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!