Talk Thursday: Frustration - aka dead air from the big boys

Running a week behind in my topics…. If you haven’t noticed – this week’s topic, Occupy/ied/ing, last week Frustration. This is how far behind I am, the frustrating conversation I’m about to relate happened a week ago this morning. People know I work for a radio station, oh, okay.

“Hi, I’m Calista and I work for a radio station”

See I should never assume. For the past fourteen to sixteen years of my job I’ve been not only the program director, but also the operations manager – that relates into me being responsible for, crap EVERYTHING. Yes, everything, if there is a light bulb out the morning guys will unlock the doors in the pitch black until I have a morning shift and find the light out and change it. If a satellite dish is wonky (an extremely technical term), no I don’t fix it, I coordinate with the engineer(s) until it’s fixed. I have learned all sorts of technical terms, i.e. sparkles, bongs, and the most important one, “Dead air.”

My job is so very technical and important in relation to dead air - that I get 1) paged 2) phoned and 3) did I mention I have two phones, yes they both get called. Five straight beeps in the message and it’s the AM, five alternating bee dee bee dee (think of them as beeps) and it’s the FM. Are you still with me?

The amount of dead air is growing on our AM station. Last Saturday morning, I get awoken with dead air on the AM at 2:12am, by the time I checked the radio we were back on and ten seconds later I was back in bed. Then at 7:56am I get awoken by the AM once again. This time I’m fully awake and as the station leaves dead air for the comfort of ABC news I’m dialing a radio network that sounds something very close to Flear Phannel. The following conversation ensued:

“Engineering, this is Bozo”
“Good morning Bozo, I am Calista with KCFM in Florence, Oregon. We’re a Music affiliate (read- name altered to protect the innocent and my butt) and I’m experiencing dead air.”
“Well there was dead air, but the network is on the air. “
“Could you please tell me where the dead air came from?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the dead air, did it come from Flear Phannel or Music?”
“Well I can’t say.”
“You can’t say? So it came from Music.”
“No, I can’t say that. The device that suffered the dead air is in our studios.”
“Oh, so the dead air came from Flear Phanhel.”
“No, I can’t say that.”
“Then it came from Music.”
“No, I can’t say that.”
“I don’t understand, the device that the dead air came from is in your studios, but you don’t know that the dead air came from Flear Phannel.”
“Right.”
“So it came from Music.”
“No, I can’t say that.”

At this point I crawl through the phone line all the way to Colorado and strangle him with his wits. And I’m wide awake at 8:05am on a Saturday morning. Too, mean.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Shooting For Happy

There is actually no reason for having not written this blog. Long ago I discovered several truths, yes, they are my truths, but I believe they could hold true for most people.


The first, it is far easier to be happy than to eternally be sad. Being sad takes up too much energy, sucks out too much spirit, and alienates you from people who are happy. I choose to be happy, I choose to smile instead of frown, or even be straight faced (which is sometimes hard, Ducky says my face is like a book.)

Second, yes money makes to world go round, but I prefer to have a job I love that pays less than a high paying job that I hate. Having more money doesn’t mean having a “better”, “happier”, or more meaningful life. It means you have more toys that you don’t use, bills that are bigger, as many headaches, and more house to clean. I prefer cozy, comfy, and hands on. My brother constantly boast of the businesses he owns, the property he owns, and the money he makes – yet he refused to pay a loan back to my parents (and yes my father did come out and bluntly ask for payment), all the while he is complaining about how many hours he has to work, who owes him money, and a myriad of other problems. Is that happiness? Is that quality of life? Are those good priorities? Really, I’m thinking not, I see him bowing to the almighty dollar and "Self-status", all the while he is flipping his family the finger – he still has not come home since my father died (four years ago this Christmas.) I don’t see this as happy and yes I realize this is my perspective.

Third, Happiness for me is about being a better person and making the life I live the life I want. My house is small, I like to think it’s cozy. My family speaks to each other (well okay there is that one brother, but if he called I’d speak to him). While my lawn is dead, my flower garden is a source of pleasure. My job can be stressful, but I love it, strive to be the best I can be at my job, and give as much as my time allows. I have to say the thought of retirement is actually gaining more appeal, I may be eligible for an AARP card (no I’m not going there) I have to take the yearning of more free time a bit slow as I’m still years way from that financial freedom (who am I kidding I will never be financially free) and retirement age.

In other words I am happy where I am. I love, I laugh, I sing, I am…. Happy.

Sith,
Cele

And it doesn't hurt that my Ducks are winning.

Talk Thursday: Masculinity and Testoserone

Living with a man who is recuperating from a “major” surgical procedure is, to say the least, enlightening. It’s been five week (and two days) since Ducky went under the knife, had his spinal stenosis removed and three disks replaced. He also quit smoking on that day – I am very proud of him. In the past month we have been challenged by the temporary paralysis of both his arms, nicotine withdrawals and probably the worse of it all – BOREDOM. It takes a big man to allow his wife to do certain things for him… cut his meat… wash his pits…. Tie his shoe laces – understandable he’s being doing these things for himself for the better part of five decades.

The depression that has battered him off and on over that time what probably the worst side effect to face. How do you deal with depression? Ill-prepared, I am only armed with is optimism and logic – my husband is not a logical man. For the last fifteen years I have been allowed my Tuesday and Thursday nights, he stays at his sister’s house in the valley and I have time to blog, to go out to dinner with my girlfriends, mother, and grandmother. Now he is home on those nights and I have someone to watch TV with, thankfully we pretty much watch the same stuff, and the rest of the stuff he is a sleep for… except now he doesn’t have to leave for work at the butt-crack of dawn, so he has been joining me for Castle and Body of Proof (did I mention at anytime in the past that Dana Delaney is one of the few people Ducky tells me he wouldn’t charge the first time? And yes you just appropriate filled in the blank.)

Today Dude, one of the guys Ducky works with, came to visit while I was at work. Dude’s girlfriend and Ducky talked about the merits of Dancing With The Stars (we quit watching SEVERAL seasons ago.) Dude promptly began teasing Ducky that he was going to tell all the guys that Ducky watches DWTS. After relating the story to me I asked him if he let him know that he was a devotee of So You Think You Can Dance? No, and he didn’t tell him that he watches Dance Moms either.

Seriously, it’s all my fault. Once long ago I had aspirations to be a dancer, professional dancer… did you know you needed to be talented, dedicated, and did I mention talented? … yeah, what’s that all about? So, I’m in radio instead… but as a sideline I edit books (yes, bear with me it’s all related) and one of the writers I edit writes “dance/mystery/cozies – better known as the Jenny T. Partridge Mysteries. Delightful stories about a clumsy dance teacher and her psycho dance moms, so you know I have to watch Abby Lee (who is as crazy as) and her dance moms (thank you Natalie.) Ducky watches with me – to the point where he argues at the TV in support of a dancer, critiques the dances, and harangue both nemesis and judges. Yes, my husband, who (normally) slings 100 pound tires around, watches football five nights a week, and has Dana Delaney on his list of women he’d like to… is a female reality TV aficionado. You doubt me? As him about Theresa Guidice and the Real Housewives of New Jersey, hmm need more? As him what bugs him most about the newest housewife in Beverly Hills, no not Brandi, Dana – he’ll go on for five minutes. Ask him about the blondes of the OC, or about New York Turtle-time and Ramona.

It’s okay, he may know his Real Housewives, but I’m the one he gave chocolates and a thank-you card to. Life is good… all the way around.

Sith,
Cele

PS Except stay off Highway 126 beginning Monday, Ducky says he’s heading back to work.

Talk Thursday: Redo - seemingly a tribute to the letter I

There are so many things in my life I would take a redo on, so many things (in hindsight) I’d do over, do differently, or do slower. So I began with my blog, I’ve been lax lately in blogging, we’ll blame it on two things: 1) a lack of get up and go (or inspiration) 2) No time. We are still in the post surgery throes. Ducky has yet to begin physical therapy, his evaluation with the PT is Wednesday morning, this guy specializes in necks. Ducky has not regained dominance over his arms, either, right nor left. While the burning pain is less a constant, it does still rear its ugly head, and in truth getting a man to be in-charge of his pain meds on my day off is impossible – honestly must I do everything? I know totally rhetorical. Given the chance Ducky says he would not do this again.

Never would I go back and redo my teens, although I love revisiting the friends of my childhood. I would choose to go back and redo Psam’s childhood – pretty much minus any connection with her father. In fact, I’d forego the whole married to Chewbacha thing at all (thankfully I up held a long standing family tradition and was pregnant when I got married. Yes folks, I with full pride and acknowledgement come from a family of frisky women - mean sluts.) What I would have done was slowed down and savored every moment – good and bad, embraced every hug, every chance I could to sing in the car with her, I would have done more tide-pooling, more fishing, more beachcombing, more reading, and more cuddling. I missed so much in my daughter’s childhood and I didn’t even know it. So fucking sad.

If I had the chance I would redo the moments where I was mean to a person. Yes, there are a few, they are moments that I relive in thorough shame. When I have the chance I let people know what they meant to me, to my life, to the person I have become. I like who I became. Who I have yet to face a person who I was unkind to an apologize – except for my school bus driver. They looked kind of confused. Maybe there were too many to remember individuals. Part of what boggles my mind over my behavior is the fact that while I was in grade school – especially grade school, I was the child harassed, I was the child who was beat up in the school line while very one (teachers too) watched. Yes, this I’m sure was in part to my smart ass mouth (and probably why the teachers refused to intervene.) These are moments I would definitely redo.

You might have noticed my new look. I’m not a pink person (that is Psam) but really I couldn’t find anything with lilies or nasturtiums as a theme. What prompted me to change (despite my love of green) was the wasted space when I look at the blog on my laptop – for all the space available all the template took up was about six inches of space smack in the middle of my thirteen inch screen. It was time for a change, so I re did it. Voila. In the morning I did something I’d not done in a long while, I went though my entire blog list. I miss my favorite bloggers. But what I had missed more was the inspiration that reading my bloglist is the inspiration. I like that Blogger sets my list based on the most recent post, but it means my time surfing the blog has shrunk amazingly so. Before the update widget, I would go back and even if there wasn’t a new post I would read the comments, make more comments, or God forbid, write a blog of my own as a result of what I’d read.

I don’t live on Facebook. Yes, I play Farkle to excess – in my defense I’m trying to reach 2 million points (only 350k to go). While everyone else is living in one sentence absentia I am yearning for the fulfilling meaty paragraphs of a good blog. Something that lets me dig my incisors in to the wordy bulk of someone’s though process, existence, experience and then provokes me, compels me, commands me to write my own blog. Thank you Jen and Ang - Mir and Joss you are bloggers who consistently blog and prosper. Will I blog more, I have no clue; will I read more, I hope so I miss the daily blog slog; will I spend more time in Facebook, only playing Farkle, one line epitaphs leave me cold and alone. Please wrap me in your words and send me forth.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Red, White & You

I would say I’m fairly patriotic. Yeah, me, the liberal independent, raised by Republicans, nine years in the Girl Scouts, I cry when I sing America the Beautiful (oh don’t give me that look, I cry when I pray, I cry when I think about the love my husband’s parents had, I cry at Hallmark commercials) and I firmly believe that everyone should read the Constitution so they really know what the fuck isn’t in it and quit saying it is.

Of late, okay it’s been going on for a while, I’ve been frustrated at the state of my country. When the terrorist attacked on September 11th ten years ago I was saddened that extremist hated my country so much they would murder innocent people just to make a statement. I love my country. But what saddened me even more was that we let those terrorist win. Our world stopped turning for weeks, months, for some people even years. Yes, it’s logical that we changed the way we live and do business, but did we allow ourselves to change for the good? I don’t think so.

I don’t get that. I don’t understand why we are wasting the lives of America’s youth on wars where we aren’t wanted in the first place. In wars that have no impact on the existence of our country; In wars that will have no positive lasting impact on the lives that are being disrupted in far away foreign places; did I mention I’m for the most part anti war? Yeah. I’m a Quaker pacifist get over it.

This is a great country, though sadly we have been winding our way down a sad path for years, getting too big for our britches, thinking we are king of the hill, when really we aren’t taking care of ourselves. We have become a nation of bigger is better, my riches are not enough I want yours too, it’s my way or the highway, finish first or be a loser for ever and it’s always greener on the other side. May I please remind my nation that nice guys finish last, bigger throws off feng shui (think about it), rich people just have more expensive headaches and bigger bills, diversity makes the world turn round, and to quote Erma Bombeck the grass is always greener over the septic tank. I love America and Americans can be extremely nice people, I mean I like myself, I like most of my friends one hundred percent of the time. I come from a community that raised over $70 thousand dollars in two weeks to send a woman dying of cancer to a clinic for a laser knife treatments, that came just weeks after raising $30 thousand to outfit the home of a teen who was injured in an ATV accident and is now paralyzed, and weeks before that raised thousands of dollars for something else (honest I can’t remember what.) I come from a giving community of people, they are nice people, and they are all Americans. But most Americans are striving to be the Jones (personally I don’t want to have the newest thing on the block.)

Instead of a country that honors diversity, we are seemingly hell bend on pointing out everyone’s differences. Just tonight on Bill Mahar I heard about (oh you’ll love this, I started writing this blog over three weeks ago) a DHS (Department of Homeland Security) program called “If You See Something, Say Something.” It reminds me of Nazi Germany and if I look hard enough several other regimes. But really I just don’t take what I heard on TV to heart so I Googled it. Crap, where have I been for the last eight years? This is a bill that was passed in 2002 (Ah the Bush years, will we every leave the madness behind?) The current Homeland Security Act (HB 963) is now printed to go before the whole house and is an update of the original 2002 document. If passed a person reporting “suspicious activity” will be give immunity from civil prosecution. Doesn’t that take away the accused’s right to face their accuser? Like I said, I love America, but I do not like the direction America is taking.

Cele

Talk Thursday: Harried

My life is not my own. Point in argument, I have three blogs in various stages of begun and undone. It is sad, reasonable given the current state of my life, but sad. You’ve not seen the pictures of Miseray’s wedding, our trip to the Rogue River with Burp, our new son in law’s first finish at a triathlon, nor pictures of any posies or projects I may have taken - because right now life is harried.

Our vacation, replete with a wedding, trip to the Rogue River, and cake, delicious cake (hey, I’ve been on a diet, I’d do anything – almost – for cake) kicked my ass and I physically crashed. A week later it was one radio promotion after another – prep football, college football (GO DUCKS!) community festivals, programming, programming, and more programming. Then Ducky had surgery.

I know in radio when someone says, “It’ll be a piece of cake? (and, yes, I get pissed when no cake is involved) I should expect all hell is about to break loose. Ducky had surgery, three discectomi and some spinal stenosis rotor rootered, on September 7th. Rarely in my life is something a piece of cake. The surgery went fine, then Ducky woke up with a few complications. We’ve been reassured that he will be recover, but he is frustrated, incapacitated, in major pain (I mean crap it was a major surgery) and he’s bored. You know what they say about men being patient? My Ducky is more like the two vultures waiting for their next meal – “Patience, hell I’m gonna kill me something.” Yeah, two weeks into this, he’s at that point. I think it comes down to this – he thought it was a “snap your fingers” miracle cure. You know like when you take a pill and you don’t smoke any more? Yep – finally after saying he was going to quit, being stuck at home with no way to get to the store has handed him the perfect opportunity to quit. In truth while I noticed he wasn’t smoking, I barely noticed – what with the pain, pills, and incapacitation.

There has been work, there has been doctor’s appointments, there has been work, phone calls, work, insurance people, work, doctors, work, work, and pain pills. Yes, my life is harried, but it’s not terminal and I’ll survive. Now the question is will those around me survive?

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Resisting the Urge

My vacation posts have been interrupted by time this timely topic. The afternoon I got back to work I lost my voice. Ergo I’ve spent the last three days resisting the urge, and urging of everyone to talk. Despite the fact they all tell me to rest my voice, at the same time they attempt to drag me into a conversation that requires me to talk.

What’s that all about?

There is nothing funny about a DJ who has lost their voice. Ack! It is hideous. You know how some women will sound sexy when their voice gets husky at the onset of a head cold? Yeah, that last for about six hours and then the whole red runny eyes and nose things kicks in and sexy is long…. Long gone. I don’t have a cold, although there was this sinus thingie back on say Sunday night, but honestly I thought that was the remnants of my physical exhaustion from my vacation. And yes, I will begin that blog, replete with bald eagle pictures after I finish this. I think.

Any as I was saying, I lost my voice, my money maker opted for another week of vacation, but didn’t take the rest of me. So not being able to do my airshifts, or a ton of other things that DJ’s do when we’re not on the air, I stuck to my office and did paper works, CAUGH up on a lot of stuff. And I would answer the phone, “Good afternoon, Coast Radio may I help you?” (in a loud non sexy rasp of a forced whisper) and I would get back a range of replies from, “Does it hurt as bad as it sounds?”, to “Ouch, that hurts”, or “Oh, wow, it is worse than I expected”, to full out laughter. See my life sucked this week. Those who knew I should talk (and kept telling me to rest my voice) kept asking me questions. Those who didn’t want to talk to me laughed. I liked the laughter better.

So now my voice is trying to come back, but sadly I’ve already missed two opportunities perform non-drunken renditions of the Birthday Cake Polka for my sister in law (she got a birthday whisper instead) and oldest daughter, who today got a raspy greeting instead. So I continue to resist the urge to talk, to sing, to cough, though sneezing is a different story. Really I don’t want to make it raspier by coughing so I have taken to sleeping with a throat soother lozenge wedged against the roof of my mouth with my tongue.

The downside – my teeth may be succumbing to acid decade from the lozenge, but I’m not grinding my teeth right now.

Sith,
Cele

Vacation Pt 1 - Oh the Panic & The Pictures

The joys of vacation,

1) I started out with a panic attack that I wouldn't get to Ducky's 40th class reunion on time. Work was challenging to say the least. I tell people that radio stops for no one, yes I work all three-day-weekends, yes I work Christmas morning, and yes, I voice track Thanksgiving afternoon. This causes a bit of tension but I remind Ducky that I was in radio when he married me, he knew what he was getting. So Friday we have not one, not two, but four events happening at the station.

A) The wrap up to the first of two major summer promotions - The Summer Entertainment Giveaway. A program where we give away thousands of dollars in concert tickets and admission passes. This final drawing means giving away twenty packets, calling the winners, making out the envelops, and mailing a portion of them now.

B) A live remote from the Florence Relay for Life (I worked the board, the news guy did the remote - while I made all those phone calls and did the envelops.)

C) A synchronized fireworks presentation with the Three Rivers Casino, they set off the fireworks, they choose the music, we make sure the music plays as planned. This folks is never an easy task regardless of how easy it should be.

D) The final production and run up for this Friday's Hot 100 Auction. - now you're saying it's this coming Friday what's the deal? 1) I had three small ads to design and place in the paper, (2 ready the huge ad for the paper for next Wednesday (yes tomorrow next Wednesday (as in write up, edit, and all the other stuff that goes with it 3) Place all materials on the website 4) make copies of everything 5) Design and print up gift certificates for all the sales people's items.

Then make it to Ducky's class reunion - 60 miles away - on time. We had a great time, this is the first class reunion he has been to, since we've been together.
I finally got to put face and name to the stories and people I've heard about for the last twenty years. It was awesome.

For my girls let me say that the man to the right is the dad (Rick) in the refridgerator family - Mom (Marla) was taking the picture. The lady to the left of me is Connie, the girl who just about single handedly got Ducky through high school (he denies this, I know it's the truth.) A joyous time was had by all until the end of the evening when we learned one of the girls who'd not made it to the reunion that night had been found unconcious by her sister and rushed to the hospital. The next morning we were told she'd passed away. She'd been suffering from childhood diabetes.

Day One of my vacation - no pictures, I spent six hours at work finishing up what I didn't on Friday for the Hot 100 Auction. Now before you say anything bad, I did get to accomplish something I'd set as a vacation goal. I slept in until almost ten. No, do not bring up the fact that I'd been up until after midnight.

Day Two - no pictures - despite it being a vacation day, I woke up at 5am - who in their right mind wakes at 5am on a vacation day that is not filled with things that need an early rise? Who? Me apparently and it sucked. I drug my ass out of bed at 6, made fresh coffee (because Ducky drags his ass out of bed at 2 and makes coffee which he leaves until he gets back up at whenever. He is a sick sick man) We spent a portion of the morning at my mom's as Ducky mowed her lawns, Mom and I chatted and I was hit with the realization that My Mom (the lady who taught me to be a good steward of the earth - leave things better than the way you found them, don't litter, and all that stuff) doesn't believe there is "Climate Change". No she believes it is natural cycles (let's ignor the brown haze that gunks up the air from LA to beyond Phoenix. That polar ice caps are melting, and polar bears drowning. That Glaciers are melting at an alarming rate to never reappear in our life time.) The remainder of the day was spent wishing I'd been able to sleep past 5am. And answering a billion calls from the Yankee who was having problems editing a show for a client, which eventually drug me down to work for an hour.

Day Three of my Vacation - he comes the pictures. Burp had a mini swim meet. Now you have to understand, he's not on a swim team, he's in pre-team. The next step if I understand is Novice where they learn actual competition style, right now he's learning technique and building endurance. Psam and Burp knew I was coming, but were suprise to be greeted at Willamalane by Ducky, Miseray (who for getting married on Friday was looking rather Zen-like) and the Brit. I got lost. Now who gets lost in Springfield? Me apparently. The meet is done in heats of three or four per event. Each heat awards a blue (1st), red (2nd), and white (3) ribbon. With no apparent regard for starting at the actual start of the heat, with no real focus on the finish line until say it's ten feet away (Burp is too busy paying attention to where everyone else is), and finally to turning at the end of the lane, pausing, then swimming some more
- Burp came way with several first place finishes and two seconds.

One of the boys in Burp's group - Shane - was amazing to watch, I'm not sure how long he's been swimming, much longer than Burp, but he had style, power, and grace for such a young swimmer. A pure joy to watch, I can't wait until Burp swim's like that. Burp is already showing ability, but it's far from being as in tune as Shane, he'll get there if he doesnt' lose interest and he has the right mother to push him. His heat times already show improvement:

Race.....................Last Meet...This Meet
25 Meter Freestyle......28.91.......26.67
25 Meter Backstroke....35.56.......30.06
25 Meter Breaststroke..42.46.......39.4

50 Meter Freestroke...1:08.47......56.65
50 Meter Backstroke...1:25.42....1:08:00
50 Meter Breaststroke.1:32.16....1:24:00

100 Meter Freestroke..2:31.19....2:07:00
100 Meter Backstroke..2:56.95....XXX (didn't race)

Day four of my vacation began with this blog, I hope there is peace, harmony and some beading in this day somewhere. Until then, Ciao, bona futuna.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Garbage – or a whole lot of things that don’t fit together

It’s day two (sort of) of my vacation and at 5am I’m awoke and couldn’t sleep, despite having taken 9mg of melatonin last night. So at 6 this morning I drug my awake head and tired ass out of bed and began my first cup of coffee. Sadly I could have slept in, I wanted to sleep in, but nada. That folks is garbage. Yesterday morning, I slept in until almost 10am and then spent five hours at work.

Friday night we went to Ducky’s fortieth class reunion. I had a great time and despite me just about having to break his arm, I think he enjoyed it too. He’d gone to his tenth, but not the others. After all these years I was able to put faces with stories. After all these years a part of Ducky’s life was there to be touched, people to like, and missing pieces to be put into their places. It was a wonderful evening.

In my youth and early years I embraced change. The reality of me is that I like knowing roots, touching roots, revisiting roots and sadly yes sometimes I miss certain aspects or friends of my youth. In the years between I’ve learned that not you can’t go back, in reality I don’t want to go back, and that just like me people grow and change, but not at the same rate or in the same ways as I. Just a few years out of high school a friend and I met up for an afternoon together, we’d already both been divorced, I had a kid, she was still living the independent reckless abandon of a life we’d had in high school, each had a focus so different and the fit wasn’t the same. I miss her (and several other old friends), but we did not grow “up” together, we just grew apart and she will be a fond memory forever, but we don’t exist any more.

Miseray is getting married Friday to the Brit, after eight years they are doing it. I delight in the soon to be son in law (unlike the Bosox) he is charming, responsible, and touchingly human. He treats Miseray like an intelligent equal, all the while protecting her. I love him and thank God for him nightly. Pictures to come. They’ve been planning and paying for this wedding for close to a year and a half. It’s been a year and a half of battling her mother (whom is the definition of Trout Pout – without the plastic surgery and enhanced lips – really think down gapping mouth with runny lipstick- oh god the horror) who has tried to dominate every aspect of the wedding to her specifications. She did it when the Cat woman got married so it was expected. My contribution to the wedding is standing back and out of the way, to be a support system and give my love, I also made Miseray’s something blue – a blue pearl and opalite anklet and matching bracelet set.

Sunday we are taking Burp on the Rogue River Jet Boats. Years ago (and a different husband) we took Psam on the jet boats, it is one of my very happy memories of her childhood and that marriage. Ducky and I always try to find events to build and create memories for Burp, and of late I’ve been trying to get him to photo blog about various things experiences and events. His birthday is Wednesday so that makes the timing, just right. Tomorrow is his next mini swim meet, my first, I can’t wait. Hopefully, pictures to come.

In the midst of all of this I have been trying to ignore the status and bottom line of my 401K. Growing up my mother use to tell us plan for the future, there won’t be Social Security when you get old. Well SSI has been running in the red for several years and with several years to go until retirement I am glad I heeded her words. Now if congress would get out of politics and get back to the job they are suppose to do we Americans would be able to survive. But instead, they play their partly line politics and throw their constituents under the bus. Social Security is bankrupt and now Congress, with a little help from the inept folks at Standard and Poors, has destroyed the retirements of millions of Americans. Thankfully, my 401K is diversified both domestically and globally and I’ve several years until retirement, but what about those Americans who have been planning, saving, and looking forward to their golden years? They have been fucked by the system, again. Garbage.

Last week, Wienie Rat Face (as Natalie has named him) was sentenced to life in prison for a rash of crimes. Thank you to the jury and judge in Utah for dolling out (for once) an appropriate sentence, Warren Jeffs (aka Wienie Rat Face) will never see the light of free day again. The world should rejoice.

In high school history we are taught that empires rise, get too big (aka a law unto themselves) and then empires fall. Welcome to the fall. America rose from the clay of a new world with new thinking. America prospered. America got to big for it’s own britches. America is a law unto itself and we will fall. We have not learned the lessons of history. We have not honored the intent of our fore fathers. We have not lived up to our potential. America has stepped over the sick, poor, elderly, and down trodden of our country to help up the sick, poor and down trodden of the rest of the world. We have picked up a big stick and yelled in a loud menacing voice, “Not on my watch,” to a world that took with one hand while whispering nasty no no’s and taunting names about us behind the other hand. We will not learn before it is too late. I love my country, but to survive we need to take several steps back, regroup, rethink, and respect. We don’t need to be the world police, we don’t need to be the world bank, we need to take care of our own business.

That being said, Michelle Bachman? Really, what is the world coming too? Rick Perry? Go read Buddhist in the Bible Belt’s blog it was perfection on the subject. I hate the long political seasons and the one ahead of us is going to get ugly. I am sad that Obama refuses to grow a back-bone and stand up for the platform he campaigned on and that Democrats scurry like rats in the face of opposition. I usually vote Democrat although I am an Independent, I rarely vote Republican. Give me something, someone worth putting my vote behind.

Okay, I’m done, for now
Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Way Safe… or so we think

Sadly, I’m in a blogging funk, what the heck is that all about? No inspiration, even with a topic I’ve no idea what I’m going to write about, nada.

This week I was blessed to meet a friend, a bestest friend, whom I’d never met face to face before. I met Rose through Psam, she’d joined Rose’s online poetry group in a now defunct universe of chat rooms. I love poetry, in the past twelve years I’ve written well over one hundred poems, started a going nowhere book, and then began blogging – and I met Rose.

Psam has long since moved on from poetry, but our small group of three (sometimes four or even a short lived newbie) continue to met on Friday evenings in my chatroom. As in Talk Thursday we have a weekly topic (sometimes that topic hangs on for a month – okay for a while we didn’t have topics) we chat for an hour or so and then we post for critiques and just the pleasure of seeing what everyone wrote. I write rhythmic (oft times metered) poetry, but when I write from anger or sorrow my poetry will move into an asymmetrical structure or free verse. Writing free verse really screws with my metered poetic voice and I will have to go read the entire Austin library to get it back, if that doesn’t work I move to Tolkien.

Psam writes dark poetry, Rose on the other hand was strictly rhymed poetry until earlier this year when both her husband and daughter died (thirty days apart), it was a very dark winter for Rose. She is now finding her free form voice.

Over the years Rose and I have shared the ups and downs of our lives. It’s not always rosy, we once didn’t speak to each other for more than six months, over faults on both sides of the argument, it was a very sad six months of my life. This week she became a physical person in my real life and the grin couldn’t, wouldn’t go away. She is the sister of my soul, a safe place when words need to spill out. She is my friend, she is so very much what I expected and totally different than what I thought she’d be (if that makes sense.) She is more like me than I would have ever believed. And she likes my poetry.

Everyone , okay a lot of people both questioned us meeting someone, in my home, who I didn’t know. But in truth there was no risk in this meeting, I’ve known her for so very long. It’s like when I met Sid, he’s the brother of my soul. Rose is the sister of my soul. I am blessed with my friends.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: How many times do you need to experience it before you learn?

Not many, I’m a quick study. And the angel on my shoulder is screaming in my right ear, “Liar, liar, pants on fire.” Ah, there is no peace in the world. I began my evening with half a poem and no blog for the week. I now have half a poem, some hefty frustration, and a blog concept born of said hefty frustration.

Several days ago, Artgirl blogged, and I felt the need to comment. She’d written something about Stanley Tucci, so I attempted to leave this message…

You're not even in the right age group for him to look yummy, but I am and you're right. It's the whole package that does it. Cute, witty, and silently hunky.

I typed in my google account ID and password and nada, typed it in again, and got a word verification. Now usually I love myself some VW because the words are hysterical and I try to make a definition up for the truly kewl ones. This time it was just irritating as hell, when it sent me back to the ID and password page, then to the VW page, then to the comment page with some inane message. I gave up, dropped Artgirl an email about her comment section. Then said what the heck and signed an anonymous post.

In all truth I’ve not had time to blog this week, so I wasn’t prepared when I stopped by Kristin (the new girl at Talk Thursday) to check out her blog and leave a little comment. Now I know lots of people refuse to comment, to me it’s my way of supporting the blogger. You get paid in comments. So after reading Kristin’s blog I wrote this comment.

Kristin,
Welcome to Talk Thursday, you are so ahead of me, I’ve yet to figure out how I’m going to address this topic.

I typed in my ID and Password and entered what I now refer to as, The Blog Spot Bermuda Triangle, except instead of my comment disappearing into some other plane of existence where I have to worry about breaking the time travel paradox if I want to retrieve it, I get the endless loop of revolving door form applications. Oh mi god, Betelgeuse was wrong, hell is trying to comment on blogger.

So I closed my browser. Opened a new one (because you know it had to be EI, not Blogger) and I began to comment again….

Kristin,
Welcome to Talk Thursday. I’m not sure what I’m going to blog about, but I promise I won’t put my finger (or thumb – gotta cover all bases) into the cigarette lighter.

You had to be there.And enter the self- induced blogger conundrum again. WTF? I know I can do this. Ergo, I closed the browser, opened a browser, and typed in….

Kristin, (poor girl is beginning to get a bum wrap and it’s not even her fault – Damn that Blogger) I’m not sure you’re going to get this comment, I’m having problems. Regardless, Welcome to Talk Thursday. Now to go figure out my spin on this topic.

And then it happened, the lightbulb when on and I decided to just comment with my name and URL… and so I typed in and clicked on comment.

Mut!% Fr!(%en (omm#&1 H#!!

Kristin, (honestly Kristin I know it’s not you, honest, even I have blogger) Blogger hates me, so I apologize (although you'll never know it) because my comments (although I've tried several times) are not being accepted by blogger. I now know how I will write this topic.... oh by the way, welcome to Talk Thursday - Cele

This time I just used anonymous and all is well – that is if you don’t want to include the fact that I have now not only stalked, but traumatized Kristin. Until the next time I want to post. So reality being as it is, I’ve no clue how long it takes a quick study to learn how to properly post to Blogger or switch to Word Press.

I do know that Stanley Tucci is cute, did you see him in Burlesque? Adorable.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: The Next Time I’m President

The civilized world is thankful this will never happen, but what if? I’m discouraged at the state of American politics today. Democrat versus Republican and the rest of us get run over in the process. I proudly voted for Obama, the sign supporting him in the elections still remains in my living room window, but I am disillusioned at his inability to stand by his “convictions.” I know a politician makes promises and I think they generally believe their promises to the voters they are wooing. But when the vows are said and the honeymoon is over then life and politics begin and promises are trampled.

In the battle between the political parties we are lost. Remember the promise that lobbyist would be banned from the Obama administration? I’d ban lobbyist from Washington DC completely. I would then work to establish the following:

1) A loop hole free, equitable flat tax
2) Work for welfare system, where recipients would have to give back an equitable amount of work for the benefits they receive. This would include serving on jury duty, litter patrol, day care, and weeding in pubic by ways and properties and other public services.
3) Remove the busybody interest of one American in another American’s life – to misquote Hilary Clinton “It takes a village. Who cares who you fuck.”
4) Cut off funds to ALL countries that support or are terrorist – i.e. Pakistan (let India deal with them.)
5) Better yet, cut off nation welfare. If we can’t pay our own interest payment how can we pay other countries?
6) Bring our soldiers home, put them on border patrol. Think about it, if the American Indians had better immigration laws we’d not be in this fix today. No it’s not their fault they believed our lies. Tsk tsk tsk
7) Better yet, if they get in, let them work by setting up a system where illegal aliens can work and pay taxes into our system, but are not eligible for support benefits i.e. unemployment, disability, or social security payments.
8) Confiscate companies and imprison employers who are responsible for hiring illegal aliens who use stolen SSI’s and fuck up the lives of hard working Americans. Oh don’t give me that, you’d be surprised.
9) Create a national health system that takes the power of health care choices out of the hands of insurance companies and politicians and places it back in the hands of the patient and their physician.
10) Open the forest back up to reasonable and sustainable logging.
11) Focus on creating and sustaining renewable resources and affordable solar power.
12) Force the automotive industry to move solidly into affordable alternative fuel sources.
13) Place both steep taxes on American companies that take their manufacturing offshore, and steeper tariffs on their products when they bring them on shore.
14) Remove the pork barrel from American politics.
15) And fill the friggin pot holes – that should put thousands of Americans back to work alone.
Drats, I know I’m forgetting an item or three. This folks is why I would never be elected… And Jen thank you for this topic, tooo enlightening and fun.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: The Animal Life

We use to have a yard filled with birds of varied assortment, squirrels who chattered their fevered warnings from the bull pines as I worked in the yard, and bears. I rarely see a squirrel anymore, birds quit stopping by my yard when I quit putting out birdseed for the rats, and the bears… well a neighbor had three in her yard at dusk three nights ago. But, I now only have Arlo the retaliatory pisser.

Why does a dog have to be so contrary? He is. I can spend the day with him in the garden, I dig out the weeds, he whines. I dead head the posies, he whines. I water the plants, he whines, I squirt him with the garden hose. Hey, a girl has to have some justice in this world. The point is, while I have work in the yard to get done I make sure I take him with me.
If he were trustworthy I’d let him off leash, but the only thing I can trust him to do is wander away (quickly) and ignore my crass screaming at him as I run my fat ass down the street to catch him. Which is more fun than a girl wants to have, let me tell you.

A few weekends ago when Burp was here I didn’t let Arlo in until it was about 9:30 at night. I’d not gotten home from work until late, ergo dinner was late - I was in chat, Ducky in bed, and Burp was in his room. So I let Arlo in, give him several pieces of apple and return to chat; he promptly jumps into Ducky’s recliner and pees in it. WTF!?! Folks, this is not a first. Thank heavens I have a handy dandy little green machine or whatever the little green machine’s predecessor is called, but this isn’t suppose to be this way. I’ve never had a dog who took two years to house break and then reminds me how darm stupid I am by continually pissing on my rug or furniture. And no I can’t get rid of him, he’s family (the type I want to hide in my mom’s closet, but family none the less.)

So here I am, living in heaven with a pissy hellhound. God save me.

Sith,
Cele

Now folks this is rejuvenation… right after my back quits hurting

It was our weekend with Burp, and sadly Ducky had to work. This was made worse by our plans to take Burp to the third annual Wings and Wheels event, something Ducky was really looking forward to. Earlier this week we did a story on tide pools and it reminded me how incredibly long it had been since I’d been to the tide pools or that matter the beach. Is this the wrong time to mention I live a mile as the gull flies from the ocean? Really. Ages since I’d been to the beach.

So at eight Saturday morning Burp and I headed north to the tide pools of Bob’s Creek (that’s about 18 miles north of Florence.) A beautiful spot that is made up of sand and basalt rocks, Bob’s Creek is a bit of a rocky access, next time we will go further to Neptune and maybe even Cape Perpetua.


There is no trip north of Florence that doesn’t require a picture of the Heceta Head Lighthouse. Or five.


The difference with this tide pool adventure is that we were both armed with cameras. And we both had blogs to write. We were both wearing bad footwear, honest next time I’m buying myself a pair of watersox just for the occasion.

The day was beautiful. We arrived at the tidepools just at low tide. Honest, if low
tide had been at say 9 to 10am we’d have had more time, but I didn’t drag my butt out of bed until 7:30. After two or three bad starts on the rocky beach we finally made it to some good standing pools. In just over an hour we discovered…

Both the Green Anemones shown to the side and Aggregating Anemones (shown in a picture below - very similar.)


Hermit Crabs (okay just one crab in this picture, but honest there were more.)


Ochre Sea Stars (both orange and purple) look close, while the orange one is front and center basking amid the barnacles, there are purple ones above and beyond him.


California Mussels and Gooseneck Barnacles.



Coraline Algea, seagrass, rockweed, and bull kelp. You can see the Aggregating Sea Anemones in this one too. We also found periwinkles, limpets, and several sea snails. But no sea cucumbers. Drats!

Besides being a fabulous morning, I got to spend it with one of my favorite people on the whole earth, who turned out to be pretty darn good at tide pooling.

I'm blessed.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Rejuvenation

From Word Web….
Noun
1) The phenomenon of vitality and freshness being restored
2) The act of restoring to a more youthful condition

Wouldn’t that make it a verb? Just askin’. Seriously it said noun. So I checked out Merriam Webster’s, and while, yes Virginia it can be a noun, in my usage, totally a transition verb. Thank God. I freaked there for just a moment. Lately I’ve been having these Ginkgo Biloba moments and almost fell for it. Whew!

Rejuvenation, in middle age - isn’t that the same thing as diet and exercise? Totally a verb. I can’t say I’ve been rejuvenated. I get out in my garden, it keeps growing, I keep weeding and writing more checks for this compost, that seedling, those pavers and then start all over the next spring. That’s not rejuvenation, that’s repurchasing my garden. But I love my garden, digging in the soil and
un-sticking the slugs from my knees, and dead heading (Jerry and the boys are optional.) Do you know how much satisfaction there is in deadheading? Give it a try. Plant a puny little petunia, sprinkle it with some compost, surround with a heavy duty force field of Deadline, step back and watch mother nature take over. The following weekend go out with your prunners and dead head the spent blooms. Before you know it, removing the old has made way for new blooms several times over and dead- heading has you in your garden for hours on end, sniffing up heavenly blooms.

Dead heading… totally a rejuvenating verb.

I’ve had been on this diet, a life style type change of diet. Having grown up in the sixties I was taught to eat everything on my plate, because you know children in India and China were starving. I’ll pretend I was polite when the topic of my un-cleared plate was brought up. Hence I have an eating problem, I have to eat everything on my plate. Worse I made my daughter eat everything on her plate. America, this is just wrong. Wrong I say. So well into my fifties I’ve had to teach myself portions. This also means cutting back on my consumption of meat. Because America do you know the size of a meat portion? Texas is exempt from answering that question. It is 3 to 6 oz. Do you know what 4.5 ounces of meat looks like? I didn’t think so. I do now, didn’t then, but I have altered my intake to be much closer to 3 ounces than 10. After that I cut out potatoes (except on Fast Food Fridays,) breads (except on Fast Food Fridays,) and pasta (except when I eat pasta.) Now you ask what is Fast Food Fridays. Go ahead, ask.

I’m waiting.

Ah, hmmmm.

Here, let me help you. “Cele, what is Fast Food Fridays?”

Oh, my sole reader I am so glad you asked. Fast Food Fridays is my way of staying sane and on my diet. I try to maintain an 1100 to 1300 calorie a day diet through out the week. Well screw that concept all to heck on Friday night, “Honey, let’s order pizza.” And then I top it off with ice cream. Folks, come Saturday I’m back on my diet with little problem through out the week ( as long as I don’t buy large cans of peanuts.) I’ve lost twenty or so pounds. By now I want to be down thirty, but apparently that isn’t happening without exercise. Ugh.

My clothes are fitting a bit better, can we say “baggy pants?” But I am far from being where I want to be. So I’m going to have to get on my cross train and cross train. It sounds so much better said that way. It’s still not rejuvenation, but it is better than I was, not as good as I will be. And my garden is still growing. Here, see the pictures for yourself.

Now I'm off to plant my Chocolate Cosmo and vanilla scented Heliotrop


Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: I Don't Really Love To Bitch, but here goes...

The reality is, I don’t live to bitch, a good rant aids the soul; a bitch is just that, a negative out pouring that rarely results in positive input. I’m just saying. So instead of a bitch, I’ll opt for some little nit picky, nagging.

Why do people feel they can say what ever they want, gratis? Why? Because it’s coming out of your mouth? That makes it okay that you abused a person?

Not.

Yes, this gripe comes from somewhere close to home. Last Thursday night when I should have been blogging, I instead had dinner with my brother, sister in law, and mom. During post dinner conversation with mostly my sister in law, I was there, but it was her way, her viewpoint; don’t bother with your viewpoint, because she would cut you off before the first comma, ergo while there - I was not actually in the conversation. I sat and politely listened, injected two and a half words, skidded to an elliptical halt and of course politely listened some more. Apparently my face didn’t show what I wanted nor what she found appropriate, because she told me I shouldn’t be offended “it’s the truth.” And then she was affronted when I told her she didn’t hurt my feelings when she said I should get out of Florence and into the real world. What really drove me crazy to frustration was the constant interrupt / over ride, what I needed was to be able to finish a sentence. So I said, “I would just like to be able to finish a sentence.” Apparently I’m a bitch. No she didn’t call me such. But she did huff off all offended. C’est La Vie.

Next, DJ’s who don’t know crap about the music they play. Like say the station’s genre and the genre of the music they keep saying we should play, but ohmigosh we’re an Adult Contemporary station what do you mean we should play Beyonce? She’s not AC, she’s not Hot AC, but excuse me she’s got a great ass – and although she’ highly talented, she’s not the iddybiddiest original. Then there are DJ’s who don’t know who has done what. Song in point (and this is from a very old conversations) my DJ couldn’t understand why we play Counting Crows w/ Vanessa Carlton’s Big Yellow Taxi. His argument, it’s a cover of Amy Grant’s Big Yellow Taxi. To this I said, “Yankee, Amy Grant’s is a cover the original was done by Joni Mitchell.”

Seriously, “Joni who?”

“Dude, go listen to Neil Diamond’s Red Red Wine and then come back and argue covers verses originals.”

Okay, this one is a bitch. Going into the grocery store and having to….
1) Wait to actually enter the store because people are standing in the entry way
a) Deciding which way they should turn
b) What they are actually looking for
c) or Was this even the right store

2) Having to turn around in the grocery store aisle because
a) She/He had to bring along she/he and they are arguing the merits of mustard
b) Joan on the corner, met June from the other corner and they are catching up on the neighborhood gossip and yes obliviously blocking the friggin' aisle.

3) People who are driving down the highway and literally have to slow to a stop to turn on to the bisecting road. WTF, people go back to driver ed because you need it.

Okay, that’s it. Not that I’ve run out of bitches or nit pics, but it’s getting too negative. Time to go garden.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: On My Road

Oh that is where I long to be, traveling, somewhere warm, the car window down basking in the bone warming sun. I won’t be taking a vacation this year, yes I will take off a week, but we have a daughter getting married and then we are going to take Burp on the Jet Boats out of Gold Beach. Too much fun, I think Psam was about his age when we took her.

Life is a road, with a tremendous amount of one way streets and detours, how we navigate those highways and byways is both the weft and weave of the story of what we are and how it was done. It is the measure by which we are judged; judged by others, by God, by ourselves. I want my travels on the road to be of good faith, intent, and deed; not a dirty little track littered by the remains of those I chewed up and spat out. I want there to be the well-woven tale of a woman who lived life, worthy of the telling at the end of my days.

What I want and what is differs from what was and what will be. Regardless it is my tale, it is my journey, it is my life to fuck up and mine to right. I have an amazing set of numbers that I truly don’t believe I live up to: 38 – 11 – 2 the master numbers of an old soul. The old soul part I believe for I often feel I once was a healer, a listener, a nurse. The sad part is I know that I am not tapping into the power potential inside of me and I fail to understand how to do so. No one has been able to describe to me how I must achieve this goal or worse, how to stay focused.

I do not grasp on to anger, grudge holding is not my forte, but the flip side of that short attention span is that things don’t hold my focus. My life lesson is anger, I know this must be something I indulged in lives past, because I know there is a capacity in me to rage, but I have learned to not say things that can not be taken back. To not lose my temper and rail at an in animate object, to not take my frustration and pettiness on others (for the most part) and I have learned to give up the negative energy of anger and displeasure. I’m still working on blocking the hurt… but maybe that’s another life.

For now I am still on this journey, collecting the love and lessons of others. On this journey I am learning I annoy others with my offer of knowledge. On this journey to others I offer a haven of comfort. On this journey I seek humor, love, and knowledge, in return I create a space of peace.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday:…..Little Did I Know…

Which is assuming I know much of anything, because let’s get real, in this day and age knowing anything and the truth are relevant.

America has played a nasty game of Cat and Mouse with Osama Bin Laden. In the two wars that have ensued since the tragic days of September 11th 2001 Americans have called foul at images of “Muslims” (because we know in “truth” that the word “Muslims” means American hating Arabs – every single one of them, you betcha) parading hooded GI’s about (often just before they were killed) – yes there was a point to the opening line, we’ve become those we have called foul at…well doesn’t it say lusting in the heart is the same as having the affair?

In all honesty I was appalled Monday, in the wake of the death of Osama Bin Laden, by Americans who “celebrated” his death. I’m appalled that we would celebrate anyone’s death in such a way. Osama Bin Laden was a hideous man who worked to keep many Muslim women living in the stone age; who, for decades carried on an active campaign to wipe out Americans; who lived in hate, espoused hate as if it were a tenant of his religion, and who led many willing Americans down the road of his hatred (on all sides of the argument… that doesn’t exist.) This is all true in almost anyone’s reality. But celebrating his death is hateful and an extremely sad comment on Americans and worse so many “Christian Americans.”

Jesus said, “But I tell you who hear me: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you (Luke 6:27-28).

I applaud Americans and those in the world who knew Bin Laden’s death was a good thing, but felt bad that it was a good thing. I applaud those who did not celebrate, but accepted the value of that final action. I applaud President Obama for not publishing the death pictures and for his solemn demarcation of the events. Little did I know there would be idiots like Sarah “Maverick” Palin who is now calling Obama chicken (okay, she really said, “Stop pussy footing around and release Bin Laden’s death pictures.” Amazingly sad.) And if he were to release said pictures, then she would be the first to point her finger saying something to the affect that he’s responsible for the death of ? thousands who perished in Al Qaeda’s retaliation.

Yes, folks I am a pacifist, being Quaker in faith might have been a clue. That being pointed out once again, let it be said I do understand where taking out a murderer can be construded as a good thing. I do have a problem with people who can’t move past the actions of 9/11, I have a problem with people who horde the anger as if it’s a precious commodity to be taken out and stroked reverently as a symbol of patriotism. Bin Laden and his Al Qaeda cronies will win their victories over Americans every time someone gets fearful because 9/11 might happen again… every time an American, especially a Christian American, raise their voice or fist in ignorance at a person just because they are of a different race, of a different religion, or because “they aren’t Americans” (how the heck do you know? Really, Intuition? crappy ignorance.) with every hateful post reaction ignorance and fear give Bin Laden and Al Qaeda a brand new victory. Little do these people know they are Bin Laden’s weapons of Mass Destruction.

Sith
Cele

May Day – 2011 – Roger that.

Today was Ducky’s birthday and for a few years I’ve been kicking around the thought of getting him a flight in a Bi-Plane. Our house is situated just north of the Florence airport and we have often seen the Bi-Planes taking off and flying about. Each time we see one he’d say he’d love to take one of those flights, but that is as far as it’s gone. I’ve told him I had bid on or almost won the bidding at the Radio Auction on a flight and he kind of blew it off. So really I blended that piece of information with his uncomfortable stance of flying and didn’t get one.

Until this year.

This morning (Sunday, May 1st) my little May Flower (tulips please) woke up and found three balloons attached to a water proof disposable camera, a birthday card and this note….

♥ ♪♫•**¨*•.¸¸♥ Happy Birthday ~ Ducky ♥ ♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸♥

Happy Birthday!!!!
My Sweets

Be prepared at 9:15 to begin your birthday treat.

I love you,
Calista

Ps: Please make sure I’m ready too.
Thank you,
Love Me

At 9:30 this morning we met Ret. Lt. Col. Sam Spayd and his beautiful 1944 Stearman BiPlane of Aero Legends at the Florence Municipal Airport.
Ducky was all a tweeter – but no he does not tweet. Sam is a man truly in love with his plane, he walked us out onto the apron and introduced us – she’s a beauty. He gave us her history, explained all the gauges, gadgets, and humerous stories about his plane and then they boarded.



Take off was about five minutes later.


They cruised up the coast to the Sea Lion Caves, Heceta Head Lighthouse, and Carl Washburn State Park before heading back down the coast,
over the Three Rivers Casino, down the Siuslaw River, over the Bridge, into town and landed back on the grass strip between runways 33 and 33-15. Twenty minutes later.

Ducky loved it, said it was easier than flying in a jet (even if the destination were Las Vegas). Next time I’ll have to get him the hour flight. I can’t wait to see the pictures he took, even if he wound the film advancer backwards. And I'm definately looking forward to my turn.

Sith,
Cele

The Second Coming (aka the Legend of Con Revisited… again and again and again)

Have I mentioned how eternally blessed I am? My husband is amazing… very male, but still amazing. My daughter is happy to be my friend, to spend time with me, and bead with me. My grandson is my joy. My dog pees on the carpet. Okay so every sunny day must have gnats – those would be the dog and my baby talking, pistol slinging grandmother.

My mother had been told dinner was between 2 and 3pm, it was her choice as to whether my grandmother would be coming. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I didn’t want her to come, it’s that she’s 91 and has good days and bad, and often spends the remainder of an afternoon in bed because her back is basically broken and she’s in deep pain. My mother is an excellent judge of what my grandmother can and can’t tolerate. So yesterday morning Ducky was informed by my grandmother, my mom had only just told her at 8am they would be coming to dinner. What the heck is the deal, it’s not like she had plans. The ham went into the oven at 12:30 at 350° and came out at 2:30 (20 minutes after it should have and the center was still cool) mom and grandma showed up at 5 minutes to 3. Next year I am telling her dinner is between 1 and 2 and not tell her I’m serving at 2:30.
Ack!

So we’re sitting there eating dinner and my grandma turns to Psam and ask her if she saw the article about her in the paper? Mom, Ducky and I all roll her eyes (I’m silently curious as to how much the story will change.)

Several months ago my Grandmother received a phone call from the “Niagara Falls” police department needing a bond to release her grand daughter for attempting to smuggle drugs over the border into Canada. Does my grandmother call someone in the family to verify? No, she ask if she can talk with her grand daughter. Sure, no problem.

“Becky, are you okay?”
“Yes, grandma, I’m fine, how did you know it was me?”
“I recognized your voice in the background.

The “Officer” gets back on the line and tells my grandmother that they need her to wire $4500 to them to secure her release and bond. Now this next direction from the “Officer”, should have sent bells ringing, but no nada, not my grandma, “Don’t contact your local police, we’ll deal with the issues here, it’s out of their jurisdiction.”

So my grandmother, accompanied by the armed idiot that lives down the street from her, go to her bank and retrieve a cashier’s check for the requested $4500 and go to the local drug store where she can wire it off. You did note that the idiot down the street was armed right? And that he walked into the bank with my grandma? Right? Armed? Riiiight.

Thankfully the wise man at the drug store alerted my grandmother to the fact it was a scam. Had she called to verify that her granddaughter was missing? In Canada? At home? No. At this point my grandmother and the armed idiot that lives down the street from her go home and my grandmother swears to not tell my mother. But someone did and my mom came into tell me. Ack!!

Fast forward to Sunday: Ducky and I go to do my grandmother’s wood and in the middle of one of my numerous treks from the wood shed to her wood chest in the living room she proceeds to tell me her story. At the end she tells that she would have called me “because you are knowledgeable about these things”, but you were at work. Folks, take my word for it that has never stopped my grandma from calling me for something frivolous before.

“Grandma, why didn’t you call mom?”
“Because you know more about this stuff than she does.”
“Excuse me? She’s always been your go to girl. That’s ridiculous.”
“Well, she would have yelled at me.” (by the way folks this is before I knew that the idiot down the street had walked into the bank armed.)
“That should have been a hint grandma.”

That same night my mom tells me that grandma thinks I should run a public service announcement to alert people to this scam. Sadly, the day after I found out we had a lead news story about the victim of a scam, a different scam, but nonetheless an elderly victim is out money – feeling raped - scammed. We run these stories constantly, I live in what has become the number one retirement community in the US (Google it - #1 Retirement Community), the retired and elderly (sometimes they are the same) are big targets of scam artists.

Fast forward to the following Thursday night dinner. Over hamburgers my grandmother tells me I should run a public service announcement so that people don’t get conned by these people.

“Grandma, I’m not running a PSA.”
“Don’t you care about me?”
“Of, course I care about you. But grandma we run news stories about this all the time, if you’re not going to listen to a news story why would I think you would listen to a PSA?”

Since then the story has evolved and my grandma as dropped her side arm slinging side kick, with no mention of the bank at all. She will only mention that she got the money to wire off to the con men if cornered – and then she will give some credit to the guy at the drug store. She is now pretty much a wise hero of this legend in her mind. Oh, and the phone call to check on Becky – well she now has made that call and of course Becky couldn’t answer the phone because she was a work.

I just roll my eyes faster and inwardly cringe when the topic is mentioned and the history retold, I mean reformulated into its’ latest incarnation.

How was your Easter?

Sith,
Cele