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Please feel free to post a message and upload a picture, GIF or JPG only please..no Bitmaps.
There are currently 237 entries in the Guestbook
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Sandy Miller
trylobyte@aol.com
Saturday April 26, 2008
10:59 AM
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Hello,
I found your music by accident, and I thought I would let you know how much I like it. I am not usually a fan of female artists, but you are a definite exception. I think your music rocks!
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Heather TIffany Jiron
admiratiff_1@hotmail.com
Wednesday February 20, 2008
10:04 AM
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Star I don't know how else to get a hold of you. please email me back its me Heather hope you didnt forget about a small girl in your prayers.Your biggest fan
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Bobbie Westhoff
bobbie_westhoff@yahoo.com
Monday December 17, 2007
1:22 PM
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I love the site. Does this mean that we will finally be able to buy all the music soon now?? I Hope??? I'd love to have it all!! You are so very outstanding! Thanks for sharing with me.
Your big fan,
B
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rich macphee
mrmombigfoot1@yahoo.com
Tuesday November 6, 2007
10:51 PM
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beautiful voice my mom is a full blooded penobscot, and i found that most natives have amazing voices, you are amazing,,,thankyou ,,,rich
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Anwaan Jiimis
http://www.redboy.cjb.net
Saturday September 1, 2007
2:41 PM
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Boozhoo!
Just stopped by to have a look around this lovely site you have here. I was a 60's scoop myself and I found my family and you have my prayers to help you find yours.
Best of luck and continued success my sister,
Anwaan Jiimis
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carolyn nuccio
carolyn.nuccio@siemens.com
Monday August 27, 2007
12:28 PM
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Hello Star,
This morning I played the CD I purchased from you in 2001...Somewhere in a Dream. I love that song best and play it often. When I need to be inspired for anything, I play that song. How do I purchase Into the Depths, and anything new you may have out there. I am still a Star fan in Chicago. God Bless you, Star.
Carolyn
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Melanie
roundstonem@yahoo.com
Sunday August 26, 2007
3:42 AM
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Hi Star, Continue to keep you and Tahee in our prayers. Lotsa love, Melanie & Tayla
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Kris Knutson
kck@santafelawyers.com
Thursday August 16, 2007
4:50 PM
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Just keeping tabs, wondering what is next
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Susie and Millie Albright
salbright@plpt.nsn.us
Wednesday August 15, 2007
5:41 PM
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I just want to say Hello and hope you are doing fine. My daughter and I were in Sisseton for Sundance one year and you were there. My daughter only 3yrs at that time became buddies with you. She still thinks about you from time to time and still plays your tape. I don't want to keep you too long good luck and stay healthy, your friend forever Susie and Millie
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Tim Woodard
Luko.tw@gmail.com
Saturday May 19, 2007
12:23 AM
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Came to see you from American Samoa at Soaring Eagle, you were great! It made me happy to see you invite the Grass Dancer up on stage, to bad more didn't join in. Take Care and be Safe. Hope to see you again in the future.
-Tim
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sophia
Katz.sophia@gmail.com
Friday May 18, 2007
7:00 PM
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your voice is ausome. and i am not just like
normal people. because i have an urge to be on
braodway in my young life. i would very much like to contact you and learn from you. i am
almost 11 by the way.
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Saturday April 28, 2007
6:25 PM
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Tom Brosman
bearriver333@gmail.com
Saturday April 28, 2007
6:25 PM
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I saw you on tv today in Olympia (near Seattle) and I related. My mother was half Cherokee, half Blackfoot, my dad Irish.
My mother was an alcoholic, left me at a bus station when I was 10. The Universe cared for me, my dad raised me. I wrote a story about a woman looking for her dad. I will send it along.
Thanks,
Tom (Oso) Brosman
The Missing Sock
By Thomas A. Brosman III
Bearriver333@gmail.com
Sunlight broke through the clouds and danced and sparkled on the baby blue hood of her 68 Mustang. Katie had polished her car before she started on the trip and it gleamed in the first sunlight she had seen in a hundred miles. She set her jaw again, willing herself, making herself to keep driving. Tears of frustration came into her blue eyes. She wanted nothing more than to turn the car around and drive back home, without stopping, all the way back to Portland, away from Washington, across the Columbia River, past Jantzen Beach, past the Rose Garden Coliseum, then home, to the safety of her apartment in South Portland. She continued to argue with herself, using the same line of reasoning that she had been using all morning, but to no avail. This was something she had to do. "Katherine Anne Olson, what in God's name are you doing? You are forty years old, your own daughter is raised, you've got a good job at the Post Office and a cozy apartment and your Mustang is paid for. What in the hell are you doing, wasting a Saturday, chasing a riddle? You grew up with no father. You raised your own daughter without a father, what are you thinking? If my mother got some sperm from a man who had no intention of being a father, four decades ago, so what? Drop it!" But she couldn't. She had to know some things for herself, deep down, below the surface, where longings bleed quietly and questions nag, she had to know. Katie had struggled since she was a toddler, with questions like, "Why didn't my father want me? Why did he desert my mother after he found out she was pregnant?" She wanted to know what the old postcard in her late mothers personal letters file meant. The card was from a man named Jack Leo Fulton and had one line written in neat penmanship across the back, Please reconsider." "Reconsider what?" thought Katie. Her dread about what she would find in Olympia had burrowed a knot in her stomach. She looked at her directions and took the Pacific Avenue Exit. Slower, she wanted to drive slower or not at all as she followed Pacific down to Carpenter Road and turned right.
The postcard from long ago had a Tacoma postmark on it. Katie had searched the internet and found only one Jack Leo Fulton. She searched until she located him. He was living in a nursing home called Roo Linn. She had called the office and found that Mr. Fulton was seventy-nine and popular with the staff for his humor and good nature. The nurse had signed the employee hand book, which essentially bound her to the rules of the nursing home. She was forbidden to give the caller from Portland any medical details about Jack, but rules and the deep things of life, sometimes were at odds. "Miss, I don't know what your interest in Mr. Fulton is, nor did I tell you this, but if you want to see him, come soon. He has inoperable prostate cancer." "He ummmm, well, he might be my biological father." It had forced Katie's hand that the man was dying. She did not have the luxury of putting it off until a later time. Two days later she drove to Olympia. She could see the nursing home on the right and she heard her mother's words in her head for the millionth time, "He left when he heard I was pregnant with you. He didn't want either of us." It was all the information that her mother would give her, despite her attempts to learn more.
Katie slowed the car at the entrance and put on her turn signal. "How stupid can I be? He didn't want me. He stayed out of my life on purpose and now, if this man is my biological and I drive all this way to see him just before he dies? I am a glutton for punishment."
Salmon swim up their rivers and wild geese fly south in the fall, answering a call, deep down, that logic has no part in. Katie pulled into the lot and parked the car. There was a double door going in with a big blue button that operated the doors automatically for people in wheel chairs. The smells of antiseptic, floor polish and medicine hit her as she walked down the grey blue carpeted hall, with paintings of flowers on the walls. At the end of the hall was a nurse's station. She asked the nurse who was filling out a med chart on a clipboard where Mr. Fulton's room was located. The nurse, who was busy and ignoring the interruption, looked up for the first time and gave Katie her full appraising attention, taking a second too long to look into Katie's eyes, as if comparing her with someone she had seen before. "Walk down the hall. Room 311 is on the left side at the end. A couple of longshoremen were in earlier to see him. Mr. Fulton worked on the docks of Tacoma as a longshoreman and he has friends from where he used to work who come in fairly often. Jack is almost gone, so please limit your visit
." The nurse looked into Katie's eyes, seeing what she had not expected there, pain and fear of what the visitor might find. If the visitor was family, then she was the only family that Jack had. "Stay as long as you like," the nurse told Katie as she went back to her chart and Katie started a long walk down the hall. Old people looked out at her from several rooms as she came to the end of the hall to the door of 311, which was closed. Katie knocked softly, and then pushed it open. There were two beds in the room, but only one
bed was being used since the second man had passed away recently. Inside the room, she saw a small, shrunken man, sitting in a wheel chair facing the window, with his gaze on the patch of lawn outside where blue jays were fighting over some peanuts. He had a thin blanket over his shoulders that had been placed there by an orderly. There were Christmas and Get Well cards on the wall from people who cared about him and on the table beside the bed there was a plastic water pitcher with a cup, upside down on top of it. Mr. Fulton, my name is Katie. I came to visit you." She pulled a chair up beside the small peaceful man, with hands that were gnarled and work hardened. He had liquid blue eyes that were familiar to Katie, as they looked out the window. She tried to make conversation with him, tried to get a feel of the man whose eyes and features matched hers. She felt a helplessness for both of them. She had come too late, known too late. All the years since she was two, wondering, longing, and yearning for a father. Now, at the end of those questions the book was taken before she could read it. She sat in the chair beside the quiet old man and finally let the tears spill across her cheeks and spread down across her blouse and onto her jeans. She gave herself permission to cry. The pain had to go somewhere.
After she had grieved for awhile, she remembered she had to go to the bathroom. There was one in the room and she went inside and closed the door. When she was finished she washed her hands and a shiver went through her. It was cold in the bathroom and not much warmer in the room. She walked back out into his room and noticed for the first time that one of his feet had no sock on it. The foot was purplish with red veins and when she reached down and touched it, the foot felt cold as ice. She looked on his bed for the sock and under his covers. Then she knelt down and looked under the bed. She could see the
sock, that had fallen down between the bed and the wall and she had to reach to get it. She moved some boxes and a suitcase aside to make room. Her fingers found the sock and as she retrieved it, her eye caught something familiar on a shoe box under the bed. The box had rubber bands around the top to keep it closed and across the front of the box, carefully printed with a black marker, was the name "Katie". "Humph, he must have had a girlfriend named Katie, or a wife," but she couldn't resist bringing the box out with the sock. She put the sock on the frail old man and she put the box on her lap as she sat beside him.
Her composure was coming back now. She knew the trip was pretty much a loss. She had however made the journey and forced herself to take it to the end. She mentally let herself off the hook and after the cry she had, felt a small amount of relief. "Well Girl, you can leave anytime. You did the hard thing. If you want to snoop in this old man's box and read about some wife or girlfriend, be my guest." With her new found freedom, there was also a fear of what she might find in the box. She sat beside him and took rubber bands off of the box and took off the lid. The old man was still looking outside, at nothing in particular now, since the jays were gone. Inside the box were two wads of envelopes, each with rubber bands around them. On the front envelope of the first wad, she noticed the postdate was December 15, 1960 from Portland, Oregon, mailed only ten days after she was born. The penmanship was her mother's and her hands shook as she opened the worn envelope and took out a letter that looked like it had been folded and refolded many times.
"Jack,
You have a daughter. I named her Katherine. She has your blue eyes.
Marrying you is out of the question. I never wanted a husband, just a child.
If you come around, I will call the police. If you try to prove she is your daughter, I will deny it. We all have our stories, Jack. My dad used me from an early age. I vowed to leave and never let a man into my life. I only dated you to get a child I could love, but not share. I never want to see you again, but I will send you a letter from time to time and tell you about her progress.
Helen"
Katie's hands shook as she read her mother's letters to the old man who sat beside her in a wheelchair. They were informative only and they stopped when Katie was twelve. The nurse came to check on them. It had been two hours, a long time for a dying man to have company. She cracked the door open and saw the girls shoulders shaking, as she cried and read letters to the old man. The nurse knew this was something that was meant to be and she quietly closed the door and went to get a "Do Not Disturb sign.
Katie read the first bundle and then let herself just sit and regain her composure. She watched him now, watched his features and considered his face for a long time, as he looked outside. From her changed perspective, she looked at her father with new eyes. It seemed to Katie that he was not watching blue jays and grass grow, rather he had an expectancy on his face, as if he was looking, waiting for someone and that if he turned away, he might miss them as they went by. Katie picked up the second bundle and took off the rubber bands. Some pictures fell out from between the envelopes that were dog eared and stained. All were of her, from her birth to about age twelve. Life, as Katie had arranged it for herself had come totally unraveled in Room 311. The things she believed in deeply, hated about her father were myths, created by her mother who had a hatred and a deep seated fear of men. Unconsciously, Katie had lived her
life, much as her mother had. She had been divorced early on and raised a daughter on her own. The first envelope in the second bundle was marked "Return to Sender," June 7, 1972. She opened it and pulled out the letter and read words and emotions that were foreign to her, things that she had longed for but had abandoned all hope of finding. It was a love letter in a way, from a father to his daughter. Her dad had asked her mother questions about his daughter, if she was ok, what she was like, asking if he might see her. It was about the time Katie's mother had decided to sever all ties with him. Katie was all her mother had and she could not survive losing her daughter to a man Katie never knew. The remaining letters had no postmark, because they were never mailed. Jack had written his daughter a couple of times a year, dated the letters and put them in the bundle. Years, years and a lifetime of loving a daughter he never knew were in the letters. There was a tenderness and a depth that Katie's mother never had and there was an anguish, running deep in the stream of every letter over his loss of her. Katie read them, consumed them, like a person famished for food at a banquet. One by one, to herself now, she read and cried and looked again and again at the man who sat beside her and as her world was uprooted at the news of it all, it was righted by the love the man felt for her. Three hours had passed since she had come in the door, three hours, a lifetime and a bucket of tears. She came to the last letter, dated, June 5, 2000 and read it out loud.
"My Darling Katie,
They say I have cancer. I have had a good life. I was a longshoreman and I hope you would have been proud of me. I loaded cargo on ships from all over the world at the waterfront in Tacoma. I was strong once, vital and young. I met
your mother in Portland. I loved her at once and I hoped to marry her. You were conceived and after she found out she was pregnant with you, she cut off all ties to me. Her father had done things to her when she was a girl that was dark and bad. I think she wanted you and not me. I tried to get her to marry me, but it only made her madder. So, when you turned twelve, she said you told her you wanted nothing to do with me. I was heartbroken. All of the birthdays, Christmases we missed spending together. I hoped that when you grew up, you might want to learn about me. I am so sorry I wasn't there for you. Some of the biggest ships in the world carried my tears for you over the years, tears that fell as I worked down below the deck, loading logs or crates for overseas. I worked alone in the dim light and the thoughts came, the same ones that have kept me awake at night for forty years. My thoughts were that I loved you and that I am so sorry I failed you.
Love,
Daddy"
Katie couldn't see the letter any more through the tears and the chair she sat in shook with her sobbing. Sunlight streamed into the room and as Katie looked up from her sobbing, the old man turned his head towards her and fixed her gaze with two deep blue eyes. A cloud had lifted momentarily for him and for a few moments the old man's full faculties returned and he looked at his daughter with a look of love and tenderness that Katie would carry forever. "My girl, my darling daughter. I have waited all my life to meet you." Katie hugged him and repeated one word over and over, "Daddy." Then she said, "My mother lied, I did want to see you." Healing came, for both of them and understanding and
love flowed like full waves on an incoming tide, from father to daughter and back again.
The orderlies brought them both a tray and they ate together and loved each other with their eyes and their smiles. When they came back for the trays, the old longshoreman sat beside his daughter, holding her hand and the gentle, peaceful look of a harbor found was on both of their faces.
It was later when Katie awoke. She had heard something that roused her. The room was darker now. She still held her dad's hand but it felt different, colder. She turned on the light and found him there, with a smile on his face. He was gone, his soul had ridden out on the last ray of sunlight, quietly, not wishing to disturb his sleeping daughter.
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Rob Arndt
teuton263@aol.com
http://journals.aol.com/teuton263/star-trek-nomad/
Monday April 9, 2007
2:33 AM
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I have never heard of you before nor your music, but I am here today b/c of my Star Trek blog. I am trying to work on a concept for a new novel, tv series, movie, etc... and was thinking of a blog entry on a theme song for my concept. I Googled native american artists and I thought you were so pretty that I came here. I need to hear your music but sadly my PC is malfunctioning- couldn't hear any samples. Can you point me to any other sites your are featured on? And also, do you do autographs? I collect them but do not have many singers except for Kylie Minogue, Madonna, Mariah Carey, and Carly Goodwin! If so please e-mail me for more info. I am disabled and on a fixed income so I would love to buy one of your CDs but I am trying to sell my own books and concepts.
Anyway, God bless you Star. I may use you in one form or another in my concept/novel.
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