Burp and Arlo, I can't believe how small Arlo was at the time, now he weights 93 pounds.
A third more than Burp now.
Sith,
Cele
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Photo Friday: In The Shadows
Taken Fourth of July Weekend 2004
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Talk Thursday: Morning Glories
Or in my case, morning not so glorious. I have started this post, now for the third time. The other two starts were at work, and after you read you’ll understand why it never finished.
Wednesday morning at 6:50am my phone rang. I had dead air on my AM station by the time I turned the radio on, the audio was back in glorious stereo. Usually I would climb back into bed and feign a few more minutes of sleep. Where my mind was that morning I’ve no clue, but I did the totally unusual for myself and crawled bleary eyed into the shower.
Ten minutes later, yesterday’s mascara and eyeliner (no I don’t take my make up off the night before – never have) tracking in black rivulets down my face the phone rings once again. Turning off the water, I dry my feet, wrap a towel around me and trudge to the living room to find my AM is not back on the air. Crap! I go back to the bathroom – still no Music of Your Life streaming in from the living room, wrap a towel around my head, smear Noxema under my eyes in attempt to wipe off the black remnants of the day before – what a mess. I struggle to get a bra on my not too dry body, pull, wriggle, jiggle into a pair of old jeans, grab a clean tank top, sweatshirt, and step into my old slippers. Keys in hand I walk out the door. Dog not fed, coffee pot on, radios (some silent, some not so) turned on, bathroom lights and fan on. Needless to say I thought I was coming back soon.
In the golden days of radio many shows were done from ballrooms or studios with live bands. One of my DJ’s actually tells me stories of his glory days in the bowls of different radio stations across America’s west, the different shows he’s had, adventures and people along the way. It fascinates me. When I first started radio you had to have a license; today any verbally adept monkey, that can do two things at once (talk and push buttons,) can sit at a console and man a station. When I first started (which was not that long ago – twenty years) we still used cassettes, carts, and reel-to-reel tapes, CD’s were just about to come into existence. Now everything is satellite and computers. Yes we can still supplement the playlist with CD’s, vinyl, and tape but for the most part when new music comes out, I get a CD and record them into the computer, compile my playlist daily and go from there.
The problem this morning with my AM station – a Microsoft download didn’t. Or did partially, but it has corrupted something so my playlist is constantly rebooting. Through trial by fire I’ve become the companies “computer person” this despite the fact my boss drug me scratching, biting, and screaming into the computer age - he did not follow me, I still have to defrag his computer monthly. In attempting to diagnose the AM’s problem I reboot, reload, unload, reboot and do it several times over. Everything seems there, but wait – the status bar by the time in the lower right hand corner seems… well not right looking. Oh and the VT-Converter icon seems wonkie (very technical term.) By 7:30am I’ve called tech support in Los Angeles. He has me lookie loo, reboot, reload, unload, reboot, lookie loo a little bit more. And we collectively scratch our heads and wish for more coffee.
He’s not sure he’ll call me back. By this time my other duties of the morning, because yes folks I have a full other part of my job that includes producing out someone else’s show and then having my own live on air show, is being taken over by someone else on staff. Thank you Bubba because yes, I could have done it without you, but it wouldn’t have been pretty. Him picking up the ball gave me the opportunity to concentrate solely on what I’d not been yet able to fix.
Of course it could have been that I’d not brushed my teeth or used deodorant three hours before when I rushed to work. While waiting for Kevin to call me back I rushed to my office for my toothbrush, paste and deodorant I keep in my desk for emergencies. The deodorant is petrified and unusable. Crap! The tube of Pearl Drops must be a good fifteen years old, but it still works. But no deodorant is an intolerable predicament, so I did what any self-respecting woman would do, I sprayed some of the Pure Citrus bathroom deodorizer on to my fingers and rubbed my pits. Ouch! But I smelt nice and citrusie for the rest of the day. The towel had long since fallen on to the floor of the AM studio, my hair had settled in a gnarly medusa formation which brush and comb could do little to rectify – and hey, I’ve been to beauty college thank you very much. So I put it in a ponytail, $4100 dollars well spent.
Five hours later I can smell the burning coffee from my home a mile away. Arlo is howling for his breakfast and steroids. The AM is blaring in an audio duel from three radios and folks my bed is not made – an obsessive compulsion I must complete every morning for mental sanity – generally before going to work. The Pure Citrus is beginning to fail.
A production computer has now gone online as the AM on-air computer, the commercial load has been made up, and the entire calamity (I left out the inspirational Pure Citrus application – he can see the rest of the days progress for himself) has been explained to my boss. I totally suspect the culprit to be a dual failure between hard ware and software, but that official diagnosis and the prognosis will have to wait until the computer arrives via Fed Ex in San Pedro next Tuesday. Until then life is back to “normal.” And you’ve been spared a Talk Thursday post where I blogged about my inability to grow the Morning Glories that Sid sent me. TWF? They are weeds and I can’t grow them. There I said it.
Sith,
Cele
Wednesday morning at 6:50am my phone rang. I had dead air on my AM station by the time I turned the radio on, the audio was back in glorious stereo. Usually I would climb back into bed and feign a few more minutes of sleep. Where my mind was that morning I’ve no clue, but I did the totally unusual for myself and crawled bleary eyed into the shower.
Ten minutes later, yesterday’s mascara and eyeliner (no I don’t take my make up off the night before – never have) tracking in black rivulets down my face the phone rings once again. Turning off the water, I dry my feet, wrap a towel around me and trudge to the living room to find my AM is not back on the air. Crap! I go back to the bathroom – still no Music of Your Life streaming in from the living room, wrap a towel around my head, smear Noxema under my eyes in attempt to wipe off the black remnants of the day before – what a mess. I struggle to get a bra on my not too dry body, pull, wriggle, jiggle into a pair of old jeans, grab a clean tank top, sweatshirt, and step into my old slippers. Keys in hand I walk out the door. Dog not fed, coffee pot on, radios (some silent, some not so) turned on, bathroom lights and fan on. Needless to say I thought I was coming back soon.
In the golden days of radio many shows were done from ballrooms or studios with live bands. One of my DJ’s actually tells me stories of his glory days in the bowls of different radio stations across America’s west, the different shows he’s had, adventures and people along the way. It fascinates me. When I first started radio you had to have a license; today any verbally adept monkey, that can do two things at once (talk and push buttons,) can sit at a console and man a station. When I first started (which was not that long ago – twenty years) we still used cassettes, carts, and reel-to-reel tapes, CD’s were just about to come into existence. Now everything is satellite and computers. Yes we can still supplement the playlist with CD’s, vinyl, and tape but for the most part when new music comes out, I get a CD and record them into the computer, compile my playlist daily and go from there.
The problem this morning with my AM station – a Microsoft download didn’t. Or did partially, but it has corrupted something so my playlist is constantly rebooting. Through trial by fire I’ve become the companies “computer person” this despite the fact my boss drug me scratching, biting, and screaming into the computer age - he did not follow me, I still have to defrag his computer monthly. In attempting to diagnose the AM’s problem I reboot, reload, unload, reboot and do it several times over. Everything seems there, but wait – the status bar by the time in the lower right hand corner seems… well not right looking. Oh and the VT-Converter icon seems wonkie (very technical term.) By 7:30am I’ve called tech support in Los Angeles. He has me lookie loo, reboot, reload, unload, reboot, lookie loo a little bit more. And we collectively scratch our heads and wish for more coffee.
He’s not sure he’ll call me back. By this time my other duties of the morning, because yes folks I have a full other part of my job that includes producing out someone else’s show and then having my own live on air show, is being taken over by someone else on staff. Thank you Bubba because yes, I could have done it without you, but it wouldn’t have been pretty. Him picking up the ball gave me the opportunity to concentrate solely on what I’d not been yet able to fix.
Of course it could have been that I’d not brushed my teeth or used deodorant three hours before when I rushed to work. While waiting for Kevin to call me back I rushed to my office for my toothbrush, paste and deodorant I keep in my desk for emergencies. The deodorant is petrified and unusable. Crap! The tube of Pearl Drops must be a good fifteen years old, but it still works. But no deodorant is an intolerable predicament, so I did what any self-respecting woman would do, I sprayed some of the Pure Citrus bathroom deodorizer on to my fingers and rubbed my pits. Ouch! But I smelt nice and citrusie for the rest of the day. The towel had long since fallen on to the floor of the AM studio, my hair had settled in a gnarly medusa formation which brush and comb could do little to rectify – and hey, I’ve been to beauty college thank you very much. So I put it in a ponytail, $4100 dollars well spent.
Five hours later I can smell the burning coffee from my home a mile away. Arlo is howling for his breakfast and steroids. The AM is blaring in an audio duel from three radios and folks my bed is not made – an obsessive compulsion I must complete every morning for mental sanity – generally before going to work. The Pure Citrus is beginning to fail.
A production computer has now gone online as the AM on-air computer, the commercial load has been made up, and the entire calamity (I left out the inspirational Pure Citrus application – he can see the rest of the days progress for himself) has been explained to my boss. I totally suspect the culprit to be a dual failure between hard ware and software, but that official diagnosis and the prognosis will have to wait until the computer arrives via Fed Ex in San Pedro next Tuesday. Until then life is back to “normal.” And you’ve been spared a Talk Thursday post where I blogged about my inability to grow the Morning Glories that Sid sent me. TWF? They are weeds and I can’t grow them. There I said it.
Sith,
Cele
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Photo Friday: My Favorite Spot
I'm falling behind on my post. My favorite spot is my home or most anywhere Ducky is. That is where I am happy. So here is a picture of my newest garden, it is where I have spent the majority of my summer so far.
Ducky took the sod out in mid Spring, it has taken me this long to get the hard compacted clay broken up and mixed with the native sand and some good mushroom compost. This side of the garden is strickly for cutting, so if you have flower suggestions for zone 7a/8b/9 (it depends on the map) let me know.
My lily garden? Not looking so great this year. I need to take a lily class.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Talk Thursday: Cracks
Talk Thursday: Cracks
Crack the Shutters (I love that song,) cracks in the foundation, cracks in the mud of my new room - cracks showing up everywhere. Step on a crack break your mother’s back – I always took that one very seriously when I was young. Now that I am older there are cracks in the façade covering my age.
Really I’m not so worry about growing old, I just want to do it gracefully. Not desperately with a medicine cabinet full of Revelon Spackle and L’ Oreal Bondo, but with a grace that embraces the majority of my cracks and wrinkles. Remember on Little House On The Prairie when someone comments to Mrs. Olson about her crow’s feet? She replies, “Oh no dear those are laugh lines.” And the other person rains on her parade and says something to the effect that “Honey, nothing’s that funny.”
Sad.
Mrs. Olson was a fine looking woman, a bit sour and that she wore on her face, but fine looking just the same. Mrs. Olson was trying to keep a façade, most humans do, women probably more so than men. But then most women don’t attempt the obvious comb over on a thinning hairline. Throw stones? Not me, I’ve got my own thinning hairline and a face full of laugh lines. Plus I have the whole body image problem and a fear of dressing too young.
I begin cracking apart when I try to wrap my mind around what I should look like at 53. Oops! A woman isn’t supposed to reveal her age.
Bull pucky!
I worked damn hard for each one of these 53 years and I’m owning up to every one of them, thank you very much. I do regret the added cracks some of the antics of those 53 years placed on my mother’s face. She didn’t deserve my rough teen-hood. And then those twenty somethings – ack! Could we forget them, pluuueeease?
What should an “ample”, mature, fifty-something woman look like? Gladys Cravits? Marge the Manicurist, or maybe Endora (now I could go there minus the hair style) across our great nation, maturing baby booming women want to know this? I want to know this. The cosmetic ad campaigns on TV try to tell me that I can use their product and look like the lovely young American-Korean woman that walked into their clinic. If I use their product… I can return to my youthful appearance. First, the young woman in the chair is 33 not 53 (I know because she was my daughter’s best friend in grade school) and I do not want to return to my youthful appearance, I’m better looking now – thank you very much.
Don’t’ fall for the “Older women should wear short hair” mantra, shorter hair does look better on me, but as long as your hair is styled, who cares the length? It’s the up keep, maintenance, and “I give a damn about myself” attitude that makes the difference, not the hair length.
Make-up? I wear lots, oh lots, and lots of makeup, I adore eye make up, a little bronzer, and a heavy four or five coats of Mascara, and I’m good to go. Marie Osmond once said, she would never go without her kohl (I love her eyes,) personally I never would go without mascara. No Tammy Faye applications for me, but definitely at the very least a light touch of the Calista application – or yesterday’s application, depending on my energy level and time constraints.
I’m trying to embrace my size – all while losing weight. Dressing appropriately is more the problem. What – I ask, about mature, ample woman says LOUD RED AND PURPLE PAISLEY? What? Who in hell (because Hell is that only place the pattern can be manufactured in resplendent, stretchy polyester) decided large women should plaster giant, neon Oriental poppies across their ample butts? Who? And flowered tops? The flowers usually are big enough to cover one of the girls and look like full casaba melons ready to be harvested off their vine. Crap, if I have to wear that, just give me cut out day-glo pasties instead for heaven’s sake. No woman needs torpedo boobs. The fashion industry is supposed to help us, but seemingly it is only trying to sink us.
Oft times when I start writing a Talk Thursday piece I’ve no clue where I am going. This week is just the same. I was going to write about not seeing the cracks in the foundation of my second marriage and instead I write about the cracks in the façade of my appearance. Who knows?
Sith
Cele
Crack the Shutters (I love that song,) cracks in the foundation, cracks in the mud of my new room - cracks showing up everywhere. Step on a crack break your mother’s back – I always took that one very seriously when I was young. Now that I am older there are cracks in the façade covering my age.
Really I’m not so worry about growing old, I just want to do it gracefully. Not desperately with a medicine cabinet full of Revelon Spackle and L’ Oreal Bondo, but with a grace that embraces the majority of my cracks and wrinkles. Remember on Little House On The Prairie when someone comments to Mrs. Olson about her crow’s feet? She replies, “Oh no dear those are laugh lines.” And the other person rains on her parade and says something to the effect that “Honey, nothing’s that funny.”
Sad.
Mrs. Olson was a fine looking woman, a bit sour and that she wore on her face, but fine looking just the same. Mrs. Olson was trying to keep a façade, most humans do, women probably more so than men. But then most women don’t attempt the obvious comb over on a thinning hairline. Throw stones? Not me, I’ve got my own thinning hairline and a face full of laugh lines. Plus I have the whole body image problem and a fear of dressing too young.
I begin cracking apart when I try to wrap my mind around what I should look like at 53. Oops! A woman isn’t supposed to reveal her age.
Bull pucky!
I worked damn hard for each one of these 53 years and I’m owning up to every one of them, thank you very much. I do regret the added cracks some of the antics of those 53 years placed on my mother’s face. She didn’t deserve my rough teen-hood. And then those twenty somethings – ack! Could we forget them, pluuueeease?
What should an “ample”, mature, fifty-something woman look like? Gladys Cravits? Marge the Manicurist, or maybe Endora (now I could go there minus the hair style) across our great nation, maturing baby booming women want to know this? I want to know this. The cosmetic ad campaigns on TV try to tell me that I can use their product and look like the lovely young American-Korean woman that walked into their clinic. If I use their product… I can return to my youthful appearance. First, the young woman in the chair is 33 not 53 (I know because she was my daughter’s best friend in grade school) and I do not want to return to my youthful appearance, I’m better looking now – thank you very much.
Don’t’ fall for the “Older women should wear short hair” mantra, shorter hair does look better on me, but as long as your hair is styled, who cares the length? It’s the up keep, maintenance, and “I give a damn about myself” attitude that makes the difference, not the hair length.
Make-up? I wear lots, oh lots, and lots of makeup, I adore eye make up, a little bronzer, and a heavy four or five coats of Mascara, and I’m good to go. Marie Osmond once said, she would never go without her kohl (I love her eyes,) personally I never would go without mascara. No Tammy Faye applications for me, but definitely at the very least a light touch of the Calista application – or yesterday’s application, depending on my energy level and time constraints.
I’m trying to embrace my size – all while losing weight. Dressing appropriately is more the problem. What – I ask, about mature, ample woman says LOUD RED AND PURPLE PAISLEY? What? Who in hell (because Hell is that only place the pattern can be manufactured in resplendent, stretchy polyester) decided large women should plaster giant, neon Oriental poppies across their ample butts? Who? And flowered tops? The flowers usually are big enough to cover one of the girls and look like full casaba melons ready to be harvested off their vine. Crap, if I have to wear that, just give me cut out day-glo pasties instead for heaven’s sake. No woman needs torpedo boobs. The fashion industry is supposed to help us, but seemingly it is only trying to sink us.
Oft times when I start writing a Talk Thursday piece I’ve no clue where I am going. This week is just the same. I was going to write about not seeing the cracks in the foundation of my second marriage and instead I write about the cracks in the façade of my appearance. Who knows?
Sith
Cele
Saturday, July 04, 2009
Talk Thursday: My Reason To Not...
I’m trying to think of what I may not, might not, have not, will not. And what would be my reason to not nots. It would have to be snakes, or maybe boredom because I’m usually up for most stuff, things, foods, and activities. Okay maybe I’m not up for all movies. My reasons to not see a specific flick are varied at best.
There are snakes, they keeps me away from Africa as well as movies. But then there was Indiana Jones and I adored him, but not his snakes. Well they weren’t his snakes because he abhors them as I.
Ben Stiller could be a reason. I have a lot of things to say on this but they are all insulting to the masses of Ben Stiller movie goers. And of course the exception to I can’t go and enjoy a Ben Stiller movie is Night at the Museum and it was good.
Blood, ooooh don’t like lots of blood in a movie anymore. I’m not sure why, I’ve never really been one for slasher movies. Of course there are guts. Guts gushing from ripped and slashed, blasted and gashed, gaping open wounds and ripped bodies. Nope, not into trailing organs as the main of supporting actor in a flick.
Violence. My husband adores violent movies. I’m sure volumes could be written about why, I will avoid reading it to keep my sanity and ignorance about why he loves violent, gory movies. He loved Starship Troopers I, II, and III. A violent movie heaped with blood, guts, and human organ trailing gore, space bug splats and gunk. And lots of nipple shots. Hmmm.
And I hate movies that insult my intelligence. Do not leave gapping whole in the plot in which a convoy of Panzers could track their way through and expect me not to see it. Have you seen Scwartzeneggers’ Collateral Damages? Big gaping wholes - aircraft carrier size holes.
In fact I want it tight, I want to have to think it though and find the plausible conclusion is supported by the facts of the movie. Don’t give me a villain that shows up ten minutes before the credits, unless you’ve supported that villain - as the villain since the opening scenes.
Movies where the characters are destine to totally embarrass themselves, and therefore me because they are too dumb to be embarrassed. Hate those movies. The embarrassment is unbearably painful to me. Ergo, I don’ t watch most popular movies.
Movies I have every reason to watch again and again… Love, Actually; The Mirror has Two Faces; Pride and Prejudice; Definitely, Maybe; N3mbers; and The Ultimate Gift. Almost anything with Sandra Bulloch, Hugh Grant, Sam Elliot (as long as he’s talking), Field of Dreams, The Postman, almost anything with Abigal Breslin (accept Little Miss Sunshine –double ugh.)
Reasons to buy it on DVD – special features and endless viewing opportunities when I’ve lost interest in the internet, all the popcorn I want at BiMart prices, herbal tea, and my jammies, Reasons to not go to the theatre, no special features, loud people with cellphones and annoying children, and the hefty price tag.
What’s your favorite movie and your reason to not…
Sith,
Cele
There are snakes, they keeps me away from Africa as well as movies. But then there was Indiana Jones and I adored him, but not his snakes. Well they weren’t his snakes because he abhors them as I.
Ben Stiller could be a reason. I have a lot of things to say on this but they are all insulting to the masses of Ben Stiller movie goers. And of course the exception to I can’t go and enjoy a Ben Stiller movie is Night at the Museum and it was good.
Blood, ooooh don’t like lots of blood in a movie anymore. I’m not sure why, I’ve never really been one for slasher movies. Of course there are guts. Guts gushing from ripped and slashed, blasted and gashed, gaping open wounds and ripped bodies. Nope, not into trailing organs as the main of supporting actor in a flick.
Violence. My husband adores violent movies. I’m sure volumes could be written about why, I will avoid reading it to keep my sanity and ignorance about why he loves violent, gory movies. He loved Starship Troopers I, II, and III. A violent movie heaped with blood, guts, and human organ trailing gore, space bug splats and gunk. And lots of nipple shots. Hmmm.
And I hate movies that insult my intelligence. Do not leave gapping whole in the plot in which a convoy of Panzers could track their way through and expect me not to see it. Have you seen Scwartzeneggers’ Collateral Damages? Big gaping wholes - aircraft carrier size holes.
In fact I want it tight, I want to have to think it though and find the plausible conclusion is supported by the facts of the movie. Don’t give me a villain that shows up ten minutes before the credits, unless you’ve supported that villain - as the villain since the opening scenes.
Movies where the characters are destine to totally embarrass themselves, and therefore me because they are too dumb to be embarrassed. Hate those movies. The embarrassment is unbearably painful to me. Ergo, I don’ t watch most popular movies.
Movies I have every reason to watch again and again… Love, Actually; The Mirror has Two Faces; Pride and Prejudice; Definitely, Maybe; N3mbers; and The Ultimate Gift. Almost anything with Sandra Bulloch, Hugh Grant, Sam Elliot (as long as he’s talking), Field of Dreams, The Postman, almost anything with Abigal Breslin (accept Little Miss Sunshine –double ugh.)
Reasons to buy it on DVD – special features and endless viewing opportunities when I’ve lost interest in the internet, all the popcorn I want at BiMart prices, herbal tea, and my jammies, Reasons to not go to the theatre, no special features, loud people with cellphones and annoying children, and the hefty price tag.
What’s your favorite movie and your reason to not…
Sith,
Cele
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Friends
Remember when you had to make friends on the playground or with the kid sitting next to you? Moving to a new school was a nightmare the day before your first class, whether you were in kindergarten or high school. Of course it was the grades inbetween that were the worst.
Once Natalie asked me, and not unkindly...this is taken totally out of context, if I have any real friends. She meant in the work-a-day world, not just on the net. I know it sounds so nasty but Natalie is dear to me and I'm pretty certain she likes me too. Today, in my adult world, I meet friends in a new way. Through the internet. Some of those dear friends, Rose, I've never met face to face - she being in PA and I, well here in paradise. Peggy, because I've not been to Colorado nor she to Oregon. And Natalie, because she has a crazy insane schedule. Other times I am blessed to meet my internet friends and family. For an hour, an evening, a day or a week spent discovering and enjoying each other.
In May, Tewkies and Maya came for an overnight visit on the second leg of the Sea to Shining Sea Tour. A delightful evening. Sadly I didn't get a picture of us together to commemorate the event and friendship.
Last night Ducky and I spent the evening indulging in pizza and new friends. I'd really been looking forward to meeting Found In Idaho, whom I oft refer to as Fii. She, her hubby B, and Big and Little Bits (it was a B family invasion... ha ha I just realized how true that is) were staying in Lincoln City, about 72 miles north of Florence. We set six o'clock as the meet time at Abby's. Had great pizza and a delightful evening of friendship. See...
I look forwards to more.
Sith,
Cele
Once Natalie asked me, and not unkindly...this is taken totally out of context, if I have any real friends. She meant in the work-a-day world, not just on the net. I know it sounds so nasty but Natalie is dear to me and I'm pretty certain she likes me too. Today, in my adult world, I meet friends in a new way. Through the internet. Some of those dear friends, Rose, I've never met face to face - she being in PA and I, well here in paradise. Peggy, because I've not been to Colorado nor she to Oregon. And Natalie, because she has a crazy insane schedule. Other times I am blessed to meet my internet friends and family. For an hour, an evening, a day or a week spent discovering and enjoying each other.
In May, Tewkies and Maya came for an overnight visit on the second leg of the Sea to Shining Sea Tour. A delightful evening. Sadly I didn't get a picture of us together to commemorate the event and friendship.
Last night Ducky and I spent the evening indulging in pizza and new friends. I'd really been looking forward to meeting Found In Idaho, whom I oft refer to as Fii. She, her hubby B, and Big and Little Bits (it was a B family invasion... ha ha I just realized how true that is) were staying in Lincoln City, about 72 miles north of Florence. We set six o'clock as the meet time at Abby's. Had great pizza and a delightful evening of friendship. See...
I look forwards to more.Sith,
Cele
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
