still here!

Oh, my goodness, my glorious bit of sand and surf still exists! I have been dreaming about this oasis of mine, this place to unclutter my thoughts, to make sense of the goings on around me. Sure, all the usual excuses abound for my absence, but believe me when I say this: my beach is always present in my mind, tugging on the edges of my thoughts, whispering the call of the sea, enticing me toward the gentle curl of the waves.
So many times, so very many times, a thought will arise that prompts me to seek out my beach and explore the path before me. But the physical world bids me do this, do that, so I make a few notes for later and I'm off to do whatever is demanded of me by others. I am now surrounded by bits of paper, jetsam floating on the surface of my desk, waiting patiently for recovery. The trick now would be to regain the thoughts lost in the depths of these simple notes.
"Trick or treat!" proclaims one scribble, "I do make a difference in chemistry! One of my students from 2000-2001 flagged me down at Spanky's to tell me so!" Oh, to recover the deeper story behind this bit of jetsam. I know I had an entire treatise in mind, and I'm sure I could recall its essence if I had the time. However, 'tis the season and I have not.
Another bit, torn from an unwanted postcard in a magazine, has a quote from Olivia Newton-John: "Nature is my church." So, if I give 5% of my pay to the man-made place of worship I've been known to frequent and 5% to environmental causes, does that satisfy the command to tithe? Just a stray thought, but I think I could have given it a good home and might yet.
"That young lady needs to work out her own salvation." This said by one of my Shekinah sisters to another, but it really struck a chord with me. After all, who else can save me but myself? Every twelve-step program out there is based, first and foremost, on the desire of the attendee to effect a change for the better in their lives. As any addict will attest, no change is possible if you don't sincerely want to work for it for your sole benefit. And, consequently, for your soul' benefit. Oh, yes, I could SO have waxed rhapsodic on this one! And may one fine evening, but this is not that night.
And another torn bit of a Jekyll Island program, no doubt scribbled on whilst I was homeward bound from the Shrimp & Grits Festival has two tidbits moored for safekeeping. The first says "can use music, smells, to time-travel to the past - we can try to predict the future - feet are still in the PRESENT time." Nice! I really like where I was going with that and look forward to diving in another time, but this next one... ah, that one begs for exposition! It says simply: "constellations of my world: school, job, friends, family, movies, theatre, music, lovers." To be always surrounded by such structures, whether visible or not, much like the starry constructs distant from this wondrous planet... reassuring, is it not?
The last bit for now is a page taken from the March issue of skirt! Alessandra H, a graduating senior at Savannah Arts Academy, advises "You can't be afraid of making mistakes - it's the only way to create something original." I'm looking forward to seeing what she offers to this world!
And now, time has come for me to say... later.

hat trick

What a curious phrase, but I find it was the first one that leapt to mind last Wednesday. Although the sport of hockey is the one I associated with the term, it apparently is also used in quite a few other sports, including marbles. The term, dating back to 1879, was originally associated with cricket, a game I've never witnessed and cannot fathom. Hockey, on the other hand, is a game I enjoy watching, no doubt ever since Paul Newman brought it onto my radar with Slap Shot in 1977. Raunchy, action-packed, and hilarious - and me, newly in the Navy, away from home and discovering THE WORLD! Several years later, while stationed in San Diego, I attended my first game in Los Angeles, with a Canuck as my guide to the finer points. I've even cheered the South Carolina Stingrays, live and in person in Charleston, several times now and try to be at the Savannah Civic Center for the college games in January. Good times! But I digress.
My "hat trick" has naught to do with sports of any kind. Rather, it's more on the order of performing an act of love for each of my three brothers. I had not intended to try to perform three kindnesses for my three brothers. The cosmos just arranged for the scenes to be set and for me to recognize the magnificent opportunities afforded me. Incredible and great serendipity.
For my eldest little brother, I agreed to represent his presence at the home of our long-lost cousin in Augusta. Not in so many words did I agree to this act. he asked what I was taking and I told him of the cake and chocolate pecans. He had been smoking turkeys all day for various friends and neighbors and he rather spontaneously made an offer of half a very large bird. And so, I accepted and transported his gift of cherry-wood-smoked turkey, even completing the cooking of it and making sure it arrived warm and fragrant.
My middle little brother was there at the smoker, too, having been dropped off by his boss to quaff a few beers and serve as a taster with the other fellows from the old neighborhood. When I went to leave, he had no ride, so I offered to take him to his place, and along the way we talked about SAD and how it affects our family. I even treated him to dinner with me and we were graced with a very sweet waitress at IHOP that evening.
As I dropped him off at his apartment, I was thinking about how great the evening had been and I noticed it wasn't yet 7:30pm. Quick as a shot, it occurred to me that I had long postponed a promise made to my youngest little brother. I had gone to visit him for his birthday and he had said that ten dollars a week would mean a lot to him. I had relayed the message to family members and my stepmom had given me the money for five weeks for his account. Several weeks had passed and I had not yet made the deposit. (Head hangs down.) So, down Chatham Parkway I went, conscious now of my need to fulfill this promise to him, my need to do a kindness for each of my brothers, my need to complete this cycle on this night. Done!
I felt that my steps had been guided that night. Thank you to my angels for helping me SHOW love to those I love. Especially at the time of Thanksgiving.

safety

I am so very thankful that my beach is not subject to the ravages of nature. This lovely blue and green planet with its swirling white streaks can be devastating at times. One of the beaches I visited this summer at Nags Head was basically a Brazil wax bit of sand in July. I can only imagine what will be left there now. The walkway from the condo will lead to...where? Open water? A few rocks? Will there even be that wooden walkway?
Then there's Virginia Beach, a fun place from a few years back. What will become of it after the 10-foot surges and the 8 inches of rain and the 60-mph winds? How much of that sugary sand will remain to be graced by beach towels and colorful chairs? How about the shops and little eateries nearby? Will they weather the storm or be wiped clean from their foundations?
I do realize that nothing lasts forever. Even the beach I visit here will exist only until the ether on which it rests disintegrates out from under it. Still, I hope that day will be very far in the future, beyond the time that I walk this plane. I want to feel free to enjoy the rolling surf here for a long time. Maybe I should come visit more often, to listen to the waves shushing over the fine grains below, to feel the warmth of the golden orb on my skin, to smell the salt tang. I wish I could be here every day, but I cannot yet. One day...

quote

"Today only happens once." Jeff McDermott

Yesterday was spent in the company of my ex-husband. He was in town to bookend his vacation week in Charleston, hoping to maximize the number of friends he could catch up with while away from Mississippi. I count myself fortunate that I was included in that list and that he, like myself, had left the schedule open for the day. Sure, we both had other events that we COULD have done, but we CHOSE to not have other people lined up for our time. Nice.
So, we met for breakfast, with an eye to following that with the 11:15am service at the church, partly so he could reconnect with friends there, partly to see the progress of the renovation. We never made it there, preferring a leisurely-paced visit together to be of more importance.
We talked mostly about the present. Sure, there was the usual catching up of the events in the lives of family and friends, but mostly the talk was about the events in our own lives in the last few months. You know, experiences in the real world with other people. That's a big issue: allowing ourselves to trust someone else with our hearts. Hell's belles, that is THE issue. No doubt that will continue to be THE issue for some time, but, given enough time, it will go back to where it belongs: just one issue to be considered among others.
I think it was remarkable that we could talk as we did. I know so many divorced couples who hold such animosity toward each other. We still love each other and we will always be a member of each other's family, but we are no longer a couple. We ARE long-time friends, having shared many adventures together in almost two decades. I do hope we will have this friendship for the rest of our lives. He is a remarkable man and I truly do hope he will let happiness find him. He deserves a much better life than he's been allowing himself to live. Even though the picture above was snapped on a whim, its meaning is serendipitous. The picture illustrates his looking toward the future (that vast ocean of possibilities and fish), away from the past (events that cannot be changed). Nice.
As he himself said, today only happens once. Enjoy it, embrace it, engage in it fully.

dingbat

Yep, that's me. The problem with burning one's candle from both ends is you eventually run out of wax and the flame goes out. I've been trying to shovel as much as I can into each and every day and my body has let me know in NO uncertain terms that said nonsense MUST stop, at least for a little while. Between the insomnia (driven mostly by my desire to catch up on my email and facebook before getting to bed) and the stuffed-full social calendar I've had for too many weeks, not including my work responsibilities... well, you get the picture.
Since Tuesday, I've had the sniffles and stuffy nose and cough from getting too cold too often and due, in large part sad to say, to my beloved Savannah Film Festival. The Trustees Theatre is SO cold (how cold is it?), it's so cold that Eskimos feel right at home. Seriously. I took two vacation days this year, Tuesday and Friday, so I could partake of the rich banquet only available at this festival. By Tuesday evening, even though I had my scarf and heavy jacket with me, I had the stuffy nose starting. Wednesday, I got up and sprayed the bed with Lysol, and have done the same for the past few days. Wednesday evening, I gave the students a "paper" lab ( gave them the data rather than have them collect it) and we were all out of there by 8pm. I took my tired self home, had chicken soup and called it an early night. Thursday, I woke up feeling more rested, but sounding awful. Progress! More chicken soup, more earlier nights.
Friday, I awoke a new woman, then spent the day at the Festival, in the Trustees and the Lucas, bouncing out every two hours to check the car or get lunch or pick up my Geekend materials. So, cold and hot and cold and hot... And of course I insisted on going to the keynote speaker address at Geekend, a last minute change/addendum to the program. Aaron Drapsin, former snowboarder of Michigan, current logo designer extraordinaire, was able to take over when the originally-scheduled speaker was delayed until Sunday. This guy happens to have worked on some incredible projects, including the logos for two ARRAS-related items: the website recovery.gov and the DOT's Transportation Investment Generating Economic Recovery program. Pretty interesting talk, sprinkled with lots of fun stories of lessons learned along the way.
Still, by the time the talk was done, so was I. I was cold and thirsty and worn OUT. So, I got home by 10:30pm or so, turned on my bed, then had some heated lemon water for about an hour. I crashed out, not even bothering to set an alarm. I would simpley get up when I got up. Yeah. I finally got up about 1:30pm today and here in the house I remain. I had several talks I had looked forward to at Geekend, but my body told me to STAY HOME AND REST. Sounds like resonable advice to me! Time for some chicken soup, maybe with rice this time instead of pasta...

Ghetto-een 2009!

Great fun at the Squirrel Mistress' pad on Friday! The party had but one stipulation: your costume could cost no more than $5. That's right, folks, just five lil' ol' dollars! And yet, we had Professor Chaos, a devilish pair, a Red Hat Witch, Darth Vader, a Viking, a Wrong Holiday, and a Wet Pile o' Leaves. Hahaha!

Make a Smilebox scrapbook

letter home

Dearest Mama,
I had meant to start this earlier today, but certainly didn't, did I? Still, I didn't want the day to end without touching base. It feels like forever that you've been gone, though it's not quite been nine years. That sounds like forever right there.
I wanted to talk to you about last Saturday, in particular, and maybe the whole weekend and the days leading up to it. But last Saturday, in particular. You know, that would have been the 17th anniversary for Jeff and I. And, in keeping with our custom of taking vacation around the anniversary, that's what I'd continued to do. This time, I wanted to do something different. Wanted, hell - I had a NEED to do something out of the routine for this time of year. Instead of running off and waking up somewhere else, I decided to stay here in town. But I also needed to make sure I didn't bolt out of here at the last minute, I needed to be invested in staying put.
I found my answer in the First City Network newsletter: the First Annual LGBT Film Festival. THAT would be different AND it would offer movies and shorts that I would most likely never get to see. Count me in! The tickets went on sale to the public that first Friday in October and I raced from work to the ticket venue to make sure I was able to get my tickets. I finally decided to buy the Festival Pass, as it would be a neat memento AND was the best deal. Good call! I then taped it to my kitchen cabinet to remind myself of this change in my regular fall schedule and waited for the 24th to arrive.
And you know what? Even knowing I had the weekend "booked", I STILL found myself thinking about plans to get outta town for that time frame. Can you believe it?? I know, old habits die hard, and I've had a lot of time invested in that particular habit. Heck, I'd like to think I did pretty well at planning little mini-holidays for this special time in October, especially as time went by. I would like to think Jeff would agree with me on that. (He had a trip out of town last weekend. Old habits die hard, as I said.) So, I figured the best way to keep myself in town was to overcommit my time for the entire weekend. That's exactly what I did, too.
Friday, I got off work, came home and ate, then headed to the Jepson Center for the first two films of the festival. "Boy Meets Boy" was a sweet short that took place in Korea and featured a fairy godmother that admonished her charges to "be careful who they met on the street." Adorably stuck in the '60's, as the culture over there is today. As I said, it was very cute and sweet. Then came the feature, the one I'd been looking forward to: "Fruit Fly", a musical (you recall how I just LOVE musicals!!!) starring a straight Phillipina actress who is in the States to put on her latest show. I just LOVED it!!! Honestly, I do think that would work for a mainstream audience, especially given the popularity of "Slumdog Millionaire" and "Fame". Very upbeat, catchy tunes, too. Then over to Club One for the reception and TWO shows, with one of the festival's guests serving as the intermission talent for both shows. You would have loved the old jazzy songs he had in his repertoire!
The next morning, I got up at weekday time (ugh) so I could make it out to visit Dood for his birthday. I had told him in a couple of letters that I would be coming out there, so that promise to him also locked me into staying in Savannah. Good! He and I had about a forty-minute visit (twice the allowed time!) that went very well and left both of us happy and reassured. Very good!
Then off to the festival's first matinee at 11am! The first was a kicky little all-girl rap video called "U-Haul Rap" and was a humorous take on the baggage, of all kinds, that we bring into new relationships. HAHAHA! The feature film, called "Drool", was a tale of old love gone bad and the healing power of new love. That was pretty good, but more of a dark comedy.
Then I was off! Back to midtown for the 1pm birthday party for my five-year-old "nephew" Aaron. Monkey Joe's is a BRIGHT place!!! I do believe those inflatables in that place glow in the dark! I wish I could have been there for the cake, made by his grandmom, but I had a 2pm matinee to get back to. Hmm, maybe I overbooked myself??
But back to the Little Theatre I flew on that drizzly afternoon, getting there just in time for the festival trailer. Close call! This was the part of the festival that was my favorite: shorts!!! The longest of the eight films was just over 20 minutes and there were TWO music videos, both of them featuring Joshua Kipp, the entertainer from the previous evening at the Club. Yes! Films from Iceland, Ireland, Canada, and even Australia, interspersed with festival winners from the USA. I tell you, Deb did amazingly well at selecting the films for this festival!
The Icelandic film, "Mother Knows Best", is quite entertaining, would work great at a P-FLAG film festival, and has a FINE ending! The Irish film, "James", charts a young man's journey toward adulthood; it was pretty good until the ending. Then again, the film had only 18 minutes to tell its tale, so perhaps I just needed to know a bit more than it offered. The two Canadian films, "Falling For Caroline" and "Tranzploitation", were quite humorous, with the former having several physical comedic touches (because "falling in love brings out the klutz in all of us" - I can SO relate!) and the latter including a hilarious lament about discrimination against trans(gendered) in the chip aisle of grocery stores. What a hoot!
The Australian film, "Evelyn Everyone", was a trip into the world of e-dating for a woman looking for change. The US short, "Kristy", on the other hand, is about a young girl NOT wanting change: her favorite shirt is being worn to tatters and so is her mom's patience. Both good, but I was waiting for the music videos, and at last they came! In "L1fe", pronounced One Life, the singer pledges "in your memory, I'll do the very best I can." Then, in "Tell Me", a jilted lover is trying to urge is estranged partner to say if they're "alive or dead, just tell me." On the surface, it's a classic boy-and-girl soul number, but there are fabulous undertones here! So, there you have it: eight films showcasing straights, gays, lesbians, trans, parents, kids. Something truly for everyone!
Whew! Not done just yet! The final films, which began at 5pm, were "Frequent Traveler", a fun Portuguese tale of a guy just craving touch and willing to go to extreme measures to attain his goal. The showcased feature film, "Watercolors", was a tale of first love and was a brilliantly told story. The only downside? Well, it was the night of October 24th and I was going home alone. I cried and ate sushi and felt better... but i sure wish I could have called you so you could tell me everything would be alright.
One last note about the LGBT Film Festival. I do wish someone had invited Robert Redford (in town, filming a movie about Abraham Lincoln) and Ron Howard (in town for the upcoming Savannah Film Festival) to attend these showings. For all I know, maybe the two gentlemen were invited and couldn't fit it into their schedules. These films should be playing to a much larger, and more diverse, audience than that held by the tiny Little Theatre space. Truly.
Well... (YAAAWWWNNN) I better get my silly self to bed. It's 2:16am on a Thursday morning and I have to get up at 7!
with much love forever!

busy bee

That's the moniker bestowed upon me by one of my fabulous former sister-in-laws after she saw my status update in facebook this past weekend. She's right, of course, and I didn't even list ALL that I was scheduled to do. If she had only known, she probably would have wondered what drugs I was taking to keep up with all of it!
Seriously, this time of year DOES get pretty hectic for me. September started it, with Dragon*Con and teaching and my day job. Then, there are the weekends with my singing bird, in addition to other events, such as the Savannah Jazz Festival, the O'Jays concert in Charleston, the Feast of Saint Francis of Assisi. This was all followed by a five-day trip to Orlando for Halloween Horror Nights, Universal Studios, Islands of Adventure, and more walking on concrete than a body oughta do. Thank God for swimming pools and hot tubs! Then back to Savannah in time for the second-ever Innovation Awards and the first-ever LGBT Film Festival (I wonder if anyone thought to invite Mr. Redford?), featuring a total of fourteen films and two drag shows in just under thirty hours. Sunday was "Mowgli and Moses" and Shalom Y'all Jewish Food Festival with the Carolina Klezmer Project, aka "Jewish Jazz." Oh, yes, and I even was able to fit Reel Savannah's Sunday night film ("Revange", a wonderfully layered foreign treat!) into my already packed weekend. Whew!
The pace isn't yet to abate, though. I have a Halloween party on Friday, which should be much fun! I haven't been to a Halloween party in YEARS! Before she moved, one of my friends used to throw these fabulous parties in her A-frame house, with costumes everywhere and even live bands. I've also volunteered to help Saturday morning, perhaps longer, with the set construction for the upcoming "Diary of Ann Frank" production. This particular piece resonates with me: my stepdad was in the plane she writes about going down. Incredible!
This coming weekend also begins the Savannah Film Festival, which is eight days of films and shorts and classes and interviews and award presentations... Oh, my! Woody Harrelson and Emmy Rossum are the stars I'll be on the look-out for, so if you see them first, please tell 'em I said hi! I have tickets for the 9:30pm shows on Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday, as well as the Directors' Choice at 7pm on Thursday, but I want to be sure to catch some of the morning and afternoon selections. I've even saved some vacation days for that very purpose, just as I did last year and the year before. I just wish I could have taken Mama with me for some of the films I've seen: she would have loved being there when Ellen Burstyn was given her award and for the interview with Malcolm McDowell last year. Just like Hollywood, but better!
Ah! Time to go and dream of the fun times ahead!

sea change

The title was a term coined by Shakespeare when he wrote "The Tempest" in the early 1600's, or thereabouts. He used the term in Ariel's song, Full Fathom Five, to denote the transformation the creatures of the ocean had performed upon a human body, with the bones being replaced by coral and pearls replacing the eyes. Celtic Woman does a beautiful rendition of the song; in the video, underwater visions are coupled with the ethereal nature of the airy Shakespearean character invoked by the singers.
Ever since the invention of the term "sea change," others have taken it up to represent broad transformations in appearance or meaning or even demographics. The latter was perhaps best done by the Australians in the 1990's when a television show about a character moving from the city to an actual small seaside town resulted not only in increased tourism for the area, but also a permanent population shift to that town and other small beach communities. Talk about real life imitating art! Usually, it's the other way around, isn't it? Then again, maybe people simply wanted to slow down the frantic pace of their lives and what better place to do that very thing than by the sea?
Sometimes, though, a physical move to a new locale is not possible. Financial constrictions, family responsibilities, and work requirements aren't necessarily conducive to rooting oneself up and moving to a new clime, to begin again with making social connections and a new home. This was all brought to my attention earlier this week when I was having my morning caffeine and indulging in a past televised favorite, "Just Shoot Me." Jack Gallo, played to the hilt by George Segal, is recounting how he came to be the owner of a painting of boats. He has found the painter in a meadow, busily working his craft, but all the works are ships at sea. When asked why, the artist replied "Sometimes in life, you gotta make your own oceans."
Now, there's a quote I can completely embrace. Sometimes... you gotta make your own oceans. Hence, I blog, enjoying my private beach when I absolutely cannot travel elsewhere. I write, letting the sea of my own creation wash over me, bringing the new thoughts and new attitudes to attain the changes I need in my life, taking away the thoughts that would hold me in the past. My own ocean. I like that. I may not yet be able to visualize the vastness of that ocean, but the little piece I see grows every day, the beach I trod gets a little wider and longer each time I visit. My own ocean, coming to life, moment by moment, in the ocean room I created in my house about this time two years ago. My own ocean.

renovation and tv

Okay, I think I get it now, this attraction to the tv that many people have. It all boils down to money, I do believe. This summer, I had to re-examine what I loosely call my budget. Actually, I never really had a budget, I just made sure the amount I spent wasn't more than what I made, so my cushion in my checking account didn't get a butt imprint from my good times sitting down too hard. Well, that hasn't been the case this summer. I had to get a new water heater, as the old one was about 17 years old and just wasn't quite up to the task anymore. So, there was an unplanned expense, but not too bad. I was able to put the device on a "6 months, no payments, no interest" plan and the labor was the only upfront, out-of-pocket expense. Cool. In fact, just last week I paid the final installment on the water heater. Yeah!
About the same time as that renovation, I decided that the time was right for new windows, to finally replace the old single-pane versions that had come with the house back in the 1950's. Actually, the window replacement had been on the agenda since moving into the house eight years earlier, partly because the windows were old and not energy efficient, partly because the doofus who had the house before had painted them all shut, making them useful only for viewing the outside world but not enjoying any cooling breezes. Anywho... As I was saying, I felt the time was right to replace some windows and I had a coupon that allowed me to put the cost of the materials on a "12 months, no payment, no interest" plan. So, I figured out how much the windows cost and how much I could afford to pay monthly for a year and let that determine how many windows I could buy. The magic number was seven, which allowed the front of the house to have new double-paned, double-hung, white vinyl windows. Fine, the back of the house would have to wait its turn, maybe next year. So, I purchased the windows, signed my name, and arranged to have one of my kin pick them up for me, as he has a truck.
So, there I was the proud owner of new windows. Woohoo! But who to install them? Well, honestly, I had ass-u-me-d that one or two of my brothers would help me out with that, especially as they were well-versed in that sort of thing. Yeah. Uh-uh. Not happening. Strike one! Sigh.
So, there I was the proud owner of new windows, which needed to be installed by someone I would have to pay. Woohoo. That was an expense I had NOT included in my plans, but a best friend of one of my brothers was in need of work and could take care of it for me. Alrighty then! I had known this guy for years and knew he could do the work. We never discussed money, though. Not once. Strike two! I just said "get 'er done!" and he said "no problem!" Well, those first two windows took him all of a day. No problem for me, I wasn't in a rush, as long as it got done.
Apparently, it was a problem for him, so he got a buddy to come help him. They finished up tout de suite the next day and came bopping along to get paid. Hey, I was glad to have the work done! I wasn't too keen on having had a stranger in my house, some guy I had never even heard of before, but it was done. So, now, my brother's friend is ready to get paid. Oh, and he "needs to pay his helper, too." Uh huh. Translated, that means I was going to be paying more than I had expected. Great. He wants $100 per window. That would be $700. Seven. Hundred. Dollars. And, no, he doesn't offer an easy payment plan, that needs to all be paid at one whack, preferably now, thank you very much. Damn. Strike three, and I am out of the renovation game for a while.
So, I write him a check. With just a few penstrokes, I have given away two weeks' take-home pay. In less than two days, this guy and his buddy determined they were worth the money it took me 80 hours to bring home. Yeah, those windows on the back of the house will definitely have to wait a while longer. The windows currently installed will be paid off by mid-April 2010... or I'll have to add on the interest, which I certainly do NOT intend to do! And, truth to tell, the house looks better now and is ever so much easier to cool in the summer. My house faces the sun from sunrise to sunset, so having energy-efficient windows HAS helped lower my electric bills, in addition to keeping my thermostat between 78 and 80.
At any rate, the dimple in my cushion has meant that I've had to more vigorously shop sales at the grocery store. Neat things like that. Also, I've cut back on how much of my pay goes into my IRA. Bad things like that. Mostly, though, since I don't engage in shopping as a sport, I've had to lean toward less expensive means of entertainment this summer. More often than not, I check to see how much something is costing me per hour. A night at the theater, not including treats? Well, that's about $5 per hour. Not bad. A night at a local playhouse, enjoying a show? That'll run at least $10 an hour. Hmmm. Just how much did I want to see that particular play?
In addition, I have to include my travel expenses this summer. I do, after all, have reasons to bebop off to Charleston every other weekend or so, as well as trips to hither and yon. Thank you, VISA and MasterCard, for allowing me to enjoy today and pay next month! True, I have spent less than I normally would during the summer, when I have more free time on my hands, but I've also had that much less to spend, thanks to home improvements. Eventually, those will pay off even more than they currently have. I keep saying this to myself, as I pay the installments every month for my lovely new windows.
Most recently, I turned to the Savannah Jazz Festival for my entertainment, accompanied by my Charleston bird for three of the five days I attended. This FREE event is one of my favorites these last couple of years, mostly because I have the luxury of being introduced to music and musicians I would otherwise have never enjoyed. And enjoy it all I do! I usually, half-kidding, tell folks that I go because I've already "paid" for my admission. Sure enough, that part is actually true! The City of Savannah is one of the major sponsors of the weeklong event, meaning my tax dollars are actually being spent on something for ME to enjoy. You better believe I'm there!
But when there's a dearth of free events available, what's a girl to do? Well, there's always the television. Not only is it already bought and paid for, it actually is supposed to provide countless hours of entertainment. I'm already paying the cable company for the basic seventy channels of possibilities, so I should maybe partake more often, or so went my logic. And you know what I found out? There ARE some good shows on the picture tube. There's some real schlock and drivel, too, but I just avoid those, including advertising-driven "news" programs and so-called "reality" shows. And of the seventy-odd channels available with my cable package, I actually tune in to twenty-two of them. Not every day, mind you. But the four music video channels (GAC, CMT, VH1, and MTV)? Yep, almost every weekday morning, along with my coffee. The Weather Channel? You betcha, especially during hurricane season. The other seventeen I watch off and on, and even so, most of those are reruns of old favorites, with a few new shows thrown in for good measure. Married With Children. Just Shoot Me. Frasier. Scrubs. Sex And The City. Futurama. The Big Bang Theory. How I Met Your Mother. Medium. Drop Dead Diva. Good Eats. Dirty Jobs. CBS Sunday Morning. Mostly, a little light fare before bed, with no blipped words or blacked-out areas of anatomy.
Admittedly, television programming has come a long way in filling a need for more thought-provoking shows, but mostly, it's there to entertain, not to enlighten. Oh, but there ARE enlightening programs out there, you say? There are many fine programs on The Learning Channel, The History Channel, PBS, and Discovery. Sure, there are, but do YOU watch any of them? And, no, Virginia, news programs are NOT included in this category. So-called "news" offerings are, by and large, video versions of The National Enquirer, filled to the brim with sex, drugs, and death. What we must not lose sight of this: television programs are written to attract ADVERTISERS. It's purely happenstance if the shows delivered through our cables, satellite dishes, or antennae bring us some modicum of mood-lightening or mood-enhancing entertainment. Enjoy!

Random Quotes

I recently found this marvelous addition to my collection of quotes. Albert Einstein said "The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once." That would indicate that time travels along its own axis, independently of those in this three-dimensional world. Well, that's the same thing I've been saying, as evidenced here and there and again and in one of my favorites.
As you may have realized by now, time is a favorite topic of mine. So often I have heard people talk mostly of wishing they were younger or sometimes longing to be older and I cannot relate to anything that would involve arbitrarily changing one's age. Of the former, I have these queries. Are they wanting a return to the naivety of their youth? Would they want to again have to relearn those lessons that seem only to be attained through aging and experience? Would they want to be young and have their knowledge and memories? Wouldn't that make everyone else seem out of touch with reality, when, in truth, they would be the one guilty of that charge? Are they wanting to be forever young? Does that imply a wish to be a vampire? Why would anyone want to watch all those they know and love wither and die whilst they stay fresh as a daisy? Where would be the fun of that?
As for those who would want to be older, perhaps to be able to instantaneously reach retirement age, here are the questions for you. Would you truly be willing to shroten your lifespan just to decrease your number of working years? Would you give up the opportunity to vicariously enjoy more of the youthful years of your children, your grandchildren, your nieces and nephews? Are you truly prepared to live on a fixed income for the rest of your life, knowing that the political powers that be have their fingers on those pursestrings? What about health issues: are you in good enough health to enjoy your new-found leisure, or would the sudden advanced aging be more detrimental than beneficial?
Scary thoughts, especially in the wee morning hours. I'll stick with the age I've been blessed with, day by day, thank you very much.

bears in bars in Billings

The following is best read aloud. Truly. It's a hoot!

A bear walks into a bar in Billings, Montana and sits down. He bangs on the bar with his paw and demands a beer.
The bartender approaches and says, "We don't serve beer to bears in Billings."

The bear, becoming angry, demands again that he be served a beer.
The bartender tells him again, more forcefully, "We don't serve beer to belligerent bears in bars in Billings."

The bear, very angry now, says, "If you don't serve me a beer, I'm going to eat that lady sitting at the end of the bar."
The bartender, in a huff now, says, "We don't serve beer to belligerent, bully bears in bars in Billings."

The bear goes to the end of the bar and, as promised, eats the woman. He comes back to his seat and again demands a beer.
The bartender states, "Sorry, we don't serve beer to belligerent, bully bears in bars in Billings who are on drugs."

The bear says, "I'm NOT on drugs."

The bartender says, "You are now. That was a barbitchyouate."

Big Bad Wolf?

Tonight, I joined my stepmother for dinner. Yes, yes, I can just hear it now: "On a Tuesday? Doesn't she live in Beaufort? Why not wait?" Why not wait. Well, let me suggest: Why wait? Time is short on this planet, and the older we get, the shorter the time we have left to be with each other and enjoy each other's laughter.
So, after talking this past weekend on the phone, I decided we really needed to see each other. Many reasons I had, too, for pushing the time up from that first weekend in October. I had already obtained her birthday present and wanted her to open her gift early. I thought she could stand a little cheering up. I wanted to let her KNOW I think she's special. And, since Daddy is no longer on this planet, I wanted her to have something to cuddle up with at night, too, 'cause big ol' beds weren't intended for solo sleeping, ya know?
We met up at the Wendy's near the traffic circle on the way to Bluffton. Only about 30 minutes for both of us, so not bad. This Wendy's is HUGE: spacious, bright, great service. I deliberately left the present in the car, to wait until after dinner. Sure enough, after we ate, she wanted to take a little walk, so we went to my car so I could put my dinner container in the trunk... and I gave her the Big Bad Wolf. Mind you, that's just what I've been calling him, and I've thought that from the moment I saw him. I even have that song from Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs, done in the 1960's, still in my head, talking about Little Red Riding Hood and howling. And you know what? Without me even mentioning it, SHE thought of that song, too, and told me the story of the field trip to the beach that her high school class took in 1966, with the teacher cranking up the radio and them all singing along to that song. I told her I remembered Daddy singing and hamming it up to that song and that I thought of him, endearingly mind you, as the Big Bad Wolf. We talked about that a bit more as we walked, gradually changing to other topics, as the color of the sky deepened and night fell.
When we returned to Wendy's, I walked with her to her car and she took the wolf out to look at him and talk some more. I told her he was definitely a good wolf, as part of his cost went to help endangered animals. She was holding him and looking at his face when she proclaimed him to not be a wolf, but a sheep in wolf's clothing! Imagine that!!! And you know what? She was absolutely right. Those were NOT the ever-hungry eyes of a wolf, but the soft, deep brown of ovine eyes. That creamy muzzle protruding from that beautiful gray fur was far too sweet to be that of a carnivore. Judge for yourself.
Now, the question is: what to name him? There's a book, published in 2007, with several all-puns-intended suggestions, but I don't know that they'll be quite right. RAMbunctious? RAMshackle? Heyewe? Not my choice about the name, though: he doesn't belong to me. I'll let you know the name when I do... maybe!

One More Thing 'Bout That

Make a Smilebox photobook

point of view

The sound of a steady rain, gently washing my part of the world clean as I fall asleep. The taste of peach cobbler made the way my Mama made it. These are things that money cannot buy. Such was the theme of last week's philosophy discussion: "Things Money Cannot Buy." And I interpreted that to mean things that bring pleasure to us in the here and now. Tangible things, you understand.
I seem to have been almost alone in that interpretation. For most everybody else, the topic was centered on intangibles. Memories. Peace of mind. Contentment. A sense of self.
I guess it all depends on your perspective.

melding

On this Eve of my departure for my second-ever Dragon*Con, I have spent the last few hours putting together packages of memories. Yes, tomorrow, I leave to attend an incredible conglomeration of science, fantasy, and science fiction, from films to comic books to works of fiction throughout the years. This time, I will again attend with my best friend's teenaged children, as I did last year when we all had our virgin encounter with this wondrous beast. We will attend in memory of our guide, Sam "Blaxstone" Johnson, aka the Fickle Fat Fudge Fiend. His enthusiasm and love of the show fueled our own, encouraging us to participate in the story tale unfolding before us.
Some few weeks ago, I had received the tribute dvd, shown above, created by Sam's niece. I finally found a program which allowed me to make duplicate dvds, sans the fancy cd label, and have created six for Sam's friends scattered around the world. Literally. Although most will go to homes in the States, one will travel to Australia, to a woman for whom Sam almost forsook us. It occurred to me that the timing was perfect. As I am venturing off to create new memories, I am sharing old memories with friends far and near. My planets of my irregular galaxy must be aligning...

Pride

"As a member of the Outer Alliance, I advocate for queer speculative fiction and those who create, publish and support it, whatever their sexual orientation and gender identity. I make sure this is reflected in my actions and my work."

As part of Outer Alliance Pride Day, members are posting the above in conjunction with fiction or blogposts commenting on queer speculative fiction. I highly recommend this blog for those who want to know more http://www.benjaminsolah.com/blog/?p+1630

I am not yet a member of The Outer Alliance, but I wanted to participate and show my support. I can think of no better way to commemorate the birthday of one of my best friends than to acknowledge this particular Pride Day celebration. She would most certainly approve, Harry Potter fan that she is, openly living as a homosexual woman in today's world. I only this morning discovered the existance of this group, through my affiliation with the Kiwi Writers. What serendipity!

Random Quotes

"Sometimes, the only way to get a good look at yourself is through someone else's eyes. If you're lucky, you'll like what you see."
JD on "Scrubs"

I consider myself very fortunate. I had the very good luck in my late teens to have someone snatch me up short and tell me that I was being hurtful without cause. The guy I had been seeing started avoiding me, so I had gone to one of his friends to find out what was up. That friend of his had the decency to sit me down and explain, in plain English, how callous and self-centered I had been. A wake-up call, but not done with vicious language. The impact of that conversation has had repercussions to this day. Although the damage was done with that relationship, I did resolve to be more mindful of others' feelings, to treat others the way I would like to be treated, to acknowledge that men are not the enemy. So, thank you, Mr. Miller, for that valuable lesson from your friend. I do hope you have many who love you.

impact

I was just catching up on facebook, stopping by for quick visits to those who truly exist in MY world, posting little remarks hither and yon. Then I find myself in an actual conversation, repartee through postings, centered on the "nonsense life situations" which are repeated in our personal histories. I took the tack about memories of bad choices being replayed over and over in the cinema of my mind; the other countered that the reruns of successes past were usually the root of present mental hiccups. And I realized that the two of us were, perhaps, not quite talking about the same thing. Then, again, maybe we were both playing the game "what if", but on different planes?
With my game, I'm usually trying to forgive myself for errors in in the past. Not that I've ever run anyone over... or killed anyone... or left anyone with lasting physical scars from an encounter. I guess that's all good. But I know sometimes I'm not as ... sociable... as, perhaps, I should be. Sometimes, I get so wrapped up in my own little world, that I don't stay in touch with folks I hold dear as much as I should. It's an ongoing issue with me, one I've tried to counter since I was a teenager. And I have made great strides in that area. Before I joined the Navy, I only interacted with a handful of folks, outside of family. I was shy to the extreme... or maybe I just could not relate to the whole "girls versus boys" scene. Are we NOT equally human, made of the same flesh, the parts simply rearranged? Another topic for another day, I assure you.
My days as a sailor changed much of that introversion. I was finally out seeing the world and by golly, see it I would! And touch it and smell it and taste it, too! I even got started with theatre work; not on stage, but behind the scenes, and integral component deep in the mix, but not seen except by those also in the mix. Lights, sound, props, wardrobe, whatever needed doing for those who would be SEEN trodding the floorboards. And although I had a grand social life, I also had a lot of self-chosen solitude. Ever since my early 20's, I've regarded myself as one of the most sociable antisocials I know. I do enjoy being part of a crowd, part of an audience, part of a larger whole. But I have no problem with going out and about on my own, as I had said in an earlier post. I've done that in Hong Kong, in Great Lakes, IL, in Imperial Beach, CA. My philosophy has been "don't wait for someone else to work it into their schedule to join you or you just might miss out on the event." So, many times, I don't even ask anyone to join me; I just go. And I always enjoy myself, too, but I do sometimes miss having someone with me for those good times. In many ways, facebook serves as the vehicle for me to share those events with those I call family, whether blood or chosen or both.
Where on Earth was I? Oh, yes, I was talking about my penchant for "me" time interfering with my interactions with those whose lives are important to me. I mean, hey, there are DAYS that go by that I call no one and no one calls me. My cell phone might as well be turned off, actually. And, for the most part, that's okay. Last year, I went through a spell where that bothered the heck out of me, but then I started blogging and I felt connected to the world, even if this version of the world is all ones and zeroes. Maybe I'm not connected to any one person when I write, maybe my audience is mostly me and my ghosts. But I know my words are out there, rolling on the digital waves, tugging on the ether ear, waiting to make an impact on someone - even me.

loss, yet again

I had tears with my breakfast this morning. Not a particularly good way to start the day, I assure you. I have tears now, as I sit here attempting to compose my thoughts. The tears were initially for the horrible incident which befell a friend of mine two weeks ago, but they have persisted for my own loss. You see, I'm still in mourning for the loss of a place which I used to enjoy.
The place still exists, it hasn't burned down or been eaten by termites. In fact, I had once before reinvented and refashioned it as a place still on my map. One of my best friends had encouraged me to come back there, to share new good times with him and others from the not so distant past. For him, and for myself, I had done so, though it took a while for the image to gel. The place became a safe haven for me, a place to have fun and to flirt and to not have to worry about anyone taking me seriously, for I knew he had my back. It was THE place for me to finish up my Saturday nights into the small hours of my Sunday mornings.
Then, the one who had made it a safe haven died. I tried to go back a few times, partly in respect for his memory, partly from habit. After all, many of the same people I know and like can be found there, still, on a Saturday night, gracing the airwaves with their songs. But I've lost the feel of the place. I know it's ludicrous, absurd, ridiculous - and yet, regardless of what logic and reason dictate, nay, in spite of their decrees, I find that I keep looking for someone who isn't there anymore, someone who will never be there again. And that isn't fair to the place and it isn't fair to the folks I know who ARE still there, is it? Well, sometimes I don't care about what's fair. Circumstances out of my control, as most are, caused changes I wasn't ready for and that was unfair to me.
Last night, I gave the place another chance to change my mind, to show me what it had to offer. I think I'm done this time. The place is no longer a safe haven for me or others like me, single women who come alone and prefer to leave the same way. The place could have been a meat market, but certain folks kept that aspect of modern life at bay. Single women could come and enjoy a few drinks, a few laughs, make some new friends to look forward to seeing the next time there.
No longer. A dark element has crept in the last few months. In the past, when a disruptive force tired to establish a foothold, that force was cast out by Blaxstone, a superman for the powers of fun. Street drugs tried to make their way in, only to find that was not going to happen on his watch. Single women were escorted into the parking lot to insure their safe passage to their vehicles. Lotharios hoping for quick action were strongly encouraged to take their search and their lust elsewhere, post-haste. No longer on any of those counts. An unattended drink can lead to horrible consequences for women. Not a safe haven anymore, in a world where such places are few. And that is certainly worth a few tears, from me, for my friend, for others like us: girls just wanting to have fun, not sex.

irregular

These past few weeks have had their share of ups and downs, trials and triumphs. I suppose that's to be expected as I continue to explore my life post-divorce, in the midst of a new relationship, still learning how to live as a single woman in a world where couplehood is what I had known for so many years. These days, I feel a kinship to this Type I irregular galaxy, this collection of starlit chemicals known as NGC 55. A Type I irregular galaxy has no specific form and is composed of "a very diverse collection of objects." The descriptor informs me that "this highly detailed galaxy portrait [of NGC 55] highlights a bright core crossed with dust clouds, telltale pinkish star-forming regions, and young blue star clusters." (For more info, be sure to visit the website http://antwrp.gsfc.nasa.gov/apod/ap090812.html .)

Dust clouds. I travel with dust clouds, sometimes obscuring my vision with scenes of how things once were, how I had thought they would always be. "Always" is an insanely long time; "always" is a course of action doomed to fail in a world where change is the natural state of affairs. "Always" is an imaginary construct, useful only as an adverb. People change, situations change, attitudes change, and time marches on along its axis. I've said it before: One cannot travel back in time to the same place one once was and expect to find one can step right back into that moment. That moment is lost as soon as the next breath is taken. Time waits for no mere mortal, and mortal all are we.

I've been working for a couple of years now on dismantling the dust clouds, allowing my inner light to shine forth more strongly on this new path I travel along time's ever-forward axis. I've gradually worked on letting in more light whilst also creating new light in the form of new adventures for my world. And I've been blessed to have new relationships forged with those stars close to me, those from the past as well as those new to my life. My energy is poured with both hands into new ventures, new spots of brightness to stave off the darkness of night, as I explore new beaches on other worlds.

tamales

I finally got around to turning on the tv about 10:30 tonight (hey! I was busy out and about with real people!) and watched the tail end of "Psych," one of my favorite shows for many reasons. But that would be another entry, another time. After the show ended, I thought I would see if a movie might be next up. Then, on my way to finding a movie of interest, I noticed "Good Eats" was just starting and tuned in. And there Mr. Brown was, talking about tamales. Tamales, of all things. So, I started this post, then returned to watch the show. My Daddy would have wanted it that way, you see. Tamales were his "thing." And watching a show that seamlessly combines science with everyday life is most definitely MY "thing."
So, I learned all about making tamales, in an episode titled, in his typical tongue-in-cheek style, "Tamale Never Dies." I kid you not. (My Daddy would have loved it, wishing he had been the one that came up with the name.)
The first thing I learned was the origin of the dish and of the word itself, in a South American jungle setting. I kid you not. (I truly LOVE this show. It's the ONLY one I watch on the Food Network.) "Tamale" is based on an Aztec word for "wrapped food", constructed to be portable meals for hunters and warriors on the go, made by their loving mates. The wrapper, the filling, the masa, the fabrication, and the cooking. very interesting, surprisingly easy, but one of those operations to do when you have some time on your hands, much like the making a Polish dish which uses cabbage leaves to make a Dutch oven FULL of rolled meat and rice packages. In other words, plan to spend a few hours on this dish.
So, it certainly isn't something I would normally even consider making. After all, I have a reputation as the queen of the 30-minutes-or-less meal and I am justifiably proud of that title. Not only that, but I tend to cook all in one pot, lessening the quantity of dishes to be cleaned after said meal has been enjoyed. And yet, I do find myself doing that very thing - considering the making of tamales. Still fairly theoretical, but gaining form. Why? Well, partly because tamales were such a cherished food for my father. He's been on my mind a lot these past few weeks and I see this food as a potential link between us, something to make me feel he isn't so far away. If he were still on this planet, I would have called to get his ideas on the subject and invited him to share in the repast once the project was complete.
Instead, I think I shall invite my singing bird to be my dinner guest. You see, Alton Brown also talked about the Tamale Trail in the Mississippi Delta. According to Mr. Brown, migrant Mexican workers brought their hot tamales with them to the area, where the slaves in that hot, swampy land really took to them. The Mississippi Delta, the same exact homeland of my singing bird. I think perhaps Daddy would have been right pleased about that. He and Harry could have had many a discourse on the merits of tamales, with future searches for eateries of worth which offered that culinary delicacy. Delicacy indeed! Tamales are a real man's food, made with meat and lard - yes, I said lard and I meant lard, just go ask Mr. Brown why - eaten with the hands, not forks or spoons, not even necessarily on a plate.
Yeah, I think a foray into the tamale world is on my agenda.

validation

Tonight, I went to my philosophy group meeting for the first time in a long time... and was greeted with warm smiles and hugs! How wonderful to feel valued and respected for my opinions and my thoughts! I've been going through a rather difficult time at work lately, through no fault of my own, I can assure you. Business has been slow - we're talking retail here - and the phone has been more quiet of late. Still, I see the cycle, whether anyone else does or not, and things are improving, albeit slowly. Slow, but sure. And I'll be sure to surround myself on my time away from work with people who understand that I have much to contribute.

collection

Everyone I know collects something. Comic books, movies, books, music. My mother collected teapots. She had several stoneware teapots that had been in the family since her grandmother's time. She had other collections over the years, of course: clowns, dolls, Christmas ornaments, Dr. Seuss books. Once she let us know that teapots were her new favorites, we made sure her collection was enlarged on almost every birthday or other special day. Lovely ceramic teapots, artful pieces that were absolutely too nice to ever use. By her death on January 2, 2001, she had over 25 teapots in her collection. Most graced shelving in the living room, shelving built specifically for them, with new shelves added as her collection grew.
And all of this popped into my head this morning as I was watching VH1 with my coffee. (Yeah, yeah, bad habit watching tv whilst dining.) I was enjoying the countdown of top videos, a show with a fairly obnoxious host, but great videos, and I was pretty much using that as a background for my breakfast and planning out my day. Then I stopped. A video had come on for a song I was glancingly familiar with, thinking it was about love lost. What I realized when I actually listened to ALL of the lyrics: the love was not merely out of sight, but gone from this planet, making them visible never more. I can totally relate to that. I seem to be sensitive to such songs these past few years. You could say I collect them.

The Airborne Toxic Event: Sometime Around Midnight

travels

In February of 2008, after dealing with the heartache of divorce and living alone again, I traveled to California for a week. Before I went out there, I kept telling myself and anyone who would still still long enough that I was going to reassure my family of friends out there that I was doing okay, that my emotional roller coaster ride was, at last, done. They had helped me hold tightly to my vestiges of sanity when it was after 1am here and all others I knew had been in bed at least a couple of hours. Sue and Paul had thrown out their lifelines to me, making sure I knew I was wanted, I was needed, I was loved. Now, I wanted to show them how much I appreciated having them in my life, that their hours on the phone with me had been a great success, because just look at how well-adjusted and sane I am now! That's what I said, or words to that effect. And I meant it, too.
So, off I flew. I spent Saturday through Tuesday in San Diego with my "little sister" Sue and her family, which includes three loving children she and Cyndi had adopted. It was my first time meeting the children, then 6, 5, and 3, and IT WAS GREAT! I reveled in the constant touch and interaction that little ones are so adept at providing. Every morning, I woke to one or more children trying to get in bed and snuggle with me. Every day I played games and had children climbing all over me, trying to sit behind me on the couch, playing around my feet. And the two dogs? Oh, they loved me! So much attention I got, so much tactile contact! On the Sunday, I got to be part of the oldest girl's belated birthday party, done with a medieval theme and attended by Dorothy, the Tin Man, the Scarecrow, the Cowardly Lion, princesses, knights, the Good Fairy, and Cinderella. Wow! I even had a purple and green sea turtle painted on my face! The next day, Cyndi took me to some of my old stomping grounds by the naval base and out to the children's school to meet some of their teachers. On Tuesday, I got to spend some time one-on-one with Sue, talking and laughing like we did in college, having a drink or two along the way. Overall, not a fancy time, but a good time, a time of sharing each others' lives up close.
I got so very, very spoiled, but I didn't realize just how much until later. Sure, I did cry a little when I left them on the Wednesday to fly up to San Francisco. But I made sure they didn't see the tears because the two children who had come along didn't want me to go, either and I didn't want them to cry. But I had friends in El Cerrito waiting for me, my best friend Paul and his wife, and I was just as eager to see them. I had not yet even met Cathy!
They met me at the airport with open arms and loving hearts and took me immediately to one of their favorite sushi houses. The rest of my stay with them was spent constantly in their company, starting every day with Paul at one of his two favorite coffee houses. We spent the days going to standard tourist spots and doing standard tourist things (dining at Fisherman's Wharf and gawking at the seals, walking halfway and back on the Golden Gate Bridge) but also traveling on paths less known (going to the Awards banquet for the Search And Rescue group Paul is in, picnicking at almost 4000 feet on Mount Diablo, watching the sunset on Ocean Beach). Fabulous! Sharing the places and foods they loved with me, sharing hugs and laughter and happy times with me. Oh, so very spoiled I became.
After watching the sunset over Ocean Beach (shown on my blog, but with a fogbow), we had Thai food and they dropped me off at the airport. So far, so good. I do well at entertaining myself at airports, mostly walking up and down, looking at everything. The next morning, I was greeted back in Savannah by John & Deatre and had breakfast with them and the kids. Nice welcome to my regular life! Ah! Then, that afternoon, I joined my teammates at the bowling alley and regaled them with tales of Cali and felt great!
And then I went home. To my empty house with the suitcase waiting to be unpacked. No one there to greet me, to give me hugs, to provide contact. No one to touch, no one to touch me. And... I... lost... my... mind. I cried like I had no reason to live. I had to re-learn how to be alone again. It took a couple of weeks for me to get to the point of not crying myself to sleep.
Two weeks ago, I traveled again for almost a week in Cali, this time all in San Diego. Sue met me at the airport and we went to the children's school to get my nephew from his summer camp. I shared his room while I stayed, awaking each morning to children around me. I marched with Sue's family (and the children's school) in the San Diego Pride Parade, whooping and hollering with gusto! We went to Sea World and watched the great Shamu and two of his buddies dance in the water, followed by fireworks dancing in the night sky above the immense pool. Cyndi drove me and the kids to Anaheim for California Adventures and I got to ride and ride and ride with the children! Monsters, Inc, Soaring Over California, the Muppet show - great fun! The next day, we all went to Disneyland, a novel experience for me. I had gone to Disneyworld last year (for the first time since I was 18) and we grown-ups found it quite interesting comparing the two parks. We also had a blast each having a young one to share the rides with! I went on Dumbo and Space Mountain with Dylan (now 7), Cartopia and Buzz Lightyear with Cooper (he's 6), and the Matterhorn with Riley (4 in June). What a fabulous time!
And this time, I did not fall apart when I got home. Nope, didn't happen. My singing bird saw to that, though he had not orchestrated the events. No, the cosmos and my angels had intervened on my behalf to make sure my sanity was not mangled after my trip. How so? Airtran, my preferred mode of transport to the other coast, no longer flies from Savannah... but it does travel from Charleston, home of my singing bird. So, this time, I began my Cali trip from his arms in Charleston, on an absurdly early Friday, and ended very late on a Thursday evening, again in his arms in Charleston. My singing bird sent me away with love and welcomed me back with more of the same. I stayed with him until Sunday, when I finally returned to Savannah, just as I have on previous trips to see him. I had touch, that magical sense, my drug of choice, before, during, and after my travels this time. And that has made all the difference.

final outcome

The Southern Cross Novel Challenge 2009 has ended, as of midnight on Tuesday. I had a banner day on Monday, writing more than 6000 words that day... and burning myself out on these characters. You know those movies where there are no heroes, where all the characters are so morally flawed that there is no one to root for? Movies like "Closer" - well acted, lots of name-brand stars, but the characters are just so very wrong in so many ways. You see it once, and you're done with it.

Well, that's pretty much how I felt after my writing splurge on Monday: I was done with these people. All they were concerned with was sex, sex, sex. Not that they were screwing willy-nilly, any ol' body will do. No, they weren't that casual. But they did seem to want to flaunt their sexual prowess and positions and sensations... and it got to seeming a bit overwrought. Poor things, the coming was all they had going for them!

Still, I am proud of myself for giving it a shot and for the amount of progress I made. I ended up 46 of 167, with 17,000 words. Good job! There were about 20 entrants who completed the challenge successfully and got their gold stars. Cool, gold stars! Amazingly, though, there were more than forty entrants who never posted a single word to their count. Not one word. Zero. I have to wonder what happened to them? Did they forget? Did they just give up from the get-go? Maybe my next writing endeavor should explore that little mystery... maybe!

things I've missed

Tonight, I treated myself to a night at the ballpark. No, no cheap beer tonight (like I care about that). No special giveaways. Just a baseball game starring my favorite Single-A South Atlantic League team, the Savannah Sand Gnats. My boys of summer. And here it is already the 1st of July and this is the first game of this homestand that I've attended. I didn't realize how much I had been missing them, and all that comes with them.
So, a la Julie Andrews, here are some of my favorite things about this summer experience. Sitting with Willie Junior and watching him jiggle his eyeballs. Listening to Willie and John and Bruce and Arthur as they cheer on the team and bemoan their errors and the umps' bad calls. Joining in the fray, using my deep voice "so my boys can hear me."
Reveling in the little breeze that swoops through the stadium, renewing our energy. Smelling the popcorn and boiled peanuts and grilled beef hotdogs, and even indulging every so often. Clapping and clapping and clapping, to "working at the Car wash" and "if you're thankful and you know it" and songs I STILL don't know the names of. Saying hey to the regulars, both in the stands and behind the counters. Feeling like I belong to this big, noisy, summer-loving, baseball-maniacal family.
Watching the sun go down, painting the sky with a new palette each time. Sometimes with clouds, of different shape and texture, sometimes not. Light blue darkening to rich purple over the tall Georgia pines. The game lights coming on, bringing brightness to the lush greens and red Georgia clay. The American flag in left center field, always flying her colors, showing us who we are, one nation, regardless of color, sex, religion, education, marital status, job description, politics.
I have really missed this. I've been going to the games since 1996. I've been a season ticket holder for the past four years, but not this year. I knew I would be missing a few games, so I didn't buy my pass. As a result, I haven't been as attentive or attendant as I have in previous summers. I don't even know the names of all of my boys or their positions or their numbers. The boys have been having an especially good season, too, and I've been missing out on that, too. I think I'll go again tomorrow night, even though it'll be Thirsty Thursday and the stands will have far too many loud drunks. The field will be filled with my boys of summer, playing their hearts out on a hot summer night, and I want to be there to cheer them on. Go Sand Gnats!

progress!

Well, I've jumped ahead with my writing, though I have a LONG way to go to hit my mark. Still, I'm rather pleased that I've gotten this far. Truly! And I am now ranked 49 of 167 would-be novelists. Woohoo!

One thing I'm definitely learning: I'm not cut out to be a novelist. Nope. Short stores, I think I'm your girl. But the last book I wrote was my dissertation for my doctorate and that took a couple of years to complete. I even had about fifty graphs in it, so that cut down on some of the writing. (You know, "a picture is worth a thousand words" and all that, though making the picture can take about as long as writing the words would have.) Writing that book taught me that I didn't want any more doctorates!

Writing this book is teaching me that I may not quite be ready to let my freak flag fly in this direction. I would certainly have to use a pseudonym, because if any of this material made it to print, everyone would wonder what kind of kinko I am. I guess I spent too much time in the Navy. Or maybe I've read too many of "those" magazines. Or maybe I should blame it on the a-a-a-a-alcohol, as Jamie Foxx would say (though I have liquor of any kind - except virtual on facebook! - rather infrequently these days). Or maybe, just maybe, it goes back to me not being wired right.

I've read interviews over the years of folks who act in roles that are contrary to their character. Carroll O'Connor was one of the most educated, liberal, laid-back, accepting people on the planet, EXCEPT in his role as Archie Bunker, racist bigot extraordinaire on "All In The Family." For eight years, he let his alter ego loose upon the tv screen, to much acclaim. Then there's Robin Williams, a comedian who is left of center and off the charts, effortlessly letting loose his wit in whatever venue he finds himself. EXCEPT when he's Walter Finch or Sy Parrish, the sociopaths in "Insomnia" and "One Hour Photo", respectively. Talk about creeps! he completely let his dark side come out to play.

So, maybe that accounts for the words that flow from my fingertips when a "novel" is being written. Hey, it's all fiction, right? Fiction is defined as "works of imaginative narration, especially in prose form." Imagination is "forming mental images or concepts of what is not actually present to the senses." And fiction is just a milder word for fantasy, is it not? Why not make it sexual fantasy as well as romantic fantasy and dramatic fantasy? Why not, indeed? My writings are simply imagination gone wild, much like college kids on spring break: fairly harmless, but don't let the family know the details of your exploits!

52 of 166

No, I haven't become a Borg creature. My ranking has moved up slightly in a slightly larger field of participants. So... GO ME!!! After quite a hiatus, I'm back and up to 8000 words after a brief period of writing this afternoon. (Hey, it was slow at work and I jumped at the chance!) I intend to spend more time writing this evening, after dinner and my usual Monday night pursuits, i.e., watching The Big Bang Theory and How I met Your Mother. Yes, I am quite aware that they'll be repeats. Yes, I will watch them anyway, and enjoy every minute of it. There is truly so little tv I partake of; this hour of frivolity helps keep my sense of time's passage intact, much like the sun's travels across the sky help me during daylight hours. Now, to get some supper and clear my schedule of all else crying for my attention!

still going...

It's been a rather busy time for me, so I haven't had the time to write like I would have hoped. Still, I AM persisting, and that's the point of rising to a challenge, is it not? At a grand word count of 6100, I am now ranked 53rd in a field of 165. This was Day 16 of the challenge, so I do need to try to work in some more word counts in the next two days, before my friends from Hiram come on down. I'm sure they wouldn't mind if I took a little writing interlude during their visit, but I don't know that I would be comfortable with them... or anyone at this point... possibly reading over my shoulder.

Now, I'm not saying that they would throw me off my game. When I start writing, the first few lines are hard, but then the characters move right on in and make themselves at home and I never quite know what they'll come up with next. Well, that's not exactly true, now is it? I have a really good idea of what will happen, and I'm actually a bit surprised about it. You see, well, are you familiar with the works of Harold Robbins? You know, the guy whose books all deal with sex, sex, and more sex? Well, my characters think they're in one of his novels. Only they're a bit more graphic. Yeah.

So, who's to say anyone will ever get to read this but me? Still, I am rather enjoying it. I can't wait to see what they're gonna do next!

here we go!

I am so very excited! This past weekend was a fabulous start to my New Year, filled with fun times with friends old and new. On one of the social sites I use - facebook, if you must know - I had beau coup wishes for a happy birthday, with quite a few from unexpected sources. Nice! I had gone to work on my special day, as I am quite a trouper and I was needed there, but I did get off a bit earlier than usual, allowing me to get up to my BFF's place in Hiram in time for a mojito before dinner. Very nice! Then she and I and the family all piled in to the car and off we went in search of cake. Big, monster, artery-chokin' hunks of cake, at a place known as Pasta Bella. I selected Lemon Meringue Pie, with a five-inch, beautifully sculpted, perfectly browned meringue topping on a three-inch layer of lemon curd. YUMMMM. Oh, did I mention the candle? Yes, boys and girls, there was a pink candle valiantly blazing atop the dreamy drifts of whipped egg whites, as well as a trio singing "happy birthday, dear customer" as the lovely treat was gently placed before me. My BFF had given me a lovely "aquarium" picture, a three-dimensional still life with fish, so to speak. I intend to place it in my Ocean Room, on the wall near the computer, so I can enjoy the new view as I converse here and elsewhere. She told me she had thought of my personal aquarium, my bedroom, as the location for the new art, but I would rather have it where I can look at it often through open eyes, not eyelids.
The next day, off we went to the trade fair at Centennial Park, where my BFF was to hawk her wares: beautiful purses, with pockets inside for essentials. Great fabrics, nice textures, several different styles of The Perfect Bag (at etsy.com). (Yes, I am QUITE shamelessly promoting her enterprise!) I even found a rather unique necklace for my little black dress: a strand of gray and black beads, closed with two sterling dragonflies on the side. Not only is it an unusual piece, but it also appeals to my asymmetry bent. I'll have to create an occasion to try it out... oh, wait, I can wear it at the Celebration of Daddy's Life scheduled for Sunday! Oh, nice! I think Daddy would definitely have approved!
Saturday night, one of my BFF's friends had a low country boil, with a twist. They use crayfish, with a few crab legs for good measure, instead of shrimp, and they season it with fire. No, truly, They say they're using Louisiana spices, but I have it on good authority - my entry and exit orifices - that it's fire. Even the corn on the cob and the new potatoes were so spicy as to be nearly inedible by normal people. Fortunately, none of them were present and we all ate our fill, followed by a trifle created by my BFF in honor of my birthday. A non-dairy concoction with cherries, chocolate-laced whipped "cream", and angel food cake, topped with Bing cherries.
Wait just a darn minute! I know what you're thinking. "That's twice she's mentioned her birthday and not said anything about HER eating cake. What's up with that?" Well, quite frankly, I think I'm done with cake for a while, after having a certain type of cake lay siege on my mind for better than two weeks. So, pie, trifle, cobbler, bread pudding, even brownies, but no cake, please. The angel food cake in the trifle doesn't count, as it's not whole, but torn into little pieces. So, there!
On Sunday, my bird from Charleston flew on down and we had dinner and a movie. Actually, we had slunch (too late for lunch, too early for supper) at one of my favorites (Chili's - their tilapia is so very tasty!), then the movie. "Star Trek" for the second time, this time paying more attention to the character Ayel, played by Clifton Collins, Jr. He was also in "Sunshine Cleaning", as a completely (COMPLETELY) different character. I had wanted to see "Star Trek" again, especially for the sword fight (!) and the view of Earth from space. The viewing was that much nicer with my bird by my side!
And the whole weekend, my brain was feverishly trying to work up concepts for my novel-writing experience. Oh, how about this one? Hmmm, how to flesh it out past just a few pages? Whose voice should be telling the tale? Should there be only the one point of view? How about a series of stories, woven together? That sounds like fun, but how to get the characters to meet? Where to have the tale set? When is the action and what is the action and why??? So, Monday evening I began my journey into the Southern Cross world, having finally settled on an opening gambit... and found, after the first few lines, that I had diverged from my original concept into one that felt more natural, more me. I'll be quite interested to see where this adventure leads!

challenge!

Tomorrow is the first day of my New Year. My resolution is to accept more challenges, take more risks, step out of my comfort zone. No, I'm not planning to take up skydiving! After all, my mother taught me NOT to jump out of perfectly good airplanes.
I want to audition for a theatrical production. I had been invited to try out for "Psycho Beach Party," but I had too much else going on, I said. I was invited to bring some music and go for a role in "Urinetown" - but I went to the Sand Gnats' game instead. Well, the third time is the charm, as they say. I'll keep my eyes open for that next show, maybe even a musical. After all, I'm not putting in my karaoke time anymore and I miss singing in front of a crowd. (Knowing how shy I once was, and still can be, I can hardly believe I even said that!)
I'm entering a writing challenge sponsored by an Australian group, http://www.kiwiwriters.org/my/challenge/site/socnoc-2009.html . In fact, I just noticed: it's already tomorrow - 3:55pm, too - in that part of the world. Happy birthday to me! And soon enough it'll be my birthday here on my side of the world. The challenge is to write a 50, 000-word novel in thirty days, from June 1 to June 30. I've read plenty of novels over my lifetime, even occasionally fancying that I could write such a thing. Well, it's out of the daydream and into reality with YOU, my dearie! I have this weekend to try to come up with an idea and maybe some characters and already my head is churning. Hopefully, the writing will progress at a MUCH faster pace than my blog has! I'm excited!!!

Changes

Do you smell that? Change is in the air. No, I'm not talking about the President's plans to take the country back into the hands of ALL people. I'm talking about change in my life. Not change forced on me by the decisions of others, but changes I choose for myself. I've been working towards this for the past two years, incorporating more change into my lifestyle, into my nightlife, into my interests, even branching out into new areas.
When I was younger, there was a lot of change going on in my world. We moved every few years, almost always to a smaller house, then to an apartment. These changes were always linked to my parents' finances. Each new neighborhood meant new schools as well, new people to know. I was pretty introverted as a kid, so these changes kept me close to family and enhanced my love of reading. I could always escape the world through my imagination, step into a new world not yet explored by me. In that respect, change was good. Change made me more conscious of the small size of my known world compared to the vast universe surrounding me.
My family's final move in 1969 was back to a house, back near the old neighborhood we first lived in when we had moved from Augusta to Savannah. I was reunited in middle school with some of the friends I'd made in elementary school, but they didn't live in my neighborhood, so I was still relegated to hanging out with my brothers and their friends. This was before the days of parents ferrying the kids to wherever, whenever. If we wanted to get together with our friends, we walked or rode our bikes to their houses. Period. I did eventually make a new friend with a girl whose dad was in the military, but I lost track of her a year later when her folks moved to Germany. So, I played cops and robbers, and pirates, and baseball. Oh, and I did a lot of babysitting, being one of the few girls in the area.
Finally, in high school, I was reunited with my best friend from grade school. What a very good change! We spent lots of time aways from home, riding our bikes all around, going to the science museum, exploring the surrounding neighborhoods. On Saturdays, we'd take the bus to the new Oglethorpe Mall for window shopping and Der Weinerschnitzel and Chick-Fil-A. Sometimes, we'd take the bus downtown and wander around the houses there, lunching at Tanner's or Krystal's or even The Pink House (if her dad was able to join us, so he could pay).
She was boy-crazy sooner than I was, probably because she only had the one brother, whereas I had three. Plus, I had grown up playing with boys who were all younger than me, so the thought of "dating" just didn't cross my mind. My first date, in tenth grade, was with her brother. She had wanted to go out with this older guy (already 18!) and her folks wouldn't let her unless it was a double-date. So, that's how I discovered boys were for more than tagging out at first. When I became part of the STERI (Student Teacher Environmental Research Interaction) program my junior year, I met plenty of boys who went to the boys' military school in town and had dates for the next two years and PLENTY of dances.
I also had a pen pal in Holland and that really opened my eyes to life in other parts of the world. After years of reading about life in other countries, I was ready to find out for myself. So, in March of my senior year of high school, I enlisted in the U.S. Navy for six years. I went active duty in December of that year.
Wherever the Navy sent me, no problem! I welcomed the chance to learn of new cultures, new languages, new geographies. I used the opportunity to make new friends, quickly, because I knew I wouldn't be at that duty station for long, 18 months to two years, tops. Adapt to the new environment, the new people, the new regime. This is not to say that I made lots of new friends, oh, no. I have always had only a few friends, people who I held dear then and still do, even though I have not seen many of them for decades now. But I knew a lot of people, whether fellow sailors or thespians or dancers or partakers of USO-sponsored events. Change was definitely good. Change kept life fresh.
And now, time has come for a change or two or more. A new tide to sweep my beach clean, taking away things no longer needed, revealing new treasures. My friend Sam foresaw things to come back in April, saying that I would soon enough be leaving Savannah, going on to new adventures. Bonnie saw change coming last Saturday, saying how good it was that I had come back to Savannah after traveling the world, but that maybe now was the time for new places, new beaches, new memories to be made.
Yep, I can definitely smell it in the air, like the cool freshness following a thunderstorm. Change. Not tomorrow, not next month, but soon.