Talk Thursday: Jealousy (subtitled: I Do Not)

This is an emotion or lack of character I don’t get.  What I have I worked hard for, what you have you wanted and worked for yourself, but wanting what someone else has is just a lacking inside.

Double Ex and I split on good grounds. And then he got married. No, problem I did too.  Double Ex walked out on me, walked out on Psam, and walked out on our life.  Which apparently is what he wanted at one time and then didn’t.  Okay, I get that. We remained friends until his wife felt threatened. And then he did something so thoughtlessly cruel. That I can’t take. That I can’t forgive.  Fuck me over, make me a fool but don’t fuck over my kid, literally hand her what she wants and then take it away forever.  That is unforgivable on this plane of existence.

Let me reiterate, I am not jealous. I do not want what is not mine. I do not aspire, dream, or scheme for a life and it’s trappings that are not mine. I do not want to be in the spotlight – and yes I see the irony in that, but also know that people who know my name have no clue who I am.  Sincerely.  The guy who runs the casino in my town will call the station and ask me how I know so much trivia (I do a trivia section during Harley’s show that is somewhat popular) but this same guy will totally ignore or even look through me when we run into each other in a public place. He knows my name, he might even know my voice, but he doesn’t have a clue what I look like.  It works very well for me.  I’ve had my stalker in life, thank you very much, one stalker is enough for several life times.

More than once I have walked into a business to be hailed by my name (hey, I’ve lived here for the better part of 40 years – I have friends) and have someone pop their head up from behind a sales rack and say “Flockhart?”  Who does that?  Since the first time I have replied, “Really?  Do I look like I need to eat a sandwich.”  Hey she’s that skinny, and my butt is that big.  I am not jealous, she’s married to Harrison Ford (who is a hottie in my book) they are married right? I’m married to Ducky Stand On The Grass and he rocks my world. Alls good.  She can’t walk out of her house without being followed by paparazzi, I can go unfettered anywhere I darn well want.  That is freedom.

Hey, she might even be jealous of our freedom and anonymity. If you were her, wouldn’t you be?

Okay, she does have a bikini body, and drats! I miss my bikini body.

Sith,

Cele

Talk Thursday: Sobriety

Too much alcohol and I stick my head in the freezer.  Yes, I know why.  Does it make sense to anyone else?  Probably not, but still twenty plus years later I remember why.  I get happy, I get loud, I laugh, and then I puke for the next three days.  Alcohol and Cele do not mix well.  Ergo, I’ve been truly drunk a whole three times in my life… and that is precisely two hangovers too many. I’m not sure if it is because three is my magic number on the learning curve or because my ex-husband thought he’d be so helpful with my hangover (yes, the night after I kept sticking my head in the freezer… yes, at a party where his ENTIRE store was celebrating a house warming [warm being a very operative word])… Double X decided he’d go get me a chocolate milk shake. 

Mean son of a bitch.  It sounded so soothing, it wasn’t.  I’m such a gullible green horn.

 
I’ve not been drunk since.  The addictive gene runs in my family. My father’s dad was a nasty, nasty drunk, legend has it he once beat a mule to death. Several of my dad’s siblings were alcoholic – my father refused to go there, I pretty much followed his suite.  My mother’s mom as addicted not once, but twice to codeine, and what began with an ounce of brandy a night in between her bouts of codeine addiction became a problem in of itself. The addiction gene runs deep in my family.

To illustrate better my not too tall fascination with alcohol -  I have had two buckets of margaritas (I do like margaritas) in my freezer.  In, what? The last fifteen years.  I bought the last one three years ago, I’ve yet to have one margarita out of it.  Need more.  I bought a FABULOUS case of Cranberry Wine from Old Coyote Winery. Awesome, expensive (for me) amazing stuff – I gave most of it away… as gifts. I think I have two bottles left… three years later.

And Kalhua Cali? Well it is my annual Christmas gift that I make.  I use it for cough syrup.  Hey, it’s really good.

Sith,

Cele

Last Week's Talk Thursday: Expectations, Reality, Evolution

We are raised with expectations, those of our parents, our teachers, those of our boy  or girl friend, friends, and if you had a dog, his expectations of you too.  We strive, we learn, we fall and get back up, and we dream.  I have gone on ad nauseam about the white knight fairytale that most girls in my age group and possibly before were raised to believe. Gosh it’s your lucky day, I’m not knowingly going there.

When I was a teen and knew everything, I so very much wanted to be a professional dancer…..or a marine biologist.  The expectations I set for myself were full of blinders that didn’t allow me to realize at that point that there is 1) a need for talent, and 2) or eight years of college and Zoology. My reality was that my grades were no-where near the stellar GPA decimal’d (that is totally a real word) numbers required for the much needed scholarships to extend my education.  My counselors never talked to me about it (and take my word for it, I saw my counselors frequently), my parents never talked to me about scholarships and students loans (the reality is in 1973 when we moved to Oregon my parents had $36 left over after bills our first month there – my going to college was probably a fear for them.)  My expectations were blue sky and mindless in truth.

My reality at that age was that I fell in love, had a baby and chose being a mom over chasing elusive butterflies.  I have no regrets.  What have I missed? Not a damn thing. I have been to Europe, twice. I have enjoyed a series of hobbies, sports, and men. I have watched a wonderful daughter turn into a beautiful woman and mother. I have made friends with my parents, learn to see the blessings and gifts that they gave me.   I have tattoos, multi pierced ears, broken my both foot and butt, reveled at the beautiful color of my eyes, and cried over the lumpy cottage cheese that makes up my thighs.  It is what it is.

I am better for the trials and tribulations that lay both behind me and ahead.  I have evolved through the teachings of those who have touched my life.  I have morphed  through the laughter and tears, the joys and pains, the crisis and glories – every heartbeat, breathe, and step has lead me to this moment, to the person I am, and the person I will soon become. I have absorbed the best in essence of those who touch my soul.  I am blessed.

The dreams I once had lay dust at the feet of what my life has been, because the reality is… dreams are just that and we grow to embrace what life and circumstance hands us, and while some will just choose to survive, I choose to thrive beyond.

Sith,

Cele

Colors of Spring

 

Don had a delightful post of spring pictures from his yard.  I love Palasso Pentossi (commonly referred to as Don and Scott's house) it's a place of peace, light and water.
 

What I missed from his post was a picture of the wonderful Morning Glories he USE to grow. Beautiful, but apparently a little too prolific. I could never get the seeds to germinate. I think Psam finally went and bought seeds                                      

The colors of spring are the light and greens of my hostas and ferns.  And the pretty little forget-me-not type flowers.

The greens of my Akiba vine dotted with it's small maroon flowers (it has never developed fruit, but boy it grows and grows and grows.)

My favorite orange tulips in the mids of Dutch Iris greens.  The purple buds of lilacs and fushia of the cyclamens on my deck.  I love the colors of spring.

Sith,

Cele

Talk Thursday: Ten Weird Things About Me – Redux

A great topic popped into my head on Sunday when I was doing my taxes. But I was doing my taxes so I didn’t take the time to write it down. I forgot what it was. So all week long I thought, became frustrated, thought a wee bit more, had a migraine… or three this week (really three migraines, what’s that all about), then I panicked a bit. Voila’ I will do a meme redux. How did I know that not everyone knew what a meme was? I love a good meme, some are dumb, but many are insightful.

So here are ten weird things about me – Weird is as Weird does.

1) My favorite color is more a combination of colors. I despise the color orange, you know like Oregon State / Beaver National - it in your face ORANGE. Yeah that orange, but I love cinnamon or vesuvius (it’s a color by Landrover – yeah the vehicle) or there is this ombre’d yarn that goes from this color to cinnamon to this amazing brick color – love it. But the combination I love the most is purple and green – I always anticipate the Rhody Parade so that I can get purple and green throw beads for my truck’s rear view window.

2) I have this bizarre memory. Usually if I read something three times, say it three times, whatever three times, I will remember it. Not necessarily verbatim, but I will remember it. So what does this mean? A lot of weird things…
A) It makes me fairly good at trivia – I can talk myself through a question to the answer probably five out of six times. And lucky me, if I kick it off with the Mahna Mahna song it becomes a radio show. I will have to tape it for you.
B) I can remember what I was wearing at strange times. Like the time my friend’s father tried to molest me in the sixth grade. Light blue plaid A-line skirt, white sleeveless shell, and keds.
C) I vividly remember things from age 2 or so, but I can’t remember first grade
D) My shopping list, if I write it down and forget the list at home I will remember all but maybe one item on the list. If I stick the list in my pocket but never look at it, all bets are off and I will forget the majority of the items.

3) I don’t do the celebrity crush thing that people do, Okay I know that’s not weird. Until I say, but there is this actor that is hot. I think I’d seen him in several things, but it wasn’t until I saw him in the Keanu Reeves / Charlez Theron movie Sweet November that I thought he was raging hormones hot – As Chaz Cherry. He’s still hot as Detective Brittin, just not quite as much.

4) I get migraines. I know many many people get migraines, but I can see mine before they hit. It’s called an Aural Migraine. Imagine a little flashy light that starts just off center of your vision say at ten o’clock, is slowly grows in a flashly, white light semi circle to about two thirds of full circle before it starts slowly ebbing its way back to nothing. And then the headache and puking start. I’m such a good mother I shared it with my daughter, just like my mother shared them with me; my sister can smell her migraine coming on. It’s because we’re special. What?

5) I lose words. I have this goodly size vocabulary, a passionate love affair that involves painting pictures with words. And then I lose a word – mid sentence, it was right on my tongue, then it’s gone – lose a word. I will focus on the missing word, obsess on the missing word until I get it back. I’m thinking this isn’t that normal.

6) I will clean all the toilets you want, pick up dog poop with a plastic bag, but I hate, let me say that louder, I HATE CLEANING THE BATH TUB. Enough said. Oh and the mildew on the ceiling of my bathroom. Hate it.

7) There should be a frustrated medium in me trying to get out. But instead it is apparently dormant. Huh? Yeah, I thought you’d say that. All of my life I have been told I have a gift. I have Master Numbers, 38/11/2. I have been told by people who give readings that I should be giving readings, but I’ve yet to figure this crap out. If you have ability, shouldn’t you be in touch with it?

8) I can watch trashy housewives that make no sense, singing star wannabe’s who ignore advice until it’s too late (have you been watching Phil Phillips – I want the album), people hunt ghosts, talk to the dearly departed, and jousting hotties, but I hate watching a scripted TV show with holes in the storyline, ill-plausible solutions to a crime, and bad dialogue and acting. BTW, I still don’t like reruns.

9) Every person who means something to me in my life is a song. I will hear that song and they are with me. Some people like Psam have a multitude of songs, but that is logical she’s my daughter. Examples:

A) Ducky – Second Chances
B) My Dad – King of the Road
C) My Sister – Cracklin’ Rosie, or Wild Wild World
D) Burp – Little Red Riding hood / We Will Rock You
E) Don – Istanbul Not Constantinople
F) Different childhood friends –
1) Angel on my Shoulder
2) Natural Man
3) ABC
4) Alone Again Naturally
5) The Chipmunk Song
6) Gads that list could go on and on

10) It drives me crazy if the light switches in the hall way are left up instead of down. Ducky will walk into the hall from the living room, flick up the light switch, take four steps open the bedroom door and flick the light switch at the end of the hall up to turn off the light. It’s a short hall, WTF? Oh, and I want my vacuum cleaner cord wrapped nice and neat in a circular motion not all crazy eighted, nor twisted like your extension cords.

Thank you very much,
Cele



10 Weird Things About She Who Is Know As Cele – or When in doubt refer to number seven (originally posted in July 2007)

How on God’s Green earth do you blog 10 weird things about yourself? I mean isn’t my weird just someone else’s normal? Like my “unreasonable” fear of snakes? There are, like ten people out there who really like snakes. Now that is weird. In fact it’s just unreasonable. So your weirdness is my normal frame of thought…er you don’t like snakes do you? I’m really stuck on what is weird.
1) I don’t like talking on the phone. End of story. Well not really. Ducky is a phone addict. He talks to everyone on the phone, all the time. There are two things about Ducky that are a given, when he walks in the door, gets up or mows the lawn the TV is on. And two, if I am gone for more than ten minutes he will call people.

2) I hate reruns. I remember the plot, the dialogue, and what I can’t remember I will guess. Whereas, I despise watching TV shows over and over, I can watch a movie multiple times (as long as there is enough space in between viewings), and books? I’ve read Lord Of The Ring at least seven times. But not TV shows, and I can’t abide stupid demeaning humor – so that lets out 7 out of 10 shows.

3) I am now in my fifth decade and I still don’t feel like a grown up. When does that happen? I am a mother, a grandmother, and married three times, when does growing up happen?
(And no, that doesn’t explain two divorces.)4) Hobbies burn hot for me and then I burn out, never to go back. I once crocheted twenty five afghans for presents in two years time. That was 14 years ago, I’ve not done one since. I did stained glass at the beginning of marriage number two. Anyone want to buy a grinder, foiler, an assortment of glass cutters, lead came, and soldering irons? How about a box of skeins in various levels of depletion.

5) I love social climate Reality TV. Survivor (except for those friggin’snakes,) Big Brother, even The Surreal Life. It’s watching psychological warfare and strategy. The worst at the games, is the student of the games. Suckas

6) My mother named me Tanglefoot because I can’t walk straight, or remain up right. I fall, trip, slid, you name it I can tangle my feet around it. And I once dreamt of a career as a dancer…a roller derby queen(yes, despite being a tanglefoot I was very adept at skating, and my hipchecks were da bomb - literally, have you seen these hips?)….a marine biologist (no fancy footwork required but 8 years of zoology - I don't think so)… and a cosmetologist (that was a $4100 nightmare. Did you know you can get hair splinters, and the friggin' hurt?)

7) My sister says that she can chart her life by which name I was going by at the time and what new name I gave her.
a. Debbie – no offense, but there were six Debbie’s in my kindergarten class. Who in the heck wants to be part of a six-pack?
b. Debi
c. Debby
d. Deby Everyone wants a six-pack, but of a different ilk.
e. Then I moved to my middle name – at age 16, ah much better.
f. And Cele, is shortened version of
g. Celebrindal, from Tolkien’s Simarillion. So are you now lost? All who wander are not lost. Wrong book, right sentiment.

8) I can’t hold a grudge. Can’t do it. Life is too long to be unhappy, and far too short to not be happy.

9) I frequently know when the phone is going to ring and often who’s on the other end. I either see their face or I think their name. I can often hear the Jeopardy – double jeopardy jingle before it plays.

10) I have many acquaintances, but very few true friends. When I make a friend, it is for life, whether they are talking to me or not. This causes me to get screwed over on occasion, but you can only be hurt if you give your heart. So to me… Heart / Heartless The choice is a no brainer to me.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Caterpillar

Coming home from McDonald’s Friday night I seriously considered writing a blog about the sad part of a caterpillars life and why I should not like to be said bird fodder: A lack of Micky Dee’s fries. Yes, when you’re hungry on a Fast Food Friday and you’ve been striving so very hard to stay on your diet, hot out of the fryer McDonald’s fries with a generous helping of vein hardening salt is to die for. Obviously I had no idea how to approach caterpillar as a topic.

Except for something that happened on Easter Sunday, something I’d been mulling over and rehashing all week long, brought me an epiphany about my mother. The worst part is that I’ve been saying this all along, but I guess the totality hit me. My mother is all about dying. Honest.

As a daughter, she was dutiful, loving, and ardent about paying forward family traditions. As a sister she was the strong one, the sister who was the older, the stronger, the dependable one. As a wife, she left her well appointed home to live with a man for the rest of his life, that at best her mother called “White Trash”. She got my father out of debt, saved her coupon money to build a portfolio, and kept our family solvent. As a mother she gave each of her kids the best of herself – she was a Girl Scout leader, a member of the PTA, she was a Den Mother, worked the snack shack at baseball and softball games, to say the least she was involved in each of her children’s lives.

In the early 1970’s my parents bought a trailer park and moved us to Oregon. My father renovated the business grounds and buildings, my mother made it a full functioning business, giving herself to it twenty four seven three sixty five for more than twenty years. When someone in the park needed help remaining independent, my mother was there to help them – daily. Then they moved, my father’s health finally started declining at a rapid pace (please don’t smoke) and my mother became no only my father’s wife, but his care giver – that same old twenty four seven three sixty five until the day he died, over four years ago.

The only time she left my father alone is when we went to England for three weeks. Traipsing through the English and Scottish country side seemed to thrive in the adventure and history of it all. My father has long gone, and yet my mother has made only two trips to Georgia to see my brother. She loves living by herself for the first time ever. She gives two hours on Wednesday to the area library. The rest of the time my mom builds these amazing quilts (but they are never good enough to show in the local quilt guild events) and takes care of her property (five acres south of town) with Ducky’s help.

As a child I was fascinated with caterpillars, loved learning about its metamorphic journey to chrysalis and then evolving into the beautiful butterfly it was meant to be. As I grew, matured, evolved into who I’ve become I have seen the parallels of human life to the caterpillars’ metamorphous journey through its life.

Someday, I’m sure my daughter will be come concerned about my willingness to live life or lack there of. I hope she knows how to approach her concerns. But in the way of my mother, I have no idea how to get her to live. She is forever conscience about making sure everything is as easy as possible for us “kids” when she passes. She is concerned that she will have enough money to last her life… take my word for it, my mother turned her coupon money into a $300k portfolio and her property is work easily half a mill, even in today’s market. She is concerned that she will be come a burden, I could kick my brother’s ass for that one. She is concerned that her property is too much of a burden on Roger and I, my fabulous brother in law is responsible for that, honestly Cap and Crown guy has no reason to fear, we’re not going to ask him for help.

Why can’t she fulfill her dreams and travel? I want my mom to live. I want the chrysalis to morph into the beautiful butterfly I know that is cocooned deep down in side. Mom, spread your wings and fly, no for me, not for Pinecone, Butch, or Buddy, but for yourself – you so deserve it.

Sith,
Cele

Thirteen First

I found this on my friend Donovan’s Blog - as he said… If you're so inclined, you can play by posting in the comments or sharing a link to your blog or personal space on the internets.

1. First day of school.
There were seven kids in my neighborhood that were my age when I was growing up, we were all in the afternoon kindergarten session at Mesa Elementary school… I am still friends with most of them, the school no longer is… On that September morning Michael Taylor and I sat in my backyard and watched across the valley to the grade school waiting. A portion of LaMirada has a valley running through it, my family’s house was on the southeast rim, Mesa was on the west and the view from my parents Flagstone BBQ was perfect.

The noon lunch bell rang, our mother’s called and the wait was almost over. I remember what I wore, mom had curled my hair. But in all honesty I can’t remember whose mother walked us to the school, I know Pam’s mother drove her, Michael and I walked – six of us were in the afternoon session, the same class with Mrs. Espinosa. In my memory the six of us sat in two rows of three, Michael behind me with George and Jody Coyote on either side of him crying; I sat in the middle between Andy Miller and Pam and all four of them were crying, blubberous, teary sobs that beckoned for moms that had to be chased by the teacher out of the room.

I loved kindergarten, I loved school, and I loved my friends. Three or four years ago we got together in Vegas.

2. First kiss –
Honest I can’t remember if this was my first kiss, but it was a sad scenario. I was playing dress up at my friend’s house when her brother Keith joined us. He as a year or two older and oh so handsome to the young me. He kissed me, then he denied it. Heartbreak. But the reality is I don't remember how good the kiss was... so it must not have been bad, but it couldn't have been great, so it must have been blah....

3. First date –
Ronnie, of the black lashes and blue eyes. He was thirty minutes late and I was totally smitten, we went to a football game… I think. Did I mention I was smitten.

4. First car –
I didn’t get my first car until I was gosh nineteen, a guy I babysat for gave me his 1968 Bonneville. I had to get rid of it a few months later, but it was my first affair with power steering.
The first car I bought myself, a Datsun 200 SX with the white racing stripe.

5. First time –
Sadly, I should have pressed charges, but that's a whole 'nother story. The first time that I care to remember was when I was sixteen, we were on vacation and I’d known this guy for two summers. He was awesome and spoke to my need to be needed, wanted, and desired.

6. First break up -
Hmmmm, total heartbreak, I’ve never gotten over Ronnie, and the first time I was told I was the marring kind. How come parents never warn you about that line?

7. First ‘real’ job –
Believe it or not, my first two jobs were working horses. My cousin was a veterinary student and worked for one of the barns at Paradise Turf outside of Phoenix. For two summers I mucked out stalls and the exercise rings, twice a day, five days a week. I loved my job, I loved the horses, I even loved Arizona desert and the summer heat.

8. First time to lose a job –
Ha ha, I was seventeen and worked for a restaurant here in Florence, at the time I had two jobs, the other was working for a tourist trap giving horseback excursions through the Oregon Dunes, getting paid one dollar an hour.

This was back in 1973. You’ll remember I love horses, I love mucking barns, and I love working. The owners of both jobs were next door neighbors. In the small community paper, The Rainy Day Rag, (appropriate for Florence, Oregon don’t cha think?) a commentary was written about the kids that worked at my job were only getting paid a dollar an hour. I knew that wasn’t the minimum wage, but I took the job anyway. I got laid off from the restaurant two days later,
“Business is slow and we don’t need you right now.” Strangely, the next day the hired two new people.

Later I was told they thought I’d written the letter because I was the “smartest” of the kids in the barn, a nice compliment don’t you think? The sad part, they never considered that one of the editors of the paper was also the mother of one of the girls I worked with in the barn.

9. First time in love - Psam, don’t read this… I can say this with all honesty and lust…. Ronnie. He still lives in my heart. I regret we never had sex, I know he would have been great,
because he had awesome fingers…I know, TMI

10. First drink –
Boone’s Ferry Wild Mountain Berry. Oh, yum. I think I was seventeen. But really I've never been much of a drinker.

11. First Sign of a Backbone –
I have a backbone? I can’t remember an specific realization, but the time it probably felt the best is when upon the realization that leaving me was a mistake, I said… “Yes, it was. Live with it.”

12. First Ambition -
Believe it or not I had two ambitions, one to become a Marine Scientist, did you know that they need eight years of zoology? What’s that all about? I also knew I had nothing in the way of finance and I knew nothing about student loans.

The second was to become a professional dancer. First when you are almost six feet all at the age of sixteen, dancing is becoming less of an option. Second, you need talent and a lot more training than I have ever had. Music still sings in my heart , and certain songs and melodies will make my imagination dance in joy. Sadly my awesome girth keeps my feet from following.

13. First Realization of Mortality –
I don’t know if I ever had a first realization of morality.

My baby brother died the day after he was born in June of my sixth grade year. Maybe that was it, I’m really not sure. That was the first time I realized how family should be, it was the way
our family became. David’s death drew us together. From death can come good things and sometimes not.

When I was in junior high a friend lost his leg to cancer, he passed in our freshman year he lost his battle. Eric’s death was truly the first time I realized that people can die too early.

So now go read Donavan's List of 13 First, it's much better. If you do your own let me know...

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: "Why on earth does anybody live there?"

The Oregon Coast is heaven on earth, no tornados, and no poisonous snakes: snakes yes, poisonous, no. Yes we have rain, the occasional flooding, and once every great while an earthquake.

Now, while you might be more than willing to chance a tornado that will lift your house from Kansas to beyond Oz, but I’m not going there… Oz or Kansas (tornados and nasty ass snakes.) Give me an earthquake any day – and before you ask, yes, I’ve been through several good size quakes: the roller coaster quakes that bob you up and down, hurky jerky quakes that rattle your teeth, and rock and roll quakes that in all truth remind me of interior California’s rolling hills (it’s one of those “you had to be there things.”) I don’t do tornados.

You don’t have to worry that the earthquake alarm is going to go off, then wait for endless growing hours for the quake that may or may not come. Here angry dark clouds just mean buckets of more rain, not anxious hours of nail biting and self -flagellation because I didn’t buy a place with a root cellar (which on the Oregon Coast would more likely resemble an indoor pool.) And if you think I bluff, we had twenty, count them, twenty inches of rain in March.

Oregon’s rainy days and seasons make you appreciate, that much more, the hot days of summer. I know, I know… I live and work on the Oregon Coast where the average temp during summer is 75 degrees, then factor in the average 45mph winds…. Which with my unscientific wind chill calculation averages to an approximate 60 degrees. I’ll take it any day over snakes, deep snow, tornados, snakes, cyclones, hurricanes (scratch that, we have hurricanes), snakes, and swarms of itchy bitey bugs. I love Oregon, earthquakes, rain, and all. Our little snow in mid March did make for a pretty picture or two, made me realize why people on the east coast actually (get this) use the garage for their vehicles, but again, I will take Oregon anyday.
* * * * I ADOREGON * * * *
Sith,
Cele

April 2nd - Autism Awareness Day

The numbers are in and they are staggering....
One in eighty eight children have autism
One in fifty four boys have autism, boys are five times more likely to be diagnosised by an Autism Spectural Disorder than girls
One in 252 girl have autism.

The New York Times reported “The new report estimates that in 2008 one child in 88 received one of these diagnoses, known as autism spectrum disorders, by age 8, compared with about one in 110 two years earlier. The estimated rate in 2002 was about one in 155.”

Today is Autism Awareness Day.... please burn a blue light in recognition. Awareness is the first step in combating any disease or disorder, including Autism.

Talk Thursday: Ack! Life’s A Great Big Fur Ball ala Bill The Cat

This is personal, I’m sooooo not loving 2012. Nope, not even close. There has been nothing but havoc; total chaos; spiritual destruction, and the end of life as I’d like to know it – my quite, unassuming and peaceful life, gone – poof!

On December 28th I got my haircut and the power went out. No really the whole friggin town was pitch black. I had an hour and 45 minutes before we aired a double header basketball game, no power and a head of partially blown dry, freshly cut hair.

A harbinger of things to come. Just as I got the generator running, the power came back on, the games aired as if nothing happened… although the boy’s team got their collective butts handed to them. Hey, it’s basketball. My hair looked like I cut it with a mixer.

What ensued has been unending. January … Power outages, Frozen STLs – High Wind – Rain – Flooding – Rain …. February …. Rain – High Wind – Major Promotions – Flooding – Wind – Computer crashes …. March….Rain – Power Failures – Wind – Generator Failure – Rain – Major Promotion – Winter Storm – Winter Storm – and did I mention winter storms?

I live on the Oregon Coast where we deal with rain, copious amounts of rain, and high winds every day – but after weeks of high winds, endless rain… well no that’s not true a lot of time when it’s really windy, it’s dry. And so much chaos Yes, folks I was screaming….. ACK!!!!! With several unsavory words thrown in for spice and variety.

Now I hate to be whiny, I hate to complain, ACK!!!! I hate the word hate. Hmmm. But sometimes you just, okay I just, have to be up front about the state of my emotional frell. 2012 sucks.

You know those moments after all hell and chaos have broken loose, danced on the flower bed of your soul, wreaked their havoc upon humanity and the world and then waltzed away leaving all calm and seemingly serene in their wake? Yeah, all that calm and serenity - it’s all a front. That if it could be seen written on your forehead would read, “suckka!”

March has been nothing but broken computer equipment, a new piece of equipment, called a Barix Exstreamer 500, that has refused to work properly – and friggin snow. Snow!!!

Again, I live on the Oregon Coast, not North Dakota, not Colorado, nor Wisconsin and Pennsylvania where they deal with snow through a series of tools that blow snow, shovel snow, and deice sidewalks. No, I live on the Oregon Coast I don’t have to shovel snow, I just open my tail gate and let if flow out…. Or we use oars. But shovel, ummmm, no. I am not prepared for snow, I had to shovel the front walk at work with a dust pan… and may I take this moment to reiterate how much I hate working with lazy men? Okay, I won’t, but do you think they could… never mind.

Anyone who has satellite TV knows that snow and a dish are at opposite ends of a working dynamic. You know you’re beating hot red blood through your veins when you stand out in 31 degree weather with a broken hose, trying to wash 6 inches of snow off a 3.8 meter dish. Three times in one morning. Get rained upon, work up at the transmitter site to keep a failing generator and ergo my signal on the air, by mid day I was pulling my hair out by the roots. Along with spitting up a fur ball or four, I not only sound like Bill the Cat, but I look like him too.

2013, where art thou?

Sith,
Cele

Thank you Berke Breathed, you're my hero

Talk Thursday: Turn the Car Around

First off, my husband has a commuter car; I drive a truck. Second, unless a vehicle is under construction or in for repairs why would anyone put it in the garage? A garage is for your crap – part of this might be explained by the fact that my garage is on the opposite end of my property… and house from my front door. But yeah, I park my truck under the wide open Oregon skies.

If I forget to pack something before a trip and I discover it after I turned off my block… I’m fairly certain I’m not going to turn around the car to go back and get it. I will buy it on the road or it just wasn’t that important in the first place. Yes, I will turn around if I’ve forgotten someone’s gift… especially if it’s the sole reason we’re going somewhere… and that’s all I have to say on that.

This of course does not pertain to the time we went to see Diamond Rio, Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, and Toby Keith. We rented a room on the edge of Eugene and were traveling up I-5 towards the Brownsville exit when I realized I’d forgotten our Oregon Jamboree tickets. Not much good to continue on when the Jamboree had long since been sold out and why buy more tickets when you already have tickets? So we turned the car around at Brownsville and returned to Eugene to retrieve the tickets. Yes, I felt pretty darmn stupid. And this is probably the reason I am anal retentive about checking my pockets and or purse for the important things like… money…. plane tickets… concert tickets… baseball tickets… drivers license…. Passport.

Before finally boarding the plane on our journey to Europe after 9-11, I would have bad dreams about making it to the gate in New York and voila no passport. Of course we didn’t fly out of New York, we didn’t even route through the Big Apple (why do they call it the big apple when they don’t grow much of anything outside of Central Park?) we flew through Seattle, but I still had bad dreams about being without my papers. Kind of like those dreams I have about opening up my mic and discovering I have no newscopy. Panic, scramble, wake up. I’m not sure I even get to punt before I wake up.

I’m notorious for planning my daily activities so as to not have to cross my path of travel, switch back to catch the next stop, or traipse from one end of Florence to the other end… a whole three miles away. This is of course to be time and energy efficient. And after all that careful planning I will fear arriving early so I will turn my truck around and cruise town to take up the time.

Sometimes ya just gotta wonder.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Coffee

When I was in grade school we took a field trip to the Butternut Coffee Factory. I must have been in the fourth grade, early enough to allow for a second field trip there a year or so later. While not so sure of the year I was old enough to be totally seduced by the aroma of roasted coffee. Coffee, a warm, rich, deep brown heavenly scent that I knew should taste just as it smelt. Two problems: First I was, what? Ten? Second I let my mom (the queen of instant Folgers) made the coffee for me. Gagging isn’t the memory I retain from my first sips, disappointment is, disappointment that the flavor wasn’t the heavenly aroma that filled my cup. Regardless of how much milk and sugar I added.

In the third grade, Helms donuts were deliciously yeasty after we toured the bakery, tasting just sweet and yeast as the smell that permeated every inch and molecule of that clean odiferous building where they rose, baked and boxed. Milk - thankfully didn’t taste like Adore Dairy Farms smelt on a cool October morning, and it taste even better than the milk poured from the cold glass bottles delivered twice a week to the back door stoop. It was even better, because it was chocolate – and few second graders – especially back in the early sixties thought anything was better than chocolate milk. But coffee, nope in the four grade coffee sucked.

The aroma of fresh ground coffee, even Folgers, is seductive. First is wafts warmly up from it’s packaging promising a warm, deep full flavor that evokes soothing thoughts. Whether it’s a frosty morning in winter, a wet morning in spring, a warm golden summer morning, or a crisp clear fall morning nothing starts the day off better than a pot or three of rich bold coffee served hot That heavenly hot liquid that caresses my tongue and soothes the morning beast in me. Served best with quiet. Now as an adult good coffee taste just as it smells. The best cup of a pot - is always the first cup from the pot, the cup taken while the grinds are still dripping fresh.

I adore coffee.

But through life I have learned a few things. 1) caffeine is the worst thing (besides a bad relationship) that you can put in a woman’s body. 2) the older I get the less I can consume. My Nurse Practitioner tried hard to limit me to two cups a day, I cut a deal with her… sort of… I can have all the coffee I want before noon. I try hard to stick to that deal… and I take extra calcium to ward off the effects of caffeine on my aging bones. Oh, and I sweetened the deal, although she is still waging war for two cups a day… I have gone to half caf before 9am, when I get to work. Work has Portlands Best Brew, delicious, but not the French Roast I use at home…. But still darn good.

To paraphrase Homer Simpson…..Yummmmmm, coffee…. What it can’t do!

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Poetry And Prose

Don posted a Talk Thursday topic on Poetry and Prose. Poetry makes my heart sing. To craft a poem makes me feel complete, but I play by some sense of poetry rules. When I first hit the internet Psam introduced me to her Friday night poetry group. At the end of each session a topic would be named for the following night, usually a phrase, and the challenge would be on.

Sunday mornings back then were quiet in my house. I would wake up, pour myself a cup of coffee and sneak off to my computer and craft a poem based on the week's topic. I would endlessly read each and every line over and over, knowing that I could not move on to the next line until the former was complete. One of the poems that I crafted back in those early days remains a perfect in my heart, a window to how the wind and nature speaks to my core.

The Elementals

The morning mist sets on the moors,
above the heather wet,
and holds the light close to the ground
the moist, damp air its net.
The churning waves sent from the sea
batter the rocky beach,
the salt spray flies to meet the mist
where moors and ocean reach.
I raise my arms up to the sky
in praise, my morning rite,
drink of the day into my soul,
of salt spray, moor, and light.

The mid day sun rides on the sky
where Gulls and Petrel soar,
fields of blue, are the air and sea,
mauve, heather on the moors.
The foam peaked waves, crash to the sand
below the granite cliffs,
where churning winds, gear up to rage,
a gale wind strong and stiff.
I raise my face up to the sun,
drink in the wind and light
its strength and peace rain over me
I breathe eternal might.

The western sun has gone away,
dusk heralds in the night,
a storm brews strong upon the sea,
waves gather strength and height.
Dark churning clouds are rumbling deep,
and flash with brilliant light.
Tempest winds howl over cliff and land
and blow with all their might.
I stand and breathe the elements,
drink in the raging sight.
its pain and brute force bolsters me
in life's continual fight.

The morning mist lays on the greens,
a bonney day begins,
the birds are winging on the sky,
the bees are buzzing hymns.
The churning ocean will reach the cliffs
and kiss the basaltic rock.
The breeze will freshen on the bay,
and ruffle on the loche.
I stand in awe, in silent peace,
I bow my head to pray,
for the wind and rain, sun and mist,
I thank God, every day.

© 20 July 2000 Calista Cates-Stanturf

Surrounded by Love

I have begun several blogs, finished none, and posted even less. Today is my birthday, I began telling people I am 56 several months ago. I say it as if to combat the fear of becoming older, but darn it I worked darmn hard for each and every one of those years I’m owning them. I have been extremely blessed.

Besides some addictive gamesn and connecting with old friends, the good thing I love about Facebook is my birthday. I’ve never been one for telling people it’s my birthday, the attention is kind of embarrassing. So seeing the birthday wishes and love on Facebook is so kewl and unembarassing. But the best thing of all about having my birthday is the love and the birthday songs. It’s my thing to call those I love and care for and sing the Birthday Cake Polka. Today I got wonderful songs from my grandson, my daughters, my brother in law, and calls from my sister and my cousin, from those I love and who touch me. I am blessed.

The outpouring of love and good wishes had a side benefit – the last three weeks, oh crap, since the week before New Years have been stressful, I'm ready to be done with 2012. Equipment failure, torturous high winds, flooding, seemingly endless hours on air spewing endless emergency information, a major onair promotion (Radio Auction), personnel problems, and stress – stress – stress were all seemingly wiped away by the love, the joy, the well wishes. Gone. At least for today, and then I will slay more dragons. But for today the love and stress relief… divine.

Of course the cake and chocolate are pretty darn awesome too. Thank you for the birthday wishes and love.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday – Time

A commodity of which I have little, crap it’s not a commodity if it were I’d buy more, because honey I need more time. Lot’s of time. Please Sir, More. This was the topic several weeks ago. Did I mention I lack the time commodity thingie. Vana, I’d like to buy time please. I began writing this blog … at least a month ago.

In the last month, Thanksgiving (okay it was a month and a week). Girls day out for Christmas shopping (okay I really went for lunch – which was spendy and questionable.) The Lane County Holiday Market at the fairgrounds was awesome per normal. Always lots of ideas, a few presents, and great, I mean awesome – grapefruit fudge. Awesome I tell you, awesome. Thankfully I only bought a small portion. I continually reminded everyone that I love chocolate moose Peeps ( yes, I was rewarded for my pandering with eight boxes of Chocolate Moose Peeps and four peppermint star peeps – just as I prepare to lose weight.) I made my Kahlua, two cases (48 bottles.) And attempted scones for the first time in my life. Yes, Alex, I like time for $200, please.

Not bad, but now I want to bake gluten free scones. I’ve gathered together the tapioca flour, brown rice flour, white rice flour, the sweet sorghum – I have my recipes. Now I just need…. Yes, Alex – Time for $400, please. Could someone please tell me where to buy xanath and guar gums? Did I mention that Ducky and I are going to try going gluten free. We’re hoping that taking the gluten out of his diet it will help his joints, my feet, and crap who knows what else. Maybe my acid reflux will disappear. It did in the last year as I took refined flour, refined sugars, pasta and potatoes out of my diet. Okay, I still ate a bit of refined sugar and I lost almost 30 pounds.

Wow, that was an accomplishment. Almost lost. Now I want to lose about 60 more including the 9 I gained back in between Misaray’s wedding to the Brit and now. I will never be skinny again, but I really need to be thinner. I did lose a few ounces on Wednesday, I got a drastic hair cut.

I bombed out as a beautician. A got the best grades in the state in 1987. But, damn the bitch of it was that the women would not just "drop off their hair and pick it up" when I was done, but I did lean how to 1) do my own nails, 2) do make up 3) cut hair, perm hair, and color hair. I do my make up, I cut my hair, I do my nails, and Ducky colors my hair. But I decided I wanted something different. Earlier this month Pam Tillis was in the studio, she has lots of skinny hair just like me.

That was the hair cut I wanted. I found a new hairdresser, she was great. Just as she began to style my hair Florence suffered a massive power outage. If you’ve read my blog for any amount of time you know that means I have to go to work. Two hours later, probably about two of the nine and a half inches of rain that has fallen in the last 48 hours poured during that two hours - on top of me - through my new cut, and I returned home looking (somewhat in my mind) like a drown rat. Ducky greeted me with a, “Hey, sexy.”

That man totally makes my day. Now if we can make it to the valley tomorrow night, we’ll have dinner with friends and still be home to watch the ball drop. Of course my new do will be sporting an inch of grow out. But hey, Alex, how about Time for $600?

Sith,
Cele

Veteran’s Day 2011 – I Will Never Forget

Last night Ducky tried to watch Vietnam in HD on History as we sat at the dinner table eating our savory hot chicken and dumplings, a voice from the TV recounted their experiences and terror of the 1968 Tet Offense – And tears fought to run from my eyes and down my face. This distressed Ducky to the point of him going back to the boring Georgia Tech game, a game in which neither of us were vested. I didn’t want him to change the channel, but I didn’t have the ability to say the words that were choked in my throat by tears of sorrow, which I think only moved him more to switch channels.

I don’t believe in war, yes, I recognize there are instances where even I could agree war was a necessary evil, the worse of two evils, where two wrongs might, might end up as ending in a right. Where we have been is a lesson for the future – one my country refuses to hear. I sat there crying for the lives lost, for veterans spit on, for youth, soldiers, and sacrifices forgotten. Not only in Vietnam, but in all wars before and since. Old men send our youth off to die in the name of ego, oil, commerce. They send our youth off to fight someone else’s civil war – Korea, Vietnam, and Bosnia.

Today is Veteran’s Day 2011, tears run down my face with each song I play in the memory of those who felt the call of my country to arms; tears and pain for those who died, for those who suffer their loss, and for those who came back. I don’t believe in war, but I believe in our youth, I believe in the innocence lost, I believe in what will never be for those who never come back, and I mourn what will never be for those who do. I believe in each of those souls, I believe in their honor, and I will mourn their memory - both those I knew, and those I never had the honor to meet. I grieve at the feet of their offering and stand against war for the rest of my life.

Please say thank you to a Veteran today, you don’t have to honor the war, where they were sent, but honor their courage, their commitment to this country, and the loss of their innocence and far, far too often the loss of their lives.



My Veteran’s Day playlist

John Flynn – Dover
Dixie Chicks – Travelin’ Soldier
John Michael Montgomery – Letters From Home
Billy Ray Cyrus – Some Gave All
Tim McGraw – If You’re Reading This
Toby Keith – American Soldier
Amie Lynn - The Star Spangle Banner (although I believe America The Beautiful should be our national anthem – go Ray Charles)
Will.i.am & Faith Hill – America’s Song

Please honor a Veteran, today, and everyday. Then go out and work to end war so we don’t have to have more men and women become veterans.

Sith,
Cele

We Interrupt this blog for a rant

A rant on aging. Yes, I have it, you have it, we all have it. And despite the best efforts of Pounce De Leon, the best plastic surgeons that Beverly Hills has to offer, and of course all the vitamin and fitness gurus it will find you too. You can’t ignor it, okay you can, but I can’t – age is hitting me and in the worst possible place… my mirror.

You laugh, ergo you are young, but you wait, you will find hair growing where it never has, not growing where it was once abundant. And then horror upon horror, it is now gray.

I have hair growing where no woman wants hair to grow - on my chin. Now not enough to be employed by a traveling side show, but it’s there paired with an every lovely set of eyebrows that is becoming unruly. And yes I pluck – my chin, my brows – it’s become quite a time consuming task. And when it’s not consuming my time, it’s consuming my thoughts. Because folks, not only and I growing hair on my chin, but its white. Now scientist will tell you white is a lack of color – there must be something to that because I can feel them when I rub my finger over my chin, but I can’t see them.

Stop it, I see just fine, as long as I have on a pair of 250 readers and a magnifying mirror. Seriously, I can see every thing going down the road as long as it is ten inches away from my nose (which is long and adds to the problem.) So now I have invisible white hairs growing from my chin that I can’t find until I’m driving down the road and they’ve caught themselves in the wire wrap of my pendant.

“Honestly officer, I didn’t see the car passing me on the left because I got the hair on my chin caught and I couldn’t turn my head as I was changing lanes.”

I don’t have to shave my legs or toes either, because I can’t see any hair (and folks that distance is 10 inches away from my nose). But apparently Ducky can’t seen them either, because he’s not bitching as he strokes my downy soft legs.

To add insult to injured ego my once firm and bouncy breast are now puff soft and saggy beyond repair. I want a bra that is sexy. You go find an affordable, sexy bra in a size 36 G or bigger. I’m not that big bosomed, but confound it I want my boobs to stay in my cups.
Do they? Not on your life. And where men once prayed for one to pop out, now they are praying I’ll put them back in. I would just like them to be perky and firm, instead of four inches below my elbows.

This is just more fodder (solid fodder at that) in the arguement that God is male, a woman wouldn't do this to another woman (well there was that one Buffy episode, but that was just TV) So be forewarned, this too will happen to you. My tips for a healthier middle aged ego – 1) Get the breast reduction now. 2) Get electrolysis while you can still see you chin hairs. And most important 3) find men who are blind so they don’t notice.

Sith,
Cele

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.