This is my brain on….

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday - Bail Out

Talk Thursday: Bail Out

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sith,
Cele

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

Talk Thursday – Scattered

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Baby Steps

Talk Thursday – Baby Steps

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: The Spaces In Between

Talk Thursday: The Spaces In Between

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sith,
Cele

Google Picture MeMe

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

Here are the rules:

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

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

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

2. Place you want to travel to: Scotland

3. Your favourite place: flower garden

4) Your Favourite Food: medium rare steak

5) Your Favorite Pet:

Arlo

6) Favourite colour combination: green and purple

7) Favorite piece of clothing: jammies

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

#8B - Hundred Years

9) Favorite TV show:

10) First name of your significant other: Roger

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

12) Your screen name / nickname: Celebrindal / Cele

13) Your first job: horse hand

14) Your dream job: Horse Groom

15) One bad habit that you have: procrastinate

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

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

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

19) Your husband / wife - husband

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

Talk Thursday - Back To School

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stay tuned,
Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday – Shooting Stars

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ahhhhhh

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

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

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday – Thunder Rolls

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just askin’.
Sith,
Cele

Olympic Sour Grapes - Warning Rant Ahead!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please get your anger on,
Cele

Talk Thursday: What Now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sith,
Cele

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I found a dream that I could speak to

A dream that I can call my own

I found a thrill to rest my cheek to

A thrill that I have never known

Oh, yeah when you smile, you smile

Oh, and then the spell was cast

And here we are in heaven

For you are mine

At last
Composed by Glen Miller performed by Etta James

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

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

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

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

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

Psam – Miseray – and

of course

Mrs. RedSox

Lilies Galore!

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

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

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

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

Life is good.

Lillies, Lillies, Lillies

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


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

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

More pictures to come...maybe tomorrow.

Talk Thursday: Teeming

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

Huh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sith,
Cele

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

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

Apparently not.

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

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

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

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

T’isn’t The Season

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kewl, I’ll buy more.

Now hearts or stars?

The Circle Game

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sith,
Cele

Another 50 Things Meme

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

Here we go.

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

Sid and Romach thank you for the Meme and insights.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: Carry Your Flag

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

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

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

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

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

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

What?

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

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

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

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

I am no better than my word and my honor.

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

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

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

Sith,
Cele