History

Tuesday, November 15, 2011 10:08 AM CST

It was a Tuesday in 1983 when Rachael was born at 8:03 am.
She weighed 6 lbs. 15.5 oz, and was 21 inches long.

"Tuesday's Child Is Full of Grace."

She certainly was, up until her last breath on March 1, 2003.

Please remember my Rachael. Don't forget the wonder of her.

Thank you.

Sunday, September 25, 2011 11:19 AM CDT

This is your favorite time of year Rachael. Cool, crisp fall days, colorful leaves, and your birthday in November. How I miss sharing things with you. How I miss knowing you as you'd now be.

To this day, I blame myself for not finding better doctors to treat you. Damn the physicians and their arrogant ways.

Sunday, April 24, 2011 4:52 PM CDT

I've been watching the Decorah Eagle Cam for a few weeks. When the eggs hatched, I remembered the story my Rachael wrote about eagles. I thought I'd share...She wrote it a long time ago, and it still brings tears to my eyes. Her sensitivity was amazing...I miss you so much Rachael. I am lost without you.

Taking Flight, Flying Free

Rachael Mayo
5th Grade

Plink…plop…Plink…plop…Plink…
I could hear rain falling outside.

Inside, I knew I couldn’t stand it much longer! It was getting to be a very tight squeeze. I had to break out! But it was so nice and warm. I knew once I broke out, I would be very, very cold.

But then, I thought I could see something…a picture in my mind. A beautiful winged creature. It was swooping and diving through the air, somehow taking flight and staying aloft far above the ground. It was extremely graceful. For some strange reason, I thought someday my scrawny body would achieve the same spectacular heights and incredible grace. Someday I knew I could be like the eagle in my dreams. Taking flight, flying free. But it would only happen if I broke out of this smelly, boring, tight place! With one small effort, I was free of the egg.

Almost immediately, a burst of freezing air hit my fuzzy face as the shell crumbled around my feet (which seemed much too big for my thin, fuzzed body). I looked up to see a huge, worried looking face. She stood there, staring at me, as if waiting for something to go wrong. Then I saw why she was worried. Cracked eggshells lay scattered across the next, but there were no other slightly fuzzy, scrawny bodies. I realized they must have died. I also knew the worried face that was staring at me so intently, must be my mother. I looked at her and let out a pitiful little squawk. She sighed in relief and said, “I have some food for you.” She turned, picked up the food, a piece of stinky dead fish, and laid it in front of me. I sniffed it, disgusted. “Am I supposed to eat this?” I thought. She looked worried that I wouldn’t eat, so I bit into it, chewed, swallowed and realized it tasted good. I ate the whole piece of stinky fish.

As I grew older, I grew long brown feathers, and lost my egg tooth. Even though my head was not yet white, I was now learning to fly. I stood, poised at the edge of a huge pile of sticks, which was about the size of a small car. I waited for my mother and father to return to the nest.

“Your turn. Go ahead,” my mother said.

I jumped. Even though my eyes were shut tight, I could feel myself falling through the air, the wind plastering back my feathers.

“Flap you wings!” My father yelled.

“Flap my wings?” I remembered thinking, “how in the world do you do that?” The next think I knew, I had a mouthful of dirt. I didn’t want to open my eyes. I thought I must be dead. But then I heard a voice that strangely enough, sounded like my father.

“You should have flapped you wings! Come on, get up.” I opened my eyes. I wasn’t dead, but my whole body ached.

“Come on, let’s try it again. Oh dear, this never happened with any of our other children. They always were able to fly right away.” My mother complained.

“It’s probably the Thin Shell disease,” my Father decided.

“But I heard the Thin Shell poison was banned by The Humans.”

“I’ve heard of cases of it. If it isn’t Thin Shell, then why did the eggs crumble always as soon as they were pecked open? Why did the other eaglets die?”

I listened to them argue on and on about Thin Shell, flying, and the other eaglets. Although, at that time, I had no idea what they were babbling about. Pretty soon I got up and stretched my wings, and started to hop from rock to rock, slowly making my way up the steep Cliffside to the next, leaving my parents arguing down on the ground.

A short time later, my parents flew up to the nest. “I see you made it back up okay. Good. We can try it again,” my father said.

“Again?!?! What do you mean, again? I’m just going to fall!” I exclaimed.

“Yes, you might fall. But eagles are meant to soar above the clouds, not waddle around like an old turtle. If you don’t try, you will not do what all eagles are meant to do,” my mother explained.

“I don’t care what eagles are meant to do. It’s better not to try and stay alive, than to try and die with a mouthful of dirt.” But then I remembered something, the image in my mind . . . so long ago. The creature that was swooping, and diving through the air. I strained my mind to remember what it looked like. Then I realized what it was, what the whole dream meant. It was an eagle, like me, like my parents, life my parent’s parents. They had all done what was meant for them to do.

Now it was my turn. Without saying another word, I stood at the edge of the next and spread my wings. I leapt from the nest to the air, acting purely on instinct. My life seemed to come together at that glorious point in time. My whole future seemed to be laid before me. A future of flying, of being free. A whole lifetime to make my dreams come true. I soared through the air, so happy I burst out laughing.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011 6:01 AM CST

Some of Rachael's poetry.

“ I AM”

I am a strange writer of science fiction.
I wonder what the clouded future holds.
I hear the doors to the past slamming shut.
I see the wondrous and frightening possibilities ahead.
I want to find the truth.
I am a strange writer of science fiction.

I pretend not to fear the unknown.
I feel the world shifting and changing around me.
I touch the entrance to the portal to the future.
I worry that we will destroy that future.
I cry for those who may not see their dreams fulfilled.
I am a strange writer of science fiction.

I understand that no one can prepare for the future.
I say that we can try.
I dream of a golden age for mankind.
I only try to do my part.
I hope my attempts are not futile.
I am a strange writer of science fiction.

Rachael Lynn Mayo

Rachael did not like writing poetry. One of her class assignments a few years back prompted her to write

GREEN

If you took all of the Universe
Everything ever made,
And condensed it,
Most of it would probably be
Green.

Why green?
Is there not just as much blue
Or red
Or brown
As there is green?

But think of every tree leaf
And flower stem
And palm frond
Grown throughout the entirety of time
condensed to an area the size of a marble.
Yes, it would mostly be
Green.

Of course,
If you condensed everything ever in existence to the size of a Marble,
It would be so incredibly dense, it would create
A Black Hole
And we
Would
All
Be
S
U
C
K
E
D

I
N
.

Oh
Well.
Never mind.

UNIDENTIFIED

Sitting on
silver
Flying through
night
Whispering
metal
Begins its
strange flight.

Impossible,
They say,
And try to
cover-up
But “CLASSIFIED”
Won’t work
The jig
is up.

Over the
cities
Over the
country
People stare,
thinking,
What can
it be?

But we show
the Truth
Things are not
as they seem
You’ll soon
realize your
reality’s a
dream.

And so it
begins
just as we
leave.
The questions
no answers
They try to
deceive.

But the people
know now.
They’ll trust their
own eyes
The next UFO
Won’t be a
surprise.

Monday, December 6, 2010 10:02 AM CST

Rachael wrote this her Junior year in high school, prior to her dx of Hodgkins Lymphoma in July of 2001.

Impromptu Essay
1/12/2001

A Room Full of Mirrors

Throughout history, we see two major conflicts, the urge to control and the desire to be free. Many people spend all their lives striving for independence from everything, but in the end the only complete independence is loneliness. Whenever you surround yourself by people you are, to some extent, controlled, and you also exert an amount of control over them. It has been said that, “You have no control over the world. You have no control over anyone but you… every move you make is yours,” but this is not entirely accurate. Everyone lives in a proverbial room full of mirrors – the mirrors are the people who we interact with. Through our contact with them, we create in their minds an image of ourselves, and we can alter how we exist in their minds by acting differently. Conversely, our perception of them can change based on how they act, and people can make a more favorable impression on others by putting up a façade. However, no one can completely control anyone else, for everyone is an individual and it is this unpredictability that makes life interesting.
Many people think the only way to control others is by threatening them or imprisoning them. They try throughout their lives to change the people around them as much as possible. They think that the only way to be happy is by making everyone else exactly like them. However, a lifetime of trying to control people only leads to heartache and futility – many failed dictatorships are a good example of this. Automatically, we control people to a certain extent just by simply passing them on the street. For example, if someone dresses in a nun’s habit, they give the people they meet the idea that they are nuns’. In the minds of most people, it means they are giving and devoted to their faith. If a nun asks someone a favor, they’re more likely to give it than if the person asking was a punk with a green Mohawk. It’s the simple sad truth of our society that we judge by appearance. Yet, that person might not be a nun just because they masquerade as one; they might go home, take off their habit, and have green hair, multiple piercing, and tattoos underneath. Yet it doesn’t have to be this extreme. In the simple nuances of how we act, the way we speak, the tones of our voices, and our hand gestures we create an image in the other person’s mind of who we are. Their view may become may become distorted by misconceptions or prejudices, but on the whole we control how they perceive us.
However, just because you aren’t abusing that control doesn’t mean others can’t. Back to the nun – if you aren’t a nun but dress like one you are, in a way, lying. You force a false perception on others. Someone may come up to a nun with a donation to the church, but if you’re just pretending to be a nun and take the donation, you’re abusing that control. Others can make a more favorable impression in our minds by acting differently or saying different things. It is true that very few people naturally act how they are on the inside, but it’s not hard to purposefully deceive others. Everyone uses this sort of control over others at some time, whether they’re aware of it or not.
One must wonder, then, if people can control how we think of them and how we act around them, what else do we have? What do we have that is our own? Seeing through the way others want you to see them and into who they really are is very difficult, but it can be done. In the end, our thoughts are still our own, and while we can be controlled somewhat, it is our individuality that stops anyone from completely controlling you or you from controlling them. No two people look exactly alike, think exactly alike, act exactly alike, or react exactly alike. So, you can never know quite what people are thinking. Not everyone will react to you quite how you want or expect him or her to. This unpredictability can lead to disagreements or harmony, but in the end it’s this that makes life exciting and worthwhile.
Control and freedom create a curious balance. We want control, but we want the unpredictability that makes life exciting. The billionaire who owns half the world is probably less happy overall than some street bums because there’s nothing spontaneous or unexpected about his life anymore. We also want freedom, but we want to be surrounded by our friends. To some extent, friends, family, acquaintances, and the miscellaneous person on the street control us, but why should we see this as a problem? No matter whom you are, no matter where you go, everyone is connected. That’s something to be happy about.

Monday, November 1, 2010 6:29 AM CDT

Thanks, But No Thanks

A familiar story: several hundred years ago, 381 to be exact, a few less than a hundred people hopped on a boat for the New World. I don’t know what gave them the idea; certainly, most everyone says it was religious freedom, but that honestly doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. You see, these people were Puritans. Their activities mainly consisted of praying all day and abstaining from everything good in life. That doesn’t sound much like freedom to me. In any case, those Puritans got their asses and cattle and chickens over to Plymouth Rock, where they sat down and partook (yes, it’s a word) in a good old-fashioned Native American meal, or so one would be led to believe. Honestly, I strongly doubt that Native Americans had canned cranberry sauce, green-bean casserole, or flavored stuffing.

There are many, many things wrong with Thanksgiving dinner that you, yourself, may never have realized. For starters, it is always on a Thursday, which, next to Tuesday, is easily the most meaningless day of the week. Also, you don’t get to dress up in costumes, decorate a tree, or paint eggs. No one even gives you presents. However, my main bone to pick is with the supposedly “all American” food that is traditionally served.

First, I’d like to get one of the most disgusting and perplexing food items out of the way. This would be the cranberry crud, more commonly known as canned cranberry sauce. How could this be sauce? How could anyone, conceivably, find a way to pour or smear it onto anything? It has no practical sauce-like uses. This is not sauce, this is Jell-O. It remains in the form of the can, much like a Jell-O mold, and when you don’t look at it, it jiggles under its own power. Mysterious foreign objects have been found, suspended in congealed stasis, within the Sauce. Why would anyone, barring near-starvation, dare to come within ten feet of such a product? There is something not healthy about that stuff.

Secondly come the green beans. Maybe you eat green beans at Thanksgiving, maybe you don’t. Maybe you serve Brussel sprouts, lima beans, or peas instead. Either way, they all fall into the same group – green things that smell bad. In my experience, if it smells bad it generally tastes bad. I’ve always seen this as Nature’s little way of saying, “Hands off! Don’t eat! Bad for you! Danger, Will Robinson!” without one actually having to taste the offending food item. And, indeed, they do not taste very good. Why persist in serving something that tastes and smells bad? If you’re looking for the healthy green vegetables benefit, there are much better choices out there that have no smell, such as lettuce and uncooked spinach since cooked spinach also qualifies as a green thing that smells bad. Plus, who can deny that spinach is good for you? Popeye and nine out of ten American grandmothers say so.

Another problem food is the mashed potato. I like mashed potatoes as much as the next Minnesotan, but honestly, if you’re planning on having a large family with many small children over to eat, this is the worst possible item to put on the menu. They will figure out every possible unsavory thing to do with their mashed potatoes. They will throw them at each other. They will make volcanoes and have them explode, sending pyroclastic gravy flows onto their neighbors. If they just saw Close Encounters of the Third Kind they will, I repeat, will make Devil’s Tower out of them. It’s a fact of life, and, unfortunately, being forced to include inordinate amounts of small children at the holidays is all too often another fact of life. Because Thanksgiving is considered a time to be with relatives we often find ourselves knee-deep in underdeveloped humans, especially in the Midwest where sometimes one family can make up over half the population of a small town.

Lastly is the turkey. This is the very staple of traditional Thanksgiving food, so you may be wondering what I could possibly have against this icon of holiday togetherness, this visage that so many school children poorly emulate by tracing their handprints. My bone to pick with Turkey is the matter of the meat. Turkey is meat. Now, I am not a vegetarian; I don’t avoid meat consistently. I just don’t like it. The same way some people don’t care much for vanilla ice cream or white bread. I don’t like the taste of meat, and while I will eat the occasional burger, I don’t want to be expected to put away four pounds of dead bird in one sitting. In addition to that, there are several million vegetarians who will not eat turkey. What is there for them? Nibbling on cranberry crud and hoping it doesn’t nibble back? Carving Devil’s Tower from a mound of mashed potatoes? Tofurky? This is hardly equality.

Some people just don’t care for traditional Thanksgiving fare. Others, like me, absolutely despise it. Thanksgiving is a time to give thanks for life, love, and good food, but if the food isn’t good that’s only two out of three, which makes for a generally unfulfilling holiday. So take my advice: the next time you serve Thanksgiving dinner, make sure there’s a great variety, not just supposedly “traditional” American food, but Italian, Mexican, Chinese, Kuala Lumperian, or whatever you think your guests might like. After all, America is supposed to be the melting pot of the world, right? What could be more American than a melting pot of multi-cultural cuisine? Remember to ask people what they want and then there will be something for everyone to be thankful for.

But remember, forget the cranberry crud. Just get rid of that stuff altogether. You
Never know what it might get up and do while you’re not looking…

Rachael Mayo
2001

Tuesday, September 28, 2010 3:58 PM CDT

Persuasive Essay
01/2001

Teenager Number 64 -- Categorization: Nerd

On the whole, most people don’t appreciate being stereotyped. We’re told it is wrong to stereotype people by race, gender, and religion. However, we find a different set of preconceptions floating around in place of those increasingly outdated ideas. Now, our culture constantly stereotypes people by age, and the age stereotype that seems the most off-focus is that of teenagers. People in my age group often laugh at movies and television shows about teenagers because the people who make most of them seem to know less about being our age than they do about walking on the moon. Only a handful of people have walked on the moon; however, everyone over 19 has experienced their teenage years. Yet, through television, movies, and even the nightly news, adults are fed harmful stereotypes about teens. Whether they fully believe these stereotypes or not, these ideas have led to greater miscommunication across the age gap than ever before. This ranges from adults expecting teenagers to be something they’re not -- a small problem that’s everyone has invariably faced -- to adults fearing teens because of the images presented by the media. It these misconceptions of teens’ behavior at school, our behavior with our peers, and our overall behavior with adults were dispelled, we could all have a better understanding of each other.

A frequent theme in high school-based dramas and sitcoms is the polarization between the “popular” and “unpopular” groups in schools and the presence of territorial “cliques.” The stereotype is that the popular people are the jocks who sacrifice school work for a social life, and the unpopular people are the nerds who forsake a social life for good grades. This is an efficient categorization system, but an entire age group is not something to be filed away. Many people who play a lot of sports also get good grades, while someone who isn’t involved in any extra-curriculars might be failing. Not everyone fits into their files, sticking with one easily categorized group of friends or “clique.” It’s rare that someone’s “friends” are so possessive that they pressure them not to associate with others. By the time we’re in high school most of us have the maturity to drop that territorial attitude and look outside our usual crowd.

Another off-beat misconception about teenagers is their dating habits. Many of the people who are interested in dating have been dating since middle school, so the idea that people come into high school knowing nothing about how to associate with the opposite sex is false. Also, not all high school relationships are short-lived and meaningless; many are long term and mature. Even so, some people never date at all throughout high school simply because they’re not interested in further complicating their lives with a boyfriend or girlfriend yet. In other words, it’s not safe to assume to know exactly what kinds of relationships a teenager has been in just by their age. This assumption isn’t so much harmful as annoying, but it really can irk some teenagers when relatives constantly ask, “So, do you have a boy/girlfriend yet?”
Despite all that, the most harmful stereotype about teenagers is in how we deal with our parents and other adults. Stereotypically, teenagers are either completely compliant or totally rebellious. A picture begins to develop of a teenage population where half is doing drugs while the other half is following their parents’ dictates with barely a sigh. Shows like The Brady Bunch and Seventh Heaven have kids that may get into minor trouble but eventually learn the “errors of their ways” and go back to being sheep. This is inaccurate in most cases. “Not even pastor’s kids are that good,” stated Leann Tatkenhorst, who is the daughter of a Lutheran pastor, in reference to Seventh Heaven. “In fact,” she said, “sometimes we’re even worse than others just ‘cause we’re expected to be perfect.” True, most teenagers are somewhat rebellious, as has always been the nature of our age. We’ll argue if we think something is unjust, like any adult. Also like any adult, we don’t like to be judged on appearance. It’s impossible to know just by looking at people whether they’re rebels or angels simply according to whether they dye their hair or wear black. I have blue hair and tend towards dark clothing but I’ve never broken any laws or gotten into major trouble at school. Not all people who dress in black are troublemakers, but it’s this stereotype that has lead to the most misunderstanding among adults and even other teens. In light of Columbine and other saddening events of school violence, I’ve known many people, both teens and adults, to look at me strangely or ask if I’m a member of the “Trenchcoat Mafia” when I wear black clothes to school. In truth, less than 1f violence related to children ages 5-19 occurs in school (Facts About Violence Among Youth and Violence in Schools). The sensationalist media does too much to step up the paranoia about teen violence. Due to the media, the average adult thinks that 43f violent crimes in the US are perpetrated by teenagers, when it’s really only 13Holhut). This leads to adults fearing teenagers instead trying to relate to them, and fear is always the hardest stereotypes to overcome.

It hurts to be feared, but being expected to be something one isn’t bothers everyone as well. Adults often expect teens to be a certain way, and when they’re not, both sides can become annoyed or angry. Because of stereotypes teenagers are often patronized, viewed as untrustworthy, or completely dismissed because some adults think we are all whiny, immature brats like on so many television shows, or the angry murderers we hear so much about on the news. The only way teens can learn to get along better with parents, teachers, bosses, and other adults in their lives is if the adults first learn that we’re not all the same. Some are mature; some aren’t. Some are whiny, some are not. A few are dangerous - a few adults are dangerous, too - but most of us are well-meaning people with a lot to offer if we’re allowed to speak our mind without prejudice. Adults need to realize this and teenagers need to make an effort to educate them so everyone can communicate better, without the barriers of stereotypes getting in the way of a better understanding across the age gap.

What Counts at Winona Senior High

To some, it is crucial to stand out, to make a spectacle of themselves, or to show off. To others, it’s necessary to fit in, to be well liked, and to have a high social standing. But to some, like myself, it’s better to be ignored than to garner too much attention. Rumors and accusations fly about the most noticeable members of any society, especially high school. The ones who go largely unnoticed and un-talked about can be happier in high school.
Certainly, I have a small group of friends, but I do not have to change who I am or struggle to be accepted by them. I do not stand out, nor do I conform. I am myself, but I don’t make a big deal about it. I am intelligent, clever, and even witty at times, but I don’t brag and I’m no class clown. I listen well and try to be friendly, but I don’t hug everyone I see. I am talented in many things, but I don’t sing my heart out in the concourse, plaster my drawings to walls, recite my stories and poetry, or play my music I’ve written at school. I am original and unique, but I don’t have to prove it with piercings, tattoos, or unusual clothing. I get along well with many people; those I don’t I simply avoid.
Succeeding in the high school society is all a matter of moderation. Be friendly, but not too friendly. Be smart, but don’t brag. Express yourself, but don’t flaunt your talents. Stand up for yourself, but try not to make enemies. Speak with a sharp wit and strong words, but don’t yell. If you can be yourself, that’s great. If you can be yourself without offending others, that’s even better. Being rich doesn’t make your life any easier. Family name, money, social standing – they all don’t matter. The true keys are consideration towards others and everything in moderation, even moderation.
Don’t be afraid to go wild once in a while.

Rachael Lynn Mayo ‘01

Monday, August 9, 2010 3:47 PM CDT

Impromptu Essay
1/12/2001
Rachael Lynn Mayo

A Room Full of Mirrors

Throughout history, we see two major conflicts, the urge to control and the desire to be free. Many people spend all their lives striving for independence from everything, but in the end the only complete independence is loneliness. Whenever you surround yourself by people you, to some extent, controlled, and you also exert an amount of control over them. It has been said that, “You have no control over the world. You have no control over anyone but you… every move you make is yours,” but this is not entirely accurate. Everyone lives in a proverbial room full of mirrors – the mirrors are the people who we interact with. Through our contact with them, we create in their minds an image of ourselves, and we can alter how we exist in their minds by acting differently. Conversely, our perception of them can change based on how they act, and people can make a more favorable impression on others by putting up a façade. However, no one can completely control anyone else, for everyone is an individual and it is this unpredictability that makes life interesting.
Many people think the only way to control others is by threatening them or imprisoning them. They try throughout their lives to change the people around them as much as possible. They think that the only way to be happy is by making everyone else exactly like them. However, a lifetime of trying to control people only leads to heartache and futility – many failed dictatorships are a good example of this. Automatically, we control people to a certain extent just by simply passing them on the street. For example, if someone dresses in a nun’s habit, they give the people they meet the idea that they are nuns’. In the minds of most people, it means they are giving and devoted to their faith. If a nun asks someone a favor, they’re more likely to give it than if the person asking was a punk with a green Mohawk. It’s the simple sad truth of our society that we judge by appearance. Yet, that person might not be a nun just because they masquerade as one; they might go home, take off their habit, and have green hair, multiple piercing, and tattoos underneath. Yet it doesn’t have to be this extreme. In the simple nuances of how we act, the way we speak, the tones of our voices, and our hand gestures we create an image in the other person’s mind of who we are. Their view may become may become distorted by misconceptions or prejudices, but on the whole we control how they perceive us.
However, just because you aren’t abusing that control doesn’t mean others can’t. Back to the nun – if you aren’t a nun but dress like one you are, in a way, lying. You force a false perception on others. Someone may come up to a nun with a donation to the church, but if you’re just pretending to be a nun and take the donation, you’re abusing that control. Others can make a more favorable impression in our minds by acting differently or saying different things. It is true that very few people naturally act how they are on the inside, but it’s not hard to purposefully deceive others. Everyone uses this sort of control over others at some time, whether they’re aware of it or not.
One must wonder, then, if people can control how we think of them and how we act around them, what else do we have? What do we have that is our own? Seeing through the way others want you to see them and into who they really are is very difficult, but it can be done. In the end, our thoughts are still our own, and while we can be controlled somewhat, it is our individuality that stops anyone from completely controlling you or you from controlling them. No two people look exactly alike, think exactly alike, act exactly alike, or react exactly alike. So, you can never know quite what people are thinking. Not everyone will react to you quite how you want or expect him or her to. This unpredictability can lead to disagreements or harmony, but in the end it’s this that makes life exciting and worthwhile.
Control and freedom create a curious balance. We want control, but we want the unpredictability that makes life exciting. The billionaire who owns half the world is probably less happy overall than some street bums because there’s nothing spontaneous or unexpected about his life anymore. We also want freedom, but we want to be surrounded by our friends. To some extent, friends, family, acquaintances, and the miscellaneous person on the street control us, but why should we see this as a problem? No matter whom you are, no matter where you go, everyone is connected. That’s something to be happy about.

Sunday, July 11, 2010 7:19 AM CDT

The above photo of Rachael and some of her friends during highschool. I thought it appropriate to reprint this essay.

What Counts at Winona Senior High

To some, it is crucial to stand out, to make a spectacle of themselves, or to show off. To others, it’s necessary to fit in, to be well liked, and to have a high social standing. But to some, like myself, it’s better to be ignored than to garner too much attention. Rumors and accusations fly about the most noticeable members of any society, especially high school. The ones who go largely unnoticed and un-talked about can be happier in high school.
Certainly, I have a small group of friends, but I do not have to change who I am or struggle to be accepted by them. I do not stand out, nor do I conform. I am myself, but I don’t make a big deal about it. I am intelligent, clever, and even witty at times, but I don’t brag and I’m no class clown. I listen well and try to be friendly, but I don’t hug everyone I see. I am talented in many things, but I don’t sing my heart out in the concourse, plaster my drawings to walls, recite my stories and poetry, or play my music I’ve written at school. I am original and unique, but I don’t have to prove it with piercings, tattoos, or unusual clothing. I get along well with many people; those I don’t I simply avoid.
Succeeding in the high school society is all a matter of moderation. Be friendly, but not too friendly. Be smart, but don’t brag. Express yourself, but don’t flaunt your talents. Stand up for yourself, but try not to make enemies. Speak with a sharp wit and strong words, but don’t yell. If you can be yourself, that’s great. If you can be yourself without offending others, that’s even better. Being rich doesn’t make your life any easier. Family name, money, social standing – they all don’t matter. The true keys are consideration towards others and everything in moderation, even moderation.
Don’t be afraid to go wild once in a while.

Rachael Lynn Mayo ‘01

Monday, May 17, 2010 5:57 PM CDT

I miss her so much. I wish I could hear her voice. I wish the doctors who were not careful enough with her could feel some of the pain I experience daily.

I miss her so much...my Rachael, my love, my heartache.

Friday, March 26, 2010 6:12 AM CDT

It means a lot when people write and say they remember Rachael. I too often think it's just our little family of Pat, Ross, Fred and I who remember and care...

Sunday, February 28, 2010 6:28 AM CST

Tears and memories and more tears.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010 7:10 AM CST

The last communication Rachael wrote . . .

February 14, 1:23AM
I've got some very scary news for all of you, and I wish I didn't have to tell you by e-mail. I'm in the Fairview-University hospital again; I'm having quite a lot of trouble breathing. Their last hope to heal my lungs is intubating me and putting me on a respirator. That's kind of the last stop, if it doesn't work. We don't know why this is happening, but they're going to try to heal it and keep me alive. They'll have to sedate me heavily; I'll be in a relative coma for a while, maybe 2 weeks. I'm so very, very scared.
Please remember that you've all been wonderful friends to me, that I miss you, and yes, that I love you, in my own way. Pray to what or whomever you see as divine that this saves me. I'm so very scared; I hope none of you ever have to go through this. You're all free to visit during this time. I'm on the adult BMT floor, 4A, of the University Fairview Hospital in the Cities, but don't expect me to be very cognizant. Please keep me in your thoughts, and if things do take a turn for the worse, I'll see you in the next life.

Sincerely and with love, Rachael Mayo

(Rachael sent the following to the people at an Evangelion Website she loved.)

“For those of you who have gotten to know me here, I would be remiss in not telling you that I'm back in the hospital, about to be intubated for a very bad problem with my lungs. I'll be very heavily sedated, perhaps for weeks. It's not without very serious risk. It could go very badly, but it won't, because I'm too strong to die. I just thought I'd let this community, which has given me so much joy, laughs, and entertainment, that this is happening and ask you to pray for me to whatever you worship as the divine. Thank you all.”
- R. Mayo

Tuesday, January 12, 2010 5:29 AM CST

another year...

My sister Pat (Aunt Nope) started a web page.

http://web.me.com/patact/patact/Welcome.html

Thursday, December 24, 2009 2:48 PM CST

...nothing merry or bright, just a lot of lonliness and sadness.

Drapes are drawn, lights are out...settling down for a long, long nap.

Sunday, December 6, 2009 8:31 AM CST

I miss what should have been. I HATE what is my reality...

Wednesday, November 4, 2009 5:54 AM CST

...as promised, Rachael's Thanksgiving Essay

Thanks, But No Thanks

A familiar story: several hundred years ago, 381 to be exact, a few less than a hundred people hopped on a boat for the New World. I don’t know what gave them the idea; certainly, most everyone says it was religious freedom, but that honestly doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. You see, these people were Puritans. Their activities mainly consisted of praying all day and abstaining from everything good in life. That doesn’t sound much like freedom to me. In any case, those Puritans got their asses and cattle and chickens over to Plymouth Rock, where they sat down and partook (yes, it’s a word) in a good old-fashioned Native American meal, or so one would be led to believe. Honestly, I strongly doubt that Native Americans had canned cranberry sauce, green-bean casserole, or flavored stuffing.

There are many, many things wrong with Thanksgiving dinner that you, yourself, may never have realized. For starters, it is always on a Thursday, which, next to Tuesday, is easily the most meaningless day of the week. Also, you don’t get to dress up in costumes, decorate a tree, or paint eggs. No one even gives you presents. However, my main bone to pick is with the supposedly “all American” food that is traditionally served.

First, I’d like to get one of the most disgusting and perplexing food items out of the way. This would be the cranberry crud, more commonly known as canned cranberry sauce. How could this be sauce? How could anyone, conceivably, find a way to pour or smear it onto anything? It has no practical sauce-like uses. This is not sauce, this is Jell-O. It remains in the form of the can, much like a Jell-O mold, and when you don’t look at it, it jiggles under its own power. Mysterious foreign objects have been found, suspended in congealed stasis, within the Sauce. Why would anyone, barring near-starvation, dare to come within ten feet of such a product? There is something not healthy about that stuff.

Secondly come the green beans. Maybe you eat green beans at Thanksgiving, maybe you don’t. Maybe you serve Brussel sprouts, lima beans, or peas instead. Either way, they all fall into the same group – green things that smell bad. In my experience, if it smells bad it generally tastes bad. I’ve always seen this as Nature’s little way of saying, “Hands off! Don’t eat! Bad for you! Danger, Will Robinson!” without one actually having to taste the offending food item. And, indeed, they do not taste very good. Why persist in serving something that tastes and smells bad? If you’re looking for the healthy green vegetables benefit, there are much better choices out there that have no smell, such as lettuce and uncooked spinach since cooked spinach also qualifies as a green thing that smells bad. Plus, who can deny that spinach is good for you? Popeye and nine out of ten American grandmothers say so.

Another problem food is the mashed potato. I like mashed potatoes as much as the next Minnesotan, but honestly, if you’re planning on having a large family with many small children over to eat, this is the worst possible item to put on the menu. They will figure out every possible unsavory thing to do with their mashed potatoes. They will throw them at each other. They will make volcanoes and have them explode, sending pyroclastic gravy flows onto their neighbors. If they just saw Close Encounters of the Third Kind they will, I repeat, will make Devil’s Tower out of them. It’s a fact of life, and, unfortunately, being forced to include inordinate amounts of small children at the holidays is all too often another fact of life. Because Thanksgiving is considered a time to be with relatives we often find ourselves knee-deep in underdeveloped humans, especially in the Midwest where sometimes one family can make up over half the population of a small town.

Lastly is the turkey. This is the very staple of traditional Thanksgiving food, so you may be wondering what I could possibly have against this icon of holiday togetherness, this visage that so many school children poorly emulate by tracing their handprints. My bone to pick with Turkey is the matter of the meat. Turkey is meat. Now, I am not a vegetarian; I don’t avoid meat consistently. I just don’t like it. The same way some people don’t care much for vanilla ice cream or white bread. I don’t like the taste of meat, and while I will eat the occasional burger, I don’t want to be expected to put away four pounds of dead bird in one sitting. In addition to that, there are several million vegetarians who will not eat turkey. What is there for them? Nibbling on cranberry crud and hoping it doesn’t nibble back? Carving Devil’s Tower from a mound of mashed potatoes? Tofurky? This is hardly equality.

Some people just don’t care for traditional Thanksgiving fare. Others, like me, absolutely despise it. Thanksgiving is a time to give thanks for life, love, and good food, but if the food isn’t good that’s only two out of three, which makes for a generally unfulfilling holiday. So take my advice: the next time you serve Thanksgiving dinner, make sure there’s a great variety, not just supposedly “traditional” American food, but Italian, Mexican, Chinese, Kuala Lumperian, or whatever you think your guests might like. After all, America is supposed to be the melting pot of the world, right? What could be more American than a melting pot of multi-cultural cuisine? Remember to ask people what they want and then there will be something for everyone to be thankful for.

But remember, forget the cranberry crud. Just get rid of that stuff altogether. You
Never know what it might get up and do while you’re not looking…

Rachael Mayo
2001

Friday, October 23, 2009 4:43 PM CDT

I feel like a fraud. I was filling in an online survey today. It asked me if I had children. I answered YES. Then I was asked the ages...there was no place to check DECEASED.

Can I still call myself a mother if my children are dead?

Rachael's favorite holiday is just around the corner...how she loved Halloween! Rachael and Jessica's birthdays follow in November (the 15th and the 18th)...then Rachael's least favorite holiday, Thanksgiving (I'll be sure to post her essay about turkey-day.)

We just had to say goodbye to a favorite cat...Lenny Boy. He came to us a year or so after Rachael died. He was always the one to jump into our laps when either Fred or I cried. He was so sensitive...he'd lick the tears as they rolled down our cheeks. I hope there is a place where Rachael, Jessica and Lenny can meet.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009 6:35 PM CDT

Missing my Rachael, and wondering what my Jessica would have been. In both cases, trust was placed with the medical profession...failed us twice.

"Fool me once, shame on you...fool me twice, shame on me."

...forever shamed and sad, very, very sad.

Wednesday, September 30, 2009 6:12 PM CDT

very lonely for my girl...

Monday, September 28, 2009 8:08 AM CDT

Today is my birthday.

I am 60 today.

I never thought I'd live this long after Rachael's death.

I mention this because since Rachael died I no longer celebrate birthdays. They are but a sad reminder of another year without my daughter.

I wish all those well meaning people would stop sending me "Happy Birthday" greetings. It's like sticking a knife in my heart over and over again. I can't celebrate a damn thing without my daughter.

There is no happy!

There is only an overwhelming sadness.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009 2:58 PM CDT

Rachael wrote this during her Senior year.

“Always Let Your Conscience be Your Guide”

Today, many public figures, from pundits to presidents, often bemoan what they see as our lax values. Parents, too, wonder about this and search for someone to blame. The media is a convenient scapegoat, as are their children’s peers, and many parents worry if they are at fault and seek to impose stricter values. Yet in the end they are still left to guess where their kids picked up swear words and ideas of violence. Some might say the remedy is teaching values in school, but that begs the question, whose values? Should the values be determined by a certain cultural or religious precedent? If so, which religion and which culture? Some still haven’t realized it, but history has made it clear that it’s wrong to push one’s religion or culture onto someone not accepting of it. So, are there any universal values that should be followed by everyone, regardless? This is difficult, as each situation demands an individually tailored response. There is very little that everyone could agree on for every situation, save for “Treat others as you would like to be treated,” an ideal adopted in some form by nearly every religion and philosophy. But where does one look to from there? In the end, I believe we need look no further than ourselves.
Some inevitably turn to those with power and influence to say what’s right and good for them. They want someone to model their lives after. Parents are powerful forces in our lives, especially when we’re young, and often act as role-models. However, while parents often know what’s right, not all of their values will apply to their children’s lives. Some people turn to a role-model outside the family. This can be someone as well-meaning as a religious figure or as unscrupulous as a famous criminal, and in-between we have all the world’s actors, athletes, authors, and historical figures. Others find pre-canned sets of values in a religion or the writings of dead philosophers. But do the things that were considered proper hundreds or thousands of years ago still apply now? While some basic ideals will always apply, times change, and we must develop new ideas and adapt to new circumstances. We must step away from the comfort of letting others think for us and learn to think for ourselves.
Unfortunately, some people’s ability to think for themselves is so dim that they never think to develop a conscience. Instead, they convince themselves that what’s wrong is right, or they become so apathetic that it doesn’t matter to them. It’s clear that our society thinks that without strict guidance, all young people will do drugs, smoke, drink, steal, hurt others, and skip school at the first opportunity, but this is a misconception. In reality, if anyone does it is not because ours is an immoral society or that parents aren’t doing their jobs, but because too many people never learn to think for themselves and don’t realize or care that such temptations would do more harm than good. We don’t all need a heavy hand to push us away from falling into every temptation that comes along. There are those young people who never had to be taught these things but decided on their own to make the right choices.
When I began high school, I realized that doing my best, even in my least favorite classes, would get me where I wanted to go in life. Certainly, my realization wasn’t anything special; the majority of high school students operate about the same way. However, upon starting my senior year, I had to confront something most students don’t encounter. I found out I had cancer, and that I’d have to undergo several months of treatment that would make me sick, weak, and prone to infection. I was told that it would be perfectly acceptable for me to take the year off of school. At the most, they expected I would stay out of school and go on full-time homebound learning. But neither was an option for me. I don’t love school, but I don’t hate it either. I knew I had to persevere because it is part of the code of conduct I’ve built for myself that I should try to get as much as I can out of whatever I do, including high school. In the beginning, there were days when I was absent for doctor visits, but otherwise I knew I was as capable of attending school as anyone else. As I underwent more chemotherapy, I had to stay home more frequently and my legs got weaker as I lost more of my strength and coordination. I had to use a cane at school, but I was still there. There were times I had to stay at home or be hospitalized for weeks at a time due to an infection, but when I felt better I was back. Only now, facing a possible relapse of my cancer and harsher, more debilitating chemotherapy am I even considering staying home permanently, but I’m still planning to do all the work I need to graduate and try my hardest to do it well. Though having cancer has been the most frightening and difficult experience of my life and though I was essentially given a free ticket to slack off for a year, I know keeping up as much as I can is best for me in the long run, just like it’s best for me not to smoke, do drugs, drink, or hurt others.
It is possible to decide not to smoke without having a “talk” with your parents. Many don’t need the “DARE” program to keep them off drugs. For all the teenagers that go out drinking, there are those who’d rather have fun in a safer way. For as many people who steal, there are those who’ve never pilfered so much as a gumball. Violence among students has actually dropped in the past ten years, though the media would seem to have us think otherwise. And finally, not all students skip school, apathetic about their future. Some of us have made our own goals. Some can actually think for themselves and to look to their inner conscience for values. Those who cannot should learn. Learn to care about what’s best for you and avoid the trap of apathy. Learn without relying on someone else to determine what’s right and wrong. Learn to develop a conscience on your own and make choices based on your own values. As a certain cartoon cricket once said, “Always let your conscience be your guide.”

Sunday, August 2, 2009 3:36 PM CDT

MY SWEET RACHAEL

AGAIN!

I want to hear your voice.
I want to smile at your laughter.
I want to be awakened at night by your snores.

I want to hold your hand.
Massage your feet.
Stroke your cheek.
Kiss your forehead.

If I were given that chance AGAIN, I would…
Fight harder against the disease that made you ill.
Ask more questions.
Find Better Doctors!
Be braver. Be more like you.

I’d record your voice, so I could hear you…again.
Take more pictures of you smiling! Remembering the times before
cancer, before the horrors of transplant.
I’d record the sound of your snore, so I’d know your sleep was not
the silence of death.

SOMEDAY,
I will hold your hand.
Again.

Massage your feet.
Again.

Stroke your cheek, kiss you, hold you, and know your
silence means you are content in your journey to the stars.

I love you now.
I’ll love you for eternity.

Mom

Wednesday, May 27, 2009 3:52 PM CDT

****

When my dad, Henry Rataj, died in August of 1987, I was so very sad. I cried a lot.

Rachael, in her 3 ½ year old wisdom said, “I hate the noise that sadness makes, I don’t like your face when it drips.” She made me smile. I wasn’t happy, but I knew I could be again once I got over grieving for my dad. And so, life went on, and there were a lot of happy times. There were sad times too, but Fred, Rachael and I got through them.

When Rachael was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, I don’t recall being initially sad…I remember being very, very angry! Ready to do battle with this beast that we were told was treatable and in some cases curable. I’d cry for what Rachael had to go through. I’d cry because I wasn’t smart enough to ask the medical staff the right questions . . . they always made me feel like a stupid parent.

I was angry at the idea that Rachael was sick, and was so ready for the fight.

Well, the fight ended in defeat. Rachael died, not from the disease, but from the treatment.

I now “hate the noise that happiness makes.”

I am unable to cope with smiling faces of families enjoying all the fun things Fred and I will never know.

Forever sad with the noise of silent tears.

Thursday, May 21, 2009 1:25 PM CDT

...not a thing

Wednesday, May 13, 2009 8:24 PM CDT

Nothing...

Friday, May 8, 2009 4:30 PM CDT

Another Day... Mother's Day ...you'd think I'd get used to this...being a mother/child/less mother...trying to explain to people why I can't enjoy another Hallmark holiday...
I get through Christmas by keeping my drapes drawn...no lights decorating, no presents, no carols sung, only silent nights.
Thanksgiving Day, another day spent longing to hear my Rachael talk about how much she dislikes turkey.
Valentines Day...the day Rachael was intubated...heart broken...
But, Mother's Day is a day I longed to celebrate for so many years...Now it is another day I cry, and cry and cry... I mourn this day and wish I would have been able to hold my baby Jessica, and want so much to have kept my Rachael safe from all the pain she suffered.
I only want what every mom wants...to have her children safe...to love them, not to bury them.

****

Another 'holiday' that I can't celebrate along with the millions of lucky moms.

Both my children are dead...what the hell do I have to celebrate? Two lives too short? Incomplete hopes? A gravesite to decorate, an urn of ashes to scatter? Baby clothes never worn by my Jessica? Rachael's empty room?

Life really stops having meaning when your children die before you. This is not what life is suppose to be, and I for one am sick and tired of looking at all the happy moms and children knowing that I can never experience that happiness again.

This really sucks!

Wednesday, April 15, 2009 1:38 PM CDT

Cooking, Scouting, and Little Greek Grandmothers

I learned how to make a wonderful Grecian dish called spanikopita when I was about twelve. It's not something particularly easy to make, as were most of my earlier cooking endeavors. The first things I ever learned to make were cereal, ramen noodles, and pizza. I figure I was set for college cooking by the time I was nine.

Spanikopita is one of those all-day cooking projects, the kind of thing you have to set a date for.

"Hey! Want to come hang out on Sunday?"

"No, sorry, I'm meticulously folding strips of paper-thin pastry around clumps of feta cheese and spinach. How does next week look?"

And people say I don't have a life.

Making spanikopita, unlike many other all-day cooking affairs, does not require any slaving over hot stoves. The most mixing you have to do is throwing some chopped spinach in with eggs and feta (a salty, tangy goat cheese) into a bowl and stirring occasionally. Sound easy? This is where it gets hard.

At this point, you must begin working with the filo. Filo (pronounced like kilo with an "f') is one of the most finicky edible substances on earth. It's supposed to be a stack of flat sheets, roughly 10' by 18,' but it doesn't arrive at your house like that. It comes in - get this - a long, narrow box. That means that you must ever-so-daintily open the box, ever-so-daintily shuffle the rolled-up filo out of it, and ever-so-daintily remove the plastic wrapping before you're even getting anywhere. Then you must carefully unroll it, and carefully cut it into long strips two to three inches wide. Then, quickly cover it with a slightly damp towel. The level of dampness in the towel must be precise. Remember, filo is finicky. Covering it with a dry towel will result in dry, crusty filo fit only for the trash, but a soggy towel leads to soggy filo that sticks together into one massive slab of paste! Neither is the desired outcome.

If your filo is at the proper level of dampness, you may carefully remove one of the strips and slather butter all over it. Unsalted, preferably. This is actually somewhat fun, as you have free reign to get messy with this. Once properly slathered, plop a small amount of that feta and spinach mixture onto one end.

Now you must do something that even some of the most extensive cooking repertoires may not have prepared you for. In fact, better preparation for this part of the spanikopita process might have been Boy or Girl Scouting, if you ever had to learn how to fold a flag. Picture the filo as a really long, misshapen flag, and you have to fold the feta and spinach into it.

At the end, you should end up with a wrapped-up triangle with the feta and spinach pouched out in the middle. For you math people, it's roughly an isosceles triangle, but do yourself a favor and don 't try to measure the sides and make them perfect. If you're searching for something to do with all that algebra and geometry that your teacher insisted you'd use at some point in your life, this isn't it.

Making spanikopita doesn't simply result in yummy hors d'oeuvres, however. When you're done, there's more than that to prove that you haven't wasted a whole day just to make ethnic snacks. Often, it can give you time to talk to a family member you've been meaning to shoot the breeze with, or watch all those TV shows you miss when you're out with friends. Or, you can ignore the fact that it's repetitive and boring and take it as a chance to meditate, to let your mind wander, or to picture that comely person on TV in their skivvies. Personally, this is difficult for me, because whenever I'm making spanikopita all I can imagine are little old Greek grandmothers teaching their little Greek granddaughters how to make spanikopita. They're typical grandmothers - they've got more wrinkles than a pug dog in high humidity, wear long flowing skirts, and are kindly as all get out. They're seated on old wooden tables next to the Greek coast, shaking a finger at their granddaughters, saying, "No, you must fold it as you fold a flag! There you go, Maria."

Of course, it's probably not like that at all, but it doesn't matter.

Isn't it quaint?

Rachael Mayo
2001

Tuesday, March 17, 2009 3:32 PM CDT

**** This is the website Ross, Rachael's cousin, created:
http://web.mac.com/rpfrawl/Site/Now_Appearing.html **** Please visit. . . I know Rachael is proud of her cousin.

*****

As a senior in high school there was one class Rachael needed to complete in order to graduate. It was Government.

Rachael had signed up to take an AP government class, but because she was in the hospital in Minneapolis awaiting her autologous stem cell transplant she had to take the “home bound’ course. Boy was she upset, as you’ll be able to tell from some of her writings. In order to ‘pass’ the course, she had to define 200 vocabulary words from the text, and write a paper about a president. She chose to write about Jimmy Carter. I am only going to post the humorous definitions she wrote. The others are just as well written, but 100 serious. Enjoy!

Democracy – Democracy comes from the Greek for “ruled by the people.” In ancient Athens, every adult citizen had the right to vote on decisions affecting the city-state; that is, everyone unless you were a woman or a slave. Today, in the United States, every citizen over 18 (except for, in some cases, criminals, but this is not discussed in the book) may vote, but we are not a direct democracy. We vote to elect people running for public office who will hopefully represent our desires for the government and make the decisions for us.

Document – this is pretty obvious, isn’t it? Honestly, this as a vocabulary word? Anyhow, a document is any written statement. This is a document. Whoopee.

Compromise – THIS is a vocabulary word? You learn how to ‘compromise” in preschool when one kid wants to play house and the other wants to play scuba diver and so you play “house under the sea.” In other words, a compromise is when both sides give a little to arrive at a solution they can both live with.

Electors – When we vote for president, we’re actually voting for electors, who support the presidential candidate and are counted on to place a vote for that candidate. It’s a rather roundabout way of doing things, left over from a time when nationwide communication wasn’t as easy as it is today. As such, it is possible to lose the popular vote but win the electoral vote, as current President George W. Bush did.

Popular vote – the popular vote is the direct vote of the people, which only figures in indirectly to the election of a president.

Cabinet – the cabinet is made up of several of the presidents’ advisors, who keep the president informed and make suggestions in each of their areas of expertise. It is also a place where you keep non-perishables in your kitchen.

Bills – Most of us learned about bills by watching Schoolhouse Rock as seven-year-olds, but for those who didn’t, a bill is a proposal for a new law. A bill must pass through both the House and the Senate and be signed into law by the sitting president, unless he vetoes it and congress overrides the veto, making it a law.

Armed Forces – the armed forces of the United States include all branches of the military, even the Coast Guard, who I always thought were just police officers on boats, but hey, what do I know? The president is considered commander-in-chief of the armed forces, even the cops on boats.

Sentence – A sentence is any punishment given for a crime. Or, in grammar, it’s what I just wrote.

Secretaries – Most members of the president’s cabinet are referred to as “Secretaries.” So are most of the people in the school’s main office, but they don’t get to advise the President; they mostly just type things up and take phone calls.

Ambassador - I knew a girl, at school, who was a senior when I was a junior. She was in my Spanish 5 class, which is odd, because she was quite unfamiliar with many words in her first language, English, including this one. I would think most high school seniors would know what an ambassador is, but for those who don’t, an ambassador is a representative sent from one country to another whose government they recognize. They often live at an …

Embassy – which is, coincidentally, another word that the aforementioned Spanish 5 girl didn’t know. There are many U>S> embassies in countries around the world, and the ground of an embassy is considered, for legal and political reasons, U.S. territory.

NUCLEAR – Nuclear energy, produced from controlled nuclear fission at power plants, is among the resources regulated by the Department of Energy. Oh, and it’s pronounced “New-klee-ar,” not “new-cue-lar,” President Bush!

Freight – Freight is, obviously, anything that is transported from point A to point B. Most people past second grade know this. Honestly, some of this is really insulting to my intelligence.

Adopted – “adopted” is what I used to tell my cousin he was when we were little and he was annoying me. When an amendment is proposed, it must be adopted, or approved of, by three-fourths of the states in the union. Of course, my cousin wasn’t really adopted, because I don’t think three-fourths of anything would approve of him.

Opinion – An opinion is any explanation of judgment on a subject; for example, my opinion of this book is that it is simplistic and obsolete because it seems to have been written for second graders and was written seventeen years ago

Publishes – To publish is to print. Much to my chagrin, the mind-numbingly insulting book from which this ‘vocabulary’ list is derived was published and apparently deemed worthy for study by high school seniors used to studying such subjects in advanced classes. Not only that, but it was published in 1985. I don’t even remember 1985. I was two, but I think this book still would have been insulting to my intelligence, even then.

The teacher who graded this paper/report said, “You did an awesome job. This is the best work that I have ever received for this course, even with the extra commentary. Your writing skills are excellent and will be a source of strength in whatever career you pursue.
I hope you continue to recover from your illness and wish you the best in your future pursuits.”

Tuesday, March 10, 2009 8:13 AM CDT

...dreary weather, matches my mood...even the cats are quiet...

Friday, February 27, 2009 2:37 PM CST

...Don't know why I bother to update this page, so few people visit. I doubt if anyone but my sister Pat, nephew Ross and Fred and I even think of Rachael anymore.

Sunday March 1st is the anniversary of the saddest day of my life. Rachael's death...damn, life really sucks. Rachael should be here. She should be enjoying life, love and happiness. I am so angry that Rachael is dead, and so many undeserving people abuse their lives.

Rachael, I so wish I'd found better care for you.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009 1:30 PM CST

Valentines Day – Broken Heart Day

The last time I heard my Rachael’s voice was very early in the morning of February 14, 2003, I believe it was around 1:00 am. The doctors said that in order to save Rachael’s life they had to put her on a respirator. She was having difficulty breathing. She’d only been readmitted to the hospital for a couple of days, the doctors were trying to figure out why she was experiencing debilitating diarrhea. On February 13th she started having difficulty breathing. This difficulty started after a nurse gave her an over the counter diarrhea med. This med does not appear anywhere on Rachael’s medical chart.
So, Rachael’s last words to her dad and me were, “I love you mommy, I love you daddy.” She screamed these words as the doctors put her under. As they prepped her for the intubation, she madly typed the following to friends on her laptop.

“I’ve got some very scary news for all of you, and I wish I didn’t have to tell you by e-mail. I’m in the Fairview-University hospital again; I’m having quite a lot of trouble breathing. Their last hope to heal my lungs is intubating me and putting me on a respirator. That’s kind of the last stop, if it doesn’t work. We don’t know shy this is happening, but they’re going to try to heal it and keep me alive. They’ll have to sedate me heavily; I’ll be in a relative coma for awhile, maybe 2 weeks. I’m so very, very scared. Please remember that you’ve all been wonderful friends to me, that I miss you, and yes, that I love you, in my own way. Pray to what or whomever you see as divine that this saves me. I’m so very scared; I hope none of you ever have to go through this. You’re all free to visit during this time. I’m on the adult BMT floor, 4A, of the University Fairview hospital in the Cities, but don’t expect me to be very cognizant. Please keep me in your thoughts, and if things do take a turn for the worse, I’ll see you in the next life.”

Sincerely and with love,
Rachael Mayo

Rachael also wrote the following to people she “knew” at the Evangelion website.

“For those of you who have gotten to know me here, I would be remiss in not telling you that I'm back in the hospital, about to be intubated for a very bad problem with my lungs. I'll be very heavily sedated, perhaps for weeks. It's not without very serious risk. It could go very badly, but it won't, because I'm too strong to die. I just thought I'd let this community, which has given me so much joy, laughs, and entertainment, that this is happening and ask you to pray for me to whatever you worship as the divine.
Thank you all.”
- R. Mayo

Tuesday, February 10, 2009 1:30 PM CST

Monday, February 2, 2009

I discovered this in one of Rachael’s folders that she had with her at the hospital. It’s obvious, as you read through this, that Rachael was being interviewed about her Dies Irea comic. Was she interviewed n-line, over the telephone, in person? I have no clue. I suspect it was on-line. I also suspect it was done prior to her 1st transplant ( pre-April 2002). If so, I’ll bet this site is where she placed the stories she was working on while in the hospital. Any super sleuths out there that might have an idea? Contact me at, winkatmayo@hotmail.com. Thanks

Where did the name come from? Is that Latin?

"Dies Irea" derives its name from the Requiem, a medieval poem written in Latin for the Christian Requiem Mass or Mass for the Dead. Dies Irea, meaning "Day of Ire," begins the particular part of the mass that describes doomsday, its depiction largely taken from the book of Revelations. The complete text of this poem can be found here. Also provided is a rough translation; I don't speak Latin, so I didn't write it, and it's not an exact translation as it's been made to rhyme in English. We can thank my high school Medieval History teacher for all this, although I don't believe he translated it either, and I'm not sure what the original source of the translation is. For that matter, I'm not sure who the original author of the Latin is; it was probably written in its many parts by various unknowns and compiled later. Until the Catholic Church switched its masses from Latin to English, the Requiem was still used in its original language.

Parts of the Requiem and extended versions of it have been used in many pieces of music. A fairly well-known piece of classical music, Verdi's Requiem, has been heard in numerous movies, television shows, and commercials. For the really obscure, the first verse of the Dies Irea section of the Requiem is chanted during Orson's Theme, written by Yoko Kanno for the "Record of Lodoss War: Chronicles of the Heroic Knight" anime TV series. And remember those monks in Monty Python and the Holy Grail? They were chanting the last verse, "Pie Jesu domine, dona eis requiem."

Why did you choose that name?

The name came last. It took me a long time to think of anything appropriate, but when I got it, it came in a flash and it stuck. I wanted a name that sounded archaic and invoked ideas of vast cathedrals and religious ceremony. Lots of stories, particularly in anime and manga, use religious symbolism, but usually it's only there to add an air of mysticism and mystery and not particularly meaningful if you know the real background. Yet, as the comic progresses, you'll see the scope widen, and it will eventually become a conflict to delay the apocalypse - the Dies Irea. So it does make some amount of sense.

Urn… in your profile you describe your religion as "Rather amorphous at the moment, but with pagan tendencies." That doesn't sound like Christianity, so why are there angels and cathedrals [or other related elements] in your comic? How can you mix together Christianity and [insert religion/mythology X]?!

I was raised Catholic, and until middle school I didn't give it a whole lot of thought. It was like something you list on your driver's license, like hair or eye color - a part of you that you have no real reason to try to change because you'd always lived with it and never thought enough about it for it to bother you. But when I transferred to a private Catholic school in fifth grade I had to take religion class and was forced to examine and confront the nitty-gritty of what I'd just accepted until then, and I didn't like what I saw. I didn't like the patriarchal tone of the whole religion, I didn't like the belief in Creation, I didn't like the attitude toward sexuality, and I didn't like the belief that only humans had souls and everything else was put here for our benefit. Other than that, though, the whole thing just gave me an overall woojie feeling. It wasn't right for me. Having essentially been told not to take other religions seriously, I didn't see any alternatives at the time, but I knew I couldn't be Christian.

For a long time I didn't believe in anything. Then I was agnostic; I accepted that maybe there was a higher power and life after death, but maybe there wasn't. I was intensely interested in mythology, however, and became able to look at all religions from an objective standpoint. I was at least more open then; I no longer hated religion. But it took until the summer of 2000 for several elements to come together in my life and make me rethink things completely. Though my beliefs are still pretty amorphous, I accept that there is a higher power (or, more likely, powers) in the universe, that there are a
multitude of things we can't explain and probably never will, and that everything that lives has a soul that exists after we die in some form or another. I believe in reincarnation almost completely on the basis of scientific observation - it seems to be the nature of the universe that nothing is ever lost or created but simply changes forms, is recycled. If one accepts that there is a soul, it makes sense (at least to me) that souls are also recycled, or reincarnated, as it were.

However, along with those beliefs came a renewed open-mindedness. I knew what I believed, but I also accepted that others believed differently. My overarching view of things is that reality is what you make of it. There must be something that keeps the universe going, that adds an element of order to the chaos, that continues to create stars and worlds and people and destroys them so that their matter and energy can be used elsewhere. That something, those somethings have some form of consciousness and are all-powerful and all knowing. All-powerful and all knowing are included in most people's definition of their deity or deities. If one is all-powerful and all knowing, could one not exist simultaneously in any form or forms we believe in? In the same vein, if anything is possible, then anything could happen to our souls when we die. Reincarnation, Heaven, Nirvana, Valhalla - whatever. And, at the same time, if someone believes in nothing, would it not be within the power of an all-powerful being to not exist? Something that is truly infinite should be able to be whatever we want and need it to be.

The cosmology of Dies Irea is based on that view - that the higher power of the universe can be everything and nothing at once, that everything in every mythology can exist at once if there are people to believe in it, and that the various values and ideas represented in most religions are simply the same idea in a different form. It's an attempt to consolidate the mythologies and religions of the world and an expression of my desire to see everyone more open-minded and accepting, all under the guise of fantasy. I'm aware that it's the nature of many religions to believe that theirs is the only truth and that they must spread their truth to as many people as possible. If you want to believe that, fine, you don't have to agree with me and you're not going to convert me. If my comic and beliefs offend you, you don't have to read the comic or view my web site at all. I'm not trying to convert anyone to anything; I always try to keep the tone as neutral and objective as possible.

In reality, due to the fact that it derives most of its background from the Judeo-Christian tradition, if Dies Irea has any slant to it, it is a Judeo-Christian slant, and I'm not in that camp myself. All religions fascinate me and I enjoy studying them, even the ones I don't follow, but I'm no Theology professor. If some inconsistency present due to artistic license is what's upsetting you, please just keep telling yourself, "It's just a comic. I really should relax." Or don't read the bloody comic.

You see, that's the beauty of it all. If you don't want to be at my site, you can go back to Happy World Land any time you want. You don't have to put yourself in a position to be offended. If you're thinking of contacting me about all this, I'll tell you right now that I'm not going to change my beliefs just because some miffed Born Again sends me flame mail. Any raging fire-and-brimstone tirades will quickly find their way to my Trash folder. I'm not going to change, even if you send me a well thought-out and intelligent essay on Why Rachael Mayo is Wrong, but I will read it since I always appreciate an intelligent and friendly conversation. At the same time, trust that I won't actively try to change your beliefs, but if reading my ideas and stories opens your mind just a little I'd love to hear about it.

The Dies Irea comic you have before you today was the result of the evolution of an idea formed over five years ago when I was in seventh grade at a Catholic middle school. Needless to say, I didn't enjoy being there. I freely admit that some of the characters in Dies Irea are based, at least in some part of their personalities, on people from that period of my life, and that Dies Irea started out as a sort of wish-fulfillment.

Originally the demons and angels factor wasn’t brought into it. Dies Irea started out as a fun but rather insipid series of sci-fi stories, aptly named “Aliens Take Over the Middle School,” which I wrote in the eight grade after I’d transferred out of the Catholic school over accusations of witchcraft. The stories were written only to entertain myself, and friends at school. I restarted the story with the same basic premise three or four times, the last couple being after I’d started high school and naturally named something more appropriate – probably “Aliens Take Over the High School.” There were puns with names, self-insertions, and in-jokes galore. Part of me wants to read those stories again, but part is afraid that I’d implode upon realizing I was capable of such stupidity. Some people can look objectively at their old, outdated writings, but mind make me cringe. (RACHAEL, SO HATED HER OLD WRITINGS THAT LAST SUMMER, AFTER HER 1ST TRANSPLANT SHE THREE OUT MANY BOXES OF HER OLD WRITINGS…I BEGGED HER NOT TO, BUT SHE INSISTED. WISH SOMEONE HAD COPIES)….Back to what Rachael wrote.

Anyway, the idea sat around for a long time. I was reluctant to drop the alien angle, and briefly the story was tied to The Story. By that time, the main character was named Leanore, but it was a pun on the middle name of Lisa Carlson (of The Story), Eleanor. Just move the "E" around. For that matter, Leanore's original last name was Larcson. I thought I was so bloody clever. She was initially more of a "Rei Ayanami" than she is now, and that element got relocated to Kim Danziger's personality. Her hair
is auburn, too - that trait got passed to Alex.

The summer between sophomore and junior year brought a lot of changes in personal philosophy for me due to various reasons, and thus a lot of the themes of the amorphous plot that would become Dies Irea changed. Though I won't mention all of them right now since that would probably give away some plot elements that haven't come out yet, I will explain how Dies Irea acquired a more spiritual, mystical, and mythical tone here, if you wish to read it. (THERE MUST HAVE BEEN A LINK HERE TO ANOTHER SITE)

Are any of the characters based on yourself?

None of the characters, in and of themselves, are based on me. I tend to put some element of my personality, experiences, or appearance into my characters just to make them my own, but I try to stay away from directly inserting myself into the story. The closest I come in anything I've written (that has not been deleted, torn up, or purposefully lost) to putting myself in the story would be the Luccia stories. If those ever see the light of day, I'm the red-haired, green-eyed giant hamster named Luccia. Yeah. A hamster. (FOUND THE LUCCIA STORIES. I’LL POST THEM WHEN I SCAN THEM. I ALSO HAVE THE LUCCIA ARTWORK)

I do tend to make a lot of my characters green-eyed since I have green eyes, but for some reason there's not a lot of that in Dies Irea. Alex has shortish red hair like I used to before I lost it, but that's meant more as a reflection of her personality and background. I look nothing like Leanore, but I've always wanted to be tall. R, or Bob, is a nerd and a fan of many "fringe" things, like sci-fi, fantasy, and anime; that certainly applies to me, and I'm actually really proud of that. Nerds, geeks, and general otakus of the world should celebrate their weirdness and deviance from the norm! Leanore is quiet, abrupt, and somewhat evasive, like I can often be, and that was intentional. Leanore embodies a lot of things I wish I wasn't sometimes, but she's also very forceful, noble, determined, and loyal, which are qualities I appreciate and like to think I have. Alex is many things I wish I could be more often - open with her emotions, beliefs, and values, never afraid of a fight, flirtatious, friendly, very physically capable, and very mystical and spiritual in her own way. Yet I didn't want to make her a perfect "Mary Jane."
She's also quick to anger, brash, overly flirtatious, somewhat naive, and too curious for her own good sometimes. Kim is really me at my worst. She's depressed and almost catatonically unemotional, shutting everyone out and lashing out at them when they push too hard. I generally try to avoid doing any art or writing anything in direct response to my emotions or experiences, but in many ways I use my characters to examine the best and worst of myself. It feels a bit contrived and contrite, but I think it's helped to round out my characters, make them feel more real.

Why is it in black and white?

You got this far without knowing that? Er, sorry. Japanese manga is rarely fully colored; most of the time only the cover and maybe a few particularly interesting pages are in color. I know, I'm not Japanese. I don't even speak the language, yet. But since I drew Dies Irea in that style and not in the style of American comics, and, of course, because I didn't want to wear out my color Prismacolor markers, it maDe the most sense. It's also cheaper to print. It's one part stylistic, two parts financial. At the moment, this is my job. Good thing I'm still living at home.

Is this your first cormic/manga?

Isn't it obvious? ^_^; Yes, this is my first "full" manga. I've done some quick sketches and random scenes from various other stories running around in my head since I was about 12, but didn't attempt a genuine, printable manga until I felt comfortable with my artistic capabilities, had the supplies, hardware, software, the time, and needed to do it for my senior independent study art project. When I had to go into treatment for cancer, my already damp hopes of getting a job went completely down the crapper, so I had a goodly amount of time on my hands and a need for alternate means of income.

What artists inspire you? Do you read a lot of manga?

Some artists that inspire me would probably be Yoshiyuki Sadamoto (character designer of Evangelion), Masamune Shirow (the Ghost in the Shell manga), the artists of CLAMP, Chiho Saito (of the Utena manga), and Kosuke Fujishima (of Oh My Goddess!). I read numerous manga by said artists if they have manga available in America. I've never tried to completely copy the style of one of them, but rather took
bits and pieces of their drawing styles, tried to emulate them, tweaked it a bit, and applied it to the character designs I had in my head. For example, I loved the way hair was done in Oh My Goddess! I tried to make the hair I drew more like that.

As far as comics in general, I only started reading manga after I got into anime a few years ago, and I'd never really read American comics before that, other than the random issue at a friend's house or something. Though I like to follow many manga as much as my limited budget allows, there's really only one American comic I collect, and that's Rising Stars. The art's really nice, but the story's also great - it was written by J. Michael Straczynski, creator of Babylon 5. I find a lot of people have never heard of it. Go check it out.

I haven't found a whole lot of web comics I really read often. One that has struck even me as remarkably quirky is the "Wendy" comic. I really really like Eversummer Eve, and it updates fairly regularly, about 2 pages every Monday. Once in a blue moon the Eva-R site updates with a new fan-manga page, and they're usually pretty good. I used to frequent the Genesis Chronicles page and was really enjoying the story that was developing, the characters, and the artist's style, but it looks like he's given up on that story and changed his style to be more "unique" (meh.) so I'm not too hot on that right now. I figure there are a lot of ways you can make your work unique without trying to do a complete stylistic overhaul; I find that if I try to do too much in a style too deviant from my own that I get really uncomfortable. Like wearing new shoes a few sizes away from your norm. Or something.

Do you do fanart?

Yes. Go here. (ONCE AGAIN SHE DIRECTED THE INTERVIEWER TO ANOTHER SITE--??)

When are the next pages coming out?

Allow me to quote the first two rules of the Eyrie Productions Forum:
1. Do not ask when pending projects will be completed. We do not know.
2. Do not ask why we do not know. This phenomenon cannot be explained.

Just replace the "We" with "I," unless I become more schizophrenic than currently am... ,

Are there any in-jokes in Dies Irea?

Yes. Sort of. Most of them are pretty universal, just allusions to certain movies /shows/manga/whatever that I like, or references to them in the background – things like that. They're things just about anyone could have access to, so I'm not going to explain them all. Looking for them is half the fun. The ones that are true in-jokes are generally meant to stay that way.

So, like, is this going to be made into an anime?

Meh…I'm 18 years old and currently in high school. If any part of it's been published yet, it's been out of my home printer and sold to friends and at the local comic shop. Mostly I do this for fun. It'll be animated as soon as someone sends me several million dollars and finds me an animation studio and voice actors who are willing to be micromanaged like they're working for George Lucas. In other words, no. Sheesh.

Will you do a comic of my fanfic/original story/manga idea?

No. No no no. Not any time soon, unless you pay me a goodly amount of money. Fanfics I really like, I might draw some characters from, and the only fanfics I've found that I'd want to convert to full manga are written by people just as picky as me, so it would be hard for me to draw something enough like the images in their heads for it to be satisfactory. Unlike some people, I wouldn't mind being micromanaged, but such things are hard to do when the micromanagers live hundreds of miles away and don't have the time to waste explaining things in excruciating detail to me.

Can I do fanfic of Dies Irea?

Sure. Fire away. Have fun. I'd appreciate it if you didn't do pictures with some really improbable couple going at it, but I'm all for freedom of speech (or art, as it were) so I can't really stop you. If you like it, and it's not too raunchy, send it to me. I'll put up a fanart section. It'll be fun.

Can I do my own Dies !rea fanfic or manga?

Go right ahead. You can send it to me if you like, but I'm not going to put it up on my site. I might link to it if you put it up on the internet. I'd ask that if you display it anywhere that you put a disclaimer stating it was done without my input and is not an official part of the universe's continuity. If you want it to be official and displayed on my website, we'd have to talk. I'd have to see your art, and although I'd allow considerable differences, I’d want your style to be at least somewhat similar to mine. For example, if your style was closer to CLAMP, let's say, or nearly identical to Shirow, that'd be fine. Just so long as it's recognizably manga-style. American comic-style art won't work for Dies Irea. I've got nothing against it, but Dies Irea is meant to be a manga, and that definition generally mandates it be, well, like manga or anime.

You'd have to have an understanding of the motivations and personalities of the characters and be made aware of the greater scope of the storyline and where it's going in the long run. It would be a difficult process, but if you're willing to work with me I'd happily provide all the information you need. I wouldn't tell you what you had to write about; I'd tell you what you couldn't do and I'd like to approve the storyline before you get too far into the final product. As far as introducing new characters, that would also be something I'd have to approve, and I'd also have to have permission to use the character in following issues if I want. I can tell you right now that if you bring in a character who's actually Uriel, Archangel of Fire (or some equally important figure who might have otherwise been brought in later by me) that I'd have to veto that one. It would change the ultimate outcome too much and just leave me very cranky. (THIS IS WHERE THE INTERVIEW STOPS…OBVIOUSLY THERE WAS MORE. ..)

*******

I've been working on cleaning Rachael's bedroom storage areas. A lot of memories...a lot of tears........so very sad.

I've found many books of art paper. Some watercolor paper, some drawing pads, etc. Not being an artist myself, I have no use for this collection of blank sheets of paper.

If anyone reading this website would like them, let me know. I can arrange for you to pick them up, or if need be they can be sent to you.

Monday, February 2, 2009

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Not merry, not bright...forever missing Jessica and Rachael Mayo.

Rachael's last Christmas was spent in the hospital. We 'celebrated' with her favorite Christmas Eve meal...cheese fondue. She loved that she was able to enjoy her favorite even though she was in the hospital.

Impossible to celebrate, when memories bring copious tears. Plan to do a lot of reading the next couple of days...no tv...too much holiday stuff.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008 6:16 PM CST

Rachael Mayo

Ivan Ilych Story Reflections, 2001

At this moment in my life, I can think of dozens of things – small things, mostly, but all seeming very important at this time – which I wish so much I could go back in time and change with the knowledge of what was to come. However, if you had asked me the same question about two years ago, or two years before that, I would have answered the same way, but my list of problems would have included an entirely different set of missteps that have, for the most part, resolved themselves over time. I’ve learned that my life goes in a fairly predictable cycle of ups and downs; during the down times I would do anything to go back and change the things I felt lead to all the things that seemed to go wrong at once. In the past, however, some of those downfalls have lead to many of the happier moments in my life. The original Wheel of Fortune, as depicted in tarot cards and going as far back as medieval times, illustrates the idea that we are all riding on the wheel of fortune, where you must be dragged through the muck before you can get back up to the top. Of course, you’re always dragged back down again, but you just have to wait for the wheel. When everything is said and done, I doubt I will want to have changed anything, since some of my worse times have lead into some of my best. Right now is the worst, most depressing, most hopeless-feeling time I can remember in my life – when it rains, it pours, and I’m still in the hurricane and it’s still getting worse. I can only hope that when I come out of it that the pattern will continue and my life will start to get better again.

Friday, November 28, 2008 6:02 AM CST

Friday, November 28, 2008 5:56 AM CST

Saturday, November 1, 2008 6:34 AM CDT

Thanksgiving was one of Rachael's least favorite holidays. The following is the essay she wrote in 2001.

*****

Thanks, But No Thanks

A familiar story: several hundred years ago, 381 to be exact, a few less than a hundred people hopped on a boat for the New World. I don’t know what gave them the idea; certainly, most everyone says it was religious freedom, but that honestly doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. You see, these people were Puritans. Their activities mainly consisted of praying all day and abstaining from everything good in life. That doesn’t sound much like freedom to me. In any case, those Puritans got their asses and cattle and chickens over to Plymouth Rock, where they sat down and partook (yes, it’s a word) in a good old-fashioned Native American meal, or so one would be led to believe. Honestly, I strongly doubt that Native Americans had canned cranberry sauce, green-bean casserole, or flavored stuffing.

There are many, many things wrong with Thanksgiving dinner that you, yourself, may never have realized. For starters, it is always on a Thursday, which, next to Tuesday, is easily the most meaningless day of the week. Also, you don’t get to dress up in costumes, decorate a tree, or paint eggs. No one even gives you presents. However, my main bone to pick is with the supposedly “all American” food that is traditionally served.

First, I’d like to get one of the most disgusting and perplexing food items out of the way. This would be the cranberry crud, more commonly known as canned cranberry sauce. How could this be sauce? How could anyone, conceivably, find a way to pour or smear it onto anything? It has no practical sauce-like uses. This is not sauce, this is Jell-O. It remains in the form of the can, much like a Jell-O mold, and when you don’t look at it, it jiggles under its own power. Mysterious foreign objects have been found, suspended in congealed stasis, within the Sauce. Why would anyone, barring near-starvation, dare to come within ten feet of such a product? There is something not healthy about that stuff.

Secondly come the green beans. Maybe you eat green beans at Thanksgiving, maybe you don’t. Maybe you serve Brussel sprouts, lima beans, or peas instead. Either way, they all fall into the same group – green things that smell bad. In my experience, if it smells bad it generally tastes bad. I’ve always seen this as Nature’s little way of saying, “Hands off! Don’t eat! Bad for you! Danger, Will Robinson!” without one actually having to taste the offending food item. And, indeed, they do not taste very good. Why persist in serving something that tastes and smells bad? If you’re looking for the healthy green vegetables benefit, there are much better choices out there that have no smell, such as lettuce and uncooked spinach since cooked spinach also qualifies as a green thing that smells bad. Plus, who can deny that spinach is good for you? Popeye and nine out of ten American grandmothers say so.

Another problem food is the mashed potato. I like mashed potatoes as much as the next Minnesotan, but honestly, if you’re planning on having a large family with many small children over to eat, this is the worst possible item to put on the menu. They will figure out every possible unsavory thing to do with their mashed potatoes. They will throw them at each other. They will make volcanoes and have them explode, sending pyroclastic gravy flows onto their neighbors. If they just saw Close Encounters of the Third Kind they will, I repeat, will make Devil’s Tower out of them. It’s a fact of life, and, unfortunately, being forced to include inordinate amounts of small children at the holidays is all too often another fact of life. Because Thanksgiving is considered a time to be with relatives we often find ourselves knee-deep in underdeveloped humans, especially in the Midwest where sometimes one family can make up over half the population of a small town.

Lastly is the turkey. This is the very staple of traditional Thanksgiving food, so you may be wondering what I could possibly have against this icon of holiday togetherness, this visage that so many school children poorly emulate by tracing their handprints. My bone to pick with Turkey is the matter of the meat. Turkey is meat. Now, I am not a vegetarian; I don’t avoid meat consistently. I just don’t like it. The same way some people don’t care much for vanilla ice cream or white bread. I don’t like the taste of meat, and while I will eat the occasional burger, I don’t want to be expected to put away four pounds of dead bird in one sitting. In addition to that, there are several million vegetarians who will not eat turkey. What is there for them? Nibbling on cranberry crud and hoping it doesn’t nibble back? Carving Devil’s Tower from a mound of mashed potatoes? Tofurky? This is hardly equality.

Some people just don’t care for traditional Thanksgiving fare. Others, like me, absolutely despise it. Thanksgiving is a time to give thanks for life, love, and good food, but if the food isn’t good that’s only two out of three, which makes for a generally unfulfilling holiday. So take my advice: the next time you serve Thanksgiving dinner, make sure there’s a great variety, not just supposedly “traditional” American food, but Italian, Mexican, Chinese, Kuala Lumperian, or whatever you thing your guests might like. After all, America is supposed to be the melting pot of the world, right? What could be more American than a melting pot of multi-cultural cuisine? Remember to ask people what they want and then there will be something for everyone to be thankful for.

But remember, forget the cranberry crud. Just get rid of that stuff altogether. You
Never know what it might get up and do while you’re not looking…

Rachael Mayo
2001

Tuesday, October 7, 2008 1:34 PM CDT

**** THE "LION KING' PUMPKINS WERE PAINTED BY RACHAEL! SHE loved Lion king...I think she was in 5th grade...

The fall was Rachael's favorite time of year. She loved the weather, and she loved Halloween. The photos of her in costume are bittersweet...I miss her so much, each and every second, but this time of year I really feel the burden of existing without my Rachael.....

Halloween History and Trick-or-Treat Traditions
By Rachael Mayo

Holidays have often been a matter of controversy in schools; at certain times in the past it has come up at WSHS relating to Christmas, with some people worried about Christmas decorations offending people. However, elsewhere there have been conflicts over Halloween, which means candy, costumes, and parties to most of us, because some are offended by what they see as Satanic meanings in the upcoming holiday.
In reality, Halloween’s origins predate Christianity and the concept of Satan. Halloween, a shortening of All Hallows’ Eve, grew out of a holiday called Samhain celebrated by the ancient Celts, who ranged from the British Isles to northern Spain. The Celts had an earth-based religion and did not worship evil. Samhain, pronounced “sow-en” (since “mh” in the middle of Gaelic words sounds like a “w”), meant Hallow-tide, denoting the summer’s end, and took place some time in early November. The modern calendar has pinned it down to November 1st. The day before Hallow-tide was, of course, known as All Hallows’ Eve, when the whole celebration, which actually lasted for three or more days, began. For the ancient Celts, these days celebrated ancestors who’d passed. It was not a time for mourning; like in the Mexican holiday, La Dia de los Muertes (related to the last day of the celebration, November 2nd, also known as All Soul’s Day), the dead were welcomed back to their families with offerings of food and celebrations.
For the three days of the Samhain festival, people played harmless pranks, such as dressing up as the opposite sex and moving peoples' horses to different fields. Children would travel around, sometimes for great distances, knocking on doors for food and treats in a way that we still see today, in a watered-down sort of way, in the custom of trick-or-treating on Halloween.
As time progressed to the Medieval Age, customs developed for adults and older teens to dress in costume at many holidays, including Halloween, to go from house to house demanding beer and munchies in exchange for putting on plays or singing. This also may be where Christmas Caroling comes from. Those homeowners who were too stingy to give out rewards for the performance may have had tricks played on them later by the drunken performers!
Fast-forward several hundred years to the Great Depression, when hard times drove many teens and children to vandalism and looting on Halloween and throughout the year. Communities began organizing “safe” Halloween events where they passed out treats and other bribes to distract people from destroying and looting the town. Homeowners, also at risk, eventually began handing out candy, but those who didn’t were sometimes subject to vengeful vandalism. Eventually these became simple, lighter pranks like the “TP-ing” that we’re all familiar with, though hopefully not too familiar!

Thursday, September 11, 2008 10:10 AM CDT

Nemesis

Like a jewel against the moon
Stands Nemesis all aglow
The gods’ vengeance spells your doom

Her sword will fall on you soon
You will reap what you did sow
Glistening blood upon the moon

This solid night is your tomb
Dark as the hearts of her foes
Just Nemesis, reborn anew

Comes the swift blade bringing doom
Silver in the darkness glows
Sword shadow before the moon

She is truth, not always doom
The truth that throws us to-and-fro
Waxing and waning like the moon

All must come to trial soon
After you meet her swift sword’s blow
Unstoppable, like the moon
The gods’ vengeance spells your doom

Rachael Mayo

Wednesday, September 3, 2008 6:00 PM CDT

Hi, my name is Rachael, and I've loved dinosaurs since I was about five years old. I'm almost nine now, and I still
love to read about them. While I was reading, I found out that what I want to be when I grow up is called a
vertebrae paleontologist. That's a paleontologist who studies dinosaurs. They also go out and dig up dinosaur bones.

I think about dinosaurs all the time. That's why I like to read as much as I can about them. But, I not only read about them,
I even dream about dinosaurs. This story is about one of my dinosaur dreams!

TRUDY--THE TROODON

Trudy, the Troodon woke up one prehistoric morning, yawning and stretching. Her stomach told her it was time to find breakfast...the same as any other day. She walked out of her home, which was in a small cave in a big mountain,
and wandered around stretching.

She started her morning jog towards the frog pond. That was where she usually found breakfast--frog legs, yum! But,
this morning there were so many Troodons by the small frog pond she couldn't see what was happening. Finally, Trudy
was able to budge through, and discovered an empty pond! There were no frogs to be seen! She thought for a minute,
then left the crowd, and headed towards the Maiasaura nesting ground. She only went there when she couldn't find frogs to eat.

Trudy hid behind some bushes and was happy to see most of the Maisauras were busy eating breakfast. All Maisauras
Are herbivores, and eat disgusting things! They loved to munch on cherries, berries, and leaves. Trudy looked at the leaves
and cherries and was very glad she was a carnivore.

Trudy sneaked out of the bushes and carefully ran to the nearest nest. She was about to eat one of the Maiasaura babies
when she heard a tremendous ROAR. She knew what dinosaur belonged to that roar--the Tyrannosaurus Rex. He was in a
fight with the mother Maiasaura. She was trying to protect her babies, and hadn't noticed Trudy sneaking out of the bushes!

Trudy thought for a minute, and for some reason decided to grab all five of the babies and run off to a hiding
place. It's a good thing Troodons were good runners. The Tyrannosaurus Rex noticed Trudy. Rex left the
Maiasaura mother, and ran after Trudy. This made Trudy run faster! She dropped one of the babies, turned around
quickly and picked her up. ..ah . ..him up. ..ah...whatever! It's hard to tell if Maiasaura babies are girls or boys. Trudy decided it was best to put all the babies on her back and took off racing towards her cave. Soon, the babies were jumping, rolling around, and trying to hang onto Trudy's back for dear life! It was a bumpy ride.

Just ahead Trudy saw her cave, and ran in the little doorway. The doorway was big enough for a Troodon and five baby Maiasauras, but it wasn't big enough for a Tyrannosaurus Rex. The Tyrannosaurus passed by the cave without seeing Trudy. Trudy had to tell the babies many times to be quiet. Finally, Trudy said, "If your not quiet, I'm going to eat you!" That made them 'zip their dinosaur lips.

That night, Trudy knew that the mother Maiasaura was probably worrying a lot about her babies. It took Trudy
three hours before she fell asleep, because she was thinking and worrying about the mother Maiasaura and the babies.
She was also very hungry, but not hungry enough to eat the babies.

The next morning, Trudy woke up before the babies, and went for her morning jog. She hardly had the energy to run, she was
so very hungry. Finally, she saw some "rabbit road kill" from a speeding Tyrannosaurus Rex. She picked it up, smelled it,
dropped it, picked it up again and put in her mouth because she was so very hungry. It didn't taste very good, but it stopped the growling in her stomach.

Trudy went back to her cave and found out the baby Maiasauras weren't there. She ran outside looking for them. But, all she
saw were some little footprints. She decided to follow them. While she was following the footprints, she smelled frogs! So, she followed the smell and the footprints, since they happened to go the same way; and saw the baby Maiasauras drinking water
from a pond. When she got closer to the pond she saw oodles and oodles of frogs swimming around. "Mmmn, breakfast, lunch and supper!" she thought. The babies got out of the way as Trudy plunged her head into the pond to get her food. As she munched on the frog, she thought, "Ahh, no more road kill for me!"

Later, Trudy picked up the baby Maiasauras, and ran towards their nesting grounds. She couldn't wait to return them to their mother. She also hoped the T-Rex wasn't still there fighting with the Maiasauras. When Trudy first got to the nesting grounds,
all the adult Mai.asauras seemed to be ganging up on her. They knew she had taken the babies the day before, and they hadn't seen the babies return with her. But, the mother Maiasaura then noticed them on Trudy's back, and ran towards her to pick up
her kids. She thanked Trudy for saving them from the mean Tyrannosaurus Rex. Trudy then became friends with the whole
herd of Maiasauras.

She was made an honorary member of the Maiasaura herd, and never ate baby Maiasauras again. The babies often helped
her find ponds with oodles and oodles of frogs for her to eat. And, surprising even herself, she "Was starting to enjoy eating
leaves, berries and cherries.. Trudy the Troodon, a carnivore, was becoming an omnivore.

I think a story like this can only happen when I have my dinosaur dreams!

Sunday, August 3, 2008 6:30 PM CDT

RACHAEL'S FOREVER SPACE FLIGHT (Explorer's Flight through Space Services AKA Celestis) LAUNCHED THE EVENING OF AUGUST 2ND...IT NEVER ACHEIVED ORBIT, AND THE FLIGHT CAPSULE CONTAINING THE CREMAINS OF 208 PARTICIPANTS DISINTEGRATED ... SAD AGAIN, SAD FOREVER...
UNABLE TO FULFILL our PROMISE TO RACHAEL.

CAPE CANAVERAL -- The ashes of two American space icons were scattered over the Pacific instead of in orbit during the loss of a third SpaceX Falcon 1 rocket this weekend.

The orbit-bound, cremated remains of Mercury astronaut Gordon Cooper and actor James Doohan, who portrayed "Scotty" on the famed television and movie series "Star Trek" -- as well as the ashes of 206 other people -- returned to Earth when the first and second stages failed to separate properly and the rocket was destroyed.

"The ashes rode with the rocket for over two minutes and then scattered over the ocean," SpaceX spokesman Diane Murphy said.

The lost rocket also carried two small NASA satellites and a Department of Defense payload that the government had paid $4 million to fly to space. None of the rocket's cargo will be retrieved. "Both stages are sleeping with the fishes," Elon Musk, SpaceX chief executive, said. "It's most definitely lost."

!!!!"sleeping with the fishes!" what a damn INSENSITIVE thing for someone to say!!!!!!
*******

The following is Rachael's 'story'. We were requested to write this so it could be included in the bio's of all the participants of the Explorers Flight, which was to take place 'almost immediately'.
... that's what we were told when we signed on with Space Services in 2004.(AKA Celestis).
We were told to hurry and send our money...hurry and send Rachael's cremains, and hurry to write the obit. we wanted to be inculded, so we hurried and fullfilled their requests as quickly as they requested.
... IT IS NOW 2008! No flight. Nothing but repeated failure to launch.

The sadness Fred and I feel about not being able to fulfill our last promise to Rachael, joins the horrible sadness that is too much a part of this 'thing' we call life.........
******

This is published on the Space Services website for the Explorers Flight............
*****

Rachael Lynn Mayo
1983 - 2003

"Rachael, play among the stars!"

Rachael was a bright, feisty, talented and beautiful young woman whom we loved very much. She died from complications following a stem-cell transplant due to a recurrence of Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.

Rachael was born to Fred and Kathie (Rataj) Mayo. She was a 2002 honor graduate of Winona Senior High School. She had qualities many people admired. She had great passion for her artwork, passion for writing, passion for learning and a unique wit and sense of humor. She was so looking forward to pursuing a degree in art and anthropology at Cornell College. Her strong moral convictions guided all aspects of her life; she never succumbed to contrary pressures, pervasive though they might have been. She always remained true to self.

Some people are too wonderful for this world, and we only get to experience their love for a short time. Remember Rachael and smile.
It was Rachael’s request that she be cremated, and her cremains be carried by loved ones wherever they travel. So far Rachael has visited 49 states and numerous foreign countries. One of her favorite songs was “Fly Me to the Moon”, with that in mind, it is appropriate that Rachael travel to the stars.

Perhaps words penned by Rachael can best explain the wonder of her!

“I am a strange writer of science fiction.
I wonder what the clouded future holds.
I hear the doors to the past slamming shut.
I see the wondrous and frightening Possibilities ahead.
I want to find the truth.
I am a strange writer of science fiction.

I pretend not to fear the unknown.
I feel the world shifting and changing around me.
I touch the entrance to the portal to the future.
I worry that we will destroy that future.
I cry for those who may not see their dream fulfilled.
I am a strange writer of science fiction.

I understand that no one can prepare for the future.
I say that we can try.
I dream of a golden age for mankind.
I only try to do my part.
I hope my attempts are not futile.
I am a strange writer of science fiction.”

Rachael Lynn Mayo 1999

~

© 2004-2008 Space Services Inc. All rights reserved.

Sunday, July 20, 2008 7:39 AM CDT

RACHAEL'S FOREVER SPACE FLIGHT LAUNCHED THE EVENING OF AUGUST 2ND...IT NEVER ACHEIVED ORBIT, AND THE FLIGHT CAPSULE CONTAINING THE CREMAINS OF 208 PARTICIPANTS DISINTEGRATED ... SAD AGAIN, SAD FOREVER. UNABLE TO FULFILL A PROMISE MADE TO RACHAEL.

August 2, 2008

Dear Kathie & Fred,

Tonight people from around the world gathered to watch a launch attempt by an important new launch services provider for Celestis. The SpaceX Falcon 1 rocket with over 200 of our participants aboard apparently did not reach its intended orbit. We do not have any definitive information from SpaceX but believe that the vehicle did not reach orbit, and hence the Explorers Flight was not successful.

For many years we have been reaching for the stars with you, our families and supporters. Space exploration is not an easy task - but it is a worthwhile one, as I'm sure your loved ones aboard this launch attempt believed.

We will carry on. In the next few days we will reach out to you individually and discuss your options, but tonight I just want to let you know that we are - and have been for many years - thinking of you.

Sincerely,

Charles M. Chafer
Chief Executive Officer

Rachael wrote this in 3rd or 4th grade.
*****

WHIRRRLLL.......
WHOOOSHHHH...............
SQUEEEEAK !

Five young hamsters sat by their hamster wheel, watching the sixth hamster run on the wheel.
Suddenly, the running hamster jumped off and sat down by the other five. They watched the wheel go around by itself. Now, that may sound kind of neat to you, but if you were there, you'd have to admit . . . it was BORING! And, the hamsters were bored. There was nothing to do, because their mom was sleeping.
The hamster that was running on the wheel went over to her mom, and (don't get any ideas) yelled in her ear, "WAKE UP! WE'RE BORED!"
Their mother, who's name was Runner, spun around, squeaking and showing her teeth, but then realized that it was just her kid, Curious.
"WE'RE BORED!," yelled Curious. Runner jumped and screamed, "Don't do that!"
But we are BORED," whined Curious.
By this time, the rest of the hamsters had gathered round. In case you want to know, the names of the young hamsters were; Scamper, Furrball, Cheeks, Pouches, Whiskers, and of course, Curious. "You know, I used to get bored like this too! But then I had an adventure that you would not believe!
I think I'll share the adventure with you!," said Runner.

Hamster Alone
Part One:
Our Pet Person

I was sitting in my cage one day, watching one of my brothers sit in the middle of our food dish, stuffing his cheeks full of sunflower seeds. We were trying to see how many seeds a hamster could stuff in his cheeks. We counted---one, two, three, four. . . PBLLAAHHH! He spit the seeds out. "Four! Wow! That's a lot!," I said, trying to sound impressed. You see, we were extremely bored, and there was nothing else to do, except watch other hamsters stuff their cheeks full of sunflower seeds.
At that moment, our pet person came to see us. She walked over to our cage, looked at us, and said something that sounded like, "Hiiii! Sweetie pie-ee, ooh unt to ome out an eee meee?" Human translation--"Hi sweetie pie, you want to come out and see me?"
She reached into our house. Her hand was heading straight for me!

Hamster Alone
Part Two:
Help! I'm Being Picked Up!

"Then what happened, Mommy?," asked Whiskers.
"Just wait a minute, and I'll tell you. . .
. . . . .the pet person picked me up, and I screeched, Help! I'm being picked up! She took me over to a round-shaped thing. I'd heard my mom call it an exercise ball. It is clear and hollow, and people put you in it to let you explore. It's suppose to be fun. Our pet person dropped me inside the ball and put the top on it.
She took me down some steps, and set me on the floor. I ran all over the place, trying to get away from the person. But, it was no use. All I did was run into things. This made the person laugh a lot.

Hamster Alone
Part Three:
I've Got This Place All to Myself!

I could hear people talking in their funny language. I then noticed that my person was gone! She actually forgot about me and left! At first, I panicked, but then realized I was free! Well, the first thing I thought to do was to get the top of the round thing off. I jumped and jumped on it until it finally fell open. I leaped out and ran around. "I've got this place all to myself!," I whispered in amazement. There was so much to see that I had never seen before! So many places to hide I had never hid before! So many . . oh, you get the picture. It was all new to me!
I started thinking about my family, and knew they'd be worried, wondering where our pet person had taken me. So, I decided to set out to find them.
"Since I got here by going down the stairs," I said to myself, "then if I go up the stairs, I should find my family!" I soon discovered that it wasn't going to as easy as I thought.

Hamster Alone
Part Four:
The Stairs

All I had to do was figure out how to get up the stairs. The steps were about five times higher than I was, so it was going to be pretty hard to climb them! They were carpeted, so that made it a little easier. I could cling to the carpet and pull myself up. I stood on my hind legs, grasped the carpet with my tiny claws, and pulled. But, I didn't get very far. My feet slipped, and I fell backwards, which didn't feel very good. I tried again, and this time I made it! I kept on climbing, over and over, stair by stair.
Before long, I saw two cats, which at the time I thought were two very large hamsters with long tails. They were talking to each other and one of them said "I'm so glad to get out of that cage! Now we're free to go wherever we want, and eat whatever we want!," I wasn't quite sure at the time what he meant by "eat whatever we want," but when one of their backs was turned, I jumped on for a ride.

Hamster Alone
Part Five:
Nowhere to go

In no time at all, we were up the stairs. The cats, or "very large hamsters with long tails" went into a room with me still on one of their backs. Unfortunately, it was not the room with my house. It was a room with a cage with a funny looking animal inside. I had seen this weird animal flying around our room before. Once it even landed right on top of our house!
Soon the cats saw the animal, and went after it. They jumped up, sending me flying to the ground. One cat leaped up, knocked the cage down, forcing the door open. The animal in the cage had its back turned so she didn't notice the open door or the cats. Just in time I yelled "Watch out!" as one of the cats reached in and took a swipe at her. The animal dodged away from the cat claws without a second to spare!
Unfortunately, because I'd yelled, the cats noticed me. They ran after me, leaving the flying animal alone. She immediately flew out the cage door. I ran as fast as I could over to, what I've heard people call a "sofa", and hid under it.
I was pretty sure the cats were gone when I came out the other side of the sofa. I was walking along, when a cat jumped in front of me. I turned to run the other way, and saw another cat staring me in the face! I was surrounded! I was doomed! I had no where to go!

Hamster Alone
Part Six:
Feather

Suddenly, I heard an ear-piercing screech, and felt something grab and pull me up. I looked up, and saw that it was the weird flying animal. I looked down, and saw the two cats. They seemed very surprised at what happened, and a little dazed. My guess is that the cats were about to ponce on me, but then the funny, feathered, flying animal picked me up. So, when the cats pounced they ran into eachother instead of pouncing on me! Slowly they got up and left the room, deciding that getting a hamster snack wasn't worth all this trouble.
"Thank you for saving me from the cats!" I said. "You're welcome," the flying animal replied. "What's your name, and what are you?," she asked. "My name is Runner, and I'm a hamster. What's your name, and what are you?" "I'm a bird, a cockatiel, and my name is Feather."

Hamster Alone
Part Seven:
How many seeds did he eat this time?

"Will you take me home, Feather?," I asked as she flew me around the room.
"Sure I will, but where's your home?"
"I don't actually know, but if we look around we might find it." We flew around for a very long time, and finally found the right room, and the right cage. Feather set me down on the table where the cage was, and opened the door. She then carefully lowered me down into the cage, and was about to fly away when I stopped her to say goodbye. "I'll miss you, I hope I'll see you again," said Feather. Then she flew away.
The next thing I heard was PBLLAAHHH! I turned around and said "O.K., how many seeds did he eat this time?" "Seven!," yelled one of my sisters happily. "A new record!," I cheered.
"After that day, I never saw Feather again," said Runner kind of sadly. Curious thought her mom's story was wonderful.
"Oh no, hear comes our pet person!," said Furrball. I wonder what kind of adventure is in store for us! The person said, "The baby hamsters are old enough to be taken out of the cage now." And with that, she picked up all of the hamsters, including Runner, and took them into the room that had Feather's cage in it! The person said, "Now it's time for you to meet Feather, and her kids: Tweeter, Wings and Beaky.... Runner and Feather smiled at each other, wondering what sort of adventures their kids would share.

THE END

Sunday, July 6, 2008 8:04 AM CDT

Taking Flight, Flying Free

Rachael Mayo
5th Grade

Plink…plop…Plink…plop…Plink…
I could hear rain falling outside.

Inside, I knew I couldn’t stand it much longer! It was getting to be a very tight squeeze. I had to break out! But it was so nice and warm. I knew once I broke out, I would be very, very cold.

But then, I thought I could see something…a picture in my mind. A beautiful winged creature. It was swooping and diving through the air, somehow taking flight and staying aloft far above the ground. It was extremely graceful. For some strange reason, I thought someday my scrawny body would achieve the same spectacular heights and incredible grace. Someday I knew I could be like the eagle in my dreams. Taking flight, flying free. But it would only happen if I broke out of this smelly, boring, tight place! With one small effort, I was free of the egg.

Almost immediately, a burst of freezing air hit my fuzzy face as the shell crumbled around my feet (which seemed much to big for my thin, fuzzed body). I looked up to see a huge, worried looking face. She stood there, staring at me, as if waiting for something to go wrong. Then I saw why she was worried. Cracked eggshells lay scattered across the next, but there were no other slightly fuzzy, scrawny bodies. I realized they must have died. I also knew the worried face that was staring at me so intently, must be my mother. I looked at her and let out a pitiful little squawk. She sighed in relief and said, “I have some food for you.” She turned, picked up the food, a piece of stinky dad fish, and laid it in front of me. I sniffed it, disgusted. “Am I supposed to eat this?” I thought. She looked worried that I wouldn’t eat, so I bit into it, chewed, swallowed and realized it tasted good. I ate the whole piece of stinky fish.

As I grew older, I grew long brown feathers, and lost my egg tooth. Even though my head was not yet white, I was now learning to fly. I stood, poised at the edge of a huge pile of sticks, which was about the size of a small car. I waited for my mother and father to return to the nest.

“Your turn. Go ahead,” my mother said.

I jumped. Even though my eyes were shut tight, I could feel myself falling through the air, the wind plastering back my feathers.

“Flap you wings!” My father yelled.

“Flap my wings?” I remembered thinking, “how in the world do you do that?” The next think I knew, I had a mouthful of dirt. I didn’t want to open my eyes. I thought I must be dead. But then I heard a voice that strangely enough, sounded like my father.

“You should have flapped you wings! Come on, get up.” I opened my eyes. I wasn’t dead, but my whole body ached.

“Come on, let’s try it again. Oh dear, this never happened with any of our other children. They always were able to fly right away.” My mother complained.

“It’s probably the Thin Shell disease,” my Father decided.

“But I heard the Thin Shell poison was banned by The Humans.”

“I’ve heard of cases of it. If it isn’t Thin Shell, then why did the eggs crumble always as soon as they were pecked open? Why did the other eaglets die?”

I listened to them argue on and on about Thin Shell, flying, and the other eaglets. Although, at that time, I had no idea what they were babbling about. Pretty soon I got up and stretched my wings, and started to hop from rock to rock, slowly making my way up the steep Cliffside to the next, leaving my parents arguing down on the ground.

A short time later, my parents flew up to the nest. “I see you made it back up okay. Good. We can try it again,” my father said.

“Again?!?! What do you mean, again? I’m just going to fall!” I exclaimed.

“Yes, you might fall. But eagles are meant to soar above the clouds, not waddle around like an old turtle. If you don’t try, you will not do what all eagles are meant to do,” my mother explained.

“I don’t care what eagles are meant to do. It’s better not to try and stay alive, than to try and die with a mouthful of dirt.” But then I remembered something, the image in my mind. . .so long ago. The creature that was swooping, and diving through the air. I strained my mind to remember what it looked like. Then I realized what it was, what the whole dream meant. It was an eagle, like me, like my parents, life my parent’s parents. They had all done what was meant for them to do.

Now it was my turn. Without saying another word, I stood at the edge of the next and spread my wings. I leapt from the nest to the air, acting purely on instinct. My life seemed to come together at that glorious point in time. My whole future seemed to be laid before me. A future of flying, of being free. A whole lifetime to make my dreams come true. I soared through the air, so happy I burst out laughing.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008 6:10 AM CDT

From Rachael's writings, 2002

“Always Let Your Conscience be Your Guide”
Today, many public figures, from pundits to presidents, often bemoan what they see as our lax values. Parents, too, wonder about this and search for someone to blame. The media is a convenient scapegoat, as are their children’s peers, and many parents worry if they are at fault and seek to impose stricter values. Yet in the end they are still left to guess where their kids picked up swear words and ideas of violence. Some might say the remedy is teaching values in school, but that begs the question, whose values? Should the values be determined by a certain cultural or religious precedent? If so, which religion and which culture? Some still haven’t realized it, but history has made it clear that it’s wrong to push one’s religion or culture onto someone not accepting of it. So, are there any universal values that should be followed by everyone, regardless? This is difficult, as each situation demands an individually tailored response. There is very little that everyone could agree on for every situation, save for “Treat others as you would like to be treated,” an ideal adopted in some form by nearly every religion and philosophy. But where does one look to from there? In the end, I believe we need look no further than ourselves.
Some inevitably turn to those with power and influence to say what’s right and good for them. They want someone to model their lives after. Parents are powerful forces in our lives, especially when we’re young, and often act as role-models. However, while parents often know what’s right, not all of their values will apply to their children’s lives. Some people turn to a role-model outside the family. This can be someone as well-meaning as a religious figure or as unscrupulous as a famous criminal, and in-between we have all the world’s actors, athletes, authors, and historical figures. Others find pre-canned sets of values in a religion or the writings of dead philosophers. But do the things that were considered proper hundreds or thousands of years ago still apply now? While some basic ideals will always apply, times change, and we must develop new ideas and adapt to new circumstances. We must step away from the comfort of letting others think for us and learn to think for ourselves.
Unfortunately, some people’s ability to think for themselves is so dim that they never think to develop a conscience. Instead, they convince themselves that what’s wrong is right, or they become so apathetic that it doesn’t matter to them. It’s clear that our society thinks that without strict guidance, all young people will do drugs, smoke, drink, steal, hurt others, and skip school at the first opportunity, but this is a misconception. In reality, if anyone does it is not because ours is an immoral society or that parents aren’t doing their jobs, but because too many people never learn to think for themselves and don’t realize or care that such temptations would do more harm than good. We don’t all need a heavy hand to push us away from falling into every temptation that comes along. There are those young people who never had to be taught these things but decided on their own to make the right choices.
When I began high school, I realized that doing my best, even in my least favorite classes, would get me where I wanted to go in life. Certainly, my realization wasn’t anything special; the majority of high school students operate about the same way. However, upon starting my senior year, I had to confront something most students don’t encounter. I found out I had cancer, and that I’d have to undergo several months of treatment that would make me sick, weak, and prone to infection. I was told that it would be perfectly acceptable for me to take the year off of school. At the most, they expected I would stay out of school and go on full-time homebound learning. But neither was an option for me. I don’t love school, but I don’t hate it either. I knew I had to persevere because it is part of the code of conduct I’ve built for myself that I should try to get as much as I can out of whatever I do, including high school. In the beginning, there were days when I was absent for doctor visits, but otherwise I knew I was as capable of attending school as anyone else. As I underwent more chemotherapy, I had to stay home more frequently and my legs got weaker as I lost more of my strength and coordination. I had to use a cane at school, but I was still there. There were times I had to stay at home or be hospitalized for weeks at a time due to an infection, but when I felt better I was back. Only now, facing a possible relapse of my cancer and harsher, more debilitating chemotherapy am I even considering staying home permanently, but I’m still planning to do all the work I need to graduate and try my hardest to do it well. Though having cancer has been the most frightening and difficult experience of my life and though I was essentially given a free ticket to slack off for a year, I know keeping up as much as I can is best for me in the long run, just like it’s best for me not to smoke, do drugs, drink, or hurt others.
It is possible to decide not to smoke without having a “talk” with your parents. Many don’t need the “DARE” program to keep them off drugs. For all the teenagers that go out drinking, there are those who’d rather have fun in a safer way. For as many people who steal, there are those who’ve never pilfered so much as a gumball. Violence among students has actually dropped in the past ten years, though the media would seem to have us think otherwise. And finally, not all students skip school, apathetic about their future. Some of us have made our own goals. Some can actually think for themselves and to look to their inner conscience for values. Those who cannot should learn. Learn to care about what’s best for you and avoid the trap of apathy. Learn without relying on someone else to determine what’s right and wrong. Learn to develop a conscience on your own and make choices based on your own values. As a certain cartoon cricket once said, “Always let your conscience be your guide.”

Tuesday, May 20, 2008 6:10 AM CDT

“Always Let Your Conscience be Your Guide”
Today, many public figures, from pundits to presidents, often bemoan what they see as our lax values. Parents, too, wonder about this and search for someone to blame. The media is a convenient scapegoat, as are their children’s peers, and many parents worry if they are at fault and seek to impose stricter values. Yet in the end they are still left to guess where their kids picked up swear words and ideas of violence. Some might say the remedy is teaching values in school, but that begs the question, whose values? Should the values be determined by a certain cultural or religious precedent? If so, which religion and which culture? Some still haven’t realized it, but history has made it clear that it’s wrong to push one’s religion or culture onto someone not accepting of it. So, are there any universal values that should be followed by everyone, regardless? This is difficult, as each situation demands an individually tailored response. There is very little that everyone could agree on for every situation, save for “Treat others as you would like to be treated,” an ideal adopted in some form by nearly every religion and philosophy. But where does one look to from there? In the end, I believe we need look no further than ourselves.
Some inevitably turn to those with power and influence to say what’s right and good for them. They want someone to model their lives after. Parents are powerful forces in our lives, especially when we’re young, and often act as role-models. However, while parents often know what’s right, not all of their values will apply to their children’s lives. Some people turn to a role-model outside the family. This can be someone as well-meaning as a religious figure or as unscrupulous as a famous criminal, and in-between we have all the world’s actors, athletes, authors, and historical figures. Others find pre-canned sets of values in a religion or the writings of dead philosophers. But do the things that were considered proper hundreds or thousands of years ago still apply now? While some basic ideals will always apply, times change, and we must develop new ideas and adapt to new circumstances. We must step away from the comfort of letting others think for us and learn to think for ourselves.
Unfortunately, some people’s ability to think for themselves is so dim that they never think to develop a conscience. Instead, they convince themselves that what’s wrong is right, or they become so apathetic that it doesn’t matter to them. It’s clear that our society thinks that without strict guidance, all young people will do drugs, smoke, drink, steal, hurt others, and skip school at the first opportunity, but this is a misconception. In reality, if anyone does it is not because ours is an immoral society or that parents aren’t doing their jobs, but because too many people never learn to think for themselves and don’t realize or care that such temptations would do more harm than good. We don’t all need a heavy hand to push us away from falling into every temptation that comes along. There are those young people who never had to be taught these things but decided on their own to make the right choices.
When I began high school, I realized that doing my best, even in my least favorite classes, would get me where I wanted to go in life. Certainly, my realization wasn’t anything special; the majority of high school students operate about the same way. However, upon starting my senior year, I had to confront something most students don’t encounter. I found out I had cancer, and that I’d have to undergo several months of treatment that would make me sick, weak, and prone to infection. I was told that it would be perfectly acceptable for me to take the year off of school. At the most, they expected I would stay out of school and go on full-time homebound learning. But neither was an option for me. I don’t love school, but I don’t hate it either. I knew I had to persevere because it is part of the code of conduct I’ve built for myself that I should try to get as much as I can out of whatever I do, including high school. In the beginning, there were days when I was absent for doctor visits, but otherwise I knew I was as capable of attending school as anyone else. As I underwent more chemotherapy, I had to stay home more frequently and my legs got weaker as I lost more of my strength and coordination. I had to use a cane at school, but I was still there. There were times I had to stay at home or be hospitalized for weeks at a time due to an infection, but when I felt better I was back. Only now, facing a possible relapse of my cancer and harsher, more debilitating chemotherapy am I even considering staying home permanently, but I’m still planning to do all the work I need to graduate and try my hardest to do it well. Though having cancer has been the most frightening and difficult experience of my life and though I was essentially given a free ticket to slack off for a year, I know keeping up as much as I can is best for me in the long run, just like it’s best for me not to smoke, do drugs, drink, or hurt others.
It is possible to decide not to smoke without having a “talk” with your parents. Many don’t need the “DARE” program to keep them off drugs. For all the teenagers that go out drinking, there are those who’d rather have fun in a safer way. For as many people who steal, there are those who’ve never pilfered so much as a gumball. Violence among students has actually dropped in the past ten years, though the media would seem to have us think otherwise. And finally, not all students skip school, apathetic about their future. Some of us have made our own goals. Some can actually think for themselves and to look to their inner conscience for values. Those who cannot should learn. Learn to care about what’s best for you and avoid the trap of apathy. Learn without relying on someone else to determine what’s right and wrong. Learn to develop a conscience on your own and make choices based on your own values. As a certain cartoon cricket once said, “Always let your conscience be your guide.”

Thursday, May 1, 2008 4:41 PM CDT

May 1st...someone asked me today when 'Mother's Day' is...their question made me cry. I'm not sure when I cry the hardest...Rachael's birthday, her deathday, Jessica's birth/deathday, Christmas, Valentines Day, Mother's Day...

I still cry everyday. Sometimes just for a moment to myself, and sometimes it's a scream into my pillow that gets wet with the tears of years that were, and the years that never will be.

Damn, life just sucks when your children die before you.

Thursday, May 1, 2008 4:41 PM CDT

...

Sunday, April 13, 2008 9:01 AM CDT

Rachael wrote the following after she gave a copy of her painting to the hospital in LaCrosse. Truthfully, I'm not pleased that Rachael's artwork is at this hospital...someday I will request they return her artwork...it doesn't belong in a place that treated her so poorly.

*******

Funny story behind this picture... It was the middle of my junior year in high school. Very likely, I already had Hodgkin’s, but I certainly didn't know about it yet. In any case, I was in Mrs. Wistrcill's painting class. Mrs. Wistrcill had cancer some years ago and wanted all her students to do a piece relating to their feelings about cancer for Daffodil Days. They were to be displayed; along with a piece we were supposed to write up explaining our emotions, feelings, and experiences with cancer.
Problem was, at the time, I had no feelings about cancer. Really. My grandmother had died from breast cancer when I was in fourth grade, and it was sad, but I wasn't very involved with it at the time. I certainly wasn't involved with her treatments and I knew very little about cancer in fourth grade, other than that it was just another potentially deadly disease that, like any other disease, I probably wouldn't have to think about until I was much, much older. So cancer itself hadn't affected me at that point, and I had no particular thoughts about it. It was like a war in a distant, insignificant European country - it was mildly interesting, but I never gave it any thought because I never thought it would touch me in sixty years.
So when it came to doing a painting about my feelings on cancer, I was at an impasse. I couldn't avoid it, of course - it was a good portion of my grade. My first thought was to do a painting of a bald person with the caption, "Bald is Beautiful," which I quickly threw out the window, knowing that not everyone shares my slightly twisted sense of humor. So I went back to an old favorite art subject of mine - things with wings. In particular, angels. I never pass up an opportunity to attach big, fluffy, majestic wings to an unearthly, beautiful person. So I had my angel, and it was good, but it didn't convey any particular meaning in relation to cancer, except for the vaguely aloof expression on her face, which was essentially my attitude to the whole cancer issue at the time.
I knew that painting an aloof angel and explaining that it expressed my indifference to a disease that has shattered the lives of millions of people, including my art teacher's wouldn't fly very well. I had to think fast. Perhaps she wasn't indifferent...perhaps she was worried, uncertain...Yes! She was uncertain. But how could I really make that obvious, and complete the picture? Question marks are just about the only English-language symbol that represents uncertainty, so there you go. The picture would be called "The Angel of Uncertainty," and it would be meant to represent the uncertainty felt during cancer diagnosis, when you don't know what you have, or if you have anything, or if you'll survive. In some way, it made sense, and the teacher loved it.
Little did I know that a few months later I'd realize how accurate my cobbled-together picture was, with its meaning only determined after it was finished. I was uncertain, I didn't know what the future held, and I still don't. But the picture has meaning now, and how oddly prophetic that I blindly put that together, months before I knew I'd be diagnosed.

-Rachael L. Mayo, 18 years old
Artist First, Hodgkin's Lymphoma Patient Second

Wednesday, April 9, 2008 7:25 PM CDT

I’ve been told, and I’ve read, that people are able to come to grips with the loss of their only child. I feel like a major loser. I go to bed every night thinking of my Rachael and my Jessica. Often times, I awake from a dream, crying as I relive the horrors of Rachael’s last hours. I see the doctor’s faces, and I just want to slap away their arrogance.
Life without my Rachael and Jessica, is more difficult than anyone can imagine. It does NOT get easier as the years erode into each other…it just gets more and more painful, so very painful.
Kathie Mayo...Rachael and Jessica's mom.

Independence
By Rachael Mayo

The dislike that most grade-school children have for peers of the opposite sex is well noted. Annoying, high-pitched calls of, “Ew! Boy cooties!” are a common sound near playgrounds. I, as a grade-school girl, was not quite so vehemently opposed to the presence of boys; I can remember a few childhood friends who were boys. Yet I can also remember being asked by my friends who were girls, as it was a common thing for little girls to talk and dream about, what I wanted my wedding to be like, and responding that I didn’t want to get married. Some girls would say so because of a fear of “boy cooties,” but that, as I’ve stated, obviously wasn’t my reason. At the time, I didn’t like the idea of living my whole life with another person around all the time. Though certainly women are no longer dependent on their husbands in this modern age, I saw it as a dependency when I was little and abhorred the idea. Now, I’m not still certain that I never want to get married, but this proves a point - I have always tried to be an independent person, and I feel it is this trait which best defines my character.
Many people, especially as children (though adults certainly aren’t immune!), have difficulty entertaining themselves. They need someone else around to talk to or play games with, or, at the very best, a colorful and flashy video game. Though I have been known to play my fair share of colorful, flashy video games, I have also always been able to entertain myself, often choosing to do so over playing games. I’ve always enjoyed writing, an activity which only requires one person (and is often hindered by the presence of others!). However, even before I could write I would make up stories in my head, sometimes acting them out with my dinosaur figurines. I wasn’t a loner; I’d often play with neighborhood friends, but when they weren’t around I engaged in other “alone” activities, like collecting unusual rocks and plants outside, completing puzzles, reading, and, of course, drawing. I still love to draw, and with all the practice I’ve gotten over the years I’ve developed quite a knack for it. I think a great deal of my independence developed during my childhood when I’d have to entertain myself. As an only child, I never had the constant presence of brothers or sisters (for good or for bad!).
Being used to doing for myself has had its drawbacks, however. In elementary and middle school, teachers often forced their students to work in groups, and I always dreaded this. Even when I was able to choose friends to work with, I found it more difficult than working alone. Either they went too slow or too fast for me, or our ideas differed too much. A few times I remember being in groups for a project where everyone but me would slack off, not doing their parts, and I’d end up doing all the work. Other times we’d all talk too much and never get anything done. I realized early that working by myself was usually more efficient, but all too often this wasn’t an option. In middle school, I often objected to working in a group, but as I’ve matured I’ve moved past that. I work fine in groups now, as long as the rest of the group is also motivated to get the job at hand done. If the other members are unmotivated, I’ve become comfortable with taking charge – not imposing my ideas, but leading the group to get to work. Though I would still rather work alone most of the time, I’m at ease in a group despite my independent nature.
That independent nature has been challenged as of late. The summer before my senior year at high school I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, a form of cancer. Though very treatable, this meant at least six months of chemotherapy, with weekly visits to the clinic, and daily radiation for three months after that. This meant I’d have to quit behind-the-wheel driver’s training, a big step towards further independence, one course away from completion. This meant no travel for fear of injury or treatment complications away from access to the clinic, no immediate prospects for employment (and thus my own steady income), and decreased privacy. Over time, the chemotherapy has lead to a building weakness all over my body that complicates my drawing and forces me to rely on others for everything from walking and climbing stairs to opening pop cans. Needless to say, I initially refused assistance in any form. When I couldn’t walk up stairs, I was reluctant to use the elevator. When I couldn’t walk very well at all, I was reluctant to use a cane. When the cane wouldn’t help me walk around hilly terrain, I was reluctant to use a wheelchair, yet I now have used all of these at one time or another, plus substantial assistance from my parents and friends. This has been something of an infringement on my independence, but one thing I’ve learned about having the mind and will to make your own decisions is that sometimes you have to decide to take help when it’s offered to you.
I believe that the most helpful trait anyone can have is independence. It allows you to grow on your own, to move ahead at your own pace, and to take initiative in learning more in school and following up on your interests outside of class. I can comfortably say that I’ve learned about as much outside of school as I have in it, due to my initiative to work on my own at home and look into things I’m interested in. I feel sorry for people who feel the need to follow, to look to someone else to make decisions for them and decide their beliefs. My independence has caused me to strive to carve my own path, to step away from the norm, and to become a unique and capable person despite my setbacks.

Sunday, March 30, 2008 6:47 AM CDT

Saturday, March 15, 2008 5:06 PM CDT

GREEN

If you took all of the Universe
Everything ever made,
And condensed it,
Most of it would probably be
Green.

Why green?
Is there not just as much blue
Or red
Or brown
As there is green?

But think of every tree leaf
And flower stem
And palm frond
Grown throughout the entirety of time.
Condensed to an area the size of a marble.
Yes, it would mostly be
Green.

Of course,
If you condensed everything ever in existence to the size of a Marble,
It would be so incredibly dense, it would create
A Black Hole
And we
Would
All
Be

S
U
C
K
E
D

I
N
,

Oh
Well.
Never mind.

Saturday, March 15, 2008 5:01 PM CDT

Tuesday, February 26, 2008 4:52 PM CST

I am looking for the space between darkness and light;
between reason and wishing,
where I can find some sense to my grief.

I know it’s been (almost) five years since Rachael died.
I know a lot of people are able to move on and put their loss in a “special place”.
My special place is in my heart, and I wear my heart on my sleeve.
I never know what is going to turn on the faucet of tears, or if a slightly leaky faucet might turn into a gusher of tears.
Waterworks are common with me, even though it’s been 5 years.

*****

When does the caring stop?
When she takes her first step?
When she drops your hand to walk into her kindergarten classroom?
When she tells her best friend something you wished she’d told you first?
When she participates fully in the greatness that is called, ‘growing up’?

The caring didn’t stop then, did it?

And, it doesn’t stop when she dies.

When Rachael was dx with cancer, and asked me, "Mommy, am I going to die?" I wish I could have died in her place. 5 years later, I still wish I could take her place.

Living without her is HELL!

**********************************

March 1, 2008 -- 5 years without Rachael. The void just grows and grows. I'm surprised I can still see daylight. At times everything seems so dark, without the brightness of Rachael to light the future.

I am thankful to have so many of Rachael's writings and artworks to read and look at.

If anyone reading this would like to come and see Rachael's art, please do. Maybe you could join us on March 1st. Really, anytime is alright.

Thursday, February 7, 2008 6:24 AM CST

I am looking for the space between darkness and light; between reason and wishing, where I can find some sense to my grief.

I know it’s been five years since Rachael died. I know a lot of people are able to move on and put their loss in a “special place”. My special place is in my heart, and I wear my heart on my sleeve. I never know what is going to turn on the faucet of tears, or if a slightly leaky faucet might turn into a gusher of tears. Waterworks are common with me, even though it’s been 5 years.

When does the caring stop?
When she takes her first step?
When she drops your hand to walk into her kindergarten classroom?
When she tells her best friend something you wished she’d told you first?
When she participates fully in the greatness that is called, ‘growing up’?
The caring didn’t stop then, did it?

And, it doesn’t stop when she dies.

**********************************

March 1, 2008 -- 5 years without Rachael. The void just grows and grows. I'm surprised I can still see daylight. At times everything seems so dark, without the brightness of Rachael to light the future.

I am thankful to have so many of Rachael's writings and artworks to read and look at.

If anyone reading this would like to come and see Rachael's art, please do. Maybe you could join us on March 1st. Really, anytime is alright.

*****
Ross has updated his on-line resume with a few new photos. Rachael would be so very proud of him...

http://web.mac.com/rpfrawl/Site/Bio.html

***** A favorite Rachael Writing....

****

The Beginner’s Guide to Successful Larping

No matter who you are, everyone needs something to occupy that blessed amount of free time on the weekends. Some students join school-based sports, such as football or the dance team, while some go to parties with friends. Others may spend time cruising the streets in futile attempts to pick up members of the opposite sex or in mastering the Tetris game on their graphing calculators. Even more wile away their hours watching MTV and eating Cheesy Poofs. All these things are fine and good for your mind and body, with the possible exception of that last example, but there are alternatives! If you are uncoordinated, have no friends, don’t own a car or a graphing calculator, or if your Cheesy Poofs stash has recently been spent, Larp may be the weekend activity for you! Not to be confused, perhaps, with some kind of archaic stringed instrument, Larp is an acronym for “Live Action Role Playing.” Presented for all those interested is the Beginner’s Guide to Successful Larping, which will explain what Larp is, common Larping terms, and how to begin your Larping experience.

Larp is not something deviant. Larp is, in fact, rather like being in a play, except that there’s no theatre, no stage, no script, no audience, and you make up your own characters; in essence, Larp is almost nothing like being in a play. Perhaps it’s better compared to a childhood game of make-believe. Remember when you wanted to be the blood-sucking vampire but everyone else insisted on playing a civilized game of House? In Larp, your morbid imagination is no longer restrained. You can play that vampire from your childhood memories or most any other creature featured in a Bella Lugosi movie. That’s not to say there aren’t ground rules and limitations; there are, however most are spelled out for your convenience by three or four immensely helpful folks known as “Storytellers.” Them, and three or four 300 page “pocket guides.” All this may seem extravagant, but Larp does have rules. It is a game. However, it is not one where your objective is to win, per say. Your objective is to have fun and play your character so that others have fun as well, but the rules are there to prevent the occasional munchkin from gaining fifty physical traits, ten advanced disciplines, and becoming such a combat wonk that he or she ruins the game for everyone else.

If you aren’t familiar with Larp you probably weren’t able to understand the preceding sentence, in which case I will try to provide an adequate translation. The term “munchkin” is virtually synonymous with “minimaxer.” Both Larping terms indicate a character that has been created to be overly powerful in order to “win” the game. Some of these characters have been spotted from the beginning and promptly had their character sheets torn up so as not to wreak havoc upon the Larping world. This brings us to another interesting point, which is character sheets. The character sheet records, among other things, the character’s physical, mental, and social traits. These essentially make up how buff, brainy, and pretty the character is. This sheet also records any supernatural powers one may possess. These are called either disciplines, gifts, numina, archanoi, arts, or some other essentially nondescript word, depending on what sort of being you’re playing. Such powers may include summoning the nature’s energy, changing into a bat, or being unnaturally attractive to others, since many Larpers find that they’re unnaturally unattractive in real life and would appreciate a change of pace. Lastly, many would say that there are two different types of Larpers: the combat-wonks and the roleplay-wonks. Roleplay-wonks are in the game to play their character and interact with others, often to the exclusion of in-character combat. Alternately, combat-wonks are in it for the fights, often to the exclusion of in-character interaction. A combat wonk will often attend boot parties; that is, when a mass of combat-oriented characters get together to “take care of something” by viciously rock-paper-scissoring it to death.

If you are considering Larp, it is important to note that the best characters are usually a synthesis of the game’s role-playing and combat aspects and that one must avoid the temptation to make an overly powerful character, lest one’s character end up like many a torn-up munchkin. That isn’t to say that you don’t have a choice in the matter, there are many decisions open to you upon character creation. You could perhaps be a garou, which is the fancy-sounding French word for werewolf. Or, if you so desired, you could plan on of the Kindred, which is somehow more Gothic-sounding word for vampire. Maybe you’d like to pretend to be a fae, which is really just a less sissy-sounding fairy, or a wraith, which is just a more sissy-sounding ghost. Just remember that it is wise to make your character as interesting as possible. The feeble, incompetent freak of nature can be considerably more fun to play that the Schwarzenegger-esque fellow who shows up to the boot party, never really interacting with other characters except than to intone, “I’ll be back.” Before you Larp, it’s also a good idea to hone your rock-paper-scissors skills. Needless to say, conflict against other characters isn’t determined by actually staking them through the heart, but by “throwing chops,” the Larping term for rock-paper-scissors.

However, Larp is not just about “throwing chops” and combat. It’s not even about simply playing your character. In reality, Larp is about forgetting reality. In real life, you may be a weakling, but at Larp you can play a powerful warrior. In real life, you may be unpopular, but at Larp you can become a prince. In real life you may be a 300-year old vampire, but at Larp you can pretend to be an average 17 year old. Naïve escapism? Perhaps. But it is also a much-needed exercise in creativity for minds stifled by an unrelenting Backstreet Boys-driven culture, out to win us our greedy million, send us to a tropical island so the whole western hemisphere can watch us eat rats, and fit us into cookie-cutter cubicles. Everyone in today’s world needs to explore his or her creativity now, lest we flush our future down the black hole of pop culture. Plus, rock-paper-scissors is really fun!

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

UPDATE THURSDAY 1/24/08 Pat saw one of her doctors today for the results from her recent MRI. The lesion in her brain that was the major portion of her difficulties is receding, almost not visible. But, she has started experiencing some of the 'feelings' she had before she became so ill this past fall. The MD called her the 'mystery woman' , unable to DX or explain what is wrong with her. So, the plan now is for her to wait a month, see him again. In the mean time he wants her to check to see if her insurance will cover a trip to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester. He wants them to check her out. He feels if she does have MS they'd be able to dx it...gee, didn't she just spend countless hours and $'s seeing the specialists in Illinois. She still is not allowed to go back to work. She is getting really good at knitting, and has made some wonderful things that she's kindly shared with me!

****

I am so overwhelmed, pleased, tearful, happy, content with the recent entries in Rachael's guestbook. The memories shared are new to me, and so very welcome. I didn't think anyone except Fred, Aunt Nope(Pat), Ross and I thought of/missed Rachael.
Many thanks to Kristi for putting forth the suggestion and starting the onset of wonderful thoughts and memories of Rachael. Please continue. March 1st will mark the saddest day known to me...pleasant memories of Rachael will help me cope with this horrible anniversary.

****
Aunt Nope (PAT),sent me the following link to a site her son Ross recently created!
Please visit. http://web.mac.com/rpfrawl/Site/Bio.html

I know Rachael would be so proud of all Ross has accomplished...

****

The following has always been a favorite of mine.
WHY?
Probably because I know how sick Rachael was when she wrote it. She fought how crappy she felt, and created a wonderful document.
This document, in part, won her an $18,000 scholarship to Cornell College in Mt. Vernon Iowa.
She was so looking forward to attending this institution of learning. She felt it was "made for her style of learning" ... so sad she died....crap...

Rachael Mayo
William Fletcher King Scholarship Essays

List three to five honors or accomplishments that mean the most to you.

I’ve had an interest in foreign languages since I was little. In fifth grade I began taking Spanish and continued with it until I ran out of Spanish to take in my Junior year. This year I’m taking two levels of German and am already getting a good handle on it. Becoming at least reasonably well-versed in two foreign languages has been one of my best and most useful accomplishments.
Another accomplishment related to school was my compiling, editing, and illustrating of the Creative Review for the 2000-2001 creative writing class. In previous years, the teacher had done it, and with her focus and time naturally spent elsewhere it had always looked somewhat haphazard and unattractive, with many errors. I offered to do it at the time because I thought I’d have a study hall, but I ended up taking a class in place of that. I still did the Creative Review anyhow, retyping all the stories and poetry, correcting errors, improving the layout, and providing illustration. I’ve been told by many people that it was the best one ever put out.
This year I took Senior studio, an art class designed to help students prepare a portfolio for advanced placement. As my concentration in the portfolio I chose Japanese comic or manga art. Part of my study included writing and illustrating an actual comic book, and while it was at times difficult and took a long time, I met my goal and was able to produce a comic book that may evolve into a series. If it does, I plan on trying to sell it at the local comic shop over the summer.
Undoubtedly one of my most difficult achievements has been dealing with the side effects of my cancer treatment. All the medications I was on almost did more harm than good with their side effects – one caused pain in my joints, mood swings, and has started to produce cataracts in my eyes, although it hasn’t had a measurable effect on my vision yet. Another made my feet, legs, and hands so weak that I had trouble walking and lost the dexterity needed to button shirts, zip zippers, ties knots, and even draw for a time. Overcoming that to the best of my abilities and continuing to attend school as much as possible was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done but very rewarding to look back on as an accomplishment.

What are your goals during your first year at Cornell in the community, the classroom, or personally?

Naturally, one of my main goals in my first year of school is to get a good feel for my intended areas of study and make sure I’m on the right track. I have always been talented in art and had a strong interest in anthropology, but I have no idea how college courses in those fields will suit me personally. I’ve taken art classes in high school, but rarely have they been as focused on one artistic medium or technique as college courses usually are. I’ve never experienced a class in anthropology per se; my sociology, history, and human biology classes all bleed into that field of study, but at the same time are distinct and focused slightly elsewhere. I have little doubt about my intended double-major; I’m a fairly determined person once I’ve thought through all the options and committed myself to the best of them, but at the same time I must be prepared to adapt if something doesn’t work out.
I also realize that your first year is usually filled with required courses that may or may not figure into your major. This doesn’t bother me; I like to think of myself as a well-rounded person with at least some skill in all areas of study I might encounter at Cornell. I generally do well in and enjoy English, science, history, foreign languages, fine arts, and social sciences, and though I don’t always enjoy math I’m still a good student in it. I am eminently thankful that there is no physical education requirement at Cornell; I’ve never been good at any sport typically taught in school except swimming, which was only available once I got to high school, and then it only made up a small portion of the curriculum. I do enjoy martial arts but naturally never encountered it in high school Phy. Ed.; they can’t very well have us learning how to beat each other up, and even if martial arts does teach discipline and self-control, there would always be some miscreants who failed to notice that part of the instruction and tried to side-kick a classmate who annoyed them. As such, I hope to be able to take part in Cornell’s Martial Arts club.
Foreign languages have always been an area of particular interest to me, and though I don’t plan on majoring in one I’d like to get the fundamentals of one or two at Cornell. My high school offered two foreign languages, Spanish and German, and I took all the courses available in Spanish and completed the first two levels of German my Senior year. I am particularly attracted to Cornell for the availability of classes in Japanese and Latin, two languages I’ve always wanted to become more familiar with but have never been able to find instruction in. Latin complements my general interest in history, and Japanese fits well with my goals as an illustrator, since I’m particularly attracted to the Japanese manga style and hope to visit Japan some day.
I hope to find myself well-prepared for college life and for the one-course at a time method offered at Cornell. I think that OCAAT will ultimately be a smooth transition for me and ideal for the way that I work. In middle school I experienced 6-7 short classes a day and was relieved to go to a high school where a 4-period day was in use. I loved having more time in the day to focus on a few areas of study rather than rushing between six or seven and having homework in all of them at the end of the day. Ultimately, having a more intense focus on fewer subjects at a time benefited me. At every other college I was looking at I would see a return to at least five shorter classes in the average day rather than my accustomed four, but at Cornell there was one course at a time. Following the logical progression of things, if I benefit from four 90-minute classes a day, the intense study of one course at a time would suit me even better.
Studies are first in my mind and I anticipate doing well, but outside of my regular classes I’m looking forward to becoming involved in many of Cornell’s organizations, including Speech, Chess and Games, and the martial arts club. I’ve participated in Speech for three years and enjoy public speaking. Also, all throughout high school I’ve been involved in various role-playing games. Such games have given me a wonderful outlet for my imagination, inspiration for countless artworks and stories, and stimulated my creativity in all areas. I’ve also met some of my best and most steadfast friends through gaming and tend to get along well with anyone interested in it. Martial arts has, as I mentioned before, been an interest of mine for awhile and I participated in Tae Kwon Do and kickboxing when my health permitted it. I also think being involved in the martial arts club would improve my focus, stamina, and overall health, not to mention helping me to shape up and lose weight. I’m also planning on looking into Cornell’s service organizations, but since I don’t know much about them at the moment I’m not prepared to say which ones I’d be interested in.
Of course, I want to make new friends and keep in contact with old ones, get along with my roommate, and adjust to dorm life, but from past experiences I believe I’ll adjust quite well. I’ve spent time in dorms before while at various speech, debate, and art camps during the summer, and looking at pictures of some of Cornell’s dorms I can safely say they look just as good, if not a lot better, than the rooms and buildings I’ve experienced. I’m not usually prone to homesickness; I love my friends and family but can be satisfied with visiting them instead of living with them. I’ve always wanted to experience a different setting, and living on campus in a town of 9000 as opposed to at home in a town of 22,000 is certainly going to be different. Cornell actually has fewer students than my high school, which was already relatively small for being in a medium-sized town. However I end up feeling about things, I know I’ll make the best of it.
I’m currently in treatment for cancer and it’s naturally been a very trying process. I’m handling it well and making fast progress toward being healthy again, so I’m expected to be done with treatment and well on my way to recovery before I start college. However, there may still be lingering side-effects from therapy. The chemotherapy greatly diminished my strength, flexibility, and stamina, and radiation is bound to tire me out. Having never experienced this sort of thing I have no idea what my recovery rate will be, but I hope to get back on my feet and continue life like any normal college freshman.
Most of all, though, I hope I’m happy in college. Though I’m pretty sure of where I’m going with my studies and how I’ll get there, other things, like whether I’ll get along with my fellow students and professors and whether I’ll be able to keep in touch with my friends back home does give me cause for a little uncertainty. However, I’ve looked forward to college for a long time – pursuing my interests and goals, being in a new environment, meeting new people – and I think I’ll enjoy it.

If you could have lunch with a historical figure, who would it be and why?

One of my favorite areas of study has always been history. Many people find it dry and boring, but I see it as a way to resurrect the past – the closest we can come to time travel. Someone once said that if we don’t learn from history we will be doomed to repeat it, so by studying the horrors, atrocities, and mistakes of the past we can hope to head them off and prevent similar events in the future. In addition to that, one’s contributions in life and history’s memory of them are all we can really leave behind once we’re gone, and we can honor the great people who lived in the past by studying their lives and what they’ve given to the world. In history class, before he was introduced to all moviegoers by the film Gladiator, I learned about Marcus Aurelius Antonius, Emperor of Rome from 161 to his death in 180 C.E., last and probably most well-known of the five “good emperors” of Rome.
After reading about the corruption and madness of so many emperors – Caligula, Nero, and Aurelius’ own son Commodus, Marcus Aurelius caught my attention as a man who remained relatively humble as emperor, did far more good than ill for Rome, never was so insane as to appoint his horse to the Senate, and deeply contemplated philosophy and the nature of the universe. He seemed more real, somehow, than Julius Caesar, of whom our perception is likely distorted by the countless (and probably largely inaccurate) reenactments of his life on stage and screen, and more human than all the really corrupt fellows you hear about, whose corruption and insanity would seem almost comically villainous and unrealistic if it wasn’t the truth. He didn’t expand the empire with over-zealousness but used his military sparingly and effectively where it was needed to hold the borders. He did much to improve conditions in Rome, allowing for many rights previously withheld from slaves, stamping down hard on corruption in the senate and military, and enacting works to benefit the poor. There is even a story that, instead of raising taxes to fund his wars in Eastern Europe, he auctioned off his fine gold dinnerware and his wife’s silk and gold-embroidered dresses. But, most interesting of all to me, he was perhaps the closest we’ve come to a true philosopher-king, writing down his musings in his Meditations, striving to live a good life by the morals of Stoicism, and realizing his connection to the universe and all living things. Because of all these things, if I could have lunch with a historical figure, it would be Marcus Aurelius. Of course, I also really love Italian food (I know Roman food wasn’t really Italian food as it is today, but go with the joke).
Marcus Aurelius believed that a moral life ultimately leads to tranquility and oneness with the universe; he was not a moral man out of fear of punishment in the afterlife like later Christian emperors or out of fear of the retribution of the Roman gods, but out of respect for all people and things, as he recognized his connection with even the lowliest of creatures. In his collection of philosophies called Meditations he wrote, “The soul of man does violence to itself, first of all, when it becomes an abscess and, as it were, a tumor on the universe, so far as it can. For to be vexed at anything which happens is a separation of ourselves from nature, in some part of which the natures of all other things are contained.” He strived to uphold reason seriously, calmly, and directly, as his belief in Stoicism dictated, and kept the virtues of wisdom, justice, fortitude, and moderation. He was humbled by his feeling that his position of wealth as a ruler was at odds with his philosophy of moderation and equality. He understood and did not fear death, knowing that his memory would live on according to how he lived his life. I would love to speak with him and ask his advise, since his philosophy is very much in-step with the personal beliefs I had formed before reading about him.
It helped that the teacher who introduced me to ancient Rome was one of the best I’ve ever had. Though he had to divide his time between his job as a teacher and his work as our representative in the state Congress, my ancient history teacher did much to increase my interest in history and expose me to the cultures, beliefs, and philosophies of the past. I know it’s an over-used phrase, but he really did make history come alive, hosting a massive game of Risk to emulate the conquering empires of old and showing any and all applicable documentaries and films, even parts of Gladiator once it came out. He didn’t, however, try to sweeten and fluff up history with mindless busywork or meaningless projects, thinking that high school students wouldn’t be interested otherwise. Being that he taught Challenge History, he knew that we wouldn’t be in his class if we weren’t already interested and was very straight-forward and thorough in his teaching. He respected our intelligence and was always very accessible.
Learning from him, I was immediately intrigued by ancient Rome’s culture, people, and achievements, but somewhat dismayed by its apparent lack of moral leaders, the sort you could sit down and have lunch with without worrying that they’d poisoned your food. By all accounts, Marcus Aurelius was one of these people, an intellectual, focused, and moral man, and I would jump at the chance to ask him about his life, ask his advise, and discuss the universe, as both of us have similar views and are philosophers at heart. Someone else once said that below average people only discuss other people, average people discuss events, and wise people discuss ideas. I would love to have lunch and discuss ideas with Marcus Aurelius, even if an ancient Roman lunch would have most likely included fruit and olives rather than my favorite modern Italian pasta dish and garlic bread.
* * *

Saturday, January 5, 2008

Aunt Nope (PAT), just sent me the following link to a site her son Ross recently created!
Please visit. http://web.mac.com/rpfrawl/Site/Bio.html
Please visit!

Rachael Lynn Mayo
1983 - 2003

"Rachael, play among the stars!"

Rachael was a bright, feisty, talented and beautiful young woman whom we loved very much. She died from complications following a stem-cell transplant due to a recurrence of Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.

Rachael was born to Fred and Kathie (Rataj) Mayo. She was a 2002 honor graduate of Winona Senior High School. She had qualities many people admired. She had great passion for her artwork, passion for writing, passion for learning and a unique wit and sense of humor. She was so looking forward to pursuing a degree in art and anthropology at Cornell College. Her strong moral convictions guided all aspects of her life; she never succumbed to contrary pressures, pervasive though they might have been. She always remained true to self.

Some people are too wonderful for this world, and we only get to experience their love for a short time. Remember Rachael and smile.
It was Rachael’s request that she be cremated, and her cremains be carried by loved ones wherever they travel. So far Rachael has visited 50 states and numerous foreign countries. One of her favorite songs was “Fly Me to the Moon”, with that in mind, it is appropriate that Rachael travel to the stars.

Perhaps words penned by Rachael can best explain the wonder of her!

“I am a strange writer of science fiction.
I wonder what the clouded future holds.
I hear the doors to the past slamming shut.
I see the wondrous and frightening Possibilities ahead.
I want to find the truth.
I am a strange writer of science fiction.

I pretend not to fear the unknown.
I feel the world shifting and changing around me.
I touch the entrance to the portal to the future.
I worry that we will destroy that future.
I cry for those who may not see their dream fulfilled.
I am a strange writer of science fiction.

I understand that no one can prepare for the future.
I say that we can try.
I dream of a golden age for mankind.
I only try to do my part.
I hope my attempts are not futile.
I am a strange writer of science fiction.”

Rachael Lynn Mayo 1999

~

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