The bare truth

It's time to bare it all, and lots of us have already. Have you? It's for charity, breast cancer, specifically. It's a Boobie-Thon and mine are up there, too. Think you can spot them? Go donate a photo of your breasts, in or out of a bra, or donate or do both. It's a worthy cause. Men have bared it all for breast cancer, so why don't you?

That is all. Disperse.

That's what I meant

A friend once told me he hated shopping for cards for his wife because he couldn't find one that said what he really felt and he was tired of the usually sappy sentiments that took the place of what he really wanted to say. I wish I had known of these then. I would have steered him to the site. I doubt he would have had the balls to send one (in his own name) but he would have found just what he was looking for. I certainly did.

That is all. Disperse.

"Night time sharpens...

...heightens each sensation..." to borrow a line from A. L. Webber. It's sharp and cold outside but at least my sense of impending danger is not heightened, not in this neighborhood. One of the facts of life in taking care of the landlady's dog, Pastor, is that I have to go up and down the stairs several times during the day to let him out to do his business, to walk him, to feed him and to bed him down for the night. This afternoon I even had to yell at him for barking, something he doesn't often do when the landlady is home, or at least when he does bark it doesn't last long when she yells. He did have a good reason to bark. A fox was speeding down the sidewalk past the house obviously on the trail of fast food -- squirrel on the paw.

The other day the landlady and I noticed there were fewer squirrels this year than last year and it was drier and warmer. This year there are lots more foxes. It seems the cooler, wetter weather and the longer hold winter had on us this year kept the foxes denned and procreating, hence more mouths to feed and fewer squirrels to see. I didn't have my camera handy when I saw the fox and I was reminded of something Wes KØHBZ (another ham operator) mentioned. He said he was told when he became a photo journalist to keep his camera handy at all times, even when he went to the bathroom. The only problem with the digital is that it shuts off if it isn't used for 5-10 minutes, so I still would not have been able to catch the rushing fox anyway. I'll keep an eye out in the morning, which is when I traditionally see them.

Another perk of taking care of Pastor while the landlady, newly divorced as of last Friday, is getting laid in New Mexico celebrating her single status with an old friend I have free run of the downstairs apartment and did my laundry yesterday. I washed the sheets, unpacked the brand new pillows I bought and put cases on them, made the bed and washed all the laundry. Since I did the laundry two weeks ago, it was a much quicker task than usual since I only had two loads instead of four.

Pastor is a demanding dog at times and I have had to ask him to go lie down a few times when I was working earlier today, but other than being an attention hog, he is a pleasure to look after for a few days. I don't even mind grinding up his numerous medications to mix in with his food twice a day when the pay off is doggy hugs and reciprocal attention. Of course I know I couldn't have a dog full time because they need a lot of attention and have to be walked twice a day for a couple hours at a time and that would cut into work and writing time. I'd get exercise but I also wouldn't make enough money to keep us both, so it's a trade-off and watching Pastor for a few days allows him to stay home where he's comfortable and forces me to move around more. There are worse ways to spend a weekend. I know. I've spent many an awful weekend. This hasn't been one of them.

I also wrote a story this morning and had take a quick look before I sent it off to Chicken Soup and Cup of Comfort, one of which might actually buy it. She caught a couple of missed words in sentences that I missed, but I did cut the story down from 2100 words to 1000, so I'm not complaining. I'm glad she has such sharp eyes.

I've also been going over some books on my review list, making notes and getting ready to write my reviews, although I still need to fold and put away the clothes I washed, some of which I am wearing today instead of my usual weekend attire of long T-shirt and socks (panties optional) when it's cold. Otherwise, it's just a big T-shirt and nothing else. I've found the neighbors are less shocked when I take Pastor outside and I'm wearing clothes, even in the wee hours of the morning when the neighbors' eyes aren't quite open and they might think they're still dreaming. It's best not to chance it. I also broke the seal on a brand new Victoria's Secret lace bra. I forgot how it feels to have new silk, satin and lace against my skin that hasn't been washed a few hundred times over the years, especially when it's in a little smaller size than the last time and fits quite comfortably. Not that anyone notices these things, but I managed to get the new bras on sale in my favorite style -- front close. Like I said, it has been a good weekend.

That is all. Disperse.

Relationship alchemy

It is a cold and cloudless morning and I have been up for a while. I have Pastor this weekend and had to get up to let him out, fix his breakfast and take care of him. I will have him until Tuesday and at times it is a bit annoying to have to deal with someone else's needs since the only ones in this apartment who rely on me, other than me, are the plants, all three of which are still alive and thriving. The plants don't need much: a little sunshine, a little water, pruning the dead leaves, sometimes a lot of dead leaves in the case of the African violet. But it was nearly dead when the landlady gave it to me and now has only four leaves but they are strong and healthy and growing.

Plants aren't dogs and don't put their cold wet noses in your face when you're asleep and they need to go out. Plants need to be fed and watered, but not twice a day. I'm a little better with plants. So are a lot of people.

In our relationships with other people we mostly strive for fairness and equality -- mostly. What we don't realize is that even when we are being generous and giving someone attention there are subtle strings attached. The strings are expectations.

People say they don't have expectations, but they do and it's usually a quid pro quo situation. I give you this so that you will give me that. This and that, of course, are defined differently by each individual. Sometimes it's love and sometimes it's things, but always it's the expectation of time. I make time for you so you should make time for me. Didn't I cook you breakfast, buy you that great gift for [fill in the holiday or occasion], pick up your dry cleaning, clothes or medicine, pay the bills, etc.? It is as if we expect life to be a scientific equation: every action is characterized by an equal and opposite reaction. People aren't scientific and they're not experiments ... or at least they shouldn't be.

In some ways, our actions do have opposite reactions, but they are not always equal. What's more, we don't always realize what caused the reaction in the first place.

Figuring out reactions with plants and animals is easy. You forget to water a plant and it withers and dies. Forget to take out the dog and he will relieve himself on the carpets or in your favorite shoes. People are a little more complex. If you don't water them and give them access to facilities they can respond like plants and dogs, but more often than not they will respond in more complex ways, or they will get what they need for themselves away from home.

Let's say you are a generous person and money is no object. You will give up treats for yourself to save for a special gift for someone you love. In the abstract that is a sweet and selfless thing to do. In reality the gift is a trap; it has strings, lots of strings. The one who has sacrificed, beg, borrowed and stolen to give the object of their affections a gift wants to be repaid with time or attention. What if the other person doesn't have the time or freedom to give the desired attention? The giver is disappointed and either throws a fit or puts on a brave face and waits, hoping that the next gift will change the other person's mind, show them what they are missing. Like I said, it's a trap with lots of sticky strings.

In essence, what the giver has done is make the other person feel diminished, unneeded and resentful. How can they possibly return the gesture or even come close? The result is that the other person will distance themselves from the giver. After all, what can they contribute to the relationship that the giver cannot get for themselves?

The giver only sees that what they wanted -- more time with the other person -- they're not getting. They feel cheated and abused and taken for a ride without ever realizing they are the ones who have been doing the driving.

Even in an emotionally and verbally abusive relationship there are compensations. The abuser, for all his/her faults, is smart. They take away self esteem and autonomy but they make sure the abused feels needed. It may only be for keeping the house clean and making sure meals are on the table on time or paying the bills and providing an income, but they are needed. It's not a healthy relationship by any means, but it is a symbiotic relationship -- or parasitic relationship if you prefer. At least the symbiont/parasite realizes that if they kill the host there will be no place to live and no nourishment and they will die, or at least have to find a way to support and keep themselves. That's not what a symbiont/parasite wants. After all, why work to live when you can live and enjoy yourself at someone else's expense. The host realizes there is a problem and may even feel some pain or discomfort, but at least they are alive.

People need to feel needed, especially in relationships. You have to give the parasite and the damsel in distress credit. They know what they want and they know how to get it by making the host or the rescuer feel like they are contributing something.

Look around you. I'm sure you know someone whose relationship leaves a lot to be desired and someone is getting the short end of the stick. Whether it is a husband who pays for his wife's financial excesses month after month, a wife who takes care of her husband's needs and cleans up after his messes because he cannot be trusted to do it for himself, or a guy who keeps buying wonderful and thoughtful gifts for a girlfriend who cannot afford to reciprocate in kind, there is a payoff. The spend thrift wife probably keeps the home fires burning even though she cuts her husband to shreds with her vicious tongue and possessive ways, but without her husband working and paying the bills she wouldn't be able to live a comfortable life and would be thrown into the working world to fend for herself -- and their children. The thoughtless husband may not remember to pick up his medication or take his vitamins in the morning, but he takes out the trash, fixes what needs fixing and he works hard to contribute to keeping the home fires burning. The girlfriend provides love and time -- when she has time -- and a stability to the boyfriend's life that gives him a sense of belonging and home.

No relationship is perfect as long as there are two people involved. The best way to keep the gears running is to oil them with communication. Even if it means taking stock and realizing there is no reason to continue the relationship because the imbalance is too great, it's time to talk. Alchemy, like a relationship, works best when all the needed ingredients are identifiable and available. When one combination doesn't work, reassess what you have, what works and what doesn't and find out what it is you -- and the other person -- really need.

Cotton candy skies

I am not a morning person. However, when work is scarce I am up before the sun typing away in the darkness with only a little Victorian lamp Lynn and Chuck gave me last year when they came to visit. The landlady says she knows I'm up because she sees the light and she usually gets up about 4 AM, as does Nel across the hall who gets to work at 6 AM and works ten hours a day to keep body, soul, Kittysocks and Iggy together. When Nel is at work putting together seminar packages for reps who teach doctors who to put faces, jaws and heads back together, I am plugging away typing as fast as I can to put enough pages together to keep this roof over my head and pay for my laptop, furniture and digital camera.

While I'm working, the sun sneaks up the horizon and paints the sky in cotton candy colors, streaking the darkness with pink and blue on cloudless days. Some days, like last Thursday, I see a bit of white among the gold and my confused squirrel comes out to take a look. Most mornings are full of cotton candy skies.

The gold standard

As I sit here waiting for pictures to upload to the web so I can share them here, endings are on my mind. There was a time when I hated saying goodbye every time Dad was posted to another base and yet I was also excited. Each new post meant meeting more people and seeing a different part of the world or the country. As sad as it was to say goodbye to my friends, and even boyfriends as I got older, the adventure made it all so much easier.

Living as I have, moving from base to base and country to country because of my father being in the Army and with my ex-husband who was in the Air Force, I have never quite understood what it is like to live a whole life within a very short distance of where I was born, going to school with the same people and living in the same rooms decade after decade. I have lost or left behind many things and people and some of them are still a part of my life. Many, however, are not. I seem to be only able to live anywhere for no more than a couple years. Friendships last a little longer than that and I can say I have stayed in contact with my best friend from high school for more than 30 years. That is a long term relationship I managed in neither of my marriages.

Relationships are something else I have left behind when I walked, and sometimes ran, away. I miss the closeness and getting to know someone so well it seemed they would always be a part of me, and in many ways they are still a part of me, having helped me change and grow and learn what is and isn't right for me and in my life.

When I moved to Colorado I knew this would be the last place where I would live because I am finally home. I look forward to years seeing the same sights and driving and walking the same streets and I doubt I will move very far from this haunted apartment in the converted Victorian where I now live. I may not even move from here but rather split my time between here and a cabin higher up in the mountains (when I can afford one). I do understand the appeal of familiarity and there is much that is familiar here in this house. My landlady and Nel have become my neighbors, my friends and my family and I look forward to sharing my life with them. Other people have come into my life since moving here and have drifted or been asked to leave. That is also familiar from my wandering years. I know that few people ever stick around for very long even when they first promised they would always be there. One thing I have learned is that nothing is permanent. I have also learned that nothing true will ever go as sure as nothing gold can stay.

I remember that poem from The Outsiders and from the movie. "...nothing gold can stay."

Nothing Gold Can Stay
by Robert Frost

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

It took me a long time to figure out just what the poem was saying. It was as if Frost meant that anything gold has only a short life and that even the golden chain of friendship will break. Now I see a different meaning.

Gold is a soft and malleable metal, much like friendships and relationships in the beginning, but gold is enduring and durable. It lasts. Even though dawn gives way to day and day to dusk and back to dawn again, the sun is still there, golden, fierce, strong and enduring. The Earth changes its view, turning slowly around and around, glimpsing the sun as though over a retreating shoulder. So, too, with friends and lovers. If the love is as enduring as gold it will last even when we turn and walk away, catching glimpses here and there over our shoulders. Turn and walk back and the love remains. The gold is still there with fresh newness.

There are times when we need to walk away to get a fresh perspective because something isn't working or the timing isn't quite right. It's like retreating from the blaze of a summer sun in the desert or never looking directly at the sun without some protection to filter out its full majesty and power. So, too, with friends and lovers. There is a time to stand out under the full fierce gaze of the sun and a time to retreat under cover lest we be burned. One thing is certain. If the friendship or the love is made of that durable and enduring gold, it will still be there when the time is right and we have had the time to realize what a precious gift we let fall by the wayside. Walking away isn't the end, sometimes it is a beginning.

Autumn Equinox/Mabon

Seems like just yesterday when I celebrated Ostara and here it is Mabon, the autumn equinox. Although it is said to be on the 21st of September, it is really the time that day and night equally share the 24-hour period of our days and not just a date. The date is sort of a way of keeping track, but today is actually Mabon, autum equinox.

Blessed Mabon to those of you who follow a pagan pathway and happy autumn equinox to the rest of you.

That is all. Disperse.

Dear friend,

While I was taking notes at the board meeting I realized my handwriting skills have deteriorated badly. I haven't written anything in long hand for a long time, outside of quick notes that only I have to read and they are seldom legible to me at times. I decided to write more in my paper journal and to write more in longhand to keep my skills and muscle memory from atrophying beyond use. After all, what would happen if there were no computers, no laptops, no electricity to run them? How would we communicate then?

In this electronic age we seem to have lost the common touch, the intimacy of writing, actually putting pen to paper and writing a letter to someone. We can keep emails on hard drives, flash drives, disks and even print them out on paper, but how many of us actually take the time to do that? How many people have a folder or bundle of ribbon tied emails hidden away in a box and kept as keepsakes? I know I don't. I have emails in electronic format and a few emails I need for reference printed out, but there are no ribbon bound emails, or even large files of emails yellowing with time and age, languishing in a shoe box or cabinet or drawer here or anywhere.

While watching a movie last night as I ate my dinner I decided to send a close friend a letter. I wrote it out in Word the way I always do but decided that was too impersonal, too cold for what I needed and wanted to say. I decided to write the letter in long hand. I didn't know how difficult it would be and how the muscles and tendons of my fingers would complain at the exercise. I am used to writing in a kind of shorthand when I do write in my paper journals and it was a struggle to keep from falling into old habits while writing this letter. It took me an hour to write out three pages that fit on a little over one page in Word, but it is worth it. I wasted a few sheets that will go into the recycling bin and I even flirted briefly with pen and ink before deciding it was safer and would take less time (and my fingers and hand would rebel less) if I used an ink pen. Luckily, the ink pen I used, unlike most of those I have bought recently) didn't skip more than once. I had to go slow to keep from making the words completely illegible and to keep from writing in shorthand, especially since the friend can't read my shorthand -- no one can. I just finished and I am proud of what I wrote. I changed a few things from the original I wrote in Word and printed out, but it is finished and is a more intimate and personal letter than it would have been in email or printed out on plain white copy paper. I wrote the letter on parchment.

Letters written by hand are also a little less likely to be ignored. They are tangible proof of regard for the person receiving the letter and evidence that what you said took time to write and to compose. It is so much easier to type out the words and send them on the flashing energy waves that disassemble and reassemble them on the other end, but I'm glad I wrote the letter by hand. Maybe my friend will keep it in a box somewhere bound in ribbon or even string and read it once in a while. At least I know it will last longer than an email and will hopefully mean as much to them as it does to me when I wrote it.

New Review

If you like romantic movies with music, dancing and singing, check out the latest at Trash & Treasure Reviews.

Today has been a weird day. I'm still evacuating debris from my GI tract but it is getting less and less. The lemonade isn't bad but I really want something to chew, something with meat in it. Driving to the ham club board meeting tonight was torture because I had to drive past a whole lot of fast food restaurants, pizza places, and other emporiums and purveyors of food. The air was full of the lovely smell of grilled meat and my teeth were tightly clenched as I fought off the urge to stop and have something, anything, as long as I could sink my teeth into it. Making the same trip back home wasn't any easier and I was thirsty. I should have brought a bottle of lemonade to suck on to keep my mouth busy. I didn't. Lesson learned for the next time, although the next time I have to attend a board meeting I will be off the master cleanse and back on solid food. I need to think of something else. Something pleasant. I'll have to settle for visiting family.

Less than three weeks until the horde arrives. I suggested a trip to Grand Junction to Monument National Park to see the eroded sandstone formations and maybe some dinosaur bones. Carol didn't like the idea because it would mean a long day. After all, what is a vacation for if not for traveling and seeing the sights? I have a feeling that any suggestions I will make will not meet with approval. Mom is limited because of her frailty, except where antiques and shopping are concerned. I can sit cooped up in my apartment any day of the week and Carol and Mom can shop any time they want. I wanted to do something different. I don't care much for days spent shopping and window shopping. I can do that more efficiently and more comfortably online. I wanted to get out and go about and see some of the wonders in Colorado I haven't seen. So much for that idea.

That is all. Disperse.

Sunday hodge podge

The cleansing part of the cleanse finally hit my GI tract this morning at 5 AM. Must be the senna. I didn't even need the salt water flush to get things moving, just waking up and going to the bathroom -- again -- and there it was, accompanied by cramps and a bit of nausea from the cramps. Lovely. It isn't as if it takes a lot to get me moving since I move regularly anyway, but this felt more like an emergency evacuation. Now I know why I needed mint tea -- to calm everything back down again.

I have another quart of cayenne lemonade in front of me and my mind is churning with stories and articles and ideas for more of both. They haven't touched me and run away like we used to do when playing blind man's bluff as kids; they are sticking around. I wonder if the emergency evacuation had anything to do with my sudden clarity of thought and determination.

Kind of reminds me of the joke about the body and who was really in charge. All the body parts thought they were most important but they really found out who was boss when the anal sphincter refused to open and allow passage of debris. Fever fired up the rest of the organs and the brain couldn't think or order the rest of the body parts and functions around. As always, the asshole wins.

At any rate, I received my copy of Sun Signs for Writers yesterday and dove right into the chapter on Aquarius, my sign. Sagittarius was my next stop and then on to Ares. I'll go through the rest of the book chapter by chapter and reread Aquarius and Sagittarius but I have noticed a pattern emerging -- and not the pattern of the chapters and how they are organized. The pattern is in the the tone of the book. I have to see if the pattern continues before I make my final judgment, but it should be interesting to see what emerges.

I have been asked (actually told) to put together an itinerary for my mother and sisters to follow when they get here so they can see as much as possible. Mom wanted to go to Montana but where she wants to go is a 12-hour trip one way and I don't see that happening, especially since they aren't willing to spend any money for motels. I did want to go to Monument National Park and see the eroded sandstone formations and that is only a 5-hour trip to Grand Junction. We could go there and get back in one day, but it would be a very long day and would mean driving at night through Vail Pass and the tunnel, which isn't difficult if the weather is good. I'm not sure that will be the case next month since there has already been a killing frost in the higher elevations as of last night and this morning. I hope John didn't get caught out in the freeze since he said he was planning to hike this weekend. At least it didn't rain this time.

I have talked a friend who teaches special needs children to collaborate on some articles and possibly a few fictional accounts of her life at school. She sparked the idea during a phone conversation yesterday and, yes, she is the greatest con artist I have ever known. She knows how to con just about anyone out of the doldrums in the midst of the horse latitudes and back into laughter without the person realizing they were ever becalmed on mental seas. I know she helps me see the brighter side of things when I am feeling less than stellar -- and she calls me an optimist. Well, there are no rose colored glasses over my eyes, just the honest belief that eventually winds come even to the horse latitudes.

I also watched The Bridges of Madison County again. I thought I remembered Francesca having a younger daughter, one who was born of her liaison with Robert, but I must have been mistaken because she wasn't there when I saw the movie yesterday. I did miss the first few minutes of it, but I watched it all the way to the end. I still think the movie, and thus the book, over rated, and I remember reading it, although I fought against it the whole time Oprah and her book club gushed over it. There are moments that the story is sweet and romantic, but very few of those. The whole thing is a bit plausible. I doubt there would ever be a time a farm wife living near a small town in Iowa would ever be able to get away with having four days of intimate dinners, conversations, walks and sex without the neighbors knowing about it or that if the woman was so stifled by her farm life, having had to give up teaching because her husband expected her to raise their two children (at the point of the story well past needing to be taken care of) would balk at the chance to run away with a photographer who travels the world, especially if she loves him. It cannot have been only duty that tied her to the farm and her family or even just the thought of how it would affect her children, although that is possible. The motivations do not ring true. I'm not saying it isn't possible, but that it is highly improbable. There must have been something between Francesca and Richard, her husband, when they met in Italy after World War II to make her want to marry him and leave her home and everything she's known, and not just the security of being able to walk the golden streets of America because that would mean she was more interested in comfort and financial security than love, and that kind of person would have walked away from her family without a backward glance or she would have stayed if it meant she would have felt more financially secure where she was.

The story doesn't tug at my heart the way a good romance should and it certainly doesn't make the trivial mistakes and inconsistencies disappear because of the beauty and poignancy of the relationship of two people having found each other and faced the tortures of the damned to be together. I don't expect such grand love affairs in all the romances that move me, but there has to be an innate sense of rightness of two people getting together that makes the story worthwhile even in a little romance, like the ones penned by Nicholas Sparks. His stories have an intimate quality that Waller's story lacks even now. It's not wonder none of Waller's other romances made it to the top of the heap and were so easily forgotten. They didn't have that intimate spark that burns so cleanly and brightly at the center of little romances and grand affairs.

New blog

I have made a new blog for movie and book reviews. If you're interested, check out Trash & Treasure Reviews. Trash reviews will be listed in brown and treasure reviews in red. For the movies and books that aren't bad enough to be trash or good enough to be treasures, they will get a mediocre recycle.

There is only one review on the site now and it is reposted from this journal. Put it on your list and check it out if you can stand the heat.

That is all. Disperse.

Another route

When the road ahead is blocked or unnavigable due to damage to the road or traffic, it's time to go off road or take a different route. I chose to take a little different route.

As LadyCelia mentioned in her comments about a different kind of wedding, 20-something girls have grown up with Barbie in white and they dream of their own white wedding gown. She is right. Barbie is one of the first places young girls learn about style. I decided to contact Mattel to see if they would be interested in a line of different weddings for Barbie, something more along the lines of what I envisioned: brightly colored wedding dressings with attendants in black and/or white. I don't know how this will go, but it is a start. Getting into the fashion world is a lot like finding the spider in the web. Tug on a strand and the spider will come running to see what is for dinner.

That is all. Disperse.

A little bit

A few minutes ago the sky was full of lightning slashing across the gray clouded skies. Now the sky is blue with a herd of fluffy clouds meandering overhead. Raindrops cling to leaves and shimmer like diamonds until a little bit of sun catches them just right and turns them to jeweled fire. Golden leave are crowding out the green in the front yard while the green hangs on outside the sunroom windows. Just a little bit of sun and a little bit of rain and the right angle as the sun moves a little bit and clear water becomes a blaze of fire, glimmering jewels, flashing diamonds.

A little bit of time last night checking my caller ID and I found strange phone numbers. I called a couple of them back. One of them wanted Mae, the lady who had the phone number before me, and I explained she lived in a nursing home and no longer had the number. She said she knew Mae was in a nursing home but thought my number was the nursing home's number. I asked if she would mind letting me know when she found out Mae's number and call me with the information so I can pass the information along. A little time later and she called back with the number.

The other number I called in Atlanta, Georgia was a strange one. Turns out the caller on the other end was a young man who calls women in the middle of the night. I explained I was not in the market for a teenage boyfriend and the lady laughed. A little bit later and the boy called and asked for Leisha. I explained I was not Leisha and did not give him my phone number. He evidently didn't understand what I said because a little bit later he called again. I told him I didn't know Leisha, had never met Leisha and did not give him my number. Leisha evidently gave him a wrong number or he wrote it down incorrectly. He hung up without saying goodbye. I waited a little bit longer and he didn't call back. I guess he got the message at last.

In a little bit I will take my cayenne pepper laced lemonade and go back to work with the hope there will be work to do. I've been up since 5 AM and took a nap when the work petered out but my body didn't stop working. I woke with a shock and a need to get quickly to the bathroom. A little bit of pure raw maple syrup (grade B of course), a little bit of cayenne and a little bit of lemon juice in water and I am good to go and go and go and go and...

Senna softens the debris and a quart of water, two teaspoons of Celtic sea salt in the morning and 30 minutes later debris was evacuated in a rush. One thing to remember is that even a little bit of Celtic sea salt needs warmer water to dissolve properly. It's a bit difficult to chug the whole quart, but that's what I must do and that is what I shall do, enduring the little bit of discomfort it causes for the results it brings.

I have more lemonade to drink and more work to do and a little bit of time before I turn off the movie I'm watching and go back to work. Amazing what a little bit of anything can do.

Forget the pain

Between the cry of the train whistle comes the sound patter of rain. A few yellow lights glimmer in the darkness beyond the window and the night breeze is soft and cool. In the dark, the only light comes from my laptop screen. I've been chasing a story about running and the words aren't coming right. I know what I want to say but the words are slippery and elusive. They don't want to settle down and tell the story I want told. They'd rather find another pathway, another story, not this one right now. Or maybe I'm chasing them too hard and like a lover need to be wooed and coaxed.

I hadn't thought about running for a long time, not since the accident that damaged my knees. Time and weight took the rest of my desire for running, putting more time and weight between me and those times. Some days I can barely walk let alone think of running. It seemed that part of my life was over. John brought it back.

We were both chubby kids in sixth grade when we met. I still see him in his boy scout uniform, his knees pudgy like mine, although we both walked everywhere. The distance grew as we moved from elementary school to junior high. Two miles one way to junior high school, two miles to the pool to swim the hours away or dive or dance by the jukebox, nothing was too strenuous, just a hurdle to cross. I had forgotten those times until John brought them back the day he came to the house to see me for the first time in thirty years. All of it came flooding back as he talked about the first time he had to run the year after he graduated from Officer's Candidate School in the Air Force.

"After I ran the mile around the track I wasn't tired or winded. I wanted to keep running," he said his eyes alight. He smiled looking back on those times. "I kept on running. I felt good. I felt invincible. I felt free."

As he talked, his eyes glowed. He talked about his first ultra marathon and the mornings running. When he got back home he sent me pictures of some of his races. He was happy and excited. He was on top of the world, or as close as you can get running the Pikes Peak Ascent. His memories sparked mine and those long ago days came flooding back as if they had happened last week or last night.

I ran everywhere in high school. I ran to school. I ran up and down the stairs at school. I ran home. I ran down the side streets and sailed over bushes and fences, flying, free, and happy. I had no problems, no worries, no complications when I ran. I didn't join the track team because it wasn't important to win a race or even compete, but I took every chance to run when the high hurdles were set up for the track team or for gym classes. Playing flag football was nearly as good. Even as quarterback I took advantage of the chance to scramble, jumping over bodies and hurdling over missed tackles. It didn't occur to me that there would be a time when I couldn't run, when even the idea of walking took every ounce of energy planning how to get up and down stairs or the shortest path from one point to another. I had forgotten how effortless running was, how little thought or planning it took. I just ran.

As I sit here now remembering those flying days and effortless movement through the air as I sailed over anything in my path, I realize I can have that feeling back. It will take time and it will be painful, but it is possible. My knees are damaged and some mornings they are so stiff and sore it takes all my energy just getting out of bed and walking across the floor. One step will lead to another as long as I don't think about it or contemplate the pain because I know there will come a time when once again I can fly effortlessly down the side streets and over bushes and fences in the gathering dark of day's end. I will be able to share again the way John smiles when he talks about those days running in the cool dark before dawn or evenings after work when it is time to leave responsibility and duty in the distance as I forget the pain and run free once again.

Breaking with tradition

On the day of days girls dream of being center stage at their wedding wearing a stunning gown of white, symbol of purity since Queen Victoria popularized the white gown and the symbol of happiness since Roman times. It's time for a change.

The grooms wait at the altar. Groomsmen in tuxes or morning suits or afternoon white escort the bridesmaids down the aisle. Each bridesmaid wears a white gown. The music swells with the opening strains of the wedding march. The bride enters on the arm of her father (or father figure) in a stunning gown of brilliant red trimmed in gold.

The bridal gown could be any jewel bright color: primary, earthy, awe inspiring, a gown that takes center stage with color and design while the bridesmaids form the frame in either black or white. Is there a designer who is willing to break with tradition, a bride with vision and a sense of adventure daring enough to turn the fashion world on its head and break new ground?

What I want is a designer with vision and a woman with a spirit of daring and adventure to pull this off. It would be the event of the season captured in pictures (and on video), an event that will turn the fashion world on its ear and set the standard for a new kind of fashion and style. I've contacted several top designers and I'm looking for a willing bride. It's different and bold and I don't know how long it will take to find the right ingredients, but it should be fun as well as a lot of hard work -- providing the white coats don't come for me.

Tax rebate

After 108 years of taxes to support a war no longer being fought, the Spanish American War, an illegal tax will be returned to taxpayers on the 2006 return. The maximum is $60 on a long distance bill and based on the number of people in the family, and that without copies of the phone bills. That's fine for 2006 but what about the 3% tax that has been paid on long distance phone calls for the past 108 years? The Spanish American war was ended with the Treaty of Paris on December 10, 1898.

The money was earmarked to pay for the war and the tax enacted in 1898, a luxury tax on long distance phone calls since only the rich could afford to make and pay for LD calls. The tax has just been repealed and phone and cell phone companies had until August 1, 2006 to stop charging the tax. I still want to know what happened and will happen to the funds that have been collected over the past 100+ years. I would like to have the 3% tax I have paid over the past 33 years, and the interest, too. I could use the money but I'd be glad to see the funds sitting in some slush fund collecting interest this past century funneled into Social Security. That should keep the fund solvent for at least another 20 or 30 years. I'll probably win the lottery sooner.

That is all. Disperse.

No snoring here

First the famine and now the feast.

Things go in cycles and now the cycle has turned from no guys interested in me to two guys interested in me. The catch is that they don't live in Colorado. I would enjoy a visit to the UK and Ghana is certainly an interesting proposition, but Arkansas? There are a couple of local guys who seem interesting and yet... Maybe I'm getting cynical in my old age. The guy in Ghana is only there for another four or five months. He's the right age (a little younger) and financially independent and SINGLE. He is the directorial manager of an NGO (non-governmental organization) that works with placing third world orphans. He's nice looking and interesting and he lives in Arkansas when he isn't traveling in Africa. Could be the perfect relationship: separate houses in separate states, financially independent and conjugal visits in exotic locales.

I do not think the UK guy is going to work out. He wastes no chance to remind me he works for the LORD, so I countered with the fact that I am a pagan with Wiccan leanings. I left out the witch part. I know they don't burn witches in the UK any more but I'm not taking any chances, especially since I left the cross on the wood pile back up at the cabin.

I am about to take a shower and wash my hair, get dressed, brush my hair and teeth and go to the grocery store. I plan to load up on all the junk food I have avoided for so long because I'm starting the Master Cleanse diet on Friday and will get nothing but cayenne-flavored lemonade for three weeks. By the end of that time, I expect to have cleaned out my GI tract, dropped a few pounds and be ready to sink my teeth into the first available food source -- living or dead and barbecued. So, tonight it will be sushi, Godiva chocolate raspberry truffle ice cream and a box of lemon poppy seed muffins. Okay, so not so big a junk food fest but I could always work in two pints of ice cream and a bag of Cheetos or dill pickle Lay's potato chips. I have options and money, always a great combination. Then again, I should get the motor for the wiper blade that doesn't work any more and install it. It's inexpensive and it might snow or rain or be otherwise inclement when I drive up to Winslow Pass this weekend and come back through the golden aspens near Cripple Creek. Yes, I'm getting out of town for a few hours and take my camera. I will have pictures.

It has paid to call around for prices on fixing the windshield wiper motor. The guy who answered the phone at one auto repair place was interesting and I couldn't figure out how an ex-English teacher ended up working for an auto repair shop. His brother owns the shop. He "escaped from the Denver school systems" and he is articulate and interesting and has a sense of humor. He's also single and we have a date for coffee (mine will be water, juice or herbal tea) and talk. He's also asked for help with setting up a web site since he is a tutor for ACT, SAT and AP (advanced placement) exams. He's a little older than I am and he's single, articulate and single.

Oh, he also lives about five blocks from here. Finally, a local guy. Definitely feast. The famine is over.

That is all. Disperse.

Of death and life

I hadn't looked at the calendar yet so I didn't realize what today is. It's the anniversary of the destruction of the Twin Towers but also the anniversary of a much more pleasant event.

Two years ago today, instead of celebrating this anniversary with tears and sad memories, we chose to celebrate death and destruction with an affirmation of life. After 39 years of sighs and longing looks, tender thoughts and happy fantasies, we looked into each other's eyes and saw the truth. Through laughter and giggles and long, loving looks and sighs we stood outside on the deck wrapped in each other's arms and noticed the wind's devastation in an uprooted lodgepole pine that had fallen away from the cabin and away from us. He laughed while I got my words mixed up standing so close to him, our mingled scent wreaking havoc with my logic circuits, while I explained how the wind was so strong and fierce it had bent the rigid pines nearly vertical. I meant horizontal, my hand horizontal, but vertical rushing from between my lips. Every time vertical or horizontal come up now his green eyes twinkle as he smiles his crooked smile and I see the memory of those moments on the deck, wrapped in each other's arms as we laughed and teased and kissed mirrored in his eyes.

The world outside didn't exist that day, only being together, sharing a bowl of oatmeal and his favorite movie while we sat on the floor together, holding each other and wiping tears of joy from our eyes. We were closer that day in those few hours than we have ever been before or since and I cherish those moments as much as I cherish the gift he brought me, a gift he lovingly crafted and shared.

As difficult as it is to look back and remember the devastation of the Twin Towers on that day five years ago, a devastation I heard on the radio as I drove to the doctor's office to have her look at the blood leaking into the tissues under my right eye and swelling my eye nearly shut because of a car accident three days before, I prefer to remember the same date two years ago when I finally understood how wonderful it is to be loved and understood and accepted and cherished, to look into another's eyes and see perfect love and trust and long held dreams fulfilled.

Say nothing

Some mornings the words flow and some mornings the words won't come, a little literary constipation in my day to bind things up. Then there are the days when the words are there but I cannot ferret them out or bring them to the surface the way they sound in my mind like a schizophrenic aphasia. Today is none of those but a feeling of words needing to be expressed that must wait until the working day is over because the work funds the time to write and a place to write and tools to use to write and a warm and comfortable (unlike today) place to write. These are the times that try writer's souls; my writer's soul.

My grandmother told me many times that my wants wouldn't kill me. She was right. Wanting to write didn't kill me, but writing is more than a want. Writing saved my sanity and my life at a time when I thought I couldn't go on another day, a time when death seemed preferable to being caged. For me, writing is as necessary as oxygen and water and food and sunlight. Even if no one sees what I write or ever reads it during my life time, it is just as necessary for me to continue living.

I have been struggling with finding the words for a contest. I don't enter a lot of contests because I have had neither the time nor the money but this morning as I write this I finally see the way through to the words I need for this one contest about writing and how to explain and quantify success. There are a few writers who read this journal and I wonder how they determine writing success. Is it being published or winning contests or is it something more, something less? I don't want to know why you write but how you, as a writer, measure success? Say anything.

Ready?

Set?

Write!

Clothes off, clothes on

I had Pastor last night and since the landlady was gone I got to do the laundry, too. Finding time to do the laundry around here is difficult and weeks go by (and I run out of underwear) before I get time in the laundry room, which is downstairs, around the back side of the house and through a locked door. Nel has Sundays and the landlady likes Saturdays which leaves me with whenever I can get to it. I have to admit it would be more convenient for me if the landlady would do her laundry any other day but Saturday, which would be easy for her since the washer and dryer are on her floor and she has access 24/7, but that's not the way it works.

So, I did the laundry last night sitting downstairs watching the movies I haven't had a chance to see. First up was a clothing optional movie: On a Clear Day about a ship builder made redundant who decides to swim the English Channel after training for only six months. The clothing optional part was because most of the time the main character and his side kicks, including Billy Boyd who pranced around in pink bikini panties that belonged to a girl, swam in trunks. They also managed to swim in their clothes a few times, but those times were minor at best. I love a good coming of age story and this was definitely one of them even if most of the characters were middle-aged. Even middle-aged men eventually have to come of age. Keep the Kleenex handy, though. You will need them.

In between letting Pastor in and out (so much for the landlady telling me he could hold his water for 8-10 hours -- more like 8-10 minutes sometimes) and checking the laundry, I managed a second movie: The Libertine with the always versatile and fascinating chameleon, Johnny Depp who was as interesting and fascinating as ever. I do not, however, see any resemblance between John Malkovich's portrayal of King Charles II and Sam Neill's in Restoration, especially since Neill is so handsome and Malkovich sporting a stereotypical Halloween witch's hooked nose, but at least the wig and mustache were the same. Depp begins the movie telling you how much you're going to hate him because he has a way with a stiff member and sets you up for a huge fall. John Wilmot, as portrayed by Depp, is definitely the libertine they call him, but he is also a complex and original character with depth and sensitivity.

Earlier in the day, in an effort to avoid writing or doing anything of real worth, I also watched V is for Vendetta, a movie I had put far down my Netflix list because I had not read the comic book and because it did not really appeal to me. I changed my mind. The ending stirs the heart and the blood and leaves you rooting for the "bad" guys.

Casting was very interesting with John Hurt as the Chancellor who governs the country with an iron fist and the Anglican Bible in his free hand, creating a state governed inextricably by the church with no separation of ideology or visible intelligence. Timing is everything and this movie's release at this time is telling. Too bad November 5 is not a memorable day in American historical annals. We could use a Guy Fawkes day to ignite an explosion of freedom.

All three movies are well worth the time and the cost to add them to your library. If you haven't seen them, put them in your Netflix queue or at least go to the video store and check them out.

That is all. Disperse.