Heceta Head Light House

Son of a Bun Hugger, It was one of those days. You know the type where - everything that could go wrong does, UNEXPECTEDLY. Freddies (a pacific northwest Krogers) was definitely crowded yesterday morning. But that is to be expected, sheesh it’s only 7 shopping days till Christmas. I am not a Safeway shopper and in my tiny burg that is the two choices you have. I’ll be going to Safeway later. With two more (maybe three) batches of Kahlua to make I was in need of vanilla bean. Freddies was out, or so I thought when a row of previously unseen bottles flashed before my eyes. $20 friggin bucks for dried up, clinks when shaken Vanilla Bean. $20 bucks. If that is what I will have to pay I will quit making Kahlua.

I came home, put the groceries away. And went out to put out the icicle lights for Ducky to hang. WTF! We bought them at the end of last season. They are half the length and somehow one of the six boxes is not white lights, but multi color. Where six boxes had done the entire house before, I’m thinking six strings of these lights wouldn’t even do the front of the house. And they can only be strung together in sets of three. Bummer dude.

After I put the lights back into their box and thought about who I could dump them on, I went inside and thought I’d work on my candy bowls that I need to ship. I’d bought six-packs of Original Chocolate Sins hand-dipped truffles and thought this year I’d make coconut haystacks to finish off the bowls.

This year’s bowls are beautiful. Every year the Florence Food Share has local artist create bowls and they are sold off one night for $10 each. All money raised goes to the Florence Food Share to fill the shelves of the food pantry. I get some great bowls, make a bit of an extra donation (I mean I get some great bowls and they need the money, WTF) and I give them as gifts. So I placed my coconut under the broiler (yes I remembered to take it out of the bag,) put the chocolate chips into a bowl over boiling water to melt, and went and divided my stocking goodies into individual bags so I could keep track of what I’d done.

Soon my attention was drawn back to the kitchen by the roiling smoke billowing up from the sides of my flattop. I’d forgotten the coconut. I quickly grabbed the dish and took it out to the deck so the smoke would dissipate. Black coconut does not haystacks make. Which is fine because my chocolate chips refused to melt and instead just turned grainy. WTF? (this is possibly my new holiday greeting.)

So on my score sheet for the day No Vanilla Bean –1, No Christmas lights – 6, no coconut (well I have coconut but I’m not going there) –1, grainy chocolate lump –1. For a grand total of minus 8 on the day.

Heceta Lighthouse (pronounced Ha-sea-ta) for the last eight years has held a Victorian Christmas. I always mean to go. So earlier in the day as asked Ducky for a date. We drove up to Heceta Head (the man is night blind I swear.) As we rounded the rounder at Sea Lion Caves you could see the lights on the Light keepers house gleaming in the night. Beautiful, but not the lights that I’d expected.

The highlight of the night was the short trek from the light keeper’s house (in pitch dark) to the light tower for a guided tour. I’ve always wanted to do this. Ducky didn’t even know you could do this. It was awesome.

Our tour was led by a volunteer who was quite knowledgeable about the tower and the history of the light station. Only four tourists are allowed up the tower at a time because of the deterioration of the structure. Brick work needs repair, the stairs are even breaking down, the government has given up and pays nothing for the up keep of Heceta Head Lighthouse. Surprise! (btw this is me not ranting about the cost we’ll fork over in the billions of dollars for one man’s war on the world, but nada for the strongest beacon on Oregon Coast) every cent that keeps the light house going is through donations. I’m sincerely thinking about donating $10 a month, I know it’s not much, but it’s what I can afford.

We learned about the Fresnel lenses that powers the beam 21 miles out to sea. We now could figure out which light is the Heceta, the Umpqua, the Charleston and the Yaquina by their timing and series of lights (I mean if we were out at sea – which ain’t going to happen anytime soon if Ducky has his way.) We learned that the 2 ton lens is put together with putty and so well balanced that it is run by an itty bitty little 4 horsepower motor – 2 tons. And in the days when the lamp was powered by kerosene lantern, it was seen 21 miles out to sea. I love knowledge like this. Fabulous!

Following our tour we walked back down the hill chatting with the other lady in our tour (she is from Yachats – pronounced Ya-hots.) The three of us went into the light keepers house to be greeted by warmth, Christmas music by a small combo set up in the corner of one room and cups of delicious hot apple cider and cookies.

As the holiday’s go, my day was a total disaster. But the night was awesome.

Merry Christmas.
Cele

Fear and Loathing Snakes in Florence

Sister Mary Lisa started this, and I was capitvated by the posts I read. Daunted by the task at hand. It took me a few days to write this, in fact I wrote it twice. But it was with my usual flippant attitude and didn’t do the post or emotion justice. In fact maybe I was just running from myself. Scared to lay open my fears. Others did and I was proud of them, touched by them, and ultimately inspired by them.

So I’m going to jump in with both feet, because I realized this afternoon where I stand.

If I wasn’t afraid I would walk up to Mark Holt and ask him why he raped me? Why he took the freedom of choice from me? The joy of sex from me? And my ability to feel sexy? I don’t fear any reason he might have for his violent actions, I fear his distain, and worse the fact that he might not even remember, and therefore I am less, I am used, I am discarded, I am not even a bad memory.

Being free of fear I would have the courage to tell him that while I haven’t forgotten, I have forgiven him. But I fear him, oh to be free of that fear. I saw him once, I thought I was over it, those twenty years later. I thought I was okay with my past, but he walked in the hotel, fifty feet away from me, and I shook in fear. If I could be free of that fear, I could soar.

I wish I could walk into a room confident of my welcome and place. Free of fear I would host a party inviting all of my friends, my family, and my coworkers. I would throw a party where people would mingle and laugh, not wanting to leave because the food and company is fabulous. Free of fear I would chat with everyone, charming with my dialogue and laughter, lighting up every heart and face in the room.

Free of fear I would compile my photos and poems into a portfolio and shop them to agents and publishers alike. If I weren’t afraid of rejection, that is. If I were more sure of my ability, talent, and worth as a poet I would, if I could.

If I were free of fear, I probably still wouldn’t like snakes.

While there are fears I would love to be free of, there are fears I will gladly hold on to. The fear of wounding others with my actions and words, I will keep. The fear of not having a chance to say good-bye to those I adore, admire, and cherish I will hold close. And heed the warning of that fear so I remember always to validate those who mean so much to me.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday – Comfort in Chaos – aka The Best Laid Plans Of Mice and Me

My House Is A Mass Of Confusion, my outdoor lights are still not up. My guest room, aka the executive room, looks like a clearinghouse, and my new room looks like Christmas half-baked. I haven’t had time to get stuff finalized. And except for the outdoors decorations and a few indoor bits and bobs I’m right on time this holiday season.

The Kahlua is have way through production, two and a half cases away labels, a half case awaits bottling, only a case of brew to go. But those darn labels haven’t let themselves be known to me. Not to worry, the ideas are brewing for me. I’m thinking a snowflake of some sort this year. I hope they turn out better than last year’s label. The idea was grand in my head, but didn’t turn out quite the way I wanted.

Christmas shopping for me began last March or maybe it was February. A friend was closing out his shop – a place I often get little gifts and stocking stuffers. I was very sad to see them close, this delightful couple bought the shop a decade or so and offered up the best candies, tawdry cards, and what nots. They always get a bottle of Kahlua Cali.

Stockings are my Holiday masterpiece. I adore stockings, putting them together with silly items and things that fit each person’s personality. My stocking items are lacking this year, that means a trip to the valley shopping with my mom on Monday will include a trip to the mall. Ugh, that means chaos in spades. I have personalized note pads, truffles, chocolate oranges, fluffy socks, pens and pencils, pins for the girls, wrenches for the guys, and flashlights. Not nearly enough.

My presents are half wrapped. Except for those darn bowls of candy. Original Chocolate Sins handmade truffles (a must in my household) and Empty Bowls. I need that shredded paper stuff for decorative filler, and oh crap I’m making some fudge and haystacks this year….er…I think.


Most of Ducky’s present was bought in May and June, because he has this habit of telling me I can’t buy him anything. He will force me to pinky swear spit to this insidious promise. I can do it with an open mind if they are already bought. Check him off my list – he’s pinkied and spitted.

The girls per normal are my quandary, but I know they will come together. Both Misery and Jen have requested Fiesta Ware. Friggin’ ex-wife. Psam, on the other hand, hmmmmm clothes; for my dad some Chopin and Beethoven. The little kids get trains. What to get my mom and my boss? Then there is the shipping. Seeing all my clients. Cleaning the house for guest. Those outdoors lights. Oh, crap I’m almost and not even near to done.

And then there is Christmas dinner. Was there suppose to be comfort in this? HELP!!!!

Holiday Lights At ShoreAcres

Last holiday season Ducky and I had wanted to take Burp south to Coos Bay for the Festival of Lights at Shoreacres State Park. The last time we’d gone (I don’t do Coos Bay often) was when the girls still lived at home – so sometime in the early nineties. Some changes have been made. The pictures come from the Shoreacres website.

Burp at age six, we figured is perfect for the lights. I mean what kid isn’t? At fifty-one I still marvel. Both Ducky and I had to work early (he leaves at 4am,) and he still didn’t get home until six (it’s a long commute), so we didn’t get on the road until almost 6:30pm. Burp and I had been at the radio station before 6am, and worked on our Christmas Message. So between work, shopping (he found beautiful bracelettes for his mom) a visit to Big Pa and Big Ma's and hair cuts, it was a full day and poor Burp was pretty worn out. I mean he immediately fell asleep in his jump seat. Poor kid.

We arrived at Shoreacres at 8:15pm to see the new LED’s glowing the most wondrous colours. The bright blues were amazing, but even more amazing were the new light sculptures. Flying pelicans, diving whales, leaping frogs, and spawning salmon were decked out in rope lights that were time triggered to create movement in the sculptures. If you look close you can see the flying pelicans left mid picture.

The temperature was 35, Burp had been asleep, so the poor kid wasn’t really enjoying a lot of the great, colourful out of doors. Poor kid just wanted to climb into be and back to sleep. But we did a grandchild death march through the forest of fabulous lights in there bright blues, purples, greens, reds, golds, ambers, and all in between.

So very much worth the hour and a half drive and $3 parking to walk in the forest of lights. Maybe next year we can do it again, but start out earlier so Burp will stay away and enjoy the whole trip, the cookies and cider in the keepers house, the carolers in the performance gazebo, and dinner afterwards. He does remember, which surprises the heck out of me.

Maybe next year

Merry Christmas
Cele

Talk Thursday - Where My Loyalties Lie

Have you ever noticed three is a crowd? I’ve never been able to figure it out, especially considering in the past I oft times was the leftover on the fringe of the banquet. This life long lesson has taught me well. In my circle of influence (as miniscule as it is) there is never an odd man out. I just can’t go there.

In a marriage a woman often becomes a reflection of her other half. While I’m not exactly sure how this is taught, I don’t remember the manual, I know it happens. My second husband resented that I was not my own person and told me so when he asked for a divorce. I don’t bring this up for pity, sympathy, or your “Oh, Cele I’m sorry” no I bring it up as my wake up call. While opposites attract, familiarity can and apparently does breed contempt. While I resent his destruction of my life (and me,) I am thankful for the lessons he taught me, and the eleven years (errrrr no the ten years) of our relationship that he gave me.

Over the years I have learned how to make friends, the Internet is a great conduit of friendship if you think about it. Despite hearing how people are not themselves on the net, I’ve learned that if you watch long enough you see the real person beneath and they are beautiful and human. While I have seen the bad side of some people, I’ve not seen anything on the net that is worse than is walking around in my or your everyday life. What I have seen are some really wonderful people. People, who I have embraced and have given back to me twofold in my life.

My Internet experiences have taught me to be friendly, caring, giving. But it has also taught me that I am, Me. I can be me without too much negative recourse. And damn, I like me. The work a day world wallflower blossoms into a social butterfly on the Internet. I can fly. I feed (and the “I feed” part is highly important.) I flourish.

All the while I am gathering these wonderful friends, people who accept me for me. I don’t have to turn myself into someone else, I just offer up just me: with all my flaws, all of my strong points, and my creativity.

Today I am married to a wonderful Ducky who is totally addicted to the television, the phone, chocolate, and me. I love him dearly, I reflect who he is, and he reflects who I am. He relishes that I am an Internet junkie with friends who care about me, who take of me while giving of themselves, friends who push me to succeed.

Today I strive to remain true to me. My loyalties lie with me. If I am loyal to me, I therefore am loyal to you for that is who I am.

Sith,
Cele

Internet Phenomenon

This Meme is courtesy of Sideon - of the Sanctuary, who stole it from the not so objectionable SaraSue (thank heavens!)

So if you have some time on your hands here’s how it works:

Go to Google Images and enter your birth date as six figures*: ddmmyy (or mmddyy if you are an illogical American). Pick any five pictures from the first page of results only. Then post them somewhere we can see!

Well I find this interesting: Google automatically separates the first three numbers with a space from the second three. We are suppose to have six numbers right?



So I googled in my numbers, clicked on images, and voila'

I find myself in South Africa. I kid you not. Apparently 02 is the SA international code. I'm only guessing because I didn't look it up, but all the pictures were for South Africa.

Now interestingly enough I have a friend in South Africa, whom we will call Bats, and did I find one picture of a bat? No. But I did find a picture of a beach, infact I found more than one. But this specific picture is of parasailing. Now strangely enough I use to parasail frequently, but not in South Africa. Nope. Right here in good old Oregon.

Don't be shocked, we have beaches here. Much prettier than this one. But this one does look somewhat like the beach I broke my foot on parasailing. I kid you not.

Things to keep in mind when parasailing.
1) Do not let your brother in law drive....

a) the truck (because when he gets a hair up his butt crosswise he will turn the truck around and drive with the wind - me and gravity do not mix)

b) the boat, because sure as shit he will run you right through the blue spruce tree that is 40 feet from the edge of the lake (just because he can.)

2) The wind should be greater than 5mph if you want to stay up, but less that 10mph if you want to come back down anytime soon. I'm just sayin.

Okay, I did not post the picture of the AK 47 that came up when I googled, nor the pile of pills that looked suspiciously like Crosstops. But these little puppies I couldn't resist, because they colours are so darn pretty.

See it doesn't take something shiny to distract me. Did someone say five pictures?

Sith
Cele

If Tomorrow Never Comes

My father has been surviving emphysema for 35 years now, the last 10 have been pretty painful to watch, and endure, I know someday soon the disease will win. My parents were told by their physician three weeks ago to contact hospice services. My father said he’d be around for the New Year, they could do it after the holidays, and then went up and fixed a hole in his roof. I kid you not.

My brother in law was diagnosed with lung cancer, which has moved into his brain and lower regions, back in February. He was given three months tops. Though bouts of chemo that have done very little, but help the cancer grow and metastasize, he has endured and battled and lost his hair but not his will to live, work, and survive. I know cancer will win this battle, but he plans on being here through the holidays.

At 4am Sunday morning the phone rang. This usually means in my household that my radio station is off the air and I need to go to work. This Sunday morning it struck fear in my heart when I heard Ducky’s youngest sister’s very calm and quiet voice on the other end. Handing the phone to Ducky I went back to bed. It didn’t register very well when he walked back into the bedroom to tell me our nephew was dead. I was certain he’d misspoken and meant his little brother, but no he’d meant Wapiti.

Give us credit, neither of us said, “But I just saw him on Thanksgiving and he was fine.” Apparently after a heated argument with his wife, in which the police came and escorted her and their teenage children and grandchild out of the home, he began drinking. Considering the evening’s course of events, I believe he’d been drinking far long before the evening unraveled in rage, horror, and blood.

The police had escorted the family from the home at 9:30 Saturday night. Returned at 11 after Wapiti’s oldest daughter had called worried he was suicidal, please check on him. Returning to the house they were met by an armed Wapiti. The confrontation ended in a shoot out and Wapiti dying on his living room floor.

I’ve obviously have shortened the course of events, for several reasons. The first being I was not there. What I know is that a very nice guy is now dead because of events he started. A wife and three children are hurting because he could see no light at the end of his tunnel. His brand new granddaughter will never get to know the wonderful grandfather he would have been. He was a nice guy.

Saturday afternoon Wapiti will be laid to rest in Portland. Far from his family – and take my word for it – this outrages is paternal family. I love most of my husband’s family, well there is this one sister that pushes all my buttons with her woe is me attitude, lifestyle, and ranting (but that is a different story) but I am having a hard time with their reasoning. They don’t hold a person in their heart. I mean they probably do on some minor level, but they think “he’s going to be up there in Portland, far away from family and lonely.”

Excuse me, he’s dead, sadly dead. The do not talk to their loved ones past, they do not light a candle in remembrance. No, they take Christmas trees to the cemetery and sing carols.

I hope I’m not offending people with this tirade, but if you loved them in this life - hold them in your hearts in their passing. Celebrate their life, the person they were, and the spirit they are. In all honesty, I don’t get funerals (although I will attend and I will cry, because I hurt too,) and yes I, realize funerals are basically for the living.

Strangely on Thursday as we were driving to Eugene for family Thanksgiving festivities we had a conversation about letting those we love, admire, cherish, and value know each our feelings every time we see and leave them. I strongly hold to this practice, I never want to have regrets that I
1) never got to say good-bye and
2) that someone I cared about didn’t know how I felt.

Wapiti underscored the message of our conversation – he called each of his children Saturday night and told them that regardless of what would happen that night, he loved and cherished them deeply.

In the words of the medium John Edward, please validate, communicate, and appreciate those you love because tomorrow does not always come.

Sith
Cele

Fences Make Good ?Neighbors?

For years the house next door has held a series of “not there for long” renters. Then about three and a half years ago the house sold, and stood empty for several months. All this time the beautiful rhodies in the front yard, the lawn, and varied shrubs have turned from brown to black and withered away in a flurry of dead dandelions. That’s right, even the weeds are black.

It was about this time that the son and is offspring moved in. A seemingly nice, unemployed, guy who can do everything while getting nothing done, don’t get me wrong I like this guy well enough. Since the house sold we’ve heard a retired couple were going to move in as soon as they sold their house in Hawaii. Now I love my rainy, cold, windy stretch of Oregon, there is no place prettier or better to live and raise family. But they live in Hawaii. Oregon/Hawaii. Not that I want to go live there, but most people do. About two months ago, guy next door said his folks were moving in. I jokingly ask, “They really do exist?”

Three weeks ago, guy next door said he’d be trimming back the Butterfly Bush and Climbing Rose that is growing through the cyclone fence onto their side. I’ve been offering to do this for years, that way I could control the destruction. Walking into their back yard, guy next door described what he wanted to do and I told him, “Do what you need.” I would live to regret those words.

Tuesday night I came home to this.

I guess playing nice with the neighbors or courtesy are not his high points. I suppose I should post pictures of their dead front yard that actually looks worse than their river rock graveled back yard.

Another Great MeMe Stolen from CV Rick ~ Ah, Life Is Good

Stolen Straight from the page of CV Rick who features a MeMe each and every Saturday. This one is delicious….

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Costa, the fastest growing coffee shop chain in Britain released a survey showing the habits of readers. 77% of British readers enjoed a book so much that they reread it, and then the survey went on to list the 20 most ReRead books.
This meme centers on that list. The object: For each of these books, tell us whether you've read it, enjoyed it, and whether you enjoyed it so much that you read it more than once. At the end tell us which three books, on the list or not, that you've reread more than any others.

1. The Harry Potter Series by J.K Rowling -
I’ve read none of these books, but I have watched and own at least the first three movies, err is that four.

2. The Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkien
I’ve read this series at least eight times. My Favorite Books of all time. And yes, I own the movies, but I take issue with some of the content change in the movies.

3. Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen
I am a Jane Austen fan. I own the book, I’ve read it several times, Austin is great inspiration for my poetic voice. I own the movie.

4. The Hobbit by JRR Tolkien
I have read it once or twice.

5. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte
Required reading in high school, the movie was good.

6. 1984 by George Orwell
A favorite book of my second husband, I read it back in the 80s.

7. The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown
Haven’t read it, no intention of reading it, just not interested.

8. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis
I read it years ago with my daughter.

9. Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte
I’ve read this one more than once. I never found Heathcliff that interesting.

10. Catch 22 by Joseph Heller
I know I’ve read it, but I can’t remember it.

11. Notes from a Small Island by Bill Bryson
Have never even heard of this book.

12. To Kill a Mocking Bird by Harper Lee
Required reading in high school

13. Flowers in the Attic by Virginia Andrews
Nope, I have never been there and never wish to go there. This maybe the only book my third husband has ever read.

14. Black Beauty by Anna Sewell
When I was a kid.

15. Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett
Never heard of it.

16. The Bible - (by a lot of ordinary everyday men.)
Defiantely, but I only revisit the gospels.

17. Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams
Another favorite of my reading exhusband (number two), but I’m not sure I’ve read it.

18. Bridget Jones's Diary by Helen Fielding
Haven’t read it, saw the movie, blechk.

19. Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
Never read it, never seen the movie. But I loved the Carol Burnett spoof.

20. Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
I can’t remember, but it seems it was required reading at one time, but then that could have been a Tale of Two Cities. Who knows.

The three books I've read the most number of times:

The Lord of the Rings – My all time favorite book – at least 8 reads, and by golly it’s just about time for another.

The Stand – I’ve read this probably five or six times, a masterpiece.

Pride and Predjudice – I love Austin’s writing, I’ve read this book and all of her books (I have the library) several times and will definitely go back for more.

Have you noticed Rick has lots of great blogs to steal? Thanks Rick.

The Scientific Lemming

Okay, what is it about internet testie thingies? I am so lemming. CV Rick had this interesting graft on his blog today, so of course I had to jump off the cliff and have one too.

I ended up

Your Aspie score: 73 of 200
Your neurotypical (non-autistic) score: 150 of 200
You are very likely neurotypical

Which is all fine and well, but is this good or bad?

Veteran's Day 2007

Thank you Tewkes to the inspiration of this post.

I have always been blessed. Despite what my husband says, we live in the land of the free. While I don’t believe in war, I know it sometimes is an evil necessary. I can’t argue the validity of World War II, I can’t argue the need for the world to unite against an evil so vile, it changed the face of society for ever.

Old soldiers and young men suited up, stormed the beaches of Normandy, slogged through the jungles of Asia fighting in blood, mud, monsoon, snow and bitter cold to eradicate the world of this tyrannical hatred. To them my heart rejoices, mourns, and knows the world today is better.

Three of my father in law’s brothers served in World War II. Two of the three were captured, held in POW camps or on work farms until their liberation in 1945. All three returned home, forever changed by the experience, and much of the family has distaste for the Brits due to the circumstances surrounding their captures.

My grandfather was physically unable to serve in World War II, so he worked in the naval ship yards. My grandmother (adopted) worked for years in the plane factories as a Rosie the Riveter. My father’s oldest brother died while enlisted during WWII driving a truck. My father and my uncle both served during the Korean conflict, neither served in battle, and yet my uncle is interned at Arlington (this sits heavy on my soul.)

My father served in Panama, his stories are rich, humorous, and self-deprecating. My father is my hero.

Rabidly against the Vietnam War, my father and I came numerous times to battle in my teen years. He now recognizes that the war was wrong. The parallels between Vietnam and the Iraq Wars are totally lost on him. I mourn the lost of our young men who died in foreign lands for the material wants of impotent old men with power. Young lives lost, potentials never realized, I cry in want of them who are named in the glossy black marble of the Memorial Wall.


Both of my brothers have served. D2 in the Army after high school; D4 (my youngest brother) is an Air Force lifer. I value their lives, their contributions to our country. During Desert Storm I had pen pals who were serving in Saudi, there wonderful letters are stored away in my keep chest. Their friendships are warm memories, and knowing that they are out there walking somewhere safe and free are happy thoughts.



Today, as yesterday, there are those who will never come home. I mourn their loss. I pray no more will be lost. I know my prayers are for naught.

To those who have served, thank you. To those who are serving, I value you and your life. I wish you peace. To those who are reading this please remember those who have and are serving on this Veteran’s Day 2007.

Sith
Cele

Talk Thursday - Center Of Your Longing

Last night I let JulieAnn know she was tagged for Talk Thursday, just as last week Enlightened Faery had let me know I was it. I wondered, and feared a little, what JulieAnn would do. Wow, I was blown away by her post Ravings of a Mad Woman . Incredible. Now I am doubly afraid.

The need to write lyrical, metered, rhyme dwells deep inside me. I consider myself a poet. To lay down the words that make others dream, feel the wind on their face, the sea and sand beneath their feet drives me, the elements beating their tattoo in time. The simplest word or phrase will lodge itself in my brain, becoming the rhythm of my day until I write it down, let it grow, expanding into line, verse, and stanza. The meter will awaken me in the dark of night, when other mortals sleep, and hound me until I write it down.

In the tired night my prayers will be broken by a line, a set of lines, until I say my Amen and get up to write it down. Woe to me if I ignore my muse, the whispered voice in my brain, repeating over and again the words that will not let me be. Dare not roll over for slumber deep, for by morning’s tide I will have long forgotten the rhyme to be nagged by the knowledge there was once something there that longed to be and I ignored.

To lay the words that move you to tears is the center where my longing is born. To be the kind hand that pens the lines that captures your world and thoughts. The ideas and hope that makes your heart sing and believe again. That is the center of me. To bring you the wind in your hand, the thunder in your heart that matches the sound of sky and sea, that is the center of me.

The Elementals

The morning mist sets on the moors,
above the heather wet,
and holds the light close to the ground
the moist, damp air it's net.
The churning waves sent from the sea
batter the rocky beach,
the salt spray flies to meet the mist
where moors and ocean reach.
I raise my arms up to the sky
in praise, my morning rite,
drink of the day into my soul,
of salt spray, moor, and light. .

The mid day sun rides on the sky
where Gulls and Petrel soar,
fields of blue, are the air and sea,
mauve, heather on the moors.
The foam peaked waves, crash to the sand
below the granite cliffs,
where churning winds, gear up to rage,
a gale wind strong and stiff.
I raise my face up to the sun,
drink in the wind and light
its strength and peace rain over me
I breathe eternal might.
The western sun has gone away,
dusk heralds in the night,
a storm brews strong upon the sea,
waves gather strength and height.
Dark churning clouds are rumbling deep,
and flash with brilliant light.
Tempest winds howls over cliff and land
and blow with all their might.
I stand and breathe the elements,
drink in the raging sight.
it's pain and brute force bolsters me
in life's continual fight.

The morning mist lays on the greens,
a bonney day begins,
the birds are winging on the sky,
the bees are buzzing hymns.
The churning ocean will reach the cliffs
and kiss the basaltic rock.
The breeze will freshen on the bay,
and ruffle on the loch.
I stand in awe, in silent peace,
I bow my head to pray,
for the wind and rain, sun and mist,
I thank God, every day.

© 20 July 2000 Calista Cates-Stanturf

Monday Morning Roses

I was helping JulieAnn with a website problem this morning. As a test I uploaded a random picture. And thought it so lovely. I didn't get JulieAnn's problem fixed, but I am offering up Fourth of July Roses for your Monday morning.

Sith,

Cele

Five Four Things I’ve Quit aka post number 100

Have you noticed how CV Rick is a great source of MeMe’s? Every Saturday Rick post a MeMe, today’s an interesting offering, one I’d never have thought up myself, but delicious in concept and content. I will now apologize for the length, because it is long. But there are only four.

I’ve always been taught not to be a quitter. Winners don’t quit. What doesn’t kill you, will make you stronger. Okay that last one is a great saying.

So here is my stab at Five Four Things I’ve Quit.

Girls Scouts. Anyone who reads my blog, with any regularity, knows I loved being in Girl Scouts. Scouting laid a foundation in my life to attain my goals. It didn’t hurt that my mother was the leader for a large portion of the time I was in scouting. I learned nature craft, good work ethics, self-reliance, and outdoor skills. I learned a love and stewardship of this planet and the universe.

I began in Brownies, I remember loving a comradery with the girls in my troop. Girls I went to school with from kindergarten through tenth grade, girls who often didn’t speak to me outside of meetings, camping trips, and cookie sales. My mother was our leader through Juniors and Cadets. In my ninth grade year I moved into Seniors, my mother didn’t move with me. Neither did any of the girls in my troop, really how many high school co-eds did you know in high school?

The girls in my new troop had been together since the beginning, had their hierarchies formed; cliques that didn’t have room for the new geek in the group. I was seemingly on the outside, did things different than they did. I’d been to Summer Camp nine years in a row, I’d been to Gam, hell I was a Mariner and they were into gossip. I had been the number one cookie seller two years running in our branch, had done regional advertising campaigns. I was not them. I was not popular. I was forever odd man out. And my attitude was resented.

I loved Scouting. Having never been popular in school, I had always savored the comradery that Scouting had given me, and now it was gone. I loved camp and had been looking forward to a summer as a CIT (councilor in training), quitting scouting meant no summer camp. Walking away from scouts, in some respects, was one of the hardest things I’d ever done, in others one of the easiest.

Dance. All my life I’d wanted to dance. I’d begun tap dancing at age four, ballet at five. When those classes ended at first grade, I still danced. Really how many little girls do you know who don’t dance to their own tune? We danced a lot in Scouting, summer camp had given me a love for folk dancing, the Horah, the Maya (my favorite), country dances, high country, and dances I can’t remember.

In school dancing was a definite part of our education. Beginning in fourth grade with square dancing. Fifth grade we began adding folk dances into our repertoire. And by sixth grade it was ethnic dance. I loved to dance.

Both Benton (my junior high school) and La Mirada (my high school) offered dance. La Mirada offered a dance troupe. So I took not only PE, but two dance classes a day. I dreamt of dancing as a living. It never occurred to me that girls, bordering on six feet tall were not made to dance, they were made for Basketball.

Side note: I hate basketball. I cannot shoot hoops. Have never been able to shoot hoops, unless it was playing horse, and I was standing with my back to the net over the Taylor’s garage door. That was the whole sum of my talent and ability.

When I moved to Oregon there was no dancing. No dance teachers. No dance classes in school. Sadly, the high school refused to accept my dance class credits and I had to take night school and full course to make up for the credits in order to graduate.

Side note: After taking night classes and full course, the school and state decided my dance classes did count, and I graduated with 4.5 extra credits.

So maybe I didn’t quit dance, maybe it quit me. I tried going back in my thirties, but the skill was pretty much gone.

My first marriage. I’m not sure it is fair to say I quit my first marriage, but I did. One day, in my senior year, I was sitting in the back of the bus with a bunch of girls, when I spied a blue 1953 Chevy Panel Wagon. I’ve always had a soft spot for panel wagons. I was looking at the car, while all the girls were looking at the bad boy behind the wheel. Oohing and Ahhing over Bad Boy.

Damn, he was hot. And I loudly proclaimed I was going to marry him. Sheesh, I’d never even met him. Fast forward a year or so later, summer after my senior year and I ran into Bad Boy at the Fourth of July fireworks show. He struck up a conversation and asked for my phone number. I didn’t hear from him again.

Well not for three months or so. Then one day he walked into the restaurant where I was working and sat at one of my tables. It wasn’t by design, of that I am certain, he’d forgotten me. So I walked up to the table and said, “Should I still keep waiting for that phone call?” Yeah, I know, stupid.

Two weeks later we were living together. A year later we were married and preggers. Two years later we were in Germany, and it was suddenly evident he was an alcoholic. How I didn’t see it before was beyond me, because the evidence had always been there, I just had refused to see it. But now it was worse. He was suspicious when he didn’t need to be. He was abusive. And I’m pretty damn certain he had a girl friend named Denise on the side.

But marriage is a life long commitment, and stupid me loved him. We had a beautiful daughter together. He was in the Army, I was working for the CPO and finally had friends, but something was wrong. The first big indicator came when I woke up one night and he was sitting on my chest, choking me. He swore he’d never do it again, and I believed him. Don’t they all?

Life was better for maybe a month or two. One Sunday afternoon, watching tv, I asked him to chew with his mouth closed. God please chew with your mouth closed. It continued, and I hit him upside the head with a bowl of cornflakes. Out of the blue, no sign it was going to happen, no preconceived though process involved, suddenly my cornflakes and milk were running down the side of his head, into his ear and under his collar. He was understandably livid. I was mortified, I mean how shrewish? I was appalled. And then I started laughing, but he didn’t.

Side note: I now realize this was the first PMS episode someone in my life suffered through, but by far not the last. And that is not an excuse; it was an unforgivable action. Funny, but unforgivable.

It wasn’t much later that he asked for a divorce. I cried for a whole weekend, devastated that my marriage was apparently over. Which of my cousins was I going to turn into? What in the hell was I going to do? How the hell did this happen.

Then he said he was wrong (a theme in my life apparently) and wanted to try again. He could have said this three days earlier and saved me a weekend of crying, but I have now come to realize that for some men, me in tears is an aphrodisiac. Less than a week later I realized making up and trying again was a bad move and I decided to leave.

Me leaving him was not an option. Or at least he wasn’t going to make it easy. For three months he took every dollar of my paycheck, made my life living hell. But he was true to his word and bought both Psam’s and my plane tickets home. The night before our flight was to take off, he came home and pounded my head into our cement floor until I faked passing out.

Hair Dressing. Yes, I went to Beauty College. At the age of twenty-nine I went to Beauty College. Wow, twenty years ago. I had to drive 125 miles each day to school for over thirteen months, and never missed a day, and hour, a minute. I was the first in the school’s history to do this. I passed my boards and license exams with the highest scores to date for 1987 in the state.

Having a perfect record, the highest scores, and ability does not a hairdresser make. I lasted five years. Five years of people telling me things I considered myself better off for not knowing. I was divorced, again. I was working three jobs to make ends meet and fund our gym memberships. Raising a daughter by myself, again. And I was always exhausted. I didn’t enjoy the clientele. I did not enjoy the pressure. But I can give you a damn good haircut. In fact I cut my own hair.

I went full time into radio, and haven’t looked back.

What are your top quits? And do you regret them?

Talk Thursday - Drinking In

I've been tagged by Enlightened Fairy, and this phrase from a song on the radio this afternoon just stuck with me, "drink me in like water."

In June, just before school let out for summer break of my six grade year my mother had a baby boy. I distinctly remember my parents being annoyed with my cousins (who were preggers at the same time) for choosing to use the name David for their baby if it was a boy. A silly argument really. Not one that harmed anyone but in the eyes of a 12 year old, pretty senseless. A sentiment underlined by the death of my brother, one day after he was born.

I remember it being still dark, when my father called us all in to the living room, maybe the drapes were closed, I can’t remember. He told the four of us that our mother was in the hospital and David had been born. And I distinctly remember him saying he’d been born too blue and had holes in his heart, so does Dee. Strangely my mother does not remember, her heart has ached and grieved all these long decades past, not that she realizes it, but when June 13th rolls around, my mother inevitably has a migraine. I also remember it was the first, and only time, I have seen my father cry.

This strong woman is incredibly optimistic, through thunder clouds and lightning she will search for the silver lining and has always believe everything has a purpose. When a door shuts, a window opens out look on life. In my mother’s eyes David touching our lives, ever so briefly was to unite us as a family. This might be, it makes sense, and I look at my family past and see the results of his passing to this day.

That summer after David died my family took the first of several summer vacations. My dad had three weeks accrued and in August of that year we loaded in the Econoline and drove cross-country to my father’s family in Ohio and West Virginia. The next summer my aunt and uncle, several cousins came out and we began a series of summer vacations that began and ended at Morro bay with the redwoods and Shasta Lake in between.

During the autumn, winter, and spring we’d travel out into the desert, to Phoenix, to Mexico, where ever that Econoline would haul us. David’s passing certainly brought us together; we hiked, we camped, road motorcycles, adventured together, and we laughed. We learned about the land, the sea, the stars. We learned about each other, and we learned about the world.

The nights in the desert are mesmerizing. The stars out the Milky way spread out like a twinkling blanket, shooting stars dying out into black nothingness, the cold, white moon on an frigid spring night, UFO’s, and jet planes on journeys that we could only imagine. You could lay on your back and drink in the universe, the immensness of it all, and the reality (at age fifteen) that you are a dust mote of time and biology. A grain of sand on the desert floor of a green planet somewhere in the Milky Way. You feel the hand of God. Of time. Of the universe.

These moments, adventures, epiphanies of growth climaxed one autumn afternoon in my sixteenth year. We’d spent the weekend at my aunt’s in Scottsdale, before turning north to see the Grand Canyon. Now where the Grand Canyon is in relation to Mesa Verde, I don’t’ know, I just know it was the same trip, a trip that would change me forever. We wound our way through Oak Creek Canyon, where brilliant red monuments stretch in to an amazing blue sky. We laid on our bellies to peek over the canyon’s rim at the bottom a mile away. We stared across the expanse to the eastern side of the canyon in disbelief at the distant vista that the Colorado had etched and painted over the centuries. Visions of wonder that I will carry into the next plane.

In the moderate heat of that late afternoon we arrived a Mesa Verde. Mom and dad were armed with maps and brochures that gave body to speculation to the Anasazi who carved out the mighty Montezuma’s Castle.

Stepping out of the van, I was overwhelmed with emotions, my senses laid open to an onslaught of feeling, impressions and emotions. I closed my eyes and literally drank in the still peace of the mesa. Peace that filled me with calm surety, I knew who I was, I knew why I was there, I knew that all and nothing else mattered. I was suddenly at peace and fully ready to handle what my future would bring me. The lessons that I would need would unfold in front of me at their time.

I visited the ancient ruins and I drank in me.
Sith,
Cele

Another Great MeMe - or what to do when you have too much time on your hands and no original thoughts

Another Great Meme, Thank you Sid

YOUR DETECTIVE NAME (favorite color + favorite animal species + Esquire):
The Green Monkey / Horse, Esquire

YOUR STAR WARS NAME (the first 3 letters of your last name + first 2 letters of your first name):
Ca-Sta Ca

SUPERHERO NAME (“The” + 2nd favorite color + favorite drink):
Vesuvius Margarita (The hot and cold Power Ranger)

NASCAR FAN NAME (the first names of your grandfathers/mothers):

Delmar David Lynee

STRIPPER NAME (your favorite scent + favorite treat):
Apricot/Vanilla Sherbert (ice cream didn’t sound right)

WITNESS PROTECTION NAME (mother’s & father’s middle names)
Victoria Orville

DEBUTANTE NAME (your favorite season/holiday + favorite flower):
Autumn Nasturtium

HIPPY NAME (What you ate for breakfast + your favorite plant or tree):
Cinnamon Raisin Rice Fuchsia

YOUR ALTERNATIVE ROCK BAND’S NAME (Shoe size + Favorite Food + Favorite Car model + s): 9 Take Out Rangers

YOUR ROCK BAND'S TOUR NAME (“The” + Your favorite hobby + favorite weather element + “Tour”):

The Blogging Thunder Tour

JULIEANN’S CREATION: YOUR MAD SCIENTIST NAME: ("Doctor"+ Your father's first three letters of his first name + the last five of your last name):
Dr. Thunturf

Have Fun and Happy Halloween

Random Hit And Run

What else would you call a post that is about nothing and everything? So this weekend we have Burp. Both Ducky and I worked today so I took Burp to work with me, on the contingency that he’d let me take him out for breakfast. I know, the inhumanity of it all.

I know my six year old grandson, he’s a bottomless pit, and when he grows up he will be tall and thin (but hopefully not scrawny as his worthless biological donor.) Right now he really resembles’ Ex number 1’s son, that’s a good thing. But he eats like there is no tomorrow. So at work he ate a bowl of dynabites, aka Cocoa Krispies, a fruit roll up, and a bunch of grapes – that was between 6 and 10am. Then we went to breakfast where he ate two and a half sausage links and an entire adult size pancake – that was between 10 and 11. Then we went to the local Catholic church’s holiday bazaar, which really should have been labeled a rummage sale. Grocery shopping, and home for the Ducks game.

It’s 2pm and Burp is hungry for lunch. He’s had another fruit roll up, an Otter Pop, because grandma’s house without Otterpops is a sad grandma comment, and graham crackers. So I made him half a peanut butter sandwich and a can of Batman noodle soup. The kid is a bottomless pit I tell you.

Have you noticed how the chicken soup part of the soup just isn’t as good as it was when we were kids? I give Burp all the noodles a bit of the broth and keep the rest for myself. I only use half a can of water when I make it, and the broth just isn’t the same. Bummer Dude.

I’ve been kind of bummed. No not so much over the soup, because I can live with that, but over the huge gap in my life since late February early March. I’m one of those people who doesn’t collect a lot of friends that I let in close. I’ve always been that way, because have you ever noticed, three really is a crowd? What’s up with that? So anyway, no matter what I say to the person who is now a gaping hole in my life, it comes out wrong. I’m bummed about that. She’s recent started coming back into Friday night chat, but I have to wonder why, because it’s not to renew our former friendship. She has said she’s quit writing (which is a shame) so what gives?

Have you noticed how many people stop by a blog and totally tank the author? Jesus Fucking Christ, what is up with that? Certainly a blog is a place of give and take, but honestly I am shocked by how many people just dump their crap on the author. My blog is about nothing and everything. I ramble and rant at will, sometimes it is random, some times I’m thoroughly lost in the desert, but hey, it’s my blog. I was utterly shocked to see some of the crap on a friend of mine’s blog recently that was a blatant attack on her and totally ungrounded. It was petty, without merit (apparently a lot because I’ve said that twice now) and under the guise of Anonymous. Chicken Shit. If you have something to say sign it with either your name or your handle.

Now Natalie gets this crap all the time and I love how she deals with it. But my blogging friend this happened to yesterday doesn’t get this crap. And what did JA get raked for? A Metaphor, a metaphor about her passion for writing. Sheesh, Anonymous probably couldn’t spell Metaphor, wouldn’t understand the definition of Metaphor unless they went back and read the comments on said post, because Christie ever so nicely gave Anonymous the definition and link just to prove it. Good girl Christie.

By the way, neither Natalie or JA deserve this blatant bottom feeding hit and run. But just like the world, the Internet is full of large foreheaded low lifes, suffering God complexes.

So I am watching Oregon take on USC and hoping, hoping, alright yes, they win. But I have to ask… Why is it okay to spike the ball to stop the clock, I mean it’s a blatant act? But a team will get penalized if the QB throws the ball away. What’s up with that? Spike/throw, who came up with those rules? And why do my Ducks always have to make it suspenseful and nail biting in the last quarter? Arrrh.

Why do I always think up a poetic run, right when my sleeping pills are kicking in, I’ve begun my prayers, and I’ve got an airshift in six hours? I had this great beginning running through my mind last night as if it was problem riddled anxiety. I repeated repeated, repeated, repeated every word, thinking kewl I’ll remember this in the morning. Nada. Sucka. Zilch.

No airshift tomorrow morning, tonight my brain will be empty, a bottomless pit like Burp’s tummy, blank as new fallen snow. So is the addle pated ability of this poet.

Sith
Cele

Talk Thursday - Heavenly Bodies

Enlightened Fairy had a great idea, Talk Thursday. I want to blog more, but often am clueless as to what I should blog. I specifically enjoy those 12am epiphanies, but darn it’s not 1234am. So Talk Thursday is perfection. This week’s title…

Heavenly Bodies

I come from a camping family. We hiked during the days in the desert, woods, forest, or beach wherever we were camping that trip, and at night we sat out by a campfire and enjoyed quality family time. I miss those campfires, the s’mores, banana boats, singing, and the stars.

In my family each child became a scout. Unlike most other kids, I was never ashamed of being in Scouts; I loved being a Scout. Two weeks every summer was spent at Skyland ranch in the San Jacinto Mountains, next to time with my grandfather, it was the highlight of my childhood. In scouting I learned about the constellations, some of the Greek myths that went with each cluster of stars. Away from the light pollution of Los Angeles the stars were brilliant, the sky seemingly jam packed with stars In the The Milky Way a gentle white swath across the sky studded with bigger, brighter stars that sparkled in the night.

Each night if we didn’t spend time around a campfire singing folk songs, we were in a meadow lying on our backs watching stars that seemed so close you could touch them. One night, probably in my fifth or sixth year there, we were laying side by side when a huge shooting star arced across the sky from northwest to southeast. The quiet whispers immediately turned to awed oohs of wonder as each girl in the meadow drank in the vision of that star shooting across our vision. And then it was gone; each of us secretly wishing for another, just so we could live it again.

On the Oregon coast, oft times, the sky is clouded over and the stars are hidden from view. But on the clear nights I can see Orion hung in the sky just above my house. The Big and Little Dippers with Polaris navigating the sky. Venus hangs just over the ocean, Mars rides in the eastern sky, and Cassiopeia spends half the night on her head.

The stories have faded from those nights spent around campfires and in the meadow. I can’t identify as many constellations as I could forty years ago. But the memory of that shooting star still burns bright. I can’t remember who was lying there with me as we watched, but I can still feel the grass in the meadow under my back soft and poky. I still remember the coolness of the air just above the ground as the temperature hit dew point. And I still remember the awe of that star.

Sith,
Cele

A confusing blog born of fire

Every Tuesday night, I’m up late. Last night was no difference. Tuesday is the night I put together my Wednesday Links. It’s Dancing With The Stars Results night so I’m blogging for Jenny T’s Dancing Off The Edge. But I stayed up even later last night mesmerized, horrified, and saddened by the California fires, drinking in every reported word.

My entire childhood was spent in southern California. I’m third generation Angeleno, and am proud of my beginnings. Now a lot of the happier places in my memory are burning and my heart aches. Anza Boraga, Los Padres National Forest, Skyland Ranch and the San Jacintos, Lake Arrowhead and a camp I can’t remember the name of but probably had to do something with Arrowhead or pines, and then Big Bear. Which are burning or have already burnt, I’m not sure. But the earth is reclaiming it’s own, cleansing the scars, and continuing it’s cycle of life, destruction, death, rebirth.

These memories were up near the surface before the fires broke out. My brother was visiting this past week and that always makes me think of our happy childhood. My parents tried their darnedest to give us a varied beginning. Not bad for a woman who had a nanny growing up and a silver spoon, and a man who at times only had one pair of socks. We were raised on motorcycles, horses, boats, long family hikes, and a full respect of nature.

Those beginnings influenced my brother’s present, much more than it did mine. He has three thriving businesses in Sioux Falls, is well known on the mid west racing circuit, and lives life to its fullest. My brother lives to race. At forty nine he still lives, eats, and breathes racing. He has nine racing teams. All three businesses are racing related: a performance auto parts business, auto shop, and vinyl printing business. He is challenged, he grows, he is content.

Sometimes I stop in my tracks and wonder at my growth/shake my head in self-contempt. Am I stale, walking circles in the same ruts that I traced decades ago? I think not, but as a human self doubt is just another facet of my personality. Am I making the most of what I can be? Probably not but I am happy and content. Do I need more? Well of course. I need peace. I need to be needed. I need to contribute. I need to help build up others to be worthy of myself, and my place here on earth; to fulfill the legacy that my parents taught me.

I watched those images flickering on the telly last night. The terror of the lives lost, fear for the animals trying to flee the firestorms, the heartbreak people left in the wake of this tragedy race through my thoughts. I have been extremely blessed in my life, suffered no tragedies that I couldn’t over come and survive. And these people will survive too. I marveled at the strength and tenacity of those gathered in Qualcomm awaiting the first opportunity to go ?home? and start again. At the hands and hearts that gathered to help those in their time of need. I listened later to the comments of Northwest firefighters who knew their time to finally give a helping hand back to their Southern California counterparts had come.

They will survive; the trees will grow again, because well that is what trees do. Animals will repopulate their habitats, because, well that is what animals do. And mankind will rebuild their towns, their roads, their cities because that is what we do. The lives might be gone, but the memories are there. Memories that sustain us, strengthen us, and make us rebuild again.

As I sat there last night and this morning I remember how blessed I am. I thank God, my parents, my siblings, and my friends for the support systems I have always had. To those left in the wake of this firestorm my heart goes out to you, my thoughts are for you, and my prayers remember you. As cliché as it sounds, tomorrow is a brand new day.

Sith
Cele

CV Rick’s Thirteen First Meme

First day of school:
(I searched for a picture and couldn’t find one. It was the one time I was cute, too.)
Our house sat on a bluff and you could see straight across the valley to the school. Both Mike Taylor and I had afternoon session of Kindergarten. In the west corner of our backyard sat a finished brick and flagstone barbecue where Mike and I sat all that morning waiting, waiting for the bell to end morning session, knowing that then we’d get our turn at school. I remember being so excited. My teacher was Mrs. Espinoza. Two things stand out from that day, oh mi gawd forty-six years ago:
1) Out of three afternoon kindergarten classes, six of the five year olds in my neighborhood were in my class. Six of us: Mike, Pam, George, Karin, Jody, and myself. We sat in a group three in front, three in back and all except Mike and I cried; unfortunately we were sitting in the middle of the others holding our ears shut.
2) In my class there were six girls named Debbie, it was then I decided in needed a different name.

First kiss:
I think I was in about the fifth grade. We were playing dress up in Kim Simmons garage. I loved playing dress up at Kim’s house because she had all her mom’s old square dancing petticoats. They were awesome. Kim was a year younger than me, her brother was a year older and in the middle of playing dress up one day he kissed me. While I remember it, I don’t actually remember the kiss. Keith was also there the first time I played doctor.

First date:
Ronnie Ables, his name will come up later too. I was a freshman, he was a Junior with the blackest hair and bluest eyes. He took me to see a James Bond double header at the La Habra drive in his truck.

First car:
A 1958 two tone – root beer and cream – Chevy Belaire automatic. I drove it for a year and a half with no license. I loved that car, it was dependable, a great heater and defroster.

First time:
People always tell me this doesn’t count. But in my head it does. It was kind of a date rape situation, although we weren’t dating, just messing around. When I said no, he didn’t listen. He was very apologetic when he realized I’d been a virgin. He later, I mean years later, apologized, and then tried it again. He didn’t like my knee.

First break up:
Ronnie broke up with me, we dated some more, he went out with Doreen, a chick at Monte Vista. I was heart broken. We dated some more. He broke up with me, dated Doreen. This went on for a year and a half. To this day, when a relationship is over, it is dead over.

First 'real' job:
My cousin was a groom at Paradise Turf when I was in high school. When I was fifteen she got me a job mucking stalls. I loved it, absolutely loved it. I worked there for two summers, when I was in town (this was in Phoenix, we lived in LA, but spent a lot of time at my aunt’s.)

First time to lose a job:
Bizaar story. My third job was working as a waitress in the best restaurant in Florence, at the beginning of my senior year. I am a shitty waitress, the job just did not click with me, but I was trying. Suddenly one-day the restaurant’s owner called me into his office and told me he had to lay me off. I understood laid off and was thankful I wasn’t being fired, because I didn’t want that on my work record. A week or so later (I had two jobs at the time) my other boss called me and asked why I’d written a piece for the paper? I’d not. The article accused my other employer of paying slave wages of $1 an hour to children. First off, I was 17, I knew $1 an hour was not minimum wage, but getting paid to ride horses was a dream and I accepted the pay gladly. I did not write the article. But both my bosses (I didn’t realize at the time they lived next door to each other) thought out of the barn crew I was the only one smart enough to write the article. So boss number two kindly laid me off. Now really, don’t you see that as a compliment? And I was a bad waitress.

First time in love:
Ronnie, to this day he is a wonderful pleasant memory. The guy had unbelievable fingers. But we never had sex. He gave me my first orgasm, and it would be a full ten years, two husbands, many boyfriends later before I would get to experience another.

First drink:
Hmmm, I don’t remember exactly (but kind of) my first drink. I’ve really never been much of a drinker, but I would have to assume it was Boones Farm Blackberry Mountain in high school. Shhhhh, it was on a nighttime horse ride out to the beach at work.

First Sign of a Backbone:
Seventh grade on the bus I said Pam’s brother was a brat (he really was) and she took offense at it. I can understand, I mean we stand up for our siblings. When we got off the bus to begin our three block walk home, Pam kept harping at me that she was going to kick my butt. I’ve had my butt kicked a lot of time and it’s not my favorite pastime, but Pam pushed it too far when she ripped the French cuff off my favorite dress. I punched her in the nose and she bled all the way home. It is not to say that I have a wicked punch, she just has a nose that bleeds really easy (she used it to get out of math test all the time) and I took advantage of the fact.

First Ambition:
I wanted to be a Playboy Bunny. Well what girl doesn’t want to be ogled by all the guys? Adored from a far, up close, and personal? And in magazines with boobs? Hey, I was maybe five or six and the neighbor guy had all their pictures on his garage door when I was little. We would crane our heads back to stare up at the pictures on the garage door. I remember they seemed so beautiful. Filters.

First Realization of Mortality:
Maybe the question should have been the first realization of morality. Really, I’m not sure. I’ve always understood mortality, and I have not really been touched much by death. While I remember my dad’s mother (I was two and a half when she died) I don’t remember her dying. My great grandmother died when I was in grade school. And my baby brother died when I was in sixth grade. All these things I understood, so I really can’t answer this one.

This is an open Meme so please if you want to play along do and leave your link below. JulieAnn you’ve already played this one so get to work on the greatest list. Er, please.

Sith,
Cele

Tewkes Greatest Meme

The theme is "The Greatest...", as in the greatest book or movie or place to visit or meme. Whatever. I'm sure you'll get it. You're all smart people, hence I expect smart answers!

Here are the rules: Copy the meme listed below to your blog and answer the 10 questions. At the end of the questions, add one more question of your making. Let's see where this goes! Enjoy!Oh, please note: These don't necessarily have to be the greatest of all time ever. It could be the greatest whatever at this moment in your life. What's great today, might not be tomorrow. I'm as interested in the present as I am in all time, if you will!****

In your opinion, this is the greatest...
1. Book
2. Song
3. Movie
4. T.V. Show
5. Place to live
6. Place to visit
7. Place to eat
8. Fruit/Vegetable
9. Chocolate
10. Quality I Possess

1) The greatest book, my favorite book is Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. I’ve read it seven or eight times at least, I always seem to notice something new. My ideal of the characters has never changed, with each reading they remain clear and unchanged to me as reading one. Characters and images not tarnished by the movie. Of course anything by Jane Austin is aces in my books.

2) This one is so very hard for me. I love music and am in conflict because I have several favorite songs. But the greatest (in this recent span of say five or six years) Five For Fighting’s One Hundred Years. The words are awesome, the simplicity of voice and arrangement superb under linings. But then it could be Cat Steven’s Where Do The Children Play?, hmmm but then again it could be Cat Steven’s Father and Son, or Coldplay’s Clocks.


3) Without a doubt Love Actually. Fabulous casting. Outrageous, delightful, wonderful dialogue. Great plot. This movie dwelt on my mind for weeks after seeing it, months, no maybe years. I love Alan Rickman, Hugh Grant, and Emma Thompson.

4) I use to think it was Farscape or Babylon Five but I’ve tried to go back and watch episodes and they just don’t hold my attention. Joan of Arcadia rocked. Or West Wing was a very fine show.


5) The greatest place to live, undoubtedly the Oregon Coast. Heaven on earth. Enough said.


6) Anywhere with history and ghost. England, Germany, Ireland. Scotland, divine and windy. Show me the ghost. On the other hand have you ever been to Montezuma’s Castle in Mesa Verde, Arizona? Down to the earth spiritual.

7) Some hole in the wall seafood place with good fresh, deep fried squid or lobster (not deep fried. Well there goes my diet)

8) Crunchy Asian Apple pears, the big round ones with the light yellow flesh, not the brown ones, yuck. Acorn Squash (steamed with butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon – screw my diet anyway)

9) Tewkes said it best so I am borrowing her words. I’m not a chocolate snob. I am just a chocoholic. But yummm, Cadbury’s Crunchy pieces. I had them in England and they rocked. But when I’m stateside (like 99.9 percent of my life) I prefer hand dipped chocolate covered cherry truffles from Original Chocolate Sins.

10) My greatest quality, I’m not sure, is this a quality? I don’t’ hold grudges. I really don’t. I may not forget, but I won’t continually hit you over the head with the past. I will not hold it against you forever. Not everyone gets that, they like to hold on to past affronts like some kind of emotional breast plate that they can beat to keep the world at bay. Ask my husband.

Now for my bonus round. My greatest saying and words to live by….

Life is far too long to be miserable, and far too short to not be happy.

But of course we all know that I can’t chose just one…so, runner up number one could be the winner but this is me so who knows.

Where We’ve Been Is, Who We Are.

Wow, that could be number one, it deserved caps. Now I tag anyone and everyone who loves memes. Have fun with this one!

Sith,
Cele

Warning Labels are for Sissies

You have no idea where my fingers have been for excruciating amounts of time. Held fast to inanimate and sometimes should be animate objects for much longer than desired. No not by design, but by sheer stupidity; by such tunnel vision that all logic and thought of cause and effect are so gone, they are not even on the horizon. Nix, nein, nil.

In beauty college, yes I went to beauty college, (didn’t everyone) they taught us that super glue was originally developed for surgery, but found lacking: its adhesion destroyed by moisture, and it’s strength is severely tested by time. I stand here today to say, bunk! Sissies performed those test. I can vouch for the strength, toughness, and fastidious grip of superglue.

But friends, I think superglue is out done by nail glue, and do you know why? Of course you do you went to Beauty College too. But just incase, it is because nail glue has an additive not found in your common utility draw variety of superglue. Oh, no, nail glue includes an anti fungal.

An anti fungal. So tonight when I stuck my fingers, quite firmly, to my terracotta Halloween, glow in the dark, neon orange and black, Bat cut out candleholder. I. WAS. FUCKIN’. STUCK. But fear not, I will not get fungus. When my nail has become glued to the wrong side of the tip of my finger – and will not look right whether French tipped or nude, I will fear not, because I will not get fungus. When I glued my hand to the table, more than once, in the same day – because, shit I can – I only fretted just a little, but it had nothing to do with fungus. You try getting you palm unstuck from 26 year old formica.

So I have to ask, why do some things stick and other things do not – regardless of amount of pressure applied, porosity, and logic? Why is it that the no clog tips, clog until you just throw them away? Why is it that I can struggle for five minutes to unglue my thumb and index finger, but the nail won’t stick to nail? Why is it that some really cheap plastic tips just break in two when you try to glue them? And why when I accidentally drop just an itty bitty little drop on my new: jeans, jammies, or shirt - it 1) burns (I mean really smoking burns) 2) never comes out 3) and holds the originally color remarkably well. If it wasn’t for the stiff factor, and that hideous smell, I’d consider gluing all my news clothes. Hey they won’t get fungus.

Sith,
Cele

The post where I say, Thank You

Do you ever wonder what drives a hypochondriac? Are you a hypochondriac? I could be a recent convert to the church of “Notice me I’m dying.”

A few Saturday’s ago I read a heartbreaking story of a family mourning the loss of their fourteen year old son, picked off before his prime by a small, microorganism that gave him a headache, stiff neck, and blinding pain, before his death. The culprit – an amoeba.

An Amoeba; that itty dividing organism that I once pondered under my high school microscope. The fourteen year old victim had done nothing more heinous than swim in a lake of warm, still water, where happy feet churned up the silt and mud where the Amoeba slept, crept, and waited. Now every time I get a headache and stiff neck I think of that dear departed teen.

No, I know my headache and stiff neck have nothing to do with an Amoeba Nagsomthing or other. And No, I don’t want to make light of this child’s death. I am haunted by the child and a quote in the article from the grieving father, “He asked me if he was going to die? And I said, no.” Of course he said no, even if he’d known I imagine he’d say no. My answer would have been no, because like the father, his loss is an outcome I can’t accept before the end.

A parent should never have to out last their child. I can’t remember if fear that my daughter would be taken from me choked me during my prayers, held me paralyzed in thought, but I know the terror that something might happen to my grandson. The thought alone during my prayers will rip sobs from my chest. God doesn’t do things to us. I know some people and religions believe that, I do not. But I still pour my fears, pleas, longings, and wishes for his wellness, peace, and protection into my nightly prayers. Burp is both mine and Ducky’s light and joy.

For the parents of that young man, now departed, I wish you peace. I know you will never read this, but I wish you peace. For those of you who have touched my life, I wrote this poem. Yes it does especially target some more than others. But it is mean for you all. And I hope it makes more people realize we might not have our tomorrows to appreciate those who have touched us, taught us, loved us, and even not so much liked us. They have all meant something to me, helped create who I am. So please indulge me this poem and read it with your heart, and know I mean this for you.

Sith,
Cele


More than Names

I saw your name today.
Did I remember to let you know,
what you meant?
How you touched my life?
Made me think?
Who I am today
is in part because of you.

I cried your name today
posted in section C
a column over
three postings down
You were so much more
than letters in black on white
in just fifty words or less.

Before my name is no more
Please know you changed me.
The laughing gales,
tearful furrows
lessons learned, together,
your friendship and love,
helped in making me, me.

There I am, just a name
on line ten, in column five.
I was so much more
than words in black on white.
No picture captures what should be seen.
But before I leave, you should know
You were so much more to me.
© 14 September 2007 Calista Cates-Stanturf

Autumn's in the air, Cider's in the cup

Blustery weather is finally hitting the Oregon coast. The briskness of autumn, the gold and red of leaves prepared to fall, the flame of Vine Maple in the last glories of the season. And the surprising days in between of sunshine that lets me plant a few extra bulbs without getting wet or too muddy.

Halloween is right around the corner. Burp and I bought pumpkins for carving the last time we shopped together. Really he paints his, because who wants to have a pumpkin carved this early? He’ll take it home with him the next time he is down. And by then I will have frozen mine for pies, and we’ll need more.

When we were kids Trick or Treat was always followed by hot apple cider and donuts while mom went through the candy and divvied it up evenly so Buddy would get as much as I did despite the fact I am seven years older, and was out two hours longer. In hind- sight it was good and fair. Except wait, dad always got the lion’s share of the chocolate.

I still love trick or treat on Halloween, make sure I have the best candies, my talking candy bowl, and Ducky tallies the amount of kids who come to our door. I think he loves it more than the kids. And to sweeten the pot, it is constant phone calls between here and his sisters’ houses to brag about who go more at the front door.

Just around the corner, the winter days I love, when the rain is falling and I can cuddle up with a football game or good book and be lazy without purpose. I’ve already had a few nice warming fires in the woodstove. Made my first huge pot of chili, and delved into my stack of TBR’s.

And I still have hot apple cider on the cold days of fall and well into winter, spiced with a stick of cinnamon.

Sith,
Cele

And A Mighty Chest It Is

I think about blogging constantly, Hello my name is Cele, and I blog. A.LOT. SML needs to hold session soon.

Unfortunately I don’t write as much as I think about writing and not nearly as much as the average blogger. Which I suppose is okay, because who in the heck reads my blog anyway? I’m not whining, I just realize that the only person who is hurt by my not blogging is me.

So today I have a bit on my chest, and a mighty chest it is, but a chest no less that can only hold so much. So here are random attacks at thought, comprehension, and higher mental health numbers.

It started raining again today. Nothing new, this is Oregon. But about, hmmm four weeks ago I bought two new sets of windshield wiper blades; a set for Zuzu and a set from Ducky’s commuter car. Well par for course when I bought them Discount Store Down The Street didn’t have all I needed so I bought one refill for the passenger side of my truck and gave the good ones to Ducky. Well that isn’t quite true. Let me rephrase, I set aside the two good matching ones for Ducky. Today’s rain made me decide to change out my blades.

WHO THE HECK THOUGHT UP REFILL? The Marquis De Sade? So today, four weeks later, I throw the refill in the trash (but only after spending an hour trying to master the piece of crap,) drive back to Discount Store Down The Street, who now has the correct blades. Finished the job – piece of cake. Tomorrow I’ll do Ducky’s car.

I believe in truth in advertising. A rare concept I know. But damn it if a product says it’s going to take the soap scum residue and build up off my shower walls, don’t cha think it should….especially after using cases of the crap? I am here to tell you, “Fuck, NO it doesn’t.” Can’t someone tell the truth about their crappy product?

When I write an ad, I try to tell the truth. I really do. Thank God I don’t have some of the crappy restaurants in town as clients, I would be in a world of hurt. But I do have tuna fishermen as clients; so when I say “Buy your tuna off the boat fresh” I make sure I say, while supplies last first.

Example,

“While supplies last, fresh tuna is waiting for you on the Fishing Vessel Going Under.” It just makes good business sense to me. The fish will be fresh in supply while it last, and the supply will last until it’s sold. I know there is a gray line there, but let me tell you fresh tuna at a good fee tends to sell fast.

So why can’t a shower cleaner work or at least tell me it’s a fifty - fifty crapshoot? (wow, did you know crapshoot is in the dictionary? I didn’t until my spell checker corrected me. Fuck is too, I guess dictionaries are allowed to cuss, don’t tell my mom she’ll charge it a quarter for each indiscretion.)

Dog food, my poor Arlo is suffering from food allergies, the poor baby scratches and licks non-stop. Drives me friggin’ crazy (btw friggin’ is not in the dictionary.) I knew that dogs had problems with corn; you should stay away from any dog food where corn is among the top three ingredients. Try that, it’s not easy. But I learned long ago. Or so I thought. I didn't know dogs have gluten allergies worse than corn. My poor dog – his favorite treats are riddled with wheat, corn meal, and a lot of other crap not good for him. So now I must find him new treats, ask my vet about Benedyrl for him, something that will keep him from scratching, biting, licking, chewing, and driving me and Ducky crazy.

Dj’s that think the world is interested in every little opinion they have. WTF! This is only made worse by Dj’s that talk about topics they know nothing about. Drives me bat shit. It is compounded by Dj’s (dj’s, btw, is not in the dictionary) who run a joke into the ground. Who do not respect their audience. Who demean others – especially when they’re not God’s gift to radio (or the world) in the first place. Or the DJ who constantly tells you that this song was their favorite make out song in high school. The only thing worse than this, is the Dj who is boring and speak very little, but play lots of music – er which is the category I fall into. Sadly. Oh maybe not.

So what’s on your chest today?