Vacation - well the late middle part - III?

I am some how falling behind on my vacation post. Ergo the vacation that keeps on giving...beyond the sinus thingie I came home with. On Wednesday morning, not as early as we'd have liked, we got up, bought coffee and a bran muffin and again headed east. Dawn had come and gone, the morning was beautiful and the drive not as long as the day before.

I'd been to Zion Canyon when I was a little girl. My cousin and his wife had gone the week before. Armed with the appropriate footwear they did some hiking, saw a great big rattle snake, and that kept me from wandering too far off the parking lot pavement.

Knowing that Zion is nothing like the Grand Canyon, but holds it's own beauty...and not as long the drive, I thought Ducky would like it. We paid our $25 entrance fee at the park gate. Drove into the park on a little winding road that showed us little.

Little that is, until we rounded a corner and the three buttes came into view. My concerns dissolved as Ducky let out as wonderful, "Oh, wow!"

The sky was a beautiful blue, the red rim rock amazing. I kept thinking that it didn't look quite like I'd remembered (or my mom's pictures bring to mind) I was thinking I'd been wrong and it was Bryce Canyon I was remembering. That was until we got back to the park gift shop to discover picture that look like the Zion Canyon I rember. I'd not been aware that there was two different entrances to Zion National Park.

The entire time I kept wondering how they got the name of Kolob Canyon? So I googled. Now I know more about something I never wanted to know about. It always comes down to Joseph Smith doesn't it? I'm thinking the three buttes must have been a three head phalic thingie with him. Delusional dreams.

I was especially taken with the evidence of erosion slowly digging it's new cracks, fissues, and crevases for the next millienum.

I even had Ducky take my picture, and while it shows exactly how fat I am, I'm sharing. My God those are massive breastesies. I need to diet again.

Sith,

Cele

Happy Halloween!

Growing up we were big on pumpkin carving in my family.

I've not out grown that love.

Happy Halloween,

Cele

Talk Thursday: Semi-True Stories

When I was a kid the Cascades song, Rhythm of the Rain would run through my head endlessly. Which isn’t bad if you’re not trying to go to sleep. But usually I was, tossing and turning, thumping my pillow, and listening to the darn song in my head – verse after verse, chorus after chorus, over and over again. Wide awake.

A bit later on in life I learned to alter my breathing to fall asleep. And a few years after that when we moved to Oregon I would lay in bed at night and wander the streets of my old neighborhood mentally naming each kid, in each house – in order. Then I would name their dogs, their cats, parents, sixty houses, I got pretty good at it. Needless to say, forty years later I can still do it, except it doesn’t put me to sleep anymore. Now I just take pills and say my prayers.

What I did get from the whole exercise (which expanded into blocks away from my neighborhood) was a good memory, or at least the realization that I have a fairly good memory. Apparently better than most, I thought everyone had this good of a memory – people like my friend Pam make me see otherwise.

The one thing I can’t remember is the first grade. I remember kindergarten, crap I remember the first day of kindergarten (but it cost me a nickel if I said crap.) I have a cute little picture of me from that year. I remember my teacher. I remember being bummed at the end of the year because it was summer of all darn things and there was no school (we didn’t get bummed, that actually came several years later.)

My first grade – almost a complete blank. I know my teacher was Miss Saurdeaux (in my head it is Miss Sourdough) she was young and blonde. Tada that is it! I have no school picture from that year and I’m fairly damn certain that is the reason it is a large blank in my memory.

Except one day – the day they took the school pictures. Yep, I remember that very day, because I was home sick with the mumps. It was a sunny November day, I was wearing my Halloween costume (really Girl Scout’s Honor – well except I’d not been a Girl Scout yet, or even a Brownie) mom had gotten me an angel costume that year… remember when you could get flannel Halloween costumes that miraculously became jammies? Been there.

Anyway, it was late morning when my mother became panicked because Butch was missing. I don’t mean he was suppose to be in the front yard missing, I mean he wasn’t to be found anywhere in the neighborhood (which was the afore mentioned three block cul-de-sac of sixty homes) and his trike was missing. Yes, trike he was four years old. Come to think of it Mrs. Taylor couldn’t find Donny, and Mrs. Winters was missing a Lance (it was a blessing really). The three had suddenly disappeared – Butch, the eldest by a year or so was the ringleader – the neighbors were sure.

My mother called the police; her panic increased she was stuck between staying with her sick child and combing the streets looking for her missing child. The cops on the other hand were scouring everywhere within a six block radius for the missing miscreants. I was languishing of the mumps in my Halloween Angel jammies, watching Sheriff John (it was lunch time.)

Mr. Taylor (they lived two houses down) came home and was just about to join the search when a black and white pulled in front of our house with Lance and Donny in the back seat, trikes jutting from the trunk. Yes my brother was safe, but they needed help.

A few days before a little boy a few blocks away had gotten lost in the storm system for a day and a half. In La Mirada the storm culvers are massive concrete structures that run for miles under the streets. It had been feared that the three had some how found their way into the storm system and were lost. A smart officer had decided that was a bit too evolve for three toddlers and checked the local grocery stores. Nope, no trikes and kids at Safeway (which would have been the much preferred location, no big streets to cross.) None, at the liquor store (personally I loved the candy counter at the liquor store.) Across the street at Boys Market (clearly the name should have been a hint) the officer found three trikes jammed in the phone booths outside the store. Why inside the phone booths? They didn’t want their trikes discovered (there’s a hot market out there for bashed and battered trikes) and stolen. Or maybe they didn’t want to be found by the cops.

What was definitely known was that Butch was in big trouble. Not only had he crossed La Mirada Boulevard with his rag tag team of lost boys, but he was refusing to get into the car with a stranger. In fact he wouldn’t even talk to the stranger (except to say he’s not allowed to talk to strangers) and yes, to him that meant the cop was a stranger – no talk.

I don’t remember what happened when Mr. Taylor brought him home, because I was sick and still had the mumps. Hey, I was only six, give me a break. It was while I was in the first grade and Crap! I can’t even remember that year.

Sith,
Cele

Vacation Part II, the Roll That Got Away

Everyone who takes rolls of film has a story about the one that got away; yes, often confused with the fish story. This is one of those stories…

When I plan a vacation, I plan a pretty full vacation. I mean, who knows when you might get to return? And of course after you’ve spent seven days seeing the sights, won’t it be several years before you go back? After spending two days and nights acquainting ourselves with our hotel, the restaurants there in and about, and with the Fremont Experience Ducky and I spent Monday taking in the sights and sounds of the southern end of the strip time share high pressure sales seminar. Note no commas, that’s how it felt. No I didn’t take pictures…well I did…sort of…but that is for later.

As a child my parents gave us the best of the US that they could. We scoured Route 66, I-80 and the roads in between. I have a freakish memory that can pull out bits and bobs of this event or that dating all the way back to age two and a half. I’m sure part of that is aided by my mom’s photo albums spurring my memories along. Which explains why I can’t remember first grade, I had mumps the day pictures were taken. And maybe I’ll tell that story tomorrow, but the gist is that I don’t remember first grade. Major digression. Knowing that we would be within driving distance of great places I remember from childhood, but Ducky’d never seen, I was primed to play the tour guide.

Monday afternoon I rented a car for three days. Tuesday morning, way too friggin’ early for vacation, Ducky and I bought coffee and a bran muffin, loaded up the rental, went against what Horace Greeley preached, and headed east. I’d planned three-day trips for our vacation: Hoover Damn, Grand Canyon, and Zion Canyon. Ducky smartly suggested doing the farthest first and the nearest last, so Tuesday we were off through the Nevada high desert into Arizona, into Utah and back into AZ for the North Rim.

After having to make a few stops for Ducky to rest his hip (really it’s walking the kinks out, but well you know) and five and a half hours later I was second guessing my desire to show him the Grand Canyon. He was in pain and fighting off cranky (which is a huge accomplishment) when we arrived in the parking lot of the North Rim Visitors center. One shot and I was already changing my film. We walked along the path getting small glimpses of the rim rock, making me fear the North Rim would not live up to my memories of the South Rim.

Suddenly the area opened up and we were offered endless views of the Grand Canyon. I am always amazed by the grandeur wrought by Mother Nature, an amazement that was renewed by Ducky’s fascination.
Now my husband has a
fear of heights, yes pretty much equaled to my terror of snakes, he’s a bit more emboldened than I am. He walked out on points and let me take his picture. UNFUCKINGHEARDOF!!! Ducky despises having his picture taken. He let me take shots here, there,
and even had a German couple trade cameras and locations with us to get couples shots. I was in seventh heaven.

Half way through I changed film again and loaded roll number four. While my digital was in the rental, I’d only brought my Pentax on our walk. That Tuesday I shot the better part of two rolls of film capturing the vistas of the North Rim, Ducky, and the day.

Only to return home and find, roll number three of seven is nowhere to be found.
Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: The Fabric of Connections

For the better part of fifteen years I lived in the same neighborhood. Six kids on my block were in Mrs. Espinosa’s kindergarten class. I remember Michael and I sitting on the flagstone BBQ in my backyard staring at the school on the Mesa waiting for the morning kindergarten to be over so we could go to school. Excitement, I doubt I slept the night before. Our moms walked us – holding hands, envelops with milk money pinned to our shirts down the hill and the four blocks to the school. Five of those six kids graduated in 1974 - together.

Growing up we ran barefoot and wild, roaming our neighborhood from dawn till way past dark during summer playing hide and seek, ditch-it (on bikes), and Red Rover (not on bikes – duh!) There were swim parties at the Taylors and the Meyers, neighborhood sleepovers in my back yard, and when we were older there were parties- birthday, graduation, and finally my going away party.

Several years ago Ducky and I went back to La Mirada, to my old neighborhood. Despite 28 years past some of my old neighbors still lived there. Our names are still etched in the corner piece where Mr. Timmons had cemented because we spun on the street pole so much it wobbled and leaned. All of the olive trees are gone, pink stucco has replaced much of the avocado greens and butter yellows once worn by the track houses and now looking at the three blocks that made up our neighborhood, an area that had seemed so huge to me before, was in truth really quite small.

On September 26th several of us gathered again in Las Vegas for a reunion. It had been in my mind several years to invite all of the kids I grew up with to a gathering of sorts. Ducky and I had flown in just that day. My sister, her husband and their youngest son (he’s 28) had been in Vegas since Thursday, I was looking forward to hooking up with them for margaritas after dinner that night.

Never close to my cousins, I was envious of friends who had close relationships with their. I had none of my own to claim visual ownership to. So Judy and I became cousins. To this day she is my cousin, Psam calls her Aunt Judy, and despite time and distance we have remained close. Judy brought Lori with her for a long weekend. It was Judy that Ducky and I first saw as we checked in.

Despite having just said I had no cousins to be friends with, that isn’t entirely true. I have one cousin who is my age. Lynnie Furby. He lives in Ohio. See there’s the distance factor. But for one year Lynnie lived with us, went to seventh grade with me, made friends with my friends and then he moved back to Ohio at the end of school in 1970. Yes, it has been forty years since I’ve seen him, or really had much contact with him. Seeing him made me feel the loss again, while regaining him and his wife. I won’t lose them again.

Michael showed up looking like his dad. We’d played doctor together when we must have been four or so, I wonder if he remembers? I’m sure he remembers I broke is race car set in a snit when I was about six. Pretty bratty of me, I’ve often contemplated sending him a new one out of the blue.

Pammy was the sheltered kid in the neighborhood, but I really liked her. I have three songs that inevitably bring her to mind so I think of her often. She brought her husband and daughter along for the trip. Very down to earth, smiling people.

Growing up there were six Morin kids: Paul (Gene), Mike, Dale, Vicki, Julie, Janice. Sadly Paul passed of a heart attach July 29th. Mike, Dale, and Janice all showed up in Vegas bringing spouses and grown children.

Cheryl lived on the fringes of our neighborhood, but she and her brother Rod were always around. Her dad having passed just two weeks before it had been questionable if she’d come – but she did.

Eleven and company gathered three weeks ago in Vegas and had dinner, relived moments of our past, but more importantly we caught up on the people who’d been important to us on the road to becoming who we are today. They are my past, a part of my present, and thankful a part of my future.

Sadly my pictures did not come out as well as I’d have liked.

Sith,
Cele

Sin City

It is now a warm memory, except for the blister remnants, a lost roll of film, and grainy photos. I'm kind of bummed, I may shoot on Kodak film but the processor does a crappy job with their CD's. The hard pictures have great clarity and color, the disc, well you can see below the pictures are grainy. And I cleaned them up some. I'm bummed.
It had been a good forty years since I'd been to Vegas. It was worth the wait. And while you must see the Strip (especially the colors at night) I was much happier on the Fremont Experience.

Thursday night of our trip (yes, I will be giving you our vaction in reverse... sort of) we finally rode the Deuce to from the Golden Nugget to the Strip.

If you've seen anything on TV or in the movies about Vegas you know the shows on the strip are a must. And several of the night time shows in front of the casinos are free. We made sure we got off in front of Treasure Island so we could take in the pirate show.

The show sadly didn't live up to the hype. Definately worth the visit to down town, don't let it be the only thing you see on the strip.

And the foreigners, way rude. I was pushed, bumped, elbowed, and just about butt fucked to the point where I finally walked a step backward to get the guy behind me off my ass. He was literally body pressed to me as we minced our steps away from the viewing docks in front of Treasure Island. I am usually a non aggressive person, but forty five minutes on the strip I'd had my fill.

One Brit Idiot scoffed with down her nose distane, "No wonder they have terrible smog, it's all the firework smoke."
Lady, leave your money and go home.
We walked the short distance down to the Mirage for the Volcano's eruption. The fire action was hot and colorful. And I mean hot, you could have been scorched to cinders at our first two shows.

Sadly I didn't get pictures of the best show on the Strip, the dancing fountains of the Bellagio.

I could have watched all night long. But because I was shooting with my Macro I didn't get a good shot. Next time I go back I will have dinner at the Venetian and watch the dancing waters.

Ducky and I both thought the Bellagio show the best. Our performance was to Elton John's "Your Song" I understand the music changes nightly.

The Bellagio Fountains surpassed the hype.

Because we were staying at the Golden Nugget, the majority of our evenings were spent on the Fremont Experience. Billed as the World's largest television screen we enjoyed most of the hourly performances, but I especially liked Kiss and Queen; Ducky's favorite was Don McLean's American Pie.

Not all the bands were good, but one or two were exceptionally good, drew big crowds, and had people off all ages dancing in the street.

The five dollar margaritas weren't bad, but the seven dollar margaritas were pretty darn good.

I also tried to get a shot of the Golden Nugget's Shark Tank pool, but failed sadly.

We definately will go back, stay at the Golden Nugget and play the penny machines.


Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: One Step At A Time

Along with Domestic Violence Awareness month, October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. Most aware people know about this devastating disease that afflicts women world wide, but what most people don’t know is that every day men are diagnosed, treated, or not, and die from breast cancer - everyday. Naw, you say. But, oh, it is so sadly true.

The Centers for Disease Control reports in 2005 - 186,467 women and 1,764 men were diagnosed with breast cancer; 41,116 women and 375 men died from breast cancer. For 2009 The National Cancer Institute estimates 1,910 new cases of breast cancer among men, with 440 deaths resulting from the disease. Yes, the numbers are higher for women. But women are aware, most have been taught by their mothers, doctors, and even in school to do monthly self exams. For men the devastating numbers are climbing. And no one is teaching men to be self aware, and of course to admit, that as a man you might have breast cancer is just un-well-manly.

The first step is admitting the possiblities. Educating both men and women that this cancer doesn’t affect just one gender, but all. The second step is self awareness, sometimes that is the most difficult step. As a woman when was the last time you did a self exam? Or are you going to say, “I just had a mammogram…” ten months ago. Men? That’s what I thought.

Or worse, if you’re under forty you might never have had a mammogram, just your annual check up from your doctor. What’s that you say, you’ve not had a check up since when? Thank you for underscoring my point. Good Health and cancer prevention is proactive, not reactive. Waiting until you have to react to the discovery of a lump maybe too late.

It's just two simple steps, we take one step at a time: education and self examination/awareness.

So what spurred this blog? Yesterday, Peter Criss, founding member and the original drummer for KISS announced he’d been breast cancer free for one year. Way to go and congratulations. But what got me the most, it takes a big man to come out and tell other men to cut the macho crap. You can read a full article on Peter Criss (including some of the statistic’s I’ve used) Original Kiss Drummer Celebrates Surviving Breast Cancer here.

Two simple steps, done one at a time, could someday save us from having to hold Relays for Life filled with thousands of steps to raise more money to find out why.

Sith,
Cele

Mindless Disrespect

It’s not a new phenomenon, it’s not vandalism particular to nor confined to the Willamette Valley, or even Oregon. It is played out time again on TV, the mechanics of releasing the hounds of Hell and a few ghouls in movies of B grade – C grade and beyond upon the Silver Screen, but knocking over grave stones began years, decades before it ever appeared on any movie screen.

This morning’s front page of the Eugene Register Guard shows beautiful head stones and monuments, in tribute to beloved lost ones, lying in crumbed ruins of the groomed lawn of a historical cemetery. While the stores have been filled with Halloween goodies, ghoulies, and treats for weeks this destruction has nothing to do with the sweet holiday it is equated with. It is all based on selfish need for destruction and disrespect.

Not a believer in funerals per se, I mourn for the families who do, families who lovingly laid their fore bearers to rest under enveloping cool green lawns, shaded by ancient stretching oaks. Resting spaces marked by weather bearing smooth marbles and granites, defaced or destroyed in careless abandon, mindless of the cruelties they wreaked.

Psam and I have spent several afternoons walking the spaces between graves marked or not, noting often the loving care that some graves are tended by family members who hold their past with reverence. Making special note of the names, the dates, the history of those remembered in the space. Walking through the warm sun into the ice cold spots and back again from those who’ve not left. There are cemeteries I love to visit and others where my blood runs cold and I avoid. I have been touched by incredible sadness and other times laughter in cemeteries, but most of all I have been touched by respect and reverence in the moment.

Someday I will pass this plane and wish to be cremated, my ashes cast upon the four winds at the tide line where the waters of the Pacific rush to meet the sand. The end of my days could come tomorrow, next year, or forty years from now, but as certain as the rain will fall my days will end. And I will rest on the wind, in the waters, and in the sands of time. There will be no head stone to knock over, no marble to bear my names, no granite to crumble with the test of time. No totem to knock down.

Funerals are for the living, the dead gone from this plane and do not care, but to deface the resting place of their loved ones memory shows a distinct disrespect for all. Not even a decided disrespect, because that takes fore thought to respect, but a lack of respect total. I can’t imagine the selfishness of parents who are so self-centered, self-absorbed in their own personal pleasures or misery that they fail to teach their children respect. Maybe we should neuter hateful and decidedly ignorant people so they can’t reproduce and spread their disease? It’s a thought, not a viable one, but still a thought. Ducky would tell me I can’t blame their parents, and in some cases that maybe true, I am well aware that peer-pressure is a real and strong persuader, but really parents get with the program.

Restitution and community service working in the cemetery of their destruction digging graves by hand, helping with the final preparation and interment process could be a justifiable punishment… for say three years or more depending on the destruction wrought. Putting back together all those monuments and headstones with super and Gorilla glue should keep their hands and minds busy for quite away. Or as my mom would have said, time for them to think about the outcome of their actions.

Sith,
Cele

No Peace With The Prize

Wow, I guess this is what Republicans felt when we non-Republicans railed against Bush, his non-existent MWD’s, and his war. When we cried out at the insanity and self- importance Bush and his campaign of fear and hatred force fed all Americans and the world. Oh, wait, I still feel justified in my anger at his jump to war, the loss of thousands of young lives hoisted on the petards of oil, old men and the paranoia of the Republican leadership.

“They”, on the other hand, are crying out because 1) people should have an affordable health care plan that isn’t regulated and handicapped by almighty money grubbing insurance companies – “they” disagree. 2) Because Obama ran on a format of Bi-Partisan Government – “they” disagree. 3) Because holding detainees at Guantanamo Bay is illegal (I mean really, how would we deal with say Iran, Iraq, Pakistan, Afghanistan, or another istan who hold our soldiers in such conditions?) – of course “they” disagree, I mean c’mon folks “we are the United States Of America.” 4) Because the Nobel Committee awarded President Barack Obama this year’s Nobel Peace Prize. Yeah, duh in outrage – “they” disagree.

While I know this will not happen I would like to see the collective “they” (okay, I’d accept them doing it one at time) step back for just a moment and consider the facts of the situation. Barack Obama did not mandate this award it is from an international committee of which he has a) no control over b) no congress with c) no membership in d) he did not lobby for this award and recognition from. An international committee which annually awards prizes to people who make a great strides in science, health, literature, economics, and yes, in peace.

Now you know I’m all for Barack Obama, did he deserve a Nobel Peace Prize? No, not yet. Someday he might, but no, he didn’t. He has, though, made great strides in his first year in office. How? (I know you are wondering where I am going with this) he’s made the US palatable in much of the world again. Bush in his eight year tenure create a world atmosphere of hatred, imbued with his and the Republican paranoid rhetoric, self-righteousness, self-justified temper-tantrums (because God knows and you do too that there was no physical evidence to base his truths and acts upon.) The world (minus one or two countries and world leaders who, imagine this, are not in office anymore) came to hate US (no that’s not too strong a word) remember the international travel warnings, even restrictions, for Americans to not travel to foreign ports just a year ago? No? You must be either senile or Republican, dude Google it.

While Barack Obama has not reunited the divided sides of this country, he has given US credibility again. Has he had to go back on some of his running formats? Yep, let’s get real because this is a real world and he’s learning that. But, overall he’s been true to himself with a whole- hearted desire to do his best for Americans and America.

Yesterday I listened to national news reports that mainly (okay completely) interviewed outraged Republicans type thinkers outraged that Obama received the Nobel Peace Prize. I got home to find, from a life long friend – who doesn’t recognize my political standings, an outraged email that Obama received the Nobel Peace Prize. The email was filled with pictures of our young service men armed in remote far- flung reaches of the world laying their lives on the line “to keep America safe.” Get real, Obama might have to keep them there, but he did not put them there. There is no basis for calling a soldier a “Peacekeeper” other than that is what Nato, the United Nation, and the US warmongers call SOLDIERS. Soldiers don’t make PEACE soldiers make war. And how does a 19 year old from Dubuque dying in Kandahar, the Peshwar, or Kirkuk equate to mine or your safety? It doesn’t.

Don’t give me the “Bush was responding to an act of war against our country,” argument because if that be the case why did he attack Afghanistan? When it was 15 Saudi nationals, 1 Egyptian, 1 Lebonese, and 2 UAE nationals who attached the US? Why? Three letters & zillions of dollars – OIL. Folks Barack Obama might not be the president you voted for, but give him time to prove or disprove your doubts about his ability, vision, and determination as president of our country. He received the Nobel Peace Prize because he’s not George W. Bush. Get over it.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday – Life, or something like it

Life has been kind of crazy this last week and a half. We went to Vegas for vacation and all I got was this crazy head cold. Well that’s not completely true I came back with six rolls of film and a memory card full of pictures. Now you’re saying where are they, I know you are Fii – don’t deny it, I live in the boonies they are being developed.

So why did I go to Vegas, I’m not a big gambler? I went first for a reunion of the neighborhood I grew up in. And then Ducky had never been to… well anywhere. That’s not to say his family didn’t do things together, they camped a lot. But traveled, not much. I, on the other hand, grew up in a family that traveled a bit for vacation. So over the years I have returned to some places of special memory and drug Ducky with me. On our honeymoon we laid on the beach at Balboa soaking up the rays, then took in the A’s and the Angels, his first major league baseball game. Then we spent a day at Disneyland, fulfilling a boyhood (and adulthood, I suspect) dream.

One trip we went to Frisco and spent a week seeing the sights, riding the cable cars, and venturing out the Alcatraz. The highlight (no joke) watching the fire department put out a fire on a pier – way kewl. His fear of flying kept him from going to England with me, so after 9 / 11 (which only increased his anxiety about planes) we drove to Reno, walked the boardwalks of Virginia City and cruised the streets of Tahoe and Carson City soaking in the history and sights. Another trip (really two) we drove to Seattle, took in two Mariners games, went to Pike Street, walked the waterfront, and drank coffee.

We have plans to take in spring training sometime; go to the Alamo and San Antonio another. Drive across Oregon and Idaho and into Wyoming to enjoy Yellowstone. Our next vacation is planned for late spring to take Burp (yeah because you know Ducky’s dragging his feet on this one) to Disneyland and Knott’s Berry Farm. Vacation isn’t real life, but it makes you appreciate your life (or regret it) a lot more. By the time we were finished with Vegas I was exhausted and more than ready to go home. A sensitivity to air conditioning didn’t help… well it helped the cold set in, but that’s it.

On day four of our vacation Ducky and I drove to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. Self-doubt about the trip had set in along with a growing pain in Ducky’s hip that made him cranky after about five straight hours of driving. I was also worried about his fear of heights. Crap! What the worried, my husband blew me away. He even stood patiently several times and let me take his picture as 40mph winds buffeted him while he stood on the precipice of the crumbling north rim. My husband, picture, high perch… amazing. Later I thanked him for letting me take his picture. He replied, “I have to have pictures, no one will believe it without proof.”

Day five of our trip was spent driving to Zion Canyon. I knew I’d done right when we rounded a corner in the park and I hear this amazed, “Wow!” from Ducky as the three buttes came into view. Life is good.

At the moment I only have a few digitals shots, none are from the Grand Canyon. I promise I will post those next week. But what I do have is a realization that my time here on this planet is measured and I need to make the most of it. Share what I have to share, give what I have to give, and enjoy all that there is. Not dwell on the negative, but learn its lessons. Embrace all that is before me and love with a whole heart. I am sated with what I have – a full life that is sometimes boring, challenging, confusing, colorful, quiet, chaotic, wet, blooming, dirt brown, and leaf green; a life full of love, laughter, joy, tears, sharing, giving, taking, making, being. Life, our lives, is what is make of it. There is nothing else like it.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Castaways

I have this increasingly long list of blogs I peruse, some I actually get to read, everyday. But now I am whittling down my bloglist. Why? Because people don’t blog anymore, I’m not sure why, maybe it really is the Facebook thing. I have a Facebook page, but mostly I just play Farkle there. I’m really don’t care about the surface floss that gets posted on Facebook. I want deeper comment and thought the stuff blogs are usually made of.

So the list of blogs posted to the left, er that’s to the right (I’m left right challenged) is being added to and taken from.

The current list of castaways includes, “they never write anymore.”

Karin Tabke - she’s a delightful writer, but I’m just not there anymore
Jennifer Lyons - I don’t care if they are wing slayer worthy, it’s just not readable anymore
Murder She Writes – Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Wrycatcher – it’s too heartbreaking she doesn’t post anymore
Jazzy – she hasn’t had free time in months (January was her last post)
Pomp – she hasn’t posted … here … since December, thank heavens this isn’t the only way to keep up with her
Reluctant Writer – Okay I get the point, Ironic don’t you think.

Recently I added –

Burp’s Adventures In Kidsland (come on mom get him to write)
Lucid’s - Lucid Dreamer (he joined Talk Thursday)
Maya’s – A Day In The Life
Psam’s – Rants, Thoughts, and other Crap (I added her to Talk Thursday)

There is still hope for a few of the blogs I have long followed, but rarely post, I really don’t’ want to cast them aside yet. Please come back Jake and SisterMaryLisa.

So, why have I been gone? This is why…


We just spent a week in Vegas. Blog and pictures to come.
Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Milestones and Mortality

The older I get, the more what is ahead, what’s behind, and who I am pray on my thoughts. What have I done with my life? Am I what I thought I’d become? What my parents had hoped?

“Holy Moly,” I reply (I’m trying to cut down on the 25 cent words) “I’m only half way through my [projected] life.” Okay, just over half, but who is counting? As I say often, don’t minimize.

When my father died, I didn’t count my days, I counted the days and the quality of those days we had together. My BABY sister just turned the big FIVE OH! I celebrated with her, not mourned the fact that I’m three and a half years older than her (but, who’s counting?) I look ahead to the days, joys, and events we will spend together. I bemoan the fact she’s already in Vegas and I won’t get there until Saturday. When my daughter had a baby boy (eight years ago) I didn’t bemoan the fact that I suddenly was a grand mother, oh no, I embraced it. Once upon a time a “Lady” didn’t tell her age. Well honey I am wont to say, “I worked damn hard for each one of those years and I’m owning them.”

Am I who I expected I’d become? I’m fairly certain I’m not accomplished nor renowned. I am neither a dancer, a singer nor a marine biologist and I’m not a candlestick maker if you’re wondering. But I love my family, I love my life, I love my garden, I love my job, and I love myself. Oh and my dog loves me. I mean really, with that and some stale peeps what more could you want out of life?

Am I what my parents had hoped? Hmmm, well I did graduate from high school, married (several times – but who’s counting?) raised a delightfully headstrong intelligent daughter, I am responsible (at least in their eyes,) I own my own home, hold down a job, and have some earned respect. They seem to like me just fine.

The thing is what I once set as the benchmarks of my life changed, evolved, became based upon my reality not gossamer dreams. For the first half of my life - I thinking I’m doing pretty good. I could have mastered a few more basics, lent my hand a few more times, but I am still learning, still growing, and I still have a lot more of myself to give.

This weekend I’m going to Las Vegas for a reunion. I am going to go see people I grew up with, whom I’ve not seen in close to forty years. I am joyously giddy. My nephew, my sister and I are hoping to mark the occasion with tattoos (Arnie suggested stars, maybe a swirl of stars behind my ear?) Ducky and Pinecone’s hubby (who I’ve just come to realize I’ve no nick name for – bummer dude) are almost on board too. Pictures to come. Many of the “kids” I grew up with became successful and accomplished in their own rights and fields. But in the long run they are just like me, a kid who grew up in a house just down the street, a part of a combined history, and nothing more.

Sith,
Cele

Happy Birthday Pinecone – Sister-mine

Fifty years ago today, my mother had the cutest little baby girl. She was so darn cute. I adored her, watched her sleeping continually. But it was her and my brother – Butch, who were closest in those early days. Three and a half years between us really was a bit of a barrier. That and what my daughter calls my OCD’ness.

Pinecone and I are as different as day and night

As a baby she was cute, adorable and cuddly – think koala bear
I’ve never been “cute and cuddly” – think mouthy Ocotillo Cactus with attitude
She is joyously bubbly
I am loud and irreverent
She turned into a tomboy
I turned in to a girlie slut (hey it was fun)
She was a slob when we roomed together
I was neat – now she is a better housekeeper than I
She was always smart in school
I flunked child development (okay I got a D but really folks, Child Development?)
She is incredibly artsy – her stained glass is amazing
I burn out on any hobby I take up.
My sister can keep a secret forever

Despite all those differences she is so much what I admire, and in some ways very much like me while being very different. That’s the tale of siblings, right? We both adore our children and strive to give them and their offspring the best of ourselves. We both love music, art, family, and Duck Football… we are both…

WORKAHOLICS!

no joke. She is actually worse than I am, but she doesn’t see it.

My sister sings, it’s one of her things, you are welcomed to come sing with her, sit on the floor of her living room, flip through her CD’s and enjoy a glass of wine while harmonizing. I so very much love doing this with her…and her friends, it’s a joyous crowd.

My sister gardens. Someday visit her oasis on the out skirts of Springfield, it is a beautiful, serene haven. She’s so good she had to drive all the way to Florence just to give me the correct placement for my solar fountain. You think I’m exaggerate, not, I was going to put it smack in the middle of the cutting garden, she off set it, and now it is perfectly in place.

She is beautiful strength. A bright glowing soul, who gathers people near her and nurtures their spirits and souls. She stand by her convictions and silently allows you to have yours.

The apple of my father’s eye (now this is a two things post) she gave my mother strength in the final hours of my father’s life, held his hand as he breathed his last breath, then helped our mother through that first tough day. She is grace under fire.

On top of all that she is more than my sister, she is my friend. She is the friend of my heart, my soul, and the person I would choose to be my sister.


Happy Birthday Pinecone,
I love you,
Tanglefoot

Talk Thursday: Self-Deprivation

From WordWeb:

Noun: self
1) Your consciousness of your own identity

Noun: deprivation `de-pru'vey-shun
1) A state of extreme poverty- privation, want, neediness
2) The disadvantage that results from losing something
"losing him is no great deprivation" - loss
3) Act of depriving someone of food or money or rights
"deprivation of civil rights"

WTFarve is that? There is really no part of this that pertains to me. And honey, I never want the words Cele and Needy to be used in the same sentence, paragraph, or conversation.

As in..

"Oh, crap honey, you dont' know anything, that Cele is one needy bitch, she wears me out." Whoa, sorry I was channeling my second ex there for a second.

Well, for a few years, a few decades ago (okay that was a depressing thought) when I was a single parent I might have vaguely opted to forego something so that my daughter could have the vaguely important things of childhood, like say food on the table, shoes on the feet, and clothes on the back. But by far that isn’t self-deprivation. That is gladly being a responsible parent.

I can’t say that I’ve ever deprived myself of anything and regretted it, because in truth isn’t that what self-deprivation is? Regretting what you didn’t allow yourself to have when you could?

Today, I may put off buying something for myself, hmmm say some new tulips for my garden, but take my word for it I will buy those tulips. I’m mean really! they are Ducky’s Springtime fav.



Self-deprivation? Not me, it’s more a case of self-indulgent.

Sith,
Cele

Photo Friday... before it's too late

This post is brought to you by the topic fear. Probably a 9/11 inspired topic, considering it was posted last Friday – duh, nine eleven, but I refuse. There is far too much fear in this world to share a picture of snakes here. Besides, pictures of snakes don’t belong on my blog. So I bring you a picture of love, laughter, the thought of chocolate, and ghosties peeps .


Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: How Does Your Garden Grow?

Not as well as I hoped.

Glorious flowering dreams filled my head based on this from last year...

That is not what I got this year. Oh, no my garden became something totally different. The lilies are from Ducky's Lily garden, in it's second year.

This year began with snow. Lots of snow.... for the Oregon Coast that is.

In late fall last year I put in my tulip beds, with the help Burp and all the little kids in the neighborhood.

I made the grievous error of leaving in the bulbs from the prior season in the old bed. Mistake, my tulips sucked this year.

I've always wanted a cutting garden and after making a tongue in cheek statement about having a water fountain in the front yard (I was thinking California mission, Father Serra, huge fountain - total joke) Ducky ran with it and started talking about taking out the dead sod for another lily garden AND A FOUNTAIN.

Hmmm, I'd always wanted a cutting garden, and a solar water fountain might rock. He had the sod cut out in one weekend. I took another three weekends to take out the grass roots and dirt clods. A garden bench had been waiting in the yard all winter long.

The bench and an Easter Lily Harley (one of my DJ's) gave me were the first two things in the garden.

Then I began building the blue stone path, by now I am into June and the lily garden is

greening, the Chain trees are in full bloom, and the fountain is waiting to be installed.

Dispite the dismal performance of its namesakes, there were moments in the Lily Garden that were pretty. Just not splendily spectacular. The Lupin were especially marvelous.

July is when the Lilies should be in full bloom and amazing. This year's season was short lived and thin. But there was a beauty or two...

Building the entire cutting garden has been slow going, hit or miss, as a few choices have died immediately.

Ixnay, the phlox. Canterbury Bells are questionable, and the Purple Cone Flower, hmmm, not looking too healthy.


Now it is the end of the season. My solar fountain works great as long as it gets full sun on the panel (silly me didn't ask for a night pack for my birthday along with the fountain.)

This year the petunias will get pulled up in October. All new tulips will be planted.

And I know now to plant new lilies when they come on the market.

But if you have lily tips let me know, I need all the help I can get.

Oh, and the dead thing to the left of the new garden bench is an oriental poppy that completely rocks, and then dies deader than a door nail until it's next season.

Sunflowers courtesy of the chipmunks.

Sith,

Cele

Photo Friday: Urban Landscape

Living in the country (for the most part) I really had to go looking. But I found two...

From my 2008 trip to the Bay Area for Sid's 40th birthday, here's the Bay Bridge.

And from 2006 Safeco Field from the freeway.

I would have loved sharing the London skyline taken from the catwalk at St. Paul's taken in 2002, but I can't find that disc.

Sith,

Cele

Talk Thursday: Blind

Definition #2 – Word Web - “blind to a lover’s faults” “blind to the consequences of their actions”

Okay it also means stubborn, as in blindly stubborn to change. I am blindly, faithful Oregon Duck fan. I lover me Ducks. But when I heard Casey Martin had chosen white helmets for the opening game I knew I’d be seeing a lot of Bronco Blue. When Le Garrett Blount hit a Boise State player I saw red.

Let me back up a day or three. Oregon has become the Fashion Maven of College Football, yes I capitalize that like a title. Sick. The Ducks never, let me repeat that, NEVER, announce their uniform selection three days in advance. They announce they have a fashion plate of 43 uniform combinations, but not which ensemble they will don come Game Day (who I am sure will not be visiting the Cas Center this football season.) Enter Casey Martin, yes folks the pro-golfer Casey Martin, who has apparently become stylist mediocre to the once Dapper Ducks (not to be confused with the very Dapper Dyke.) Someone please tell Casey the Ducks should never, let me repeat that…again. NEVER! wear their white helmets, they are the grid iron kiss of Duck death.

Secondly, players followed their beloved coach Bellotti in to the dark depths of football hell and came out tested, but remained adaptable, ready to change players at a drop of a flag, and move on. Now Bellotti has stepped down for the AD post and selected Chip Kelly as his successor. But he didn’t tell Kelly about the Quarterback swap option, freshmen back up offense, defense, or to use the sticky field gloves on receivers – I keep sending them that memo, but I think it’s been round filed.

And thirdly, Le Garrett Blount’s behavior is abysmal – bench that puppy. I love college football, but the players usually don’t act childishly like over pampered pros. Football is violent enough without throwing punches, getting into it with opposing fans, or over all acting like a spoilt bully – whether it be in the locker room or on national TV. I think missing half a season would do him some good, but then he would blindly justify his actions feeling mistreated, misunderstood, and misused.

Of course during that down time, Blount will get plenty of work on his right upper cut. Boxing promotor Jack Arum has made public his interest in getting Le Garrett on the card in LA, during his down time. Arum, in this morning's LA Times, likened Blount's knockout of (pronounced blunt) to Sugar Ray's left hook and Foreman's right upper cut. He also noted that Blount's element of surprise would be gone knowing that in the ring Blount's potential opponents would be expecting the punch.

So my beloved Ducks are oh and one week into the 2009 football season and I know it will get better. It will, but darn it’s going to hurt getting there.

Sith,
Cele

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.

Port Orford