faustina's beach

bunny bunny and more

2012-02-07T20:28:00.011-05:00

Sunday evening, I went to Jenkins Hall at 6 PM, intending to stand in line, if need be, to gain entrance to a sold-out show. The box office wasn't even officially open yet, but the young woman acknowledged that I would be the first, should a ticket become available. She remembered me from Friday morning, trying to get a ticket for any of the last three shows, all of which were sold-out. I was fortunate Sunday, as were nine others, treated to an intimate experience in the Black Box at Jenkins Hall.
The show isn't one you've likely heard of. "Bunny Bunny... Gilda Radner, A Sort-Of Romantic Comedy" is a tale of love and friendship, told through the eyes and ears and heart of the writer who lost her to cancer. Zweibel was befriended by the comedienne once upon a time in the north, when both were young and new to the late-night world of New York City.
I had been a big fan of Gilda Radner and her zany characters in the early days of Saturday Night Live. I had rejoiced with her when she wed Gene Wilder, who loved her madly, and I was shocked and saddened when she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer just two years later. They were married for just under five years before her death in 1989. She was only 42. Gene built a monument to her, in the form of Gilda's Club, there in her beloved NYC.
Zweibel and "Gilbert" were best friends. This play was his attempt to capture that friendship as a series of shared moments in time on the set, in restaurants, at basketball games. All of the moments really good friends spend together, shared visions, shared recordings of events and people and food.
Zweibel succeeded. His recounting of the bond between he and she brought to mind the bond between me and Sam. His loss of that vibrant tone from the music of his life reminded me of chords I would not hear again.

bunny bunny

2012-02-06T08:09:00.001-05:00

I miss you, Sam Johnson.
I miss our conversations. We didn't talk every day, but pretty often. Sometimes by phone, mostly in person. Yeah, I know you had LOTS of talks with LOTS of folks, but I don't. Long conversations with a phone in my ear just isn't my speed, but it was a natural for you.
I miss our dinners out, especially on Thursdays. I don't know how that came to be "our" day, but it did. Sometimes we just went to Cici's and stuffed ourselves stupid with pizza. Other times, we'd go a little upscale, noshing at Applebee's or Bennigan's or Sticky Fingers. Wherever we dined, we had our own time going on, ignoring the noise from the tv and the background tunes and the folks around us. I miss those times.
I miss you, Sam Johnson.
You helped me find those islands of normal when I was floundering in the depths of lost. You were there to throw the lifeline and haul me back to land's edge when I was teetering on never and no more. You kept building bridges like a madman as the ones I thought were for forever were burning all around me.
I do so miss you, Sam Johnson.
You always had an easy smile for me, a great big hug, and love overflowing your heart.
I do so miss you.

tryin'

2012-01-14T22:49:00.001-05:00

I drove up to north Georgia yesterday so I could visit my youngest brother today. He is only allowed visitors on Saturday and Sunday, from 9 AM to 3 PM. I got lost (as unusual) and even went to the prison annex by mistake, but I did finally get there at 10:15 this morning. We had a very upbeat visit that was nonstop until 3 PM! Apparently, they are quite generous with visit length (though that may not be so on holidays, when they have more visitors than usual).
I had brought my $20 in quarters (the only money allowed and the maximum allowed) for the machines. He feasted on foodstuffs he didn't usually get: Buffalo chicken wings and cheese-stuffed pizza "bagel" with marinara. I had a pretty good chicken salad sandwich from those machines. Later, I got him some bbq pork rinds, an ice cream bar, and peanut M&Ms, then we split a Butterfinger. And we talked and laughed and talked and laughed and talked.
The really nice part? We were actually IN each other's company, for the first time since June of 2007. We were allowed to hug when he came in and before we parted, which was very nice. During the visit, I could reach over and touch his hand whenever I wanted. It was so much nicer than visiting through the reinforced glass window when he was incarcerated here in the county jail.
At the prison, visitation is held in one large room, with chairs set up in various groupings. Prisoners are allowed up to three approved visitors at a time. If there were three visiting, they would sit in a grouping of three chairs across from a tiny plastic table and a single chair for the prisoner, for example. The guards walk around while everyone is visiting, but really leave you alone. And all of the groups are good about keeping their conversations at a decent level so they aren't obtrusive to an adjacent group. Prisoners are to remain seated at all times, but visitors are free to go to the vending machines and microwaves.
Visitors are not allowed to bring anything into the visitation area except the $20 in quarters. If you wear glasses, you cannot bring the glasses case, for example. No purses, no photo books (I tried to bring one of mine and had to take it back out to the car and start the entrance process again). Your driver's license and keys are kept at the guard station and you are given a visitor ID badge and a numbered disc to regain your license and keys when you leave. They did allow me to wear my scarf during the visit, but that may have been an exception. My jacket had to be hung outside the visitation area and retrieved when I left.
ONLY approved visitors are allowed. NO ONE CAN JUST DRIVE UP AND VISIT. You must first fill out the two-page application to become a visitor, an application which grants the prison the right to run a background check on you. That takes about ten to twelve weeks to be processed. At the end of that period, you may call and see if your background check made you eligible to visit - they won't contact you about the result. Once the background check is complete and you are approved, it is then up to the inmate to place your name on his visitation list. He is ONLY allowed to do so twice a year, in May and in November. So, I have let all know about this process so they can take the steps NOW if they would like to visit him this summer.
The prison is about six hours from Savannah, depending on traffic around Atlanta and McDonough and Macon. I actually made it home in 5 1/2 hours today, as there was hardly any traffic once I was clear of Atlanta. Last night I stayed in Rome, which is less than an hour from the prison.
My brother was in great spirits and had even had a haircut on Monday to get ready for the visit. The prison had finally granted his repeated request for a new uniform to wear and new boots, so he was quite pleased at that. (The uniform and boots he's been wearing since late summer were paint-splotched from a paint detail he was allowed to participate in prior to an inspection of the prison.) He really looked GOOD and not at all like that horrid picture on the GA Dept of Corrections website. THAT did my heart good - I truly hadn't known what to expect. But his skin looks great, since it hasn't been ravaged by alcohol or other drugs in years now, and his eyes sparkle. When I first saw him, I reflexively greeted him with his childhood nickname and gave him a big hug! I told him, later, that I could see the young brother I had several decades ago,the young brother who had gone on to make such a bad series of choices in his life.
Away from the substances and people who had influenced his past life, he has been working hard to forge a new path, to make good decisions with a clear mind. He's even been taking classes for his GED and has been doing well in all of them, scoring in the 90's on the practice tests. He has a goal, a program of study he wants to enter, and the attainment of his GED is the next step toward that goal. I know my grandfather is quite proud of him, as am I.
Why? He is making positive choices, choices to benefit others, not just himself. He could choose to continue with drugs - they're as available in prison as they are on the streets outside your door - but he is consciously deciding to distance himself from those substances and the people who deal them and take them. I would like to think his son, now approaching thirty, might choose to make those same decisions, to learn from the mistakes of his father, to consider the effect of his choices on the lives of his children. Time will tell.

picasso

2012-01-08T22:25:00.003-05:00

Today, when I was going through some old papers, I found a free-verse poem an artistic friend had sent some time ago. Here it is:

"Each second we live is a new and unique moment of the universe,
a moment that will never be again.

And what do we teach our children?

We teach them that two and two make four,
and that Paris is the capital of France.

When will we also teach them what they are?

We should say to each of them: Do you know what you are?

You are a marvel. You are unique.

In all the years that have passed there has never been another child like you.

Your legs, your arms, your clever fingers, the way you move.

You may become a Shakespeare, a Michelangelo, a Beethoven.

You have the capacity for anything.

Yes, you are a marvel.

And when you grow up, can you then harm another who is, like you, a marvel?

You must work, we all must work, to make the world worthy of its children."

- Pablo Picasso

braving the cold

2012-01-04T11:00:00.002-05:00

I am so very proud of myself. For two mornings in a row, I have thrown myself out of my warm house to venture into below-freezing temperatures.
Sure, I can hear it now: “People do that all the time, that isn’t anything special.” Well, perhaps people do sally forth into such temperatures all the time, but “I” do NOT.
I am fortunate enough to have been born a Georgia peach, meaning I did not have to acclimate myself to such harsh weather conditions as a child. I am fortunate enough to have lived my life within six degrees of this latitude for my years as an adult, with only two exceptions. For two years I was in Panama, basking in warmth which never dropped to less than seventy percent of body temperature. Savannah is thirty-two degrees north of the equator; the Canal Zone (now an extinct area) in Panama is only nine degrees north of that imaginary line and has beach weather all year – ah, bliss!
I’ve had my chances to move farther north. Before my first marriage, the Navy was set to send me to Ireland and my soon-to-be husband to Panama. As my future duty station was designated a better selection (due to its location in Europe), there was no possibility of him being able to join me there. So, after informing the government of our impending wedding, I released my choice assignment and choose to accompany my spouse to Central America. Good decision!
This discussion of my first marriage brings me to the second exception to my living at thirty-two degrees north. He and I met during the brief span of time spent at school near Waukegan, Illinois, at forty-two degrees north. I had arrived there in mid-April from Orlando, Florida, and was shocked by the cold temperature. I had to forget about my halter tops and shorts and don my knee-length greatcoat and gloves again. By the time of my departure from that area in the first week of August, I was again clad in my greatcoat.
I found it difficult to believe that people would CHOOSE to live under such conditions, but then I married the man from Oregon, who had lived his life just a bit more north of that latitude. I should have known that he would want to eventually return to the upper west coast and its climate. Although his longing for home was not the reason for our divorce, I must state for the record that I am sure it was a contributing factor. We did travel there once and spent much of the month of another April in its rainy chill, perhaps made more daunting after the bliss of Panama life.
Oddly, my second marriage was also to a man from a latitude which is forty-plus degrees north. Fortunately, his time in the military had allowed him to discover the (almost) snow-free existence of life in Savannah and he was not interested in dragging me off to Michigan. He did try to encourage me to seek employment in northern states after I obtained my degree, but I resisted mightily. Honestly, I believed then – and even more so, now – that life spent in that harsh environment would be miserable and just might kill me.
Now that I have hypothyroidism, I am even more sensitive to the cold. Every year, as the arctic blasts wreak havoc, I seriously consider moving farther south. Maybe one day I will, but that day is not yet arrived.
For now, I am proud of myself for simply braving the below-freezing temperatures for two mornings in a row.

starfish

2011-12-31T02:41:00.003-05:00

I had tagged this project some time ago, then forgotten about it until the alert that funding for it was to soon end. I decided to opt in, for a variety of positive reasons. For starters, it's a local project, meaning the money stays here and helps HERE. It's also associated with the Starfish Cafe, a training ground for those serious about turning their life in a positive direction in addition to mastering the art of being a chef. I believe in the work they are doing and am already a supporter of them, having given two of their cookbooks to family members this Christmas.
Partly, though, my interest in the project is based on a dinner party I attended just a few weeks ago. That dinner party, hosted by the niece who could pass for my daughter and her husband, had at its center a game I had given them a couple of years ago, a game called Stir Crazy. In that game, two teams of would-be chefs are pitted against each other to create an appetizer, an entree, AND either a side dish or a dessert. All to be accomplished in ninety minutes and making use of all ingredients acquired by that team during the selection process. The thirteen ingredients for the team I was on included: tofu, bok choi, mandarin orange slices, ginger, pork. The opposing team (all guys) had to use bananas, kiwi, beef, green onions, noodles, and chicken.
Wow! I was impressed with our creations: spring rolls, stir-fried vegetables with pork strips, and a creamy dessert I myself concocted with the orange slices, ginger, and mashed tofu. Alas, as soon as the word spread that the dessert contained tofu, no one wanted to even try it. (My niece eventually did and said she was surprised but she liked it.) My dessert was even voted "dish you wouldn't feed the dog"!
Still, the point is that we all had dinner using ingredients we don't normally cook and we all learned to be more improvisational in our culinary efforts. I think this new game will add a bit more zest to future dinner parties and look forward to surprising my guests - and myself! - in this coming year. Bon appetit, y'all!

dance at bougival

2011-12-25T23:50:00.007-05:00

Dearest Mama,

Last night, as I was preparing to leave the Christmas Eve festivities at the house you and Frank shared, my younger stepsister asked me to stay a bit because she had something she wanted to give me. So I did, finding it an odd request, but willing to keep an open mind.
So, most of the family has gone and I've moved things out to my car. Your first granddaughter and her husband are still there, as is her mother. I'm not sure just who else might have been there at this point. I was going to put the blue casserole dish into my car, but that's when I was called over to the living room and time just seemed to s l o w d o w n. I had walked from the kitchen into the dining room area and saw that there was a blank place on the wall between the dining and living rooms, a place which had held a painting you had loved.
After you died, my stepdad had asked if there was anything of yours which I might want. I immediately replied that I wanted the Renoir print of "Dance at Bougival". With a serious look, he said he liked that painting very much, too, then he told me, "Okay, you can have it when I die." I had smiled and said, "Well, fine, that means I'll never get it! You're gonna outlive all of us!"
Every time I came to see him and we sat there in the living room to chat, I would remind him that I still wanted "the dancers" and he would grin and tell me I would have to wait until he died. "Fine," I would say, "that means I'll never get it and will have to just visit it here." Then we would both laugh and talk of other things.
I truly did think he would outlive all of us. He just seemed to be indomitable, going strong regardless of having had COPD for almost twenty years and neuropathy in his legs for almost as long.
Apparently, I was mistaken and a simple task - doing laundry - led to a fall which led to his death. Honestly, I think I am still in a state of disbelief about that.
Back to the story I was telling you (as if you didn't already know!). So, my stepsister is standing in the living room and I realize, as I look at her, that she is supporting a painting. And I look up at the wall and see the blank spot where YOUR painting should be. And time s l o w s d o w n as I realize what is happening. She tells me that she knows her dad intended me to have this painting, this Renoir beloved by my mother, and she and her siblings want me to have it. And I start crying. I am finally getting the painting I have waited to own since 2001 and all I can truly appreciate is this fact: Frank is dead, he is truly gone, and here we are having a last Christmas Eve family event at his house and he is dead.
I'm going to have to write them a very nice thank-you note for giving me the painting. I'm going to have to get someone to help me hang it in my living room, in a space I've held reserved just for that particular piece of art, in a space where I can admire it often and feel not only your presence but also his.
But now, I'm going to go to bed and sleep and let my tears again flow.
How bittersweet to finally receive this gift.

with much love always...

sea change

2011-12-17T23:36:00.008-05:00

This evening I had a moment of clarity. While in a karaoke club with new friends, listening to an old friend sing a Matchbox 20 favorite, I realized that maybe I was healing. I was back in my own skin again, at least for the moment.
I was finally living again, rather than going through the motions. THAT was a welcome feeling!
As you are well aware, I've been more and more aware of having been sleepwalking through the last decade. Part of it was due to Mama's death, no lie. But then having a part of me turned off became an addictive habit. I was definitely unwell.
The divorce was a shock to my system, jolting me back into this world. I wasn't quite awake yet, but I was starting to find signs of life and I reacted by bringing color into my environment, stripping wallpaper borders and painting Sunwashed Blue and Aged Mint and Valencia Violet, with some Jasmine Time. When I returned home in the evenings, the off-white walls were covered over with Maize Gold and Lifevest Orange, trimmed out with Surfboard Yellow. Warm, vibrant re-entry accompanied by cool ocean hues and a throwback to my childhood haven.
After four years of daily contact with my new colors of home, I seem to be me again.
After four years of immersing myself into different cultural experiences, absorbing knowledge in the form of film, theatre, music, art, I seem to be me again.
After four years of loss of old friends and gain of new companions, I seem to be me again.
What a long, strange trip it's been! I know it isn't over, not by a long shot, but at least I'm awake to enjoy the scenery.

morning paean

2011-12-15T17:05:00.000-05:00

I woke up thinking about e.e. cummings this morning. One of his poems has been a mantra of mine for years and it occurred to me that I should try to write my own version of i thank You God. Within seconds, I had this paean of praise in my mind and on my lips, then had to jump out of bed to write it before it evaporated back into the thin air from whence it came.

i thank You God
for the sigh of the wind through the rustling trees
for the rush to the beach of the surging sea
for the warm kiss of the magnificent sun
and for knowing always You as the One
amen

december blues

2011-12-11T23:55:00.009-05:00

I think I may begin shaking off these December blues now. This month was always the property of Mama, as it contained both her birthday AND her favorite holiday. Well, I've been in a funk since Thanksgiving, which was my stepdad's favorite holiday. Yesterday, Mama would have been 74 and I was pretty much useless all day long.
Last night, though, I went to dinner with a new friend and she and I had a wonderful time listening to a talented string-playing friend while dining downtown. Then we headed over to the American Legion for Christmas Karaoke - GREAT fun!! Two more girlfriends joined us, with one of them singing Three Dog Night's "Joy To The World" and the other getting behind the microphone for the first time EVER! Strut, you Stray Cat! She was good, too! We even all got up and did the "Chicken Dance" when everyone else did. I'm tellin' ya, you really should have been there!
Today, to continue the positive note, in the early afternoon I saw a film which was John Turturro's love letter to Naples, Italy. It's a toe-tapping, theatrical, musical paean to the beauty of those living on the Mediterranean coast and in the shadow of Mount Vesuvius. I am seriously considering owning the soundtrack!
Afterward, I came home to prepare for the Christmas party at the church. As I had worn my sparkly red shirt last night, I donned a glistening white top and added a red-beaded necklace and I was set! Me and my red rice arrived in fine time at Asbury Memorial, allowing me to visit with folks I don't get to spend enough time with these days. (Note to self: change that!) We all ate as much as we could stand, then a bit more, talking and laughing. After Santa and Mrs. Claus had come and gone, I did the same, realizing that I could make the 8 PM showing of "Passione" if I hustled... so I did!
To sweeten the deal, several of my friends were at this later showing of the film. Nice! And, as a bonus, one of the backers of the film was a new Italian retaurant and the owner had generously supplied fresh canoli for ALL! What a sweet treat! The film, this second time, was even better. Maybe good times are better when shared...

odds

2011-11-25T23:45:00.008-05:00

I seem to be at odds today. I'm pretty sure it's because my schedule has been thrown out of whack from yesterday's day off.
Heck, for that matter, Wednesday was pretty much a wash for me, too. I had felt like it was Friday all day; even though I didn't have to go to work that day, I had gone briefly, then I kept my usual afternoon schedule for a Wednesday. But, no, not quite. I did have a dental appointment that afternoon, which made it Friday-ish again.
I need to have a schedule, during the daylight hours especially, to help me run on an even keel. Holidays tend to upset that schedule by encouraging me to alter my body clock, sleeping in later, staying up later. Today COULD have been a Sunday, but the only news program I watch (CBS Sunday Morning) was not on to begin my day. Ergo, this was NOT Sunday. Nor was it a Saturday, because surely that was yesterday... right? If the day before was, indeed, Friday?
I remember not having such difficulty keeping track of the days of the week when I was once a shift-worker. True, that was MANY years ago: in fact, about three decades ago. I was obviously much younger then and somehow didn't pay as much attention to the actual DAYS of the week. The schedule was 2-2-2-80 and encompassed the working of forty-eight hours (six eight-hour shifts) over a span of five days, then having eighty hours off (slightly more than three days). The eight-day schedule very much suited me, as I needed to rise early only for two days of evry eight. Better yet, I had a three-day "weekend" that rotated through the actual days, allowing me to have days off when the majority of folks were at work. That meant the beaches would be nigh deserted there in Panama and Okinawa and San Diego, allowing me to enjoy the ocean and sun and sand uninterrupted. Very nice!
So, today, on this extra Saturday-esque day, it was odd for me to feel off-kilter. In an effort to feel more "normal" and to acknowledge this period of time to be a Friday, I even worked for a while today, spending several hours completing the grading of the last of the lab reports. (Yeah!) Then I went to a movie, as I tend to do sometimes on a Friday afternoon. But I had no plans for later this evening... which made me question whether this was indeed a Friday. Sigh. Back to square one again.
Perhaps tomorrow will set me straight again. We shall see. I do hope so.

need for knowledge

2011-11-25T00:32:00.004-05:00

In the interest of taking a step toward a better, more informed world, I donated. I encourage you to do the same.
Unbiased, ad-free sources of information are invaluable and much needed. We the people of the world and the internet are besieged by a constant onslaught of skewed "news" which reports only those items which will sell commercials to enrich the media source.
Not so with Wikipedia, shining its light of truth on a myriad of topics. No advertising, no pop-ups, just the facts, ma'am. I do so appreciate that.

thanks, e.e.

2011-11-24T00:03:00.004-05:00

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

- e.e. cummings

The first verse is my signature line for my emails and has been for years. Sometimes, you may even spot me walking along and speaking the words, or almost singing them from my open car window.
Try it some time.

filling the holes

2011-11-23T23:17:00.009-05:00

This afternoon, I had two cavities filled by the gentle hands of Dr. Julie, my new dentist. When I finally went to the dentist, after a hiatus of at least seven years (long story for another time), I was quite concerned by what might have gone wrong in the ensuing period since I last had my teeth checked. To my relief, my teeth were mostly in good shape! My gums were fine (yeah!), I had one new cavity (boo!), and I had one filling and two crowns that weren't holding up to the task of grinding food into digestible bits.
Many little X-rays were taken, even pictures. The good doctor even showed all to me, so I could see the damage. Then my teeth were cleaned and I was counseled about the upcoming schedule and cost. Yeah for dental insurance! Not that the cost to me for the work itself is free, but it's about a quarter of the uninsured price.
Today was the first of the needed repairs. Two fillings, one for a new pit, the other to replace a broken bit of silver. The numbing shots were slowly administered, so nicely done that I had none of the pain I had recalled from my last time in a dentist's chair. Alrighty then! The work itself went at a quick pace and, in under an hour, I was done and gone. "No food or drink for at least an hour," were the parting words, "and then try to drink something warm."
Better than two hours later, I'm still partly numb. Perhaps I should have forewarned her that I have a low drug threshold. You better believe that I'll inform her of that very thing when I return the first of December for the initial crown work.
Tonight, I was out for a light-hearted Philippine action flick, featuring the diminutive (shorter than a yardstick) Weng Weng, at the local coffee house. My right jaw was aching slightly, so I had a cup of decaf java to sip. Sip I did, at first, then found the actual warm cup to be of more solace than the liquid it held. Eventually I was even able to relax and enjoy the movie. Nice to have that void filled, too!

fortune cookie

2011-11-20T22:59:00.011-05:00

Ya gotta love fortune cookies. They say the damnedest things at the damnedest times, much like a three-year-old child. "A nice cake is waiting for you" is a prime example.
You think the message is garbled until subsequent events seem to prove the cookie right. I say "seem to" because the end can usually be made to fit the means, if you're a mind to do so.
Even so, sometimes I choose to lend credence to the words. For some times, I need to believe in a bit of positive in my corner. Some times are a bit rougher than others and warrant clutching at wisps of "yes" wherever they appear. This time of year can be especially cold and chill you to the bone, if you're not careful.
Most of the time, when I dine at my favorite source of massive quantities of fresh vegetables, cooked to order, I don't bother with a fortune cookie. Not that they are unavailable or hard to obtain. Oh, no. There's a jar full of them on the check-out counter, luring eyes and fingers. No, my reason for not grabbing one is this: I prefer to receive my fortunes as a random gift. If the waiter doesn't bring one with the bill, then I abstain.
My waitress this evening, a waitress I have had before, surprised me with the gift of a fortune cookie. I thanked her and decided to wait until I was home to break it open, as I was unusually full from dinner. Also, I felt the need to BE home, as I had been out all afternoon and most of the evening. So, I arrive home (the dash light working this time, so I could see my speedometer), enter my warm, lit house, and get settled in. The cookie had already crumbled in my pocket by the time I pulled it out, but the fortune was still nestled in the folds, avoiding my view. I open the wrapper, remove half the cookie and eat it as I am freeing the message.
"You will have many friends when you need them."
Nice! But how did the cookie know I had been wondering about such things?
Last night was one of those rare occasions when I felt that life was GOOD. I had gone downtown to hear Magic Rocks making rock music, as I had been invited to the gig. Ordinarily, I would have seen the 22:30 start time and opted out. This time was different, as if I were truly meant to be there. The weather had warmed such that I didn't really need a jacket, though I took one anyway. The traffic downtown was almost nonexistent; I effortlessly found parking close to where I thought I was going.
I ended up having a nice stroll whilst looking for the venue and arrived right after a large party had left, vacating several tables right in front of the band. Incredible. I had no sooner sat down than I was joined by a new friend, with word that others were on their way from a birthday celebration. Fabulous! And there we were with plenty of room for all! And the band was playing some of my favorite songs... and the waitress helped enact my request for a dance floor... and the others had arrived and we were all grooving to the music... And I realized how GOOD it felt to be surrounded by friends, beside me, behind me, in front of me, listening to great music and watching a ship pass by in the windows behind the band as they rocked out.
I spend a lot of time alone. That isn't unusual for me and, quite truly, that's the way it has been for much of my life. "Alone" doesn't mean "lonely". I have found that "lonely" can, and does, occur when others are present. But last night, I had gone out alone, but not lonely, and had been in the right place for friends to find me and join me.
I think I need to keep doing that.

birth

2011-10-28T09:56:00.004-04:00

The artistry involved here appeals to me. The concept, birth, is approached using a series of still pictures, newly created, to tell the story and convey the emotion. The pictures I've seen are quite lovely and fantastical, with swirling colors, swirling shapes, swirling backdrops. Life in motion.
I'll have to let you know about the finished project next summer, when it is, at last, born into this world and shared with all. Please remind me, should I forget!

celebration of women

2011-10-25T23:13:00.003-04:00

I know this would be a project Mama would have supported. The book will chronicle the stories of twenty strong women, women who did what they had to for their families and their communities and their selves.
The book is titled "Celebrations in the Garden" and that reminds me of a piece of embroidery Mama had made when I was a kid. The embroidery consisted of a poem, with flowers and birds and a sun. She had framed it and it hung in the hallway of our home. The poem went like this:
The kiss of the sun for pardon
The song of the birds for mirth
One is nearer God's heart in a garden
Than any place else on earth.

time travel in GA

2011-10-16T23:25:00.002-04:00

Yep, believe it or not, we have an author in Decatur who wants to encourage kids to read science books! To that worthy goal, he has written two books about space travel and has them geared toward the home-schooling market in particular. The books have an entertaining story with science, math, history, and other topics sprinkled in right under the kids' noses. Hopefully he'll be successful in this funding venture.

lady in red

2011-10-13T00:12:00.006-04:00

I look forward to sharing news of this film with my youngest brother. I don't know how many years in the future until his return, but this work of art may give him inspiration. The reason this one snagged my attention? This brother's birthday is in another few days and he's on my mind.

hey baby hey baby hey!

2011-10-12T23:54:00.002-04:00

This looks to be great fun! I can't wait for April to come along so I can see this!

you woo-oo send me, honest you do

2011-10-08T21:12:00.010-04:00

Yesterday, I took the long way to Orlando. Why? Well, one thought led to another and the next thing I knew, I was leaving the road more traveled for the highway known as Corridor Z. That IS how these things start, isn't it? I was thinking of school, as I had just left it. Those thoughts led to ones of the lecture videos and a fictional conversation I might have with a student concerning changes that student might see in the current me as opposed to the one in 1995. I then thought of the factors which had helped me to BE that long-ago person and, quite naturally, Mama came to mind. And tears came to my eyes as I recalled how long it had been since I'd been to Grandma's grave to place the "permanent" flower. So you now have the convoluted rationale for me going about three hours out of my way to Florida.
It had been a few years since I had visited Thomas Cemetery. It's a small tract of land outside Waycross, a tract which had been in the family of my great-grandmother. Both of Mama's parents were buried there. My uncle Jimmy is also there, in a plot that awaits his widow and is near the grave of his third wife. Oh, yes, Granny (Thomas) White, my mother's grandmother, is also there, and is the one who granted passage to that bit of meadow to the other family members. (I'm sure Mama would have been buried there, as well, if not for love of, and by, my stepdad.)
So, I made it a point to visit all of their final resting places. The site for my grandparents was a bit overgrown, so I took a bit of time to clear away the crabgrass snaking its way hither and yon and resolved to put a spade and garden fork in the trunk for my next trip.
After taking several pictures of each grave, I resumed my southerly trek. The weather had been cooperating while I was grave-tending, but now it had opened back up and was again raining on me. Just as well, my car and my thoughts needed a washing!

on the way from here to there

2011-10-07T23:16:00.000-04:00

So, I'm driving down I-95, heading south to the home of Disney World and SeaWorld and the Wizarding World of Harry Potter and all of the other fanciful places made physical. I had traveled as far as Darien, driving and singing and letting my mind drift. Then, both of the stations I was following went into commercial breaks, car commercials - quite possible the SAME commercial. So, I shut off the radio and my mind snapped back to class this morning. We were on the topics of chemical equations and moles and molar ratios, topics I had covered for years, including back in the fall of 1995. The difference was the setting: for that particular quarter, the department experimented with the distance-learning format and I had agreed to participate in this preliminary venture.
One of the classes I taught was ten weeks of general, organic, and biological chemistry. This was a class in which the students were introduced to an incredible variety of concepts and terminology, but a class which did not require any lab performance by the students. Usually, I compensated for this lack of lab by having demonstrations during my lectures. The class was deemed perfect for this trial in which I would be simultaneously teaching on two campuses which were physically about seventy miles apart.
By the second day, I had brought a VHS cassette to be inserted in the transmission electronica. I had asked the power that be if there might be any way to tape my classes for the viewing benefit of students who might miss a lecture. The man in charge had replied that if I supplied the cassettes, they would be glad to oblige, as all the necessary apparatus was already in use for the class. And so it came to pass that almost all of my lectures that term were recorded for the first, and thus far only, time in my teaching career. I loved it!
I asked the library if they would keep the cassettes available for my students and they set up a system for the tapes to be checked-out for in-house viewing. For several years, my students enjoyed the largess of that one-time experiment. Eventually, the library returned the tapes to me and I carefully stored them away.
At the end of last fall, I again asked the library for help. I had begun teaching full-time and I thought my current students might benefit from these past lectures. Could the tapes I had be transferred from VHS to DVD so they could be uploaded online? Yes! Yes, they could! And so they were.
Then the task of getting the files online could, and did, begin. I spent part of my summer with a woman in the Information Technology field and truly could not have accomplished the task without her (Thanks, Jennifer!). She spent many hours getting the data into iTunes for my review. And then she spent more hours performing the changes I requested. Anything I asked to change, she did. Could we make the lectures into smaller, bite-sized bits of knowledge? Yes, yes, we could. Would it be possible to link the end of this lecture with the beginning of the next to make one coherent topic? Why, sure! Could I design the picture for the lecture icon? Absolutely! Might we split the material into two sections to coincide with the split of the material into two separate courses? You bet!
She and I have miles to go before we complete this journey, but I am quite proud of our accomplishments. We managed to get some key topics set up for my students this term and I have been awaiting the time to share the "old me" with my new students. So, here we are at the halfway point in this term, which only covers general chemistry, and we have finally reached the right time. After my Wednesday night lecture, one of my older students told me how helpful it was to have my lecture on iTunes. He added that he wished ALL the professors had their lectures online, as it allowed him time to fully understand the material. Nice! I had indeed noticed that most of the students seemed to follow the lecture better than on Monday and I attributed the improvement to my posting the videos online for them and alerting them to the videos with an email on Tuesday.
So, on Friday, at the end of the lecture, I recalled my conversation with that student. I had noticed the typical ennui of that class, which is composed mostly of teenagers. I asked if anyone had yet gone to the iTunes website and viewed my old lectures. One of the young women - of the 43 students in the class - smiled and nodded and said she had. She is usually attentive in class and also keeps up with my online postings.
I thought she might have wondered about my transition in the 17 years since those videos were made. If she had asked, I would have replied that there was a lot of water under that bridge. That bridge of time, standing over land which had been subject to many floods, was still recovering from the flood caused by Mama's death almost eleven years ago.

losing my religion

2011-10-01T21:37:00.009-04:00

I've done it again! Having contributed to the delinquency of adults this past summer in the 24-Hour Playfest, I'm now doing so for a film. One of the best things about doing so? I'll have a film that I can share with others who may, in turn, help fund other creative efforts. That's a win-win for everyone!

i'm coming home

2011-09-30T23:06:00.000-04:00

There's nothing like going home after a long hospital stay, whether one is human or turtle. Truck, a 75-pound loggerhead turtle, was released on his own recognizance today and he RAN into the surf of the low tide at Great Dunes Beach on Jekyll Island. What a great pleasure to watch his joyous reunion with the ocean he holds so dear!

sky talk

2011-09-24T22:41:00.004-04:00

Look up! That's my message today. I find myself looking up at the sky often these days. It's a habit I once had as a child and as a younger woman, lying on my back in the grass or on the sand of a beach, watching the shapes and stories in the clouds. I find it to be a reassuring pastime, especially of late, especially since I read the sign language at Daytona Beach.

Crazy Dog says...

2011-09-20T10:30:00.013-04:00

Crazy Dog told me this morning to write down three things that I felt strongly about and had felt strongly about for some time. Crazy Dog then listed three examples that didn't really speak to me - however, they did prompt a thought: I miss my mother and resent not having her.
Crazy Dog's advice was the basis of every change-your-life program in the world. If you cannot change what is causing your distress, CHANGE YOUR ATTITUDE TOWARD IT. YOU have the power to make yourself happy, YOU and you alone. No one else can change your life (which is simply a reflection of your mental outlook)but YOU. Money, fame, popularity, purchased goods - it's all just STUFF, and stuff can be taken away or lost.
So, I have to find a way to truly accept this loss in my life. I acknowledge the loss, I do, but I also acknowledge my resentment. Mama had her mother (my Grandmama) in her life until she was 59 years old. Mama died when I was only 42. As I see it, she "owed" me at least another ten years, right? Maybe even 15?
But she left this world, and ME, early. And she used alcohol to do so. Alcohol. I wish I had never told her about that Nicholas Cage movie. I had emphasized to her that cirrhosis of the liver was a painless way to die for the one who had it, that it was a disease that only hurt others in that person's life. At the time, we were all dealing with family members who allowed alcohol to rule their actions, their lives, their brains. I kept trying to impress upon her a need for tough love, a need for the enabling to cease, a need to let them sit in jail and dry out. Maybe so.
Mama developed something wrong with her blood. After a typical woman's life lived on the edge of anemia, her body was now manufacturing too many red blood cells. The doctors couldn't seem to pinpoint the cause, but to treat the symptoms, Mama had to go have a pint of blood withdrawn every other month or so to keep her blood from becoming too think for her heart to pump. The doctor cautioned her that the condition would cause alcohol to be especially toxic to her liver and so, for a while at least, she curtailed the cocktails.
Then, about a year before her death, she started drinking more. Meanwhile, she was still allowing others to bring their alcohol-induced troubles and pile them up on her. And I kept preaching tough love, tough love. And I didn't acknowledge that I was pushing her away.
Now, I cannot count the times I have wanted to call her and share some news. Now, I cannot count the times I have wanted to hear her voice. Now, I cannot count the times I have wanted to hug her and tell her how much I love her. Now, I cannot and I feel so guilty for having let her down, for allowing her to feel that she couldn't talk to me about how distressed she felt because she knew I would say she had to use tough love.
What stupid things people say sometimes. What stupid tings I, me, myself, have said sometimes. Like now. I'm still trying to accept blame for Mama's death because of things I did say or didn't say, as if my words meant life or death.
That's CRAZY. I have no control over the actions or thoughts of others. NONE. Maybe that's the lesson I really still need to learn: I ONLY HAVE CONTROL OVER MY THOUGHTS AND ACTIONS. So, if I have thoughts which are distressing me, I am the one who has control over the effects of those thoughts. I am the one who can CHOOSE how I allow those thoughts to affect me. Damned invisible trees, again.
Perhaps Crazy Dog just might know what he's talking about.

keep on truckin', baby

2011-09-19T11:17:00.001-04:00

After the jazz film, I decided to take a little drive. You see, my odometer had been creeping up for the past few days, edging toward 100,000. I had been watching, doing a little math in my head for distances I knew and trying to estimate when that numerical threshold would be passed. Well, when I left the film downtown, my first thought was on dinner and getting some, as it was already 10 pm. Then, as I'm driving along, an image registered in my mind: the mileage on my 2001 car was going to be turning in another fifteen minutes or so, and I did NOT want it to be finalized in the morning traffic tomorrow. NO.
I decided I wanted to mark the occasion by cruising out toward the beach. I doubted that I would reach the Sugar Shack, but that would be my goal! So, there I am, cruisin' in the dark, listening to the radio and singin' along, keeping one eye on the road and the other on my dashboard. Thank God the traffic was light!
I had wanted to be able to pull over and take a picture of the odometer reading as the 9's became 0's, but it wasn't to be. A taxi began chasing me as I cruised, forcing me to pay full attention to the task at hand - driving! - and distracting me from my mission. I had hoped to make it to the beginning of the pass lane, near Fort Pulaski, before all of my 0's shifted, but, as the evidence bears out, I did not. Still, I had a nice drive and have this little tale to mark the passage of my vehicle officially into its old age. Good enough for me!

11 september

2011-09-11T22:30:00.007-04:00

I did go see the documentary at Muse Arts Warehouse, joined by a friend. I had questioned the host to ensure no media-frenzy pictures would be present and he assured me the film was free of such crassness. So, I stayed. And, even though I cried through almost all of it, I must attest to its truth about grief: everyone has a different way to deal with the stages and everyone has their own pace. Overall, I would recommend it for counselors everywhere as a helpful tool to show those grieving that there is more than one way to work through the pain of loss.
Truly, time is the most healing factor, provided the griever is able to give themselves permission to stop grieving. That last part is hard: to finally reach a point where you have to forgive yourself for not being there at the right time or not doing a particular thing or not saying the right words. To forgive yourself is to acknowledge your own mortality and faults. To forgive yourself and accept the loss is to give yourself permission to live again.
Afterwards, I went to my beloved beach, shedding the dress I wore and revealing the swimsuit beneath. The northern beach was lovely, sparsely populated, with a sky featuring one lone rainbow kite fluttering its tail. I walked along the shore, in and out of the surf, until I reached the rocks at the end. I sat a while in the deserted lifeguard stand, closing my eyes and letting the words of the great ocean fill my mind with reassurances and calm, then walked back down the shoreline, collecting two broken shells along my journey. Such peace!
Eventually, I returned to my Saturn, duly waiting where I had left her. I returned a call to a dear friend and we dined together, enjoying each other's company, with no talk of the day's date. Upon my return home, I called my dear cousin and told her of my day and she sent love and love and love along the telephone line into my ears and into my mind and around my heart.
She's always had a knack for that very thing...

decade-anniversary of horror

2011-09-10T15:57:00.006-04:00

My dearest cousin sent me a PowerPoint file today, titled "World Trade Center." The following is my reply to her.

"I couldn't bear to watch it. I am surrounded by invitations to 10-year anniversary events for the horror of Sept 11, 2001. I despise hearing it trivialized as 9/11, some catchphrase coined by the media. I remember well where I was when I heard the news: I was at work, having a normal morning, when one of the guys called to tell me the news. The next thing I knew, the word was all over the radio, the airwaves, all around. The tv kept showing the horror over and over that evening, so I left it off. I simply could not keep those images from my mind and crying, yet I was surrounded by media cashing in on the bad news.

I tried to concentrate on the outpouring of love from THE WORLD during that time. So much heartbreak being soothed by those who did not live in the USA, so many words of concern and hope for a better tomorrow, so much reassurance that we were not alone in this distress and terrible loss of life.

THAT is what I would dwell upon, NOT the evil wreaked by twisted minds."

That said, I may attend one of the events tomorrow. The film is titled "Rebirth" and features five stories of lives forever changed. Brought here by the Psychotronic Film Society, for a one-day-only showing at a favorite venue run by folks I love and trust, and attending with friends I consider family, I tentatively intend to attend the early showing. Should the film prove to be too much for me, I'll leave and flee to the beach, to allow the sound of the waves and the embrace of the sun and the kiss of the sea breeze to comfort and restore my soul.
Actually, I shall PLAN to go to the beach afterward. As a favorite quote by Isak Dinesen reminds me, "The cure for anything is saltwater - sweat, tears, or the sea."

don't stop me now

2011-09-06T22:58:00.002-04:00

Thanks, Google, for reminding us.

killing zombies

2011-09-05T21:17:00.005-04:00

I have discovered a video game: The House of The Dead. Woohoo!!! I felt a need to destroy SOMETHING, but I didn't want a shooting-at-humans game. Dave & Buster's set me up right! Not just ONE zombie-killing game, not just TWO, but THREE machines, each with a different weapon to use. Oh, yeah! I didn't care about the points I amassed or the levels of play attained - oh, no, not me. I delighted in watching the zombies become headless masses, holes blown in chests, blood splatter all around. Destruction!!!
No, I do not own a gun. Games like this remind me of WHY I don't own a gun. My seven years in the Navy first convinced me that I should not own a gun, and so I do not.
But I sure did enjoy destroying zombies on the three variations of The House of The Dead available to me. In fact, I enjoyed it SO much that a song composed itself as I drove north along I-95, a song which I sang several times on my way to Jekyll Island, singing with great glee and joyfulness. Here it is:

If killing zombies is wrong,
I don’t want to be right.
In the House of the Dead I can slay at will
And I do so with all my might.
With pump-action shotgun
Or hair-trigger Magnum,
It matters not to me.
As long as I can blow their heads clean off
That’s the way it should be.

If killing zombies is wrong,
I don’t want to be right.
If killing zombies is wrong,
I don’t want to be right.
I don’t want to be right
If it means my slaying is over,
I don’t want to be right
If it means the zombies take over.
I don’t want to be right
If killing zombies is w r o n g,
I don’t want to be right.

(To the tune of “(If Loving You Is Wrong) I Don't Want To Be Right”)

sign language

2011-09-03T23:30:00.002-04:00

The sky told me "I love you" today. I was walking along the water's edge at my beloved Daytona Beach, walking away the blues from my step-dad's death. On this lovely, warm day, the sky was incredibly blue and seemed to reach out into the Milky Way for wisps of white to paint across its wide expanse.
There I am, walking alongside the ocean, trying to think of nothing, listening to the gentle song of the waves. I had been watching the tiny birds skittering in and out of my path as I, in turn, skittered in and out of the path of children's flying feet. The sun beamed down on the glittering sea, on the lifeguard stands, on me, drawing my eyes upward, upward, to enjoy the blue.
And there it was. I stopped in my tracks to take in the message, holding out my right hand to look at the image there and then back to the sky's clear vision. I looked around, sure that others must also see the love writ large - but I was the only one cognizant of the scene above our heads. I brought forth my cell phone's camera, to see if its eye could find the same image as my own. Miraculously, the air stayed gentle, allowing me to take a couple of pictures before the inevitable shifting of the canvas dispersed the lovegram from heaven.
I was able to enjoy these clouds for quite a while as I continued my walk, my spirits revived, my faith restored.
I had not forgotten those who had moved on, nor had they forgotten me.

perspective blogathon!

2011-08-28T10:55:00.013-04:00

Oh, yeah, THIS sounds like just my cup of tea! A Juxtaposition Blogathon! I don't consider myself a film connoiseur, but I am assuredly an aficionado and, as such, have been known to enjoy a movie or two on many an occasion. In fact, if you add the word "festival" after "film", I am ALL OVER IT. I just can't help myself and I blame Mama for my love of movies. I tell you, if she had the chance to move us to Los Angeles or New York to be closer to filmdom, she would have.
I've not yet had the pleasure of participating in a blogathon, so this will be another NEW experience. Yeah! Who knows, maybe I might host a blogathon on my own someday - doubtful, that - and this will gain me some modicum of knowledge about such an event. Barring that, it's a great opportunity to share my reviews on TWO OR MORE movies with other fans of cinematic offerings. Also, I very much look forward to reading the offerings of others to see what direction THEY will take the topic.
Perspective, as I have said many times, IS everything. I was recently at the opening talk for this year's Common Read. The speaker opened the topic, providing background on the selected book for those who might have not yet read it. She then brought forth on the stage a panel of twelve and allowed each to state which aspect of the book was the most meaningful (and each gave discourse on why they chose that aspect). Then, when all had a turn and the floor was opened to questions, a member of the audience with yet another viewpoint was invited to join the panel onstage. At the end, including the speaker, there were fourteen members of society who had spoken of the very same book. EVERY ONE OF THESE PEOPLE HAD A DIFFERENT MESSAGE THEY HAD GARNERED. Every single person, with their different knowledge bases, their different life experiences, had read the same words and yet focused on a different central idea. I found the discussion to be extremely interesting and an awesome example of how unique the mind of each person truly is.

Barton: A hero's final flight | savannahnow.com

2011-08-18T07:32:00.001-04:00

Barton: A hero's final flight | savannahnow.com

I had heard these stories from Frank's lips, so I know them well. Still, it's good to see them in print and know that his words, and his voice, will carry on.
A balm to my aching heart, as was the graveside military entourage and salute yesterday.
My gratitude to all.

death and life

2011-08-13T23:23:00.006-04:00

Today was my stepdad's last day on Earth. The vessel he left behind will become ashes in the next day or so, then be interred in the plot which holds my mother's ashes and stepsiblings' mother's body. This is how much he loved my mother: he split his side of the plot and agreed to be cremated so she could still be by his side. Even though he is Catholic and, as such, had always intended to have a buried body.
The last few days, we have all spent a lot of time together at the hospital. We have talked of many things, many diverse subjects. Births of children now in their twenties, having children of their own. Weddings in the near future and weddings in the past decade. Favorite movies, favorite ringtones, favorite television shows. Songs we love, songs we hate. Boxers versus briefs versus both simultaneously. Bras and when to wear them and when to shed them.
Along the way, we've regained some of the sense of family we had in the 1980's and 1990's when Mama was alive. She and my stepdad were the heart of the family and we were all expected to enjoy each other's company frequently. For Labor Day, Memorial Day, the Fouth of July, we all descended upon their house for cookouts, bringing spouses, children, side dishes. For Thanksgiving, naught would do but to come to their house for the huge family feast of food and conversation and post-game napping. Christmas Eve, the house was filled with food to nibble and gifts to unwrap and children to be thrilled!
After Mama died in 2001, the family traditions did, too. The bridged family fell into nuclear units (I can just see my stepdad smile and say "I knew you would get some chemistry in there!). Sure, we still all reunited for Christmas Eve, but it was an abbreviated affair. No more of folks coming together all afternoon and mixing and mingling. Now we met at the house at 6 pm, made ouselves some sandwiches and gobbled sweets, quickly opened gifts in a madhouse, then packed up and left.
No more cookouts on the weekends of Memorial Day, Fourth of July, Labor Day. We all had our own cookouts and somehow didn't invite the others. We all moved into different and new "family" units with longtime and new friends. Sure, part of that is to be expected as the children grow older, as we ourselves grow older. It's certainly good to have "family" that we have CHOSEN, not been born into. The downside, though, is we have all drifted apart, losing sight of our relationships to each other.
His time in the hospital brought us all to one location for an extended period of time. His few short days led to long discussions and much contact between those he was leaving behind. His death has reunited us as a family.
I know Himself would have been pleased.

well, hell

2011-08-10T23:28:00.009-04:00

My stepdad is unconscious. He has been that way since late yesterday afternoon. All because he fell and broke his hip on Friday morning.
In truth, he didn't actually break his hip, but he shattered the head of the femur where it fits into the hip. He had been washing a load of laundry, as he has done many times throughout his 89 years of life. Apparently, he had finished and was taking the clean clothes into the house when he got tripped up and fell in his carport. He finally managed to attract the attention of a neighbor, then spent all day in the emergency room while options were discussed. Finally, a choice was made and he was moved to another hospital to have a partial hip replacement. The plan was to have the surgery Saturday morning, get him up and on the new hip on Sunday, then return him to the initial hospital for two weeks of physical therapy.
Instead, after the surgery he developed a fever three degrees higher than body temperature. The doctors then had to find out where the infection was and determined he had some pneumonia present and had perhaps had it for a while. Throw some antibiotics at it and all would be well. He spent a lot of time sleeping on Saturday, but had good color in his cheeks when I saw him.
On Sunday, when I saw him in the early afternoon, he was fairly chipper. They had, indeed, gotten him up on the new right hip and he had even sat in the chair for a bit before moving back into the bed. The fever was only one degree higher than normal temperature. Progress! We chatted a bit, then he threw me out so he could take a nap.
On Monday, things took a serious turn for the worse. He had been up and walking around and then sat in the chair, same as the day before. This time, however, when it was time to move back into the bed in mid-afternoon, he passed out and scared everybody to death. Good thing he's a man of slight build and the on-duty nurse was a young man who caught him and kept him from breaking any other bones. He was moved into an Intensive Care Unit room for monitoring and tests. A CT scan revealed blood clots in his lungs, so now they would have to determine what new course of action to take.
By the time I saw him late that evening (approaching 9 pm), he was panicked from the oxygen mask covering his face. He reached for my hand as I entered the room and I took it and calmed him while the nurses got his heparin drip going and checked all the tubes going into him. The charge nurse then prepared some ice water to soothe his aching throat (oxygen gas has zero moisture and is quite drying) and she even swapped out his mask for the cannula tubes. Ah, relief! Now he felt so much like Himself that he even joked a bit and flirted with the nurses. Much better! After he was all set for the night and sent me home, I went, feeling much better about the situation than when I had arrived.
Things went straight to hell on Tuesday morning. Because his oxygen levels weren't high enough, the mask was put back on. No one seemed to recall that he was a World War II veteran who had spent two years in his early 20's in a German POW camp and that he was terrified of having his mouth and nose covered. Sigh. When I saw him that morning, he was extremely agitated. Meanwhile, nothing happened while we all waited for the primary vascular surgeon to consult another about the best option. Late that afternoon, they put him under to vacuum his lungs and to place a filter in his femoral artery to block any clots coming from the hip surgery site.
That course of action was apparently not the best for an aged man with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. It's Wednesday and he is still unconscious and is lying in the bed, intubated - meaning a tube has been pushed from his nostrils into his lungs to carry oxygen. They are unable to insert a feeding tube because he has a hiatal hernia. This means it is simply a matter of time until his organs begin to fail. Man cannot live on glucose alone.
When I saw him early this afternoon, he looked as pale as a marble statue. I held his hand while I spoke to him and he was completely unresponsive. No hand movement, no eye movement, no movement of any kind. I don't intend to go into that ICU room again. I don't want to remember him that way and I know damn sure he wouldn't want that, either.

wonderworks

2011-08-03T18:27:00.002-04:00

I had SUCH fun at this place! It's a hands-on science museaum, in an "upside-down" building. I made this tree on a hill using a huge frame with plastic pushpins. I even managed to get this photo before a kid hit the reset button!

thought by the volcano pool at Cypress Pointe

2011-08-02T11:00:00.001-04:00

If you regard palm trees as a Seussian flower, they are rather pretty.

lazing on a Sunday afternoon

2011-07-31T21:16:00.005-04:00

Starting my last break before school resumes by taking a side trip to Daytona Beach to watch the Cubs play against the Hammerheads - and win, 3 to zip! "Go Gnats!" Oops! "Go, Cubs!"

you can't go home again

2011-07-30T17:24:00.014-04:00

Here's the trouble with time travel: in order to get what you want, you have to DO what you DID. Past choices are the path followed to today, like it or not. Any change in those past choices will affect your present day. Your high school sweetie turns out to be a hound dog, so you choose to NOT sleep with him on your birthday and NOT get knocked up? Congratulations on the loss of the future daughter, and subsequent son, who you love so dearly.
I watched "Peggy Sue Got Married" this afternoon, in lieu of going to a local cinema. Partly I chose to stay home because I didn't want to go into the tire-melting heat of the summer day. But that wasn't the only factor. I've had this movie beside my computer for several days now - maybe even more than a week! - so I could see Nicholas Cage sing.
Mama and I had gone to see the movie when it first came out in 1986, while I was still attending college here. We had both loved it and loved seeing Nicholas Cage and Kathleen Turner. So, I bought the movie when it was released on VHS and she and I watched it again. Then I purchased it -for a final time?- when I was switching over to the dvd format, so we could watch it any time we wanted.
Why the sudden desire to see Cage's performance again? Well, one of my favorite songs on Tom Jones' "the lead and how to swing it" is titled "A Girl Like You". The beat is hypnotic and sensual and rhythmic... well, you get my drift, right? Coupled with that singular Welsh voice, the song makes for great company. I had a copy of the cd quite a few years back, but it was lost along the way; perhaps it was borrowed and never returned? I only know that when one of my friends posted some lyrical phrases from one of Sir Tom's songs, I simply HAD to have that cd once more. The folks at eBay were kind enough to allow me to 'win" it.
Meanwhile, as I was waiting for my "prize" to arrive, I started searching youTube on the off chance that the song had ever had a video... and it did!!! Not by Mr. Jones, no indeed. That would have been quite the find! But, no. Instead, I found several DIFFERENT songs by that title, songs which were good but not THE song. Then, success! I found the actual video by the original group, The Wolfgang Press, a group who so impressed Mr. Jones that he had asked them to write, for him, another song for that same album (cd). They complied, giving him "Show Me", another strong single, to me at least. I don't know that any of the songs ever made it to the radio.
So, what's the connection to the movie??? Well, the lead singer reminded me of Nicholas Cage. Just superficially, mind. Right height, right build, right smoky eyes and smokier voice. Oh, yeah. And I remembered that Cage had sung a couple of songs in the movie, so I wanted to compare, see how well I was remembering. I was SO off! In the movie, his voice was such a kid's voice through much of it, not yet having mellowed with time, smoke, and drink until his later years... but his singing voice was just fine. There was something about the way he looked while singing, while holding the microphone, and THAT was what had triggered the memory while watching the music video.

time, time, time is on my side

2011-07-24T23:49:00.001-04:00

Yes, it is! I've been cleaning house for several years now, with the help of eBay and craigslist. I've discovered there are plenty of folks worldwide willing to take possession of things I no longer want or need. Some things get snapped up the first time proffered. Others languish for a few months, dropping off the list only to be reposted again and again.
Why the disparity? Why doesn't everything put forth get readily grabbed up by another? Well, it's all a matter of timing. I post an item I no longer need. Someone looks for an item they want. The trick is having the two events coincide. And that, dear, is QUITE the trick.
In many regards, selling online is akin to fishing. You drop your line in the deep blue, trolling a tasty-looking morsel through the cool water, and you wait. Elsewhere in the sunlit sea, a fish rides the currents in search of a seafood dinner. If you are patient, the fish might eventually swim nigh and spot your offering. If you are patient, YOU are awarded the seafood dinner. Yum!
So, I try to be patient. Some items I post try this patience mightily, making me despair that I will not find a new home for them. Then... surprise! Someone in Oregon or the Netherlands or even Australia has eagerly accepted them! That, to me, is part of the fun - being able to travel vicariously to other parts of this lovely Earth. Very nice.

choices

2011-07-13T23:00:00.004-04:00

Choices come with baggage
they do not come alone.
You think it's just for the moment,
but they always follow you home.

Have a drink too many
and get behind the wheel
You put yourself and others in harm's way
no one else gave you that raw deal.

Have sex with someone special
but a condom is a bother.
Then the sheriff's at your door
and someone is calling you father.

And that may be the best it brings
but the surprise may be another -
if the baggage is full of AIDS
it could kill you, brother.

Yes, choices come with baggage,
so give them careful thought.
The choice you make this moment
might later make you distraught.

Choices come with baggage
so be mindful of your next,
for it may bring you naught but woe
and steal your self-respect.

---- This is a work in progress, in preparation for the Spitfire Slam coming up on the 30th of this month. I had considered sharing "hotdogs 4 breakfast", written a year after Daddy's death. Or maybe even the untitled poem included in the next day's post. But the one here just wrote itself as I was on my way to dinner with my stepmom and my paternal aunt. I actually had to pull over at one point so I could physically write down the words engraving themselves on my brain. Wild.

postscript

2011-07-10T11:44:00.016-04:00

Timing is everything. This morning, on the only news program I watch, Tom Jones was featured. They even showed concert clips of him doing all three of the songs mentioned in my last post! He's 71 now, so Mother Pat would have been 70 in March.
His look is different now and seems to have changed shortly after we saw his show. He's allowed himself to show his age, gray hair, gray beard, and it becomes him. I still think HE is a "sex bomb" and I'd still like to see him in concert again. Tom has a new album - oops! I mean, CD - out and the songs are quite different, with several old traditional standards and folk tunes. I had seen him at the MGM Grand, one of the cornerstones in Las Vegas, and apparently he still performs there. Maybe I can plan a trip to coincide with his in the next year or two.
Although the sound of the new songs is more serious, this isn't the first time he's delved into vastly different material. He did the same in 1994 when he released "the lead and how to swing it", one of my favorites. Take a listen. THIS is what being mid-fifties is all about for me. He was 54 in this video, recorded at the House of Blues in Los Angeles in 1994. I'm 53 now, still vital, still dancing, still.
Thanks to the tomjonesintl.com site for the video and the information! I had wondered about the title of the album and I like it even more now, knowing it was a tribute to Sir Tom's dad. Now, if I could only find a video for one of my favorites on the CD, "A Girl Like You". That would be so fine! Meanwhile, the original by Wolfgang Press will do nicely.

it's not unusual

2011-07-09T23:16:00.003-04:00

‘Doc, I can’t stop singing ‘The Green, Green Grass of Home.’ ‘That sounds like Tom Jones Syndrome.’ ‘Is it common?’ 'Well, ‘It’s Not Unusual.’ =)

The above joke was posted on a friend's facebook page and made me smile. As I replied to her, "OMG, Tom Jones is soooo fabulous!! When I saw him in Las Vegas in 2007, he sang "Sex Bomb" to ME! Yes, he did! (swoon!)"
Seriously, he DID! I had bought the tickets in December of 2006 and snagged front-row tickets for my husband and my mother-in-law for his show. Incredible! Even more so, the concert was on Mother Pat's 66th birthday and I knew she was going to love the show at least as much as I would. THAT was very important to me. You see, the trip to Las Vegas was a last hurrah with her, as she had Stage 4 colon cancer and was doing very poorly. We had no idea just how poor her health was until we saw her. She had become considerably weaker since the Christmas visit and would actually die a month after the trip.
The trip to Las Vegas was one she had been trying to get us to take with her for years. She had retired early and had nothing but time, whereas we both worked and were lucky to get two weeks of paid vacation a year. To go to Las Vegas would take at least most of a week, leaving us little time for anything else. So, going to gamble with Mother Pat kept getting pushed to the bottom of the list. A real shame, in hindsight. She truly enjoyed the place, as do I, and she knew how to get around and where to find the best, and cheapest, entertainment.
I think the next time I go there, I'll have to find a place where her name can become part of the city.

fortune cookie says...

2011-07-02T23:41:00.006-04:00

"You're not afraid of storms, for you're learning to sail your ship."
Seriously. That was the message received with lunch today.
I was dining with my middle brother on this beautiful, blue-sky, hot summer day. I had chosen this restaurant because it's one of my favorites and we happened to be right there, as we had first gone to the drivers license office. Asian Buffet always has a wide assortment of sushi rolls and nigiri sushi, as well as some dim sum and other goodies, and more traditional fare, too.
He was enjoying the cheesy mussels - he had seven! - and I was getting my fill of several different types of sushi rolls. I tried twice to let him taste, but he couldn't get past the taste of the algae, so that was that.
We had a good lunch together, getting caught up with happenings in each other's lives, eating good food, taking our time. After all, it was a fine Saturday of a holiday weekend and we had no agenda at hand. Very nice lunch and good conversation. Then my fortune came and it read like it was meant JUST for me.
Mind, when the check came with the two fortune cookies on the tray, I had touched the cookie closest to me to move it so I could read the total on the bill. Having confirmed the total was correct, I had placed the cookie back on the tray. I then waited for him to select which cookie he wanted and, when he had not chosen for several minutes, I went ahead and picked up the cookie I had returned to the tray.
That cookie was clearly meant for me. Am I not learning to sail my own ship? Yes, I may be foundering from time to time, but 'tis my own ship and mine alone. If it runs aground occasionally, so be it. I'll make the most of the delay as I wait for a high tide to lift me up and away again. Then I'll be catching the breeze in my sails and searching for that next bright star to steer her by.
Lovely image, that. How did the fortune cookie know?

midnight in Paris

2011-06-30T23:44:00.002-04:00

Tonight, I drove out to a new cinema to see a movie. I didn't know much about the film, and this is the only cinema showing it. Mostly, though, I was escaping my hot house, in hopes that night air would cool it enough that I could sleep. The air conditioner was on the fritz and help would be coming the next day, but not tonight. So, partly to cool off, partly to see the movie before it left town, I left town to catch it.
"Midnight in Paris" is a movie about appreciating the time in which you live. In other words, ejoying the present, not mourning the past or yearning for the future. Time only moves forward, one fraction of a second at a time, and no amount of human pining will alter that pace or direction. To have regrets of time lost in the distant or near past simply robs an appreciation of the time at hand. To wish for a time not yet come to pass in the near or distant future is to miss the richness of the time all around.
What a fine message for this last day of the first half of 2011! This was a fine message for me, indeed, given the many changes brought about in this short thirty-day span of time.
For now, it's a hot house, with anticipation of a cooler night to come.

what a long strange trip it's been

2011-06-25T09:03:00.013-04:00

Yesterday was a merging of friends past and friends present. Who can say who will be friends future?
I went to the wedding of my ex's best friend yesterday evening. My ex had come to town and was there as his best man. The mutual friend who had introduced me to my ex so many years ago was also there.
Playing music at the reception site was a new friend from one of the social groups I have been part of since the divorce. There was also another new friend from another social group I have been part of since the divorce. Both of these folks know the groom and one of them also knows my ex. Small world.
As you know, I've had to start over with my social life, AD. The friends I had before the marriage, who never left my side, are still with me, though they are scattered geographically around this continent. Almost all of the friends I thought I had during the marriage have scattered away, though they still live in this very town. You would have thought divorce was contagious. And perhaps, in a way, it is. People in marriages, relationships, couplehood, find themselves shining a harsh spotlight on their spouses, partners, significant others, searching for any hint of a fatal flaw that might unravel the threads binding them together.
A bit of questioning is a good thing. Any truth, belief, credo, which cannot withstand close scrutiny is not worthy of being a truth or belief or credo. So much of what we hold to be true is based on partial knowledge and subjective perception and not on verifiable and objective facts. My favorite definition of truth is "conformity with fact or reality". It's close to being a scientific law, which is hailed as being a rule held to be true in every instance... but is it? Those laws are based on the outcomes of repeated experiments, but usually have some caveat added in. For instance, all the laws concerning the behavior of properties of gases include the phrase "for an ideal gas" - of which there is nonesuch. Still, the gas laws do give scientists a starting point for understanding and predicting how a real gas will respond to various stimuli.
Perhaps that is how personal truths are of best use. If those beliefs are held to be guidelines, not nonmalleable facts, then those beliefs help make some sense of this world and the people we meet. Guidelines. "Indications of a future course of action", by others known and unknown and by oneself. THAT is helpful.

hasta la vista!

2011-06-20T13:46:00.001-04:00

Until my next trip out to the other coast, my love and a piece of my heart stays with my li'l' sister and her family.
My elder niece wondered one evening why they had not flown over to my beach. I explained that the trip was rather expensive and that it would cost them five times as much since there were five of them.
That would mean they would spend $2800 JUST on the flight. That would not include food on the plane (no more free meals) or in the airport between flights, checked baggage fees, or parking fees. This time, for me alone, the trip was $560, round trip. (Of course, the websites make it sound like less, but those posted prices don't include the various fees and taxes.) I also spent about $35 on meals in the Dallas terminal (Pappasito's Cantina, Gate A28, highly recommended!) and $40 to retrieve my car at the Savannah airport (parked in the Economy lot for $8 per day). Two years ago, the same flight was $549 total. Different airlines, but quite similar in price and in baggage allowances. Hopefully, that price will be about the same when next I travel in that direction... or some few years later when she is old enough to fly out to see me.

Glitter Bomb!

2011-06-19T15:33:00.000-04:00

Glitter Bomb, aka my elder niece in San Diego, is phenomenal on roller skates! As a trainee of the Starlettes, she shows great promise, fearless and fast. I sm so blessed to have been able to see her in action!

penny souvenirs

2011-06-18T23:44:00.003-04:00

Most of the time, I don't bother with buying souvenirs. At least, not for me. I may purchase an occasional item which I think will appeal to someone with a birthday coming or to save for Christmas or such. Rarely do I purchase something specifically for ME.
The exceptions are these little stamped pennies, which cost me two quarters each. I delight in choosing the image I want to be imprinted form the three or four possibilities. Then I find just the right penny to serve as the raw material. I try to select an older penny, one of those which are pure copper and not simply copper-clad. I firmly believe the solid copper gives a more legible image.
Anyway, when the coins have been placed in their designated slots and the image desired has been aligned in the machine, then, and only then, is the coin slide inserted into the machine. I turn the crank, trying to maintain a constant speed for the penny's progress, then scoop it out of the drop slot while the coin is still slightly warm. Success!!! And a low-cost memento is mine!
I have introduced my California angels to the souvenir penny phenomenon. Good! Something to remind them of their Aunt so far across the North American continent! I fortunately had enough quarters AND pennies for the three of them and myself. That was incredible! So I showed them how it was done and allowed the youngest to help produce mine. Then they each made their selection and grabbed them up to run outside and show mom. Look, look!
I managed to snap this photograph at just the right moment, as the newly-imaged copper was taken into a small hand. Timing this good is pure luck!

CA angels

2011-06-17T23:33:00.000-04:00

Fun with bubbles on a sunny afternoon during "June gloom" in southern California. Beautiful! Giggles and smiles all around! And later, I was treated to a three-act floor show starring these nieces and nephew. Sign language, dancing, and singing!!! Wow!

serendipity

2011-06-12T15:48:00.015-04:00

Serendipity is defined as "the act of making desirable discoveries by accident" at dictionary.reference.com, one of my favorite websites. A word not in existence until 1754, the man credited with first use defines it as "discoveries, by accident and sagacity, of things ... not in quest of". One of the best examples would be Alexander Fleming's research of bacterial growth and finding a contaminant that had ruined one of his samples - a contaminant that would become penicillin.
As told elsewhere, Alexander Fleming's start into bacteriological medicine came from an unlikely string of events. After playing water polo with his brothers and Scots during the Boer War, he returned to England to an inheritance and no particular goals. Based on good test results, a brother's advice, and a chance water polo game, he selected St. Mary's Hospital, in London, as the medical school to attend. After graduation as a surgeon, Fleming decided to forgo a surgical career and stay on at St. Mary's, to work in the Inoculation Service. WHY? Because the captain of the rifle club wanted Fleming on his team. So, Fleming was doing postdohttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifctoral research in a field not his major, at a place first chosen for its water polo team and then selected for its rifle club. And today, because he was in the right place, and he took notice and PUBLISHED the scientific problem he had witnessed, we have penicillin. Serendipity!
My love of theatre, as a participant both on and off the stage, are part and parcel of my love of teaching. I knew before my days in the Navy that I enjoyed being on the other side a classroom desk, shy as I was. During my senior year, I volunteered to be a teacher's assistant to two sophomore English classes, as that was preferable to taking two study halls. (I had completed all my course requirements except senior English, but was required to be on campus for half a day; hence, I was enrolled in senior English, two study halls, and senior Spanish.)
That teaching experience led me to work at the now-defunct Savannah Science Museum, where I did odd jobs which included being the snake handler and voice-altering storyteller for children's parties there. That choice of employment my senior year was also a direct result of the love of science nurtured in me by participation in the STERI program (Student-Teacher Environmental Research Interaction) my junior year. This program had included trips to the marshes, to the beach, and on shrimp boats to study the variety of life in those environments.
While working at the Science Museum, I was introduced to what life would be both as a sailor and working with electronics by the maintenence technician. Fun! Biology, physiology (we had a walk-in model of the human heart!), physics, chemistry, history - what a place for young minds!

that bird has flown

2011-06-06T23:23:00.003-04:00

Well, not completely. My bird and I have parted ways, both now admittedly "single", still friends. He and I have not been quite right for the past few months and our time in Virginia, the state which is advertised as being "for lovers", pretty well cinched it. The sputtering spark has flickered for the last time.
He is such a good guy and I do wish him well. When I broached the matter last Friday by stating that "I don't think of us as a couple anymore and haven't for a while." he was as relieved to hear it as I was to say the words. He agreed that he had felt that way for some time, too, but he didn't want to be the one to put an end to things. He was patiently waiting for ME to gain the courage to say the words. I'm sure it must have been quite a strain on him, but he waited. It was important to him that I be the one to formally end what we had. How very considerate!
I think this has been a good learning experience for me. I have found that I am definitely not ready for a relationship, for a commitment to another person. I am certainly more at peace with myself, thanks to the Mississippi plum, that's for sure. And I feel that one day in the distant future, I will once again be ready for full-tilt boogie immersion in love... not any time soon, but perhaps in a few years. Time will tell, as it always does, as it always will.
My heart has found a beat again, not in rhythm with another, but a rhythm of its own.
Thank you, my friend.

another year older

2011-05-30T23:05:00.010-04:00

I am beginning my new year by having lost some items I have been holding onto for, perhaps, too long. Much as earlier this year I gave away the futon I had in my life since 1981, I now have other longstanding items no longer in my possession. These items were not consciously remanded to another. No.
The first items were my eyeglasses and their case. I had this pair of glasses since 1978 or so, perhaps a year earlier. They had large frames that matched my hair, being a tan tortoise-shell pattern. I had different lens prescriptions fitted in over the years, of course, adjusting for aging eyes as needed, but continuing to use those same frames. The latest set of lens were polycarbonate, shatterproof for use in the lab. The left lens had been damaged by continuous exposure to tears after my mother died in 2001.
I knew the glasses had run their course, and run it long and well, but I could not - would not - put them aside. I had already purchased new eyeglasses, with a new prescription, in December of 2007. The new glasses waited, unused, while I continued to use the old pair. Now, almost four years later, my well-worn glasses, and the soft case in which I kept them, are gone. Somewhere in Richmond, Virginia, a little over a week ago, the glasses' case didn't make it into my purse, and I didn't catch the loss until the next day. I thought about calling my friends in Richmond, to ask them to search their home, search their yard, search their car. I considered asking them to return to the restaurant and ask if my glasses were perhaps still there.
But I did not. I already have new glasses waiting at home and I have purchased a pair of reading glasses to use whilst away. I decided that this was as good a time as any for change - and I feel good about my decision. After all, I am beginning a new year of my life and change is warranted at such a time.
Then, two days ago, I accidentally erased all the text messages in the "inbox" of my phone. I had thought I was in the "sentbox" and I was trying to free up space to send pictures from my phone to elsewhere. I had quite a few pictures to send, as I use my phone as my camera, especially when on vacation and with sister-friends, as I am currently.
My phone had told me it was out of memory, so I meant to remove those images which were duplicated in my "sentbox". You know, the pictures I had already sent away for safekeeping. But the hour was late and I was not in the "sentbox" but my "inbox". I didn't even realize what I had done until I tried to send out more pictures... and again received the "out of memory" response. And when I rechecked my "sentbox", I realized my error, too late.
My "inbox" had preserved the last three text messages from Sam Johnson, dead these past two years. In one message, he wrote his support after meeting my bird on April 10, 2009. In another, he had forwarded a joke: "These guards won't let me see you in the zoo. I have peanuts." or some such silliness. That one was around April 14, 2009. The third, and final text was sent on April 17, 2009, and read: "@ comicbox. wanna meet for dinner b4 steeds?"
I had held on to these messages. He didn't seem so permanently gone as long as I still had words he had written specifically for me... right? Maybe, maybe not. Perhaps it was time for me to let go of that grief and my subconscious mind took over and caused that mistaken elimination of those messages. However it happened, the end result is the same: those text messages, as well as a few others I had saved from other friends and family, are gone, vanished into the ether from whence they came.
And I'm good. I have even been gracious in my acceptance of the loss of these items. And now that I have documented them, and their loss, in this ethereal space, they don't seem lost after all. They are simply put away for safekeeping for all to see as well as more deeply into my memory.
And that is better and a good way for me to begin a new year.

it's a ... PLAY FESTIVAL!!!

2011-05-06T01:27:00.002-04:00

This year, I'm commemorating my birth month by giving something back to the community. Specifically, I'm supporting the creative spirit in this lovely city near the sea. I do adore Shakespeare and the very thought of helping to bring new life to his works is - is - mindbogglingly exciting! I am so excited about June 10th and 11th!!!

here we go now!

2011-05-05T23:59:00.000-04:00

As Ozzy would say, in "Flying High Again", here we go now!
April, thank God, is O V E R at last.
I seem to have gone through this same overwhelmed, terribly sad thing last year, too, with the madness blowing out the window with the sweet spring breezes. I know this from my blog. My very first entry in May is back to gratitude for the changes in my life, rather than mourning for people and times lost in the past.
Again, I say, THANK GOD.

talking to the moon

2011-04-28T23:13:00.003-04:00

Bruno Mars, a very talented singer with a bluesy voice, has this song about death, "Talking to the Moon". Very wistful, hopeful, and sad.
I can totally relate.
Here are the lyrics:

i know you're somewhere out there, somewhere far away
i want you back
i want you back

my neighbors think i'm crazy, but they don't understand
you're all I had
you're all I had

at night when the stars light up my room
i sit by myself
talking to the moon
trying to get to you
in hopes you're on the other side talking to me too
or am i a fool who sits alone
talking to the moon

i'm feeling like i'm famous, the talk of the town
they say i've gone mad
yeah, i've gone mad

but they don't know what i know cause when the sun goes down
someone's talking back
yeah, they're talking back

at night when the stars light up my room
i sit by myself
talking to the moon
trying to get to you
in hopes you're on the other side talking to me too
or am i a fool who sits alone
talking to the moon

will you ever hear me calling

cause every night i'm talking to the moon
still trying to get to you
in hopes you're on the other side
talking to me too
or am i a fool who sits alone
talking to the moon

i know you're somewhere out there, somewhere far away

---------------------------------
"Talking to the Moon", Songwriters: Bruno Mars;Jeff Bhasker;Ari Levine;Albert Winkler;Phillip Lawrence

What can I say? Easter brings out the melancholy in me...

2 years ago today

2011-04-26T00:22:00.003-04:00

Two years ago today, Daddy drew his last breaths of Southern air. Here's a memory of a much happier day for me, for him, and for my stepmama, Bonnie.

the boys next door

2011-04-22T23:50:00.015-04:00

Tonight, I went to see several of my friends in the Tom Griffin play, "The Boys Next Door". I didn't know much of anything about the play, really, but perhaps it would have been better if I had looked it up. It's a bittersweet story of the relationship between a caretaker and four men. The four men are living together in a group home, four men of varying age and mental ability. Three of the men have some degree of mental retardation; the fourth is schizophrenic and is living there, no doubt, because the state doesn't know where else to put him.
I did not know the setting of the play.
But why should that matter?
It matters because Mama was involved with the Chatham Association for Retarded Citizens, the charity she asked to be mentioned in her obituary, a charitable group which is now defunct. It matters because my first niece, while in middle school and high school, was involved as a volunteer with STEPS, a program to assist mentally disabled children in public schools, a program which is now defunct. It matters because I continue to support the Special Olympics Georgia every year, ever since the CARC disappeared, donating because Mama would have.
At first, the play was fairly light with lots of chuckles thrown in. I'm a fan of a television show called "The Big Bang Theory", which follows the friendship of four science geeks, warts and all. It shines a favorable light on autism in general and Asperger's Syndrome in particular, as well as bringing science (mostly physics and engineering) into the living rooms and dens of thousands of homes here in the States. I realize that there is a huge difference between autism and mental retardation - but how many do?
So, I'm watching the play and laughing along with other members of the audience. As I said, I know several of these actors and I enjoyed seeing their portrayal of the characters, especially the three mentally retarded men. You see, I thought they were doing a very good job of capturing the essence of the characters and the mental capacity of each for understanding the world around them.
I didn't have a clue about the message of the play. Well, actually, I did, but I chose to only pay minimal attention to it. The caretaker would speak in asides to the audience, giving us insights into these men, letting us know how burned out he was by this job, but also telling us how much he cared for these men and what was to become of them.
It struck me as odd the first time he did this, but I let it slide, accepting it as exposition, waiting to see what would follow.
A dance followed. In this community of "broken" people, a monthly dance was held, to encourage socializing, at least to an extent. And so we see the romance between Norman and Sheila, both of whom seem to be at about the same level of mental retardation, both of whom like each other. We watch as they awkwardly dance together, each at arm's length, feet shuffling, bodies bent, and we chuckle at the sight, as we are meant to do. Then, as the first act is ending on this duo, the scene shifts and they are close together in each other's arms, graceful, skilled, synchronized bodies moving to the beat.
And that's when it hits me: this is how THEY see themselves. They KNOW how "normal" people dance, they've seen them on television if not in person. And, in their minds, THEY are swaying to the beat, two rhythmic creatures moving as one across the floor.
And that's when I cried and found myself unable to be lighthearted about this play anymore. We had been privy to the perspective of the characters, the curtain had been lifted.
After all, don't we ALL carry such a distorted image of ourselves? And shouldn't we ALL realize that none of us are perfect? Not the ones who are physical beauties, not the ones who are incredibly brilliant, not the ones skilled in athletics, not one of us.
There's a quote that shows up in emails from time to time and it goes something like this: "Be kinder than necessary, for everyone is fighting their own battles."
I'll try.

missing a friend

2011-04-19T09:46:00.001-04:00

You are missed, kid.

boys of summer

2011-04-18T22:29:00.003-04:00

Every time baseball season rolls around, here in Savannah, I know I'm going to see my Boys of Summer - and I'm not just talkin' 'bout the Sand Gnats! Arthur and Willie and Will are the ones who regale me with stories of baseball past and present. They're the ones who help me cheer on the team. They're the ones I look forward to seeing in April more so than my boys on the field - though that IS a close call. Here's to the ones who keep the spirit of baseball alive!

once upon an easter

2011-04-13T00:02:00.005-04:00

Easter weekend of 2009, I was in Daytona Beach, staying at one of the places that feels like home to me. I woke early enough on that morning to catch the sunrise and moonset from my balcony. Incredible display of spirituality and physics in action. To one side, the city night lights are still on as the moon beams above. On the other, the sun washes ashore with the waves, spreading its miracle of light and warmth.
We are never alone. Like the stars, our angels are always near, even when we cannot see them.

post-catfish eating

2011-04-09T02:08:00.005-04:00

In October of 2003, I snapped this one. Daddy is sitting on the front porch of one of his favorite restaurants, after enjoying all-you-can-eat fried catfish with family. Cigar-smoking was one of his vices from the time I was a kid, but his tastes had improved and his cigars were more pleasingly aromatic by this time.

love and loss

2011-04-08T23:39:00.012-04:00

The Third Annual Francophone Film Festival began its three-day run last night. I have been attending this festival since its inception and have seen it grow and change, much as I myself since my divorce in December of 2007.
At last year's festival, I was joined by my Charleston bird for the third, and final, evening of films. This year, he came along for this second evening of the festival. Both of these were studies of couples and their relationship - as are the majority of films in the world. Both were a unsettling for a couple still trying to define their couplehood.
The first film was mostly in English - surprise! - but took place completely in Paris. THE Paris, in France, not Paris, Tennessee, where two of my nephews live. Written, directed, and starring Julie Delpy, "Two Days in Paris" takes a long look at a couple from New York visiting her family in France for the first time. Together two years, we know they have traveled to Italy prior to this stopover, but we know nothing of their life in New York. My guess is they night be newly living together, but may still be living apart. In either case, they have secrets from each other and issues of trust, with these floating to the surface repeatedly throughout the film. Awkward romance, with some lighter moments, and much truth.
Next up was billed as a thriller. Titled "Ne Le Dis A Personne" ("Tell No One", for those not fluent in French), this was an outstanding film. Exploring the aftereffects of love lost to death, the film takes the time to show how anchored this couple's love had been. Childhood sweethearts, they had etched their initials onto a huge tree, returning each year to add another notch as they marked time together. Then evil steps in and their time is shattered...though we are not yet aware of the extent of this evil presence. The true evil is best personified in the form of a gaunt woman so devoid of human feeling that, even after being shot twice with a large-caliber gun, her body persists in trying to carry her upright down the sidewalk as though nothing was amiss. True evil, not gussied up by false sweet expressions or wrapped in wealth.
The end of this movie had me in tears. How terrible, I thought, that these two people who had such a bone-deep, soul-entwined, mindful love had been separated by such corruptness in those around them! Then I thought, how equally terrible that I had been separated from the one I had loved so deeply by corruptness of those around us...
And lightning-fast, I was jolted by a realization: I had NOT had the love these two had. I had assumed he had felt the same way I did, I had assumed his love for me was as true and solid as mine for him, I had assumed our love would stand the tests of time and be forever. I was wrong. Although I have no doubt that he loved me, his love of me was not of the same nature as my love of him. He had betrayed my trust in him before we even wed, though I did not learn of that betrayal, or others, until almost the fifth year of our marriage. Then we rebuilt the trust lost, together weathering other trials along the way for almost another decade: the death of my mother, the loss of his job, the death of his mother. And I find out he has betrayed my trust in him again and I feel as though I have lost my soulmate and I know I cannot live with him and allow myself to be hurt again.
So, now, here I am. After Divorce, Anticipating Delight. Here I am, fully aware that the type of love I thought I had was a mistaken perception. Bone-deep, soul-entwined, mindful love has to involve BOTH people, not just one. What a rare treasure in this world... and one I know, realistically, I may never have or even see in the many couples around me.
Still, I intend to Anticipate Delight and accept love in all other forms presented to me - and give love, too.

catfish eaters

2011-04-07T23:40:00.002-04:00

Here's Daddy, flanked by two Michiganders in one of his favorite restaurants, for one of his favorite meals. This was taken in January of 2005. Daddy was in heaven, eating all the fried catfish he wanted (I believe it was 11 that day!) and showing others how to partake of that manna.
Daddy would have been 75 today.

phantom cramps

2011-04-06T00:24:00.009-04:00

Have you heard the stories of people having itches on limbs which have been amputated? Get this: I've been having menstrual cramps, though the ovaries, uterus, cervix and all have been removed since the Polar Express took their place on December 13.
I didn't pay any attention until February. I had a random pain on my lower right side, in January, but it didn't last but part of a day and I figured I had just moved wrong. Then, in February, I had another random pain, low in the abdomen, on the left side this time. And THAT is when I realized what was happening: my mind was letting me know "all was well" by continuing my alternating menstrual cramps.
You see, that truly was my "all is well" sign. It meant I was not pregnant, I was safe from having to take care of a human being who would be totally dependent on me. Even after I had the tubal ligation, I still awaited that "all clear" signal, that little lower body ache and subsequent flow of blood from a thankfully empty uterus.
In the last decade or so, I had become very aware of my ovulation pattern. One month belonged to the right ovary, with a heavy period after about two weeks. The next month, the left ovary had its turn, granting a lesser menses to me. Back and forth, one then the other, coinciding with the first quarter of the moon to grace me with peace of mind. Even more than two decades after my tubal ligation, I gave a little sigh of relief mentally each month.
And, oddly, I find myself still awaiting that signal from my body. Thank God my brain cooperates with my continued need of that security. Perhaps, as time passes, I'll one day realize that my phantom pain is no more, one less invisible tree.

Daddy, 2009

2011-04-03T16:26:00.003-04:00

I took this picture in March of 2009, about six weeks before my father's death. He had terminal duodenal cancer, caught far too late for treatment to have helped. He opted to NOT take chemotherapy or radiation treatments, preferring to have his wits and his energy and his love of life. We were celebrating the birthday of his youngest grandson, up in Beaufort.
I miss him.

Treasure Savannah more!

2011-03-30T00:17:00.006-04:00

Even in the face of a fall thunderstorm, the fountain in Forsyth Park is beautiful and serene and strong. What a wonderful example for me to follow!

"good" Samaritan

2011-03-29T23:23:00.009-04:00

'Tis almost Christmas. A young man is driving along on the parkway, near dusk. He's on the straightaway and allows a momentary lapse in his attention to something else: perhaps the phone, the radio, the cd player, who knows. And BOOM! His car has entered the righthanded curve, still going straight, and collided with the metal guardrail along the left side of the roadway.
A couple is riding on that same parkway, on their way to the Christmas party at their church. They see the car that has hit the guardrail and, recognizing the car as belonging to a friend of their son, they pull over into the leftside emergency lane and exit their car, in the fading twilight, to go check on the young man. And BOOM! They are both sideswiped by a vehicle traveling in the left lane of the parkway.
The wife dies from her injuries; the husband spends a long time in the hospital and after, recovering, learning to do simple tasks again, rebuilding his life and family. The young man they had stopped to help was fine and never in danger, but now must live every day with the realization that his friend's mother is dead because she stopped to help him. The stranger driving the vehicle that struck the couple must live every day with the realization that his ordinary day resulted in the death of one human being and maiming of another.
The author of the local newspaper article called the couple "Good Samaritans". Evidently, that author was not familiar with either the origin or the meaning of the phrase. The Samaritans, or "Keepers of the Law" of God, held themselves apart from the other Jews, who they regarded as having altered Judaism. In other words, two different sects of the same religion, both believing they are in the "right" and despising the others for being in the "wrong". According to the Gospel of Luke, Jesus told a parable concerning an interaction between a Jew and a Samaritan. The Jew had been brutally beaten and robbed and left on the road to die. A priest and a fellow Jew passed by, but did not stop to help, having concern only for themselves. Then a Samaritan passes by and, asking "if I do not help him, who will?", he stops his travel to give aid to a man who is not only a stranger, but also a man despised as being a Jew. THAT act of giving non-biased aid to a stranger is what made the Samaritan a GOOD Samaritan. To follow in that person's footsteps, one has to give aid to strangers in need, even though one may be biased against their creed or race or gender or sexuality.
It is worth noting that the actions of the good Samaritan had no ill effects on others around him. The good Samaritan aided one who was hurt, but did no harm to others.
The couple in my story were NOT good Samaritans. They KNEW the young man they stopped to aid. They were friendly with the young man, as parents are toward the approved friends of their children. They had stopped that darkening evening to give aid to someone they both knew and respected.
It is unfortunate what happened afterward to the couple. It is more unfortunate what happened to the young man and his friend and the couple's family. It is more unfortunate what happened to the driver of the car which hit the couple, and what happened to that person's family.
A good Samaritan act it was not.

heartbreak

2011-03-27T23:48:00.006-04:00

Tonight, I came away from a film sobbing. I had cried several times during the film, but as soon as I hit the safe anonymity of my car, I was reduced to open-mouthed sobs.
The troubles just kept piling on and yet you knew this moment in time had been building for quite a while.
The man was married to a woman he loved very much, but could no longer live with. She was bipolar and had not taken medication since her pregnancy with their second child, their son. He wanted to believe her when she said she was better, she was using light therapy and it had changed her life over the last few months, she loved him and wanted the family back together. He wanted to believe, but was scared to be hurt again, was afraid of having the children hurt again.
The man was having problems with his job. He was a middle man between people needing work and people needing to sell a product. The people needing work were illegal immigrants. So, one group of illegal immigrants were making the products being sold by the other group of illegal immigrants. The cops were being paid, he was being paid, the person in charge of one group of immigrants was being paid. The man was trying to do right for everyone, but he was in the middle when one of the groups was arrested and deported and again when the others died of gas inhalation in a locked, airless warehouse room.
The cemetery where his father was buried had been bought and was to be destroyed so a shopping center could be erected. His father's remains are to be removed and he and his older brother have to decide what to do. The man never knew his father, as his father had died in another country before the man's birth. The brothers must decide whether to cremate their father's body and what to do with the ashes.
The man had been having health problems, but delayed going to a doctor until far too late. His prostate cancer had already spread and was in his very bones. The doctor told him he had only a few months left to live. Now, the man must prepare for his own death.
What would YOU do? Your life is literally falling to pieces before your eyes and you have children who will need care, a brother who is sleeping with your unstable wife and supplying her with cocaine, a job that has vanished into thin air, and your own mortality staring hard at you every minute of every day.
Heartbreaking.

treasure savannah, 7

2011-03-26T23:25:00.009-04:00

This is one of my favorite venues downtown. Dance, theatre, music, film - it's all BETTER here in the Lucas Theatre. Timeless beauty combined with modern functionality equals enhanced visions of artistic endeavors. I took this tonight while there for the Savannah Music Festival. Junior Brown was fabulous and performed two hits from the past, including everything on his 2005 "Live at the Continental Club" album... and gave me a new song to enjoy, "The Ghost of the Opry"! Now, I just need to find a link for that song!

Treasure Savannah, too

2011-03-25T00:02:00.004-04:00

At the southmost end of Veterans Parkway, as you near the Abercorn exit, this lovely view awaits. I do believe it is one of the prettiest views here and always take out of town visitors to see it with me.
I also enjoy driving this parkway, lined with marshes and stands of tall trees, with a train trestle in the distance and not a house in sight. How very nice!

William Shatner shouted my name!!

2011-03-20T23:18:00.010-04:00

True, he wasn't shouting for ME, specifically, but it was still a rather nice experience to hear a well-known star of film and television saying MY NAME, loudly, over and over. Oh, yeah!
I attended the Shatnerfest today, an eight-hour celebration of William Shatner's eight decades on this planet. Woohoo!!! Compiled and hosted by the inimitable Jim Reed, who has to be Shatner's biggest fan, the event showcased four films which have been largely ignored, but which featured the pre-Captain Kirk era man.
The film in which William shouted my name was a 1974 thriller titled "Impulse". And, no, before you get all excited that someone was shouting "Faustina", let me clarify: he was shouting the diminutive form of the name. Namely, "Tina". But, still, I'll take what I can get! The character was a bratty teen who didn't like him dating her widowed mom and she made sure he, and all others, knew it. She had a valid point, though. His character was a nervous time bomb, killing off any who touched him wrong. Yes, indeed, this was a side of Shatner I think very few have ever seen! Definitely a treat, though the film was straight 70's schlock, including the music and clothes.
The best film, even according to standards of the Cannes Film Festival, was "Incubus". Filmed in 1966 in the Big Sur of California, it featured the language of the world, Esperanto. Oddly, the art-house film was inadvertently destroyed and thought to be gone forever, until a copy was found in France about 35 years after its debut. To me, one of the best parts of this black and white battle between good and evil was actually getting to HEAR the language being used. When I was in high school, I remember learning some Esperanto, finding some similarities between it and Spanish, but I never was fluent in it. These characters all spoke it as if the words were native to them. Nice!
The above films were bracketed by a 1968 tv pilot ("Alexander the Great", which also featured the pre-Batman Adam West) and the 1977 "Kingdom of the Spiders", a cautionary tale of man's inhumanity toward other life on this planet. While both were quite good, with the first being a movie I most likely DID see when I was a kid and the latter one I almost missed tonight, I think I enjoyed the other two more so. Maybe camp and arthaus are simply so different from much of today's cinematic fare, lending them a freshness beyond their shelf life.
The Shatner Fest is over and I have the T-shirt and collectible pins as proof of my attendance. Now, time for bed!

how kids perceive their grandparents

2011-03-16T23:15:00.001-04:00

I received this as an email and thought it was great fun with a dash of truth. Enjoy!
1. She was in the bathroom, putting on her makeup, under the watchful eyes of her young granddaughter, as she'd done many times before. After she applied her lipstick and started to leave, the little one said, "But Grandma, you forgot to kiss the toilet paper good-bye!" I will probably never put lipstick on again without thinking about kissing the toilet paper good-bye....

2. My young grandson called the other day to wish me Happy Birthday. He asked me how old I was, and I told him, 62. My grandson was quiet for a moment, and then he asked, "Did you start at 1?"

3. After putting her grandchildren to bed, a grandmother changed into old slacks and a droopy blouse and proceeded to wash her hair. As she heard the children getting more and more rambunctious, her patience grew thin. Finally, she threw a towel around her head and stormed into their room, putting them back to bed with stern warnings. As she left the room, she heard the three-year-old say with a trembling voice,
"Who was THAT?"

4. A grandmother was telling her little granddaughter what her own childhood was like. "We used to skate outside on a pond. I had a swing made from a tire; it hung from a tree in our front yard. We rode our pony. We picked wild raspberries in the woods."
The little girl was wide-eyed, taking this all in. At last she said, "I sure wish I'd gotten to know you sooner!"

5. My grandson was visiting one day when he asked, "Grandma, do you know how you and God are alike?" I mentally polished my halo and I said, "No, how are we alike?'' "You're both old," he replied.

6. A little girl was diligently pounding away on her grandfather's word processor. She told him she was writing a story.
"What's it about?" he asked.
"I don't know," she replied. "I can't read."

7. I didn't know if my granddaughter had learned her colors yet, so I decided to test her. I would point out something and ask what color it was. She would tell me and was always correct. It was fun for me, so I continued. At last, she headed for the door, saying, "Grandma, I think you should try to figure out some of these colors yourself!"

8. When my grandson Billy and I entered our vacation cabin, we kept the lights off until we were inside to keep from attracting pesky insects. Still, a few fireflies followed us in. Noticing them before I did, Billy whispered, "It's no use Grandpa. Now the mosquitoes are coming after us with flashlights."

9. When my grandson asked me how old I was, I teasingly replied, "I'm not sure." "Look in your underwear, Grandpa," he advised "Mine says I'm 4 to 6."

10. A second grader came home from school and said to her grandmother, "Grandma, guess what? We learned how to make babies today." The grandmother, more than a little surprised, tried to keep her cool. "That's interesting." she said. "How do you make babies?"
"It's simple," replied the girl. "You just change 'y' to 'i' and add 'es'."

11. Children's Logic: "Give me a sentence about a public servant," said a teacher. The small boy wrote: "The fireman came down the ladder pregnant." The teacher took the lad aside to correct him. "Don't you know what pregnant means?" she asked.
"Sure," said the young boy confidently. 'It means carrying a child."

12. A grandfather was delivering his grandchildren to their home one day when a fire truck zoomed past. Sitting in the front seat of the fire truck was a Dalmatian dog. The children started discussing the dog's duties.
"They use him to keep crowds back," said one child.
"No," said another. "He's just for good luck."
A third child brought the argument to a close."They use the dogs," she said firmly, "to find the fire hydrants."

13. A 6-year-old was asked where his grandma lived. "Oh," he said, "she lives at the airport, and when we want her, we just go get her. Then, when we're done having her visit, we take her back to the airport."

Spring Break!!

2011-03-15T19:12:00.000-04:00

Another slideshow design by Smilebox

rap for an ex-Cowboy

2011-03-06T19:20:00.003-05:00

There's a man called Crazy Harold in Sandfly G A
Got drafted by the Dallas Cowboys back in the day.
Found out he had a heart murmur, never got to play.
Yeah, those were his glory days.

If not a Cowboy, an Indian would do
With leather and feathers his shrines he would strew
Chanting the blessings that only he knew
By the light of the sun, under clear skies of blue.

*** I wrote this in church on Halloween of last year, using the stub of pencil from the attendance pad. The sermon was on "Jekyll & Hyde: Your True Identity" and, somehow, this poem came full-blown into my consciousness. I have had several dealings with Harold over the years - I hope he is well.

treasure savannah, 5

2011-03-05T00:18:00.003-05:00

The Sugar Shack, a Tybee landmark for as long as I can remember - and THAT has been a few decades! This was taken last Sunday, about 6 pm, with a fog bank so thick you couldn't even see the ocean. It was surreal and magical and eerie, simultaneously. THAT is Savannah.

treasure savannah, 4

2011-03-04T23:16:00.004-05:00

Oh, one of my favs for many years! 606 East, a slice of fun for all ages, with a side order of tatet tots. Yeah!

treasure savannah, 3

2011-03-01T23:17:00.004-05:00

Yes, that IS a woman with a bare midriff walking a small goat in the Christmas parade at Tybee, on the 4th of December. What a lovely day it was, as is the case more often than not.

ggbd 2011

2011-02-25T15:08:00.005-05:00

i can’t believe this day slipped up on me. i have been SO trapped by my parental units’ game-playing that one of the most important days of THE YEAR started without me even acknowledging it. How did that happen???
i know what you’re thinking, how unlike me to be getting so worked up, right? Cool, detached, THAT is more like ME. But here i am USING CAPS and far too many exclamation points!!! That is so wrong and yet i cannot stop doing it. Maybe my mom is right and I’m hormonal. Do goth girls even HAVE hormones???
Cripes. Shite. Fourteen is a very strange number. As two weeks it’s somewhat workable, but as an age it’s … it’s… idk, just not quite as dark as it should be, yk? i’ve talked to my grandmother – yeah, like THAT wasn’t an odd thing to do, but she was here and mom wasn’t, yet again. Speaking of people who weren’t here, my paternal parent came back over the ocean and DIDN”T EVEN COME HOME. Why, did i scare him away? Is that why he and my mom may get d-i-v-o-r-c-e-d, because of me and my dark hair and dark nails and dark clothes?? i was told he has a woman in Texas that he's been staying with for two weeks. i'm trying to stay detached, but it's more like numb.
Life has just become too complex lately. Why can’t i have it like it was this time last year? i didn’t even get to go to Dragon*Con last year and that was totally wrong. My mom’s BFF was like trying to be funny and she said “well, if Alan Ruck won’t be there, then I think I’ll not go, either”. For real, she said that. Ever since he touched her hand in 2009 I think she’s had a little crush on him. For REAL. Shouldn't people stop having crushes when they reach a certain age, like, idk, 25 or something?
Anyway, since she wouldn’t be coming, we didn’t go. i think my dad was in Texas then, too. Just wrong. So for Labor Day weekend, i wore extra heavy eyeliner and black lipstick and dressed up like the punk goth schoolgirl i am ANYWAY. For the whole three days. Around the house it really didn’t even raise an eyebrow, but that was fine. i went to MY BFF’s house and we looked at the pictures from 2007’s Dragon*Con. My stupid older brother and me went for the first time that year, with my mom’s BFF and her friend Sam Johnson. He wasn’t able to walk, so he had a scooter, and that was pretty cool. He had been to LOTS of Dragon*Cons and was a lot of fun! But he’s dead now and i don’t know if Dragon*Con is even worth it to me without him. YK?

Treasure Savannah

2011-02-21T22:49:00.003-05:00

You're driving along, going to the beach, enjoying the breeze... and travel comes to an absolute STOP. Grumble, grumble. Then I see it! A casual glance out the window reveals a vertical rainbow, leaping amongst the clouds. Wow!

letter to an emotionally abused friend

2011-02-19T23:44:00.009-05:00

My dearest BFF,
You had been making such progress toward autonomy, but I fear the worst over the past few days. You have so little sense of self-worth, though all who know you think you are poised and beautiful and strong and smart. I do wish you could see yourself through our eyes, but that is a very difficult thing which few of us are able to master for any extended period of time.
The man you thought your soulmate has wounded you emotionally yet again. That's right, AGAIN. If this were the first time, given your love of him, then forgiveness would certainly be a plausible direction to take. After about two years, the trust you once had in him might have been restored, if you both had worked hard, him to earn your trust, you to truly forgive him and leave the hurt in the past. You know this to be true, you and he have already had this experience in regaining what was lost.
And now, this is yet another time that this person has betrayed your trust in him, that he has abused your love, that he has hurt your soul. This time was different, though. This time, you caught him and he did not know his betrayal had been discovered. This time, you had ample opportunity to rally your friends, your family, your support group, to your side. This time, you were able to set plans in motion, plans to protect your children, your home, your financial well-being, with him blithely unaware. This time, you could monitor his actions, gathering information for lawyers to use on your behalf. This time, you even took that first step with a lawyer to separate yourself from the abuser.
Then he calls and you go silent on your support network, preferring his lies to our truths. He says he has forsaken his mistress of the past two years to return to your side - and you believe him. When you do allow us to to know what is happening, we urge you to be cautious, to learn from the mistakes of ourselves, our friends, our family members. More silence from you as you meet him for lunch, for dinner, alone, none of your support group to keep a watchful eye.
Your teenaged son, what is he to make of this? Remember how hard you and his father were on him when you found out he was having sex? What lesson is this that you are now teaching him? Go ahead, do whatever you want to whoever you want? It's okay to abuse others?
Your teenaged daughter, new to the dating rituals, what is she to make of your actions? Are repeated immoral acts and emotional abuse to be repeatedly forgiven and allowed? How is she to learn to trust the boys she dates when she cannot even trust her father to respect and stay true to her mother?
I have wept so much for you these past few weeks, but I cannot make your choices for you. And I do fear what those choices might be, have been, and how they will hurt you in the future.
Know this: I still love you. And I will go by my dear Mama's advice: I may not always agree with your choices, but I will always support YOU.
Please, trod carefully. Your heart is not the only one trampled by his selfish and careless acts.
wmla.

Treasure Savannah

2011-02-15T13:06:00.005-05:00

Did yyou hear that??? That SMACK as leather ball meets wooden bat, that soft whoosh through the air! Watch the red dust as the batter streaks toward first base! Oh, yes!!!
My boys of summer, the glorious Sand Gnats, have their first game on April 7th, but in West Virginia. I'll have to be patient and wait eight days for their first home game. Come on, April 15th, you're more than a tax deadline to ME!

turtles

2011-02-12T23:58:00.003-05:00

five countries in 24 hours!

2011-01-30T23:10:00.014-05:00

Okay, I may have exaggerated just a little about the time factor, but not much. Last night, I attended the 6:30 pm screening of a Swedish film, "The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets' Nest", as part of the PFS Film Festival at Muse Arts Warehouse. (I actually arrived circa 6:55 pm, but, as good luck would have it, the film had just started its opening credits. Hence, as you will see, the fudge factor on 24 hours.)
The film had English subtitles so we could follow along and I discovered something startling: I had absolutely NO IDEA what they were saying. None! Usually, I can at least partially match up the spoken dialogue with the subtitles in a variety of languages (Spanish, French, Italian, German), but I was stumped for Swedish. It was as if I had been dropped off in that land strange to me and was forced to rely on a translator to make my way. Still, "tack" PFS for that introduction!
After the film, I left Sweden and went in search of more familiar territory... and found it at Bonefish Grill. I had a gift card for that restaurant and was itching to use it! Noel started me off with fresh, warm bread and a plate of herbed olive oil for dipping. Ah, Italia! Grazie tanto!
Then, suddenly, I was transported back in time and geography to the early 1980's and Okinawa. The Ahi Tuna Sashimi had arrived! Lovely, lovely, lovely! Seared on the outside, rolled in pepper and sesame seeds, then sliced into rosy-faced circlets of firm, tasty flesh. As always, served with wasabi and pickled ginger, to spice up and then cleanse the palate. This also included a spicy chili scribble and a bangbang drizzle to change up this dish just a bit. Domo Arigato!
And now it was time to dip towards the equator and a cooler treat: ceviche! Now it was the late 1970's and I was in Panama, being introduced to Corvina Seviche, served in large brandy glasses with saltine crackers alongside. The variation last night had freshly toasted tortilla chips, nicely crunchy. I ate every last drop of the seafood, using a spoon to make sure I had plenty of the finely diced onions and lime juice for every bite. Muchas gracias para los recuerdos!
Sated, I wended my way home and settled in for the evening. Ah, nothing like a trip away from home to refresh the senses!
Then, this evening, REEL Savannah had brought to town a brand-new film from Poland, "Wonderful Summer". So, at 6:50 pm, I was in the theatre waiting for it to begin. (Whew! Just in the 24-hour timeframe!) As I had been married to a half-Polish man for a decade and a half, I had thought I would be able to catch at least a few of the words as they were uttered; sadly, no. Apparently, I only speak Polish food: kielbasa, kapusta, pierogi, golumpki, nalesniki. None of those were mentioned, so I allowed myself to once again to transported into the heart of a foreign land while I depended on subtitles to guide my journey. And what a wonderful, sweet journey it was, following a young woman through her first romance and job search. Thank you, REEL Savannah!

trapped in kelly's closet!

2011-01-28T23:45:00.009-05:00

Wow! Thanks to Jim Reed and his glorious Psychotronic Film Society's Film Festival, I have enjoyed a new musical!!! Seriously, I adore musicals and R. Kelly's "Trapped In The Closet", which I had not even HEARD OF until this week, is fabulous! Originally released in two parts, the first twelve chapters in 2005, followed in 2007 by another ten chapters, the film festival brought the combined version to the big screen at Muse Arts Warehouse tonight.
Sure, it was campy, but no more so than any soap opera on television now or in the past. I suspect R. Kelly is a BIG soap opera addict, much like my bird and Chris Rock's dad and who knows how many straight men. That's right, I said it: STRAIGHT MEN. Hell, I'm talking straight BLACK men. Who knew? And R. Kelly positively revels in it, with trite dialogue, a narrator who tells us way too much trivial stuff ("and now she's wiping her nose"), and characters in and out of bed in a dizzying series of affairs. Hilarious!! Smart, too, demanding that you pay attention or run the risk of not knowing who's zoomin' who... and THAT would be a shame!
Mind you, I'm terribly keen on "Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog", another modern musical. I am so very keen on that musical that I purchased three - yes! three!!! - copies when it first emerged on dvd. You see, it was released on the world wide web, one episode at a time, keeping its fans glued to their computers in anticipation of the finale!!! Well, maybe not quite so dramatic, but pretty darn close. So, I can now easily watch it whenever, and I gave a copy to one of my nephews for Christmas two years ago and he LOVED it, and I have one more which will be bestowed to another nephew for his birthday. Oh, yes!

can't have it all

2011-01-27T23:40:00.008-05:00

"You can't have everything, where would you put it?" So says Lemmy Kilmister. Only he says it quickly, all run together, in a deep gravelly voice, no punctuation in evidence. You can tell it's one of his pet expressions, sort of an inside joke with himself. Every time he says it in the documentary, it's as an offhand remark after he has answered some other question... but I could tell he was waiting for a reaction from the questioner, an acknowledgement of the line.
I used to trot a very similar line out myself, but haven't for years. Usually, it was in response to someone complaining about not having some superfluous material thing or impractical gadget. "You can't have it all," I would quip, "where would you put it?" An exasperated glare was generally the response I received. Come to think of it, I pretty much haven't said it for quite a few years, as I got a bit tired of the evil-eye.
Still, with Lemmy, you could tell he'd been shooting that line out for a long time and would continue to do so, whether anyone paid attention or not. And, with Lemmy, it was a bit odd to hear him say it after you had just seen his extensive collection of knives and his collection of figurines in his image and his collection of... Well, you get the picture. Definitely an inside joke for a man who has, for the majority of his 65 years, lived the dream life he had wanted as a young man.
Sure, he discovered many years ago that he was losing his quick touch on the strings of his beloved bass and found the cure to be amphetamines, a solution he does not recommend as he "has known too many who died from this lifestyle". In fact, Lemmy makes a point of saying he doesn't want to glorify his lifestyle of drinking hard liquor, generous use of speed, and near-constant cigarette smoking. How refreshing for a rocker to acknowledge that he has made wrong choices, even when he still chooses to continue in his admittedly bad habits. That reminded me of one of my brothers, who has lived on the fringe of "socially acceptable" for many years, but is, nonetheless, a good man. He hasn't made the choices most of us make, but that doesn't make him bad. If he was in the entertainment business, as Lemmy is, my brother would simply be regarded as "living the eccentric lifestyle".
Lemmy is shown to be a gruff man, almost ageless, in his trademark black hat and custom-made boots. He speaks his mind, using a range of words that make many outside the rock music business cringe. But his gruffness is on the surface, hiding the caring, careful heart beneath. When asked what is his most treasured possession in the room, Lemmy answers, without a moment's pause, "my son" - who happened to be sitting there on the couch. An amazing response to the interviewer, amazing also to the son, but certainly not amazing to the man himself. Lemmy spoke his heart. That also describes my brother: caring and giving to those he knows, not caring what strangers might think of his words or actions. That can, and has been, a roadblock in his career, as most work situations demand a set method of dealing with and responding to the actions of others. Strange how the world works, isn't it?

change is gonna come (CHANGE)

2011-01-20T20:48:00.007-05:00

Earlier this evening, I gave away part of my past. The futon I had since my days in Okinawa, a custom piece made in South Korea for my boyfriend at the time, is now gone. I swear, the room I had it in now has an empty feel to it, even though that room still has furniture in it. I almost thought I heard an echo.
I also gave away my stoneware which I had purchased in Okinawa and used for almost three decades. I had bought it just a little ahead of my "permanent change of station", or PCS, wanting to get a few good items for the Navy to ship for me. The maker was Ranmaru, style Lotus White, color "Soft Petals". A lovely, graceful service for eight, with dinner plates, bread plates, saucers, teacups, salad bowls, a serving bowl, and a meat plate.
As I recall, the cups and saucers were given to Goodwill some years ago, as I did not use them. The dinner and bread plates, as well as the bowls, were all used regularly and some were broken along the way. Eventually, I was down to two bowls, five bread plates, and four dinner plates. The dinner plates and four of the bread plates left this evening to help someone who lost all in a fire. I do hope they will bring her as much pleasure as they brought me.
I have kept the odd bread plate, the two chipped bowls, the serving bowl and the meat plate. I may give them away, too, one day, but not quite yet. I'm not done with those memories evoked by the pattern: shopping on Gate 2 Street, so many meals shared with family and friends, packing and unpacking for each move.
The futon served me well and was, as I said, a custom piece. A modified double bed, it was sectional and folded into a neat loveseat, waiting to be unfolded on a tatami mat for the evening. I always received "outstanding" awards for my barracks room there on The Rock. The futon was constructed as separate foam cushions which fit in the zippered compartments of the washable cloth cover. I'm telling you, it was a wonderful piece of furniture! I never saw anything like it here in the States.
After a couple of decades, the zippers on two of the compartments wore out and jumped their tracks, refusing to be set right. Still, the futon itself carried on as an emergency guest bed for many friends and even some family. If not for the comfortable mattress in the sleeper sofa, I might have held on to that futon forever.
But the sleeper sofa DOES have a comfortable mattress. And the sleeper sofa looks good in the guest room and makes the term "guest room" more meaningful, somehow, than an odd futon with busted zippers. And I have noticed that those who partake of the guest room enjoy using the space as a sitting room as much as a bedroom. That's nice, to be able to offer the feel of a suite to a single room.
Still, it feels like such an end of an era. No more Korean futon. No more Ranmaru stoneware set.
Change IS gonna come - CHANGE!

feeling taller

2011-01-19T23:40:00.003-05:00

No more pap smears! Woohoo! The doc looked under the hood today and declared me good to go! Whew!
Very good to know. On January 2nd, I had a sneezing marathon and pulled an abdominal muscle. I was in SUCH pain. It was bad. I was popping 800 mg ibuprofens like they were manna from heaven. I limited myself to no more than two a day, but sometimes, a third one would sound like a really good idea. The pain went on for a week and then, one fine day, I woke up and the worst of the pain was gone. I still had an ache, but at least I didn't feel crippled by the monster.
I had wondered if I should return to the doc, have him check around and make sure all was well. After all, the day of the sneezing fit was just shy of three weeks post-surgery. But I told myself that if my bowels still worked as they should, then I had pulled a muscle, not anything more serious, so going to the doc wouldn't help. If the bowels were NOT working, then I would have to go and see what I had damaged by my full-body sneezes. And my bowels DID work, so I kept to an ibuprofen regimen until all was much better.
I did mention all of that to the doc today and he listened and seemed to indicate that I had done the right thing. And all checked out just fine - I'm "all healed up!" he said! I just have to remember to "go slow and easy" for a while, listen to my body, let it tell me when I've pushed too hard.
I can do that. Hey, did I tell you I feel taller? I do!

what a long strange trip it's been

2011-01-16T21:55:00.002-05:00

These were taken fourteen years apart. The upper photograph was taken in my Grandparents' back yard in Waycross in 1975. I'm fairly certain it wasn't any later than that, or earlier either. After all, my youngest brother looks about eight years old.
The lower picture was taken on Labor Day, 1989, at my stepdad's house. We had all gathered, as was the custom before Mama's death, for a cookout and family get-together on that holiday weekend. The day was winding to a close and we were goofing around, being silly, when that moment in time became frozen for eternity.
I hope one day to have another image of the four of us to post here, but it may be a while before that can transpire. One of us had a near-death experience last fall, so time does seem to be of the essence, as it so often does. Another is currently not in a position of freedom of movement, a definite hindrance to picture-taking. 2013 will mark another fourteen years since the last group shot; will we be able to mark the occasion?

letter

2011-01-07T23:37:00.008-05:00

Today, I received the letter I had written at the Bowl Burning Ceremony last year. I had wondered what had happened to it, as I had thought it was to be returned to me around Thanksgiving. I knew there were some of my forecasted changes which had not occurred, so I was expecting to read those parts and either grin or grimace. And so I did.
But, surprisingly, there were other parts which I had forgotten. I had written of how much I had enjoyed going to Las Vegas with Paul and Cathy and how much I closer I now felt to Cathy. True!
I had written of going to Myrtle Beach with my bird and how much I had enjoyed that experience. True! I had also written of my feelings for him and I was a bit surprised at what I had said. I'll certainly have to give that more thought.
The biggest change I had forecast apparently got lost along the way. I was going to straighten up the house and have folks over more often. More dinners, more get-togethers, game nights and such. Never happened. Hmmm. THAT definitely SHOULD happen... and I'm going to see that it does.
One of the good things I did last year was get a lot of STUFF out of the house. eBay has been quite helpful with that, even paying for my airfare to San Francisco and home from Las Vegas. I think my total items vamoosed is more than 200, which is definitely an accomplishment.
I even cleared out enough that I have an actual GUEST ROOM, which has been successfully used by friends and family. AND, when my bird flew here to nest, I not only helped him locate some furniture for his new nest, but I also supplied him with a chest of drawers. An EMPTY chest of drawers - that's right, I had managed to empty out four drawers full of STUFF. Again, rather impressive doings, as my tendency is more toward pack rat than neatnik.
So, in retrospect, I have done rather well at accomplishing most of the goals set forth in my letter to myself. Now, to invite folks over more often... definitely doable!
And I would follow the advice of Erma Bombeck, one smart cookie! "IF I HAD MY LIFE TO LIVE OVER
I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.
I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.
I would have talked less and listened more.
I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained, or the sofa faded.
I would have eaten the popcorn in the 'good' living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.
I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.
I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband.
I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.
I would have sat on the lawn with my grass stains.
I would have cried and laughed less while watching television and more while watching life.
I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil, or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.
Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.
When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go get washed up for dinner."
There would have been more "I love you's."
More "I'm sorry's."
But mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute...look at it and really see it .. live it and never give it back."
Good advice for a new year!

here we go now (Mama's gonna worry)

2011-01-06T23:44:00.005-05:00

Life is getting better. Slowly, but getting better.
Today, I went to the jail, in search of my driver's license. You see, when I had gone there on Sunday to visit my youngest brother, I had surrendered my license, as is the requirement for such visits. When I departed, I had retrieved what I believed to be my license... but I found out yesterday that it was most definitely NOT mine. Oh, no!
As I tend to stay a bit befuddled, post-surgery, I could not think of where it might be. Had I actually given it to a waitress and she had returned the wrong license to me? Was that at the beach? In Bluffton on Sunday? WHEN???
Then, last night, just as I was drifting into slumber, the thought materialized: Check the jail. But of course! That was the last place I KNEW I had my license. When I had left, there was a shift change or something going on and the new person must have given me the wrong license. Fine, I would go there first thing and check it out.
And so I did. And there it was. And I didn't need to spend half a day, and more money, at the Department of Motor Vehicles to get a replacement. Whew! (I had turned in the license I had erroneously received to DMV and hopefully they will send it to its rightful owner.)
With license newly restored, I felt safe to drive again. Off I went to the beach to take care of my parking citation. I had hoped the City of Tybee might credit the fine amount toward the cost of a parking permit, but, no. Nonetheless, I went ahead and purchased the permit anyway. I'm glad I did! Now, I can tool on down to Tybee anytime I want, stay however long I want, park in any lot I want, with no fear of a parking fine until after January 31st of 2012.
You bet I'm going to do just that, too.

dagnabbit

2011-01-01T23:43:00.013-05:00

What a start to a new year. Truly.
Today the American Legion Post to which I belong was having a fundraiser for nursing scholarships at the beach. I've never been to this function and, as my bird had to work, I decided that would be a quite lovely way to begin my year: at the beach, doing good for others.
So, after breakfast, and a couple of episodes of The Twilight Zone, off I went. And a beautiful blue sky day it was! Warm, too, needing only a light jacket to ward off the cold-tinged breeze. Ah, yes!
But I had the directions wrong. Somehow, I thought the function was to be near the pier and pavilion, so that's where I went. The parking meter refused to accept my credit card, but I noticed someone else having the same problem and decided to go ahead and seek out my Post.
And things just started falling apart. I walked up and down the pier, looking for the Legionnaires. No success. I decided to go visit the marine science center at the foot of the pier. It was closed. So, I headed back to the car, only to find the parking police had beat me there and left me a $35 citation. WHAT?! For lack of a $3 slip of paper I was being hit up with a fine that was more than tenfold that amount?? No, no, no, I was going to wait by the parking police vehicle, right there in the parking lot, until he returned and I could show him the meter that refused my credit card and led to this mistaken fine.
And I waited. And waited. Apparently, he had just started his rounds and had a lot of other vehicles to cite, as I waited almost exactly an hour for his return. And even so, I very nearly missed him. The speed with which he approached and entered his vehicle was amazing. Nonetheless, I stepped quickly in front of the vehicle and to the driver's side door. He came out to speak with me and I started with my complaint about the meter and my card. He countered with no one else had said anything about a broken meter, at which point I pulled out my card and pointed out the offending meter and asked him to see if HE could get the machine to give me a parking slip. Taking my card, in a trice he had the machine do that very thing! He could tell from my face that I was completely taken aback, so he said he would adjust the charge of my citation. Numbly, I gave it to him and he scribbled on it. (I'm still unclear whether he took $20 off or whether the charge is now $20.) Then I repeated that I had come to the beach in the first place for the American Legion fundraiser and he says "That's at the other end of the beach. It's almost over now."
And that's when I lost control and the tears rolled down my cheeks. What a terrible start to the new year! I had missed the fundraiser and the chance to get to know some of my fellow legionnaires better. I had missed my chance to start the new year helping others. I had missed it ALL... AND I had been penalized, to boot. I was inconsolable. But I was also determined to utilize the parking slip I had just received. I had until 5:26 PM before I HAD to move my car and , by golly, I was not moving it before then! Dagnabbit!
And so I stayed. The day was losing its warmth and the wind was picking up, but I persisted, blotting my tears with the sleeve of my jacket. I wanted to sit in the sun and look at the ocean and listen to the waves. But, no. Both swings were occupied. So I leaned on the lifeguard station and waited. And wept and waited and rocked myself. And eventually the sound of the lifeblood of this planet got through to me and calmed me. And eventually the young people in one swing left and I was able to sit there and rock myself.
After about fifteen minutes of that, I was cold and calm and ready to get warm. I drifted into Fannie's, remembering the hoppin' john from two years ago - or was it only last year? There, I received the nurturing I needed to turn the day around. Hot coffee, fresh chips and salsa. Crayons on the table to leave my mark. Hoppin' john, with greens and a warm doughy biscuit. And a waitress who kept showing up at the right time, with a kind word, a warm smile, a touch up of coffee. Ahhhh.
And all was again right, or at least right enough, for this first day of 2011.
The time was 5:21 PM as I pulled out of the lot. Time to spare.

so, i sez to the doc

2010-12-31T11:45:00.007-05:00

Dearest Mama,
A week ago Wednesday, the railroad ties were removed from my traintrack. No one had said anything to me about any anesthesia and the procedure was to be done in the doctor's office. As a preemptive measure, I took an 800 mg ibuprofen, just to dull the edges of any forthcoming pain.
As I was lying on the table, the doc told me the staples were definitely ready to be taken off. My body was hard at work rejecting them, pushing with all the strength the surrounding cells could muster. I told him I was regarding the site as my personal Polar Express traintrack. He paused and looked at me and said he had never heard anyone refer it as that, but he liked it because that story was one of his family's favorites. I told him it had been one of yours, as well.
So, he starts removing hardware. And removes more, moving from one side of me to the other to get a better grip on some of them. I ask what will be done with the staples and he asks if I would like them. After the briefest pause, during which I wondered if he might think me mad, I replied "sure!" Then I mentioned that I had some nephews who might get a kick out of them, but really, truly... I wanted them for ME. I wanted to be able to hold them and count them and examine them, these bits of metal which had been protecting the sutured site beneath.
Eventually, the doc tells me that the last few might hurt a little. He was impressed that I had taken measures aforehand to minimize any pain. Then he set to work, freeing those just above the pubes. Sure enough, that DID hurt, but not overly so. When he asked me if I was okay with the pain, I told him the truth: it really wasn't that much different from plucking hairs from my chin. he looked at me to see if perhaps I was joking, saw that I wasn't, and told me he had never had a patient tell him that before, either. I thought it a good comparison to liken the staple removal to facial hair maintenance. It certainly made the whole procedure more tolerable and put it into the proper perspective. You know?
All in all, not a bad experience. I think this gyn doc (who is also Susan's) has a different impression of me now and I hope he might share it with his wife, who just happens to be MY general doc. She'll get a kick out of my revelations!
That's all for now. I just wanted to share that story with you before it dimmed from memory. I know how you always loved my stories!
miss you still and love you always

trains, 3

2010-12-28T00:21:00.004-05:00

My latest tattoo, courtesy of Byck & Gilbert. It's a rather expensive piece, so I don't recommend it as fluff art, but rather to commemorate a momentous occasion. I'm calling it my Polar Express train track, in memory of Mama and in honor of the season. WooOOOoo HooOOOOOOooo!

The photographs show the tattoo as the two-part session rendered it. First, with the fifty-seven silver staples serving as the ties on the track. Second, with the ties removed, allowing a softening effect. Pretty stunning!

trains, 2

2010-12-26T16:33:00.001-05:00

Dec 10, Friday, I posted on fb: Done!!! All the Final Exams are graded, all the grades are submitted, I've even already done my syllabi for next term... whew!
Bunny, Fae, Sue (CA), Sue (ONT), and Patrick LIKED it
Hema: over achiever!
me: Not really. I have a hysterectomy scheduled for 7 am on Monday, giving me exactly 4 weeks to recover before Spring begins. WHAT was I thinking???
Hema: Oh... Good Luck! Sometimes girls have to go through this hys... stuff
Sandra: you go girl...

Dec 10, Sue (ONT) wrote to me on fb: Good Luck with the surgery ok. Love you xo. Had mine evicted on Jan 2 2007. I was so happy mine gone, for me no more pain xo. Saying prayers. xo
Dec 12, I replied: Thank you, dear! I had a "freak-out!!!" moment yesterday, but good so far today! ♥ Oh, got your package yet?
Dec 17, I replied: I now have a lovely rack of staples from my navel to my pubes, but they should be gone by the end of next week. My Aunt Linda came up from Tallahassee to stay with me and hold my hand, but she'll be leaving on Saturday for Atlanta. She has been SUCH a blessing!

Dec 12, Sunday, I posted on fb: GoLYTELY into this good day... oh, joy!

Dec 12, Sue (CA) wrote to me on fb: Hey Tina, Thank you for the gifts! The kids are very excited!! And good luck tomorrow - we're sending lots and lots of positive energy and good thoughts! Love ya - Sue
Dec 16, I replied: Hey! Home now. Which kid got which ornament (vertical rainbow, Christmas quilt, blue sky daisy)? Glad the package arrived okay!

Dec 13, Monday, Bunny posted: Feel Better Tina... We Love You!!

Dec 15, Wednesday, Sandra posted: Good morning my friend... hope you are doing well...

Dec 16, Thursday, I posted on fb: Am home! Got here yesterday... so good to NOT be in the land of beeps and bells and blood pressure cuffs!
Yvonne, Sandra, and Bunny LIKED it
Steve: glad to hear you're home,hope you're ok...if you need us, call us
me: Thanks, Steve! Keep the phone on for me! : )

Dec 16, Penny (GA) wrote to me on fb: Beeps, Bells, and Blood Pressure? Tina???? Are you okay?????
Been missing you, but just saw your facebook post and am wondering if you have been really MIA? Hope you are okay!!!! Penny
Dec 17, I replied: Abdominal hysterectomy on Monday. I now have a lovely rack of staples from my navel to my pubes, but they should be gone by the end of next week. My Aunt Linda came up from Tallahassee to stay with me and hold my hand, but she'll be leaving on Saturday for Atlanta. She has been SUCH a blessing!
Dec 17, Penny (GA) replied: Okay! Bless you. I hope the worst is behind you and that it's all smooth sailing from here. It sounds horribly painful. That is really good that your aunt came to stay with you for a time. I would offer to help this weekend but I'm headed to Columbia, SC tomorrow for the weekend. I'll be back Sunday.

Dec 17, Friday, I posted on fb: I have my very own Polar Express on my abdomen now! It'll be gone by the end of next week, though. Maybe I should take a picture??? Naw...
Amy: What's going on?
Roy: You have a new tattoo?
Deatre: The marks will still be there for years to come.
me: Just like a new tattoo!

Dec 19, Sunday, I posted on fb: My first day Home Alone... nice! I slept until almost 11 am!
Morgan, Sandra, and Emily LIKED it
Jim: Hang in there Tina. With your drive and spirit we'll see your smiling face around town soon I'm sure.
Christy: let us know if you need anything at all....
Hema: Rest well!
Christina G: I hope that means you are feeling better. Rest and get well soon.
Morgan: good times!!!
me: Thank you to all! I'm feelin' better every day (every day now)!
Morgan LIKED my comment

Dec 19, Sunday, I sent this message to many of my friends and family on fb: I wanted to make sure you knew why I was in absentia so much lately. In August, I had a diagnostic laparoscopy which confirmed that an abdominal hysterectomy was needed. I decided to have the surgery done this year, partly for cost benefit, partly to keep my May birthday and summer from being eaten up by the procedure and recovery. The surgery was to be done right after the school semester ended, giving me roughly 4 weeks of recovery. That meant I had to put in extra time to be "ahead of the curve" at the semester's end, curtailing much of my socializing the last few weeks, alas.
The surgery, on Monday 13 Dec, went for 2 1/2 hours, but the doc said he was very pleased and that "it was all a mess and really needed to come out." I've been home since 5pm Wednesday, sporting a train track (the Polar Express, I'm calling it) on my abdomen from my navel to my groin. The staples come out this week, most likely Wednesday, Dec 22. My Aunt Linda (Mama's sole surviving sibling) came up on the 9th and only just left yesterday morning for her son's family in Stone Mountain (Atlanta). She was so amazing and took such good care of me! Harry is here now and he's been most helpful and patient, too.
So, now y'all know not to expect me out and about much, but you are welcome to visit!
Dec 19, Hema replied: Thanks for letting me know. Hope you feel better soon. Merry Christmas and happy New Year! and prayers.
Dec 19, Jerry replied: Sorry to hear about your surgery, but happy to hear that you are home and doing good. Hope that you are up and out real soon. Have a Merry Christmas and New Year and take good care of yourself. Everyone needs good friends like you. Love, Mom Wiley
Dec 19, Berta replied: Hi Tina, I had missed your posts on FB! So glad the surgery was a success and hope you are well on your way to recovery! Look forward to seeing you soon! XXB
Dec 20, Sharon D replied: I'll try to get down there next week to spend an afternoon with you. Maybe I can make and bring some divinity...Thanks for the update. Love ya!
Dec 20, I replied: So THAT is how to get divinity! : ) I'll be looking forward to seeing you, dear!
Dec 20, Monica replied: I'm very happy that it turned out well - I missed your posts, too! Welcome back!!!
Dec 20: Sharon N replied: I'm glad you are back Tina!! I did wonder where you had been - honestly I will now always think of you whenever I see Polar Express!!! :) I'm glad you are recovering nicely and have your family to help. Take care! :)
Dec 20, I replied: Thanks, Sharon! : ) Polar Express was one of Mama's favorite books, so I guess it naturally came to mind whne I looked at my personal train tracks. Choo choo!!! ♥

Dec 20, Monday, I posted on fb: I have pants! Zipperless pants, as I now have my own! Warm legs again.... nice!
Bunny, Penny (GA), Lynn (T), and Sue (ONT) LIKED it
Fae: Congrats! Hope all continues to go well w/ your recovery.
Deborah: life is good
me: Life is most assuredly GOOD.

Dec 20, Sue (ONT) wrote to me on fb: Hope you're a little more comfortable now. Hope all went well too. xoxo Been saying a whole lot of prayers for you too. xo
Dec 21, I replied: Thank you, dear! ♥ The staples come out tomorrow... but I do have comfy clothes to wear!

Dec 21, Tuesday, I posted on fb: Tomorrow I lose the hardware, but keep the new Polar Express "inkless" tattoo. Wooooohoooooo! Chuchuchuchu wooohoooo!
Fae, Christina G, and Sharon D LIKED it
Christina G: Glad to hear that things are happening.
Ernest: I want one.... too.
Fae: Hope your recovery continues to go well.
me: Ernie, I suggest you get your tattoo the old-fashioned way! Thanks all for your good wishes!

Dec 22, Wednesday, I posted on fb: Fifty-seven. 57 tiny silver ties that once held the train track together. Wow.
Sharon N: Yikes Ms. Polar Express!!
night though. If I can do anything let me know. Keep healing!!! Penny

Dec 24, Patrick wrote to me on fb: Dr Smith, I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas and let you know you are in my thoughts and prayers. Hope you have a speedy recovery from your surgery. -Patrick

trains, part 1

2010-12-22T11:23:00.006-05:00

Here's a joke told to me some time ago, but having relevance these days.

Roy Rogers' Boots

One day Roy Rogers was passing the boot maker's shop when he noticed a pair of boots in the window that were the most beautiful he had ever seen. He entered the shop and told the proprietor that he must have the boots that were in the window. The proprietor said the boots were made for someone else, but, if they fit Roy, he could have them and he would make a new pair for the other customer.
So Roy proudly left the shop wearing his new boots. However, on the way back to his ranch, it began to rain and as he walked up to the ranch house, his new boots got all muddy. He left them on the porch and entered the house. While he was eating his dinner, a bobcat snuck up onto the porch and grabbed the boots in his mouth and ran off with both of them.
Fortunately the cook saw the theft and called Roy. Roy was livid. He whistled for Trigger and took off at a gallop after the bobcat. A few hours later he returned with a dead bobcat across the front of his saddle. The once beautiful boots were hanging out of the saddle bags. They were torn to shreads. As he rode up, the cook hailed Roy.
When the cowboy drew near the cook shouted, "Pardon me, Roy, is that the cat that chewed your new shoes?" (sung to the tune of "Chattanooga Choo Choo")

frantic

2010-12-03T23:16:00.002-05:00

The day is fast approaching when I will have yet another invasion into my body to remove an organ run amok. This time, it'll be the 'girl' parts: both ovaries, the uterus, and the tubes between. Mama's sister is coming to hold my hand and reassure that all will be well... and yet I find myself on edge. My bird has arranged to take the day off to be at the hospital with us... and still I worry. I've taken the time at school to prepare ahead for next semester, just in case... just in case of what? I don't know.
And that's really the long and the short of it. I DON'T KNOW. I don't know how this bout of abdominal intrusion will affect me. How quickly will I recover at my age? What happens in the hole left by the missing parts? Won't other parts sag in to that emptied space, possibly disrupting body functions? How long will I be under the influence of anesthesia? How long will I suffer the aftereffects of going under? Should I stay at my house or elsewhere? When will I be able to drive my stick-shift again? How long am I to be a disruption to the lives of those who love me?
I've arranged for this to take place during this long break from school, giving myself four full weeks to become fully mobile. What if that isn't long enough???
And there is the crux of the matter. I am playing "what if" and driving myself to distraction. I really don't have time for this mentally exhausting game, yet I cannot pull myself from the lip of the abyss. Perhaps it's time for bed.

rorschach moment

2010-10-20T23:14:00.006-04:00

Rorschach
1927, in reference to Swiss psychiatrist Hermann Rorschach (1885-1922), who developed the personality test using ink blots. The town so named on the Swiss side of Lake Constance is from an early form of German. Röhr "reeds" + Schachen "lakeside."
Online Etymology Dictionary, © 2010 Douglas Harper

Breathe. Breathe again, deeper and slower this time, like you mean it. Feel better? That's the power of the blue and green marble, being itself and restoring your soul along the way.

refreshed!

2010-10-11T20:54:00.001-04:00

I've just returned from celebrating my bird's birthday in Orlando... how nice to visit other (Sea)Worlds!

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