~Shaye

~What A Difference A Day Makes

2006-03-21T19:41:00.000-08:00

On a hilltop

On a sky-rise

Like a firstborn child

And at full tilt

And in full flight

Defeat darkness

Breaking daylight

Oooh and the sun will shine

Yeah on this heart of mine
~Coldplay

******************************

Funny how you can travel down the road of life with everything going the same as it ever was and then the next day - all is changed because of a bit of news from a doctor.
I'd known something was up with me last Fall, but I blew it off and continued on as though ignoring it would make it go away. Of course that is never a wise step to take and by the end of February, I had to make a trip to the specialist my doctor was pestering me to see. When the specialist told me I had cancer, my reaction was one of acceptance. Guess deep down I knew it was something serious. The good thing is that I didn't blow it off for too long and my doctors feel quite certain they will be able to cut out all the cancer and I can view the rest of my life as being one that is cancer-free.
My surgery is set for March 29th.
I am thinking positive and also keeping myself pumped with lots of water and making sure I get my exercise in daily and also plenty of rest. I'm more afraid of being put under than anything else and it's best that I be as healthy as I can for that.
So, no drinking alcohol or eating unhealthy foods.
There will be plenty of time for that after I recover.

I also moved.
My daughter's guests left my home back to Florida and as soon as they departed, my daughter gave me the news that she was going to share an apartment with her girlfriend. She's 19 and has a good job, so it's a good learning experience for her to go out and be on her own. I decided since she was leaving - I would move too.
I downsized a lot and had to put a lot of stuff into storage, (or gave it to my daughter for her new place).
I like living in a smaller space and I'm only 5 minutes away from the Marina.
I love it!

I'm not that tight with my Big Bad Wolf these days, but it's all good.
He drinks way too much to suit me, but we remain friends and chat on the phone often.
He's a good man, but booze gets the best of him and when I devote myself to a man, I want the best of him!
It's unfortunate that alcohol controls so much of his life, but until he wants to change that, I refuse to get too close.
Been there, done that.

So life decided to hand me a new game plan and I'm going with the flow.
I look to it all as a journey and this new path might be a bit bumpy, but as long as I'm able to forge ahead and do for myself, I'm content.

I just got my Internet service this morning and getting used to using my comp at a new desk feels really strange. I'd lived in the same house for a lot of years and I'm having a few sleepless nights as I get used to my new surroundings, but I like it.
Makes me look forward to every day.

I'll write more as I get situated here.
I just wanted to check in and update you all on how I'm doing.
With the arrival of Spring, I will also do my best to blossom and flourish.
Positive thoughts and my faith will give me the strength to accept whatever comes my way,...

~All Aboard!

2006-02-25T09:33:00.000-08:00

One way or another

I'm gonna lose ya

I'm gonna give you the slip

a slip of the lip or another

I'm gonna lose ya,

I'm gonna trick ya

One way or another I'm gonna lose ya

I'm gonna trick ya trick ya trick ya trick ya
~Blondie

************************

Funny how my home can take on the ambiance of a busy train station.

Douglas is moving out today.
He's all packed, (he didn't bring all that much really), and by noon, he'll be completely moved into his new place. He got all his furniture in last night with the help of his buddies. Have I done my Happy Dance yet?
Oh yes...
I made him a nice little care package for the new place. A pan of lasagna, big enough to feed all his cronies, tossed in a bag a salad, which probably won't get opened, made a double batch of chocolate chip cookies and gave him some of my old dishes.
It wasn't so bad with him here and he even painted my family room for me.
I can't complain.

Funny how as soon as one child goes out the door, there is another body ready to take his place. I have 3 women coming to stay here today and will take over my house for a full week. As soon as I agreed to this, I made a reservation at a motel for a week.
One must keep their sanity and in this case, the only way I can do that is to bail ship.

These women are coming to Seattle from Florida for a funeral. It's my daughter's friend along with her sister and mother. The Aunt of the mother passed away and they don't have any other relatives to stay with nor do they have a lot of money. The flight cost them a lot and it was Brianna's idea that they stay here for the week.
This is a girl that Brianna has known since preschool and they were super tight until Jessica moved to Florida 2 years ago. Briannna went into the biggest funk I've ever seen when Jessica moved and I just didn't have the heart to tell her no.
Jessica is a decent young woman now, a bit off the wall with her Goth lifestyle, but she doesn't do drugs or anything like that and the mother will be here too, so why not?

I just can't maintain the privacy I need with such a house full and so I made the motel reservation. I shall look to this as an adventure and maybe even a mini vacation.
I still have to come home daily to walk my dog and diddle around on my computer, so my mini vacation won't be too exotic. It might be nice to have a place for a week that I can partake in some adult fun where I don't have to worry about my daughter being under foot. Yep, one has to always look at the bright side in life.

Brianna's guests are paying me $100 to stay, (which I'll just put on food for them), which is still much cheaper than a motel room for the 3 of them, but mainly I am doing this so Brianna and Jessica can have some close time together.

Will my Big Bad Wolf come visit me at my motel room? Of course.
I probably could have stayed with him, but I don't think our relationship is ready for that. Distance is a good thing and only makes the heart yearn for more.
Beisdes, I'm not ready to be tripping over his big boots for a week anyway....

Douglas got wind of my plans and seemed hurt that I wouldn't go stay with him for the week in his new place. Uh...no. I know what's going to happen over there. All his friends will come over to hang out and initiate the place with a million beers and a barrage of bad bathroom humor and I'm just not strong enough for that anymore.
Call me a whimp, but I like my peace and quiet and the smell of stale beer doesn't suit me much.

So, after I post this, I am off to pack.
It's been awhile since I packed up to stay in a motel room. Especially a motel room 15 minutes away from my home. I'm staying by SeaTac Airport. A friend of mine works for this chain of motels and I got a dandy discount. It won't be as calm and poetic as a quaint little room down on the waterfront, but I'll make it work for me.

Brianna's guests will be here in a few hours and I need to make sure the place is set up for them too.
Yep, life is just one big train station.

All Aboard!

~Cry Wolf

2006-02-24T18:34:00.000-08:00

Cry wolf

given mouth to mouth

Like a movin' heartbeat in the witching hour

I'm runnin' with the wind

a shadow in the dust

And like the drivin' rain

yeah, like the restless rust

I never sleep

Huh!

Ah!

Cry wolf, baby

cry tough

Gonna hunt you like an, an, an, an, an, animal

Gonna take your love 'n' run
~Def Leppard

*************************

Well, looks like this Domme has found herself in a bit of a sticky wicket.
A man has captured my heart.
Damn.
Am I in love?
Naw.....
At least I don't think I am.

I met him a couple of months ago, he started out as a client and we've been tight friends ever since. We set it up to meet for coffee and when I first laid eyes on him, I knew I was in trouble. Does that mean he's a handsome, beefy hunk ooozing with sex appeal?
Well, to the average person I am sure he doesn't - but there was an aura I spotted right away, reaching out and grabbing me like a magnet.
I call him my Big Bad Wolf, but he's not all that big, nor is he all that bad. He's a little shorter than I am and looks like Robin Williams with a hint of Bill Murray tossed in.
He's adorable!

He's a carpenter - builds houses for a living and when he lays his hands on me, I come all undone baby....

Is he bisexual? Yep!
Wheeeee!

At first I just enjoyed the good time, keeping myself grounded, not allowing myself to think of him as anything more than a buddy - kinda like Gilligan was to the Skipper, but over time, he found a way to burrow into my guarded heart and now I am all a twitter whenever I just hear his voice.
Danger! Danger!

It's not often that I meet a man that I feel this comfortable with. He and I talk about everything, but most of all, we laugh. When a man's sense of humor fits with mine, (which is very rare), I'm putty in his hands - which is not the best way for this strong willed Domme to be. Of course he doesn't know that and he doesn't read my blog, (as I haven't told him about it yet), so I can spill my guts here all I want.
I am thinking with my head though, and not my heart.
As much as I want to run wild with my Big Bad Wolf, I'm keeping a safe distance and if things are meant to be, they will.

The last time we were together, we had our usual treasure trove of toys and every opportunity to fuck like a couple of banshees, but for some odd reason, we opted to just talk and kiss. For hours we would kiss and then talk a little bit, then kiss some more, laugh, giggle, then dive back into the deep kissing like two long lost lovers.

The next morning, we gulped down the water and dosed ourselves with aspirin, a feeble attempt to relieve the torture of our edgy hangovers. We pacified the pounding pain with some sweaty sex and then he took me home, holding my hand the whole way as he drove.
Here we were, two grown adults who have both been around the bend more than a few times, holding hands like two love sick teenagers after their Senior Prom.

A day doesn't go by that we don't talk to one another on the phone or email the other and no, there is never any talk of love or other risky, reckless things, but we snapped together like puzzle pieces and that feels so very strange to me as I'd resigned myself to remain being this Freak Of Nature that I am, content with my singular position in life.
I'm not looking to marry my Big Bad Wolf or even share a cozy den with him, but it does feel good to have a special man in my life that when he lays his hands on me, I feel so much more than just flesh on skin.

At my age, I have learned the true meaning of friendship and how important it is to have that strong foundation, which can't be built in a hurry.
When it comes to love, we have both gotten married for all the wrong reasons and ran ourselves ragged looking for wherever our niche might be. Is it with each other?
As friends, yes, but as more? Maybe...but I'd sure hate to ruin what we have by weighing it down with the heavy burden of commitment.

The only other time I had this kind of feeling was with my first husband and if it weren't for the fact that he couldn't crawl out of a booze bottle, I'd probably still be with him. But that was 18 years ago that I had to turn heel and walk away. I'm not in love with him anymore, but I do love him in spirit and when I found the last anyone heard of him, he was doing odd jobs for people and sleeping on park benches, (still drunk 24/7), my heart dropped and a deep sadness washed over me. I tried to save him to no avail and the day I walked away was one of the toughest days of my life. It was like turning my back on a drowning man.

But the beat goes on and now I have my Big Bad Wolf to nuzzle and cozy up with.
Oh yes, what big eyes he has and when I look into them I can't help but smile.

He said to me, "I think we're falling in like".

Yes, I would have to agree and I told him so.
It's all good. Very good.
He calls me his Marshmallow Domme and I call him my Tight-assed Big Bad Wolf.

::: big sigh :::

~Ode To The Phallus

2006-02-24T08:09:00.000-08:00

The world moves on a womans hips

The world moves and it swivels and bops

The world moves on a womans hips

The world moves and it bounces and hops

A world of light...

she's gonna open our eyes up
~Talking Heads

**************************

Lately I've been having a lot of discussion with a variety of people regarding sexual preference and sexual orientation. It's no big secret that I only date bisexual men, well, I prefer to anyway. Nor is it a secret that I am really into ass play, my favorite being the Tantra Male G Spot Massage and using a strap on.
With an interest like mine, there is no way I can avoid side stepping into the gay circles and this is where I seem to find the most opposition. Straight men look to me with erotic fascination, drawn to me like moths to a flame while straight women just shake their head and tell me to do whatever floats my boat. It's the gay men, some of them anyway, that come off towards me like they wanna scratch my eyes out.
I guess gay men and I would be at odds to some degree. I mean, after all, we are in direct competition for the same type of man.
It's no secret that gay men have a penchant for seducing the straight guy. You see it in the gay pornography all over the net - The Bait Bus, His First Huge Cock, just to name a couple.
It always starts out the same - some dimwitted straight guy thinking he's gonna get some action from a woman, only to find out it's all a hoax or the scenario might be a straight guy seduced in such a manner that he can't say no. For some gay men this is the ultimate conquest - and they get a huge rush from this. If they didn't - gay men seducing straight guys wouldn't be splattered all over their porn sites.

For the straight women, the gay man being so drawn to seducing their men, is a mighty big threat and it only turns women off more to the pleasures of anal play with thier men. "That's just too gay" - I hear that from women all the time in regard to even touching their man's ass and they aren't too accepting of a man that is actually reckless enough to tell his woman that he likes it.
As for me, being a straight woman who adores bisexual men and ass play, I view this gay obsession with seducing straight men as a kick in the teeth unto their own. I wouldn't want to be a gay man out there new to the dating scene, trying to cultivate relationships within a group that has such a fascination with straight or bicurious men.
So, what does the young gay man do? Get on the band wagon, (or Bait Bus), with the rest of them and lust after the straight dude too?
Come on now....

So who is in the middle of all this? The straight/bicurious man, that's who. There is a whole group of men out there that just want their ass played with and they don't necessarily want it done by a man. I know what I'm talking about, as I get 100's of emails from these men. They tell me things like, "I have been looking for a woman like you for years" or "I got it from a guy, but it's just not the same".
Some men turn to cd's, she/males, trannys and so on, in order to have the ass play and many have told me if they had a woman that was willing to take part, they wouldn't go these other routes.

Is anal play on a man strictly gay?
Hell NO.
My belief is that there are no specific sexual acts that are exclusive to just one sexual group/orientation.
Yes, a man being fucked in the ass by another man is average protocol for gay men, but the gay community didn't by any means patent the act of ass penetration, owning all rights to it and if a man enjoys having his ass filled, it does not mean he is gay. For one, the prostate gland is there, which is a virtual pleasure button placed inside the man's ass. He'd be a FOOL to not utilize this - straight or gay. Of course the gay community knows what big fun it is and they have been partaking since the beginning of sexual time.

Okay, let's talk about the P-E-N-I-S
From the day a male can grab hold of his own - he's totally infatuated. It only makes sense that ALL men would want to know what it's like to suck a cock. God knows if they could suck their own, they'd have a mouthful daily.
From the time men are wee lads, the penis governs all that they do. Sure they are able to get thru schooling and hold down jobs, but the rest of the time is spent trying to find a way to spank the monkey. So, in my mind, what we are talking about is a preoccupation, (a perfectly natural preoccupation), with a body part. And just like so many women complain about all the time, men that only think with their penis are basically nothing more than slaves unto a body part - it does not mean he is a gay man. Is the gay community enslaved by the power of the phallus? Well, I'd like to think not, but I have seen my share of gay men who pay homage to little else. But then that can be said for straight men too - it's all about pleasuring the penis and of course, the two worlds are going to collide- you don't have to be Fellini to figure that out. So the gay men seduce the straight man and feel quite smug that they have just revealed yet, another gay man - which is fuckin bullshit. I really don't know the exact mindset of the gay man who is infatuated and drawn to seducing the straight man, but it reminds me of the idiot men out there that get a kick out of only bedding virgins. When a man takes a woman's virginity it gives him a rush, an ego boost. Is this the same with the gay man seducing the straight guy? If so, it says everything about the gay man and not as much about the straight dude.

Another aspect to the gay/straight man thing that I find interesting is the whole secrecy thing, which can be an extremely intense high. This meaning, that some straight or bicurious men get such a big sexual kick off of doing what is considered taboo, that in itself becomes the draw to having trysts with gay man. Once again, if that is a straight man's addiction, it doesn't mean he is gay. But then I guess it all depends on what some people term as being gay. Does a sex act alone make a man gay? I don't believe that for a second. Being gay means being drawn to men for a whole lot more than getting one's cock serviced. It means wanting to share your life with another man. It means wanting to get to know what goes on in his head and what stirs in his heart. It means there is possibility to fall in love and commit two lives together. If gay men think all it takes to be gay is the ability or the desire to take part in a sex act, then they are living a shallow lifestyle that reeks of recklessness and ignorance.

What if lesbians placed this much importance or gave that much power to boobs?
It's a ridiculous notion isn't it? The reason it's such a silly notion is that women are turned on by what they feel, emotionally - not so much by what they see. Men are visual creatures. They need visual stimuli constantly and this is why the penis gets so much bloody attention. And in the straight world, it's why boobs are so damned important. It's because of the male's need for visual stimuli. It's not lesbian women out there getting boob jobs to be more appealing to other women, it's the straight women doing it to be more attractive to the straight men. Now when you take that whole mindset and put it with the gay men, the phallus becomes sacred and of course, the bigger the better. This whole preoccupation with penis size has gotten obnoxious to me. Granted a large penis is a dandy visual aid, but other than that, bigger is not necessarily better when it comes to sexual pleasure. One can stimulate the prostate gland with a finger and the orgasm can be mind blowing, so a dildo the size of a man's forearm is not going to physically create anymore pleasure than a finger will, but it's all about that visual stimuli and what a man has come to view of as being a turn on.

So back to the penis fascination and the straight man and I want to ask this-
Is the married man with 2.5 kids, that says he's working late and goes out in the dark of night looking for quickie sexual encounters with gay men to service his penis, gay? Not necessarily, but he is a miserable excuse for a husband. Now, is the married man with 2.5 kids, that has a gay lover on the side of which he goes to lunch with and has actually cultivated some kind of emotional bond with a gay man? Of course he is and he needs to be true to himself and get out of the marriage, which is whole other soap box for me, of which I will address at another time.
So, here you have a variety of straight and bicurious men entering into the gay circles for many reasons. The most notorious would be the gay man hiding behind a marriage to a woman, not being true to himself. Then there are the men that just wanna know what it feels like to suck a cock or vice versa. Then you have the type man that gets a rush from doing the naughty, taboo act, and yes, it can become an addiction - it's risky, exciting and it gets the blood pumping and the adrenaline going. Once again, that does not make him a gay man. Granted these type men are not too highly evolved, choosing to live a life hinged to erotic secrecy.

I think what annoys me the most is the fact that some gay men refuse to acknowledge the existence of the bisexual man that prefers women. They don't want to see it or admit that the only thing they have to offer a bisexual man is their dick. And if all it takes to be a gay man is the desire to have one's cock or ass serviced, then I pity the poor soul living in that dirty little closet. It's a shoddy assumption and as far as I am concerned, doesn't place much real value on being gay at all. As a matter of fact, it demeans it, taking being gay to a level of animalistic urges and not much else.

I have a client who is bisexual and he prefers women. He is such a sweet, gentle, loving, open minded soul and a few years back he fell into a physical relationship with a gay man. They cultivated a friendship and got together to orally pleasure each other, (blow jobs only ...or hand jobs - no anal sex and no kissing). In time, the gay man pushed for more and my client considered it, but couldn't. He preferred women and had to break things off with this gay man as to not lead him on thinking otherwise. It was a lesson in life for my client and he has vowed from that day on, to not enter into another relationship like the one he was in, as it wasn't fair to the gay man, nor was he being true to himself - that he wants relationships with women. But does he still like to suck cock?
Yes. But now he only does it with other bisexual men in 3-somes with me and I cater to his anal play. He says he's finally found what he's always been looking for in regard to sexual pleasure.

Regardless of what you might think of me after reading this, I do have a high respect for gay men. Why wouldn't I? I respect all human beings that conduct their lives in a way which doesn't prey on others to inflict injustice or suffering. You lead your life in manner that doesn't hurt or trod on others and I'm cool. I don't believe in dismissing a whole gender for the sake of my own personal agenda and with some gay men, I see this happening. They have capsulated their lifestyle to omit women totally with some gay men expressing nothing more than disgust and disdain towards women.
I don't accept that anymore than I do lesbians being man-haters.

When a person tells me they are homosexual, it doesn't mean much to me. It's like, so what? That is how much I accept it - it's like telling me you are divorced or catholic or a vegetarian. A person's sexual orientation doesn't alter the way I view anyone. You tell me your gay and I'm the type to shrug my shoulders and ask you about your job, your dog or how does your garden grow.

I'm the first person to stand in defense and rally for the rights of the gay community. They have every right to be married and have legal unions that are revered by the law as binding legally as hetero couples. There should be no ramifications towards the gay community in the job market and violence against gays should be punished swiftly and sternly. So being the staunch supporter that I am in these issues - why do I feel so un-accepted by the gay community?

Yes, being gay or lesbian has it's challenges, that is a given. But we are making headway in acceptance, and just like anything else, with acceptance comes that odd phase of showcasing the lifestyle in which it's representation isn't very on spot when it comes to being realistic. Guess it's up to the gay community to plod along and do what they can to educate the public by way of example and show the rest of the world that their lives and the core of who they are is not governed by lust.

~CANNONBALL!!!!

2006-02-18T09:27:00.000-08:00

Is the cup half empty?

Or is the cup half full?

Does the sun rise at dawn?

Or does the earth just spin along?

Or is it all perspective?

On how we see the world?

How many countless life forms

Are on a little ball that twirls?

~Beastie Boys

**************************

This won't be a long blog entry. It can't be, as it's a rant in regard to my son. His name is Douglas and he's 26. He is staying with me for a bit, (he's been here a week now), until the place he is going to rent is ready - which should be next weekend, on Saturday, hopefully in the AM hours, that is exactly 6 days, 22 hours and 16 minutes from now.
I have my watch synchronized. When the hour arrives - Blast OFF!

Don't get the wrong idea here - I love my son. He's a decent young man, hardworking and dedicated to those he loves, but he's also the biggest busybody this side of the Pacific Northwest. He's also very loud and everything he does is boisterous and big. It's like living with an Orangutan on No Doze .

Life has been rather peaceful for me the last couple of years as I have lived with my youngest daughter, Brianna, now 19. She's a quiet girl - not very talkative at all and she has a busy life with her work, boyfriend and many girlfriends. Most of the time she is on the run, using the house as a pit stop, but even when she is home, all is peaceful and un-rumpled.
Then Douglas showed up.

Doug, as he prefers to be called, stands 6 ft 1 and weighs a good 200 pounds. This is the most I've ever seen him weigh, (too much beer and pizza). He has a very short haircut, as he hates the blonde curly hair he inherited from me, and his blond beard is neatly trimmed close to his face. His eyes are hazel, his smile is genuine and his voice, like I mentioned, is loud.
He's the oldest of the children and takes his position as being the oldest quite seriously. In his mind, there is nothing he doesn't have the right to know. I think that is an oldest child trait, being the Mother Hen. If your sitting in the corner, curled up in the easy chair reading, he wants to know what your reading and he wants to talk about it too. If your busy at the computer, he stands over your shoulder watching what you type, what you read or what your looking at. If your busy in the kitchen, he's got to know everything that's cooking and also stick his fingers in every pot, tasting it all. If you leave, he wants to know where you are going and when you'll be back and if you just come in - he demands to know where you've been and who you were with. Needless to say, this doesn't set very well with his younger sister.
But the worst - if your on the phone, he listens and then asks who you were talking to. Grrrrrr....
I've sat Douglas down and talked to him as rationally as I can about these things and he always takes it way too personal, throwing his hands up and always saying something like, "Fine then, excuuuuuuuuuuse me for caring about my family!!!"
::: groan :::

For the most part, Douglas is a happy dude. He laughs easily and his eyes light up quick if you tell him good news. You got a promotion at work? Doug is the type to make you beam with pride for being so industrious and savvy in advancing. Ask him to look at something you just created, he'll fawn over it like it's the best thing since kegged beer. If your looking for someone to boost your moral and pat you on the back for your endeavors in life, Douglas is the one for that.

Douglas isn't picky about food, which as a mother, I'm appreciative. He covers everything he eats in salsa, but I can live with that. He clears his plate and washes the dishes without being asked. He takes out the garbage and the recycling. He adds wood to the fire when it's needed and chops kindling if the woodbox is low. He walks the dog, does his own laundry, cleans the bathroom after showering, doesn't leave the toilet set up, and wants to pay for just about everything.
I really shouldn't have any complaints.

Some loved ones are better appreciated living across town, they really are.
Four years ago Douglas heard that the job opportunity for his business, (he's a journeyman painter, interior and exterior), was prime in Arizona. Within a week, he was set to move his business down there, which came as quite a shock to all of us, as Douglas has always hated hot weather. But in mid-July of 2001, he drove down to Arizona and started up his business. He spent 3 years there, never making a trip home to visit and we all missed him very much. His business boomed in Arizona, but he never did get used to the hot weather and he returned to Seattle just a little under a year ago. It didn't take him long to find a place and get his business going up here again. He'd still be in his rental house if not for the fact the owners sold it. So, here he is waiting for his new place to be ready. The only way I can describe my son entering our calm existence here is like someone at a pool doing a surprise cannonball in the middle of people relaxed on top of the water lounged on their air mattresses. Yes, he made a big splash here.

I guess I can grin and bear it. I can ignore how when he reads the paper, he feels the need to tell us every detail of every story he reads and then give a 20 minute commentary for each one. I can live with him watching The Price is Right and loudly whooping it up for the winners. I can live with him gulping down every beverage in the house that isn't water and put up with his game of 20 Questions.

A typical conversation with my son - he asks me:

Did you call grandma today?
No.
Why not?
I didn't have any reason to call her today.
But grandma's 85 years old, you should call her every day.
No, I shouldn't and she wouldn't want me call her every day anyway.
How do you know that?
I just know...
You should call her.
I just talked to her the other day, she's fine.
She's an old lady now Mom, you need to call her everyday.
No, I don''t Douglas, she's fine with me calling her every Sunday.
Your just saying that cause you don't want to call her every day.
No I'm not!
Yes, you are.
You never called me everyday when you were in Arizona.
But your not 85 years old.
Grandma does not want me to call her everyday...
I bet she does...
NO - she doesn't.

And this could on and on and on and on.....

Typical conversation with Douglas and his younger sister when she gets home after her boyfriend drops her off-

Who's that?
My boyfriend.
What's his name?
Zach.
Zach what?
Why do YOU wanna know?
How old is he?
21
That's too old for you.
It is not!
Yeah, it is, your only 19
So?
So, he's too old for you. Does he work?
Yes
Doing what?
Why are you bugging me with so many question, I don't ask you a bunch of dumb questions about YOUR life.
I have a right to know who your hanging out with Brianna.
NO you don't!
What are you trying to hide? Bet he doesn't even have a job.
He works.
Where? Doing what?
Leave me alone.
How long have you known him?
2 years.
Are you having sex with him?
MOM!!!!!

They say women are nosey, but Douglas out noses any busy body, gossipy women I've ever met.

When it comes to our children, we love then unconditionally - we take the good with the bad and if we are effective parents, we allow them to stumble and learn from their mistakes. Douglas has done his share of stumbling and he's learned.
At 17 he moved out on his own and has been ever since. His choices back then were not that great, but one thing he was consistent about is that he always worked. Even at 20 years old, when he had to tell me he was hooked on crank, he put himself in rehab and paid himself what his work insurance wouldn't cover for the treatment. He hasn't used since. At 21, his best friend from his high school days was found dead on his living room couch, overdosed on drugs and then 5 months after that, his girlfriend died in a car accident - she was drunk while driving and hit a parked dump truck going about 90 miles an hour. At 22, he got in a bar fight, his ankle was badly broken and he was stabbed - almost causing his death. His stumbling has been risky to say the least. But he's 26 now, his life isn't full of bar room brawls or drug addicted buddies. For that, I am grateful. He works hard, pays his bills and is fiercely loyal to his family.

Guess Brianna and I just have to learn to live with giving up the pool for awhile...

~Butterflies VS The Bull

2006-02-14T10:14:00.000-08:00

Now tell me why am I to lie

If I'm holding firm and feel the right

to lie down beside this dog of mine

And let that perverted thought

really run through my mind

~Blind Melon

*****************

So here it is another Valentine's Day and all the little children are on their way to school with a backpack full of valentines and the merchants are waiting patiently to tally up at the end of the day.

For years I have been in writing groups on the Internet and when I first came to the online writing scene, I gravitated towards women's forums. On Valentine's Day, all the women lit up and loved to write about all the reasons they love their men, their children, family, life, yadda, yadda, yadda. Fluffy, sweet prose floated from their minds like cotton candy being spun onto paper cones at the country fair. I would read these sweet poems one after the other until the urge to hurl overwhelmed me. Did I tell these love enthusiastic women friends of mine that their poems did nothing more than test my gag reflex? No, of course not. As much as I can be a poetic snob, I've never poo poo'd anyone's attempt at writing. I'd make a miserable critic as I just don't have the heart to tell someone their writing ability has about as much appeal as guzzling down a bottle of Karo syrup. And as much as I hate to admit it, I've written my share of fluffy stuff too and the funny thing is, it's the fluffy writing that these women fawned over the most. When I'd get real and write with a little grit, their reactions were blase, to say the least.
Now don't get me wrong, I've seen men come off with the cliche, sweet prose too. Bad writing knows no boundaries when it comes to the sexes.

Writing poetry has been a passion of mine since I was about 10 years old. It all started in grade school and when it came to creative writing assignments - I excelled. Teachers would pull me aside and stroke me, telling me things like, "You've got it what it takes" and "Never give up the dream". By the time I was in high school, writing became my refuge from the tortured angst of my rampaging hormones and while all my friends were passing around fat joints rocking out to Black Sabbath's Iron Man, I played albums by Joni Mitchell, (my guru - well, one of them anyway), Simon and Garfunkel, (I am a Rock!), and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, while penning down my myriad of feelings.

Before the age of computers, rubbing elbows with other writers was not an easy task. One would have to join Poetry Clubs/Groups or sign up for Creative Writing classes. None of my friends wrote, so I trudged along my writing path alone, sharing a scant amount of my writing with a chosen few. It didn't cause me to write less and I still have all that I have ever written crammed in box upon box and stashed away. It was when I got my first computer in 1999, that I began to mingle with other writers. It was a harsh reality for me, yet at the same time, a journalistic wake up call.
As I previously mentioned, I joined the writing forums and quickly shared my poetic pearls. The reception I received varied depending on each individual forum. In the women's groups, they adored me. In the serious writers group, I was chewed up and spit out. I was faced with a choice - to either stay in a forum, with the women, have my work celebrated without hesitation, (or any real thought), or swim with the sharks and risk being chomped up and then regurgitated.
I chose the sharks. I wanted the challenge and I wanted to see what I was capable of accomplishing according to their strict protocol. I would study the writings that the sharks considered exemplary and then dissect each stanza. Yep - my writing was being held hostage by lazy abstractions and tired cliches and if I wanted to be the best I could be, I had to find an escape. I sent some of my work to a critic and then waited for the bleeding. The critics that I'd come to hang with were lethal and they found great pleasure from impaling the novice. I braced myself for the worst. Needless to say, I was grateful when the critic I had chosen to send my work finally got back to me with his opinion, his reprimand was gentle, yet stern with some outstanding advice. One analogy he made, that still sticks in my mind, is he compared my writing to "tossing marshmallows at a window" - it wasn't getting anyone's attention. At first I was highly insulted that he would compare my writing to marshmallows, HMPH!
But once I got over the initial smack of his honesty and got real with myself, I saw that he was spot on. My writing was nothing more than convenient warm fuzzies and I'd been lax in my written craft - using abstractions and cliches as a crutch. I vowed to do better and got busy turning those marshmallows into bricks. I spent the next couple of months cultivating a different style and studying the works of others. I sent the critic my newborn writes and he gifted me with some welcome praise - I'd done much better and of about 6 poems I'd sent him, one he termed one as being excellent. I was grateful for his generosity and to this day, because of him and the fact that he took time out of his busy schedule to read my work and advise me, I always strive to be better and not fall into the trap of lazy writing while hiding behind the proverbial journalistic candy counter.

I haven't written much poetry lately. The poetic inspiration comes on me in spurts and when it does grab me, I will write tons of poems. Lately, this has been the only writing I have felt the inclination for - blogging. I still adhere to my critic's advice and incorporate what he told me into my commentary writing. Eventhough a blog is nothing more than a diary for some people, it serves as a useful tool for me to keep up on my edge... or ledge, (depending on how you view my writing style). This being Valentine's Day, I could write a sappy piece listing why I love my children or list all the things I love in life and a million women out there would respond telling me that my words made them cry or I expressed exactly what they felt but could never put into words.
As talented as I can be in spinning the sugar, I refuse. I do catch myself falling back and the sentimental urge gets the best of me. I might write about how the sound of the rain makes me dance inside my heart and then in the next sentence get down and dirty describing how frustrating it is not being able to get laid and how I long for a man to fuck me like a bull.
Picture Mae West having Julie Andrews as a mother and you've got a good concept of me. I admit, I can be a contradiction unto myself and in writing, this makes for some annoying periods of being blocked. As a matter of fact, the last entry in my blog, The Blue Quilt, which was a testimonial towards my dear friend, Katie, that passed away last year, put me into a writing funk. I couldn't pull myself out of the sticky sentimental ooze for a few days, which frustrated me, yet, I knew it would pass and it did.

They say there is a lot of money to made in penning sentiments for greeting cards and part of me would like to make my mark doing such, but the lack of commentary challenge would be the creative death of me. Although I do love butterflies, rainbows and the color pink, there's no way I could spend all my mental energy on dreaming up ways to say Happy Birthday. I doubt they would welcome my pros when I am in one of my crass moods and think a birthday card should read;

"It's your fucking birthday you MORON, now get off your sorry ass and act your age!"

Naw, I doubt Hallmark would approve.

~The Blue Quilt

2006-02-08T19:39:00.000-08:00

~In Memory Of Katie~
February 15, 1957 - February 8, 2005

*********

Save some light for me

Figures up ahead

Moving in the trees

White skin in linen

Perfume on my wrist

And the full moon that hangs over

these dreams in the mist

Darkness on the edge

Shadows where I stand

I search for the time

On a watch with no hands

I want to see you clearly

Come closer than this

But all I remember

Are the dreams in the mist

~Heart

***************************************

Her name was Katie and she was my dear, dear friend.
A year ago today, at the age of 47, just a few days shy of her 48th birthday, Katie passed away in her sleep after suffering 14 long years with the crippling effects of Huntington's Chorea Disease.
Her mother, grandmother, 4 aunts, 2 uncles and numerous cousins died before her from the same disease and now her younger sister, Beth, suffers from it also.

Yeah, it's about at bad as it can get with Huntington's and Katie knew she had a very good chance of being afflicted with it, just like her mother had been and it's why she chose to never have children.

I met Katie when I was 21 when her and I worked together as cocktail waitresses. We both worked the closing shift and became close friends within a month of working together. Katie was drop dead gorgeous - 6 ft tall, slender, long blonde hair. light bubbly voice and a radiant, steady smile. She also did modeling jobs on the side, (legititmate jobs - none of that sleazy crap), and men literally fell at her feet. The most unique quality about Katie is that she always smiled - it was natural for her. It wasn't a cheesy, put on smile either, it was genuine. Katie was one of those people that truly enjoyed being alive and it showed in every way that she carried herself. There was nothing phony about her. Her sex appeal was captivating and it wasn't just men who gravitated towards her - everyone did. A bit of a party girl, she liked the clubs and she loved a good, dry martini, long before it was trendy. Her and I would go out often on our nights off and the men couldn't send over the drinks quick enough. I knew most of them were trying to gain Katie's attention, but a few of the men surprised me by looking past her at me. As friends it worked out great - all the men that she was attracted to, I wasn't and vice versa. We never got into it over men. One evening we counted 16 untouched drinks on our table that had been sent over by the men in the bar. The waitress, a friend of ours, just kept brining them over as a joke. I remember scanning the bar and it seemed like every man in the place either waved or tipped his glass at us. Did we let all the adoration go to our heads? Well, maybe a little.

With all the men after Katie, the men she chose as her boyfriends were not the kind you would think a gorgeous model type woman would choose. She definitely had a thing for muscles, but other than that, her boyfriends were rather homely and not too bright. A lot of them didn't have very lucrative jobs either and Katie paid their way more than she should have.

Katie was a natural caregiver and nurturer. She came from a very poor family, (her mother died from Huntington's before I met her), and her father was a hopeless alcoholic. She had a younger sister, Beth, that she also helped out financially and there were times I felt her sister, father and lazy boyfriends took extreme advantage of her generous nature. I tried once to confront her in regard to this and it was the first, (and only time), Katie got angry towards me. She wouldn't have it any other way in helping those she loved and I never brought the subject up to her again. As a matter of fact, when I was caught up in my own hideous nightmare, Katie was the only friend who remained close to me. She rescued me, listened to me, she was an anchor when I felt like I was going to float away on a sea of despair. Katie was one of those rare kind of people that loyalty came first, no matter how it might have been an intrusion on her life. She was the type to drive all night to be there for you at a moment's notice.

As a little girl, she had nothing. Food was scarce and so one of her favorite things to do was go out to dinner and it wasn't rare for Katie to scoop up the tab no matter how many people sat at the table. She told me of how they had no money for clothes and she had to wear hand-me-downs from a neighbor that had all boys. Katie wore boys clothing all thru grade school and because of this - she loved dresses and anything feminine. It all looked superb on her too! She could have worn a gunny sack and made it look sexier than hell. She also loved flowers and the color blue - especially light blue - like her eyes, and she wore a lot of blue and her house was decorated in blue. Even the brand new 1980 Camaro that she bought, and was so excited and proud of, was light blue.

After waitressing for a couple years together, Katie and I gravitated towards other jobs. I went to Culinary Arts School and Katie got a very good paying job doing bookkeeping for the railroad. The duty of life kept us from being able to hang out at much as we did when we waitressed together, but we still got together a couple times a month to party, always on our birthdays, never missed a summer in going camping for a week at a place called Ocean Shores - one of Katie's favorite places.

The most devious or dishonest I ever saw Katie be, which this girl did not and could not lie- was when she called me up one day and asked if I could ride her out across town to a DR's office for an appointment to have cysts, (benign), removed from her breasts. Of course I told her I would and at 6am on the morning of her appointment, I picked her up. Her appointment was going to take some time, so I left her there and went to visit another friend of mine that lived in the area with the agreement to come back at 3pm, which I did. She was quite high from having the cysts removed and she giggled and talked non-stop all the way home where her boyfriend had to help her into their house. A few weeks later Katie and I got together and decided to hang out at the beach. It was the first hot, 90 degree day of that particular summer and Katie quickly removed her cut offs and tank top revealing quite the scant bikini underneath. I looked at her and my eyes popped wide open. She didn't have any cysts removed that day at the clinic - she'd had a boob job! And boy- did she ever - WOW! She had been a rather flat girl, but not anymore. I must admit, she at least had the good taste to not get them too big. But if the men were falling at her feet before, they were now falling at her feet and rolling over on their backs for her. Other than the boob incident I can't recall any other time that Katie lied or mislead me or anyone - she was probably the most honest person I've ever known.

In 1989 Katie and I decided to be room mates. She had just broken up with one of her lazy ass boyfriends and I'd just divorced my first husband and we were looking for a fresh start in life. Katie had taken a deal from the railroad in which they basically paid her off to quit and she was also looking for a job, just as I was, so together, along with my kids, we rented a big comfortable house 100 miles away from Seattle and began working on finding employment. I found a cooking gig right away, but Katie was having trouble finding work. It was during this time I noticed something was happening with her. She was always kinda clumsy, but she began being moreso and at times her speech slurred a little, kinda like a person just starting to feel their booze. Within a couple months, her sister, Beth, joined us as a room mate and it was Beth that had the guts to voice what was happening. She brought it up to me in private one day and I had to admit, yes, Katie was having problems and it seemed to be getting worse.

During this time Katie met John, a cooperate lawyer. He'd been divorced from his first wife for many years, had no children and was 9 years older than Katie. John wasn't a very handsome man, he had a booming voice, drank too much, chain smoked and his personality reminded me more of a used car salesman rather than a lawyer, but he adored Katie and she was absolutely crazy about him. About 2 months into their relationship John came over to our house and as Katie was getting ready for their date, he and I shared a beer in the livingroom. He surprised me in bringing up Katie's little problems being so clumsy and I don't know, maybe it was the beer I'd had, but I ended up just blurting out to John everything that Katie hadn't told him in regard to the Huntington's disease. At the time, I didn't know if it was the right thing to do. It was obviously not my place to tell John such intimate details about Katie's life, but I loved her like a sister and John deserved to know. When it came to Huntington's, Katie didn't like talking about it at all. I think she felt if she never brought up the subject, then it didn't exist. Well, it did exist and I didn't want to see John leave her when the two of them were in a deep, serious commitment down the road in which Katie would be left heartbroken and alone. I figured it was best he knew about it when the relationship was still young. John's reaction to my words was one of silence. It was an extremely awkward situation and after he and Katie left on their date, I felt awful for telling John what I did and feared Katie would hate me forever upon discovering my betrayal.

A couple weeks went by and Katie and John were still dating strong, then a couple months went by and they were still a quite happy together. It was a cold winter's evening after we'd all had dinner at our house and Katie and Beth decided to run to the store for more wine. I found myself alone with John as they went to the store and John brought up the subject of Katie. He basically told me that he'd taken time to read up on Huntington's Chorea disease and he wasn't going to allow it to get in the way of what he and Katie had. He told me he loved her and that he'd always be there for her. The next month, Katie moved in with John. To this day, I don't know if Katie ever knew that I told John about the Huntington's or not, but John lived up to his words to me that day, he never left Katie's side.

After Katie moved in with John, I was faced living with her sister, Beth and it didn't work out. Beth was extremely demanding in nature and very difficult to live with and 2 months after Katie left the house, I moved back to Seattle. Work opportunities were more abundant in Seattle anyway and I had my children to raise, so back to Seattle I went and Beth moved in with Katie and John.

Having 100 miles between wasn't going to be anything Katie and I would allow to get in the way of remaining close friends, but it did cause us to lose touch a bit. Her life with John was full, active and I don't recall a time when Katie was more happy than she was with John. We still took time to drive those 100 miles to get together, but it wasn't as often as it should have been. We always got together at Christmas and other random times, but our yearly trek to Ocean Shores fell to the wayside. Mainly, we depended on the phone for maintaining our friendship.

Needless to say, I had some outrageous phone bills back then, but it was worth every dime.

As the years went by it was in talking with Katie over the phone that I could tell her disease was getting worse. Her words grew more slurred and she was getting forgetful. She was never able to land a job, but John had plenty of money and he took good care of her needs and wants. The only problem the two of them ever faced, was Katie's sister Beth living off of them. Beth, like I'd mentioned, was a difficult person, she refused to work and this caused a lot of stress in Katie and John's life. Katie's loyalty to Beth was unyielding and she wouldn't budge when it came to being there for her little sister. John expressed his frustration in this more than once to me, but he allowed Beth to live with them because it was what Katie wanted.

After a couple of years of living with John, Katie's secret came out to everyone. She'd been diagnosed as definitely having Huntington's and it was sad to have that final confirmation of what those close to her already knew. Katie refused to let it dampen the positive spirit of her life and I never once heard her complain about this awful disease that over the next 12 years, would ravage her to almost nothing but a shell.

Over those 12 years life got very busy for me. I was working 2 jobs most of the time and had married my second husband. Katie was supposed to be my Maid Of Honor in my wedding, but a bad bout of her disease kept her from that -- she wouldn't have been able to even walk down the isle and a little cold had also turned into a serious case of phenomena that she had a terrible time recovering from.

When life gets jam packed with stuff, it's amazing how the years can pass and friends who live far away, like Katie did, only enter our lives in phone calls, Christmas cards and infrequent visits that always feel rushed. Life was getting very difficult for Katie. She could no longer drive as her muscles worked against her, causing her to jerk uncontrollably. Restaurants would not serve her alcohol when her and John went out to dine, which was one of Katie's favorite things to do, because her words slurred and her movements resembled a drunk person. In time, Katie became more and more house bound.

Beth still caused a lot of grief in their lives, but Katie never complained or said one negative word about Beth, her concern was always about others and not herself. With Beth taking such gross advantage of Katie, it was hard for me to keep my opinions to myself, but I did. Eventually the problems with Beth escalated to a point that John stepped in and he made Beth move out of the house. This was the only time I ever knew of any discord between Katie and John, but she had no choice but to accept John's decision because of her health. It was for the best and within a few months, John and Katie were fine - better as a matter of fact, as finally, they didn't have Beth to contend with living in their home.

Within a year from Beth moving out Huntington's had gotten the best of Katie and she no longer made sense to people over the phone. I didn't want to lose my connection with her and still called as often as I could, talking to John and getting the scoop on things. He'd give the phone to Katie and I would talk a stream to her - she could only listen, but she never lost her ability to bubble up with laughter.

In 2002, Katie's body was at the mercy of the cruelty of her disease. She was painfully thin - 6 ft tall and 100 pounds. Her gorgeous blonde hair was cut short, her teeth had to be pulled, they'd done a hysterectomy on her and she'd lost the ability to swallow and a feeding tube was placed. Sleeping was difficult for her in a bed and she had to sleep sitting up in a lounge chair. She now had a full time caretaker and a visiting physical therapist that came to exercise her legs and arms. Her muscles jerked and face contorted uncontrollably.

I was doing a lot of quilting in my spare time back then and after Katie had suffered another serious bout with phenomena, I decided to make her a big warm quilt. One of her biggest complaints is that she was always cold and I knew a quilt would be the perfect gift for her. Her favorite color was blue, so I chose 7 of the prettiest blue floral fabrics that I could find and made her an extra thick quilt, backing it in baby soft flannel. I took it to her that Christmas and as hard as it was to see Katie so ravaged, I had to give her this quilt in person. A huge smile spread across her face when she saw the quilt and as much as the rest of her body was nothing more than a prison, her eyes lit up and danced as she hugged the quilt close to her.

The next few years my life once again got busy and I wasn't as attentive towards Katie as I would have liked. My marriage failed and I went thru the distractions of divorce. I changed jobs and dealt with issues of raising teens. My life didn't allow much time to tend to faraway friends and my phone calls to John were always on the run and never often enough.

In the fall of 2004, John took Katie and her caregiver to Hawaii. Upon returning John called to report how the trip went. His voice was tight, distant and I sensed a fear that he'd never displayed before. He told me Katie slept most of the time on the trip, not taking much interest in anything - no complaints from her mind you, but more of a resignation that she'd never given into before. The Drs. had given her the okay to go and the trip didn't bring on any out of the ordinary difficulties for Katie, but it was painfully obvious that John was fearing the worst. I reassured him as best I could and placed my own worry aside.

That Christmas I didn't make it up to see Katie, I ended up working everyday but Christmas Day and with 100 miles between us, I chose to stay home, (of which I hve come to regret deeply to this day). My daughter Sarah went up to see her, delivering a small crystal martini glass with a tiny little mouse sitting on a green crystal olive inside it. Katie collected Baron crystal treasures and I thought she'd get a kick out of the little mouse in the martini. That night John called for Katie to thank me and just like so many times before, he put the phone up to Katie for me to talk to her. She must have had a nice Christmas as she was bubbling over on the other line with laughter. I listened, not understanding a word she said, trying to keep the conversation going without giving her the feeling that I was dismissing her. She giggled at my silly quips as I told her how my Christmas had went and suddenly there was a loud silence between us, I took in a shaky breath, fighting back the tears and told her that I loved her and wished her a Merry Christmas. Clear as a bell the words "I love you too" left the phone into my ear from Katie's lips. The first words I'd been able to understand from her in years.

After hanging up I cried like a baby.

The call came midmorning of February 8th, 2005. It was John. His voice sounded a million miles away as he quietly said my name and I knew. His words to me were short and shaky as he battled the tears trying to be strong, letting me know that my best friend in the whole wide world had died that morning. He woke up at the usual time - 5am and went out to help her to the bathroom, just like he'd done every other morning and found Katie gone. She'd passed away without a sound in her sleep - exactly one week before her 48th birthday.

Katie's memorial was on her birthday. John's sister held the gathering at her house and the place was packed. She'd touched people's lives with a sincere generosity and compassion that few people show towards each other. The girl who loved the color blue and who always smiled lost her battle to Huntington's and entered into God's Garden with a graceful gait, I am certain.

I was the first to give a eulogy and to this day, it's all a blur to me. When John gave his, I lost it. This man had stuck with her through thick and thin - he was truly her Angel On Earth and no doubt, if not for John, she would have ended up being housed in some terrible, shoddy, governement ran facility. Her memorial turned into a fun birthday party - exactly like she would have wanted it to be. Pitchers of martini's were served and everyone's lips got loose telling their stories of Katie - the smiles were wide and laughter filled the room like bubbles and balloons. We missed her, but we celebrated her life with enthusiasm and genuine love.

The day proved to be a lot for me and I was just about to find John and tell him I needed to hit the road when he found me first. He asked me step outside with him and I welcomed the idea - I needed to get out of the crowded house, not to mention I was also jonesin for a cigarette. John and I hit the front yard and lit up. His eyes were droopy, swollen and I'd never seen him look more tired or so utterly lost.

"I loved her more than life itself", he told me, tears welling up in his eyes. The tears welled up in mine too and all I could say was, "I know John, I know."

"She loved you too", he told me. My words escaped with a sob, but I managed to utter, "And I loved her". He hugged me close to him and I could feel his pain as he wept into me. "I can't live without her," he sobbed, "What will I do without her?" I didn't have the answer for him. The loss was huge for both of us, yet at the same time, there was a feeling of relief in that Katie had been liberated from her painful, cruel prison that was Huntington's. When John was able to collect himself, he moved away from me and caught his breath. We both attempted to dry our drenched eyes and compose ourselves. Other guests began coming out onto the porch and he motioned to me, "Come over here", he said, "I have something for you". I followed him to his car and he opened the back door. He reached in and took out the blue quilt that I had made for Katie and presented it to me. I snatched it up, holding it close.

"She couldn't sleep without,", he whispered, "It was wrapped around her when.....she left us". His words echoed through me and as I held the quilt close to me, a warmth came over me that I'd never felt before. I could feel her, smell her. I bawled like a lost child into the quilt. John put his arms around me and together, we cried again for the woman that gave so much of herself to us. We wept for a woman that endured more pain and suffering than any one person should have to. We wept for ourselves and the huge loss of no longer having Katie in our lives.

It's been one full year now since Katie left us and she filled my mind and heart all day. I called John, but there was no answer. I'd spoke with him over the holidays and he said he was going to travel to the East coast this winter and visit some family he has there, so I imagine that is where he is.

There are so many memories. So many hugs. Laughter and smiles that never die. I slept with Katie's quilt for 6 months until my granddaughter, Trinity latched onto it and didn't want to give it up. I let her have it and she sleeps with it now at her house. When I baby-sit, Trin likes to haul it out of her bedroom and her and I cuddle up with it and I read books or I tell her stories. Sometimes I tell her stories about Katie - the girl who always smiled. Trinity knows that the quilt is special and when we wrap ourselves up in it, she pats the quilt and says in her sweet little two year old voice..."K K's bankie" and then she turns to me and smiles, just like Katie.

~Love Ain't Cheap

2006-02-07T11:10:00.000-08:00

Loving and touching

Laughing and squeezing

Walking and joking

Smiling and teasing

Loving and kissing

Rubbing and scrubbing

Styling and slumming

and

Rolling and cumming

~Red Hot Chili Peppers

****************************

Valentine's Day is a week from today.
The stores have been stocked and ready since the day after Christmas, if not sooner, and if your one of those type people that go all out for Valentine's Day, I'm certain you are fully prepared by now. I, on the other hand, don't feel the desire.

I'm not a big fan of Valentine's Day. It reeks of commercialism and most of the stuff the stores push are cheap and tacky to me. No, a stuffed gorilla holding a red satin heart that reads "I'm Bananas For You" that also squirms around while playing a tinny rendition of "Burnin Love" does not impress me much.

I'm not a big fan of red roses and as a matter of fact, I'm not too partial to the color red, and most of the Valentine's Day cards are grossly overpriced and too sappy or silly for me. It was a sweet holiday when my kids were little and there were a few years I got creative and hand crafted cards and would whip up a special dinner and some kind of decadent dessert, I'm not void of all sentimentality, but now that my kids are grown, the day doesn't evoke much excitement from me.

Now, the tradition of giving those you love chocolate does perk up my ears. Of course being the hopeless chocoholic that I am, giving those you hold dear a big box of chocolates should be a law on Valentine's Day - break it, and you go straight to Hades. Here in the Seattle area, See's Candy is the best place to get chocolates. Expensive - yes, but when it comes to the Food Of The Gods, money should be no object. Yes, there are some fancy heart shaped boxes at the grocery store filled with substandard chocolates, but why settle for waxy, tasteless lumps when you can have sex in a box from See's?

My daughter's fiance is the manager at one of the area's most well liked restaurants and he dreads Valentine's Day - it's the busiest night of the year as couples flood the evening of February 14th wanting romance to be served up at 25 bucks a plate. Add a few drinks in there too and dinner could run close to $100 and when you are out to lavish your sweetheart on Valentine's Day, that ain't such a big cost.
Throw in a dozen roses, a box of chocolates, a $5 card and the goofy gorilla and your looking at a $200 to $300 night. Hit the jewelry store and the cost could go right off the charts. With so much money being spent, you'd think this would guarantee getting laid, but even then, ya never know and a man might want to pop into Victoria's Secret to shell out another $75 to $100 for something silky and sexy.
Yep, the merchants are drooling in anticipation as I type this.

It's not that I oppose having a special day to pay homage to those we love - but I do feel it could be done with a bit more flair and creativity than just visiting the mall and whipping out a charge card. Women are experts at this kind of thing and they don't need much counsel or inspiration to think of ways to show the man they love just how special they are. It's the men that needs to reach in and think out of the stereotypical Valentine heart shaped box, but then there a trillion women out there quite happy to receive all the mall gifties and like to wait around for an hour to be seated in a crowed restaurant.
Not this woman.

My ex was miserable when it came to even remembering Valentine's Day, let alone planning anything in advance for it and when it did dawn on him that the day was upon him, which was usually when I reminded him that morning, his main concern would be getting something for his mother.
::: groan :::

Of course he'd toss me a last minute card and present me a 7-11 rose, but his heart was never in it. For the first few years of our marriage I went thru the gambit and knocked myself out to create the nuance and serve up the romance in the form of gourmet meals, heart shaped cakes, hot oil body massages and rocket sex, but the enthusiasm waned quickly and the at the end of my marriage, it was just another day - yawn.

I'm single now and I guess most single woman are thinking that if they don't have a date for Valentine's Day by now, they better get busy and land one.
I made the mistake of going out on a First Date on New Year's Eve and I won't put myself in that awkward position again - the dude left me sitting on a bar stool after finding out I had every intention of sticking with my no sex on the first date rule and I'd rather not go through that again. Guess I could work on getting a first date in with a guy between now and Valentine's Day and then if that goes well, make plans to fuck his brains out on February 14th. How romantic is that?

If a man wants to see me arch my back and purr for him, being creative is the best way. As corny as it sounds, writing a woman a poem will cause her to go weak in the knees. Another original way might be a trip to the beach with a basket filled with all her favorite goodies to munch on and of course, some spirits to get the mood relaxed. Now, if the woman a man is trying to impress on Valentine's Day wants to be lavished with spendy stuff, a basket filled with cheap snacks won't impress her much. I know plenty of women that love getting those 12 red roses every year and they will pout till the 4th of July if they don't get them. So, I guess it boils down to basically giving her whatever the fuck she wants and do it with a smile on your face. Women are sentimental creatures and if a man can tap into that, he will be richly rewarded. For instance, remembering what song played in the background when he first made love to his woman will gain him lotsa points

The problem with a lot of men is that they just don't think ahead for things like this. If you go out there in a frantic state and scoop up your Valentine's Day gifts and goodies in a rush, it shows. Besides, the stores are picked over, not to mention the time it takes in doing this and being late for a dinner reservation or hunting all over town for an eatery that isn't jam packed really bites, sucking the romance right out the window.

Being too sexually creative might not fly either. Unless she asks for it, gifting her with a shocking pink, 10 inch bumpy dildo with an 18 turbo speed setting and a pair of tutti frutti candy underpants might not give you the reaction you are hoping for and unless your into anal play on your ass, you might not like where that dildo ends up.

Most women just want to feel special, loved and appreciated. Worshiping her for a day shouldn't be that difficult, but in my thinking, it should be shown more than just one day a year. I know a lot of men moan and groan at this kind of thinking - as in their minds having to remember their anniversary is tough enough. Yes, Valentine's Day is nothing more than a hook for the stores to bring in the men and pick their pockets on February 14th every year, that's a given, but it doesn't alter the fact that the day does exist and if a man has a woman in his life that he proclaims to love, he best not spend Valentine's Day grumbling about the commercialism of the day. Get off your ass dude, and make it special for her in some way. As trite as it seems, the day means a great deal to a lot of women and you may as well accept it and start thinking romance right now.

As for me, I think I'll stay at home and eat chocolate. No doubt I'll have to buy my own, but at least then, it will be my favorite kind, but no, I won't buy myself flowers. I've never had a man send flowers to me from a florist and it would be sweet if a special man took the time to do that for me, but I won't hold my breath. For some women a perfect Valentine's Day spent alone might be playing Celine Dion CD's or watching chick flicks like The Titanic or Jerry Maguire, but that's not my style. Words to songs like Truly Madly Deeply, by Savage Garden might epitomize Valentine's Day for the average woman, but for me I gravitate more towards:

K-i-s-s-i-n-g

Chicka chicka dee

Do me like a banshee

Low brow is how

Swimming in the sound

Of bow wow wow

Aw baby do me now

Do me here I do allow

Red Hot Chili Peppers and chocolate.
Works for me!

~Nirvana

2006-02-05T16:23:00.000-08:00

Isn't it strange

that a gift could be an enemy

Isn't it weird

that a privilege could feel like a chore

Maybe its me,

but this line isn't going anywhere

Maybe if we looked hard enough

we could find a back door

Find yourself a back door

I see you in line dragging your feet

You have my sympathy

The day you were born you were born free

That is your privilege

~Incubus

*************************

I have to wonder how many people even heard of or used the word nirvana before Kurt Cobain. Granted the band Nirvana kicked grunge ass and now the word is tossed around as easily as epiphany.
Funny how words can be so trendy for awhile, like validation and toxic.

According to the dictionary the meaning of nirvana is.

The final beatitude that transcends suffering, karma, and samsara and is sought especially in Buddhism through the extinction of desire and individual consciousness : a place or state of oblivion to care, pain, or external reality; also : BLISS, HEAVEN b : a goal hoped for but apparently unattainable : DREAM

Some might call it Eden-like. A place with no stress, no worry or no irritation. But if you really read the definition, it means to be in a state of...well, no state. "Oblivion to care". Would that mean a state of nothingness? It's an old phrase- Without a care in the world!, What would life to be like if we had nothing to care about? Maybe nirvana is the moment we leave our bodies and go towards the light leaving behind every earthly care that tethers us?
Could it be another way to describe comatose, flat-lined or brain dead?
Whichever it is, most people like to view a state of nirvana as being carefree and liberated from all that is well.... shitty.

We all want to be happy, that's a given. To join hands with those we love, skip down the primrose path under a warm, smiling sun and dance in the glory of NO WORRIES.
Is that possible - to not worry? To not sit up nights wondering if the choices we made in the past were sound or toss and turn, wrestling with the choices we have to make in the future?
I know how to worry better than anyone I know- I'm a Pro. I could give classes. Of course I have children and as soon as children are born into our lives - let the worry begin! It doesn't go away either. I'm 49 years old and my 85 year old Mother still sits up nights worrying about me. No, it's not the same kind of worry that kept her up late when I was 16 and 2 hours late getting home from a date, but it's worry nonetheless.
And while she worries about me- I worry about my kids. Guess you could call it the Worry-Go-Round.

We all strive for happiness - to have those nirvana type moments that free our spirit from being weighted down with the drudgery of life. We're tired, stressed out, fucked up, preoccupied, late, behind, under the gun, pressured, and just downright exhausted
We wake up to the alarm, go punch in, do our time, punch out, fight traffic, wait in lines, hurry home, take care of kids, do laundry, pay bills and then do it all over again.
No wonder we long for nirvana. To shut down and drift far far away from all the bullshit we schlep thru in life.

I just have to wonder if we have become so busy and preoccupied in life that we are willing to escape to a nirvana state no matter what. Antidepressants are handed out like candy and people welcome the zombie state these drugs offer as the answer to all their troubles. After all, we've been hearing it since we were a kid. "Calgon, take me away!"

I have a huge fascination for pioneer women. The women who helped forge the Oregon Trail under the worst, miserable conditions imaginable. If anyone deserved some nirvana, it was these women. From dawn till dusk they toiled and trudged.
They watched their men die, their children die, their livestock starve and drop. They left treasured belongings behind along the trail and battled a discomfort that none of us will ever experience. These women didn't have time to lament about how uncomfortable they were and dream about some nirvana state. What time they did have, after a full day of rugged labor, they scribbled in a diary telling of the hell they endured. Makes our woes minuscule in comparison. They had no time to complain about being depressed. Life sucked and they accepted it. It sucked for everyone. Period.

I think we have it too easy. There is no reason for us to be so damn depressed and miserable as so many of us are. I just don't get it - WHAT is there to whine about? Can't find the remote and actually have to get off your ass to change the channel on the big big TV? Fast Food line make ya wait too long and your fries were tossed thru the window at you cold?
We have become a society of Materialistic Gluttons who can do little more than complain that, with the rich bounty that we have, it's not enough. It's pathetic really.

I find it rather ironic that Kurt Cobain decided to put a gun to his head - his nirvana was obviously nothing more than a living hell.

The thing that bothers me most is that this mindset of wanting nirvana is being pushed upon our children.
I was involved in Boy Scouts with my son Lucas, who is now 18. He was 8 then and I wore many hats in his Boy/Cub Scout Den. I was leader of the Parent's Committee, Activities Director, wrote the monthly newsletter and was Den Mother of my son's Cub Scout group, which we met every Wednesday. Every single 8 year old boy in my Den, except my son, was on Ridalin or a similar drug for behavior modification.
That's too many.
Do we want a perfect state of nirvana so badly that we are willing to dose our children with drugs to alter their natural state of innocent curiosity and exuberance?
I've raised 2 very active boys and all they need is structure, discipline, activity and lots of fresh air. A healthy diet works wonders too, Garbage-In-A-Bag from fast food joints is toxic not only to the body, but the soul.

I'm no stranger to depression - it finds me too. I roll with it for whatever duration it stays with me and then I move on. Am I perpetually happy? Fuck no. Anyone who is in a habitual state of nirvana would be housed in a padded room and given little pink pills 3 times a day. I've suffered an unimaginable loss in my life and back in the days when darkness surrounded me 24/7 I came to rely on a spiritual strength that carried me.
No, I am not talking about organized religion or any specific religion really. It was a faith that I had to extract from the deep crevasses of my soul and at the same time open up myself to a power that I knew was there, but had no tangible hold in my hand proof of. I prayed for reclamation and got it. And no, it wasn't served up by some pharmaceutical company with a warning label on the bottle citing it just might cause me to commit suicide. Taking a drug to fight depression that might cause a person to kill themselves makes as much sense as taking a drug to help stop smoking that might cause lung cancer.

For me, nirvana is not what I want in my life as it would counteract all that my life pivots around and holds close, which is caring, feeling and gleaning stength from the crummy shit.

Let nirvana find me in my bad dreams...

~I Hate Men, But I'm Not A Lesbian

2006-02-05T15:04:00.000-08:00

So fly away

and leave it behind

Return someday

with red in your eyes

I see you

cause you won't get out of my way

I hear you

cause you won't quit screaming my name

I feel you

cause you won't stop touching my skin

~breaking benjamin

******************************************

First off - NO, I do NOT hate men.
It's just a line out of a Seinfeld episode that I thought was funny.
It is true though, I am not a lesbian.

Back in my early 30's I was with a woman. I thought it might be interesting to expand my thinking and explore my sexuality. Boy, was I surprised - being with a woman didn't do anything for me. I am not saying it was a bad experience. It was sensual. sweet and intimate, but it didn't bring out the lust in me. It felt unnatural in a way that after it was over, I had no other interest to be with a woman again sexually.
It was like seeing a movie - some movies you see once and never want to see again, but some you can watch over and over and over.
Basically all it did was prove to me just how very hetero I am.

Men do it for me - they have what I lust after. Their scent, the contours of their body, the rough texture of their skin, their voice, strong hands and yes, their penis. I'm not ashamed to make it known that I have a huge fetish for the male genitals. Giving a man head is one of my favorite pastimes and most of my intimate friends know that my main sexual interest is anal play on a man.

Being that I am a Domme also perplexes a lot of people. Most stereotype the Domme and view her as some kind of crude, leather clad, whip wielding, man-hating B-I-T-C-H. The truth is there are many kinds of Dommes and I am termed a Loving Domme, quite similar to the Sensual Domme, but by no means a Mommy Domme. Nope, I don't do diapers.
I'm not into pain either - not excessive pain anyway. Some discomfort from anal play might bring a pleased smirk to my face, but to damage a man or inflict severe pain is not erotic to me. I like to take on the teacher/student roll, instructing a man to help him discover the extreme pleasure he can get from anal play.
Guess you could say this is where my Domme status comes into effect - it's all about the control. I've got to be the one in total control or I don't wanna play anymore.

Many of my clients are in their 40's and I find playing with them highly erotic and enjoyable. Sure, a young fit, eager man in his 20's and 30's is a tantalizing visual, but they are still in the mindset of wanting to bang anything that moves and that is not what I'm all about. What I have found interesting, is that a man in his 40's has tired of just getting hard and cumming. With men it doesn't take much to make the machine march.
Pick up a Penthouse - Instant hard on! Go to a strip club - Hello Woody! Pop in a porn flick - SHWANG!!
Men get lazy and rely way too much on visual stimulation to motivate their sex life. It's all about the T & A and working the machine.
And it's when a man gets tired and bored with working that machine, he gravitates towards me.

Men don't have to reach deep inside themselves and think about getting off sexually. It's as easy as slipping on a banana peel and takes about as much thought. Some men, when they end up in this kind of sexual hum drum, their normal reaction is to change that visual stimuli - have an affair, chase younger women, or maybe even turn to men. Once again, they are only looking for a way to get that quick fix of visual stimulus to get the machine pumped.

For women, we've always had to mix up the mind with the body to get that ultimate orgasm and that's why women can orgasm in such a mind blowing way.
We mesh together the mind, body and soul and are generously rewarded for our efforts.
I have multiple orgasms that can only be described as gigantic waves swelling and crashing - an ebb and flow that in many ways is an outer body experience.
I've trained my mind well and can free my spirit without much thought.
What man wouldn't want that?
So basically, that is what I do with men, I teach them how to kick back and bring together their mind and body by a way of massage, relaxation, concentration and submission. Mix that with stimulating the prostate and some methods of male genital massage and you then have a man experiencing so much more than just working the machine.
I've even witnessed some men cry when experiencing these extraordinary orgasms- they really rock his world and that is a HUGE turn on for me.

Think Tantra...

Oftentimes younger men are just too much in a hurry and distracted for this. They're quite content holding everything in their hands to make it work. To experience what I'm into, it takes thought and patience and also a lot of trust and familiarity with the two people involved. For women, we take to Tantra like ducks to water as we have been bringing ourselves into orgasm by way of our minds for generations.
For men it's not so easy and many of them view ass play as being too gay- they'll never experience the joys of their ass, of which, I find that to be very sad.
And for the man that wants to rush in like a bull and have me load his ass with the biggest dildo ever made and pound him, it's not going to work either, (this is why I don't fist). To me fisting is just a way to sexually flex and pose - just another visual crutch for men.
Most people I know that are into fisting would be better off shoving that fist into their big obnoxious mouth - it doesn't impress me much.

Any Domme can strut around in leather thigh high boots, of which I am prone to do myself at times, but loud, crass displays of controlling a man only robs him of the real pleasure that slumbers. I choose to control him with the steadiness of my eyes, the cool smoothness of my voice and warm gentle, but strong hands that grab him by the balls, (and ass), showing him a way of cumming he never dreamed of.

There's a hungry Dragon sleeping in all of us baby....

~Janet Jackson Ain't Got Nuthin On Me

2006-02-04T08:10:00.000-08:00

Well I'm upper upper class high society

God's gift to ballroom notoriety

And I always fill my ballroom

The event is never small

The social pages say

I've gotThe biggest balls of all

~AC/DC

***********************************************

Yep, the Seahawks are going to the Super Bowl and Seattle has gone absolutely nutty.
You can't go anywhere without people talking about it and for a totally uninterested football person, such as I am, I just smile and nod saying things like, Yeah, way cool and Hope they win! And I do hope they win, why wouldn't I? But I'm not going to watch the game. I've never watched a Super Bowl game in my life and I don't plan on starting now.
I'm a basketball person. I played in high school, I've coached girl's teams and shot a million baskets with my sons. In 1979 the Seattle Sonics won the championship and it was a hell of a night! Unfortunately the winning game did not take place in Seattle, but it was still ultra exciting.

In regard to the Seahawks, I'm seeing people that normally couldn't care less about football now acting like over zealous fanatics - Fair Weather Fans.
Yes, it's great that all of Seattle back up the Seahawks and I myself will send off some positive energy their way on Sunday, Go Team, Go!, but I think if your gonna be a fan of a certain sport, then by golly, be a fan thru thick and thin!
That's how I am with the Sonics, which over the last few years, ain't been easy.

I'm not a sporty type person. Along with basketball, I do like volleyball, archery, water sports and snow sports, but even then, I don't watch sports on TV and I can't even remember the last time I read the sport's page of the newspaper.
Would sex be considered a sport?

Of course folks are going overboard with this Super Bowl thing. They're buying, (or renting) the big big screen TV's, hoarding Seahawks merchandise and loading up on beer, chips and buckets full of buffalo wings for their Super Bowl parties.
There shall be a loud football hoorah erupting over the city of Seattle on Sunday and I am not sure what I'll do with my day. Might be a great day to go shopping as all the people of Seattle will be sitting in front of their big big screen TV's and I would have the whole mall to myself along with all the football widows out there.
I have a feeling though, that any woman married to a man that is really into football, she will be right alongside him to root on the Seahawks. I could very well be all alone at the mall on Sunday.
I could use a new leather bustier so I just might do that.

What would be interesting is to go to places that usually have men hanging around, such as the beach, and see how many of them show up on Sunday. Now these might be the type men I click with - the ones that would rather walk along the beach and take in the scenery rather than watch a Super Bowl game where the Seahawks are playing.
Hmmmmm....I have a feeling this man might not exist.

Would a man even be able to admit he has no interest in watching the Seahawks play in the Super Bowl and get away with it? That would be almost as risky as him saying he has no interest in sex! I just don't think he'd be able to get away with it without being tackled by the ankles and made to repeat over and over "George Best was a God".

My oldest son played football in high school and for one season, he was the star of the team. Going to the games was cool. The spirit was contagious and sitting on those cold bleachers, rooting for my kid's team was a good time. He's 26 now and all he's talked about for 2 weeks now is the damn Super Bowl. He thinks the Seahawks will win, and for his sake, I hope they do. He asked if I'd offer my house up for a Super Bowl party and that is where I draw the line - NO.
I don't even have cable TV for crying out loud, and I doubt my son and his buddies would appreciate having to adjust the rabbit ears every 20 minutes to get in a decent picture on my itty bitty TV.
A friend of mine has a TV the size of one whole wall in his living room.
When I first saw it I was flabbergasted. My GOD! You could crawl up people's noses on the darn thing. He said it was great for watching sports and porn. Yeah, I guess for a guy, that would be heaven on earth - well, guess I have to agree there.
The bigger the balls the better, eh?

Go Hawks!

~A Horse Named I'm Sorry

2006-01-31T09:39:00.000-08:00

I was so wrong

right or wrong

I don't blame you

Why should I take somebody like you

and shame you

I know that I made you cry

and I'm so sorry dear

So what can I say dear

after I say I'm sorry

Baby I'm so,

I'm sorry

~Frank Sinatra

*******************************************

When I was 14, three of my bestfriends and I went to the theater to see the film Love Story, (1970). It was the hit movie of the season starring Ryan O'Neal and Ali MacGraw.
It was a chick flick about two young people that fall in love, the girl gets cancer and dies. The catch phrase from this film was "Love means never having to say your sorry" and it became all the rage, much like other lame phrases like "You light up my life" and "You complete me".
Gag...

While watching Love Story, my friends and I laughed uncontrollably throughout the whole thing, gaining quite a few frowns and shhhhhh's from the other movie goers.
All I really remember about the movie is Ali MacGraw's nostrils flaring through the entire film. It wasn't one of those movies that made much of an impression on me.
Maybe my friends and I were just too young and the whole subject matter of love, cancer and all that jazz was just too deep for us.
Whatever the reason, the phrase Love means never having to say your sorry has never made much sense to me as in every relationship I've ever been in where a man and I claimed to have loved each other, saying I'm sorry always turned out to be as common as saying Good Morning.
::: shrug :::

My first marriage was to a wonderful, caring, but very troubled Viet Nam vet who, after three failed attempts at rehab for chronic alcoholism, I had to leave. He was always sorry. I was sorry. It was a sorry situation. Last I heard he was sleeping on park benches.

My second marriage, we gave it our best shot. We looked good enough together and we both worked hard. We raised the kids, kept up the yards, put on the parties and paid our taxes. By the time I left, after sleeping on the couch for two years, the words I'm sorry fell from our lips old, tired and meaningless.

Is it possible to have a relationship and not say I'm sorry? Should we be so accepting of another or so madly in love with them, that they need not be accountable for their actions no matter how shoddy or unsavory? I guess the phrase is an attempt to capture the true essence of love in that we need not be sorry for who we are and that true love will embrace and accept us no matter what happens. It all sounds good, as a matter of fact, it sounds wonderful, but it seems to me that being in love means having to say your sorry for just about every move we make. But then I am single now and my trail of failed relationships could be proof of the fact that I've never encountered that illusive, true love that overlooks all the flaws.

Guess it all depends on what we are sorry for within a relationship. The husband squanders 3 paychecks in a row at the casino and love means never having to say your sorry? Hmmmmm.....
The wife accidentally tosses a pair of red panties in with the hubby's whites and all his undies come out a lovely shade of pink. Oops! Sorry!
Yes, there is a huge difference in spending all of one's income at a casino and having to wear pink underpants, but in both cases, both parties involved should be genuinely sorry, right?

What are we so sorry for anyway? Sorry for ending up with cancer and only having 6 months to live? Shit - I can't think of a more sorry situation than that, but no, the person battling the cancer need not ever feel as though they have to apologize to loved ones for being handed a terminal illness.

Try being in a relationship and not saying your sorry for anything. Your partner will be in your face one day screaming something to the effect, "And you never even said your sorry!!!!" People want payback - it might just be words, but they wanna hear them. Of course it's always so nice to pour out your heart along with the words, "I'm sorry" and then have your partner spit back at you "No your not!".
"Okay...you want me to apologize, yet you won't accept it- fine then - be that way!"
"Fine- I will!"
"FINE!"
"FINE!!!"
"Fuck you!"
"Fuck YOU!!!"

DOH!
No one's sorry now....

The reasons to be sorry are endless. Birthdays are forgotten. Words are delivered below the belt. The toilet seat gets left up. The car insurance was blown off and not paid. There are those in relationships that are never sorry, and these are usually the people that really should be, and then there are those who are always sorry, and after a while, their apologies mean about as much as a 3 dollar bill - it looks valuable, but ya can't take it to the bank.

Maybe love means never having to say your sorry because in so many cases, the words really don't mean shit.
I guess when you forget to take the garbage out or accidentally donate your hubby's lucky sweatshirt to the needy, then yeah, saying I'm sorry might have merit, but when you have an affair, or break up the house in an evil tirade, saying I'm sorry is nothing more than an insult.

My ex was sorry for a million things when the end came of our marriage. Sorry he didn't take me out more. Sorry he gave me such pathetic gifts on Christmas. Sorry he always put his needs, wants and desires first. Sorry for not listening to me.
I think for me, in all the times I said I'm sorry back then, the one that sticks out most in my mind is when I had to tell my ex, I'm sorry, I just don't love you anymore.

Yep, there was a horse named I'm sorry

and when he died, everyone beat the hell out of him.

~Listen Up

2006-01-30T08:56:00.000-08:00

Listen to each drop of rain

listen listen

Aaah

Whispering secrets in vain

listen listen

Aaah

Frantically searching for someone to hear

their story before they hit ground

~Evanescence

**********************************************

I was up at 3am this morning.
My new job has me starting a 4am work shift and thankfully my commute is only about 20 minutes. Getting up at 3am gives me a chance to have a cup a coffee before heading off and some time to contemplate. I sat at my computer, the sound off, of course, with the window open next to me as a heavy rain pounded. I didn't turn on any music or the TV. I read some email and did a little writing, allowing the sound of the rain to carry my thoughts.
As I drove to work, having the streets all to myself, I thought about sounds and the effect they have on us.

I've been asked before which I would rather sacrifice if I had to, sight or sound.
Well, as I got older, my eyes have weakened and I now depend on trifocals to help me in reading all the small print in life. So I have a good idea of how it could be to not be able to see. Hard to say if I'd rather live in a world unable to visually drink in the beauty of nature or live in a world deaf to this symphony called life.
Most people, if they had to choose, say they would prefer to lose their sense of hearing, which makes sense as humans are such visually dependent creatures and communicating without being able to hear seems easy enough, ...right? Not being able to see is a frightening vulnerability and presents countless limitations for sure. I guess my choice would be the same- I'd rather be able to look out and see my world without benefit of hearing it.

I guess there are some advantages to not being able to hear as there is so much in this world that sounds hideous. But there are also some extraordinary sounds out there that bring me immeasurable joy and comfort

Years ago I lived not far from a train yard. When I first moved into this house, the sounds of the trains rattling by and the echoes of them hooking up to each another in the train yard was quite distracting. In time, it became a sound that I embraced and at night, while lying in bed, the sound of the trains lulled me sleep better than any sleeping aid I know of.
Another time I lived not far from SeaTac airport and the planes flying over head were constant and also served to be a constant pain in the ass - I never got used to it, nor did I ever like it. I've also lived in places close to freeways and busy city streets and never liked the sound of those either. Not sure why the trains became such an endearing sound to me, but it did.

In the summer I like to laze on a lounger in a private corner of my shade garden and doze off to the sound of distant lawn mowers in the neighborhood. I'm not too fond of some loud weedy whacker being used a few feet away, but there is something about the distant sound of lawn mowers that gives me a feeling of comfort and childlike nostalgia. Sounds from our childhood can take us on a sentimental journey for sure. For me, the sound of wood being chopped brings my grandfather's face to me, taking me back to a place that was sweet and secure.

When it comes to the sounds that nature provides there is nothing more inspiring to me than the steady sound of the ocean's waves washing over the shore. It's my favorite sound of all, along with the rain. I'm an early riser and even on days I don't have to work, I'm up by 6am. I enjoy hearing the birds gather in the morning. I am so fond of their morning concert that I have provided them with a multitude of feeders, houses and bird baths to ensure they hang around.
A lively, crackling campfire also draws me in and I can sit for hours in front of a fire transfixed in a warm, relaxed state.
I've lived in the city and I've lived in the country. Right now, I'm in the burbs and the sounds of nature are primarily ones created by the weather and the birds, but when I lived out in the sticks, come nighttime there was a multitude of sounds - the erratic, eerie wails of the coyote, the ominous call of the owl and of course a lively jazzfest of crickets, frogs, toads and bats.

Then there are the sounds that put me on edge, making me feel like I wanna crawl out of my skin. I think all of us hate the sound of nails running down a chalkboard or a person's fork scraping their teeth as they eat, but I have a few others.
Cars with their stereos booming next to me in traffic, cell phones going off in public places, people yakking on cell phones in public places, babies wailing, kids whining, jackhammers, dogs barking, barking, barking, cats mating, teens bickering, a person sniffing and sniffing, too lazy to blow their nose, drunk people, rap music, and anyone smacking their lips while they eat.

If I were to lose my hearing there would be countless voices I would dearly miss.
To this day, there is no voice as soothing as my mothers, yet on the flip side of that, there is no voice that can slice right through me like a newly sharpened filet knife as cleanly as my mother's.

I would miss my kid's laughter - the kind of laughter that erupts unexpectedly when we are all together at the dinner table talking about trivial things. My oldest daughter, Sarah, has a laugh that can only be compared to a machine gun. My oldest son, Doug, has one of those contagious laughs that always starts with a surge of giggles erupting from his gut, ending with a loud HA! Brianna laughs without making a sound, her whole body shudders, always ending with a loud, breathless Oh man!, as she wipes the tears from her eyes. Lucas is the ringmaster of all the fun - the one who keeps rolling out the jokes and clever quips, his eyes smiling from one sibling to another relishing each burst of laughter quite pleased with himself for bringing the levity to heights of no control and side aches.

I'd miss the sexy voice of my dear friend Michael, in Michigan, who when he calls or leaves me a message I always swoon like a school girl as his deep, smooth voice glides over me like the wet tongue of an eager lover finding sweet passage to my warm cleavage. He's the only man who can call me "Doll" and get away with it.

And then of course, there is all that music I would miss if I couldn't hear. It would take way too much space for me to list all the music I love, but without music in my life, it would be like being at a dance with no legs.
It's always amazed me how people can pick up an instrument and create magic with it. I can't play any kind of instrument and I am truly in awe at those who can. A person that can sit at a piano and bring it to life, mesmerizes me. The same thing for those that can play the guitar or the flute or bang out a good beat on the drums. Music reaches inside me, finding those dark places, freeing my spirit to soar.

For years now I have been in the habit of turning the sound off on my computer. I think it started with the AOL You've Got Mail alert that would sound off over and over, of which I tired of quickly. I would visit chatrooms and the folks would get nutty with sound waves and it was too much for me. Plus the speakers on my old computer were not that great and any music that came on always sounded distant, scratchy and downright annoying. I like the sound off when I am at the comp and if I am missing something funny or cute, that's okay - I am quite content without it.

So many of us have gotten to the point that we need something like a TV droning on and on in the background and we've lost an appreciation of enjoying the silence. Of course nothing is ever all the way silent. Even in the dead of night there are sounds - the house settling, the furnace grumbling or a wind rattling at a weak door.

It's the title to a song, but the sounds of silence can speak volumes to us.
You just have to make the time to listen.

~SNAP!

2006-01-29T15:33:00.000-08:00

Sitting up on this little bitty hill

Will I make something out of myself?

I can't let go

I can't wake up

Time flies...

~Puddle Of Mudd

******************************************

So I'm sitting here in front of my Little Box wondering if adding another whiny, complainy entry to my blog would be a bad idea?
Then it hits me, no one gives a flying fuck, so why the hell not?

Doh!

Yes, I'm blocked. Everytime I sit to write something profound, it just comes off as interesting as ka-ka poo poo.
(ie: a post titled "Oh Poo....")

I am also sick...again.
This is not as horrid as a bug that I was down with over Christmas, but it is a nasty cold nonetheless and I detest feeling crummy.
I have taken on battling it with lots of water and as much sleep as I can get.
You see, I also start a new job tomorrow which I have to start my shift at 4am.
It's a bakery and I have done this type of work in the past and I know in due time, I'll get used to the hours. It's only starting out at part time, Mon - Thurs. Not to mention I am also catering weddings on the side with a friend of mine.
It's a crazy schedule, but it will work out well enough once I get acclimated to it.

I'm also suffering from the writer's worst nightmare - CONSTANT INTERRUPTI.
I sit to write and the phone rings. I sit to write and one of my children barges into my space. I sit to write and the dog whines to go for a walk. I sit to write and I just feel too shitty to do it.
I have a million excuses - all quite lame.

Yesterday was my ex's birthday. No big deal to me, but my kids decided to use my house as their little meeting ground to prepare for the King's special day.
They made a nice cake for him here. They wrapped all his gifts here, (very nice gifts too, I might add). They prepared food for him here. One freaked out child of mine was even reckless enough to ask me to borrow a few dollars to buy him a gift, of which I sweetly declined. I am not saying my ex doesn't deserve such a show of love and affection from his kids, but hey - where were they on my birthday?
Once again, I was sicker than a dog on my birthday, (12/24), on the couch and not one of them arrived with a cake or gifts for me. Yeah, yeah, yeah, they called and wished me a happy one, and then promised me the world once I was feeling better.
Funny how it didn't stop them from showing up the next day for Christmas.
I have no one to blame for this but myself. In all the years my ex and I were together, I was the one making sure the kids made their dad's birthday extra special. And just like mother's do, I down-played my own special day.
Old habits die hard I guess...
From what I gather, the King had a glorious birthday and we can all sleep easy now.
Pffffffffffffttttttttttttt!!!!!!!!!!!!

I go through phases like this occasionally, of utter, harsh annoyance towards those I live with and towards those I don't live with. People in general will make me bristle up and just watching the news can cause me to start on a tangent. I've been working on a write about nirvana, (NO, not the band), but nirvana, the state of oblivion, feeling no care.
You'd think in this state of irritation I am in now, finishing it would be a breeze, but I tried and no breeze cometh.
Maybe I'll finish up on it once I am feeling better.

My daughter has been in a snit lately and she blames the rain for it.
The rain doesn't bother me, I embrace the rain and pay homage to it -- behold the power of the mighty rain! It suits my mood today and I welcome it!
Bring it on and rain on me, oh baby, oh baby, rain...on...ME!!

My Internet friends are also annoying me. There are times I wish I could reach into my Little box and snatch them bald headed! One in particular comes to mind.
No. Make that three.
"I'll call you". "I'll email you". "I'm sorry, I've been busy".
Well, damnit, I've been busy too you freakazoid!
If I weren't so sick I swear I'd go out and stomp in mud puddles.

Probably best I just nap.
Drink a gallon a water and sleep off this cold.
And I'll do it without the Nyquil too.

Damn, I'm tough..

~Cheese Doodles And Chocolate Ho Ho's

2006-01-22T10:04:00.000-08:00

I can't seem to face up to the facts

I'm tense and nervous

and I can't relax

I can't sleep 'cause my bed's on fire

Don't touch me

I'm a real live wire

~Talking Heads

***********************************

The men probably won't pick on the pattern here, but I'm sure the women will.
Those oddball cravings that surface once a month that drive a women to raid the kitchen cabinets, speed off to convenience stores at midnight and rummage through her kid's closet looking for old Halloween candy. It's the PMS Salt/Sugar Hip-Hop. The one that finds women wolfing down a bag of chili flavored Fritos one minute and then stuffing her face with Twinkies the next. Of course in-between this whacked out hormonal junk food-fest, she cries, pouts, broods, laughs, roars, giggles, sobs and whines.
The male of our species become painfully annoying to us at this time of a woman's monthly passage and her first reaction when a man is within 5 feet of her is to do one of two things -

bust his balls or jump his bones. Or if she is extremely afflicted and other outside influences are at work, such as a full moon, she can react simultaneously in busting the male's balls while jumping his bones. A man that has not experienced this might view that as being highly erotic, but for a man that has experienced it, he's learned that a week of celibacy ain't such a bad thing.

Men don't know what to do or where to turn when the woman they love turns into the PMS Beast and you can usually find the men of these women hiding out in sports bars, work shops, under jacked up cars or miles out at sea on fishing boats. If he is highly in-tuned to his woman he can be as alert as a chimpanzee getting wind of a cheetah on the prowl. A quick sniff in the air he recognizes impending danger and with a high pitched wail, grabs the nearest trees branch and flees for his life, finding safe haven in the company of other chimpanzees seeking out refuge from the same danger. Together they will huddle, looking over their shoulders, stroking each other and shaking their heads.

My kids always know when I am PMSing - it's a look I get, so they say. One that resembles Leatherface and Cruella Deville. My voice changes from my usual pleasant and gentle tone to a high pitched, pissed off screetch owl. Ruffle my feathers and I'll swoop in with no mercy.
Small things annoy me, such as asking me for a ride to the mall, not putting back a pair of scissors or leaving a wet towel on the bathroom floor and God save the pour soul who tosses out the remark, "Your crazy!"

PMS comes with the territory of being a female and if men could experience this for just 24 hours, they would gain a much greater respect for women.
Hot flashes, cold sweats, mood swings, crying jags, food cravings, insomnia, depression, fatigue, muscles aches, heart palpitations, cramps, bloating and the ever so common - super duper pounding headache.
No doubt any man who suffered any or all of these symptoms would rush themselves to the nearest ER certain they were near death's door or dangling on the edge of insanity.

How do you approach the woman going thru PMS?
Well, you don't - leave her alone. Of course you run the risk of her ripping you a new one because she might feel ignored or neglected, but it's a good first approach to allow her some space.
Agree with everything - but God forbid, don't agree with an air of indifference.

Never say, "Yes Dear", while casually sipping your coffee behind the morning newspaper. Do that and you'll be served up your balls alongside that breakfast bagel of yours.

A full body massage works wonders to lighten the mood of the PMS Beast, and men, one that does not lead to sex. If her sexual embers are sparked by a massage, you'll know it.
Only think about sex if she initiates it and then follow her lead. She might be in the mood to ravage you or she might be in the mood to be taken. You've got to be savvy and alert to totally satisfy the sexual cravings of the PMS Beast, but in most cases, put sex out of your mind.

Complimenting your woman during this time is not such a bad idea, but not to the point she can sniff out a rat. She will pick up on the phony saturated compliments and you might find yourself in a headlock real quick if your praise lacks genuine sincerity.
Don't overdo it. If she comes home with a new hair style, tell her it makes her look younger, if she puts on a new outfit, ask her if she lost weight, but don't come off with these "look younger" or "lost weight" compliments unless she is showing off something new. Her behavior may seem like random insanity, but she knows what's going on and she can see right though you.

The woman experiencing PMS is a Warrior. She is battling hormones that work against her and there is little she can do about it.
There are some natural supplements that help, but in some cases, they don't help much.
Hormone therapy is risky and has proved to endanger women's lives.

The best approach with the PMS Beast is honesty. Look her square in the face, tell her that you love her with all your heart but that she scares the crap out of you. This will amuse her and laughter always soothes the nature of the PMS Beast. There is no rhyme or reason to her behavior, no perfect way to act, no remedy to grab off the shelf at the corner drug store, no simple solution. When you find yourself in the eye of the hurricane, the best thing to do is tuck and roll. The storm shall pass.

Yep, there's a reason they name hurricanes after women.

~Oh Poo....

2006-01-15T17:56:00.000-08:00

Rusted and ropy

Dog-eared old copy

Vintage and classic

or just plain jurassic...

all words to describe me

~Jethro Tull

**********************

This blogging hubbub is taxing for me.
I thought it would be so easy to get an entry written daily, but I failed at that.
Lately I've been blocked and when I do finally get something written, I don't like the ending result. I know I can do better.

I don't know why I fret over it as I don't think any people are reading here, but it's a personal challenge for me and it wouldn't matter if thousands were reading my blog or none. The friend that turned me on to Blogspot writes remarkably well and gets in an entry daily, (most of the time). I don't know whether to French kiss him for the inspiration or bitch slap him for being so much better at this blogging business than I am.

Do I always have to be the best?
Well....sometimes. When it comes to writing though, no. I know there are a trillion other writers out there with better flair, better structure, better grammar and a lot more training than I have, but it's more in the dedication to getting the writing done and polished that has me grinding my teeth. Nothing worse than knowing you could do better in something and then looking over and falling witness to someone else who did do better. It's not that I'm not committed - I am! It's not that I don't have ideas - I have many! It's not that I don't have the desire - it burns within me!
Then what the hell is it?

Time is not abundant and distractions are plenty. That's a reasonable excuse, right? Writing falls into the category of The Arts - it is a creative endeavor and all writers perform alone on a silent stage. Seems simple enough, but I just can't seem to get the silence lately. We, (writers), are thinkers, ponderers, philosophers, moralists, comics and teachers. We take what we see in our mind's eye and put it into words for others to see what we think. It's got to be creative, different, interesting and most important, original.
God save the poor soul who thinks "It was a dark and stormy night" as a unique way to start his or her write. We've got to reach in and come up with a vision that is different from anything anyone has written.
Not easy.

Years ago I wrote for a small community newspaper. I had my own little section and I wrote in a humorous vein, much like Erma Bombeck or Andy Rooney. It was well received and I miss the kudos and praise from those days. Friends and family have always told me I'm a great writer.

Awe shucks, .....thanks, but then none of my family or friends write much more than grocery and to-do lists or little quips inside greeting cards, so I guess in comparison, yeah, I'm quite the remarkable talent. Now put me up against heavyweight writers out there and I'd barely deserve a complimentary pat on the head.

I write better in the mornings, (the very early mornings), I might not be able to string together a coherent sentence in a one on one conversation with an actual person until my second cup a coffee, but I can write like a pistol as soon my fingers hit the keyboard.
Come evening, like now, the creative flow is sluggish, sleepy and I falter easily as my eyes are blurry and my inspiration so minimal- it lacks that crisp, on spot execution that I am able to achieve in the early AM hours.

I also find the people we love don't have a lot of tolerance for the time needed to devote to writing. Interruptions are numerous and my family complains endlessly that all I do is sit at the computer. When the words come, they come, and if I don't get them down, they can be lost for good. Yes, I carry a notebook and have scribbled my profound genius onto cocktail napkins and carry out menus, but at home, it sure would be nice to have the people closest to me show some understanding towards the isolation I need to write.

I also listen to music while I write. LOUD rock music, (I use headphones), right now it's Def Leppard. I can listen to the same CD over and over not even noticing it's been repeated, but as long as the tune's are blasting, the creativity pounds out onto my keyboard. I think I came to adopt this habit years ago as I couldn't keep the concentration with people off in the background going on about junk that would always catch my attention or need my input. Rockin out is my way of shutting out the world.

I'm also tethered to a habit of needing a steady stream of black coffee and there was a time, I chain smoked while I wrote. Thank goodness I have cut out the cigarettes, (while I write anyway, ...I do still smoke), but no way can I lose the coffee habit.

I've written one novel. It's sitting in my sewing room in a box and has never been submitted anywhere. It's fiction, a love story and way too long and drawn out. I know, ewwwwweeeee. One goal I had in life was to write a novel and by George I did! It really doesn't matter if it's ever published or not, I finished it.

Not sure if all writer's are as mentally hyperactive as I am, but I imagine so. The cogs just never stop turning with me. This can bring about some irritating insomnia as I just can't shut it all down. When it comes to my logic and reasoning, I'm on a ledge and I know it.

One of the hardest tasks for me in writing is editing. ARGH!
I'm dyslexic and my thought patterns can be so freaking backwards. Not only do I misspell a lot of words, I can get my form and structure flip flopped and there are times I have to rearrange a write like someone rearranging furniture. It never fails that as soon as I get my write published in my blog, more pesky errors jump out at me and editing is a task I have to do over and over.
For me, a write is never perfect and always has room for improvement or change. My writes also end up way too long. I've gotten better at this, but back in the day, one of my poems could actually contain 4 poems within it. Talk about droning on - Ack!

I do best writing fantasy, mystery and children's stories. I have written some erotica but unless I can weave it into a very good story within another genre, such as a mystery, writing erotica by itself doesn't interest me much. I mean, how many words can you come up with to describe getting banged? No doubt it is a challenge to be creative in that arena and I do enjoy the sexual release it gives me to pen erotica, but it's not my passion and when I do indulge in writing a delicious sexy tale with a flair for some tasty kinks, it's usually as a gift for someone special in my life.

Writers need to do a lot of reading in order to expand their minds and this is another area I am lacking - I don't read enough! Now if you count Reader's Digest. Writer's Digest and an occasional peek at People magazine, then yes, I do read, but that is not the kind of reading I need to get in. My vocabulary needs some expanding too. I tend to use the same words over and over again, which I think it a rut most writers get stuck in. Reading more would broaden my vocabulary horizon and one of these days, I'll pick up a novel and dive in. I don't care to read much fiction though and gravitate towards nonfiction most. The last book I read was a compilation of the original transcripts from the sinking of the Titanic - how riveting is that?

I know that being blocked comes and goes, and sooner or later I'll be swept away in a flood of creation that flows like a fountain, but right now I'm grateful for the odd creative drips and dribbles that arrive and I carry on. The one thing I've learned, is that a writer needs to write daily and never divert from that routine.

Just gotta keep on writing...

and let me know if your reading me!

::: big sigh :::

~Puddle Jumpers Rejoice!

2006-01-14T20:31:00.000-08:00

They say as a child

I appeared a little bit wild

With all my crazy ideas

But I knew what was happening

I knew I was a genius...

What's so strange when you know

that you're a wizard at three?

I knew that this was meant to be...

~Joni Mitchell

****************************

Yep, Seattle is drenched.
It's been raining for 27 days straight now and people are doing one of two things, either whining about it to anyone who will listen or reveling in all it's wet glory unto the Rain Gods thanking them for replenishing the earth so generously.
I'm one of those doing a Happy Dance - I adore the rain!
I do feel bad for those battling the floods now as I don't celebrate anyone's trial or tribulation. Driving in it can be a challenge too and I've never likened to hydroplaning down the freeway with Speedy Dumb-Fuck on my ass, but aside from that, the rain makes me smile.

I know people get moody when it rains and even moreso when we have a relentless winter rain like this. Add an aggressive wind to push 'em around and people begin squawking louder than their squeaky wet sneakers.
Complaints about the rain can be as annoying as people in the summer laying around like limp lizards sighing over and over again, "It's so hot... It's so hot".
People are never happy. I will admit that I am guilty of letting out the occasional whine come summer when it goes above 75 degrees, but this time of year - not a peep of complaint can be heard from me.
Guess the rain takes me back to good times from when I was young.

When I was a kid puddles were such a blast!
We lived close to a marshy area that sat in a little thicket of woods and when it rained, it pooled up with lots of water. I loved to go down there to puddle jump and wade. The year I got a pair of fleece lined rain boots, my Mom was forever reprimanding me for allowing the water to flood my boots. I didn't care if my pants and socks got drenched, a small price to pay for so much fun.

One thing I didn't care much for was my Mom making me wear a rain bonnet. They were the most unattractive invention ever- just a wide piece of folded up plastic with long strips at each end to tie under the chin. I guess they did keep our hair dry well enough and being back then with women's hairdo's being teased and sculpted with mega amounts of hair spray, covering it with a plastic rain bonnet was easy. Nothing more attractive than walking around with your head resembling a plastic covered Speed Racer helmet.

The most ridiculous thing to use is an umbrella.

You know what they call people who use an umbrella in Seattle?

Californians.
Har...
But really, if you have lived in Seattle for a good length of time, you quit using an umbrella after your first rainy season. Umbrellas are a delight when your a kid. They can float upside down on deep puddles, they make a great weapon for chasing the boys around the playground and they turn inside out in a comical way when the wind takes it up. I loved my umbrella when I was a kid but I rarely used it to shield myself from the rain. Umbrellas are probably the most forgettable item we can tote around. Haven't seen a Lost & Found department yet that doesn't have an abundant supply waiting for their owners to come and retrieve them.
And does anyone really go back and reclaim a lost umbrella? Naw. Out of site and out of mind. Besides, by the time you've misplaced one or two umbrellas, you've figured out how worthless they are.

Here in Seattle, the rainy season can be all year long. You don't dare plan an outdoor wedding without having Plan B. Even in the hottest months of summer, outside events must have an alternate arrangement in case of rain. If you don't and feel secure enough to trust Mother Nature in providing a sunny day for your daughter's outdoor wedding, you'll be scrambling to hustle the little old ladies inside and diving head first to save the bride's 20 ft train.

A winter rain transforms people into grumpy slugs. They lay around watching TV in a mindless daze, eat too much junk, sleep too long and piss and moan way too much for me. There's plenty other things to do than that! What about all those things you put aside to do on a rainy day? Get to it! Paint the kitchen, write those Christmas thank you notes, clean out the fridge and invent a new kind of soup or better yet - have lots of sex! Of course that is my answer for just about everything that gets people in a funk, but hey - it's effective and not to mention, it's FUN! Sure beats the hell out of matching socks.

I know a lot of people get plagued with depression in January, it's a given. The end of the holiday blues hit and then mix that with a month of solid rain, yeah, a few folks are gonna mope around the house. There's a lot one can do to create a better mood for themselves. Plan a Summer in Winter Party and have everyone come dressed in their bathing suits, crank the heat up to 90 degrees, make big pitchers of Chi Chi's, serve platters of raw oysters and listen to songs like "Hot Fun In The Summertime", "The Heat Is On" and "California Dreamin"

All I have to say is when summer comes and people are going around with "It's so hot!" falling from their lips and then fuming about how dry their lawns are, think back my friend and be grateful for Mother Nature giving us the big soak. We are called the Emerald City and Evergreen State for a reason.

Now go find yourself a great big puddle and jump high, landing smack dab in the middle!!

I'm right behind ya!
Wheeee!

~As Luck Would Have It

2006-01-13T09:00:00.000-08:00

I want to see how lucky Lucky can be

I want to ride with my Angel

and live shockingly

I want to drive to the edge and into the sea

I want to see how lucky Lucky can be

~Melissa Etheridge

**************************

I'm not overly superstitious and Friday the 13th hasn't proven to be anything to me but just another day.
When I am feeling like life is throwing obstacles in my path it's never been too encouraging to look over at the calendar and see that it's Friday the 13th on the horizon, but nothing has ever happened to mark this day as being unlucky for me.
Does that mean I'm lucky?
Actually the year my ex and I finally filed for divorce was on a Friday the 13th.
I view it now as being a day of reclamation, not being unlucky.

I'm not a very lucky person though. I never win anything in drawings, sweepstakes or contests. I could buy lottery tickets till the cows come home and never win a dime. I've been to the Casinos and never walked out with more than I walked in with. I don't have a lucky number nor do I have a pair of lucky panties that I wear when I am hoping for good fortune to smile down on me, (like one of my girlfriends has and swears by)

The terms we use in regard to being lucky are endless. Lucky Dogs, Luck of the Irish, Get Lucky, (as in getting laid), and Luck is a Lady.
I really don't see where the term Lucky Dog came from. Seems cats are a hell of a lot more lucky as they are the ones with the 9 lives.
I'm Irish and I don't see where I'm luckier than any other ethnic group.
Getting lucking, well, that's a guy's term and for women, well, it's just not the same.
Luck is a Lady - sounds hip, but then the Lady is also a Tramp, soooo...guess that's why luck doesn't have much to do with her getting laid.
It's confusing....I know..

We carry around lucky pennies, search for 4 leaf clovers and attach dead rabbit paws to our key chains all in the name of hoping for better fortune.
We make a wish on our birthday, then hope we blow out all the candles so it will come true, but then of course the Birthday Boy/Girl who in their exuberance to blow out all those candles layers the cake with spittle. How lucky is that for the rest of us standing in line waiting for a hunk a cake? Our little rituals to invite good fortune into our lives are silly.
Ever rub the head of a redheaded boy for good luck? Think I saw that one on the old Andy Griffith Show. Knock over a salt shaker and then shake some over your shoulder. Yeah, my mom loved that one. Never hang a new calendar before January 1st or your looking for a whole year of mishap. Then there is the horror of breaking a mirror and having 7 years of bad luck- that's gotta be the biggie.
If your right hand itches - money is coming. If your left hand itches,...ummm...I'm really not sure.....your mother-in-law is coming?
I'm Dyslexic so I can never remember - probably just best for me to have some good itching cream around.

Good luck is a phrase that falls from our lips often and easily. A person goes job hunting and we wish them good luck. They get married - we wish them LOTS of good luck. They get ready to go on stage, then no, it's unlucky to wish them good luck do we hope they break a leg.
Now when someone is going into the hospital for triple bypass surgery wishing them good luck seems almost macabre, so no, we wish them well and a speedy recovery.
I have to wonder how many people really don't mean it when they wish us good luck.
Think Miss Alabama really means it when she wishes Miss Kentucky good luck in the Miss America Pageant? Hell no.

My life has by no means been charmed either. As a matter of fact one could view my life a couple of ways - kinda like a horrific car accident where the person survives. It's a very unlucky thing to have suffered the accident but they are so very lucky to have survived.
Why some people's lives are filled with good fortune at every turn while others are tasked with mishap one upon the other is hard to understand. And why do so many people that don't deserve it, end up with the brass ring while those who do deserve the good shit, get shafted?
Why did Tom Hanks become such a mega star while Peter Scalari was reduced to ridiculous roles in second rate sitcoms? They were both big hits in the silly TV show Bosom Buddies- yet it was Hanks who became a household word and Scolari vanished from everyone's mind as soon as the show ended. Was Tom Hanks just more lucky than Peter Scolari or did Hanks have a better agent, more talent, or did he just look better in drag?

So Jack gave away the cow for a handful of magic beans.
But I can see why he did it, I mean, magic beans - come on now.
What kid is gonna turn down magic beans for cow pies?

Where are your magic beans? Have you gotten them already or still waiting? Guess you could say every big lottery winner was handed a nice handful of beans. Wow - ever just dream about what you'd do with all those beans? Travel? Shop till you dropped? Invest it? Give it away? The options are endless and all our worries would evaporate. No more second hand stuff, no more bologna sandwiches, no more waiting for late buses.
Ironic how some big lottery winners end up destitute and then show up on talk shows lamenting about how their magic beans ruined their lives. We surely wouldn't allow that to happen if we won. No way.
We'd snatch up those magic beans and make all our wishes come true!
Right?

What would you do with a handful of magic beans?
How would your garden grow?
Wish for a custom made Lamborghini parked in front of a Villa on the French Riviera with a maid and houseboy that look like Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt?
Maybe wish for eternal youth or true love?
Guess the best thing to do would be to do like they did in the story and toss them into the ground and see what comes up.
It's not that I don't believe in magic beans or that I'm old now and can see the value of keeping a sturdy cow, it's just that I've stomped around with my share of giants and have the boot marks on my ass to show for it and a with my luck, the goose who lays the golden egg would just be a lesbian anyway.

~New Push-Up Bra And A Coupla Drinks

2006-01-09T14:16:00.000-08:00

You can`t turn it down

You won`t turn me round

I know you like it

I love what I see - I got your number

Your number is me

Oh, baby, start me up

Heaven in the backseat

I`ll drive you crazy

With my backseat love

~Eddie Money

**********************************************

I had a date last night.
Yes, a man I'd met online and we got together for coffee.
Then we had a coupla drinks and well, ....did I mention I was wearing a brand new, sexy push up bra?
Mix that with the drinks and one very hot guy and what do you get?
Yep, one eager make out session in the back seat of a car.

I'm normally quite cool and collected and it takes a lot for me to get fired up, but there was something about this man that sparked the embers in me and oh boy....it was quite nice.

Back when I was a teenager, (in the 70's), just being in a car with a boy was enough to turn me on, but as an adult, it's been a long time since such impromptu primal urges had the power to coax me into the back seat.
The experience hasn't changed much.
My legs are still way too long, the seat is never wide enough and there is always an elbow finding it's way into an eye.
The one thing that will never change - the pure wanton feeling of being so totally into a guy, you gotta do it right there in the damn car.

When we were teens, the car was the Love Pad, the Make Out Mobile, Sex On Wheels.
For many of us, it was the only place we had to cop a feel and make out. Drive-In's were all the rage back then too, and yes, it was a heavy petting Mecca for the young crowd, a place that parents gave the okay to go and that's exactly what we all did - go at it!

Making out in a car isn't that easy or comfortable nowadays. No more long, solid front seat to scoot over and cuddle and/or feel each other up. The little bucket seats they have in these little tuna fish can cars now have little to be desired when it comes to getting down, getting it on and getting some.

For my gentlemen friend and I, it all started outside of the restaurant with a kiss.
Someitmes that's all it takes - one long, sensual kiss between the right two people.
We kissed, then talked, then kissed some more, then talked some more, our eager eyes and smiles saying it all. We decided to "talk more in the car" as it was pouring down rain and the looks from the people going in and out of the restaurant were screaming.. "Get A ROOM!".
We did continue our conversation in the car, but not for long.
Our lips were drawn together like 2 magnets. He did know how to kiss and for me, that is one of my most delicious weaknesses, to dive deep into kissing like a pearl diver only coming up for air when it was absolutely necessary.

He smelled yummy, he said I smelled wonderful and our mouths were on a mission to experience every bit of skin not confined with clothing.
The front seat proved to be a nuisance real quick and so the back seat it was.
The whole experience took me back to a place filled with youthful lust.
As we mature, car sex only seems to happen if you are touring a romantic mountain side or beach on some kind of scenic drive, but even then, a sexual tryst usually ends up in a rented room, cabin or beach house.
Of course there is a lot to be said for the comfort of renting a room. There is a nice spacious bed for one, a place to put your clothes and a bathroom.
Finding one's clothes after shedding them in a passionate rush in a car is not that easy. "Where's my shirt?", "Here it is, oh wait, that's mine", "Are my jeans over there?"
Not to mention you have spare change, keys and other miscellaneous items falling out of pockets, rolling under seats and it is common knowledge dome lights do very little in aiding one's quest to find anything smaller than a hiking boot.

But still, as cramped, uncomfortable and clumsy it can be, lusting after each other in a back seat of a car is still an exciting surrender.
Maybe it made me feel young again or the impulsive nature of it all is what I needed to perk up my all grown up boring life - whatever it was, I had FUN!
The rain was coming down in buckets the whole time and an occasional car would pass by, but once you are in the mode of a hot Back Seat Boogie, you may as well be on the moon.

Once my gentleman friend and I had collected our composure, we remained in the back seat, cuddled close together, just talking.
He is 50 and I'm 49, so I think we both enjoyed reaching back to a time when making out in cars was so cool.

No, this is not something I would make a habit of at my age.
As a matter of fact, I don't see it happening again for a very long time and I will savor the giddy journey back to a time when sex was an innocent exploration to sweet discovery.

Did I have sex with this man in the back seat?
Ah, some exchanges are just better of left in the memory of those involved.
Let's just say I came home with my bra in my purse and none of my clothes ended being worn backwards or inside out.

~REM It Up

2006-01-07T12:06:00.000-08:00

I wanna know that you'll tell me

I love to stay

Take me to the river

and drop me in the water

Dip me in the river,

drop me in the water

Washing me down

~Talking Heads

**************************

Do you dream a lot?

I love my dreams and always forward to them.
I have read quite a bit in regard to dreams and what they might mean, but not enough that I can quote a bunch of stuff about it all.

I do believe in Past Lives and feel that bit and pieces of these Past Lives come back to us in our dreams. I believe there are many entities that communicate to us within our dreams also, such as loved one's that have passed on, our Totem, our Spirit Guide, and even people here on this earthly plain. Ever have a dream about someone you have never seen in your life, but in your dream, you are as familiar with them as if they'd been a spouse, parent, or logtime friend?

I believe these are people from our Past Lives.

I also believe our sub conscience mind works thru our troubles by way of our dreaming.
There was a time in my life where things were very bad - quite hopeless actually. Well, in my mind they were hopeless and I felt very alone in my world of troubles. One dream I had back then was of me in a rowboat atop a stormy sea. The sea swelled and pitched the rowboat relentlessly - sea spray soaking me, my vision blinded. The storm was horrific and I clung to the bottom of the row boat as the sea tousled me. When the storm finally passed, all was calm again, but it was pouring down rain. I raised up and everywhere I could see was water - no land whatsoever, the skies were almost pitch dark, quite ominous. With no oores to be found, all I could do was sit in this rowboat in the poring down rain and drift wherever the tide took me, totally alone out in the middle of nowhere. I woke up and knew right away what the dream symbolized. No, the dream didn't give me much insight to the troubles I was experiencing, but it was my minds way of showing me what I was feeling.

I love dreaming and dream in full Technicolor!

I have had dreams the unfold like some kind of feature length film that smack of those old time musicals from back in the 40's 50's with all those spectacular song and dance numbers.

I've never been one to be plagued by too many nightmares.

I've had my share of them, but most of the time, my dreams are pleasant or just downright scattered and nonsensical.

I think the most disturbing dream I have ever had involved dead cats. Once again, this dream occurred back in my Running Years when my life was spent trying to escape violence, so I am certain much of this dream was fueled by my fears. In my dream, I was standing at the edge of a large vacant lot. It was night, pouring down rain and there were dim street lights that vaguely lit up this over grown vacant lot and across from me, in the shadows where I couldn't see, was a crying infant. I had my own young son at the time, although in the dream, I didn't seem to know who the baby was, but I had to get across this vacant lot to get to the wailing infant. So I set out to cross the lot and everywhere I stepped, was a bloody, dead cat contorted in some hideous manner with a very frightening death face being lit up by the street lights. As I am hopping over these dead cats at every step, the baby's cries get louder, more intense, as if the baby is in a terrible state of danger. My need to get across the vacant lot becomes urgent and frantically, I jump over the bodies of these cats trying not to look at them. I am almost to the other side of the vacant lot and the baby's cries sound just a step away and I jump, landing on one of the dead cats and it screeches out in deafening shrill, like a cat can do when it's stepped on and I awoke.

This dream took place many years ago, yet it remains in my mind quite fresh. It really was the most frightening and disturbed dream I have ever had.

There are a few standards that are always in my dreams.

Water, Cats, Houses.

I know the Water represents my emotions. The Houses represent me, my life so to speak. The Cats, I really don't know for sure, but could possibly represent outside influences, such as people, problems or hurdles that I am faced with, such as the dead cats that I had to step over in order to reach the crying baby. Could be the cats represented the adversity in my life that I had to "get over" in order to reach...myself...happiness...peace? I think possibly that crying baby was me, not my son.

Hard to say....

Water is everywhere in my dreams. It might be raining, drizzly, or I might be stepping over puddles, be by a river, a lake or in a boat on the ocean, but most times if I am not near of body of water, then it's raining in my dreams.

Houses -I am forever dreaming of houses. A lot of times I dream of living in the house I was raised in, which is understandable, but I also dream about all kinds of other houses that I have never lived in before. One of the most pleasant houses that I dreamed of was a Tree House. It was positioned in the middle of a beautiful tree, not really sure what kind of tree, with branches going off in every direction and perched on these branches were, yep, cats, and lots of them. And not just domestic cats, but also BIG cats such as Bengal tigers, Panthers and Lions.These cats were gorgeous, friendly, loving, peaceful and gentle. The Tree House itself was warm, cozy and I felt quite content being there. It was almost Eden-like and I moved along the branches of the tree with the ease of a...well..monkey. Right before I woke from this dream, I was perched on one of the highest branches of the tree that spread out and over the tree house, where I sat quite comfortably and contentedly gazing out over a beautiful ocean with a sunset on the horizon surrounded by the cats in the tree and even one in my lap purring. When I woke up, I was so .....satisfied.

I just wanted to drift back to sleep and live in my Tree House forever.

Another house dream, although this one was rather unsettling, involved a little house that resembled the kind you see in Fairy Tales - like a little thatched roof cottage that you see in Ireland. It sat within a thicket of woods. The ground was very uneven and riddled with puddles and I was frantically running around this empty house trying to get in to free some cats that I had left there when I had lived there in the past. Every entry was locked and I was in a terrible panic that the cats had perished inside the house with no food or water, I was literally beside myself with worry over these cats! As I frantically ran around this little house, I kept sinking in the puddles up to my knees and it was quite the chore to pull myself out of them. Eventually I just sat on the porch of this house in total despair, consumed with guilt in regard to these poor cats that I had left there to die. Now the house in the dream was not any house I actually did live in, but in my dream it was a dwelling I was very familiar towards.

Once again, I really don't know what this dream means.

It was from quite a few years ago and no doubt, born out of fear and despair.

Many people have dreams about flying and I have had a few. It is a wonderful sensation and so much fun to have flying dreams as it is such a liberated, free spirited feeling to soar the skies, looking down at the rest of the world. It must be quite satisfying to be a bird. My flying dreams are rare, but one mode of transportation I dream of often is driving. We all drive a huge portion of our lives away, so I imagine driving dreams are super common. Probably one of the most bizarre dreams I have had about driving is driving without a car. I am sitting there on the road moving along shifting gears and steering basically in an invisible car. In the more bad dream arena, I have lost control of cars and gone off cliffs or headed into oncoming traffic, only to wake up before any actual impact. Needless to say, I wake up with my heart pounding from those.

I've had a few dreams about being pursued, but not too many. Mainly I am searching for something in my dream - like some wild goose chase.

Sex Dreams

Yes, I have had my share, but have not been plagued by them. I have had orgasms in my sleep and they always wake me up, of which they are more of a teaser orgasm and in the years that I have awoken with a man next to me, I promptly wake him for sex. Like I said, these sleep orgasms are not that intense, just teasing me and well, once I am awake, I need to finish what was started. Now if I am alone when I have one of these dreams, I still finish what was started. Guess you don't need much of an imagination or be a genius to figure out how.

One sex dream that I had which sticks out in my mind is one where I had great sex,

(no actual sleep orgasm though), with the comedian, Jim Carrey. What I find most odd about that is that I have never been that taken by him. Yes, I think he can be funny and I loved him in the old show 'In Living Color", but I am not that big a fan of his films. I am not even that drawn to his looks, but in my dream, YowZaaaaa! Man, the sex was excellent. Ever since that dream I view Jim Carrey a little bit differently.

But I'm still not that fond of his films...

I've also had dreams of having great sex with men I have never seen in my life. But in my dream I am quite in love with them and the sex is delicious! And yes, all the people I have had sex with in my dreams have been men. No women. No children. No animals, (thank God). There have been a few times I've had dreams of having sex with coworkers, freinds and/or neighbors. These can rather unsettling for a couple days after as I have to actually see these people. There was one time I had a very vivid dream about having sex with my neighbor's husband. She is also a good friend of mine too. The next day she came over to my house for coffee and I could barely look her in the eye. Once again, this is a man that I was never attracted to at all, but for some odd reason, he made it into one of my sex dreams. I've never tried to sit down and pick apart my sex dreams to figure out what they meanunder the surface. I have always just took it as a sign that I need some and leave it at that.

One thing that is strange to me are that my oldest daughter, Sarah and I have similar dreams. Not all the time, to the point that we are calling each other to compare them, we do have similar things happening in our dreams. She does a lot more flying than I do though. Some of the common things we dream about are our teeth falling out, our hair falling out, trying on scads of clothes and not finding anything right to wear.And she also has a lot of water in her dreams too - but nowhere near as many houses and no cats. She does complain about dreaming about being naked in her dreams a lot - the kind of naked where you suddenly realize that you are nude in a group full of people and then feel embarrassed. I don't dream about being naked that much.

I think one of the worst kind of dreams to have are about our jobs. Geeeesh, we spend 8 hours a day at work and then go to bed and dream about it too?! My ex worked in his sleep all the time. He is an ironworker and he would actually be moving around, his arms moving, legs moving...- he was workin!

He complained a lot about those dreams too and I couldn't blame him.

They say those we love that pass on will visit us in our dreams and I believe this. I haven't had this occur for me on any big scale, but I truly believe my Grandfather and Father visited me in my dreams. I was very close to my Grandfather. He was a wonderful, sweet man full of colorful stories who taught me how to make raison bread from scratch, (he'd been a cook on a fishing boat when he was a young man), he'd turned me on to the sport of Archery, which I still enjoy and taught me how to dance old people style. When he passed away from colon cancer when I was 25 it was a huge loss for me. It was about 6 weeks after he died that I believe he came to me in a dream and we danced. This dream was quite different than any other dream I had. It felt so very real and the feeling I got while dancing with my Grandfather in my dream is something hard to describe. All I know is that when I woke, I was able to let go of the deep sorrow and from then on, I have felt my Grandfather is never far from me and that is a big comfort.

In regard to my Dad, when he died, after suffering from Alziemers at 82 years old, it was a blessing- he'd suffered long enough. After he passed away I fully expected to have a visit from my Dad in my dreams or have some kind of feeling that he was around me, but nothing - I never felt him at all. My Mother said the same thing. He was just....gone.

Four years after his death my Mother surprised my brother and I with the announcement she was getting married. I was shocked as I didn't even know she was seeing a man. I met Morrie for the first time at Christmas and he seemed nice enough. It was obvious that he adored my Mother and she, him. Still, I couldn't get used to the idea of my Mom with someone other than my Dad. They'd been married 60 years when he passed awayand had been the best of friends that whole time. I'd always envisioned my Mom being...well, single for the rest of her life if anything happened to Dad, but that sure wasn't the case and here she was, ready to marry some other man. They were going to get married in early January following that Christmas- it was a hurry up wedding. A few days before the wedding, I was dreaming that I was standing in the church watching my Mom and Morrie being married up at the alter. I turned my head and standing outside of the church, looking thru a window was my Dad. He was looking towards my Mom and Morrie with a bright light filtering in thru the window from behind him. His face looked relaxed and his smile was so genuine. He turned and looked to me, gave me one of his familiar winks, still smiling and then him, and the light was gone. That was the only time my Father has visited me in a dream and the only time I have felt him around me since the day he died.

I guess he's off fishing or painting pictures in the sky....

My beliefs are that when we sleep, we leave this mundane earthly consciences that we are tethered to in our waking hours and are able to soar off to places far and wide. We are able to be visited by loved ones gone, reach back to our past lives and capture fragments of many moments that we have buried. The mind and spirit have a unique interaction, but so many of us are blinded to what lies beyond the veil. We refuse to believe what we can't hold in our hands and so our spirit has other ways to find it's release and I truly believe much of that is by way of our dreams. I view it as a porthole to a realm of who we have been, allowing us to tap into experiences that have led us on a journey of many lifetimes. It is a meeting place to reunite with those now on the otherside of the veil and it is a place our mind put before us images and sensations to help guide us through our earthly passage.

Yes, we close our eyes and drift off to sleep to a place that many view as nothing more than a rest stop. But for me, it is a journey beyond myself, connecting on levels that surpass this gravity bound life we lead with our eyes open.

May your REM state take you places that allow your spirit to soar!
Dream on!

~I Can Do It Myself!

2006-01-06T08:57:00.000-08:00

Why do I feel it's all up to me

to see that everything's right

and it's how it should be

Why don't they just leave me alone

I've got to prove I can

~Alanis Morrisette

*******************************

So you are sitting there enjoying the peace and quiet of putting together a puzzle.

Yeah, it's one of those with a zillion pieces, all of an overcast sky where every piece resembles the other, but you are having a nice time with yourself and the challenge, when suddenly out of nowhere, someone comes along and without asking, starts snatching up puzzle pieces and putting it together in front of you or pointing out where you have placed pieces in the wrong spots. You look up in utter annoyance, snapping at them, "I can do it MYSELF!".
The person throws up his hands, gives you that wounded look, retorting back something to the effect of, "Fine, I was just trying to help, geeeeeeeesh.."

Yep, we've all said it - especially when we were kids.
We'd be fumbling with the zipper on our jacket and Mom would jump in to help and we'd squawk, "I can do it MYSELF!"

Of course the worse thing that can happen is when we discover we can't do it ourselves and then have to search out the well meaning person we barked at and request their assistance.
But it's how we learn. It's how we accomplish things in life and this gives us good self esteem. And that's an important thing.

I guess you could say the whole Women's Movement was an example of this.
Feminists were screaming out to the world that we can do ourselves and now we are!
Hear us ROAR...

From the time we're able to scramble up on our feet, we're thinking "I can do it myself".

Ever try to guide a toddler with a little support while they struggle to walk and they pull away and cry? They want to do it themselves. With each step that toddler takes on her own, the more secure and reliable she feels that she CAN do it by herself. With Mommy or Daddy supporting her with each step, the baby never gains the sense of security in trusting her own steps and the toddler knows it too.
This is why she can get so defianat when Mommy and Daddy try to help her.
Pretty darn smart for a baby, wouldn't you say?

Another example would be teaching a 6 year old how to hit a baseball. You can show him how the bat should be held, how he needs to stand, how far the bat needs to be held away from the body, how to watch for the ball and exactly how to swing. And you can do this 3 or 4 times, but all your gonna hear from that 6 year old is "I can do it myself" as he strains to grab the bat away from you. Once he gets that bat, he holds it all wrong, stands wrong, never even see's the ball coming and swings totally blind - but the look on his face when he takes that first swing is pure joy - priceless!

Yes, kids need instruction when it comes to learning a sport, a talent or craft, but it will be them that hones in and masters that sport, talent or craft. They have to do it on their own!

It used to be back when I was a kid, that on a Little League team, only a few outstanding players received trophies. Now they all do. Someone, somewhere decided it just wasn't fair for the other players to sit back and watch the prime players be celebrated with a nice shiny trophy, so now the parents pitch in the money for all the players to get one. I don't agree with this. Sure, I love to see one of my kids be honored with a trophy, but if he hasn't earned it, why reward him? All my kids played sports. All were on Little League and they all have a bounty of trophies, paid by me, to show for it. As much as I hate to admit it, the majority of those trophies weren't earned for much more than just showing up to every practice and every game. Only my oldest daughter played an outstanding softball game. My oldest son was the star of the football team, younger son shined in basketball and my youngest daughter kicked butt in soccer.
Yet all of them have a treasure of trophies for Little League and all the other sports they were just mediocre in.

Have you been to a Little League game lately? It's a tough crowd cheering those kids on. These parents mean business and they want their team to WIN. I've witnessed parents literally screaming at their child for striking out or failing to catch a fly ball. I've also seen that child shrink away, the joy of the game drained from him by a parent more interested in winning than just enjoying the fact his or her kid is out there backing the team up. How can this child even think "I can do it myself", when he has a parent standing over him telling him he can't.
Yet at the end of the season, this child goes home with a nifty trophy. Wouldn't it be better for the parent to just sit back, pat the kid on the back for giving the game his best shot? At the end of the season, if the kid doesn't get a trophy, he will figure out if he's a good soft ball player or not. When a kid says, "I can do it myself" they mean it. They want to do it themselves and that includes failing.

By allowing a child to fall, (or fail), just like that toddler learning to walk without stumbling, we are allowing them to gauge their own worth - their own limits, strengths and weaknesses. This is what builds good self esteem. It's not succeeding at everything that makes a child's esteem good, it is also born out of experiences where they aren't so good. There is not a kid on a softball team anywhere that can't judge if he's playing a good game or not. He or she knows when they aren't trying hard enough, not interested, is just goofing off or needs more practice.

It reminds me of my son's bestfriend in middle school, Jake. They were both on the school's basketball team. My approach was this - to remind Lucas to practice and if need be, go shoot a few hoops with him, which he and I did often. Yeah, there were some days that his shots were sloppy and he wasn't putting himself into it, but the important thing is that he got the practice in. When he missed a shot because he wasn't trying, he'd get a look on his face that told me he knew he was wasn't giving it his best. I didn't need to tell him. Jake's father did not think like I did. I went over one evening to pick up Lucas and the three of them were on a game when I pulled up. I sat in the car and just watched as I waited for Lucas. This boy's father was relentless towards his son. He'd miss a shot and the father pounced on him, "For crying out loud Jake, pay attention!" Lucas got the ball away from him, "JAKE!", his father screeched, "No wonder the coach never plays you!" The look on Jake's face said it all - he hated it and by the end of the season, he'd quit the team, telling Lucas, "I hate basketball".

Gee, I wonder why....

Every time Jake made an attempt at a shot, he was saying, "I can do it myself" and every time his father was telling Jake, "NO, you can't- YOU suck at basketball!"

As it turned out, the team kicked ASS that year - winning each and every game. Jake had quit the team just two games before the last scheduled game. At the Trophy banquet, there sat Jake's trophy, unclaimed.

As we go through life, we leave Little League behind and take on careers and raising families. Life itself is one big team effort. We can't get a trophy for everything we take on and we won't succeed in everything. We lose jobs, get divorced, face illness. How well we fare through adversity depends on how good our self esteem is and we learn this growing up. Do we lose a job and go out there and find another right away or sit at home for weeks on end feeling like a total loser? I have also found that if parents are constantly providing this good self esteem for their kids, when things go bad and a child is faced with not being celebrated as the best, who does he blame? The parent. The parent becomes not only the main beam bracing the child in order to succeed, they become the scapegoat when they fail. The child never learns to be accountable for his actions as someone else has always been orchestrating everything.

This whole good self esteem thing rang out a few years ago and every parent around the nation heard it and their ear's perked straight up. "I want my kid to have that!", they thought, and the next thing ya know, parents were on a mission to get their kids some good self esteem!
I don't know if it's because the guilt level runs so high with parents nowadays with both parents working long hours, the high divorce rate and so on, but parents have fallen into the trap of giving way too much to thier kids.
Good self esteem is not something that can be given a child.
It is earned by them. By thier very own actions and their very own interest and drive to make something happen.

Back to the puzzle-

Let's say the person that barged in and began doing your puzzle was able to continue- you didn't say anything and just sat there watching as they pulled up a chair and began putting the pieces of the overcast sky together. Every time you pick up a piece and go to place where you think it fits - they slap it out of your hand saying, "THAT piece doesn't go there! God, haven't you ever put a puzzle together before?", he shoves a piece in your hand abruptly, "HERE. THIS piece goes THERE!", he tells you. How long are you going to enjoy the activity of putting this puzzle together with someone acting like this every single time you go to put a piece to the puzzle? When the puzzle is finally completed and you sit there looking at it, you will be thinking...what?

The other person looks at you and says,

"Hey! You got it all put together. Wow - your great at putting puzzles together aren't you?!!" You might take the compliment and you might even convince yourself that yeah, you are dandy at putting puzzles together! Or you might look at the puzzle and feel absolutely nothing. One thing is for sure - you are not going to feel the satisfaction or the joy in completing the puzzle all on your own.

Most likely you'd be walking away from that puzzle mumbling under your breath...
"Next time ...I can do it MYSELF!!"

~Want Some Fries With That Man?

2006-01-05T07:41:00.000-08:00

I don't want to be second best

Don't want to stand in line

Don't want to fall behind

Don't want to get caught out

Don't want to do without

And the lesson I must learn

Is that I've got to wait my turn

~KT Tunstall

***************************************

Men.
I'm back into the realm of dating and once again, I feel like a clumsy wallflower at a high school dance.

I've been married twice.
My first marriage lasted about 10 minutes.
Well, actually 2 years, but quality time might have been 10 minutes...at the most.
I married him after only knowing him 6 weeks.
Some advice - Don't ever do that.
I won't go into great detail as to why my marriages ended, that would be a subject for their very own blog entries.
My second husband and I dated 4 years before we married.
He lived in his house and I lived in mine the whole time we dated. I wasn't going to make the same mistake I'd made in my first marriage by being impulsive. Regardless, the marriage failed for a variety of reasons.
He's happier. I'm happier. As divorces go, it was amicable.
I am in no hurry to marry again.

The dating scene is just as lame as it ever was - but now there is the remarkable option of the Internet! I'm not sure what I think of it. It's convenient, that's for sure, and so much better than hanging out in noisy clubs or seedy bars. As long as you have a sexy photo to represent yourself, your always prepared to exchange some lively chat with a man. But eventually you do have to leave the house and meet these men and that gets a bit tricky.

I've met quite a few men from online.

My protocol is to meet for coffee. It's public, it's safe and I like coffee.
Some of it reminds me of the boardgame we played as young girls - Dream Date.
Will he be a Dream or a Dud?
Well, I've met a few Duds, but most have been in-between the two. I haven't met my Dream Guy yet and not even sure if he exists. I mean, it was a young girl's game, right? The worst mistake a woman can make is to think the Dream Guy exists online. Ya just don't know someone till you meet them in person and I remain fairly aloof until we have some time to talk on the phone and meet face to face.

Because of an abstract preference in my lifestyle, it's not that easy for me to meet men that have the same interests as I do, so I have joined a few dating forums online.
For a while I was communicating with men miles and miles away. Seems like everytime I met a hot guy online, he lived on the east coast. Eventually it became impossible to cultivate any kind of tangible relationship with men such a far distance from me. I may as well have been trying to hook up with little green men on Mars. I took my search local and it has been a lot better.

With the Internet so readily available to anyone and everyone these days, meeting men on the Net can be quite the whacked out sideshow.
Ya got your freaks, vampires, clods, dirty old men, sissys, idiots, sharks, vampires, good old boys, impersonators, nerds, babies, bums, predators, preachers, pigs, pot heads, poets and players. I think that about covers it.

Not to mention the new trend of all the married people looking for action on the side. Being honest is a good thing, but it's also a trendy thing now and no matter how honest you present it, there is still a 3rd person in the equation and it only adds up to heartache and trouble.

I don't do married men.

Of course a woman must be savvy in how she welcomes these men into her life. Safety first, of course. I have yet to invite any man from the Net to my home. None have made that much of an impression on me to offer up that kind of trust. But I do meet them for coffee and as well as that works for me, it is beginning to feel like Boyfriend Interviews. I end up asking the same questions over and over and offering up the same information about myself.
I know it's the only way to get to know someone, but I am also seeking work right now and going to job interviews. Guess I could just schedule them back to back and utilize my time efficiently.

Seeing each other in person for the first time is just downright awkward.
You can almost hear the cogs turning as the man compares my face to the photo. Guess I am doing the same and in some cases, the photo has not fit the face. One man was considerably shorter than he had stated on his online profile and as I looked down at him, I lied, telling him, "Oh yes, you look just like you do online".
Hmmmmmm.....
Yes, it's best to be honest with our online profiles and have as current of a photo as possible. Men online are obsessed with photos. You can give a man 100 pictures of yourself and he'll demand 101, (and of course course, he wants 99 of those to be nudies). And the whole time he has sent you one quite blurry picture of himself that smacks of 1985. Doesn't make sense not to be honest or not have current photos. I want to meet these men in person and it would be ridiculous to portray myself any other way.

After the first meeting is out of the way, that is where I am most uncertain.
A second date delivers a message of commitment and so far I haven't met a man that I want to spend exclusive time with, so I have a tendency to be a little unavailable after the first meeting. Guess that's my way of getting the message across that I am not interested in anything too close. And that includes sex. So many men online want sex with No Stings Attached. I don't know who or where these women are, that are so willing to just screw men and then walk away without any kind of friendship being shared, but I am certainly not one of them.
I am not out to have a super heavy commitment with a guy, but I like the Friends with Benefits kind of arrangement. I am only capable of ONE friend though.
My emotions get in the way as I'm instinctively monogamous. It just comes natural to me.
Even when I was young and there was an orgy happening every weekend - I only wanted to be with MY man. Yes, I did the orgy scene for a short time, but found watching was way more erotic for me than taking part. Oh, I did take part, but to be honest, it wasn't all that.

So, here I am, I hooked up to the New Age Dating Scene ....
We all sit at our Little Boxes and pull up webpages asking us to click this and check that in order to find our Perfect Mate. We submit the info and then wait to see what pops up before our eyes.

There are times I feel it's all right out of the old cartoon, The Jetsons.
Just like Judy Jetson getting herself a date for the Venus Valentine's Day Dance, she punches in the color of hair and eyes, how tall, personality traits, then pushes a big red button and the BIG computer screen in front of her lights up, beeping, whistling, whirling, all buttons lit up like a Christmas Tree and then with a big WHIRRRRR! and a WHOOOOSH! - out pops some guy with a perferct smile and eyes that sparkle.
YAY! Judy has her perfect Dream Date!!
Even Astro jumps and down for it being such a smashing success!

We have evolved to a place where the perfect partner pops up on a screen for us and we can pick their brain, do tricks for each other on cams, or masturbate together tapping out our lust on a keyboard. Have we lost a certain amount of innocent intimacy in exchange for all this high tech dating or have we gained a better opportunity to meet people that would otherwise never cross our path?

Have we turned dating into nothing more than another drive up window in life to get what we want right now- pronto and don't forget to SUPER SIZE it!

I mean, where else can you sit around in your baggy flannel pants, old worn out Huskies sweatshirt, no make up, hair sticking out like medusa, pimple cream on your face, stuffing your face with Oreos and flirt with men like a ready and ripe bombshell?
Hey - it's sweet!

Want some fries with that man?

~No Place Like Home

2006-01-04T08:12:00.000-08:00

The grass gets greener all the time

for creatures of habit

Make your enemies your friends,

and leap standing naked

It ain't how much you can take,

it's how you take it

Look out,

here comes one more morning

Habits form without a warning

Love, it can be habit-forming

for creatures of habit

~Soul Asylum

**************************

My daughter, Brianna, and I watched The Wizard Of Oz last night.
I can't even guess how many times I have seen this film.
Could be in the 100's.
I love it!

It got me to thinking about how I am the type person who, when I like something, wants to enjoy it again and again.
The same can be said for things like the clothes I wear, my furniture, my hair and make up- I'm a stick in the mud. I like things to stay the same and I don't always welcome change as well as others do.
Don't get me wrong- I like variety, travel and new ideas.
It's just that when I like something, I have a tendency to wanna put it on over and over again, like a donning favorite sweater.

Food for instance.
When I discover a dish at a restaurant that I absolutely adore, I will go back ordering the same thing. There might be a few times I try something new, but I mainly stay with what I like.
It doesn't stop me from trying out new restaurants, but when I want to pamper myself, I go where I know I love the food and order something I've enjoyed numerous times.
I'm not the type of person that can eat the same dish day after day after day, but I could rotate a weekly menu of my favorite meals and be quite content.

Call me a Creature of Habit, I guess.

The same thing with clothes.
I have a tendency to wear the same thing to the point of it beng ridiculous.
Not that it is the exact same pair of black jeans over and over, as when I find something I really like - I buy multiples of them and this drives my 2 daughters insane!
They are always buying me clothes as gifts just to get me to try something new.
Most of the time I don't care for their ideas, but every once in a while they will gift me with something that works. And then if I really like it - I buy 2, 3, 4, or 5 of them!
When I get new clothes no one really notices much as what I get to wear looks so similar.

In my home I am rather eclectic. I love a potpourri of sentimental clutter around me and a controlled amount of disarray is fine by me. But I don't like having my furniture moved around. Once I find a good positioning for it - it can stay that way for years.

Maybe I was blind in a past life or something?
I have a friend that changes around her furniture about every other month.
Her condo isn't very big either and there are only a few ways she can arrange things. She says she has to have the change or she gets depressed. I'm kinda the opposite of that - I feel more secure in my home where everything stays the same.

The more I write here, the more I seem like a real fuddy duddy.
For instance, travel.
I do love to travel, but once again, I tend to go back to the same places over and over.
I adore Maui. A friend had suggested I vacation to Mexico one year for a change a pace and I looked at him as though he were stark raving mad. MEXICO? But I love Maui. I've BEEN to Maui. I KNOW Maui.
I have this built in device that governs me to keep going back to what is familiar. Not that I don't have an adventurous spirit. It's just that it doesn't occur to me to venture away from what is already comfortable to me.

This could be why I am such a monogamous woman in relationships.
I LIKE being with the same man.
And if I'm happy, content and feel genuinely worshiped, the grass is never greener for me.

I also find it kind of odd that two of my favorite films, The Wizard Of Oz and Alice In Wonderland portray girls off in a strange place wanting nothing more than to get home. Oh, at first they love all the whacky adventure and odd ball characters, but after a while, all they want is to be home again.
Guess I could equate that with my early years - they were spent running, and yeah, I encountered my share of freaked out characters.
I moved every 6 months for 10 years.
Unfortunately it was under the worst of conditions, which I will write about here as time goes on.

When it comes to love, I've been chasing the White Rabbit and painting those roses red forever. I had my tryst with the Smoking Caterpillar and did lunch with the Mad Hatter. Had a Wicked Witch after me, only it was a male, not female, ran with my share of Flying Monkeys and know what it feels like to follow the yellow brick road.

I guess the comfort I gain from things not changing is because for a time in my life, things changed too much.
I never knew when I would have to flee or fight. They were scary times and to compare them to children's tales doesn't even come close to it.

In the meantime - I'm content.
I know I need to broaden my horizons and maybe even move my couch to another place in the living room and possibly turn my bed to face a different wall in my bedroom..
I can do it ya know...I got it in me.
But give up my Birks, black jeans and black wool coat?
Are you quite mad?

~The Silence Of Lost Opportunity

2006-01-03T07:36:00.000-08:00

Looking beyond the embers

of bridges glowing behind us

To a glimpse of how green

it was on the other side

Steps taken forwards

but sleepwalking back again

Dragged by force

of some inner tide

~Pink Floyd

*************************************

The silence of lost opportunity can be deafening.
It can speak volumes to us, echoing it's message for a lifetime.

Okay, the definition of opportunity:
1 : a favorable juncture of circumstances 2 : a good chance for advancement or progress

So opportunity is a good thing.
No one will dispute that.

Opportunity is a haughty goddess who wastes no time with those who are unprepared.

--George S. Clason

Learn to listen. Opportunity could be knocking at your door very softly.
--Frank Tyger

Opportunity is missed by most people

because it comes dressed in overalls and looks like work.

--Thomas Edison

Those are a few thoughts on opportunity.
The latter quote being my favorite.

The value of opportunity varies and the way in which it presents itself to us also varies - much.
It can tiptoe, sliding in beside us, waiting patiently to be discovered.
It can fall into our laps with a loud Hoorah!
It can run ahead of us as we nip at it's heels, hungry to bite down and feast.
It can be offered open handed, looking us straight in the face.
Opportunity is out there and we rub elbows with it daily.
It all comes down to how alert and open-minded we are to heed it's call.

There's a difference between an opportunity lost and opportunity squandered, ignored

or in some cases, robbed from us.
Lost opportunity is just that - LOST.
And what is lost can be found again, or at least it's worth taking the time to look for it.

For some, opportunity doesn't present it's value until it's too late, but sometimes, we know perfectly well what we are being offered, yet, for whatever reason, we set our sights elsewhere.
The grass is greener maybe?

It makes me think about the girl that possibly turned down Bill Gates for the prom.
Lost opportunity?
What about the person that turned down free passage on the Titanic?
Lost opportunity or a blessing?

I'm sure the girl that turned down Bill Gates for the prom thought she was ridding herself of an evening spent with a real dweeb and she might have a few pangs of regret now, but if she didn't care about money, she has no regrets.

And the person who might have declined free passage to the Titanic probably watched it sail away thinking he/she had just turned down the opportunity of a lifetime.
Hmmmmmm......

As we get older, the lessons of lost opportunity become painfully clear.
We preach to our kids, counsel our friends and bang our head against the wall.
The regret can fester and devour us from the inside out or we can block it, becoming deaf to the echo of what we have lost.

My Dad comes to mind.
I know I write a lot about my Dad here, but hey- he raised me.

When he was 18 and fresh out of high school he got a job in California as an artist/illistrator. It meant leaving Seattle, which he really didn't want, but did anyway. The man he worked for was just starting his business and my Father didn't think his time or talent was well spent putting in 10 and 12 hour days trying to help this man get his endeavor off the ground. Plus he was terribly homesick and too young to see beyond the meager paychecks, so he quit and went back home to Seattle.

No doubt he was flattered by the opportunity to travel to another state and that his art work was celebrated as being impressive by a man wanting to create cartoons, but it was just a little job that didn't pay much, not that big an opportunity right?
He knew he'd do better elsewhere and upon returning to Seattle he joined the army.
After being in the army, of which he was very proud to have served as a Master Sergeant in W.W.II, he took on a job selling light fixtures to big industry. Not the job of his dreams, but it paid good.
Did he think much about that little cartooning job he quit when he was just a kid?
Well, did I mention that the man that offered him that cartooning job

was named...Walt Disney?
Yep...lost opportunity.

What about opportunity in love?
We all know someone that laments endlessly about how they let someone wonderful get away.
We have all done it ourselves - acted like an idiot and lost someone we should have been more attentive towards, been more honest with and been alert enough to know we were so much better with them, than without them.
We may have turned down these opportunities to be with the wonderful people because we were too busy, too tired, too insecure or thought there was someone better out there for us.
Sometimes we get another chance to connect with a person we blew off the first time and sometimes we don't.
Opportunity in love is probably the most confusing.
I know it is the most neglected and ignored opportunity out there.
Opportunity in matters of the heart are also taken for granted as we are lulled into thinking that just because someone adores us now, they always will no matter what.
Silly to assume that isn't it?
But we do and oftentimes, we lose what is precious.

I think it's opportunity in business and career that hangs us up the most.
And by all rights it should - that's our bread and butter.
It is what makes the difference between scrounging in the couch looking for quarters to gas up the Gremlin or owning a Mazeradi always running on a full tank.
The opportunity in our careers hinge precariously to so many other people.
It can be a domino effect - one's opportunity becomes another's, and then another's and another's. We move up the ladder, grinding our heels into the shoulders of those below us all for the sake of better opportunity to fuel our career and reach our financial aspirations.
Yep, it's a dog eat dog, cut throat, grab what I got coming to me mindset that can poison the waters of genuine, long-lasting opportunity.

I had the opportunity to go to college.
I wanted to get into Journalism, but my folks wanted me to be a nurse.
I didn't want to.
I'd worked in a couple Nursing Homes by the time I was old enough to attend college and knew that nursing was not the career for me.
I'd been scribbling down my thoughts since I was old enough to hold a crayon for crying out loud - it was obvious, to me anyway, that Journalism was my calling.
My parents didn't see it as being a successful enough career and basically said it was nursing or nothing.
I chose nothing.
Lost opportunity.

Did I stop writing?

Hell no.
If I'd been thinking ahead or thinking at all, I would have created the opportunity myself and gotten grants, loans, whatever it took to get into Journalism, but I didn't.
Eventually I was given the opportunity to attend Trade School and I chose Culinary Arts, becoming a Chef, which I have been for the last 20 years.
Did it fulfill my dream? No, but that's on me.

At times lost opportunity can be the voice of reason, other times a nagging, taunting harpy at our back causing us to wallow in self pity and lash out at life in bitterness.

I wrote all of this about opportunity, because right now I am faced with a lot of it.

I'm single and dating. I'm looking for new employment. I could move to anywhere I want and am considering it.
Everywhere I look, there is opportunity for change.
I know I can't sit and wait for it to come knocking on my door, nor would I want to.

But I've got an ear cocked and I'm listening.

When opportunity arrives, I'm all ears!

~Everything Has It's Place

2006-01-02T08:21:00.000-08:00

Bag lady

you gone hurt your back

Dragging all them bags like that

I guess nobody ever told you

All you must hold on to

Is you,

One day all them bags gone get in your way

So pack light

Bag lady you gone miss your bus

You can't hurry up

Cause you got too much stuff

~Erykah Badu

********************************

Most people do their spring cleaning in the, ..well, spring.
I do it in the winter.
After Christmas gets put away, I start going through junk and either throw it away or give it away.
Being I haven't been so good at doing this the last couple of years or so, I've got a ton of winter cleaning to do.
Now is the time.

I'm a Pack Rat - plain and simple.
A fine tradition passed down to me from my Father.
Dad saved things with a creative motive and I'm the same.
I don't save stuff that actually comes in handy for some reasonable use down the road.
Naw, that would be too sensible.

One time I saved up a bunch of Tums containers.
Thought they would make great Christmas Angels because of their shape.
Of course I never found out if they would, as I never made anything out of them and after they sat collecting dust on a shelf in my sewing room for 6 years - I finally tossed them.
At this moment I have 2 garbage bags full of small to medium sized pinecones.
Saw where they make a cool wreath - that was 4 years ago.

I went around town gathering them up and now they sit, every once in a while being dumped out and chased around by my cats.

My habit of gathering things, takes me back to a place where my Dad had huge bags filled with the neighbors dandelions and rose petals.
For wine of course.
He would go all over the neighborhood ridding our neighbors of their dratted dandelions and charming them out of their roses.
The dandelion wine was hideous tasting, but the rose petal wine was very good.
He would proudly present bottles of the wine to all the neighbors he gleaned the dandelions and roses from.
After the first year of doing this, he always came back home with the dandelion wine.
No one wanted it, not even Dad.

For a few years my Dad drank nothing but Heidelberg Beer in a bottle,

(he preferred Rainer in a can), because of the bottle. He saw how one could make a drinking glass in cutting off the upper portion of the beer bottle and then attaching, (gluing), it to the bottom - it resembled a clumsy, chunky stemmed wine glass.
It didn't take long for him to lose interest in these beer bottle wine glasses - he probably quit because he didn't get the positive reception from people that he'd hoped for.

For many years, in the corner of our basement sat stacks and stacks of these Heidelberg Beer bottles.

Another little quirk passed down to me from my Father is the inability to throw away any kind of magazine or catalog.
My Dad was an artist. He painted scenics in oils and sometimes watercolors. His reason for keeping the magazines, mainly National Geographic, Life Magazine, and maybe a few Sunsets snitched from my Mother, were for ideas with his painting.
I have NO idea why I save them.
Ya never know when I might want to read a magazine 6 years after reading it the first time....
::: shakes head :::

Now my Mother on the other hand, saves nothing.
Her thinking is if it isn't used within a year - toss it!
No doubt her way of counteracting the cluttery ways of my Father's obsession.

When you are a collector of things, people pick up on that really quick.
I've had people call me up asking for all kinds of things for their projects.
Shells, ribbon. wood, Styrofoam, paint, floral wire....even cement blocks.

Ridiculous thing is - I had some!

Also, another inherited talent from my Father, is when you are a Pack Rat and something is on sale that you use for your creativity, you can't just buy one - hell no! Wood glue on sale? Buy all 14 bottles and ask if they can order more. Spools of ribbon, 3 for 5 bucks? Wheeee! Load up the shopping basket! Then you get home and have to find a place for all this stuff.
My Dad built little cubbies for all his Pack Rat treasures. I am not as industrious, so went out and purchased heavy-duty stackable containers.
Even so, my collection of things has grown beyond fitting in these plastic cubbies and spill out all over my poor sewing room.

Just like my Dad, I have a creative endeavor in the works somewhere. Painting was my Dad's primary creative love, just as writing and quilting is mine, but he also took on a variety of other creative projects such as candle making, silk screening, wine/beer making, raising Angel fish, (14 tanks full), wood carving, rock polishing, jewelry making - anyone need a bolo tie? Tying flies, (for fishing), pond construction, (the kind with little pumps and motors), totem poles and painting little pictures in oyster shells.

As for me, I think I may have surpassed my Father with my creative fascinations, as in the last 15 years have taken on dried flower projects, fabric painting, tole painting, counted cross-stitch, soap making, ceramics, driftwood art, gel candles, baker's clay, card art, stamping, garden stepping stone making and anything remotely associated to sewing.
I am a fabric JUNKIE!

I go into my sewing room and can barely turn around. Stacked almost as high as the ceiling are plastic cubbies filled with fabric galore, a million spools of thread, a butt load of buttons, miles of ribbon, patterns, fabric blades, cutting mats, paper cutters, paints, brushes, glue, spray shellac, graveine wreaths, fake evergreen wreaths, hay wreaths, buckets of dried flowers, shells, pinecones, pebbles, craft and sewing books, (that I've never read), bottles of candle and soap scents, molds, scissors of all kinds, stickers, construction paper, batting, scads of yarn, glitter, pieces of drifwood, nails, hooks, bells, string, fishing line, settings for jewelry, foam rubber, Styrofoam, felt pens, crayons, fabric paint, colored pencils, calligraphy kits, stamps, ink pads, ....OMG!

And somewhere in the middle of all that is my 1956 Singer Stitch-O-Matic sewing machine that I inherited from my Mother.
Works like a dream and I wouldn't part with it for the world.
That and my seam ripper...

I've got my work cut out for me.
And I've been mulling around the idea of learning how to do stained glass.
Dad would be proud...

~2006

2006-01-01T11:06:00.000-08:00

Like a train that stops at every station

We all deal with trials and tribulations

Fear hangs the fellow that ties up his years

Entangled in yellow and cries all his tears

Changes come before we can grow

Learn to see them before we're too old

~Stevie Ray Vaughn

*********************************

The first day of a New Year.

2005 bowed out, or in some cases, passed out, and 2006 arrived in an explosion of glitter and fireworks.

When the clock struck midnight, I was driving home, by myself, thinking how utterly alone I am.

Not too cheery - sorry.

But that's what a couple of drinks and a man who leaves you sitting at a bar,

because you won't casually fuck him, will do for ya...

Excuse the raunchy word there, but that's about what it came down to.

I'd accepted a date from a man I know from online and I'd also made it very clear to him that I don't have casual sex with random men. Maybe he was thinking in person I wouldn't ahere to that, but as soon as he realized I had every intention of sticking to it, he says,

"Well, I shall be excusing myself then".

And he left.

Don't let the door hit ya in the ass on the way out dude...

As soon as he left, I ordered a cuppa coffee and just sat there in a bit of a huff.

What a jerk!

I panned the bar and was shocked to see it was all couples in the place - NO singles.

They began handing out party hats and passing out the glasses of champagne, of which I declined and the clock was at 15 minutes till midnight.

I gulped down my coffee and made my exit.

Once I got home, I kicked off my heels and flopped on the couch feeling quite sorry for myself.

Quite pathetic, I know.

This morning I was draggin my butt so popped a couple aspirin, guzzled some water and made a super strong pot of coffee.
I sat at the computer drawing a complete blank, totally blocked on what to write for my

First Day Of The Year entry.
I needed out.
I need to oxygenate my brain, so I headed to the beach.
I'm so glad I did.

First I had to stop off at Dairy Queen for a rootbeer float - of course.
I sipped it down at the beach while in my car contemplating last night.
It dawned on me that if I allow myself to judge the world and all it has to offer me from the perspective of sitting in a run of the mill bar, then yeah, that is pathetic.
And it's not how I want to view my world.

When I finished my rootbeer float I grabbed my camera and explored every inch of the beach.
Of which, the photo I used for this entry is one I took at the beach...

I jumped from sea ledge to boulder, climbed atop driftwood logs, leaped over quiet sea-water pools, greeted smiling dogs with their tongues hanging out, chatted with beachcombers and peeked over the shoulder of kids up-ending rocks checking for sea creatures.
It was nippy and the wind pushed as a slender finger of sun poked through a gray patch opening up the sky, allowing a bright stream of light to land across the beach.
It was exactly what I needed.

I refuse to gauge where I am going in 2006 by a stupid evening at some bar where I was left sitting by a man that obviously had no respect or genuine interest in me.
His loss...

Yes, I am alone, but at the beach I didn't feel alone.
I enjoyed the company of myself today and drove home with a smile on my face.

Maybe 2006 will be like my little trip to the beach today.
Lots to explore, people too meet, boulders to climb, puddles to jump, the sunlight leading a path in front of me with the wind at my back.
Sure, it might be a little cold, but as long as I keep moving, it's all good.

May 2006 bless all of us with adventure, love, success and learning.
Whatever it is we set out to do, may we all bask in the afterglow of pride in knowing we gave it our best shot.
That's about all we can do.
We can either sit on the bar stool of life and wait for something semi-good to walk through the door or we can find a beach somewhere and explore and discover a treasure.
I'm gonna explore...

~Maybe Carries No Weight

2005-12-30T07:25:00.000-08:00

The sky now divides

To bring you back into the fold

Welcome home

Still my need to recognize

Any comfort you may show

Only grows

Guess I'll learn to accommodate

While my heart just sits and waits

Maybe God you found

Maybe is all that you can offer now

~Collective Soul

***************************

With 2006 on the horizon, the adage,

"Out with the Old and in with the New" rolls over in my mind.
It's a cliche that rings rather symbolic for me this year, as I resigned from my job a couple weeks ago.
With the holidays and being sick distracting me, I haven't thought about it much, but it's beginning to sink in now and there are moments I feel a huge sigh of relief that I finally did what I know is the better thing for me, yet, being without work feels like I'm naked on a ledge.

I've already had 2 job offers so my unemployed status will be fleeting I am sure.

It's just a matter of making the right choices for myself.

This is the time folks are scribbling down their resolutions as they hope for better times, better opportunity and a better them.

It's just never good enough for us. We must lose weight, get in shape, quit spending so much damn money, stop smoking, offer up more random acts of kindness, find true love, have more sex, work harder, travel more, just basically be a BETTER person!
January 1st arrives and we are on it like white on rice! We ceremoniously smoke that last cigarette, tossing the pack in the fire place - Burn, baby burn! We go to the gym and hit every work out machine there - burn, baby burn, again. We munch on celery sticks, apple wedges and granola feeling the pounds melting away as we crunch. The credit card get's stashed in the underwear drawer, (out of sight out of mind), we open doors for little old ladies, accept dates with every loser that asks us out, (one never knows where true love might be hiding, right?), we mentally plan that trip to Tahiti that we've been dreaming of for years, don a new diligence at work, screw like a banshee and by February 1st we have failed at every resolution we had on the list, feeling like worn out losers. Why do we set ourselves up like this?
Personally, I think New Year's Resolutions should be written down on bright colored paper to be cut up for confetti to toss over our heads at the stroke of midnight.

Better yet, I think we should create resolutions for those we are closet to.
Why not?
Husbands could write them for their wives and wives would write them for their husbands.
No? Awe, come on - it'll would work I tell ya!
Every husband's list would be the same for their wives:

Number One - Have sex when I want it.

Number Two might be...hmmm...I think with most husbands, resolution number one would pretty much cover it.
Now the wive's list of resolutions for her husband would be extensive, detailed and probably take up 2, 3, maybe even 4 sheets of paper.
But then I guess if the husband could adhere to the resolutions his wife has set for him,

he just might get that sex whenever he wanted.

The resolutions I want to make are for my children.
A yearly list of how to be a better person would be dandy for each of them!
No more borrowing of clothing, CD's, DVD's, or other personal items from me - Yay!
No more expecting me to be their personal taxi driver - Wheee!
No more requests to borrow $5, $10, $20 in between their paydays - Sweet!

And forget kids making resolutions for their parents!

Probably the resolutions made for us by our closest friends would make the most sense.
They know us well and want what is best for us - right?
They can view our lives with a perspective that we aren't able to.
For instance:
My dear friend Marni - I could write her a list of great resolutions that would better her life within weeks.

She always complains that she needs to lose weight, but never does much about it-
My resolution for her - accept the beautiful woman you are!
We're only talking about a 10 to 15 pounds anyway...

She detests being under the thumb of her controlling mother-in-law-
Resolution - Revolt! Stand up for yourself! With a smile on your face tell the mother-in-law to take it where the sun don't shine and then rejoice in shedding the weight of her!

She complains about her teenagers being out of control.
Be a Drill Sergeant! Be a B-I-T-C-H! Don't let them trod on you! Tell them who's BOSS and don't settle for anything less!

Yeah, chances are Marni would take one look at my resolutions, give me a look like I am totally out of my mind, thank me for caring and then go back to enabling her life to not being good enough.

Okay, so writing resolutions for each other is a silly idea.
More confetti.

Of course one might look at making resolutions as a way for people to start the New Year with hope in their heart and optimism as their guide.
And who am I take snatch away the promise of people bettering themselves?
God knows we need people to better themselves.

But why must resolutions be always the same for everyone?

Top of the list - lose weight.

I guess this is foremost on everyone's mind after all the fudge and eggnog that is consumed over Christmas and it's probably a sensible idea to reach for the bottled water instead of the Pepsi.
I guess the resolution to save money makes sense after all the over spending that goes on at Christmas too.
We come out of our sugar plum daze and reality smacks us with a stern motivation.
The party's over.

Fat person - Bye Bye! Thin person - HELLO!

I say just make a resolution to have more sex and everything will fall into place.
Ya got your endorphins to make ya feel good. The workout to sweat off all goodies that went straight to our hips and sex is cheap!
Call it a mini vacation if ya will....

::: tosses confetti over her head :::

Happy New Year!

~And She Was

2005-12-29T09:53:00.000-08:00

She was glad about it

no doubt about it

She isn't sure where she's gone

No time to think about what to tell them

No time to think about what she's done

And she was

And she was looking at herself

And things were looking like a movie

She had a pleasant elevation

She's moving out in all directions

~Talking Heads

***********************************

And the question is:

"What are you going to do this New Year's Eve?"

I had about 6 people call me up and ask me that yesterday.

My answer:

"Not sure".

My daughter is taking me out to dinner on New Year's Eve.

I was sick over my birthday, so we put those plans off for then.

She has plans to party with her friends after that, and as much I'm more than welcome to join her, I don't think I will.

Hanging out with a bunch of 25-30 year olds just doesn't appeal to me this year.

Think I'd be happier to ring in the New Year with a few people around my own age.

New Year's Eve has never been that big a deal to me.

Most years I have just stayed home with the kids and played boardgames, put puzzles together, watched videos and ate junk food.

But my kids aren't little any longer and they all have plans to go party.

Staying at home alone doesn't appeal to me much either, so guess I need to come up with a plan.

I was asked out by one man.

He doesn't want to go out anywhere and wants to just have me over to his place for an intimate evening.

I don't think so.

I am not that smitten with him for that.

No one I know is having a party this year or at least I haven't been invited to any parties yet. I think because I've declined so many invites in the past, they have probably given up on me.

I can be one of those type people that says they don't wanna do anything on New Year's Eve and then when New Year's Eve arrives, I wish I was out doing something.

I'm just not sure if I want to surround myself with close friends for the evening or a bunch of strangers. I have done both in the past and either can be well...lame.

My mood this year seems to slant towards the strangers.

I could put on my sexy little black dress and heels, go dazzle the men at some club somewhere and hope that the lips I'm sucking on at midnight are those of a decent man and also hope he understands that just because I will suck face with a man I just met, does not mean I'm out to get laid.

I could get on the phone and find a party going on within my circle of friends.

Which that is always a great feeling, to invite one's self to a party.

::: groan :::

I know my friends would be quite happy to embrace my company, so to stress out over if I am really welcome, is dumb.

An online friend of mine that lives in L.A. is going to be in Seattle this week and he's supopsed to give me a call. Now if he wanted to meet up for New Year's Eve, that would rock.

But he hasn't called yet, so who knows...

One of the best New Year's Eve I've ever had was years ago when a girlfriend and I wanted to go out and do something totally out of the ordinary and chose to hang out at a Comedy Club.

It was great!

Although there was an incident that evening which my girlfriend still recalls as being one of her worst social moments.

We had gotten all dressed up..in dresses, heels, hair nice, nails done - the whole nine yards.

I don't recall what I was wearing, but remember quite vividly the striking white dress my friend chose for the evening. We had just gotten our table and the waiter asked us what we wanted to drink. Her and I both hemmed and hawed, wanting to try something new and different. The waitor suggested Irish Coffee, so we agreed.

We got our Irish Coffee and my friend looked over to me and raised her mug saying some kind of toast to the New Year, we clicked our mugs together and she went to take a drink, promptly spilling the whole damn thing down her chest and into her lap. Of course the hot coffee made her scream out and I think I did the same. It all happened in that weird slow motion kind of way. It was like watching a figure skater go down on the ice at the Olympics. My first concern for my friend, that she'd been scalded by the hot coffee. She assured me that was not the case and then it sunk in- she had really made a huge mess of her nice white dress. I never knew one cup of coffee could cover so much space. Her dress was done for. The waiter had seen what happened and rushed over with bar towels and as sad as it was to watch, the more she tried to clean up her dress, the worse it got. Hate to admit it, but it was one of those situations where you feel just awful for your friend, but your sitting there feeling so relieved it wasn't you. We made a dash to the ladies room and tried to clean up her dress, but it was a lost cause.

Now some women might not be able to stay in a situation like that. They would leave right then and there to go home and change into something else- but not my friend. We assessed the situation and if we were to leave, travel 30 minutes to her house so she could change, we would lose the good seats we had and miss a lot of the show, which was due to start any moment.

So we stayed and she wore her coat the whole time.

After the dumped coffee episode we really did have a great time and her and I both look back on that New Year's Eve with fondness.

Other than that particular New Year's Eve, the others just fade from my memory as being uneventful. There were a lot of parties that came off as snoozers, emotional drunken displays that I fell witness to and wished I hadn't, money spent which could have been better spent elsewhere, and that sad lonely feeling at midnight when ya don't have a man to kiss and everyone else around you does.

I did have a New Year's Eve party once, but it didn't turn out very successful. I invited a lot of people that didn't know each other, thinking they would mix well, but they didn't.

It made for an odd feel for the evening and as hostess of the party, I spent most of my time trying like hell to get groups of people that didn't know each other to mingle. It only served to be a waste of time and most of my guests left the party way before midnight. The few that did stay to ring in the New Year didn't do much but yawn at the stroke of midnight.

Probably the best thing for me to do is just go out to dinner with my daughter and then fly by the seat of my pants and see where I land.

If I end up back home, that's cool.

If I find some pleasant people to party with, that's cool too.

~Dancing Down The Moon

2005-12-27T09:26:00.000-08:00

Should I watch the night,

be dreamless?

Stay away from light,

be seen less?

Am I sleeping?

Stay awake all night

Night comes a crawlin', curlin' round you

Slips in behind ya,

long overdue

You'll be

dancing down the moon

~Blondie

**************************************************

I've got a date tomorrow.

We are going to meet for coffee down at Alki beach.

I met him online at a Dating site, yes...I am a member of a few Dating sites.

Don't get me wrong tho, I am not in any rush to hook up with a guy, but a girl gets lonely and I am no exception, I like a man's company.

I like sex too....a lot.

BUT-

I'm not easy and NO WAY do I have sex with random men in a casual manner.

I'm highly selective and feel that friendship comes first.

I'm not looking for marriage or even a live-in, but a good friend with benefits would be just fine.

My daughter pursuaded me to join my first Dating site, of which that first site turned out to be quite lame when it came to meeting decent men, but I did meet some great women who are still my friends now, 2 years later.

And no, I am not bi, (in case anyone might be wondering).

Some people might think a woman my age, at almost 50, would be desperate for a man.

No.

I do like the concept of marriage and it worked dandy for my parents.

They were married 60 years when my Dad passed away.

For me, it wasn't so successful, (I've been married twice), and I am not in any rush to get tied up in that bondage again.

But I will add, marriage is only bondage when the people are ill-suited for each other.

When they have a solid foundation of friendship underneath them, it seems to work for a lifetime. THAT is what I want, but not feeling any need for it at the moment.

So, I DO respect the institution of marriage - I'm just not ready to be committed yet.

Har..

The men I have met from online so far have been ....okay.

I've had coffee with a few, but sex with none of them.

The men that contact me at these Dating sites are many and there are times it's rather overwhelming.

The majority just want sex and they can be spotted a mile away.

Others cloak themselves with a candy coated sincerity hoping a woman will accept their illusion of freindship, but they only want sex too.

Not as easy to spot this kind of man coming, but if a woman takes her time in communicating with him often enough, the layers are peeled back and the true character of the man is revealed.

Then there are the sincere men who aren't just out for sex, but have no sex appeal whatsoever.

These are the hardest for me to handle as I sternly promote being open minded and not passing judgement on a person's looks. Nor do I place a lot of importance on a man's position in life, yet, some just don't seem to have any drive to better themselves at all.

For example:

A man contacted me at one site I am a member of, writing me a very long, drawn out message that caught my attention and being that he took so much time to tell me about himself, I agreed to let him call me. Which he did. I found out over the phone that he was a Vet and he seemed intelligent enough and we had similar interests so I then agreed to meet him for coffee.

I had not seen a photo of him, but he told me he was tall, with long hair, which he wore in a ponytail. Long hair is okay by me and being tall myself, a tall man is quite nice.

Well, he was tall alright - but also had a very large beer belly that hung over his belt. His hair was long alright, but dirty and greasy. His hygiene was awful.

It looked as though he hadn't brushed his teeth in months, his hands were filthy and he had an icky odor.

He then proceeded to tell me he'd been in prison for running false ID's, then offered me an opportunity to buy a hot diamond necklace, (of which I abruptly turned him down!) Not to mention also, he chain smoked roll-your-own, nasty smelling cigarettes, every other word out of his mouth was the "F" word and he couldn't drive, (had to take the bus everywhere).

Needless to say, I quickly gulped down my coffee and ran to the nearest exit.

Finding a man to suit me will not be an easy task, I am certain of that.

I don't seem to get along well with the men my age, as most of them think too, well....old. Many of them are quite jaded in life and the last thing I wanna hear is a bunch of grumbling about how an ex wife took him for everything he had. And the men my age that have it together and do appeal to me, they look past me and flirt with women my daughter's age!

I'm really not sure where I fit in.

Younger men pursue me - much.

I just can't date a man the same age as my kids, I can't.

Any man under the age of 30 is still a kid to me.

Granted the sex is delicious with the younger man, but I want more than great sex at this point in my life.

Besides, a younger man only makes me feel so much older in comparison.

Not a feeling I savor much....

I think what I am looking for most, is a meeting of the mind, the spirit and the heart, (and in that order). I want a man that can match my wit, fancy my whims and accept my wants.

He must be funny in a Jay Leno kinda way and have an odd curiosity in exploring human nature like I do. If not, he could never understand my outlook on life.

His spirit must be gentle, compassionate and most of all, open to reaching out beyond the prison of narrow mindedness.

He must be a lover of the earth and have a desire to roll up his sleeves and dig deep in nurturing the soil. He must be creative and have a talent towards an individual expression that touches others, whether it be music, the arts or writing.

He must worship loving, physical and otherwise. His passion for me must be unyeilding and always faithful.

He must be able to give all that I am willing to give.

Period.

It's a tall order I know.

There aren't too many men that I have met so far that have turned my head to think beyond sharing a casual cup of coffee with them.

There was one that I met, of which he reached in and touched something deep inside of me, but he ended up being quite selfish, quite shallow and quite married.

ACK!

I don't do married men.

And then another man has intrigued me.

He is handsome, talented, grounded, (but not cemented in a vanilla world), he's quite clever and funny, sexy and all around charismatic, but I hesitate to move beyond being curious as his collection of women speaks volumes to me.

I refuse to stand in line or be a notch in anyone's bedpost.

The casual friendship we share shall suffice any deeper desire I may have.

So, I will meet this other man tomorrow and I know we will have a pleasant exchange of conversation and I will appreciate my time with him for what it is.

I have no expectations, except to have him as a freind and if something clicks and we move beyond coffee at Starbucks, then great. If not, it's all good.

Yes, the Poet in me yearns for rapture.

To swoon in the strong arms of a man that can kiss like a wet dream.

To look into his glazed over satisfied eyes, his erotic scent laced over the contours and mounds of me after an all night, passionate tryst of delicious love-making.

But the truth is, I'm alone on the boardwalk, the air crisp around me, my eyes lifted towards a cloud- laden winter night sky - I'm dancing down the moon.

~Cheerio!

2005-12-26T09:00:00.000-08:00

Along the coast road,

by the headland

the early lights of winter glow

I'll pour a cup to you my darling

Raise it up -

...say Cheerio!

~Jethro Tull

****************************************

Christmas is an ASS-kicker!

I know I am not alone in feeling like a worn out rag this morning.

And no, I am not going out there to after Christmas shop.

I don't even have anything to return, so the stores will not be seeing me today.

Even if I did have something to return, I wouldn't go...

The big question the day after Christmas is always, "What ya get?" Was Santa good to you?

Well, you could visit any store today and see a line as long as the Mississippi River at the return counter. Obviously Santa makes a few blunders. I'm quite content with all I was given this year. I had no high expectations or specific wants, so there was no big disappointment for me. I learned a long time ago that Santa is only human and to not ask for too much. I have had to make a few returns in past years. Every once in awhile a size is not right or I've gotten duplicate gifts. I'm one of those type people that really hates to return something just because I don't like it. Kinda like I'm hesitant to complain about bad service at restaurant. It's easy to explain why you had to return a CD you already have, but how do explain returning a hideous oil painting of a bowl a bananas without hurting the givers feelings? This is especially true with anything my kids give me. Unless the size is wrong, I can't bring myself to return it.

Have a family or friend that just can't seem to ever give anything that you like?

Unfortunately, my Mother has this problem. She did okay when I was a kid, but as she got older, the gifts she gave got less and less ummmm...... appropriate? She went on a winter sweater kick that lasted about 10 years - everyone got sweaters! No one was spared. Seems easy enough to get a person a sweater, right? You'd think so, but my Mother is proof that one can make the wrong choice each and every time.

For the young men in our family they all got what we term Grandpa Sweaters, they come in a variety of boring solid colors in a cardigan style - button down the front. I have yet to witness any teen boy, (that's anywhere near being cool), wear one of these. For the older males in our family, she would send these thick, heavy, rough textured sweaters that one might want if they lived in an Antarctican igloo on an ice flow and unless you spent a lot of time up on the ski slopes, which the adult men in my family rarely did, these sweaters could sweat pounds off you in a matter of minutes.

For the young women she always sent pretty pink or baby blue sweaters with a variety of designs on them - kittens, snowflakes, mittens, puppies, moons, stars, or God forbid, polka dots, flowers, glitter and satin bows. Every teenage girl in our family gagged upon getting these sweaters and I was always so very thankful my Mother sent them from afar and never had to fall witness to the reception of these sweaters. I think my Mother never fully paid attention to the fact that the girls in our family grew past the age of 3.

As for the adult women in our family the sweaters she sent us were the worst - Holiday Sweaters. I always found it rather odd my Mother would gift us with these, as she wouldn't be caught dead in one herself. But being the devoted daughter I have always been - I wore my Holiday Sweater, garish Christmas reindeer with a red pom pom nose, gold bells, tacky plaid ribbon and all. Not to mention it was 3 sizes too big...of course.

After the 10 year sweater kick, my Mother switched to giving robes and slippers. Again, a robe and slippers are a traditional Christmas gift and easy enough to please people with, right? Not for my Mom.

For us gals, she liked the One Size Fits All style and she was obviously drawn to tropical themes, yes, they were moo-moo's of which most looked like freebies from a Hawaiian retirement home.

For the men, all robes were the same, red flannel plaid. Period.

The slippers were a hit and miss kinda gift. For the men, they all got slippers that could also be worn as shoes, as Mom always felt a man should be ready 24/7 for some kind of outdoor task, and if they came in red, then that's what ya got, (to match the robe obviously). Guess she figured red was more Christmas-like.

For the girls and women, none of the slippers she gave us were geared for warmth or comfort -looks only. Some had little clicky heels, shiny beadwork or tassels with ultra pointy toes. They'd be dandy for the Queen of SIAM, Vegas showgirls or Genies, but when your a 14 year old girl, these slippers only come in handy at Halloween, that is if she got the size right. If you were a woman/girl and wore a slipper over the size of 6, those that Mom sent would never fit. She just never seemed to see beyond her own shoe size and when she would get reminded of this from some disgruntled receiver, she'd make it even worse by looking shocked and amazed that a woman and/or girl could have feet so BIG! Gee....thanks Mom

After the robe and slipper years, my Mother started sending everyone $5. Now, my Mother and Father have always had a good deal of money and my Mom still does. It was after Dad passed away, she began doing this. She had ample amount of money to send more and I never had the heart to make an ordeal out of it. My brother asked her though, he's always been bolder than me in these areas with my Mom and she told him that she was simplifying her life. Okay.....I just pooled the money in our family, (with the kids and me it came to $25), and we treated ourselves to pizza. Still better than the Holiday Sweater.

The $5 phase lasted 2 years and now she is sending gift certificates with an appropriate amount. All are happy. Except for last year when she sent us all gift certifiates to a chain of stores not in our area. My wonderful Mother...how I love her so.

My Father was the FUN gift giver! He was an artist. (mainly oil scenics..some watercolors), and he looked to the world through a unique eye. He always had some kind of creative project himself and liked to give others gifts that promoted being creative also. Dad wanted to see us busy and our minds challenged with artistry and wonder. My brother and I got science kits, bug barns, how-to-paint books, metal detector's, mosaic kits, macrame jute w/instructions on how to make pot slings, make-your-own terrarium kits , ant farms, candle wax, sea monkeys,..gosh you name it, if it was something to make or learn from, Dad wanted us to give it a try.

One year he gave my Mother and I Grow Lights - to start our own seedlings for the garden or house plants. I quickly proceeded to grow my own pot plants with mine. Hey..it was the 70's.

I guess we should all be grateful to get any kind of gift. Someone that takes the time to give us something - even wrap it, well, we need to show some amount of gratitude, right? Okay, wrong. Yes, some gifts are so downright thoughtless, we need not be grateful, but in general, I would say most people try to get us something we want or at least from their perspective, we should have for our own good or pleasure.

All you have to do is come into my home and see that I can't take anything back when I get gifts. If it's gaudy. garish or just downright ugly, I keep it. I even put it somewhere in my house to display. To be honest, a few of the most tacky pieces of art in my home make me feel the happiest when I look at them because of the person who gave it to me or created it.

Do I have an oil painting of a bowl a bananas over my livingroom couch? No. But I do have an awkward, rather sloppy oil painting of oranges, apples and purple grapes on a plate on my dining room wall- my oldest son's first attempt at oil paints when he was 14.

I wouldn't part with it for the world....

~PEACE

2005-12-25T06:43:00.000-08:00

Through the years

we all will be together

If the Fates allow

Hang a shining star

upon the highest bough.

And have yourself

a merry little Christmas now

*********************

It's Here!

Christmas has arrived!
Fa La La La La - La La La La!

I was up at 6am.

I was feeling much bettter with my cold - thank goodness!

My daughter, Sarah, her fiance, Chris and my 2 year old granddaughter, Trinity, got there at 7am. By then my 18 year old daughter, Brianna, who lives with me, was also up and we had a great Christmas morning.

After all the gift exchange fun, there were a few other visitors, then Sarah, Chris and Trin had to leave as they had plans with Chris' family for the rest of the day, then Brianna and I went to see the film King Kong.

Very good and I highly recommend going to see it, but take a big box of tissues with you.

From the time she and King Kong made that sweet Beauty and the Beast connection, I%2

~Forty-Nine Years Ago Today

2005-12-24T15:44:00.000-08:00

Love me tender, Love me long,

Take me to your heart.

For it’s there that I belong,

And we’ll never part.

Love me tender, Love me dear,

Tell me you are mine.

I’ll be yours through all the years,

Till the end of time.

When at last my dreams come true

~Elvis
*Number One Song - December 1956

********************************************************

Yep, today's my birthday.
I'm 49.
I don't feel 49, but that's what I am.
It's not an awful age, but I sure look at people in their 60's with a lot more curiosity than I ever have.
Morbid curiosity maybe?
It blows me away to think in 10 years, that's where I will be on the verge of..my sixties.

Wow...

I'm not quite sure what to write about today.
ME?
Do I pen down every wonderful thing there is to tell about ME because today is MY very special day in which to celebrate the birth of ME?

Do I write about birthdays in general and relive all the birthdays good and crummy that I've ever had?
Na...

How about it I write about the actual birth of me?
I don't remember a darn thing about it, but I could always guess how it went.
No...

Ah heck, just give me a chocolate cake with whip cream frosting and I'm happy.

People always get that weird look on their face when they find out I have a Christmas Eve birthday - feeling bad for me or whatever.
Yes, it's a busy time of year and I'm lucky if my birthday lasts a whole 10 minutes, but I like it.
Better than having it the day after Christmas.
People are always jolly enough, I love all the lights, decorations and I never had to go to school on my birthday.
Granted, I spent many a birthday, as a parent, up till the wee hours of the morning wrapping Christmas gifts and filling stockings, but when I think about it, I probably wouldn't have it any other way.

This birthday isn't the best scenario as I am really sick with a cold/flu bug.
Instead of treating myself to a couple shots of Crown, it will be a couple shots of Nyquil.
I was going to take a recent photo of myself and add it to this blog entry, but being I look like death warmed over this morning - ummmmm.
NO.
Wish I had one in my files of when I was a kid - I had platinum white curly hair and dimples.

I was cute...

My Mom was wonderful at making my unique birthday feel like it was my special day. She always gave me gifts wrapped in birthday paper and that might seem like a trivial thing to you, but to someone with a Christmas birthday, it's pretty darn special!
Yes, my Mother is my Angel On Earth and I hope she knows just how much I love and appreciate her. She's 85 now and still has more energy than I do.
Bless You Mom!

Everyone likes to celebrate their special day differently - but most like to get some kind of recognition, even if it's just receiving a card or a phone call. Then there are those type of people that won't tolerate anything less than a huge noisy fanfare.
I like a bit more than a card, but I don't need the boisterous party either.
Just give me a day of not having to cook, clean or listen to kids squabble and I'm content.
Oh, a candlelit dinner, a coupla drinks and a dashing man doesn't hurt either....

Everyone wants to be unique and special.
Eventhough we share our birthday with a million others, it's OUR day.
I happen to share mine with Ricky Martin and the late Howard Hughes.
Some people have birthdays where the celebration goes on for days, maybe even weeks.
Then those who are lucky to have it last 10 minutes, (like me).
But it is special that we were born and everyone deserves to have their day revered as being extraordinary.

This is my last year to be in my forties.
Ugh...
I hadn't really thought about that till I typed it just now.
Guess I better make it good - make an impression and do something worthwhile.
Not sure what that might be, but it is something to ponder.
When I look back, which I really don't like to do that often, I see years of running.
I'd get out of bed and hit the floor running, jumping life's hurdles, falling flat on my face at times, but always getting back on track to run even more.
I was running in place, running backwards, running blind.
Now I don't need to run so fast or so much.
The kids are grown, I got my life back and I like the quiet of just sauntering along.

A friend of mine asked me what I wanted for my birthday and all I could come up to tell her was, "My very own dirt road".
She looked at me like I was nuts.
Have you ever wandered down a dirt road and taken the time to listen and look?
There's a lot of wondrous things happening and I haven't journeyed down a dirt road yet that didn't lead to somewhere peaceful.
Could be a beach, a lake, a river or just a cabin in the woods, but every dirt road that I've ever traveled led me somewhere that made me just plain happy to be there.

Yep, as odd as it may seem, at 49 years old, all I want is a dirt road to follow....

Yeah, I'm old.

~For Who Knows Where Time Goes

2005-12-22T15:19:00.000-08:00

Across the evening sky,

all the birds are leaving

But how can they know

it's time for them to go?

Before the winter fire,

I will still be dreaming

I have no thought of time

For who knows where the time goes?

~10,000 Maniacs

*****************************

Tis a soggy holiday in Seattle.
How magical it would be to look out the window and see everything glazed

with a layer of ice like sugar plums are, but it just ain't gonna happen.

Last night my cold got the best of me. My body ached, my head hurt, my sinus' were clogged and my eyes were weepy. Sleep came in intervals for me, but still, I was up at the butt-crack of dawn and walked through the store's main door by 7:00am to get my Christmas shopping done.
I loved it - had the entire store to myself!
Got home by 9:ooam and now all I need to do is wrap it all up.
I'm almost there...

I was going through my mail looking at all the Christmas cards and noticed a few of my relatives and freinds had written comments that they were disappointed I didn't send out a Christmas Letter this season.
Yes, I am guilty of sending one of those.......Christmas Letters.
I do it mainly for out-of-town family and friends. I am so miserable at keeping in touch throughout the year, the Christmas Letter is the only way of updating everyone about my kids.
Besides, it doesn't bother me to find a Christmas Letter tucked into a card from a relative or friend. I like reading the news of their lives. It does amuse me however, that every Christmas Letter ever written describes successful, motivated, astonishingly perfect people! No one ever lost a job, (or God forbid, got fired), went to rehab, filed bankrupsty, dropped out of school or got a DWI.
Everything reported in the Christmas Letter is always positive and promising.

The first Christmas Letter I ever saw came folded up in my Aunt Betty's Christmas card to our family when I was a kid. She is my Dad's sister and he always snickered about what a silly waste of time Christmas Letters were. Obviously my Dad and Aunt didn't get along quite well
and it was because of this animosity between my Dad and Aunt, that our family never put out a Christmas Letter of our own. Instead, Mom would sit up late at night writing out personal, handwritten notes to all our distant loved ones. Growing up, my Aunt Betty's Christmas Letter was the only one we ever recieved.
Nowadays, with computers and printers in everyone's home, it's no surprise that every other family is composing a glowing Christmas Letter.

My Aunt still sends her Christmas Letter and now that I am older,

I can read between the lines.

For instance, Aunt Betty would write about my cousin's 30 year old son, Tony:
I have come to term these: Christmas Letter Fudge:
"Tony has been exploring the beaches of Mexico now for 9 months. The spontaneous adventurer he is, we never know where his curious nature will take him next. He's still a confirmed bachelor and I doubt there's a woman out there that can pin him down."

Truth:
Tony ended up in Mexico 9 months ago on a drunken whim, (heard about it from his own father at the 4th of July family picnic), and didn't have a dime to get home on or a pot to piss in. He's been jobless for well over a year now, is a beach bum and no woman will have him.

Another common Christmas Letter Fudge:
"Melissa decided to forego college for a bit and get some experience in the real world and is thrilled to be back home in her old room. She is exploring a variety of job opportunities right now."

Truth:
Melissa flunked out of college, had to move back home, is penniless and looking for a job..any job.

Christmas Letter Fudge:
"We decided to stay home for the summer to take a break from our usual routine of traveling down the Oregon Coast. Ted and I got a lot done around the house and had fun having our weekend garage sales."

Truth -
We were just to damn broke to take a vacation this past year.

Yes, the Christmas Letter arrives to us so very sweet and candy coated.
Those of us who can read between the lines know better, but Christmas Letters are supposed to be this way - we like it that everyone mentioned in the Christmas Letter is doing so grand. We don't want to read about how the people we care about had to face adversity, or did someone wrong or suffered in a negative manner by the actions of another.
That's just not Christmas-like...

My brother had a live-in girlfriend for a couple years. She loved the Christmas Letter I had sent out the previous year so much, that she composed on up one of her own for the next Christmas.
I'll never forget - it was two pages filled with a detailed description of how her ex-husband was treating her like shit.
No mention of my brother or a description of what they had done over the past year. Just a long, drawn out bitch against her ex.
As Christmas Letters go, she failed miserably.

I have another Aunt who sometimes sends a Christmas Letter. Mainly she sends them out the years she has had some kind of major medical procedure done. She gives a very explicit description of the awful, uncomfortable ordeal she had to suffer through and never fails to describe quite vividly every single poke, pinch, and pain she endured or every clamp, needle, tube, and pump used on her. Ack!
At the end she always scribbles..."Bud and the kids are fine".

I'm friends with a couple that sends out their Christmas Letter telling all about the wonderful trips they have taken.
This is dandy, but they go into such great detail in regard to how they traveled, how long they traveled, the traveling conditions and make mention of every highway, dead end road and rest stop, that by the time you are done reading, your eyes are crossed.
There is no mention of the beautiful beaches they might have seen, or the wildlife, or even the touristy traps that cost a fortune to see, just a fine detailed map of where they went and by God, every wrong turn they took to get there!

The most precious Christmas Letters I've ever gotten were from an old woman that wasn't my Grandma, but felt like she was. We all called her Granny Nell. She was an old family friend that never married, lived alone with her little dogs and she loved to handwrite letters for every Christmas card she sent.
Now this woman knew how to write a letter!
She would take the time to not only write about her year's events, which were always quite interesting by the way, but she also made sure to mention something personal in regard to who she was writing to. If you had welcomed a new baby into your family - she would ask how baby was doing. If you'd statrted a new job - she asked how that was going. If nothing new had happened with you, she still found something, maybe remembering some fun little morsal from the past.
As the years went by, Granny Nell's handwritten letters began to take on a different look.
Her writing got shakier, not as legible and there were breaks in the letter where she would write downward and not stay in line - then she would start up another section following with a different color pen, mentioning things totally off subject.
My Mother filled me in one day when I mentioned this, that Granny Nell had a habit of dozing off while writing these letters and that was why they were getting so odd looking and being she was well into her 90's by then, it made perfect sence to me!
Bless Granny Nell's little old heart!
She passed away 17 years ago in her sleep at the age of 102 and every Christmas I think of Granny Nell's handwritten Christmas Letters with a smile on my face.

I guess however we wish each other good tidings at Christmas is fine, as long as we do it.
Whether it be a Christmas Letter, an email or a phone call, we should all stop long enough to wish each other happiness.

~The Forest Through The Trees

2005-12-21T23:31:00.000-08:00

If I lay down and wake to see

The bright light of the morn

Rise up every day

To blind beat and burn

Show me no mercy

For need or want

Let somebody take my place

When the new day dawns

~Tracy Chapman

*****************************************

The rain has found Seattle for yet, another Christmas.

I'd hoped that we might get a little snow, but really knew better that we wouldn't. We'd had such a heavy chill come over us, leaving us cloaked in heavy frost, I thought maybe, just maybe we might have a White Christmas.

But we warmed up and now we are drenched.

I have never put off getting ready for Christmas as late as I did this year.

It's absolutely nutty out there in the stores.

I went to Toys-R-Us with my daughter last evening. Of course it was packed, I'd expected that and stopping off for a double crown and coke before shopping ended being a dandy idea.

My daughter was on a mission to find cetain toys for my granddaughter, Trinity, (she's 2), but I was winging it - going off the cuff, no real agenda set, just looking to see what might catch my eye.

The store was hot, shoulder to shoulder with people and the shelves looked like an earthquake had hit - junk on the floor, stuff scattered where it shouldn't be and abandoned, over loaded shopping carts mucking up the isles. I lost my daughter within minutes of getting there as the crowd swallowed me up and I just went with the flow. I looked at just about every toy display there was and in an odd, freaked out, Christmas frenzied kind of way, I enjoyed it.

Some of the old standards from my youth are still there - Scrabble, Monopoly, Etch-A-Sketch, Barbie, and who can forget Operation!

There was a section of G.I. Joe that I looked at, not that I have any need to purchase any G.I. Joe, as my boys are all grown now, but it caught my eye, so I sliced through the crowd and surveyed what was new with good old G.I. Joe. No doubt with our men and women off fighting a war right now, G.I. Joe is in popular demand all over again.

There wasn't much to choose from and I was surrounded by shoppers scooping up what was left.

A young man came up and stood next to me, he was rather nice looking, probably in his late 20's, early 30's. He crossed his arms, looked at the G.I. Joe stuff, sighed and then said to me:

"Ah yes, toys stores, the evil hell hole of Christmas!"

Not sure what the look on my face was - perplexed maybe? He then pointed to the G.I. Joe stuff and mumbled something about President Bush and disappeared into the crowd of shoppers.

I felt bad that this dude found toy shopping to be such a political confrontation.

And a toy store an evil hell hole? Not quite the analogy I would make.

I continued to browse, eavesdropping on the conversations of all shoppers picking out toys. There were the young parents, the ones reckless enough to actually bring along their children, which of course the children were tired, cranky, weepy, whining and begging for toys, and all you can hear from their parents is, "No, you can't have that. Put that back. You'll just have to wait and see what Santa brings you!", "Stop begging, I said NO!!!"

Then there was the more savvy parents, the ones that left their children at home, on a mission, dodging slow poke shoppers, working the store like a military tag team, they loaded up their cart quick, in silence, speaking only briefly to one another, "Did you get it?", "Got it", "Good!", "Let's Go!"

Then there were the grandparents, moving along a bit slow, reading every word on the toy packaging, looking to their lists often, peering over trifocals and always the grandfather saying something to the effect, "What is that? Or, "Are you sure they want THAT?" And the grandmother, looking just as confused at her mate answering,

"Well, it's on the list and that's all I know."

And then of course, my favorite, the MEN!

All men shopping last minute at Christmas look the same to me, like deer caught in the headlights of oncoming semi trucks. Nowadays they mill about with the cell phones attached to their ears and you can always catch wind of them asking about sizes, what color is best, how many of whatever they should get..etc.

And those that are not tethered to a cell phone wander about like lost boys with their hands shoved in their pockets looking as though they need to have their mommies paged.

Then of course, there are the store employees. At Toys-R-Us they were all wearing cute little Santa hats and most were running past shoppers as though we were stumps sticking out of the ground. Talk about being able to swerve, jump aside and sprint like marathon runners, these guys were amazing! They all had one thing in common though - they looked exhausted!

I'm sure one's love of toys diminishes greatly after working at a toy store at Christmas.

My daughter and I finally met each other again and she was deflated some as she hadn't found one item that she wanted, but she did find all the rest.

As for me, I only had 2 items, a SpongeBob SquarePants DVD for my 17 year old son and a fairy puzzle for my 18 year old daughter.

My shopping zeal was simply pacified. My needs of the toy store limited.

I was happy.

Standing in line to check out, I looked around at all the faces of the shoppers.

They all looked similar - stressed, tired and totally resigned to their mission at hand.

They'd waited till the last minute and here they were, picking through Toys-R-Us with a ton of other procrastinators hoping to make some child's Christmas wish come true.

When I got home I realized that I was coming down with a cold.

ARGH!

Scratchy throat, itchy ears, sneezy and had the chills.

Totally NOT what I need right now.

I can't even remember the last time I was sick for Christmas - don't think I ever have been.

Although there were a few Christmas' past where I was painfully hung-over. That's what happens when you have a Christmas Eve birthday. It was about 20 years ago I swore off of getting drunk on my birthday - just made Christmas Day too miserable for me.

Human beings are unique, yet odd creatures. We have our sentimental traditions, which we clutch onto them tightly, for dear life. I do feel tradition is a wonderful thing. We need these special little rituals of our lives to reinforce the reason of our lives - it gives us purpose.

I just hate to see people attempting to cram so much into Christmas to the point they wear themselves out to a frazzle and totally exhaust their bank account or worse yet, charge up the damn credit card to a point of where they are paying for Christmas all the next year, if not longer.

I don't believe in credit cards - I pay cash only when shopping.

We have come to a point where we are hopeless materialistic gluttons and our desire to have things has blown way out of control. I saw it in the toy store. People thinking that Christmas joy is something to be purchased, when of course, it's not. I saw it in my own daughter's face when she was unable to find one toy for my granddaughter. My granddaughter will be just fine without that toy. What matters is, as cliche as it comes off, the love shared, the peace of the season, the joy of just living and the giving of ourselves, not giving of things that our money can buy, but the giving of our time, attention and genuine interest in one another.

A simple gesture of caring and loving can be a gift for a lifetime.

~The Onset Of Hibernation

2005-12-21T07:16:00.000-08:00

New meanings to the words I feed upon

Wake within my veins elements of freedom

Can't break now I've been living for this

Won't break now I'm cleansed with hopefulness

Precious declaration says-

Yours is yours and mine you leave alone now

Precious declaration says

I believe all hope is dead no longer

~Collective Soul

**************************

It's the first day of Winter.

That might depress some people, but I adore Winter and celebrate it's arrival, hence the snowy photo provided for today.

Winter doesn't load a lot of snow on Seattle, but we have had a few years in the past where we've had to get out the snow shovel. I wish we would get more snow, but that's probably only because we don't get much. We always want what we don't have...

I was browsing the other blogs using the link at the top of my page to go to Next Blog. I found it rather entertaining to come across the variety of blogs in such a random manner.

One blog would be dank and political in it's intense scratchings, while the next might be written from the standpoint of a young girl chattering about boys, other girls and what she wants for Christmas with her pages filled with cotton candy pink and cute, fluffy graphics.

I found browsing the blogs in such a random order was enlightening, from the stand point of people watching, of which I have been an avid People Watcher since I was little.

In reading, I was amazed at some of the writing talent out there. People have always told me I'm a "good writer", but when I read some of the pearls from others - those that have a lot of knowledge on let's say, worldly issues, I curse myself for not researching life more. Being a People Watcher might gain me insight on human nature, but it doesn't put me up there in the ranks of those that can pen profound thoughts on subjects such as politics and religion.

But then I ask myself, "Do I want to write about politics and religion?"

Not really.

What DO I want to write about?

I guess I could always write about me. Isn't that what a blog is for? Kind of like a diary to purge all my angst in regard to how life is crapping on me? I guess having a blog is a lot like being the star of your own show - a new episode every day.

Do I write for mere entertainment value or work hard at having some kind of important lesson.

Maybe a moral to every story - something to teach a lesson or tug at one's conscience.

Have YOU been a good human being today?

I could always use my blog to bitch, bitch, bitch and drone on about people that annoy me, frustrate me and/or just downright piss me off!

I could share each and every personal violation ever imposed on me and then lament on and on about how it's made me out to be the poor, misunderstood soul that I am.

I could use my blog to share recipes, (as I am a Chef), or give hints on parenting,

(as I have raised four children), or blab about sex, (as I am highly sexual),

The options of where I can take my blog are endless.

I have chosen to not really have a theme to my blog. No political leanings. No religious undertones. No constant sexual innuendo. No bitter edged venting on womanhood.

I will write what I feel at the time.

This should be....interesting.

~Water Flowing Underground

2005-12-20T17:55:00.000-08:00

And you may ask yourself

What is that beautiful house?

And you may ask yourself

Where does that highway go?

And you may ask yourself

Am I right?...Am I wrong?

And you may tell yourself

MY GOD!...WHAT HAVE I DONE?

Same as it ever was....

~Talking Heads

********************************

I think I'm getting the hang of this blog format,

but it's still not coming off as well as I'd like it to look.

I'll get it sooner or later and for now, it's okay....

I haven't decided if I want to post numerous times a day or try to cram all my ponderings into one entry. Guess it really doesn't matter as I highly doubt anyone is reading any of this about now...lol.

***************************

Yeah,...water flowing underground. As solid as I am, being a typical Earth sign, (Capricorn), what seems controlled and composed is not always the case. Much is swirling underneath the surface and as much as I refuse to allow the river to rise, it snakes, the movement taking me places that I really don't want to visit right now.

Surrounded by this sentimental clutter called Christmas, I fight the urge to be swept away by guilt, remorse and insurmountable regret. The ground under my feet shifts and I can either dance or crumble.

I'm obviously too strong to crumble, so dancing it is!

~Clearing Out The Cobwebs

2005-12-20T07:07:00.000-08:00

On a cobweb afternoon

In a room of emptiness

By a freeway I confess

I was lost in the pages

of a book full of death

Reading how we'll die alone

And if we're good we'll lay to rest

Anywhere we want to go

In your house I long to be

Room by room patiently

I'll wait for you there

Like a stone

I'll wait for you there

Alone

~Audioslave

************************

I know these lyrics, to one of my favorite songs, come off a bit morbid, but for me,

they are actually quite uplifting.

Guess you would have to know me better to understand why.

I wasn't sure what to write about this morning, but after reading a blog entry of a friend here, the man who turned me on to this place even existing, I now know what I want to express.

He talked of the year ending and how for some, things can start out good, but end not-so-good.

This would be the case for me.

I am not saying that 2005 started out charmed and ended up dismal, but 2005 did start out energetic, quite busy, and pleasant enough, only to...well, end with a dull thud.

I am faced with a lot of finality right now and to turn that around and be more positive

in my thinking - 2006 shall be a year of new beginnings for me.

Yes, that can be an exciting, fresh concept, but at the same time scary as hell.

I'll be 49, I may as well just be 50, my kids are grown, I'll have a different job,

might be moving and hope to have a man in my life.

Whew!

Like I sad, 2005 has ended with a dull thud - kind of like falling out of your chair.

Okay, do I want to get up and sit back down or would it better suit me to move my legs around a bit?

I've chose the option to stretch my legs and see what's out there for me in the big big world.

I know how it feels to sit and there is plenty of time for that later.

2006 may very well be an exploration for me.

I could quit smoking, but probably won't.

I need to work out more and firm up - this I can do.

The dentist will be seeing a lot of me in 2006 as I pay out the ass to get my gleaming smile back to where it was.

Long story as to why my teeth went to shit, (ruined because of past trauma), and maybe someday I'll purge here all that junk which I have come to call, The Running Years.

~Gazing Over My Shoulder

2005-12-19T18:45:00.000-08:00

~ Life's Changes ~

Time thrusts us ahead

whether we want to move or not.

I have recently been thrust into a change

that has me unsteady,

yet poised and ready to run-

to shed the heavy burden of uncertainty,

tossing it to the wayside

and like a child-

leap over all the mud puddles

with my eyes shut tight!

**********************

So, this will be my first entry in this blog. Guess I better make it memorable, eh?

I blog elsewhere, but feel this might be a better forum for me as to where I can explore and question a bit more that is rotating in my mind these days.

This coming Saturday I'll be 49 years old and when I really stop and think about it,

it blows my mind.

Shit - I'm old!

To quote David Byrne, (Talking Heads), -

"It's not...yesterday...anymore...I go visiting, I talk loud...

I try to make myself clear, In front...of a face...that's nearer...

Than it's ever been before... Not this close before..

Nearer than before... Not this close before"