Musings from a Writer

Letting the Dust Settle

2011-11-22T16:15:00.000-06:00

Right before I started this post, I glanced at the date to see when I last wrote anything of substance. August was a long time ago. Sheeesh.

I know I've been moaning about what a kick in the ass the last couple of years have been but I had no idea that the ass-kicking would linger until the end of the year. As I speak, I am just getting my bearing from the tailspin I have been in.

These last couple of years have been a time of profound loss. You name it; loss of loved ones, financial stability, belongings, pride, purpose, hope and determination. It's only been in the last couple of days that I've felt compelled to write. That's a huge stride for me. It was very difficult living inside myself during this time. Not writing meant that I was hollow inside and I felt every square inch of nothingness. I've experienced the depth of my emptiness.

Now I can experience the depth of fulfillment. Once the dust settles, it's worth writing about.

Pat Summit, Measuring Quality against Time

2011-08-23T13:57:00.000-05:00

I have always admired Pat Summit, the Tennessee Lady Vols basketball coach. As I was perusing Facebook, I heard breaking news on ESPN that Pat was diagnosed with young, onset dementia. She's only 59 years old.

I hate that she is dealing with this health issue. Dementia is a disease that doesn't cater to one race, intellect, gender or sexuality. It strikes people that aren't famous and those who are. Those who are most determined to beat it, simply succumb just as quickly as those who feel defeated.

It's a horrible disease for everyone. Knowing her fierce competitiveness, I'm sure she will fight the good fight, and good for her.

I also think Pat Summit will be carefully measuring quality of her profession against cognitive time.

More Musings Later-

The Co-Author Heard 'Round the World

2011-06-29T14:12:00.000-05:00

If you have been reading my blog for any length of time, you will recall that I wrote a novel with Alan Solomon. The kick is, we've never met each other. We met online and never spoke on the telephone. Why you ask? Because at the time, he was located in Beijing, China and I was in Nashville, TN.

Alan is a native New Zealander, more commonly known as "kiwi". He owned a restaurant in Chiang Mai, Thailand called, "The Mango Tree Cafe." After owning this restaurant, he had a story to tell and that is where I came into the picture. He wanted someone to help with his novel by the same name of his eatery. After learning about the story and being told that it sat upon the most mystical road in the world, I was hooked. They say once you walk Loi Kroh Road, you are forever changed. I normally didn't accept book jobs such as these in my writing days, but something told me this was special. And, indeed it was.

So, Alan and I have been keeping up with each other since 2007. We published the book (see the column to the right under "Amazon Offerings"), received alot of media coverage about it and my eyes were filled with the world's mysteries and unspoken charms.

I hadn't heard from Alan for awhile. He had mentioned that he was going to leave Beijing this past December and relocate to New Zealand. We've instant messaged each other, sent emails and the like as we've done in the past; our mode of communication. We had tossed the idea around of writing another novel together...who knows? It might be in the cards.

Yet, I don't know. He dropped me a line a few weeks ago and mentioned he was going to Japan to work on a project for a friend. Of course, he has other things going on in New Zealand too. He's a very energetic guy. But, something inside of me whispered that our paths may not cross again. I could be wrong of course, it's just a niggling I have.

Then again, I have walked Loi Kroh Road in spirit and I am forever changed.

More Musings Later-

Mayberry "Ohm" F. D.

2011-05-31T11:24:00.000-05:00

Lately, I’ve been reading about Buddhism. The thing I like most about it is that it is based in common sense. When I first thought heard about Buddhism, I thought it was reserved for those Asian men who wore robes and lived in Temples. I thought they worshipped Buddha. Boy, was I wrong!

These monks and other followers don’t “worship” Buddha, they take his basic teachings and use them to live a better life. At the same time, they do not follow any religion blindly. Think of Buddhism as basic as living life in Mayberry R.F.D. The concepts involve ideas and difficulties of normal, every day life. Let me provide some scenarios if the town of Mayberry became Buddhists:

Goober to Gomer: “Wanna hear my Buddhist impression? Buddha-Buddha-Buddha!”

(Think of his Cary Grant impression, Judy, Judy, Judy!)

Opie to Andy: “Paw, I shot the Mama bird but didn’t know she had baby birds to feed.”

Andy to Opie: “Opie, you had no right to kill that bird, regardless of whether it had baby birds or not. What goes around, comes around. You need to have respect for all living things. Gate’, Gate’ Para- sumgate’, Gone! Gone! (Perfect Understanding)

Barney to Andy: “Hey Ange, you and Helen going to the dance?”

Andy to Barney: “Naw, I thought we’d have a dharma on the front porch instead. You and Betty Lou should come over.”

Aunt Bee to Andy: “Andy! The freezer is broken! I need to have it fixed!”

Andy to Aunt Bee: “Aunt Bee, Call the monk!”

Aunt Bee to Andy: “But, Andy! I thought maybe…”

Andy to Aunt Bee: “Call the monk!”

(Think of Andy's persistent response, Aunt Bee, Caaalllll the man!)

Floyd, The Barber to Andy: “Hey, Andy, I’m supposed to attend a barber’s convention in Mount Pilot next week.”

Andy: “All the way up in Mount Pilot? That’s great, Floyd”

Floyd, The Barber: “I’m feeling anxious about it, there are going to be all these master barbers and experts from Mount Pilot and here I’ll be from little ole’ Mayberry. They will all be better than me.”

Andy to Floyd: “Kill the Buddha, Kill the Buddha!”

Floyd: “Ah, Ah, Thanks, Andy.”

More Musings Later- (Shalom!)

The Misleading Beauty of the Kudzu

2011-05-16T14:12:00.000-05:00

One day last week I was watching Oprah, trying to get my fill before she closes the door on 25 years of television excellence. The topic was "The Freedom Riders." A group of incredibly brave and forward thinking people who joined forces to ride buses in 1961 from Washington D.C. deep into the bowels of the South where racism was as thick as the kudzu that overtakes the landscape of any and all vegetation around it.

I was fascinated as I listened to stories recanted about the blatant bigotry that existed so prominently then and somewhat quietly today. Buried within the "Bless your hearts" of those who were overtaken with this backward thinking of racism, was the society that choked life from everything near it. I began to think that perhaps bigotry and kudzu are one in the same.

On the surface, kudzu is beautiful, a deep greenery of vegetation that rolls on forever, climbing up into trees, along the roads, taking presidence on top of the grass. At first glance, it seems that the soil beneath the kudzu would be fertile and rich encouraging the production of vegetables and fruit. But, to those who are from the South, we know it to be a beautiful killer of everything around it.

I've watched people try to kill the kudzu without much luck. No amount of digging or trying to pull the roots up would do. Once these plants take hold of the earth, it's nearly impossible to get rid of it. I once asked my grandfather about how to get rid of kudzu if it overtook your yard, fields, and home. His best advice was to "leave it, cause you won't ever get rid of it." From then on, I've looked at kudzu in a different way. It looks beautiful on the surface, but it's downright deadly if you don't recognize the damage it can do.

Somehow, The Freedom Riders were able to kill off a good portion of kudzu in the South that day. Leave it to Oprah, a television icon and media mogul who once resided in Mississippi to shine the light on those who were able to stop the kudzu in it's tracks.

Bravo.

More Musings Later-

Ding Dong, the Wicked Witch is Dead...now what?

2011-05-02T13:23:00.000-05:00

President Obama did it. Or, should I say the Navy Seals did it? In any event; the one task that needed doing was accomplished last night, the death of Osama Bin Laden. While revenge is sweet for Americans, it causes me to wonder when the next shoe will drop.

If you think the score has been settled, think again. This will be an ongoing chess match of intelligence and human lives. We have the #1 man that was in charge of the horrendous 9/11 catastrophes and it validates my hunch all along; IF President George W. Bush wanted to kill Bin Laden, he could have. Did he REALLY think he was in Iraq? C'mon. All intelligence pointed to Pakistan. So, after 8 years of "Dub'ya" we were about as close to nabbing Bin Laden as the proverbial man on the moon. Instead, we went against the United Nations, Intelligence reports and set our sights on Saddam Hussein. Can we say, O-I-L? Sure, I knew you could.

Now we have a President in office that has been working his tail off even before he was sworn into office. All because Dubya had his Iraq war and Saddam's death to boast about in his memoirs of accomplishments so he was done. President Obama is in office for about 2 years and manages to kill the most wanted man in America (and beyond really) precisely where we thought he was all these years: Pakistan, not Iraq. Meanwhile, we invite the leader of Iran to speak at Columbia University in New York City. Am I the only one that thinks this is downright weird???

One thing is for sure; there are ALOT of people that were snowed by the Bushes and Cheney. In fact, I was blown away to see a bumper sticker on the car ahead of me at a traffic light which had a picture of Dubya with the caption: "Miss Me Yet?"

I shook my head in disbelief and pulled into a gas station to fill up.

More Musings Later-

Intention and the Written Word

2011-04-05T16:55:00.000-05:00

My neighbor in Nashville, TN, the irrepressible Reverend Terry Jones has reared his ugly views again.
He has an axe to grind and he would like to use it on the Quran to be more specific. Of course, he is also protesting the building of a mosque in Murfreesboro, TN. Sad to say, because of his and his followers' shenanigans, they have made the national news. Once again, focusing on the proverbial woman with the curlers and moo-moo to become a 15 minute celebrity.

I find it curious that the reverend is so against the Quran. I read somewhere that the only difference between the Bible and the Quran was that a vast array of people share stories about God and Jesus where the Quran is narrated by one entity: God. And, it is written in first person. I'm certainly not an expert on the Quran but what is so troubling about this revelation? Has he read it? Does he disagree with it? Does he not believe in freedom of speech? I'm beginning to wonder. Is it, "Freedom of Speech as long as you believe as I do?"

I've known ministers that stand behind every word of the Bible. I wonder about that too. Who should have the final word on supremacy of belief? Fundamentalist Christians scare the hell out of me. Why? Because they believe the Bible to be interpreted literally. You can't tell me that the hundreds of scribes that wrote the Bible in Aramic, thousands of years after the fact wrote a completely factual account free of bias or prejudice. How many times has the Bible been translated into other languages? How do the translations hold up? C'mon....for example:

"Your male and female slaves are to come from the nations around you; from them you may buy slaves. You may also buy some of the temporary residents living among you and members of their clans born in your country, and they will become your property." (Leviticus 25:44-45)

Really? Slaves? Burning the Quran? Hating a race of people for the actions of a few? I believe Reverend Jones has read the Bible. I just think he's never understood it.

More Musings Later-

Charlie Sheen and the Power of Free Speech

2011-03-03T22:52:00.001-06:00

Unless you've been hiding under a rock the last several days, you've heard and seen Charlie Sheen's rants. While I watched him rant on some of the Enquirer-esque tv shows, I thought back to a younger Charlie Sheen. The one that had promising acting chops and came from a famous family of actors. His talent along with his looks seemed destined for stardom. Alas, the movies came, wealth was established and bad habits were formed.

Fast forward to an older, frenetic, out of control, former movie star turned tv sitcom star. He's lost weight, his eyes are bulging with anger and carefully contained hysteria. His kids, his poor, innocent kids were taken from him last night and shuttled back to a just-as-disturbed, angry mother. Speaking as an uninformed bystander, if ever was a time for Emilio Estevez to step in, the time was yesterday. Maybe he can't help. Maybe it's going to take Charlie Sheen hitting bottom. And, like sharks circling their prey, the public will be front and center eager to watch the bitter end. That fact was established when Sheen obtained a Twitter account and he had 100,000 "followers" in less than an hour. I'm finding the forum a bit disgusting at this point.

Don't get me wrong, I have always encouraged free speech. I just always hope that those who exercise the right will have common sense. But, as I've also said, you can't legislate morality either. Yesterday, it was determined that those groups of people who like to protest funerals of loved ones who fought for our freedoms are allowed to continue to do so in the name of freedom of speech. I watched these people on tv gloating over their victory and planning their next protest. It made my eyes water. What kind of a world do we live in? That people are allowed to spit on those who gave their lives for our freedoms?

I'm at a loss for words. For those who relish contorting our first amendment rights just before the breaking point, congratulations; you win.

You win and the rest of us lose. I hope we hear a new version of "I Had A Dream" speech soon. We need it.

More Musings Later-

Nocturnal Infomercials

2011-02-22T11:56:00.000-06:00

It's been awhile since I've had a commentary on late night infomercials, so here it goes. For those of us who have insomnia, usually the only thing on TV is infomercials. I have my favorites and then there are "the duds" in my humble opinion.

My Favorite Infomercial
I don't know about you, but I think Florence Henderson made one of the most entertaining infomercials when she was pushing crock pot-esque cookware. She not only used the product, but she had a gaggle of "friends and neighbors" that sat around her kitchen counter watching all of the fabulous meals that her cookware would create. There was the smoking kook who was reminiscent of Mrs. Roper on Three's Company, the couple next door who have busy lives and don't have time to make Hamburger Helper (which takes less than 10 minutes), the single woman who wants to "entertain" (meaning she wants to cook for her dates without stressing) and the meat and potatoes neighbor who doesn't like "newfangled appliances." The infomercial is even named as a television show to give the impression that you already know these lovable characters and it's just a new episode you're watching. Of course, Florence sings the theme song. Ya gotta love that.

Of course, after dumping frozen, rock-hard hamburger meat, uncooked noodles and a bottle of Ragu into the contraption, the finished product became a succulent, gourmet pasta dish that the whole family loved! That one used to crack me up. Can you imagine how disgusting that would taste if someone really prepared that meal as she did? Bleh. But, Florence is always happy, happy and the infomercial does make you wonder if it really does what it claims.

The "B" Version of Florence Henderson's Infomercial
This one isn't a TV show themed ad. This one is an older lady with red curly hair who cooks a variety of dishes from breakfast to dessert in a George Foreman-esque appliance. As she goes from dish to dish, she mentions what a time saver it is to simply dump batter, cutup bananas, walnuts and other seasonings into this machine and have breakfast ready to eat in minutes! That's great, but you gotta cutup the bananas, walnuts, create the batter and so on. You've just dirtied a bunch of dishes so you can use a little Foreman-esque appliance. It's stupid. I may be sleep deprived at this point, but I'm not stupid. Jeez. Then there is a guy with glasses on that wears a golf shirt and slacks that are a size too small. Then, every bite he samples from this cookware, he swoons as if he's fallen in love for the first time. He's irritating. There's no theme music. The lady isn't happy, happy. There aren't any obvious marketing ploys. I don't like this one.

The One I LOVE to HATE
You knew it was coming, right? How many infomercials have you watched of Chuck Norris and Christie Brinkley plugging "The Total Gym"? I love to hate this one. I think they do a good job of demonstrating the equipment and if I had money, I would be tempted to buy it. So, they accomplish what they set out to do. They even get the actor that is going to jail for tax evasion to demonstrate! He's probably doing any work he can get to pay the IRS.

Now, you not only get to watch Chuck do his workout, but his wife as well. She doesn't want to be "beefy" like her big strong husband (gag) so she does workouts to look more lean. It's kind of funny to watch her talk while she works out because she's so out of breath. Does she really do this workout every day? Really? Chuck has learned to suck it up and talk and workout without busting a lung. BUT, you can tell he's struggling. His wife makes me gag and when he flexes his bicep to emphasize his "beefiness" I am tempted to turn the channel.

But, here is the part I truly love to hate! I like Christie Brinkley. She looks great and I believe she works hard to keep her body looking that way. She demonstrates the machine well, moving from one exercise to the other. THEN: she does one exercise that isn't "named" where each leg is isolated by doing a semi-squat on the machine. She flashes that modeling smile and giggles, "I think I'll call this one 'the Christie!"

After that, I feel vindicated that I can turn the channel. Oh wait, Ron Popeil is about to "Set it and forget it!" while he sprays paint on the back of his balding head. Gee, that looks natural. Why didn't I think of it?

Sleep is an elusive mistress.

More Musings Later-

Northern Exposure in a Southern Town

2011-01-12T14:01:00.003-06:00

Lately, I've been missing the TV show, "Northern Exposure." For those of you not familiar with the show, it was the story of a transplanted New York doctor assigned to handle a remote, Alaskan town's health care. While the central character was the doctor, I found the strength of this show sat squarely in the laps of the supporting actors.

There was the wealthy, Texas bred entrepreneur who flexed his influential muscle when confronted, the elderly grocery store owner who was no-nonsense with a penchant for being blunt, yet was one of the softest and kindest characters of the show. There were many characters I liked and the two who I just mentioned were just a couple of examples.

I have to say the characters that I resonated the most with was Ed, the part Native American twenty-something and Chris, the Radio DJ. It occurs to me that there are a little of both of these characters within me. I loved watching Ed. He struggled with social situations as well as wisdom with regard to his heritage. He was later groomed to be a Shaman and it proved to be quite the challenge. He was sweet, kind and unassuming. A bumbling wunderkind if you will. Where a Shaman is supposed to lead with wisdom and grace, Ed fumbles with these concepts and ideas. He is oh so human and I love that about him. Those who he is supposed to counsel, instead counsel to him in an unorthodox manner. If Ed were real, he would be my best friend.

Then, there is Chris, the DJ. He is a long drink of water who sees the philosophical tint to most any situation. In a town where the usual is surviving, Chris gazes through the glass window of the radio station and pontificates on air, the wonders of life lessons that citizens of this town might be struggling to understand while they hide away any evidence of angst from neighbors in this tiny, rugged northern town. He is a poet, a thinker and voracious reader of matters that plague the heart and man's psyche. His existence is meager, yet his understanding is massive. Chris is the sort of friend you want to either share a bottle of Chianti and discuss the matters of the world or belly up to the nearest sports bar to throw back a few beers and revel in the simplicity of rooting for the home team.

As I sit in my home snowbound from getting out; I find myself needing a little Northern Exposure in my southern town.

More Musings Later-

Rocky Balboa and 2011

2011-01-10T00:11:00.001-06:00

As I watched 2011 introduce herself, I couldn't help but be thankful that 2010 was over. In fact, I think alot of people are grateful last year is over.

As I've mentioned in some posts last year, it was a year of sadness, grief, anger, despair, changes and huge lessons learned. It wasn't for naught and that's a good thing. The most painful situations are some of life's best lessons. I was humbled and determined to be a good student and learn my lessons accordingly. However, the bombardment of life crashing down around me threw me into a perpetual state of feeling punch drunk. The scene in every Rocky movie where he is facing a huge opponent and is savagely beaten until he pulls himself up by the bootstraps to dig deep and discover his strength once again strikes a familiar chord.

That moment in time when he is whirling from the intensity of punches is something we can all relate to. In fact, instead of a huge fighter swinging hellacious punches at me, it was only 2010. I've already begun the process of pulling myself up by my bootstraps and it takes time and constant determination.

In any event, hello and welcome 2011.

Go ahead...cut me Mick.

More Musings Later~

It was the Best of Times...Oh, Who Am I Kidding?

2010-12-15T15:53:00.000-06:00

2010 without a doubt, has been the mother of all years for me. And, it seems that this pinnacle year began to flex it's muscle almost immediately.

While it seems that 2010 has ground my emotions and psyche up like hamburger meat, I've taken a look around and I'm not the only one. People that have been involved in longstanding relationships are now standing as one. The usual is now unusual and the norm is now on it's ear.

It's been strange to observe all that has happened and that is happening as I speak. As for living my life, it has been difficult at best as I find myself struggling to find "my new normal." The end of this traumatic year has my attention and my thoughts. I can only wonder what is ahead in 2011.

Whatever it is, I hope the path is a bit more level and that we can all find our new normal.

More Musings Later-

An Open Letter to Randy Moss

2010-11-13T13:31:00.000-06:00

I remember watching the NFL station one evening not too long ago when the commentators were discussing the fact that your contract was coming up for renewal with the New England Patriots. I watched you as you answered questions for reporters. You reiterated that you would work your butt off regardless of come what may with your contract. I thought it was a fair and succinct statement given the circumstances. I'm not sure why the Patriots didn't come clean with the contract negotiations, but hey, professional football is a business, right?

Suddenly, you are sent to the Minnesota Vikings. Things don't seem to be working well there either. Why? Who knows. Office politics is an ugly game that most people don't care to participate in. I'm one of them. In fact, I'm willing to bet that if I had been dealt the same hand as you, I would play them the same way as you did too.

You probably feel like once again, you are shuffled off to another lame pro football team. Let me fill you in on the Nashville fans and the Tennessee Titans. We WANT you here. That's why Fisher snapped you up as quickly as he did. Do we already have great players? You bet we do. Adding you to the roster only makes our team better, not a liability.

Nashville is beyond excited by having you on the team. We may have a "country bumpkin" reputation due to our musical history and geography, but we are also a metropolitan city with an exciting football team that just got better within a blink of an eye. We want you to work your butt off.

In exchange for your hard work, expect to see:

Fans snapping up jerseys with your name on the back.
A rowdy, supportive crowd at the games
A fiercely loyal fan base.
A sold out crowd at our home stadium, as well as every sports bar in town to be packed to the rafters cheering for you and the rest of our guys.

We may be "boring" or not "metropolitan" enough for some players, but we're loyal, rowdy and we're dying to win a Super Bowl.

Ya With Us? We need to go just ONE MORE YARD.

Welcome, Randy Moss.

The Color Purple

2010-10-18T10:10:00.000-05:00

Watching the news can be a depressing endeavor some days. So full of violence, political idiocy, hate and religious persecution.

A week or so ago, I watched a story where several teens were bullied at school because they were gay. I suddenly was thrust back in school and was the butt of jokes, mean spirited remarks and other forms of taunting once again. Yeah, I was one of those kids that was bullied. I hated school. I wondered how long it would take before the comments and taunts would stop. The school yard filled with children shouting filthy names at just a few soon grew into junior and high school students where the shouting was replaced with whispers, stares and false rumors traveling at the speed of light.

The first time it happened, I was in elementary school. I was wearing a lacy dress, shiny leather shoes with lacy socks along with a hair ribbon pinned to the the curls in my hair via rollers, Dippity-Doo, Aqua Net and bobby pins for safekeeping. I looked like every other little girl back in the day. But, apparently my secret was out.

During class one day, my teacher was writing on the blackboard and I raised my hand. The boys had been calling me a name and I didn't understand why. My teacher acknowledged me and gave me permission to ask the question.

"What does the word, 'queer' mean?" She thought a moment trying to second guess my reason for asking and simply stated, "It means, 'odd' or 'unusual'. She turned around and continued writing on the blackboard. I felt vindicated as I just wanted someone else of authority to tell me what I already knew. My teacher turned around again and looked at me expectantly and asked, "Did that answer your question?"

I decided to push my luck a bit further. "Does 'queer' mean the same thing as 'homosexual'?" She laid the piece of chalk in her hand onto the blackboard tray along with the erasers.

"To be absolutely clear, the words, "queer" are slang for the word homosexual. This slang term is meant to be hurtful towards others when used. The word, "queer" will be used properly in this classroom, out in the recess yard and in my presence. Have I made myself clear?" My teacher wasn't particularly well-liked so the emphasis of her words was missed by most of the children. I realize now that she could have gotten into a lot of trouble making that remark to a class of 3rd graders.

The next morning I walked to school and saw that our school had been vandalized. Across the main entrance, someone had painted the words; "TARYN IS A QUEER." I was mortified, highly embarrassed and ashamed without knowing why. I felt like I was the only one to endure this type of bullying. As I think of it now, it's amazing to me that people are STILL being persecuted for being gay. You might as well condemn me for having brown eyes.

I tell you this story so that other kids that have gone through similar, not as drastic or even more extreme bullying will know they are not alone. I lived through it and discovered that life can be quite wonderful as an odd duck. So, I am asking that everyone that has read this blog to pass this post on to friends and friends of friends. As Shug Avery mused to Miss Celie, "I think it pisses God off for people to walk by the color purple and not even notice."

We're here, We're Queer and there's no need to Fear.

Wear purple on October Time Wednesday, October 20 · 12:00am - 11:30pm

Location Everywhere

More Info On October 20th we will wear purple to bring awareness to, and put an end to intolerance in honor of the 6 boys who committed suicide in recent weeks/months due to homophobic abuse at home and in schools. Purple represents spirit on the LGBT flag and that's exactly what we would like all of you to have with you: spirit. Please know that times will get better and that you will meet people who will love you and respect you for who you are, no matter your sexuality. Please wear purple on October 20th. Tell your parents, friends, co-workers, neighbors and schools.

RIP

Tyler Clementi

Seth Walsh

Justin Aaberg

Raymond Chase

Asher Brown

Billy Lucas

Zach Harrington

and all other victims of homophobia

More Musings Later-

Trying to get it down

2010-10-17T13:43:00.000-05:00

For those who follow this blog, you know that I have been working on a book for quite a long time. I'm not able to work on it for long periods of time as my fingers and hands tell me how long I can work these days. So, when my hands aren't shaking, having neuropathy or having sharp arthritic pain, I work as quickly as I can to write this book.

For the first time, I'm really pleased with the content thus far. While sometimes I am able to take the time necessary to really craft a good story, sometimes I am forced to rush through just to get the story down as I think of it. I use an outline, but sometimes working as the inspiration comes is much better.

I've read alot of the greats and classics and saw myself becoming frustrated and discouraged because it seemed that writing was so easy for them. It's like watching a virtuoso musician play a difficult selection without even breaking a sweat. No struggling, just the production of smooth genius. I was harrumphing to myself this morning as I thought of great books that read so gracefully, profoundly and yet, simply. I hope my book will be one of those classics one day, but I can only wish at this point.

I was heartened to read a quote from a literary master who was harrumphing as I was regarding his writing. Who would have thunk? In any event, I hope that one day if I am designated a master, that someone will find a quote from me saying the same thing so that writers won't quit the journey.

“I write one page of masterpiece to ninety one pages of shit, I try to put the shit in the wastebasket.” ~ Ernest Hemingway in conversation with F. Scott Fitzgerald, 1934.

Andrea Chenier

2010-10-06T14:04:00.000-05:00

Last evening, I attended the Nashville Opera's production of Andrea Chenier. I browsed through my program before curtain call and noticed that the productions for the year offer well-known classics such as Carmen, The Marriage of Figaro and others, nonetheless, I was pleased that I would be exploring unfamiliar territory in Chenier.

Andrea Chenier is a poet who found his own written words to be at odds with his country's political and social struggles. While Chenier was well acquainted with aristocratic social circles in the beginning, his battle of words through France's political upheaval both literally and figuratively lead him back to accepting the consequences for his moral conscience of words. A unique perspective considering that the working class, martyrs and disadvantaged are at the forefront of this story, ala' Victor Hugo's Les Miserables. Along the way, Chenier falls in love with Maddalena di Coigny, a prominent socialite's daughter who has gone into hiding during the French Revolution.

While the story is centered on Andrea Chenier, the true drama and weight of emotion is portrayed by Carlos Gerardo, a former servant to the upper crust di Coigny family. Social roles have reversed and Gerardo has become powerful in his political role within the French Revolution and abuses his power by attempting to force himself upon his former employer, Maddalena di Coigny. After listening to Maddalena tell of the murder of her mother and the burning of her home, the realization of his newfound power is simply an illusion.

As with most previews or "final rehearsals," there were a couple of miscues between the orchestra and vocalist(s). A few misspellings on the subtext screen were glaringly apparent as well. There were also some problems with 2 of the male roles being able to comfortably sustain notes in the lower register against an exuberant orchestra. I couldn't help but wonder if adjustments in blocking and or subduing the orchestra could alleviate this problem. Then again, many of the singers were wisely saving their voice for opening night. Let's face it, Nashville in early October can be an overwhelming cocktail for throat issues.

Kudos to the Nashville Opera for keeping this medium fresh and alive. I was both amused (at first) and incredibly impressed with the promotion of offering both temporary and permanent Opera tattoo's in the lobby. It's just one of 30 ways to celebrate the Nashville Opera. In the land of facebooking, twittering and keeping up with the ever growing technology, the Nashville Opera is doing their part and more. Interested in providing a school with an intro to Opera? For more information, click here: Education Programs.

While sitting in the dark watching these cast of characters, I found myself mesmerized in particular by Lori Phillips (Maddalena di Coigny). Prior to last evening's performance, I listened to several arias of this opera to become more acquainted with the story, emotion and characters. I found the haunting and moving aria "La Mamma Morta," sung by Marie Callas and listened to what I would use (quite unfairly) to benchmark Ms. Phillips' performance. A very unkind measurement of perfection that would be virtually impossible to overcome.

Phillips' was able to act her part complete with the slightest of gestures, emotional breaks in her voice that reached well into the back of the theater. The feathery nuances of her restrained voice describing the horrors of her mother's demise grabbed this audience as the power of her chest voice climaxed in revealing a gut-wrenching mournful loss which reverberated throughout Jackson Hall.

I'm not qualified to speculate whether Maria Callas's "La Mamma Morta," was superior to Lori Phillips' version. I only know that moments such as these which are draped in darkness inside a theater is a gift from the composer. The stirring of the soul from Lori Phillips' vocal performance is a gift from the singer, complete with star power.

Bravo

More Musings Later-

The Allure of Id

2010-10-02T13:17:00.000-05:00

I don't mind telling you that I have become a junkie of the worst kind. My thoughts inevitably lead to when can I watch more of it? Each day's challenges along with mundane occurrences are met with a renewed analysis. The child's most incessant and irritating question: Why?

If the above sounds familiar to you, then you've been watching HBO's In Treatment along with me. I never saw the series until recently as they are catching viewers up on past episodes so that when Season 3 is throttled into gear, everyone is on the same page, or couch as it may be.

I've always been intrigued by psychology and how therapists are able to decipher and untangle the wires of emotion within us. HBO has taken this series which was originally a successful Israeli television program and tells the story of a fifty-something therapist who allows the demons of his patients to rear their ugly head for answers along the path to clarity. The viewer of this drama becomes the voyeur seeking gratification to our lustful interests as we are allowed into this sacred, yet raw vulnerable area of the patient's psyche.

Never mind that the therapist is that of brooding Gabriel Byrne, an intriguing and attractive Irishman who is able to settle back into an easy chair and engage either silently or quietly to the rumblings of his patient's emotional debris. I guarantee you will find yourself examining his face for any nuance of discovery. Even though his own life is as shattered and disturbing as his patients'. His lilting brogue serves as the voice of reason or further self exploration of your emotional mine fields, indicated by a hmmm or referenced with a forefinger to his forehead.

In any event, I've been consumed with this program. Just yesterday, the phone rang and as I held the receiver to my ear, I heard the words of a man stammering, "Hi, I'm your Dad." Words I hadn't heard for at least 20 years. He wanted to speak to my mother. As I handed the phone to her, I silently corrected his choice of words from "Dad" to father. A very large difference in my mind.

I wonder what the good doctor would say?

Letting Go

2010-09-24T14:25:00.001-05:00

This morning, I got up to the smell of Fall. And, when I think of Fall, I immediately think of changes. Both literally to the weather and to each of our lives.

Think about it, Fall is when the new school year begins, learning new things, reading and listening to new writers and music. It's football season, ordering or chopping wood for the fireplace, thinking about the holidays that will spiral out of control and be here before you know it, shopping for sweaters and coats all in preparation for the Fall season.

Not only is it an onslaught of "newness," it's also a time for letting go. Although the give and take of letting go should be done seamlessly throughout our lives, if you're like me, it's a struggle and causes noticeable commotion within our lives. I bet it wouldn't even take the game of 6 degrees of separation to find people who have lost or gained a relationship, felt the loss of a child and gained the presence of an adult in their place. Perhaps it is the loss of self without anyone or thing to replace it. Or, the worst case scenario, the loss of emotion which leaves the soul dry and brittled for the length of life.

On the other side of the coin, I find it interesting that when a brave soul is able to expose their innermost feelings either personally or to an audience, you will undoubtedly find people cringing at this display. Is it because they have never felt these emotions of letting go and don't know what to make of it? I'm betting no. I think it edges too closely to the barriers we all have that protects our vulnerability.

No one is perfect and it is usually pointed out quite graphically during one's school years. Whether it's bullies who have their way with those who resemble their insecurities the most, or those who don't measure up to the school's most popular, athletic, best looking etc, we're all taught to protect our shortcomings with our life. Enter stage left, Fear of revealing Self.

It's a shame, really. Instead of wincing when observing the act of letting go, we should be applauding it. The smell of Fall is upon us. It's time for Letting Go.

Don't wince, embrace it. Life is awful boring when all of your time is spent protecting yourself.

More Musings Later-

Art and Music

2010-09-16T22:22:00.004-05:00

When people find out that I have played with symphony orchestras, inevitably, the question is always asked; is a conductor really needed? It appears that they are simply waving their baton while the orchestra is already doing their job of playing in tempo with each other. So what is it about the conductor that is so necessary?

While I'm probably not the most qualified person to speak to this question, I think I am able to provide some insight of why someone is needed to jab and slice the air with a baton in order to create order of musical notes.

I remember from my college days that our small southeast Texas music department was now home to a brilliant musician, Dr. Edward Schmider and his wife Laura. Dr. Schmider and his family lived in Russia and defected to the United States and landed as a violin instructor at Lamar University. I remember listening to stories as he recounted leaving his world behind in order to live a free life in the U.S. This included leaving his beloved violin behind. Leaving an instrument to some may seem insignificant in the big scheme of things, but to an artist, it is the same as leaving a part of your soul behind to fend in your absence. And, so he did.

One fall semester, Dr. Schmider taught me why a conductor is necessary for an orchestra. Our orchestra was attempting to learn a piece by Shostakovich. At the time, my musical awareness was severely stunted. Most people have heard this composer's name and realize his fame, but there isn't a personal connection between a person and this great composer. Most budding musicians are guilty of this crime, the names are well-known but the connection is void. Enter Stage Left, Dr. Schmider.

Our conductor at the time thought it would be interesting to have Dr. Schmider work with our orchestra in learning this piece. Not simply to sing troublesome parts to those struggling with the technicality of producing the music, but to really learn this piece of music. I'm grateful to this day that this incredible opportunity presented itself as it did.

Our group expected the usual, explanation of musical terms, learning difficult rhythms and preferred bowing patterns. Ah, but this is the art of music. Where technical proficiency is necessary, but heart and soul is needed more. Dr. Schmider didn't bother to teach this piece of music in the typical way. He gave us the connection of Shostakovich by recounting his own experiences with the composer.

As a younger man, Schmider was 1st violin under Shostakovich, the conductor. The words Schmider gave to us were the same that Shostakovich gave to him. In the silence of listening to his quiet direction, we all knew an incredible moment was happening. Make no mistake, Schmider wasn't a metronome, his crumpled facial expressions and barely there movement of his baton brought us to the moment of Shostakovich's grief, sadness, anger, joy and a plethora of other emotions. Those emotions which hung heavy in the air proved to be timeless as the music evolved as it was meant to evolve. Somehow, a rehearsal hall in a small Music department of a southeast Texas college became connected to a rehearsal hall in St. Petersburg, Russia where a conductor/composer jabbed and sliced the air to release the music.

This video reminds me of that moment in time. Where boredom of repetition and tried and true are replaced with the enlightenment of magic. The cellist/singer is technically proficient, but most importantly, he has connection to his soul. Bravo, Travis Booker.

More Musings Later-

Sounds in the Night of Long Ago

2010-08-30T14:44:00.000-05:00

The other evening, I was lying in bed watching television. It must have been around 9pm or so and as I watched a tired Nick at Night rerun, I suddenly heard a familiar reverberating bass line dancing between the chord progression of I, IV and V.

I muted the sound and listened closely. A smile crept to my lips as I listened to a garage band honing their craft. The crash of cymbals and the plinking of keyboards provided a throbbing accompaniment behind a tentative yet wailing lead guitar pulling simplified riffs of Carlos Santana. It brought it all back to me. While neighbors were making a beeline to the nearest phone to complain to the cops, I was in my bedroom thinking about when I was a young teenager.

I was friends with a young man who lead a band similar to the one I was listening to that evening. I remember he invited me to listen to them rehearse and that I did. I got to know his Mom, Dad, little brother and sister. His Dad worked at a refinery by day and played in bands at night. He knew his son was talented and mentored the young musicians into a polished band. I've written about them before, and while I should probably set that memory aside, it's nights like these when sounds in the night bring me right back to those wonderful days.

Little did I know that the musical genes continued on to Barry's little brother, David. I've lost track of Barry Piggott and what he is up to these days. But, through the powerful medium of the internet, I see that David Piggott is doing quite nicely for himself. And, Barry and David's dad, Johnny Piggott is still playing in bands. I've seen photos of Barry's son and it is astounding to me how much he is like his Dad. From the way he stands to his hairstyle, he is his father's son. It appears that he is destined for a musical career as well.

As I listened to the continuing fugue of sound from next door, two things occurred to me; the Piggott musical dynasty will continue on and I hope the neighbors will hang up the phone, turn off their tv's and listen.

Something special is happening right next door. In fact, someone may write about it in the future.

More Musings Later~

The Wisdom of an Old Friend

2010-07-25T22:21:00.001-05:00

I've had the priviledge of collecting friends throughout my lifetime. There are those that are dearly departed, some have moved on and some niggle at me to pick up the phone more often than I do. Then, there are the ones that come to me in the most unusual of ways.

Consider my friend, Alan Solomon. I wrote a novel with this man who once lived near the jungles of Chiang Mai, Thailand. It may seem impossible for people to understand how that happened, but it did. I've never met Alan, only through emails, instant chats and the like, via internet. I've never even heard his voice. That feat alone, makes the accomplishment of "The Mango Tree Cafe, Loi Kroh Road" a memorable one. I feel very fortunate to meet Mr. Solomon, that's for sure. As writers, it's as if we were seated next to each other at a pub somewhere mapping out our novel. Sometimes people just CLICK.

Then, there is another friend that I've had for quite some time now. She's a writer as well, only her wordsmithing doesn't rest within the confines of a page, the bonus is the delivery of her words within a melodic package sung in her familiar alto. We've never met, although I did quite literally bump into her at a radio station on Music Row alot of years ago after she completed an interview. I wanted to say something to her and couldn't. I was too shy. Yet, however many years ago that we first bumped into one another, it is her music and thoughtful yarn that I listen to in the wee hours of night. As a writer, I can see the care she takes in crafting her thoughts and making sense of them during the most difficult of times. Whether it comes within a melody or resting neatly upon a page. She "gets it."

Right now, I'm going through alot as most people on this planet tend to do from time to time. It's during these times when I am most grateful for my friends...ones that I've met and ones that I haven't met. Especially to the one that I was too shy to even say hello.

More Musings Later-

Comment on my Blog

2010-07-10T01:24:00.000-05:00

Last evening, I was checking my email and I noticed that I had a notice of a comment on my blog. My first thought was "Who did I piss off now?" When I opened it and read on, I was surprised (and pleased) that I was given an award: "The Versatile Blogger" by one of my fabulous followers, Lloyd. He's located to the right of this scribbling. MUCH thanks, Lloyd!!

Apparently, this is a nod from others that read your blog and like it. The kicker is that once you are awarded, it's your turn to nominate others and reveal 7 quirky things about yourself. So, without further adieu, I am going to follow suit for this prestigious award.

Quirks

I have an uncontrollable urge to buy wallets and purses. The strange thing is that I despise shopping. I break out into a cold sweat if I have to step foot into a store. I think I would rather have a good ass kicking instead of going shopping.

My hair sucks. It has cowlicks and it is straight as a board. It's thick, yet fine. I once had a hairdresser tell me, "Your hair gives your head character, kid."

Speaking of hair, when I asked my hairdresser to perm my hair, she put her hands on her hips and replied; "If I'm rolling that hair that pops out of the curler, I've gotta take a valium."
I look at life with a strange slant. For example, when I woke up this morning, I walked over to my chair and noticed something odd. I stared for a moment and then went to get my camera and take a picture of it. I downloaded it to my computer. My chair has an outline of my butt. Look for yourself. Strange things like that intrigue me.

I'm a writer. You would think that I would be a voracious reader. I'm not. I just love writing.
When I laugh, I snort. There, I said it.
Ever since I co-wrote "The Mango Tree Cafe, Loi Kroh Road" with Alan Solomon, I am absolutely obsessed with Asian Culture especially Thailand.

Well, there it is. The gritty side of me. Now, to nominate some worthy blogs!

Award Winning Blogs!

Book or Bust - Linda Della Donna
JMTohline - JM Tohline
PimpThisBum - Sean and Kevin Dolan
WishYouWereHere - Senor Enrique
Every Problem has a gift for you in its hands - Tanya Touchstone

More Musings Later-

Signature Tag Lines

2010-07-07T11:03:00.002-05:00

I was reading an email from a good friend of mine that I've never met last night and she stated that she was going to use my signature tag line quote on her next post on her blog. I know I've always like that quote and I find it to be very true. But, I never thought others would take the time to read it and think about it.

To me, it's one of those mottos that if I was one to get tattoos (and, I have thought about it more than once), that would be the one I would use. I suppose it wouldn't be your average tattoo verbiage...nothing like "Write or Die!" or something along those lines. It's just a simple statement.

When I first started writing, there were times when I was hesitant or shy about writing what I really felt. For those of you that are movie goers, the scene in "Biloxi Blues" where Matthew Broderick's journal is snatched by a fellow soldier/misfit describes my sentiment perfectly. In it, he writes of his experiences during boot camp, interesting characters he's met along the way and some rather brutally harsh, yet honest comments regarding a few of his fellow soldiers. As the misfit reads these passages, his face reflected anger, humiliation, embarrassment and a plethora of other emotions of being so...well, exposed. When he confronts Broaderick about his comments, Broaderick shouts that he will rip out the pages and throw them away in frustration.

The misfit soldier reaches beyond his humiliation and advises Broaderick that if he is to be a writer, he can't be afraid to write his true feelings. At the same time, his words should have more substance than to simply be a commentary of unexplored observations. In other words, if you're going to write it, dig deeper. You may put yourself in a vulnerable position by doing so, but that is what art is all about .

"It takes talent to be a good writer, it takes courage to be a great one."

More Musings Later-

Let's Get Ready to RUUMMM-BLE!

2010-07-05T23:05:00.011-05:00

Ladies and Gentlemen,
In this corner, Vienna Sausage; The bleached blond bimbo from ABC's The Bachelor, weighing in as a empty-headed, petty, money-hungry, always-stirring-the-pot of adolescent drama, grade A, Valley Girl asshole. (Applause, applause)

"I'd like to thank all the little people for this bad acting award..."

And, in the other corner, Jake, the Crying Bachelor; A middle-aged, dancing crybaby who enjoys dancing in his tighty-whities from ABC's The Bachelor, weighing in as a smug, controlling, sexually confused ex-pilot, trying to make it in Hollywood who has become the voice of reason in this ridiculous fight match with Vienna Sausage aired on this evening's episode of The Bachelorette.

(I'm still reeling over this one)

Is this what it's come to? Really? People enjoy watching this crap?? I purposely watched it tonight to see if there were any valid arguments between them. I began to dislike Vienna Sausage even more because her atrocious acting, complete with running off the set with her crocodile tears intact were laughable. Then, not to be outdone, Jake's expert command of smug and pompous retorts made me gag. I couldn't decide if I should laugh or stare at the tv screen with a bewildered look upon my face.

More uncontrollable sobbing. Medic?

I think I mostly sat in disbelief that people really watch this shit.

Amazing.

More Musings Later-

A Smattering of Musings

2010-06-29T15:06:00.000-05:00

It's been a long while since I last posted. Yes, I am guilty of getting caught up in living. I also noticed that I'm sick of looking at a dark blog. While some of the things I post about are serious or dark, it makes sense to have a dark color draped over the words to set a mood.

Well, I'm sick of dark moods. While I have struggled with 2010 thus far, I am ready to take the boxing gloves off. I'm punch drunk and ready for peacefulness to ensue. Fighting an invisible foe is exhausting. So, I am dedicating myself to finding the lighter side of life and doing some much needed reflection.

Life is different and change is inevitable. All I know is that I have been preparing for change long before I was conscious of it. As they say, the only constant in life is "Death, Taxes and Change." Amen.

So, look for lighter posts in the future. To coin Maya Angelou's title; "My arms are too short to box with God."

Goodnight Mrs. Callabash, wherever you are.

More Musings Later-

Into the Good Night

2010-06-06T07:53:00.005-05:00

It seems that 2010 is holding the one constant firmly in it's grip that most people hate; change. While I find myself in new surroundings, situations and a bevy of other predictaments that I am still discovering along the way, I am finding that I am not unique to this swirl of dreaded change.

I was saddened to learn that a local talent, Bianca Paige, The Pantomime Rage passed away on June 4, 2010. Bianca Paige is the alter ego of Mark Middleton who has wowed audiences in the Nashville, TN area. Not only was Mark a drag performer, he was a gifted actor. He gracefully vascilated between high-energy, fun shows to needing only a spotlight and a microphone.

He performed all over the country and even performed in New York City with an acting troupe as well as auditioning for RuPaul's Drag Race on LogoTV. While he was a fantastic performer, he clearly "legitimized" his acting chops when he performed, Torch Song Trilogy on the theater stage. His new audience unfamiliar with his Bianca Paige persona became bowled over with his apparent, raw talent. To have a drag performer favorably splashed across The Tennessean is no easy feat considering the fact that we are firmly in the Bible Belt.

Bianca Paige - Torch Song Trilogy

Bianca Paige | MySpace Video

Mark Middleton broke the rules and made a few of his own. The point in a drag show is to lose the perception of reality. In order to accomplish that, a drag performer goes to great lengths to produce the image of a woman. In one of Mark's shows, he performed a poignant song in which he slowly removed the veil of female sexuality. First the false eyelashes, the padding under the dress and then the shoes. The final unveiling would be to remove his wig until he was standing alone, in a spotlight dressed only in jean shorts. The look he gave the audience at the end was unforgettable and moved me to tears. While most people put on their face that they want others to see, Mark Middleton had the courage to remove his.

Goodnight, Bianca.

The Skank Scale

2010-05-12T12:17:00.002-05:00

Okay, once again, I've put on my "big girl" panties and ready to move on to other subjects besides affairs of the heart.

I would like to explore what I term, "The Skank Factor." You've surely heard the term, haven't you? Such as, That girl/boy is so skanky! But what truly constitutes someone being labled "A Skank?" I didn't invent the word, but I do like to consider myself somewhat an officianado of the term. How do I know this? I find myself commenting on people who appear to be, well...Skank-ish. To me, skank is someone that appears to be unkempt in their appearance, showing too much skin and oblivious to what good taste is all about.

Let's review some folks who I consider to be skanky, shall we?

Dancing with the Stars
The professional dancer, Edita (sp?) appears to be skanky to me. If I were to register her skank factor on the trusty Skank Scale, she would rate a 9. That's getting up there. I cringe each time I see her dancing as her skankiness is so profound to me. I'm not the authority of skank, I simply calls'em likes I sees'em.

The Neandrathal man aka, Tony, another professional dancer on this show. His eyebrows are so prominent, it makes his eyes appear as if they are sunk into his head. His skank factor is about a 3. Not bad and nothing a little weed whacking can't correct.

The Bachelor
Jake - Mercy, what can we say here? I nearly tossed my cookies when I saw him dancing in his underwear on Dancing with the Stars. Let me elaborate on his skankiness. He is extremely well groomed and doesn't qualify for skank based on that criteria. His qualifying event is that he is showing too much skin and oblivious to what good taste entails. That and he cries at the drop of a hat. Thus, he is a double-decker: A Skanky-Cry Baby. He rates 15 on the 1 through 10 scale.

Actors (Men)
Men that refuse to shave daily posess a bit of skankiness in my book. You know the look, the 5 o'clock shadow, the stubble, the look that they haven't had a shower in a week. Pure unadulterated SKANK.

Some of the worst offenders: Brad Pitt, George Clooney and Alec Baldwin. The funny thing is, when they make a movie as a romantic lead, they shed their skankiness as a snake sheds it's skin. Therefore, I rate them as Skank on a sliding scale. Alec Baldwin rates differently: I would rate him a Belly Buster-Crappy Daddy-Skank master. He qualifies on all levels.

Women
Some women qualify on different levels. For example, Pamela Anderson; she is well-groomed, but I think she presents the wrong idea about herself. Her animal rights contributions are often overlooked because of this. Her skankiness is about a 2. Button up your blouse, Pamela and show the world your humanitarian efforts.

Me: While I am well groomed, I consider myself to be somewhat skanky. Why? I need to shave my legs. I'm glad I'm not on Dancing with the Stars. Between my hairy legs and Neandrathal Man's eyebrows, we would tip the Skanky scale at a Follicle Phenomenon Skank Twins.

More Musings Later-

The Power of an Internet Connection

2010-04-18T22:33:00.001-05:00

The old adage, "Breaking up is Hard to Do," has given new meaning in the last several weeks to me. While I feel myself getting stronger little by little each day, I also find that licking those wounds is an important part of the process of moving on.

I hadn't heard from a friend of mine in quite some time and decided to send an email giving the news of my breakup. The next day, lo and behold, she responds and states that she is in the same predictament. So, amid packing, boxes and broken dreams, she emailed me the sorrow she was going through and I knew all too well what she was feeling. Somehow, seeing an email from me stating my bad news to her allowed her to share her bad news with me. And, so it goes...we've been emailing each other with renewed commitment to stay in touch.

Distance is a funny thing. My friend lives a fair distance away from me, yet the miles don't seem so numerous as we communicate via email. Then again, when I was hanging on to a relationship that was dead, that distance between me and my ex seemed to be far and wide, despite our close proximity.

It made me think of an old Ray Steven's tune that no one should have to relate to; "Isn't it lonely together?"

More Musings Later-

When You've Done All You Can Do...STAND.

2010-04-06T21:40:00.000-05:00

That's a bit of advice based on a Biblical scripture that my mother used to tell my sister and I when we were growing up. And, I'm finding that I'm doing alot of standing right now.

Change is never easy and having to leave the familiar for the unfamiliar is intimidating to say the least. I'm finding out alot about myself these days too. At the very time in my life that I am feeling the most pain I've ever experienced, I'm also experiencing gratefulness at the same time. Parting with the one I love has left me with a gaping hole in the middle of my soul. Yet, I'm grateful that I got to experience what being head over heels in love was like to begin with. Such a dichotomy of emotions, yet it's how I feel.

While it grieves me to realize that separating is best, I've learned that sometimes a lover makes a better friend. And, recognizing that fact and doing something about it is the part that is difficult. As I drove away from that situation, the wails of grief that escaped from my lips sounded completely foreign; as if an animal was suffering caught between living and dying. My mood bounces from feeling okay to despair without forewarning.

They say that time heals all wounds. I guess that it will, but I won't soon forget this pain. There's one thing I know for sure: I've done all I can do.

And, I'm standing.

More Musings Later-

Thou Shalt NOT!!!!

2010-03-18T14:16:00.001-05:00

I heard that beginner phrase alot when I was growing up in southeast Texas. I mean ALOT.

Yes, I grew up in the stereotypical Bible-thumping south frought with sinners, humid weather and tele-evangelist personalities. As a result, I learned some lessons very early in life while others who grew up in a more urban existence most likely struggle with determining who is a geniune spirit and those who are not.

I was one of those teenagers who for the most part, really didn't rebel against being grounded, my parents, not being able to do things at a certain age etc. My big resentment was growing up in a small town with seemingly judgemental neighbors. As a rebel with a cause, my appearance became associated with the look of someone who was just a bit rough around the edges. And, this town hadn't seen much of that since Janis Joplin left. Make no mistake, I'm not comparing myself to Janis, however, the chip we had on our shoulders were amazingly similar.

As I watched tv the other evening, it caused me to think about my self-inflicted war with my old neighborhood. The harsh judgements and assuming guilt instead of innocense. The conversation that sparked this reflection jolted me into the past some 30 years ago.

"In Leviticus it says: 'If man lies with mankind as he would lie with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination. They shall surely be put to death and their blood shall be upon them.'

Dear God, if I heard that once I heard it a million times. On school trips which included overnight stays, extracirricular activities and so on. After spouting the "truth" my visible response is pretty much the same today as it was then. Pure puzzlement.

I offer scripture to prove MY point:

Some religious liberals believe that David and Jonathan had a consensual homosexual relationship - in many ways, a prototype of many of today's gay partnerships. 7 Some important verses which describe their relationship are: 1 Samuel 18:1

"...Jonathan became one in spirit with David and he loved him as himself." (NIV)

"...the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul" (KJV)

Most translations use the term "soul" rather than "spirit" to describe the bond. They speak of an "immediate bond of love", their souls being "in unison," their souls being "knit" etc. Genesis 2:7, as written in the original Hebrew, describes how God blew the spirit into the body of Adam that God had formed from earth, so that Adam became a living soul. This means that "soul", in the ancient Israelite times, represents a combination of body and spirit. Thus the two men appear to have loved each other both physically and emotionally." http://www.religioustolerance.org/hom_bmar.htm

When you love someone completely and commit to be their spouse in good times and bad; that sounds like a union blessed, not a sin. But, that's just me. Oh, got one more scripture for you:

For why should my freedom be judged by another's conscience?"

--- 1 Corinthians 10:29

More Musings Later-

Okay, I've put my "Big Girl Panties" on

2010-03-02T13:17:00.000-06:00

That's code for I'm going to try to push forward and behave like an adult. Although, grief happens at any age and for a variety of reasons. Moving on.

"The Crying Weenie Player", Jake

Did anyone watch "The Bachelor" last night? Every year, I swear I won't watch it because it galls me so much and I break it every time. This year, almost made it. We were at a friend's house last night and she wanted to see the final show and we all needed to see who Derek Hough would be dancing with this season, am I right, Ladies????

Well, it didn't take long to learn what had transpired. There's this really handsome pilot named Jake that is 31 years old and still a bachelor. It was down to 2 girls he was choosing between. I say "girl" on purpose because they acted as if they had just gotten out of high school. Their chirpy little voices were Valley Girl-ish and they smiled constantly. That bugs me.

"Tin Foil"

One girl's name was Tinsley. Strange name, and yes, I should talk. I just refer to her as "Tinfoil". She was the more mature girl of the two. Jake liked this girl but told her TO HER FACE, "I'm just not physically attracted to you as I am the other bimbo." Really? seems to me that you were knocking the boots the entire season with this one and you were enjoying it. NOW you decide you're just not that into her? Okay, I see why you've been a bachelor for so long. You're a weenie or a player. You get what you want and then cry about it afterwards.

"Vicks Vapor Rub"

Then his wife to be is named Viseral, Vision, no, wait...Vicks Vapor Rub, uh...I can't remember. Blond hair, Valley girl, weird voice, immature as Jake, doesn't get along with anyone. She is a pitiful one. Nobody likes her (code for "I'm a bee-otch"), she NEEDS Jake (code for: she has issues and lots of em if she needs a player that crys about it) and she is in love with him. If I hear that one more time from these girls I will smack them into next week. They are not in love, but IN LUST. All they have been doing is humping this guy. That's it.

So there ya have it. Tin Foil lost and Vicks Vapor Rub won. And, I still don't know which star Derek Hough is dancing with.

More Musings Later-

Picking up the Pieces

2010-02-28T00:08:00.001-06:00

Anyone that has lost a pet knows what I am going through. I thought I was through the worst of it and like the sea ebbs, so are my emotions. My partner and I have been giving each other alot of hugs and trying to show more attention to our other animals (cats) so that they can get on with some simblance of normalcy. What is that, by the way?

During the day, I manage to get through the hours but at night, although I am surrounded by my partner and other pets, I find I am still picking up the pieces of a shattered soul. At night, I've been trying to finish my next book, a collection of essays and short stories and I've accomplished it. Not easily, as I was picking the brain of a wiser, more experienced scribe for insight along the way. The feedback was just beyond my grasp each time. So, it eventually revealed itself that I would need to rely on myself as always. No amount of opposition from me would change that.
The comfortableness of "known" are at bay for me right now. The unknown is never easy and it seems much larger in the still of night. There's a learning opportunity here if I bother to shuffle the stack of life lessons around and contemplate. But, I'm weary from my travels and the dust of grief is difficult to shake.

I'm currently asking others to review the book and have even designed my own cover. Normally, this is a joyous time in a writer's life. But, with financial times being uncertain and my little soulmate gone;

now that this book is done, I can still work on my other one in progress. Perhaps that is what I should do. But it seems that all I can do is pick up the slivers of my soul from the ground.

More Musings Later-

Are you There?

2010-02-22T17:08:00.000-06:00

Traveling a journey with a much loved companion can be so rewarding and by the same token, can be so desparately painful when the road is rocky and uncertain.

I've had the joy and the priviledge to share this wondrous, yet painful path with my best friend. She began her journey healthy as a horse and in later years became arthritic, anxious and started the painful path of dementia. There is nothing more painful than looking within the familiar eyes of recognition and finding a hopelessly lost gaze struggling to recall any hint of memory as they return your stare.

Last night was enough to crush my heart. I watched my best friend wander from room to room, a perpetual lost look in her eyes and screaming in pain if her body was touched in certain places. When I tried to comfort her, the sound of my voice fell upon deaf ears and my familiar gaze lost upon failing eyesight. As she paced and paced, I knew her quality of life was as diminshed as her memory.

The next morning, I called the doctor and made arrangements. I helped her into the car one last time and the doctor came in with the injection. As my friend laid down on the examining table, I held her head and kissed her on the side of her face. I told her how beautiful and loving she was and that I would always love her. For a rare moment, her big brown eyes looked at me with recognition and understanding and then as I held her, the light that was so brilliant in her eyes, slowly faded into darkness.

Today, February 22, 2010, I put down my beloved beagle, "Baby." I had her from the time she was 8 weeks old to the ripe age of 13 years and 9 months. If I could wish for one thing in her honor, it would be that people would donate food and supplies to your local Humane Society shelters.

Rest in Peace, Baby Simpson

May 1, 1996 - February 22, 2010

The Ugly Truth is Better than a Beautiful Lie

2010-02-02T20:55:00.008-06:00

I've said it for years and I stand behind it. Don't get me wrong, it can be hard to take...the ugly truth, that is. But, make no mistake; you know exactly where you stand.

By now, most of you know how badly I hate Corporate America. Guess what? I still do. I've been working for this particular client for a couple of years now I guess and really enjoyed writing and brainstorming for her. She is an intelligent, albeit naive client. She has built a staff of impressive workers with the exception of one. Enter confrontation.

The exception of one was a point of contention from day one. This person bullied and horned their way through my accomplishments and work, claiming it for their own. Sound familiar? Yep, good ole Office Politics at play, even from the consulting side. I won't give too many particulars, but I had enough. I gave my resignation today and the client accepted it.

I enjoyed working for her and believed in what she was trying to accomplish. The thing that is causing a bad taste in my mouth is that when I confronted the client about this person, she denied it and I believed her. I've been through this before, but I believed her. She assured me that I was totally wrong and that she had no such intention. And, I believed her. I believed her.

I think I wanted so badly to believe that there are decent people on the corporate ladder, that I believed her.

I can't believe I let myself believe her. The wounds from when it happened years ago are now fresh and bleeding again.

And, I believed her. Yeah, I'd rather have the Ugly Truth than a Beautiful Lie.

More Musings Later-

Leo and Willies

2010-01-24T11:09:00.000-06:00

Last night, my partner and I went out to dinner. Let me tell you, we NEEDED that dinner out. Why? Well, let me set the atmosphere:

We've been scraping for jobs during this crappy-ass economy and finally are starting to get some steady gigs. We haven't been out in MONTHS. Literally. We live AND work together 24/7. We've been sniping at each other, stressed out, having laptops implode, talking to customer service geeks in China who can barely speak conversational English, replacing a waterheater that was leaking and the list goes on. I'm willing to bet that we haven't been out in at least a year.

We decided to go to a restaurant that featured tinkly music, quiet conversation, candlelit tables and a piano player after 8pm. As we sat and talked, the scope of our conversation changed. It wasn't about laundry needing to be done, blogging that was behind etc. We were discussing "dating-esque" topics. Things that interested each of us, vacations that we took in the past that we loved and why. It was relaxing. In fact, it reminded me of when my parents would go to a restaurant in Port Arthur, Texas called, "Leo and Willies".

My sister and I would be on our best behavior and we always ordered the same thing. Some sort of Chicken Cutlet that was so unique and delicious, that if I tasted it today, I would know it in a second who made it. My parents would even have a cocktail and they weren't much for drinking in those days. The lighting was dim, there was tinkly music, people dressed in their finest suits and dresses and everyone talking in quiet conversation as forks, knives and spoons clattered quietly against the plates. As I looked around, Chianti was purchased and poured freely from it's wicker holder and exotic cigar smoke filled the air. It was my first fancy restaurant memory.

Once dinner was over, I always excused myself from the table and walked over to where the cashier waited for payments and gave out mints for the ride home. She sat behind a glass case that was filled with various cigar boxes with cigars on display. I would stare at those cigars and wondered about the men who smoked them. We lived so frugally in those days that I couldn't imagine buying a cigar for after dinner. I thought Leo and Willies was the most incredible place I had ever been to. Somehow, problems lifted temporarily, people talked softly and laughter was so much easier within the confines of candlelight and tinkly music.

That's when I made myself a promise: When things are too much, if I can possibly swing it, I visit Leo and Willie type restaurants. When I am celebrating an event such as a birthday, exotic vacation etc, I purchase a cigar and smoke it. They were never meant to be packaged inside a box under glass without the hope of being opened.

I love nights like last night.

More Musings Later-

So Much BS, So Little Time-

2010-01-15T22:07:00.000-06:00

Sorry for the lateness of my official "First Post of 2010." It's not that I didn't WANT to blog, I've been up to my backend in work, suddenly. That's a good thing. I'm barely keeping up, but need to. So, I'm happy about that. :D

Now, a few things have transpired since my last blog and I have been mocking my own television with frustration as I finish work for clients. Here are some of them:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THE END OF REGULAR NFL SEASON - TENNESSEE TITANS

They have one more game to play and "can't think of a reason to really play hard since they were eliminated from the playoffs..."

My Suggestion: How about playing for those 6-7 zeros that are in FRONT of the decimal point that you are paid each year? Don't even get me started.

Other Thoughts: Jeff Fisher's hair is too dark. Quit dying it Black shoe polish. Try a medium brown, you know, like the kind you have always had except for the last 6 games.

Please retire Kerry Collins. He looks tired and he's not getting the hint that he is a BACKUP quarterback at best, not a starter.

Can someone interpret for Chris Johnson when he is interviewed? He is a spectacular athlete, I just can't understand what he is saying. It looks like it might be pretty good since he shakes his dread locks at the end of each statement and laughs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lane Kiffin Quits UT and goes to USC - Knoxville Riots

First of all, why would anyone riot? The guy is an idiot and not too tightly wrapped. So what? He went to USC where there is better weather and better money for sure. And, I'm willing to bet there aren't any criminals on the team either. When the crowd (after rioting and burning hate messages into the grass etc. for Lane) settled down.

The local news interviewed a few people about his sudden departure.
One twenty-something male said, "He's an A**hole! If you ain't a UT Volunteer, You ain't NUTHIN!"

My Thoughts: "Dear boy, believe it or not, there is a great big ole world outside of those goalposts in Knoxville, TN. I promise. You should venture out sometime. Really." NOW: He's an A**hole for leaving Tennessee? Give me a break! I love where I live and love Tennessee. But, if I am a younger person and have the opportunity to get a job where I know I will like it and get the perks of : Great weather, GREAT money and a GREAT school. You're telling me you would turn that down? I'm sorry, but you're an idiot. Get over youself.

Meanwhile, in Nashville, TN, they are voting on an Education bill where children are flunking basic courses. Breaking news is flooding my email about Lane Kiffin. PEOPLE: WHICH IS MORE IMPORTANT, LANE KIFFIN OR EDUCATION IN THE STATE OF TENNESSEE? Wait, don't answer that. Sheesh.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here's to: THE BACHELOR, HIGH SCHOOL REUNION, AMERICAN IDOL and all the other reality shows.

My Thoughts: I DON'T CARE. ENOUGH ALREADY.

Happy 2010 Everyone.

More Musings Later-

What were YOU doing on Christmas circa 1998?

2009-12-22T22:21:00.000-06:00

The other day, a woman who I've known virtually all of my life sat down with me over a cup of tea and reminisced about Christmases Past. We each talked about how when we were kids, we had great family Christmas memories, complete with playing touch football in the front yard before dinner. Back in the day, (and locale of where we each grew up) the Dallas Cowboys were God's football team. Seriously. No, really. SERIOUSLY.

So, in the spirit of Ed "Too Tall" Jones, Roger "the Dodger" Staubach, and countless other 1970's football heroes, we romped in the yard with our fathers, uncles and cousins. Yes, those were the good ole days to be sure and of course, our beloved grandparents would visit each sibling's family and share in the gift giving, left over dinner and so on. The belts were loosened around the girth of the men and little girls learned from their mothers and aunts that cleaning up was "our" duty. Well, some of us learned, anyway. (That's code for NOT ME).

Then, as time passed and the memories and innocense of Christmas became more difficult to conjure, we each grew into our adulthood. As I took another sip of tea, my friend confided in me and told me that 1998 was the year that were a multitude of "firsts" for her. "Hmmm?" I asked in mid-sip. She leaned forward as if ashamed and admitted to me that she was gay. She had hidden it for years and even was in denial about it. Then, as they say in Texas, "Things happened and it came a gully wash." Which meant, that crap happens.

She was so profoundly sad about learning that she was gay that she didn't think she would ever be accepted into heaven. She even considered the fact that if God wanted men and men, women and women to be together, surely he would have concocted a way for procreation as homosexuals. I mean, if homosexuality was "right" or "correct" in God's eyes, then this would be the divine way. Ya know, Adam and Eve not Steve. We talked at length, as I never knew that this secret was burning a hole through her soul. You never know the grief and pain some go through, all without saying a word. She told me about Christmas 1998 where she cried for hours on end, hating herself and even wanting to "off" herself. I mean, this wasn't normal.

When I asked her how she came to grips with it, here's what she said:

"It was Time to Clean Out My Closet.

Isn’t it amazing the things that you accumulate in your life? If you need a reminder, try cleaning out your closet. You know, the one you came out of at “that moment”.

I found myself doing just that a couple of weeks ago. I walked into “that closet” and took a good look. It was very good at keeping my personal things out of sight. It made everything look like it was in order and functioning just fine, thank you very much. I knelt down and opened some old boxes and started going through some of my childhood memorabilia. I had to chuckle to myself, here is the lacey dress with petticoats that I wore when I was about 5 years old. Oh wait, the patent leather shoes….My God, here they are. Did I really wear all that? Oh, yes. Wait, here’s another box of photographs. I’m wearing my ever-present Shirley Temple hairdo, courtesy of my Mom, hair rollers and significant amounts of Dippidy-Doo and Aqua Net. I was the frilliest, most feminine little girl I had ever seen.

Then I looked at myself really closely. I think my eyes said it all. I was different. So different it was absolutely painful, and I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why or how I was different from everyone else. I looked like all the other little girls in elementary school. I looked at another picture and something caught my eye. I was standing in front of my elementary school smiling for the camera, and someone had written on the brick walls, “Queer”. As I saw this phrase scrawled behind my right shoulder, I realized that it had been following me all my life. There it was, always right over my shoulder.

It wasn’t for quite a few years that I turned to a counselor to help me clean out my closet. Together we talked, I cried, felt relief, anger, denial, guilt, and a plethora of other emotions. I had to experience them all to get where I am now. I put the lid back on the boxes and neatly arranged them in my closet. I turned out the light and quietly closed the door and thought to myself, I’m glad I had the courage to clean out my closet."

Need help with cleaning out your closet? Don’t hesitate to contact a counselor, trusted friend or parent. You’ll be glad you did.

By the way, if you haven't figured it out yet, the woman I was talking to was ME.

More Musings Later-

Corporate America and the Asterick

2009-12-09T10:07:00.001-06:00

In the past, I have freelanced for quite a few clients who either owned small businesses or were CEO's of Fortune 100 companies. Here is what they all have in common: BUZZWORDS. Oh, you know the ones...come on, everyone join in:

Synergy, Strategy, Strategic, Sales Nurturer, benchmarking, Component, deliverables, facilitate, fasttrack, Let's put our arms around this, thought leader, mission critical, scorecards, metrics, take it offline, succession planning, weekend retreat, win-win and a million more.

Unfortunately, along with those words come the embedded office politics that kill off the good employees and keep the crappy ones that are devious. I know that my readers have had at least 1 experience where they were stabbed in the back by a co-worker in order to score points for the boss. Whether it was to take credit where it wasn't due or just to stab you in the back for the sport of it. Either way, it stinks.

In fact, when I used to work for a major coporation (wait one moment, I am having a modified convulsion at the mere memory). I rememmber that we had just gotten a new EVP of HR in corporate. Now remember, we had literally hundreds and hundreds of HR staff around the country. A curious mass email was sent to these hundreds and hundreds of HR Staff by error. I knew it was sent out "by error" and immediately saved it to my hard drive. Now, most people didn't save it or even were in their email at the time. Heh-heh, but I was.

I reviewed the document that was immediately rescinded by the sender. It was titled, "HR Succession by Location." Oh, that's a lovely title and contained more drama than a bad reality show. I looked for my location and saw the infamous asterik mark next to my boss's name. I had to agree. My ex-boss was crappy at her job. However, his corporate EVP of HR had made no "error in sending this email out." In fact, I made a call to her admin assistant and asked what the astericks meant. (Knowing full well it means - "You're canned, get ready to stand in the unemployment line.")

She sounded panicked. "Uh, um...you saw that memo? Oh, it's nothing...just a memo I was working on for the EVP...it's really nothing...really...(gulp) no really. You saw it? uh...ok, don't worry about it, just trash it, ok?" I could literally hear the sweat spilling from her temples on to her desk. Corporate America sucks. Then, I called my boss at home who was taking a mental health day and told her to sit down. I read her the entire memo and told her about the asterick. My ex-boss asked what that meant.

"Uh, it means you will be wearing sweats all day, eating Fritos and watching Oprah and Judge Judy on a daily basis." I replied. My boss woo-hooed loudly to be laid off from her misery. Me? I simply called the Director of HR for my region and pleaded with her to lay me off. She couldn't believe it, but I had enough of the office politics, the buzzwords, the firing of people because they exhausted FMLA, regardless of whether they wee terminally ill or not. I just had enough.

The last thing I said after the asterick fiasco was...UNCLE.

And so began my writing career.

More Musings Later-

Diabetes SUCKS

2009-12-05T00:23:00.000-06:00

Alot of people hate giving themselves injections of insulin. To me, that's not a big deal, especially since I only take it twice a day, morning and evening. I remember when they put me on 2 different insulins; so much of this one, so much of that one and if my blood sugar is high, then more of that one, not so much of this one. What a bunch of crap.

Yes, diabetes has made me extremely grumpy. Why?, O' let me count the ways.

1. My doctor at the hospital put me on 40 ml. of 70/30 insulin. That means they combined 2 insulins together so that it's not such a pain in the ass to take it.

2. 40 ml is too much insulin. Know what happens when you take too much insulin?

3. HYPOGLYCEMIA - I had this as a kid. You feel like you could eat anything not nailed down, you shake (which I do anyway), break out in a coldsweat and feel crappy and exhausted.

4. I call the doctor...tell her what is happening. "Take only 36 ml. of insulin"

5. My blood sugar goes down to 44. Like, that's not good. More shaking, more eating of everything in the house as well as Orange Juice.

6. Dr says, go down to 32 units. I say to myself, "screw it, going to 30". So far so good. We'll see how it messes with my blood sugar.

Eating a Diabetic diet is a pain in the ass

Morning Routine:
Take my blood sugar. Write it down in the Blood sugar in the pocket tablet. Write down what I'm going to eat along with the total carbohydrates for that meal.

Measure 30 ml of insulin, poke my stomach and then fix the following:

1 cup of Cheerios with artificial sweetner, 2/3 cup of fat free, skim milk, 1/2 banana or 1/2 cup of fruit and 1 piece of whole grain toast with 1 tsp of margerine. Don't go over 45 grams of carbohydrates.

Who the hell eats a 1/2 a piece of fruit??? That's downright weird and it irks me everytime I do it.

Noon Routine

Take blood sugar. Write it down in the Blood sugar in the pocket tablet. Write down what I'm going to eat along with the total carbohydrates for that meal.

Fix the following:

1 oz Turkey and Cheese sandwich with wheat bread, 1 tsp of Mayo, Lettuce/Tomato if desired.

10 Tortilla chips

Yogurt or 1/2 piece of fruit

maybe a sugar free pudding Don't go over 60 carbs.

Evening
Take blood sugar. Write it down in the Blood sugar in the pocket tablet. Write down what I'm going to eat along with the total carbohydrates for that meal.

Fix the following:

Piece of Meat (usually chicken or Hamburger patty)
Vegetable (I usually fix frozen okra with onions stirfried together in 1 tsp of EVOO)
If I add Green Beans, then I count the carbs (????) Green Beans are 5 carbs.
Eat more flippin fruit or yogurt. If I want a snack I can eat 10 almonds or cashews. Woo-hoo!

2 hours after, take my blood sugar again, write it down, poke myself in the stomach again with my insulin shot, curse my doctors and my liver and go to bed. However, I do chuckle sometiems because I remember when my ex-brother-in-law would comment on Momma Judd's medical condition when her liver was messed up and she thought she was going to die. He simply would say, "Oh, she'll tour again with Wynonna...it will be called, "My Liver is Better Tour" or maybe, "I'm not Quite So Yellow Tour" I love sarcasm.

This is a weird diet, I'm sorry. I am getting used to it and I go to "class" early next week. As John Lennon would say, Most Peculiar, Momma.

More Musings Later-

In Observance of Avoiding the Eternal Dirt Nap

2009-11-26T23:45:00.000-06:00

As I mentioned in my last post, diabetes nearly got the best of me. Thank God, I'm still upright and breathing on a regular basis. That's always a good sign. The insulin is a pain in the ass, but it is doing the job, so woo-hoo for insulin. As I thought about the possibility of dying, I wondered what heaven or hell might be like if I were to take the permanent dirt nap. So without further adieu, Top 10 signs that I've reached Heaven or Hell, in no particular order.

Top 10 Signs I've Reached Heaven

1. I would see family and friends that have passed before me and get to spend unlimited time with them. Ask them questions about how Heaven works and what happened to them.

2. The setup would be similar to "Defending Your Life," with Albert Brooks and Meryl Streep. Everyone would stay in fabulous hotels and be able to eat whatever and whenever they wanted without worrying about gaining weight or eating too many carbs or sugar.

3. A box of ding dongs would be placed on my pillow each night.

4. There would be a pub where old friends and family would gather to have a few and watch the TN Titans play football or to play along with Wheel of Fortune.

5. I would look up Norman MacLean and Ernest Hemingway and ask them about writing.

6. While defending my life, there would be authority in the court (like Defending your life) that could show me key moments during my life that affected my destiny and why. I guess I want to know stuff like that.

7. I would be able to astral travel to friends and family still living and observe them and hopefully, catch their attention.

8. One of the first people I would visit would be Alan Solomon. Then I would walk upon Loi Kroh Road, albeit in a virtual state.

9. I would be allowed to ask questions and write down the answers from Jesus.

10. I would love to visit Michael, the Arch Angel and ask questions about Armeggedon.

~~~

Top 10 Reasons I know I'm in Hell

1. When I'm dying, I am in the same hospital that I just got out of.

2. The first people I see are the people that have hurt me most in my life.

3. Once I pass from this life and enter the eternal; I am made to watch Paula Abdul judge on American Idol.

4. Then I am forced to watch her videos of her "singing" and dancing.

5. Ty Pennington is yelling at me with his megaphone.

6. Everyone at the Pub I mentioned before are hateful and mean.

7. Instead of watching TN Titan Football and Wheel of Fortune, I am forced to watch Extreme Home Makeover and cry at all the obvious spots.

8. Laughter isn't allowed here and no one appreciates sarcastic humor.

9. "How come?" isn't allowed here.

10. A bowl of beets and cottage cheese is left on my pillow each night. And, every calorie counts.

Did I mention that Paula Abdul would be there???

More Musings Later-

Top 10 Stupid Things I Heard While in the Hospital

2009-11-15T22:06:00.023-06:00

By now, you all know how I feel about doctors and hospitals. Particularly the one I seem to continually visit on a regular basis. I must have done something very bad in my last life to repeat this bad karma. Oh well, at least I have my cheery disposition. (yes, that is sarcasm).

Without further adieu:

10. After waiting over an hour for my discharge paperwork to be done, I ask how much longer I have to wait.

Response: "Oh, Are you ready to go?"

~~~~

9. After taking my temperature and noting that it's low, a nurse tech puts his hand on his hip and asks, "Girrrrrl, What you do last night?"

My Response: "I went to a Martini bar and went clubbing all night. What do you think??"

~~~~

8. When checking my glucose level, the nurse tells me it's high and asks in frustration: "What did you eat last night?"

My Response: "I ate what the doctor ordered, it's not like I snuck out for a chocolate shake or something."

~~~~

7. After noticing that a sign was placed on my door and cleaning crews were coming in with masks and gloves to clean, I ask what is going on. "Oh, it's in the computer that you had an infectious disease (vasculitis) in 2008 and we didn't clean and separate you properly from hospital staff the last time so we're doing it now."

I have no response and begin looking for Tom Bergeron to pop out of the bathroom for an episode of AFV.

~~~~

6. I call the nurse and request a glass of ice water.

"Oh, are you thirsty?"

My response: "No, I'm just checking to see if the intercom works."

~~~~

5. A nurse I call "Grumpy Greta" comes in and gives me an insulin shot. I ask if she isn't supposed to wait until my lunch arrives first before giving it to me.

Her gravely response: "Yeah, but my feet hurt and I'm trying to save myself some steps. I hope your food comes soon."

~~~~

4. I'm in awful pain from my arthritis and I ask for a pain medication.

The nurse's reply: "Will Tylenol do?"

My response: "Only if it is the Tylenol that is spelled L-O-R-T-A-B"

~~~~

3. A nurse comes in and begins handing medication to take for the day.

"Here's your Methotrexate, Haladol and..."

I interrupt: "That's not my medication."

Nurse: "Oh crap! This is for across the hall. Where is my head?"

I silently think, "Sadly, it's attached to your shoulders."

~~~~

2. A Nurse walks in and pats my hand and says she's sorry to hear I have HIV.

My Response: "I don't have HIV. I have Vasculitis which is an infectious disease."

Her Response. "Isn't that the same thing?"

~~~~

And the Stupidest thing I heard at the Hospital was:

1. After the Dr says that she noticed that my blood sugar was high 2 months ago;

My Response: "Well, then why didn't you start treating me for Diabetes then?"

Her Response: "Well, I guess I should have caught that."

My Internal Response: "Ya Think?"

More Musings Later-

I Avoided the Eternal Dirt Nap

2009-11-14T21:28:00.015-06:00

Yep, I had all the signs for the past 2 weeks and it dawned on me what it finally was; Diabetes.

You know the signs:

Extreme thirstiness (as in you would kill something for a bottled water)
Even more exhaustion, losing a significant amount of weight in a short period of time (as in 23 pounds in 2 weeks.)
Blurry Vision

So, this past Saturday night I look up my symptoms and deduce it must be diabetes. I took my glucose level reading. Der, not good. In fact, alarming. Sunday morning, take it again, even worse. Ok, a call to the dr first thing Monday morning. I start to get irritated because I've been to the doctor on a regular basis and I finally see on my labs that my glucose was notated as "high" and my doctors said or did nothing about it. Don't even get me started. In fact, 2 of them noted that I had an "enlarged liver." and that "the high glucose is most likely steroid induced."

So you don't do anything? Jeez my knees, I feel like I must be my own doctor. I guess from now on, I will need to pore over all my medical and lab reports. The health care system is truly broken and in a complete state of disarray. My only thought about it is pure disgust.

So, schedule a physical with my doctor cause that is the only way she can see me fast. So on Tuesday I go into the doctor and she goes through the motions. I tell her to test me for Diabetes. "Why?" she asks...UH cause I have high blood sugar readings on my labs, hello?? She asks my symptoms and I tell her. So I do the urine test and they take my glucose reading.

Can we say "595"???? My doctor's jaw is on the floor and she walks next door to another doctor and tells him what is going on. She comes back in and takes a breath and tells me I'm dangerously close to having convulsions, having a stroke or worse. I HAVE to go into the hospital. The blood is running out of my face and I sit there drinking cups of water as fast as the nurse is handing it to me to try to stay hydrated. They think I have (DKA) Diabetic ketoacidosis an acute metabolic complication of diabetes characterized by hyperglycemia, hyperketonemia, and metabolic acidosis. DKA occurs mostly in type 1 diabetes. It causes nausea, vomiting, and abdominal pain and can progress to cerebral edema, coma, and death.

So, off to the hospital I go for 3 days. After getting insulin IV's, poking my fingers and veins full of holes for glucose readings and labwork, they pronounce me well enough to come home. So I am learning to be a Carb counting machine and to quote a line from one of my favorite movies with my own spin:

"I may be exhausted and weak; hell, I may even be gimpy, but Dear God, I'm still here."

The dirt nap will have to wait.

More Musings Later (thank God)

Finding Me

2009-11-01T21:23:00.015-06:00

Facebook is a clever tool. I've been finding college friends, teachers, old co-workers and others. Each time I see their pictures, the memories flood back to me. It's like looking through a time capsule of each person I've known. Sometimes the person they are today is exactly as I expected, sometimes it's a total shock.

This one person that I found falls into the category of shock for me. In college, she was the life of the party, had a fantastic sense of humor and had that intangible something extra special that some call "it." Not that she still doesn't have these qualities...I'm sure she does. She has just taken a 180 degree turn in the direction of her life. Again, not bad, just very different.

Somehow, she saw something in me as a music student that she was able to mold. I was 12 years old when I first met her. I was in awe of her, wishing I could be exactly like her. She was talented, great with people, funny and admired by countless other music students. And, I was her student. I didn't have much confidence in myself then and she helped me to discover that I was good at something. I felt that we were the antithesis of each other.

When I competed for musical awards, everyone of stature knew I was her student. When they heard me play, I remember to this day the way they looked at me. The next thing I knew, I was a 12 year old sitting in a college level class for music. With each achievement, my confidence grew. It formed my identity. When I wasn't supposed to hear, I would overhear judges and other teachers whisper, There goes her student.

Those experiences are a huge part of who I am today, even though I'm not a practicing musician any longer. Those childhood experiences with music helped me have the courage to audition at Juilliard in New York, play for operas, musicals, symphonies, marching and pop bands. I had a wondrous and complete education in music, life and myself.

Juilliard's late, great Saul Goodman with his crank tympani invention that I actually auditioned on that fateful day of March 3, 1980. Incidentally, Gene Krupa was his student.

I have been wanting to thank this person for many years. I was unable to locate a mailing address or email address until I saw her on Facebook. I finally thanked her. It may not seem like a big deal to some people, but she is clearly owed a thank you from me and perhaps more. And, I gave it.

One teacher I had signed my yearbook with these sage words:

I hope you got something out of your musical education besides the music itself.

I did.

More Musings Later-

Matza, Challah, Black and Whites and Noodle Pudding

2009-10-03T22:47:00.014-05:00

The title above references a hodge-podge of Jewish cuisine. Had someone rattled off that menu to me years ago, this Southern Texas girl wouldn't have known what to make of it.

However, I have a Jewish spouse who regularly laments about the lack of "Jew Food" in Nashville, TN. In the land of Fried foods, starchy vegetables ladeled with a multitude of gravies and cornbread o'plenty, my poor spouse often recounts the days when her father would visit the hometown deli and order tongue sandwiches, Challah, sour pickles and other Boarhead meats always placed on rye bread.

Here? How about chicken fried chicken on a lilly white piece of bread with Hellman's mayo? don't forget the cream gravy!

One of the few times I saw my partner swoon over food is when I brought her to "Noshville Deli." She ordered tongue sandwich, knish, sour pickles and a cream soda. Then, for dessert; Black and white cookies. I think I even saw a tear in her eye.

NOW: I totally get it liking the food you were raised on. And, I like alot of Jewish food. Matza is pretty good with tuna fish or chicken salad, y'all. Sour pickles are good with sandwiches, Challah and Black and Whites are really tasty as well. But let's get real: NOODLE PUDDING?

Noodle Pudding is the following: Noodles which are boiled in water, drained, put into a baking dish and combined with beaten eggs. No salt...no pepper, no cheese, no gravy....nothing. Then you bake it until the noodles on top are crunchy. My partner eats this like it is the most delicious thing she ever tasted. I've tried it, it tastes like crunchy noodles without salt or pepper.

I like unusual food, but to me, some Jewish food is only good if you had a little southern trinity. The southern trinity: Cheese, onions, cream and bacon fat.

To each his own, and if you ask me; Give me Chicken Fried Steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, mac and cheese, okra with buscuits slathered in butter, honey and iced tea. It will always be my "Jew food."

Shalom and Bless your heart,

More Musings Later-

You can take the girl out of Texas, but the Texas memories still linger...

2009-09-22T21:06:00.019-05:00

It's true...funny, but when I lived in Texas (for entirely too long) I felt every inch the misfit. In Texas, the earth, moon and sun revolves around one thing and one thing only; High School Football. I kid you not. Sort of like College football in Tennessee. I'm still scratching my head over that one.

Are you getting a feel for why poor Janis Joplin didn't quite fit in Port Arthur, Texas in the 50s and 60s? She was decades ahead of her time, bless her heart. I never met her, as she was already a star and living in San Francisco by the time I was old enough to meet her. It seems strange though, to have gone to the same college she did (Lamar University) and hear some of the stories about her. Believe me, they were very unkind. In fact, I remember one of my professors in the Music Bldg told some of the most hurtful stories about her and relished the telling and retelling of his sordid tale. I let him know that I didn't care for his "story." He simply grinned and gave his eyebrows a shrug. He was a very handsome man with a slew of college girls swooning at his every move. I found his reliance on his looks to be sophomoric and extremely troubling behavior for a 30ish year old professor. I guess I felt a kinship with Janis and didn't even really know why at the time.

Nonetheless, Texas wasn't an easy place to live amid the rednecks, refinery workers and cowboys. But, I do have fond memories of the local landmarks such as Lubys Cafeteria, Port Neches Park, Jefferson City Mall, The Sea Wall, Nearby Sabine Pass, Satin's Restaurant (demolished by Katrina) and Gulfway Drive ("The Drag" for teenagers to drive up and down on the weekends). And, those crazy friends we had courtesy of parties, CB Radio and more.

One of my fondest memories is when a large group of us would pile into a couple of cars (where we communicated with each car by CB) and drive to Port Neches on a Saturday night around 11:30pm to "Sara Jane Road." The road was known to the locals and no one else. If a tourist came through this area, then they were lost.

The following is a brief synopsis of "The Legend of Sarah Jane Road":

A young mother driving a horse-drawn carriage down the roadway at midnight, many years ago.She had her baby daughter, named Sarah Jane, in a basket beside her. Heavy fog had descended and when she crossed the middle of the bridge the horse spooked and the carriage overturned — throwing the baby into the water. Sara Jane was never found. The tale goes on to say on Halloween night when it’s dark and foggy you can hear the mother calling, “Sara Jane, Sara Jane”, looking for her baby.

Of course, the guys would be extremely quiet as we creeped along the bridge listening for the haunted voice where one guy in the other car would hide in the woods and do his best creepy moan for Sarah Jane. It scared the crap out of us, which always erupted in screams and laughter. Little did I know that one day, they would even have a My Space page dedicated to this legend! See for yourself.

http://www.myspace.com/sarajanesbaby

The Legend of Swamp Witch
In Acadian tradition, and on their usual visit to the swamplands, they stumble upon the fabled Swamp Witch. No one had actually seen the Swamp Witch before, she was not only insane, but she was violent as well. No one dared to cross her path for fear of what would happen.

We also visited "Swampwitch" where she lived near the Louisiana border of Texas. Again, we traipsed to this location trying to see her. The driver of our car whispered to us to be quiet as he was going outside the car to investigate. All of the sudden, he grabbed a figure that had a billowy robe on in the night sky and threw her on the hood of the car pretending to fight. Relief, laughter and plenty of beer was consumed during our rides to these outlandish places. We knew they were legends, but it was fun just the same.

The Beach
Years ago when I was in high school; I was friends with a few young men that were gay. Of course, I was clueless about myself, but I did enjoy my friends! Flying down the freeway until we heard that wonderful, unmistakable ebb and tide of the ocean. It was beautiful...the moonlight danced on the top of the ocean like diamonds sparkling in the sun. As we sat in the car listening to the ocean, one friend turns to me and says, "Let's skinny dip!" I am horrified and shout back, "Are you crazy? NO!" He turns back to me and says, "C'mon! we'll have a story to tell our grandchildren!"

Although I knew the only grandchildren he would be having would be poodles, I reconsidered. We ran toward the ocean, stripping clothing as we went. My 2 best friends and me.

Running into the ocean was exhilarating and exciting. It was a rebirth of sorts. One where I felt so comfortable being ME. Doing something daring and spur of the moment.

It was the moment that I was really...living. That's what it's all about, isn't it?

When the Crap Rains Down, It's Nice to Know there's a Roof over your Head...

2009-09-18T23:19:00.018-05:00

Lately, I've had the feeling that crap has been raining down on me with the force of a Texas thunderstorm. And, if you've ever visited Texas during a thunderstorm, it can be summed up in 1 phrase, courtesy of Moby, a DJ of Houston's yesteryear: "It's raining just like a cow peeing on a flat rock."
So, you get the gist of my comparison. Why did I feel this way? Lord, let me count the ways:

Crappy Economy which directly affects my and my partner's income

Income problems leads to arguing with mate

Lack of income requires us to sell everything that isn't nailed down.

Insurance is running out in December for us...we are the Pre-existing poster children

Insurance is expensive...which full circles back to lack of income

See arguing with mate

More health crap - more pills, more steroids, more blood tests.

Paying notes to hospital already for Dec 08 hospitalization, should be paid off in 2 years.

Lack of income making it difficult

There's that full circle shit again.

Steroids are causing severe depression...cry at the drop of a hat, very grumpy.

Apathy sets in which is a scary place to be.

Then placed on more medication...gotten to where I don't much care about money or lack of it anymore.

Slowly climbing my way out of Apathyville

Starting to feel like me again, although still feel sick.

I begin to set personal goals for myself. First time in a long time. Apathy is losing it's grip.

I got news that my sister is CANCER FREE. I cry with joy.

Feeling crappy has made me more emotional. That's not all bad.

I realize that contrary to my popular belief, I'm NOT all that easy to live with . Particularly when I'm on steroids.

Come to find out, I suddenly realize my partner has been and is being patient with me. In her own, gruff, adorable way.

I don't know what tomorrow will bring, but I realize how lucky I am that I have a roof over my head right now. I'm grateful to have objectivity about myself. It stings sometimes, but other times it's healing. I'm looking forward to having Earl Grey Tea when it becomes cold at night.

Goodbye, Apathy.

More Musings Later-

"Daddy" is Retiring

2009-09-05T09:01:00.012-05:00

No, Charles Gibson is not my daddy. After watching him for years on GMA and now the ABC Evening News, I have always wished he was.

Why? The answer for me is easy. My own father was noticeably absent from my life growing up and so when I see doting fathers, I sometimes feel a twinge of longing. I remember one time when I was watching GMA and Diane Sawyer and Charlie (he was Charlie in the morning and Charles in the evening...go figure) were outside Times Square with the crowd. Diane asked the cameraman to get a long shot of Charley and his daughter in the crowd. It seems that she had just gotten her first important network gig and the smile and warm embrace from her Daddy spoke volumes.

Another time, Charley was at the news desk giving facts and figures regarding the Afghanistan war, Vladimir Putin's views of the latest U.N. Treaty, and Congress's continual battles on the hill. He paused and glanced down at his notes and considered his news tone by stating:

"On the local front, I am proud to announce that my daughter has given birth to our first grandchild. Or, I should say, grandson. And, that's the news at this hour." He never broke the news tone or demeanor, but once he delivered the news, the cameraman put the camera on Charlie instead of Diane and Robin. He caught an uncharacteristically ecstatic Charlie Gibson grinning from ear to ear as they showed a picture of his grandson from just hours ago.

That was it...I dubbed him 'My Daddy'. When the nightly news appears on my screen each evening, my friends, partner and I exclaim with excitement, "Daddeeeeeeee!"

You also have to love a guy that professed his love for Julia Child on national television. Together they laughed, giggled and traded barbs as Julia cooked her French specialties on morning television. And as usual, they both would yodel the familiar "Soup de Jour!" upon completion. He wasn't afraid of acting silly...it seemed natural and fun.

And now Daddy is retiring. You'll never guess why. His daughter moved to Seattle and of course has that grandson with her. You can't separate Daddy from his beloved daughter and grandchild now can you?

I'll miss you, Daddy.

More Musings Later-

The People You Meet when You Pay Attention

2009-09-04T21:43:00.020-05:00

Yesterday afternoon I hung up after speaking with a Social Security rep who informed me that the paperwork that I hand delivered to my local SSA office was missing. I was livid. Because it was the end of my world? No, I realize that it is just that: a minor inconvenience, however it doesn't quite feel like it when I tell my stiff, painful joints and unsteady gait that I must make another painful trip downtown. I take a deep breath and tell myself to stop being such a pansy-ass about it and get over it. For God's sake, so many others have it so much worse than I, who am I to bitch and complain?

The Nectar of the Gods

The next morning I wake up and am painfully aware that I didn't sleep well the night before. I grump and begin shuffling to the fridge with swollen feet the size of Bozo shoes to fetch my YooHoo-esque protein drink that helps the immune system stay strong and a Diet Coke to swallow all my flippin' medication for the day. As I grunt and groan and move about like an arthritic 75 year old, I flop in my chair and begin swallowing protein drink, pills and Diet Coke. Once those 2 cans are empty, I wait as if a lightening bolt is going to strike me with the power and agility of a gymnast. It doesn't but at least I know I have the meds down my throat, now off to the Social Security Office to hand deliver a form for the second time.

I hobble into the local office, touch a screen and rip a number from the machine and sit down. I casually survey the scads of people sitting around me. I find that even though there are plenty of younger people here along with the elderly, everyone's eyes are transfixed on nothing. Some look as though they haven't had a meal in a few days, some are lost in thought that tells me that the memory or situation is painful. People are talking in low tones and shushing their children. I look over at the Social Security Reps and see the protective hardness in their eyes as they explain for the one millionth time to their customers that they didn't receive the form or don't qualify for benefits.

I notice a woman sitting next to me who has her head resting on her cane and finally looks up to see who is staring at her. Her temper is short and physical pain is tender to the touch. When the SSA Rep announces the next number over the loudspeaker, the continuing conversations among those waiting and the impatience of children fill the room with audible life. The woman frowns and furrows her brow and shouts a bit too loudly; I can't hear the number! What was the number they called? The crowd's conversations were evacuated and ushered out immediately for a more appropriate time to be determined by a more friendly stranger.

The cross woman was oblivious to her rudeness and continued to stand, walk, sit and change position in order to find a more comfortable position. Her number was called and I watched her hobble to the window. Her irritation was apparent and the SSA rep's defenses were held firmly in place as a shield for protection against customers such as these. After her business was complete, she shuffled her feet toward the door and eased herself into the car for the trip home.

I shook my head and told myself, I hope I never get like that. But, at the same time, I remember when my grandmother would be in such pain from her ailments and became uncharacteristically irritated and even at times, angry without provocation. At the time, I remember watching store clerks become visibly upset or taken aback at her behavior not knowing why she was behaving as harshly as she was. My thoughts brought me back to present day and I watched the woman pull away from SSA in her car and saw her face rumpled in pain.

Pain can be an ugly creature to contend with and to watch others suffer from.

Somehow, I came to meet and know my grandmother in a totally different way by observing that woman. So, I guess if you pay attention, you can understand others a bit better.

By the way, 'that woman' was me.

More Musings Later-

J.R. Simpson

2009-08-26T04:37:00.019-05:00

I don't think I've ever written about my grandfather before, which is odd to me. I do believe he is the only man in my life that hasn't disappointed or hurt me. And, that is really saying something.

My grandfather was never known as my "grandfather." That's far too formal a title for him. He was simply known as "Papaw" to the grandkids. I know I have idealized and perfect memories of him, but that is what grandchildren do if the relationship is a good one. Ours wasn't good...it was incredible, much to my good fortune.

In a nutshell, I believe it is from him that I get my 'no-nonsense' attitude, outspoken and fiery temper from. He was every man's man and every woman's protector without smothering the hell out of them in the process. If I step into my grandmother's shoes, I know his temper was difficult to deal with. But, I never saw that side of him except for 3 times. But, that is for other stories in the future.

His memory sometimes wraps around my brain and reminds me of the extraordinary childhood and partial teenage hood I shared with him. He was a sublime storyteller, fisherman, Mr Fix it whether dealing with his hands or his heart and a superb grandparent. Not to slight my grandmother...she was as well. This corporate sounding grandfather gave me many memories including some very tall tales that I sometimes didn't figure out until days, months or even years later.

For example: He was a close friend of Harry Houdini. Did you know that? He had a way of telling a story that made me believe this until long after he passed away. I'm sure he was delighted to see my realization years later!

He was a Renaissance man that never ceased to amaze me. He created inventions but never patented them. He made these tools to ease his work, not necessarily to become a rich man.

The memories I remember to this day are many, but a few that I will share with you are:

First and foremost, he was a fisherman. He often caught Bass, Catfish, Brim and Perch. He cleaned the fish as skillfully as any surgeon performed surgery. He was poetry in motion.

He was a sailor in the Navy. It was during those times at port when he and some of his Naval buddies got a tattoo. Who knew that years later, a granddaughter would gaze at his left arm with the elaborate staff and snake tattoo for hours and wonder about his adventures on the sea.

He always wanted to travel to the Amazon and then to Australia.

The Amazon River

He used a brush with shaving soap a big mug for shaving, and wore Old Spice aftershave.

He knew how badly I hated school as a kid and would sometimes pick me up during the middle of day and take me to Jefferson City, an outdoor strip mall in Port Arthur, Texas where we ate at Luby's Cafeteria and browse records at the record store. Sometimes we went to the hardware store. It didn't matter to me, I wasn't in school and we never told my mother. He always delivered me a few blocks from home so I could walk home at the same time I did every day. No suspicion and he would drive on to my house and act as if he hadn't seen me all day. My mother didn't find this out until I was well into my 30's.

He was a fabulous dancer and particularly Cajun dancing. His partner of choice was my older sister. They danced, kicked their legs, did the Cajun holler (Ahhhh-Yeeeeeee!) and glided across the floor as if they were dancing on glass. I could watch them for hours.

He was a heavy smoker which required him to switch to pipe smoking via order from his doctors. His uniform after the Navy became tan, short sleeved shirts (regardless of weather) with a chest pocket that held his hard case glasses. He also wore before it was popular, denim painter's pants. Why? there was a pocket for everything.

He rarely bought anything for himself, but he bought a beautiful table that had a picture of a parrot under the glass made with butterfly wings. There was also a small lamp that went with it and it stood in his living room for as long as I can remember. I remember looking at that table and thinking it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. He also bought a porcupine quill box and kept his pictures of his travels in there. It even included photos from the Philippines as well as pictures from the war. He never told us why, but he instructed us to never open that box. One look from J.R. and you did exactly as he said. He noticed me one day admiring the table and told me that it was mine when he and my grandmother passed. I was thrilled.

My Treasured "Butterfly Table"

And so, to avoid the family squabbling, years before my grandmother's death, she gave me the prized table and I was elated. Is it worth much? In dollars and cents, I have no idea. In memories and enjoyment? It's priceless.

The day neither began nor ended unless Fishing preceded both.

Sometimes when I pass by a lake...if I squint really hard, I can see him casting his line.

More Musings Later-

If I could ask God a few Questions, it would go something like this:

2009-08-22T23:06:00.021-05:00

The Big Bang Recreation

CREATION QUESTIONS

If in the beginning, there was nothingness; who or what made you?

What made you create the universe as we know it?

Do you control every aspect of our lives or do we?

Is Destiny a reality? If so, what is the purpose?

Why are there Black Holes?

PURPOSE

What was the point of creating humans, animals etc.?

Okay, in an effort to be delicate (this is me you're talkin' too remember) Why is a monthly cycle necessary for women to have babies? Surely you could think of a better way?

Did you make the human body as it is so humans could understand how to perform surgery and heal others? I'm thinking the human body could be made a little more efficiently. (Not that I'm criticizing...I'm just sayin')

Other than the humans that were mentioned in the Bible, who are you most proud of the way they lived their life?

What is the meaning of life? I have my ideas, is that the way it is supposed to be? Feel free to jump in.

HOW COME?

There are some recurring themes in our civilization; there are people and groups who seem to follow their own way from the mainstream culture. (i.e., Jesus, Noah, Moses, Martin Luther King, Jr., Buddha, Mother Theresa and a slew of others). Aside from the obvious, how come they are viewed as outcasts?

How come people consider the literal words of the Bible as what actually happened. Is it? Just askin', cause, "In the beginning, there was Adam and Eve...they had 2 sons, Cain and Abel. Cain slew Abel. Cain took a wife.." (Where did she come from?) I'm just sayin...

How come some people are seemingly more persecuted than others?

How come Catholics believe the Pope is a direct communicator with you?

How come the Pope wears elaborate robes and hats when Jesus dressed as a commoner?

How come their seems to be so much corruption in various religions?

DO WE...

Live in a parallel universe?

Live among other life such as aliens?

Ever stop the continuum of Reincarnation? if so, when?

FINAL QUESTIONS

How long do we "layover" before we reincarnate again?

When I try to think through "GOD", the meaning, the existence the true reality of it...it is beyond my comprehension. Why are we so feeble intellectually?

BY THE WAY

Thank you for my sense of humor. It has definitely come in handy.

Thank you for those who surround me...even the ones who try my patience and those who have hurt me. I've learned a great deal about myself from it. The experiences were not wasted on me.

Thank you for allowing me to be a writer. It's allowed me experiences that I could never have imagined.

Thank you for allowing me to be a musician when I was younger. It's allowed me experiences that I could never have imagined.

More Musings Later-

This blog post was intended to pontificate about our lives and the meaning thereof in earnest. I did mix humor with (gasp) religion. What can I say? God made me this way.

Writers

2009-08-10T23:18:00.009-05:00

Writers are strange, mysterious, wounded and magical. I'm not calling myself "magical" but I definitely fit the other criteria. The fact that writers labor over an opening sentence to their novel, writing articles, essays and other modes of communication all for the sake of having it be as perfect as possible speaks volumes about their uniqueness and pursuit of magic.

Tonight, I was working late and a Google alert came up that one of my favorite writers had just posted to her blog. I've long admired her writing talent and I have to admit that when I read her posts, I silently wish that I had her way with words. She can arrange a cluster of letters to form words that evoke emotions that I alone relate to on such a deep level. Of course, all of her readers feel this way. Hence, my admiration.

Tonight she spoke about a novel she was writing. I was thrilled and will most definitely buy it. She mentioned about self-publishing it, and I saw my chance to offer some suggestions (although I am sure she knows all about this subject.) After hitting the send button, I noticed a few moments later that a reply came. This incredible writer found my bio and wrote me the following short message:

..."You're a genius and Renaissance person. Good luck with the sales of your own book. If you want me to review it, please just mail it or email gallies. It would be an honor to review..."

I was dumbstruck. I read it over and over. I thought about the term "Renaissance person" and read it a few more times. She obviously saw where I was accepted to U.T. at Arlington at the age of 12 for a summer percussion symposium. Genius? No way, I just peaked early.

Cultural Dictionary meaning of "Renaissance Person "
Noun: An outstandingly versatile, well-rounded person. The expression alludes to such Renaissance figures as Leonardo da Vinci, who performed brilliantly in many different fields.
The American Heritage® New Dictionary of Cultural Literacy, Third EditionCopyright © 2005 by Houghton Mifflin Company.Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved. Cite This Source

I looked at it again...and again.

I looked up the definition.

I'm still looking at it.

My feet have yet to touch the ground and I've said a thousand silent THANK YOU's.

More Musings I'm sure-

I Don't Get It

2009-08-05T22:38:00.009-05:00

Okay, there are some issues that have been making me stop and scratch my head. See if you don't agree:

Guns Allowed in Restaurants and Bars

Who in the hell voted this law to pass? WHO? Those who declare that "They have the right to bear arms?" What people don't understand is that it doesn't mean you can "pack heat" anywhere you please. What are you going to do? Shoot the McDonalds clerk for getting your order wrong? Give me a BREAK! See Wiki's explanation.

Wikipedia: the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that "[t]he Second Amendment protects an individual right to possess a firearm unconnected with service in a militia, and to use that arm for traditionally lawful purposes, such as self-defense within the home."[24]

Guns in the Parks

"Okay, back away from the monkey bars and I won't blow your head off!" I mean if you don't set kids straight at a young age, they "won't learn nuthin'" Yet, people in Nashville are all in an uproar over this. HELLO? Still don't get it.

Obama Bashers

That Obama guy is too big for his britches...Ok, I agree that the "Beer Summit" was stupid. He misspoke and had to get out of it somehow. Think back people...remember how "W" used to mangle the English language and then chuckle about it? Remember when he had that deer in the headlight look nearly 95% of the time? Get over it!

One more: Remember when Obama started working before he even took the oath? AND "W" LET HIM? Hell, he was kicked back in the oval office suckin on a cigar just counting down the time. He was a waste and so are people's time if they are going to gripe for 4 years.

Michael Jackson Coverage

Alright...the man is dead and it was because of the drugs. DUH...bury the guy! He was the cash cow for his family and his father is even more of an ass than I originally thought. Last night I watched Nancy Grace and they played the same piece of tape OVER AND OVER until the 30 minute show was over. And I mean OVER and OVER. Nothing more to see people, move along.

Oh, one last thing: Joe Jackson is stating that an older boy is Michael's biological son. HELLO! Michael is not the biological father of any children. C'mon, do I really have to tell people that? I think it was awful that his 3 children found out that Debbie Rowe was their mother on T.V. and that Michael wasn't their biological father.

Can somebody please cut Blanket's hair and pay attention to him? He looks like a lost little soul.

C'mon people, has everyone lost their common sense?

By the way, I've officially gotten old: When I saw this photo of Michael, I was dying to pull his hair out of his eyes!

More Musings Later-

THAT'S where I get it from!

2009-07-26T01:00:00.009-05:00

Awhile back, I blogged about unconventional style, tastes etc. I began to wonder where I get this odd streak of thinking. How many other people would like a small fridge in the living room? Am I the only one? What about cat walkways built near the ceiling of the house? What about that? What about making sleep wear our only wear? These are the things I wonder about sometimes. Strange, I know. But I wonder, am I the only one to think of stuff like this?

Then it hit me...I come from a long line of rebels in my family. The ones I remember most vividly of course, is my grandfather. Had he been in different circumstances, he had a power name for a great corporate executive. Instead, he was a no-nonsense, hard worker with a wicked sense of humor.

Example: My grandmother was lamenting over which color of lipstick to use. When she asked my grandfather who was smoking his pipe and reading the paper for his preference, I heard him say, "Lipstick and Paint make you plenty of what you ain't." Fair enough. Little did he know he was preaching to the choir with me.

If I asked him why he did something that seemed unconventional he would stop and look at me and reply, "Because I can," No elaboration, just the facts, maam.

So, I thought back even further. My Great Aunt Viola was the same way. No mincing of the words, she said what she thought and that was that. I have a feeling Aunt Viola and I are on the same team. Her husband left her a widow when she was young. They did manage to have one child before my Great Uncle passed. One day, I asked her, "Why haven't you ever remarried?" with the rudeness of an innocent child who didn't know better yet.

Aunt Viola looked at me as if I were nuts. "God no! I did my duty! Who said I have to do it again?" I thought about it and agreed. Who said she had to remarry?

Then, when I was about 12 years old I think, a friend asked me to a family trip to Teneha, Timpson, Bobo and Blair, Texas. Yes, it really does exist. There is not much there and I did get introduced to no bathrooms in the cabin! Nor was there an outhouse. I'm sure Generation X and Y can't even imagine such a thing...but there ya go.

Another unusual site was a house that sat in either Teneha, Timpson Bobo or Blair, I'm not sure. Why was it unusual? My Great Great Uncle painted it in polka dots. Why? Who said he couldn't? The town thought he was off his flipping rocker, but he liked it. You know what? If he asked family, friends etc. over, he never had to give directions. His house was the only one with polka dots.

I guess he just had an odd way of thinking.

More Musings Later-

The Game of Life and the Importance of Words

2009-07-19T09:29:00.024-05:00

This morning as I was waiting for my bagel to finish toasting, I began to have a free floating memory rush back to me. I do that sometimes...I don't have to be thinking about anything in particular (especially in the morning) and sometimes, I will be reminded of a memory from long ago. Today was no exception.

I began to think about my grandmother. Not my maternal grandmother who I absolutely adored, but my paternal grandmother. I didn't know her very well because of...well...there were alot of family dynamics going on and she wasn't that interested in my father or his family. As a result, we knew of her, I remember visiting her exactly 3 times during my childhood. She offered my sister and I a Coke and we were to drink one and be quiet. And, we did.

I have to admit, I didn't much like her. She rarely remembered my name and stared at me when my father's guilt outweighed the strength of his shoulders. We sat....drinking that one Coke...being quiet....listening to the grandfather clock tick away the minutes in her musty home. Why do I remember this? I don't know exactly. I guess because I was remembering a quote that popped into my head.

The third visit to my grandmother was not pleasant. She was dying and my father was attending to her along with his sisters. I sat in the living room alone listening to her illness and drinking my one Coke. Until I spotted a small white box by her easy chair. It was filled with quotes. For someone who seemed so angry, resentful and callous obviously read these jewels as she began each day. I discovered her secret.

Did I have different feelings about her in the end? No. she was distant either by design or determination. But it did convince me that this distant and angry woman struggled each day. And, her refuge was in a small white box. Yet, it was like watching someone being thrown a life preserver and they keep reaching and never grasp it even though it is floating right in front of them. You've known people like that, haven't you? So, I thought I would share some favorite quotes of mine in memory of the stranger known as my paternal grandmother.

If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun.
-- Katharine Hepburn

People take different roads seeking fulfillment and happiness. Just because they're not on your road doesn't mean they've gotten lost.
-- Dalai Lama

You can't be brave if you've only had wonderful things happen to you.
-- Mary Tyler Moore

Everyone has talent. What is rare is the courage to follow the talent to the dark place where it leads.
-- Erica Jong

You never find yourself until you face the truth.
-- Pearl Bailey

It's a Wonderful Life (1946)
Henry Travers (Clarence): Remember George, No man is a failure who has friends.

To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)
Gregory Peck (Atticus Finch): If you just learn a single trick, Scout, you'll get along a lot better with all kinds of folks. You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view...Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.

Those who dance are considered insane by those who cannot hear the music.
-- George Carlin

God has given you one face, and you make yourself another.
-- William Shakespeare

If you don't get lost, there's a chance you may never be found.
-- Author Unknown

It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.
-- e.e. cummings

Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds.
-- Albert Einstein

All of us have moments in our lives that test our courage. Taking children into a house with white carpet is one of them.
-- Erma Bombeck

Carpe Diem (Seize the day)
-- Horace

You can't hold a man down without staying down with him.
-- Booker T. Washington

Quotes from "A River Runs Through It" Norman MacLean
Long ago, when I was a young man, my father said to me, "Norman, you like to write stories." And I said "Yes, I do." Then he said, "Someday, when you're ready you might tell our family story. Only then will you understand what happened and why."

Like many fly fishermen in western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise. Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.

It is those we live with and love and should know who elude us.

More Musings Later-

Not so Fast...

2009-07-12T13:46:00.015-05:00

Hmmmm, the Steve McNair case wrapped up pretty quickly didn't it?

What do we know about what happened? Here is what I picked up and I'm not a legal nor criminal expert in any shape form or fashion.

B A C K G R O U N D

Apparently, Steve McNair and his wife had not been living in the same home for at least the last 3 or 4 months. TMZ has reported that Steve had a girlfriend (Kahzemi) with whom he had taken on vacation (see the parasailing photos on their website) and purchased gifts such as a Cadillac for her. He apparently met her at Dave and Busters where she waitressed at Oprymills.

Also, he opens a restaurant on Jefferson Street that serves comfort food where he takes on an active role as owner.

He also rented a condo from a good friend off of Lea avenue in downtown Nashville where they would meet and spend time together.

INCONSISTENT F A C T S FROM POLICE

July 2nd, Kahzemi buys a gun in the Dave and Busters parking lot. She is depressed and thinks McNair is cheating on her. (I know).

Kahzemi and McNair are pulled over by the same cop that slapped McNair with a DUI a year or more ago. Kahzemi is booked and waits for bail from McNair. McNair is allowed to leave and take a cab home. (as co-owner of the vehicle, they should have both been booked).

According to police, McNair had been barhopping on 2nd avenue in the wee hours of Jul 4th. He reportedly went to his condo to sleep.

Police also stated that a mere hours later, he had taken 2 of his sons fishing at Percy Priest Lake. Did the sons not smell liquor on him? Could they not tell he was drunk? Nothing was out of the ordinary?

The friend who rents the condo to McNair stopped by to "check on some things" at the pad. He notices nothing out of the ordinary, he sees McNair seated on the couch and assumes he is sleeping. Meanwhile, his girlfriend is on the floor lying in a pool of blood.

He does what he needs to do at the condo and turns to leave and notices blood on the carpet. He now realizes that McNair isn't asleep. (DUH)

He immediately calls a friend - NOT 911. 45 minutes to an hour later, they call 911.

Then the police come in and begin investigating and people start milling around wondering what is going on.

the NPD question neighbors and no one heard a gunshot, shouting, screaming, etc. Nothing.

McNair is shot in the right temple, left temple and twice in the chest. Kahzemi has a reported self-inflicted gunshot wound to her right temple.

The case is ruled murder/suicide.

Now, Here is the WAKE UP AND SMELL THE COFFEE VERSION.

I don't believe he took his sons fishing. I think that is a feeble attempt at a "feel good" story about McNair. Besides, wouldn't the sons mention his drunkeness to their mother? I'm just saying...

Michelle McNair stated she hasn't heard from Steve in "days". She is currently living in their mansion in Green Hills. The sons (except for 1 I think) are underage. Wouldn't McNair need to call his kids or come by the house to get them? Wouldn't someone mention this to the Mom? I'm just sayin'.....

His "Gridiron 9" restaurant was opened just a couple of weeks ago to the public. She still hasn't heard from Steve in days? The kids didn't go to the opening? hmmmmm.

The friend that rented the condo comes by to check on things. Okay, then you discover that you're in the middle of a homicide setting. You call a friend? My personal opinion is you do if you need help cleaning up drug paraphenalia and other incriminating evidence. That should take about 45 minutes to an hour.

You're the best friend of Steve McNair. You call 911 after an hour's delay and you don't know the address of where you are, although you own the property?

McNair is shot in the left temple, then the right temple and twice in the chest. A twenty year old girl who is distraught is going to shoot her cheating boyfriend in that fashion? I don't think so. I could accept it if it were the shots in the chest OR a shot to the head. NOT execution style. Seems to me that this has the markings of a gang/mob murder.

Seems to me that McNair was worth more dead than alive. Who could stand to gain from this? His "BFF?" business partners of the restaurant? who knows? Me thinks the cops are taking a "hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil" approach. Whether the restaurant is legit or a front for something else, it's going to be a goldmine. The target audience is true blue.

Don't worry; the newscasters and the police have stated that we should remember the "good Steve McNair." And, people did just that.

Meanwhile, an impressionable, 20 year old girl got in over her head with a sports hero and was possibly caught in a crossfire. The embarrassment, shame and hurt his wife and family feel, the double life of a hyprocrite that has been discovered under the brightest of lights.

That is the legacy Steve McNair carries to the other side.

It's a damn shame.

The Definition Between Black and White becomes Muddled in Gray

2009-07-05T22:31:00.011-05:00

Another untimely death...this time, one of my all-time favorite athletes, Steve McNair.

Steve McNair - 36 years old

I spent countless Sundays yelling at the top of my lungs for McNair and the Titans. He was amazing to watch, somewhat like watching a great dancer leaping midair and land gracefully to the amazement of the crowd. That is what he reminded me of.

He also reminded me that he was a great philanthropist. He made a point of hosting benefits for children and our community in Nashville.

He was the "go-to" guy; whether he was dispensing advice for new players or running a play to win the game in the final seconds of the game...

He seemed perfect in every way. His wife is beautiful, he has 4 sons who all seem to be very athletic and will most likely follow in his footsteps.

And, he had a girlfriend. This isn't the first time, I'm sure. The news of his death has been difficult for Nashville's citizens because of the perfect persona they know on the field and off.

In the movies, the good guys always wear white. The difference between black and white isn't hard to distinguish, he was a good guy. However, I can see where those closest to him could see the difference between black and white becoming a muddled gray.

Rest in Peace, Steve, #9.

More Musings Later-

P-Diddy and Rheumy-V

2009-07-02T04:43:00.014-05:00

If you haven't picked up on it, I give nicknames to the ailments I have, hence "P-Diddy" which is short for Parkinson's Disease and "RV or Rheumy-V" for Rheumatoid Vasculitis.

Found out that in addition to the lovely Vasculitis, I have Rheumatoid Arthritis as well. I can hardly wait for the gnarling of my fingers to come! Just a little joke. And, believe me, after being on steroids for...I've lost count of how many days, I'm feeling punch drunk.

Without further adieu, some good ole' self-deprecating humor:

Contributed by Dianne Shaw, 2006

Vasculitis Humor

"It's time to take Prednisone AGAIN?

You know you have vasculitis when:

* Any conversation can suddenly turn into a round of "Charades".

* A "good hair day" is when you realize you have some left.

* You tell your kid to "clean up the floor" and they just get the broom out and start sweeping.

* You make a grocery list so you won't forget anything, and then forget where you put the list. * (On a REALLY bad day you also forget where the grocery store is!)

* You bathe the lawn, fertilize the dog, and brush the kids.

* You use the smoke detector to tell you when dinner is done.

* You try to type and discover that you've invented a whole new language.

* You keep sunscreen by every door.

* Getting some fresh air means sitting near an open shady window.

* You have a temperature and moisture-controlled room for keeping your large quantity of meds.

* You're the only one who believes you're THAT sick.

* You sit in the car for three hours wondering what you needed to do, not even sure where you are.

* Someone asks you what vasculitis is and you've forgotten.

* It takes so long to get one project done, because in the meantime you've been distracted by at least a million other things.

* You put the ice cream in the cupboard (and then wonder why somebody else did something THAT stupid).

* You know every doctor, nurse, within 50 miles of your home - AND you've financed most of their vacations.

* The pharmacist sees you coming down the aisle and doesn't even have to ask your name.

* You decide to buy stock in pharmaceutical companies (because you buy their products so much they ought to make lots of money) but you can't afford to invest (for the same reason).

Take my constricted blood vessels please! (Bah-dump-bump)

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

Parkinson Disease Humor

is that dyskinesia or are you just glad to see me?" ....."I think she likes me; she's been staring at me all evening!" ......"we take drugs pretty seriously at our house".. ....."hey, looks like somebody got their prescription filled recently!" ........and I said to her, "As long as you're feeling dyskinetic, how 'bout getting started on that butter-churning"? ..........so I asked him, "Why don't we go to your place and you can show me all those child-proof containers you're always talking about?"

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

Favorite T-Shirts about PD:

"I have Parkinson's not cooties"

"Levadopa, Breakfast of Champions"

Favorite Rheumatoid Arthritis T-Shirts:

"My immune system attacks itself, what does yours do?"

Ya gotta laugh, right? Time for more steroids.

More Musings Later-

The Many Faces of Michael Jackson

2009-06-26T16:04:00.020-05:00

Unless you've been under a rock, you know that Michael Jackson has died. I have conflicted feelings about Michael. I'm sorry to see such a gifted performer and musician pass away, but he had a host of troubles that he carried upon his shoulders, most notably being accused of being a pedophile.

The 12 year old prodigy appearing "normal"

This man, who in the end had so many plastic surgeries that it could be considered self-mutilation, was constantly scrutinized and accused of being a pedophile. A troubling and probable accusation. This odd man who had the heart of Peter Pan and behaved much like a 10 year old instead of his age transformed not only the music industry, but his looks as well. It was like a train wreck, you couldn't help but watch his face literally start to disintegrate.

The subtle transformation is taking place

His breathy, high pitched voice along with his hairstyle, lipstick, makeup and carefully arched eyebrows implied he considered himself to be transgendered. When actually, except for the boys; he seemed asexual. Yet, when he danced, he became overtly sexual...his movements were lightening fast and his singing perfectly phrased. But, that is only from the observations of one writer.

The waxy, strange look from too many plastic surgeries (self-mutilation)

He must have had a good heart, as many friends were devastated to learn of his untimely death. But, there is more to the story than the sadness of a child prodigy grown up and dying too soon. As Liza Minnelli and Deepok Chopra told CNN: "I'm glad we're celebrating his life and music now, because when the autopsy comes back, all hell is going to break lose."

His face is a dichotomy. Beard stubble is visible yet his makeup is impeccable along with the carefully plucked and shaped eyebrows. And his nose...what do you say?

Many are comparing his death to Anna Nicole Smith and Elvis Presley. They too, were very sad people who hid their addictions and meds from the public. Elvis even defending his drug use as the drugs being prescribed for him by his doctor. My feelings are mixed about Michael. From all the evidence presented, it seems obvious that he was a pedophile. How do you reconcile your feelings of respect for such a gifted artist when he abused innocent children? He should have been thrown in jail for his actions...I find myself struggling with his choices and how we should remember him. I, too am a dichotomy of my respect and admiration of Michael Jackson. He succumbed to drugs, regardless of his feeling that they were "prescribed."

A true artist.

Surely a doctor wouldn't resort to being a well-paid drug dealer now, would he? Sometimes the almighty dollar is just too tempting. Even if it results in the premature death of those addicted.

Sometimes the almighty dollar is just too tempting.

Even if it results in the premature death of those addicted.

More Musings Later- RIP MJJ

Otalia!

2009-06-23T23:26:00.006-05:00

For those of you who don't watch Guiding Light the soap opera, I give you permission to skip this post. Although, you might want to find out what "Otalia" is!

For the first time in fictional Springfield, there is a plotline where 2 women on the show are discovering that they are in love with each other. Here's the kicker; they aren't really gay because this is the first experience and they don't understand it as they have always been with men. In real life, both women are straight, married and have children. Yet, on screen, they are acting their butts off!

In a day and age where so much homophobia runs rampant, it is truly a breath of fresh air to watch 2 successful, intelligent women play the role with such conviction and honesty. I especially appreciate the fact that their characters are floored about what is happening, but they can't deny what they feel. One woman's name is "Olivia" and the other is "Natalia". Hence, combining them for "Otalia."

I HATE the fact that Guiding Light is going off the air...I'm hoping they get picked up by some other network as I don't want to see the plot die. Oh well, for a soap cancellation, I guess it is fitting to see it end....I'm so depressed.

Yes, still on steroids.

More Musings Later-

I Don't Get It...

2009-06-23T22:56:00.007-05:00

Last night, I was flipping through the channels on TV and of course, nothing was on. (Cue Bruce Springsteen's "Fifty-Seven Channels and nothing's on music)

I finally resigned myself to watch "The Bachelorette" especially since a friend was telling me that she LOOOOOVVVVVED the show. Heck, maybe it will be something decent to watch. So, I began to watch it and this woman had the task of picking between 6 or 7 men. (I lost count). When I realized it was a reality show, I could feel my eyes begin to glaze over.

Anyway, they were in Alaska (cue various Sarah Palin clips) and she was "speed dating" each one of these guys. Then, there came a point where she had to kick one guy out of the competition. She began to boo-hoo and the guy was all upset. You would have thought they had been dating for years, for God's sake. So, he's booted off and the other guys are acting like school girls, squealing about who would be next?

Then she began quizzing each guy one on one. Do you want kids? Do you want marriage? Do you blah blah blah blah blah blah.

They all started out, "I feel myself falling in love with you and yes, I want kids and Yes I want blah blah blah blah blah blah.

HELLO???? "I FEEL MYSELF FALLING IN LOVE WITH YOU???" These people have known each other for a matter of days! You're in LOVE???? Give me a break.

Here's the kicker: The woman dumped the one guy because, "He didn't make a good living and she wants someone that makes alot of money."

Uh....what's wrong with YOUR hands and feet, Barbie?? Don't mooch off of someone else! Get over yourself woman!!!!!!

Did I mention that am still on steroids?

More Musings Later-

Run! I'm on S T E R O I D S

2009-06-13T22:58:00.014-05:00

That's no lie. If you've been following this blog, you know that I periodically take steroids. Have you ever read the flipping warnings on the pill label? It ain't pretty.

"Prednisone is a drug that's commonly used to treat a wide variety of diseases. Common side effects include mood swings, increased hair growth, facial "mooning" (also known as "chipmunk cheeks"), increased appetite, night sweats, acne, headaches, weight gain, and many more too numerous to list here. Long-term use could result in steroid dependency and bone density loss."

Shall we sing a round of "I Feel Pretty?" Jeez my knees. After being on mega doses in the hospital last year, I found out that I have a lovely array of side effects!

This looked alot like me when I was n the hospital on steroids.

Notice the attractive, yet crazy bugg-eyed look.

Have you seen some of the people that use steroids? Especially athletes...they go nuts!!!! Whereas, I might find it fitting to cry for 45 minutes over the idea that I must write an article. You never know with that stuff....it's crazy. And, it makes ME crazy.

YOU try putting on a bra while on steroids!

So, you can imagine my angst when the doctor took one look at my vasculitis ridden legs/feet and began scribbling that familar name: Prednisone. YUK. But, it does the trick somehow. So, if you see me out and about, RUN....it's for your own safety!

So far, my sense of humor is still intact.

More Musings Later-

Drowning in My Disillusionment

2009-06-09T23:51:00.017-05:00

Disillusionment: noun, rude awakening, lost innocence.

Yep, that sums up just a portion of my feelings about my experience June 8, 2009. I won't bore everyone with details, I'll simply say that I was in court yesterday and I am still reeling over the treatment my partner and I received. Especially my partner...

When we entered the courtroom, I knew we were in trouble. I immediately recognized "the good ole boys club" of lawyers milling about slapping the other on the back and belly laughing while talking about college football. I mean, I did grow up in Texas, hello?

We enter the courtroom: Me on a cane and my partner. We walk to the nearest bench and sit, keenly aware that the loud belly laughing has subsided while low talking and long stares ensued.

Homophobic: homo·phobic adj.:

1. Fear of or contempt for lesbians and gay men.
2. Behavior based on such a feeling.

Please let me be clear; I expected nothing less from good ole boy lawyers. My source of contention was with the judge. The court case was scheduled to be first, but the judge kept pushing it back. I had noticed that the judge kept staring at me during the day, I was tired due to my Parkinson's meds. I continued to listen silently. This continued until all cases were tried and or resolved which left the opposing party and ourselves as the only ones in the room.

I can't and won't go into detail, but the judge was obviously homophobic. The judge made every attempt to speak in a condescending tone, shout at us with sarcasm and treated us with such disrespect while snickering to the clerks and lawyer. Meanwhile, the opposing party was treated with professionalism and the other citizens were treated with respect and care. Once we were alone in this courtroom (amid the court clerk, baliff and lawyer) This judge completely morphed into a domineering, hateful and biased person who was of course, in complete authority. How shrewd of this judge to wait until everyone vacated the courtroom. This enabled the mayhem without being held accountable. As we left the room bewildered and upset, I felt my eyes sting as if I had been exposed to toxic fumes.

I usually don't get upset over this behavior...I usually get angry. But, here we are, American, taxpaying, law abiding citizens and we were treated as if we were murderers in a court of law. To know that a judge in America can treat 2 citizens this way, in THIS day and age, boggles my mind. This kind of treatment is not just hurtful, it's scary.

I've lost whatever respect I had for our judicial system. Even though I have cried about this, I'm still drowning in my disillusionment.

More Musings Later-