More Random Stuff Meme – From Me

Today at 1800hrs
From Don - Have fun and be truthful! I want to see your answers!!

1. What is your occupation right now? Operations Manger / Programming / Music / Sales – And Oh, Shit! Director
2. What color are your socks right now? Black tights
3. What are you listening to right now? KCST FM 106.9
4. What was the last thing you ate? An Odwalla bar and a pear
5. Can you drive a stick shift? They make something else?
6. Last person you spoke to on the phone? Psam
7. Do you like the person who sent this to you? Don, yeah duh I love him, he rocks.
8. How old are you today? 53 years, 9 months and 10 days, the time is 1800hrs… and 21 hours and 54 minutes
9. What is your favorite sport to watch on TV? Oregon Duck Football
10. What is your favorite drink? French Roast Coffee
11. Have you ever dyed your hair? Which time, which color, crap what is my color?
12. Favorite food? It depends on the day. Today, BBQ Steak, rare
13. What is the last movie you watched? Hmmmm, The Proposal. I love Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds…yeah.
14. Favorite day of the year? The Saturday before Christmas
15. How do you vent anger? I have no clue - argue?
16. What was your favorite toy as a child? skates
17. What is your favorite season? winter
18. Cherries or Blueberries? Cherries
19. Do you want your friends to e-mail you back? Certainly, but yeah, no spam, and please don’t forward the friggin’ pictures in the cute little emails, I don’t usually get them.
20. Who is the most likely to respond? Someone bored
21. Who is least likely to respond? Someone not bored- Psam & Fii
22. Living arrangements? Same house 28 years
23. When was the last time you cried? Last night when I was reading Soul Magic by Jennifer Lyons, whose really Jennifer Apodaca.
24. What is on the floor of your closet? Carpet
25. Who is the friend you have had the longest that you are sending this to? Oh, Crap I have to tag people? Psam
26. What did you do last night? Watched So You Think You Can Dance, wrote the Wednesday Links, and read the ending of Soul Magic (not in that order)
27. What are you most afraid of? Fucking snakes, where have you been?
28. Plain, cheese, or spicy hamburgers? Charbroiled with bacon please
29. What is your favorite kind of dog? Loving, non-itchy, fetches the ball, low energy.
30. What is your favorite day of the week? I don’t have a favorite
31. How many states have you lived in? 2 - Oregon (36) California (17)
32. Diamonds or pearls? Really? Neither – Amethyst
33. What is your favorite flower? Nasturtiums & Iris or maybe Tulips but definately Daffodils
34. What are your favorite two movies of all time? Love, Actually and Pride and Prejudice

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Appreciate, Validate, Communicate

Yes, I took the concept from John Edward. But as a person who has been loved, is loved, will be loved – all the while I have been giving love, isn’t it important that I communicate that love? Isn’t it important that I let the people in my life know that I appreciate who they are, what they are in my life? For because of them, there is a part of me that is. Yes, it’s that important and it’s that simple.

Far too many people take for granted the love in their lives. The kind words, efforts, and acts that make our lives richer never realizing how swift, unexpected, and finale the end is until the end is reality past. Or worse they expect it as their own due, never knowing the arrogance and selfishness of their existance. While I fully believe we should talk to those who have left us, I firmly believe we need to start those conversations on this plane. I never want to be the person who moans and weeps in self-pity, “I never had a chance to say good bye. I never had a chance to tell him I love him. I never had a chance to say thank you.”

Never.

Every parting to me is full. Full of love, full of thanks, full in my heart. I hope my words and actions convey to you my sincere intent upon our parting until the next time we shall be together. Please know I love you, I give you a “peace” of my heart, and hold our memories and spirit in reverence and joy to be unfolded, petted, and savored at unexpected moments. You are a part of my journey, sharing of yourself to be folded into me, footsteps towards who I am becoming. Never, please never, doubt your worth in my heart and in my life - For I am truly blessed to have you.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Life Altering Truths

I have always known I am loved. My parents have loved me despite my antics, rebellions, my teenage wrath and my youthful ignorance. My daughter has stuck with me with love and support through good times, thin times, bad times, parenting faux pas, and three husbands. My husband has stayed years beyond those who have left, put up with my strong will and opinionated self which he matches most of the time. I give my love with joy and accept your love in honor, with respect and stewardship.

Every person deserves love…at least at the start. A child is born – planned or not, with little expectation beyond life than to be wanted and loved, to give love, and of course there is that pesky eighteen year period of bills, the latest toys, and homework. But as a parent we usually understand what we are taking on, well at least we have a vague idea of our responsibilities. Some life starters don’t have a clue, can’t fathom how they can (for whatever reason) meet the demands of another life responsibility, or could put somebody else first before themselves and opt to give up their rights to parent – hopefully these children are adopted into welcoming families with more love than they know what to do with.

What rents my heart in to a zillion bloody unfunctioning pieces of abysmal sorrow is the knowledge that there are people (because I can’t call them parents, moms, or dads) who forsake that precious life, trample all of humanity by pimping out their five year old for their next fix, to pay their bills, or for a little extra spending cash.

The short life history of Shanyia Davis, whose “mother” pimped her out for sex is breaking my heart. I am so tired of “mothers" and "fathers” who go on TV wailing for their missing child when the whole time they are responsible, non-negotiable responsibility for the life, abuse, and destruction of a child who trusted, loved, and obeyed the authority in their life. They make it hard to believe the mothers and fathers who really are distraught over their missing child, people who have no culpability in the disappearance, abuse, death. I am non-violent, I don’t tend to believe in the death penalty, but right now I am filled with hatred and despair (emotions and judgment I am usually not wont to entertain) over this and several other HUNDRED cases just like this one. I don’t understand, I will not pretend to understand, I just want it changed. And I have no idea of how to do this.

In the Sandra Bulloch movie 28 Days the graduates of the addiction treatment center are charged with keeping a houseplant alive for a prescribed amount of months before being allowed to have a pet or a significant other in their life, if the houseplant dies, no pet, no significant other, and well no sex. Many high schools offer a class where students are required to care for a baby (a bag of flour, an egg, a whatever breakable abuseable thing) to give the potential caregiver/parent a taste of 24/7 responsibility. Isn’t it sad we don’t have some sort of litmus test in real life where a potential parent could be tested for skills of heart and humanity before being allowed to breed?

In my dismay and anger over the miss use, mistreatment, and murder of the Shanyia Davises of this world , I find that public disembowelment of any functioning reproductive system in such parents is only the beginning of a fitting punishment.

The life altering truth: Being loved and cherished isn't a given.

In Sorrow,
Cele

50 Questions Meme

I love Memes and the answers often change, so I took this off of Psam’s website. I think I’ve done it before, but I’ll have to go searching to find out.

1. What do you add to your coffee? Warm ups.
2. What are you reading now? Magic Soul by Jennifer Apodaca. Up next Death Dealer by Heather Graham.
3. Do you own a gun? 9mm Glock
4. Are you registered to vote? Yes... Republic.... It was an absolute joy to write Barack Obama's name on my primary ballot. In truth I’m an independent and should reregister, but then I’d miss the fun of write ins.
5. Do you get nervous before doctor appointments? Not, really but I laugh a lot. Hey you go to a guy whom you watched grow up and whose dad was one of your teachers. Or get a well woman’s from the girl you graduated with and see if you don't laugh.
6. What do you think of hot dogs? Darker please with mustard and relish.
7. Favorite Christmas Song? Religious? O, Holy Night. Secular? 1) White Christmas (Drifters version) 2) Do They Know It’s Christmas 3) The Hippopotamus Song.
8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning? Copious amounts of fresh brewed hot French Roast Coffee
9. Can you do push ups? Yes, God it took me years to master and then I got fat. But, oh, crap I better go check and no I can’t do chin ups.
10. What was the name of your first boyfriend/girlfriend? Ronnie, and yes, his eyes were a beautiful blue eyes with black lashes.
11. What’s your favorite piece of jewelry? Amethyst birthstone 16th birthday
12. Favorite hobby? Gardening, hot tub, book (in that order).
13. Do you work with people who idolize you? Only Grant.
14. Do you have ADD? No, Psam say’s I have OCD. I doubt that have you looked on top of my refrigerator or in my closets?
15. What’s one trait that you hate about yourself? I am the queen of procrastinators everywhere.
16. What’s your Middle name? Calista
17. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment. I need to sleep, but this isn’t finished, oh look something shiny.
18. Name 3 things you bought yesterday. Groceries, diet pills, a mocha – okay two but one was for Ducky.
19. Name 3 beverages you regularly drink. Coffee, water, herbal tea (of late Celestrial Seasonings Apricot Peach Honeybush.)
20. Current worry right now? What? Me Worry?
21. What side do you dress to? The naked side
22. Favorite place to be? Just one? In my garden
23. How did you bring in the New Year? Probably snoring.
24. Where would you like to go? Ireland, Scotland, Alaska
25. Name three people who will complete this. (within the next 25 questions) Me, Myself, and I
26. Whose answers do you want to read the most? hmmmm
27. What color shirt are you wearing? Green tank top
28. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets? No, you slide off and end up on the floor. I like cool sheets, really cool, helps stave off the hot flashes.
29. Can you whistle? Yes, and it’s gotten me in trouble with a teacher, in good with a teacher, and heard.
30. Favorite colors(s)? Green and Vesuvius
31. Could you be a pirate? No, I like hot baths far too much and get seasick far too often.
32. What songs do you sing in the shower? If I Were A Rich Man
33. Favorite girls name? Siobahn
34. Favorite boy’s name? Benjamin
35. What’s in your pocket right now? no pockets, but my Kleenex is in my bra.
36. Last thing that made you laugh? Taylor Swift’s SNL Monologue Song.
37. Best bed sheets as a child? All our sheets were white cotton.
38. Worst injury you’ve ever had? Broke my butt playing softball; broke my foot parasailing.
39. Do you love where you live? I live in Heaven. Yes, I love where I live.
40. How many TVs do you have in your house? Three
41. Who is your loudest friend? My sister, Pinecone
42. How many dogs do you have? One
43. Does anyone have a crush on you? Nah.
44. What are the most fun things you ever did? Surfing, road trips and singing in the car with Psam
45. What are your favorite books? The Lord Of The Rings – JRR Tolkien, anything Jane Austen, The Stand – Stephen King. The Jenny T. Partridge series by Natalie Collins. TB White, The Once and Future King.
46. What is your favorite candy? Lindor Truffles & Peeps
47. Favorite Team? U of O Ducks.
48. What songs do you want played at your funeral? I will not have a funeral.
49. What were you doing at 12 AM? Sleeping
50. What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up? “Oh God, I think I even I heard me snoring.”
    Sith,
    Cele

Talk Thursday: Mea Culpa

Having failed Spanish through out school, I never attempted Latin or Legalese. So I had to look up Mea Culpa. Yes, that is the Girl Scout’s honest truth, while I’ve tried to own up to my guilt(s) through out my adult life, I have stayed away from most acts carrying potential legal ramifications – ergo, I’ve never been faced with Mea Culpa and had to swear an oath on a stack of Bibles.

I pondered…nope can’t admit to that one. I contemplated… Oh, no no…that one is off limits. Hmmm, ohmigawd my daughter reads this I’m not posting that one. So I was going to tell you about the time I rammed my dad’s VW fastback through the garage door. Yeah, I know, I’ve owned that one for years.

But now, charges have been brought up against me in the court of blog that I must address- that of being the mother of a latch-key, McGyver loving, scientific adolescent. Had I known the potential danger involved I would have kept the two teen girls (and their uninvited boyfriend) on board who’d been babysitting her. Wouldn’t that have been lovely?

Instead I had the lady next door keep an “eye on her”, (the opportunity for a sense of freedom and responsibility – or so I told myself) I came home on my break, and was off work by 5 o’clock. Apparently it wasn’t enough. I noticed something was up when my spoons began disappearing (to this day I don’t have matching spoons.) You’ve undoubtedly heard of bee’s knees – well I’ve had the elbows, wings, and bee butts too, cryogenically preserved for a future examination/dissection/experiments that never came along. I frequently had to vacuum out my freezer to find the chicken potpies.

Suddenly, to my horror, I discovered the orange juice was missing. Orange Juice. What the heck is going on with the orange juice? She looked sincere and honest when she said she’d not drunk all the orange juice. Then I found the roll of film. Doused completely in OJ, I’m not sure what was on the roll originally I only saw pulp. Knowing the amount of ammo in our house and being an avid follower of Myth-Busters I am happy to say I found no locks (and therefore doors) with burn marks. It could have turned out sooooo much worse.

Isn’t hindsight amazing? I thought I’d been doing the best I could. My daughter was my life, she was my support system, heck she raised me. She’s long been the voice of sanity in my adult life – I’d fight through hell and back (if I believed in Hell) for her if need be. While she was growing up I gave her my evenings, my weekends, every effort and opportunity I could, and the best of myself – As a parent you know it wasn’t enough.

Sadly, inside yourself you know it’s never enough. I’m not asking absolution, I can’t find absolution in myself – and heck she can’t give it because she loves me and sees it differently. Now I look back realizing I was even worse a parent during her teen years. If possible I’d take it back, do it differently. Yes, I have long felt guilt, heavy smothering guilt over my parenting (or lack there of.) And still despite me, she turned out a great person and a much better parent than I’d ever hoped to be. Isn’t that the strangest fucking gratification? I tried to make this funny, sadly it’s not, it’s just honest.

Guiltily,
Cele

Vacation - well the late middle part - III?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sith,

Cele

Happy Halloween!

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

I've not out grown that love.

Happy Halloween,

Cele

Talk Thursday: Semi-True Stories

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sith,
Cele

Vacation Part II, the Roll That Got Away

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Talk Thursday: The Fabric of Connections

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sith,
Cele

Sin City

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Bellagio Fountains surpassed the hype.

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

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

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

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

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


Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: One Step At A Time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sith,
Cele

Mindless Disrespect

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sith,
Cele

No Peace With The Prize

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday – Life, or something like it

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Castaways

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

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

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

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

Recently I added –

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

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

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


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

Talk Thursday: Milestones and Mortality

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sith,
Cele

Happy Birthday Pinecone – Sister-mine

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

Pinecone and I are as different as day and night

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

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

WORKAHOLICS!

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

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

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

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

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

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


Happy Birthday Pinecone,
I love you,
Tanglefoot

Talk Thursday: Self-Deprivation

From WordWeb:

Noun: self
1) Your consciousness of your own identity

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

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

As in..

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

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

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

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



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

Sith,
Cele

Photo Friday... before it's too late

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


Sith,
Cele