If I am the moon, am I a verified Lunatic?

I got this from Lisa, who got it from Sid, who.... I love blogs.

You are The Moon

Hope, expectation, Bright promises.

The Moon is a card of magic and mystery - when prominent you know that nothing is as it seems, particularly when it concerns relationships. All logic is thrown out the window.

The Moon is all about visions and illusions, madness, genius and poetry. This is a card that has to do with sleep, and so with both dreams and nightmares. It is a scary card in that it warns that there might be hidden enemies, tricks and falsehoods. But it should also be remembered that this is a card of great creativity, of powerful magic, primal feelings and intuition. You may be going through a time of emotional and mental trial; if you have any past mental problems, you must be vigilant in taking your medication but avoid drugs or alcohol, as abuse of either will cause them irreparable damage. This time however, can also result in great creativity, psychic powers, visions and insight. You can and should trust your intuition.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

And Along Came Blogging

And Then Came of Blogging

Over the years on the net (ooh all eight of them Cele) I’ve been involved with three writing groups. And over those eight years I’ve resisted joining others. Why? Because being involved in one writing group, and a weekly workshop is enough for me.

My daughter, a poet of quality work in my esteem, introduced me to Red Rose’s Workshop back in the days of Live Universe. I loved the group from the first night. It challenged me, got me back into writing, and lead me to a fulfilling hobby of continuity critiquing for some incredible authors. Then Live Universe, folded. Drats! I built my website for the group and we moved to our current location. The main core has never changed, but people have come and gone and more are welcomed. Through the workshop I joined Writerspad. When two of my friends left to build their own group they invited me along as a moderator. I’ve been happy with The Write List (TWL) now since gosh, 2000 or so.

And then came blogging. Wow, what a concept, the promotional and networking dream of a tool for writers and readers. Writers have the opportunity to hone their skill, draw in potential readers, and build a community. Readers have the opportunity to test drive new authors.

Remember that comment about one workshop and one writing group being enough for me? Oh my friend that does not hold true for blogs. I am a blogging slut of the highest degree. I will blog anywhere I find fit. With anyone who turns my head with their enticing words, come-ons, and contests. Hi, my name is Cele and I’m a blog-a-holic. (nods to Lisa in the corner, good donuts girlfriend.)

An ongoing discussion on the merits of blogging at TWL recently included the following statement by a publisher of all people.

"Blogs about writing are great, but they won't sell books."

I won’t name names, she’s a delightful and successful woman with her own publishing company. But I feel she is operating under a false impression. Or, as strong as I feel about this, maybe I’m operating under a false impression. I feel blogs by writers, and blogs about writing, sell books. Why? Sheesh, well because I buy a lot of books based on what I read and who I read at blogs. Aren’t I the model that all sales calculations are based on? Me, Jane Doh! American consumer.

So my questions today (for the whole 4 people who read my blog) for either reader or writer are theses:
1) How many blogs do you read and why?
2) What attracts you to specific blogs and keeps you coming back?
And 3) Would you or do you buy books because of blogs you frequent? Hmmm, maybe that is three and two half questions. I’m a product of new math so it’s hard to tell.

© 7 January 2007 Calista Cates

gods of Tomorrow

gods of Tomorrow

I am Queen Procrastinator. No way you say! It can’t be! Well I am here to tell you all it is true with a capital QP.

For me there is always tomorrow. And tomorrow does not always bode well when I’ve put off doing something at work. Now I’ve been lucky, providence has helped me out of a bind several times when tomorrow turned into today. But how often can you tempt the gods of Tomorrow? I’m not about to flaunt my procrastination, tempt fate, or failure so I’ve learn to make myself DO IT NOW.

I’ve long learned to admit my procrastinating ways, to let others know. Hey, this is me procrastinating Cele, what do you mean you want it tomorrow? Do you really know when tomorrow will arrive? I do, so don’t stop me, because I’m doing it now. That’s right, now. I’ve long learned that the best way for me to get around my procrastinating ways, is to address the problem now. And it seems to work.

Except when it comes to writing…er and taking down the Christmas Tree I have long learned to not put off jotting down that thought for a poem. And yet for all that knowing I still put off jotting down that kewl little line that comes to mind. You know, the one that the entire poem will hang on and shows up just when I’m falling asleep. I mean shit, how hard is it to get up for a nano second, run to the computer, and type in to my edit file a line? And yet friends and neighbors, I will procrastinate and say manãna.

No longer. My poem for the week is done. Remember this week’s topic is Beginnings I spent three days pawing and fawning over my 24 lines, and I’m happy with the result. My rhythmic voice seemed to show up. Thank you Lord, it’d been on hiatus for a while now. I’ve now blogged twice for the week, some kind of record I’m sure. Procrastination cured, hardly. It’s just on hiatus.

I am a realist you know.

Happy 2007

Happy 2007

I’m not one for making New Years’ Resolutions. Why? Because I’ve always (like most Americans) failed miserably at even the teeniest of self set goal. But this year I thought to set two for myself, well a third one is whispered in the deepest, most unreachable depth of my soul and is known only to me. The other two mentioned are public.

First, I want to write more poetry; 2006 was abysmal for me. I have years where I have written at least a poem a week. In 2006 I was lucky if I wrote one poem month. How could I possibly consider myself a poet on that sort of diet? Oh yes, I’ve lots, truckloads, and tons of excuses, but they are now in the past. And towards the end of the year I began blogging more. That is a positive, but I need more self–action. This week’s Writer’s Workshop topic is Beginnings, kind of apropos don’t cha think? Well okay, I set the topic each week myself so that I shouldn’t play on such a coincidence. But it is the start of a new year, a new attitude.

Second, I’m going to blog more. So I thought I’d start with January 1st, okay I meant it to be the morning, not evening of the first day of a new year, but well at least I hit the first 24 hours. See excuses already and new parameters already. I don’t plan on blogging daily, but more often. I plan on being inspired by the world and bloggers around me. Whether it’s a MeMe, or world altering events I want to blog, and get a poem in.

Speaking of MeMe’s I read a really good one already today. From Joshilyn Jackson over at Faster Than Kudzu, here’s the Booky Goodness MeMe…

DIRECTIONS
1. Take five books off your bookshelf.
2. Book #1 -- first sentence
3. Book #2 -- last sentence on page fifty
4. Book #3 -- second sentence on page one hundred
5. Book #4 -- next to the last sentence on page one hundred fifty
6. Book #5 -- final sentence of the book
7. Make the five sentences into a paragraph:

Here is mine:

I was six years old the first time I had an inkling God would not always protect me. “Do you see her in the Sala showing her legs and listening to the radio?” I was torn between an ugly urge to throw them all out and glee at the idea of new clients.

“I guess we better go on in and say hey,” I said. And anguished after all that had been left undone.

My five books were…
1) Wives and Sisters – Natalie Collins (she writes a killer first sentence.)
2) Thrilled to Death – Jennifer Apodaca
3) Middlesex – Jeffrey Eugenides
4) gods in Alabama – Joshilyn Jackson
5) Rumors of War – Peggy Tibbets (didn't you think Peggy and Joss went together well?)

So join in if you dare, it wasn’t as easy as it looks (I’d originally picked Jane Austen, then another, then another looking for a second line – wow, now I’m cheating in blogdom.) So watch out for me in outer blogness, because you all know I’m a joyful blog slut.

Sith

Dining On Humble Duck

I think it was in late November I challenged Bishop Rick to a friendly wager. Loser in the Las Vegas Bowl blogs for the other. I had started writing before the bowl, ripped up, deleted, erased, all in abject frustration to capture the right words and succintley place them on paper. Then the game played it self out and my blog wrote itself. I won't call either inspired.

I’m not sure which was more excruciating; watching the Ducks embarrass them selves in the Las Vegas Bowl, or wrapping Christmas presents the whole time. Both sucked, of course not as big as my Ducks did. The hot slogan of our times, “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” But this was too monumental a lapse in sanity for it to remain unknown. Why? Because they aired the whole cursed, gridiron fiasco on national TV. Much to the delight of BYU fans everywhere and Bob Stoops who to this very moment is still jumping up and down yelling at the screen, “See. See. See.”

BYU’s Cougars looked great and played a great game against the scrimmage team that showed up at Sam Boyd Stadium. BYU was sharp, decisive, executing almost every play like the fine honed college athletes that they are, a testament to the quality of Mountain West Conference football. Ah, but the Cougs also had a hidden ace up their collective sleeves. A secret threat unleashed covertly upon an unsuspecting Oregon squad (long before either team hit Las Vegas.) Offensive coach Gary Crowton. Yes, an insidious plot hatched to make Nick Allioti look better (that doesn’t’ take much) and yet, despite the assistance of Crowton’s ineptitude, Allioti (and the Ducks) are still defenseless.

Mon Dieu, Cele. Boo hoo. I know you are thinking, “Cele’s a fair-weather fan.” Honey, there is no such thing as fair weather in Oregon. Just rain and wind, therefore I’m in it for the long haul. I love my Ducks, and of course, there is always next year. Mike Bellotti says he’ll be back (and despite his inability this year to pick the correct quarterback) I still like this guy. Mike, please look at your freshman quarterback and see the future of Duck Football. Its name is Nick Costa. Coach, demote Leaf and Dixon to backups, give Costa the ball and stand back.

And while I’m at it, what on God’s Green Earth were you guys thinking? Those helmets have got to go. Bring back the Mallard Green O’s (well of course they have to now, the piss yellow ones are jinxed, and we all know how superstitious athletes are.) In fact Oregon, get off the fashion wagon and play some football, who cares that you have 48 uniform combinations, you only play 12 games a season, 13 if you are (un)lucky. That means 35 of those combinations are redundant. Think of the tuitions that could be paid with the money saved on redundant uniforms, and those ugly pee yellow helmets. And the training time the team will recoup when not having to decide with uniform combination to wear. It boggles the logical mind.

To the Cougars, I wish you the best and give you kudos for a game well played. You gave your seniors (or they gave you) the final victory of their college careers. A great winning season full of happy memories to keep you warm during the long Wasatch winter.

But, next year could you please beat up on Notre Dame? And while you’re at it, cut your teeth on some Sooners. Bob Stoopes is fun to watch when he’s whining.

Now Bishop Rick is the winner of our little wager, so really the blog is his to call.

Cele

ABC's of MeMe

ABC’s of MeMe

A- Available or single? Heee, hee are you looking?
B- Best Friend? Ducky, my husband
C- Cake or Pie? Hmmmm, Banoffe pie (okay I’ve only had it once, but it was decadant)
D- Drink of Choice? Coffee
E- Essential Item? Mascara
F- Favorite Color? Green first, cinnamon second (today)
G- Gummi Bears or Worms? Worms, Benjamin shares them with me
H- Hometown? Florence, Oregon (well I was raised in LaMirada CA)
I- Indulgence? General Hospital (I’m a junkie)
J- January or February? February, left over sweethearts
K- Kids and names? 1 and 2 halves – Krista, 30, Jenny 32, Missy 26
L- Life is incomplete without? Laughter and love
M- Marriage Date? July 23rd (you do mean the most recent, right?)
N- Number of Siblings? 3, 1 sister, two brothers
O- Oranges or apples? pears
P- Phobias/Fears? Snakes – and there’s nothing unreasonable about it.
Q- Favorite Quote? “Snakes, it had to be snakes.” Harrison Ford in Indiana Jones
R- Reason to Smile? My grandson - Benjamin
S- Season? Spring – need you ask?
T- Tag three people! You, you, and you over there
U- Unknown Fact About Me? I tried out for the roller derby when I was 16
V- Vegetable you hate? Beets, I always thought that is what your parents gave you when they were mad.
W- Worst habit? Procrastination
X- X-Rays you've had? Denta scan, kind of kewl, but expensive.
Y- Your favorite food? Ice Cream – BJ’s Cappaccino Fudge…or a rare, BBQ’d steak
Z- Zodiac? Aquarius

Friends are gifts you give yourself

Friends are gifts you give yourself

Merry Christmas! The adage is old, but the content forever
up to date and constantly being up dated, Friends are gifts
you give yourself. I learned a rhyme as a Brownie all the way
back in second grade.

Make new friends,
but keep the old.
One is silver
and the other's old.

It's as simple as that. In this season of giving I want to say thank
you to my friends. The old ones who are gold, the shiny new ones
who are my silver, and the ones I will make in 2007. You are my
constant companions. My inspiration. My conscience. The
humorous gifts I receive every morning.

Rose, Natalie, and Peggy. The friends who will be with me long into
my old age. You are my countless blessings each and everyday.
Thank you for the yesterday's we've shared, the today's in which we
laugh and cry, and the tomorrow's that will be countless wonders.

Jake, Jen, Joss, and Mir you are such delightful surprises.

My gold and my silver. Provocative. Invaluable. Constant. Sinfully delicious.

To my new friends. Rick, Mary Lisa, Jazzy, and Sideon I look forward to
many mornings of coffee and blogs.

Merry Christmas!
Sith
Cele

Afterglow - It's more than a moment

Last night Siuslaw went undefeated in football. I’m not sure the last time that happened, I’m not sure it will ever happen again. What I am sure is that it couldn’t have happened to a nicer coach and team. A graduate of Siuslaw, just like I am, the coach has pride. Pride in his school, pride in his team. Pride in the parents and fans that help make it all happen, who stick by his team week after week, season after season. Each week after every game, the team gathers with fans and family in the middle of the field to sing the Alma Mater and share the afterglow.

Last night after the broadcast was over, the team, family, and fans shared their moment in the midst of a windy rain soaked field and shared. At which point I was watching Air Force drive Army into the ground more than a thousand miles away. Despite being opponents on the gird iron, following the game, both schools – players, family, and fans honored tradition and stood behind the other as their Alma Maters were sung. Gird Iron warriors united in something larger than themselves when the game is done. Even now the thought brings a tear to my eye, or maybe several to both.

Following the triumphs and losses of our youth, we met mid field and acknowledged each other: our worthy opponents, fellow lovers of the game, our friends and our rivals. Our Pee Wee, Pop Warner, Little League coaches taught us sportsmanship and respect. Our coaches in junior high, high school, and college continued the lesson. What happens after that has become a national disgrace.

Following most college games, and many pro football games you’ll see opposing players gather mid field in a circle and pray. They often shake hands, pat the backs of their rivals, and shake off the combat of the battle. Following each Oregon Football game, the Ducks thank their fans, especially those fans, which travel to see their beloved Ducks on the road. They shake hands, discuss the game, and say thank you, and even sign autographs. They remember their sportsmanship. I’m not saying my Ducks don’t do wrong, of course they do. But they don’t do it as a standard conduct, they are gentlemen, and being less is not tolerated. I am proud of them as people, individuals, and as a team.

But what has happened in the pros? Yes, following most games football players will meet and shake hands. But my other love is baseball. They don’t met on the field to shake hands like they did in little league. No, they meet on the field to congratulate each other, their own teammates. How utterly disgusting and ridiculous. It doesn’t even rank above my other disgust in pro sports, and that is celebrating in the end zone. Get real folks. These are professional athletes getting paid thousands, tens of thousands each game and they have thrown sportsmanship out the window. Meet mid field to unite in something bigger than them? You’d think it be possible, they have no problem clearing the benches and meeting mid field, mid game after some imagined or not offense, fist and words flying. These are grown men, paid exorbitant pay checks and sportsmanship has nothing to do with it.

We need to hold professional athletes to a higher standard, not just for our kids sakes, but for our own. We need to walk the walk, talk the talk, not just give the concept lip service to our children. Why is it so easy to tell them to play fair? To be sportsmanlike? To honor the integrity of the game? And then not hold our professional athletes to the same standard? Why is this double standard so easy for us to swallow, over look, embrace? Because yes, many do embraces it. Next time you’re watching baseball with your spouse or significant other and the pitcher from his team retaliates by hitting a batter, ask your beloved if they approved? I know what my husband’s answer will be.

© Cele

Happy Halloween

Tagged

I love Jake’s you’ve been tagged! What incredible fun we've had at Novel Investigations http://www.jcarsonblack.com/index.php/?p=244#comments and Murder She Writes http://www.murdershewrites.com/ with Jake's tag.

Here’s what you do. Pick the fact number of mine below you think is the lie, then write five facts about yourself, one being false, and we guess which one is the lie. In return I'm tagging Mary Lisa and Rose...

1) I got run over by a police officer

2) I use to own a monkey, but I always wanted an ostrich

3) I was seranaded by George Winston on my 50th birthday

4) I learned to surf went I was twelve

5) I applied for Martha Graham when I was in high school

It’s Halloween, Get Over It

Every year the radio station I work for holds the Great Pumpkin Giveaway. We find a merchant to host the festivities, and we give away 11 thousand pounds of pumpkins. This all came about because we went on the air October 31st 1988.

For 18 years we’ve celebrated our anniversary with pumpkins, hot dogs, giveaways, and the Monster Mash. But this year something interesting happened. Something appalling. Something so perverse that it makes my skin crawl (now isn’t that fitting for the season?) Our advertiser found religion. Yep, and kudos to them I pray every night for people to find the love and forgiveness of Jesus Christ. So when our ad ran in the local rag, replete with ghost and ghouls, bats and pumpkins there was a total up roar by our ad rep on behalf of the advertiser. Now suddenly, after years of hosting this fun HALLOWEEN event, they want it to be a “Harvest Party.”

Following this announcement, the voices streaming out from behind closed doors were REALLY, REALLY LOUD.

For 18 years this has been about Halloween and giving away pumpkins. The kids and the parents who show up eager for the largest pumpkin they can carry, aren’t there to get pumpkins for mom’s pie making (although homemade pumpkin pie is da’ bomb.) No, they are there to get jack-o-lantern pumpkins for Halloween night trick ‘r treating. Hello! These aren’t Satan worshipers. These aren’t little kids who are thinking about the after life – or possible lack there of. These aren’t little kids who weigh the balance of Jesus Christ and reincarnation. These are little kids in search of candy and wearing the best costume on the block. No religion involved. And that is how it should be. Religious fanatics – get over yourselves.

Yes, the foundations of Halloween lie in medieval tradition. The Celtic celebration of a new year. The Roman tributes to the Goddess Pomona. The Catholic tradition of All Saint’s Day. Traditions that have little to do with the DEAD.LIMBO.AFTER.LIFE. And definitely not in the way we today believe. Not the ghoulish embellishments of Hollywood, campfire spook stories, nor the Horror / Dark Fantasy genre. During the Dark Ages, encouraged by both Celtic and Catholic belief, living people (obviously, because if they were dead people I’d have to rethink my position) would extinguish their home fires, dress in scary costume, and loudly walk the streets. Why? Well to ward off the spirit world or bad spirits of winter, silly. I mean think about it. What right-minded spirit would want to live in a cold dark cottage inhabiting the body of a loud, drab man?

Over time traditions and beliefs have altered, melded with one another, and changed altogether. Enlightenment in the Western world ended the belief of spirit possession around All Hallows Eve. And while children to this day dress up in spooky garb begging for treats at each door, much like the soul cakes of the ninth century, our values connected to Halloween have been severed with the past. Today it is about fun. About scaring each other. And most importantly of all it is about CANDY. Lots of teeth rotting, fat producing, sugar high…

CANDY. So why in the last few years is it suddenly an affront to some Christians for anyone to enjoy Halloween? That adorable little tyke in the pink tutu isn’t thinking, I want to be a blood sucking zombie when I grow up (although it could be a possibility.) No, she is thinking. Wow, I hope they have the big candy bars, and not just stupid gumballs. When I was a kid, my church put on the best Halloween party, replete with cider, apple bobbing, candy, and costumes. I especially love the slide into the basement classroom through crepe streamer hanging down in the dark. Those women rocked.

In the seventies and eighties when people worried about the lunatics who laced popcorn balls, there was valid reasoning behind the fears. Today’s reasoning boggles my mind. When I say “Happy Halloween” to someone, I’m not thinking “Join with me and celebrate this non-Christian, non-holiday that extols the dead, the living dead, the undead, and the creep down the street.” No, I am saying. “Happy Halloween.” And thinking (sheesh, she’s 47 you’d think she’d get over the cheerleader phase because she definitely grew out of it. Next year she should use a walker and a shawl for her costume.)


OH! and I am also thinking, She better have good candy on her desk after she ate all my Tom’s peanut butter candies last year. And we all know it’s all about the CANDY.

Sith
Calista Cates
© October 2006

Me Me X3

I wasn't tagged but I love to play along, so thank you for the blanket tag
Mary Lisa


3 smells that I love:
Vanilla
The house after baking Gingerbread
The Ocean

3 smells that I hate:
Car fumes
Dead Skunk in the middle of anywhere
Stale fast food in a closed car. LM wrote it, she’s totally right

3 jobs I've had in my life:
Groom
Hairdresser
DJ

3 movies that I could watch over and over:
Love Actually
Sense and Sensibility (well anything Jane Austen)
The Mirror Has Two Faces

3 fond memories:
The birth of my grandson (It hurt a lot less than having his mother)
Dancing on my father’s feet
Saturday morning strolls and donuts with my grandfather (I miss him so much)

3 jobs I would love to have:
Groom
Book Editor
DJ (Oh, wait I am a DJ)

3 places I have lived:
California
Oregon
Germany

3 things I like to do:
Spend time with my husband – He is my best friend
Play with Benjamin and Arlo
Critique books

3 of my favorite foods:
Guacamole
Rare steak
Ice Cream (no wonder my butt has it’s own zip code)

3 places I would like to be right now:
In England
In Germany
With friends laughing

3 websites I visit daily:
Trapped by Mormons - http://www.nataliercollins.com/weblog/
Murder She Writes - http://www.murdershewrites.com/
Only three, oh mi gosh - http://sistermarylisa.blogspot.com/ this is my latest blog to add but interesting a fun

3 things that make me cry
Hatred
Good movies / The ending of Ghost Whisperer
The awesomeness of God
3 friends that I would tag but I’m not because…well mine was only a blanket tag…
Natalie – who needs a break now that she’s hit deadline
Jake – who should write a book called They Met Only Once it would be a best seller and the movie would garner Oscars
You

Cele 13 October 2006

Did they die for naught? The day after five years later

I’m having a hard time. Yesterday was the commemoration of the anniversary of 9 / 11 five years ago. People continue to remember and mourn. That’s not so bad, but let’s move on. My friends blogged about the five years since the tragedy. It’s an outlet of thought. They share how it affected them, their lives, their thoughts. They network, we share, we bond, and many of us grow. Radio stations played patriotic songs. Mine did too. TV gave us video journals, replaying the black smoky death of that beautiful September day. And the President pontificated in his political glory attempting to, once again, make right our assault on Iraq and Sadam Hussein. History looks back, and life stops.

I fervently believe in learning from the past, relying on my upbringing and faith to get me through yesterday and today’s messes then moving forward. Our memory of that fateful September morning is one of loss, tragedy, and for many it’s the fire that renews their hatred and need for revenge. For me it was, oh gosh to steal a quote from the Bush administration, “Shock and Awe.” I am shocked at our inability to get over it, and dumb founded in awed that in the US one hand still does not talk to the other hand. In our more than two hundred years of being hated for our arrogance, wealth, and ingenuity and we have learned nothing.

Would having learned have in those two hundred years have changed the events on that crystal clear, blue, and sunny morning five years ago? I’m sure it wouldn’t have. But maybe we would have responded differently. I am Quaker, and yet I understand a government finds the need to strike back at one’s enemy on the battle ground in an effort to defend life, property, and freedoms. I do not believe in this war against terror…ism. I do understand why our President moved against the Afghanistan based Osama Bin Laden and Al Queda. Beyond that I have no keening as to why our government has turned into a bully, the self proclaimed world police, Bubba on the block.

Instead of learning about our world neighbors, our friends, and opponents we insist on being blind. We believe everyone should be like us, think like us, dress like us, worship like us, look like us, and join in our merry way of life. But is it so merry? Is our civilization so much better? Our society so polite? Yes and No! We, and not singularly, believe we can solve our problems with western thought. Middle Eastern tribes have not a western thought in their head. Millenniums of their tribal mores, norms, and rule to not allow for western thought. To be better the golden rule I live each day of my life needs to take a bit of a bender. We as a government need to learn, to understand, and not treat them as we’d wish to be treated ourselves, but as they would treat themselves and in understanding, us. We need to think tribal. It won’t happen because the western world has a bigger picture in mind that is as antiquated in their understanding of this world’s peoples as the tribes of the near, middle, and far East. I pray for us, the U.S.

So I mourn my nation that I love so much. I am silently in the minority. Appalled by this war, appalled by a President who uses the nation’s circumstances to further his own hate filled agenda, and what has become a national day of mourning to further his stance on why we went to war against Iraq. I silently listen to those who don’t understand my position and give them their five minutes to loudly exclaim theirs. I thank my friends who have offered up their blogs as an outlet to mourn the past and those who have gone before.

Try to remember that what the surface shows is not always the basis of truth. The adage “Walk a mile in their shoes” holds so much more weight than we heed.

I would like to ask you to look at your family, to love them, to listen, and to remember this maybe your last day to tell them what they mean to you. Say hello to your neighbors. Wear a smile today, wear it again tomorrow if you get that opportunity. And keep in mind that TODAY could be your last physical day on this earth, would you be leaving it with your lose ends neatly laundered? I’m not talking about your bills, your will, or the current battle with the Land Use Board of Appeals or the IRS, I’m talking about God and those about you, even those far away. Learn from 9/11 communicate, love, and validate the people in your life, the people you touch purposely and inadvertently. Share of yourself with a smile. Give of yourself with joy.

© Celebrindal 12 September 2006

One Hundred Things About Me

1) I live in heaven

2) I'm not that interesting

3) which is not good if you're a DJ

4) I have the best job in the world - except when the computers break down

5) I had to be drug - knuckles scrapping the floor - into the computer world

6) Since then my boss has come to believe he created a monster - "IT'S ALIVE!"

7) My named - Screamed in total desparation at full volume - means
"Calista BRING YOUR TOOLS my computer did it again"

8) Yes I have a toolbox

9) Fixing what they broke and other maintainence beyond a man's realm of capability. (This includes lightbulbs, toilet paper, taking out the trash, and slaying ants.)

10) You may have noted I've become sexist.

11) I dislike those who hate

12) They makes my head spin and I want to hurl

13) Well except snakes - maybe this should be number 1

14) I do hate snakes - but realize they have a meaningful purpose in the world

15) My fear for snakes colours everything I do outside

16) Except for the morning I walked into my second floor office and found a Anaconda under my desk

17) I try very hard not to lie

18) I called Debbie's son to come get it for me.

19) Debbie did it herself - cooing to it. I lie not. I wasn't shamed.

20) My first boyfriend was Ronnie - he got away - we never did it

21) I've been married three times

22) This totally colours who I am

23) and supplies me with endless standup comedy - most aren't amused

24) My mother, father, and daughter are constant inspiration

25) My boyfriend is Ben, he's 4 years old, he has the best kisses

26) My husband is the world's best whiner - he's proud of this ability

27) and he never fails to make me laugh

28) I can tell my husband anything - he likes Ben's kisses too.

29) He's Oregon Duck fan, he collects ducks - I call him Ducky

30) He calls me Fritzi

31) My motto is - Where you have been is who you are.

32) This truism colours my life and perspective

33) I always want to know what makes a person tick

34) A reason is not an excuse - its motivation

35) I am Quaker in my faith - this definately colours who I am

36) Ducky is not. He doesn't always see eye to eye with me

37) I don't believe in organized religion

38) I don't understand why people think God has enough time on his hands to do something personally to them

39) Do they understand there are almost 7 Billion people on the face of the earth? I do.

40) He's got more important things to do that run my nylons, which run a lot

41) So I switched to black tights

42) I use to wonder why older European women always wore black tights

43) Now I know - even thought I'm American

44) I wore a size 8, just 8 years ago

45) Gosh, that's discouraging. Now I wear a size double elastic waist

46) I gained 25 pounds the first month I quit smoking

47) Everytime I try to diet I gain 10 pounds

48) Then I became pre-menosal. So if I wasn't menopausal before now, wasn't I still premenosal?

49) Then came the hot flashes. More weight gain.

50) My present age

51) While it is fodder for stand up comedy, I will weight 400 pounds by 2020. Zager and Evans didn't count on that.

52) Things I miss - wearing a bikini, wearing mini skirts, first kisses

53) I have never met my bestest friend. Never

54) I have several best friends. My husband, my mother, my daughter.

55) but Emma Rose is my Bestest friend.

56) She is like the other half of my sisterly soul

57) But we are way different and just alike

58) My sister is one of my best friends too, and so is my sister in law - they are awesome women

59) People I someday want to met face to face. Jesus. Emma Rose. Natalie R. and Peggy

60) They are awesome and inspire me.

61) I've been to Mexico, Germany, England, Scottland, the Netherlands, and France.

62) I want to go to Canada, Australia, and Ireland, and the others but not France.

63) Ducky has never traveled anywhere. LUCKY ME!

64) Don't buy Mickey D's in other countries. But definately have Spatzlè and Goulash Soup at the Hofbraü Haus in Munich

65) Or fish n' chips in Adebrugh

66) I like tofu.

67) But not as much as Tempeh

68) I have a basset hound

69) Arlo is the first dog to fetch consistantly for me

70) He weighs 70 pounds and thinks he's a lap dog - he is a great lap warmer.

71) Arlo is a great companion

72) I'm a left over sweetheart

73) George Winston serenaded me with his guitar. He played raindrops,
Bonèpart's Retreat, and darn a song I can't remember

74) It was my birthday

75) He didn't know it

76) My favorite group is Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young

77) The best concert ever - the Eagles in Münich - I was suddenly homesick

78) I made a life long friend in Germany - Patty - she lives 8 hours from Rose

77) I miss my grandfather - he was very special - pipes make me think about him.

78) My eyes leak

79) I have two beautiful step daughters

80) I ♥ fresh brewed French Roast coffee

81) I hold it in my mouth and savor the flavor

82) I am a procrastinator

83) People don't believe this about me

84) I am incredibly shy. People don't believe this either

85) I can make myself do a lot of things.

86) But not if it involves snakes.

87) I can never be on Survivor or Fear Factor - until they have Survivor Ireland

88) I don't have a favorite movie

89) I have a lot of favorite books.

90) And even more favorite albums - don't minimize go with the whole disk

91) Music colours my life

92) The people who mean the most to me have songs that remind me of them

93) Even my childhood friends. I may not see my friends for decades, but they are ALWAYS in my heart and thoughts like we just parted - they are a song

94) I broke my foot parasailing - my tailbone playing softball - I've had three concussions all caused by animals.

95) I don't like talking on the telephone

96) The world is connected through email

97) I don't believe in prolonging a life outside of quality of life.
I DO NOT BELIEVE IN LIFE SUPPORT!

98) I believe in the Lord Jesus Christ

99) I cuss like - well really bad. POTTY MOUTH. I try not to.

100) I want to be cremated.

101) My IQ is 124

4x4 Me Me

One of my favorite blogs challegened their five particpating writers to a 4x4 Me Me. I always like filling out my own to see how I compair. You can't win, but you certainly don't lose by sharing. If you want to join in, leave your Me Me in the comments.

1) 4 movies you would watch over and over
1) Love Actually
2) Pride and Prejudice
3) Several Streisand movies

2) 4 TV shows you love to watch (*this season)
1) General Hospital (faithfully off and on since I was in the 6th grade)
2) NCIS
3) Ghost Whisperer
4) Law and Order SVU

3) 4 places you have been on vacation:
1) England
2) Stanley, Idaho
3) Mexico
4) Lake Shasta

4) 4 Websites you visit daily:
1) Trapped by Mormons
2) Faster Than Kudzu
3) Murder She Writes
4) Shoulda Woulda Coulda

5) 4 of your favorite foods:
1) BJ’s Ice Cream – Kahlua Fudge
2) French Onion Soup
3) Rare BBQ’d steak
4) Fresh brewed French Roast coffee

6) 4 places you would rather be right now:
1) Some place I’ve never been before – some place WITHOUT SNAKES –
so that leaves out Chichèn Itzà
2) On my deck doing a critique
3) On a warm sunny (not windy) beach – I live near a cold windy beach
4) On the road to some place new

7) Last 4 books you’ve read
1) The Kill – Allison Brennan
2) The Hunt – Alison Brennan
3) The Prey – Allison Brennan
4) Grave Intent – Deborah LeBlanc

8) The top four books in your TBR pile
1) To The Nines – Janet Evanovich
2) Thrilled To Dead – Jennifer Apodacca
3) Darkness On The Edge of Town – J Carson Black
4)

9) Four favorite authors
1) J.R.R. Tolkein
2) Jane Austin
3) Janet Evanovich
4) Natalie R. Collins

Cold Water Rocket Science

I didn’t finish college. Well of course I never really began. Which explains my sentence structure and punctuation. I just have a few courses on the books in between thinking about it, and knowing it wasn’t going to be. So I didn’t take a course in plumbing. I never lettered in electrical maintenance, or for that matter non-electrical maintenance. And I didn’t go to trade school. Well, wait, that’s a lie. Yes, I did, and we did use plumbing and electricity. But it was Beauty College so it was to shampoo, rinse, dry, and style hair. That doesn’t count.

So, much to my delight Tuesday night upon washing my dishes – remember wash dishes, shampoo hair (some things just never leave you) - I discovered that the water heater was not creating that nectar of life, commonly known as hot water. Tuesday night, 11:30pm, is not a time I want to come to the devastating realization that I will have to stick my head in cold water at 7am the next morning to wake up. It means that I will not get a moment of sleep, for trying to figure a way out of the dilemma and Ducky isn’t at home, so I can’t foist the responsibility onto his shoulders. Of course he takes his shower at night so, drats anyway.

I run out and flip the breaker just to make sure that wasn’t the problem. It wasn’t. I put my ear to the water tank to listen to the inner workings, I don’t know maybe I was listening for internal bowel gurgles or something. No. Nothing. Nada. Bada bing.

Wednesday morning came far to early. I crossed my fingers hoping against hope as I ran water from the hot water tap. Nope still broke. A morning ritual, that must be followed by at least a pot of aromatic, dark roast coffee. To have only one gives an appearance of life, but it is only an image. To even contemplate plunging my body into cold water, “Uh huh honey. It ain’t happenin’.” Gritting my teeth I shampooed my hair in water so cold I know it came straight off the glaciers of Antarctica, took a spit bath, and went to work.

Now I rarely take lunch, but I was determined to have the parts Ducky would need to repair the problem. I bought not one, but two elements, and a thermostat. But something the handyman told me as he rung up my thermostat, made me curious as I drove home. So with screw driver in hand I went into the garage and removed the cover to make sure I’d bought the right part. No it didn’t look right at all, the one on the water heater had a red reset button that clicked when I pushed it.

Any smart girl knows this is both a good thing and a bad thing. The bad thing is that I just wasted the first lunch break I’d taken in easily three weeks to run down parts I did not need. But the really good thing was calling up Ducky and telling him I FIXED THE FRIGGIN’ WATER HEATER MYSELF! That always burns him.

Way Kewl!

Golden Slumbers

The mornings are mine. I love to fritter them away. Reading, doing research, Blog Reading, critiquing (which requires a lot of reading,) Music News….READING…Even sometime just reading news (that is desperate.)

But this morning it was all different. Well no not really, it all began – way different with the hot water heater biting the little one. That means it was full of really cold water. It could have been a lot worse, my three year old 50 gallon hot water heater could have been pouring ice water all over my garage floor. After rinsing my hair with luke warm water, putting on a face (it didn’t feel like mine, it was really cold) I went to read. Out of six blogs I visit more than once each day, only two had new content. THANK GOD FOR MIR. Not only is she an awesome read (usually at night) but she had the most interesting content today.

JUGGLING

Well I didn’t know it was juggling until I went to the link Golden Slumbers I will never look at that song again in the same light or with out smiling,. Well I’ve always smiled, but this afternoon when I play Golden Slumbers at 4:06pm Pacific Standard Time (I always play a Beatles tune at 4:06pm) I will smile at more than usual. I mean think about it…0ne of the greats lines ever “The love you take, is equal….to….the….love…you…make.” Perfection. Thank you Paul McCartney.

Now it gets even better. Not only had the ever lovely Mir left a juggling gift for her devotees, but the Andi upped the ante with this GEM

So I spent the morning smiling. The world should be filled with great bloggers, music, and apparently awesome jugglers.

Way Kewl!

Blogging Bootcamp Washout

My first inclination would be to invoke the “I didn’t sign up for this” platform, but that would be a lie.

“Say that loud and proud private.”

“THAT WOULD BE A BIG FAT LIE, MA’AM.SIR. I MEAN SIR, MA’AM.”

I lust after the ability to blog on about anything. To have a life that gives me endless opportunities to prattle about endlessly. Situations into which I would gallantly lead my legions of faithful bloggees on a daily basis. And then nightly, after lights out, flick on the monitor and revel in their replies. A world of friends, of words, and life – literally outside of life itself.

But. No. Here I sit trying to marshal my thoughts into orderly units of words marching seamlessly across my page. All to save Blogging 4 Books. I love books, I love blogs, I hang on every word issued by the blogging heroes of my mornings and late nights. Those who have valiantly paved the way for us blogging wanna-bes. Privates in the Army of Words who couldn’t do a week’s worth of humorous blogging if our lives depended on it, and therefore wash out of Blogging Boot Camp in the first week.

I hate that thought, more than the fear that kept me from joining the military in the first place. BOOTCAMP. The fear of boot-camp, and the PT that went with it kept me, from joining back in the mid-seventies. Which is good because I then found out I was preggers and well, you didn’t have unmarried (well then I did get married) enlistees run their butts off in PT only to give birth on the proving grounds. Nope that just wouldn’t work.

So I did the next best thing, I married a guy going into the Army.

“AN ENLISTEE, SIR. YES, SIR!.”

But I digress; we aren’t revisiting him again. Well, at least not this time, because I am soooo over that. But I’m not over words. No I could never be over words. I would have a love affair with the written word that would cover volumes, tomes, whole libraries if I could. But I can’t marshal the long term, complete with an ending, storyline. I am therefore ever enlisted into the ranks of word privates (not even a PFC.) Where I shall hang on the every word of my Blog Generals: Jackson, Collins, Carson, and that Mir lady. Standing in the wings provoked into a witty (oh, please let it be witty) retort. Challenged into deep thought by the musings that await me each morning and night on the battlefield of blogging words.

Ah, life is good. I mean…

“LIFE IS GOOD, SIR. YES, SIR!”

Timber!!!!

Here we are, a full 31 days past the new year. A whole month. Puxitawny Phill will poke his head out of his hole tomorrow and tell us how much longer we must wait for spring to begin or winter to end, which ever comes first. My personal first sign comes on New Years day when my husband ushers the Christmas tree out of the corner and into its box (we decided last year to go artificial.) The traditional Out with the Old. But as previously stated, it's 31 days later and my Christmas tree still sits in the corner. I took the decorations off weeks ago, unplugged the lights two weeks ago. And yet, there it still sits.

My sister laughingly, said "it's a loverly tree, you should keep it up and just decorate it for each holiday and season." I contemplated doing just that as a way to spur Ducky into breaking it down and boxing it up. I'm mean surely that would do it right? No, I plugged in the lights again (it's prelit) and he just wanted to know why I lit the tree.

Well surely he'll come to an embarrassing moment that will egg him to finally yell timber,and then have at 'er. No that moment came and went last weekend with the usual Saturday morning visit of our very neighborly friend, Mr. Whisker. Always a joy, he shows up coffee mug in hand to discuss the latest real estate market trends, weather, computers and what nots. After that visit I think the tree may stay forever.

"We once, kept our decorated tree up for two or three years." Mr. Whiskers is apparently of no help. Those two or three years must have left a devastating mark on him. Did I mention he had to leave Washington state for some dark nefarious reason, and that he is now married to a different woman? A delightful Jehovah's Witness (pinky swear spit.) I'm not saying he married Mrs. Whiskers (au deux) just because she's JW (that would just be rude) she's a very lovely lady. But there being no threat of a Christmas tree being propped in the corner hung with snowmen in July must have it's attractions. Mr. Whiskers must have felt my dispare, because they drove out of town for the week immediately upon delivering his bit of post Christmas cheer. I'd burn his mail that I am picking up for him daily, but that would be a federal offense.

There's no time to decorate for Phil, I mean where do you buy little stuffed ground hogs? But Valentine's day is coming up. I have spun glass hearts in my Christmas ornament box (an apparent gift of forethought from my sister years ago) that I can take back out and use in tribute to this lover's holiday. Maybe go buy some pink and red gossamer ribbons and little cupids. I mean really, if you can't beat then join them. A few birds nest, maybe some silk crocus, daffodil, and tulip to celebrate spring, and of course coloured eggs and a vested hare or three. No ducks, there will be no cute little ducks, because well Ducky would take that as validation of his success at not removing the former Christmas tree.

My husband has a friend who puts up her Christmas tree in October, no lie. Mauve also keeps it up months later. It's an epidemic. Egg nog anyone?

Cele

The First...And Worst Of Three

The B4B gauntlet was tossed - write about an ex. I really wanted to write something totally positive. I read a few of the entries so far and was really impressed. Could I find a way to make a negative situation positive, when the only good thing that came of it was a wonderful daughter? We'll see.

The First and Worst of Three

Where we've been is who we are. This is my mantra. The benchmark by which I measure myself and consider what makes others tick. That means my ex’s have helped mold me into today’s woman. That’s right one husband, two ex’s, three mothers in law. One daughter, two step daughters,and three dogs. They are all a part of who I have become.

Ronnie? My first love, the boyfriend that got away? Does he ever think about me, because he’s indelibly tattooed on my heart, soul, and psyche? He is the want I have deep in my heart. He was benchmark that all males had to surpass. But we never knocked boots, never did the deed, never got down, dirty, and nasty. Hmmmm, maybe that is why I became the town slut. It was a heart breaking job, but someone had to do it. It helped mold me and believe it or not, it is something of which I’m kind of happy about.

No, we’ll go with mate number one. Despite it all ending on a very sour note, there had to be a good beginning. A moment in time when my heart and head collided to say he is the one. Okay, it didn’t happen that way at all. It was two moments separated by time and space….and people present.

My family had just made the thousand- mile trek from southern California to the small coastal Oregon town where I still live. I was 17, trying to rise out of the destruction that was my former life. Given the opportunity to change who I am and will become, the proverbial path chosen. I dropped my first name, developed a wise mouth attitude and sense of humor, and survivor mentality (which in hindsight was left over from my LA existence.) Sitting in the back of the school bus with several new “friends” I saw a cool fifty-three Chevy panel wagon and proclaimed to all within ear shot, “I’m going to marry him, there is my future husband.” Within a month or so my father, upon making acquaintances with area businessmen would come home and proclaim, “You’re never to have a relationship with that Wilcox, boy.” So I went out and married him. But wait, I’m rushing things.

That Wilcox boy was tender and sweet looking, with a wild streak that drove the area police officers crazy. He had soft velvet brown eyes with a sad droop, a quick laugh, and loping walk; he was taller than me. He’d dropped out of school at 16 and began fishing, a dangerous and hard working profession he soon gave up for roofing. Which if you’ve ever roofed you’ll know is a hard working and dangerous profession if you don’t’ have a sense of balance. He never seemed the quitter, he never seemed lazy, he never seemed hateful.

A year after that first sighting we finally met, fell in lust, and moved to Portland. All seemed happiness and light. He worked nights, I worked days, and we had crazy sex in between. Then he lost his job and proposed to me. He joined the service, we got married, and I found out I was pregnant. It was to become a series of important events for which he was never there. But I understood he was in the service. First he was three thousand, then six thousand miles away. I suffered (and so did my family) an extremely long and painful pregnancy, which ended with the birth of a beautiful, large baby girl, and the loss of her twin. He was still at the Proving Grounds, I understood he was in the service, sending me a hundred dollars a month while I lived with my parents.

I really should have seen it coming, hindsight is so clear.

Two weeks after our daughter was born, he was shipped out to Germany. On Easter morning 1976 with our two month old daughter in arms, I flew to Germany to be with our man. I found baby sitting jobs and was soon caring for six other kids, raking in good money during the days while he worked. It all went into the same bank account and he loved the children. But it was taking a toll on me. The answer came in the way of a job at a near by mess hall. He was not a happy camper, long shifts meant I wouldn’t be home, my cousin would care for our daughter, and I would be making more money than he did.

I didn’t see the changes in him. As long as I didn’t interfere with his television all was peaceful. His drinking increased from one or two a night, to a six pack. But you know, “you can’t be an alcoholic to beer.” I’m not sure where he bought that logic, but I couldn’t change his mind and make him see. Our first Christmas party in Germany he spent passed out in the backroom by the keg. New Years he spent passed out in the poolroom of a Gaus Haus where we’d gone with friend to ring in 1977.

There were good times. Barbecues with friends every Sunday afternoon, picnics at the lake – again with friends. Trips to Heidelberg, Munich, Karlsruhn, Frankfurt, Ulm, and other points of interest, that surprisingly all had beer festivals going on during our visit. He was becoming infamous among our friends for passing out at concerts.

I didn’t see the drugs. I didn’t’ see, well yeah I did but was clueless, the girlfriends. Then one night in July of 1977 it all came to a crashing crescendo, when in the wee hours I was awoken to him straddled across my chest trying to choke the life out of me. I’m a fighter. I’d survived LA, I’d survived rape, I’d survived not being popular, hell, I’d survived being me, I definitely was going to survive him.

Two days later he showed up at the mess hall begging forgiveness. I’d seen the writing on the wall. Now was the time to walk, but I was stuck in Germany with a man who hated me. He had my passport, our daughter’s passport and all the money. I had to work to save money for our plane tickets home, it took three months. I found friends who became my support system, my refuge from his wrath…

…Until the night before our flight to freedom. The plane was scheduled to take off at 5:30am, he came home to repeatedly dump out my luggage and take anything he’d thought was ours or his. Then he knocked my head into the cement floor until I faked unconscienceousness and he left. I feared his return, I feared his not returning, and I definitely feared missing our plane. But he did show up, he did drive us to the airport, and I did get on a plane with our daughter, a suitcase of her clothes and two dollars and nine marks in my purse. I’m a survivor. I landed in New York and called my mom. She is my hero.

I’m not afraid of my first ex anymore. He has no power over me. I rue that he has the ability to screw up my daughter to this day. He’s switched from beer to Night Train, he’s been married three times and divorced three times, none of his children talk to him for long. He is lonely, he is sad, he is still a nasty drunk. But once upon a time there was this sweet guy with puppy dog eyes who loved to race the wind. Now he just races to his bong.

I, on the other hand survived, and grew.


© 6 January 2006 Calista Cates