Talk Thursday: The Fabric of Connections

For the better part of fifteen years I lived in the same neighborhood. Six kids on my block were in Mrs. Espinosa’s kindergarten class. I remember Michael and I sitting on the flagstone BBQ in my backyard staring at the school on the Mesa waiting for the morning kindergarten to be over so we could go to school. Excitement, I doubt I slept the night before. Our moms walked us – holding hands, envelops with milk money pinned to our shirts down the hill and the four blocks to the school. Five of those six kids graduated in 1974 - together.

Growing up we ran barefoot and wild, roaming our neighborhood from dawn till way past dark during summer playing hide and seek, ditch-it (on bikes), and Red Rover (not on bikes – duh!) There were swim parties at the Taylors and the Meyers, neighborhood sleepovers in my back yard, and when we were older there were parties- birthday, graduation, and finally my going away party.

Several years ago Ducky and I went back to La Mirada, to my old neighborhood. Despite 28 years past some of my old neighbors still lived there. Our names are still etched in the corner piece where Mr. Timmons had cemented because we spun on the street pole so much it wobbled and leaned. All of the olive trees are gone, pink stucco has replaced much of the avocado greens and butter yellows once worn by the track houses and now looking at the three blocks that made up our neighborhood, an area that had seemed so huge to me before, was in truth really quite small.

On September 26th several of us gathered again in Las Vegas for a reunion. It had been in my mind several years to invite all of the kids I grew up with to a gathering of sorts. Ducky and I had flown in just that day. My sister, her husband and their youngest son (he’s 28) had been in Vegas since Thursday, I was looking forward to hooking up with them for margaritas after dinner that night.

Never close to my cousins, I was envious of friends who had close relationships with their. I had none of my own to claim visual ownership to. So Judy and I became cousins. To this day she is my cousin, Psam calls her Aunt Judy, and despite time and distance we have remained close. Judy brought Lori with her for a long weekend. It was Judy that Ducky and I first saw as we checked in.

Despite having just said I had no cousins to be friends with, that isn’t entirely true. I have one cousin who is my age. Lynnie Furby. He lives in Ohio. See there’s the distance factor. But for one year Lynnie lived with us, went to seventh grade with me, made friends with my friends and then he moved back to Ohio at the end of school in 1970. Yes, it has been forty years since I’ve seen him, or really had much contact with him. Seeing him made me feel the loss again, while regaining him and his wife. I won’t lose them again.

Michael showed up looking like his dad. We’d played doctor together when we must have been four or so, I wonder if he remembers? I’m sure he remembers I broke is race car set in a snit when I was about six. Pretty bratty of me, I’ve often contemplated sending him a new one out of the blue.

Pammy was the sheltered kid in the neighborhood, but I really liked her. I have three songs that inevitably bring her to mind so I think of her often. She brought her husband and daughter along for the trip. Very down to earth, smiling people.

Growing up there were six Morin kids: Paul (Gene), Mike, Dale, Vicki, Julie, Janice. Sadly Paul passed of a heart attach July 29th. Mike, Dale, and Janice all showed up in Vegas bringing spouses and grown children.

Cheryl lived on the fringes of our neighborhood, but she and her brother Rod were always around. Her dad having passed just two weeks before it had been questionable if she’d come – but she did.

Eleven and company gathered three weeks ago in Vegas and had dinner, relived moments of our past, but more importantly we caught up on the people who’d been important to us on the road to becoming who we are today. They are my past, a part of my present, and thankful a part of my future.

Sadly my pictures did not come out as well as I’d have liked.

Sith,
Cele

Sin City

It is now a warm memory, except for the blister remnants, a lost roll of film, and grainy photos. I'm kind of bummed, I may shoot on Kodak film but the processor does a crappy job with their CD's. The hard pictures have great clarity and color, the disc, well you can see below the pictures are grainy. And I cleaned them up some. I'm bummed.
It had been a good forty years since I'd been to Vegas. It was worth the wait. And while you must see the Strip (especially the colors at night) I was much happier on the Fremont Experience.

Thursday night of our trip (yes, I will be giving you our vaction in reverse... sort of) we finally rode the Deuce to from the Golden Nugget to the Strip.

If you've seen anything on TV or in the movies about Vegas you know the shows on the strip are a must. And several of the night time shows in front of the casinos are free. We made sure we got off in front of Treasure Island so we could take in the pirate show.

The show sadly didn't live up to the hype. Definately worth the visit to down town, don't let it be the only thing you see on the strip.

And the foreigners, way rude. I was pushed, bumped, elbowed, and just about butt fucked to the point where I finally walked a step backward to get the guy behind me off my ass. He was literally body pressed to me as we minced our steps away from the viewing docks in front of Treasure Island. I am usually a non aggressive person, but forty five minutes on the strip I'd had my fill.

One Brit Idiot scoffed with down her nose distane, "No wonder they have terrible smog, it's all the firework smoke."
Lady, leave your money and go home.
We walked the short distance down to the Mirage for the Volcano's eruption. The fire action was hot and colorful. And I mean hot, you could have been scorched to cinders at our first two shows.

Sadly I didn't get pictures of the best show on the Strip, the dancing fountains of the Bellagio.

I could have watched all night long. But because I was shooting with my Macro I didn't get a good shot. Next time I go back I will have dinner at the Venetian and watch the dancing waters.

Ducky and I both thought the Bellagio show the best. Our performance was to Elton John's "Your Song" I understand the music changes nightly.

The Bellagio Fountains surpassed the hype.

Because we were staying at the Golden Nugget, the majority of our evenings were spent on the Fremont Experience. Billed as the World's largest television screen we enjoyed most of the hourly performances, but I especially liked Kiss and Queen; Ducky's favorite was Don McLean's American Pie.

Not all the bands were good, but one or two were exceptionally good, drew big crowds, and had people off all ages dancing in the street.

The five dollar margaritas weren't bad, but the seven dollar margaritas were pretty darn good.

I also tried to get a shot of the Golden Nugget's Shark Tank pool, but failed sadly.

We definately will go back, stay at the Golden Nugget and play the penny machines.


Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: One Step At A Time

Along with Domestic Violence Awareness month, October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. Most aware people know about this devastating disease that afflicts women world wide, but what most people don’t know is that every day men are diagnosed, treated, or not, and die from breast cancer - everyday. Naw, you say. But, oh, it is so sadly true.

The Centers for Disease Control reports in 2005 - 186,467 women and 1,764 men were diagnosed with breast cancer; 41,116 women and 375 men died from breast cancer. For 2009 The National Cancer Institute estimates 1,910 new cases of breast cancer among men, with 440 deaths resulting from the disease. Yes, the numbers are higher for women. But women are aware, most have been taught by their mothers, doctors, and even in school to do monthly self exams. For men the devastating numbers are climbing. And no one is teaching men to be self aware, and of course to admit, that as a man you might have breast cancer is just un-well-manly.

The first step is admitting the possiblities. Educating both men and women that this cancer doesn’t affect just one gender, but all. The second step is self awareness, sometimes that is the most difficult step. As a woman when was the last time you did a self exam? Or are you going to say, “I just had a mammogram…” ten months ago. Men? That’s what I thought.

Or worse, if you’re under forty you might never have had a mammogram, just your annual check up from your doctor. What’s that you say, you’ve not had a check up since when? Thank you for underscoring my point. Good Health and cancer prevention is proactive, not reactive. Waiting until you have to react to the discovery of a lump maybe too late.

It's just two simple steps, we take one step at a time: education and self examination/awareness.

So what spurred this blog? Yesterday, Peter Criss, founding member and the original drummer for KISS announced he’d been breast cancer free for one year. Way to go and congratulations. But what got me the most, it takes a big man to come out and tell other men to cut the macho crap. You can read a full article on Peter Criss (including some of the statistic’s I’ve used) Original Kiss Drummer Celebrates Surviving Breast Cancer here.

Two simple steps, done one at a time, could someday save us from having to hold Relays for Life filled with thousands of steps to raise more money to find out why.

Sith,
Cele

Mindless Disrespect

It’s not a new phenomenon, it’s not vandalism particular to nor confined to the Willamette Valley, or even Oregon. It is played out time again on TV, the mechanics of releasing the hounds of Hell and a few ghouls in movies of B grade – C grade and beyond upon the Silver Screen, but knocking over grave stones began years, decades before it ever appeared on any movie screen.

This morning’s front page of the Eugene Register Guard shows beautiful head stones and monuments, in tribute to beloved lost ones, lying in crumbed ruins of the groomed lawn of a historical cemetery. While the stores have been filled with Halloween goodies, ghoulies, and treats for weeks this destruction has nothing to do with the sweet holiday it is equated with. It is all based on selfish need for destruction and disrespect.

Not a believer in funerals per se, I mourn for the families who do, families who lovingly laid their fore bearers to rest under enveloping cool green lawns, shaded by ancient stretching oaks. Resting spaces marked by weather bearing smooth marbles and granites, defaced or destroyed in careless abandon, mindless of the cruelties they wreaked.

Psam and I have spent several afternoons walking the spaces between graves marked or not, noting often the loving care that some graves are tended by family members who hold their past with reverence. Making special note of the names, the dates, the history of those remembered in the space. Walking through the warm sun into the ice cold spots and back again from those who’ve not left. There are cemeteries I love to visit and others where my blood runs cold and I avoid. I have been touched by incredible sadness and other times laughter in cemeteries, but most of all I have been touched by respect and reverence in the moment.

Someday I will pass this plane and wish to be cremated, my ashes cast upon the four winds at the tide line where the waters of the Pacific rush to meet the sand. The end of my days could come tomorrow, next year, or forty years from now, but as certain as the rain will fall my days will end. And I will rest on the wind, in the waters, and in the sands of time. There will be no head stone to knock over, no marble to bear my names, no granite to crumble with the test of time. No totem to knock down.

Funerals are for the living, the dead gone from this plane and do not care, but to deface the resting place of their loved ones memory shows a distinct disrespect for all. Not even a decided disrespect, because that takes fore thought to respect, but a lack of respect total. I can’t imagine the selfishness of parents who are so self-centered, self-absorbed in their own personal pleasures or misery that they fail to teach their children respect. Maybe we should neuter hateful and decidedly ignorant people so they can’t reproduce and spread their disease? It’s a thought, not a viable one, but still a thought. Ducky would tell me I can’t blame their parents, and in some cases that maybe true, I am well aware that peer-pressure is a real and strong persuader, but really parents get with the program.

Restitution and community service working in the cemetery of their destruction digging graves by hand, helping with the final preparation and interment process could be a justifiable punishment… for say three years or more depending on the destruction wrought. Putting back together all those monuments and headstones with super and Gorilla glue should keep their hands and minds busy for quite away. Or as my mom would have said, time for them to think about the outcome of their actions.

Sith,
Cele

No Peace With The Prize

Wow, I guess this is what Republicans felt when we non-Republicans railed against Bush, his non-existent MWD’s, and his war. When we cried out at the insanity and self- importance Bush and his campaign of fear and hatred force fed all Americans and the world. Oh, wait, I still feel justified in my anger at his jump to war, the loss of thousands of young lives hoisted on the petards of oil, old men and the paranoia of the Republican leadership.

“They”, on the other hand, are crying out because 1) people should have an affordable health care plan that isn’t regulated and handicapped by almighty money grubbing insurance companies – “they” disagree. 2) Because Obama ran on a format of Bi-Partisan Government – “they” disagree. 3) Because holding detainees at Guantanamo Bay is illegal (I mean really, how would we deal with say Iran, Iraq, Pakistan, Afghanistan, or another istan who hold our soldiers in such conditions?) – of course “they” disagree, I mean c’mon folks “we are the United States Of America.” 4) Because the Nobel Committee awarded President Barack Obama this year’s Nobel Peace Prize. Yeah, duh in outrage – “they” disagree.

While I know this will not happen I would like to see the collective “they” (okay, I’d accept them doing it one at time) step back for just a moment and consider the facts of the situation. Barack Obama did not mandate this award it is from an international committee of which he has a) no control over b) no congress with c) no membership in d) he did not lobby for this award and recognition from. An international committee which annually awards prizes to people who make a great strides in science, health, literature, economics, and yes, in peace.

Now you know I’m all for Barack Obama, did he deserve a Nobel Peace Prize? No, not yet. Someday he might, but no, he didn’t. He has, though, made great strides in his first year in office. How? (I know you are wondering where I am going with this) he’s made the US palatable in much of the world again. Bush in his eight year tenure create a world atmosphere of hatred, imbued with his and the Republican paranoid rhetoric, self-righteousness, self-justified temper-tantrums (because God knows and you do too that there was no physical evidence to base his truths and acts upon.) The world (minus one or two countries and world leaders who, imagine this, are not in office anymore) came to hate US (no that’s not too strong a word) remember the international travel warnings, even restrictions, for Americans to not travel to foreign ports just a year ago? No? You must be either senile or Republican, dude Google it.

While Barack Obama has not reunited the divided sides of this country, he has given US credibility again. Has he had to go back on some of his running formats? Yep, let’s get real because this is a real world and he’s learning that. But, overall he’s been true to himself with a whole- hearted desire to do his best for Americans and America.

Yesterday I listened to national news reports that mainly (okay completely) interviewed outraged Republicans type thinkers outraged that Obama received the Nobel Peace Prize. I got home to find, from a life long friend – who doesn’t recognize my political standings, an outraged email that Obama received the Nobel Peace Prize. The email was filled with pictures of our young service men armed in remote far- flung reaches of the world laying their lives on the line “to keep America safe.” Get real, Obama might have to keep them there, but he did not put them there. There is no basis for calling a soldier a “Peacekeeper” other than that is what Nato, the United Nation, and the US warmongers call SOLDIERS. Soldiers don’t make PEACE soldiers make war. And how does a 19 year old from Dubuque dying in Kandahar, the Peshwar, or Kirkuk equate to mine or your safety? It doesn’t.

Don’t give me the “Bush was responding to an act of war against our country,” argument because if that be the case why did he attack Afghanistan? When it was 15 Saudi nationals, 1 Egyptian, 1 Lebonese, and 2 UAE nationals who attached the US? Why? Three letters & zillions of dollars – OIL. Folks Barack Obama might not be the president you voted for, but give him time to prove or disprove your doubts about his ability, vision, and determination as president of our country. He received the Nobel Peace Prize because he’s not George W. Bush. Get over it.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday – Life, or something like it

Life has been kind of crazy this last week and a half. We went to Vegas for vacation and all I got was this crazy head cold. Well that’s not completely true I came back with six rolls of film and a memory card full of pictures. Now you’re saying where are they, I know you are Fii – don’t deny it, I live in the boonies they are being developed.

So why did I go to Vegas, I’m not a big gambler? I went first for a reunion of the neighborhood I grew up in. And then Ducky had never been to… well anywhere. That’s not to say his family didn’t do things together, they camped a lot. But traveled, not much. I, on the other hand, grew up in a family that traveled a bit for vacation. So over the years I have returned to some places of special memory and drug Ducky with me. On our honeymoon we laid on the beach at Balboa soaking up the rays, then took in the A’s and the Angels, his first major league baseball game. Then we spent a day at Disneyland, fulfilling a boyhood (and adulthood, I suspect) dream.

One trip we went to Frisco and spent a week seeing the sights, riding the cable cars, and venturing out the Alcatraz. The highlight (no joke) watching the fire department put out a fire on a pier – way kewl. His fear of flying kept him from going to England with me, so after 9 / 11 (which only increased his anxiety about planes) we drove to Reno, walked the boardwalks of Virginia City and cruised the streets of Tahoe and Carson City soaking in the history and sights. Another trip (really two) we drove to Seattle, took in two Mariners games, went to Pike Street, walked the waterfront, and drank coffee.

We have plans to take in spring training sometime; go to the Alamo and San Antonio another. Drive across Oregon and Idaho and into Wyoming to enjoy Yellowstone. Our next vacation is planned for late spring to take Burp (yeah because you know Ducky’s dragging his feet on this one) to Disneyland and Knott’s Berry Farm. Vacation isn’t real life, but it makes you appreciate your life (or regret it) a lot more. By the time we were finished with Vegas I was exhausted and more than ready to go home. A sensitivity to air conditioning didn’t help… well it helped the cold set in, but that’s it.

On day four of our vacation Ducky and I drove to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. Self-doubt about the trip had set in along with a growing pain in Ducky’s hip that made him cranky after about five straight hours of driving. I was also worried about his fear of heights. Crap! What the worried, my husband blew me away. He even stood patiently several times and let me take his picture as 40mph winds buffeted him while he stood on the precipice of the crumbling north rim. My husband, picture, high perch… amazing. Later I thanked him for letting me take his picture. He replied, “I have to have pictures, no one will believe it without proof.”

Day five of our trip was spent driving to Zion Canyon. I knew I’d done right when we rounded a corner in the park and I hear this amazed, “Wow!” from Ducky as the three buttes came into view. Life is good.

At the moment I only have a few digitals shots, none are from the Grand Canyon. I promise I will post those next week. But what I do have is a realization that my time here on this planet is measured and I need to make the most of it. Share what I have to share, give what I have to give, and enjoy all that there is. Not dwell on the negative, but learn its lessons. Embrace all that is before me and love with a whole heart. I am sated with what I have – a full life that is sometimes boring, challenging, confusing, colorful, quiet, chaotic, wet, blooming, dirt brown, and leaf green; a life full of love, laughter, joy, tears, sharing, giving, taking, making, being. Life, our lives, is what is make of it. There is nothing else like it.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Castaways

I have this increasingly long list of blogs I peruse, some I actually get to read, everyday. But now I am whittling down my bloglist. Why? Because people don’t blog anymore, I’m not sure why, maybe it really is the Facebook thing. I have a Facebook page, but mostly I just play Farkle there. I’m really don’t care about the surface floss that gets posted on Facebook. I want deeper comment and thought the stuff blogs are usually made of.

So the list of blogs posted to the left, er that’s to the right (I’m left right challenged) is being added to and taken from.

The current list of castaways includes, “they never write anymore.”

Karin Tabke - she’s a delightful writer, but I’m just not there anymore
Jennifer Lyons - I don’t care if they are wing slayer worthy, it’s just not readable anymore
Murder She Writes – Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Wrycatcher – it’s too heartbreaking she doesn’t post anymore
Jazzy – she hasn’t had free time in months (January was her last post)
Pomp – she hasn’t posted … here … since December, thank heavens this isn’t the only way to keep up with her
Reluctant Writer – Okay I get the point, Ironic don’t you think.

Recently I added –

Burp’s Adventures In Kidsland (come on mom get him to write)
Lucid’s - Lucid Dreamer (he joined Talk Thursday)
Maya’s – A Day In The Life
Psam’s – Rants, Thoughts, and other Crap (I added her to Talk Thursday)

There is still hope for a few of the blogs I have long followed, but rarely post, I really don’t’ want to cast them aside yet. Please come back Jake and SisterMaryLisa.

So, why have I been gone? This is why…


We just spent a week in Vegas. Blog and pictures to come.
Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Milestones and Mortality

The older I get, the more what is ahead, what’s behind, and who I am pray on my thoughts. What have I done with my life? Am I what I thought I’d become? What my parents had hoped?

“Holy Moly,” I reply (I’m trying to cut down on the 25 cent words) “I’m only half way through my [projected] life.” Okay, just over half, but who is counting? As I say often, don’t minimize.

When my father died, I didn’t count my days, I counted the days and the quality of those days we had together. My BABY sister just turned the big FIVE OH! I celebrated with her, not mourned the fact that I’m three and a half years older than her (but, who’s counting?) I look ahead to the days, joys, and events we will spend together. I bemoan the fact she’s already in Vegas and I won’t get there until Saturday. When my daughter had a baby boy (eight years ago) I didn’t bemoan the fact that I suddenly was a grand mother, oh no, I embraced it. Once upon a time a “Lady” didn’t tell her age. Well honey I am wont to say, “I worked damn hard for each one of those years and I’m owning them.”

Am I who I expected I’d become? I’m fairly certain I’m not accomplished nor renowned. I am neither a dancer, a singer nor a marine biologist and I’m not a candlestick maker if you’re wondering. But I love my family, I love my life, I love my garden, I love my job, and I love myself. Oh and my dog loves me. I mean really, with that and some stale peeps what more could you want out of life?

Am I what my parents had hoped? Hmmm, well I did graduate from high school, married (several times – but who’s counting?) raised a delightfully headstrong intelligent daughter, I am responsible (at least in their eyes,) I own my own home, hold down a job, and have some earned respect. They seem to like me just fine.

The thing is what I once set as the benchmarks of my life changed, evolved, became based upon my reality not gossamer dreams. For the first half of my life - I thinking I’m doing pretty good. I could have mastered a few more basics, lent my hand a few more times, but I am still learning, still growing, and I still have a lot more of myself to give.

This weekend I’m going to Las Vegas for a reunion. I am going to go see people I grew up with, whom I’ve not seen in close to forty years. I am joyously giddy. My nephew, my sister and I are hoping to mark the occasion with tattoos (Arnie suggested stars, maybe a swirl of stars behind my ear?) Ducky and Pinecone’s hubby (who I’ve just come to realize I’ve no nick name for – bummer dude) are almost on board too. Pictures to come. Many of the “kids” I grew up with became successful and accomplished in their own rights and fields. But in the long run they are just like me, a kid who grew up in a house just down the street, a part of a combined history, and nothing more.

Sith,
Cele

Happy Birthday Pinecone – Sister-mine

Fifty years ago today, my mother had the cutest little baby girl. She was so darn cute. I adored her, watched her sleeping continually. But it was her and my brother – Butch, who were closest in those early days. Three and a half years between us really was a bit of a barrier. That and what my daughter calls my OCD’ness.

Pinecone and I are as different as day and night

As a baby she was cute, adorable and cuddly – think koala bear
I’ve never been “cute and cuddly” – think mouthy Ocotillo Cactus with attitude
She is joyously bubbly
I am loud and irreverent
She turned into a tomboy
I turned in to a girlie slut (hey it was fun)
She was a slob when we roomed together
I was neat – now she is a better housekeeper than I
She was always smart in school
I flunked child development (okay I got a D but really folks, Child Development?)
She is incredibly artsy – her stained glass is amazing
I burn out on any hobby I take up.
My sister can keep a secret forever

Despite all those differences she is so much what I admire, and in some ways very much like me while being very different. That’s the tale of siblings, right? We both adore our children and strive to give them and their offspring the best of ourselves. We both love music, art, family, and Duck Football… we are both…

WORKAHOLICS!

no joke. She is actually worse than I am, but she doesn’t see it.

My sister sings, it’s one of her things, you are welcomed to come sing with her, sit on the floor of her living room, flip through her CD’s and enjoy a glass of wine while harmonizing. I so very much love doing this with her…and her friends, it’s a joyous crowd.

My sister gardens. Someday visit her oasis on the out skirts of Springfield, it is a beautiful, serene haven. She’s so good she had to drive all the way to Florence just to give me the correct placement for my solar fountain. You think I’m exaggerate, not, I was going to put it smack in the middle of the cutting garden, she off set it, and now it is perfectly in place.

She is beautiful strength. A bright glowing soul, who gathers people near her and nurtures their spirits and souls. She stand by her convictions and silently allows you to have yours.

The apple of my father’s eye (now this is a two things post) she gave my mother strength in the final hours of my father’s life, held his hand as he breathed his last breath, then helped our mother through that first tough day. She is grace under fire.

On top of all that she is more than my sister, she is my friend. She is the friend of my heart, my soul, and the person I would choose to be my sister.


Happy Birthday Pinecone,
I love you,
Tanglefoot

Talk Thursday: Self-Deprivation

From WordWeb:

Noun: self
1) Your consciousness of your own identity

Noun: deprivation `de-pru'vey-shun
1) A state of extreme poverty- privation, want, neediness
2) The disadvantage that results from losing something
"losing him is no great deprivation" - loss
3) Act of depriving someone of food or money or rights
"deprivation of civil rights"

WTFarve is that? There is really no part of this that pertains to me. And honey, I never want the words Cele and Needy to be used in the same sentence, paragraph, or conversation.

As in..

"Oh, crap honey, you dont' know anything, that Cele is one needy bitch, she wears me out." Whoa, sorry I was channeling my second ex there for a second.

Well, for a few years, a few decades ago (okay that was a depressing thought) when I was a single parent I might have vaguely opted to forego something so that my daughter could have the vaguely important things of childhood, like say food on the table, shoes on the feet, and clothes on the back. But by far that isn’t self-deprivation. That is gladly being a responsible parent.

I can’t say that I’ve ever deprived myself of anything and regretted it, because in truth isn’t that what self-deprivation is? Regretting what you didn’t allow yourself to have when you could?

Today, I may put off buying something for myself, hmmm say some new tulips for my garden, but take my word for it I will buy those tulips. I’m mean really! they are Ducky’s Springtime fav.



Self-deprivation? Not me, it’s more a case of self-indulgent.

Sith,
Cele

Photo Friday... before it's too late

This post is brought to you by the topic fear. Probably a 9/11 inspired topic, considering it was posted last Friday – duh, nine eleven, but I refuse. There is far too much fear in this world to share a picture of snakes here. Besides, pictures of snakes don’t belong on my blog. So I bring you a picture of love, laughter, the thought of chocolate, and ghosties peeps .


Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: How Does Your Garden Grow?

Not as well as I hoped.

Glorious flowering dreams filled my head based on this from last year...

That is not what I got this year. Oh, no my garden became something totally different. The lilies are from Ducky's Lily garden, in it's second year.

This year began with snow. Lots of snow.... for the Oregon Coast that is.

In late fall last year I put in my tulip beds, with the help Burp and all the little kids in the neighborhood.

I made the grievous error of leaving in the bulbs from the prior season in the old bed. Mistake, my tulips sucked this year.

I've always wanted a cutting garden and after making a tongue in cheek statement about having a water fountain in the front yard (I was thinking California mission, Father Serra, huge fountain - total joke) Ducky ran with it and started talking about taking out the dead sod for another lily garden AND A FOUNTAIN.

Hmmm, I'd always wanted a cutting garden, and a solar water fountain might rock. He had the sod cut out in one weekend. I took another three weekends to take out the grass roots and dirt clods. A garden bench had been waiting in the yard all winter long.

The bench and an Easter Lily Harley (one of my DJ's) gave me were the first two things in the garden.

Then I began building the blue stone path, by now I am into June and the lily garden is

greening, the Chain trees are in full bloom, and the fountain is waiting to be installed.

Dispite the dismal performance of its namesakes, there were moments in the Lily Garden that were pretty. Just not splendily spectacular. The Lupin were especially marvelous.

July is when the Lilies should be in full bloom and amazing. This year's season was short lived and thin. But there was a beauty or two...

Building the entire cutting garden has been slow going, hit or miss, as a few choices have died immediately.

Ixnay, the phlox. Canterbury Bells are questionable, and the Purple Cone Flower, hmmm, not looking too healthy.


Now it is the end of the season. My solar fountain works great as long as it gets full sun on the panel (silly me didn't ask for a night pack for my birthday along with the fountain.)

This year the petunias will get pulled up in October. All new tulips will be planted.

And I know now to plant new lilies when they come on the market.

But if you have lily tips let me know, I need all the help I can get.

Oh, and the dead thing to the left of the new garden bench is an oriental poppy that completely rocks, and then dies deader than a door nail until it's next season.

Sunflowers courtesy of the chipmunks.

Sith,

Cele

Photo Friday: Urban Landscape

Living in the country (for the most part) I really had to go looking. But I found two...

From my 2008 trip to the Bay Area for Sid's 40th birthday, here's the Bay Bridge.

And from 2006 Safeco Field from the freeway.

I would have loved sharing the London skyline taken from the catwalk at St. Paul's taken in 2002, but I can't find that disc.

Sith,

Cele

Talk Thursday: Blind

Definition #2 – Word Web - “blind to a lover’s faults” “blind to the consequences of their actions”

Okay it also means stubborn, as in blindly stubborn to change. I am blindly, faithful Oregon Duck fan. I lover me Ducks. But when I heard Casey Martin had chosen white helmets for the opening game I knew I’d be seeing a lot of Bronco Blue. When Le Garrett Blount hit a Boise State player I saw red.

Let me back up a day or three. Oregon has become the Fashion Maven of College Football, yes I capitalize that like a title. Sick. The Ducks never, let me repeat that, NEVER, announce their uniform selection three days in advance. They announce they have a fashion plate of 43 uniform combinations, but not which ensemble they will don come Game Day (who I am sure will not be visiting the Cas Center this football season.) Enter Casey Martin, yes folks the pro-golfer Casey Martin, who has apparently become stylist mediocre to the once Dapper Ducks (not to be confused with the very Dapper Dyke.) Someone please tell Casey the Ducks should never, let me repeat that…again. NEVER! wear their white helmets, they are the grid iron kiss of Duck death.

Secondly, players followed their beloved coach Bellotti in to the dark depths of football hell and came out tested, but remained adaptable, ready to change players at a drop of a flag, and move on. Now Bellotti has stepped down for the AD post and selected Chip Kelly as his successor. But he didn’t tell Kelly about the Quarterback swap option, freshmen back up offense, defense, or to use the sticky field gloves on receivers – I keep sending them that memo, but I think it’s been round filed.

And thirdly, Le Garrett Blount’s behavior is abysmal – bench that puppy. I love college football, but the players usually don’t act childishly like over pampered pros. Football is violent enough without throwing punches, getting into it with opposing fans, or over all acting like a spoilt bully – whether it be in the locker room or on national TV. I think missing half a season would do him some good, but then he would blindly justify his actions feeling mistreated, misunderstood, and misused.

Of course during that down time, Blount will get plenty of work on his right upper cut. Boxing promotor Jack Arum has made public his interest in getting Le Garrett on the card in LA, during his down time. Arum, in this morning's LA Times, likened Blount's knockout of (pronounced blunt) to Sugar Ray's left hook and Foreman's right upper cut. He also noted that Blount's element of surprise would be gone knowing that in the ring Blount's potential opponents would be expecting the punch.

So my beloved Ducks are oh and one week into the 2009 football season and I know it will get better. It will, but darn it’s going to hurt getting there.

Sith,
Cele

Photo Friday: Seaside

Judging by the poles and the time of year, I am guessing it is a Tuna fisherman returning to the Port of Siuslaw.

Port Orford

Talk Thursday: Postcards of Our Life

I started this with one thought in mind and woke up to erase the whole thing and start anew. Thank you Fii, Psam, and Steven your responses to my last post are the reason. That and what my cousin is going through.

People who know what I think, know it’s all about the journey to me. Heck, I blog about my journey enough. As Psam was growing up I suggested she question everything she didn’t understand, that didn’t work for her, that she opposed. Believe it or not I think I got this from my mother.

The practice got Psam kicked out of Sunday School. Why? I believe and she can correct me, she questioned the Sunday School teacher when she said Mormons, Catholics, and Jews have a different God than “we” do. Is that right, Psam? I was livid, called the minister and asked him in my (I’m sure) best non-confrontational voice (yeah, sure) “What happened to our Father In Heaven being a loving and forgiving God?” And he said – I swear – “Where does it say that in the Bible?” There are very few things that make me see red faster than a fucking, flippant, ignorant reply like that. I will not get started on Bible teachings here. Especially paraphrased Bible teachings, but let’s just say, Psam never when back to that church.

Postcard number one – “Question Authority or Don’t feed the locals.”

When I was growing up my grandfather would bring me down to the beach (they lived in Balboa) and I would spend weeks there during the summer or weekends during the winter. It was awesome every morning my grandfather and I would walk from his house up the bay to the bakery and buy doughnut holes, walk out to the end of the pier and talk, eat the holes, and watch the fishermen and their poles. My grandfather rocked.

On the other hand I didn’t fit into my grandmother’s scheme of things. Born to a life of privilege my grandmother gave me the impression life had given her a raw deal. (side note: My grandmother was raised by her grandparents, my great grand grandfather was Robert E.M. Cowie one of the founders of American Railways – he adored and coddled his granddaugher Fee, he made my great uncle Bob’s life hell on earth.) My cousin JeannieBeth was her favorite they spent hours beading together, cuddling, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. I tried the beading on Saturday afternoons, but by Sunday my grandmother had more than enough of my company and made my grandfather’s and my life living hell until I was gone. My grandmother died one April day 17 years ago - I felt bad for my grandfather, for JeannieBeth, and my aunt. I know she’s at peace now.

Postcard number two – “Life isn’t fair, you just have to be fair.”

I’m no charming person myself, I have plenty of skeleton bones in my closet, tucked under my bed, buried in the back yard. I can name most of the ones in the backyard: my beloved Kya, at least one cat Bentley, Psam’s pet bird who danced when ever Wilson Phillips came on, and a bunch of snakes I buried in absolute fear (please don’t tell me they can dig their way out I am happy in this ignorance.) The ones in the closet and under the bed are different stories. They are the things in the past that I have hopefully grown from, but fear others knowing – especially my mom. They are the cruelties I wreaked on others because being mean was “funny at the time.” God, isn’t that pathetic? I would take back those moments in a heartbeat, apologize and use the rest of my life to make them right some how. The thought of those actions brings tears to my eyes and grief to my heart. But their memory and shame also makes me who I am today.

Postcard number three – “Where we’ve been is who we are.”

I have done some terrible things in my life, but I think I have also done some kind things, some wise things, some smart things. One of the wise things was to regret and to learn. Another was to embrace the people in my life and love them eternal.

Postcard number four: “It’s all about the journey”

When I was a kid I was envious of my friends who had great relationships with their cousins, all mine were either much, much older than I or lived very far away. So Judy, my friend from down the street, and I began telling everyone we were cousins, I think I was nine and she was seven. To this day she is still my cousin and while there is 1000 physical miles between us she is still in my heart and daily thoughts. When one of us needs the other is just a phone call away. Her mom, Aunt Mabel, is dying of kidney failure and suffers dementia. Jude is her support and care system, but because she’s not built for the extensive demands of 24 hour care and the ravages of dementia the situation and demands are eating Jude alive. She gets no help from her crack addict brother, but her somewhat estranged sister is coming in three weeks to help. Everyday I count my blessings and my own mother’s mental and physical health.

I give Judy all that I can and while the help I offer comes too late, my house will be her haven when her mother finally passes. I haven’t walked in her shoes, but I’ve done private care, it ate me alive. It ended with me taking my client to the hospital and giving up, I was shunned by the medical community in which I’d once worked. I pray for Jude, her mother and what they are going through together. While it was my sister who was with my dad at his final breathe, I got to spend quality time with him in the months before his death. And I was with him and my mom in the dark hours the night before his passing. By far it wasn’t enough. My heart goes out to Jude.

Postcard number five: “Communicate, Appreciate, and Validate your love and relationships” borrowed from John Edward.

See I’m not the unflawed person I make myself out to be. Ergo, my last postcard:

“Judge not, least ye be judge.”

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: The Journey

Have you ever stopped and just thought about all the negative events, people, and actions in your past? I mean really sat down and thought them and their impacts through. While I’ve not stopped, set, thought and listed each one, I have contemplated some of the worse events in my life and realized that I am far better for them. Where as delight and joy abound as happy memories, it is the contrary events, people and actions that have been monumental and formative in my transition.

A righteous man is one who has never been tried. I’m fairly certain that is my paraphrased version of some sagely adage. But I find it true. Although maybe it should be a righteous man is a one dimensional – vanilla being. Don’t get me wrong, I love vanilla and it’s great on chocolate cake, but I want to be multi-dimension, tried by the fire and come out heat tempered.

People’s treatment of me has molded my treatment of others. I remember once Dennis Vincaguera kicking me so many times in the butt that I was wearing a thong (in the sixth grade) decades before everyone else. No I didn’t fight back, and I’m not sure why – except I don’t believe in violence. But I did learn that you can’t expect others to treat you justly or fairly, you just have to treat people the way you want to be treated yourself. Everyone just watched, my reaction in later years- I have become proactive when I see someone being abused. Maybe everyone watched without helping me because they felt the way he did, or maybe they were afraid their underwear would become a thong like mine, or maybe they just didn’t know how. I didn’t’, but I do now.

I am woman! And I over come adversity.

In October of my junior year I was raped. Not brutally raped, but raped all the same with lasting mental scars as a reminder. What I have is more than that- I have the strength of survival. Years later I thought I’d over come all aspects of that October night in 1972, until my 20th class reunion when in he walked with his wife and I turned into a quivering mass of human jello. This really disgust me on so many levels. In truth I am furious over this power because: I doubt he knows who I am, I doubt he did then even though we went to school together. I doubt he has had a second thought over the brutality and domination of that disastrous night. He had months to face it, apologize, to regret before I moved to Oregon. Nada, and I don’t expect it, because I know more about rape and the reality of life after and realize that anything more than what I have now is a pipe dream. And what I have now is everything I gave myself. I learned that in my work a day adult world I am a survivor who has over come, conquered, and live to love another day. A niggling reality is this: while I have survived I am still terrified of him. Very humbling to acknowledge, but in the same breathe I have learned a little bit of compassion for those who have been raped and not survived. Oh, a shell of what they could be walks in this world, but because they continue to be victims every day of their lives they are less than their potential. Thank you mom and dad for making me durable.

Share your smiles, they are returned tenfold when given freely.

I have long since made it a point to tell people thank you for what they have meant to me. For the impacts they made on my development. In the words of John Edward, I communicate, appreciate and validate those in my life everyday. I horde the members of my heart, my families, my loves, my teachers.

Why regret the negative actions, people and events of my life? Without them I am not who I am. I am not a righteous being, I am a learning being who is embracing the people and lessons within my life. And I like it. It’s not about the final destination; it’s all about the journey and the events along the way.

Please share your journey.

Sith,
Cele

Friday Photo: Young and Old

I know a wee bit late, but still I'm here. While Burp certainly is young, Ducky isn't old, but if I have to say one is the other then these two are my favorite - Young and Old combination.

Shhh, don't tell Ducky I posted his picture.
Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: My Process

Since JulieAnn put up her topic I’ve frankly, been stumped. Then I realized, “Cele you dummy you’ve a process and it is one writers like, and it’s your own process.”

Several years ago I read a book for a writer, probably Natalie, who asked me to give her my thoughts. And I wrote my first critique. Not having been educated to edit a manuscript, I developed my own technique and learned a lot a long the way, each book teaches me something new. When I first began it easily took me three complete read throughs, now I usually only need two.

First I make a copy of the manuscript then I make a chapter timeline. As I read notes fill each chapter, telling me the whos, the whens, the whats, and the wheres. I add thoughts and humorous notes upon the way. And tell when each character is introduced, their relationship to others characters, and their peculiarities.

I’ve always considered the first read through as being for me. But in truth I’ve already begun my work.

Somewhere, usually around chapter three, I begin a chapter critique. This is where I will mark the errors and observances by chapter and page for the author to see. At the same time I’m making my critiques I am marking them in the manuscript so the writer can see the whole detail. My chapter timeline allows me to reference points of interest, characteristics or actions that are in opposition or support of the story’s facts. This is why I refer to my critiques as, “Continuity Critiques.” I will keep a running day count and tell you why that woman can’t go to lunch on that day.

Finally I wrap up my critique with my personal observations. Why I loved the book, why I hated a specific characters, my personal likes and dislikes. Twice now, I’ve run into books that bogged down for me. This was a personal crisis. How do I tell a writer her baby isn’t working for me?

A dear friend, yes I work for my friends, sent me a book and I struggled to get through the first half of the book. I walked away, went back, walked away, I balked (and no this isn’t you, it was another writer.) When finally asked, I had to own up that the story wasn’t working for me. I hated the main character. And the slang, OHMIGAWD! She asked why? And I told her. Wow, it was that easy. We worked together, she found other input (that backed up my thoughts) and the story and book continued on. The process worked. The funny part is in both books, when I got half way past they worked.

Not knowing what to send to the writer, I sent every page I’d created. My chapter timeline apparently is a keeper, because I get an amazing amount of feed back on the value of my chapter timelines. Yes, they want and need the critiques, but really really look forward to the chapter timelines. Who knew?

So there you have it - my process. Apparently it works. It's different than the work other critiquers do, but it has allowed me to find a nitch in the writing world where one before had not existed (beyond poetry) for me.

To the writers who trust me with their babies, thank you. Thank you for your belief in me and allowing me into your process and your world. To date I’ve worked on nine published books, countless to be published books, one thesis, and a collection of short stories, two databases, and three websites. It has been a blessing.

Sith,
Cele

Saturday Safari

While five or six animals were involved with this story, on a few were consumed by the end of the tale.

Ducky and I celebrated our fifteenth year of wedded bliss last month. We'd planned on a steak and lobster dinner in Coos Bay the weekend following to mark the occasion. One thing lead to another and we didn't get to go. No big problem. We moved our plans to last weekend, and then well he had to work. No big problem, we moved them to this weekend. The planets aligned.

With a daily 160 mile commute, I hate to ask Ducky to drive long distances on his day off, but once in a while he makes an exception for me. In the past we have driven over a hundred miles for an ice cream cone (we toured the Tillamook Cheese factory first.) We have driven places just to turn around and drive home because we wanted to. Yesterday morning we jumped in the truck, got a mocha and headed south. What a glorious day, I'll go for a drive come rain or shine, but Saturday was picture perfect sunshine.

I sort of had Battle Rock in my head as a destination, and he chose Brookings as our turn around. We chat along the way about all sorts of topics, but mainly it is spent in just enjoying each other's company. Neither of us have ever spent time in Bandon, and we still haven't. Parking was not to be found in oldtown Bandon, but what we saw made us decide we want to go back and explore. Armed with drinks and fries we continued south. As we flew past Port Orford (doing the speed limit) we saw that several wind and sail surfers were enjoying the day and decided we stop to watch on our way back. I swear the temperature in Port Orford is 10 degrees warmer.

And we did.

We continued north to Charleston and had steak and fresh Maine lobster at the Portside Restaurant. Very nice, a bit spendy but worth it. Delicious.

Next up we're driving inland to Bellfountain, I'll take my camera.

Sith,

Cele

Talk Thursday: The Sweetest Perfection

Today it appears too many people are unhappy in their lives. Stuck-in-a-rut lives,that didn’t turn out the way they wanted. They either have to work, are not working their dream job, or they are stuck in a job that isn’t what they wanted or thought it would become, yet stay because the known evil is lesser than the evil of change. They find themselves knee deep in debt or neck high in waste. Their lives are as cluttered with junk as is the spare bedroom where they throw everything they’ve either no time to put away or have no idea where to sort it to.

Sid yesterday spoke about cleaning his desk; my desk is a symbol of the clutter in my life and my mind. When work and life become overwhelming my spare bedroom bed becomes unseeable and my desk at work becomes hidden under random acts of - set aside this to work on that. On Friday afternoons, my busiest day of the week, I will stop, breathe and file. All the little piles of scattered lists (a must by my boss’ standards,) folders with time orders or commercial copy (to be cut [produced]) sticking out as reminders lay in cascading lines of set aside, before I leave, are foldered, filed, reordered, or recycled. Voila’ I’m done. It’s not perfection it’s just my system.

My spare bedroom, not so easy a task to accomplish. By Christmas reorder in the Executive Room (no work gets done there, it’s just what Ducky calls the spare bedroom – we don’t often get guest) is a must. If I don’t clean it and organize the piles into permanent places, where will my Christmas shopping get stacked and reorganized in to bags for each recipient? Ya know, it’s a complicated chore but someone has to do it. It is a symbol of my harried ness.

None of us are perfect, but we all have our own systems, they don’t always work, for some I’m thinking they never work; for others, I think they just don’t care. I am finding myself saddened and boggled by people daily. Yes, our lives are harried and cluttered, but we do it to ourselves. We seemingly always want more, the grass is always greener, and the desserts always sweeter. Or are they? Is our winter of discontent really the product of our inability to be happy with what we have? I don’t mean the couple who were mismatched from day one, but lust was too blinding to see the truth. I mean the people who aren’t content with what they have in their lives and barely tread water to keep up with the Jones.

Personally I don’t want what the Jones’ have. I have a small house if more room is a desire I will add on, not buy a bigger house with more guest rooms, more cubby holes and nooks to clean. I want cozy, livable space, I want people to walk in and want to stay a while because they feel at home. Hmmm, not many come to visit… that may be a clue.

I am happy with my yard that is under constant renovation (I know that sounds like a contradiction, but it’s not,) my love my hot tub courtyard (okay not everyone has a hot tub or a court yard,) I am happy with my cutting garden and my lily garden (okay not so happy with the lily garden at the moment, but I’m working it out.) I love my husband, I love my dog, I love my kids, I adore adore adore my grandson, I love my family, I love my house, I love my job.

Note..s: My husband is my third and he’s not home near enough; my dog pees on the carpet and is a 93 pound lapdog… maybe that’s why people don’t come back; my kids don’t visit near enough; my grandson is perfect… except when he throws his treats wrapper behind the futon in his room; I count my daughter, my mother, and my sister among my best friends; my house is only a 1000 feet square; and my job is harried – but I love it all, it’s what I want, it’s what I need. Yes my friends, I am sated, and that is sweet perfection.

Sith,Cele

Photo Friday: CameraPhone

I'm stealing this idea from Steve. I have a phone, it takes pictures, but I don't have email on my phone, or internet. Texting is blocked...blasted spam. Even the phone company was surprised at the spam I got. So I can't fulfill the topic... CameraPhone pictures. Ergo, it is now er was Free Photo Friday.

I'm in the middle of coping pictures from my mother's massive photo collection. These two pictures, some how go with last week's Talk Thursday topic. But only in the course of conversation you must understand.

Pinecone on Little Joe circa 1964

And me too.

Sith

Cele

Talk Thursday: Dog & Pony

I’m not sure what Dog and Pony actually refers to. While I do have a dog, he’s more like a tank; I’ve not had a pony since I was a kid and well really it wasn’t mine. He was my aunt’s boyfriend's, Cowboy George had won Little Joe and the ranch he was on in a poker game. The same way he lost it. True story.

While I have a tank yet no pony I do have a story to tell. I love music, my two (almost life long) favorite groups: Crosby, Stills, Nash & Sometimes Young and the Moody Blues. I have seen CSN and have tickets to see them again at the Cuthbert on September 11th. I’ve yet to see the Moody Blues. But then that is part of the story.

Several weeks ago Pinecone called me on a Wednesday night to ask if I thought mom would enjoy seeing the Moody Blues at the Cuthbert. As my childhood roommate, Pinecone grew up with enforced- ram it down your throat, hours long Moody Blues listening sessions through out her formative and teen years- yes, until I moved out. I guess it stuck. She’s seen MB in concert four to five times, once with full accompanying orchestra – I am so jealous.

But what was she thinking? Mom would constantly yell at me to turn it down, turn it off, go outside in the fresh air. I’m thinking had the phrase, “Get a life” been popular I’d have heard her say that several times, too. “Pine,” I said, “I don’t think so.” Then I began to think, remember the time I thought she’d like So You Think You Could Dance, and I was way wrong? “Pine, what do I know, maybe she will, ask her.”

“Do you have a Moody Blues CD you could give her?”

“Well, yeah, duh!” Sometimes with my vocabulary you’d never guess I’m 53.

That Thursday night I met Mom and grandma for dinner at a local Chinese restaurant. When she sat down I hand mom the Best of MB and said, “Pine wanted you to listen to this, if you like the Moody Blues she wants to take you for your birthday. “

Taking the CD my mom said, “I enjoy the Moody Blues.”

Grandma chimes in, “Me too!” In unison I get, “They were on PBS, they were great.”

WTF do I know. Statement, not a question?

Fastforward...

Monday night, Ducky has just gone to bed when my cellphone rang. At first all I could here was musical “Wa-Wa-Wa” until Pinecone’s voice comes on the line and say, “Our mother wanted me to call you. Here.”

And what did my parental unit want to say? In essence, “Nee-neer, nee-neer, nee-neer.” Pine tells me, that besides rocking out to the Moody Blues all night long in a sweltering 99 degrees, she got a total kick out of people watching. She was a bit surprised and curious about what the people behind them were smoking. While she did notice it “smelled different” she didn’t truly notice until security spoke with them.

No dog and pony, just Pinecone and mom.

Sith,
Cele

Photo Friday: In The Shadows

Taken Fourth of July Weekend 2004

Burp and Arlo, I can't believe how small Arlo was at the time, now he weights 93 pounds.

A third more than Burp now.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Morning Glories

Or in my case, morning not so glorious. I have started this post, now for the third time. The other two starts were at work, and after you read you’ll understand why it never finished.

Wednesday morning at 6:50am my phone rang. I had dead air on my AM station by the time I turned the radio on, the audio was back in glorious stereo. Usually I would climb back into bed and feign a few more minutes of sleep. Where my mind was that morning I’ve no clue, but I did the totally unusual for myself and crawled bleary eyed into the shower.

Ten minutes later, yesterday’s mascara and eyeliner (no I don’t take my make up off the night before – never have) tracking in black rivulets down my face the phone rings once again. Turning off the water, I dry my feet, wrap a towel around me and trudge to the living room to find my AM is not back on the air. Crap! I go back to the bathroom – still no Music of Your Life streaming in from the living room, wrap a towel around my head, smear Noxema under my eyes in attempt to wipe off the black remnants of the day before – what a mess. I struggle to get a bra on my not too dry body, pull, wriggle, jiggle into a pair of old jeans, grab a clean tank top, sweatshirt, and step into my old slippers. Keys in hand I walk out the door. Dog not fed, coffee pot on, radios (some silent, some not so) turned on, bathroom lights and fan on. Needless to say I thought I was coming back soon.

In the golden days of radio many shows were done from ballrooms or studios with live bands. One of my DJ’s actually tells me stories of his glory days in the bowls of different radio stations across America’s west, the different shows he’s had, adventures and people along the way. It fascinates me. When I first started radio you had to have a license; today any verbally adept monkey, that can do two things at once (talk and push buttons,) can sit at a console and man a station. When I first started (which was not that long ago – twenty years) we still used cassettes, carts, and reel-to-reel tapes, CD’s were just about to come into existence. Now everything is satellite and computers. Yes we can still supplement the playlist with CD’s, vinyl, and tape but for the most part when new music comes out, I get a CD and record them into the computer, compile my playlist daily and go from there.

The problem this morning with my AM station – a Microsoft download didn’t. Or did partially, but it has corrupted something so my playlist is constantly rebooting. Through trial by fire I’ve become the companies “computer person” this despite the fact my boss drug me scratching, biting, and screaming into the computer age - he did not follow me, I still have to defrag his computer monthly. In attempting to diagnose the AM’s problem I reboot, reload, unload, reboot and do it several times over. Everything seems there, but wait – the status bar by the time in the lower right hand corner seems… well not right looking. Oh and the VT-Converter icon seems wonkie (very technical term.) By 7:30am I’ve called tech support in Los Angeles. He has me lookie loo, reboot, reload, unload, reboot, lookie loo a little bit more. And we collectively scratch our heads and wish for more coffee.

He’s not sure he’ll call me back. By this time my other duties of the morning, because yes folks I have a full other part of my job that includes producing out someone else’s show and then having my own live on air show, is being taken over by someone else on staff. Thank you Bubba because yes, I could have done it without you, but it wouldn’t have been pretty. Him picking up the ball gave me the opportunity to concentrate solely on what I’d not been yet able to fix.

Of course it could have been that I’d not brushed my teeth or used deodorant three hours before when I rushed to work. While waiting for Kevin to call me back I rushed to my office for my toothbrush, paste and deodorant I keep in my desk for emergencies. The deodorant is petrified and unusable. Crap! The tube of Pearl Drops must be a good fifteen years old, but it still works. But no deodorant is an intolerable predicament, so I did what any self-respecting woman would do, I sprayed some of the Pure Citrus bathroom deodorizer on to my fingers and rubbed my pits. Ouch! But I smelt nice and citrusie for the rest of the day. The towel had long since fallen on to the floor of the AM studio, my hair had settled in a gnarly medusa formation which brush and comb could do little to rectify – and hey, I’ve been to beauty college thank you very much. So I put it in a ponytail, $4100 dollars well spent.

Five hours later I can smell the burning coffee from my home a mile away. Arlo is howling for his breakfast and steroids. The AM is blaring in an audio duel from three radios and folks my bed is not made – an obsessive compulsion I must complete every morning for mental sanity – generally before going to work. The Pure Citrus is beginning to fail.

A production computer has now gone online as the AM on-air computer, the commercial load has been made up, and the entire calamity (I left out the inspirational Pure Citrus application – he can see the rest of the days progress for himself) has been explained to my boss. I totally suspect the culprit to be a dual failure between hard ware and software, but that official diagnosis and the prognosis will have to wait until the computer arrives via Fed Ex in San Pedro next Tuesday. Until then life is back to “normal.” And you’ve been spared a Talk Thursday post where I blogged about my inability to grow the Morning Glories that Sid sent me. TWF? They are weeds and I can’t grow them. There I said it.

Sith,
Cele

Photo Friday: My Favorite Spot

I'm falling behind on my post. My favorite spot is my home or most anywhere Ducky is. That is where I am happy. So here is a picture of my newest garden, it is where I have spent the majority of my summer so far.

Ducky took the sod out in mid Spring, it has taken me this long to get the hard compacted clay broken up and mixed with the native sand and some good mushroom compost. This side of the garden is strickly for cutting, so if you have flower suggestions for zone 7a/8b/9 (it depends on the map) let me know.

My lily garden? Not looking so great this year. I need to take a lily class.

Talk Thursday: Cracks

Talk Thursday: Cracks

Crack the Shutters (I love that song,) cracks in the foundation, cracks in the mud of my new room - cracks showing up everywhere. Step on a crack break your mother’s back – I always took that one very seriously when I was young. Now that I am older there are cracks in the façade covering my age.

Really I’m not so worry about growing old, I just want to do it gracefully. Not desperately with a medicine cabinet full of Revelon Spackle and L’ Oreal Bondo, but with a grace that embraces the majority of my cracks and wrinkles. Remember on Little House On The Prairie when someone comments to Mrs. Olson about her crow’s feet? She replies, “Oh no dear those are laugh lines.” And the other person rains on her parade and says something to the effect that “Honey, nothing’s that funny.”

Sad.

Mrs. Olson was a fine looking woman, a bit sour and that she wore on her face, but fine looking just the same. Mrs. Olson was trying to keep a façade, most humans do, women probably more so than men. But then most women don’t attempt the obvious comb over on a thinning hairline. Throw stones? Not me, I’ve got my own thinning hairline and a face full of laugh lines. Plus I have the whole body image problem and a fear of dressing too young.

I begin cracking apart when I try to wrap my mind around what I should look like at 53. Oops! A woman isn’t supposed to reveal her age.

Bull pucky!

I worked damn hard for each one of these 53 years and I’m owning up to every one of them, thank you very much. I do regret the added cracks some of the antics of those 53 years placed on my mother’s face. She didn’t deserve my rough teen-hood. And then those twenty somethings – ack! Could we forget them, pluuueeease?

What should an “ample”, mature, fifty-something woman look like? Gladys Cravits? Marge the Manicurist, or maybe Endora (now I could go there minus the hair style) across our great nation, maturing baby booming women want to know this? I want to know this. The cosmetic ad campaigns on TV try to tell me that I can use their product and look like the lovely young American-Korean woman that walked into their clinic. If I use their product… I can return to my youthful appearance. First, the young woman in the chair is 33 not 53 (I know because she was my daughter’s best friend in grade school) and I do not want to return to my youthful appearance, I’m better looking now – thank you very much.

Don’t’ fall for the “Older women should wear short hair” mantra, shorter hair does look better on me, but as long as your hair is styled, who cares the length? It’s the up keep, maintenance, and “I give a damn about myself” attitude that makes the difference, not the hair length.

Make-up? I wear lots, oh lots, and lots of makeup, I adore eye make up, a little bronzer, and a heavy four or five coats of Mascara, and I’m good to go. Marie Osmond once said, she would never go without her kohl (I love her eyes,) personally I never would go without mascara. No Tammy Faye applications for me, but definitely at the very least a light touch of the Calista application – or yesterday’s application, depending on my energy level and time constraints.

I’m trying to embrace my size – all while losing weight. Dressing appropriately is more the problem. What – I ask, about mature, ample woman says LOUD RED AND PURPLE PAISLEY? What? Who in hell (because Hell is that only place the pattern can be manufactured in resplendent, stretchy polyester) decided large women should plaster giant, neon Oriental poppies across their ample butts? Who? And flowered tops? The flowers usually are big enough to cover one of the girls and look like full casaba melons ready to be harvested off their vine. Crap, if I have to wear that, just give me cut out day-glo pasties instead for heaven’s sake. No woman needs torpedo boobs. The fashion industry is supposed to help us, but seemingly it is only trying to sink us.

Oft times when I start writing a Talk Thursday piece I’ve no clue where I am going. This week is just the same. I was going to write about not seeing the cracks in the foundation of my second marriage and instead I write about the cracks in the façade of my appearance. Who knows?

Sith
Cele

Photo Friday: Big and Small

Finally a Photo Friday topic I can do...

Talk Thursday: My Reason To Not...

I’m trying to think of what I may not, might not, have not, will not. And what would be my reason to not nots. It would have to be snakes, or maybe boredom because I’m usually up for most stuff, things, foods, and activities. Okay maybe I’m not up for all movies. My reasons to not see a specific flick are varied at best.

There are snakes, they keeps me away from Africa as well as movies. But then there was Indiana Jones and I adored him, but not his snakes. Well they weren’t his snakes because he abhors them as I.

Ben Stiller could be a reason. I have a lot of things to say on this but they are all insulting to the masses of Ben Stiller movie goers. And of course the exception to I can’t go and enjoy a Ben Stiller movie is Night at the Museum and it was good.

Blood, ooooh don’t like lots of blood in a movie anymore. I’m not sure why, I’ve never really been one for slasher movies. Of course there are guts. Guts gushing from ripped and slashed, blasted and gashed, gaping open wounds and ripped bodies. Nope, not into trailing organs as the main of supporting actor in a flick.

Violence. My husband adores violent movies. I’m sure volumes could be written about why, I will avoid reading it to keep my sanity and ignorance about why he loves violent, gory movies. He loved Starship Troopers I, II, and III. A violent movie heaped with blood, guts, and human organ trailing gore, space bug splats and gunk. And lots of nipple shots. Hmmm.

And I hate movies that insult my intelligence. Do not leave gapping whole in the plot in which a convoy of Panzers could track their way through and expect me not to see it. Have you seen Scwartzeneggers’ Collateral Damages? Big gaping wholes - aircraft carrier size holes.

In fact I want it tight, I want to have to think it though and find the plausible conclusion is supported by the facts of the movie. Don’t give me a villain that shows up ten minutes before the credits, unless you’ve supported that villain - as the villain since the opening scenes.

Movies where the characters are destine to totally embarrass themselves, and therefore me because they are too dumb to be embarrassed. Hate those movies. The embarrassment is unbearably painful to me. Ergo, I don’ t watch most popular movies.

Movies I have every reason to watch again and again… Love, Actually; The Mirror has Two Faces; Pride and Prejudice; Definitely, Maybe; N3mbers; and The Ultimate Gift. Almost anything with Sandra Bulloch, Hugh Grant, Sam Elliot (as long as he’s talking), Field of Dreams, The Postman, almost anything with Abigal Breslin (accept Little Miss Sunshine –double ugh.)

Reasons to buy it on DVD – special features and endless viewing opportunities when I’ve lost interest in the internet, all the popcorn I want at BiMart prices, herbal tea, and my jammies, Reasons to not go to the theatre, no special features, loud people with cellphones and annoying children, and the hefty price tag.

What’s your favorite movie and your reason to not…
Sith,
Cele

Friends

Remember when you had to make friends on the playground or with the kid sitting next to you? Moving to a new school was a nightmare the day before your first class, whether you were in kindergarten or high school. Of course it was the grades inbetween that were the worst.


Once Natalie asked me, and not unkindly...this is taken totally out of context, if I have any real friends. She meant in the work-a-day world, not just on the net. I know it sounds so nasty but Natalie is dear to me and I'm pretty certain she likes me too. Today, in my adult world, I meet friends in a new way. Through the internet. Some of those dear friends, Rose, I've never met face to face - she being in PA and I, well here in paradise. Peggy, because I've not been to Colorado nor she to Oregon. And Natalie, because she has a crazy insane schedule. Other times I am blessed to meet my internet friends and family. For an hour, an evening, a day or a week spent discovering and enjoying each other.


In May, Tewkies and Maya came for an overnight visit on the second leg of the Sea to Shining Sea Tour. A delightful evening. Sadly I didn't get a picture of us together to commemorate the event and friendship.


Last night Ducky and I spent the evening indulging in pizza and new friends. I'd really been looking forward to meeting Found In Idaho, whom I oft refer to as Fii. She, her hubby B, and Big and Little Bits (it was a B family invasion... ha ha I just realized how true that is) were staying in Lincoln City, about 72 miles north of Florence. We set six o'clock as the meet time at Abby's. Had great pizza and a delightful evening of friendship. See...


I look forwards to more.


Sith,

Cele