Talk Thursday: Green or the Wedding of Mr & Mrs Red Sox

I hate being in a new place for a length of time and unable to take off and enjoy it, but this was worth it. We spent the better part of Wednesday getting to and Friday getting from – but all of Thursday was spent waiting for the night. The Portland sunshine had lasted the entire day, the evening promised to give us perfect weather for daughter number one’s (soon to be Mrs RedSox’s) wedding.

Major digression here…but necessary. Let me tell you a bit about my family, we are very sports oriented. Ducky is a tried and true Oregon Duck and Yankee fan; Miseray’s significant other – the Brit (an absolutely adorable keeper) is a through and through Oregon State Beaver Fan; The Groom (from Boston) you’ve got it, a Red Sox fan – through and through. This all makes for friendly and competitive dialogue and wagering at family gatherings – weddings included.

The barn of the Cornelius Roadhouse was decorated in white lights and glowing candles. Potted green herbs and red geraniums sat among the cutlery on waiting guest tables that covered the barn’s worn wooden floor. In the area next to the barn a white linen runner divided bark covered area and chairs into two sides for guest seating. The flower girl and ring barer ran about in the high spirits of three year olds.

Ducky was sexy hot in his tux – possibly the first and only time I will ever see him thus dressed because both Miseray and Psam are swearing off big ceremonies after seeing the extreme frustrations of a big “I Do” to-do. Being only the step mother I had dressed down for the occasion, but not too dressed down (I just didn’t go in for the mother of the bride caca pastel dress) and it was the first time I’d worn heels since I’d dislocated my hip three Decembers ago. Standing on the paved path, greeting guest was beginning to kill the balls of my feet (I wanted soooo bad to take my heels off.)

Despite the crappy, miss fitted tuxes the wedding party looked great in their spring green vest and black tuxes. Groomsmen and brides maids were stress free (except Miseray) with a microbrew or three under their “braces”. Soon to be Mrs RedSox and her dads were waiting under the green canopy of trees awaiting the opening strains of their music to walk her down the path to her waiting groom. Mr RedSox, standing there alone, looked a wee bit lonely as time passed (later we found out the official conducting the ceremony had told him, “You live in this circle.”

After the unity candles were lit by the mothers a lively chorus of “We Are Family” ushered in the attendants as they walked the paths and runners to the ceremony’s circle. Poor Mr RedSox still waited.

Suddenly Etta James was singing “At Last” and all turned to see the Bride, Ducky, and her step father slowly walking down the path under the canopy of green towards the groom.

At last
My love has come along
My lonely days are over
And life is like a song
Oh, yeah,
At last
The skies above are blue
My heart was wrapped up in clovers
The night I looked at you

I found a dream that I could speak to

A dream that I can call my own

I found a thrill to rest my cheek to

A thrill that I have never known

Oh, yeah when you smile, you smile

Oh, and then the spell was cast

And here we are in heaven

For you are mine

At last
Composed by Glen Miller performed by Etta James

I’m relatively certain this is the moment my eyes began misting. Sitting to the left of me in the front row, former Mrs Ducky (the bride’s mother) misting was accompanied by sniffing and I’m pretty certain a gulp or two as she was trying to contain herself – not an easy task, soon to be Mrs RedSox and her escorts were a beautiful vision. The ceremony was quiet and moved quickly soon Mrs Red Sox and soon to be Mrs RedSox were husband and wife, the mothers were crying, fathers were smiling, and most of the young crowd wanted more microbrews; my feet were killing me.

South of the Barn was a beautiful green field of grass, trees, and shrubbery. An arbor of wisteria created a green den for pictures, the green grass created a cool fresh haven for feet battered by heels and hot pavement. Most of us who didn’t have to wear shoes that this point TOOK THEM OFF as we waited in the green garden for Mr & Mrs RedSox and the rest of the pictures to be taken.

The food was divine, the conversation light and friendly, the cake delicious, and then the dancing began. As the couple of honor the first dance was reserved for the bride and groom, I can’t remember the song that played. Then the DJ announced the father’s dance and the strains of the Temptations singing “My Girl” began as Ducky and Mrs Red Soxs took the floor.

Tears freely rolled down my cheeks, someone handed me a tissue, but I was still able to snap a few shots on my digital while, I’m pretty certain, Mrs RedSox dipped Ducky. In return I think he had to jump up so he could spin her across the dance floor to many hoots and cheers.

Before the night was over I was able to grab one shot of my shot my girls – unfortunately I was out of film in my Pentax, but I think this is shot number 96 with my digital.

Psam – Miseray – and

of course

Mrs. RedSox

Lilies Galore!

Writing has be...well none existant for me these days. Why because my lily garden bloomth...

And I am busy laying pavers in the hot tub area, while Ducky prepares a new wind / privacy screen between the hot tub and the backyard...

Next up will be a new lily garden across the paver walk from the "old" lily garden.

While the new lily garden will have...duh! lilies, it will also have herbs, more cutting flowers, a blue stone walk, bench, chain tree and instead of a birdhouse, a solar birdbath fountain.

Life is good.

Lillies, Lillies, Lillies

It is finally happening, after most of a year worrying the lillies are beginning to bloom. This was the first one on Thursday morning.


By Friday morning I had two lillies beginning to bloom...

Oh they are sommmme gorgous, it was so very worth the wait.

More pictures to come...maybe tomorrow.

Talk Thursday: Teeming

People, for all time, have been moving into untamed wilderness areas, get this, teeming with wildlife. Imagine that. Reports of coyotes snatching dogs, cats, even attempting to snatch small children out of parks and front yards is becoming more frequent. And the domesticated morons raise eyes and voices in idiotic outrage that they’re not being protected, “How can this happen?”

Huh?

When I was little and in Sunday school stories of missionaries in the darkest of Africa (isn’t that hysterical I always think of Africa as full of hot sunshine) being threatened by lions in the wilds of that foreign land. Totally logical events in my suburban life way of thinking. But thirty-six years ago I moved from Los Angeles to Oregon, I totally expected it to be teeming with wildlife. I am a birdwatcher; living on the edge of the boonies is heaven. We have bears, raccoons, chattering squirrels, chipmunks, and I’ve lost a cat to a coyote in my front yard. I often find a buck grazing in my parking space Saturday mornings when I come to work.

If I move farther out you end up with all the above, maybe a herd of elk in your garden, bobcats, and mountain lions stalking your goats. I live in somewhat rural Oregon; I moved in to their territory, I expect them.

My friend Sparks moved up North Fork and has reoccurring battles with Antlered Rats… his term not mine. Area neighbors have battled Elk for years, one guy ingeniously wired a washing machine drum to a trip wire to scare said elk out of his garden. It worked well, but afterwards he had to replace his fence. I think Keith found it across the creek and up the hill sometime later.

One morning Ducky was trapped inside the house, because the largest bear I’ve ever seen (easily 300 pounds) was standing in our front yard at 4am. It was a Tuesday morning, and the new idiot in the neighborhood had left her garbage out over night for pick up. Personally I would have just walked – quickly to my truck, but Ducky called the cops and waited out the bear…who thankfully left before the cops arrived, bears turned in are targeted for extinction. Our neighbor does not leave her can out overnight anymore. I have quit filling my bird feeder, because I don’t want the bears to fall prey. I love and respect my wildlife, when I can capture a picture or dozen, I do, but I don’t purposely feed them.

In the last two weeks, between Reedsport and Yachats (40 miles of coastal forest teeming with bears) twelve have been killed, because they have become a threat to the tourons who’ve moved to rural Oregon from LA, Chicago, New York, and Phoenix looking for their personal Nirvana. Said tourons (tourist-morons, a new word courtesy of Tewkes) with roots have put up their bird feeders and realized, “Oh, mi God look at the cute bears and raccoons. They’re going to starve. I’ll be a good Girl Scout and put out these nice apples and Wonderbread for them.” Girl Scouts know you don’t feed the animals. Now the bears, just like Yogi, want more, because as we all know, it’s not over until the fat bear burps.

Now hungry / lazy bears, not finding a hand out, are trying to get into sliding glass doors, kitchen windows, the front doors from whence the Wonderbread had arrived like manna.
And before you ask, no they can’t be relocated. Bears relocated (and Elk too) trek the long miles back from whence they came. So, please be kind and don’t love the bears to death.

Sith,
Cele

I'm a Solar Monster...in the making

My, er, I mean Ducky’s Lily garden is on the verge of blooming. Each week I fall more in love with the garden, and Ducky falls more and more out of love with mowing the lawn. The fact we mow my mom’s acre of lawn every Wednesday night, has probably helped facilitate this disillusionment with grass.
Now we’re in lust with the idea of creating a second garden opposite the walk from the lily garden. I’ve been rallying for a bench and birdbath; Ducky is rallying against the birdbath, but has suggested – several times, a fountain. When I originally suggested a fountain opposite the lily garden I was joking, with this plaza/California mission plaza surrounding a fountain (minus the mission) in mind. I truly thought that he would know I was joking.

Apparently not.

We have an energy guzzling hot tub (really it’s not that bad, our bill is still below $90 in the winter.) So I really want a green water feature, minus the algae and mosquitoes. During a break this afternoon, I Googled Solar Powered Water Features. Wow! I am sooo getting a solar powered fountain (or two.) They are beautiful, water music green.

So now the problem is which to get? I like this one for the garden. Paired with a bench, a chain tree, and a garden it should cap off my personal oasis.

The hot tub area has always been a “no grow” area for grass. Ducky got our steps in from the deck to the tub. Now I am wrapping a paver walk around it. But you know the lawn just next to the hot tub on the backyard side is kind of crappy and since the neighbor killed my rose fence there is no privacy. Ducky is going to build a privacy/wind screen, but noooo, I want a pseudo arbor complete with Wisteria – so why don’t I paver all the way to the screen? It creates less dead grass to mow (and water.) And, oh kewl, the need for another solar powered water feature – or three. Because wouldn’t this look lovely, here ↑.

I’m on my way, Ducky’s on board for the garden fountain. Kewl, me.
Sith,
Cele

T’isn’t The Season

First, my mother’s Maple tree is turning red. Second, the first back to school sales insert arrived in this morning’s Siuslaw News. My head is spinning. Normally this would harbor no ill thoughts for me, except it’s JULY 12th. My lilies haven’t even bloomed. I’ve not had a chance to spring and now Mother Nature and the advertising calendar are stealing summer from me?

Except for a trip to Portland for our oldest daughter’s wedding, our vacation is going to be a stay-cation. The upside is I will get some projects done; the down side is we save gas and airline dollars. Okay, so there is no down side. But school shopping already? Ouch.

I don’t have a school age kid, so I won’t find myself placing extra neon post-its in the shopping basket for my desk. No, cool gel pens; no glittery, ombre’d, character embellished pencils; no psychedelic book covers – bummer days.

Hours can be spent at the nursery pondering which annuals, bulbs, perennials, and bamboo for my yard. Hours can be spent toting pavers from pallets to pick up bed, truck to back yard. Whereas some women can spend hours drooling over shoes, purses, and lipsticks - I will spend life times dreaming at the nursery and on the post-it note aisle (you have noted that at Staples post-its have their own section, right?)

I will lament having to make a choice,”Hot pink or neon green? (When in truth I want them both,) Ah what the heck, they’re just post-it notes. Hearts (rapid head bobbing) or stars? (heavy hmmms,) Ah, what the heck, they’re just post-it notes.”

And the envelope aisle? Have you seen the plastic envelopes with the stringie tie things? I have been doing more and more sales in the last two years. The plastic sheet size envelopes are perfect for the Oregon weather. Bright blues, kiwis, and the little black envelop that is a must for every smart business woman (pearls are optional – ah what the heck, ditch the pearls, this is Oregon.) My clients must like them too, because I never get them back.

Kewl, I’ll buy more.

Now hearts or stars?

The Circle Game

It was early December, and suddenly at the age of twelve I wanted to start volunteering at the local nursing facility. Looking back I have no understanding of why I decided this, how the thought even came to me, I mean crap I was twelve. But it did and one afternoon I dressed nicely and walked my butt the two or three blocks to Mirada Hills Convalescent and Rehabilitation Hospital and applied for Candy Striper. Except, they didn’t have Candy Stripers.

So instead I became a Nightingale. Being only twelve they weren’t going to let me in except two things: first I turned thirteen (the acceptable age) in just two months, and secondly they didn’t have any Nightingales at the time – program yes, volunteers no. They let me in -now looking back, I wonder if they let me in thinking that I’d drop out after the first day. If so, they didn’t know me at all.

I remember the first requirement, after having the want, was to perform one hundred hours of Nightingale service. That was just to get my nametag. Two hundred hours to get my patch. No sweat, I did one hundred hours in two weeks time. I know pretty shocking right? I breathed, ate, and drank being a Nightingale. I had more than two hundred hours by the end of December. I think they were pretty shocked when I showed up on Christmas Eve, by Christmas day I doubt they were fazed by me.

All this despite the fact my very first patient died on me. Really, she died; I fainted the rest is history.

Mrs. Taylor must have been well into her nineties (but then I was twelve, what did I know?) my first duty was to feed her a late breakfast. That Saturday morning I’d dressed in a brown jumper and a pink plaid shirt, with a beige sweater (I know, one specific event all the way back in 1967, I remember exactly what I was wearing.) I wasn’t going to wear the sweater, (the jumper was made out of this incredibly heavy material) but my mom made me.

Major digression, poor Mrs. Taylor is starving by now. I slowly ladled runny eggs, pasty oatmeal, and this putrid puree stuff into her mouth, between dainty sips of her morning tea. Mrs. Taylor seemed like a really nice little old lady, she smiled and was patient with me when I went to fast. But suddenly she wasn’t feeling at all well, and damn, I was getting really hot. I excused myself to remove the sweater, picked up the spoon and tried to feed her another bit of egg. But she wasn’t having any of that. No, Mrs. Taylor wanted the nurse… just about the time the room started swimming for me. Picking up the call button, I rang for the nurse, excused myself again, walked to the doorway (I’m sure pretty much like a drunken sailor,) and passed out.

When I came to, Mrs. Taylor had expired and I had possibly the worst first day to start a career as a Nightingale. The urged me to go home, called my mom to come get me, but after less than an hour and one dead patient in my wake I was having none of going home. Two or three months later I earned my green striped jumper that signified I was a Nightingale. And by summer I’d earned my nursing cap.

Whether it was just filling room pitchers water with fresh water and ice or delivering and picking up meal trays I was eager to do it. I loved the patients, I loved the work, I loved being needed. These wonderful people with their cute stories and cherished pictures wanted me. But it was those same pictures that made my blood boil. I saw pictures of kids I went to school with, kids who never visited their grandparents, great grandparents. These people who lived just blocks or a few short miles away couldn’t come visit? These people, seemingly, looked forward to my smile, the flowers I sometimes brought with me, to my cookie cart, for just a hello. Before long I was recruiting more volunteers from my friends, and the program flourished. And that is not to say I take credit for that, I don’t, the job and the people just totally rocked. I worked there until just before I moved to Oregon, and never regretted a day.

Now you’re saying to yourself, “Nice story Cele, but get to the point.” Life is a circle, as I always say, where we’ve been is who we are. But it is also interesting at the points of our earlier life that lay a foundation for the points of our future life, hence the title of this blog “The Circle Game.” This afternoon while chatting with a woman I know at work, she mentioned she wanted to start a Candy Striper program at the hospital (she’s a busy person at the hospital, whom I adore.) I began rhapsodizing about how much I’d adored, loved, cherished my memories as a Nightingale.

After several questions, Di smiled at me and said, “You’re the one.”

She has wanted to start a Candy Striper program at Peace Harbor Hospital, but needed a volunteer mentor to work with these teenagers. She wasn’t about to start such a program until she had the right person, someone who’d been there and had a passion for it.

In truth I was blown away, almost started crying. Wow, I am incredibly honored, scared, and wow. I need to discuss this with Ducky, but wow, what an opportunity to give back to my community, even in a small way, and it’s something I loved so dearly.

Sith,
Cele

Another 50 Things Meme

Sid was inspired by Romach, I was inspired by Romach’s naked tatooed guy…mmmm baby. Okay, this is a simple meme of 50 questions and answers.

Here we go.

1. What do you add to your coffee? Nada
2. What are you reading now? Blogs, and editing a YA book by Peggy Tibbetts
3. Do you own a gun? 44mm Glock
4. Are you registered to vote? Yes, but someday I will change my affiliation. Although repling to the National Republican Party surveys are always fun. Now I have to open that damn caucus thingie. Go Obama!
5. Do you get nervous before doctor appointments? No. I’ve got a great doctor.
6. What do you think of hot dogs? I love hotdogs, especially blackened over a campfire (or burn on my Barbecue)
7. Favorite Christmas Song? “O Holy Night”
8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning? Coffee, hot and black.
9. Can you do push ups? Still? Ouch I’m not sure I want to try.
10. What was the name of your first boyfriend/girlfriend? Ronnie of the beautiful blue eyes.
11. What’s your favorite piece of jewelery? My birthstone. My parents gave it to me for my 16th birthday (family tradition)
12. Favorite hobby? Writing and gardening.
13. Do you work with people who idolize you? No, ha ha I think they like me though.
14. Do you have ADD? No, do you want to talk OCD?
15. What’s one trait that you hate about yourself? I lack self confidence.
16. What’s your Middle name? Calista
17. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment. Wayne is going crazy on the radio with Independence day trivia, I know that answer, and Burp is coming for the weekend.
18. Name 3 things you bought yesterday. Three oyster shooters (oh mi god they were good and spicy)
19. Name 3 beverages you regularly drink. Coffee, water, Bengal Spice herbal tea.
20. Current worry right now? What me worry?
21. What side do you dress to? People dress to a side? Oh mi god that’s that right / left thingie right? I dress to the south.
22. Favorite place to be? In my hot tub with my Duck.
23. How did you bring in the New Year? Snoring, breathing through my mouth, facing north with drool running out of my mouth (just guessing)
24. Where would you like to go? England, Ireland, Australia
25. Name three people who will complete this. People who enjoy Meme's and if you do let me know so I can go read it.
26. Whose answers do you want to read the most? everyones
27. What color shirt are you wearing? Bathrobe – gray and silver sorta
28. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets? No. Cotton always
29. Can you whistle? Don’t laugh Sid. I can two finger whistle (without the fingers – very very well) regular whistling, not so good.
30. Favorite colors(s)? Green and cinnamon.
31. Could you be a pirate? Ahoy, thar matey! (was I convincing?)
32. What songs do you sing in the shower? I don’t sing in the shower.
33. Favorite girls name? Sydney
34. Favorite boy’s name? I’m not sure.
35. What’s in your pocket right now? No pockets, but I have a kleenex in my bra. Although Sid and Steve will probably remember the cellphone in my bra.
36. Last thing that made you laugh? Burp telling me it was McDonald’s night.
37. Best bed sheets as a child? Our sheets were all white.
38. Worst injury you’ve ever had? I broke my tail bone playing softball when I lived in Germany. It had been raining and I played catcher, I went after a foul ball and slide on the grass, landed on the ball. But we got her out. I went on to play seven more innings. I couldn’t sit for months.
39. Do you love where you live? Absolutely.
40. How many TVs do you have in your house? Three
41. Who is your loudest friend? My sister – Pinecone – it’s a family thing, we’re all pretty loud.
42. How many dogs do you have? One, Arlo the Tank.
43. Does anyone have a crush on you? Not that I know of.
44. What are the most fun things you ever did? Hmmmm, Parasailing (until I broke my foot.) Water fights (both as a child and as an adult)
45. What are your favorite books? The Lord Of The Ring – JRR Tolkien, The Stand – Stephen King, The Prophet – Kahlil Gibran
46. What is your favorite candy? Seafoam, Peanut Butter M&M’s, black licorice, and chocolate.
47. Favorite Team? U of O Ducks.
48. What songs do you want played at your funeral? I won’t be having a funeral.
49. What were you doing at 12 AM? See answer 23, I’m sure drooling was involved along with a hot flash.
50. What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up? Get the phone, get the phone.
    

Sid and Romach thank you for the Meme and insights.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Carry Your Flag

In the seventies it was bumper stickers – Save the Whales, Artesian are well Endowed/or Hung (depending on who was driving,) and Frodo Lives. In the eighties was T-shirts touting your favorite band, concert festival, and the beginning of a western world cognizant of global woes in song – celebs who banded together to sing for dollars to feed Ethiopia, support troops at war, and global awareness. The nineties were all about tree sitters and environmentalist that still hold true to their beliefs. And with a new millennium came a rainbow of magnetic ribbons and blogs; blogs that tout daily life, political stance, the need to read, write, be, and all things green.

How do you chose which flag to wave? Which to embrace? Which crowd has the loudest voice, the biggest fist, the most clout? I have no friggin’ clue and I don’t care – because I was taught to not run with the pack. I just know what I believe and that is what I stand by.

In America we are in a new political era. Women have run for president before. Geraldine Ferraro and Elizabeth Dole both were consider contenders for a whole fifteen minutes. This year Hiliary Rodham Clinton waged a respectable battle (until she sunk to old boy’s club tactics) for the Democratic Party presidential bid. And now we are on the eve of voting for the first black man to be his party’s nominee for president. All these thoughts made my daughter (Psam) cry as she filled out her mail in ballot this year during Oregon’s May Primary election. We are in a new era. Damn, I’m proud of that girl.

I applaud Americans; I love my country (best when it’s not run by the Republicans,) baseball, mom, and apple pie (berry, coconut cream, and lemon bars too.) I believe nothing is truly free, but freedoms are worth fighting for (our freedom – and thank heavens that hasn’t happened for a long time.) I don’t believe in scare tactics, making you think the same way I do. I believe in diversity.

In this election climate email smear campaigns have run rampant, slamming Barack Obama for being a Muslim (which should not even be considered… except for that prejudicial fear backed by the ignorant,) that he doesn’t place his hand over his heart during the national anthem (I don’t either,) that he hadn’t been wearing a flag pin (do you wear a flag lapel every day? No I didn’t think so,) and oh mi gosh a bunch of other stuff. I don’t know about you, but I am ready for a big change – and that change is in the wind (thank you Dylan.)

Michelle Obama recently has been criticized for saying (and I paraphrase) that for the first time in her life she is really proud of her country. What is so friggin’ wrong about being truthful? About being ashamed of the actions of your countrymen, your leaders, your country’s history and aggressions?

What?

I love America, but I remember that we have hated and destroyed the lives based on their religion, their skin, their potential at being different – communist – catholic – retarded / smart – or their sexual orientation. We are too often eager to point fingers, place blame, and allot inferior labels to take the focus off of our inadequacies and personal wrongs.

Today we are fighting a war for oil, destroying a country (and threatening another) because they don’t subscribe to the western world’s definition of the “right life” or and have a lot of oil. It’s time America gets over itself. I love my country, I will wave its flag proudly, but I will also fight against its wrongs – what a long list it is – and rejoice in its rights.

America, Happy Birthday, remember you were sought and founded on a belief that all men were created equal… over time. Okay, so “all” needed a broader definition, we’re still working on that.

So what is my personal flag? It is my belief that I need to be the best I can be; to stand true to the conviction that I am no less nor more important than the whole. I need to remember that my fellow man is neither less nor more than the whole. I can not expect another person to be fair, but that I must be fair. That life is too long to hold a grudge, far too long to be miserable, and far too short to not be happy. That it’s all relative; the important things are in your heart and your relationships, the materials things don’t mean jack in the long term of events. It is important to honor diversity in creed, ideology, religion, politics, application of all the above.

I am no better than my word and my honor.

I am blessed to be loved by those I love, cherished by people I cherish, and liked by people I like right back.

That I have a chance every day to prove all the above.

I may despair at the actions of others, at the actions of my country’s leaders, but I am still glad I am where I am, who I am, for as long as I am.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Hot Summer Nights

Summer in Los Angeles can get blacktop jungle hot, with little relief at night. June through August in our neighborhood meant backyard sleepovers several times a month over the summer, usually in the Furby backyard. My mom laid out tarps to keep the dew from soaking our blankets, slumber bags and sleeping bags. Then she brought out huge bowls of popcorn and cups of lemonade before we were too deep into storytelling and trying to gross each other out. Above our heads Orion and the Big Dipper peeked through the Chinese elm’s canopy to where we laid just outside the back door.

There were usually eighteen children of assorted ages munching popcorn while telling each other campfire stories. Each tale growing spookier than the one prior as the sky grew dark and the night older. George, Mike, and I were the oldest at thirteen and we were getting obvious pleasure at telling some really spooky tales. The sky was pretty dark, so I’m judging it was a round 10 o’clock when my father came out the back door with another bowl of popcorn and one hell of a spooky story.

Growing up in the back hills of West Virginia my dad was the youngest of eight children and use to walking long distances to get from one place to another. Remembering back that night, he reckoned he’d been about twelve or thirteen and had been picking beans in the fields on the far side of town, on the opposite side of the valley. It had been a hot dusty summer day, with a mile or so more to walk he realized he was hungry, thirsty, and he was dead tired. The sun was beginning to ease low over the mountaintops; the shadows were growing long across the dusty road when up ahead he could see a boy nearing the bend in the road. The shadows were getting deep, but the closer he got he was certain he recognized him from somewhere.

Unable to lay a name to him, but feeling a familiarity my father picked up his pace in an attempt to catch up with the boy. The faster my father walked, the faster the boy walked. If my father jogged, the boy ahead of him kicked up his heels to a jog without even turning around to see who was chasing him. The heat of the evening and the length of the workday had sapped the energy out of my father, but curiosity made him run to catch up with the boy ahead of him. Then just as the boy reached the bend in the road, he vanished.

Vanished into thin air. My father reached the bend in the road. Nothing. Looking ahead into the dusk, there was no one walking ahead. My dad was alone in the growing night, there was no friend walking with him, no one running ahead to get away. He was alone in the night. No crickets chirped in the ticket. No hoot owl hoo-hoo’d from the pines, his only company was the summer night that lay hot and heavy on the air.

Some of the younger children had fallen asleep on their sleeping bags, popcorn kernels and empty cups were scattered between. The older children sat there hanging on each of my dad’s words, feeling the silent, hot West Virginia night wrap around them from three thousand miles and three decades before. He said it wasn’t until the next day that he discovered it was at that very bend in the road that Daniel Smith had died. Died walking at dusk around the bend on that dirt road when he was hit by a car just two nights before. No one knows who hit Daniel Smith, they just know he walks that same stretch of lonely West Virginia back road, night after night, looking for his way home from the bean fields.

As most of you know my father passed away December 29th at 5:30am this last year. Tonight he would have quietly celebrated his 75 birthday. Happy Birthday dad, I miss you, but you live forever in my heart and memory like those hot summer nights when you would hold the neighborhood children captive with your story telling those four short decades ago.

Sith,
Cele

Where Have All The Flowers Gone?

Being female allots me those days where I can be emotional. Days where Hallmark and long distance call commercials tend to make me sob at the drop of a hankie. It just gets worse in menopause and there’s not enough chocolate in the world to make it better.

Tonight, Tuesday, as is the norm it is quiet. Ducky stays off the highway (ergo he’s in Eugene), the house is quiet, and I am compiling my Wednesday Links. Because I listen to music all day long at work, I tend to not (despite a great collection of cds) to play anything that would disturb the quiet at home. But today was one of those days. At 11:26 I had programmed in John Flynn’s Dover into my rotation, the song rips my heart out. So there I sit at 11:30 with tears clogging both my throat and eyes, and an interview to do on-air. The best laid plans of mice and me. So tonight the quiet was quite loud and I went looking for a CD to pop into the ROM. David Bowie won’t cut it, Matchbox Twenty’s in the truck, and well the hell is my Jason Mraz?

So instead of rocking out I opt for the Brothers Four. You know me, I love folk. First I bounce around with Tie Me Kangaroo Down, then Whiskey in the Jar comes on and I think of my daughter Psam (no she’s not into the whiskey jar – but she’s probably the only person I know who use to collect versions of Whiskey in the Jar then played it for her toddler.) Then right after a rousing rendition of Woody Guthrie’s This Land Is Your Land (which makes me think of my grandson – who knows most of the words – LOUDLY) the Brothers Four prelude the next cut with, and I quote, “Many times there are perfect songs for the perfect time. This song is probably more perfect now than for any time, we wish peace to the world” and then they began playing Pete Seeger’s Where Have All The Flowers Gone? And I began to cry for the world. They sang in beautiful four-part harmony, in rounds of glorious words, heartbreak, hope, and the circuits of time.

Someone please pass the friggin’ chocolate.

At this moment of my writing the current death toll in Bush’s face saving War for oil, er I mean the battle against Terrorism (if it’s against terrorism how come Bush and Chaney are still in office, and not incarcerated somewhere? And where will they hold the war crimes trials against them? Crawford, Texas seems appropriate we could send the idiot back to his village.)

American deaths: 4109
Iraqi deaths: Between 85,153 & 92,883 (there is no official count – because apparently no one deems this important)

The cost in American dollars: $531,154,284,979.00 (but that was like so yesterday)

Below is a related item from the Iraq War Coalition Casualty website

They have this great ticker that I could not get to work on my site, so I STOLE the info for you from the ticker...

Rumsfeld 01 / 2003 The war: "Something under $50 billion for the cost."
· Fact: Now over $531 billion. Every year costs more

Rumsfeld 02 / 2003 "The war: "It could last six days, six weeks. I doubt six months."
· Fact:Insurgency could go for 12 years. –Rumsfeld, '05.

Wolfowitz 03 / 2003 I think it'll go relatively quickly, …
Weeks rather than months.
·Fact: Iraq war: as long as WWII on this Nov. 24th.

Bush 05 / 2003 Iraq: "can really finance its own reconstruction
· Fact: We paid for it, and the lights go out 16 hours/day.

Bush 05 / 2003 "Good news to the men and women who fought ... their mission is complete.
· Fact: Over 2500 Americans have died since then.

Bush 07 / 2003 Some feel like they can attack us -- bring 'em on.
· Fact: Tough talk … sent the wrong signal. –Bush, '06

Rumsfeld 07 / 2003 I don't do quagmires.
· Fact: Troop cuts? Maybe spring 2007. –Gen. Abizaid

Bush 11 / 2003 We've reached another great turning point.
· Fact: Insurgents "expanding attacks." —Gen. Abizaid

Cheney 06 / 2004 Two days ahead of schedule, the world witnessed the arrival of a free and sovereign Iraq.
· Fact: 'Ahead' and secret — afraid of insurgents.

Bush 01 / 2005 Tomorrow the world will witness a turning point in the history of Iraq.
· Fact: More ties to Iran—Shiite extremists elected.

Rumsfeld 02 / 2005 On January 30th in Iraq, the world witnessed ... a major turning point.Tomorrow the world will witness a turning point in the history of Iraq.
· Fact: Iraqi casualties up: 51 before, 58/day after. –DOD

Cheney 05 / 2005 They're in the last throes, if you will, of the insurgency.
· Fact: Not so. –Abizaid 12 more years. –Rumsfeld

Bush 05 / 2005 You got to keep repeating things over and over and over ... to kind of catapult the propaganda.
· Fact: Bush's most repeated phrase is — "I repeat..."

Bush 12 / 2005 This will be recorded as a turning point in the history of Iraq ... and the history of freedom.
· Fact: After 2005, sectarian incidents up 500%. –DOD

Cheney 12 / 2005 The elections were the turning point. … 2005 was the turning point.
· Fact: Election caused sectarian violence upturn. –DIA

Cheney 03 / 2006 Q: Do you still believe the insurgency is in its final throes? Cheney: Yes.
· Fact: Insurgency strong, potent, viable. –DOD –GAO

Bush 05 / 2006 This is a turning point for the Iraqi people.
· Fact: More ties to Iran Shiite Prime-Minister elected.

Bush 05 / 2006 We have now reached a turning point in the struggle between freedom and terror.
· Fact: 42% increase in Iraqis killed.

Cheney 09 / 2006 If we had to do it over again we would do exactly the same thing.
· Fact: Iraq fuels jihad. —All US Intelligence !

Mind Numbing, thank you Zfacts

I do pray for peace for the world. November can't come fast enough.
Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday - Change

Change, I battle against the change, for the change, I despair the change, and pray for the absolution – evolution – and revolution of the change. Change - my own metamorphose incomplete until the cycled of ashes is done.

In my youth I was excited at the thought of the new; new places to see - new places to live, new jobs to do, new things to learn, new people to meet. Now, I Entishly dig my toes in to the loam of my yard, grabbing as roots into the sandy soil holding firm to stay happily put for these twenty seven years past. I have no desire to have a bigger house, just a bigger garden with lots of time to till and deadhead. Time and knowledge to herd my Chaintrees, make my posies perky, and listen to the birds thrill in the forest. My home is a temple of peace for the soul.

Twenty seven years that have laid witness to change. Marital changes, spiritual growth, change for my better. And yet, sadly I find I have failed to live up to my ideals, I have not walked my talk; I have bent to the whims of roads easiest traveled.

Oh, don’t get me wrong I recycle, bicycle, and give of myself where I can. But my truck gets less than 30 to the gallon (I love my truck.) I have no cells on my house (which would make me a better steward.) I burn wood. Okay, in all truth, I would still burn wood even if I did have cells on my roof to run my all my new fangled, wasteful appliances and my hot tub. I have been known to wear synthetics, fake tans, and tons of mascara. I don’t eat honey and I indulge in Otter pops, and don’t even get me started on my lust of juicy rare steaks. Can I still be an instrument of change if I don’t walk the talk?

In my attempt to justify my existence I have to say, “Maybe in a different way, instead of an instrument of physical change, maybe I am a tool of spiritual change.” I have embraced the lessons of my road. While I may fear, I harbor no hatreds, no long term grudges (okay, right now I have one – but it will wane) against those who have treated me less than kind. Actually I thank them for the gifts they have left with me. It is for me to pass those gifts and gems of insight on as needed: A pier to my peers, a soul where they can rest; a sounding board where they can vent, a voice of reason in the onslaught of their storms of change; a respite where they can rest and recharge.

Am I some magnificent other world saint? Ha, ha, ohmigod hardly. No, just an old being…with a widening expanse of buttland (I think that is from resting on my laurels.) Do I think I’m something special? No, I just learn, listen, ask questions, and give of what I have an abundance of – me. And when it comes to changing my mind, admitting I’m wrong, giving over to the dark side I can do so without fear. Do I have an abundance of confidence and self worth? No, I am as uncertain of myself as you are of yourself, but if I can work to change my self worth and evolve then I can help others.

Life is change, and strangely I now find I’m up to the challenge.
Sith,
Cele

Life is change

2008 Reedsport Chainsaw Sculpting Championships

This weekend, well, really starting Thursday, June 12th, was the Ninth Annual Chainsaw Sculpting Championships in Reedsport. The four day event is the first stop on the Echo Cup Challenge circuit. For me and Burp this is a must do event Ducky is suffereing a bad cold so didn't go with us this year, instead my mom went.


The talent comes from across the globe, this year there were several artist from England and Japan, one or two from Canada, Germany, Austraila, and of course many from the states.

This year's Championships carving theme was A Fish Tale. So the main carving pieces held some sort of a fish related theme. My favorites are the ones that weave in comical moose and




bear into the scene,


because really what is a chainsaw carving Championship without a flycasting moose, or a scuba diving bear?







Several carvers drew on real life charactures, from literature, and movies. A splendid sculture of the boy riding the water horse didn't photograph well enough to show you the detail.








A sculptor from Eureka, California captured this wonderful Neptune and a sea serpent.


I thought my mother was going to buy a bench at one point, it would look beautiful on her property. But she walked away without one. Now I am waiting to see if she will go back next year and make up for the one she didn't buy. This one has water fountains in the arm rest.

Overall Burp thought it was a good day, of course that is because it came with exceptionally good hot dogs.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: All The World’s A Stage

When I was eight years old my birthday gift was a plug-in AM/FM radio. It was my best friend in the world. I loved that radio, knew every lyric to every song played on KHJ. I rock at name that tune. I hated the Beatles (well except the ballads,) but discovered when they broke up (and every station played Beatles music all weekend long) that despite my dislike of the Beatles

I.KNEW.EVERY.SINGLE.WORD.TO.EVERY.SINGLE.BEATLE’S.SONG.

In other words, as a kid I ate, drank, and slept music. Music has always been in my life. I cried the day my radio died (some fifteen to twenty years later.)

Growing up, when I wasn’t with my radio, I was abusing the neighborhood. The people down the street had this really strange front slab – not a front porch, not a flowerbed, a large, rectangular slab of concrete that was my personal stage to the world (the front face as about 18 inches high.) Lucky people. I was destined for stardom. I performed faithfully, loudly, and with all the onerousness of a ten year old with vocal cords. They, I am sure, were delighted.

Did you ever have that song stuck in your head that drove you crazy? The one you found yourself thinking of at the oddest moments? Through out childhood I had a problem falling to sleep at night. I couldn’t sleep because the Cascades’ Rhythm of the Rain played in my head - over and over again. That was at night; during the day it was the Letterman’s Going Out Of My Head / Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You that dominated my vocal cords. Well of course it’s the medley version, it gives you more stage time. For at least one summer I was center stage on the Monge’s slab singing – quite robustly and rather loud – afternoons to a crowd of none (baby AnnaMarie doesn’t count she was held captive in her stroller.) Credit to the Monge’s they never threatened me, kicked me off the stage, er off their slab, and they never told my mother on me (she probably could hear for herself.) I knew I was going to be a star. Cher size; Tina size. Maybe even (dare I think it?) a Diana size star (well sheesh who knew back in those days that Tina and Cher would be bigger?)

And then I sang in the sixth grade talent show. Did I sing a Beatles tune? No. Did I sing The Age Of Aquarius? Nope, not even the medley version. No, I sang the obscure, and mostly forgotten folk song about a chicken with no bone. Yeah folks, that one- The Riddle Song. Who knows what the hell I was thinking. I suspect my mother had a hand in the song selection (I’ve conveniently blocked the memory) evidently I didn’t know how to match music to audience at the time. I did better in the seventh grade, choosing to cover Janis Ian’s At Seventeen (man she can write lyrics.) Better reception, but not stellar, it was at about that time I realized I made a much better back up singer.

My aspirations of singing in the band went down the same road as being a dance diva. I have worked horses, as a CMA, a cashier, I have been a personal trainer, I even went to beauty college – all the while kicking ass at name that tune. When my daughter was in the eighth grade, soon to be ex number two left. I was working hair at the time, picked up hours as a personal trainer at the local gym, but it wasn’t enough. Then one day a client at the salon had an offer I couldn’t resist (okay when Linda turned down the job I begged. I begged like not getting this gig was the end of tomorrow.)

I began working as a board op for the local AM radio station. Then I started doing the news. Then I started doing the morning show (I miss seeing the sunrise but that is all I miss of the morning show.) Now I sit in a little booth with a mic and all the music in the world. Thousands of people consider tuning me out daily, as I command my own invisible – but quite audible stage to the world. These days, I am much better at the song selection.

Sith
Cele
(I wish I had a picture to go with this post)

Filling The Corners

There are days when I am not as good as I should be. Not even as good as yesterday, sometimes falling all the way to less than I was last week. Where my angles don’t fit the corners of my life. Where I am at odds with this person inside my skin, living my life, holding true to my ideals. Try as I might I can’t step outside of me to look at it from another angle; look at it from your angle, my husband’s angle, my daughter’s, mom’s or even Arlo’s perspective, so I have to ask, “What in the hell happened to me today? I was standing there fine yesterday and today it’s a train wreck.”

Suddenly I wonder if maybe I shouldn’t have my mental health numbers checked.

I have the love of a good man, the respect of my mother, my daughter, but I am sure my dog questions my intentions. I have ideals, but do I have the balls to back up the tenets of my life? The dogmas that make up me, can I stand on them without fear that someone will question why I am – me? It galls me that I even have to justify my whys and wherefores, and feel intense fear that I will find myself lacking. I am thrilled that I rise to new challenges. To embrace new thoughts, chew them up, spit them out, and regurgitate the cud to paste in to my nook on the right. Only to find that others can’t accept that minute change in my thoughts.

Menopause can make you crazy.

Standing on pins and needles I wait. Wait for the moment I will fit into the angles, fill the expectations of others, and exceed my own limits. Where my skin will feel totally right – without benefit of enhancements. That single moment in time where my hips won’t be too big, my brain too little, my mouth too loud, and my manner to ostentatious.

The moment where being me is hip.

That moment where I won’t worry about what others will say, or wonder even if they care enough to have something to say…about what I write, believe, say, embrace, and accept. When I will fall down and they will applaud because I didn’t quit trying the new and unusual. Where I stepped out of the box, even if it was to only slide on a banana peel. Where my laughter is infectious enough to over come the inanition of polite society, causing everyone to step back and rethink and believe the odds can be over come.

Someday I want to grow up, but do I want to be a grown up? I don’t know. Because some days it still feels like the school playground.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday – In My Room – Or oh my Gawd I can’t believe I wrote this – WARNING ELICIT CONTENT.

I am totally stepping out of my comfort level here.

He entered my room knowing he would get what he wanted, seduction his tool, sex the end game. Flickering candles on the nightstands and bureau created just the right ambiance in the moment. My chemise was a delicate crepe with lace riding just above my nipples, peaked under the textured cloth. His cool cotton with a nubby grain. My finger tips lead my palms up his chest stopping for a moment at the vee of his shirt. Snap. Gliding through the second. Snap. Soon followed by the third, then fourth - Snap. Snap. The shirt fell to the floor in a heap, soon joined by his levis, socks, and finally his briefs.

Our discussion devolved into murmurs and sighs punctuating caresses, kisses, and nibbles as hands and fingers roamed, discovered, and explored. My fingers running up his back began kneading knotted muscles. Rolling him flat on his belly I worked my fingers along his spinal erectors. Lotion warmed under my fingers as they worked along his back and hips, then down lower along his cheeks and thighs. Breath warmed the lotion more as I held him captive by my attentions. My lips soon were followed by lingua gently touching, searching, seeking between his thighs. My teeth nibbled delicate bites along his gluts, eliciting moans that satisfied my soul and Intent. Fingertips teased his thighs while never giving absolution to his want.

With intent and command I rolled him on to his back, straddling his chest with my thighs, and kissed him deeply. My glossa explored his mouth, sucking his, my teeth tugging his lower lip, my eyes holding his with taunt desire. Running the tip of my tongue down his chin it trailed along his breast bone gently moving to the west to suck his nipple into my mouth, teeth gently grazing edges working it into a harden peak. His belly was warm under my cheek, taunt in anticipation of my movement, hoping, wanting, needing commitment of my actions.

Instead my tongue and teeth moved further south, working the length of his thighs, working the sensitive skin at the bottom of his cheeks with my teeth then soothing them with long, soft licks. Candlelight warmed the silhouette of my breast and nipples running across his skin while tongue and lips moved higher licking, nibbling, kissing, and caressing – sucking in, easing him back out of my mouth. My fingers gliding, gripped as my breath heated the lotion under my fingers and lips. Slowly rising I moved along his hips enveloping his length, thrusting down to move him inside me, hard, hot, filling. I move up again, then down. Sitting straight up my fingers run to his nipples, followed by my tongue and teeth as I bend to tease his east.

I rise up again freeing him for my mouth and teeth that move teasingly around, licking and sucking him in, he moans. My lips capture his left sack and suck it into my mouth before moving on to the right. My tongue again runs the shaft before I rise up to settle down once again, thrusting him deep with a strong rapid movement that catches him and his breathe by surprise. A series of seductive, compelling movements that hold him willing captive to my demand and his growing need.

His body and swift intakes of breathe let me know the moment of his release is near. I take him to the edge one last time, then hold off the promised end game. I pause, then lick, tease, then kiss, caress, and taunt with lips, teeth, hands, breathe, gleaning our juices from him before once again moving into position to thrust down deep on to him, taking his whole length into me in a satisfying frenzied of movement and sensation that peaks in an electric moment of satisfied lust, love, and emotion.

And our tired smiles.

Oh god tell me that wasn’t too bodice ripper, please.

Talk Thursday: A Day In The Life Of Arlo the Tank

A day, why minimize, let me tell you a story. The most frightening moment of my life came at about 1am February 10th, 2004. Terrifying moments filled with loud crying – me, loud baying – my mom, and mass confusion – my jet lagged breeders, who’d just returned from a trip to Germany. It began as a routine event, the first puppy – me, moved into position in the birth canal and then nothing. The first puppy – me, was stuck as stuck could be and that is about the time the baying began.

Later retellings let me know the vet, thirty five miles away in Wilsonville, had been called and was speeding his way north to aid the chain of events. But at the time I didn’t know or even know what that all meant, I just knew I was stuck between the proverbial pelvic bone and a hard spot. The vet, a kindly soul with manly hands, arrived in time to pull, I mean tug me out, and the other seven puppies followed in a somewhat chaotic and rapid fashion. I, on the other hand, was forgotten in the rush of chaos and….ugh, goo.

Forgotten that is until the recounting left everyone positive one pup was missing – me. At about the same time the vet and jetlagged breeders noted the highly agitated yelping coming from somewhere from the bowels of the couch. Apparently I’d found a nice, quiet place that offered up a safe, dark cushy haven in the storming rage of the night. Yes, folks I’d crawled under the near by sofa and up into its underbelly. The only thing missing was mom and that promising teat.

I spent months being teased for having big feet, big ears, and big feet. Did I mention I have big feet? They call me Arlo the Tank. I’ve no idea why, it’s just words. Now, excuse me there are some flowers that need grazed.

Sith,
Arlo (as in Guthrie) the Tank (as in incidental)

'tunias and Hummingbirds

I know, colour me boring, another middle aged woman who loves gardening. So predictable.

I set a pretty aggressive goal for myself this weekend, plant fifty plus dollars of annuals and perennials on a weekend that was already full. Voila! Goal accomplished. The Tulips have been dead-headed, and the first wave of ‘tunias planted in their place. My plan this year is to plant new ‘tunias every two weeks, so I am planting spars so I have room to fill in.

I also bought more Lupin, more snapdragons, some sweet alyssum, and some French Marigold. I love gardening, even though it starts out with three weekends of weeding in one garden. That’s a lot of aggression worked out.

Every third weekend we have Burp for the whole weekend, therefore our middle daughter comes on Sunday afternoon to pick him up. This week Psam brought her new boy friend, a very likeable guy, home to meet us. He had no qualms about meeting Ducky, but I guess he was pretty scared of me, so I feed him lots of pop, charmed him, and then became very weird looking when I thought I saw a wasp nest…. Or something… in my butterfly bush. I guess I became very animated when I realized… Oh Mi Gawd there is a hummingbird nest in my butterfly bush.

And sometimes when you are watching it, a portion of it will begin to quiver. So incredibly kewl. Psam noticed this at first when she saw it moving just below the neck. By the time I got there it was beating in the middle, this afternoon towards the bottom. I am enthralled. Of course from a safe distance for the nest.

And just for Tewkes, a peek at my shampooed baskets.


Sith
Cele

The Tulips say, Adieu.

Anyone who knows me, knows I love gardening…hate the little snakies that come with it, but love gardening.

The tulips are fading, the chain tree is leafing out and the chains are beginning to get some color. I need more lupin and snapdragons. I still have some more gay feathers to plant. And I am in search for one specific type of lavender that I have no clue what it is. And my fern around my new garden bench died, they must be replaced.

I was going to go to the nursery today and buy some petunias to replace the tulips. Tomorrow will be soon enough. Ducky likes his lily garden so well that he wants to cut a matching tulip/petunia bed on the other side of the walk (really he wants a second lily garden.) Which makes me think,
hmmmmm, maybe I’ll put another chain tree in.



I had jokingly said, “We could put in a Spanish plaza and a splashy water fountain.” Really I was being facetious. Now he is thinking a second lily garden. Well at least that chain tree won’t be alone.

Personally, I am thinking he could finish his little fence and weed eat the forest.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thrusday: Behind These Eyes

Sid thank you for a topic that really challenged me. I thought it would be easy, after three false starts I realized the error of my thinking.

Behind These Eyes

Curiosity seeks from behind these eyes
watching, peeking,
searching, seeking,
never resting,
never bored
always looking
for something more

Intelligence lurks behind these eyes
looking, reading
reaching, needing
ever soaking
ever learning
answers rife
to questions burning.

Lust smolders behind these eyes
gorging on your
hips and thighs
desiring thrust
desiring lips
oh run rampant
my fingers tips.

Wisdom grows behind these eyes
seeing, gleaning
gathering, weighing,
sagely quiet
sagely calm
learning what
to say not wrong.

Tired I am behind these eyes
working, tending,
healing, mending,
souls need
souls freed
in loving peace
I do believe.

Fulfilled I am behind these eyes
giving, laughing,
loving, breathing
sharing steps
sharing strife
memories made
on the road of life.



© 22 May 2008 Calista Cates

An Ass In Elephant’s Clothing

It’s Primary day in Oregon, a totally vote by mail state, I’ve held on to my ballot now for two weeks. Why? Because, I am the procrastinator from hell. But voting is far too important to put off, my voice in an election, until never.

What has bugged me for decades is an election or party races being called by political pundits and the media weeks, even months, before everyone has cast their ballot. Drives me crazy. Why? Because, in essence it says my puny little vote in Oregon is redundant, worthless, a waste of my effort. This constant yammering about who is ALREADY the party candidate under cuts all my efforts to keep my husband voting.

Or actually from signing his voting envelop, because truth be told, I fill out his ballot and he just signs it. Oh, it’s not that I cast my wishes for him, I just listen to what he wants, and then force him to sign.

This year is a monumental election year, not only are the Democratic candidates the focal point for their politics, but one, if you hadn’t noticed, is a serious female contender, and the other a serious black contender. I fight labels and I hope that some day female and black won’t even be mentioned to delineate candidates, but this year it is hallmark.

My daughter called me in an emotional state this morning. I was thinking it was because she was still recovering from having her gallbladder removed, but no it was because she’d just cast her ballot in a monumental vote. Thinking back on her fourteen years of voting she said she’d never been as excited by the possibilities, before our nation, as she is today. That, and the joys of finally losing the weed that infests the White House. We talk a lot about gardening,

I have been a registered Republican since I was eighteen. I know, you’re mind boggled. I have never, will never, vote the Republican ticket, every thing Republican is repugnant to me. So why am I registered Republican? Because I come from Republican parents…AND I’M A PROCRASTINATOR from hell.

I think all the time about registering Independent, but never in time to act. Registering Independent will block me from voting party candidates in the primaries, and thereby robbing myself of endless entertainment at writing in Barrack Obama as my candidate vote on my Republican Primary Ballot.

Some days it just pays to get up.

Oregon State Primary Election Results

Sith
Cele

Rhody Fun On 101

I know I’ve been errant this past week or so, it happens every May. Florence holds the second largest festival in the state, I’m mean really doesn’t a beautiful Rhododendron make you want to party and parade?

My task? To take the hundred, or so entries, and make them into a script. This year they invited me to the parade committee meeting where they organize the entries into a comprehensive list of pages that create order out of mass confusion. This year’s parade had fewer miss placed entries, more communication.

After spending a week writing, rewriting, reordering, and a frustrated bout of crying…or two festival weekend kicked off. I worked Saturday morning my normal airshift. Then spent the rest of the day touring town, talking about the festival from different location. My favorite event..

The Rhody Show N’ Shine

The very first car I saw immediately reminded me of Sid and Scott.

Well Scott specifically and his brand new toy…will someday look just like this.

Except this is a '59...and Pink.

Then I found a 1957 Chevy Belaire that reminded my of my very first car…which was actually a 1958 Chevy Belaire that was two tone cream over root beer.


I am a paint job junkie…much better than drugs. Flames seem to be the rage in classic cars. But I love those paint jobs where there is so much clear coat that you seem to fall into the paint job when staring right on. My favorite Black Cherry, but there are a few blues and greens that capture my heart.

Muscle cars are a must.

Saturday’s Show n’ Shine and the evening’s Classic Car Cruise through Old Town Florence was just the perfect diversion needed before Sunday’s parade.

Sith
Cele

Talk Thursday: Beloved What Do You See

Beloved, what do you see of the future? Do you see blackened epitaphs, charred by the machines of weak egos emboldened by power? Do you see hatred dividing the world, pitting country against creed, birth against colour, religion against faith, ideology branding others as blind, men raising their voices, hands, and inventions in war to conquer all so they can be right? Is it bleak when you dare to think of the world we shall nurture our children into?

Beloved when you think to bring knowledge to our children, is it with open eyes? Is it with open heart that you will teach to embrace the other side? Is it with acceptance that diversity binds us, that oneness divides us? That hatred poisons, and elite ignorance kills all it touches?

Beloved when you look at me do you see an agenda? A stupid old woman lost in the ages? Do you see someone out of touch, with unrealistic dreams, or do you see the paths that lead me here? Each step, one that had to be, leading to the next, leading to here, leading to you?

Beloved please look to the future and see many tomorrows, where one by one we embrace what is different, thrive on the fruits of each other’s labors in shared wealth and calm. Do you see a world that cares?

Beloved, close not your eyes, lift up your head. Please tell me you too can see a world tired of the machinations of impotent men, that you see legions standing up to division, hatred, and greed? Just please don’t give up, it starts with one. Continues with two. Strengthens with three. And it goes on. The good fruits may not come while we still breathe on this plane, but if we don’t try it won’t come at all. Apathy and acceptance are death. Action and determination are seeds fueled by conviction to be better than the past.

Beloved, please look at me and see good; a woman who cares and hasn’t grown weary of the battles. But when I do please bolster me, nurture my soul and resolve, so I will continue to work towards a better place for our children’s children, knowing our seeds will blossom in the tomorrows.

Sith,
Cele

Chocolate Crisis!

As you know Ducky and I are on diets. He has consistently lost three pounds a week for three weeks running, and is two pounds down this week with weigh-in not coming up until Sunday night (for him). I on the other hand lost two pounds the first week, two pounds the second week, went strict vegetarian last week and upped my Cross Trainer time by five minutes a day and lost NADA!

I was so discouraged, and craving chocolate, that I told Ducky I was going to eat an ear off his bunny.

“Dude, Easter was like, so March. Off Bugs already.”

But I found some resistance to offing the Bunny.

How?

Those kewl little foil covered Dove chocolate eggs that I filled his Easter basket with. Yes, those and some of the little, itty bitty speckled malted milk eggs were still hanging around (but they give me indigestion, so they were safe.) I grabbed about six Dove eggs from inside the teacup where I’d stashed them (so they wouldn’t be a temptation) and thought they’d be great at staving off suicide by chocolate. The foil I found was very resistant to my attempts to eat said chocolate.

So now I have a new use for the picky end of my Dental Flosser. Picking at the ends of the foil to free the egg.

Next year I’m buying foiless chocolate eggs.

Sith,
Cele

Now I’m going to go polish my lamp

Despite Me the Flowers Survived... So Far

So when I got into the hot tub the wine was warmer than the water. I kid you not, well okay I exagerate an itty bit, the hot tub was at 89, the wine was red at room temperature. So I didn't stay in long. Sunday afternoon we drained the hot tub, moved it a foot west and a foot north to please the electrical inspector and then refilled it. The water is now 103. Ahhhh.

The baskets, despite having been bathed exhuberantly early in their life, are doing quite well thank you. The flowers are still on the Bacopa, the Lobelia is still up right and still seemingly wanting to bud.

Maybe my lily, er I mean Ducky's lily garden won't be a bust after all. Aren't the green and white tulips kewl?

Sith,

Cele

Some Days You Should Be The Doer, and Some Days The DON’T DO IT AT ALL-ER

Some days it doesn’t pay to get out of bed, except this morning I had an airshift, so I guess technically I got paid to get out of bed, way early. At least the airshift part went right.

Like everyone else I experienced grocery shock at the supermarket this morning. If it is a super market, shouldn’t I have a super time shopping? Only the bottom line was super, a bit worse than last week, I’m sure a worse to be surpassed next week. Ducky and I have been on a diet, eating less, healthier, and actually getting our geriatric butts on the cross trainer. So I was in deep shock when I paid $80 this morning for fruits and vegetables. Okay, Arlo refuses to go strictly vegetarian so there was a chub of dog food for him (and even it has peas and carrots in it.) wow! Grocery Shock.

The nurseries are slow to stock annuals this year, because it’s snowed twice since April 15th; frost out day for the Central Oregon Coast—April 15th. We’re lucky if we get snow once a year, but twice since mid April, well the nurseries already lost their first stock of annuals. I guess I can understand their reluctance to move too fast to stock anew. So my lily garden, er I mean Ducky’s lily garden is a bit slow getting color to it.

That can’t keep me from getting my baskets done, albeit late, but done none the same. So today I bought some Bacopa, trailing Lobelia, white Allisum, even some Geraniums for my pots. Okay I did buy a Lavateria, some Lupin, and Snapdragon’s for the Lily garden. But whether I should touch them is in question. After having taken down last year’s brown, petrified Bacopa baskets I hung three new ones, removed the old potting soil and copra so I could paint the old baskets black. Three baskets later I realized I’d painted my right index finger a better coated shade of Krylon semi gloss black than the baskets.

I grabbed the Vita Start off the shelf, poured about a healthy tablespoon into my half gallon pitcher and went to nourish my new plants. Since Ducky and I added the new room I’ve used a left over bucket of wall mud for an improvised stepping stool. It’s stood me well for all these five years. I heaved it over to the part of the deck nearest the first basket stepped on my trusty bucket, and the lid collapsed under my considerable girth. Of course I was wearing my new jeans, my best boots, and a look of frustration. I pulled my foot out of the mud; my boot stayed stuck.

I set down my pitcher of Vita start, rolled up my left pant leg to keep the wall mud from getting everywhere else and unwedged my favorite left boot from out of the bucket of five year old wall mud. I spent the next fifteen minutes cleaning wall mud out of every crack, crevise, and stitching hole in my best boots. Teach me to be down to one pair, thank heavens I wasn’t wearing my moccasins.

After this set back I tempted the fates of the gods by actually using a step ladder. Dividing the half gallon of Vita Start between the three, I gave the new baskets a good healthy wetting. Then I began getting out my windchimes (my deck is kind of a temple to the wind gods) and actually got them hung, well five out of six, without much incident. Playing it safe I put the ladder back in the garage, no need to tempt fate more than necessary. My day was looking up.

Right up to the moment I went to put away my pitcher and Vita Start and realized I just dowsed my brand new Bacopa and Lobelia baskets with carpet cleaner. I shit you not. Now I know that a little bit of soap is good in plant water, but carpet cleaner? I grabbed my half gallon pitcher rinsed it.REALLY.DAMN.GOOD. Dug the ladder back out of the garage and drown my new baskets with clear, clean water. Please send good healing thoughts for my plants.

Now I am off to recuperate from my day with a glass of merlot and a hot tub.

Watch this spot, just incase it goes awry.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday - It’s Tailored Made To Fit

It’s the place I made, carved out of nowhere with words, emotions, my truths and opinions on the world through my eyes. Built in hues of lush opinionated greens. Truthed in simple words, complex thoughts, and my love. Free to all, open to diversity, shut to hate.

It is populated with people who feel a connection, a kindred response to the words in which I have carved this nitch. They consider my words and thoughts, feast on my pictures of flowers and bears, smile at stories of my past that have led to what I have become. People, who drink in who I am and come back for more.

They are on my journey with me. Sharing of themselves, challenging my ideas, my ideals, my values, and offer up their own. Who shape my consciousness with their individual ness and collective presence. A rainbow of talented beings who, on another plane, wear bodies of each shape, hue, and intelligence; on this plane they shine forth in pure and healing brilliant auras of purple and white. Soaring in skies of blue, yellow, and gray. Then again walking realms of concrete and clay, light and night, and all that is between infrared and ultra violet.

They are happy, passionate, sad, and haunted. They are human and brave, weak and alone, seekers and finders, lovers and rejoicers of life. They are my friends, of like mind, my kindred souls, my extended family, the binders of my world. They make me complete and make the interenet home.

Sith
Cele