Burp and Arlo, I can't believe how small Arlo was at the time, now he weights 93 pounds.
A third more than Burp now.
Sith,
Cele
Sex Toys, Part One: Suppliers and Materials
4 weeks ago
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Photo Friday: In The Shadows
Taken Fourth of July Weekend 2004
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Talk Thursday: Morning Glories
Or in my case, morning not so glorious. I have started this post, now for the third time. The other two starts were at work, and after you read you’ll understand why it never finished.
Wednesday morning at 6:50am my phone rang. I had dead air on my AM station by the time I turned the radio on, the audio was back in glorious stereo. Usually I would climb back into bed and feign a few more minutes of sleep. Where my mind was that morning I’ve no clue, but I did the totally unusual for myself and crawled bleary eyed into the shower.
Ten minutes later, yesterday’s mascara and eyeliner (no I don’t take my make up off the night before – never have) tracking in black rivulets down my face the phone rings once again. Turning off the water, I dry my feet, wrap a towel around me and trudge to the living room to find my AM is not back on the air. Crap! I go back to the bathroom – still no Music of Your Life streaming in from the living room, wrap a towel around my head, smear Noxema under my eyes in attempt to wipe off the black remnants of the day before – what a mess. I struggle to get a bra on my not too dry body, pull, wriggle, jiggle into a pair of old jeans, grab a clean tank top, sweatshirt, and step into my old slippers. Keys in hand I walk out the door. Dog not fed, coffee pot on, radios (some silent, some not so) turned on, bathroom lights and fan on. Needless to say I thought I was coming back soon.
In the golden days of radio many shows were done from ballrooms or studios with live bands. One of my DJ’s actually tells me stories of his glory days in the bowls of different radio stations across America’s west, the different shows he’s had, adventures and people along the way. It fascinates me. When I first started radio you had to have a license; today any verbally adept monkey, that can do two things at once (talk and push buttons,) can sit at a console and man a station. When I first started (which was not that long ago – twenty years) we still used cassettes, carts, and reel-to-reel tapes, CD’s were just about to come into existence. Now everything is satellite and computers. Yes we can still supplement the playlist with CD’s, vinyl, and tape but for the most part when new music comes out, I get a CD and record them into the computer, compile my playlist daily and go from there.
The problem this morning with my AM station – a Microsoft download didn’t. Or did partially, but it has corrupted something so my playlist is constantly rebooting. Through trial by fire I’ve become the companies “computer person” this despite the fact my boss drug me scratching, biting, and screaming into the computer age - he did not follow me, I still have to defrag his computer monthly. In attempting to diagnose the AM’s problem I reboot, reload, unload, reboot and do it several times over. Everything seems there, but wait – the status bar by the time in the lower right hand corner seems… well not right looking. Oh and the VT-Converter icon seems wonkie (very technical term.) By 7:30am I’ve called tech support in Los Angeles. He has me lookie loo, reboot, reload, unload, reboot, lookie loo a little bit more. And we collectively scratch our heads and wish for more coffee.
He’s not sure he’ll call me back. By this time my other duties of the morning, because yes folks I have a full other part of my job that includes producing out someone else’s show and then having my own live on air show, is being taken over by someone else on staff. Thank you Bubba because yes, I could have done it without you, but it wouldn’t have been pretty. Him picking up the ball gave me the opportunity to concentrate solely on what I’d not been yet able to fix.
Of course it could have been that I’d not brushed my teeth or used deodorant three hours before when I rushed to work. While waiting for Kevin to call me back I rushed to my office for my toothbrush, paste and deodorant I keep in my desk for emergencies. The deodorant is petrified and unusable. Crap! The tube of Pearl Drops must be a good fifteen years old, but it still works. But no deodorant is an intolerable predicament, so I did what any self-respecting woman would do, I sprayed some of the Pure Citrus bathroom deodorizer on to my fingers and rubbed my pits. Ouch! But I smelt nice and citrusie for the rest of the day. The towel had long since fallen on to the floor of the AM studio, my hair had settled in a gnarly medusa formation which brush and comb could do little to rectify – and hey, I’ve been to beauty college thank you very much. So I put it in a ponytail, $4100 dollars well spent.
Five hours later I can smell the burning coffee from my home a mile away. Arlo is howling for his breakfast and steroids. The AM is blaring in an audio duel from three radios and folks my bed is not made – an obsessive compulsion I must complete every morning for mental sanity – generally before going to work. The Pure Citrus is beginning to fail.
A production computer has now gone online as the AM on-air computer, the commercial load has been made up, and the entire calamity (I left out the inspirational Pure Citrus application – he can see the rest of the days progress for himself) has been explained to my boss. I totally suspect the culprit to be a dual failure between hard ware and software, but that official diagnosis and the prognosis will have to wait until the computer arrives via Fed Ex in San Pedro next Tuesday. Until then life is back to “normal.” And you’ve been spared a Talk Thursday post where I blogged about my inability to grow the Morning Glories that Sid sent me. TWF? They are weeds and I can’t grow them. There I said it.
Sith,
Cele
Wednesday morning at 6:50am my phone rang. I had dead air on my AM station by the time I turned the radio on, the audio was back in glorious stereo. Usually I would climb back into bed and feign a few more minutes of sleep. Where my mind was that morning I’ve no clue, but I did the totally unusual for myself and crawled bleary eyed into the shower.
Ten minutes later, yesterday’s mascara and eyeliner (no I don’t take my make up off the night before – never have) tracking in black rivulets down my face the phone rings once again. Turning off the water, I dry my feet, wrap a towel around me and trudge to the living room to find my AM is not back on the air. Crap! I go back to the bathroom – still no Music of Your Life streaming in from the living room, wrap a towel around my head, smear Noxema under my eyes in attempt to wipe off the black remnants of the day before – what a mess. I struggle to get a bra on my not too dry body, pull, wriggle, jiggle into a pair of old jeans, grab a clean tank top, sweatshirt, and step into my old slippers. Keys in hand I walk out the door. Dog not fed, coffee pot on, radios (some silent, some not so) turned on, bathroom lights and fan on. Needless to say I thought I was coming back soon.
In the golden days of radio many shows were done from ballrooms or studios with live bands. One of my DJ’s actually tells me stories of his glory days in the bowls of different radio stations across America’s west, the different shows he’s had, adventures and people along the way. It fascinates me. When I first started radio you had to have a license; today any verbally adept monkey, that can do two things at once (talk and push buttons,) can sit at a console and man a station. When I first started (which was not that long ago – twenty years) we still used cassettes, carts, and reel-to-reel tapes, CD’s were just about to come into existence. Now everything is satellite and computers. Yes we can still supplement the playlist with CD’s, vinyl, and tape but for the most part when new music comes out, I get a CD and record them into the computer, compile my playlist daily and go from there.
The problem this morning with my AM station – a Microsoft download didn’t. Or did partially, but it has corrupted something so my playlist is constantly rebooting. Through trial by fire I’ve become the companies “computer person” this despite the fact my boss drug me scratching, biting, and screaming into the computer age - he did not follow me, I still have to defrag his computer monthly. In attempting to diagnose the AM’s problem I reboot, reload, unload, reboot and do it several times over. Everything seems there, but wait – the status bar by the time in the lower right hand corner seems… well not right looking. Oh and the VT-Converter icon seems wonkie (very technical term.) By 7:30am I’ve called tech support in Los Angeles. He has me lookie loo, reboot, reload, unload, reboot, lookie loo a little bit more. And we collectively scratch our heads and wish for more coffee.
He’s not sure he’ll call me back. By this time my other duties of the morning, because yes folks I have a full other part of my job that includes producing out someone else’s show and then having my own live on air show, is being taken over by someone else on staff. Thank you Bubba because yes, I could have done it without you, but it wouldn’t have been pretty. Him picking up the ball gave me the opportunity to concentrate solely on what I’d not been yet able to fix.
Of course it could have been that I’d not brushed my teeth or used deodorant three hours before when I rushed to work. While waiting for Kevin to call me back I rushed to my office for my toothbrush, paste and deodorant I keep in my desk for emergencies. The deodorant is petrified and unusable. Crap! The tube of Pearl Drops must be a good fifteen years old, but it still works. But no deodorant is an intolerable predicament, so I did what any self-respecting woman would do, I sprayed some of the Pure Citrus bathroom deodorizer on to my fingers and rubbed my pits. Ouch! But I smelt nice and citrusie for the rest of the day. The towel had long since fallen on to the floor of the AM studio, my hair had settled in a gnarly medusa formation which brush and comb could do little to rectify – and hey, I’ve been to beauty college thank you very much. So I put it in a ponytail, $4100 dollars well spent.
Five hours later I can smell the burning coffee from my home a mile away. Arlo is howling for his breakfast and steroids. The AM is blaring in an audio duel from three radios and folks my bed is not made – an obsessive compulsion I must complete every morning for mental sanity – generally before going to work. The Pure Citrus is beginning to fail.
A production computer has now gone online as the AM on-air computer, the commercial load has been made up, and the entire calamity (I left out the inspirational Pure Citrus application – he can see the rest of the days progress for himself) has been explained to my boss. I totally suspect the culprit to be a dual failure between hard ware and software, but that official diagnosis and the prognosis will have to wait until the computer arrives via Fed Ex in San Pedro next Tuesday. Until then life is back to “normal.” And you’ve been spared a Talk Thursday post where I blogged about my inability to grow the Morning Glories that Sid sent me. TWF? They are weeds and I can’t grow them. There I said it.
Sith,
Cele
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Photo Friday: My Favorite Spot
I'm falling behind on my post. My favorite spot is my home or most anywhere Ducky is. That is where I am happy. So here is a picture of my newest garden, it is where I have spent the majority of my summer so far.
Ducky took the sod out in mid Spring, it has taken me this long to get the hard compacted clay broken up and mixed with the native sand and some good mushroom compost. This side of the garden is strickly for cutting, so if you have flower suggestions for zone 7a/8b/9 (it depends on the map) let me know.
My lily garden? Not looking so great this year. I need to take a lily class.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Talk Thursday: Cracks
Talk Thursday: Cracks
Crack the Shutters (I love that song,) cracks in the foundation, cracks in the mud of my new room - cracks showing up everywhere. Step on a crack break your mother’s back – I always took that one very seriously when I was young. Now that I am older there are cracks in the façade covering my age.
Really I’m not so worry about growing old, I just want to do it gracefully. Not desperately with a medicine cabinet full of Revelon Spackle and L’ Oreal Bondo, but with a grace that embraces the majority of my cracks and wrinkles. Remember on Little House On The Prairie when someone comments to Mrs. Olson about her crow’s feet? She replies, “Oh no dear those are laugh lines.” And the other person rains on her parade and says something to the effect that “Honey, nothing’s that funny.”
Sad.
Mrs. Olson was a fine looking woman, a bit sour and that she wore on her face, but fine looking just the same. Mrs. Olson was trying to keep a façade, most humans do, women probably more so than men. But then most women don’t attempt the obvious comb over on a thinning hairline. Throw stones? Not me, I’ve got my own thinning hairline and a face full of laugh lines. Plus I have the whole body image problem and a fear of dressing too young.
I begin cracking apart when I try to wrap my mind around what I should look like at 53. Oops! A woman isn’t supposed to reveal her age.
Bull pucky!
I worked damn hard for each one of these 53 years and I’m owning up to every one of them, thank you very much. I do regret the added cracks some of the antics of those 53 years placed on my mother’s face. She didn’t deserve my rough teen-hood. And then those twenty somethings – ack! Could we forget them, pluuueeease?
What should an “ample”, mature, fifty-something woman look like? Gladys Cravits? Marge the Manicurist, or maybe Endora (now I could go there minus the hair style) across our great nation, maturing baby booming women want to know this? I want to know this. The cosmetic ad campaigns on TV try to tell me that I can use their product and look like the lovely young American-Korean woman that walked into their clinic. If I use their product… I can return to my youthful appearance. First, the young woman in the chair is 33 not 53 (I know because she was my daughter’s best friend in grade school) and I do not want to return to my youthful appearance, I’m better looking now – thank you very much.
Don’t’ fall for the “Older women should wear short hair” mantra, shorter hair does look better on me, but as long as your hair is styled, who cares the length? It’s the up keep, maintenance, and “I give a damn about myself” attitude that makes the difference, not the hair length.
Make-up? I wear lots, oh lots, and lots of makeup, I adore eye make up, a little bronzer, and a heavy four or five coats of Mascara, and I’m good to go. Marie Osmond once said, she would never go without her kohl (I love her eyes,) personally I never would go without mascara. No Tammy Faye applications for me, but definitely at the very least a light touch of the Calista application – or yesterday’s application, depending on my energy level and time constraints.
I’m trying to embrace my size – all while losing weight. Dressing appropriately is more the problem. What – I ask, about mature, ample woman says LOUD RED AND PURPLE PAISLEY? What? Who in hell (because Hell is that only place the pattern can be manufactured in resplendent, stretchy polyester) decided large women should plaster giant, neon Oriental poppies across their ample butts? Who? And flowered tops? The flowers usually are big enough to cover one of the girls and look like full casaba melons ready to be harvested off their vine. Crap, if I have to wear that, just give me cut out day-glo pasties instead for heaven’s sake. No woman needs torpedo boobs. The fashion industry is supposed to help us, but seemingly it is only trying to sink us.
Oft times when I start writing a Talk Thursday piece I’ve no clue where I am going. This week is just the same. I was going to write about not seeing the cracks in the foundation of my second marriage and instead I write about the cracks in the façade of my appearance. Who knows?
Sith
Cele
Crack the Shutters (I love that song,) cracks in the foundation, cracks in the mud of my new room - cracks showing up everywhere. Step on a crack break your mother’s back – I always took that one very seriously when I was young. Now that I am older there are cracks in the façade covering my age.
Really I’m not so worry about growing old, I just want to do it gracefully. Not desperately with a medicine cabinet full of Revelon Spackle and L’ Oreal Bondo, but with a grace that embraces the majority of my cracks and wrinkles. Remember on Little House On The Prairie when someone comments to Mrs. Olson about her crow’s feet? She replies, “Oh no dear those are laugh lines.” And the other person rains on her parade and says something to the effect that “Honey, nothing’s that funny.”
Sad.
Mrs. Olson was a fine looking woman, a bit sour and that she wore on her face, but fine looking just the same. Mrs. Olson was trying to keep a façade, most humans do, women probably more so than men. But then most women don’t attempt the obvious comb over on a thinning hairline. Throw stones? Not me, I’ve got my own thinning hairline and a face full of laugh lines. Plus I have the whole body image problem and a fear of dressing too young.
I begin cracking apart when I try to wrap my mind around what I should look like at 53. Oops! A woman isn’t supposed to reveal her age.
Bull pucky!
I worked damn hard for each one of these 53 years and I’m owning up to every one of them, thank you very much. I do regret the added cracks some of the antics of those 53 years placed on my mother’s face. She didn’t deserve my rough teen-hood. And then those twenty somethings – ack! Could we forget them, pluuueeease?
What should an “ample”, mature, fifty-something woman look like? Gladys Cravits? Marge the Manicurist, or maybe Endora (now I could go there minus the hair style) across our great nation, maturing baby booming women want to know this? I want to know this. The cosmetic ad campaigns on TV try to tell me that I can use their product and look like the lovely young American-Korean woman that walked into their clinic. If I use their product… I can return to my youthful appearance. First, the young woman in the chair is 33 not 53 (I know because she was my daughter’s best friend in grade school) and I do not want to return to my youthful appearance, I’m better looking now – thank you very much.
Don’t’ fall for the “Older women should wear short hair” mantra, shorter hair does look better on me, but as long as your hair is styled, who cares the length? It’s the up keep, maintenance, and “I give a damn about myself” attitude that makes the difference, not the hair length.
Make-up? I wear lots, oh lots, and lots of makeup, I adore eye make up, a little bronzer, and a heavy four or five coats of Mascara, and I’m good to go. Marie Osmond once said, she would never go without her kohl (I love her eyes,) personally I never would go without mascara. No Tammy Faye applications for me, but definitely at the very least a light touch of the Calista application – or yesterday’s application, depending on my energy level and time constraints.
I’m trying to embrace my size – all while losing weight. Dressing appropriately is more the problem. What – I ask, about mature, ample woman says LOUD RED AND PURPLE PAISLEY? What? Who in hell (because Hell is that only place the pattern can be manufactured in resplendent, stretchy polyester) decided large women should plaster giant, neon Oriental poppies across their ample butts? Who? And flowered tops? The flowers usually are big enough to cover one of the girls and look like full casaba melons ready to be harvested off their vine. Crap, if I have to wear that, just give me cut out day-glo pasties instead for heaven’s sake. No woman needs torpedo boobs. The fashion industry is supposed to help us, but seemingly it is only trying to sink us.
Oft times when I start writing a Talk Thursday piece I’ve no clue where I am going. This week is just the same. I was going to write about not seeing the cracks in the foundation of my second marriage and instead I write about the cracks in the façade of my appearance. Who knows?
Sith
Cele
Saturday, July 04, 2009
Talk Thursday: My Reason To Not...
I’m trying to think of what I may not, might not, have not, will not. And what would be my reason to not nots. It would have to be snakes, or maybe boredom because I’m usually up for most stuff, things, foods, and activities. Okay maybe I’m not up for all movies. My reasons to not see a specific flick are varied at best.
There are snakes, they keeps me away from Africa as well as movies. But then there was Indiana Jones and I adored him, but not his snakes. Well they weren’t his snakes because he abhors them as I.
Ben Stiller could be a reason. I have a lot of things to say on this but they are all insulting to the masses of Ben Stiller movie goers. And of course the exception to I can’t go and enjoy a Ben Stiller movie is Night at the Museum and it was good.
Blood, ooooh don’t like lots of blood in a movie anymore. I’m not sure why, I’ve never really been one for slasher movies. Of course there are guts. Guts gushing from ripped and slashed, blasted and gashed, gaping open wounds and ripped bodies. Nope, not into trailing organs as the main of supporting actor in a flick.
Violence. My husband adores violent movies. I’m sure volumes could be written about why, I will avoid reading it to keep my sanity and ignorance about why he loves violent, gory movies. He loved Starship Troopers I, II, and III. A violent movie heaped with blood, guts, and human organ trailing gore, space bug splats and gunk. And lots of nipple shots. Hmmm.
And I hate movies that insult my intelligence. Do not leave gapping whole in the plot in which a convoy of Panzers could track their way through and expect me not to see it. Have you seen Scwartzeneggers’ Collateral Damages? Big gaping wholes - aircraft carrier size holes.
In fact I want it tight, I want to have to think it though and find the plausible conclusion is supported by the facts of the movie. Don’t give me a villain that shows up ten minutes before the credits, unless you’ve supported that villain - as the villain since the opening scenes.
Movies where the characters are destine to totally embarrass themselves, and therefore me because they are too dumb to be embarrassed. Hate those movies. The embarrassment is unbearably painful to me. Ergo, I don’ t watch most popular movies.
Movies I have every reason to watch again and again… Love, Actually; The Mirror has Two Faces; Pride and Prejudice; Definitely, Maybe; N3mbers; and The Ultimate Gift. Almost anything with Sandra Bulloch, Hugh Grant, Sam Elliot (as long as he’s talking), Field of Dreams, The Postman, almost anything with Abigal Breslin (accept Little Miss Sunshine –double ugh.)
Reasons to buy it on DVD – special features and endless viewing opportunities when I’ve lost interest in the internet, all the popcorn I want at BiMart prices, herbal tea, and my jammies, Reasons to not go to the theatre, no special features, loud people with cellphones and annoying children, and the hefty price tag.
What’s your favorite movie and your reason to not…
Sith,
Cele
There are snakes, they keeps me away from Africa as well as movies. But then there was Indiana Jones and I adored him, but not his snakes. Well they weren’t his snakes because he abhors them as I.
Ben Stiller could be a reason. I have a lot of things to say on this but they are all insulting to the masses of Ben Stiller movie goers. And of course the exception to I can’t go and enjoy a Ben Stiller movie is Night at the Museum and it was good.
Blood, ooooh don’t like lots of blood in a movie anymore. I’m not sure why, I’ve never really been one for slasher movies. Of course there are guts. Guts gushing from ripped and slashed, blasted and gashed, gaping open wounds and ripped bodies. Nope, not into trailing organs as the main of supporting actor in a flick.
Violence. My husband adores violent movies. I’m sure volumes could be written about why, I will avoid reading it to keep my sanity and ignorance about why he loves violent, gory movies. He loved Starship Troopers I, II, and III. A violent movie heaped with blood, guts, and human organ trailing gore, space bug splats and gunk. And lots of nipple shots. Hmmm.
And I hate movies that insult my intelligence. Do not leave gapping whole in the plot in which a convoy of Panzers could track their way through and expect me not to see it. Have you seen Scwartzeneggers’ Collateral Damages? Big gaping wholes - aircraft carrier size holes.
In fact I want it tight, I want to have to think it though and find the plausible conclusion is supported by the facts of the movie. Don’t give me a villain that shows up ten minutes before the credits, unless you’ve supported that villain - as the villain since the opening scenes.
Movies where the characters are destine to totally embarrass themselves, and therefore me because they are too dumb to be embarrassed. Hate those movies. The embarrassment is unbearably painful to me. Ergo, I don’ t watch most popular movies.
Movies I have every reason to watch again and again… Love, Actually; The Mirror has Two Faces; Pride and Prejudice; Definitely, Maybe; N3mbers; and The Ultimate Gift. Almost anything with Sandra Bulloch, Hugh Grant, Sam Elliot (as long as he’s talking), Field of Dreams, The Postman, almost anything with Abigal Breslin (accept Little Miss Sunshine –double ugh.)
Reasons to buy it on DVD – special features and endless viewing opportunities when I’ve lost interest in the internet, all the popcorn I want at BiMart prices, herbal tea, and my jammies, Reasons to not go to the theatre, no special features, loud people with cellphones and annoying children, and the hefty price tag.
What’s your favorite movie and your reason to not…
Sith,
Cele
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Friends
Remember when you had to make friends on the playground or with the kid sitting next to you? Moving to a new school was a nightmare the day before your first class, whether you were in kindergarten or high school. Of course it was the grades inbetween that were the worst.
Once Natalie asked me, and not unkindly...this is taken totally out of context, if I have any real friends. She meant in the work-a-day world, not just on the net. I know it sounds so nasty but Natalie is dear to me and I'm pretty certain she likes me too. Today, in my adult world, I meet friends in a new way. Through the internet. Some of those dear friends, Rose, I've never met face to face - she being in PA and I, well here in paradise. Peggy, because I've not been to Colorado nor she to Oregon. And Natalie, because she has a crazy insane schedule. Other times I am blessed to meet my internet friends and family. For an hour, an evening, a day or a week spent discovering and enjoying each other.
In May, Tewkies and Maya came for an overnight visit on the second leg of the Sea to Shining Sea Tour. A delightful evening. Sadly I didn't get a picture of us together to commemorate the event and friendship.
Last night Ducky and I spent the evening indulging in pizza and new friends. I'd really been looking forward to meeting Found In Idaho, whom I oft refer to as Fii. She, her hubby B, and Big and Little Bits (it was a B family invasion... ha ha I just realized how true that is) were staying in Lincoln City, about 72 miles north of Florence. We set six o'clock as the meet time at Abby's. Had great pizza and a delightful evening of friendship. See...
I look forwards to more.
Sith,
Cele
Once Natalie asked me, and not unkindly...this is taken totally out of context, if I have any real friends. She meant in the work-a-day world, not just on the net. I know it sounds so nasty but Natalie is dear to me and I'm pretty certain she likes me too. Today, in my adult world, I meet friends in a new way. Through the internet. Some of those dear friends, Rose, I've never met face to face - she being in PA and I, well here in paradise. Peggy, because I've not been to Colorado nor she to Oregon. And Natalie, because she has a crazy insane schedule. Other times I am blessed to meet my internet friends and family. For an hour, an evening, a day or a week spent discovering and enjoying each other.
In May, Tewkies and Maya came for an overnight visit on the second leg of the Sea to Shining Sea Tour. A delightful evening. Sadly I didn't get a picture of us together to commemorate the event and friendship.
Last night Ducky and I spent the evening indulging in pizza and new friends. I'd really been looking forward to meeting Found In Idaho, whom I oft refer to as Fii. She, her hubby B, and Big and Little Bits (it was a B family invasion... ha ha I just realized how true that is) were staying in Lincoln City, about 72 miles north of Florence. We set six o'clock as the meet time at Abby's. Had great pizza and a delightful evening of friendship. See...
I look forwards to more.Sith,
Cele
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Weekend Update....
If this was Sunday night, this would be my weekend update. If I did weekendly updates. But per normal I'm a large, fluffy white wabbit without a wocket pawch. Would that make me a puka? hmmm.
Friday night I set my head to losing weight...which normally means I will eat low fat, stay away from the cookies and Australian licorice and gain weight. So after reading up I bought myself some Alli. We'll see how that goes. I also began my food journal... again, because for me that is a crucial tool of conscienous dieting.
I also set my head to getting my new cutting garden done.
See not far along after months of ... stop and go work.
The weather forecast was for high winds, Friday afternoon my friend Merlin the Windwand Man clocked 48mph winds. Saturday was forecasted to be as or more gusty*, so I wanted to get an early start.
For the first time in months, I put off my chores, put off my grocery shopping and was in the nursery by 10am buying the remainder of the blue stone for my path. I also picked up more lupin, echinacea, rudbeckia, cupid's darts, asteamaria, and speedwell (definately need more speedwell.)
And oh mi gosh what do I find in the lilly garden?
The first lilly of the season...
By two o'clock, a four foot square of solid clay broken up I was ready for a break. Sitting on the deck enjoying some lemonade we kept hearing this raucous chatter and squawking.
Poor mama Flicker was trying to keep up with the demanding mouths of her young. Through the binos we could tell there were at least two.
The old "squirrel tree"** is about one hundred feet or so from our deck (crap I don't know how far it is, it's farther than six inches.) My camera doesn't zoom in well enough.
We finished off the afternoon setting the foundation for our new solar fountain's base.
Sunday morning, wind was up early, we mixed the cement, fixed the solar pump's wire through some protective conduit, did our first pour only to find we'd threaded the wire through wrong. Can we say "Cluckster suck?"
Seriously we should be Laurel and Hardy. We worked out the wire, rethread it through and filled the base with the remainder of the cement.
Just to make sure it was still working we hooked it up.
It worked for a whole ten minutes. I don't know if the pollen clogged it up or what. But after blowing on it, knocking on the basin I couldn't get it to work.
So I picked up my toys and walked away. At least it is in, the cutting garden is closer to completion. Too kewl.
Sith,
Cele
* Saturday the high wind was 58mph, Sunday 63mph, and Monday before noon it already had a high winds of 38mph.
**I named the snag the squirrel tree years before it became a snag. For years you could watch baby squirrels venture out from their nest in the tree at the start of summer.
Friday night I set my head to losing weight...which normally means I will eat low fat, stay away from the cookies and Australian licorice and gain weight. So after reading up I bought myself some Alli. We'll see how that goes. I also began my food journal... again, because for me that is a crucial tool of conscienous dieting.
I also set my head to getting my new cutting garden done.
See not far along after months of ... stop and go work.
The weather forecast was for high winds, Friday afternoon my friend Merlin the Windwand Man clocked 48mph winds. Saturday was forecasted to be as or more gusty*, so I wanted to get an early start.
For the first time in months, I put off my chores, put off my grocery shopping and was in the nursery by 10am buying the remainder of the blue stone for my path. I also picked up more lupin, echinacea, rudbeckia, cupid's darts, asteamaria, and speedwell (definately need more speedwell.)
And oh mi gosh what do I find in the lilly garden?The first lilly of the season...
By two o'clock, a four foot square of solid clay broken up I was ready for a break. Sitting on the deck enjoying some lemonade we kept hearing this raucous chatter and squawking.
Poor mama Flicker was trying to keep up with the demanding mouths of her young. Through the binos we could tell there were at least two.
The old "squirrel tree"** is about one hundred feet or so from our deck (crap I don't know how far it is, it's farther than six inches.) My camera doesn't zoom in well enough.We finished off the afternoon setting the foundation for our new solar fountain's base.
Sunday morning, wind was up early, we mixed the cement, fixed the solar pump's wire through some protective conduit, did our first pour only to find we'd threaded the wire through wrong. Can we say "Cluckster suck?"
Seriously we should be Laurel and Hardy. We worked out the wire, rethread it through and filled the base with the remainder of the cement.Just to make sure it was still working we hooked it up.
It worked for a whole ten minutes. I don't know if the pollen clogged it up or what. But after blowing on it, knocking on the basin I couldn't get it to work.So I picked up my toys and walked away. At least it is in, the cutting garden is closer to completion. Too kewl.
Sith,
Cele
* Saturday the high wind was 58mph, Sunday 63mph, and Monday before noon it already had a high winds of 38mph.
**I named the snag the squirrel tree years before it became a snag. For years you could watch baby squirrels venture out from their nest in the tree at the start of summer.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Talk Thursday: Attitude Adjustment
Probably, everyone needs an attitude adjustment, but unless your mom and dad sat you down and pointed it out, most of us don’t notice just what adjustments need made. To me life is a continual progression of changes, and errrr, attitude adjustments.
Apparently I use to be a negative personality. My second husband pointed this out to me over two decades ago. I was pretty stunned. What, me negative? Worse I wasn’t just negative, but I was quick to make that negativity known with rapidly offered comments that I didn’t like a something and someone, or other some things.
Yes, even I had noted this distasteful quirk in my demeanor. Not that I needed to comment, not that anyone wanted to know… It was just, me. Not a very pleasant part either.
So I changed. Yes, there are people I don’t care for, there are things I don’t enjoy, but unless the conversation is deeper and more one on one, I keep my thoughts to myself. Most of the time my goal is to leave people smiling, loved, and happy.
On the other hand I am a bit of a homebody and yes, a loner so I don’t offend too many people with the lingering remnants of me past.
So I open my arms to you. Welcome you into my life, my home, and my heart. Oh and for Fii – WARNING - the weather is for sunshine next week – that means wind somewhere between 10 and 2… a lot of wind. And if it gets too hot in the valley (three days in a row) look for fog. Have a great vacation. I look forward to seeing you Wednesday.
Sith,
Cele
Apparently I use to be a negative personality. My second husband pointed this out to me over two decades ago. I was pretty stunned. What, me negative? Worse I wasn’t just negative, but I was quick to make that negativity known with rapidly offered comments that I didn’t like a something and someone, or other some things.
Yes, even I had noted this distasteful quirk in my demeanor. Not that I needed to comment, not that anyone wanted to know… It was just, me. Not a very pleasant part either.
So I changed. Yes, there are people I don’t care for, there are things I don’t enjoy, but unless the conversation is deeper and more one on one, I keep my thoughts to myself. Most of the time my goal is to leave people smiling, loved, and happy.
On the other hand I am a bit of a homebody and yes, a loner so I don’t offend too many people with the lingering remnants of me past.
So I open my arms to you. Welcome you into my life, my home, and my heart. Oh and for Fii – WARNING - the weather is for sunshine next week – that means wind somewhere between 10 and 2… a lot of wind. And if it gets too hot in the valley (three days in a row) look for fog. Have a great vacation. I look forward to seeing you Wednesday.
Sith,
Cele
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Well Steve, now that you mention it...
I had never watched ice carving. The finished product has long enchanted me. And then Sunday morning as we waited for the auction to begin on the final day of the 2009 Oregon Divisional Chainsaw Sculping Championships they announced they were having an ice carving demonstrations. 
First he explained the three day long process of freezing the 300 pound block of ice. Most ice has cloudy deposits locked inside. This he explained was because the water was still as it froze. 
Instead of allowing the water to remain seditary in the process, the water is continually slow circulated leaving a clear block of ice. Except for one small pocket of cloud which they remove and fill will water for the final freeze 
I tried to use my video function, okay I used my video function but it was a fuzzy video and I won't make you suffer.
I'll just let you see his steps. But it was really cool watching the chainsaw throw ice all over in a spray as he divided the wings. His sweeping arcs as he carved the neck. Amazing.
And then he poured water all over it and was done.
Sith,
Cele
Monday, June 22, 2009
Wood Chips
Oh dear bloggees, 
I am falling behind. I still owe you a Talk Thursday, but today…yes, the Monday after it’s time for the Oregon Chainsaw Sculpting Championships in Reedsport. An annual Father’s Day weekend event that Ducky and I never miss.
I am falling behind. I still owe you a Talk Thursday, but today…yes, the Monday after it’s time for the Oregon Chainsaw Sculpting Championships in Reedsport. An annual Father’s Day weekend event that Ducky and I never miss.Officially one hundred and fifty years old on February 14th, Oregon celebrates her 150th birthday all year long. This year’s extreme art extravaganza focused on that sesquicentennial milestone.
The Oregon Chainsaw Sculpting Championships features around 20 chainsaw artist who travel the world competing in the Echo Cup Challenge. Chainsaw artist from not only across the States,
but also Australia, England, Japan, Germany, and Sweden vie for the first leg’s points. 
This year there were fewer moose, a lot of bears, and a few nautical themed pieces, like Oregon’s Cape Blanco (pronounced Blank-0) Lighthouse.
The majority of main event pieces in the competition drew from a series of Oregon’s historical points
A few whimsical pieces
And I think this is my favorite main event piece.
Each morning the carvers are challenged to a quick carve at 10:30. For forty five minutes they carve what ever the wood blank has told their artist eye is captured in side.
Each evening at 5:30 the pieces are auctioned off. It’s a win, win, win situation for the chainsaw artist, the buyers, and the Reedsport / Winchester Bay Chamber of Commerce.
Father’s Day Weekend, next year, be there. Ducky and I will be.
Sith,
Cele
The majority of main event pieces in the competition drew from a series of Oregon’s historical points
A few whimsical pieces
And I think this is my favorite main event piece.
Each morning the carvers are challenged to a quick carve at 10:30. For forty five minutes they carve what ever the wood blank has told their artist eye is captured in side.
Each evening at 5:30 the pieces are auctioned off. It’s a win, win, win situation for the chainsaw artist, the buyers, and the Reedsport / Winchester Bay Chamber of Commerce.
Father’s Day Weekend, next year, be there. Ducky and I will be.
Sith,
Cele
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Random Things with photos
And oh look, it’s eleven. I decided to start doing Photo Friday to give me another inspiration for blogging each week. Well wouldn’t you know, 
they seem to always have topics I can't figure out. That is unless I shoot cars, car parts, and more cars. But because of Photo Friday it made me start carrying around my camera with me. Which lead to several pictures taken while I was out making sales calls last week in old town Florence.
I was able to spend a good portion of last Sunday working on my new cutting garden.
It is slow going, the new solar fountain hasn’t been put into place, awaiting Ducky to make a pad to secure it against the wind and … 
thieves.
In the mean time Ducky’s Lily garden totally rocks. No lilies are blooming yet, that should happen in July and August, but the lupin are most beautimous. Pictures of those tomorrow. Today you get last weekend’s pictures of two of my three chain trees.
they seem to always have topics I can't figure out. That is unless I shoot cars, car parts, and more cars. But because of Photo Friday it made me start carrying around my camera with me. Which lead to several pictures taken while I was out making sales calls last week in old town Florence.I was able to spend a good portion of last Sunday working on my new cutting garden.
It is slow going, the new solar fountain hasn’t been put into place, awaiting Ducky to make a pad to secure it against the wind and … 
thieves.In the mean time Ducky’s Lily garden totally rocks. No lilies are blooming yet, that should happen in July and August, but the lupin are most beautimous. Pictures of those tomorrow. Today you get last weekend’s pictures of two of my three chain trees.
And my mother's wild iris to enjoy
Sith,
Cele
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Talk Thursday: I’m Late
My mother always taught me it is socially appropriate to arrive five minutes late. Which is fine for say pregnancy, a class reunion, baby showers, private parties, but not appropriate for say, Thursday night dinner. Mom. Just saying.
My mom is always on time for Thursday night dinner with the girls, except when she has to pick up my grandmother. Which is every other Thursday night (the night we meet) because at the age of almost ninety, my grandmother has no concept of time and has usually had too rousing a day at her pinochle club. Hey, it happens.
Headline: Pride goes before the fall.
Finding a parking space on an early fall evening in Old Town isn’t an easy feat. My grand mother suffers from advanced osteoporosis and, while she can walk, doesn’t walk far well. So imagine my delight to arrive for our 6pm reservation at the Waterfront Depoe (the best restaurant in Old Town Florence, heck in Florence) and find not one, but two parking spaces being vacated. I stood in one parking space and watched the second being filled, hoping, watching, fingers crossed that they’d soon show so they could park within a reasonable walking distance for my grandmother. But then a car (not considering my fat ass any sort of an opponent) forced me back on to the sidewalk and the space was gone.
Ten minutes later, as I worry our reservation was gone, a third space opened and yet still no mom and grandmother. In the long run (20 minutes after our reservation) they show up, I’d just watched the fourth and fifth spots open and instantaneously fill up. Being slightly peeved I comment, with probably abruptness, that had they been CLOSE to being on time they’d have been able to park near the restaurant, instead of mom having to drop grandma off at the curb and then driving a block and a half away for a parking spot. My standing in front of the community’s most popular restaurant reminiscent of a rejected, stood up wallflower on date night is of no consequence. They’re probably thinking I’d been use to it.
Flash forward two weeks. It’s fifteen minutes before I leave for our Thursday night girls dinner out and I’m at work. The phone rings – a big client calls. Calls again, vacillating whether I know how to spend her dollars. And then calls again. A fourth call and $1900 order later I arrive at the restaurant, ten minutes late, to hear my grandmother tell me, if being on time is so important to me, I should try being on time. Note she was sitting nice and cozy in the booth of a local, not too busy – there is always parking in the front –Mexican restaurant, discussing the weather with my mother.
I tell ya, being righteously peeved comes back and bites me in the considerably large butt every single time.
Sith,
Cele
My mom is always on time for Thursday night dinner with the girls, except when she has to pick up my grandmother. Which is every other Thursday night (the night we meet) because at the age of almost ninety, my grandmother has no concept of time and has usually had too rousing a day at her pinochle club. Hey, it happens.
Headline: Pride goes before the fall.
Finding a parking space on an early fall evening in Old Town isn’t an easy feat. My grand mother suffers from advanced osteoporosis and, while she can walk, doesn’t walk far well. So imagine my delight to arrive for our 6pm reservation at the Waterfront Depoe (the best restaurant in Old Town Florence, heck in Florence) and find not one, but two parking spaces being vacated. I stood in one parking space and watched the second being filled, hoping, watching, fingers crossed that they’d soon show so they could park within a reasonable walking distance for my grandmother. But then a car (not considering my fat ass any sort of an opponent) forced me back on to the sidewalk and the space was gone.
Ten minutes later, as I worry our reservation was gone, a third space opened and yet still no mom and grandmother. In the long run (20 minutes after our reservation) they show up, I’d just watched the fourth and fifth spots open and instantaneously fill up. Being slightly peeved I comment, with probably abruptness, that had they been CLOSE to being on time they’d have been able to park near the restaurant, instead of mom having to drop grandma off at the curb and then driving a block and a half away for a parking spot. My standing in front of the community’s most popular restaurant reminiscent of a rejected, stood up wallflower on date night is of no consequence. They’re probably thinking I’d been use to it.
Flash forward two weeks. It’s fifteen minutes before I leave for our Thursday night girls dinner out and I’m at work. The phone rings – a big client calls. Calls again, vacillating whether I know how to spend her dollars. And then calls again. A fourth call and $1900 order later I arrive at the restaurant, ten minutes late, to hear my grandmother tell me, if being on time is so important to me, I should try being on time. Note she was sitting nice and cozy in the booth of a local, not too busy – there is always parking in the front –Mexican restaurant, discussing the weather with my mother.
I tell ya, being righteously peeved comes back and bites me in the considerably large butt every single time.
Sith,
Cele
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Talk Thursday: The Psychology of Running...
...Demented if you ask me, which you didn’t but there you have it all the same.
Sprint. I ask, "Where is the snake?"
Jog. Have you seen what that does to the gravitational pull of the breast? No, thanks.
Run. By choice? You’re insane.
Marathon. Masochism.
I don’t run, by now you’ve probably figured that out. There was a time once when wanted to run, like the wind, on the beach, fleet of foot. I envied those whom I saw flying across the hard pack sand. I tried it once and ran the mile from the North Jetty to Driftwood Shores and then walked back. It was exhilarating the endorphins must have kicked in fairly fast, because I don’t even remember being winded.
The next morning I wasn’t too sore so I tried to do it again. Had this been in the day of cellphones I might have tried calling 911 it was that terrifying and debilitating. I couldn’t breathe, my leg muscles contorted in agonizing spasms, and I may even have lost consciousness once or twice and that was in the parking lot. On the beach I couldn’t seem to find a rhythm, two left feet plodded - thunk thunk th-thump in the hard pack, or maybe that was my heart pounding in my chest. Whatever. The sea lions heartily laughed in the surf. Sand dabs move faster.
The time has long since past where I’ve acknowledged that once I’m finished with a hobby (sport) – it is for life. I thrived on back packing and hiking all through Girl Scouts. I was the first in our family to water ski. Rollerskating? Remind me to tell you my Roller Derby story sometime. Surfing was a budding passion in high school until we moved to Oregon. I once dreamt of being a dancer and took classes for years. I pumped iron like a religious maniac, six days a week, two hours a day, for several years. I survived parasailing for a whole marriage. Running lasted a whole day and fifty yards. Where’s the psychology in that?
Sith,
Cele
Sprint. I ask, "Where is the snake?"
Jog. Have you seen what that does to the gravitational pull of the breast? No, thanks.
Run. By choice? You’re insane.
Marathon. Masochism.
I don’t run, by now you’ve probably figured that out. There was a time once when wanted to run, like the wind, on the beach, fleet of foot. I envied those whom I saw flying across the hard pack sand. I tried it once and ran the mile from the North Jetty to Driftwood Shores and then walked back. It was exhilarating the endorphins must have kicked in fairly fast, because I don’t even remember being winded.
The next morning I wasn’t too sore so I tried to do it again. Had this been in the day of cellphones I might have tried calling 911 it was that terrifying and debilitating. I couldn’t breathe, my leg muscles contorted in agonizing spasms, and I may even have lost consciousness once or twice and that was in the parking lot. On the beach I couldn’t seem to find a rhythm, two left feet plodded - thunk thunk th-thump in the hard pack, or maybe that was my heart pounding in my chest. Whatever. The sea lions heartily laughed in the surf. Sand dabs move faster.
The time has long since past where I’ve acknowledged that once I’m finished with a hobby (sport) – it is for life. I thrived on back packing and hiking all through Girl Scouts. I was the first in our family to water ski. Rollerskating? Remind me to tell you my Roller Derby story sometime. Surfing was a budding passion in high school until we moved to Oregon. I once dreamt of being a dancer and took classes for years. I pumped iron like a religious maniac, six days a week, two hours a day, for several years. I survived parasailing for a whole marriage. Running lasted a whole day and fifty yards. Where’s the psychology in that?
Sith,
Cele
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Talk Thursday – Saying Goodbye
I’ve been trying to remember how long Talk Thursday has been around, I’m fairly certain it’s about two years. Sacred Sister enlisted JA and I to play along with her and well that is the beginning. Then Sacred (my Valley Sista Surfer Chickie) moved on. Sad, I miss her.
Just as she was saying Adieu, Angie and then Sid were signing on. Sid recruited Eddie, Lyn Blossum, and Jenniphur and then JA was gone. Sadly we’ve not been able to recruit more people who want to share and address a topic each week. Please leave me a message if you’re interested… because I’m fairly certain we’re interested in you.
Now Angie is leaving us for her life. I hate when I come second to real life. Bummer dude. She’ll be missed, but the truth is she’s been saying good-bye for a while now. A single mom with a burgeoning life – that frankly, calls. I understand. Good luck and bonne vie, bonne sante, bons souhaits. No, I don’t speak French.
Strangely, yesterday afternoon I over heard a conversation being held loudly via cellphone that somewhat is connected to the topic; it might ring eerily familiar to events in your own past, it does in mine. To paraphrase what I heard
“I was so over her and going to break up, but she broke up with me first. I was devastated. I mean she dumped me, I was depressed for a good three weeks.”
Now what is wrong with this “Saying Goodbye” senario? It isn’t about the splitting up, it isn’t about being “so over” it is about being dumped.
Oh, I know the dumped end of breaking up. I think I broke up with boyfriends a whole three times, maybe four, could Keith get back to me on that? Scott was pretty pissed by my 14 year old daughter beat his ass at chess that I don’t think he noticed the break up amid his temper tantrum. When I realized Steve was in actuality a stalker, who – yes folks, got that close to me, called me damaged goods for months. Being in radio isn’t without its draw backs…who needs a possessive stalker anyway? And then there was Greg. Damn that is the one that hurt, but I couldn’t take his drug problem around my daughter. As for all the rest they dumped me.
Dumping is nothing new to me, boy friends, girl friends, husbands – been there, done that – got the diploma. For all the dumping I am stronger, clearer minded, and self-dependent. Saying Good-bye isn’t an end, it is a new beginning, for you, for me, for those who move to new paths. For those moving into this path, welcome; to those moving on good luck.
After all life is about saying “Hello,” and “Good-bye.”
Sith,
Cele
Just as she was saying Adieu, Angie and then Sid were signing on. Sid recruited Eddie, Lyn Blossum, and Jenniphur and then JA was gone. Sadly we’ve not been able to recruit more people who want to share and address a topic each week. Please leave me a message if you’re interested… because I’m fairly certain we’re interested in you.
Now Angie is leaving us for her life. I hate when I come second to real life. Bummer dude. She’ll be missed, but the truth is she’s been saying good-bye for a while now. A single mom with a burgeoning life – that frankly, calls. I understand. Good luck and bonne vie, bonne sante, bons souhaits. No, I don’t speak French.
Strangely, yesterday afternoon I over heard a conversation being held loudly via cellphone that somewhat is connected to the topic; it might ring eerily familiar to events in your own past, it does in mine. To paraphrase what I heard
“I was so over her and going to break up, but she broke up with me first. I was devastated. I mean she dumped me, I was depressed for a good three weeks.”
Now what is wrong with this “Saying Goodbye” senario? It isn’t about the splitting up, it isn’t about being “so over” it is about being dumped.
Oh, I know the dumped end of breaking up. I think I broke up with boyfriends a whole three times, maybe four, could Keith get back to me on that? Scott was pretty pissed by my 14 year old daughter beat his ass at chess that I don’t think he noticed the break up amid his temper tantrum. When I realized Steve was in actuality a stalker, who – yes folks, got that close to me, called me damaged goods for months. Being in radio isn’t without its draw backs…who needs a possessive stalker anyway? And then there was Greg. Damn that is the one that hurt, but I couldn’t take his drug problem around my daughter. As for all the rest they dumped me.
Dumping is nothing new to me, boy friends, girl friends, husbands – been there, done that – got the diploma. For all the dumping I am stronger, clearer minded, and self-dependent. Saying Good-bye isn’t an end, it is a new beginning, for you, for me, for those who move to new paths. For those moving into this path, welcome; to those moving on good luck.
After all life is about saying “Hello,” and “Good-bye.”
Sith,
Cele
Monday, May 25, 2009
Letters From Home – Memorial Day 2009
While the majority of Americans enjoy a three-day weekend, I work – radio stops for no one, accept for the random “Act of God – Mother Nature.” It’s not a three day vacation most of our nation’s (or any nation’s) armed servicemen.
Those who know me even the smallest amount, know I am pretty much against war. It doesn’t mean I don’t know that at times war is a necessary evil – WWII is the perfect example. But while we were helping one people we were doing harm to some of our own through prejudice and fear.
"The only thing we have to fear is fear it'self - nameless, unreasoning, unjustified, terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance." FDR upon his first inauguration.
I am not the only Quaker who thinks this way, not the only American, not the only human. But I do honor our veterans, those who have joined our armed forces for whatever belief, reason, or cause. I honor you. I honor your memory. I honor the comforts and loves you left behind to do what you thought what right. I honor you.
My father served. My brothers have both served; the youngest will retire after twenty plus years of service to the Air Force – all over the world, in two years.
My father joined to escape a nowhere life of poverty and violence. My younger brother, well I’m not sure why he joined. And my youngest brother found a world wide traveling life that has taken him to the highest ranks of the enlisted. For whatever reason they joined, had war called I’m sure they would have done what they signed up to do. I know Buddy has. I honor him.
This morning I play songs that honor the sacrifices of our soldiers, citizen soldiers, those who give what I haven’t.
Those who know me even the smallest amount, know I am pretty much against war. It doesn’t mean I don’t know that at times war is a necessary evil – WWII is the perfect example. But while we were helping one people we were doing harm to some of our own through prejudice and fear.
"The only thing we have to fear is fear it'self - nameless, unreasoning, unjustified, terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance." FDR upon his first inauguration.
I am not the only Quaker who thinks this way, not the only American, not the only human. But I do honor our veterans, those who have joined our armed forces for whatever belief, reason, or cause. I honor you. I honor your memory. I honor the comforts and loves you left behind to do what you thought what right. I honor you.
My father served. My brothers have both served; the youngest will retire after twenty plus years of service to the Air Force – all over the world, in two years.
My father joined to escape a nowhere life of poverty and violence. My younger brother, well I’m not sure why he joined. And my youngest brother found a world wide traveling life that has taken him to the highest ranks of the enlisted. For whatever reason they joined, had war called I’m sure they would have done what they signed up to do. I know Buddy has. I honor him.This morning I play songs that honor the sacrifices of our soldiers, citizen soldiers, those who give what I haven’t.
Letters From Home – John Michael Montgomery
I hold it up and show my buddies,
I hold it up and show my buddies,
Like we ain’t scared and our boots ain’t muddy, and they all laugh,
Like there’s something funny bout’ the way I talk,
When I say: "Mama sends her best y’all"
I fold it up an' put it in my shirt,
Pick up my gun an' get back to work
An' it keeps me driving me on,
Waiting on letters from home.
written by: David Lee and Tony Lane
Florence has erected a Veteran’s Memorial Wall in the new Veteran’s Memorial Park on the Siuslaw River. It is simple, even stark, and somehow peaceful. My mom, Ducky and I have purchased three bricks to honor my father and bros.
This weekend I took Burp down where he made
etchings of each brick Furby brick and one that was purchased in the memory of his other great grandfather, who until that moment I’d not known had served in India. Hmmm. We took an extra moment to remember my father and discuss a story of his from his stint in Panama. Now Burp wants to go see a Panther.
Having lived during the Viet Nam era I remember the revulsion that greeted our veterans when they returned answering a call from our country’s leaders. I am heart broke at the hatred they found upon their return home. I mourn the loss of all that they were. I revile the old men who sat cozy in their air-conditioned offices, thousands of miles away from harm, making decisions that kept then safe while sending tens of thousands of men and women to their deaths for oil and greed.
“We have met the enemy, and he is us.” Pogo
I sincerely hope we have learned lessons by revisiting our own personal history. I hope that despite what our personal beliefs we honor our veterans.
To those who serve,
Thank you,
Cele
written by: David Lee and Tony Lane
Florence has erected a Veteran’s Memorial Wall in the new Veteran’s Memorial Park on the Siuslaw River. It is simple, even stark, and somehow peaceful. My mom, Ducky and I have purchased three bricks to honor my father and bros.
This weekend I took Burp down where he made
etchings of each brick Furby brick and one that was purchased in the memory of his other great grandfather, who until that moment I’d not known had served in India. Hmmm. We took an extra moment to remember my father and discuss a story of his from his stint in Panama. Now Burp wants to go see a Panther.Having lived during the Viet Nam era I remember the revulsion that greeted our veterans when they returned answering a call from our country’s leaders. I am heart broke at the hatred they found upon their return home. I mourn the loss of all that they were. I revile the old men who sat cozy in their air-conditioned offices, thousands of miles away from harm, making decisions that kept then safe while sending tens of thousands of men and women to their deaths for oil and greed.
“We have met the enemy, and he is us.” Pogo
I sincerely hope we have learned lessons by revisiting our own personal history. I hope that despite what our personal beliefs we honor our veterans.
To those who serve,
Thank you,
Cele
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Photo Friday - Shiny
I know later I'm going to have this "Ah, Ha!" moment about what picture I should have posted. For now I am stumped and the lighting sucks. And it's sunny. pfft!
The color of this car can only be described as "Vesuvius". It was all pretty and shiny, and I really, really wanted to take it home. I think Ducky would have noticed had I put it in my pocket.
Sith,
Cele
Friday, May 22, 2009
Talk Thursday: What It Is…
It is everything, it is nothing, it is the past, and it is the future. Most of all it is whatever I want it to be, what ever I make it.
It is the want to be thinner, as someone once said, “There is a skinny person inside of me wanting to get out.” Yes, I am fat. It was not by choice, but maybe it was by karma – and those pesky little jeans. All those times, in my thinner years, I noticed someone’s wide butt, cellulite legs, a paunch and thought, “I won’t ever let myself become that big.” Darn, darn, darn now I own them all. I did not say when I grow up I want to be lumpy and sad, but here I am. Maybe what it is …is young, thin arrogance. Maybe it is ignorance, I definitely know it is seemingly impossible to be rid of.
It is the wish to be kinder. I have an opinion, despite Madonna’s mantra that everyone is entitled to her opinion, not everyone needs to know mine. Those self-abusive enough will stop by my blog, read three paragraphs and then run in the opposite direction without leaving a comment. I don’t need to slash and burn with my words, but I do need to give my compassion, love, and patience to those who are bruised and in need; to become a better person through the osmosis of the best of my spiritual family. What it is should be easy.
It is a wish to share the best of me with those I love and who love me. To accept and love them for their faults and who they are, not who I want them to become. To remember that often what I dislike in others are the very things that can be found within myself. What it is …is the conscious decision to rebuff and countermand hatred and disparity.
What it is, is what I make it. It is what ever you make it. I will not harbor anger over what I alone cannot change, but I will patiently work to change injustices, wrongs, and prejudices one person at a time. It takes one person, one step, one smile to open the door to the next. What it is, is something I can do with the thought in mind that I too can change the wrongs and misjudgments inside of me.
Sith,
Cele
It is the want to be thinner, as someone once said, “There is a skinny person inside of me wanting to get out.” Yes, I am fat. It was not by choice, but maybe it was by karma – and those pesky little jeans. All those times, in my thinner years, I noticed someone’s wide butt, cellulite legs, a paunch and thought, “I won’t ever let myself become that big.” Darn, darn, darn now I own them all. I did not say when I grow up I want to be lumpy and sad, but here I am. Maybe what it is …is young, thin arrogance. Maybe it is ignorance, I definitely know it is seemingly impossible to be rid of.
It is the wish to be kinder. I have an opinion, despite Madonna’s mantra that everyone is entitled to her opinion, not everyone needs to know mine. Those self-abusive enough will stop by my blog, read three paragraphs and then run in the opposite direction without leaving a comment. I don’t need to slash and burn with my words, but I do need to give my compassion, love, and patience to those who are bruised and in need; to become a better person through the osmosis of the best of my spiritual family. What it is should be easy.
It is a wish to share the best of me with those I love and who love me. To accept and love them for their faults and who they are, not who I want them to become. To remember that often what I dislike in others are the very things that can be found within myself. What it is …is the conscious decision to rebuff and countermand hatred and disparity.
What it is, is what I make it. It is what ever you make it. I will not harbor anger over what I alone cannot change, but I will patiently work to change injustices, wrongs, and prejudices one person at a time. It takes one person, one step, one smile to open the door to the next. What it is, is something I can do with the thought in mind that I too can change the wrongs and misjudgments inside of me.
Sith,
Cele
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Rhododendron Festival – 2009 Pacific Wonderland
I live in heaven, I love where I live, I live where I love. Florence is a small town to most, sometimes too big to me, but it offers all I want. And my husband is willing to commute eighty miles each way to work. Thank goodness.
On the third full weekend each May Florence celebrates our
native Macrophyllium – Rhododendrons.
And some not so native, but beautiful all the same.
We do this with an annual festival that is three days of sun (oh please lord), classic cars, and a parade.
My job is to run all over town on Saturday of the festival, interview people, and remind everyone of the sights they don’t want to miss, bring them the sounds of what they are missing, and remind them to cross traffic on Highway 126 at signaled
intersections. In Florence there are only four.
This year I had a two hour break mid day so we started by visiting the car show.
Over four hundred entered this year’s event at Three Rivers Casino. What a cluster !&#! of a traffic jam… but the cars were divine.
Ducky and I have a Rhody tradition.
After I get off work Saturday afternoon… usually around 6:30, we go to old town Florence and watch KCST’s Classic Car Cruise.
After we sit and watch the first two or three circuits the cars make, Ducky and I begin walking.
Now, true Florence is not large,
Old Town is even smaller, but it makes for a nice walk, we stop and chat with old friends, 
watch the cars and make our way to the west end of Bay street for a Mocha. Then we walk all the way to the east end of Bay Street (wow, three blocks) and have an elephant ear from the carnival and find a bench on the boardwalk and enjoy the evening.
For the week or so before Rhody Festival I write a parade script. Spend the majority of Sunday of Rhody Weekend broadcasting said script in all its hometown Rhody glory.
BTW, it’s really hard to take pictures while you’re broadcasting the parade.
And then I go home and crash.
I’m at the crashing part.
Sith,
Cele
PS just 363 days until Rhododendron Festival is here (May 22nd – 24th 2010.)
On the third full weekend each May Florence celebrates our
native Macrophyllium – Rhododendrons.And some not so native, but beautiful all the same.
We do this with an annual festival that is three days of sun (oh please lord), classic cars, and a parade.
My job is to run all over town on Saturday of the festival, interview people, and remind everyone of the sights they don’t want to miss, bring them the sounds of what they are missing, and remind them to cross traffic on Highway 126 at signaled
intersections. In Florence there are only four.This year I had a two hour break mid day so we started by visiting the car show.
Over four hundred entered this year’s event at Three Rivers Casino. What a cluster !&#! of a traffic jam… but the cars were divine.
Ducky and I have a Rhody tradition.
After I get off work Saturday afternoon… usually around 6:30, we go to old town Florence and watch KCST’s Classic Car Cruise.After we sit and watch the first two or three circuits the cars make, Ducky and I begin walking.
Now, true Florence is not large,
Old Town is even smaller, but it makes for a nice walk, we stop and chat with old friends, 
watch the cars and make our way to the west end of Bay street for a Mocha. Then we walk all the way to the east end of Bay Street (wow, three blocks) and have an elephant ear from the carnival and find a bench on the boardwalk and enjoy the evening.For the week or so before Rhody Festival I write a parade script. Spend the majority of Sunday of Rhody Weekend broadcasting said script in all its hometown Rhody glory.
BTW, it’s really hard to take pictures while you’re broadcasting the parade.
And then I go home and crash.
I’m at the crashing part.
Sith,
Cele
PS just 363 days until Rhododendron Festival is here (May 22nd – 24th 2010.)
Friday, May 15, 2009
Photo Friday - 2009 Self Portrait
I have been thinking about participating in Photo Friday for a while. Steve always post some kewl pictures. Then I found out my new friend Maya at A Day In The Life does Photo Friday (psst her artistry scares me.) But Tewkes' (honey you may run, but the name sticks) always does Two Things Photo (her eye boggles my mind, I wish I had a smigeon of her talent) and she does 100 Strangers which is a lot more than photography. They all have the big, kewl cameras, I've got just my little Fugi thingie, and my Pentax (if we waited for me to develop film it we'd be past the second coming,) but I want to play.
I'm still contemplating Two Things.
My first Friday Photo: 2009 Self Portrait
At first I wasn't happy, and then I thought about the textures behind the glass, the obfusticated quality it lent the "portrait." Kewl, what lies underneath.
I'm still contemplating Two Things.
My first Friday Photo: 2009 Self Portrait
At first I wasn't happy, and then I thought about the textures behind the glass, the obfusticated quality it lent the "portrait." Kewl, what lies underneath.
Cele
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