Working Out The Details

We are still working on the details of Act III of my life. I was reading Mary Oliver's poem about peonies and their “eagerness to be wild and perfect for a moment before they are nothing, forever.”

I am not looking for perfection in Act III, way too many kinks to iron out and I am not going to spend the last 3rd of my life ironing! I am, however, eager to be wild in my old age, I am giving more of the reins to the Sinthya and BabaMara and Carly-Anne parts of me.  Act III is not going to be the wild of my twenties, which, when I look back, was not wild at all but more a controlled rebellion of my life-long rules and regulations, as well as, societies strict guidelines.

Speaking of guidelines, my wildness was strictly within the guidelines of all the other rebellious twenty-somethings and that doesn't smell of wildness to me. It has the distinct scent of a following a crowd, and that has a certain stink to it, if you know what I mean.

I want my 60's and 70's and hopefully, my 80's to be filled with laughing that challenges my bladder, sights and music and moments that make the hair on my neck and arms dance. I believe it is time that Mrs. Richardson and Ms. Machado blend their essences. (Look, Mrs. Richardson is so relieved not to be carrying the weight of the world, she is smiling and her shoulders just dropped from just below her ears to normal shoulder position. As she and  Ms. Machado fade into one, the wrinkle in Mrs. Richardson's forehead smooths out and I do believe there is a faint smile growing.  Bea moves to take up the responsibilities, the move was seconded by Carly-Anne and the vote is unanimous.  Integration is a marvelous thing). 

Tuesday evening several friends and I attended a wonderful concert.  We swayed to the music of Patty Griffin and John Fullbright; I am not sure about the others but I fought the incredibly difficult urge to jump to my feet and dance several times. She sat at the piano and sang "I'm Going To Miss You When You're Gone" and I cried like a baby.

She has a range of music styles that has no end, but her R&B is epic. Up there on the stage she is truly alive and present. Patty moves with a grace and sensuousness from her soul while she sings.

That's what I want out of Act III. I want my movements to be sensuous, not in the sexual way, but meaning that all my senses are alive and aware of the moment. I want to smell and taste color, I want to hear the sky, I want to feel the visible and invisible. I want my eyes to see, really see what surrounds me.

Our book club read Cheryl Strayed's Wild this past week, it was a second read for me, but it reminded me of hiking in Lassen Park alone last week. Granted, it was not the Pacific Coast Trail (because, frankly, that sounds a little insane to me) but I was alone in the trees and the mountain air. I was alone in the silence that is not silence but an incredible symphony of nature's living instruments.

Act III is beginning to weave itself into reality. I've decided to throw away the script...it wasn't going anywhere anyway!  No script to follow; plans, yes, but nothing carved in stone, flexible for changes of the wind, of spirit or calls of the soul.

I will feel the wildness in acts of daily living, feel the joy of water running over my hands when I do dishes, I will dance while I vacuum, I will feel the blessing of warmth with each log I throw into the woodstove.  I will travel, sometimes with and sometimes solo. I will sing with all my heart (except for the tiny bit of heart that has pity for anyone within hearing distance).

In Act III, I believe, I will be a Peony, for a little while, for forever is a long, long time.

Photo Courtesy of White Flower Farm

Peonies by Mary Oliver

"....the flowers bend their bright bodies,

and tip their fragrance to the air,

and rise,

their red stems holding

all that dampness and recklessness

gladly and lightly,

and there it is again —

beauty the brave, the exemplary,

blazing open.

Do you love this world?

Do you cherish your humble and silky life?

Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?

Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,

and softly,

and exclaiming of their dearness,

fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,

with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,

their eagerness

to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are

nothing, forever?

Well, Hell

You can build a fence out of steel or iron. It can be twelve feet tall or reach the sky. Signs threatening trespassers can be every six feet or every six inches.

Sooner or later though, you are bound to leave the gate open.

Damn!

The Lessons of a Dream

Wow! What a dream I had this morning. I could feel the texture of the coat I was wearing, the breeze on my face. People's eyes could be read. Interesting selection of people to join me for such a lucid dream, too.

Three, no four, major players in the dream.

One person, who has a habit of "not showing up" was in the dream and, surprise, did not show up!

Person-two, I found her stuffed bunny, gave it back to her. We chatted and danced while we waited for person-one to not show up. She left on the school bus and took her bunny with her, both seemed very happy to be reunited!

Person-three, was headed to the laundromat, but eyes told me that maybe later.....

Person-four - What are you doing in my dreams? I've never seen you here before; welcome! You look good at the head of the table! Your leadership skills are becoming very impressive!

I was wearing my pretty royal blue coat with the fur collar that I lost 45 years ago. All this time I thought it was stolen but I just left it in the land of dreams. What other items might be waiting there for me to rediscover?  It would be nice if my skate key is there. I don't have the skates anymore but I sure liked that skate key. It would look good on a 30" silver chain surrounded with Kyanite and Iolite beads.

The restaurant where I was having lunch with friends was built with thick redwood beams  and boards. Windows wrapped around three sides of the dining room. I could smell the vegetables roasted in rosemary and the ravioli (I'm pretty sure I brought the ravioli with me from watching Master Chef Canada last night. I could taste it too and all I have to say is "YUM"!)

I do hope my subconscious noted the location of the restaurant; the ambiance was remarkable and the black currant balsamic vinaigrette was literally out-of-this-world! I'm going to start sleeping with a  mason jar just in case I go back.

If I die in my sleep, know that some uptight dream-realm official wouldn't let me transfer dimensions with a mason jar full of salad dressing and I chose to stay with that divine nectar of the gods!

I found a folding laundry basket, returned it to person-two, returned to the curb to wait!  I looked down the street and knew that person-one was always going to not-show-up. I unbuttoned my coat, put my hands in my pockets and started walking in the direction of home. I made the choice not to wait but to show up for myself.

The walk felt good, the pace was brisk, even in an elegant pair of heels! I was smiling. The air brushed my face as I walked and as I woke, I could still feel the breeze on my skin and I was still smiling.

Now, if you'll excuse me. My teapot is whistling and I have fresh ginger to peel and chop. The crew is waiting for me by the pool. We are going to repair the net on the pool sweep and draw straws to see who is going to sweep up the mess of crushed sand dollars in the entry, family room and living room floors.

I learned two lessons in the last 24 hours. I can show up for myself and bored dogs have a taste for sea shells.

My Furniture Friends

Earlier this morning....oops...it is after 12:00....another successful morning of putting the BIG stuff off....I wondered why Mrs. Richardson was in such a huff!

As I was saying, earlier today, I was writing about what kind of furniture I would be. After I posted it, I took the dogs out for a quick sniff'n'pee. We came back in the house, did a few chores.

As I performed the odd and ends of daily living I was thinking about some friends and what type of furniture they might be. It was vital to take the visualizations into the darker corners of my mind. BabaMara is extremely magical and has a new wand. She hasn't placed anyone in a jar lately or even threatened to have them toad! I'm afraid she might be tempted to try to turn a friend or two into a whimsical table or sideboard if I thought too loud!

I picked several of those I love and tried to imagine what they might think of themselves, erased those images...(too intrusive?)...and thought of how I might draw them if we were to magically transport to a fantasy story of animated accoutrements!

One, dear to me, would be a high queen-worthy bed. The headboard would be constructed out of time-worn wood boards, bleached by the sun, sanded smooth by the wind and the sea.  The top-edge, fashioned into a series of crashing waves.  The wood, dressed in a thin wash of white, would expose it's beautiful knots and wavy grain.  A fluffy down cover would rest on the pillow-top mattress.

The barely-there baby-blue luster of her thousand-count linens would lure you in, inviting you to rest your head on the soft pillows for a restful nap. Extra pillows, tapestries of scenes of the sea, stripes of white and blue and silk in beach colors, top the bed, in case you are more tempted to read a good novel with pillows plumped behind you.  A magical quilt of sage and sand, all the colors of the sea covers the bed; you can almost hear the waves gently rolling onto shore as you behold the exquisite comforter.  A velvety blanket in a deep, deep sage lies folded at the foot of the bed.

Did I mention, that mixed in with the mountain of pillows is a round cushion with a picture of the Supremes in long, sparkly gowns and gloves, hands held out? "Stop In The Name Of Love!" printed in bright red under the women. The back side of the pillow displays Rosanna Anna Danna and the words, "NEVERMIND!"

p.s. There might be a couple of crumbs from this morning's bagel on the left side of the bed and that is definitely a ring from a coffee mug on the bedside table, next to the stack of books and Coastal Living magazines.

I have another friend who could be the most amazing and exquisite antique oak credenza and hutch. Hand-carved details on the drawers, the trim and along the hutch opening. Her mid-west roots are visible in the bead-board backing of the hutch, painted a soft pastel sage. A collection of hat boxes sit atop the hutch, in various patterns and colors; each tied with a matching ribbon, holding memories and secrets, bits and pieces of life and love. The shelves of the hutch hold photos of loved ones, pretty vases and bright porcelain birds.

On the left side of the hutch is a small copper cup hook with a ring of keys hanging from it. Some are skeleton keys with the patina of age. There are also keys so bright and shiny that they hint of unlocking doors and drawers to come.

The middle drawer of the credenza is lined with red velvet; oh the things it holds dear!  The drawer on the right holds a bright light that shines when the drawer is pulled from its berth; the drawer on the left is her articulation drawer which is opened and shared freely with company.  The cabinets hold books and knowledge and wisdom.

Unlike typical aged brass or bronze hardware, this knobs and pulls are bright colored glass with specks of gems embedded in the glass.

While the credenza and hutch are antique and splendid they are also magical. Each time a person goes away and comes back to them, they appear younger, they never have to be dusted or polished. The richness of the wood grain and patina remain but the sense of youth and newness exudes from it.

Sleek Red Sofa

Have you ever asked yourself....and my guess is that you haven't....have you ever asked yourself, if you were a piece of furniture, what item would you be?

Yesterday, on HGTV, in one of the property hunting programs, a sleek, red sofa was in one of the rooms. The couple doing the hunting were looking for a place for a woman who couldn't do the search herself.

When their eyes spotted the sleek red sofa, they both "oohed" and said, "Whoa, she'll love that couch. If she were a piece of furniture, that's what she would be!"

It was pretty impressive! One the "searchers" was the woman's husband and, frankly, the sofa was pretty damn sexy. The design was contemporary with a low tufted red leather back, sleek edges and wide chaise off one side. Can you imagine someone comparing you to a sleek sexy item?

Made me think about what kind of furniture would I be.

The first picture to pop into my head was a window seat built into a bay window on the south side of a house. Warm sun streaming in, bookshelf built into sides; the seat able to be lifted up to hide and discover whimsical and magical items and books. Cushioned seat, lots of pillows, well-padded, comfy.

The troupes advised me I was visualizing a design element of a building rather than an item of furniture.

"Think "Home Goods" or "Stickley"!"

I promptly flipped them off, followed with "Think This!"

Was that me or was that Bea? Is it possible that the two of us are enmeshing?

Back on-track.

I would be a comfy over-stuffed chair with winged back and high, rounded arms for snuggling into. I know in my heart that I would not be a single color nor would I be a buffalo plaid.

The deep seat cushion would be a bright purple, turquoise and sea green in swirls and capricious geometric shapes. The edges of the cushions would be verticle stripes in the same colors. The overstuffed wings would be covered in purple polka dot on a turquoise background, the arms in a reverse pattern with the turquoise dots of different sizes. There would be 3 pillows; one a bright orange, one a deep purple and one with stars and moons in a dark purple night sky.

I'm thinking there should be a skirt on the chair (to hide dust bunnies and books that don't fit on the two side tables. The skirt should probably be the same vertical stripes as the cushion edges; there should be some control, right?

I would need to be an puffy square ottoman, tufted top matching chair cushion and the full skirting in vertical stripes though I should have piping in the polka dot purple and turquoise.

There is a little debate going on with the crew between fabric types; cotton vs microfiber!  Cotton is a natural fiber, it is soft and durable (sound like me) but it is not fade resistant, will wrinkle and is actually flammable (again, me!) I am already imaging some wrinkles in the cushion and a little natural wear on the arms.

Microfiber on the other hand is comfortable, forgiving, long-lasting and easy to clean (me!) Down-side of microfiber; it is a synthetic!


We're going with cotton!

What piece of furniture are you? Are you a seven piece sectional with several layout options? Could you be a stately four-poster bed with a pillow top and silk canopy?  Maybe you are stained-glass lamp with guilded base and a pull chain with a peacock knob on the end?

Choices

There are times that I question whether Free Will is a gift or a curse!

A dear friend once told me that a dilemma is having to make a decision between two objectionable choices.

The crew and I are right smack in the middle of a dilemma. Mrs. Richardson knows what she thinks is best for us and Bea, of course, has her preference. The rest of the troops are kneeling next to the pool with their heads under water. They are refusing to come up for air until I leap off the fence, committing myself to action, one way or the other.

I'm going to miss them!

Usually, when a decision is to be made, I take a sheet of paper, draw a line down the middle. The left column gets the word:

    Options

At the top of the right column, I write: (yes, I actually use a pen and paper like in the "olde days")

Advantages / Disadvantages

Under options, in this case, are two simple lines:

Make A Big Change.

Make a couple of little changes within the status quo.

Though I have considered a third option:

Don't make any change.

The third line is a cop-out, so I'm hesitant to give it any energy and Bea stomps her foot every time I attempt to write it down.

Act III is not a time to be weak or scared or indecisive but, I have to be honest with you; I don't think Act III is a good time to make any grand booboos either!

So, I ponder the lists in the right column:

Sense of self-worth/

Living in my own integrity/

Pride/

Peace/

Self-Respect/

/Scarey (yes, I am a bit of a coward)

/ Some other stuff

/ and some other stuff

Being a woman who believes in a higher spirit, I could place it all in God's hands but I find that God often expects more from me than I have.  We will definitely have a conversation about expectations on Judgement Day...and timeliness, definitely timeliness!

I could take the spinner out of the box of the Life game in the family room cabinet, make my own little boxes with possible options and give it a spin! I'm not sure that spinner and I ever had much of a relationship, so maybe that's a no.

Maybe a pair of dice! Odds, I Make A Big Change; Even, I make little changes within status quo!  Bill just pulled his head out of the pool long enough to yell out "3 out of 5"!  He's right, I would keep raising the odds to keep myself from making a decision.

A puddle grows around her feet as BabaMara wrings pool water from her skirt. Her face is a little pruney! The crew has been under water way too long!  "You cannot make this decision alone, my love. There needs to be communication, discussion, boundaries set!"

I love BabaMara but she obviously inhaled way too much in the 60's. It seems to have affected her memory. There has been communication, discussion and boundaries!  Yet, her comment does inspire a new column: 

Moving Options to the middle of the page:

Options

New left column:

Needs

Being heard

Being acknowledged

Being respected

Pull your heads out of the water, Peeps! We're jumping off the fence! Looks like Make A Big Change wins!

Get that spinner out and lets see where we're going!

We Don't Get It!

Usual suspects gathered around the pool this morning, waiting for the sun to rise with a blanket wrapped around our shoulders. Our three dogs racing around the yard chasing the sleep away.

We are confused.

While waiting for our tea to brew, we made the mistake of turning the television on to catch up on what's happening in the world.  As I picked up the remote, I heard Bea and BabaMara whispering to each other. Both believed it was a mistake; both were right.

Never start your week off with Domestic Violence vs NFL sanctions....it's ain't right!

Every channel was showing the video of Baltimore Raven Running Back Ray Rice punching the lights out of his then fiance, Janay Palmer. He knocked her unconscious in an elevator and then, instead of getting down on the floor to make sure she was okay, he drags her out of the elevator.

I'm not sure if the average public is aware that all NFL players except Kickers and Quarterbacks are required to lift 225 pounds but the average Running Back lifts between 340 and 360. Can you imagine the kind of wallop those arms can deliver? Ms. Palmer is probably, tops, 150. She is unconscious and the man engaged to "love and honor" her for the rest of her life drags her out of the elevator instead of lifting her and carrying her out to get help.

The Ravens and NFL suspend the poor guy for two games....boy, that'll teach him! That makes a statement to the world, doesn't it? 

This morning the Ravens are saying they didn't see the whole video! They only saw the part of Ms. Palmer laying on the ground, unconscious, with her feet in the elevator door way, while RB Rice paces around. (Do you wonder what was going through his head as his fiance lay unconscious, "Someone call a doctor"? or "Honey, I am so sorry, please be okay"? or "OMG, I've really lost her this time"? or maybe, "Get up, Bitch, before someone sees you and Coach slaps my wrist for being a bad boy"?

Apparently, the world that says it's okay for the good ol' boys in Congress to grab a Congresswoman's belly who has just had a baby and tell her she's getting fat or he likes his women with a little meat on them; the world where female Senators and Congresswomen know which of their workmates to avoid getting on an elevator with; the world that puts rape victims of "asking for it" by the clothes they wear, is up in arms because Roger Goddell, NFL Comissioner only suspended Rice for two games.

By the way, the suspension was only for two "season games". Rice participated in pre-season games and training camp. Goddell is ashamed of the "slap on the wrist" penalty and promises to do better. Any player commtting acts of Domestic Violence in the future will receive at the very least a 6 game suspension to a lifetime ban in the NFL!  Six games to a lifetime ban. Now that's what I call a spread!
I wonder if the "or lifetime ban" was some PR person's last minute, "Hey, add this, it'll sound like we mean business!"

So, Rice sat out a game this week, still worked out with the team, still gets paid (just not for game day) and the poor fellow will sit out next week, too.

We saw the pictures of Ray Rice looking "remorseful" albeit a little smile bespeaks more of his entitlement than remorse.  It appears that Rice's record of DV will be expunged once he finishes a diversion program, so, most likely, the only fine he will have to pay is the two game suspension and a $500,000 NFL fine.

By the way, Rice received $15,000,000 sign on bonus and his average annual salary is $7,000,000. I bet that $500,000 really hurts.


Tom Sims, a comedian out of Arizona once commented, "I heard that women are attracted to bad boys, so every once in a while, I throw a recyclable item into the regular garbage."

That's my kind of bad boy.

The part of this whole thing that we are confused about this morning is the pictures on the reports. It makes us want to cry. The violence of the attack in the elevator, the dragging of an unconscious woman and, mostly, the picture of Ray Rice sitting at a table afterwards, with a little-boy smile on his face, a huge diamond in his ear, in his high end suit, sitting next to his wife. Her head is down, staring at the table, looking lost, Mrs. Janay Rice, the former Ms. Janay Palmer.

That's the part we just don't get. 

"Another Saturday Night....."

"Another Saturday night and I ain't got nobody I've got some money 'cause I just got paid Now, how I wish I had someone to talk to I'm in an awful way"

Okay, maybe this isn't 100 percent true but that tune has been cycling through my mind over and over and actually both versions of it...Sam Cooke and Cat Stevens? 

If I had to have one of these versions stuck in my head for eternity, which one would I choose?....Okay, gotta be Sam Cooke cuz heeeeee sends me, I know that heeeeee sends me......

So, which version do you prefer?

Let's play a game. Do you remember the following songs and who recorded them? Who do your think did the best job?

A Groovy Kind of Love? Diane and Annita(who?) or Phil Collins, hands down Phil Collins, who else could make those lyrics sound so cool and sophisticated. Patti LaBelle and Sonny and Cher also recorded it, though not memorably (is that a word?)

You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling? Righteous Brothers, Elvis Presley, Hall and Oates, Kenny Rogers (I know, he doesn't rate the list but he did record it) and don't forget The Boom Boom Band.

Dionne Warwick recorded it too. Close race between Righteous Brothers and Elvis but I've got to go with the Righteous Brothers...got goose bumps just thinking about it.

Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da? The Beatles, Herb Alpert or Arthur Fiedler and the Boston Pops? I know, No contest. And I don't even like the Beatles!

You Send Me? Back to my dream partner Sam Cooke. Who would be so foolish to try and follow up the best slow-hold-me-tight-honey-and sneak-a-kiss song in the entire galaxy? The Supremes, nice try girls, Steve Miller Band, Richie Havens, Percy Sledge, Michael Bolton, uh, no, and Rod Stewart, which was nice but not Sam, and didn't Chaka Kahn sing it too? Sam where are you?

Crazy? Now Patsy Cline wins this one hands down and Norah Jones comes in a close second but the list of people who didn't record it would be shorter than the list of everyone who did.

Patsy Cline gets my vote for Walkin' After Midnight too.

Am I Blue? Great song, best when alone with a half pint of Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia, flannel jammies, box of tissue and big fluffy pillows. Okay, everyone at the same time....Ethel Waters! But it was also recorded by Fats Domino, Charlie Rich, Linda Ronstadt (was that pre or post Jerry Brown) Bette Midler and when I was a little girl, Gloria Lynne.

Have I lost all you readers under 40 years of age?  Do you even know any of the songs above? 

Try this for a battle of the ages!

Michael Buble or Frank Sinatra? Come Fly With Me

Queen, Diana Krall or Michael Buble? Crazy Thing Called Love

Michael Buble or Paul Anka? Put Your Head On My Shoulder! Paul Anka, because I remember my head on Mike Gardner's shoulder when I was 16 and it felt good...he never could understand why I broke up with him...it might have had something to do with the fact that he wanted to be a priest when he grew up!!!!

Let's Fall In Love? Now tell me that song isn't great no matter who is singing it? Diana Krall, Tony Bennett and, uh, what's his name, oh yeah, Rod Stewart. Its delicious anytime.

Against All Odds (Take a Look at Me Now) Phil Collins, he's the man, Scott Savol, I love his voice; and, eventually, Mariah Carey...get a job, honey!

Cruisin' Now this is a contest and I love Smokey Robinson but I gotta tell ya Gwyneth Paltrow and Huey Lewis harmonized themselves into my heart, any of my kids readin' this, I want the Duets sound track for Christmas.

Speaking of Huey Lewis, what about Little Bitty Pretty One? Doesn't that song just make you want to put a poodle skirt and jitter-buggin' shoes on and cut a rug! Let me see, Bobby Day and the Satellites, Frankie Avalon, The Dave Clark Five (oh yes they did!!!), the Alley Cats, The Dovells (was over quickly), the Jackson 5, yeah, them too! Actually, the Doobie Brothers recorded it, too. I think they tied with Huey! Just a good song to dance to (or mop a floor).

Love Huey Lewis but Frankie Avalon didn't suck....at least that's what my mommy told me (wink wink knudge knudge)

Riding in a Stolen Car (might just be Stolen Car), Patty Griffin, Bruce Springsteen or the Rocking Chairs (?). Sorry you rockers, gotta go with my girl, Patty.

Break On Thru To The Other Side: Doors or Stone Temple Pilots? Doors, baby!!!

Speaking of the Doors, how could I have forgotten L.A. Woman. Billy Idol, The King, Days of the New. THE DOORS! geez' doesn't anybody have a clue?

Takin' It To The Streets, Doobie Brothers, shame on Take 6 for even trying.

Remember Captain and Tenille and Love Will Keep Us Together. So who do like in this one, Neil Sedaka, The Captain and Tenille, The Tubes or Nickleback or DelBo?

Nickleback also did Saturday Night's Alright. The Who, Elton John, Flotsam and Jetsam or Nickleback. Can't answer that one, haven't heard Nickleback sing it but Elton and The Who are pretty close....alright, Elton, no The Who, no Elton...uh, let me think about it.

Tiny Dancer? Elton or Red Hot Chili Peppers. Elton John and he really did do Saturday Night's Alright the best, yeah, yeah, that's my answer and I'm stickin' to it.

Good Day Sunshine? Lampshade or Beatles..Lampshade, what were you thinkin'?

Monday, Monday? Matthew Sweet and Susanna Hoffs or Mamas and Papas. Who can beat Mama Cass's harmonies?

Well, that was a nice little walk down memory lane and I'm still alone but now I truly feel really old and I'm back to humming: "Another Saturday night and I ain't got nobody I've got some money 'cause I just got paid Now, how I wish I had someone to talk to, I'm in an awful way"

Look It Up

Irreverence.

IRREVERENCE

I-R-R-E-V-E-R-N-C-E

My vice of choice, well, not really by choice,  more like vice by birth. I inherited it.

I can't seem to shake it. It's like fly paper. The harder I try to shake it off the more stuck I get and stickiness is a gateway drug to Irreverence.

Okay, to be honest, I really haven't tried to shake it. Not even on the day I got married, been married 4 times but only two husbands. Married the first guy twice..what was I thinking! Married the second guy twice, too, but our last ceremony was a recommittal (OMG..re-committal...boy, could I run with that one!)  At the ring part of the ceremony, with husband #two, when the pastor asks, "What tokens do you have to show?" My husband and I look up at each other with love in our eyes and whisper to each other, "Tokens? Tokens? We don't got to show you no stinkin' tokens!"

(I just love him. For a good catholic boy he is pretty irreverent himself at times!  My husband, not the pastor! Side note: The above # is not a hashtag, I really meant number, though I have hashtagged other adjectives about and to him!)

My sister got a tattoo this year. She and my grandson are Tatt-Buddies and got matching Mustang tattoos. (Fords, WTF! Mustang Sally and Mustang Sal! "Leave the gun, take the cannoli!")

I want a tat, too! (oops, slipped out!) I want a tattoo buddy like my sister but I'm having a hard time deciding on a meaningful tat. No Body (get it? BODY?) wants to get a tat that doesn't mean something, at least, it seems pretty stupid to suffer the pain, scabbing and parting ways with big bucks for a tatoo that has no significance to it, don't you think?

I want it on my lower back, I believe the kids call that a tramp-stamp, but what do they know? They don't even talk to each other without using their thumbs and then it's all LOL, ROVLMAO, IDK, CYBL, TY,  etc. In a hundred years we will have lost our vocal chords but will be able to lift Dodge Rams with our thumbs!

So, back to my tat woes. I can't decide between the word PEACE in subtle rainbow shades or a menacing Glock with the words "Lock and Load" in a curly, frilly font. None of my friends want to be tat-buddies with me and that makes me sad. Of course, I am completely relieved because I don't like pain and I'll throw up if I drink enough to make it not hurt and I'm not fond of throwing up either.

Ah, that's another problem I have, I digress! I'm post menopausal, digressing is a symptom, it snuck up on me. Back to the elephant in the room: irreverence.

I get in trouble because a person can be telling me something really serious, irreverence gene shifts into gear and my face betrays me! Unbeknownst to me, it breaks out in a smile. Honestly, the compassion is there but the irreverence factor kicks in and takes over facial expression and body language.

For instance, a friend of mine had their car stolen from the Quizno's parking lot on Little Eureka Way. They locked it, but it was a really hot day, so they left the windows open!  Seventeen irreverent (but classic) thoughts jump into my mind, you know, the "two cans short of a case" kinds of thoughts. I mean, no one leaves a car parked on Little Eureka Way, let alone with windows down. I know it's Redding and the temperature was a 3-digit-high, but still, hit a drive thru and keep your car! Luckily, he knows my mind cuts checks that my face will cash without proper I.D. He's okay with that!

My mother-in-law has diverticulitis but every time she tells me about her symptoms the irreverence gene whispers things like, "Wow, that's pretty shitty!"

I call the irreverent part of me "Bill", I imagine him in worn levi's, white t-shirt and a pack of cigarettes rolled up in one sleeve of the t-shirt. He doesn't smoke because I would have to kill him and that probably wouldn't be good.  Who would take out the trash or clean the bathrooms? None of the rest of us in here want to be responsible for that shit....oops, see, smile....and I'm dead serious.

Is there a rehab for irreverent people?  Irreverence Annonymous?  "Hi, my name is Toni and I'm irreverent!"

I'm afraid of life without irreverence, to be quite frank. Without irreverence, I might get a case of relevance! Pertinence without impertinence, what kind of world would that be? If I lost my irreverence, people might take me serious and that's not a good creek to be up, with or without a paddle!

Besides, I don't really have a problem. I can stop being irrelevant any time I want!

Really don't have time for rehab anyway, I'm packing for a trip up De Nile river; need to take crocodile wrestling lessons, buy a pith helmet and some straw sandles so I can "walk like an egyptian".  I better get them cheap, too, because I don't want to be e-gypt!

Dragging Beatrice In For A Make Over!

Beatrice marched around the pool this morning, barking at the rest of us about what fools we are.

I have to be honest here. We almost never listen to Beatrice because she is kind of nasty. She yells, she jumps up and down (Richter Scale 4.2) while she rants and raves. She's the one who blasts the car horn when some idiot on their cell phone cuts us off. She's the one steps forward during bad customer service moments and firmly states, "Excuse me, but I believe your humanity batteries up the wrong channel, may I speak to someone with manners!"

We don't experience these outbursts very often; we try to keep her blocked from rising to the surface unless we are alone. Sinthya is the only one who encourages Beatrice to tell it like it is, "Sin tabues, mamacita!"

The crew sat around the pool in a haze of despondent fog as Beatrice went off on us.

"Lower our expectations? Lower our expectations, you can't get any further under a slug, you spineless idiots! Shove those asses of yours into some big-girl panties and start speaking up. You're letting stuff fester and then you blow up at dumb-shit. Look at all of you! You've got dumb-shit all over yourselves!"

Wrinkling her nose and curling her lip, she bellowed at Bill, "Go get us a dead skunk to cover up the stench of this bunch of losers!"

Bill tossed the cigarette he'd been attempting to roll all morning and headed for the gate.

"Where are you going?" Geeze, was that a bark or a bellow?

"To get a dead skunk!"

"Sit down, Bill! Sit!"

Between the insults, the barking and the bellowing, she really did expose some of our "shit" as she calls it.  Slowly, each of us began to witness the truth in what had, at first, seemed to be empty babble.

"Machado! How many times are you going to ask, ever so politely, to be kept in the loop? There is no loop! Get it....NO LOOP!  Go to Walmart and get a hula hoop and loop that!  Make some rules about how you will and will not be treated! Stand your ground! Make your own loop if you want one! "

"Carly-Anne, go create something beautiful! Don't let these whiners stop you from doing what you do best just because they've got their knickers on backwards! Let them take care of themselves!"

"Richardson!  RICHARDSON!....That's right, Mrs. Tension, You, of all people, could have said, "unacceptable" and continued to do your thing, whatever the hell that is, with your uptight suits and spiked pencils? "

Ownership of your faults and short comings is a hard drink to get down. It takes two tablespoons of honey for every teaspoon of acid, but we drank the concoction.  We looked ourselves in the mirror and saw it all....kind of hard not to with Beatrice shoving your nose in it, but, I guess if it works.

After going to our own corners and distilling the "aha's" we came back for a good Coach-Lombardo team meeting. We made some promises and proclamations. We signed some contracts with each other and ourselves. We practiced a couple of  "remedial back-bone" exercises and received a bit of "speak-your-truth" therapy.

Without Beatrice's intervention, we could possibly still be wallowing in CryMeARiverville at the Whiners Bar and Grill.  We owe her.

We're taking her in for a make-over! Yup, we're tossing out the brown pleathor walking shoes and burning the Viking bra. Her little blue dress with the tired pink buttons is history.


Sinthya is demanding that the first items on the list:
1. Eyebrow and upper lip waxing.
2. Toss out the rubber band and bobby pins and give Beatrice's face muscles some relief!
3. Visit to Victoria Secrets

We realize all the icky stuff has been constantly dumped on Beatrice. She's the one who always has to stand the ground; fire at the target; crack the whip; change the tires and check the oil! We've just been along for the ride....she even pushes the car when it's out of gas while we sit inside and bitch about how slow we're going!

Wow! Who knew her hair was so beautiful, down and flowing? BabaMara and Sinthya are teaching her how to french braid. She vetoed make-up and we all agreed, she's beautiful without it.

What do you buy for a skinny woman with DD's, huevos of steel and a lifetime of wisdom?

Dark denim skinny jeans, a kimchi blue tunic top with just the perfect amount of cleavage peeking through the cut lace, sunset-lenses mirrored sun glasses and turquoise Lucchese Kokopelli cowgirl boots just right for kicking butts!

Anarchy At Poolside

The crew is not happy this morning! A whole range of emotions is poolside, anger, frustration, hurt, disgust, even a bit of self-righteous I-told-you-so but Happy is missing!

Mrs. Richardson is indignant! She is not one who likes surprises. She has requested, repeatedly, that she be informed of events that may or may not interrupt our plans.

Ms. Machado's feeling are hurt. She thinks she deserves more respect. She, too, has requested to be kept in the loop and would like an occasional invite to attend at times. Not always, but an occassional, "Hey, would you like to come with me, it would be fun!"

We all agree that a monotone, "You are certainly welcome to attend if you want!" after we have verbalized our dismay is unacceptable.

Hard to read Bill, he just keeps rolling the same cigarette and occassionaly quoting Olivia Goldsmith, "The secret to true happiness is a combination of low expectations and insensitivity!" 

I'm wondering if our expectations can get any lower! Believe me, we are working on the insensitivity!

Carly-Anne is curled up on a lawn chair. Purple and turquoise smears on her cheeks from wiping tears away. One should always wash the paint off your hands before crying! I'll have to talk to her about that, but not right now. I'm wondering if the tears are because of the event or our reaction to the event. 

Speaking of paint, Sinthya is painting her toe nails a bright royal blue and muttering something about "corazon curo" and"pedo desconsiderado" under her breath. When she isn't muttering she is ordering the rest of us to get our shit together because we are going out tonight to "termine de beber toda la bebida!" (my spanish is mucho rusty but I think that last line means "get hammered!")

Beatrice has her "bitch on"!  She is rocking out the I-told-you-so's! I'm  not sure that I've ever described Beatrice to you. She sports a perpetual frown which has welded a deep V in the space between her eyes. She is, maybe 5'2", her hair is grey, but not the beautiful silver-white and wild of BabaMara's but more a dreary salt and pepper, heavy on the salt pulled so tightly into a stingy little bun. A hairstyle one could only describe as stern! She always wears the same grey-blue housedress with sad, tiny pink flowers and tinier pink buttons up the front. The dress would probably fit well if it wasn't for her (as Bill has nicknamed them) "large-tracts-of-land" which she keeps imprisoned in a bra that could only have been designed and built for Viking warfare.  Hence the phrase we use when she is in full combat mode: Beatrice-got-her-knockers-up! The fabric is stretched to the maximum capacity across her bosom and the little pink buttons keep repeating, "I'm giving her all she's got, Captain!"  She has no butt to speak of, her legs are barely more than sticks and, honestly, I've seen more stylish shoes on the nuns at catechism in the 60's. She is a cross between Olive Oyl and Pamela Anderson with Maleficent's charm.

BabaMara is embroidering stars on a small velvet bag, while she sits under the plum tree with her back to us. My impression is that she is a little disgusted that we are all reacting with such depth of emotion. The only thing she said this morning was "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and over again with the expectation of different results!" She also commented that the juice should have less fruit and a little bit more green vegetables and ginger.

She's right, you know!

We do keep observing the same behavior, even participating in it in a very co-dependent, enabler-ish way; then being hurt and angry when the same thing happens again. Funny, "surprise" is never part of the equation, so why should hurt and anger be part of it? AAaaand, there should have been more endive and less pears in the juice!

We DO need to get our shit together!

Miracle Near East Street

The newspaper rustled from behind us.  The Record Searchlight newspaper in hand, Bill read the article outloud.  "Six City of Redding police officers who shot, close range, at a troubled young man, missing him 66 times. A 67th bullet grazed the man's upper arm. He was taken to the hospital, treated and released!"

BabaMara and Sinthya floated in the pool; I sat at the edge, feet immersed in the cool water, sipping a glass of chilled Riesling.  Carly-Anne she sat on the diving board sketching the crew. She wore an x-large, wet Seahawks t-shirt and bikini bottoms. (Someone remind me to ask her where she got her hands on Seattle-wear!).

It is 111 degrees today, yet Mrs. Richardson is wearing a navy blue suit with ivory blouse, reading  Edward Brown's The Time Management Solution. Her legs are crossed and one foot is wagging back and forth a mile a minute...and we didn't even have any coffee today.

Beatrice and Ms. Machado are sitting at the picnic table, under the umbrella. Ms. Machado is flipping through our Etymology Dictionary; Beatrice is intently listening to Bill read the article.

"Those cops shot up the doors, windows, siding of the building and nearby cars! Only one bullet
barely nicked him!"  Bill editorializes as he reads...always!  He continues reading, "the officers involved have all been placed on administrative leave pending further investigation!"

Bill throws his head back and laughs from the belly! I have to admit, his laugh is incredibly contagious. "Administrative Leave, hell, they've probably been condemned to permanent assignment to the nearest shooting range until further notice!"

Barely moving as she floats in the pool, BabaMara's soft but distinctive voice is for the benefit of all so us though she directs it to Bill. "My dear boy, could it be possible that you believe that six trained police officers, firing their semi-automatic guns at a stationary man with a shotgun and missing 66, almost 67 times was due to their lack of talent?"

"Well....yeah! I mean, how could you miss? We can stand on the upper deck at the ranch and hit the water's edge on the spillway dead on, every time, and the spillway is 300 yards from us!'

"Yes, we can! But remember, we are also leaning on the railing, using a rifle and firing at an unarmed water line!"

"BabaMara, those cops shot up everything but the guy and he had a shotgun pointed at them."

At this point in the conversation, Mrs. Richardson slams her book shut and retreats into the house; Ms. Machado quickly flips through the pages of the etymology dictionary, towards the end of the book. (my intuition says she was looking up the roots of  the word "weaponry"...though I'm of the belief that BabaMara would have her looking up "miracle")

"That is exactly what I am talking about, Bill.  The young man, standing on his porch, brandishing a shotgun; correction; unloaded shotgun; was a very decent, gentle, loving man. He had just lost his job and his girlfriend.  His mother came to visit and she was, as Beatrice would describe her, "a real-piece-of-work! His plan was suicide-by-cop. Do you not see that there was some divine intervention during that shoot-out?"

Carly straightens so quickly pencils roll off the diving board, into the pool. "Do you mean it was a miracle, BabaMara?"

Sinthya, who was in the middle of a turn as she swam laps, dove down to retrieve the pencils.

Carly's eyes seem to be popping out of her head as she chews on a pencil in her hand. My head nods up and down. Bill and Beatrice shake their heads back and forth.

"Old Woman,"  (Careful, Beatrice, don't tread on BabMara.)  "Are you telling us that God reached down and blocked those bullets, "faster than a speeding bullet," like Superman?"

Sinthya rises from the depths of the pool, hands Carly the two dripping pencils and finishes the turn to continue her laps. "No, not Dios! He sent Santo Miguel to, to, how do you say desvio? Yes, to detour the balas, uh, bullets! El Arcangel Miguel is our protector and he is also the patron of the policia!"

And with that, BabaMara closed her eyes to float, Sinthya continued her laps, Carly looked up at the sky. Bill and Beatrice moved close together to read another page of the paper and I made the sign of the cross. Thank you, Santo Miguel, for your intervention.

Michael by Wen-M

Ayudeme Dios!

"There, but for the grace of God, go I."

We've all said it..

Do you remember where you were and how you felt when you heard that JFK was shot? I do.  I also remember the exact moments and feelings upon discovering Bobby Kennedy's assassination, the Challenger explosion, World Trade Center attack, as well as being told that my grandmother had died and the moments I found out about my ex-husband's grandparents passing.

Each of those moments were filled with overwhelming shock, as well as, heartbreak, frozen in time.

Television, radio and the internet are full of reports about Robin Williams.  Is it possible that anyone in the world was not touched by him or at least one of the characters that he portrayed?  The world is grieving for the loss of one of those people who stands out from the crowd.

The first report I saw said, Robin Williams, 63, Dead from Apparent Suicide. The article continues, he was born in 1951, suffered from life-long bouts of deep depression...

Reading those words, the heartbreak was present, but shock? Shock was not a factor in my response. Not because I knew Mr. Williams and his history of depression but because of my own battle with depression.  You see, I was born in 1951, I am 63 and I have struggled with depression for as long as I can remember. It seemed that Williams and I were kindred spirits.

What did shock me about reading about his suicide was the thought "I get that." I understood the "why" behind the story.

I have been in those pits of hell so many times. I've sat in my car at the top of the launch ramp near Shasta Dam; car pointed towards the lake, wondering if the car could sink faster than the fishermen along the shore could get to me. Should I release the brake with windows up, to prevent a rescue or windows down, to sink faster. I driven along side the railroad tracks as a train approaches, tempted to crank the steering wheel, hard to the right.

Chronic depression is lonely.  If you tell someone how depressed you are, the response is almost always the same. "What do you have to be depressed about? You have a wonderful family, you have a nice home, you have your health!"

Robin Williams had all that and more. He had money in the bank, he had a family that loved him. Hell, he had a world that loved him. He probably never thought twice how he was going to pay the mortgage this month and still pay PG & E.

The darkness got him.  It took him down.

How dark and how lonely is too much?

How painful does it have to be that the fear of leaving the "legacy" of suicide to your family is no longer a legitimate reason to live?

My heart aches for Robin Williams; for the years of desperate moments that lead up to his last agonizing moments, for the loneliness he felt in the midst of a world that loved him. May he be in a place now, where he can see how bright his light shines and there exist no shadows to get lost in.

First Aid For Artists

If you wander around my house you will see murals, some high, some low.  The walls have different styles of textures, some made with trowels, some with whisk brooms, some with screw drivers and plastic bags. The backsplash behind my gas range is an original of much loved aspens. I create mandalas, plaster masks and I work with clay, pastels and watercolors.

My husband often warns visitors not to stand still too long or I will paint them; not a portrait but literally paint them.

Doing art and being an artist seem like two completely different things so I was surprised by an event on Tuesday afternoon, one of my granddaughters came to hang out with me.  She was sharing the excitement of the first couple of days of school.

"Mom says I don't have to have a Dtap shot!" she excitedly announced, as she reached down for a little blue plastic Fisher-Price doctor's kit the girls keep on one of the shelves of the coffee table.

"But, I think you should have one!" she says to me.

She opens the little plastic box that has a red cross painted on the top. She opens it and pulls out a yellow plastic otoscope (to look into ears). She checks my ears. "Yup," she says, "Just as I thought."

In true physician fashion, she doesn't tell me what she thought!

She then pulls out the the plunger/barrel part of a red plastic syringe. "Sorry, we're going to have to give you your Dtap, all 21 doses of it!"

Reaching back into the blue box, she pulls out a small woven bag filled with crayons! She reaches in for the green, installs it where the needle would go and gives me a little shot! She removes the green crayon, returns it to the bag and pulls out an orange crayon for my next dose.

"Lainy," I ask, "Why are there crayons in the doctor's kit?"

"It's a first aid kit, Nana, and you are an artist! Artists needs crayons in their first aid kit!" She smiled that big smile as she rolled her eyes, "Derrrr! Everyone knows that!"

So, I guess it's official. I am an artist because my first aid kit has crayons in it...24 crayons....because I am just that good!

Enigma #785

Photo Courtesy of www.redcanyonart.com

Sat in the yard this morning, reading. The book is talking to my spirit and soul. To understand the message, the book needs to be closed occasionally to think about the ideas introduced in her words.

My hands are not often idle. When not holding the book, they immediately start pushing back the cuticles of my finger nails...a very old habit started when I was 14 or 15 years old.

I looked down as my right thumb pushed at the nail bed of the pinky finger on my left hand. The bright sun was laser-bright on my left hand.

There, plain-as-day, half an inch from the last knuckle of the pinky; 1/8 " long, 1/16" wide, my very first "age spot"! My mouth flew open in surprise, pride, dismay; the whole gamut of emotions.


For as long as I can remember, people have told me that I have "pretty hands". When I was young, people always commented on the length of my fingers or the strength of my hands. I had a more than impressive reach on the piano keys. A man I dated told me I had fingers that "go from here to there!"

The strength in my fingers is impressive. When I massage someone's back or hands or feet, I  often catch them with eyes rolled back and just a bit of drool in the corner of their mouth.

Great-grandma's hands were powerful yet unquestionably tiny. She was 4'11" but a personality that was veritably giant. Her tiny hands mirrored knarled roots of an old pinion pine tree, announcing to the world, "I have lived life to the fullest!" I loved her hands and dreamed of possessing such hands when I was in my 80's and 90's.

What does this tiny brown spot mean to me?

The synchronicity of this discovery just days after Photoshopping pictures of my mom and dad is incredible. As I tweaked contrast and light levels in a five generations photo, I caught myself staring at my mother's hands. Her skin is ivory, soft, blemish free, almost transparent. Her nails are perfect ovals, all exactly the same shape and length. The blue contrast of the her veins, so very apparent.  Mom is truly the Scarlett O'Hara of the west; the sun was her enemy!  Her face, hands and, especially, decolletage were sacred space, to be protected at all times! Gloves and wide brimmed hat were mandatory when working in the yard, garden and even the beach.

I didn't inherit that tendency. Shea butter, baby oil or nothing! I lifted my face to the sun and sang, "make me brown!"  All those beautiful tans, swimming in the surf, the lakes and the pool without a care about SPF-anything!

The enigma is, I really don't know how I feel about this change in my hand. The fingers are still long, my grip is still strong but something is different.  Has the skin on the back of my hand betrayed me? Is this the beginning of the end? There is one little bit of my mind called Ego, that is screaming, "Call a dermatologist! Get this burned off!"

But, even as I type this, my eyes wander down to that little spot. Surprisingly, I think I love it!

Do you remember being 12 or 13? One day, out of the blue, menarche bursts out of nowhere. That tiny bit of blood is a banner that silently announces, WELCOME; YOUR WORLD HAS JUST CHANGED! ! You had just crossed the threshold from child to woman.

I am standing at another threshold.

It is right here; I can feel it. This freckle-that's-not-a-freckle is my ticket to the new kingdom.  I believe I am going to embrace the next phase of my life. Act III is here.  This wee bit of brown spot is inspiring me to immerse myself (and the crew) in life, in awareness, in full consciousness.

Most honorable Hecate, here I am! Ready, Willing and Able!

Personal Fonts

My husband and I were discussing the crew yesterday. He suggested that each member have a personal font. He thinks it might make reading my blog a little easier.  I considered it overnight and brought it up to the troupe this morning...though, I have to tell you there were little whispers in my dreams, all night long! Gothic fonts and mystical fonts, whimsical fonts and fonts in red! I did not sleep well.

Gathered around the pool, sipping coffee and wishing we had some banana-nut bread or one of those cinnamon coffee cakes from Starbucks, the crew and I begin with Mrs. Richardson calling us to order!

(Seriously, she is going to have to lighten up!)

She took attendance, all present and accounted for.

"First order of business: Individual Identification Fonts! A proposal has been submitted to the Board that we might all choose a font that best suits our personal style and characteristics for easy recognition in printed form."

"What idiot added the "printed form" phrase?  If we are talking about fonts, we are talking print!"

One probably doesn't need reminding that Beatrice is not a morning person and is rarely civil before 9 a.m. Beatrice is rarely civil at all but especially before 9 a.m.  I was hoping she'd sleep in!

Mrs. Richardson bangs her gavel on the patio table, knocking two pairs of goggles onto the ground.
"Out of Order, Beatrice! Sit Down!"

"I am sitting down! Are you frickin' blind?"

"I meant "be quiet"!"

"You meant "shut up"! Stop being such a diamond factory!"

"What's a diamond factory?"  Carly-Anne really needs to get out more.

Bill reaches up for his Marlboro hard pack. "Stick a lump of coal up her butt and in a week we'll have a diamond! What Beatrice is trying to say is that our Mrs. Richardson is on the north side of up tight!"

BabaMara takes the coffee from me and hands me the purple pair of goggles.  She is absolutely right. I am going for a swim. The hooligans can bang this out  amongst themselves, after all, I am perfectly fine with Arial, 12 pt, in #424c3d (gray!)

Act III

Acts I and II of my life have come and gone. It appears that the curtains have closed for a short Intermission.

The characters are changing costumes, refreshing making-up, maybe, even, going pee-pee!

We know it's just a matter of time before the lights dim, the curtains open, and Act III will begin!

Damn it, I can't find the script!

Is it possible I forgot to bang out a script? I was kind of busy during Acts I and II, school, children, loves and lovers, broken heart. and soaring heart, but, still...who does that? Who forgets to write the third Act?  I bet William Shakespeare never had this problem. The playwright, Keith Passmore wrote The Last Time I Saw Paris.  It was a comedy but I bet he had the third act written before he  went into casting.  What was I thinking?

The crew and I dodge into the props room. We've to jot down some quick notes, some key ideas before the curtain go up!

"Hell, I've got this! We'll wing it!"

Well, of course, Bill's whole existence is winging it. While I sincerely want him to join us in Act III, I am not willing to wander around the next 30 years of my life waiting to respond to the conversations and actions of others. Neither are any of the rest of us, with the exception of Beatrice. If Beatrice joins us in Act III, we are going to insist that she read the Tao of Pooh (as many times as it takes).

Mrs. Richardson brings us paper and a very sharp pencil.

We jot down a quick outline.

ACT III

  I.   Pro-active
       A.  Initiators or Responders?  

("I know you can get the job, but can you do the job!"
  "Bill, please, not now!")

    We vote.    Initiators? 7 votes. Responders, 1 vote.

Initiators it is!

(Note to self: Make sure Beatrice understands difference between Initiator and Instigator!)

 II.  Change

      A. Is "Because that's the way we've always done it" a valid reason?  7 nays, 1 yay (She'll get over it)
      B. Is "But I've never done that before" a valid excuse?  8 nays (Thumbs up, Peeps!)
      C. Is "But I'm afraid" a valid excuse? 4 to 4 ~ (We'll have to work on that one.)

III.  Adventure

       Myra Lipinsky a "woman of a certain age" in the book Never Change believes her life has been like the girl who sits in the hall with a cigar box on her lap selling tickets to the prom but never attending the prom.

      A. "Are we going to the prom this time around?" I ask the troupe.  Yays have it! Unanimous!

("Oh, mis queridos, I shall wear midnight blue chiffon!"
"It's a metaphor, Sinthya, not a real prom!
"Si, I know, but I need the perfect dress for a metaphor!") 

 IV. Third Party Influence

      A.  Will we let "What will people think?" influence our actions?   

Me:  "No!"

Ms. Machado:  "No!"

BabaMara:  "Absolutely Not!"

Carly-Anne:  "...mmm...maybe a little...."

Beatrice:  "Hell, No!"

Mrs. Richardson:  "We must conduct ourselves in a manner....."  (Really, Mrs. Richardson, aren't there some figures that need to be added up; somewhere? anywhere?"

Sinthya:  "Seriously, you ask me this question! Have I ever worried what people think?"

Five "NO's, we've got a majority.

Take your places everyone! Dim the lights,! Cue the curtains! Still no script but we can work with what we've got for now!

Let Act III begin!

Small Town Entertainment

We live in a small town, not village-small but small enough that I run into people I recognize or who recognize me all the time. People often walk up to me and ask, "Where do I know you from?"

Now, I live in a small town, so the opportunity for entertainment is pretty limited.  the Crew and  I like to make my/our own fun. We've created a little game of "Where Do I Know You From?" Bill wanted to name it "Yanking Your Chain" but we vetoed it....too obvious even for Beatrice!

It's really fun and there is always room for one more! Would you like us to teach you how to play?

Say, you're sitting in the DMV waiting area and an older woman with knitting needles and yarn is sitting across the aisle from you. She looks up from the ski cap (Green and Gold, obviously a Green Bay fan ). She leans towards you and whispers, "Have we met?"  With as much shock as you can muster, eyebrows raised and arms up, reply, "Oh My God! How can you forget me? I will never forget that dance you did on the bar. That was such a fun night! Did you ever find your bra?"

I know you are trying to figure out which one of the crew said that, but, sadly, it was me, all me!

Next scenario:  You're standing in line at the bank. Some guy in a three piece suit looks you up and down, then staring straight into your boobs asks, "Do I know you?"  Take a little step back. Shaking your head as if looking for an exit and respond, "Oh, I was on the jury at your trial. I bet you looked cute in those orange jumpsuits!"



BabaMara did a good one. Though, as usual, she twisted it up a little. We were at the Farmer's Market at a nice little stand with wonderful veggies.  The merchant was packing up a couple of jars of honey for a customer. She asked her husband if he would help us.  He had been sitting on the tailgate of their pickup truck cleaning the dirt out from under his nails. With a rude huff, he looked up at us.
"Whad'ya want?"  He was a little scary so we decided that we could purchase green chili at another booth. As we turned to walk away, BabaMara waved goodbye to him saying, "How's your bridge? Say hi to the Billy Goat brother's for me!"

So many arenas, so little time!

The following are potential answers you might want to try in different scenarios.

Where Do I Know You From?

"Group therapy at the rehab. I'm not surprised you don't remember me! You were pretty wasted!"

"Shh, we're supposed to be anonymous, remember?"

"Shh, they may still be looking for us."

"Wow! You do look familiar. Were you at Attica? I've only been out a week though I still insist that I didn't kill intentionally that guy. It was an accident!"

"You probably saw my picture on America's Most Wanted! I'm surprised you recognize me, that really wasn't my best photo!"

"Yeah, Man! You're that Dude from the Mother Ship, right?"

My Favorite Sweater... and other articles of clothing!

Folding laundry this morning, I pulled my long lost, silky tunic from the towering pile. The blouse is so soft and flowing in various shades of turquoise . It is my favorite piece of clothing but has been missing for months!

Various dress-up items made it to the laundry after a weekend of family craziness.   My mind was jogged! Several months ago my granddaughters had been putting on a play for us, using items from the dress-up basket.  None of the dozens of choices were adequate for my youngest granddaughter to play the princess she had in mind, so she chose the tunic from my closet! With my permission, of course. My beautiful tunic had been hiding out in the dress-up basket all these months.

I buried my face in  the soft folds of fabric.

"Do you know your love is infused into that tunic?" BabaMara whispered to me.

Magic! Can you imagine? I held it away from me and looked it up and down. I didn't see the magic!

"Why do you think, of all the blouses in your closet, that Natalie would choose that one to wear? She can feel the magic!"

It could be true, I feel the magic when I wear it, I just don't see it!

Wonder fills my mind, stirring everyone to sit up and take notice. I could feel everyone's thoughts sorting through their wardrobes.

Do you have a favorite article of clothing? An oversized sweater that you wrap yourself in for sitting by winter fires?  Pajamas that are so soft you feel that you are floating in the clouds?  A dress that rocks your body and leaves people fanning themselves as you pass?

"Baby, I love all my clothes! In everything I wear, I make memories. I live life to the fullest with every breath, so every blouse, skirt, pair of stockings is special. Even this old blue skirt!"

Using both hands, BabaMara holds her skirt as if to curtsy. She twirls around and around. Could that be rainbows and stars flying out of the pockets?

"In this skirt I have held babies, worked the soil in the herb garden, strolled on beaches, danced on mountain tops! This is the skirt I wore when we strolled down the path to pick blueberries on the ranch and the first time we walked in Lithia Park in all its autumn glory!"

Her skirt is, indeed, beautiful! Deep purple velvet, embroidered flowers and vines flowing around the pockets. Each pocket embellished with a strip or circle or triangle of ancient lace. Come to think of it, I do remember her wearing it while we wandered in and out of the almond trees when the orchard was in full bloom. She'd deposited several blossoms in one of her pockets and we smelled of spring for weeks afterwards.

She pulled a long scarf from one of the deeper pockets to dab away tears from her eyes. "Oh those were some good days!"

It just dawned on me! Every tear BabaMara sheds, she captures with that particular scarf!

"You have always been very perceptive, little one!" (at 63, I still love it when she calls me "little one")
"
Tears are filled with emotions. This fine cloth holds tears of joy and tears of sorrow and pain, love tears and love lost tears. I bring it out in times of crisis. The dried tears reassure me that no matter what the hardship, it too will pass and joy will fill our days."

"I was told tear drops are filled with toxins!" Waking slowly, Bill stretches his long arms, "so I stopped consuming toxins and haven't cried since!"

Did I tell you that Bill does not limit himself to quoting movies, books and famous or infamous personalities. He actually quotes my dad, a lot.

"Okay, Mr. Smarty-pants, do you have a favorite thing to wear?" Carly-Anne is awake!

"Have you ever seen me in anything but a white t-shirt and worn jeans?"

"Yes, I have! You wear that elegant tuxedo every time you yell, "Leeeeeettttttt's RRrrrrrummmmble! and what about the white-on-white when you were pretending to be Mark Twain at the family reunion?"

"Costumes, Carly! Not clothing!"

"Carly-Anne!"

"Carly-ANNNNNNNE!"

Regardless of what he says, we all know that Bill has four pairs of 501 Levi 's but he wears the oldest, most thread-bare pair almost all the time, substituting a newer pair only on wash day!"

Carly-Anne pulls on her favorite shirt-dress, a soft pastel rayon plaid of white, violet and yellow. "I love this one!  I painted the best watercolor of my life in this dress and one day, I think it was a Thursday, I wore it on a picnic in the forest and Prince Phillip came riding out of the trees atop the biggest white horse I've ever seen. He sat with me and we ate cucumber sandwiches and he kissed me!"

"Sounds like a wacky-tabacky dream to me!"

"Bill!"

"Carly-ANNE!"

I scooped up a couple of piles of folded laundry and head down the hall to deliver them to their assigned closets and drawers. Ms. Machado ran ahead to open the doors to the linen closet.

"Do you remember the little white cotton dress we wore to Thanksgiving years and years ago? There were tiny flowers embroidered around the square neck. The dress was as soft as the most delicate hanky?  It  had the tiniest of buttons down the back and the skirt was full?  That was my favorite of all times!"

"But, Ms. Machado, you always look so professional in your pretty sweater sets and pencil skirts, your pearl earrings and necklace! How could a simple little cotton dress be your favorite?"

Carly-Anne asks the most obvious questions sometimes!

"It is because I always look so professional, that I loved the romance of that little dress!  We felt fresh and flirty and free when we wore it! You think it is easy or fun always worrying about looking professional."

Do you hear violins playing?

"All day, every day, pencil skirt! Meaning, remember to keep your knees together, sit with your ankles crossed!  When you are all swimming naked in the pool or having food fights in the kitchen and I am wearing matching sea green shell and sweater and matching pencil skirt, who do you think is having the most fun, me or you?"

BabaMara takes the copy of "Quiet: An Introvert in a World That Won't Stop Talking" from Ms. Machado's hand and closes it.  Sinthya takes Ms. Machado's other hand and the three of them walk off towards Sinthya's sanctuary of sensuousness!

Oh! Oh! We may be in for a bit of trouble. I see silk, cashmere and skinny dipping in Ms. Machado's future! 

Blue Cupcakes, cont.

Four of my granddaughters and my niece baked and frosted cupcakes a couple of nights ago while the rest the house slept. There were many cupcakes and various sizes; large, medium and mini. All the cupcakes were topped in blue frosting.

My sister and I took our coffee out to the pool. The midnight bakers were sprawled about the leaving room floor and couches, apparently resting up from cracking eggs and mixing dough. Sis and I sat at the edge of the pool, our legs dangling in the inviting water. Within minutes we accepted the invitation!  An early morning swim was in order!

Never let anyone tell you that sleeping teens cannot hear conversations through dreams and exterior walls. By the time my sister returned in her swimming suit from the guest room, the pool was full of swimming, laughing, splashing girls. We all joined in.

After 20 minutes, I heard the kitchen window slowly sliding shut. I did a quick head count. All present and accounted for.

"Someone is in the house!"

All heads turned to the window. The morning reflection made it impossible to see who had invaded the cupcake kingdom!

"What if the intruder eats all the cupcakes?" our youngest granddaughter is 9. She worries about such things.

"It's okay!" Yelled one of the girls over the splashing, "We'll be able to tell who ate them!" She stuck out her tongue. It was bright blue.

All the other tongues popped out of mouths, all sporting the same royal blue!

"We'll just stop people walking down the street and  ask them to say, "ah!"

We continued to swim as my sister  painted the image of the police line-up in our minds. "I can see it now!" she describes the scene. "The room is dark. Five suspects are lined up in the bright viewing box. An officer leans forward and speaks into the microphone, "Will suspect #1 please step forward and stick out your tongue!""


p.s. Appears our intruder was only Papa. He popped home to pick up a couple of CD's he needed for work.  Papa's co-workers teased him about the color of his tongue all day!

What happens at Nana's,  doesn't necessarily stay at Nana's!

Cup Cakes, Yum

Woke up this morning to uber dark house. Curtains pulled in Family Room and three lumps on floor, couch and recliner. Two granddaughters and a niece still deep in dream land.

Tip-toed past them to start a pot of coffee.

Wow!  Cup Cakes! Big ones, medium ones and an insane amount of little ones! Apparently a version of Cupcake Wars was held in the kitchen last night. The counters are covered cupcakes with blue frosting and sprinkles.

They won't miss one, I think to myself! I set the coffee brewing, swoop up one of the big blue cupcakes! Nibbling, I sneak back to my room where the dogs, Rex, Kona and Thor are whining to get out.  (They love trampling company out of a sound sleep).

Yum. I'm contemplating another cup cake when the coffee has completed its perk.

Back in my room, I wash my hands and face. I pick up the comb to try to tame bed-head. As I look up at my reflection in the mirror, I get an clue of what the girls might be dreaming of.

I'm wondering about it too.

How long will it take for the blue to wear off my lips!

p.s.  lip gloss + blue lips = shiny scary!

Life Review Part I

It started with throwing a load of towels in the washer.  Granted, we have a pool, but there is only my husband and myself living here.  I did a load of towels three days ago yet I counted 10+ towels as I tossed them into the washer. 

Side note: I wasn't actually the one counting! Mrs. Richardson started the counting, which will come as no surprise to any of you. She is of the mind that an immense amount of waste and inefficiency goes on around here!  It went something like:

7...8...9..(passive aggressive sigh)...10...

An acapella chorus of "shut up's" interrupts her count. 

We know she continued to count under her breath as the occasional passive aggressive sighs continued and could not, in any way, be construed to be "under her breath."

Once the washer started its cycle, Mrs. Richardson stepped into the kitchen and caught the entire crew gathered around the island dipping spoons into a jar of nectarine-jalapeno jam.  

(Cue the sigh!)  "If we are all so well integrated in one cohesive personality is there any reason for separate towels and separate spoons?"  

I often wonder if she was born with her hands on her hips, it comes so natural to her. Maybe she was a Marine drill sergeant in a past life!

We ignored her. We know it's rude but we pick our battles. While we all know that ignorance is bliss, we have also discovered that ignoring can be blissful, too.

After the last spoon was rinsed and deposited into the dishwasher, BabaMara reached into one of her many pockets, pulling out a folded sheet of rainbow colored paper with a long list of questions scrawled on one side.  "As long as we are all present and accounted for..." (was that another one of those p.a. sighs that we are so good at ignoring?)...I believe that we are due for a Life Review!"

BabaMara believes as Socrates believed, "an unexamined life is not worth living!"

Beatrice, being the grump that she is, hates examining anything but other people's mistakes, miscalculations and manipulations! God forbid she should be forced to examine her own!  I, for one, believe that if she were to closely examine her own mistakes & miscalculations & manipulations, she might slip into the ethers. While that may leave the rest of us in peace, it would only give us Mrs. Richardson to harass and Carly-Anne to tease and where is the fun in that? Beatrice is a challenge and dodging flying objects is the only serious exercise we get!

"What positive changes have you made to your life?" BabaMara asks, looking directly into my eyes (which, by the way, is a difficult trick to accomplish from the inside!).

I passed my turn on to Carly-Anne, who was doodling on a napkin! 

"What? Why are you all looking at me?" 

"Pay attention Carly-Anne." BabaMara repeated the question as she gently took the pencil from Carly-Anne and dropped it into one of her deepest pockets.

"Mmm, well..."

"Deep subject"

"Stop it, Bill!"

Carly-Anne continued her stammering, "I, uh, I spend a lot more time in the studio drawing and sculpting Rosaries and less time baking brownies and melting butter for popcorn. When I can't sleep, I get up to paint instead of tossing and turning!"

"Very nice, Carly-Anne, you've come a long way. Ms. Machado, what have you done lately in the way of positive changes to your life?"

"Our Kindle is the most positive change for me. I can read, read, read. I don't have to wait for a ride to Barnes and Noble or the library. What a miracle of technology!"

I happen to agree with Ms. Machado, mostly! I love the Kindle but there are still those tomes that need to be held, to be highlighted and underlined. There are stories that need the scent of paper and ink, the tactile experience of page turning, to be fully realized. If you are reading to a child, there is a certain suspense and excitement that builds as each page is slowly turned.

As I write these thoughts, I look around and everyone, including Mrs. Richardson and Beatrice are nodding. It's nice to know that there some things we agree on!

"Bill? What about you?"

"Let me e'splain...no, there is too much, let me sum up..."

"No Princess Bride, Bill! What positive changes have YOU made?"

"In the past week alone I have watched The Abominble Dr. Phibes four times, The Adventures of Buckaroo Bonzai in the Eigth Dimension 8 times, Post Cards From The Edge several times. The couple of times Machado, over there, put down the dang Kindle, I read four of Koontz's  Odd Thomas books. Man! I picked up some great material!" Pulling the Marlboro box from his sleeve to roll his own cigarette he continued. "You'll all be able to relate to this one. "Given my heritage and the ordeal of my childhood, I sometimes wonder why I myself am not insane. Maybe I am!""

"Nothing like maximal ambition!" Oh Beatrice! Where's the tolerance?

BabaMara raised one eyebrow as she pulled a pretty little jelly jar from one of her many pockets and placed it in front of Beatrice, who immediately motioned a tick-tock, tick-a-lock-throw-away-the-key with lips pressed tightly closed.

"Beatrice, what positive change have you made?"

Beatrice pointed to her firmly closed mouth! The gang applauded and congratulated her for a job well done! Wouldn't it be nice if she really threw away the key?

"Dear Sinthya, it's your turn!"

"So much, so much. I tossed out those monstrous flannel sheets from our bed and replaced them with soft bamboo linens. I purchased 3 bottles of Opi polish, Umpires Come Out At Night which our toes are beautifully wearing," (all heads duck under the table for a peek) "Blue My Mind to go with my new bra and bikinis and some silly little pink for Carly-Anne when she cleans the clay out from under her nails.  I stocked the refrigerator with some feta and blue cheese, green grapes...and...let me think....oh, I replace the batteries in...."

"Thank you, Sinthya! You are very thoughtful!"

"De nada, Senora Baba, es mi placer."

"Mrs. Richardson?"

 "Yes! I sharpened all my pencils, I arranged the pantry items in alphabetical order and I finished the flyer that you all kept putting off for weeks."

Have you ever seen seven characters do a completely synchronous eye roll?

"BaraMara , y usted?"

"Positive changes I have made to my life!" BabaMara fluffs her skirt and pulls out another rainbow colored sheet of paper. She reads, "I promised myself to count to 13 before depositing anyone into a jelly jar and to use only the prettiest jelly jars from now on. I danced in the light of the full moon, I listened to the angels play their cellos while swimming in the dark of the new moon.  I sewed four extra pockets onto my favorite skirt and filled them with mugwort for lucid dreaming, cedar and sandlewood for the third eye and sea shells just because I like them. Saturday evening I took plum jam to the elves and they treated me to jasmine brandy and barbequed mushrooms. I have a massage scheduled for tonight and tomorrow morning we will have french toast with honeysuckle syrup."

Sitting a little taller around the table, we immersed ourselves in the positive energy of self care.

"Can we go?" whispered Carly-Anne.

"No, we have more questions to answer!"

"Can't we examine our lives tomorrow?"

Bill might spent the last week absorbed in cult classics but he never gives up on the old standby, Groundhog Day,

 "What if there isn't a tomorrow? There wasn't one today!"

Procrastinate

I love words. Love, love, love words. I love their roots, their meanings, derivatives of words and mostly their potential for creating images filled with emotion.

Today, I accomplished a job that I have been putting off for 2 weeks.  I procrastinated! I am a procrastinator...in fact, I am a PROcrastinator.

Yeah, there is a little shame involved but, let's be honest! I am an accomplished procrastinator. You wouldn't believe how many extraordinary things I have churned out in a frenzied last minute.

Does that make me the Consummate PROcrastinator? Should I make a sweatshirt announcing my propensity for last minute pushes! Will anyone believe it is not laziness but pure anxiety that the final product won't be perfection?

Flipping the pages of my etymology dictionary to the P's, we find that 'procrastinate' was introduced to polite society circa 1540 from the French root "procrastine".  History tells us that around  1580 the speakers of latin begin using "procrastinatus" which is an active present tense verb of defering, delaying.  Evolving into the past participle "Procrastinare" meaning one has already  "deferred, delayed, put off till tomorrow."

It is amusing that procrastinatus is defined as an active verb of defering and delaying, almost as if the procrastinator is a goalie in a soccer game defending the goal of being reached rather than sitting in the garden, peeling grapes while reading about Jason and the Argonauts latest adventure!

If man has been on earth for thousands of years, was there a sudden surge of laziness in the 1500's?  Was the human race sufficiently efficient until the Little Ice Age of the Middle Ages? Did the cold inspire Middles Agers to sit by the fire instead of harvest, or plant or bake the bread?

The noun defining "one who defers, delays and puts off," is (momentary hesitation to build suspense) Procrastinator! That word did not rise until 1600. Sixty years from verb to noun! Now that is some heavy duty delaying and deferring!

My little exercise of deferring the project at hand for two weeks is nothing in comparison!

(Hanging my head in shame!) Damn, I am not the Consummate Procrastinator.

I can only repeat the wise words of Horace, "Vitanda est improba siren desidia!" One must avoid that wicked temptress, Laziness!

Our friend, Horace, might have had some impulse control issues, for another saying he is famous for is "Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero" more or less directly translated means "Seize the day, putting little or no trust in tomorrow!" My personal take on that is "Drink your wine today because there might not be a tomorrow!"



 Carpe Diem is my anthem! I may at any time be deferring the completion of a project but it doesn't mean that I am sitting in a dark corner sucking on my thumb. I am dancing! I am swimming. I am seizing the day and living like I mean it.

As for the delayed projects; they are brewing in the Nec Temere, Nec Timide file. "Not rashly, not  timidly!" If it's good enough for the Royal Danish Naval Academy, it is good enough for me!