Waking Up To Life, or Nature, again ...

It’s coming home smelling like a slab of bacon, forgotten in the smoke house for 2 weeks that I missed. It’s the burning of the cheeks either from wind and cold or sun, 4 hours after I finally got home that I missed, too … It’s the fire pit and the cool stories; stories about people and their weird diseases they would not admit to when they’re sober, and “proper” in a dining room; stories about their kids, and the imaginary monsters or friends they have. Did you know “elephants” or “monkeys” can be code names for bodily functions?! Well, you’ll find that out at camping sites …

I also missed using … whatever handy for a plate when eating around the communal table; like the top of a Tupperware dish for a plate, or using a mug for your soup bowl, or a paper cup. Missed the creativity and simplicity of living … Did you know you can boil an egg on the fire in a paper cup?!

I missed the way food tastes when it’s “improvised”, and half-way cooked! Because when you come back from a 10 mile hike you really don’t care what goes down the throat… Everything at that point tastes heavenly, and you learn, again, to be grateful for someone else handling the fire and feeding you, even if all they do is throw every meat and every veggie known to man in a huge cauldron full of Swanson broth. That beats any Iron Chef gourmet dish ever cooked, I swear!

I missed falling asleep listening to the wind, and realizing that there IS wind and a whole world of sounds out there. Have you noticed how oblivious we are to Nature when we’re trapped in between our homes’ walls? Out there, you have nothing else to put you to sleep at night, but the wind, and the swishy trees … Crickets are gone right about now…
I missed the dry skin that you get when you skip your lotion treatments twice a day. I missed the long, hot shower you take when you get back home. We only take short, insignificant and routine showers daily. None that “matter” on any kind of higher level.

I missed the numb, sore body that comes back with us from sleeping on the ground for a couple of days. I never knew I had muscles that can hurt, in so many places!

And I thank life, and chance, and good friends for bringing all that back to me this last weekend! I felt like a slumber-full, barely awaken Rip Van Winkle. Only I was happy, not sad, to finally wake up to the same beauty of life that I left almost 5 years ago, when I camped last! Finally happy to wake up smelling like smoked meat again!

Funky mood - funky season

Current mood: cranky!
Bacovia was right: fall IS the season for neurotics!

Timing sucks, lately!
I have always loved colds. Colds remind me of my dad. And of very snowy, cold winters back home, when you could not see through the windows, they were so thick with ice. And they make me crave soup, and warm clothes, and dad’s story telling and watercolors… For the first time, this year, I am hating my cold. It could not have come at a worse time, and I want to tell it to go away and come back when I am in the mood for it. If only one could have such understandings with their viruses…
Because of this cold, now, I am not looking forward to a trip I have waited to go on for years! Typically, I am ecstatic about ANY of my trips. There is nothing that makes me happier, makes me smile more, and make the time go faster than the imminent approach of a trip. Any trip. But this one – has been planned and wished for for years: Christmas at Biltmore. Yeah, yeah, I know, all the Scrooges out there will tell me that’s overrated, and it may be, but I love Christmas celebrations. I always think I am not doing a good job of that, and I am fascinated with people’s creativity around this time of the year. Part of it is because I never had them growing up. My Christmases were low key, under wraps, as they were “illegal”.
So, I have saved, and waited, and now finally I am going, and well… all I’d rather do is cuddle up with Mr. Fero and read a good, long, cheesy, girly book and burn my throat drinking lemon tea! Not go out there, and face the world and the chills of Asheville… Not that! Anything BUT that!
This season is killing me, too! Or should I say: weather, because, what is the season, really?! If you look at the trees, it’s still fall, and in some parts, early fall, too. But do you realize that Thanksgiving is here in a WEEK??? And Christmas fasting starts tomorrow, which makes Christmas … 6 weeks away?! Yeah! The Holiday Season, The WINTER Holiday Season is here NOW, so … is it winter?!! I cannot get into the holiday mood, and I cannot start making lists, and buying cards, and buying family gifts because … I still see leaves on trees, and 65 degrees on the thermometer downtown, and I have not worn gloves nor scarves to work yet!!! Barely worn my leather jacket, much less my winter one, too.
But I have scraped frost off of the windshield a couple of times … so … yeah, I am confused. And I don’t like confusion… I don’t like gray. I don’t like this autumn-winter deal, nor this sick-but-gotta-stay-healthy deal either…
I want the stars to align, make up their minds and stop funkying me around !!!
I still miss dad, though. I can hear him say, in his thick accent:
“Funky? What is funky? Honky? Honky-tonk woman? Obla-di, obla-da?”… Are you confused? So was I, when I heard him say this!!
I miss dad. And I want my soup now …

Dirty Thoughts

Note: bear with me ... :-)

Just because the weekend is coming and I just had THE best strawberry wine of my life … or maybe it was my good friend D. and her story about back pain… whatever it was… I just feel extra …silly …tonight.
So here’s a thought for everyone, for the relaxation-ful weekend, and before my bed time.
I am not sure about you gals and guys, but these lyrics from the Squirrel Nut Zippers ring wicked dirty to me:

“Under the sea
Darling it's better
Down where it's wetter
Take it from me … “

Hhhmmm…

Sorry, the young and virgin eyes reading…

Statements Trees Make

There’s always been a love-hate relationship with me and Fall. I am the one that’s doing the loving and the hating … I love the crisp air, and the dew, the frost, the smell of wet soil, the apple and cinnamon candles, the stacks of pumpkins dressed up in “don’t shoot me” orange; I love all the colors, actually, and I hate the feeling of getting old.
I fall in love the easiest in the fall, and I don’t even tell myself to be careful anymore. I love the falling in love, and the love affair I develop, even if it’s just with a new food, a new book, my cats all over again, or an undeserving human… I love the lovin’. And I hate the aging…
Watching the leaves today, I gotta tell you: trees and people are alike. Their colors just about now give that away.
Some of them are puritans. They pick a color, just one, and they so agreeably turn ALL their leaves that color! Same shade. Uniformity. Spotless uniformity. All the same yellow…or the same red… All alike.
Others are “hippy” trees. All sorts of shades, and colors, a tie-dyed rainbow on the whole tree. They seem they can’t decide whether they want to stick with red, or yellow, or would much rather favor to not even turn, and they would like the green to stick around… They’re so confused, their edges turn brown and wrinkly from so much thinking and deciding…
Others are stubborn and look like humans that age well: when everything around is withered, they’re staying green. No, these are not coniferous. They’re oaks, and maples, and ashes, but they’re not ready to show age yet. They are stubbornly deep green, and they look like they don’t belong. Like they were just planted here, where it’s been Fall for a while, just a minute ago, and they look around, feeling out of place. You gotta think the others look at them with jealousy, just like we as humans look at that 60 year old with no wrinkles that runs a marathon and bikes 20 miles a day still. With spite and envy.
And there are the “artist” trees; the originals, that will not turn gold, not red, nor brown, no shade of those colors. They decide they will rather be their own unusual color, like … pink. And in the whole landscape they just show up like an open, bleeding wound, or like a scream: “ I AM PIIIINNNNKKKK”… You can’t ignore them! They surely are one of a kind! Flamboyant!
I find that I feel smaller when it’s getting to be fall, too. Maybe I shrink, like metal does, in the fall/ winter … Geese do the same, it seems… I had the hardest time catching them with the wings spread today. They looked cold, and humble (yes, geese did!!), and they looked gloomy, they were muttering to me to leave them alone. I disturbed and intruded!
With nostrils full of fresh, cold, crisp air, with shoes full of wet NC clay, with camera filled with voyeur pictures, and with my arms filled with golden leaves, I came home. Another love-hate affair has started. I feel old, and in love once again. I think I am going to warm up my apple strudel now … and sigh while sinking in a chair with a book…
Enjoy the voyeurism, here:
http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=0BcOWLFs1bsXVg

The Zippers

Imagine you fell at the bottom of a glass filled with your favorite cocktail. And you can taste 2-3-4-5-10 different amazing liquids and you can’t even name them all, but you love the whole mixture and you just forget where you are, who you are, what you’re witnessing. You’re high, and happy.
That’s what The Squirrel Nut Zippers “feel” like. Because, yes, they “feel” like, and not just “sound like”.
You hear rock’n’roll and old Louisiana blues, and bluegrass, and you hear French chansonnettes singers, maybe even Edith Piaf’s trembling voice?!, and Italian canzonets, and Spanish accords, and you wind with the rhythm and you’re not sure where you’re taken next? Broadway? (it’s a vaudeville, you know?!), New Orleans?, Vegas?, Italy?, Mountains of North Carolina?, France?, the Mississippi delta?, or maybe Spain, too? … You hear every instrument invented for an orchestra, violin and trumpet, a sax, and even a tuba, a mandolin, drums, piano, and all sorts of “noise” makers, including little baby cow bells!
It’s all a harmony of sounds; they all dialogue with each other, and they have this amazing, kaleidoscopic conversation that seems never ending and peaceful.
Although they’re all dressed up in suits and she’s wearing a classy 50’s “puffy” dress, their shoes are a mixture of everything as well: from cowboy boots to tennis shoes (Jimbo, of course), to stilettos and moccasins, you name it, they’re wearing it. Then you have hugely metro-sexual-looking fellows, mixed with raggedy looking heartthrobs, and clean cut piano players, see a cowboy hat and freshly done salon hair!
Again: take a sip and enjoy the mix!!
What Katherine (Whalen) does with her legs and shoulders would hypnotize the coldest of souls (or bodies?!) and is only surpassed by her so “eclectic” voice, climbing up and down and allures all the guys on the stage around her. Such a heartbreaker! You can’t help but thinking that what seems so easy and sexy and “easy” (the other meaning of “easy”) is oh so calculated and precise, to fit the role! Having done this for a million years, she knows the tricks! And they all work. She’s such a star.
The guitar and sax players (of course) were the handsomest to me, but the violin player was amazingly talented!!! And my favorite of course was Jimbo! He will always look to me like a little kid wearing his big brother’s pajamas and loving life! Every pore in that man’s body breathes music! The wide-open-eye look of his face, always curious, his dance, his incredibly powerful voice for such a feeble body, his guitar playing which is so mighty fine, as he would himself say, are all the pure expression of his love, his un-denied passion for what he does. He brings it all on stage. Leaves nothing at home. Watching him, you have the feeling that all he owns, all he will ever own, is right there on his stage. He’s quite naked otherwise! That’s the sign of a true artist, I think. He is one with the art. You can’t picture his digs, his car?!, God, no! As long as that man has that guitar, he will have a grin on his face and his feet will be moving! And he will be alive. Everything else is … accidental… He plays with the simple and sincere joy of a kid that just got the toy he has been saving for for a year! His innocence and honesty about what he does are transparent and so refreshing! He is hypnotic, too, for different reasons that Katherine…
Yes, I was drunk without even drinking anything at this one. Drunk with happiness and purity… One regret: they should not have this show in an auditorium. It attracts way too many tight ass people and no one dances. This fantastic music is made for people to FEEL it. Next time, by God, I will make the show at Ziggy’s, so I won’t have to do the Scarlett dance all night, you know: sitting on the chair and allowing only your feet to move! Not again! My hips are jealous of my feet now …

Lost and Found Dilemma. Mostly Lost …

I have asked this question before, of myself and others… but have never gotten an aswer, really, although speculations abound: does anyone know where socks go when they get lost in the wash?! I put in 3 pairs, 6 socks total, and come out with 5. Or 3… Always an uneven number … Where do they go?
Now, today, I have another question: where do all my Sharpie pens go?! I keep bringing them to the office, a whole pack, or just one by one, and they all grow legs overnight and they walk away…
I am partial to Sharpies! While growing up, the felt-tip pens were my favorite. They always smelt like alcohol and they were soft to write with. They never scratched the paper. They were the hardest to find back home. All colorful …and soft, and smelling sooo good. When I took the cap off, and the smell was not there I panicked: that meant they were almost dying! They would start scratching the paper, and become dry, and that was the end of that! Sadness.
When I moved here an I discovered Sharpie pens, it was like you just bought a color TV for the first time! That was the Evolution of felt-tip pens for me! They were the 21st century version of a very precious tradition I cherished! So that made them that much better!! And, here, I also discovered, they make the Sharpies forever! Here, they seldom die! And being in a computer office, we always have cd’s and dvd’s to write on, not to mention cables. They are the best for that! So reliable! I love them on paper, too, of course! Especially doing art work on math paper!
I work with guys, so I figured, if I had the black and blue Sharpies, that’s why they keep picking them up and walking them away with them. So I started getting what I thought were “girlie” ones: all purple. They started walking away too!So my wonderful and very thoughtful friend special orders them for me from Sharpie.com and has MY NAME put on them! And writes (well, Sharpie.com did) in bold letters “Back off!!!” . He orders what seemed a never ending supply of them, but I don’t dare take them all at the office! I took just ONE. And I make sure I stash my one pen in my drawer every night … And today I find out that … it’s gone! A poll around the office didn’t help! My good, fresh, reliable, alcohol - elixir of pen, not to mention in my favorite of colors, not to mention with MY NAME on it AND a pretty straightforward threat belongs now to a stranger?! Or to a landfill?? :-(
That is just wrong!
I feel violated… And I need my familiar smell when I am lonely, and jaded and so tired at work! I need a smile! It’s like coming home every night, for years to the same show that makes you laugh, and one night you find out the night before was the last episode! So empty!
The only thing I’ll have to start doing is to walk around and steal theirs! And they’ll get the message, hopefully. No, I can’t use theirs! But just collect them, the way they’re collecting mine …
I hope wherever my Sharpies went, over the 3 years I have been here, they’re as much loved and appreciated as they would be with me …Even lost … And I hope they don’t give back to the thieves what they give to me. They must be stingy! Frowning …

I am fine. Really fine. Picky, but fine!

Note: Thanks very much for asking…;-)

I have said for a while that until I meet the man who’s worth of a blog, I won’t write about dating any longer. I won’t waste time and web space (and pc storage for sure) to write about folk who’re not mattering to me… But this dating world, I have decided, is way too interesting indeed not to pause for a while and write about. Plus, my friends are begging me to write, and I love them, so, here I am again…
I didn’t know what kind of blog this will be: funny, sarcastic, philosophical, matter-of-fact?? Maybe a little bit of everything…??... Not sure yet, but here it is:
OK… so, yes, just for the record, and for those who have emailed me all worried: I AM FINE! Just because I have no “weight around my neck”(that’s from dad!) …hhmm… I mean “regular man in my bed”… I mean… regular boyfriend, doesn’t mean I am not fine! Life to me is so much more than a mate and a child. Really. Sure, I’ll take those (or at least one of them) any day of the week, but I find pleasure and happiness in just … being … and seeing the sun in the sky every morning, and in having Gypsy asleep on my ankle right now, as I write, and I am not miserable, by far. I am happy, and grateful, and looking forward to life and meeting new people, I am busy and cannot wait for Christmas! I am in love with my family still and in love … just with people and life…
I am fine, and yes, still accepting applications for the “mate” position. But, seriously, people, I hope you’re reading! I wish dating would be like interviewing for a job. These are the skills you have to date ME. You’re lacking some? Need not apply! Really. It’s a waste of time…But dating is not that. It’s more like jumping into the pool, without testing the waters, or better yet, off the pier into the ocean: You have no clue whether you hit warm waters, or a cold current, jelly fish or shit! a shark!!!! No clue, till you’re in it, and you’re far from shore, and so help you The Almighty!
Lately, all the “interviews” have failed, miserably…After each one of course I am left smiling. The world is indeed funny.
I will just rant here, on what I want/ need, and what I find instead in the world; on what relationships are to me, or dating in general, and I hope it won’t be boring…
First off, I do NOT want to marry every guy that I am going out with. It seems to be a misconception out there into the big “sea of fish” (can you tell I miss the Ocean?) that all we women want is to walk that aisle to the altar from the day we lay eyes on you. Not the case. Seriously! Don’t flatter yourselves, boys! In this emancipated world we live in, we typically have dated BEFORE we met your royal ass (sorry, yeah, we’re not that pure!), so, you think we don’t know that what we see at first date is just the polish you just sprayed on? Gold leaf to blind us from the real truth, like farting at dinner with family and smoking pot and mooching and not taking the trash out… We know that we need to find out SO much more about you to really be willing to say “yes”, and we all know that most of you disappoint, so chill! We don’t want to marry. We want to know ya. That’s all…It’s like telling an employer they want to promise a hire for each interview they get. Not realistic!
Ever since I was maybe 16?! … my idea about dating has always been the same as wine tasting, and with the risk of repeating myself, I’ll refresh your memory: you see a bottle in the store, and the bottle looks GREAT; and that’s what prompts you to pick it up; and you start reading the label and learn more about it; if you don’t like what you read, you put it back, “No thank you, Sir, you’re drooling at dinner, I won’t have you”, but if you like what you read on the label, you take it home; with the risk of spending $10 on shitty wine, you take the plunge. Uncork and … taste. You like it, you’ll have a couple of more sips. You’ll have the whole bottle. If you REALLY liked it, you go out and buy another one- that happens rarely. Or … maybe you don’t like it. But if you really hate it, make sure you dump that sucker in the sink to the last drop! Just for good, clean Karma, you know! Same thing with men – you do the analogy. And unlike some sorry ass doctors out there, I don’t believe in “two glasses a day for men and one a day for women”. It’s a bottle each and have it at your own pace…I am not a doctor, yeah. I am a sassy bitch, if you will, who can’t be less than a man.
But back to dating…Several things I have found lately, while being single, and dating, and boy, did I think I already knew everything!
I ONLY speak from experience, and I am sure things are even more weird out there, but these are my own experiences.
I found out on one of my blind dates that there are “rules” for dating. The emancipated ME (yes, I know I am repeating myself) found out she had to play by rules on first (blind) date. OK. I said to myself: “Self (Thank you, Emeril!), you gotta go check this shit out.” - ‘cause no one, not even my boss nor parents set rules for me. So, I instead of saying “oh, sorry, I don’t do rules”, I needed to see what the rules were. One of them was: he’s going to pay, no questions asked. Well, he lost points right there. Usually, the theory in my head stands as this, when guys fight me for the bill (not that anyone ever asks ME how I feel about it, but …): “OK, Mr. Short Penis, it makes you feel like a man to provide for my grub, you do it, but you just started at MINUS 1000 points with me, see how you’re gonna catch up now.” I have never been wrong yet. ;)
Another rule he had: “don’t try to sleep with me” cracked me up. Hhmmm… My first question to myself was: “Why? ‘Cause you’re going to try that FIRST with me?” – I see where this is going. You want to be the boss; good luck with that too.
Another date tells me: “you gotta like riding convertibles real fast to be with me” – again, to respond to such very well defined pretenses: you can’t have a short penis complex to be with ME, so, nice to know ya… Not really!!
Along the few days we were “seeing” each other (doesn’t qualify as that even, but ok…), I was completely ignored by this one guy. Not that I need a lot of attention, but yes, I would like the guy to scream the right name in bed, so that’s a requirement: you gotta know my name, at least! … We were under the same roof, in the same house, even at the opposite ends of the same virtual line, in an email, and I felt like he was completely ignoring me. It was always about him, and what he did that day, and what he’s going to do that night, and week, and what he’s doing right now, while I am on the couch and him in the recliner …
You want “rules”, folks?? I’ll give you some rules: how about: ask me who I am… where I come from… what I DO for a living (that’s right: I DO work and pay for my own damn food, not wait for dates to feed me) … ask me if I have a family, pets, if I like chocolate or vanilla before you order my dessert for me, ask me if I have a sense in life, a meaning… Don’t turn on the football game and completely ignore me when you want to have a “quiet dinner at home”.
I am sorry (well, not really “sorry”, but…), I am not against guys’ passion for sports AT ALL (I am picky, not dumb!!), but if you invite the girl over for dinner in the SECOND week of knowing her, and it’s just the two of you in the room, and you watch football while ignoring her, you’ve got a problem! - and it’s not that the girl is against sports.
Another guy is over 40. He rents; he’s never owned. Why? “He’s scared to death of commitment”. He’s had the same job for MANY years, you know why? Figure it out! I tell you: people should read the requirements before they apply! And you, Mr. “Chicken” or “Momma’s Boy”, think you’re in the dating world because that’s “free” of commitments?! Again: good luck!
Another guy wants to “tuck me in”, while I am going to bed the night he met me at this party. Wants to come over and go out of his way to do that. It’s nothing but just “tucking me in and telling me good night”… Hhmm… Yeah… And I am a virgin also! Is that what kids call it nowadays? “Tucking in”?? I must have missed that blog, really, ‘cause that was news to me.
And then there are the guys, oh, yeah, they’re out there, who already know I am “the one”, want to take me away out West and live happily ever after, in our little no-lit cabin… on a ranch in the Rockies… Again, these are first dates, or just “meets and greets” as I call them…And they already KNOW I am “it” and I rock their world. Wait till I wake up one morning on the wrong side of the bed, people, and then give yourself a chance to run! Really!!
And yet, I come back for more, and never say no to an invite. This is too rich. This is my favorite entertainment lately…I know, you’ll say I am easily etertained and cheap, right?! Well, no, I am telling you: this is rich!!! It really is. I do it to learn about folks. I call it “life lessons” and they really teach me a lot. Like I said: I am finding out every day that I didn’t know everything.
I even said yes to a guy who approached me at Lowes Home Improvement. He had a line to go with his plain and wrinkled and rusty self, too: Him:“Are you single?”; Me: “Why?”; Him: “Because you’re hot (I AM NOT, just for the record), and I wanna ask you out”. I said yes, you know why?? Because he was honest! No, I am not hot, but HE thought I was hot, and that was his reason! I’ll take honest over wishy-washy and fake any time of the day now. Unfortunately the only interesting thing he had to say to me was that line, at Lowes.
And then the break-ups. They’re so cute. They make me smile and move on… Richer, with plenty of topics for yet another blog or diary entry… They are either “it’s not you, it’s me” kind of break ups, which always cracked me up!!!!! I fell like saying: “Then, FIX yourself, and move on!!!”- that line is so weird to me!!…
Or ”oh, sex made it more difficult”… Hhmm… for whom? I am not crying! More difficult for you?! Then why did you have sex if you have even the slightest clue (you have to have, since you're calling it so poignantly!) this might NOT work out, AND you think (you should know this about yourself, at 40 something!) sex will make it difficult!!! No, sex didn’t make it “difficult”. It made it embarrassing for you, in my eyes.
Or… there is the “foreplay” ones … that are not quite sex but then they forget all about you… They never call or follow up in any way. But boy, if you ever dare to mention it ever again, they either disappear, or they look at you as if you were trying to stalk them. I date, but I don’t go out kissing on strangers and grabbing or letting them grab my parts. I am not a prude, but if you do THAT, then that requires a follow up. It’s not every day we walk into a restaurant and do that to strangers… So, “pretend” like you know me the next day you kissed me and felt a boob! Just pretend! Don’t avoid, ‘cause again: you’re lame.
I think these observations go for both boys and girls, but of course, I am talking as a straight woman. Not meaning to stereotype, but I am speaking about guys. And if you recognize yourselves in any of these, the resemblance is purely coincidental …. I mean… if you recognize yourselves in any of this: SHAME ON YOU!
One thing I did find out while dating. We’re all very lonely people. And very self-absorbed. And here I am preaching: remember THAT next time you try to meet someone!
The point in meeting people, I think, is to build bridges and be less lonely. I think the reason we all “date” (for lack of a better word, maybe “go out” or “reach out” would be more accurate) is to be less lonely, not to marry. Gaining a friend that’s helping you to be less lonely should be the ultimate goal. And if there is more, then go for it …
But friendship needs to be earned, and not expected. So, whatever you’re going to end up being with that person, in the beginning, be nice. Be kind. And respectful. Act like you care, just for that human being alone, without labeling that person yet. Obviously, there was SOMETHING that singled that person out from the deep sea, that caused you two to end up in a room together, alone. THINK of that and be kind.
There so much instant gratification we expect from the world nowadays that we forget that things don’t and shouldn’t work like this with people! We can’t be “processed” in one hour like Wal-Mart does their pictures! We can’t have a “same week” policy return like CarMax has for their cars. We’re people and not merchandise! We need to respect each other with shadows and bright spots. We can’t be perfect and we need to take the time and patience to learn people and see what brings us together. I know, a foreign concept in today’s world, but sorry… look at the divorce rate. We need to stop looking at people like at cars and shoes and cell phone options! One thing people have that things don’t is feelings. And some of us also carry common sense and good upbringing, too. So, we care; if we’re ignored, hurt, lied to, or … “returned”, we care!
That’s the problem the world has! People have to be with or against us, while we wallow in loneliness at the end of Desperate Housewives, or another lost season for the Sox and at the end of the popcorn bag! A good friend will be there to share that with us. A jaded ex will not. Take your pick before you open up your wallet or the zipper of your pants! And for God’s sake, ASK me if I want to pay for my dinner and respect my choice. That’s common sense nowadays. Nothing to do with romance and being gallant. Step out of the cave, why don’t you, folks?!

The Ring

Every year, on this day, I stop and think of Maia. No, I really stop and think of her every day… Today, I spend a bit more time remembering what she was like and felt like…
Her velvet-like voice, her sweet smell, her perfectly arranged hair, her curious eyes, her strong arms and capable hands, her hair which mine reminds me of, her cooking… I got SUCH a craving for apple strudel today. I could picture myself making it JUST like she did, with the phyllo dough, smeared with egg, with fresh apples minced in the middle and some sugar, fold the dough tightly and bake it for half an hour. Heavenly! I hate sweets. I hate apples. But that’s angels’ food!
That’s what she feels like today: angel-like. She’s always here, smiling, approving or disapproving of what I do, or don’t do but am supposed to do, always having an opinion, always leading me by example!
I wore her ring today. It’s a ring I don’t talk much about. It’s my secretly favorite ring, but I don’t want to say it too loudly, because it’s just such a “not me at all” ring…It’s gold and old and big and frail, and “sculptured” almost. And I asked for it from her when I was maybe 6. And I had no sense, and said “Can I have this ring when you die?”. She smiled and said: “Sure”. And now I have it. I’d give the world right back to God if I can exchange it back for … her… If only life would work like that!
I wear this ring when I have a hard day; when I am lonely; when I crave love and togetherness; when I have a surgery, or when I want to cry. She is right there with me, that moment, and everything seems easier. I never attach to things, but I am not sure what I’d do if I’d lost this ring. It’s part of me, and who I am and who she was!! It gives me the strength of 10 mothers and 10 gurus all in one. The strength of 32 years of experience and life, too…
I miss her when I even drink this sip of beer. She liked beer in the summer, with any kind of grilled food. She loved food, and loved life. She loved to dance. And she loved everything and everyone she touched. She loved me and Andy. She loved her loved ones, and I really mean “loved”. Unconditional and unbounded love like I have not seen before. She put her heart into everything and her love came with her heart…And when that big heart failed her, she was gone…
Daffodils will always remind me of her, as she always gave them to me for my birthday; red, yellow and orange leaves remind me of her birthday. Just like Fall, she was noble, and wise, cool but incredibly warm, too and “ripe”. She was timeless, and always changing at the same time. She never stopped learning, and never stopped living, no matter how hard and unbearable living got. She never stopped living in death! I hope our family will have a little girl soon. Just so we can call her … Maia.
I miss you, dearest. The more time passes, the more…

Paul Miller or “I love it when I act like I am someone important”

Have you ever hated waiting in those long, long, long lines of cars, which seem endless, when you’re going to the fair, or a concert?! I know I have! You’re there to have fun, and in this particular story, to get out and taste some wine (we were at a wine festival), and all you can do is wait your turn in line, and then park 10 miles away from the place of fun, because you got there an hour too late, and 8000 of wine’s best friends are there!

By the time you get to the tasting, you’re tired, hot, mad, and exhausted, and you’re starting your only day off on the wrong foot!

Well, let me tell you the story of my friend, let’s call him “Sam Smith”, who will teach you a trick that works like a charm!

So, we get to the vicinity of the grounds of this wine festival, and there is a line of cars for miles. We bitch and moan through it, but we wait.

And when we get to the first parking lot, we can’t even see the setting of the festival we want to be at: we’re still a good walk from it; good enough where we would have to take a shuttle to take us there. (well, maybe not in the “real world”, but this is America, and the majority is lazy!).
So, my friend, who is otherwise subdued and very quiet (seemingly) has a brilliant idea! Earlier in the weekend he had parked a car he has for sale at the very entrance of the wine festival. What if he would tell the security dude that “Paul Miller” called him to come right away and move his car from the entrance, or else he would get towed?! So, “Sam” tells all of us in the car to keep a straight face and he will do the talking, “like he were someone important”.

Now, you know that this one bag has more holes in the bottom than cheesecloth!! But “Sam”’s confident. We pull up to the first security man, who directs us to the first available parking lot (at least 15 minutes away from the festival), and “Sam” does his spiel, while the 3 of us are sitting there, with straight faces (as “Sam” instructed), although we’re about to die laughing, and he starts: “Hi, I am “Sam Smith” (in this deep, Johnny Cash-like voice, waving his ID in the man’s face). And Paul Miller called me to come right away and move my car, which is parked ahead, and I gotta go move it, so I gotta get through.” The man looks confused. “Sam” adds (speeding up his speech): “I am not sure who Paul Miller is, but he called me and I need to get my car moved”. The old man stumbles but, although we could tell he’s full of doubt, waves us through and tells his co-worker: “he’s gotta move his car”… “Sam”’s rolling so there is no time to wait or ask for specifics!

Now, I would like to ask, if I were Security:

- Who IS, really, Paul Miller? Is he Police? County Sheriff? One of our workers? How does he know your phone number? (how many times you got a “warning” for towing?!)
- Can I see and make a mental note of your ID, in case you ARE an impostor?
- And obviously: why can’t you park here, and walk there and pick it up??!!

But no! It’s hot, and it’s busy, and the festival has a better turnout than last year, and hell, who cares, it’s just ONE car!!! So, the little man, in the little white festival security outfit waves us through. And thus we park several yards from the entrance, and feel like 16 year olds loitering in a public park after dusk! Such freedom! Such relief! The sweet taste of getting in trouble! AND … getting away with it!

“Sam” tells us all: “See?! You didn’t have to take the shuttle, like ol’ people!” – feeling proud!!!
We love “Sam”! He’s so creative! He doesn’t say much, but man, he saves the best ones up only for special occasions!

And I tell you: It works! I have never seen the rules bent so easily and so fast, so nonchalantly, and so efficiently!!!!

I swear: try it next time and tell me I am right! And as “Sam” reminded us: “We ain’t lyin’- he said: “We’re just stretchin’! We’re stretching the truth. No lying!”. :-) After all, he DID have a car at the entrance, and we DID take it home that night. After we drank all the wine and danced and shopped … Just remember: it ain’t no sin, since it’s no lying!! Just “stretchin’”!

PS (acknowledgements): thanks, Shannon (and Steve)!
Pictures from festival:
http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=0BcOWLFs1bsXMA

I command you to be named Dan, IF you’re my mechanic that is …

“Don’t ever be named Dan, Andy. Dan rhymes with ‘man’ and men j…k off” (“40 Year Old Virgin” disgruntled female character)

Dan was my mechanic. I liked Dan. Dan was tall and never shaved right, and I bet you he thought he was cute, too. He was such a flirt! Dan had the sweetest Southern drawl and he always called me “sugar”, “hon”, “ma’am”, “honey” and although he was middle aged I never took it the wrong way from him. I usually let people 60 and beyond call me all those things (well, those people and the people I REALLY feel I am the “honey” and the “sugar” for, too). Dan was maybe 45?!? Bad teeth but a cute smile. You know, kind of like your dad's stinch of sweat on a summer afternoon; or your grandma's dirty sponge, stinking in the sink: gross, but familiar, so you miss it when it's gone. He was simple, awkward, and sweet, and he was my trusted mechanic! Do you know how HARD it is to put those words in the same phrase: “trusted mechanic”?? Have you any idea what it’s like out there, especially as a woman, to find that?? That is even harder than finding just a “nice ordinary guy”. Honestly!
Dan worked at this place, a franchise mechanics shop, and he did all my oil changes and maintenance on my car(s). I loved Dan! I used to come in and, looking at the price on the wall, that read “ $29.95 – oil change”, I would ask: “Dan, how much for an oil change?”; he would say, smiling, in the sweetest Southern accent: “Weel, you see what it is, honey, but it’s $20 even for you,’cause you’re a regular”… And he would charge the customers the advertised price, once they came in and they were newbie’s, but he would charge me my special price! Always made me feel good!
His parking lot was always full when I pulled in, but I never needed an appointment. He would always take my car for anything, always do exactly what I asked, and always with a smile. He’s the reason I never much used those coupons for the dealer oil changes they give you once you buy a car, and they are free! I like HIS service the best and I didn’t mind paying. My car always ran as he told me it would, too…I would trust Dan with my car like I trust my cardiologist with my heart. He knew best!
Well, this last time, I went to my usual place to find the store (with the same name outside) sold to a young couple. I thought it strange that the parking lot was empty when I pulled in, and yet it was a Saturday, one of the busiest days… So, I take my car in for oil change and a “funny noise”… They say sure, we’ll get you in right away. The lot was empty, so I thought: lucky day, I’ll be in and outta here in no time! I asked if they just bought the place, but didn’t ask where my friend Dan was … Didn’t ask … They said, yes, new owners…
3 hours and $200 later (the noise was belts cracked, and I knew about them so I replaced them finally), I come back to pick up my car .
While waiting for my check and all that, the woman’s (it’s a couple that owns it now) cell rings, and her “ring” is some song that blasts in the waiting room: “yeah, I am a crazy bitch…” – the lyrics go. The people in the shop look at each other (me included) thinking “OK. Not appropriate for a semi-public, professional place”. Eyes pop! Her husband looks at us, shakes his head and shrugs. So, HE finds it inappropriate, too. He did strike me like the hen-pecked kind. She answers (in a Hick, no, no, not Southern!!! Accent) : “ Yeah …. Yeah … I am FREAKING WORKING (raising voice), what d’ya think I’m doin’?! Sure… yeah… Well, tell Angie to kiss my butt, then!” – again, we stare are each other, the 2 people that are in the waiting area … and we sigh… Never in Dan’s time, when he would pick up the phone with “ Thank you for calling your friendly Such-and-such shop, where we feature a $19.95 break check. This is Dan, how may I help you today?”. Very much not the same!
I get in my car and after the waiting room circus, I think the whole time:” last time here! For sure!!!”. But when I get into it, I definitely think that IS the last time!! My wheel, my speed shift, my dashboard, AND my door handle are all covered in black, greasy oil! Never in Dan’s time did I have to clean up like this! The fabric on the door is completely ruined, for sure! I looked closely on the windshield, and there is a huge blob of oil right in the middle of the windshield! My first instinct is to clean it, with the wipers, but it makes it worse! So, frustrated I drive away!
Back, in Dan’s time, I never had to feel sick about driving my own car. Never had to be listening to obscenities in the waiting room; never had to pay the full price (even AFTER I had told the numbskulls this was NOT my first time there)! I never had to clean up my car like some kind of cave men worked in it. I am not some kind of prissy lady, either! I don’t want my car detailed after every service (although my dealer does that, as a “thank you” service), but I do notice common sense: clean up after yourselves, folks! Yeah, I would never be back to the new people, who never had the decency to introduce themselves! Oh, yeah, and having to take the car right back, because my “check engine” light turned on at the first light after I left the parking lot is not speaking too much in their favor, either!
I will not be back! I will CALL back! Oh, yeah, I will!! But the only question I will have will be – you know it: “You know where Dan moved?”.
Thank God, for guys named Dan that own car shops! I miss mine!

No more band aids...

I have been asking for band aids. And so they came. And now, I am not sure. Are we ever happy with what we do have?!
I want cures now. Cures for sad eyes. And cure for pain. So much of it in fact that I don’t remember what it feels like to have none.
Most often, I am aware of the blessings I have, and the ones I share into the world, and somehow at the end of the day all I feel is pain. I am not a complainer and I never want to believe that I whine out of nothing. And I am not whining now. But I do wish I would have some peace. With me and the world. Where can one buy peace? Or be given it away?
I want one afternoon with no plans and no pain. And no fixin’ what’s bleeding… One afternoon without spreading myself too thin… for the world around me. For friends, and family, and work, and the world in general. One hour where no piece of my flesh or my brain leaves this tired body, and just stays put. One afternoon for me. One afternoon at the end of which I can tell myself: “The world IS right, for once: I AM selfish!”.
I have not done something for me alone, just out of selfishness for so long I forgot what it feels like. Without realizing, I’ve let myself being dragged by life into the “caregiver” role, into the “mother of all wounded people” and my own ego and myself are drowned somewhere in the midst of all that. Like a broken pitcher, I am giving water out through all my orifices, without being able to replenish myself, nor keeping myself full. I am getting dry… And I am cracking!
I usually feed off of the beauty of life. But for the past long months the life around me has given me no beauty. Just pain, and want and punches. Not as in “fruit punches”, but the kind you get in the gut.
I still have no regrets, amazingly enough, but I don’t want to harden up! I want to stay juicy and lively. I want to replenish the water. I have no regrets. Only lots of gray hair and wrinkles. Only that! And a lot of pain. And an unexpected penury of painkillers in all markets.
PS: about the title: finicky as always, ain't I?!

Back home

July 25, 2007, Iasi-Romania – brief and disjointed notes on a trip back home, and, as always, back in time, too …

Uneventful trip by plane to Bucharest and then further yet, to the hometown of Iasi. I have meant to mention the $5 beer on the flight over the Ocean, because once again it rubbed me the wrong way (you know which way that is). But I am not going to say another peep, because I was all over the “appallment” of it last year! This year, the surcharge for the extra luggage went from $25 a bag to $50 – something to note for next year! No more shampoo for mom then! And so on, the less courteous, customer (DIS-) service woes continue.

No other details worth mentioning, before I made it home.

The ice-cream treat with dad on the bench in the airport was priceless and timeless. Long awaited and so loving. No quarrels and no fuss. We talked about the family, and the friends, and politics, and music. We talked about how we’re getting old and we change. We talked about missing each other. And in those moments I swear to God and to me that no matter how expensive this trip back home gets every year, I have to take it! He bought chocolate ice-cream. I bought the vanilla, of course. He asked me not to tell mom he bought the chocolate, because it’s bad for his heart and she doesn’t allow. I did tell mom. She shrugged and added: “that’s your dad!”.

The airport in Iasi is like no other: minuscule to non existent. You land in the middle of grass and dusty trees. There’s hardly a building there. More like a barrack. Quite deserted field. In the middle of all the tall, yellow, sun-scorched grass, about 5 to 10 coke machines, abandoned, all still bright red in their “Coke” attire. They look like bleeding scars open to the sky in the middle of the yellow field. Do crows and hawks get thirsty for coke?! I laugh and wonder. My sister reminds me: “Hello, Romania!”.

I pull out the camera to shoot them, and an airport worker comes running towards me, yelling: “ No pictures allowed in the airport! Illegal!” For the life of me, I don’t understand why; it’s the trees and the sun, and the silence of a hot summer day; a handful of people and their pilot, an old, small plane. Who cares? And why would they? Apparently some do! I bet there is no written law against pictures in airports, but there is such a thing as the self-importance of the Romanian public worker that is stronger and louder than any law. Romania!

Same thing in Bucharest: no pictures in airport! So, I had to “steal” a shot of a beer machine: this coke-like machine, filled up with beer cans for sale. Yeah, we have a law against taking pictures of an open, scorched field we call “airport” but we got no drinking age reinforcement! Oh, I love my country! I do! There’s a surprise at every corner indeed.

This year, Romania is hot, too. But really, “hot” doesn’t even begin to remotely describe it! You’re literally (read carefully people, this is NOT a metaphor; this is the REAL, painful word: ) STEWING in your won sweat! You feel like you’re going to start sizzling soon. It’s gross and it’s defenseless. The flowers and plants look sadder than dying sadness even with plenty of water. They’re stewing, I tell you, too!

People’s faces look like Dali paintings, decomposing, liquid, flowing, running … Cats passed out on wheelbarrows, and dogs buried under piles of wood where the sun can’t reach them. Cats and dogs silent for once, and refusing food, because of the heat. They don’t want more calories, and they have nothing but their own body to burn up! They are silent and given up!
And mom cooks! Every day the kitchen is an oven. I want to scream but I have no air and wind left. None. The fan only blows hot air. The illusion of a draft. Waking up in a pool of sweat on the spongy mattress. Icky. But home! Icky but sweet!

Small babies in nothing but diapers and cranky. Gypsy kids knocking at the gate for a handful of grapes, to tame the thirst. They say they never had grapes before, and they’re thirsty. Mom cuts a bunch of grapes for them and threatens to kill them if they steal the grapes! Romania …
At night, the guests (me included) are sharing stories from abroad, of the easy life, the cool air in the A/C vents, while mom and dad share painful stories of living here. You deal with so many jerks and you become one. Otherwise you don’t survive. The nicest people have roughened up and are hurting they’re so blunt at the edges. And it’s hot and the heat makes them even harder …Crankier…

I have reached the end of everything: my will power, my physical strength! I am stripped down to pure sensation and pure need. Nothing philosophical anymore. But I will keep one random thought of high persona: I am indifferent of how hot it can get down here, or how expensive, or how amoral, or even how absurd … I will do this trip every year, most likely, just to sit on that bench with dad and eat ice-cream, and look at the busy airport people and tell each other how much older we are and how much love we share! Everything else is just an accident.

Pictures from trip:
share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=0BcOWLFs1bsXEg

How weird are we, really??

You know… one must meet and know one to know their funny habits and laugh at their own contradictions! We never realize how “funny” (as in “different” and “odd”, not as in “ha-ha”) we are in our own behaviors and “typics” and how “set” we are, until we meet someone else and compare. Asking them about “theirs” is like holding a mirror in front of ourselves and seeing us for what/ who we are…
Do we ever touch our noses? Do we pick them? Do we think that’s OK? They’re “ours”, after all, and we “touch” other much “grosser” parts of our bodies, right?!
Do we use toothpicks or floss?
Garlic breath –ok?! A turnoff?!
Do we drink coffee in the morning? Can we stand the sugar? What about the milk? Half
’n’half? What’s pretentious? And what’s the norm? To whom?
Do we read fiction or non? Does it matter, as long as we’re readers?
Chewing gum or mints after dinner? What flavor?
Do we like comforters or blankets? Cold or hot in the room when we sleep?
Do we like paper towels or Clorox wipes? What’s the difference? Does it matter?
Would we be willing to give these up? At what cost? Why not?!
It’s amazing what I find out every day that is part of “me”… I have always thought I am pretty flexible. My motto, always: “you don’t bend, you break”… And it’s funny to find out that little things which build up our (MY) “routine” are important, nevertheless, just for my immediate comfort! Well, not set in stone, but that they would bother me in the least should I ever be asked to knock them out!
This brings me back a million moons ago, when someone asked me to get used with used, wet towels on the floor of the bathroom every morning. I divorced him! Well, he divorced me, after way too many fights over the wet towels.
And this bears the question: how annoying are we really to others? How weird do we appear? And do we care?! When we do see someone with opposite quirks than ours, do we classify them as “weird” or try to understand where they’re coming from? How bendable are WE, after all?!
And these are just the really “non”- important things in life, one might argue, and I am sure one does argue! Values, political views, life/death matters, families are a different story!
Oh, I love humankind! We never cease to entertain our own selves. Ever! And we never cease to trip on the ... smallish speedbumps, just in the desperate hope that we remain "true to ourselves". But are we, really?!

We carry our scars with us ...

We carry our scars with us. Into the grave we go. Every scar, and every healing patch goes with us… All the experiences and relationships, go buried and never returned… Every “brown eyed girl” song, and every sunset on the beach that reminds us of a certain relationship; every time we made love in a tent, or on the beach, or in a club, every time someone said we’re “hot”, or “ I love you”… every time we smell hey… every time we drink from the stream, the cold stream, running shallow and fast over the peaks…Every crisp morning in the mountains…
Every fearful step we took towards building a “relationship”… it all gets marked, yes, as a “notch on our … flesh” … and gets buried with us. Who cares? Where does it all go? Is God going to quiz us on it? Is St. Peter? What about Paul? Who cares?! By the time we’re done here, it’s so much part of “us” that it doesn’t matter…
We’re richer and maybe wiser (who’s the judge of that??) after every person we meet touches our life (and everyone we meet does! Positively or not – no judgment here…they just all do)… But who do we share this richness with? No one and every one…
We are who we are because of all the little spoonfuls of sand that everyone that knows us added to the big pile! And we’re different because of all of them. Unspoken, unmentioned “mentors” and “sand-adders” – they all contributed.
Each one of them added a feature to our character.
Because of a song, because of a castle, because of a high mountain, because of a fear we overcome, because of a breathless sunset and a blistering winter somewhere … we are different… We are … who we are at this moment…because of all of them… “casualties” (really??!!)…in our path…
They drag us down and they carry us through… They are our cross to bear and our Golgotha to climb… That’s why we accept them all so unconditionally… We have no choice, but surrender.
We share them unconsciously every time we take the next step without them… And they’re silent pieces of what we show to the world as “us”… They deserve some credit… Some; but who’s willing to give it to them?
I am just … giving “thanks”… to adding a little piece of “something” to the already over-complicated “me”…

Completely randomly… dislocated thoughts …

Aren’t you happy that you’re not 18-20 anymore?? I surely am! I am happy that I am not 18 when we tend to torture ourselves for the sake of attention. At 18 our poor brain must really feel like if we don’t go out of our way to f(*&& ourselves up completely, life is over! I was never much focused on my appearance, because I was brought up to invest time and money and passion on what lasts, and clothes, makeup and accessories only last while the season is in, so I never wasted any time. But I was always fascinated by my peers… You know: when you’re 18 and you dye your hair this hideous color (purple? Pink? Blue? Whatever the hell strikes your fancy when you drink too much and you don’t see the daylight clearly), and pierce your eyebrows, and your lips and your nose (oh, especially your nose!), and your cheeks and God knows what else visible, because it has to be visible, and then you stand still and hope someone notices. And you walk slow. And you stare. And you hope that people see you. And all people can think of when they see you is “ well, yeah, you’re weird! And you’re hurting! And you look like an idiot! And your parents are failures! What’s your point?! What else you want me to see there? ’Cause it ain’t that deep!” – and you know that … but every day, you go out into the world with your tight jeans and piercings that don’t allow you to eat or kiss, or f(*^%, and you feel “noticed”… And being weird is “cool”. It’s better than being … nothing (in your shallow mind, because at 18 I swear kids’ minds are about half of an inch deep, hormones and too much “book learnin’ “ just clutters it altogether!). Oh, but all the ridiculousness is all worth it! … when you’re 18… sure it is!
I am glad I am past that! I am past being a monkey at the zoo!

People from MySpace, please, I beg of you: learn how to speak English (Romanian?!) BEFORE you email me! “ I like you/ your profile, so why don’t you hit me up” ain’t gonna do it, dude! Like I said before: I would hit you up … over the head, but I got no time to find your ass! So, stop spamming me!

And please: your MySpace default picture is … a PickUp truck??? Pray tell me what THAT is gonna do for me?! Ok, yeah, very attractive indeed! You haul dead or smelly, run down, pieces of junk. And my interest would lay where?! Not in THAT bed, I assure you! I hate any kind of car-show-off-ness as it is, but c’mon! PickUp trucks??? I know we live in the South, but you must have a clue that THAT is not a “pickup” … car! It is JUST a “pickup”! At least borrow your rich cousin’s Camaro, or something … Please, show a little “class” (I hurt myself laughing again…)…

I find lately that dating is as hard as hanging art on the walls: so rarely do you hit a stud! Yeah, you need a magnet … but without one, you’re lost!

You know who wore rings through their noses in my country? Pigs! We put rings in their nose, thick metal ones, so they would not dig the soil; it hurts their nose, you see, and they start bleeding and that way they don’t dig the yard all over the place! Oh, I am so glad I had my mom to remind me of that when I was 18!! So glad!
...

Blue Couch Wake

“The moment I let go of it was the moment I got more than I could handle…” (Alanis song)
PS: I can only hope so…

OK. I admit I do have the occasional T-Shirt I used to go to bed in when I was 14 and had a crush on Al Pacino (I figured he might like it …). Yes, I still have the elephant print tank that I stole from a production line back home, when we went into a field trip to a textile plant in 4th grade; and yes, I still wear it, when I miss home. And don’t we ALL keep our college jeans that will never, ever fit us?! (I swear my bones grew!).
But to get attached and emotional about … a couch? I mean, I have been able to pack very little belongings into ONE suitcase and move across the Ocean into a different continent once. I have lived in 6 homes in less than 10 years now… I have had 4 cars so far (less than 10 years again)… I said good bye for good to people, and places that I loved and adored. I have seen the love of my life die, and still lived to tell the story… I have just left a place behind…
Every spring and every fall I get rid of maybe a quarter if not half of the contents of my closets (all of them). I have been known as a “thrower”. I believe in physical and emotional cleansing, as often and thorough as it’s necessary… I always hear my grandmothers tell me: “Honey, when we go, there is only so much you can fit between 4 boards. Learn to let go of material things”.
But this couch, somehow, is different. For some reason, something about that couch I threw out tonight just made my heart shift! It was the first couch I had in this country; the couch my then future husband first mentioned we might get married on, the couch of many naps in lazy Southern afternoons, and the couch of my cats’ first naps under my roof, too. It was the “coming of age” marker for me. It was a dark blue couch, nothing particular about it, a little bigger than a love seat, with annoying sliding pillows everywhere on it… And yet the thought of just telling it tonight “you’re dismissed”, “you’re no longer needed”, just like that, and the image of leaving it out there, in the rain, and the damp weather close to breaks my heart… I hoped someone would come and pick it up, and give it another second life, but no one came. The darkness fell on it; and then the rapacious rain. And then my heart sank… I just don’t know how to let go of the silly couch!
I guess for so many years and lonesome nights it was the anchor of my home, in the main room of my home… I just never imagined my living room without the blue couch, I guess. It’s even been replaced already, by a bigger, queen size sleeper, that’s beige-green and has no personality (yet?!). My old, torn and stained couch had memories, and life, had proof that people, and cats and kids have shared it and have loved it. Had … personality. It’s weathered the last 10 years of my life. And I know the cats are missing it, too…I feel like a traitor and a bad, bad mother…
I guess the feeling of ending, and impermanence, and disposability that even us humans, not only “things” share is just so vivid, when I see it sitting at the curb, that it makes me cry. “All good things must end”, huh?!
I am always excited about the door opening and can never see the one that just closed. But this one couch really closed that door tonight, with a bang! Or it never yet closed it fully. It still wants to peek in…
I know, I am becoming neurotic and I need to stop. But I can’t. Tonight, I’ll mourn…

One word on dating. Or not.

Maybe I am old. Or maybe I am just boring. Or maybe… just maybe, there is a chance that I have always been boring. Or old. Or both. Who knows? I have always been picky about people (maybe about everything…), and partners, and I have always accepted aloneness to so-and-so relationships. People admire that. I sometimes hate it (oh, it would be so much easier to just suck it up to a guy to just have a date for that office party and not feel like the third wheel for the millionth year in a row, or for that family wedding). But right now, I really enjoy it. I really enjoy knowing what I want and how I want it. I really have learned over the years two things: how to live in the now, and how to live without regrets. And they are interdependent: if you live in the now fully and completely, listening to your heart, NOW, wonderful memories get created and you never have to regret anything. All you have to look back on are … well, wonderful memories… But I digress, because these are matters for another page.
The point I was trying to make tonight is: yes, I have been single for a while and sometimes I know it’s because of my choosing. It’s not for lack of attention from people. But for lack of tolerance towards the casual, so-and-so, lukewarm relationships. I’d rather be here, writing, resting, listening to Chris Isaak and drinking my wine than be out there, having a boring dinner with an annoying Joe, “just because maybe it can turn into something special and I might not have to spend Fourth of July alone again”… or Thanksgiving…or Christmas… or … whatever…
Sometimes I tell myself that I am quick to judge. For instance, this stranger approaches me in the store, and “wants to hang out, ‘cause I tell him I am single and he likes my hair” (sic). (I guess the small iota of common sense he had left prevented him from allowing himself to tell me what else he likes). And I refuse to go out, of course, because, if you go out with me, even for “just” a dinner, you gotta like more about me than just my hair. Or you have to be sophisticated enough to invoke loftier reasons. I thought everyone knew not only that are a ton of fish in the sea, but also that if you intend to catch one, the bait’s gotta look decent, too! And to me, it’s never “just a dinner”. It’s an hour, two, three , who knows of my time which I will never get back. Yeah… I need a better, MUCH better reason from a complete stranger to give that dinner time away, my friends! Sorry.
Yeah, I may be an elitist and demanding and … I also think I am worth it. If I am not going to be all that, who is? And why sell myself short? Why? When at the end of every day all I have left for sure in that bed is this one person with certainty, why not treat her with the care, love and respect she deserves? If not me, who else is going to do that? And I always feel like I am not 18 anymore, so I can’t just have the excuse that I am “experimenting” either. NO. I have done that. And now I know exactly what it is that makes me tick. And you either have it or you don’t and I can pretty much tell what “first impression cues” are there and what aren’t. I think I am that good, yes. And I am old fashioned too: first impressions do matter as they always have…
At any rate… I guess I am not looking to date or not NOT looking either. I am just being myself every day, and I know that kind of truthfulness will pay off, eventually.
But I am not holding my breath, either. I look at dating as part of life, of course, but not as its air. I look at it, at least now, and for a while now, like a good, really great trip I might take one day. If the money, and resources will allow, it will happen and if not, I’ll read about it in books and magazines, even see a documentary about it – oh, well. And just like that trip: when the time is right and I am ready for it, I will be picky about the hotel, the airlines, the carry on bags and the brand of my suitcase; about the music I bring along, and the books I carry. About the aisle or the window seat and about the beach front or the beach view room. Just like that. If that makes me old and picky and boring… oh, well, again. There is no one else to please by that one person, that I find alone in bed every night now. And that person happens to be pleased.

I miss my dad

… I miss him, when I have to put shelves up and I am spending 3 hours in the hardware store to decide what kind of anchors and screws I need for my shelves! I miss him when I need to dig in my garden, and he can do it so effortlessly, while I lay in bed with muscle cramps for a week after I do it…
I miss him when I come home from work and I eat junk food, when I know, if he were here, he would cook me a 3 course gourmet meal every single day of the week, AND on a budget, too! I miss him when I have to call the phone people, and the gas, and the tv people, and the bank for my change of address and for troubleshooting … He loves doing the legwork, and the errands every single day, not with patience, but with promptness! And a LOT of energy; energy that I don’t have right now!
Most of all, I miss him when he puts things into perspective for me: “ this is what you left behind, he would say, this is what’s ahead, and this is what you need to be proud of, and this is what you need to still work at”. Oh, yeah, dad is a “no bullshit” kind of guy, so he will keep me straight on things I need to work at. No matter how deep his love, he always acknowledges I am not perfect. To me, that is true love!
And I surely miss him when I am trying for 5 hours to mount my shelves and drill my holes into the wall 100 times till the wall looks like it’s been at war, and shot at; and the shelves are still moving…:-)
And I hate life, when I miss dad! I really do! I fall asleep sighing and praying for his health and many, many happy years, so next time when I move, he can be here, and … not missed at all!

New home

When do you know that you have arrived home after moving into a new place? It will take a while, I am sure, to fit in and feel like the new place is finally “home”… but when do you actually get that overwhelming feeling that yes, you’re finally back under a roof all your own, cozy and that accepts you unconditionally and fully at the end of a good, bad, drunken, dizzy, or just ordinary day??
When do you get that “a-ha” moment where you don’t feel like you’re just visiting for the week in the new place you just moved into? Because I feel like everything I touch, although my own, feels like mom’s or grandma’s house – familiar, but not quite mine…
Is it when you stop going to the old grocery store which is across town, but who cares, it’s worth it to you, since you know where the cheese aisle and the bread aisle are? Or maybe when you stop going to the old neighborhood pharmacy, also across town?
I have been trying to look for the “welcome home” day since I have moved over a week ago , and I don’t think it’s hit me yet!
In search of the old “me”, I have tried to make my first breakfast here, and the eggs were rotten (sorry, forgot to buy new ones during the packing and the moving and I let them expire!). Then I cooked one of my favorite dinners the other night, chicken noodle soup, but I felt more flu-y then home-y, so that doesn’t count…
I thought maybe I am finally home since my cats are now getting back into the old routine of breakfast, snacks, and wet food dinner, but that was not it , either… Maybe it’s the fact that half of my things is still in boxes that doesn’t allow me to relax? Maybe it’s the eerie quietness… Maybe it’s the “wrong” (read: “different”) positioning of the bed? Whatever it is, I am still shuffling the puzzle pieces to figure out how ALL is going to fit. But when it does, and the peace will be restored, I just know that I will know it right away! And so will the people around me, who have lost me also, lately, under a BIG pile of boxes and dusty bed spreads…

It's Sad

Disclaimer: I love America and everything it stands for, especially Freedom. And I realize that there is no room for a "but... " here, and yet... I wanted to say: wouldn't you think someone, somewhere, out there, or UP there ... would make tougher laws and put more restrictions on who gets to own a gun?! Not just for MY own safety and not to be discriminatory, but for the safety of the, well... majority of this country. When the minority of one person kills the majority of 32 ... I think we need to rethink our system. Don't you?? One piece of advice: listen to that Creative Writing professor with a British accent had to say about the killer. I really think that a system as great as ours should have done more to stop such a sick mind from having access to the easiest mass killing devices there are!
The fact that anyone can buy guns, REAL guns, at WalMart right across the aisle from the ... toy department ... is not only beyond disturbing: it is also doing nothing but encouraging an already flawed law... And it's sad. For the sake of the bright and innocent and the peaceful and the free... it is sad.

On Surprises: Easter ... or Christmas?!

I love surprises! No, I mean it! I am one of those freaks that will break up a relationship for the simple reason that …well, it’s not surprising and unexpected enough and the spice of life just ain’t there! I need to be surprised! I thrive on it. I act better and make better decisions when I am pushed against the wall and forced to make an unexpected decision. It’s just what moves me: the thrill of not knowing what’s around the corner.
Well, with that said, and being true to my very quirky self … I really mind …and I mean: REALLY mind … changes in weather! Unexpected changes in weather drive me berserk! I know, makes no sense, right? Because if anything is the quintessence of changes, it is the weather, right?? Yes, I have been known to drive to the Outer Banks when there is a volunteer evacuation for an approaching hurricane, and I have been known to go to Romania in March, when the winter is not over yet, and the possibility of being stuck is very high – yes, I am a daredevil like that, but … if I am expecting something from the weather, well, it better deliver!
So, yes, I mind when Christmas decides to return for Easter, yes, I do! I planned a nice, restful getaway this weekend, to Asheville, which is simply one of my favorite towns in the world, and the changing weather decided to screw it all up for me. I planned a trip where I could feel renewed and revived by the new season (i.e. “spring”), where I could wake up with the world around me, with the plants and the trees and the birds coming back from the hot climate, like the spring prompts us to, and the weather had other plans for me.
I usually take a trip somewhere dear to me for my birthday, and I thought Asheville would be the perfect trip this year. Great places to eat, all-natural, all-vegan places to eat for my Lent “feasts”, great galleries, great downtown walks, rich people-watching in the Hippy Town of the Western NC, top notch, luxury, private condo, complete with tennis court and ping pong table, great company to go along with… What more can one want for an Easter AND a birthday present??
So, donned in spring attire, and hopeful, I began my weekend in Asheville, NC on Good Friday. We knew things were chilly when we left here, and even more so when we were taking the first walk on the streets of the “Weird City” before dinner on Friday; but when we saw snow flakes gently resting on our take-home dinner boxes when we left Barley’s Taproom we didn’t think it was funny any longer!
Next morning, there was no way we were going to walk the streets in our spring jackets and flimsy sweaters, when all around us all we could see was white (except the roads) and the nearby thermometer read 38 degrees! Yes, I got cranky! Cranky that I had to stay in and shiver, when all I wanted to do was go out and buy new decorations for my new house in the coolest town (no pun intended) in NC!
Christmas felt like it was back: runny noses, dry skin, cold breeze from the occasional open porch door, and the works. Yes, we even caught colds and had to drive by the pharmacy for Tylenol, cough drops, aspirin, etc… The weekend turned into an indoors, snuggle-up-under-the-dawn-covers weekend pretty soon. Hot tea and brain-cell melting in front of the TV took the place of walks and shopping for art. Reading books and catching up on the magazine reading for the month took the place of eating gourmet food and taking pictures of flowers in the blooming arboretum or the blooming Biltmore Gardens.
But as I am never disappointed by surprises: the weekend turned out different and wonderful, still! At the end of it all, I feel rested, and somewhat cranky-peaceful! The walks were half an hour long, instead of whole afternoons, but that is better that nothing (i.e.: being in Greensboro doing house chores, right?!). Yes, we need a “do over”. But if it’s not soon, I am not going to cry! The closeness and the warmth of the condo, as well as the dolce-far-niente of the 2 full days are things that I will treasure for a while, in the midst of the too busy life I am thrown into every day in Greensboro! And hey, I got one of my most precious wishes: I got surprised!!!
Sometimes we need to be grateful for weather mishaps, I suppose! Because sometimes that’s the only way we learn how to stop, and not have a purpose, constantly. Sometimes, the weather needs to put the breaks on our lives, and make us have a change of pace. If it weren’t for the weather … the weekend would have been, well, “planned” and probably hectic. So, to go along with my true self: thank God for surprises, even those that have to do with the weather. Yes, I have no new decorations to speak of, and I have not seen Mount Mitchell on this trip, because the Parkway was closed. And no, I have not added much to my picture collection of blooms. But I am grateful for the screeching breaks … sometimes. A time like this weekend! When a change of pace was welcome (she concluded with the cheeks burning probably from fever and with a sneezy nose…Chiu!).
But I am still cranky, you see… albeit surprised!
A dear friend of mine used to say: “In the South, if you don’t like the weather, all you have to do is … wait a while. It’ll change”… And indeed it did! We had temperatures in the 70’s today, and I wore short sleeves.
For a peek at the nature on Easter this April, copy and paste this link in your browser:
http://new.photos.yahoo.com/alinaservici/album/576460762397672668

The rest is silence

As you could probably see for yourselves, I have been reduced to silence lately. Just complete silence, almost, save for little remarks in e-mails here and there.
The world, life, pain, wait, much, much pain … has rendered me mute. I am in awe at how much the human body can handle, and how much more yet the human mind does, too. I feel we are endless rubber bands at times, and we can stretch to the infinite and never break. The faith and the hope in us keep us from breaking, and give us, it seems, eternal elasticity and strength… And life in general will try to stretch us even longer, further, slimmer … But we’re not giving up. All this has had me silent …
What can I say in the face of all this might? And miracle? Anything would be trivial and trifle-like. So silence has proven golden for me, here of late. Me! The ever talkative, never at a loss for words me … has finally shut up! Is this silent death? Or just plain coming of age and wisdom?! I suppose time will decide .
I will make note of this though: I have had a date with my soul in this whole (quiet) time, and my soul says … it needs to be taken to private dates on a regular basis. Whether it is a yoga class, a silent retreat for a couple of hours in a library, or a walk in the park, or even a (you guessed it: a quiet) hike, my soul needs it, and needs it regularly… So, my next project is setting up those dates … In case you were wondering about my life lately, that is the gist of it. And the rest … is silence.

Thoughts before Valentine's Day

So… the second Valentine’s Day single… Yes, I know you should not start a paragraph with “so”! Your point?!
I really don’t feel any different (or “differently”?!?)… Being single, on Valentine’s that is … I just feel like another day is wide open in front of me, just like February 13 was last night at midnight, and it’s just my own job to fill it up with… whatever: work, shopping, chores, cat squeezes and food eating … Honest to God, I don’t feel alone, depressed, or in any other “depressing” way… as a lot of folks around me insinuate I “should” feel …
I guess it’s just because this year (just like the last) I’ve been fortunate enough to have other “hobbies” in my life, or because this year I am visiting retail stores much less than in other years (on financial purpose), but I have not been bitten by the pink-red-and-white-displays-in-every-store bug that usually visits me every year around this time! I’ve been fortunate enough to be untouched!
Oh, yeah, I am going to dinner tomorrow, but I did that last Wednesday, too! And I could have done it Sunday, too, but I had to cancel, since I was too busy! I guess trying to find another focus in your life, other than “I gotta get a mate”, helps you live this life on another dimension… I am not saying I have given up on love and now I am into friends, family, travels, and relocation… Love will be welcome, should it happen, one day! After 32 years though, I have learned: it’s when it’s expected and waited on that it’s determined to not show up… I have learned it’s something with a whim! So, should it ever happen, romance, candle lights, cuddly dinners under the covers, in front of fireplaces, lavish jewelry and tons of roses… all that … it will happen just as easily on September 8th as it will on February 14th…
So tomorrow, for me, it’ll be just another Wednesday! Half priced wine at Café Europa anyone?! (just kidding)
Have a happy one tomorrow, whatever it is that you’re celebrating! And for those who love: may you celebrate love ever day of the year and twice every Saturday or whatever day you can hire a sitter…

Driving Peeves, and these are JUST the beginning …

“Hi, my name is A… and I am a horrible passenger!” No, I don’t mean that lightly! I mean: I am a freak show when I am in the passenger’s seat! I will tell you when to put on the breaks, when to signal, I will tell you when your mirrors are crooked and when you press the pedal too hard! I will be your conscience and your alter ego, and your worst enemy, your own mind, and your worst nightmare. Yep: I will drive you insane! I need help for this Sh&^%t! Ask ALL my ex’es, ask my dad, ask my brother-in-law… I am notorious and unforgiving no matter how much I love you! Of course, people get defensive about it (especially guys) but I believe that is THEIR problem! It’s a free world: I say my peace and they do with it whatever they want: that being THEIR choice!
There is something about the road that brings out the worst in me, however! I guess it’s a feeling of you’re in a train heading at full speed for the abyss, you just want to make sure you have the best seat to have the least damage done! I am not sure…
As a driver AND a passenger, I have no mercy for whomever else is OUT there that’s not me! I am not sure where it all comes from (maybe from my controlling dad, maybe from my Arial instincts of “being first” and not being able to always do that on the Highway), but I am merciless when I am in the car, whether behind the wheel or to the right of it … Or rather my mouth is?! Either way…
All people that have dealt with me as a passenger will have to tell you that story, but for now, I’ll tell you the one of me as a driver with no patience for stupidity! ‘Cause stupidity is the ONLY excuse I will allow in other drivers when I drive…
There are people out there who develop emotional problems behind the wheel. I tell you, there are some folks with “issues” out there, issues that should be solved in a little white office, with a little short lady with outdated glasses on, while you (the other drivers that is) lie on a little white couch. There are folks developing, for instance, a personal relationship with the lane they’re in: they want to go from first to second lane, they signal, and then they “ride” the lanes, as I call it: they want both lanes, so they drive half-a$$-ed (literally) in both lanes at the same time! They SOOO want the second one, but they can’t QUITE say good bye to the first one yet, so they take both! They’re folks out there, having more trouble saying “good bye” to the first lane than a middle aged mom saying bye to her teen son leaving for Iraq for a year! It’s PAINFUL and draining and exhausting to watch! You want in the second lane, you have half of it, take it, dude! Don’t be greedy! Leave me the first one!!! Please!
On another note, there are people that LIVE in the car, I do believe! Whatever you and I do at home, they actually do while they’re driving! Whether it is “poufing” their hair and applying hair spray, or applying make up, or eating their lunch WITH chopsticks, I might add, or reading the good night “Cat in the Hat” story to their child, or catching up on the news from the paper, or writing in their journal, … whatever it is they have as a routine that day, they do it WHILE driving, at 5 miles an hour. Now, how a cop can drive past THAT and not notice is beyond me, but then again don’t get me started on the cops! Not the right blog!
I tell you, I am not sure whether it’s the South or what, but there are still people out there who have not discovered the blinker yet! They turn left and right, switch lanes, whatever… they never, ever, no matter how many hundreds of miles you spend behind them, use the signal light! NEVER! They never taught them what that lever is for in driving school, I guess. No use to them! I am wondering what THEY think that lever is for?! Or do they break it off, ‘cause they think it’s useless, and they take it home to use it for something else, like maybe a pleasure enhancer in times of loneliness… who knows?!
One of my biggest peeves, and the reason I will total my car again, rear-ending someone pretty soon, probably, is someone in a big, fat-a$$ SUV that comes to a FULL stop when they turn! There is a right turn they make (lack of blinker and all) and the big fat a$$ of a Town & Country comes to a complete stop and you’re wondering for the life of you WHY! It’s not rocket science, people! It’s a right turn!!!! I do not care if you don’t want your drooling toddler to spill their apple juice on their WalMart $2 bib!!! There are people with REAL jobs that want to go straight! This road is NOT yours!!!!!!!!!! Hurry the hell up! Slow down and TURN… Do not slow down, stop, take a breath, check on the said drooling toddler, and remember to hit the gas after 5 seconds!!!! Please! Time’s money here ….
Some folks out there develop empathy with other drivers: driver in first lane breaks, and wants to stop or slow down, driver in second lane, although they are going straight and their intention IS to go straight, slows down as well! I call that “empathy breaking” and they have nice, white rooms with little people with funny glasses in them waiting with a comfy couch for those folks! Just stay away from the roads and get in there first! Resolve your issues before you get a license!
If you’re in the first lane and you want to switch lanes and want to be in lane two, please remember that slowing down to a stop will NOT make the lane two drivers understand that you want to get over in THAT lane! If you want those drivers to understand you want their lane, Fokker, you need to put on the signal (remember? The one you ripped off?!)! Slowing down will slow down the people behind you! That’s ALL that does! That, of course, not unless you have “empathy drivers” in the second lane and then you’re just a lucky bastard!
Drive safely, folks, and remember: they call them “public roads” for a reason! They’re NOT yours!

Be aware …

Listen to the sound of clinking silverware and plates being stacked to know that it’s lunch time; listen to the sound of the shower running next door to know that it’s morning time; listen to the sound of wind chimes to know if it’s windy out. When you smell coffee in the air, you know it’s morning; when you see the cat cleaning himself, you know he’s ready for a nap, so it’s going to be quiet for a while; when you hear the vacuum running or the washer in the apartment below, you know it’s the weekend and the football game will come on TV shortly. So will the noisy guests.
Watch for the occasional smile on the other’s face, or frown, to read happiness or sorrow and to know what kind of tears to expect.
You know it’s winter if your clothes are scratchy and you know the heat is at bay when you can breathe water and mildew…
You know it’s lunch time when you smell BBQ wings from your PC at work, and you know it’s 5 o’clock when all the stalls are taken; so, be ready and patient to be stuck in traffic.
If you see a man in a wedding band staring at your ass in the check out line, with wife standing next to him, you know his marriage is over, as far as he is concerned, no matter what he will tell you…or her …But that doesn’t mean anything final, either …
When you start dreaming about white sand or white slopes, or when you start planning for tomorrow, while lying down and reading an unrelated book, you know it’s time to turn off the light and say “good night”.
Be aware of the world around you and of every single step you take. Acknowledge the world. Nothing is ever an accident. Be aware and learn… each day …

Random thought

We got a new “break room” at work. Tons of coke machines, coffee machines, and food machines, too, not just snacks, but anything from pigs in a blanket and pancakes to chicken wings. Pretty sweet! We got a brand new flat screen tv and all. For the cheap a$$ company that I work for, this is a pretty splurgy deal, I tell you!
The new “break room” is in the same spot our old cafeteria used to be, but we no longer have a kitchen! Just the machines … and tables and the TV.
And on every machine there is a sign that reads “This machine will not take break bucks. Thank you”…
And for the life of us, we sit there and wonder (especially the elitist English Language Nazis up in the newsroom copydesk): “what the HECK is a break buck”?!?!?
It’s a “break room” … but no “break bucks”, people?!?!?! What about peak of the evening, deadline bucks?! Will those work?! Or maybe “top of the morning, brand new, fresh dollars”?!? Will that be OK?! Why is the machine so darn picky about what “time” these bucks are produced?!? – people ask me (yes, the elitist ones) and I shrug, but in my brain you know I am thinking and cooking up the next blog!
I am assuming people in the general public that provide these machines, wonderful people as they are, concerned about our needs while we slave to do our job, concerned about our thirst and hunger, they have not yet discovered that the verb “to break” might have a past participle in the form of “broken”, I try to guess, with the risk of being elitist myself, right?! I suppose they only know the words “break” and “broke” as in “flat broke”. But “broken” is foreign! "Must be one of them English words they come from England or somethin’ ". We don’t do “broken”. No, Siree, for us, it’s a “break buck”… Really?! I mean, really? Is THAT what they meant?! ‘Cause my ear surely hurts. And my grammar teacher back in school said “ if your ear is abused, then it must not be right”.
Well, if that’s NOT what they meant… then YOU go ahead and figure out what “no break bucks please, thank you very much” means… And let ME know, too!
Only good thoughts for the commercially-providing world out there who caters to our thirst and hunger. Only good thoughts!

On my mind: More band aids …

I have had a long (it seems) and convoluted path so far, full of pain, love, wonderful surprises, death convictions and much, much laughter and even more tears. And through it all, I have come out smiling and hoping, and ready for the next hurdle and challenge.
I have known love, and passion, and friendship, and pain, and disappointment… Boy, have I known disappointment! I have known unbounded happiness, and bright smiles and hopefulness and comfort, and pain, and love, much love … And I am sure we all have!
I have dined with people as different as publishers and mayors to illiterate folks up in the mountains of Third World countries that never saw the ends of their village, when they died, at 98! I have loved it all and I am thirsty for more … With a smile, I will welcome it all, till the very last breath …
Through it all, I am more and more hungry for band aids, it seems. I have known that pain and “limit” situations teach us the most. Happiness is fleeting and so shallow! Pain, and want, and disappointment and hurtful tears are so rich, so deep! And they shape us, they turn us into the person we are today and tomorrow, and the next day. It’s the pain, and the dents that give us shape and character! Just like the chisel marks a sculptor makes in the marble, hit by hit, more defined and deeper, thus the hits of life and the pain define us and give us shape! Just like the wind and the rain and the snow shape a mountain, so do pain, and hunger, and want, and disappointment shape us. Sun doesn’t do much!
I am hungry for more hits … tempests … band aids. It’s then when I feel alive and blessed! And rich! To understand and know pain, to fight and dream with people in pain… I am grateful! This life is not useless, after all!When I finished high school, I had to write an essay for the year book…. My closing line was to become my motto in life: “I am at the door. I do not know what’s on the other side. I am scared… but I like it”.

Pet Peeves # 4

Long time no …read , huh?! I figured it’s a new year, new beginning, new things to annoy me… So here I am back, for the fourth installment of my peeves!
As always, hope it’s worth a read…

I drive by this sign every morning. I usually don’t see much else but the road and the car in front when I drive, but this billboard is posted at a light, so every time I catch the light, there it is, I got nothing to do and I read it. Every bloody morning, I stare and wonder at the sense of it. It writes as follows: “ To avoid altered chicken, check the label”. OK! As opposed to what?! What else CAN you do, to “avoid ALTERED chicken”?! Maybe … “smell it and pass out”?! “Feeding it to your children and watching if they die”?! What kind of sane person sits in front of a pack of dead chicken parts just bought in the store and wonders helplessly : “Well, Gee, HOW do I tell how old this chicken is?”…. Mmm… yeah!

I wonder about this every time I drive up to an ATM. Every time. And I know, now you’re going to say I am boring: “EVERY time?!” Yeah, my life is really not THAT happening! So… in this wonderful country (that I adore, I might add!!!) of ours we have ATM’s in Braille! No, no… excuse me: DRIVE THROUGH ATM’s with the numbers on the pad written in Braille… Ok! Why?! Who is driving the car? The blind person? That’s who the ATM’s is for, right?! OK, so, the blind person is NOT driving the car… Hhmmm… Maybe the machine is in Braille because … the passenger is blind, and it’s for them! Well, then, if the blind person walks up to the ATM, ANY ATM for that matter… how can they “see” the commands on the screen to know what to do next? Maybe there is a secret code that they can punch in, to make the machine TALK to them, because otherwise it makes no sense to me! Otherwise, we just degrade into ridicule around here, trying to be so darn “P.C.”… And I am STILL puzzled about the drive through ones… which are typically made for the drivers… Right?!

I discovered that I would not hate telemarketers so much if they didn’t sound like robots! They will actually be pleasant (some days, too many days, they’re the only calls I get!) if they sounded like humans! Ok, you’re calling me AT HOME! That is my private, protected by law, sacred place! It’s gotta be important, dude, right?! Wrong! They’ll talk to you like you’re in a total trance, in front of the television, and they advertise something: “If you can spare just $0.50 a week, you can help 100 people wipe their own noses. And for just $0.25 a day you can wipe mine too”.- because that’s what they sound to me. I don’t listen to them, once they start that script! I block them out and all I can think of is to hang up! IF, and it’s a big IF, I decide to be nice one very rare day, I tell them I am not interested before I slam the receiver! Why can’t they just be normal and say : “Hi there, I am Jane and I want your cash. I believe this is a good cause and you should freaking do it, so, what do you say?!” You don’t have to make your asking for MY money more attractive than it already isn’t! Just ask for what you called for and let me eat my dinner, all right! If I want to listen to a recording or a commercial, I’ll strive a little and turn on the TV!

And this just in today: I go into Hallmark and the sales shark jumps at me, pointing out what the specials are! This is AFTER I said in my best English I can muster: “ I don’t need any help. I am JUST browsing”. Ok, she has to kill herself and tell me ALL about the specials. This is also after she’s been obviously working all day long to put up the shiny signs that SPELL the specials very clearly, in very big type! What, does she assume we all become illiterate once we walk into Hallmark?! Why the signs if you’re gonna spend 10 minutes reading them to me! If I WANT to read the signs, I will READ the darn signs! SO, she starts, anyways; any attempt I make to walk away, look away, seem uninterested fails miserably, and she does her sales pitch: “Christmas stuff is 50% off, and Valentine’s wrapping paper and bags for 50% off also, and candles for Valentine’s Day are 25% off and this small organizer that keeps the important dates in is only $5 if you buy 5 cards, and the Valentine’s stuffed bear is so much with 3 cards and if you scratch you’re a$$”... “Listen lady” – I wanna say – “I am SINGLE! I will have Valentine’s Day alone and got no people to buy cards for, and at the rate I am going Christmas will not need decorations around my house next year, ‘cause I am hiding in a hole rather than spending it, and I walked in here to get a knife to kill myself! You got THAT?!!! If so, where and are you running a special for it?!”. They should really post a sign outside or at the door: “If you want to talk to persistent and annoying strangers even after you tell them to buzz off and buy crap you don’t need, walk in here”!
I tell you. The world we live in. Keeps me awake and amused one day at a time.

“Life’s a ride”

My dad always used to tell me to pick my music out of pieces that will stand the test of time. He used to say: “just close your eyes, and listen. And if the musicians speak to the darkest places of your inner self, and if they tell you things you will be able to find fascinating 20-30-40 years from now, and if they sound like listening to that music will not be embarrassing to listen to then, either, then you can count them amongst your favorites. Otherwise, don’t waste your time” He still says that. “Elvis, and Lennon, and Jagger, and Clapton, and Hendrix, and Joplin are never old fashioned”. And that’s been my rule of thumb in choosing my music always. I look, or try to listen to Brittney Spears and I want to scream instead. I feel insulted…
It just so happens that “Donna the Buffalo” might be one of those groups that will stand the test of time, I believe. Of course, this is biased, and totally based on what my ears can hear and how my own mind can judge. But my experience when I listen to them is so powerful that I wanted to share …
They talk about universal truths, and everyday lives, and they have a down-to-earth-ness about their lyrics, being both prophetical and mundane in a way that is definitely timeless. Their lyrics resonate with all of us, and will bear the same truths a hundred years from now, too. They just say it simply, and melodically, too:
“Used to be fooling someone
Could've been fooling me Nobody's fooling anyone now
Now because you know that talk is so cheap”
Or:“Life, love, potential love Causes so much joyHas the adverse power
To hurt you that much more”
Or:
“Times will change, that's for sureI'll be here, knock at my doorSeas will rise, seas will fallLove will see you through it allI wish you love”
Or:“The world is a wonderous puzzle Everyone a piece and every piece fits Every piece is alive making energy Energy pulls the pieces together Into a round ball
And there is love”

And the music is pure and fluid. Seldom do I find artists that are merely instruments through which the Heavens pour their richness into our worlds. They sound (and look) completely in a trance, they’re not personalities, they’re merely … things, guitars, vocal cords, drums, keyboards, wash boards and fiddles, physical presences through which millions of gallons of heavenly gold is poured into our ears, and pores, and further into our hearts and minds. They give life to sound and words. They’re gifted and patient. And they play for 3 hours incessantly, with no break, only with the urge that there’s more to be shared, and the last word has not been said yet. They bind the crowd in such a way that’s mystical almost: people that look different, in age, backgrounds, race, in every way, come together, dance with each other and hug. “It only takes just one of us to be alone” …
Being under the same roof with them for one evening is an honor and an orgasmic pleasure. (trust me, it’s NOT the beer!). You embark in this ride with them and there is no stop and you have no clue when you get there. You’re just speechless at the beauty of it all and in a complete daze at the end of the journey. The $20 you pay at the door is by far not enough to say “thank you”. They gave me energy and wisdom to last me another year.
You feel elated, and fortunate and you feel respect for people who give up all to produce art. You feel honored and richer when you leave. I also believe that nothing ever has value unless it enriches our lives somehow. And “Donna” does it plenty, in just a couple of hours.
The show was wonderful, a great start for the new year. And that’s of course, an understatement. I am always surprised how they never look tired or bored. They just are. And they just share. This type of unconditional giving is one of the few things of beauty and love this world has to offer, if you’re lucky enough to come across it.
I just wanted to say “thank you” so loudly. Somehow, though, I know, deep down, that just being a small part of the hip winding Herd for one night said just that.