Judging by the poles and the time of year, I am guessing it is a Tuna fisherman returning to the Port of Siuslaw.
Port Orford
Final Post for From the Styx
3 weeks ago
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Photo Friday: Seaside
Judging by the poles and the time of year, I am guessing it is a Tuna fisherman returning to the Port of Siuslaw. Saturday, August 29, 2009
Talk Thursday: Postcards of Our Life
I started this with one thought in mind and woke up to erase the whole thing and start anew. Thank you Fii, Psam, and Steven your responses to my last post are the reason. That and what my cousin is going through.
People who know what I think, know it’s all about the journey to me. Heck, I blog about my journey enough. As Psam was growing up I suggested she question everything she didn’t understand, that didn’t work for her, that she opposed. Believe it or not I think I got this from my mother.
The practice got Psam kicked out of Sunday School. Why? I believe and she can correct me, she questioned the Sunday School teacher when she said Mormons, Catholics, and Jews have a different God than “we” do. Is that right, Psam? I was livid, called the minister and asked him in my (I’m sure) best non-confrontational voice (yeah, sure) “What happened to our Father In Heaven being a loving and forgiving God?” And he said – I swear – “Where does it say that in the Bible?” There are very few things that make me see red faster than a fucking, flippant, ignorant reply like that. I will not get started on Bible teachings here. Especially paraphrased Bible teachings, but let’s just say, Psam never when back to that church.
Postcard number one – “Question Authority or Don’t feed the locals.”
When I was growing up my grandfather would bring me down to the beach (they lived in Balboa) and I would spend weeks there during the summer or weekends during the winter. It was awesome every morning my grandfather and I would walk from his house up the bay to the bakery and buy doughnut holes, walk out to the end of the pier and talk, eat the holes, and watch the fishermen and their poles. My grandfather rocked.
On the other hand I didn’t fit into my grandmother’s scheme of things. Born to a life of privilege my grandmother gave me the impression life had given her a raw deal. (side note: My grandmother was raised by her grandparents, my great grand grandfather was Robert E.M. Cowie one of the founders of American Railways – he adored and coddled his granddaugher Fee, he made my great uncle Bob’s life hell on earth.) My cousin JeannieBeth was her favorite they spent hours beading together, cuddling, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. I tried the beading on Saturday afternoons, but by Sunday my grandmother had more than enough of my company and made my grandfather’s and my life living hell until I was gone. My grandmother died one April day 17 years ago - I felt bad for my grandfather, for JeannieBeth, and my aunt. I know she’s at peace now.
Postcard number two – “Life isn’t fair, you just have to be fair.”
I’m no charming person myself, I have plenty of skeleton bones in my closet, tucked under my bed, buried in the back yard. I can name most of the ones in the backyard: my beloved Kya, at least one cat Bentley, Psam’s pet bird who danced when ever Wilson Phillips came on, and a bunch of snakes I buried in absolute fear (please don’t tell me they can dig their way out I am happy in this ignorance.) The ones in the closet and under the bed are different stories. They are the things in the past that I have hopefully grown from, but fear others knowing – especially my mom. They are the cruelties I wreaked on others because being mean was “funny at the time.” God, isn’t that pathetic? I would take back those moments in a heartbeat, apologize and use the rest of my life to make them right some how. The thought of those actions brings tears to my eyes and grief to my heart. But their memory and shame also makes me who I am today.
Postcard number three – “Where we’ve been is who we are.”
I have done some terrible things in my life, but I think I have also done some kind things, some wise things, some smart things. One of the wise things was to regret and to learn. Another was to embrace the people in my life and love them eternal.
Postcard number four: “It’s all about the journey”
When I was a kid I was envious of my friends who had great relationships with their cousins, all mine were either much, much older than I or lived very far away. So Judy, my friend from down the street, and I began telling everyone we were cousins, I think I was nine and she was seven. To this day she is still my cousin and while there is 1000 physical miles between us she is still in my heart and daily thoughts. When one of us needs the other is just a phone call away. Her mom, Aunt Mabel, is dying of kidney failure and suffers dementia. Jude is her support and care system, but because she’s not built for the extensive demands of 24 hour care and the ravages of dementia the situation and demands are eating Jude alive. She gets no help from her crack addict brother, but her somewhat estranged sister is coming in three weeks to help. Everyday I count my blessings and my own mother’s mental and physical health.
I give Judy all that I can and while the help I offer comes too late, my house will be her haven when her mother finally passes. I haven’t walked in her shoes, but I’ve done private care, it ate me alive. It ended with me taking my client to the hospital and giving up, I was shunned by the medical community in which I’d once worked. I pray for Jude, her mother and what they are going through together. While it was my sister who was with my dad at his final breathe, I got to spend quality time with him in the months before his death. And I was with him and my mom in the dark hours the night before his passing. By far it wasn’t enough. My heart goes out to Jude.
Postcard number five: “Communicate, Appreciate, and Validate your love and relationships” borrowed from John Edward.
See I’m not the unflawed person I make myself out to be. Ergo, my last postcard:
“Judge not, least ye be judge.”
Sith,
Cele
People who know what I think, know it’s all about the journey to me. Heck, I blog about my journey enough. As Psam was growing up I suggested she question everything she didn’t understand, that didn’t work for her, that she opposed. Believe it or not I think I got this from my mother.
The practice got Psam kicked out of Sunday School. Why? I believe and she can correct me, she questioned the Sunday School teacher when she said Mormons, Catholics, and Jews have a different God than “we” do. Is that right, Psam? I was livid, called the minister and asked him in my (I’m sure) best non-confrontational voice (yeah, sure) “What happened to our Father In Heaven being a loving and forgiving God?” And he said – I swear – “Where does it say that in the Bible?” There are very few things that make me see red faster than a fucking, flippant, ignorant reply like that. I will not get started on Bible teachings here. Especially paraphrased Bible teachings, but let’s just say, Psam never when back to that church.
Postcard number one – “Question Authority or Don’t feed the locals.”
When I was growing up my grandfather would bring me down to the beach (they lived in Balboa) and I would spend weeks there during the summer or weekends during the winter. It was awesome every morning my grandfather and I would walk from his house up the bay to the bakery and buy doughnut holes, walk out to the end of the pier and talk, eat the holes, and watch the fishermen and their poles. My grandfather rocked.
On the other hand I didn’t fit into my grandmother’s scheme of things. Born to a life of privilege my grandmother gave me the impression life had given her a raw deal. (side note: My grandmother was raised by her grandparents, my great grand grandfather was Robert E.M. Cowie one of the founders of American Railways – he adored and coddled his granddaugher Fee, he made my great uncle Bob’s life hell on earth.) My cousin JeannieBeth was her favorite they spent hours beading together, cuddling, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. I tried the beading on Saturday afternoons, but by Sunday my grandmother had more than enough of my company and made my grandfather’s and my life living hell until I was gone. My grandmother died one April day 17 years ago - I felt bad for my grandfather, for JeannieBeth, and my aunt. I know she’s at peace now.
Postcard number two – “Life isn’t fair, you just have to be fair.”
I’m no charming person myself, I have plenty of skeleton bones in my closet, tucked under my bed, buried in the back yard. I can name most of the ones in the backyard: my beloved Kya, at least one cat Bentley, Psam’s pet bird who danced when ever Wilson Phillips came on, and a bunch of snakes I buried in absolute fear (please don’t tell me they can dig their way out I am happy in this ignorance.) The ones in the closet and under the bed are different stories. They are the things in the past that I have hopefully grown from, but fear others knowing – especially my mom. They are the cruelties I wreaked on others because being mean was “funny at the time.” God, isn’t that pathetic? I would take back those moments in a heartbeat, apologize and use the rest of my life to make them right some how. The thought of those actions brings tears to my eyes and grief to my heart. But their memory and shame also makes me who I am today.
Postcard number three – “Where we’ve been is who we are.”
I have done some terrible things in my life, but I think I have also done some kind things, some wise things, some smart things. One of the wise things was to regret and to learn. Another was to embrace the people in my life and love them eternal.
Postcard number four: “It’s all about the journey”
When I was a kid I was envious of my friends who had great relationships with their cousins, all mine were either much, much older than I or lived very far away. So Judy, my friend from down the street, and I began telling everyone we were cousins, I think I was nine and she was seven. To this day she is still my cousin and while there is 1000 physical miles between us she is still in my heart and daily thoughts. When one of us needs the other is just a phone call away. Her mom, Aunt Mabel, is dying of kidney failure and suffers dementia. Jude is her support and care system, but because she’s not built for the extensive demands of 24 hour care and the ravages of dementia the situation and demands are eating Jude alive. She gets no help from her crack addict brother, but her somewhat estranged sister is coming in three weeks to help. Everyday I count my blessings and my own mother’s mental and physical health.
I give Judy all that I can and while the help I offer comes too late, my house will be her haven when her mother finally passes. I haven’t walked in her shoes, but I’ve done private care, it ate me alive. It ended with me taking my client to the hospital and giving up, I was shunned by the medical community in which I’d once worked. I pray for Jude, her mother and what they are going through together. While it was my sister who was with my dad at his final breathe, I got to spend quality time with him in the months before his death. And I was with him and my mom in the dark hours the night before his passing. By far it wasn’t enough. My heart goes out to Jude.
Postcard number five: “Communicate, Appreciate, and Validate your love and relationships” borrowed from John Edward.
See I’m not the unflawed person I make myself out to be. Ergo, my last postcard:
“Judge not, least ye be judge.”
Sith,
Cele
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Talk Thursday: The Journey
Have you ever stopped and just thought about all the negative events, people, and actions in your past? I mean really sat down and thought them and their impacts through. While I’ve not stopped, set, thought and listed each one, I have contemplated some of the worse events in my life and realized that I am far better for them. Where as delight and joy abound as happy memories, it is the contrary events, people and actions that have been monumental and formative in my transition.
A righteous man is one who has never been tried. I’m fairly certain that is my paraphrased version of some sagely adage. But I find it true. Although maybe it should be a righteous man is a one dimensional – vanilla being. Don’t get me wrong, I love vanilla and it’s great on chocolate cake, but I want to be multi-dimension, tried by the fire and come out heat tempered.
People’s treatment of me has molded my treatment of others. I remember once Dennis Vincaguera kicking me so many times in the butt that I was wearing a thong (in the sixth grade) decades before everyone else. No I didn’t fight back, and I’m not sure why – except I don’t believe in violence. But I did learn that you can’t expect others to treat you justly or fairly, you just have to treat people the way you want to be treated yourself. Everyone just watched, my reaction in later years- I have become proactive when I see someone being abused. Maybe everyone watched without helping me because they felt the way he did, or maybe they were afraid their underwear would become a thong like mine, or maybe they just didn’t know how. I didn’t’, but I do now.
I am woman! And I over come adversity.
In October of my junior year I was raped. Not brutally raped, but raped all the same with lasting mental scars as a reminder. What I have is more than that- I have the strength of survival. Years later I thought I’d over come all aspects of that October night in 1972, until my 20th class reunion when in he walked with his wife and I turned into a quivering mass of human jello. This really disgust me on so many levels. In truth I am furious over this power because: I doubt he knows who I am, I doubt he did then even though we went to school together. I doubt he has had a second thought over the brutality and domination of that disastrous night. He had months to face it, apologize, to regret before I moved to Oregon. Nada, and I don’t expect it, because I know more about rape and the reality of life after and realize that anything more than what I have now is a pipe dream. And what I have now is everything I gave myself. I learned that in my work a day adult world I am a survivor who has over come, conquered, and live to love another day. A niggling reality is this: while I have survived I am still terrified of him. Very humbling to acknowledge, but in the same breathe I have learned a little bit of compassion for those who have been raped and not survived. Oh, a shell of what they could be walks in this world, but because they continue to be victims every day of their lives they are less than their potential. Thank you mom and dad for making me durable.
Share your smiles, they are returned tenfold when given freely.
I have long since made it a point to tell people thank you for what they have meant to me. For the impacts they made on my development. In the words of John Edward, I communicate, appreciate and validate those in my life everyday. I horde the members of my heart, my families, my loves, my teachers.
Why regret the negative actions, people and events of my life? Without them I am not who I am. I am not a righteous being, I am a learning being who is embracing the people and lessons within my life. And I like it. It’s not about the final destination; it’s all about the journey and the events along the way.
Please share your journey.
Sith,
Cele
A righteous man is one who has never been tried. I’m fairly certain that is my paraphrased version of some sagely adage. But I find it true. Although maybe it should be a righteous man is a one dimensional – vanilla being. Don’t get me wrong, I love vanilla and it’s great on chocolate cake, but I want to be multi-dimension, tried by the fire and come out heat tempered.
People’s treatment of me has molded my treatment of others. I remember once Dennis Vincaguera kicking me so many times in the butt that I was wearing a thong (in the sixth grade) decades before everyone else. No I didn’t fight back, and I’m not sure why – except I don’t believe in violence. But I did learn that you can’t expect others to treat you justly or fairly, you just have to treat people the way you want to be treated yourself. Everyone just watched, my reaction in later years- I have become proactive when I see someone being abused. Maybe everyone watched without helping me because they felt the way he did, or maybe they were afraid their underwear would become a thong like mine, or maybe they just didn’t know how. I didn’t’, but I do now.
I am woman! And I over come adversity.
In October of my junior year I was raped. Not brutally raped, but raped all the same with lasting mental scars as a reminder. What I have is more than that- I have the strength of survival. Years later I thought I’d over come all aspects of that October night in 1972, until my 20th class reunion when in he walked with his wife and I turned into a quivering mass of human jello. This really disgust me on so many levels. In truth I am furious over this power because: I doubt he knows who I am, I doubt he did then even though we went to school together. I doubt he has had a second thought over the brutality and domination of that disastrous night. He had months to face it, apologize, to regret before I moved to Oregon. Nada, and I don’t expect it, because I know more about rape and the reality of life after and realize that anything more than what I have now is a pipe dream. And what I have now is everything I gave myself. I learned that in my work a day adult world I am a survivor who has over come, conquered, and live to love another day. A niggling reality is this: while I have survived I am still terrified of him. Very humbling to acknowledge, but in the same breathe I have learned a little bit of compassion for those who have been raped and not survived. Oh, a shell of what they could be walks in this world, but because they continue to be victims every day of their lives they are less than their potential. Thank you mom and dad for making me durable.
Share your smiles, they are returned tenfold when given freely.
I have long since made it a point to tell people thank you for what they have meant to me. For the impacts they made on my development. In the words of John Edward, I communicate, appreciate and validate those in my life everyday. I horde the members of my heart, my families, my loves, my teachers.
Why regret the negative actions, people and events of my life? Without them I am not who I am. I am not a righteous being, I am a learning being who is embracing the people and lessons within my life. And I like it. It’s not about the final destination; it’s all about the journey and the events along the way.
Please share your journey.
Sith,
Cele
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Friday Photo: Young and Old
I know a wee bit late, but still I'm here. While Burp certainly is young, Ducky isn't old, but if I have to say one is the other then these two are my favorite - Young and Old combination.Shhh, don't tell Ducky I posted his picture.
Sith,
Cele
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Talk Thursday: My Process
Since JulieAnn put up her topic I’ve frankly, been stumped. Then I realized, “Cele you dummy you’ve a process and it is one writers like, and it’s your own process.”
Several years ago I read a book for a writer, probably Natalie, who asked me to give her my thoughts. And I wrote my first critique. Not having been educated to edit a manuscript, I developed my own technique and learned a lot a long the way, each book teaches me something new. When I first began it easily took me three complete read throughs, now I usually only need two.
First I make a copy of the manuscript then I make a chapter timeline. As I read notes fill each chapter, telling me the whos, the whens, the whats, and the wheres. I add thoughts and humorous notes upon the way. And tell when each character is introduced, their relationship to others characters, and their peculiarities.
I’ve always considered the first read through as being for me. But in truth I’ve already begun my work.
Somewhere, usually around chapter three, I begin a chapter critique. This is where I will mark the errors and observances by chapter and page for the author to see. At the same time I’m making my critiques I am marking them in the manuscript so the writer can see the whole detail. My chapter timeline allows me to reference points of interest, characteristics or actions that are in opposition or support of the story’s facts. This is why I refer to my critiques as, “Continuity Critiques.” I will keep a running day count and tell you why that woman can’t go to lunch on that day.
Finally I wrap up my critique with my personal observations. Why I loved the book, why I hated a specific characters, my personal likes and dislikes. Twice now, I’ve run into books that bogged down for me. This was a personal crisis. How do I tell a writer her baby isn’t working for me?
A dear friend, yes I work for my friends, sent me a book and I struggled to get through the first half of the book. I walked away, went back, walked away, I balked (and no this isn’t you, it was another writer.) When finally asked, I had to own up that the story wasn’t working for me. I hated the main character. And the slang, OHMIGAWD! She asked why? And I told her. Wow, it was that easy. We worked together, she found other input (that backed up my thoughts) and the story and book continued on. The process worked. The funny part is in both books, when I got half way past they worked.
Not knowing what to send to the writer, I sent every page I’d created. My chapter timeline apparently is a keeper, because I get an amazing amount of feed back on the value of my chapter timelines. Yes, they want and need the critiques, but really really look forward to the chapter timelines. Who knew?
So there you have it - my process. Apparently it works. It's different than the work other critiquers do, but it has allowed me to find a nitch in the writing world where one before had not existed (beyond poetry) for me.
To the writers who trust me with their babies, thank you. Thank you for your belief in me and allowing me into your process and your world. To date I’ve worked on nine published books, countless to be published books, one thesis, and a collection of short stories, two databases, and three websites. It has been a blessing.
Sith,
Cele
Several years ago I read a book for a writer, probably Natalie, who asked me to give her my thoughts. And I wrote my first critique. Not having been educated to edit a manuscript, I developed my own technique and learned a lot a long the way, each book teaches me something new. When I first began it easily took me three complete read throughs, now I usually only need two.
First I make a copy of the manuscript then I make a chapter timeline. As I read notes fill each chapter, telling me the whos, the whens, the whats, and the wheres. I add thoughts and humorous notes upon the way. And tell when each character is introduced, their relationship to others characters, and their peculiarities.
I’ve always considered the first read through as being for me. But in truth I’ve already begun my work.
Somewhere, usually around chapter three, I begin a chapter critique. This is where I will mark the errors and observances by chapter and page for the author to see. At the same time I’m making my critiques I am marking them in the manuscript so the writer can see the whole detail. My chapter timeline allows me to reference points of interest, characteristics or actions that are in opposition or support of the story’s facts. This is why I refer to my critiques as, “Continuity Critiques.” I will keep a running day count and tell you why that woman can’t go to lunch on that day.
Finally I wrap up my critique with my personal observations. Why I loved the book, why I hated a specific characters, my personal likes and dislikes. Twice now, I’ve run into books that bogged down for me. This was a personal crisis. How do I tell a writer her baby isn’t working for me?
A dear friend, yes I work for my friends, sent me a book and I struggled to get through the first half of the book. I walked away, went back, walked away, I balked (and no this isn’t you, it was another writer.) When finally asked, I had to own up that the story wasn’t working for me. I hated the main character. And the slang, OHMIGAWD! She asked why? And I told her. Wow, it was that easy. We worked together, she found other input (that backed up my thoughts) and the story and book continued on. The process worked. The funny part is in both books, when I got half way past they worked.
Not knowing what to send to the writer, I sent every page I’d created. My chapter timeline apparently is a keeper, because I get an amazing amount of feed back on the value of my chapter timelines. Yes, they want and need the critiques, but really really look forward to the chapter timelines. Who knew?
So there you have it - my process. Apparently it works. It's different than the work other critiquers do, but it has allowed me to find a nitch in the writing world where one before had not existed (beyond poetry) for me.
To the writers who trust me with their babies, thank you. Thank you for your belief in me and allowing me into your process and your world. To date I’ve worked on nine published books, countless to be published books, one thesis, and a collection of short stories, two databases, and three websites. It has been a blessing.
Sith,
Cele
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Saturday Safari
While five or six animals were involved with this story, on a few were consumed by the end of the tale.
Ducky and I celebrated our fifteenth year of wedded bliss last month. We'd planned on a steak and lobster dinner in Coos Bay the weekend following to mark the occasion. One thing lead to another and we didn't get to go. No big problem. We moved our plans to last weekend, and then well he had to work. No big problem, we moved them to this weekend. The planets aligned.
With a daily 160 mile commute, I hate to ask Ducky to drive long distances on his day off, but once in a while he makes an exception for me. In the past we have driven over a hundred miles for an ice cream cone (we toured the Tillamook Cheese factory first.) We have driven places just to turn around and drive home because we wanted to. 
Yesterday morning we jumped in the truck, got a mocha and headed south. What a glorious day, I'll go for a drive come rain or shine, but Saturday was picture perfect sunshine.
Yesterday morning we jumped in the truck, got a mocha and headed south. What a glorious day, I'll go for a drive come rain or shine, but Saturday was picture perfect sunshine. I sort of had Battle Rock in my head as a destination, and he chose Brookings as our turn around. We chat along the way about all sorts of topics, but mainly it is spent in just enjoying each other's company. Neither of us have ever spent time in Bandon, and we still haven't. Parking was not to be found in oldtown Bandon, but what we saw made us decide we want to go back and explore. Armed with drinks and fries we continued south. 
As we flew past Port Orford (doing the speed limit) we saw that several wind and sail surfers were enjoying the day and decided we stop to watch on our way back. I swear the temperature in Port Orford is 10 degrees warmer.
As we flew past Port Orford (doing the speed limit) we saw that several wind and sail surfers were enjoying the day and decided we stop to watch on our way back. I swear the temperature in Port Orford is 10 degrees warmer.And we did. 
We continued north to Charleston and had steak and fresh Maine lobster at the Portside Restaurant. Very nice, a bit spendy but worth it. Delicious.
Next up we're driving inland to Bellfountain, I'll take my camera.
Sith,
Cele
Friday, August 07, 2009
Talk Thursday: The Sweetest Perfection
Today it appears too many people are unhappy in their lives. Stuck-in-a-rut lives,that didn’t turn out the way they wanted. They either have to work, are not working their dream job, or they are stuck in a job that isn’t what they wanted or thought it would become, yet stay because the known evil is lesser than the evil of change. They find themselves knee deep in debt or neck high in waste. Their lives are as cluttered with junk as is the spare bedroom where they throw everything they’ve either no time to put away or have no idea where to sort it to.
Sid yesterday spoke about cleaning his desk; my desk is a symbol of the clutter in my life and my mind. When work and life become overwhelming my spare bedroom bed becomes unseeable and my desk at work becomes hidden under random acts of - set aside this to work on that. On Friday afternoons, my busiest day of the week, I will stop, breathe and file. All the little piles of scattered lists (a must by my boss’ standards,) folders with time orders or commercial copy (to be cut [produced]) sticking out as reminders lay in cascading lines of set aside, before I leave, are foldered, filed, reordered, or recycled. Voila’ I’m done. It’s not perfection it’s just my system.
My spare bedroom, not so easy a task to accomplish. By Christmas reorder in the Executive Room (no work gets done there, it’s just what Ducky calls the spare bedroom – we don’t often get guest) is a must. If I don’t clean it and organize the piles into permanent places, where will my Christmas shopping get stacked and reorganized in to bags for each recipient? Ya know, it’s a complicated chore but someone has to do it. It is a symbol of my harried ness.
None of us are perfect, but we all have our own systems, they don’t always work, for some I’m thinking they never work; for others, I think they just don’t care. I am finding myself saddened and boggled by people daily. Yes, our lives are harried and cluttered, but we do it to ourselves. We seemingly always want more, the grass is always greener, and the desserts always sweeter. Or are they? Is our winter of discontent really the product of our inability to be happy with what we have? I don’t mean the couple who were mismatched from day one, but lust was too blinding to see the truth. I mean the people who aren’t content with what they have in their lives and barely tread water to keep up with the Jones.
Personally I don’t want what the Jones’ have. I have a small house if more room is a desire I will add on, not buy a bigger house with more guest rooms, more cubby holes and nooks to clean. I want cozy, livable space, I want people to walk in and want to stay a while because they feel at home. Hmmm, not many come to visit… that may be a clue.
I am happy with my yard that is under constant renovation (I know that sounds like a contradiction, but it’s not,) my love my hot tub courtyard (okay not everyone has a hot tub or a court yard,) I am happy with my cutting garden and my lily garden (okay not so happy with the lily garden at the moment, but I’m working it out.) I love my husband, I love my dog, I love my kids, I adore adore adore my grandson, I love my family, I love my house, I love my job.
Note..s: My husband is my third and he’s not home near enough; my dog pees on the carpet and is a 93 pound lapdog… maybe that’s why people don’t come back; my kids don’t visit near enough; my grandson is perfect… except when he throws his treats wrapper behind the futon in his room; I count my daughter, my mother, and my sister among my best friends; my house is only a 1000 feet square; and my job is harried – but I love it all, it’s what I want, it’s what I need. Yes my friends, I am sated, and that is sweet perfection.
Sith,Cele
Sid yesterday spoke about cleaning his desk; my desk is a symbol of the clutter in my life and my mind. When work and life become overwhelming my spare bedroom bed becomes unseeable and my desk at work becomes hidden under random acts of - set aside this to work on that. On Friday afternoons, my busiest day of the week, I will stop, breathe and file. All the little piles of scattered lists (a must by my boss’ standards,) folders with time orders or commercial copy (to be cut [produced]) sticking out as reminders lay in cascading lines of set aside, before I leave, are foldered, filed, reordered, or recycled. Voila’ I’m done. It’s not perfection it’s just my system.
My spare bedroom, not so easy a task to accomplish. By Christmas reorder in the Executive Room (no work gets done there, it’s just what Ducky calls the spare bedroom – we don’t often get guest) is a must. If I don’t clean it and organize the piles into permanent places, where will my Christmas shopping get stacked and reorganized in to bags for each recipient? Ya know, it’s a complicated chore but someone has to do it. It is a symbol of my harried ness.
None of us are perfect, but we all have our own systems, they don’t always work, for some I’m thinking they never work; for others, I think they just don’t care. I am finding myself saddened and boggled by people daily. Yes, our lives are harried and cluttered, but we do it to ourselves. We seemingly always want more, the grass is always greener, and the desserts always sweeter. Or are they? Is our winter of discontent really the product of our inability to be happy with what we have? I don’t mean the couple who were mismatched from day one, but lust was too blinding to see the truth. I mean the people who aren’t content with what they have in their lives and barely tread water to keep up with the Jones.
Personally I don’t want what the Jones’ have. I have a small house if more room is a desire I will add on, not buy a bigger house with more guest rooms, more cubby holes and nooks to clean. I want cozy, livable space, I want people to walk in and want to stay a while because they feel at home. Hmmm, not many come to visit… that may be a clue.
I am happy with my yard that is under constant renovation (I know that sounds like a contradiction, but it’s not,) my love my hot tub courtyard (okay not everyone has a hot tub or a court yard,) I am happy with my cutting garden and my lily garden (okay not so happy with the lily garden at the moment, but I’m working it out.) I love my husband, I love my dog, I love my kids, I adore adore adore my grandson, I love my family, I love my house, I love my job.
Note..s: My husband is my third and he’s not home near enough; my dog pees on the carpet and is a 93 pound lapdog… maybe that’s why people don’t come back; my kids don’t visit near enough; my grandson is perfect… except when he throws his treats wrapper behind the futon in his room; I count my daughter, my mother, and my sister among my best friends; my house is only a 1000 feet square; and my job is harried – but I love it all, it’s what I want, it’s what I need. Yes my friends, I am sated, and that is sweet perfection.
Sith,Cele
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Photo Friday: CameraPhone
I'm stealing this idea from Steve. I have a phone, it takes pictures, but I don't have email on my phone, or internet. Texting is blocked...blasted spam. Even the phone company was surprised at the spam I got. So I can't fulfill the topic... CameraPhone pictures. Ergo, it is now er was Free Photo Friday.
I'm in the middle of coping pictures from my mother's massive photo collection. These two pictures, some how go with last week's Talk Thursday topic. But only in the course of conversation you must understand.
Pinecone on Little Joe circa 1964
And me too.
Sith
Cele
Saturday, August 01, 2009
Talk Thursday: Dog & Pony
I’m not sure what Dog and Pony actually refers to. While I do have a dog, he’s more like a tank; I’ve not had a pony since I was a kid and well really it wasn’t mine. He was my aunt’s boyfriend's, Cowboy George had won Little Joe and the ranch he was on in a poker game. The same way he lost it. True story.
While I have a tank yet no pony I do have a story to tell. I love music, my two (almost life long) favorite groups: Crosby, Stills, Nash & Sometimes Young and the Moody Blues. I have seen CSN and have tickets to see them again at the Cuthbert on September 11th. I’ve yet to see the Moody Blues. But then that is part of the story.
Several weeks ago Pinecone called me on a Wednesday night to ask if I thought mom would enjoy seeing the Moody Blues at the Cuthbert. As my childhood roommate, Pinecone grew up with enforced- ram it down your throat, hours long Moody Blues listening sessions through out her formative and teen years- yes, until I moved out. I guess it stuck. She’s seen MB in concert four to five times, once with full accompanying orchestra – I am so jealous.
But what was she thinking? Mom would constantly yell at me to turn it down, turn it off, go outside in the fresh air. I’m thinking had the phrase, “Get a life” been popular I’d have heard her say that several times, too. “Pine,” I said, “I don’t think so.” Then I began to think, remember the time I thought she’d like So You Think You Could Dance, and I was way wrong? “Pine, what do I know, maybe she will, ask her.”
“Do you have a Moody Blues CD you could give her?”
“Well, yeah, duh!” Sometimes with my vocabulary you’d never guess I’m 53.
That Thursday night I met Mom and grandma for dinner at a local Chinese restaurant. When she sat down I hand mom the Best of MB and said, “Pine wanted you to listen to this, if you like the Moody Blues she wants to take you for your birthday. “
Taking the CD my mom said, “I enjoy the Moody Blues.”
Grandma chimes in, “Me too!” In unison I get, “They were on PBS, they were great.”
WTF do I know. Statement, not a question?
Fastforward...
Monday night, Ducky has just gone to bed when my cellphone rang. At first all I could here was musical “Wa-Wa-Wa” until Pinecone’s voice comes on the line and say, “Our mother wanted me to call you. Here.”
And what did my parental unit want to say? In essence, “Nee-neer, nee-neer, nee-neer.” Pine tells me, that besides rocking out to the Moody Blues all night long in a sweltering 99 degrees, she got a total kick out of people watching. She was a bit surprised and curious about what the people behind them were smoking. While she did notice it “smelled different” she didn’t truly notice until security spoke with them.
No dog and pony, just Pinecone and mom.
Sith,
Cele
While I have a tank yet no pony I do have a story to tell. I love music, my two (almost life long) favorite groups: Crosby, Stills, Nash & Sometimes Young and the Moody Blues. I have seen CSN and have tickets to see them again at the Cuthbert on September 11th. I’ve yet to see the Moody Blues. But then that is part of the story.
Several weeks ago Pinecone called me on a Wednesday night to ask if I thought mom would enjoy seeing the Moody Blues at the Cuthbert. As my childhood roommate, Pinecone grew up with enforced- ram it down your throat, hours long Moody Blues listening sessions through out her formative and teen years- yes, until I moved out. I guess it stuck. She’s seen MB in concert four to five times, once with full accompanying orchestra – I am so jealous.
But what was she thinking? Mom would constantly yell at me to turn it down, turn it off, go outside in the fresh air. I’m thinking had the phrase, “Get a life” been popular I’d have heard her say that several times, too. “Pine,” I said, “I don’t think so.” Then I began to think, remember the time I thought she’d like So You Think You Could Dance, and I was way wrong? “Pine, what do I know, maybe she will, ask her.”
“Do you have a Moody Blues CD you could give her?”
“Well, yeah, duh!” Sometimes with my vocabulary you’d never guess I’m 53.
That Thursday night I met Mom and grandma for dinner at a local Chinese restaurant. When she sat down I hand mom the Best of MB and said, “Pine wanted you to listen to this, if you like the Moody Blues she wants to take you for your birthday. “
Taking the CD my mom said, “I enjoy the Moody Blues.”
Grandma chimes in, “Me too!” In unison I get, “They were on PBS, they were great.”
WTF do I know. Statement, not a question?
Fastforward...
Monday night, Ducky has just gone to bed when my cellphone rang. At first all I could here was musical “Wa-Wa-Wa” until Pinecone’s voice comes on the line and say, “Our mother wanted me to call you. Here.”
And what did my parental unit want to say? In essence, “Nee-neer, nee-neer, nee-neer.” Pine tells me, that besides rocking out to the Moody Blues all night long in a sweltering 99 degrees, she got a total kick out of people watching. She was a bit surprised and curious about what the people behind them were smoking. While she did notice it “smelled different” she didn’t truly notice until security spoke with them.
No dog and pony, just Pinecone and mom.
Sith,
Cele
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Photo Friday: In The Shadows
Taken Fourth of July Weekend 2004
Burp and Arlo, I can't believe how small Arlo was at the time, now he weights 93 pounds.
A third more than Burp now.
Sith,
Cele
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Talk Thursday: Morning Glories
Or in my case, morning not so glorious. I have started this post, now for the third time. The other two starts were at work, and after you read you’ll understand why it never finished.
Wednesday morning at 6:50am my phone rang. I had dead air on my AM station by the time I turned the radio on, the audio was back in glorious stereo. Usually I would climb back into bed and feign a few more minutes of sleep. Where my mind was that morning I’ve no clue, but I did the totally unusual for myself and crawled bleary eyed into the shower.
Ten minutes later, yesterday’s mascara and eyeliner (no I don’t take my make up off the night before – never have) tracking in black rivulets down my face the phone rings once again. Turning off the water, I dry my feet, wrap a towel around me and trudge to the living room to find my AM is not back on the air. Crap! I go back to the bathroom – still no Music of Your Life streaming in from the living room, wrap a towel around my head, smear Noxema under my eyes in attempt to wipe off the black remnants of the day before – what a mess. I struggle to get a bra on my not too dry body, pull, wriggle, jiggle into a pair of old jeans, grab a clean tank top, sweatshirt, and step into my old slippers. Keys in hand I walk out the door. Dog not fed, coffee pot on, radios (some silent, some not so) turned on, bathroom lights and fan on. Needless to say I thought I was coming back soon.
In the golden days of radio many shows were done from ballrooms or studios with live bands. One of my DJ’s actually tells me stories of his glory days in the bowls of different radio stations across America’s west, the different shows he’s had, adventures and people along the way. It fascinates me. When I first started radio you had to have a license; today any verbally adept monkey, that can do two things at once (talk and push buttons,) can sit at a console and man a station. When I first started (which was not that long ago – twenty years) we still used cassettes, carts, and reel-to-reel tapes, CD’s were just about to come into existence. Now everything is satellite and computers. Yes we can still supplement the playlist with CD’s, vinyl, and tape but for the most part when new music comes out, I get a CD and record them into the computer, compile my playlist daily and go from there.
The problem this morning with my AM station – a Microsoft download didn’t. Or did partially, but it has corrupted something so my playlist is constantly rebooting. Through trial by fire I’ve become the companies “computer person” this despite the fact my boss drug me scratching, biting, and screaming into the computer age - he did not follow me, I still have to defrag his computer monthly. In attempting to diagnose the AM’s problem I reboot, reload, unload, reboot and do it several times over. Everything seems there, but wait – the status bar by the time in the lower right hand corner seems… well not right looking. Oh and the VT-Converter icon seems wonkie (very technical term.) By 7:30am I’ve called tech support in Los Angeles. He has me lookie loo, reboot, reload, unload, reboot, lookie loo a little bit more. And we collectively scratch our heads and wish for more coffee.
He’s not sure he’ll call me back. By this time my other duties of the morning, because yes folks I have a full other part of my job that includes producing out someone else’s show and then having my own live on air show, is being taken over by someone else on staff. Thank you Bubba because yes, I could have done it without you, but it wouldn’t have been pretty. Him picking up the ball gave me the opportunity to concentrate solely on what I’d not been yet able to fix.
Of course it could have been that I’d not brushed my teeth or used deodorant three hours before when I rushed to work. While waiting for Kevin to call me back I rushed to my office for my toothbrush, paste and deodorant I keep in my desk for emergencies. The deodorant is petrified and unusable. Crap! The tube of Pearl Drops must be a good fifteen years old, but it still works. But no deodorant is an intolerable predicament, so I did what any self-respecting woman would do, I sprayed some of the Pure Citrus bathroom deodorizer on to my fingers and rubbed my pits. Ouch! But I smelt nice and citrusie for the rest of the day. The towel had long since fallen on to the floor of the AM studio, my hair had settled in a gnarly medusa formation which brush and comb could do little to rectify – and hey, I’ve been to beauty college thank you very much. So I put it in a ponytail, $4100 dollars well spent.
Five hours later I can smell the burning coffee from my home a mile away. Arlo is howling for his breakfast and steroids. The AM is blaring in an audio duel from three radios and folks my bed is not made – an obsessive compulsion I must complete every morning for mental sanity – generally before going to work. The Pure Citrus is beginning to fail.
A production computer has now gone online as the AM on-air computer, the commercial load has been made up, and the entire calamity (I left out the inspirational Pure Citrus application – he can see the rest of the days progress for himself) has been explained to my boss. I totally suspect the culprit to be a dual failure between hard ware and software, but that official diagnosis and the prognosis will have to wait until the computer arrives via Fed Ex in San Pedro next Tuesday. Until then life is back to “normal.” And you’ve been spared a Talk Thursday post where I blogged about my inability to grow the Morning Glories that Sid sent me. TWF? They are weeds and I can’t grow them. There I said it.
Sith,
Cele
Wednesday morning at 6:50am my phone rang. I had dead air on my AM station by the time I turned the radio on, the audio was back in glorious stereo. Usually I would climb back into bed and feign a few more minutes of sleep. Where my mind was that morning I’ve no clue, but I did the totally unusual for myself and crawled bleary eyed into the shower.
Ten minutes later, yesterday’s mascara and eyeliner (no I don’t take my make up off the night before – never have) tracking in black rivulets down my face the phone rings once again. Turning off the water, I dry my feet, wrap a towel around me and trudge to the living room to find my AM is not back on the air. Crap! I go back to the bathroom – still no Music of Your Life streaming in from the living room, wrap a towel around my head, smear Noxema under my eyes in attempt to wipe off the black remnants of the day before – what a mess. I struggle to get a bra on my not too dry body, pull, wriggle, jiggle into a pair of old jeans, grab a clean tank top, sweatshirt, and step into my old slippers. Keys in hand I walk out the door. Dog not fed, coffee pot on, radios (some silent, some not so) turned on, bathroom lights and fan on. Needless to say I thought I was coming back soon.
In the golden days of radio many shows were done from ballrooms or studios with live bands. One of my DJ’s actually tells me stories of his glory days in the bowls of different radio stations across America’s west, the different shows he’s had, adventures and people along the way. It fascinates me. When I first started radio you had to have a license; today any verbally adept monkey, that can do two things at once (talk and push buttons,) can sit at a console and man a station. When I first started (which was not that long ago – twenty years) we still used cassettes, carts, and reel-to-reel tapes, CD’s were just about to come into existence. Now everything is satellite and computers. Yes we can still supplement the playlist with CD’s, vinyl, and tape but for the most part when new music comes out, I get a CD and record them into the computer, compile my playlist daily and go from there.
The problem this morning with my AM station – a Microsoft download didn’t. Or did partially, but it has corrupted something so my playlist is constantly rebooting. Through trial by fire I’ve become the companies “computer person” this despite the fact my boss drug me scratching, biting, and screaming into the computer age - he did not follow me, I still have to defrag his computer monthly. In attempting to diagnose the AM’s problem I reboot, reload, unload, reboot and do it several times over. Everything seems there, but wait – the status bar by the time in the lower right hand corner seems… well not right looking. Oh and the VT-Converter icon seems wonkie (very technical term.) By 7:30am I’ve called tech support in Los Angeles. He has me lookie loo, reboot, reload, unload, reboot, lookie loo a little bit more. And we collectively scratch our heads and wish for more coffee.
He’s not sure he’ll call me back. By this time my other duties of the morning, because yes folks I have a full other part of my job that includes producing out someone else’s show and then having my own live on air show, is being taken over by someone else on staff. Thank you Bubba because yes, I could have done it without you, but it wouldn’t have been pretty. Him picking up the ball gave me the opportunity to concentrate solely on what I’d not been yet able to fix.
Of course it could have been that I’d not brushed my teeth or used deodorant three hours before when I rushed to work. While waiting for Kevin to call me back I rushed to my office for my toothbrush, paste and deodorant I keep in my desk for emergencies. The deodorant is petrified and unusable. Crap! The tube of Pearl Drops must be a good fifteen years old, but it still works. But no deodorant is an intolerable predicament, so I did what any self-respecting woman would do, I sprayed some of the Pure Citrus bathroom deodorizer on to my fingers and rubbed my pits. Ouch! But I smelt nice and citrusie for the rest of the day. The towel had long since fallen on to the floor of the AM studio, my hair had settled in a gnarly medusa formation which brush and comb could do little to rectify – and hey, I’ve been to beauty college thank you very much. So I put it in a ponytail, $4100 dollars well spent.
Five hours later I can smell the burning coffee from my home a mile away. Arlo is howling for his breakfast and steroids. The AM is blaring in an audio duel from three radios and folks my bed is not made – an obsessive compulsion I must complete every morning for mental sanity – generally before going to work. The Pure Citrus is beginning to fail.
A production computer has now gone online as the AM on-air computer, the commercial load has been made up, and the entire calamity (I left out the inspirational Pure Citrus application – he can see the rest of the days progress for himself) has been explained to my boss. I totally suspect the culprit to be a dual failure between hard ware and software, but that official diagnosis and the prognosis will have to wait until the computer arrives via Fed Ex in San Pedro next Tuesday. Until then life is back to “normal.” And you’ve been spared a Talk Thursday post where I blogged about my inability to grow the Morning Glories that Sid sent me. TWF? They are weeds and I can’t grow them. There I said it.
Sith,
Cele
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Photo Friday: My Favorite Spot
I'm falling behind on my post. My favorite spot is my home or most anywhere Ducky is. That is where I am happy. So here is a picture of my newest garden, it is where I have spent the majority of my summer so far.
Ducky took the sod out in mid Spring, it has taken me this long to get the hard compacted clay broken up and mixed with the native sand and some good mushroom compost. This side of the garden is strickly for cutting, so if you have flower suggestions for zone 7a/8b/9 (it depends on the map) let me know.
My lily garden? Not looking so great this year. I need to take a lily class.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Talk Thursday: Cracks
Talk Thursday: Cracks
Crack the Shutters (I love that song,) cracks in the foundation, cracks in the mud of my new room - cracks showing up everywhere. Step on a crack break your mother’s back – I always took that one very seriously when I was young. Now that I am older there are cracks in the façade covering my age.
Really I’m not so worry about growing old, I just want to do it gracefully. Not desperately with a medicine cabinet full of Revelon Spackle and L’ Oreal Bondo, but with a grace that embraces the majority of my cracks and wrinkles. Remember on Little House On The Prairie when someone comments to Mrs. Olson about her crow’s feet? She replies, “Oh no dear those are laugh lines.” And the other person rains on her parade and says something to the effect that “Honey, nothing’s that funny.”
Sad.
Mrs. Olson was a fine looking woman, a bit sour and that she wore on her face, but fine looking just the same. Mrs. Olson was trying to keep a façade, most humans do, women probably more so than men. But then most women don’t attempt the obvious comb over on a thinning hairline. Throw stones? Not me, I’ve got my own thinning hairline and a face full of laugh lines. Plus I have the whole body image problem and a fear of dressing too young.
I begin cracking apart when I try to wrap my mind around what I should look like at 53. Oops! A woman isn’t supposed to reveal her age.
Bull pucky!
I worked damn hard for each one of these 53 years and I’m owning up to every one of them, thank you very much. I do regret the added cracks some of the antics of those 53 years placed on my mother’s face. She didn’t deserve my rough teen-hood. And then those twenty somethings – ack! Could we forget them, pluuueeease?
What should an “ample”, mature, fifty-something woman look like? Gladys Cravits? Marge the Manicurist, or maybe Endora (now I could go there minus the hair style) across our great nation, maturing baby booming women want to know this? I want to know this. The cosmetic ad campaigns on TV try to tell me that I can use their product and look like the lovely young American-Korean woman that walked into their clinic. If I use their product… I can return to my youthful appearance. First, the young woman in the chair is 33 not 53 (I know because she was my daughter’s best friend in grade school) and I do not want to return to my youthful appearance, I’m better looking now – thank you very much.
Don’t’ fall for the “Older women should wear short hair” mantra, shorter hair does look better on me, but as long as your hair is styled, who cares the length? It’s the up keep, maintenance, and “I give a damn about myself” attitude that makes the difference, not the hair length.
Make-up? I wear lots, oh lots, and lots of makeup, I adore eye make up, a little bronzer, and a heavy four or five coats of Mascara, and I’m good to go. Marie Osmond once said, she would never go without her kohl (I love her eyes,) personally I never would go without mascara. No Tammy Faye applications for me, but definitely at the very least a light touch of the Calista application – or yesterday’s application, depending on my energy level and time constraints.
I’m trying to embrace my size – all while losing weight. Dressing appropriately is more the problem. What – I ask, about mature, ample woman says LOUD RED AND PURPLE PAISLEY? What? Who in hell (because Hell is that only place the pattern can be manufactured in resplendent, stretchy polyester) decided large women should plaster giant, neon Oriental poppies across their ample butts? Who? And flowered tops? The flowers usually are big enough to cover one of the girls and look like full casaba melons ready to be harvested off their vine. Crap, if I have to wear that, just give me cut out day-glo pasties instead for heaven’s sake. No woman needs torpedo boobs. The fashion industry is supposed to help us, but seemingly it is only trying to sink us.
Oft times when I start writing a Talk Thursday piece I’ve no clue where I am going. This week is just the same. I was going to write about not seeing the cracks in the foundation of my second marriage and instead I write about the cracks in the façade of my appearance. Who knows?
Sith
Cele
Crack the Shutters (I love that song,) cracks in the foundation, cracks in the mud of my new room - cracks showing up everywhere. Step on a crack break your mother’s back – I always took that one very seriously when I was young. Now that I am older there are cracks in the façade covering my age.
Really I’m not so worry about growing old, I just want to do it gracefully. Not desperately with a medicine cabinet full of Revelon Spackle and L’ Oreal Bondo, but with a grace that embraces the majority of my cracks and wrinkles. Remember on Little House On The Prairie when someone comments to Mrs. Olson about her crow’s feet? She replies, “Oh no dear those are laugh lines.” And the other person rains on her parade and says something to the effect that “Honey, nothing’s that funny.”
Sad.
Mrs. Olson was a fine looking woman, a bit sour and that she wore on her face, but fine looking just the same. Mrs. Olson was trying to keep a façade, most humans do, women probably more so than men. But then most women don’t attempt the obvious comb over on a thinning hairline. Throw stones? Not me, I’ve got my own thinning hairline and a face full of laugh lines. Plus I have the whole body image problem and a fear of dressing too young.
I begin cracking apart when I try to wrap my mind around what I should look like at 53. Oops! A woman isn’t supposed to reveal her age.
Bull pucky!
I worked damn hard for each one of these 53 years and I’m owning up to every one of them, thank you very much. I do regret the added cracks some of the antics of those 53 years placed on my mother’s face. She didn’t deserve my rough teen-hood. And then those twenty somethings – ack! Could we forget them, pluuueeease?
What should an “ample”, mature, fifty-something woman look like? Gladys Cravits? Marge the Manicurist, or maybe Endora (now I could go there minus the hair style) across our great nation, maturing baby booming women want to know this? I want to know this. The cosmetic ad campaigns on TV try to tell me that I can use their product and look like the lovely young American-Korean woman that walked into their clinic. If I use their product… I can return to my youthful appearance. First, the young woman in the chair is 33 not 53 (I know because she was my daughter’s best friend in grade school) and I do not want to return to my youthful appearance, I’m better looking now – thank you very much.
Don’t’ fall for the “Older women should wear short hair” mantra, shorter hair does look better on me, but as long as your hair is styled, who cares the length? It’s the up keep, maintenance, and “I give a damn about myself” attitude that makes the difference, not the hair length.
Make-up? I wear lots, oh lots, and lots of makeup, I adore eye make up, a little bronzer, and a heavy four or five coats of Mascara, and I’m good to go. Marie Osmond once said, she would never go without her kohl (I love her eyes,) personally I never would go without mascara. No Tammy Faye applications for me, but definitely at the very least a light touch of the Calista application – or yesterday’s application, depending on my energy level and time constraints.
I’m trying to embrace my size – all while losing weight. Dressing appropriately is more the problem. What – I ask, about mature, ample woman says LOUD RED AND PURPLE PAISLEY? What? Who in hell (because Hell is that only place the pattern can be manufactured in resplendent, stretchy polyester) decided large women should plaster giant, neon Oriental poppies across their ample butts? Who? And flowered tops? The flowers usually are big enough to cover one of the girls and look like full casaba melons ready to be harvested off their vine. Crap, if I have to wear that, just give me cut out day-glo pasties instead for heaven’s sake. No woman needs torpedo boobs. The fashion industry is supposed to help us, but seemingly it is only trying to sink us.
Oft times when I start writing a Talk Thursday piece I’ve no clue where I am going. This week is just the same. I was going to write about not seeing the cracks in the foundation of my second marriage and instead I write about the cracks in the façade of my appearance. Who knows?
Sith
Cele
Saturday, July 04, 2009
Talk Thursday: My Reason To Not...
I’m trying to think of what I may not, might not, have not, will not. And what would be my reason to not nots. It would have to be snakes, or maybe boredom because I’m usually up for most stuff, things, foods, and activities. Okay maybe I’m not up for all movies. My reasons to not see a specific flick are varied at best.
There are snakes, they keeps me away from Africa as well as movies. But then there was Indiana Jones and I adored him, but not his snakes. Well they weren’t his snakes because he abhors them as I.
Ben Stiller could be a reason. I have a lot of things to say on this but they are all insulting to the masses of Ben Stiller movie goers. And of course the exception to I can’t go and enjoy a Ben Stiller movie is Night at the Museum and it was good.
Blood, ooooh don’t like lots of blood in a movie anymore. I’m not sure why, I’ve never really been one for slasher movies. Of course there are guts. Guts gushing from ripped and slashed, blasted and gashed, gaping open wounds and ripped bodies. Nope, not into trailing organs as the main of supporting actor in a flick.
Violence. My husband adores violent movies. I’m sure volumes could be written about why, I will avoid reading it to keep my sanity and ignorance about why he loves violent, gory movies. He loved Starship Troopers I, II, and III. A violent movie heaped with blood, guts, and human organ trailing gore, space bug splats and gunk. And lots of nipple shots. Hmmm.
And I hate movies that insult my intelligence. Do not leave gapping whole in the plot in which a convoy of Panzers could track their way through and expect me not to see it. Have you seen Scwartzeneggers’ Collateral Damages? Big gaping wholes - aircraft carrier size holes.
In fact I want it tight, I want to have to think it though and find the plausible conclusion is supported by the facts of the movie. Don’t give me a villain that shows up ten minutes before the credits, unless you’ve supported that villain - as the villain since the opening scenes.
Movies where the characters are destine to totally embarrass themselves, and therefore me because they are too dumb to be embarrassed. Hate those movies. The embarrassment is unbearably painful to me. Ergo, I don’ t watch most popular movies.
Movies I have every reason to watch again and again… Love, Actually; The Mirror has Two Faces; Pride and Prejudice; Definitely, Maybe; N3mbers; and The Ultimate Gift. Almost anything with Sandra Bulloch, Hugh Grant, Sam Elliot (as long as he’s talking), Field of Dreams, The Postman, almost anything with Abigal Breslin (accept Little Miss Sunshine –double ugh.)
Reasons to buy it on DVD – special features and endless viewing opportunities when I’ve lost interest in the internet, all the popcorn I want at BiMart prices, herbal tea, and my jammies, Reasons to not go to the theatre, no special features, loud people with cellphones and annoying children, and the hefty price tag.
What’s your favorite movie and your reason to not…
Sith,
Cele
There are snakes, they keeps me away from Africa as well as movies. But then there was Indiana Jones and I adored him, but not his snakes. Well they weren’t his snakes because he abhors them as I.
Ben Stiller could be a reason. I have a lot of things to say on this but they are all insulting to the masses of Ben Stiller movie goers. And of course the exception to I can’t go and enjoy a Ben Stiller movie is Night at the Museum and it was good.
Blood, ooooh don’t like lots of blood in a movie anymore. I’m not sure why, I’ve never really been one for slasher movies. Of course there are guts. Guts gushing from ripped and slashed, blasted and gashed, gaping open wounds and ripped bodies. Nope, not into trailing organs as the main of supporting actor in a flick.
Violence. My husband adores violent movies. I’m sure volumes could be written about why, I will avoid reading it to keep my sanity and ignorance about why he loves violent, gory movies. He loved Starship Troopers I, II, and III. A violent movie heaped with blood, guts, and human organ trailing gore, space bug splats and gunk. And lots of nipple shots. Hmmm.
And I hate movies that insult my intelligence. Do not leave gapping whole in the plot in which a convoy of Panzers could track their way through and expect me not to see it. Have you seen Scwartzeneggers’ Collateral Damages? Big gaping wholes - aircraft carrier size holes.
In fact I want it tight, I want to have to think it though and find the plausible conclusion is supported by the facts of the movie. Don’t give me a villain that shows up ten minutes before the credits, unless you’ve supported that villain - as the villain since the opening scenes.
Movies where the characters are destine to totally embarrass themselves, and therefore me because they are too dumb to be embarrassed. Hate those movies. The embarrassment is unbearably painful to me. Ergo, I don’ t watch most popular movies.
Movies I have every reason to watch again and again… Love, Actually; The Mirror has Two Faces; Pride and Prejudice; Definitely, Maybe; N3mbers; and The Ultimate Gift. Almost anything with Sandra Bulloch, Hugh Grant, Sam Elliot (as long as he’s talking), Field of Dreams, The Postman, almost anything with Abigal Breslin (accept Little Miss Sunshine –double ugh.)
Reasons to buy it on DVD – special features and endless viewing opportunities when I’ve lost interest in the internet, all the popcorn I want at BiMart prices, herbal tea, and my jammies, Reasons to not go to the theatre, no special features, loud people with cellphones and annoying children, and the hefty price tag.
What’s your favorite movie and your reason to not…
Sith,
Cele
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Friends
Remember when you had to make friends on the playground or with the kid sitting next to you? Moving to a new school was a nightmare the day before your first class, whether you were in kindergarten or high school. Of course it was the grades inbetween that were the worst.
Once Natalie asked me, and not unkindly...this is taken totally out of context, if I have any real friends. She meant in the work-a-day world, not just on the net. I know it sounds so nasty but Natalie is dear to me and I'm pretty certain she likes me too. Today, in my adult world, I meet friends in a new way. Through the internet. Some of those dear friends, Rose, I've never met face to face - she being in PA and I, well here in paradise. Peggy, because I've not been to Colorado nor she to Oregon. And Natalie, because she has a crazy insane schedule. Other times I am blessed to meet my internet friends and family. For an hour, an evening, a day or a week spent discovering and enjoying each other.
In May, Tewkies and Maya came for an overnight visit on the second leg of the Sea to Shining Sea Tour. A delightful evening. Sadly I didn't get a picture of us together to commemorate the event and friendship.
Last night Ducky and I spent the evening indulging in pizza and new friends. I'd really been looking forward to meeting Found In Idaho, whom I oft refer to as Fii. She, her hubby B, and Big and Little Bits (it was a B family invasion... ha ha I just realized how true that is) were staying in Lincoln City, about 72 miles north of Florence. We set six o'clock as the meet time at Abby's. Had great pizza and a delightful evening of friendship. See...
I look forwards to more.
Sith,
Cele
Once Natalie asked me, and not unkindly...this is taken totally out of context, if I have any real friends. She meant in the work-a-day world, not just on the net. I know it sounds so nasty but Natalie is dear to me and I'm pretty certain she likes me too. Today, in my adult world, I meet friends in a new way. Through the internet. Some of those dear friends, Rose, I've never met face to face - she being in PA and I, well here in paradise. Peggy, because I've not been to Colorado nor she to Oregon. And Natalie, because she has a crazy insane schedule. Other times I am blessed to meet my internet friends and family. For an hour, an evening, a day or a week spent discovering and enjoying each other.
In May, Tewkies and Maya came for an overnight visit on the second leg of the Sea to Shining Sea Tour. A delightful evening. Sadly I didn't get a picture of us together to commemorate the event and friendship.
Last night Ducky and I spent the evening indulging in pizza and new friends. I'd really been looking forward to meeting Found In Idaho, whom I oft refer to as Fii. She, her hubby B, and Big and Little Bits (it was a B family invasion... ha ha I just realized how true that is) were staying in Lincoln City, about 72 miles north of Florence. We set six o'clock as the meet time at Abby's. Had great pizza and a delightful evening of friendship. See...
I look forwards to more.Sith,
Cele
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Weekend Update....
If this was Sunday night, this would be my weekend update. If I did weekendly updates. But per normal I'm a large, fluffy white wabbit without a wocket pawch. Would that make me a puka? hmmm.
Friday night I set my head to losing weight...which normally means I will eat low fat, stay away from the cookies and Australian licorice and gain weight. So after reading up I bought myself some Alli. We'll see how that goes. I also began my food journal... again, because for me that is a crucial tool of conscienous dieting.
I also set my head to getting my new cutting garden done.
See not far along after months of ... stop and go work.
The weather forecast was for high winds, Friday afternoon my friend Merlin the Windwand Man clocked 48mph winds. Saturday was forecasted to be as or more gusty*, so I wanted to get an early start.
For the first time in months, I put off my chores, put off my grocery shopping and was in the nursery by 10am buying the remainder of the blue stone for my path. I also picked up more lupin, echinacea, rudbeckia, cupid's darts, asteamaria, and speedwell (definately need more speedwell.)
And oh mi gosh what do I find in the lilly garden?
The first lilly of the season...
By two o'clock, a four foot square of solid clay broken up I was ready for a break. Sitting on the deck enjoying some lemonade we kept hearing this raucous chatter and squawking.
Poor mama Flicker was trying to keep up with the demanding mouths of her young. Through the binos we could tell there were at least two.
The old "squirrel tree"** is about one hundred feet or so from our deck (crap I don't know how far it is, it's farther than six inches.) My camera doesn't zoom in well enough.
We finished off the afternoon setting the foundation for our new solar fountain's base.
Sunday morning, wind was up early, we mixed the cement, fixed the solar pump's wire through some protective conduit, did our first pour only to find we'd threaded the wire through wrong. Can we say "Cluckster suck?"
Seriously we should be Laurel and Hardy. We worked out the wire, rethread it through and filled the base with the remainder of the cement.
Just to make sure it was still working we hooked it up.
It worked for a whole ten minutes. I don't know if the pollen clogged it up or what. But after blowing on it, knocking on the basin I couldn't get it to work.
So I picked up my toys and walked away. At least it is in, the cutting garden is closer to completion. Too kewl.
Sith,
Cele
* Saturday the high wind was 58mph, Sunday 63mph, and Monday before noon it already had a high winds of 38mph.
**I named the snag the squirrel tree years before it became a snag. For years you could watch baby squirrels venture out from their nest in the tree at the start of summer.
Friday night I set my head to losing weight...which normally means I will eat low fat, stay away from the cookies and Australian licorice and gain weight. So after reading up I bought myself some Alli. We'll see how that goes. I also began my food journal... again, because for me that is a crucial tool of conscienous dieting.
I also set my head to getting my new cutting garden done.
See not far along after months of ... stop and go work.
The weather forecast was for high winds, Friday afternoon my friend Merlin the Windwand Man clocked 48mph winds. Saturday was forecasted to be as or more gusty*, so I wanted to get an early start.
For the first time in months, I put off my chores, put off my grocery shopping and was in the nursery by 10am buying the remainder of the blue stone for my path. I also picked up more lupin, echinacea, rudbeckia, cupid's darts, asteamaria, and speedwell (definately need more speedwell.)
And oh mi gosh what do I find in the lilly garden?The first lilly of the season...
By two o'clock, a four foot square of solid clay broken up I was ready for a break. Sitting on the deck enjoying some lemonade we kept hearing this raucous chatter and squawking.
Poor mama Flicker was trying to keep up with the demanding mouths of her young. Through the binos we could tell there were at least two.
The old "squirrel tree"** is about one hundred feet or so from our deck (crap I don't know how far it is, it's farther than six inches.) My camera doesn't zoom in well enough.We finished off the afternoon setting the foundation for our new solar fountain's base.
Sunday morning, wind was up early, we mixed the cement, fixed the solar pump's wire through some protective conduit, did our first pour only to find we'd threaded the wire through wrong. Can we say "Cluckster suck?"
Seriously we should be Laurel and Hardy. We worked out the wire, rethread it through and filled the base with the remainder of the cement.Just to make sure it was still working we hooked it up.
It worked for a whole ten minutes. I don't know if the pollen clogged it up or what. But after blowing on it, knocking on the basin I couldn't get it to work.So I picked up my toys and walked away. At least it is in, the cutting garden is closer to completion. Too kewl.
Sith,
Cele
* Saturday the high wind was 58mph, Sunday 63mph, and Monday before noon it already had a high winds of 38mph.
**I named the snag the squirrel tree years before it became a snag. For years you could watch baby squirrels venture out from their nest in the tree at the start of summer.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Talk Thursday: Attitude Adjustment
Probably, everyone needs an attitude adjustment, but unless your mom and dad sat you down and pointed it out, most of us don’t notice just what adjustments need made. To me life is a continual progression of changes, and errrr, attitude adjustments.
Apparently I use to be a negative personality. My second husband pointed this out to me over two decades ago. I was pretty stunned. What, me negative? Worse I wasn’t just negative, but I was quick to make that negativity known with rapidly offered comments that I didn’t like a something and someone, or other some things.
Yes, even I had noted this distasteful quirk in my demeanor. Not that I needed to comment, not that anyone wanted to know… It was just, me. Not a very pleasant part either.
So I changed. Yes, there are people I don’t care for, there are things I don’t enjoy, but unless the conversation is deeper and more one on one, I keep my thoughts to myself. Most of the time my goal is to leave people smiling, loved, and happy.
On the other hand I am a bit of a homebody and yes, a loner so I don’t offend too many people with the lingering remnants of me past.
So I open my arms to you. Welcome you into my life, my home, and my heart. Oh and for Fii – WARNING - the weather is for sunshine next week – that means wind somewhere between 10 and 2… a lot of wind. And if it gets too hot in the valley (three days in a row) look for fog. Have a great vacation. I look forward to seeing you Wednesday.
Sith,
Cele
Apparently I use to be a negative personality. My second husband pointed this out to me over two decades ago. I was pretty stunned. What, me negative? Worse I wasn’t just negative, but I was quick to make that negativity known with rapidly offered comments that I didn’t like a something and someone, or other some things.
Yes, even I had noted this distasteful quirk in my demeanor. Not that I needed to comment, not that anyone wanted to know… It was just, me. Not a very pleasant part either.
So I changed. Yes, there are people I don’t care for, there are things I don’t enjoy, but unless the conversation is deeper and more one on one, I keep my thoughts to myself. Most of the time my goal is to leave people smiling, loved, and happy.
On the other hand I am a bit of a homebody and yes, a loner so I don’t offend too many people with the lingering remnants of me past.
So I open my arms to you. Welcome you into my life, my home, and my heart. Oh and for Fii – WARNING - the weather is for sunshine next week – that means wind somewhere between 10 and 2… a lot of wind. And if it gets too hot in the valley (three days in a row) look for fog. Have a great vacation. I look forward to seeing you Wednesday.
Sith,
Cele
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Well Steve, now that you mention it...
I had never watched ice carving. The finished product has long enchanted me. And then Sunday morning as we waited for the auction to begin on the final day of the 2009 Oregon Divisional Chainsaw Sculping Championships they announced they were having an ice carving demonstrations. 
First he explained the three day long process of freezing the 300 pound block of ice. Most ice has cloudy deposits locked inside. This he explained was because the water was still as it froze. 
Instead of allowing the water to remain seditary in the process, the water is continually slow circulated leaving a clear block of ice. Except for one small pocket of cloud which they remove and fill will water for the final freeze 
I tried to use my video function, okay I used my video function but it was a fuzzy video and I won't make you suffer.
I'll just let you see his steps. But it was really cool watching the chainsaw throw ice all over in a spray as he divided the wings. His sweeping arcs as he carved the neck. Amazing.
And then he poured water all over it and was done.
Sith,
Cele
Monday, June 22, 2009
Wood Chips
Oh dear bloggees, 
I am falling behind. I still owe you a Talk Thursday, but today…yes, the Monday after it’s time for the Oregon Chainsaw Sculpting Championships in Reedsport. An annual Father’s Day weekend event that Ducky and I never miss.
I am falling behind. I still owe you a Talk Thursday, but today…yes, the Monday after it’s time for the Oregon Chainsaw Sculpting Championships in Reedsport. An annual Father’s Day weekend event that Ducky and I never miss.Officially one hundred and fifty years old on February 14th, Oregon celebrates her 150th birthday all year long. This year’s extreme art extravaganza focused on that sesquicentennial milestone.
The Oregon Chainsaw Sculpting Championships features around 20 chainsaw artist who travel the world competing in the Echo Cup Challenge. Chainsaw artist from not only across the States,
but also Australia, England, Japan, Germany, and Sweden vie for the first leg’s points. 
This year there were fewer moose, a lot of bears, and a few nautical themed pieces, like Oregon’s Cape Blanco (pronounced Blank-0) Lighthouse.
The majority of main event pieces in the competition drew from a series of Oregon’s historical points
A few whimsical pieces
And I think this is my favorite main event piece.
Each morning the carvers are challenged to a quick carve at 10:30. For forty five minutes they carve what ever the wood blank has told their artist eye is captured in side.
Each evening at 5:30 the pieces are auctioned off. It’s a win, win, win situation for the chainsaw artist, the buyers, and the Reedsport / Winchester Bay Chamber of Commerce.
Father’s Day Weekend, next year, be there. Ducky and I will be.
Sith,
Cele
The majority of main event pieces in the competition drew from a series of Oregon’s historical points
A few whimsical pieces
And I think this is my favorite main event piece.
Each morning the carvers are challenged to a quick carve at 10:30. For forty five minutes they carve what ever the wood blank has told their artist eye is captured in side.
Each evening at 5:30 the pieces are auctioned off. It’s a win, win, win situation for the chainsaw artist, the buyers, and the Reedsport / Winchester Bay Chamber of Commerce.
Father’s Day Weekend, next year, be there. Ducky and I will be.
Sith,
Cele
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Random Things with photos
And oh look, it’s eleven. I decided to start doing Photo Friday to give me another inspiration for blogging each week. Well wouldn’t you know, 
they seem to always have topics I can't figure out. That is unless I shoot cars, car parts, and more cars. But because of Photo Friday it made me start carrying around my camera with me. Which lead to several pictures taken while I was out making sales calls last week in old town Florence.
I was able to spend a good portion of last Sunday working on my new cutting garden.
It is slow going, the new solar fountain hasn’t been put into place, awaiting Ducky to make a pad to secure it against the wind and … 
thieves.
In the mean time Ducky’s Lily garden totally rocks. No lilies are blooming yet, that should happen in July and August, but the lupin are most beautimous. Pictures of those tomorrow. Today you get last weekend’s pictures of two of my three chain trees.
they seem to always have topics I can't figure out. That is unless I shoot cars, car parts, and more cars. But because of Photo Friday it made me start carrying around my camera with me. Which lead to several pictures taken while I was out making sales calls last week in old town Florence.I was able to spend a good portion of last Sunday working on my new cutting garden.
It is slow going, the new solar fountain hasn’t been put into place, awaiting Ducky to make a pad to secure it against the wind and … 
thieves.In the mean time Ducky’s Lily garden totally rocks. No lilies are blooming yet, that should happen in July and August, but the lupin are most beautimous. Pictures of those tomorrow. Today you get last weekend’s pictures of two of my three chain trees.
And my mother's wild iris to enjoy
Sith,
Cele
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Talk Thursday: I’m Late
My mother always taught me it is socially appropriate to arrive five minutes late. Which is fine for say pregnancy, a class reunion, baby showers, private parties, but not appropriate for say, Thursday night dinner. Mom. Just saying.
My mom is always on time for Thursday night dinner with the girls, except when she has to pick up my grandmother. Which is every other Thursday night (the night we meet) because at the age of almost ninety, my grandmother has no concept of time and has usually had too rousing a day at her pinochle club. Hey, it happens.
Headline: Pride goes before the fall.
Finding a parking space on an early fall evening in Old Town isn’t an easy feat. My grand mother suffers from advanced osteoporosis and, while she can walk, doesn’t walk far well. So imagine my delight to arrive for our 6pm reservation at the Waterfront Depoe (the best restaurant in Old Town Florence, heck in Florence) and find not one, but two parking spaces being vacated. I stood in one parking space and watched the second being filled, hoping, watching, fingers crossed that they’d soon show so they could park within a reasonable walking distance for my grandmother. But then a car (not considering my fat ass any sort of an opponent) forced me back on to the sidewalk and the space was gone.
Ten minutes later, as I worry our reservation was gone, a third space opened and yet still no mom and grandmother. In the long run (20 minutes after our reservation) they show up, I’d just watched the fourth and fifth spots open and instantaneously fill up. Being slightly peeved I comment, with probably abruptness, that had they been CLOSE to being on time they’d have been able to park near the restaurant, instead of mom having to drop grandma off at the curb and then driving a block and a half away for a parking spot. My standing in front of the community’s most popular restaurant reminiscent of a rejected, stood up wallflower on date night is of no consequence. They’re probably thinking I’d been use to it.
Flash forward two weeks. It’s fifteen minutes before I leave for our Thursday night girls dinner out and I’m at work. The phone rings – a big client calls. Calls again, vacillating whether I know how to spend her dollars. And then calls again. A fourth call and $1900 order later I arrive at the restaurant, ten minutes late, to hear my grandmother tell me, if being on time is so important to me, I should try being on time. Note she was sitting nice and cozy in the booth of a local, not too busy – there is always parking in the front –Mexican restaurant, discussing the weather with my mother.
I tell ya, being righteously peeved comes back and bites me in the considerably large butt every single time.
Sith,
Cele
My mom is always on time for Thursday night dinner with the girls, except when she has to pick up my grandmother. Which is every other Thursday night (the night we meet) because at the age of almost ninety, my grandmother has no concept of time and has usually had too rousing a day at her pinochle club. Hey, it happens.
Headline: Pride goes before the fall.
Finding a parking space on an early fall evening in Old Town isn’t an easy feat. My grand mother suffers from advanced osteoporosis and, while she can walk, doesn’t walk far well. So imagine my delight to arrive for our 6pm reservation at the Waterfront Depoe (the best restaurant in Old Town Florence, heck in Florence) and find not one, but two parking spaces being vacated. I stood in one parking space and watched the second being filled, hoping, watching, fingers crossed that they’d soon show so they could park within a reasonable walking distance for my grandmother. But then a car (not considering my fat ass any sort of an opponent) forced me back on to the sidewalk and the space was gone.
Ten minutes later, as I worry our reservation was gone, a third space opened and yet still no mom and grandmother. In the long run (20 minutes after our reservation) they show up, I’d just watched the fourth and fifth spots open and instantaneously fill up. Being slightly peeved I comment, with probably abruptness, that had they been CLOSE to being on time they’d have been able to park near the restaurant, instead of mom having to drop grandma off at the curb and then driving a block and a half away for a parking spot. My standing in front of the community’s most popular restaurant reminiscent of a rejected, stood up wallflower on date night is of no consequence. They’re probably thinking I’d been use to it.
Flash forward two weeks. It’s fifteen minutes before I leave for our Thursday night girls dinner out and I’m at work. The phone rings – a big client calls. Calls again, vacillating whether I know how to spend her dollars. And then calls again. A fourth call and $1900 order later I arrive at the restaurant, ten minutes late, to hear my grandmother tell me, if being on time is so important to me, I should try being on time. Note she was sitting nice and cozy in the booth of a local, not too busy – there is always parking in the front –Mexican restaurant, discussing the weather with my mother.
I tell ya, being righteously peeved comes back and bites me in the considerably large butt every single time.
Sith,
Cele
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Talk Thursday: The Psychology of Running...
...Demented if you ask me, which you didn’t but there you have it all the same.
Sprint. I ask, "Where is the snake?"
Jog. Have you seen what that does to the gravitational pull of the breast? No, thanks.
Run. By choice? You’re insane.
Marathon. Masochism.
I don’t run, by now you’ve probably figured that out. There was a time once when wanted to run, like the wind, on the beach, fleet of foot. I envied those whom I saw flying across the hard pack sand. I tried it once and ran the mile from the North Jetty to Driftwood Shores and then walked back. It was exhilarating the endorphins must have kicked in fairly fast, because I don’t even remember being winded.
The next morning I wasn’t too sore so I tried to do it again. Had this been in the day of cellphones I might have tried calling 911 it was that terrifying and debilitating. I couldn’t breathe, my leg muscles contorted in agonizing spasms, and I may even have lost consciousness once or twice and that was in the parking lot. On the beach I couldn’t seem to find a rhythm, two left feet plodded - thunk thunk th-thump in the hard pack, or maybe that was my heart pounding in my chest. Whatever. The sea lions heartily laughed in the surf. Sand dabs move faster.
The time has long since past where I’ve acknowledged that once I’m finished with a hobby (sport) – it is for life. I thrived on back packing and hiking all through Girl Scouts. I was the first in our family to water ski. Rollerskating? Remind me to tell you my Roller Derby story sometime. Surfing was a budding passion in high school until we moved to Oregon. I once dreamt of being a dancer and took classes for years. I pumped iron like a religious maniac, six days a week, two hours a day, for several years. I survived parasailing for a whole marriage. Running lasted a whole day and fifty yards. Where’s the psychology in that?
Sith,
Cele
Sprint. I ask, "Where is the snake?"
Jog. Have you seen what that does to the gravitational pull of the breast? No, thanks.
Run. By choice? You’re insane.
Marathon. Masochism.
I don’t run, by now you’ve probably figured that out. There was a time once when wanted to run, like the wind, on the beach, fleet of foot. I envied those whom I saw flying across the hard pack sand. I tried it once and ran the mile from the North Jetty to Driftwood Shores and then walked back. It was exhilarating the endorphins must have kicked in fairly fast, because I don’t even remember being winded.
The next morning I wasn’t too sore so I tried to do it again. Had this been in the day of cellphones I might have tried calling 911 it was that terrifying and debilitating. I couldn’t breathe, my leg muscles contorted in agonizing spasms, and I may even have lost consciousness once or twice and that was in the parking lot. On the beach I couldn’t seem to find a rhythm, two left feet plodded - thunk thunk th-thump in the hard pack, or maybe that was my heart pounding in my chest. Whatever. The sea lions heartily laughed in the surf. Sand dabs move faster.
The time has long since past where I’ve acknowledged that once I’m finished with a hobby (sport) – it is for life. I thrived on back packing and hiking all through Girl Scouts. I was the first in our family to water ski. Rollerskating? Remind me to tell you my Roller Derby story sometime. Surfing was a budding passion in high school until we moved to Oregon. I once dreamt of being a dancer and took classes for years. I pumped iron like a religious maniac, six days a week, two hours a day, for several years. I survived parasailing for a whole marriage. Running lasted a whole day and fifty yards. Where’s the psychology in that?
Sith,
Cele
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Talk Thursday – Saying Goodbye
I’ve been trying to remember how long Talk Thursday has been around, I’m fairly certain it’s about two years. Sacred Sister enlisted JA and I to play along with her and well that is the beginning. Then Sacred (my Valley Sista Surfer Chickie) moved on. Sad, I miss her.
Just as she was saying Adieu, Angie and then Sid were signing on. Sid recruited Eddie, Lyn Blossum, and Jenniphur and then JA was gone. Sadly we’ve not been able to recruit more people who want to share and address a topic each week. Please leave me a message if you’re interested… because I’m fairly certain we’re interested in you.
Now Angie is leaving us for her life. I hate when I come second to real life. Bummer dude. She’ll be missed, but the truth is she’s been saying good-bye for a while now. A single mom with a burgeoning life – that frankly, calls. I understand. Good luck and bonne vie, bonne sante, bons souhaits. No, I don’t speak French.
Strangely, yesterday afternoon I over heard a conversation being held loudly via cellphone that somewhat is connected to the topic; it might ring eerily familiar to events in your own past, it does in mine. To paraphrase what I heard
“I was so over her and going to break up, but she broke up with me first. I was devastated. I mean she dumped me, I was depressed for a good three weeks.”
Now what is wrong with this “Saying Goodbye” senario? It isn’t about the splitting up, it isn’t about being “so over” it is about being dumped.
Oh, I know the dumped end of breaking up. I think I broke up with boyfriends a whole three times, maybe four, could Keith get back to me on that? Scott was pretty pissed by my 14 year old daughter beat his ass at chess that I don’t think he noticed the break up amid his temper tantrum. When I realized Steve was in actuality a stalker, who – yes folks, got that close to me, called me damaged goods for months. Being in radio isn’t without its draw backs…who needs a possessive stalker anyway? And then there was Greg. Damn that is the one that hurt, but I couldn’t take his drug problem around my daughter. As for all the rest they dumped me.
Dumping is nothing new to me, boy friends, girl friends, husbands – been there, done that – got the diploma. For all the dumping I am stronger, clearer minded, and self-dependent. Saying Good-bye isn’t an end, it is a new beginning, for you, for me, for those who move to new paths. For those moving into this path, welcome; to those moving on good luck.
After all life is about saying “Hello,” and “Good-bye.”
Sith,
Cele
Just as she was saying Adieu, Angie and then Sid were signing on. Sid recruited Eddie, Lyn Blossum, and Jenniphur and then JA was gone. Sadly we’ve not been able to recruit more people who want to share and address a topic each week. Please leave me a message if you’re interested… because I’m fairly certain we’re interested in you.
Now Angie is leaving us for her life. I hate when I come second to real life. Bummer dude. She’ll be missed, but the truth is she’s been saying good-bye for a while now. A single mom with a burgeoning life – that frankly, calls. I understand. Good luck and bonne vie, bonne sante, bons souhaits. No, I don’t speak French.
Strangely, yesterday afternoon I over heard a conversation being held loudly via cellphone that somewhat is connected to the topic; it might ring eerily familiar to events in your own past, it does in mine. To paraphrase what I heard
“I was so over her and going to break up, but she broke up with me first. I was devastated. I mean she dumped me, I was depressed for a good three weeks.”
Now what is wrong with this “Saying Goodbye” senario? It isn’t about the splitting up, it isn’t about being “so over” it is about being dumped.
Oh, I know the dumped end of breaking up. I think I broke up with boyfriends a whole three times, maybe four, could Keith get back to me on that? Scott was pretty pissed by my 14 year old daughter beat his ass at chess that I don’t think he noticed the break up amid his temper tantrum. When I realized Steve was in actuality a stalker, who – yes folks, got that close to me, called me damaged goods for months. Being in radio isn’t without its draw backs…who needs a possessive stalker anyway? And then there was Greg. Damn that is the one that hurt, but I couldn’t take his drug problem around my daughter. As for all the rest they dumped me.
Dumping is nothing new to me, boy friends, girl friends, husbands – been there, done that – got the diploma. For all the dumping I am stronger, clearer minded, and self-dependent. Saying Good-bye isn’t an end, it is a new beginning, for you, for me, for those who move to new paths. For those moving into this path, welcome; to those moving on good luck.
After all life is about saying “Hello,” and “Good-bye.”
Sith,
Cele
Monday, May 25, 2009
Letters From Home – Memorial Day 2009
While the majority of Americans enjoy a three-day weekend, I work – radio stops for no one, accept for the random “Act of God – Mother Nature.” It’s not a three day vacation most of our nation’s (or any nation’s) armed servicemen.
Those who know me even the smallest amount, know I am pretty much against war. It doesn’t mean I don’t know that at times war is a necessary evil – WWII is the perfect example. But while we were helping one people we were doing harm to some of our own through prejudice and fear.
"The only thing we have to fear is fear it'self - nameless, unreasoning, unjustified, terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance." FDR upon his first inauguration.
I am not the only Quaker who thinks this way, not the only American, not the only human. But I do honor our veterans, those who have joined our armed forces for whatever belief, reason, or cause. I honor you. I honor your memory. I honor the comforts and loves you left behind to do what you thought what right. I honor you.
My father served. My brothers have both served; the youngest will retire after twenty plus years of service to the Air Force – all over the world, in two years.
My father joined to escape a nowhere life of poverty and violence. My younger brother, well I’m not sure why he joined. And my youngest brother found a world wide traveling life that has taken him to the highest ranks of the enlisted. For whatever reason they joined, had war called I’m sure they would have done what they signed up to do. I know Buddy has. I honor him.
This morning I play songs that honor the sacrifices of our soldiers, citizen soldiers, those who give what I haven’t.
Those who know me even the smallest amount, know I am pretty much against war. It doesn’t mean I don’t know that at times war is a necessary evil – WWII is the perfect example. But while we were helping one people we were doing harm to some of our own through prejudice and fear.
"The only thing we have to fear is fear it'self - nameless, unreasoning, unjustified, terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance." FDR upon his first inauguration.
I am not the only Quaker who thinks this way, not the only American, not the only human. But I do honor our veterans, those who have joined our armed forces for whatever belief, reason, or cause. I honor you. I honor your memory. I honor the comforts and loves you left behind to do what you thought what right. I honor you.
My father served. My brothers have both served; the youngest will retire after twenty plus years of service to the Air Force – all over the world, in two years.
My father joined to escape a nowhere life of poverty and violence. My younger brother, well I’m not sure why he joined. And my youngest brother found a world wide traveling life that has taken him to the highest ranks of the enlisted. For whatever reason they joined, had war called I’m sure they would have done what they signed up to do. I know Buddy has. I honor him.This morning I play songs that honor the sacrifices of our soldiers, citizen soldiers, those who give what I haven’t.
Letters From Home – John Michael Montgomery
I hold it up and show my buddies,
I hold it up and show my buddies,
Like we ain’t scared and our boots ain’t muddy, and they all laugh,
Like there’s something funny bout’ the way I talk,
When I say: "Mama sends her best y’all"
I fold it up an' put it in my shirt,
Pick up my gun an' get back to work
An' it keeps me driving me on,
Waiting on letters from home.
written by: David Lee and Tony Lane
Florence has erected a Veteran’s Memorial Wall in the new Veteran’s Memorial Park on the Siuslaw River. It is simple, even stark, and somehow peaceful. My mom, Ducky and I have purchased three bricks to honor my father and bros.
This weekend I took Burp down where he made
etchings of each brick Furby brick and one that was purchased in the memory of his other great grandfather, who until that moment I’d not known had served in India. Hmmm. We took an extra moment to remember my father and discuss a story of his from his stint in Panama. Now Burp wants to go see a Panther.
Having lived during the Viet Nam era I remember the revulsion that greeted our veterans when they returned answering a call from our country’s leaders. I am heart broke at the hatred they found upon their return home. I mourn the loss of all that they were. I revile the old men who sat cozy in their air-conditioned offices, thousands of miles away from harm, making decisions that kept then safe while sending tens of thousands of men and women to their deaths for oil and greed.
“We have met the enemy, and he is us.” Pogo
I sincerely hope we have learned lessons by revisiting our own personal history. I hope that despite what our personal beliefs we honor our veterans.
To those who serve,
Thank you,
Cele
written by: David Lee and Tony Lane
Florence has erected a Veteran’s Memorial Wall in the new Veteran’s Memorial Park on the Siuslaw River. It is simple, even stark, and somehow peaceful. My mom, Ducky and I have purchased three bricks to honor my father and bros.
This weekend I took Burp down where he made
etchings of each brick Furby brick and one that was purchased in the memory of his other great grandfather, who until that moment I’d not known had served in India. Hmmm. We took an extra moment to remember my father and discuss a story of his from his stint in Panama. Now Burp wants to go see a Panther.Having lived during the Viet Nam era I remember the revulsion that greeted our veterans when they returned answering a call from our country’s leaders. I am heart broke at the hatred they found upon their return home. I mourn the loss of all that they were. I revile the old men who sat cozy in their air-conditioned offices, thousands of miles away from harm, making decisions that kept then safe while sending tens of thousands of men and women to their deaths for oil and greed.
“We have met the enemy, and he is us.” Pogo
I sincerely hope we have learned lessons by revisiting our own personal history. I hope that despite what our personal beliefs we honor our veterans.
To those who serve,
Thank you,
Cele
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Photo Friday - Shiny
I know later I'm going to have this "Ah, Ha!" moment about what picture I should have posted. For now I am stumped and the lighting sucks. And it's sunny. pfft!
The color of this car can only be described as "Vesuvius". It was all pretty and shiny, and I really, really wanted to take it home. I think Ducky would have noticed had I put it in my pocket.
Sith,
Cele
Friday, May 22, 2009
Talk Thursday: What It Is…
It is everything, it is nothing, it is the past, and it is the future. Most of all it is whatever I want it to be, what ever I make it.
It is the want to be thinner, as someone once said, “There is a skinny person inside of me wanting to get out.” Yes, I am fat. It was not by choice, but maybe it was by karma – and those pesky little jeans. All those times, in my thinner years, I noticed someone’s wide butt, cellulite legs, a paunch and thought, “I won’t ever let myself become that big.” Darn, darn, darn now I own them all. I did not say when I grow up I want to be lumpy and sad, but here I am. Maybe what it is …is young, thin arrogance. Maybe it is ignorance, I definitely know it is seemingly impossible to be rid of.
It is the wish to be kinder. I have an opinion, despite Madonna’s mantra that everyone is entitled to her opinion, not everyone needs to know mine. Those self-abusive enough will stop by my blog, read three paragraphs and then run in the opposite direction without leaving a comment. I don’t need to slash and burn with my words, but I do need to give my compassion, love, and patience to those who are bruised and in need; to become a better person through the osmosis of the best of my spiritual family. What it is should be easy.
It is a wish to share the best of me with those I love and who love me. To accept and love them for their faults and who they are, not who I want them to become. To remember that often what I dislike in others are the very things that can be found within myself. What it is …is the conscious decision to rebuff and countermand hatred and disparity.
What it is, is what I make it. It is what ever you make it. I will not harbor anger over what I alone cannot change, but I will patiently work to change injustices, wrongs, and prejudices one person at a time. It takes one person, one step, one smile to open the door to the next. What it is, is something I can do with the thought in mind that I too can change the wrongs and misjudgments inside of me.
Sith,
Cele
It is the want to be thinner, as someone once said, “There is a skinny person inside of me wanting to get out.” Yes, I am fat. It was not by choice, but maybe it was by karma – and those pesky little jeans. All those times, in my thinner years, I noticed someone’s wide butt, cellulite legs, a paunch and thought, “I won’t ever let myself become that big.” Darn, darn, darn now I own them all. I did not say when I grow up I want to be lumpy and sad, but here I am. Maybe what it is …is young, thin arrogance. Maybe it is ignorance, I definitely know it is seemingly impossible to be rid of.
It is the wish to be kinder. I have an opinion, despite Madonna’s mantra that everyone is entitled to her opinion, not everyone needs to know mine. Those self-abusive enough will stop by my blog, read three paragraphs and then run in the opposite direction without leaving a comment. I don’t need to slash and burn with my words, but I do need to give my compassion, love, and patience to those who are bruised and in need; to become a better person through the osmosis of the best of my spiritual family. What it is should be easy.
It is a wish to share the best of me with those I love and who love me. To accept and love them for their faults and who they are, not who I want them to become. To remember that often what I dislike in others are the very things that can be found within myself. What it is …is the conscious decision to rebuff and countermand hatred and disparity.
What it is, is what I make it. It is what ever you make it. I will not harbor anger over what I alone cannot change, but I will patiently work to change injustices, wrongs, and prejudices one person at a time. It takes one person, one step, one smile to open the door to the next. What it is, is something I can do with the thought in mind that I too can change the wrongs and misjudgments inside of me.
Sith,
Cele
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Rhododendron Festival – 2009 Pacific Wonderland
I live in heaven, I love where I live, I live where I love. Florence is a small town to most, sometimes too big to me, but it offers all I want. And my husband is willing to commute eighty miles each way to work. Thank goodness.
On the third full weekend each May Florence celebrates our
native Macrophyllium – Rhododendrons.
And some not so native, but beautiful all the same.
We do this with an annual festival that is three days of sun (oh please lord), classic cars, and a parade.
My job is to run all over town on Saturday of the festival, interview people, and remind everyone of the sights they don’t want to miss, bring them the sounds of what they are missing, and remind them to cross traffic on Highway 126 at signaled
intersections. In Florence there are only four.
This year I had a two hour break mid day so we started by visiting the car show.
Over four hundred entered this year’s event at Three Rivers Casino. What a cluster !&#! of a traffic jam… but the cars were divine.
Ducky and I have a Rhody tradition.
After I get off work Saturday afternoon… usually around 6:30, we go to old town Florence and watch KCST’s Classic Car Cruise.
After we sit and watch the first two or three circuits the cars make, Ducky and I begin walking.
Now, true Florence is not large,
Old Town is even smaller, but it makes for a nice walk, we stop and chat with old friends, 
watch the cars and make our way to the west end of Bay street for a Mocha. Then we walk all the way to the east end of Bay Street (wow, three blocks) and have an elephant ear from the carnival and find a bench on the boardwalk and enjoy the evening.
For the week or so before Rhody Festival I write a parade script. Spend the majority of Sunday of Rhody Weekend broadcasting said script in all its hometown Rhody glory.
BTW, it’s really hard to take pictures while you’re broadcasting the parade.
And then I go home and crash.
I’m at the crashing part.
Sith,
Cele
PS just 363 days until Rhododendron Festival is here (May 22nd – 24th 2010.)
On the third full weekend each May Florence celebrates our
native Macrophyllium – Rhododendrons.And some not so native, but beautiful all the same.
We do this with an annual festival that is three days of sun (oh please lord), classic cars, and a parade.
My job is to run all over town on Saturday of the festival, interview people, and remind everyone of the sights they don’t want to miss, bring them the sounds of what they are missing, and remind them to cross traffic on Highway 126 at signaled
intersections. In Florence there are only four.This year I had a two hour break mid day so we started by visiting the car show.
Over four hundred entered this year’s event at Three Rivers Casino. What a cluster !&#! of a traffic jam… but the cars were divine.
Ducky and I have a Rhody tradition.
After I get off work Saturday afternoon… usually around 6:30, we go to old town Florence and watch KCST’s Classic Car Cruise.After we sit and watch the first two or three circuits the cars make, Ducky and I begin walking.
Now, true Florence is not large,
Old Town is even smaller, but it makes for a nice walk, we stop and chat with old friends, 
watch the cars and make our way to the west end of Bay street for a Mocha. Then we walk all the way to the east end of Bay Street (wow, three blocks) and have an elephant ear from the carnival and find a bench on the boardwalk and enjoy the evening.For the week or so before Rhody Festival I write a parade script. Spend the majority of Sunday of Rhody Weekend broadcasting said script in all its hometown Rhody glory.
BTW, it’s really hard to take pictures while you’re broadcasting the parade.
And then I go home and crash.
I’m at the crashing part.
Sith,
Cele
PS just 363 days until Rhododendron Festival is here (May 22nd – 24th 2010.)
Friday, May 15, 2009
Photo Friday - 2009 Self Portrait
I have been thinking about participating in Photo Friday for a while. Steve always post some kewl pictures. Then I found out my new friend Maya at A Day In The Life does Photo Friday (psst her artistry scares me.) But Tewkes' (honey you may run, but the name sticks) always does Two Things Photo (her eye boggles my mind, I wish I had a smigeon of her talent) and she does 100 Strangers which is a lot more than photography. They all have the big, kewl cameras, I've got just my little Fugi thingie, and my Pentax (if we waited for me to develop film it we'd be past the second coming,) but I want to play.
I'm still contemplating Two Things.
My first Friday Photo: 2009 Self Portrait
At first I wasn't happy, and then I thought about the textures behind the glass, the obfusticated quality it lent the "portrait." Kewl, what lies underneath.
I'm still contemplating Two Things.
My first Friday Photo: 2009 Self Portrait
At first I wasn't happy, and then I thought about the textures behind the glass, the obfusticated quality it lent the "portrait." Kewl, what lies underneath.
Cele
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Talk Thursday: I Never Thought I’d Be….
This incredibly late… on just about everything. The older I get it seems the less adaptable I have become. Eight months ago… or so my work schedule changed by only 90 minutes, but I now seem to have little time for blogging. Throw in a community festival or three, Home and Garden Show, new garden, Radio Auction, and damn where did the time go? I should be a large white rabbit with a pocket watch and spinning head, ushering little girls out of the garden who want to dine on my mushrooms and new blooms. But again darn I was late and the rabbit’s gone.
I use to read my growing length of favorite blogs, comment, because you know me, I have to put my four bits worth in. Come home peruse my favs again and yeah more comments. Now I barely get my make up on in the morning, purse loaded with lunch and my bed made before I am almost late for work. I might get to check my blogs again before Ducky gets home from work, but usually it’s not until after dinner. Argh.
Age is not really a problem for me, accept the days, months, years, crap decades are flying by. I look forward to what awaits me on other plans of existence, but I am enjoying all the things here. Not that I get to choose the time I move on, but I’d like long enough minutes, hours, days, weeks, and yes, years to savor the moments and people. Savor like a wonderful wine or chocolate that you hold on your tongue to take in every little flavor bud and relish it with zeal.
This was specifically brought home this morning and last night. I had wonderful visitors, two delightful people I would love to tuck in my pocket and keep forever. But our visit was so fleeting, (insert heavy hearted sigh) sadly I have not one little picture of their visit. So Janet and Maya will have to come back soon. I need pictures. Delightful, wonderous, cheerful, funny people I want to savor. And damn, time was short and fleeting. I hope they come back soon.
Sith, (Scottish Gaelic word for peace) (Irish Gaelic for Banshee that fits too I hear)
Cele
PS if you think this isn't late.... again it's last week's topic. (shakes head in shame and disgust)
I use to read my growing length of favorite blogs, comment, because you know me, I have to put my four bits worth in. Come home peruse my favs again and yeah more comments. Now I barely get my make up on in the morning, purse loaded with lunch and my bed made before I am almost late for work. I might get to check my blogs again before Ducky gets home from work, but usually it’s not until after dinner. Argh.
Age is not really a problem for me, accept the days, months, years, crap decades are flying by. I look forward to what awaits me on other plans of existence, but I am enjoying all the things here. Not that I get to choose the time I move on, but I’d like long enough minutes, hours, days, weeks, and yes, years to savor the moments and people. Savor like a wonderful wine or chocolate that you hold on your tongue to take in every little flavor bud and relish it with zeal.
This was specifically brought home this morning and last night. I had wonderful visitors, two delightful people I would love to tuck in my pocket and keep forever. But our visit was so fleeting, (insert heavy hearted sigh) sadly I have not one little picture of their visit. So Janet and Maya will have to come back soon. I need pictures. Delightful, wonderous, cheerful, funny people I want to savor. And damn, time was short and fleeting. I hope they come back soon.
Sith, (Scottish Gaelic word for peace) (Irish Gaelic for Banshee that fits too I hear)
Cele
PS if you think this isn't late.... again it's last week's topic. (shakes head in shame and disgust)
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Talk Thursday – We All Make Mistakes
Boy, am I late. I don’t seem to have any energy. Is that the problem with my TT post? No, that would just be an excuse. Thing is I have no energy. What I do have aplenty is fodder for last week’s topic.
We do all make mistakes; one of my mantras is “A mistake is worth making if you learn from it” which goes right into my other two tenets of life 1) Where we’ve been is who we are and 2) It’s all about the journey. Circular logic.
When I was young, I thought I was always right when the reality, as I see it now, is I was right about thirty percent of the time, with the ratio going up daily dependant on the lessons learned and retained. I learn through my mistakes- made many, many times over. On the other hand my daughter Psam seemingly learns from my mistakes; Misery learns just like me-fall on my butt time and again until the lesson is pounded in. I’ve always try to remember the mistakes I made and realize that my girls are where I have been, let them learn. Thing is they are learning much better than I ever did.
I have always given with my whole heart. My father would point out this friend or that who he felt was “using me.” I never truly understood, I still don’t, and I’m thinking I never will. Am I naïve? Could be. I want to think that people are as honest and open with me as I am with them. And yet, even I know that is somewhat fool hearted. I want to see the best in people, the honest endeavors, the pure emotions and revelations because that is what I want others to see in me. When I find myself motivated by something less than pure I fall in my own esteem. Honesty has become a personal benchmark in my life and personal growth.
I have also come to value friends more than maybe I had in the past. I’ve always made friends quickly, but they weren’t always fast friends. Now I know quality in my friends is far more important than quantity. My pages at FaceBook and MySpace are becoming a reflection of my importance in the word and meaning of friend. I idon’t just say yes to a “Make me your friend request. Especially on FaceBook when you see my friend listed, they are my friend. Maybe in a different degree from one to the next, but they are people I have met, people I have spent time with, people I value with my heart. Some are new friends, some are old and endearing friends. But one mistake I have made that I can’
A River of Time has created a chasm between now and then with many early and mid-life friends. I grow, or they grow more, we grow apart because the land in between was not tended with care and respect, value and devotion. Sad, that is the mistake I regret.
My friends, I value you.
Sith
Cele
We do all make mistakes; one of my mantras is “A mistake is worth making if you learn from it” which goes right into my other two tenets of life 1) Where we’ve been is who we are and 2) It’s all about the journey. Circular logic.
When I was young, I thought I was always right when the reality, as I see it now, is I was right about thirty percent of the time, with the ratio going up daily dependant on the lessons learned and retained. I learn through my mistakes- made many, many times over. On the other hand my daughter Psam seemingly learns from my mistakes; Misery learns just like me-fall on my butt time and again until the lesson is pounded in. I’ve always try to remember the mistakes I made and realize that my girls are where I have been, let them learn. Thing is they are learning much better than I ever did.
I have always given with my whole heart. My father would point out this friend or that who he felt was “using me.” I never truly understood, I still don’t, and I’m thinking I never will. Am I naïve? Could be. I want to think that people are as honest and open with me as I am with them. And yet, even I know that is somewhat fool hearted. I want to see the best in people, the honest endeavors, the pure emotions and revelations because that is what I want others to see in me. When I find myself motivated by something less than pure I fall in my own esteem. Honesty has become a personal benchmark in my life and personal growth.
I have also come to value friends more than maybe I had in the past. I’ve always made friends quickly, but they weren’t always fast friends. Now I know quality in my friends is far more important than quantity. My pages at FaceBook and MySpace are becoming a reflection of my importance in the word and meaning of friend. I idon’t just say yes to a “Make me your friend request. Especially on FaceBook when you see my friend listed, they are my friend. Maybe in a different degree from one to the next, but they are people I have met, people I have spent time with, people I value with my heart. Some are new friends, some are old and endearing friends. But one mistake I have made that I can’
A River of Time has created a chasm between now and then with many early and mid-life friends. I grow, or they grow more, we grow apart because the land in between was not tended with care and respect, value and devotion. Sad, that is the mistake I regret.
My friends, I value you.
Sith
Cele
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