Talk Thursday: Ashes To Ashes - Farewell Merlin the Wind Wand Man

Normally I would said I don’t believe in co incidents. But this week’s topic defeats that line of thought. Thursday morning my world became a little grayer than usually befits an Oregon Coast day in late July. My friend Merlin The Wind Wand Man passed.

A retired fire fighter from Chicago, Dave, and his wife Cathy bought my favorite card/candy/sticker shop about fifteen years ago. Crap, how time flies. Over time we struck up a friendship. I would stop there on an afternoon for a package of my favorite peach hearts, juicy pear jelly bellies, or, oh, yum spiced candy corn – TO.DIE.FOR. and friggin’ hard to find anywhere. Psam was especially happy with the shop because they forever had a fresh canister of Harbo’s raspberry candies. It was a great place to find little things for stocking stuffers, I love you gifts, and kewl stuffed toy animals.

Dave always kept a special collection of naughty greetings cards on the counter and had time to chat. I loved going into their shop and hanging for an hour or so, chatting, catching up, talking about our kids, and gossiping. Our friendship grew, Cathy and I would go walking, Dave would call me to fix his computer, or we’d get together for dinner at their house on the river and watch the latest storm rage off the Pacific and over the Siuslaw.

He first applied for the city’s planning commission and then after years of service, ran for the Florence City Council, he was a practical shoe-in during the election. He battled hip and back problems, compounded by numerous surgeries that put him only in more pain. Through all of it he reported the daily weather tallies for the radio station. Every morning I would make sure I was a wake by 7:20 so I could listen to Dave and Wayne. It was the perfect way to start my morning. If I had an early Saturday shift, or the weather was particularly nasty Dave would make sure he got me all of the weather stats for my listeners. His four minutes on the air were so followed and so popular he began selling charts allowing people to keep their own measurements or track his.

In recent years the surgeries and diabetes took it’s toll and Dave’s health began to decline. This past winter an illness took a serious hit on his health and the decline was present in his voice. Cathy began doing more of the Wind Wand Man duties on the air. And finally two weeks ago Dave and Cathy signed off the airwaves because it was becoming too difficult a task.

Thursday morning my friend, Dave Franzen, known to most everyone in Florence, as Merlin The Wind Wand Man, passed on.

The Eugene Register Guard ran a nice story on him, front of the City Section – I was impressed. Bob (our News Director) wrote a great goodbye to him today. I was fairly successful getting through the lead story in the Noon News, but by the end, before I moved on to items on page two, I was getting choked up and emotion was in my throat and dripping a little from my eyes (not very professional I know – thank heavens it’s radio.) At 12:20 I put Dave’s favorite song into my play list, opened my mic and said goodbye to my friend Dave Franzen and colleague Merlin the Wind Wand Man and then played Oliver’s “Good Morning Starshine.”



I always thought it would be fitting if Mother Nature stormed when Merlin the Wind Wand Man finally left this plan. Instead a little bit of sun broke through the clouds as if to say thank you for the song.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Odds and Ends

But really I should call this a lot of bitching...

There are days when depression creeps up on even the most positive soul. And while that may not be my soul I get hit by bummed out bouts, too. At fifty-four I suddenly realized one of the biggest things in my life I miss (besides a bikini bod) is wrapping my arms around my little girl and being the center of her universe (right after chocolate ice cream and playing that is.) I don’t’ begrudge her growing up, it is part of the process; I envy her the same thing I am missing. She is the center of Burp’s universe (right after food and playing that is.) It is a vicious circle that begins and becomes bereft with each generation’s maturity.

Last night my brother called and chatted, whined, talked for an hour. Let me start this by saying, “I’m not a phone person.” I will think about calling my sister, whom I’m close to (in my family’s definition of close), for a week or two before I pick up the phone. This is my baby brother, of whom I am very proud, who just retired as a Sergeant Master Chief after 30 years in the Air Force. Did I mention he’s my baby brother by six years? Our mother spent the money and time to fly back to Georgia for his retirement ceremony, roast, and BBQ. Last night I was “privileged” to hear

1) Why doesn’t mom like my Monster Child? Okay, I call him Monster Child (to family and friends who aren’t my brother and sister in law,) I guess I really should come up with a better internet moniker for him. Monster Moppet? Moppet? That would probably be nicer.

2) He is afraid Mom is becoming forgetful. She forgot that she promised me great great grandfather’s humidor.

There is a long story (but true story) about my double great grandfather being a dollar a year man to a President who started out his adulthood as my double great grandfather’s roommate at Stanford. He was gifted the humidor by the president for his service to his former roommate/friend/president and country. Mom, had once said it was Buddy’s because it mirrored his service to our country. She apparently forgot, not that she’d given it to someone else. Oh, and not that there arent’ TWO, because excuse me, our other double great grandfather (who started American Fucking Express) had a humidor that will be passed down, too. Ach!

She also “forgot” to give Monster, er Moppet a birthday gift. “Hmmm, Buddy, are you sure mom didn’t leave something for Moppet?”

“Well there was this weird thing she did. She got these three water guns for him when she was here.”

Forgetful? Believe me I was a bit ticked at this point. “Buddy, did you stop to consider that Mom gave your son a piece of your childhood?” He didn’t understand. “Don’t you remember having waterfights when we were kids and dad would have the water hose and we’d have buckets, water balloons, water pistols?”

“Oh.”

3) Mom is not “doting” (my word not his) on Moppet, doesn’t she like him?

Buddy. Buddy. Buddy. Mom, tries very hard to let you raise your child your way, to not step on toes, interfere, over step your boundaries, or over stay her welcome. To.Not.Be. One.Of.Those.Mother.In.Laws. She treated each of her grandchildren as per the ways that their parents raised them. When she had Psam she knew she could say no, stick her in the corner, smack her hand, or swat her butt. When she was with Pinecone’s two, she respected their boundaries and knew what was expected. When Moppet was running around during one of the ceremonies (I believe it was a roast) my mother took Moppet outside so he could run around and not interrupt the goings on. Yes, they took a five year old to a roast with lots of military people, like colonels, majors, and such. I’m thinking a baby sitter would have been a much better idea. When they went shoe shopping, well I get images of him running everywhere and scaling the shoe racks because isn’t that what every well behaved little boy does? Mom had to walk away and act like nothing was going on.

Ach! Thank you for listening. That’s the tip of the iceberg.

Last weekend for our anniversary Ducky and I went to the casino for dinner. They have this Seafood Buffet that he’d been wanting to try. As our norm I made sure I had an extra twenty per person, because that’s our limit. Kind of like a big person’s pinball machine with out the rollers, flashing lights, clanging bells, and bumpers. Slot machines just aren’t the same. But, strangely we both walked out having paid for dinner and with twelve dollars extra – what’s that all about?

Wednesday we (Bob and Wayne) were suppose to interview Joe Diffie on the air. Bad cell connection. So Thursday they tried again. At the same time we (Bob) are trying to hook up the phone link, an earthquake rattles the Oregon Coast. We (Bob) hangs up on Joe Diffie. I’m rattling earthquake information in Wayne’s face, and he’s having a minor meltdown. When the connection finally happens, Wayne opens his mic and say,

“For those interested, yes we know about the earthquake, no there is no Tsunami warning posted by the National Weather Service. On the line I have with me Joe Diffie ….’

I looked at Bob and said, “Crap now we’ll never get him here for the concert.”

Saturday night Ducky and I are going to the casino to see Joe Diffie. I’m looking forward to it, KCST is sponsoring the concert so the tickets were free. Bob says that when he introduces Joe Diffie at the beginning of the concert he’s going to say,

“And now I present the biggest celebrity I’ve hung up on twice in one day, Joe Diffie.”

I’ll let you know how it goes.
Sith,
Cele


And so you don’t’ think Sunday is boring, Ducky and I have tickets to see Ringo Starr at the Cuthbert Amphitheatre (my favorite concert venue) with Pinecone and her hubby.

Weddings

Today my friend Natalie is marrying her Birdman. I wish Jeff and Natalie a span of the ages that is full of the love, friendship, companionship, laughter, joy, and hands held that make life the wonderful experience is was meant to be. They will experience all the ups and downs of life together, with hands held, as one.

Congratulations Natalie and Jeff.

Sixteen years ago Ducky and I combined our two families into one. I wouldn't trade a moment of it and pray for 32 years more.

Let there be cake.

To my Ducky,

Thank you for the best years of my life. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Thank you.

Sith,
Cele

Darmn-it I miss that waistline.

Talk Thursday: So I Have To Ask…

What induces a ninety-one year old woman to baby talk… in the middle of a restaurant… or ever for that matter? What?

My grandmother can be a delightful lady; she has much to offer the world and is going strong… at almost ninety-one. But really the baby talk has got to stop. Tonight we had a lovely dinner at Pomodoris, a nice Italian Restaurant that makes to die for Ravioli San Remo, to die for I tell you. After nice little dinner salads (Grandma and I had the Balsamic Vinaigrette) Linda served the ravioli, she came back to the table with the pepper mill and offered fresh pepper grind all the way around. Grandma must have been staring at her shoes totally tuned into her orthopedics, because when Linda asked if we’d like pepper Grandma missed Mom and I waiting and then saying no individually. Linda bid us a fine meal and left us to peace. At which time Grandma, shaking her looking forlorn, in that FUCKING baby voice said, “I wanted some pepper, can’t I have some pepper? It would be so much better with fresh pepper.”

Patience was my only virtue, I think I’m now virtue-less.

Yes, she was happy after the fresh pepper, but it didn’t stop her baby talk.

Shoot me now. Please.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Respect In The Morning

Cause when you’re fifteen and somebody tells you he loves you you’re gonna believe them

words of hindsight from twenty-year old Taylor Swift. At least I never had a boy friend break up with me via Tweeter, or text, or whatever it was. Money and celebrity doesn’t buy you truth nor happiness.

It’s a Zen thingie.

At fifteen I was eternally dying for some boy, any boy, to like me. In retrospect I’m pretty shocked that parents (mine and many, many others) put so much stock in virginity. When the reality is they should have worried that I kept my soul and my self-respect. ‘Cause when you’re fifteen you don’t have a heck of a lot to barter with and if you are tall, lanky, and a geek you’re somewhat desperate by fifteen to be like all the other girls. So believe? Yep, hook, line, and sinker.

I gave a lot in that search to be “loved.”

My mother always told me you have to like yourself before someone else truly can. I think I was about twenty-four when I realized I really like who I am. I still like who I am. As I slept my way through my life to this moment it was all about becoming me, experiencing what there is between birth and passing over. I wake up in the morning and I can respect myself wholly. I look in the mirror and I like the person who is looking back. I strive to be honest, kind, and truthful.

There are things about myself that I am trying to change because they compromise the integrity of what I believe. But those changes are part of the journey. I can’t take two steps, three steps back, recreate a “hindsight” embarrassing moment to fix a faux pas, but I can step forward into the person I am becoming and never make those false steps again. A kind of a morphing from he person I was just an action and thought ago.

I am physically monogamist, I am spiritually growing, I am forever changing. And darmn-it I like who I am. If I screw it up, I’ll come back and do it better in the next life.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Inspiration

Inspiration

Comes in many forms, unbidden, unseen, and oft times unexpected. I have probably three blogs in a semi form of begun, all inspired by something: heard on the radio; read that enlightened my soul or ignited my ire; a sunset red in the western sky; the stars that rotate nightly, seen or not, over my hot tub. Sadly, my time seems to get eaten up by something other than blogging, for there they sit in stages of unfinished disarray.

My inspiration comes from the people surrounding my work-a-day world. From the thoughts and burdens of people inhabiting this green globe, their hearts poured out in quarts and bushels, a spreading stream of light and shadows sculpted of words that flow conscious across the realms of the internet. I love words, I love stringing them together to paint pictures in English with a serf font.

Inspiration comes in blooms and weeds, of minutes spent in my garden where I turn the earth, remove the weeds, appreciate the flowers that manage to push their way from the earth despite my tending.

Oft times I sit. Blank. Trying to remember the amazing thought I dreamt that hangs just on the edge of my memory, nagging me to death.

Sometimes, Inspiration needs a cattle prod.

Sith,
CeleI

Talk Thursday: Breaking Habits

The reality of life is that we are always creating, maintaining, and breaking habits. I’ve broken my share, committed myself to a slew more… probably for the rest of my life. Darn it’s hard to quit food. I burn fast and hard; I burn out fast and hard. With me there is little or no in between. When I burn out there is no going back and that folks is really the pits. I can rattle off a litany of hobbies, crafts, and activities I’ve gotten into, been consumed by, and then dropped like a rock to never look back.

That is the sad story of my sad, sad existence. I miss some of those hobbies (crocheting and stained glass.) I miss some of those habits (body building, surfing, parasailing, darmn I miss hiking.) Damn, I miss being able to wear a bikini.

What I have noticed is that as I age the more in grained in my ways of habit I am. I create habits at work that make my morning flow, my shift changes and I create more habits. When something upsets my flow it is more difficult for me to adjust and over come. I’ve become comfortable and comforted by my habits. And I’ll be darned if I know if that is good or if that is bad.

Sith,
Cele

2010 Oregon Divisional Chainsaw Championships

One of my favorite events every spring takes place Father’s Day weekend in Reedsport, the Oregon Divisional Chainsaw Championships.

Saturday, June 19th, Ducky, Burp and I headed south I was looking for a new moose, maybe a bear, and even possibly a lighthouse. Ducky wants one for the front yard, my mom thinks it’s tacky, I figure you only live once and it was Father’s Day Weekend.

This year’s theme, Outdoor Life

The 2010 event featured fifty-one pro and semi professional chainsaw artist from around the world. There were at least four sculptors from Japan, an array from Germany, Belgium, Australia, and other parts of the planet. Oh and the US too.

Half way through we stopped to watch the first of two lumberjack shows. A feature new to the Championships and kind of a warm up to the summer tour. I was amazed at the birling (log rolling). The spikes are made from refitted soccer shoes.

Strangely I came home with no moose, no bear, not even a darn lighthouse.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Sorrow and Its Source

I’ve not had near enough time… for anything it seems. I have a book I am to be editing, I’m avoiding it like the plague. Slow, boring, bogged down. Thankfully the author is an extended family member who doesn’t read my blog. Oh wait, Psam’s the only family member who reads my blog with any regularity.

In truth I’ve not a lot of sorrow in my life. My brother died (a day old) when I was in the sixth grade, it was the only time I remember seeing my dad cry. That, and worry for my mother, affected me more than David’s actual passing. Mom had made us a part of the anticipation and his arrival; being young girls Pinecone and I were especially anxious for his arrival. But then in the middle of the night (June 11th) my mother was taken to the hospital, where he was born (June 12th), and he died (June 13th.) That following morning my father told us he was not all right. David had been born blue, Mongoloid, and with at least one hole in his heart. Butch and Buddy don’t really remember much of that morning- even of that time; Pinecone and I remember the tears, the news, and the loss. My mother remembers it very differently, and strangely remembers nothing about David’s birth defects. Pinecone and I have discussed this since and both remember it the same.

For years my mother would always be sad on that day. My father never really mentioned it in my presence over the years. We moved to Oregon and while David was never forgotten, family sorrow seemingly passed. Mom always taught us that we are born with a purpose, maybe David’s was to bring us together, maybe we delude ourselves, a believer in reincarnation I will gladly remain deluded. David’s presence in death did something we in our living lives had failed to do; we solidified as a family.

That summer in 1969 we traveled back to visit my father’s roots in West Virginia, to find relatives, aunts, uncles, cousins I’d known of only by name and reputation. We journeyed to the small hamlet, Valley Head, where my father’s youth and formative years were spent. We met people from my father’s childhood who’d made a marked impression upon him and the man he would be come. I loved West Virginia, it was worlds a part from the LA where I was raised. We grew together as a family.

Over the years my mother would have a headache on the 12th and 13th of June. While she never said anything as to why, I noted the date, the past and made my mental notes. Every June 13th I check on my mother. For the past two years, since my father’s passing she’s not suffered the headache or worse- her mourning migraine.

My father had told my mother he was tired of breathing, he was tired of eating to stay alive, it was sucking the energy and life out of him. My father was dying from the ravages of emphysema. A two pack a day smoker for decades my father fought the addiction and finally kicked the habit. He didn’t want to die, he’d not made his peace, but he just had a devil of a time quitting. By the time he’d quit the emphysema was sucking away his life, his vitality, his energy. The handsome man, slowed, slept, and ailed, but never gave up… until it was just too much.

Just prior to Christmas, Buddy and the Kiwi were home for the holiday, my father went to the hospital. We spent Christmas Eve and Day taking turnings visiting him, spending what final moments we could with a man we all honored, adored, and loved so much. The day after Christmas Buddy and the Kiwi went home to Georgia. Hospice had been called in and on December 27th my very tired dad came home for the last time.

That Thursday evening I checked in on my parents after work, kissed my father’s cheek and told him how much I loved him. He patted my hand and told me everything was okay; my mother kissed my cheek and sent me home. Ducky and I discussed it and I went back and spent the night at my parents.

Something crashing against the wall in the middle of the night woke me. In the den I found my father thrashing around, beseeching God to take him and end his exhaustion, he was ready to go home. He reached for my grandmother, he could see his dog, he was emotional as he described my brother David waiting there in the circle of family and light. He later thrashed about, cursed and railed against me and my mother; neither of us did he recognize. And then he slept.

Friday night my sister came from Springfield and stayed with my mother. Early Saturday morning something woke Pinecone. She walked into the den, held his hand, and watched him take his final breath at 5:30am. And he was gone.

While I have mourned my father’s passing in my own way, I’ve not had that crying my eyes out moment where I was drowning in the wells of sorrow and despair. . Maybe it was because Ducky’s younger brother was dying in Portland at the same time. He passed that night at 6:30, Ducky and I were there to say good-bye.

My father’s passing was a moment of release and peace. I miss him greatly, but I talk with him when ever I want. I light a candle and remember his handsome face, the smartest man I knew and yet he never finished the 10th grade. He was and will always be my hero. I remember the father who danced with me while I stood on his feet, told spooky stories about missing eyeballs and ghost disappearing at the bend of a lonesome West Virginia road, the dad who took me deep sea fishing, motorcycle riding in the desert, camping under the stars, and played horse-shoes at the Girl Scout Father Daughter picnic.

I miss my friend, but I know I will see him again; he will smile and laugh at all the silly things I have done since the last we were together. And I will thank him for teaching me that what I can see in my head I can do, for making me strong – loving – independent – loyal and loving. I will thank him for being my dad.

I have no sorrow for I am blessed, for I have hope, faith, and heart. And most importantly I have my memories and love.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Forgotten

This should be a nod to common sense, maybe it will nod to the apparent lack of common sense in our society. I was working my suduko puzzle yesterday during my air-shift when I heard this commercial during the top of the hour news.

Sidebar: My doctor told me a long time ago that if you have to learn about a drug from TV or radio, you don’t need it. I immediately understood what he meant. Drug salesmen are lobbyist in the medicinal field. So…

Imagine my reaction when I hear this in my headset “… men do you frequently urinate? Do you wake up in the middle of the night to urinate?” I missed the rest of the commercial because I was laughing. I hope Ducky wakes up to urinate…and moves into the bathroom before commencement of said activity, because if not our new mattress and very comfortable marriage will suffer. Who wrote that line? Did they think about what they were writing? Part of my job is writing ad copy, in radio you have two medias to work with to get your message across, your ad copy and the background sound, i.e. sound efx and music. In thirty seconds I have to condense the message and sell you on the product. If I’m laughing I missed 15 seconds of the commercial and the long forgotten message.

Tragic veer…

BP has so “graciously” agreed/announced/had their arm bent until the called uncle and said they would not be paying out dividends for the remainder of the year. “Ya, think?” Decency has been forgotten by big oil. Oh, wait. Big oil and decency don’t tend to go hand in hand in the same sentence, same season, same industry, same universe. Obama is being slammed for not having reacted sooner to the “oil spill.”

Side bar: Oil Spill. Isn’t that an understatement of monstrous proportions?

I don’t understand what Obama was suppose to do? Maybe that is me being ignorant. Maybe that is me being naïve. I’m not sure. What I do know is this: Had Obama stepped in and took control of the situation in the Gulf Coast he would have been slammed for his government over stepping its boundaries.

Now Republicans are slamming Obama for proposing Cap and Trade “Job Killing” legislation. First off Americans make up your mind and stand your ground. Are you green or are you firmly stuck in the LaBrea Tarpit formerly known as the gulf coast? Secondly, Cap and Trade is seasons old – get behind it or come up with something better, but shut up until you have something positive to offer to the dialogue, something that moves “us” forward as good stewards of earth, our home, the only planet we have. Don’t be “green” because it’s “the” thing of the moment, be green because it is it is a) the right way to be b) what your soul demands of you. If you’re not green, don’t want to be green, and think green house gas is nitrous oxide you need to quit reading this blog. It’s not for you.

Most people can’t afford to buy a Volt, or a hybrid, but you can ride your bike more, walk more, or drive less. There are ways you can join the revolt against waste, planet abuse, and planet ignorance. Just as much as plugging forever the gushing death-hole in the gulf, there are little things that added together make a huge difference. But just like change, personally making a difference starts at home. Don’t be among those who forget, make a choice, make a difference, make an impact.

Wild veer…

While it’s not wildly popular I am all for paying my fair share of taxes. Not your share, not his share, my fair share and I expect you to pay yours. Have you heard/seen the commercials where the lady is sitting in the darkened room, wringing her hands, and in a weak addlepated voice whines, “They took the last $40 from my checking account.” Lady you made the money pay your fucking debt. I do. That is the maddening part, the humorous part is that they have the woman wringing her hands in a strategically lit room as to hide her identity, small print at the bottom of the screen let’s you know it’s an enactment by a professional actor. I forgot what my point is. Crap I’m so pissed the lady is whining because SHE, like Willie, didn’t pay her taxes.

Have you heard the national radio commercial from the company that claims they can help reduce your credit card debt by cutting you a deal with your creditors and give you one low payment? “Call us if you owe more than ten thousand dollars in credit card bills. If you owe less than ten thousand do the right thing, pay your bills…” Excuse me? So it’s not the right thing to owe under ten thousand dollars in credit card debt? Forgotten – responsibility, accountability, and decency.

I’ll let you know where I rant next time. Until then,
Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Ending... Beginning

This is my third start on this topic, but I think I’ve finally got, thank you spring, but Julieann’s Forgotten (and no that isn’t a nod to this week’s topic) may be a better fit. It is June 11th, what a beautiful sunny day, sadly it is only the second sunny day we’ve had in weeks and the sun didn’t come out until well after 2 o’clock. Once in a while we have a wet summer on the Oregon Coast, it’s been a while since the last, so this maybe one of those.

As noted it’s Oc, No, June 11th. We’ve had 7.46 inches of rain. No, not for the year - in June. So, you can understand my confusion. I use to have a 70’s Ziggy T-shirt that read, “The Oregon Rain Festival – June 1st through May 31st” I wish I had that T-shirt back. Last weekend we drove inland for a graduation party in Lowell (a 90 minute drive… okay Ducky was driving, it took two hours) the sky was blue and so sunny - the morning was promising. We were totally under cloudy skies by the time we turned onto Beltline. It was still a lovely day, just cloudy. One of those days you felt the warm threat of a thunderstorm hanging on the air. But sincerely, the ending of spring seems like the beginning of autumn this year.

Sunday morning dawned, bullshit, it didn’t dawn at all, it was endless dreary rain. Sunday night it began pouring. It was lovely to sleep to, I’ve not had to water my lawn once and did I mention it’s Oc, No, June 11th? The nasturtium in my hanging baskets are very promising, and as long as it doesn’t quit raining they will be beautiful and full fill their all summer long. Unless it stops raining then they are doomed – I’m sure to forget to water then (there’s that forgotten thingie again) just out of hydro-phobia. Not hydrophoby like in “Old Yeller” but total fear of water after this deluge of rain.

Tomorrow there is a forecast for sunshine. HALLELUJAH! Ducky will be burning brush at my mom’s. I’m going to weed my garden (friggin’ grass is growing in my garden) because the rain is going to start again. I know it is, I write the weather forecast all the time. I watch the satellite maps – and there’s the fact I’ve lived on the Oregon Coast for 37 years. Tomorrow will be sunny, the wind will pick up by 10am, it will really blow by 2pm. Sunday will hold promise and then the clouds will bank up, the sky will darken, and it will rain. I’ve seen the satellite maps. Plus you know the end of spring is the beginning of autumn and tomorrow is Oc, No, June 12th.

Welcome to the Oregon Rain Festival – June 1st through May 31st

Sith
Cele

Talk Thursday: Fuzzy Navels

I’m still contemplating that Fuzzy Navel, I much prefer to be imbibing one at this time of the evening. But, yeah, that ain’t happening anytime soon. I’m out of Peach Schnapps. Drats! Lately I’ve been having troubles falling asleep. Thinking it was the six year old Beauty Rest mattress piece of crap, I bought a new Comfort-Pedic. I’m still having trouble falling asleep. For a foam mattress it’s pretty firm, I like firm, but this is firm-extreme. I’ll adapt.

During our vacation to Vegas I broke myself of the sleep aide habit. In truth I didn’t use a sleep aide the entire time we were gone, didn’t miss it, fell senselessly into sleep each night after rolling over. Three weeks after returning home I was still having trouble falling asleep. Seemingly, I have become a light sleeper in my old age. Friday nights I’ve been allowing myself a sleep aide to get a good night’s sleep, but well I think “good night’s sleep” is relative. I don’t want to become dependent again. Sometimes I take a pill on Saturday nights too. The first step of dependence denial.

Ducky got me hooked on the “Real” Housewives of Orange County. Having been raised on the LA/OC County line and the beaches Balboa during my childhood summers, it was kind of like revisiting my old stomps. Except the botox vixens of the OC live in LaLa Land of Excessive Life Styles that are anything but normal. That evolved into watching the “Real” Housewives of New York City. I love the personalities, but I’ve come to realize that this totally screws up my sleep patterns. The personalities are negative and toxic. I can’t break myself of the addiction. I tired. Really. I was able to get past not watching Thursday night. Then, I caught part of it over the weekend. And caught up. The second step of denial.

So Thursday night I tried a Margarita. Despite the bucket having been in the freezer since last summer, not bad. I had two and slept like a baby until about two o’clock. Now you’re thinking. “Three hours, that’s not a quality sleep.” But if you’re like me two and a half to three hours of uninterrupted sleep is heavenly. Not that I want to create a margarita habit that will require a twelve step plan, but I’m good at the moment. And really the tequila is much better than the Peach Schnapps.

Cheers,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Expectations

Wow am I behind. I truly had these great expectation of writing more this year. I was good and didn’t set that as a New Year resolution. While I apparently have been writing less, my New Year goal seems to be in tack. I figured with choosing only one I shouldn't be able to screw it up too badly.

Last week was Rhody Festival, which usually runs me ragged and this year was no less successful in running me ragged than any in the past. But what was different was that I was so calm through the whole thing. The fact the parade was thirty plus entries less helped immensely. I was able to write up a specific number of entries a day leading up to Saturday, wait for revisions, insertions, and drop outs plus search the internet for interesting tidbits to help pass the time while 20 Corvettes idled past Parade Central.

It rained Saturday morning and I tendered calls the entire time from people wanting to know if the Show N’ Shine was canceled? And the ensuing Classic Car Cruise. Let me assure you neither was canceled. And while the rain did fall, over 130 cars still showed up for the Show N’ Shine.

The kids still paraded down Oak Street to the Kids Games. Old ladies still brought out their hand made Uglies, quilts, and delicious homemade jams.

Ducky and I have this tradition. Saturday evening during Rhody we go to the car cruise. I always take my camera because I love the old cars and the people. We walk Bay street look at the bikes. Buy a coffee. Then walk back along Bay Street to the carnival and have an elephant ear which we devour on the boardwalk while watching the river and boats. Always a lovely evening.

This year was no exception and met perfectly with my expectations.

Sunday's parade was excellent, no rain, only 10 Corvettes. And no really goofs in the parade construction, my friend Bubba did a good job. Then I came home to be met with my first iris.

I planted these four iris probably four years ago when I first put in the Lily garden. Nada. Green sword leaves shooting skyward and that was it. Year after year, the nursery didn’t know what I was doing wrong. This year my surprise Batik iris met my long abandoned expectations and gave me this lovely bloom with the promise of more on two of the other plants. My lily garden no so good, but the iris is a divine start.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: The Invisible Worm

I’m going to assume that inside everything there is a nigglely little worm. The worm that dines on the skinny ribs of self confidence, the fat of second guessing, and the sweet desserts of all left feet in mouth syndrome. I have learned over the years that rarely can you go back and make something right. So oft nights at 2am I awake with a regret I will never be able to right my ancient wrongs. Or a thought triggers a memory of behavior so embarrassing I burn in shame seemingly for ever. Maybe hell really is of our own making here on earth.

Psam and I were just talking about the nigglely little worms inside. She had her demons and I have mine, we’re not unusual tell me about your nigglely little worms. Mine, the terror of faux pas past.

I break out in a panicked sweat when suddenly my mind travels back to a moment best forgotten. These dirty little deeds are the reason I fully embrace my personal motto, “Where we’ve been is who we are.” Once I was a shy wallflower. Apparent inflicting pain on others with my razor sharp tongue was something I thought would elevate me in the opinion of others, isn’t that just a sad, sad thought? If inflicting pain is what it takes to be “in”, it is a sad comment on the me I was.

I want to impact people’s lives in a positive way. But the actions of my past will have done the exact opposite. I’m not a Catholic where I can go confess my sins to some middle man and have all transgressions erased from my record with a litany of hail Mary’s. No I’m a person who wears each wrong; for each transgression I committed there is a person whose existence I made more unbearable at an awkward, personality forming time of their life. I can’t take those back, and that is so wrong. Yes, it was wrong in the first place, and my stupidity is no excuse, but knowing I am responsible for a black hole of pain in a person’s past is unbearable at times.

Do I feel that all mighty and powerful? No, I don’t and I am hoping that I’ve blown them out of proportion in the years and decades since. Could I be so lucky that the misdeeds have been forgotten? I think not.

Now I take every opportunity I have to apologize to for my wrongs and mistakes. And I take every opportunity to thank people for the lessons, the friendships, and the impacts they have had on my life. I try to give people my all and never fall back in to the mean girl mode where I try to climb over the backs of others.

That person of then is so alien to me. To who I am and what I stand for. Maybe my nigglely invisible worm keeps me on vigil against becoming what I once was.

Sith.
Cele

Talk Thursday: Imaginary Spring

If April showers bring May flowers, then I'm going to have a bushel of spring posies. This month we've had two days with over 2 inches of rain. The other night, about 1am it rained so hard it woke me up. Granted I'm a light sleeper, but boy that is ridiculous. Tulips don't have a long life here, one season and they are gone. I will get some reds or yellows that will comeback year after year, but not the hybrids. And Tulips are one of Ducky's favorite flowers so I try to plant a lot of them. So while my lilies seem to be disappearing and the rain played havoc on the blooms, I did get some good shots to close out the month.



Here's to May flowers and the April ones too.

Sith,
Cele

Girls Night In Hell

Let me start off with the disclaimer that I adore my mother. Tonight’s dinner was at a small Mexican restaurant around the corner from my house. I arrived about three minutes before my mom and grandmother, just enough time to realize how tired I am.

We talked about what grandma would have for dinner and then set into enjoying the toasted chips and fresh salsa. And then began discussing things, yeah we talk about things like that. Last night Ducky and I’d been watching First Edition, Inside Edition, crap I don’t know the name of it, but he’s hooked. I had to laugh, stop the presses, big headlines from Inside Edition: “Sandra Bullock Drops Two Bombshells!” So I have to ask, “Except for Jessie James, who didn’t see Sandra filing for divorce coming?”

My mother needs to move out of the fifties, “Why is it that Madonna, Jolie, and Sandra Bullock have to adopted black babies, couldn’t they find white? It’s just so sad they’re putting those poor little babies into a bad position. Who’s going to teach them about being black?”

“Mom, maybe Sandra just wanted to adopt a baby that needed love? If she was trying to make a statement she wouldn’t have kept it a secret for three months. That woman needs to open up a school for keeping secrets.”

“But how do they explain their mommy is white?”

“Mom, who cares that Louie’s mommy is white?”

Suddenly the mouth of my grandmother opens (her mind is apparently stuck in the forties) “Children can be so mean, that poor little boy is going to have kids saying, ‘Look at the little nigger.”

And with that in the middle of a cute little Mexican Restaurant around the corner from my house, I was Gobsmacked by the blind rudeness of maturity.

Fuck, I need a drink.
Cele

Please Stand Against The Performance Tax

When I turned eight my parents gave me an AM / FM Radio. There hadn’t been much music in our house before, except for Lawrence Welk on Saturday nights. Well that isn’t totally true, I can remember being about five or so and having a worn out 45 stack turntable and two singles: The Lion Sleeps Tonight by the Tokens, and Andy’s Williams’ Moon River. The needle was missing so you had to put your ear close to the turntable and listen. It was worth the effort.

Several of my friends had their own record players, their parents had “Hi-Fi’s”, and I had the car radio or my dad singing, King of the Road. I love music and the gift of the radio was a turning point in my life. I listened to music every moment I could. A devotee to KHJ I grew up listening to Charlie Tuna, Robert W. Morgan, and the Real Don Steele. I knew the words to every song, a fact driven home to me in 1970 when the Beatles broke up. Every pop station on the dial played 24 hour Beatles marathons or worse “Non-stop Beatles Weekends.” I hated the Beatles. Really, fifty-eight charting songs in the US and I probably liked three of them.

Suddenly it was all Beatles all the time. ARGH! What’s a Folkie / daytripper to do? It’s not like I could turn it off, I’m a radio addict. And then the worst of it hit me, I friggin’ knew every word to every song. If someone tells you that learning by listening in your sleep doesn’t work, send them my way. That three songs Strawberry Fields, Penny Lane, and Golden Slumbers realistically swelled to ten songs with the inclusion of In My Life, Here There and Everywhere, Norwegian Wood, Yesterday, Something, Rocky Raccoon, and Lady Madonna. I think it could get worse, I mean I am a child of the sixties, and if my politics and yard are any clue, I’m a Flower Child of the sixities.

Suddenly the Beatles were a begrudged inclusion into my repertoire of appreciated music. But the whole point is if it’d not been for radio I’d have not fallen in love with Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young; Cat Stevens; the Moody Blues; Climax Blues Band; the Doors, Marvin Gaye; the Supremes, Sonny and Cher; the Temptations; the Miracles; Bob Dylan; Peter, Paul, and Mary; the Rolling Stones; the Beach Boys; The Animals and all the other groups whose albums and 45s are stored in my guest bedroom closet. I was allowed to use half of my allowance and babysitting money on the buys of my choice. My choice was the music I heard on the radio. I bought concert tickets to the groups that I loved from radio.

When I was young I tried to figure out how they got all the bands in the radio, then I grew up. Now I work in the radio industry and have a better insight into what it takes to air your favorites and the new up and coming acts over the free airwaves. When Isay “free” I mean you listen to commercials that pay for us to be on the air with a product your want to hear on your radio. True a lot of people today buy Satellite Radio, but rumors abound that even satellite is going to begin selling commercial load. Time will tell.

Now, under pressure from the recording industry, bills are in both the House - H.R. 848 and in the Senate - S 379. Both bills have passed through committee and are potentially headed for the floor.

The Free Radio Alliance cites a series of facts on their website - that everyday 173 million Americans reply on free radio daily for music, news, and information updates. They state a bevy of figures that radio provides to the economy, to public service, to everyday life. We buy the music we play (well for the most part, country music gives us the music free.) As a small radio station on the Oregon Coast (actually two stations – four airwaves) we pay large monthly fees to ASCAP, BMI and / or SESAC to air the music you hear over the airwaves. Twice a year we report what we play so they can pay out royalties from our fees to the composers and lyricists who make that music possible. Do you know why all stations don’t stream on the internet? The cost is too prohibitive. Soon small broadcasters will be forced to pay double or more the royalty rates paid today, those increases will create a chain reaction that will see the end of small and hometown broadcasters.

If any part of my story and / or arguments touch a place inside of you. If you listened to the events and coverage 9/11 all day long at work on the radio, if you tune into the local high school football, basketball, and baseball games, your favorite college games, heard the OJ Simpson verdict, if you tuned into X-minus One, Burns and Allen, or the Cinnomon Bear, if you can look in your spare bedroom and see a hundred CDs, LPs, 45s, cassettes, or even 8-tracks bought because you heard a song on the radio please lend your support to No Performance Tax dot Org by signing your name.

Thank you,
Calista

Talk Thursday: Things That Must Go

It seems my time to blog has sadly diminished over the past few months. As I note the passage of the year, crap it’s almost May, I note the sad lack of topics and blogs I’ve written. Part of this is solely blamed on TV and my glaring inability to multi-task at all times. Thank God I don’t have TIVO. Why you might ask? Women know what commercial breaks all about – doing chores, that’s what! TIVO = no commercials; messy house; no blog. So tonight I am blogging whilst Dancing With The Stars. Okay, okay it’s hours before DWTS, but why put off until tomorrow what won’t get done?

Things That Must Go!

God this is more difficult than I thought. It’s the third time I’ve started this, to underscore the point, we are 45 minutes into DWTS. I keep getting off task and blundering.

Blundering must go

Now at this point I have to say go read Psam’s list… it’s mine except that she wrote it and put it on her blog, not mine. But hey, it could have been mine if she posted it here instead.

Note minor rant at the end..

Hatred must go. Enough said.

Companies who hire illegal aliens. Thereby screwing over the people whose Social Security numbers have been hijacked and will someday (possibly soon) need those numbers and the services that demand said numbers: like Social Security benefits, Workman’s Comp, and Unemployment to name just a few.

Companies that take their factories off shore and the people who still buy their products. I.e. Nike, Levis (yes, this includes Ducky – he will only wear 501s,) Indian Call Centers, and give me time and I’ll find a list.

Cheap unregulated Chinese products. We make our companies meet specific standards and regulations and yet bring in whatever made by whomever wherever. WTF?

Pompous vegetarians who make a fuss over the treatment of animals (said reason for being a Vegetarian.) And yet while spouting the doctrine of Peta they wear leather boots, suede jackets, and have two leather couches for their dog.

Oversized breast implants – Heidi Montag, Pamela Anderson, and the late Anna Nicole Smiths of this world you know who you are. In fact Pamela must go from DWTS, too.

Male enhancement commercials. What you don’t realize is that it’s his smile that is bigger. His wife is now much happier because he and his lack luster attention to detail is leaving her alone.

The mind numbing dumbing down of America … oh what a list
1) Stupid TV - The Simpsons, Two and A Half Men, and hate filled programming.
2) Not requiring people to speak English. I’m talking people whose first language is English (Sadly I’ve failed at learning a second language, well unless Pig Latin counts.)
3) Students, parents, teachers, and school systems that do not exact a winning performance from students (or themselves) and pass them for either a quota, frustration, and to just get rid of the student. I believe this problem often starts at home.
4) Candidates, politicians, and leaders who can’t talk, don’t think, and spew their hatred and ignorance to be sucked up whole hog by the public who refuses to check their facts before believing. Can we say – Drink the Fucking Kool-Aid because it would be an improvement over your (being their) current mental exercise.
5) People who pull the race/gender/religion (or lack there of) / persuasion card – in totally inappropriate times. Sometimes pulling said card is totally legit, but how many times have you seen 1) Jessie Jackson pulling the “card?” It’s been over pulled. 2) I can’t I’m a girl “card.” Too stupid too live. 3) Glambert pulling the “card” when he’d been totally inappropriate in a primetime performance. 4) Anti: Prayer groups in schools, In God We Trust, The Pledge of Allegiance. Come on show up 10 minutes late and get over it, this allows both sides to remain true to themselves. In the words of Rodney King (paraphrased I’m sure,) “Can’t we just get along?”

Stores that gladly give you ten (no that isn’t exaggerating) plastic bags, but gets pissed and charges me 6 cents for the doubled 86 paper bags, that will hold all inside of and the ten plastic bags, when I forget my reusable ecobags. Again plastic bags aren’t biodegradable and trees are a renewable resource. Really I know you’ve been taught they’re not, but really I can show you acres and acres, and whole states of replanted trees.

Freeloaders. Example: Single parents or families who have child after child while milking the system of your’s and my hard worked tax dollars. I don’t mind paying my share, I friggin’ mind paying theirs. I’m not talking about hard working, responsible people who are down on their luck at the moment, crap no, they pay into the system. I’m talking the person who for years on end hasn’t had a job. My next door neighbor (yeah the rose killing bastard) has a son who’s well into to his thirties (maybe forties I am bad at ages) and has sponged off his father for the two years prior to the bloody rosebush massacre. While the man killed my rosebush and took away my privacy in the act, he has attempted to keep his front yard up in the past year and a half. Then he became gravely ill, his kidneys failed, and he now endures dialysis a few times a week. His son made a comment Saturday about how is father wants so badly to clean up his yard. Do you think his son, or grandson who live off him have offered? The weeds choking his new plantings tell me no.

Oh, and ungrateful whiney people who don’t own up because it’s always somebody else’s fault. Always.

And I’m going to second Psam’s final three (except I don’t know anything about the Canadian band Tea Party) and the whole pajamas in public thing, what’s that all about beyond lazy?

I wish I could go on, sadly, I’m blocked.

Sith,
Cele

The Reality of TV

Since China Beach, rarely do I stick with a television show for long. Okay, I take that back, there was Babylon V, Farscape, Joan of Arcadia, and West Wing. But in truth if I like it on network TV it usually gets canceled. Underscoring my argument… Sports Night (with William Macy and Felicity Huffman), Moonlight (with that hot guy in the new J-lo movie),

I’m in shock that Big Bang Theory has lasted two and a half seasons, it’s a great TV gem. But now that…

* * * * Spoiler Alert* * * * * *

Will Wheaten and the premature “L” word has broken up Penny and Leonard the show is doomed. Remember Moonlighting. Okay, you understand.

A week or two ago I saw a comment in the paper that there are few family friendly programs on television. To their dismay they could only name three: the Simpsons, some show I forgot, and Two and A Half Men. OHMYFUCKINGSTARS! The Simpsons is the footpath that leads to the dumbing down of America. And Two and A-Half Men family friendly? You’ve got to be kidding me. Two and A Half Idiots is disrespectful, rude, condescending, ignorant, did I mention rude? Oh and that’s only half of it – really I should have written a list.

When reality TV hit the airwaves I was fairly resistant. I’m not sure why. Then I went to England during the second season of Big Brother (a show miles different from the American version) I was hooked (this was during the Jade Goody season.) I came home and watched the second season of BB US style. Four seasons later the ignorance and the hatful personalities finally did me in. Wow, four seasons. I think that might be a milestone.

BB lead to Survivor, lead to American Idol. Then I found Ghost Hunters, which lead to Ice Road Truckers, which lead to DEADLIEST CATCH. I could watch this show forever. I have come to realize I adore characters.

Sadly I have degenerated into the deep bowels of the Reality TV abyss. Now I’m hooked on Cash Cab, Mythbusters, Pawn Stars, American Pickers, and all those trashy Housewives. Well not the Atlanta ones, but hey I have to watch baseball and football sometimes. Don’t tell my mom she’d be appalled. Psam on the other hand has sadly been forced to sit through a Housewives marathon.

So now I have to come out and say,

“Hello, my name is Cele and I’m a character addict.”

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Aftermath

I believe when I originally named this topic I was thinking of "post Easter sugar coma." But then I thought about the aftermath of the West Virginia coalmine disaster. My father was from West Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains, a small little burg named Valley Head, 150 east of Montcoal. I have lived the majority of my life thankful my father was neither an alcoholic or a miner. What more can I add? It’s heartbreaking, things won’t change, and people will continue to give their all to a job that could care less. ‘Nuff said. Smog, electricity, life, black-lung and sorrow the aftermath of coalmining.

Then I read Psam’s blog. I miss my daughter when she is offline, it’s our connection to each other. This is something my husband (and a world of other people) do not understand. I hate talking on the phone. I am a talk one on one face to face type person. I am hideous at small talk. Put me in the middle of 100 partying people, I am the wallflower – I suck at small talk. It’s not that I don’t want to hear from you, I really do, but I’m not good at it. Psam knows this. My mother (who is much better at phone than I) knows this.

My husband, doesn’t know this. He’s forever pushing me to call. Check on Psam. Find out how her job situation is going. I know that if I call Psam and I ask her about her job situation, did she get a second interview, did she get her call back? Has she heard any rumblings from her work cronies? My call and questions will only drive home her sorrow. Placing more pressure on her shoulders is not what I want to do. I know when something happens she will call me. It’s the way we work. Ducky does not compute this.

Now in my sixth decade I know life is a progression of education, challenges, learning opportunities missed or utilized, and metamorphose. We are born a blank slate. We become a mirror of our parents, peers, religion and society’s mores and norms. I was blessed with a mother who told me to go out and learn. To question (I hope I passed that on to more than just my daughter.) My viewpoints are ever changing, usually the basis stays the same with the fine points refined. And then other times everything is sent topsy-turvy and I end up re-evaluating, reconsidering, redefining because someone gave me a discussion point that struck home and really made me see something vital from a different point. Growth, the aftermath of discussion.

I may get mad by something I hear, and unless I see resultant red I will take it in, digest the finer points and adapt. Difference makes the world go round. Or as Ex-One was oft want to say, “Variety is the spice of life and that’s what the judge is going to tell my wife.” He had the sentiment right the rest of the things in his life he screws up on a regular basis. Sadly little of the world respects and embraces variety of life, opinion, religion, favorite colors, and pets. That is the aftermath of rigid humanity.

So I guess in the spirit of Green Earth Month it is rethink, reuse, and recycle. It all works.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: On Further Review

During last Thursday’s girl’s night out my mom revisited the old “If you make a mistake and you learn from it, the mistake was worth making.” I live by this motto (one of several,) I’ve made lots of mistakes in my life. A Lot! But when she saw the look on my face she automatically jumped to my first marriage and ensuing divorce.

“You got Psam out of that marriage” (relationships are broken down into marriages and situations to my mom).

That wasn’t where my thoughts had been. I believe what my mother’s words actually had been were, we gain things from each experience, each relationship. While I didn’t have to marry One-X to get an awesome daughter (I was unknowingly preggers when I said, “I do”) I did learn other things post my marriage to One-X – I learned I am strong, capable, and as damageable as everyone else. An innocent person I adored depended on me to be at my best. I grew during my first marriage and subsequent divorce.

No, the look on my face, mirroring the thoughts I’d caught myself on in shock, were the realization that I had gained absolutely nothing from my marriage with Two-X. WTF? Yes, I wound up with the house, but excuse me I’d paid for half of it – he walked away, I didn’t push him out. This is a topic you’ve heard me whine over many times. I lost my personality, my identity. And lately have come to realize that I lost more than a decade of my life to nada.

It’s quite a shock to find out that you wasted more than a decade with nothing to show for it. Almost like being an alcoholic or drug addict that wakes up one morning and can’t remember the last ten years and has nothing to show for it. I threw away over a fifth of my life on a worthless man. I have done several things in my life that I despise, but you know what? Upon further review, this may top them.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: It Was The Best of Times… It Was The Worst Of Times

If you haven’t noticed how really fast time flies, well then you are either pretty young, or live perpetually “in the moment.” I’m over half way through my life, if my life line runs true to form, and parts of me think that is far too long, and the other parts think "Crap!" it’s not near long enough. Thank heavens I believe in reincarnation.

It was like yesterday the first time I said, “I remember about twenty years ago, when…” What I don’t remember is “the what” I was remembering about at the time; what I do remember was stopping in my tracks, mid sentence, and laughing out loud at the moment. Now I remember back over twenty one years ago (at least two decades since the first time I said “I remember about twenty years ago…”) I long knew there was something a matter in my marriage, I didn’t know the what. I didn’t know it wasn’t repairable, because it apparently had never been right in the first place, to become broken in the second.

All I knew was that I had been happy and in love, sadly he was neither and he told me so one Sunday afternoon. It had to have been bad; he interrupted a 49’ners game to tell me so and then left. I don’t remember where Psam was; I just know she wasn’t at home. I left the potato salad on the counter and walked west to the dune and sat down and cried.

For days, about three, I cried. And then he came back and told me, and I quote, “I think I made a mistake.”

“Yeah, you did, live with it.” If I was so devastated, and I was he’d just ruined my mine and Psam’s lives, why did I say that back to him? Because I knew that I could remain married to him but wonder forever more when he was going to walk out on me again. I could have dealt with an affair. There are myriad reasons for an affair. But for not loving a person, there is only one.

He was nice enough to deed over the house so Psam and I weren’t out on the street. I think it was a guilt move, but I’ll take it. In her early teens at the break-up, Psam was going through the changes and challenges of life that only a teenage girl can endure…along with her mom. But even more so she was there for me.

In the years between 2-X and Ducky, Psam and I we grew, endured, and triumphed. I worked three jobs, and she got her first. A friend of mine lent us her time-share in Reno and we made a week of it. I taught her to drive; she actually learned. I’d get a boyfriend and she’d beat his ass at chess (oh, crap the temper tantrum he threw.) She discovered boys that she didn’t want to beat up and her fingernails (she’d change the color every day – no lie); I’d find another boyfriend (yes, I was that crappy a mother.)

While I love my husband and life now, I could easily go back and relive those years when it was just Psam and I, maybe without the boyfriends. Because really, while for most it would have been the worst of times…remember there was a heart rending divorce in there, the truth of it all… it was the best of times.

Sith,
Cele

Spring, Spring, Spring

Did I mention it’s Spring? In the last few days (four days since Saturday, March 20th) we have had two inches of rain and three days of sunshine. My tulips are coming alive.

Each day I look at my lilly garden and wait in anticipation of what will become, just as the tulips raise their heads. I should have planted more daffodils. Next year for certain.

My flowers give me immense joy. Much needed in this time of political turmoil.

Does it seem to you like the rhetoric has been dialed up again, just when you thought it not possible? Crips, making it possible for everyone to afford medical care and insurance has cause a political out cry that makes me want to puke. And of course the media jumps on. First off I do not believe I am entitled. No, no way, fuck off. Do I believe my health care should cost less than my house payment? Yes, I do. I don’t believe that means I feel entitled, I think it believes I am willing to pay my fair share. Just please make it affordable.

If I listen to the Republican rhetoric I would believe that we are now going to hell in a hand basket and that Americans are OUTRAGED AND MAD AS HELL. Excuse me, the Republican barometer of all things good and bad… the Dow was up 103 points today. Money talks.

Thanks to the Republican rhetoric I would believe that all Americans are anti health care reform and furious that the Democratic demons have bucked the system, ignored the majority consensus and ploughed headstrong in to unwanted territory. Not. The Wall Street Journal does report that the margins are close 46 to 45 percent, and the remaining 9 percent are unsure. That means 55 percent of Americans aren’t mad as hell while thinking the Democratic demons are bucking the system. It means nine percent aren’t sure, don’t know enough, or don’t care enough they go with the flow.

USA Today / Gallup poll cites 49 percent of Americans think the health care reform bill is a “good thing” while 40 percent described their reaction to the bill’s passage as “angry” or “disappointed.”

And a CBS poll cited by Plumline says the health care reform bill doesn’t go far enough. Now yes, there are margins of error in all polls,



but I’ve not seen a poll that shows the majority of Americans are mad as hell and not going to take it anymore.

So I say, let’s see how it goes, give the powers that be the chance to make it work. The last administration had eight years to make their mark. They did. Now let’s let this one do it’s job.

I’ll grow more flowers in the mean time. And for my dear friend Fii, here's my first Woodpecker of 2010.. show me yours

please.

Sith,
Cele

Happy Birthday from Burp... the musical!

Back in February I told you Burp had called me for my birthday.
I took my cellphone into the studio and saved this recording.



I can't get enough of it.

Talk Thursday: Blogging?

Sadly, no I’ve not been blogging. It hasn’t been for the lack of desire, it has been for the lack of inspiration. Over two weeks ago I began a blog about looking back into Ducky’s family history… complete with pictures. It apparently is still in the draft stages.

Oh, crap. That was several weeks ago, because two weeks ago I took all the pictures for a blog about the Florence Home and Garden Show. Those pictures are still in my camera. Blog not written.

I bought this kewl secretary (Ashley and awesome) for a steal during the radio auction. I let it sit for a few weeks before deciding what to put into it. I opted for my china cocoa set that has been handed down from generation to generation. I photographed it for insurance purposes, because you know I really should do it and my china too. Ducky added his own touches to the display.

So WTF have I been doing with my time? Well let me tell you – I threw my back out. I worked in the garden. Tripped over the dog aka my black - can't be seen in the dark, 93 pound - speed bump and whacked my back more. It’s either that or I ruptured my spleen. Is your spleen towards the back in the left side? What ever it is it friggin’ hurts. Going to my chiropractor did not help. He did say no yoga. Frick. I have been watching a lot of the Housewives of this and that American burg. They make me feel really good about my boring, non-complicated, salt of the earth life. See I’ve been doing nothing, they have inspired me to nothingness. Hopeless. I need to get a life.

But really nothing has been going on. I’m dying to get out in my garden for more than two hours on a Saturday afternoon. I am itching to replace the plants that have died and do something better. I am not itching to pick up the courtyard pavers I laid two years ago and put them in correctly, but I will be doing that this summer. I even may possibly add a new paver style patio in our over grown, windy back yard.

I will leave your with a few pictures of my garden that I took today… which now means
The pictures from the Home and Garden Show are on my computer – I guess I need to be inspired to write another blog.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday - What Brings Me To Pieces; What Brings Me To Peace

It finally hit me today, something that pissed me off, so incredibly much that I wanted to scream at the world. Supposed Christian’s picketing the funeral of a fallen solder. How insensitive and base can a person get? Let alone a person who is supposed to live their life based on Christian morals? I DON’T FUCKING GET IT. Well there goes my attempt to keep from cussing.

Yes, I believe in God. The Bible has a lot of history, a lot of parables, a multitude of psalms, and oh those pesky rules and laws. To borrow a line from Scrooge, “Bah Humbug.” I don’t believe in the Bible as the word of God… “just because it tells me so.” I’m sorry, I don’t – can I point to contradictions and reasons why I don’t, you bet. But I do believe in your right to do so. But if you do, please, don’t pick and choose the parts you want to live by, the parts you don’t, and then yell at the top of your lungs hateful, insightful, condemning, ignorant things (that break a whole gob of rules.) If you’re going to live by the law of the Bible, abide it. And yes I know I’m going to hell because I have a tattoo, news flash I’m getting another one shortly. If your God sends me to hell because of it, well news flash, I don’t believe in hell. My God has more important things to worry about I’m sure. I’ve been here before, in the words of McArthur and Arnold, “I’ll be back.”

What gives these people the right to intrude upon a family’s grief? Not a thing beyond their self-righteous indignation. They believe God has enough free time on his hands to hate, to let people die because of hate, to do things to people because they dare to be, and to have chosen us and place our issues above anyone else in the world. Get over yourselves because if you’re living by the edict of the Bible the chosen were Jewish, lived in a hot barren hell-hole and definitely were not American. Get over yourselves, get over your “interpretations” and live your life, not someone else’s. Get over your hatred – hatreds based on pure ignorance.

Next put yourself into a grieving mother’s sorrow, a mourning father’s grief and live a moment in their shoes. Would you accept some atheist zealot screaming indignant epitaphs during your hour of sorrow because you choose to believe? Na, na, na, don’t get self-righteous put yourself in their shoes and then get over yourself.

What brings me peace? The universe. Knowing there are good people, good powers, good intentions in the universe that will stand in the face of insanity and find peace. I am glad I am graced with the intelligence to want to learn what I do not understand, to conquer ignorance, and to live in harmony.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: For Your Consideration

Six years ago Janet Jackson’s “Nipplegale” rocked the world and resulted in a $550,000 fine levied by the Federal Communications Commission against CBS. Today they are still arguing the fine points, and again the appealed fine is being scrutinized. We gained a new word, no not Nipplegate, we gained the phrase Wardrobe Malfunction. And that half a million plus fine, well consider this: A 30 second Superbowl commercial (remember Nipplegates’ famous wardrobe malfunction happened during the 2004 Superbowl) cost just over $2 Million. Consider this: While Nipplegate has ignited conversations around the watercooler, the dinner table, and in the tabloid aisle at the grocery store, CBS lost a mere 12 seconds of advertising revenue.

Republicans are arguing that American’s don’t want health care reform. Because I don’t know this as a fact, but considering most bankers (and I mean CEO golden parachute bankers) are Republican, I’m going out on a limb to believe that most Insurance CEOs are Republican too. Crap, you know the CEOs of Pharmaceutical companies hail the great White Elephant. So it’s comes as no surprise that Republicans are against Health Care Reform. It’s not your general practitioners that are making the big bucks, no they have a practice to fund. It’s not “most” hospitals that rake in the big profits, unless you consider Sacred Heart River Bend who features a million dollar fire place in a hospital that is so big they regularly misplace patients.

Sadly your health care is being run by HMO’s, not your doctor… and there are people out there making big money by making sure you can’t own your own health. Sadly 62 percent of bankruptcies in America are medical related. While insurance companies that layer blue sky percentage onto your health care cost are raking in billions in profits they are crying poor mouth and raising your insurance rates as much at 39 percent. Consider this Wellpoint/Blue Cross / Anthem raised rates 39 percent, while in the same breathe they claimed a 4.75 billion dollar profit this year. But hey, the system isn’t broken unless you’re the questionably-insured.

Consider this: If you live on the Oregon Coast and a devastating 8.8 earthquake hits Chile, someone from Nebraska will call your listener because a Tsunami is going to hit the Oregon Coast. While it could happen - it isn’t, it didn’t, it wasn’t going to happen. I must have answered 26 phone calls (this morning – yes I wrote this blog that long ago) Saturday morning from the headless chicken republic. I’m betting the police chief and mayor answered even more. Why am I betting that? Because I interviewed the Police Chief aka “Maury” on the air, and got a thank you phone call from the Mayor aka “Phil”, there after saying thank you.

And on top of all that stuff, consider this… someone had to invent the paper clip!

Sith,
Cele

The Week of Eating Fabulously

February is always one of those eating months for me. First you begin with a series of birthdays and then you get the chocolately delights of Valentines Day and now you can get I Love You Peeps – life rocks.

Add in Miseray’s birthday on February 8th, Psam’s Birthday on February 12th and you’re in birthday cake heaven.

Miseray is a chocoholic… cubed. For years I tried to make her cake one step more chocolate than the year prior. I’m up to six or seven chocolate elements and am about maxed out – chocolate fudge cake, with chocolate pudding in the mix, chocolate chunks baked in – divide into three cake pans and bake. Remove from pans to cool and cover with chocolate chips – when the chips are shiny spread them out to create a filling layer. Then I make a French Silk milk chocolate frosting topped with chocolate sprinkles. Sometimes I make a chocolate mousse to swirl into the frosting. Personally it is too much chocolate for me, but she’s in seventh heaven – I’m sure the milk industry feels a spike in consumption during that week. Ducky calls this cake Death by Chocolate but there really is a Death By Chocolate cake that isn't my creation. I have entitled the three layer chocolate be all/end all – Miseray’s Diabetic Coma Cake.

Psam’s favorite cake is coconut. At first it was a cake my ex used to make for me. After he walked she said it was her favorite and I began making it for her. I have to say it’s a great cake – topped with cream cheese frosting and toasted coconut. It’s a lot of cake.

Now that the girls have made their own homes I still make them cakes. With no cake here Ducky has realized that I never got a cake – hey I’m a mom what can I say with all that cake in the house my butt had no problem growing an extra zip code in February. Monday night I came home to find Ducky hiding in the kitchen with a beautiful German Chocolate cake with a lone tea light lit while he sang Happy Birthday to me. It was incredibly sweet. Then he took me out to dinner for an awesome Cobb Salad. I’d show you a picture of the cake… mit tealight… but I ate it with French Vanilla Ice Cream… the cake – not the tea light.

Thursday night is girl’s night – one week I will meet Audrey for dinner, the next my mom and grandma. We met a Pomodori’s for San Remo Raviolli. Oh mi gosh it’s one of my favorites. Ricotta and Spinach ravioli in an amazing and rich cream sauce with sun dried tomatoes and prociutto. TO.DIE.FOR. They have other great things on the menu – Ravioli San Remo is all my eyes see.

Because I had to work all last weekend Ducky chose to take a drive today. It began with coffee at Pinecone and the Tooth Doctor’s where my adorable sister gave me a new dragon.


She tells me her name is Prunella PenDragon and I adore her.

I first hugged Prunella back in December during Girl’s Day out at the Lane County Holiday Market. I wouldn’t let myself get her because I was suppose to be buying for others and was actually resisting all urges (outside of lunch) for my usual self-indulgence. My sister rocks.

Miseray and the Brit were shopping; Psam had worked last night so she was in a deep sleep. Having eaten breakfast Denisious and Buttman met us for a quick chat and then Ducky took me for Mongolian Grill. See all I did was eat all week.

Then we drove to my next blog and indulged in Coffee Milk shakes. Life is good.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Slowdive – or The Fine Art of Time Miss Management

The intent of this topic totally eluded me. I thought, struggled, Googled, thought again and then I read Fii’s Talk Thursday blog for Spin. She is staggering blind in a miasma I know all too well: Crap! Where did my time go?

Easily I can say there is a minimum 9 to 10 hour day awaiting me Monday through Friday at work. My hours are forever evolving – this year it seems to be 8:30 to 5 or 5:30, or 6pm – depending on events even later. Plus I am on call 24 / 7. The length of the hours I work are my doing for the most part, yes I multi task, could you imagine the length of my day if I didn’t multi task? I literally do two airshifts at one time. I use to go to work at 4 in the morning, and I loved the morning shift – now I would hate it – at the time I was also working three jobs. My job also allows me to multi task for myself – I’m writing this while doing my airshift. It rocks. You have no idea how many times I chatted with Psam or Sid while on the air – on the station’s dime – my boss rocks.

But with those hours comes with a loss of time for me, a loss of time for Ducky, a loss of time of other vital things. Tuesday and Thursday nights are mine, Ducky is in the valley overnight taking a break from his long (160 mile round trip) commute. He gets the rest of my time, well the parts that aren’t claimed by work or my garden.

For eleven years I have compiled, Wednesday Links, a resource for writers. I’ve enjoyed creating the list and subsequent database that resulted from those eleven years – I placed a counter on the page and paid attention to the numbers – the numbers have slowed. Once each year I asked my readers to vote for Wednesday Links at Critters / Preditors and Editors, not a big request, to use it as a tool to judge the value of the Links. Last year Links finished at 11, this year at 19. I haven’t done links for the last two weeks reclaiming three hours of my life back each Tuesday night; I’ve not received one post or note asking what the heck happened to Wednesday Links.

While fewer and even less of my favorite bloggers have been posting in the past few weeks (months) I have missed my own blogging as much as my morning cup of coffee and blog time. I used to have the time to check my favorites several times each day, making sure I posted a comment as a show of support – whether a specific post compelled a response out of me (usually the case) or not. I refuse to give up blogging, it keeps me in touch with people I like, it makes me think, it feeds my soul. No! No! No! My blogging won’t go.

I have also noted that having no me time has bent my inspiration and sense of humor. I wrote out my annual “One Hundred Things About Me” list this week. I started writing it on Saturday night, added ten or more so items Sunday, got to number 67 on Monday – reread what I’d written Tuesday night when I wasn’t compiling my Wednesday Links and discovered several things:

1) I’m boring
2) I’m uninspired
3) I’m humorless
4) It took me four days to write 100 humorless things about me, a project I’ve been thinking about for months that usually takes me a half an hour to write. That sucks, majorly sucks. MAJORLY!

I want my me time back, I want my humor back. I want to still be able to hit my crosstrainer, bemoan my yoga endeavors, give Ducky the time he needs, garden, do my job and still be able to breathe, blog, and recharge. I’ve been on a Time Miss Management Slowdive. Slow nosedive is maybe more accurate, but now I know the definition of Slowdive and must become proactive to regain what I’ve seemingly lost.

Sith,
Cele

PS Thank you Sid for the topic, Thank you Fii, my friend, for the inspiration.