, Think may be the motto to adopt for us Rebels, for all things spring from here. Love is certainly what ties all life together thinking is what might set the Rebels apart.

With much Love,
Adam

Homage
Tim Bouchelle

The hardwood floor was once beautiful. The rich, hand selected oak planks were laid in seemingly random lengths all gains and whorls W shapes stacked one on another here, zebra stripes there... shadows and shades... stutters and shapes. At a certain time, the floor must have dominated the room defied the eye to radiate warmth directly to the heart. It must have leapt up to the eye and demanded acknowledgment.

Now it is scuffed and scratched. High traffic lanes appear ghostly in the finish. Dog s claws, soccer cleats, hard soled dance shoes have taken their toll. A myriad of objects dropped where hard edges End the floor as if they were buttered. Spills and other acts of unkindness committed age and wear and time.

Who laid it down? It is an old house. Could an old man have laid it? Yes, of course. Old hands toiled on the floor. An old man s body, slick with the sweat of inspiration, bent over this work. An artist me with the knack for that sort of thing . In his day, all the floors he did turned out beautifully before rheumatism took his hands away. In his Dickey work pants and cotton shirt with the top button buttoned pocket protector in the pocket holding the stub of a carpenters pencil, he would take his time and do it right. He carried a penknife in his pocket a pearl handled, delicate knife to sharpen the pencil or peal an apple or clean his nails. And his name was... Herbert. It just had to be.

349 square feet and not one nail visible. It was found hidden beneath a travesty of carpet. In my memory, steel wool the polyurethane to a satin finish. Hands and knees scrubbings were dealt out before two children arrived and the advent of the leisurely damp mop. Three cats and three dogs have gamboled over its finish. And love was made on it but twice.

It s time to go now. The last box was packed and has been slid across the floor. Who d have thought? I have a desire to carve 4 sets of initials in an out of the way spot with my mother of pearl handled penknife, but I ll just close the door behind me.

Tim Bouchelle is the father of two awesome kids. He lives with his family in northeast MD

Winters Decent
The East Coast had a pretty harsh winter this year. I head someone say can I wave a white flag and I knew exactly what they meant. It was like winter was just setting out to prove she was a bad ass. Maine winters are generally pretty intense. You can pretty much expect to have snow on the ground for at least three months, usually more. In February it was so cold that the ground froze solid enough that the kids and I could sled down the sloping back yard, gathering surprisingly fast speeds until we would hit a frozen leafless bush or rut in the snow and stop. It was totally fun. Maine winters are sickeningly beautiful. The ice crystals on the snow covered ground sparkle like diamonds and the trees this year were perfectly incased in ice so that the sun shining on them made them glow as though they were lit up. Driving through the mountain foothills the trees close by shone and the ones in the distance were a sugary white. It was incredibly beautiful. A stark, white beauty that conjured up images of snow queens and could almost trick your mind into believing in Santa Clause.

On the flip side winter in Maine can also be brutally isolating. The simple act of going outside takes forever. Everyone needs clothes, socks, snow pants, boots, gloves, hats and coats. The roads become sketchy. Six-foot snow banks on corners make it hard to see if a car is coming. One day I got stuck in my driveway and had to dig myself out. Another time I got stuck in a snow bank on my way home from work in a snowstorm and had to wait for Frank to come and get me. Yes winter is a bad ass and I give up.

The trouble is that in Maine spring is no better. Aside from the fact that a snowstorm in May is not unheard of the spring here is called mud . Four feet worth of snow takes a long time to melt and the mud it makes is pretty impressive. The mud is thick, dark and rank. Your boots sink several inches and each step makes a wet sucking sound. The deep puddles, streams, and standing water are pretty interesting as well. One year Frank was playing around in the stream created by the ditch next to our driveway. A pipe goes under the driveway to drain the ditch into the woods and it forms a small, shallow pond. The water looks so clean and fresh, but after poking around in the pipe with a stick for a while out came a long, skinny, very white, very parasitic looking worm. Another time I was staring into the fascinatingly disgusting puddles of stagnant water in the front yard when I noticed what had to be hundreds of disgusting little white worms. Oh so gross, but so compelling.

It takes until about July for the yard to dry up and with the yard our well. Yes, I did say our well, which provides water for our house. It is not really as bad as it sounds. There is enough for general stuff, but we go to the laundry mat and shower outside with solar shower bags. Showering outside is awesome and our house is very secluded. Once the mud dries up and the black flies go away I start to remember why I live here. Summer in Maine is outstanding. We have a beautiful coast. Clear, cold water and clean sand. I have always loved rocky beaches. Wild roses grow out of the cliffs and we climb the slippery rocks to search for crabs and snails. Frank and the children drape themselves with seaweed and pretend to be mer people. We live in the Lakes Region so we have multiple ponds and lakes near by. The kids and I spend the day swimming and Frank might meet us or if we are already home we will have dinner and head over to a secluded pond for a before bed swim. We see frogs, fish and snakes. Once Frank and Gannon saw a coyote during an early morning canoe trip. There is one particular pond close by that has the softest, greenish water. We stay and swim until the bats come out and start diving for insects uncomfortably close to our heads. We might stand at a safe distance on the beach and watch them for a while. The early mornings are cool enough for coffee. We spend many hours gathering and eating blueberries, raspberries and blackberries. Then fall comes creeping slowly in.

Fall means picking apples and taking long walks down trails in the woods. Fall means rain and good, clean smells. We play outside until bedtime and the kids and I search for the last of the wild berries. We have warm days and chilly nights. The evenings might be cool enough to start a fire in the wood stove giving off the cozy smell of wood smoke. Then, damn here comes bad ass winter.

This is my second article for Mother Rebel. I am only writing this one because the feedback was so positive from the first one. When I wrote that, I thought it was great until I read it later, then I thought it wasn t worth the paper it was printed on.

The hardest part of writing anything is getting an idea on paper. Perhaps this may be an idea for a story. Why do most of us think our own

achievements are so insignificant, but if someone else achieved or accomplished the same thing, we think it is great?

I think it is human nature, especially when we write, to think out work is crap, I have never spoken to anyone who writes who likes their own work. At the same time we crave constructive criticism, we dread it. We have exposed ourselves in writing and we both crave and loathe the idea of someone else trading it

I have two beautiful and mature daughters. One has four children and the other has one on the way. I am of course biased, but I think, and others have confirmed it for me, that both are beautiful, bright, and personable. If you ask either of them, they will tell you they are awkward, not pretty, and don t write well. One edits and writes for this zine, the other has two degrees from the New Mexico State University and is in the army as an Arab linguist. I suspect she has written and had critiqued (or graded) a few papers in her time.

Both have told me that they don t like the work they have written. I have read papers from both and thought they were fine. I also don t like rereading my work, but others say it is fine.

I think we should cut ourselves a break and just accept that we all have skills, talents, and abilities we don t give ourselves enough credit for. If self confidence is the only thing holding us back from trying out our dreams, forget doubt and go for it anyway. What do you really have to lose?
- Clinton G

March
Life is stunningly complex. The broad range of emotions that can be felt at the same time never ceases to amaze me. On March 8th my husband s mother died. I can not begin to imagine what Frank or anyone else who knew her went through. I can only speak from my own perspective in my own voice.

Frank always said that I never knew his mother. I only knew her illness. lean had been sick for a long time. Frank tells me stories about her. when he was small she would take him to Newberry s and would always let him have a cherry coke. she instilled in Frank a love of music, art and literature. jean was a very strong woman who stood up for herself and what she believed in. she stayed home with her kids until they were school aged then was a female executive in a small town.

When I first met her Jean s illness had started to set in. No one knew yet what exactly was wrong with her, but there were signs that something was not right. At My wedding she was using a cane and could not participate. She had been diagnosed with Parkinson s disease. For many years she had ups and downs Eventually she was diagnosed with Alzheimer s it was debated about whether or not she ever had Parkinson s to begin with. As of this writing I am still not clear about what disease it was that claimed her. I just know that whatever it was, it was cruel until the end.

Early this year Franks father, Jean s husband debated about admitting her into a nursing home. Jean needed full time care. He decide to keep her home. I last her in January. It was like being with a large child. She knew who we all were, but the thing that struck me was her body. It looked like all her muscles were contracted. we live nine hundred miles away. I was never there when she was really unwell. Not long after we left her body essentially stopped functioning. on March third Frank s father called saying that jean was probably not going to make it through the night. she did, and Frank and I walked on eggshells for the next several days. Every,, time the phone rang we thought this is it The stress level was so high it was like having a high pitched ringing in Your ears. Like walking a high wire. we fought a lot. He was torn about going. what if she held on for another two weeks? what if she died before he got there? He kept asking me if I thought he should go. I wanted him to for two reasons. one because his mom was dying. Two because I selfishly wanted the stress away from me.

On Friday march seventh his father called and told Frank he felt like it was getting close. Frank took the next train down. I wanted to go with him, but we felt like it would be too much on stress on his family and our finances if we all went. This is where it becomes my experience. my experience of tragedy once removed. of having to go on with life while the woman who gave birth to my husband died. Frank called me at about nine the next morning and told me that his mother had passed away at about two that morning. Fran made it there on time and was holding her when she died.

Jean died in her own bed with her husband, children and sister with her. To me it seemed like the universe gave birth to itself backward . when I found out she died I felt anguished. jean had always been a presence in my life with Frank. To loose that presence was very painful. I never knew jean only her illness. in the end it is possible t at she was suffering. somehow it is easier for those of us still living to have the presence of one suffering than to not have them at all.

Grieving long distance is hard in a different way than being there. I missed her viewing. Frank told me about how many people showed up, somewhere between three and four hundred. I wanted to be there for myself, my husband and to honor my mother-in-law. I couldn t and felt weird because of it. Conflicted in strange ways. I felt relief, grief, guilt and an odd feeling of being removed. I wanted to be there sharing with everyone, but instead I was at home doing laundry, washing dishes and taking care of my children. on the way to the store grief would hit me and I would start crying. People, were so kind to me, but it crushed me. Other s still were well meaning, but lacking understanding. The most helpful were those who had lost a parent themselves. As ill as Jean had been I still did not want her to die.

Frank came home the following Friday and we grieved together. That Monday he went back to work and the act of living resumed as usual. Being so far away it is easy to forget for a moment, but when you remember it slams you like a hammer in the chest. one n dinner at the kitchen Frank and I were having table. out of the blue he started talking about when his mother died. Almost yelling it started crying and he started crying out and we sat there holding one another crying. we would try to eat, but start crying again. Gannon, our oldest son came in and started talking about how his memom would always tell him eat a banana, eat a banana and we cried. I talked about the time when I told her about how I can not sew and she yelled at me to get in there and sew something . we laughed and then cried.

Recipe
Nothing says summer in Maine to me more than live Maine lobsters and native corn. However I have had many People crinkle up their nose and tell me I really don t care for lobster . When I hear this I immediately invite them to try Frank s Chesapeake Bay style lobster. We have converted many people into lobster lovers.

Now that summer is coming up my thoughts have turned once again to good company, lobsters, native corn and balmy summer nights with the air alive with swarms of mosquitoes buzzing around your head. Anticipating summer made me want to share Frank s recipe and in this way I was able to actually get Frank to contribute to Mother Rebel, I won t tell you how I convinced him to give out his recipe because my parents will probably read this and it might creep them out. So the recipe is as follows...

Frank s Chesapeake Bay Style Lobsters
First drink about three beers to relax you. Gritty s brown ale is a good choice, but any microbrew is okay.

Have about one I 1/2 lb. lobster per person. We like to thank the lobsters and let the kids name them before they eat them.

Put a rack in the bottom of a large steamer pot and fill water to the top of the rack. Put in a couple of handfuls of rock salt. I like to use French Atlantic sea salt, but any is fine. Then put in about I 1/2 cups of cider vinegar and a few good shakes of Old Bay seasoning from the large opening in the can over the pot and bring to a hard steam.

Place the lobsters in pot. I like to clip the rubber bands on their claws first, but you don t have to. Sprinkle with salt and Old Bay, Cover and check the lobsters in about ten to fifteen minutes to see it they are red.

If you are also serving native corn remove all but the last layer of husk. Pile the corn on top of the lobsters at this time.

When the lobsters are red set a timer for thirty minutes. Serve with melted butter if desired and more ice cold beer.

Note from Kim- I like Blacksmiths Vidal Blanc with mine instead of beer.

Radical Slut
Responsibilities Radical Slut must assist in planning and implementing strategies that promote social justice that include using sex as a tool to get the attention of elites.

Qualifications
a) adventurous in sex
b) not fussy about sexual partners
c) committed to stopping ALL forms of tyranny racism, imperialism, sexism, homophobia, classism, abelism, agism, etc..

Compensations
Equivalent of local living wage. Complete health care coverage including dental, energy work and therapy. 30 hour work week. Free parking. Use of Radical Slut vacation home in Costa Rica

Poetry
I stole the brilliance of the stars
To break the ice that formed today.
I am pulling down old reference books
To search for what to say.

She daunts me with her integrity
As I slyly ply my wares.
Flashy, shallow, mirrored finish
Coolly reflects her stares.

Playful, happy banters run
As I stand behind the wheel.
Piloting conversations wrought.
And my heart is made of steel.

The wad of paper skipped along the gutter
Beneath a sky of muted black.
I drove through the rainy night time
To ask you when you can come back.

The hospital with muted smells
And the fluorescent lights abuzz.
I stood alone above your bed.
You did not know who I was.

I touched your cold and sterile hand.
And wished I d told you more.
I left before the sun came up
To the metallic click of the door.

Both poems by Tim Bouchelle

The Arrival
The room was fit in a soft orange glow.
Windows exposed darkness,
brightened only by a waning moon,

Going through your big black trunks,
Still heavy
with desert sand.

Remembering you as a newborn.
Our parents laughed that I called you Frank
when that wasn t your name.

Marked by a Golden Eagle.
Now you serve
and protect.

Away so long
Times have changed.
Different- all around.

Flags on pickups.
High Alert.
United We Stand.

Standing guard
ready to fight
for freedom no one has.

Sarah DeLuca Sims March 2003

Mother Rebel Rants
Hey, did you hear the one about the man who was not elected president, but became president anyway? oh yeah, that s not a joke. It really happened. I am still reeling from shock from the incident even though it happened years ago. I feel like I walk around in this, almost surreal state. The fact that this happened in a country where the government is supposed to include the people is just so absolutely unbelievable. When the election votes were being counted I heard a few supposedly liberal people say I m over it, I just want the whole thing to finished . Then after the farce was over and we had this man, reminiscent of a dictator in the most powerful position in the country people were saying things like well he is our president now, we have to support him Why? Why do we have to support a man who

has only his and his white men friend s interests at heart and not the one s living in his country.

Recently our country started a war. Well, not really our country, our administration rather. Protesters were called unpatriotic. Since when is it unpatriotic in America to express our opinions? I thought that type of thing was supposed to happen in countries where dictators and communism are the normal form of government. Those who did not support the war were accused of not supporting the women and men fighting in the war. It is two different things. They were just doing what they were told.

George Bush s ego has gotten out of control. I can t say I am surprised. The man can do whatever he wants and we have to support it and like it or we are called un-American. I call it the Elvis syndrome. Normally I use it in reference to rock and roll stars who start out normal and the get these huge egos and get all weird. Now it has happened with our freaking president. Last night the man was on the news because he landed on an aircraft carrier. Watching him I had to laugh. He looked like a kid who had just been able to take a ride in a fire engine with the siren on. He babbled about his favorite topic, how we will not stand for terrorism when we all know that he is the biggest bully terrorist ever.

Living in this era brings to mind the conservative fifties and McCarthyism. Many of our rights are being taken away and it seems like we don t have any power to do anything about it. What is next, book burning?

I think I mentioned in an earlier article a little of my background. I am retired Air Force with 20 years and seven months of service. I dedicated a large portion of my life to protecting the freedom of this country and the tights that we inherit from our democracy.

We are now engaged in a foreign war. Many conscientious people arc opposed to this war, for a myriad of reasons. I have heard these protests condemned by others on the media, and even heard the mainstream media admit that Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament was guided and funded by the former KGB, something not heard in the 80 s.

Does that mean we should shut these protests and the other protests down? The answer to that is a resounding NO! One of the rights I and millions of others sacrificed so much for was the right to disagree with our government and the right to freely voice that disagreement to others. Burning the flag is a painful thing for me to watch and upsets me. if someone wants to do that as a protest, they should have the right to.

Should the KKK have the right to stand on street comers mid pass out literature? Yes. Although anyone of conscience should be able to see through their hate and lies, they should still have that right.

If we allow fear over global terrorism and patriotic zeal for the war to lot us permit the erosion of our freedoms, the terrorists have won. If we give up freedom for security, the terrorists have won. If we report our neighbors to the police because they worship Islam instead of Jesus, the terrorists have won.

Don t let them win. Fight for your rights and the rights of others, even if you disagree with them. Vote, write, and most of all, think.
written by Clinton Graybeal

A VACATION FOR MOMS
4/5/03
I am sitting in the airport waiting for a plane to take me on my first child free vacation EVER. My parents are very generously taking me on a trip with them to Savannah and then New Orleans. Getting to the airport was easy enough even though it was snowing this morning. When I checked my bag I had to wait around while they x rayed it then I had to practically strip to get to my depart= gate. Now I am hanging around reading the copy of Smile, You re Traveling by Henry Rollins that Anna leant me. It seemed like an appropriate read to bring along. I am missing my kids already, but am looking forward to seeing my parents, sister and Mojo.

Sitting on the plane hating all the people who bring these huge suitcases on the plane as carry ons. Is it really so hard to check your bags? I m sporting a huge pimple right between my eyes and am having paranoid thoughts about it exploding. Why is it that when I am home all I want is to get away from my kids, but when I am away from them I want to vomit? At the baggage claim there is no sign of either my or my fellow passengers luggage. Suddenly those people who take their luggage on the plane don t seem so stupid. Wasted about an hour waiting for my luggage.

4/6/03
Last night Mojo picked me up and we headed to Baltimore. The first stop was Atomic Books. I bought some zines and as I was paying I wanted to ask do you carry Mother Rebel , but I chickened out. We went to a Korean place for dinner and the food was awesome. Then we headed over to Club Charles where I swiped every book of matches within reach. I am a super dork, I know. Then we went to another club where Mojo knew the bar tender. We played a little joke on the guy where I pretended to know him then acted all crushed when he had to admit he did not remember me. We then headed back to my parents where my dad accused me of being trashed. I wasn t.

Now we are waiting for our ride to the airport I am in desperate wed of good coffee. The ride comes. It is a limo. Corny, but whatever. My mom takes about twenty pictures of the inside and outside of the car. We are on our way. At the airport we go through security, grab a snack and wait for our plane. As we are boarding I notice a woman with a tissue stuck under

her glasses and hanging over her face. Something in me wants to yank it off. Still reading Henry Rollins. I think I am failing in love with him.

Two hour lay over in Charlotte. Have lunch in one of those crappy little airport restaurants. Waiting for our connecting flight Boring boring boring, I am taking a cue from Henry Rollins and trying to see how catatonic looking I can get. It is interesting being in the south so different from New England. Everyone is wearing sandal and Frank told me that it was snowing its ass off in Maine that morning. People walk around with open containers. You would never see that in the Portland airport. I miss frank and the kids.

In Savannah waiting for our luggage. How many golf clubs can they fit on one freaking plane? Many stupid comments about all the golf clubs. There is a kid with his zipper down. I wish I had the guts to tell him. Not out of malice, but because I would want someone to tell me.

Outside warm, heavy air hangs. It feels so good, bid my parents cigarette smoke is blowing in my face no matter where I stand. Everything is lush and blooming and it is hard to wrap my mind around the fact that it is snowing in Maine. We meet up with my sister as soon as we pull I into the hotel.

Yesterday we had dinner at a place called Moon River Brewing Company. The food was good and of course being a brewing company they have very good beer. I had an WA and then an apricot beer. I know fruit beers are for sissies, but damn it was good. We went for a walk and found an awesome bookstore. Then we decided to go on a haunted pub tour. It turned out that the guide was originally from Mass. The combination of New England/southern accent was strange. It was his birthday and he was drunk when he showed up. By ten o clock I was dragging ass. The guide would ramble on forever leaving you to at the information. The last stop I went to was Moon River, the place where we had bad dinner. We went to the attic to learn a little about the history of the place which was cool. It started as a really happening inn then over the years it plummeted until I it ended up as a whore house. The one thing that was disconcerting, aside from the drunken ramblings of the tour guide, were die huge rat traps. I finally had to bail I on the tour, it was not that great anyway, and went back to the hotel.

This morning we are going to do the river walk and then go to one of the cemeteries. We head out and walk forever trying to find a place that serves breakfast. The only place with something other than bagels had a 25 minute waiting list. We ended up having an over priced breakfast at the hotel. Kristen and I walked over to the tattoo studio so that she could get a new ring for her nose. There were three mum boys working and I had the dorky desire to show off my latest tattoo. One of the guys noticed my real ultimate power shirt.

Kristen had to do some stuff for her job so my parents and I went along the river walk where I got the kids a couple of things from the tourist traps. We walked by the water and looked at the sights. The trees and azaleas are in full bloom and it is amazingly beautiful. We went back to our room and traded my dad for Kristen. We headed over to Moon River for a beer. The woman tending bar was so nice. After that we went back and got my dad and had dinner then walked through a beautiful park and found a natural food store. It was closed. We went to the coffee shop next door. We went through the cemetery, but my time was stressful due to the fact that I had to pee. The story of my life.

Back at the hotel we decide to go for a swim in the hotel pool. Never mind the swimming. The room was chilly and the water cool. The chlorine smell was awful and the sign which read no blowing nose in pool and shit I like that freaked me out. Caine straight back to the room.

4/8/03
Went to find breakfast yet again. Finally found a place and I have to say that the service left something to be desired. I asked for iced coffee and was told that they ran out of ice. What? The food was pretty good though. Did the tourist thing for a while and then found the post office and bought stamps so I could send Frank and the kids post cards. Went back to the mom and left Kristen (who is seven months pregnant) to have a nap. Went across die street and had more beer. I am getting addicted to the apricot beer. Went back and got Kristen who was hungry. After I called frank and the kids we went out and had dinner. The man at the table next to us is smoking a cigar and the smoke is blowing right in my face. It is foul. It must be the curse of the ex smoker because it always seems as though smoke blows right in my face. We are sitting by the Savannah River and can hear thunder booming. It is awesome.

We went back to die hotel and Kristen s husband picked her up. It was a bummer to see her go. After she left my mom, dad and I went for a walk in the rain. Mom bought some wine and my dad is running over to get me an apricot beer. What a nice guy.

4/9/03
This morning we went and bought tickets for a historic homes tour. We had coffee at a beautiful little coffee shop while we were waiting for the tour guide. The tour was good and we all enjoyed ourselves. We had lunch and then WA a taxi out to the Bonaventure Cemetery. It was very cool and the time flew by. The famous statue from Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evil has been moved to a museum though. Kind of a bummer, but it was interesting anyway. We took a cab back into town mid had it drop us off at the natural food store so we could get snacks for our room. By the time we came out of the store it was pouring rain. We walked back to the hotel and got completely soaked. We are supposed to go on a tour tonight, but think it will probably be canceled due to the rain.

4/10/03
The tour was indeed canceled last night so I ended up staying in while my parents went out to dinner. It was nice to be alone for a while. Morn and dad came back with an apricot beer for me. Slept for about an hour before my dads snoring woke me up. I wandered around the hotel until I heard the elevator. Went back to the room and sat in the bathroom and read until my dad quit snoring.

Waiting for the car to take us to the airport. We are going to New Orleans. I am excited, but I will miss Savannah.

Now waiting for our plane. I am sick of seeing people with cell phones growing out of their ears. They all seem to be talking really loud like they want people to listen. I am tired.

Sitting on the plane. I love watching the people. On the connecting flight from Charleston to New Orleans we are unfortunate enough to be sitting behind a bunch of middle aged jerks. Listening to these guys talk is going to give me a permanent eye-roll.

At the hotel we wait while my dad registers us. It is freezing in New Orleans. We want to find a place to eat, but the man at the information desk implores us to not be on Canal Street after dark. We went out anyway and end up booking it back to the hotel out of fear. Want to go back to Savannah.

4/11/03
This morning we headed out at about nine in the morning. We walked to the French quarter and it was awesome. Amazing architecture and fantastic food. We went down Bourbon Street then had breakfast. Walked some more and found Pirates Alley. I had to walk down it so I could tell Gannon all about it. We checked out the French Market and then had hurricanes at O Brien s. Then went and had a I lunch of crawfish pie. The historic district here is amazing, so beautiful and old. We toured St Louis Cathedral. They have a statue of Joan of Arc. Went back to the hotel, again booking our way down Canal Street.

4/12/03
This morning we went back to the French quarter and had breakfast. We walked around for a while then went on a cemetery tour. We saw the famous voodoo queen, Marie Laveau s tomb. It was covered with XXX and offerings. To make a wish come true you mark a voodoo practitioner s tomb with three X s, knock three times, turn counter clockwise three times and leave an ring. Needless to say the graveyard was very interesting. We walked some more and had hurricanes at O Brien s then walked more. I love the architecture. We had a late lunch at a place called Petunias where my mom fell in love with the waiter.

4/13/03
This morning we got a very early start. We took a street car to the Garden District and had coffee while we waited for a tow guide. We had about an hour so we walked through another cemetery. We came to a tomb where the cover had fallen in. My mom looked and then screamed. There were human remains inside.

The tour guide took us through the historic homes where we saw Anne Rice s and Trent Reznor s homes. He then took us on a tour of the cemetery and I found out that a raised bed plot that had interested my parents and me earlier was filled with soil from Maine. After we took the street car to River Bend and I had a delicious lunch of crawfish cakes. After lunch we took another street car back to Bourbon Street and walked down town. It is the French quarter Festival so it is really hopping. We weft to the Pirates Cafe on Pirates Alley where I had an absinthe. We walked the area and I got gifts for friends and family. Went back to die Pirates Cafe and I had another absinthe. It started getting late so we walked back to our hotel. I can not believe this is our last night in New Orleans.

4/14/03
5 00am waiting for the airport shuttle. Interesting being out this early. There are a surprising number of people out. I wonder if they are out law or early.

Made it back to Baltimore. At my parents I went to bed at nine and did not open my eyes again until eight the next morning. Was supposed to see Mojo and Karen, but stuff came up. Walked into my parents town and had coffee and looked in the shops.

4/15/03
Go back to Maine. It is good to see Frank and the kids. Have such good memories of my vacation and am thankful for the experience.

Follow Up To Day in the Life of a Mother Rebel
Issue #3

Those of you who read the last issue of Mother Rebel know that I had pre cancer of the cervix. So just to keep you up to date I thought I would let you know how I dealt with It and how I am doing now.

My first thought was to take a holistic approach and do burdock root Infusion and supplements. I have done that before and had good results, but this time I just did not feel like going through the time, expense and the rest of it. I just felt like having it all over with. What I ended up having done was called a LEEP. A LEEP Is a procedure that uses electricity to remove the pre cancerous part or parts of the cervix. The procedure was not painful, but it was pretty unpleasant. When the nurse put a grounder on my thigh I was a little freaked out. I could smell my burning cervix and was shivering from the cold room. It didn t take very long, but when the doctor had finished he realized that the tassel on, his loafer was stuck in the drawer of the table. So there I was with my kootch stuck in the man s face and he can not get his foot free. The nurse had to help him out. Fortunately I am tough and able to see the humor In such things so it did not scar me too badly.

After the doctor got his foot free and left the room. I asked the nurse if I could see the part of my cervix he took off. It looked like a chunk of purplish red skin. The nurse then left the room before she gave me after care instructions. I got dressed and had to chase her down to find out when I could have sex again and ask about other concerns I had. She spoke to me briefly. Later Frank ended up looking on the Internet for me and getting the information I needed.

I left the doctors office feeling shaky and my heart was palpitating from the procedure. I sat in the car feeling pretty bummed, but Evelyn soon cracked me up by making an annoying, high pitched sound which caused Gannon to start screaming stop it, stop it over and over. I know, I have a bizarre sense of humor.

About a month later I had a follow up Pap smear to make sure they got everything. This time, much to my relief, the doctor wore lace up oxfords. He tried to give me the pap without a female nurse present. I am pretty sure it was not a pervy move, but It annoyed me anyway. I asked him to get a nurse and told him it was for his protection as well as mine. It took longer to get a nurse than It did to do the Pap smear. The results of that one came back flne so hopefully that will be the end of It.

Caitlin Cary, While You Weren t Looking
(Yep Roc Records)
Let me start by saying that I despise doing music reviews. Reviewing music implies that you know, or at least think you know, music. I don t know the first thing about music and I am not going to pretend otherwise. Having said that let s get to Caitlin Cary.

Caitlin Cary was In Whiskeytown with Ryan Adams. I think Ryan Adams has an impressive talent. but I am not a huge fan of him. However I am in love with Caitlin Cary and her CD While You Weren t Looking. She has a belting voice that sounds real in a world of digitally mastered, cookie cutter talent and she isn t afraid to play around with her sound. She writes her own songs and does a good job of it. Shallow heart/shallow water is my favorite song on the album. It is touching and beautiful. I love the sappy song Pony, about a woman and her i pony. I mean, what girl did not dream of having her very own i pony? Thick Walls Down has a really awesome alt-county twang with a rock and roll thread.

While You Weren t Looking has a little bit of everything. If you like alt country don t miss this one.

A few zines I like. They are arranged in alphabetical order.
- Bum In Hell Buddy The name alone makes it worthwhile. The content is icing on the cake. Find out where the name came from in issue #2. Two stamps or fair trade. Contact Lupine Ladies Press, PO Box 543 / Accokeek MD, 20607
- Create Me Free A compilation of prison writing brought together by Katheryn. Awesome and inspiring. $3.00, contact Create Me Free, PO Box 26044 / Tucson AZ, 85726
- Four Letter Word A kick ass zine put out by an angry grrrl. Don t miss this one. Email fingths411@hotmail.com
- Hermana, Resist issue #3 Red Degeneration Raw and honest. Frank was particularly touched by this one. $2.00 contact Noemi at www.chicanastuff.com and while you are there check out her distro.

These are just a few of the many. Look for more recommendations in future issues of Mother Rebel.