Ruthie On The Road, Update

It's been an amazing Summer:

I met the man who bought me the motel room and provided me with a good
meal in Nebraska. He was so happy to help that the smile stayed on his
face from the time that we met to the moment that we said goodbye.

I wasn’t always that lucky. One night I fell fast asleep in a gazebo
in the middle of a park with a hotshot of 100% DEET spray in my right
hand.

I was also left to spend the night, at one point, in my sleeping bag,
on a concrete sidewalk in the village of Brady, Nebraska. The walkway,
which was lit up, wound up and around a train track. I scrunched down
in my sleeping bag and rested my head on my backpack. Every time the
train chugged by the whistle and the vibrations interrupted my dreams
about “The Children Of The Corn.”

A cat finally joined me at about three a.m. That was the only friend
that I ever found in that town.

But down the line, a preacher and his wife rescued me. I ate dinner
with them in a fog and then closed my eyes in yet another motel bed.
The next day, a young couple picked me up and drove me to their home.
They made arrangements and put me in a room at a Best Western that
featured a king-sized bed, fat towels and a flat screen TV.

The next day they took me to a small town where I had to wait until
one o’clock the next morning before I boarded an Amtrak train. I was
left on my own and opted to stay in the waiting room at the local
police station. Late that night, an officer drove me over to the
depot.

When I watched the train pulling in, I thought, “This time I get to
RIDE the train instead of just watching it go by.”

The seats were big and I got two to myself. I sat by the window and
put my backpack on the seat beside me. The vibrations rocked me to
sleep, but the whistle intermittently interrupted my dreams about
“More Children In The Corn.”

The train was filthy and it stunk. When I went downstairs to use the
restroom, a creepy guy stood by the door. I glared at him. When I glared at him he decided to leave me
alone.

The bathroom was gross. I’ve seen a cleaner one on a Greyhound bus.

In the morning, I walked back to the dining car and was seated by a
waitress. The coffee tasted like instant, the omelet was thin and the
grits were congealed and cold. The biscuits and the orange juice were
the only saving grace. But their comfort was quickly lost when the
server brought me a bill for twelve-dollars.

I had just enough money left to buy a bed in a mom-and-pop motel that night. So
I left the train and the rest of the ticket to Indiana in a pit stop
town in Iowa. I walked out of the depot and went looking for food, a
bathtub and a bed.

I finally found it and left the next morning. I was still tired. But I
figured that I had miles to go before I would sleep again. To my
surprise, that isn’t what happened.

I ended up on an on ramp outside of yet another small city and stuck
out my thumb.

About twenty-minutes later, two cops pulled up in two separate
cruisers. All for me.

They got me two bottles of water and drove me back to their station. A
big, tall preacher man eventually strode in and offered me a choice.
He said that I could either get a motel room for the rest of the day
and that night or get a meal.

I took the room. I took it not only because I was still tired but also
out of spite. The guy was cranky and made me walk back to the west
side of town to the motel.

When I got there, the manager of the motel bought me dinner. After I
ate, I fell asleep…for hours.

The next day, I walked and walked and walked back across town again. I
was still about a mile from the on ramp when I heard a voice behind me.
I turned around and a lady with a big grin asked me if I needed a ride
somewhere.

I got in her rig and we talked for awhile. And as we shared conversation, she drove and drove and drove.

Finally, the woman bought me a Trailways bus ticket to Indiana. (Her
husband produces infomercials that are broadcast everywhere.) She gave
me $100 and a hug. I got on the bus and she disappeared.

When I got to the bus station in Indianapolis, I found out that I
would have to stay there all night.

I also found out that there is no branch of my bank in either
Indianapolis or the city that I was planning to finally end up at.

(Update will continue soon...)

Goodbye, Joe

Before I get to my updates, I am going to put up this post. It is an open letter to Joe.

Maybe he'll read it and maybe he won't. But I'm going to post it, anyway.

I wish that I'd had a video cam during the past 48 hours. The video would have spoken for itself. As it is, I WAS on camera last night. I ended up on a documentary that will be broadcast soon.

I tried to reach you, and the manager told me that he delivered the message to you. But I never saw you again. That's too bad.

You tried to share a slice of God with me in Greensburg. But you didn't understand that I don't need to meet someone that I already know.

I like to assume that I made YOU think. That my words somehow got under your skin and into your heart, even though you never admitted it.

In the end, you either drove away confused or disappointed. I won't ever be able to fix that unless, by some miracle, you actually read this.

I didn't need that book or the room or the food or the money that you gave me, as much as I needed your friendship. And that, Joe, I never really got.

You barely mentioned your last name and now I don't remember what it is. I wanted to share a cup of hot coffee on your front porch, but you never told me exactly where you live. I would have loved to have taken a ride with you down a country road and admired the changing leaves. But we never dealt with much more than business together.

My left foot is failing. It is getting more and more difficult to walk on it now. I never told you that because I didn't want to bring more drama into the equation than what was already between us.

But when I walked out of Greensburg, every step that I took was painful. I could feel my ankle bone grinding against itself.

My update will tell you what happened after that.

I wish you the best, Joe. I really do. And I sincerely thank you for what you DID do.

But I think you missed your chance to share something far more important with your sister. You were granted an opportunity and you handed it back.

That is sad.

Too many people, especially those who call themselves Christians, live inside a wall. And their fortress includes a filter. And unless someone can pass the "Sacred Quality-Control Test", he or she remains at the end of that "long stick" that you once referred to.

The book that you gave to me spent more time with me in Greensburg than you did. I left it behind.

You never realized that my money won't arrive until this Monday morning. I knew that all along. I told you that I would have it in my hand on Friday because I didn't want you to pay out more to the manager than you had to.

But I'll be alright, Joe.

Money isn't the only point here. It's just related to the "Cynical Christian Inspection And Rejection Cycle" that's so prevalent in this Country now.

Christianity is dying and the "Sanctimonious Saints" are killing it. They're like "Pontificating Parana", eating their own.

I won't have anything more to do with it.

But when I pass by Greensburg again on Monday morning, I will whisper a real prayer for you. Then I will disappear down the road with God. But WITHOUT a final smile and wave from you.

And that's unfortunate, isn't it?

Goodbye, Joe.

Nothing Enjoyed Is Ever Wasted

Private Message:

I have been enjoying my vacation in Central Indiana. It's turned-out to be very relaxing and enlightening at the same time.

Bed bugs are the favorite pet in this State. Small claims court shows are more plentiful than soap operas on TV. It's okay to eat a bowl of raisin bran with milk at three o'clock in the morning. And there's nothing like a rousing game of laptop pinball to spark the imagination.

I'm happy (minus the bugs, thank God!) and looking forward to all of the mayhem that I will cause in November.

A Deal With The Devil Or God?

Edits of Terri Moulton Horman Photo
By Ruth Rader

Terri Moulton Horman wants to see her daughter, Kiara. Wow. Imagine that.


Kiara Horman

Well, I have some questions for "Das Bitch": How does it feel to wear the boot on the other foot, Terri?

Don't you think that Desiree wants to see Kyron?!!!

I mean, woman-to-woman, I bet Desiree feels the same way about HER son: SHE wants HIM back in HER life, too!

Are you going to arrange a trade-off on Halloween night?

Do you really think that you have any right to see Kiara at all?

Do you want the family to make a deal with the Devil or God?

Are you going to return Kyron out of conscience or your own sick, selfish desire?

Which will it be, Terri?

You think if you "visit" Kiara that you will somehow convince her that you're worth a damn?

In my opinion: If you visit Kiara a thousand times, she will still grow up and see you for who you really are.

Meanwhile, Desiree Young and Kaine Horman have been keeping their son in the public eye via a pumpkin patch.



And, between the two activities, the
Task Force is tightening-up in a sincere effort to find Kyron Horman before the first hard frost covers those pumpkins...

...Or Terri's "love" for Kiara thaws her own frozen "mother heart."

Ruthie On The Road, Update

I realize that I have not continued with my road updates for several weeks now. I have not posted about my travels partly because I am focusing attention on the Kyron Horman case.

And also because I wasn't settled in one spot.

Now I am.

I will be in this small town city for the next few weeks. And, amazingly enough, I won't spend any of that time in a homeless shelter.

Nope.

I will, instead, be staying in an efficiency apartment (by myself) complete with a microwave, refrigerator and TV.

I am very lucky. In fact, I am blessed.

A man named Joe just happened to pick me up while I was hitchhiking the other day. Before the day was over, he paid out over $700.00 to make sure I had a decent, reasonable and safe roof over my head.

I don't have wi-fi there but I do here at the library. And that should work for the duration of my stay.

Where am I now in Indiana?

;)

Heh-heh-heh.

Exactly where God wants me to be.

This section of Indiana is experiencing a very severe drought. Pray for rain and do a dance, if you are so inclined.

But, to quote the scarecrow from "The Wizard Of Oz": "Don't nobody light a match."

Kaine Horman and Kyron's Rights

Kaine/Terri Get To Choose...Does Kyron?

There is a question that has been rolling around in the back of my mind for awhile. Especially since I received the anonymous message that simply stated: "You're going to Roseburg, aren't you?"

I never made it there.

And now I am in the State of Indiana. (safe and sound, too, by the way)

However, I am still paying very close attention to this situation. And I will continue to do so.

That includes scrutinizing my tracker.

The question that I have involves Kaine Horman. I wonder if he had a hand in Kyron's disappearance. I just can't shake how I feel about that guy. I haven't localized it yet but I have a feeling that he is hiding something.

Maybe he IS innocent, sincere and above reproach. Maybe he's lying through his teeth.

Either way, Kyron hasn't been found yet. No thanks to him or Terri Horman, either.

Kyron's life hangs in the balance...between two people (Terri and Kaine) who are now, supposedly, poles apart.

They're both adults and they can take care of themselves. Kyron is a child, who although he is young, still has the right to decide where he will live. He has the right to decide who he will live with. More importantly, Kyron has the right NOT to be hidden away somewhere.

Call in the lawyers, flip through the papers and listen to the judge bang the gavel all you want to, Terri and Kaine.

Build a house of documents around little Kiara.

But until Kyron comes back...this entire situation, minus the sound bites and the social hoopla, will remain nothing short of disgraceful.

BOO!gle

Boogle. I have been decorating my blog for Halloween. And while I was doing that, I decided to ruin Google's logo once again. I love to screw with Google. Bahahahaha!!

So, instead of messing around with the usual Google logo, I decided to change it to Boogle. As in Boo! it's Google.

(crickets)

Anyway, after I did a terrible thing with Google's logo, I googled Boogle. And I found boogle.

It's a wonderful little website that allows me (the easily amused) to press the boogle button over and over again. Each time I do, I get a cookie.

Not really.

But what I DO get is a little more wisdom to pack into my junk-filled cranium.

I doubt that it will change my behavior but a miracle could spark a more advanced type of intelligence. I wonder what I'd do with that.

Smirk.

Here is my Boogle logo which required very little brain-power to create:



Isn't October a great month?

Following Kyron?

PHOTOS FROM THE SEARCH ON SUAVIE ISLAND
Did Kyron Walk The Same Path?

(Click on the button below to watch the corresponding video):

A Priceless Act Of Grace

Where Are You, Kyron?


Judas gave up Jesus for a fee. But afterwards, when he happened to look Jesus in the eye, the shame of what he'd done led Judas to hang himself.

Judas learned too late that every soul has a value that transcends any amount of money.

Each person has a choice: Cherish their soul or destroy it.

Kyron Horman's soul is worth more than $50,000. Kyron is a child and his soul is priceless.

I know that his mother, Desiree, meant well when she asked for more reward money. She loves her son and she's desperate.

But inside her heart she knows the true value of young Kyron Richard Horman.

So do I.

Every sane, decent human being does.

If I found Kyron tomorrow, I wouldn't take a cent of that reward money. And I'm homeless. What I own fits into a big backpack.

My reward would be seeing his blue eyes sparkle through those little glasses...hearing his belly laugh...and watching his face break into that adorable, toothy grin.

My reward would be taking him home.

My reward would be watching him run toward the ones that love him the most.

My reward would be watching Desiree, Tony and Kaine wrap him up in a joyous, family embrace.

My reward would be watching their happy tears fall.

My reward would be watching the Country erupt in a celebration from coast to coast.

My reward would be listening to Kyron explain what happened.

My reward would be hearing the media go crazy while they clamored to hear every word.

My reward would be watching law enforcement, searchers, volunteers and web sleuths share victorious high fives.

My reward would be watching justice properly served.

My reward would be a happy ending.

And you can't put a price on that.

So, if you know where Kyron is...consider my words. Search your own soul. Ask Jesus what you should do.

And then bring Kyron back.

A Prayer For You, Updated

"It's a huge reminder of the wonderful things that people can do..."
--Desiree Young
______________________
Suavie Search Continues...
Search Resumes Around Suavie Island
Suavie Island Search/Related Video
______________________

Rain is running in tears down the window today
As I sit here in Indiana half a continent away
And I know that you miss your son
Kyron
As you stand beside that fence
Asking for help without pretense
And as I witness your agony
I close MY eyes and pray:
Please Dear God
Make the nightmare go away...
Please somebody
Help sweet Desiree.

(Click on the button below to watch Desiree's Presser):

Take The Hint

"Deep down, when they look at a guy like me, they see a guy automatically who belongs in the second tier and not the top tier." --Rick Sanchez


Image. It appears to be a problem in the United States right now. First, Tyler Clementi jumped from the George Washington bridge because his roommate caught him on a hidden camera having sex with another guy. And then the roommate posted the video of the tryst on the Internet.

So Clementi committed suicide the other day.

Rick Sanchez, a former reporter for CNN, went on a rant because he feels that he's being discriminated against because of his heritage.

After Rick's comments were broadcast, CNN fired him .

WHAT, I ask you, is the deal here, people??

So Clementi screwed a guy. Big deal. At least he didn't rape a goat!

Or maybe his partner screwed HIM. So what?

All Clementi had to do was say, "Yeah, that was worth every minute" and smile...and everything would have turned out differently.

Instead, he went into a panic and ended up screwing HIMSELF!

Sanchez, on the other hand, dug his own hole.

Rick Sanchez has had a problem with his heritage for a long time. I noticed that when I first started watching his segment on CNN.

He is his own worst enemy.

And he is obsessed and very insecure about his image.

Well.

Clementi was gay. Sanchez has ties to Cuba.

In the final analysis, neither is against the law or a ticket to the end of the world.

I listened to a song on my Internet radio station tonight called: "Grown Men Don't Cry" by Country singer Tim McGraw.

I thought about Tyler Clementi and Rick Sanchez.

And I've come to the conclusion that both of these men made mucho ado over nothing.

And since Rick Sanchez is the only one left alive, I'm going to direct the following comments to him:

Rick, you're never going to be perfect. You're never going to please everybody. And every time that you look in a mirror, you won't see everyone elses face...you will only see your own.

And as long as you don't really hurt anyone else, that will be good enough.

Good enough to go on. And maybe good enough to give the best of yourself to someone else.

I'd direct the above comments to Tyler Clementi, too...but like I already mentioned, Tyler is dead.

Take the hint, Rick.