It's Always Something!

Have you ever noticed the width and breathe of Murphy’s Law? Or as Rosanne Rosanna Danna wisely said, “ It’s always something.” Life is filled with the little epiphanies written by Mr. Murphy.

The day you are running late to work is always trash day, which you realize is today, right after you dump the dog’s food in his water dish.

Computer systems never break on Monday, they always break on Friday… of a three day weekend… after 5pm.

It’s the final day of August and the third or fourth day we’ve had some sort of precipitation. I like a rain day that cleans the air and lets you enjoy the rest of the warm weather… not that we get much warm weather on the Oregon Coast. Usually one to three days between May and mid September that hits the upper 90’s maybe even triple digits. This year, not one day in the 90s. I kind of miss that, it always reminds me of why I love Florence.

Really my day wasn’t that bad. Yes, it was trash day. Yes, I dumped Arlo’s dry dog food in his full water dish. And no computer systems broke down, but then it is Tuesday. I did, however, have to take out an old CD player and install a new fangled two-piece duel deck. Not hard in concept, it just took an act of Congress in reality.

Exhibit A – electricians designed the control room they would
1) never have to work in
2) never have to fix things in
3) never have to listen to me scream at because they both went their separate ways after the new station was built.

Exhibit B – I’m allergic to dust
1) electronic equipment attracts dust
2) electronic equipment creates dust
3) electronic equipment kills, the hand that feeds it, with dust. Thankfully I remembered an allergy tab this morning.

It still took me the better part of two hours to uninstall (the really it's not broken folks but I get tired of guys whining their scratched to batshit CD's jump-ump-ump-ump-ump), remove all the excess cordage, stuff the huge plug-in through a tiny hole in the counter already filled with too many wires. Install the new multi faceted, oooh that’s way kewl, two-piece dual deck.

In that time my intern did all my afternoon work and then the work that would have taken up the rest of this week's afternoon, too. He rocks. I like rainy August afternoons after all.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday – Way late – pt 1 – Oh, Baby Talk Thursday To Me

When Kent posted his multi listed Talk Thursday Topic several weeks ago I was jazzed. And then life came barreling in without the horse and two guns smoking. Ack. I knew immediately what I wanted to write for part one. I’m a DJ, but I don’t talk dirty. I’m a writer and much to my husband’s consternation I can’t write smut. But boy have I been in some strange situations.

About two or so years after I became a DJ (yes that really translates into I can’t remember how long) I was working a Sunday afternoon shift, crocheting an afghan (which makes two years or so seem accurate) when I received this phone call.

“Good afternoon, KCST, this is Calista how may I help you?”

“Oh, I have the wrong number.”

“No, problem I hope you have a nice day.” And that was pretty much where I thought the conversation would end. But as I was just about to pull the phone away from my ear he said,

“You know you have a really nice voice.”

Laughing at the stupidity of the statement, “That’s good, it’s how I make a living.”

“What do you do?
“Ummm, you called a radio station, I’m a DJ.”

“Oh, okay well have a nice day.” And he hung up; I turned back to my afghan just as the phone rang again.

“Good afternoon, KCST, this is Calista how may I help you?”

“Oops, I called the wrong number again.”

Again chuckling, “You’re going to need to work on that dialing finger it can get you in trouble.”

“Oh, no I’m okay. You know you really have a nice voice.”

“Well, thank you.”

He said a few more things, punctuated with the nice voice comments again and I was finally able to disconnect the call. Except the phone rang again. This time I knew who was on the other line.

“You know you really need to fix that dialing finger and write the right number down in large black numbers before you dial.”

“I really like your voice, it’s so nice.”

I was beginning to get a bit worried, it was Sunday afternoon, I was a lone in the station in about the loneliest part of town – the business park next to the airport. (I know three phone calls, I’m a wee bit slow.)

In a very dreamy, hmmmmm hmmmm hmmmm voice he said, “You have a really great voice, the kind of voice a guy could…” At about that time in my pea size brain I realized could really was, and crap oh crap am I dense!

At that point I arose out of stuporville and said, “Crap, dude, we have seven second delay you’re going live.”

And he hung up.

And of course never called back again. Radio, ain’t it wonderful? Next remind me to tell you about the stalker who fell in love with my voice. Ooh, he was a duzie.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: What I Learned This Summer

For the last day or so I was totally flummoxed, despite the ramblings in my last post I couldn’t figure out what I have learned over the summer. And, the other option? I’ve been nowhere, except for a Ringo Starr concert in Eugene.

Well okay, balderdash! I learned how to make a superior thermodynamic survival shelter if I’m ever stranded in the frozen tundra with a solar blanket, plastic tarp, and a flint. I learned how to gig a piranha if I am ever hungry in the Amazon rain forest. And well I just couldn’t watch the episodes with rattlers, cottonmouths, and vipers. Ugh. Really some shows should come with viewer warnings. Hey, I know how to pasteurize water to a drinkable consistency without fire – now that one I might be able to use.

So here you have it… What I Learned Over My Summer Vacation Replete With Satellite Pictures Proudly Stolen Borrowed From NOAA

Years ago I took a weather seminar by one of Oregon’s better meteorologist that was absolutely fascinating. We learned how to read thunderclouds (hey on the Oregon Coast we don’t get a lot of lightning and thunder), rain clouds, and things I’ve long forgotten. I loved the seminar… and never took another one; yes I’m that friggin’ lazy.

And then it hit me, all summer long I’ve been badgering Tyree up at the National Weather Service about satellite pictures. No really. I give the weather forecast at least seven days a week (hey, that was a totally plausible statement) and while NWS and NOAA are fairly dependable… if you live inland… I have long learned that I need to…hmmm tweak the prognostication into something with more… potential plausibility. So I read the forecast, read the marine forecast, read the warnings, and constantly watch the satellite pictures and I write my weather forecast beginning with

Morning clouds giving way to partly sunny skies with increasing northwest winds 15 to 25mph… northwest marine winds 15 to 20 knots… today’s coastal high temperatures in the low to mid 60s.

Coastal Weather Rules of Thumb:
#1 If you have more than three days of heat in the valley you get fog on the coast… just sucks that puppy right in.
#2 If the wind is not up by 10 it will be up by 2.
#3 We have three weeks of amazing weather somewhere in January/February
#4 If it’s going to snow it will on February 12th
#5 The power will go out when the emergency generator’s battery is dead
#6 The best weather on the Oregon Coast is in September… when all the above is nil and void

If you’ve every been to the Oregon Coast you know that is a totally doable forecast. If it’s winter, we have...

rain with coastal winds southwest 25 to and 35mph, gusting to 90 on the beaches and headlands… marine gales south 40 to 45 knots… Coastal high temperatures 40 to 45 degrees…

Really a baby could do it. Just don’t write your forecast for more than a day and a half in advance.

I am finding satellite pictures amazing, mesmerizing. And it helps to have a real weather guy answer my questions. It all began with this picture.


Surprisingly I just about had it figured out. But still I sent a description of what I was seeing on the satellite at 140 longitude and what I thought it looked like. Airplane contrails. Shocker. Tyree wrote back and said I was very close – they are ship contrails that are only visible by satellite when weather conditions are just right. Which must be summer because I’ve been able to see them a lot through out the season. Dig the weather system’s swirl in the gulf of Alaska. BTW - Someone should let those captains know you shouldn’t drink and drive.


NOAA’s satellite pictures also offer a water vapor picture. Way kewl and very colourful. But what’s that orange? Heat? I figured the white mean thin clouds or fog, the darker the green the more the water concentration of the clouds. And the cool puffy things? Thunder heads. I forgot to as about that. But I did ask about the orange. I was kinda wrong. Orange is dry air… which in my mind looks like hot dry air and there you go.


These are pictures I especially love…


They are like the world at peace…


Well at least it looks good.

And totally off the subject, who are they fooling with these phones that feature touchable, expandable screens? WTF who can see that crap? Watch a movie? Excuse me, I want a 52 high definition flat screen with unending buttered popcorn (in someone else’s house, mine’s too small.) Read a map? Honey, I get my pictures printed larger than that, frick I’m middle aged, it takes a pair of readers and a magnifying glass to read which color of mascara I’m buying.

Sith,
Cele

PS Congrats to Tandy, Simon, and Baby Zander - I wish you a wonderful life.

PSS - Thank you to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) for the unauthorized use of their beautiful satellite pictures.

Talk Thursday: Growing UP

I have spent the last fifty-four plus years growing up, fairly certain in the knowledge I’m far from completion, but hoping I manage to get there before my body is through. It would be especially splendid if both occur, generally, around the same time, wouldn’t it be awful to be old, spent, and stupid? Or how about old, spent, and bored because there are no boundaries left to conqueror?

While I have no desire (at this time) to return to the hallowed halls of education, I am usually glued to a program on History, the Do It Yourself channel, or Discovery. That’s not to say I can’t further my education in books, but I’m more interest in learning to do, expanding my knowledge on what is in small weekly doses. Plus I love my job and as long as it last, I’m not looking elsewhere. I’m under no illusion that I am the smartest, end all - be all of any endeavor I gravitate towards. You can tell that by looking at the dressing screen I started two weeks ago and have yet to finish building – Ducky had to rescue it. I have figured out measure twice cut once. My down fall lies in measure once, take a gander, measure twice look at it again…. Measure three times – now drill. Someday it will not lean up against my water heater in the garage, but hopefully reside on my deck. And if you need further proof I’m a work in process my lilies suck and my lawn is dead. There you go.

What I have learned in my years of growing up is that there are all kinds of people, with all kinds of abilities, all types of qualities, ignorance’s, graces, foibles, and over all arrogances and stupidities. Often all rolled up in one person. Ain’t diversity grand? Where do I stand in the grand scheme of things? I’m still learning to fit in. Years ago I was the wallflower, the girl who got beat up in the school line and few teachers cared. You see I was rather quick mouthed, a talent that almost got me booted from Girl Scout Camp. I’ve since learned that it’s my way of coping in fear of being rejected. A trait that runs off all but the bravest or those keen sighted enough to see below the loud brash exterior.

My wallflower status has actually stood me well over the years and social situations. I am content to watch and read people, but growing up on the outside taught me to have compassion of wallflowers less adept and further out of their comfort zone… a wall fish of sorts? It has also allowed me to see beyond the external and into the depths of people and how they interact, how they react, and how they exact what they want in different situations.

Over the years I have learned what and whom I adore; what I dread and fear; what renders my heart insensible; and what it takes to get it done. I have also learned that if I don’t know, seek. If another speaks, hear. If I love tell the recipients and tell them often. If I need help, ask (I’m still working on this one.) If I have it in me, give it freely and cherish the fellowship of all. Rejoice in myself, rejoice in others, rejoice in all the universe has to offer.

Sith,
Cele

Ack! It’s a Tuesday in August

Ack! It’s a Tuesday in August, worse I think there’s more than one.

I had all these wondrous ideas about last Thursday’s Talk Thursday topic. It was a stroke of genius – 7 topics, one week. Well I let that one slip by. Maybe yet.

Today is Burp’s ninth birthday. Nine, can you believe it? It’s blown by and that scares me. Psam’s childhood seemed like a fleeting moment and I miss it so much. But as the Beatles would say, Ob la de, ob la dah, pass the bong. Except please don’t, I’m allergic. Really I need a new saying. Ob la de, Ob la dah, I’ll take another margarita isnt’ catchy.

So, anyway, today is Burp’s ninth birthday. My thing is to call family and friends in loving hit and run episodes of the notorious Birthday Cake Polka. Except, I only sing part of the song that I remember from my childhood. Aren’t people lucky? Lately I’ve begun playing the Sheriff John mp3 where he sings the whole thing with the correct lyrics. Burp was my most recent victim.

I adore him. Saturday night he gets to have a birthday sleep over. Oh, Psam you gutton for punishment. A living room full of sugar addled seven, eight, and nine year olds – what joy. They are having a movie marathon – Toby Tyler or 10 Days in the Circus and Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. He borrow those and the Last Starfighter from Ducky the last time he was here. All three movies are Ducky’s favs, Burp seems to love them too, he said Willy Wonka was better than Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Sadly, Burp’s grandma hasn’t figured out what to get him for his birthday, besides tickets to the Oregon Coast Aquarium, and I get those for free. Back to school clothes seems like a cop out, needed, but a cop out.

I know Ob la de Ob la dah. Life goes on – onnnnnn - la la how the life goes on.

It’s Tuesday night and in a total stroke of stupidity I went to Grocery Outlet to find what tasty dash of hell I could eat to make my thighs and butt fatter. Who came up with the Dove Ice Creams that have the layer of solid dark chocolate on them? I bought one and stuck it in the freezer. When the munchies hit me I pulled it out. Deviously chuckled to myself because Ducky wouldn’t be able to catch me eating it.

And, what the bloody hell?

Who’s friggin’ bright idea was it to freeze a layer of unbreakable dark chocolate on top of the ice cream? I suspect a dieting guru. Truly. A diet genius. It was rock hard. While I was hit by a wave of late summer-spring-cleaning I let it thaw. An hour later the chocolate layer is still hard as a rock and the ice cream is less than milk shake consistency. My hips and butt have been saved to blossom yet another day.

Ob la de, Ob la dah, life goes on brah! La la - did you know John hated this song?

Life at work has been crazy. We have just finished our huge Summer Entertainment Giveway (tickets to everything we could get our grubby little hands on, given away everyday, with a massive grand finale drawing on the final day – which would be why it’s called the finale drawing.) You know what thirty drawings are followed up by? Thirty phone calls – and you know how I love the telly. Then I get to address and lick thirty envelops. Oh what joy and fun. No wonder I’m fat. Now were are in the final leg leading to Friday’s Hot 100 Radio Auction. You know what that means? I got to put 100 (plus warm up) items on the station’s website. Turn it all into reams of paper work and then sniff dry markers until they are all sold (the hot 100 - not the dry markers – really who came up with those things they reek?). This is all followed by thank you letters to our Summer Entertainment Giveaway venues, and FOOTBALL SEASON!

I’m taking vacation in September. I think I will be really, really tired.

Paul said it best, “Ob la de, Ob la dah, life goes on brah! La la how my life goes on!

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Beautiful... Release

Well it took all summer, crap it's already the beginning of the middle of August which is really the beginning of the end of sumer (I know shoot the bearer of bad tidings - but I come with flowers), I have lilies.

It seemed to take forever, but it was worth the wait. The lily to the left was suppose to be a stargazer - it's not, but it is beautiful. The lilies to the right are on their third year, the picture doesnt' do the color justice.

I had some beautiful bright yellows too, but I never got them photographed.

I have several Rudbeckia that are just budding out, a holly hock or two (I miss pictures of Sacred Sister's hollyhocks) and these Hellisomethingorothers,

and an abundance of daisies. This bush is my favorite (but only because it is so round. I have a bolder double daises, and this really ruffly one that browns too quickly.

They are beautiful, but crap, no release. I will have to try again.

Sith,

Cele

Odds and Ends Revisited & Ringo Starr and His All Starr Band

Oh so many things, so little time to blog, but what the heck, chores be damned.

Ducky is gone Tuesdays and Thursday nights, I honestly believe that is part of the reason our relationship has lasted so long. It’s not like I have the best track records, but this guy is totally a keeper. His night’s gone are two of the reasons I will always have a dog, it holds any potential loneliness at bay. It also gives me the opportunity to have Thursday – girls night out, and the chance to misstate a fact or three on Tuesday nights, when I say, “I got three laps done on the cross-trainer, I think tomorrow night I’ll go for four. The lo-fat salad was almost too much for dinner.”

Instead of saying, “I munched on a grilled cheese sandwich and peanuts, while I was blogging, followed by a three truffle chaser.” I know, I know may lightning strike. Okay, crap, it was five. Leave me alone it was not six.

Saturday night the radio station sponsored Joe Diffie at Three Rivers Casino. We had a great time, the concert was very enjoyable, the crowd could have been a wee bit bigger. But then again the Bellamy Brothers had played the night before and the three-day Oregon Jamboree was well underway in Sweethome, drawing crowds with the likes of Keith Urban, Blake Shelton, the Oakridge Boys, Travis Tritt, and Miranda Lambert. My favorite lyric?

If the Devil danced in empty pockets,
he’d have a ball in mine.
With a nine foot grand, a six piece band,
and a twelve girl chorus line.
I’d raise some loot in my three piece suit,
selling one dance for a dime.
If the Devil danced in empty pockets,
he’d have a ball in mine.

Or maybe you’d prefer…

Cause and effects, chain of events
All of the chaos makes perfect sense
When you’re spinning round things come undone
Welcome to the Earth, third rock from the sun.

Great lyrics. Fabulous energy.

Sunday night we went to see Ringo Starr and his All-Starr band at the Cuthbert Amphitheatre in Eugene. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it many times again, this is my favorite venue. The band included Walter Palmer of the Romantics, Rick Derringer of the McCoys, Edgar Winters but no White Trash (Frankenstein was it amazing), Gary Wright, Richard Page of Mr. Mister, and Gregg Bissonette. We met Pinecone, the Crown and Bridge guy, the Landlady (not theirs, my nephew Arnie’s Landlady,) and several others at the top of the grassy berm just as the sun was hovering above the horizon. You know that moment, right when it hits golden peak. Ringo called it’s “God’s Light” which I thought pretty kewl – and I guess he would know it was shining right in his eyes. We rocked out and watched the loonies and free spirits in the crowd dance to the music. What a night. I would show you the pictures Pinecone took (because I didn’t take my camera) but she’s notorious for taking these fabulous shots and keeping them among her pixel count for eons.

So you get a shot of my nose instead. I’m sporting this “come from nowhere” bruise on my nose. Truly, I’m not sure how it happened. And it hurts enough I should. It wasn’t there Saturday night. I didn’t see it Sunday. Yesterday I really didn’t look in the mirror, until Ducky offered an exhausted me dinner at a local Mexican Restaurant. I went in to brush my hair, check and make sure the old makeup was gone and noticed the bruise on my nose. Where the heck did that come from? And darn don’t touch it, ouch, I said don’t touch it. I, for the life of me, don’t know how I got it. It straddles the bridge of my nose, about the location of my sunglasses, but I never put them on this weekend. Today it rides a bit less down the sides of my nose towards my cheeks than it did Monday. Today it’s also a bit brown rather than the fuzzy gray and pink of last night. No idea.

Despite hours of watering my lawn is dead. I don’t know why. It’s not like I don’t water it for hours on end, three to five days a week. I had it aerated, I give it Scott’s Lawn plus, or Turf builder with water saver… a big sarcastic oooohhhhhhh. But, nada. Sad sad sad. The good part, it will be green again by mid October without any effort from me. See why I love the rain?

And finally here is a shot of the glorious bouquet that Ducky got me for our anniversary last week. The roses are slowly being removed as I wrap and dry them. The double lilies are browning, the Speedwell remains amazing. And the carnations are still spicy smelling. I love flowers…and chocolate too. Have I mentioned truffles lately?

Sith,
Cele

PS if Pinecone ever sends me those pix, I'll addenum. Tata

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Odds and Ends

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Weddings

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

Congratulations Natalie and Jeff.

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

Let there be cake.

To my Ducky,

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

Sith,
Cele

Darmn-it I miss that waistline.

Talk Thursday: So I Have To Ask…

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

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

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

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

Shoot me now. Please.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Respect In The Morning

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

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

It’s a Zen thingie.

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

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

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

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

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

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Inspiration

Inspiration

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

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

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

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

Sometimes, Inspiration needs a cattle prod.

Sith,
CeleI

Talk Thursday: Breaking Habits

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

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

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

Sith,
Cele

2010 Oregon Divisional Chainsaw Championships

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

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

This year’s theme, Outdoor Life

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

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

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

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Sorrow and Its Source

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Forgotten

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

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

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

Tragic veer…

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

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

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

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

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

Wild veer…

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

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

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

Talk Thursday: Ending... Beginning

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

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

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

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

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

Sith
Cele

Talk Thursday: Fuzzy Navels

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

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

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

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

Cheers,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Expectations

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sith,
Cele