Talk Thursday: The Gift

Love maybe the greatest gift a parent can give their child. It is the greatest gift we can give of ourselves to the ones that are close to us, those we share all aspects of our lives. It is love that makes the world go round, or so I have heard it said many times before.

But I believe the second greatest gift my parents ever gave me was my independence. All the while they were giving me the best of themselves they were teaching me to stand on my own two feet. To not wait for someone else to do it for me, but to jump in and do it for myself. To dare to be capable, dependable, independent not hamstrung by my gender, halted by my momentary circumstances, or stopped cold by someone else’s reality. My parents did not chain us to them through family traditions, but said to us, “You have a family now make your own traditions, rejoice in your family, and love with your whole hearts.”

Or maybe that gift was curiosity? It drives my husband crazy when he ask me a question and I run to my almanac, dictionary, or computer to find out the answer because I didn’t know when he asked. I have to know. Not to be a know it all, but because what good is this intelligence God gave me, this thirst for knowledge and understanding if I have no curiosity to learn more? I want to learn, I want to know more, I want to understand the whys and wherefores, and the what to’s. I want to know that Venus is never more than 48 degrees from the Sun. Or that Northern ocean currents runs clockwise (for the most part) and yet southern ocean currents run counter clockwise. I want to know that the group T’Pau was named after a Vulcan Princess on Star Trek, that Peter Noone named his group Herman’s Hermits, because all the good band names were taken. That David Bowie is considered the Chameleon of Rock, Jim Morrison was nicknamed the Iguana, or Marc Bolan the lead singer of T-Rex.

Could that second special gift have been the compassion for others that I feel? I remember once my father stopping to give money to a vet standing on the side of Highway 101 in Northern California, back when a homeless vet was really a homeless Vet. Today I always wonder; I maybe compassionate but I am also cautious. Or the time he stopped to pick up a hitch hiking Sailor and got mugged for the effort. He never gave up believing in people, he always seemed to put himself in their shoes. I remember my mother helping a woman down the street leave her abusive husband; I also remember not turning her back on her when she went back (she didn’t help her again, but she didn’t give up on her either.)

How do you measure the value of one gift over that of another? I’m not sure you can. What I do know is that the greatest gifts are not the ones you can hold in your hands (well unless it’s a grandchild.) They are not material in substance, nor limited in quantity, just by their quality and intent. They are not given with strings; they are given with a whole and pure heart. They are not gifts that are given with an expectant return, but are given with a thought of paying it forward. Those of us who receive these gifts incredibly blessed; those who can give those gifts of themselves are blessed even more.

Sith,
Cele

Playing for Change

This evening as I gathered music news for tomorrow's airshift, I made my usual stop at Rolling Stone's Rock Daily and found this great clip.

Ben E. King never intended to record Stand By Me the world would be a less soulful place had he not. The song paid him back by becoming his biggest hit. Stand by Me hit number one in 1961 and has long since gone gold. It reappeared in the top ten again, this time in 1986 when it was featured in the film of the same name. I think the Playing for Change version does it heart warming, toe tapping, sing a long justice. And it's a partner of RedWire. I hope you enjoy.



Sith, and toe tapping
Cele

TalkThursday: Gratitude

Talk Thursday: Gratitude

I promised this yesterday, but in the great words of Roseanne Rosanna Danna…”It’s always something.”

Happy Thanksgiving to you all! Thank you for reading my words, offering me your insights, kind regards, and input. I write because, well I can, I blog because it feeds the soul. I thank you because you are awesome.

If you read me…at all, you know Monday and Tuesday were bleak days. I was down, depressed, and feeling like the world’s worst salesman. Your support is amazing. That night, I ended up working late, came home to a cold house and a warm dog. I was pissed that Lance Bass was booted before Warren Sapp, and instead turned on Soapnet to watch the day’s episode of General Hospital. Only to find that – again, the episode was stuck in automated – digital hell. Being in radio I understand automated – digital hell all too well. Instead I turned the remote over to the Hallmark Channel looking for a good Christmas movie. I love Christmas movies and luckily it was an hour into The Note starring Genie Francis, I’d been wanting to see this movie since it came out last year.

At 11:05 I climbed into the hot tub for a late night soak. The stars were brilliant, the night quiet, in one word, “awesome” in the full intent of the word. There is nothing more awe inspiring than the universe. I could lay in my hot tub for a full night under a clear sky and still not have enough time to think, relax, and rejoice.

In the grand scheme of things, I’m not much more than a mote in the eye of God (or a camel for that matter.) Barely a spark of fleeting life in the span of time. But yet, still I am. I stared to the southeast sky, through the pines, into the belt of Orion. How many gazillion people in the Northern Hemisphere, over the millennia past, have stared into Betelgeuse and contemplated the red star’s age? Its purpose? Or watched Polaris sit gleaming at the handle of Ursa Minor, then watched Cassiopeia spin on her head? In the greater scheme of things my worries and problems are not.

On this Thanksgiving I have so much for which to give thanks. I was blessed with wonderful parents who loved me, gave me the best of themselves, didn’t hold a grudge against the teen I was, and became my friend. I am thankful that while my father passed this last holiday season he still visits me in my dreams and I know he is good. I am thankful my mom is healthy, creative, and shares her time and experiences with me.

I am thankful for my first daughter who took the journey with me. She survived me and came out better. She is a better mother, a better daughter, and better person. I am blessed that she didn’t give up on me. In fact she went so far as to embrace the man who loves both her, and me, and accepts him as her dad. Then she blessed me with a grandson who is the laughter and joy of Ducky’s life and mine.

Speaking of Ducky… Wow, what a blessing to find a man among toads to share the remainder of my life. With him he brought Miseray, a wonderful girl, who grew into a delightful woman. While I doubt she will ever give me grandchild she does give me her love.

Where so many in this world are without, my life is full: full of love, joy, laughter, and give and take. I have a job that I love, that helps pay the bills, that allows me to be creative. I have a job I love in a time when others are worried about even keeping a job, that is little more than just a job. I have a boss who is my friend, appreciates and values my contributions to his business. I am lucky to work with a group of people who are talented, committed (in more ways than one), who are religiously and politically diverse and yet can hold a debate without rancor or bitterness.

My health is well, despite my five decades of decadences. And that despite those five decades of decadences I am only addicted to oxygen, chocolate, blogging, cheesecake, herbal teas, and an over the counter sleep aid.

Thankfully my parents chose to flee Los Angeles in at a time that benefited me, my personal growth, and my ability for adaptation. I am thankful my community still holds its small town charm, that I am able to live within a mile of the ocean and hear its roar from both my bed and my hot tub. I am thankful that Ducky commutes 80 miles into the valley so we can live in heaven. I love Florence, the sand dunes, the ocean, and the storms.

I am blessed with a great sister…who is still computer challenged…but she’s trying. Pinecone always seems to know when to call, what of herself to give. I am blessed with a great brother, Buddy, grew into his manhood on his own terms and knows the meaning of family. Despite where ever in the world his job has taken him, he comes home as often as he can.

My friendships are long lived and varied. I am thankful for my computer where most of my friends live. I am thankful for the friends who have come back into my life despite the distance and years past. I am thankful for my first boyfriend, Ronnie, who will always be my first love.

I am grateful to have been born American. To have been raised to believe I can be anything I want to be through hard work and perseverance. To be Quaker without persecution, and be friends with people who are Jehovah Witnesses, former Mormons, Catholics, and even Baptist. To live in an era where I can watch a nation change. To be able to speak out against what I perceive as wrongs and argue for the things I see as rights. To live in a land where I can change my mind. I am grateful I do not have an ability to hold a grudge.

I am filled with gratitude for the stars and that my stinky dog loves me.

Happy Thanksgiving
Cele

Warning…Copious Whining Ahead

I have never been one to get depressed during the holidays. No I get depressed when I can’t find something to wear, have gone through my entire wardrobe (which then lays in disarrayed on both floor and said bed,) resultantly I spend the next hour totally engrossed in self pity, crying on the bedroom floor in front of my empty closet. Weeping. Sadly. Weeping. But that is another story. I will say, before I go on to my real topic, this: If you are physically young (pre-menopause and wear a nice tidy size of say 10 or 8) and you smoke, stop now, because if you do it at menopause you are going to gain 70 pounds and are destined to find yourself weeping. Sadly. On the bedroom floor. Far too often for comfort.

Radio is a great industry, I love my job, it is creative, current, and strangely I get paid to play music while sitting in a little room all by myself. But if you are thinking of finding a career to make a living and want to enter radio, especially small town radio…Reality check! You need to be really good, a really, really wacky A – type personality (some sort of mental illness would probably help) and live in a mega city … LA… Chicago… New York. Not Florence, Oregon. And, oh by the way, I am not an A – Type personality, although my sanity has been questioned several times. Ergo, I don’t have a lot to offer my job (as in no dazzling, witty personality) and know that means I have to try to make myself indispensable – all the while knowing that no one is indispensable.

After years of hints from my boss, and I mean very gentle hints, I said last year that I’d take on some clients and work sales. It’s a way for me to make extra money. Most of my clients are area entertainment venues and troupes and not-for-profits, but my new cliental come from all walks of local business. With the down turn (isn’t that an understatement?) no one wants to advertise. Especially from me, it appears. I understand not wanting to strain your bottom line, but in a community where only one tenth (according to a recent poll) of the community shops in the historic old town area, wouldn’t that make your advertising all that more important? I mean really, attract your potential clients to your store, work to get your share of those buying dollars this holiday season.

Or say you’re selling Christmas Trees wouldn’t you consider radio, too if last year only advertise in the paper and ended up throwing over a hundred trees away? It’s Christmas, if people know you have trees at great prices their going to buy…but only if they know about it.

As you’re whining (hey, I know whining when I hear it) to your sales rep that the economy sucks and people aren’t shopping, shouldn’t you consider advertising your wares, services, and sales? Just wondering?

This morning I told our office manager that I couldn’t sell a parched man in the desert on drinking a glass of water for free. I need to be positive to sell, but in all truth my face is an open book, so when you have been telling me for months that you were advertising your Christmas Trees beginning Thanksgiving week and then say, “No we’re going with the paper, unless you’ve got a special” my face is going to drop, because I’m not good at poker. How I kept from responding, “No, you turned the Chamber Hometown Shopping special down last month”, how?

Now I am discouraged and apparently bitter. I feel like a fool trapped on a ship of nincompoops. A bad economy responds negatively to a lack of funding by becoming worse. Ergo, if you spend no money, the economy becomes more repressed, suppressed, and depressed. This holiday season please spend wisely, but none the less, spend. You can’t help me, but we can all help the economy.

Oh, and we’ll eat chocolate and douse our woes in Kahlua.

Sith,
Cele

OH, PS I will try to blog gratitude tomorrow for Talk Thursday, last week. It is such a good topic, thanks to Lynnblossom.

Talk Thursday: Why We Do What We Do

If I knew what it is I do, maybe I’d be able to tell you why. But after 52 plus years on this earth (this time around) I am still in the dark as to why I am here, what I am doing here, why I am doing it, who I am doing it with, and how much longer it will take for me to complete the whats, whys, and wherefores. Actually I had a somewhat similar conversation this evening with my mother and my grandmother at dinner. Every other Thursday night we go out to dinner, just the three of us girls.

The rules are simple.
1) We meet for dinner out every other Thursday night
2) The location changes each time
3) We rotate who selects the restaurant from the pile of names
4) No restaurant redos until all have been visited
a) this does not apply to birthdays
5) We all go dutch
a) this does not apply to birthdays
b) when it’s a birthday the person not paying is responsible for the tip

It takes about 8 months to go through the list of restaurants. My grandmother is not allowed to order Seafood Pasta of any ilk (she always is unhappy when she does.) Just about any topic is open for discussion….er except politics…for the most part. Hey, I try hard to keep my mouth shut.

Anyway, the discussion tonight came down to why we do what we do [which cracked me up because…1) I didn’t start the discussion and 2) it’s the Talk Thursday topic and I was stumped.] As I stated earlier I have no idea why I do the things I do or what they even are. But one bad habit I have had my entire life is over doing. It makes no difference what it is, I over do.

Example: why get married once when you can get divorced twice and married three times? Why? There are men out there who need to marry me and I aim to please. Well at least I did, I’m in remission at the moment.

Example: Why move one yard of gravel in one day, when there are three that need to be moved? I have a back it needs to be felt.

Example: Why burn a candle only at both ends. When the middle isn’t doing jack shit? Why? You can only sleep and watch so much TV.

So I do it all, wear myself out; get a fever; a migraine; or faint. That has always been me. When my mom and grandma arrived at the restaurant (tonight was Mexican) I had the beginnings of a headache and was taking some ibuprophen, immediately my mom asked me what I’d over done? Nothing, honest, nothing. She then proceeds to tell my grandma about the night when I was in high school that I decided to do a face plant in my soup. Why did I do a face plant in the soup? I had been over doing it, running myself down, and it was taking its toll on my body. It is a fact of me.

A fact that I come by quite naturally, my father (suffering from depression and emphysema) was notorious for over working himself because he felt good. One day of over working himself equated to a four or five day (later in life even longer) stay in bed, sleeping 23 hours a day. I kid you not. My mother herself over does it and will end up in bed with a migraine for a few day. See I come by it quite naturally. Now I give my mom credit because she has recognized this fact about herself and places limits on her activity. So why, when I said I come by over doing it naturally, was she appalled? I said I was learning by her example and backing off.

I guess the reason I do what I do, is because to do anything less wouldn’t be me. So why do you do what you do?

Talk Thursday: Second Class Citizen

I’ll begin with a warning/apology this topic could possibly make me rant, which you my dear friends will expect, but I might ramble a bit too.

Tuesday night was a momentous night, one of enlightenment, of progress, and maybe even a moment of healing and binding; a night centuries in the making. I had feared the worse, hoped for the best and was overwhelmed with the reality of Barack Obama being elected, overwhelmingly, president of the United States of America.

Growing up I was taught all Americans are equal. I believed this blindly, with all my heart, for all people. Slowly I saw the reality, yes in a perfect world all Americans are created equal, unless you were brown, black, poor, rich, smart, dumb, or any combination in between. As I learned in high school about the Indian Caste System the truth before my eyes saw showed that the American Caste System, was silently worse. We heard equality out of one side of the mouth, and bigotry out of the other.

Tuesday night, was another step in erasing part of those lines of distinction. Only to find another thrown up in the faces of those who believe and those who know the reality of being a second class citizen in an American class world. As we watched the hatred and fear of California’s measure eight pass, narrowly, but pass all the same I was chatting on the phone with my mother. I’ve always known she’s Republican, but I had always believed her to be a smart woman, a woman of her own mind. She taught me to believe in and practice fairness and equality. To believe that in a man’s world I was equal and could be what ever I wanted to be with hard work. The woman who taught me that I, and I alone, am responsible for my body, for the choices I make, and for the path that I choose to walk.

I believed her to be the wisest woman who walked through what life gave her with honor and wisdom. And then Tuesday night I couldn’t ignore the signs anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I adore my mom, she’s my friend, and damn if it wasn’t for all the things she instilled in me, well I’d be someone else and I tend to like the person I am. But in her seventh decade she is choosing to show and practice ignorance. She in spirit and belief backs the inequality and hatred of Measure eight. And worse she is backing it in ignorance.

Let me explain further. She believes a civil marriage is enough for two people who love each other… if they are of the same sex. Yes she knows being gay is biological, but a marriage should be between a man and a woman and the constitution should not be changed to allow a marriage between two people of the same sex. And worse she qualified her arguments against same sex marriage by arguing, if the constitution was changed to allow same sex marriage what Constitutional line would be crossed next? Polygamy?

Now I know people educated on any one of these arguments will see the multitude of flaws in my mom’s 1) arguments 2) knowledge 3) qualifications of her beliefs and arguments. But now I have a quandary do I explain to her that marriage is not a right granted or defined IN the Constitution? Do I explain to her again that it’s Biblical law (Leviticus 20:13 to be exact) as laid out to the rabbis that she is confusing with the American Constitution? Do I explain to her that it was she who taught me all men are equals…and that it says nothing about women – but she read between the lines to instill in me I am an equal.

I really shouldn’t be too surprised, at one time I had a LONG conversation with her about homosexuals. At the time she believed it was a choice, not a biological birthright. And maybe in hindsight that conversation helped her alter her beliefs. The basis of my argument, knowing my mother and the breathe of her love, was to ask her, “What? You could spend eighteen years pouring all your love, belief, and faith in to your child; dote and instill the best that you have to give of yourself, and then turn your back because they were born gay? Could you? Could you throw away the best eighteen years of your life because of a birthright?”

She couldn’t answer me and our conversations on the subject changed after that. Or I thought they had. Thomas Jefferson so eloquently said (232 years ago) that “All men are created equal” and yet 232 years later people are still fighting to enslave some people in a second class caste of difference.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt so wisely said (on a very different topic) “There is nothing to fear but fear itself” he was wrong, we should always fear hatred and chosen ignorance.

Cele

A Time of Change

There are moments in each of our lives that we remember back and can say, “I remember when I heard JFK. Bobby Kennedy, Martin Luther King Jr., and John Lennon had been killed. I was….” Those were moments of sorrow and loss. Tonight is a moment of joy and hope, but one of those moments that will live in the hearts and memories of many Americans. When I am eleventy eleven I will be able to say, “I remember the exact moment, listening to Barack Obama give his first speech, the night he was elected to the Presidency of America. I was in awe and listened to the voice of change with tears streaming down my face, emotion in my heart, and hope in my soul. I remember.”
YES WE CAN!

Sith

Cele

Get Out The Vote

It is finally here, thank goodness, I’m tired of the years long, contentious, bickering, slandering, throw the American people under the train, it’s all for the party political season. My leanings and support of Barack Obama (even though I continually slaughter his name) are no secret. For the most part he has run a clean campaign, a fact for which I am grateful.

Being an Oregonian I voted several days ago, I adore mail in elections. I am glad to see that more and more states are moving towards extended voting periods. To all those who think their voice doesn’t count, shut up and think again. Get out and vote.

If you have exercised your right to vote, I thank you. If you haven’t, please do it now. In the future use a paper ballot, it’s your right, request it. While I doubt the all of the conspiracy theories out there about how elections are being stolen, I do believe there is a strong basis of fact to the theories. I just don’t believe all the theories. Today will be a test; tonight will be telling. And I’m curious why there hasn’t been a big out cry in the courts if there is such strong evidence. But I do advocate paper ballots as a way to make sure that your vote isn’t stolen by electronic polling machines. Maybe the entire country should do it like Wilton, New Hampshire where votes are hand counted, visually certified, and butt protected in a four person process to protect from election fraud.

Please get out and vote.
Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: All Hallow's Eve

Haunts and Howls

No moon walks the autumn sky
Where scattered leaves
On night winds fly.
Black cats slink and walk the dark
Espying kids
Their hallowed lark.
Pumpkins watch on darkened stoops
A solemn owl
From a pine tree hoots.
Haunts and howls,
And things that scream
Lurk about at Halloween.
Witched decked in dark and black
Go door to door
for their midnight snack.
Pirates swagger,monsters growl,
from house to house
They are on the prowl.
Ghost and goblins fly the night
And little kids
are dressed for fright.
At each door Begging tricks or treats
Little ghosties
Hunt Halloween sweets.

© 29 October 2008 Calista Cates-Stanturf

Talk Thursday: Soothing Naturals

It’s been one of those life times this week, but that’s another blog. Thursday nights begin with dinner out, one week with my mother and grandmother, the next with my girlfriend Leigh. Tonight it was Italian with my mom and grandmother; Leigh had clients. Ducky spends Thursday nights in the Valley.

We met at six at 1258 Ristorante on Bay Street, formerly a small pizza shop, 1258 offers two small menus: one pasta, the other pizzas. Tonight it was baked lasagna for two of us; my grandmother had seafood pasta. First the noodles were uneven (don’t ask). Then there were only three scallops, and three prawns in the mix (okay so that might be a legitimate gripe.) Then it was too hot, the breeze was cold (reasonable gripe, I got up and close the window.) Then for dessert we split a slice of chocolate cheesecake (divine.) Grandma doesn’t like cheesecake. Who knew?

Fog hung in thick patches along Bay Street as we parted way and drove in opposite directions for home. The just past full, the moon’s light brightened the night air, above the fog stars twinkled in the October sky. It’s been a while since I pulled out my suit and slipped into the hot tub, but tonight was the night. Walking on to the deck in the dark I could see the fog over the gate. Stepping out onto the steps I was suddenly drenched in moonlight. Hot, bubbling water beckoned; stepping over the edge of the tub I let myself sink into the warmth. I closed my eyes and let the peace wash over me, silent peace accented by the bubbling water that enveloped me.

Stars above the trees winkled through the fog at me. The bright moon illuminated the fog and air. I was at peace. Within ten minutes I began sweating away the poisons in my system. Fifteen minutes and my legs and feet floated up to the top of the water carefree. Twenty minutes later the soothing water had naturally erased the stress and strain of my week.

What do people do without a hot tub?

Sith,
Cele

Women for McCain

Yes I know it's Thursday, and a naturally soothing thought will come to me... but first a word from our sponsor. And then if I can still speak...er I mean think, I'll write My Talk Thursday blog.



I want to know how they did this straight faced?

Brought to you by satrical/political humorist Katie Halper at 23/6

20 Questions Meme

I got tagged by (but not really, but sort of) Steve over at Heterosexually Challenged


The rules of the game:


RULE #1 : People who have been tagged must write their answers on their blogs and replace any question that they dislike with a new question formulated by themselves.

RULE #2 : Tag 6 people to do this quiz and they cannot refuse. These people must state who they were tagged by and cannot tag the person whom they were tagged by continue this game by sending it to other people.


Questions:

1. If your lover betrayed you, what will your reaction be?
Life goes on, after three marriages, two divorces, and numerous relationships I have to ask, “What is betrayed? And who hasn’t been betrayed on one level or another?” I’m sure I would cry, I’m sure I would over think the situation. And then hopefully I would ask myself, “What the heck does this mean to me? How does it change my life? And does it really?” Human is as human does. I don’t hold grudges. So I think I would learn the lessons, deal with it, and move on.


2. If you have a dream you’d like to come true, what is it?
Hmmm let’s see. A smart person in the White House this November. World Peace. And solvency without fear.


3. Whose butt would you like to kick?
No one’s. Life has a lot of mistakes get over it.


4. What would you do with a billion dollars?
Pay off my kid’s student loans, pay off my house, give money to those I love, donate, donate, donate, and save for a rainy day.


5. Will your best friend always be your best friend?
Hmmm, Yes, I have a lot of best friends.


6. Have you ever been in love with two people at once?
No.


7. How long would you wait for someone you really loved?
Forever.


8. If you won the lottery, would you quit your job?
No, I love my job, but I might take a long vacation at the beginning of baseball season. Say about six months.

9. Who is on your celebrity top 5…you know, the ones…that if you ever had an opportunity…
Sex is not an issue with me, I’ve never been into one night stands. I need longevity. And personality and heart play a large part in my attraction—not so much looks.
But, in playing the game… Appealing in a strange way… hmmmm.







Sam Elliot (his voice could send me over the moon—with toes curled)





Bradley Whitford






Jason Cole







Oded Fehr (with tats perferrably)

Ben Browder

Sam Elliot, Bradley Whitford, Jason Cole, Oded Fehr, and Ben Browder

10. What sucks the life out of you?
Hatred, bigotry, and whiney people who think they are owed.

11. How would you see yourself in ten years time?
Still married, happily in love and lust. Happily growing my flowers. Financially solvent. Connected to the people I love, respect, and cherish with a back-at-cha. Still working in a growing radio station and valued.

12. What’s your greatest fear/phobia?
Snakes

13. What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?
A delightful gentleman, who is still finding his way and his comfort zone. But he’s young, give him time I have faith.

14. Would you rather be single and rich or married but poor?
I would rather be loved and valued.

15. What’s the first thing you do when you wake up?
Close them and roll over hoping I can go back to sleep

16. Would you give all in a relationship?
Positively

17. Is your career vitally important to you?
Career and job for me are one in the same. Yes.

18. Would you forgive and forget no matter how horrible a thing someone has done?
Forgive…yes, Forget…..never (but it’s importance diminishes with time, I don’t hord sorrow and wrongs.)

19. Do you prefer being single or having a relationship?
Relationship is important, but I can live by myself.

20. List 6 people to tag:
You, and you. Oh and then that one over there, and him too. Oh her and of course her. There, my work here is done.

Talk Thursday: Joys of Autumn

Folige red, and gold

cascades, silent, downward falls

to the forest floor.

© 2002

This is my brain on….

In the days of yore, I was able to effortlessly bounce back, now at 52 I’m finding it takes me days to recoup. For the last two weeks I worked double shifts. I am a person who requires a minimum seven to eight hours of sleep, being menopausal means I’m lucky if I get 4 hours unbroken, but usually I get two hours straight. Friday at the end of a marathon of work schedule I was barely able to stand on my own two feet, let alone keep my eyes open and my brain cognizant.

A storm was forecasted for Friday night, but the northern coast was expected to get the brunt of mother nature’s angst. That didn’t mean we wouldn’t get some dips, bumps, and bruises along the way. At 10:44 my station’s silence sensor calls me. At 11:02 I’m up on the mountain (a misnomer because it’s only a few hundred over sea level) fixing a jammed STL Receiver (a computer that talks to it’s counter part at the station to broadcast the signal.) I was back home by 11:45, sadly I had to be on air at 6am. Now you all know that I love my job, but I love enough sleep even more.

When I arrived Saturday morning at the station for my airshift it was eyes at half mast and brains half past scrambled….to find an FM computer/playlist that wasn’t syncing with ABC News at the top of the hour. On top of that the AM computer and my production studio were off line. A fact not easily discernable to the attentive ear because the satellite feed will stay on the air, but the commercials not air. I was so tired I took out both computers thinking I need to replace the powers sources. Luckily I plugged the AM onair into a power strip to find it booted right up. It was the UPS that died not both computer power supplies, but no I was ready to break them down…This is your brain on lack of sleep…it’s as deadly as, say crank.

I love winter, it means no yard chores- even though my paver courtyard isn’t finished, I want to put in another lily garden and tulip beds, I was glad to have the weekend to vegetate. The most I might have to do is hold the ladder for Ducky while he cleaned gutters. And laundry, and dinner, and dishes, and vaccuming, and well the regular chores. During college football season the remote belongs to Ducky, it wasn’t too heartbreaking to fall asleep on the couch somewhere between USC wiping their feet on my Ducks and stuffing their beaks in the dust of the Colliseum.

Burp and I did get some cookies baked Sunday afternoon before his mom picked him up, some delicious oatmeal chocolate chips, all they needed was some coconut. Thankfully he’s into doing all the measuring all I had to do was pour in my spices and mix (I don’t believe in measuring spices- what sort of example am I, really?) Our nutmeg spiced chocolate chip cookies are divine.

The effects of the cookies are narcotic. I’m not much of a TV watcher, but I blundered into a Starter Wife marathon on ?USA? network. I’ve meant to catch an episode in the past, but it’s never been a barn burner must. What a great show. I love the characters, the chemistry, and storyline. Unlike Pushing up Daisies, which I caught Wednesday night for the first time before my eyes closed into a coma, it held my attention, I wanted to know all the whys and hows, and what will happens when the new season starts Friday night. Then I passed out.

So what is the point of this whole rambling blog? Good question. It started out with how I don’t physically and mentally bounce back like I did when I was younger. I use to be on the go constantly, but now I relish dark, stormy winter weekends. Days falling asleep on the couch in a cookie induced coma. And every once in a while a new TV show. But most of all I am realizing that I am changing, how I’m not exactly am sure, except for age—I am getting older and while I don’t mind, I am definitely noticing and ruing some of the losses. The loss of energy. I miss my friends of childhood. I will soon miss Burp wanting to bake cookies with his grandma, or cuddling with me during a Duck’s game. And I rue the days when I don’t bounce back and it makes me emotional and bitchy, despite how hard I try to fight it. I’m just glad Ducky still wants to hold my had and eat my cookies.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday - Bail Out

Talk Thursday: Bail Out

Through out my childhood there was always an inboard boat in some stage of construction jutting out of the garage; my father’s blueprints either tacked up to the wall or laid out on his draft board. On occasion my dad would let me sand on a section of fiberglassed hull or hold a board while he nailed or screwed it into place.

My dad’s boats are twined deeply into the good memories of my childhood. There’s a few bad memories too, like when my eldest brother, Butch wrapped me up in a sheet of fiberglass. Or the time I popped the clutch on my dad’s VW sending it into the garage, just left of the bow…umm, through the closed garage door.

And of course there was the time during the summer between sixth and seventh grade when we went Bonita fishing off Dana Point closer to Catalina. You know the heart of shark infest waters between mainland and the Channel Islands. My cousin Lenny (who from here on out will be called Snakeboy- for reasons not revealed in this adventure) lived with us, and he and Butch were the two who usually got to go fishing with my dad on the Sea Horse. But for some reason my dad allowed me to go along one Saturday morning.

Major, but applied digression. My baby brother had died the day after being born that June; suddenly family time was important. My mom has always said things happen for a reason, David’s arrival and departure from our lives was a family cementing for me. I distinctly remember weekends Pinecone and I spent with my dad camping, motorcycle riding, hiking, and fishing, while the boys spent the weekend with my mom learning the finer arts of cafeteria dining, miniature golf, or roller skating. The following weekend we’d swap parents. Those are cherished, focused times for me.

I distinctly remember leaving San Pedro that morning while it was still dark, the heavy tang of salt scenting the air, the harbor clock striking the quarter hour, motoring past the Queen Mary and feeling miniscule in comparison. We stopped to gassed up and buy bait at the breakwater before heading out to open water. The ocean was relatively calm and my father opened the hatch so we could stand up in the bunk and let the wind and spray hit us in the face as we made out way out to sea.

Dawn was breaking over the horizon when we first saw the flying fish off our bow, seemingly keeping up with the Sea Horse as we flew over the waves that morning. Flying fish made me search for dolphins in front of us, sadly I never saw one. Those first two hours were fantastic. Then we stopped so we could drop lines and begin fishing. I remember baiting up, letting my dad show me how to cast and being envious because Butch and Snakeboy could do this themselves. Then we sat, and the ocean rolled, and I heaved, and heaved, and heaved again. Someone, with a kindly heart gave me saltines to settle my stomach… I’d call my aunt Dot a bitch if I didn’t love her so much.

Note to the Unwared: Saltines and Seven Up do not settle your stomach on a rolling sea, it just gives you more to heave…

A lifetime later the sun shone, the fish were biting hot, and I finally quit puking. It actually was a great day, egg salad sandwiches rarely tasted better, and I caught a big ass Spanish Mackerel. A fish called such because when landed it slaps its body about with unequalled enthusiasm, sounding much like a pair of castanets, very entertaining and musical. My dad accidentally hooked a seagull and then let it shred him as he gently unhooked it amid claws and savage pecking. Snakeboy hooked the first shark of the day, a blue about 6 or 7 feet long, freaked out and dropped his rod and reel over board. Luckily, both rod and reel were retrieved and the shark allowed to escape.

Right before my dad discovered the strange noise coming from the bilge and the sump pump. Yep, the loud gurgle meant we were taking on water. The sump pump had burned out…about 15 miles out to see between Dana Point and Catalina. It’s a weird feeling to see land to the west and then to the east and know you can’t swim that far. Did I mention sharks? Because they live pretty vividly in my memory, so does the empty, three pound Folgers coffee can he thrust in to my hands with instructions to bail—fast. My dad used empty coffee cans for everything. Butch, Snakeboy, and I bailed as my dad and uncle stowed away the gear, lifted anchor, and headed for port and dry land.

Once we were moving we stopped bailing and enjoyed the ride. We had plenty of fish (my dad loved to fish, hated to eat fish) for my mom’s roses, a great memory, and I can honestly say I’ve had to bail out a boat or sink.

Snakeboy lived with us for a year (our seventh grade – we’re the same age) before he returned to his mom in Ohio. That trip was the last time I went out on the ocean in the Sea Horse. I later learned to water ski behind it on Shasta Lake. Butch now is land locked racing Sprints in Sioux Falls. My uncle died in the 1990’s from lung cancer and cirrhosis of the liver, I don’t think he and Snakeboy ever had the relationship they had that year. My dad quit building boats after we moved to Oregon, he started building Ultra-lights instead, and yes he did build an aquatic one…which he crashed into Siltcoos Lake on it’s maiden voyage..no bail out was going to help it.

Boats, planes, and people pass, but memories remain, glorious and golden in my mind.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday - Scattered.... My 200th Blog!

Talk Thursday – Scattered

I like to have my Talk Thursday blog written, on well, let’s just say, “Thursday.” I mean imagine being on time. Which I originally wrote, “I mean imagraine” that is the image of a migraine I think. It’s been one of those weeks, I knew it would be and yes, I am definitely SCATTERED.

I worked double shifts all week. It does mean I worked a few more hours (come on I’m salary it’s just hours) the news director is on vacation…er was it’s Saturday so I covered his 5am shift and my 10am shift and then did my programming and sales. Friday at 9am (it was really 8:55am) my morning DJ went on vacation too. So technically (because I went on air at 10am) I was covering for him too. Now don’t take this as a complaint or rant because it’s not, but it is an explanation for a week going into the next that is totally scattered.

To kick off the week I was on antibiotics for the abscess that resulted in my root canal Tuesday. I have no problem going to the dentist; I’ve been pretty fortunate in my selection dentists through the years (this of course is all post move to Oregon, before that it was bad breath and pain.) What did bum me out was that I stood to lose the cap on my bicuspid that was going to be roto rootered. My sister made that cap for me, it’s beautiful – beware non paid advertising ahead…

If you ever need a cap, crown, or bridge see Pinecone at Creative Dental Designs in Eugene. They and she ROCK!

The awesome thing… Tooth Doc did it right through the cap...Way Kewl! it didn’t shattered (but it does have this round bored hole right through it) so I still have Pinecones’ “made just for me” cap and a pretty, painless, abscess free smile.

So Sid’s topic is so totally right up my alley this week. Because, I am scattered, totally, unadulteratedly scattered—do not add water, do not stir, shake, rattle, rock and roll. I’m there.

To underscore this point I have had no sleep (because of the antibiotic and shift change) for a week and a half. I haven’t gotten bitchy (major shock) I’ve just been incredibly tired. Tuesday night I had a sensitive…but pretty jaw, and it was Pinecone’s birthday. Every year I call and sing to her (my version) of the Sheriff John birthday song. Unless you grew up in LA in the sixties you probably have no idea what I am talking about – Sheriff John was LA’s mid day Romper Room, Ramblin’ Rod, or local kid’s show in your area. There was no way I could sing this song, and no way I could miss singing to her. I usually try to call when I will get an answering machine, but Pinecone carries her cell phone with her always…so I seldom get an answering machine. Then to compound the particulars she called me first.

Now where in the birthday laws does it say the birthday person can call the birthday singing caller? Where? So after an hour and a half call I’ve still not sung for her… because it needs to be an unanticipated surprise instigated by me, the birthday singer. But my non birthday singing jaw (and the phone call) have me in a non Birthday Cake Polka singing situation. So I did the next best thing – twenty minutes after we hung up, her phone rang and Sheriff John sang the Birthday Cake Polka (his version not mine) himself.

Thank heavens for YouTube now you can hear the Birthday Cake Polka...and Sheriff John too!




Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Baby Steps

Talk Thursday – Baby Steps

It’s all about me. Life. My life. My journey in this life, the choices I make, the paths I take, the lessons I learn. This, very possibly, I learned early in life. Not before I was a nasty bitch of a teenager, but maybe in my late teens or early twenties.

Firm in my faith, I don’t believe that God does things to us. I think we do things to ourselves, other people do things to us, and damn, in the words of Forrest Gump, “Shit happens.” It’s all about the journey. I am firm in my belief that I am a survivor. This hasn’t been tested too greatly by the universe, but it has been tested by my relationships and choices in life. Just keep the snakes out of the scenario, and I am pretty much fine.

Wow, was I this fantastic way back when? Shit, I’m not fantastic now, but I’m working on it. I am not a know-it-all (my typoing skills will attest to that) but I do strive to be the best that I can be. When I was younger life hinged on me being liked, and yet over all I wasn’t liked much. I didn’t fit in, I was mostly a loner, and yet I wasn’t a loner. I trusted far too easy and hurt all too often in my early life trials.

Today, I am not one to make friends fast, burned far too often in yesterday year, I am a wee bit slower to glom on to the BFF train. But I know a kindred spirit pretty darn fast, and yes I do glom on to my friends to never let them go. Through baby steps in life I learned that true friends are forever, our spiritual family, the rest are just acquaintances. While my heart has been bruised by those who took and ran, I learned that I took too. I just didn’t run. I took, I stayed, I shared, I learned, I grew. Baby steps.

I may have not spoken to you in decades (ohmigod I can say for decades) but you, my friend, are still dear to my heart, essential to my existence, an eternal piece of who I am and my soul. Differences may have parted us, time may separate us, but you are still with me. Baby steps of where we have been, who we have known, and what we have survived make us who we are today. You helped form the me that I evolved into. Baby steps.

Several years ago I had my numbers done. I have master numbers it seems-- 33 / 11 / 2. All my life I’ve been told I possess a greater ability, a greater intuition, a gift. I think we are all in possession of greater abilities than we demonstrate, the ability to reach out and touch, to accomplish great things, to be a survivor and help others to survive. We possess the ability to rise above and see broader if we only open our eyes and start our baby steps with understand and an attempt to gain insight. And of course learn our life lessons.

When I leave this plane time, space, and difference will not separate us. In this universe we shall rejoice in our lessons and each other.

It’s all about my journey, which means it’s all about you.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: The Spaces In Between

Talk Thursday: The Spaces In Between

I must have been listening to Dave Matthews when this topic came to mind. I had no clue where I was going, what I might do, and to me that is the best topic type—challenging. No clue at all…

Until…well sort of, yesterday afternoon when I read Tewkes’ post on community leaders, and I asked myself, “Self, what happened during the space in between the teens and the moment of discovery that I’d become a political, social, and spiritual slug?”

Once I cared enough about the issues to speak out. I argued the finer points of society with my father (my mother wisely ran in the opposite direction – we were loud and unbending.) I miss my arguments with him they made me see the difference in philosophies, tenets, and generations. My spare time was spent volunteering in a rehabilitation / convelescent center, I took classes to learn about other religions, cultures, and the historical positions of mankind’s civilizations. I volunteered at the local family planning center making sure girls and women understood their right to choose, and their responsiblities. I sat with users while they came down from their bad highs and stupid indulgences. I cared enough to do.

Then I got married. I believe in marriage, wholeheartedly, as a working partnership between two people who love, respect, and value each other. I believed in marriage three times. My first husband and I were spiritually, ethically, and recreationally different as a couple could be. We made a great child and a crappy marriage. What happened in the space between I do’s and don’ts? Life with eyes wide open, no hue of rosy colour love could tint the vast difference of characters.

I went back to nursing, focused my attention on my daughter and tried to build a life for us with the help of my parents. Life was good. And then I jumped in over my head and went into private care. Three months later any notion of a career in nursing and my reputation was destroyed, because I bought into a dream I couldn’t carry by myself-- one hundred percent, hook, line, and sinker. Yes, I guess I am still making excuses. I loved nursing (and no that isn’t to say I was a nurse.) In between the “I cans” and “I can’ts” I learned reality and limitations-- mine and others.

This should have been apparent lesson that I could apply to others in my life…like my second husband. A nice guy, I still like him, hell, I still love him. We were politically a like, spiritually opposed, and only one of us was in love. In the space between him and the last I realized that too many people (mostly women, but there must be men too) lose who they are in a vain attempt to make themselves into what they think their mate wants them to be. Suddenly I was in the knowledge that I was without his love-- suddenly I was nobody.

In the space in between the I do’s and the I don’ts I lost who I was. I lost my ideals, my goals, the vision of who I wanted to be, and who I could be. I had made myself into who I thought he wanted and had no clue how to find myself in between the layers of veneer I’d accumulated to be his mate.

What do you do when you’ve lost who you are? You sit on a sand dune and cry. You mourn the past and what never was. You cry in horror at what has become, and as a mother you shove it deep into a box within and realize you have a child who needs you, who you owe everything. And you go on. Just like the countless broken hearts that have gone before and will go on afterwards. You go on with new insights, new respects, new determination. In the space in between heartbreak and success I found determination to be the best I could be, without excuse.

Do I harbor anger? No, that would be self defeating. Do I harbor resentment? No, life is far too long to be disillusioned and distrustful forever. A person does what they have to do, and in the long run it is plain and simple, I believe in love, I believe I am good at marriage, I just wasn’t good at finding partners. I have a list of what could have beens that weren’t even close.

Ducky and I are politically a like. But now I accept that he’s not the social activist that I am. He’s not the social doer that I want to be. But what he is, plain and simple, is the man who accepts that I have those needs and supports me.

I’m a homebody, Ducky is a homebody. We love to work in our yard, build on to our home, plant more flowers, build more fences, and share time with one another. He doesn’t understand some of my view points, and I don’t understand some of his anger, but we deal, we accept, we value.

In the space in between, who I was and who I am, I learned to accept, to survive, to give, to feel, to share, to hoard all the memories and moments, and give them back again, to value to cherish, to serve, and take. To learn the lessons and deliver them back again when the moment comes. To listen, to hear, to give and take. In the spaces in between I learned to be me.

Sith,
Cele

Google Picture MeMe

Compliments of Sideon, who got it from Eiain, here’s a Google Picture Meme.

Here are the rules:

a) Answer the question below, do a Google Image search with your answer, take a picture from the 1st page of results, do it with minimal words of explanation; and

b) Tag 5 people to do the same once you’ve finished answering every question. Everyone hates getting tagged, so if you want to play, consider yourself tagged and leave me a link.

1. The age you’ll be on your next birthday: 53

2. Place you want to travel to: Scotland

3. Your favourite place: flower garden

4) Your Favourite Food: medium rare steak

5) Your Favorite Pet:

Arlo

6) Favourite colour combination: green and purple

7) Favorite piece of clothing: jammies

8) Your all time favorite song: a- Where Do The Children Play?

#8B - Hundred Years

9) Favorite TV show:

10) First name of your significant other: Roger

11) Which town do you live in: Florence, Oregon

12) Your screen name / nickname: Celebrindal / Cele

13) Your first job: horse hand

14) Your dream job: Horse Groom

15) One bad habit that you have: procrastinate

16) Worst fear - no picture of a snake is going on my website

17) Things you'd like to do before you die: retire

18) The first thing you'll buy / do if you get $1,000,000 - no idea

19) Your husband / wife - husband

20) What present would you like for you next birthday - solar fountain

Talk Thursday - Back To School

There are two great demarcations in my annual schedule. Back to school and Halloween. I know, you’re thinking, WTF? She’s lost it again – what happened to Christmas and Summer?

When you have no children at home, the knowledge and acknowledgement of school breaks and holidays gets a bit tricky. My job compounds this discrepancy, I have no gratis holidays, yep, the last three day weekend I had involved vacation time. In radio holidays mean special programming, but no extra time off. Think about it, does your favorite morning crew take off Labor Day? Memorial Day? Easter? Well,okay they get Easter off, but most likely work Christmas and Thanksgiving.

In my station you get either Thanksgiving or Christmas off. And that isn’t exactly true, I take Thanksgiving morning off while everyone else works, and then they get Christmas and I work. It benefits me in every way possible. I get up early and off early enough to get a turkey in the oven for Christmas dinner and can make sure my programming at the station is on track, and I get to look like a great boss.

Wow, big digression. Back to school in Florence marks the first big migration. Summer vacationers are returning inland, leaving their summer in the sand behind them and leaving my roadways less clogged. Instead of it taking five minutes to cross 101, it takes a minute. Reservations become less an evil necessity than they’d been just a week prior. The weekends are a little iffy, but the week days—blissful.

By the end of October and Halloween the snowbirds have all migrated to warmer climes …well away from me and my private Oregon, marking the second great demarcation in my year. I can cross my streets and eat in restaurants I want without reservations. Point of argument, yesterday, I needed to run to the bank. Sounds easy, but…and that is a big but. What happens? I get behind a little old lady from Saskatchewan driving five miles under the thirty mile per hour speed limit. Which makes me question exactly when did she leave Saskatchewan? How long did it take her to reach to Florence? Are we her final destination? Is she just passing through? And when is she due back in Saskatchewan? All these questions still want for answers in my mind (hopefully she’ll be home before the snow flies.) My two minute drive turned into ten, my nails are chewed to the quick and I need new brakes. Happily, I can say I did make the bank before it closed.

Now that the kidlets are back in school, I know to avoid the roadways between 7 and 8am, and 3:30 and 4pm. But with back to school this year comes a new era. In the middle section of my life, I will be gaining kids. With back to school I am gearing up to the kick off the Junior Volunteer program at the hospital. I will once again have to focus on school breaks, holidays, vacations – and bending my schedule around teens. I should have seen this coming. Several years ago I had my numbers done. I’m in my nine year, a year that begins the third phase of my life, a new beginning is on the horizon. And with back to school and back into the hospital I am excited at the prospects ahead of me.

Stay tuned,
Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday – Shooting Stars

Stars have always been an escape for me. I never really spent much time dreaming on them, making wishes on them…at least not after thirty, but watching them. Magic. Pure magic.

Ducky is usually asleep pretty early, something about an eighty mile commute at 4 in the morning. What--ever. So I get the hot tub to myself late at night, in the dark of dark when the wind whispers in the top of the trees, it’s just me and the stars…and lots of hot water. Heaven.

It was a Wednesday night a few weeks ago, we’d had what seemed like weeks of 50 mph winds and finally came one night that was quiet and cool enough to enjoy a soak. Around eleven I climbed into the hot tub and let the dark envelop me. Over head Vega was glowing yellow, Mars hung red in the western sky with Mercury, and Jupiter; Venus had long gone to bed.

Leaning back I crooked my neck and stared up into the Milky Way. My eyes traced a north bound flight destined for Portland, Seattle, or Vancouver. Thousands of feet overhead that small, tiny light traversed the sky full of souls bound for another place. Where? Somewhere away, somewhere different, somewhere with other stories.

Moving in the southwestern sky, thousands of miles above, the International Space Station slowly arched to the east. A silent smooth light that flared suddenly before going dark on its orbit through the night.

I floated across the tub, kind of a glide because the breast-stroke was completely out of the question—no Ducky, and rested my head on the south rim. Eyes searching the stars to the north my head turned to the east just as a shooting star arched across the night sky to the west. A brilliant star flying light years away, brighter than it had ever shone, and then it was gone. I’d not wished for world peace lately so I closed my eyes.

Ahhhhhh

I could hear the wind whisper in the trees, the ocean’s song calling from the sea, and some large animal crawling through the brush on the otherside of the cyclone fence. My eyes opened wide, my ears listened more intently-- lions? Tigers? Bears. Oh, mi! Hey it could be bears.

And then all was quiet again. And right in at least my little corner of the world.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday – Thunder Rolls

The Floydian Slips concert was just winding down Saturday night, when I caught the first flashes from the corner of my eye. Ducky had just commented on the drive into town that it looked like a thunder night. Apparently, his personal Doppler system was working fine. As we drove out of the parking lot the flashes to the north were more visible and picking up frequency, soon bolts of lightening raced across the darkness.

We are all up for a good electrical storm. Hey, I live in Florence lightning storms are far and few between, so this was a treat. Brilliant forks split the sky, diving downward, to seemingly impale itself into the distant ground and then the thunder would peel. It would start with a crack, nano seconds after the flash faded into the dark, and roll from one cloud to the next, as if filling each sound before moving on to the next. A symphony of bowling Angels battling Thor’s tympani booming bass a clash of in rolling waves of sound that burbled against my skin and through the night.

I love thunder, heaven’s music, this would have been the type of night that I would sit out and listen with my eyes close and feel the thunder rumble though the night. Our joy thought was short lived for as we drove west towards home the thunder was too far away, the flashes dimmer and distant, then all was dark and quiet again.

Until two o’clock in the morning. When the sky cracked open with lightning and the force of the thunder shook the house. Nirvana. Ducky and I got up and watched the light show for its short duration and then went back to bed.

A feeling of impending thunder lasted through out Sunday. The much needed rain had been absorbed by the thirsty ground and for the first time this summer my lawn looked sated. I began seeing flashes around eight in the evening, at first I thought it was just my eyes, then from the deck Ducky ask if I could hear the thunder? The flashes were small, the thunder distant, but it lasted the entire evening.

Until two o’clock in the morning when with one brilliant flash and a deafening ka-boom the lights went out. And then back on and I went to work. Power outages play havoc with small radio stations, so when the power comes back on I have to go reset the equipment – my computer screens freeze up, on air boards are all out of whack. At two in the morning, dressed in my jammies and slippers, I waddle out to my truck, drive the mile to work, reset my equipment, drive home, and go back to bed.

Until three thirty when it starts all over gain. Ducky leaves for work around four fifteen, so I’m thinking the next time I had to go to work was four thirty. Do people really get REM sleep? And did I mention I love thunder and lightning? And why do they say thunder and lightning when clearly the lightning comes first?

The national weather service had been issuing Severe Thunder Warnings for much of the early morning hours the EAS automatically sends the audio out over the air when we’re in walk away mode. Later Monday afternoon, NWS sent out one last Severe Thunder Warning over the EAS. I’m still laughing, following the usual warnings of impending doom the broadcaster ended with, “If you can hear the thunder you’re close enough to be struck by lightning.
Which begs me to ask, “If you hear the thunder isn’t it too late to worry about the lightning? And would you hear the thunder if you were stuck by lightning for all the ringing in your ears?

Just askin’.
Sith,
Cele

Olympic Sour Grapes - Warning Rant Ahead!

I know I’m supposed to be blogging Talk Thursday, I will get there because the topic is great. But what is really griping my soul at the moment is the Olympics. Sadly, I think I stand alone in my grief, the world’s acceptance of China as this season host country is a global blanket of approval on China’s human rights policy. I bristle when the United States does something egregious – like water boarding and Guantanamo Bay, but I know at least half of my fellow American’s are pissed and hopefully a bit ashamed of tactics and are awaiting the slight possibility of a war crimes tribunal against one certain shrub and his slimy VP.

China not only has a terrible history of human rights violations, but it’s not just history. Countless (but the numbers are reported in the tens of thousands) Chinese have been arrested and removed to create “balance and harmony” during the Olympics. Hmmm, activist? It doesn’t pay to be Falun Gong in China unless you’re looking to be tortured to death. The site of the opening ceremonies that people have oohed and ahhed over was not so long ago… just over a year ago, were people’s home. People who were forcibly removed so the Chinese government could awe the world with a great ceremony that featured the communist concept of mass. Oh, wait I’m wrong, they weren’t just removed so the Olympic stadium could be build, but several other Olympic venues as well. Did they give them another place to live, reportedly no, they were just up rooted, but of course you would want to remove the poor population, I mean why show the world your condition?

The woman and mother inside of me is friggin’ pissed that people aren’t even rolling their eyes over the fact that the “adorable” girl who sang during the opening ceremonies was lip-syncing. Milli Vannili, Ashley Simpson, and Britney Spears have all be socially tarred and feathered for their lip-syncing fiascos. So the “adorable” girl is lip-syncing on International TV to (potentially) billions of homes because the girl with the lovely voice wasn’t pretty enough to be on TV. Excuse me? WTF?

Chinese officials revoked the visa of American Speed Skating Gold Medalist Joey Cheeks, who was planning to take in the Olympics. Why? Because Cheeks’s is the founder of Team Darfur, an outspoken group of 70 athletes who raise Darfur awareness. Cheek’s opposes the Chinese government’s military, economic, and diplomatic ties to Sudan – so they revoked his visa.

I love the Olympics, I have always enjoyed watching my team and the athletes I can only imitate in my mind, but I can’t this year. In the past when boycotts of the Olympics have left us, the US, out of the competition I agreed. When the US didn’t go to the 1980 Moscow Olympics because we were protesting Russia’s invasion of Afghanistan – I agreed. Now we condone in silent acceptance. Sad, ever so sad.

Should I be surprised? No. Bush really put the cap on my week with this comment about Russia’s invasion of Georgia. (In concept I believe this should be our stance, but in today's reality it is-- do as I say, not as I do.)

"Bullying and intimidation are not acceptable ways to conduct foreign policy in the 21st century." Bush also said, “Russia had damaged its credibility with the West by invading neighbor Georgia.”

Now, not only are we condoning China’s human right’s actions, but the Shrub is rewriting his, ergo America’s, history-- when that history isn’t even cold enough to be considered history. Arrogant Asshole. But thank heavens I’m American (and I say that with all respect) because If I was Chinese I’d be in prison right now, if I was Afghan I’d be in Guantanamo.

Please get your anger on,
Cele

Talk Thursday: What Now?

Deal with it! The great words of Sid. I’d been frustrated by Angie’s Talk Thursday topic “I’ve Got What I Wanted, Now What?” and that just won’t do. Why the frustration? Because, besides world peace and the safety and health of my family I really have no wishes, and that’s not bad.

Why? Because I’m that lucky. After three marriages I am married to a man who loves me back. My daughters are humanly wonderful, my grandson is the sunshine of my life, my dog stinks, and I have a great job. There is really nothing more I want. I am a content homebody with wonderful family and friends. And I will tell you a secret that only Ducky knows, I don’t have any fantasies.

My philosophy on fantasies is that once you put your fantasy into play it’s reality with cold hard clay feet. Fantasy rarely live up to their reality. And then what do you have? No fantasy, just mud.

Shocking, I know – EVERYONE has fantasies. But everyone else is also trying to keep up with the Jones, and when they buy the biggest flat screen on the block, Jim Bob Jones will just buy a bigger one and we end up with plasma screen envy. In my reality I would only envy that they can donate plasma and I can’t.

My sister has had a hot tub forever. I’ve always wanted one. In fact Ducky and I spent half of our first date in my sister’s hot tub. Then Ducky’s sister got a hot tub. And I thought darn they beat us to it (we’d been promising each other a hot tub for years.) We did finally get one this spring, and there folks ends my keeping up with the Jones. Thankfully the hot tub wasn’t a fantasy, it has been everything I expected it to be…and will be all year long…the cool life on the Oregon Coast.

Living at the north edge of the Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area it would be logical for us to have Quads or ATVs, but we don’t. Ducky’s sister and bro-in-law have ATV’s and a toy hauler. They are fun, they are spendy, and they can be used for a whole five months out of the year. Okay, some people go twelve months, but I am a fair weather person – to me a cold, rainy day is made for my woodstove, cocoa, and a good book – and later my hot tub. If Ducky really wanted an ATV I wouldn’t give him arguments. But to buy one just because they have one, I can’t go there.

I am content. Oh wait, I want more flowers. Lots of flowers for cutting, giving, smelling, and dead heading. Flowers for spring, summer, and fall. Flowers that will give other people flower envy. But your toys and keeping up with the Jones. Sorry just not my style. And I will deal with it.

Sith,
Cele

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