This one's for TFMR

Yesterday someone asked what in the heck took me out to California in the first place.  I then explained that TFMR (The Former Mr. Ryan) is a musician.  He's one of the rare ones who went West to pursue music and actually made it work, so there we stayed.   We came from Northeast Ohio, where clubs featured live bands instead of canned music...and if you were in a popular band (which he was), you could actually make a living as a musician.  As you can imagine - that whole "pay to play" club scene in LA was a bit of a rude awakening for us.  He's ridiculously talented.  A genuinely funny human being, a gifted songwriter, a smokin' hot drummer, Beatle historian par excellence.  Anyway...

When I saw this video I was immediately transported to one of the many bars/clubs in which I spent a Friday or Saturday night with the other band wives.  Hair teased up on only one side of my head - it was the Sheila E. / Prince / Flock of Seagulls / Cure era after all...jacket with giant shoulder, LOTS of eyeliner and a serious attempt at making my eyeshadow appear to have been airbrushed.  This is one of my all time favorite songs that one of his cover bands played, and happily, it's been  tweaked by one of my favorite performance artists, Liam Sullivan - aka Kelly. (My be NSFW due to language - depending upon where you are)

TFMR, this one's for you.  Dance around the studio as you listen...you know you want to!

The Universe Heard Me...

...and lo and behold, my girl Baby Smiley (Gloria Shuri Nava) is on TV!  

Ms Nava is my favorite form of amusement, freakishly talented, and just plain funny as hell. You can catch her other characters on YouTube.  And  I have to say...I miss the cholas...we don't exactly have anything like that here in East Tennessee!

From an Older Woman to a Younger Woman

YOU GO GIRL!

And if you're not hip to the magic that is Taylor Swift...well...I'm sad for you.  Smart, savvy, and from many accounts, in control of her life and career.  I've enjoyed watching her from her breakout performance at the CMA's and am thrilled to see her just get better and better.

Oh, and she looks a great deal like my son's girlfriend, so yes, I'm a little biased.

Wakhan Thánka níci un

Title translation:  May the Great Spirit go with you and guide you.

I've watched this over and over, and still I can't put into words why it moves me.   Certainly it's the horses...but there's more to it than that.  There is a beautiful symmetry here; the melding of man and horse, the fluidity of movement.  

But mostly I think that it's a peek into the past.  Were it not for the jeans and t-shirts, these men could be wearing buckskins.  But the event is the same as it's been for hundreds of years - young Native American men displaying their skill and prowess on horseback.  Warrior spirit at its essence.

This event was filmed at at the Pine Ridge Reservation during the building of a cob house, and was a race to honor the battle at Wounded Knee.  

“Let us put our minds together and see what life we can make for our children.” ~~ Sitting Bull

Frank Warren is my hero

One of my favorite quotes goes something like this:  "We are not human beings on a spiritual journey...we are spiritual beings on a human journey."  I don't recall the source, and if anyone out there does, please let me know.

A shining example of the spiritual being living the human experience is Frank Warren, founder of the Post Secret project.  My friend Aaron turned me on to it 4 or 5 years ago and I've loved watching it evolve and heal and save lives.  On many a Sunday, it has saved mine.  It's part of my Sunday morning prayer ritual and this morning I was pleased to see a new video reflecting the secrets in his new book "Post Secret:  Confessions on Life, Death, and God", all of which are subjects near and dear to my heart.

I own all of the Post Secret books, they're a great place to go to when I need to be reminded to be thankful.  I can't wait to pick this one up and I hope that you will check them out.

And...thanks Frank.

You might just live in Tennessee if...

When I lived in LA and was cranky and frustrated because someone had: 

a.) flipped me off while driving

b.) cut  me off while driving  

c.) was a jerk in general

I was able to retain some semblance of calm because I would always remind myself that I just didn't look good in orange.  By that, I meant LA County Jail orange.  I just knew that those jumpsuits just wouldn't do a thing for me; and with hips like mine, that's something to think about very seriously.

Now that I'm here I have to rethink that, because here... it's all about the orange.  University of Tennessee orange.

Every area has their local passion; here it's the UT Volunteers; "Vols" to the locals.  For me...if you can't put a saddle on it, I don't know about it.  And to give credit where credit is due, The Former Mr. Ryan put up with 23 years of my never being able to grasp the concept of football. Well, I kind of have no choice now.  And these folks are serious.

Need a Vols cake pan? Got it.  

Ice cube trays for that tailgate party?       Got it covered.

Muffin pan?   Yep, got it.

Sweater for your dog?            Of course.

Halloween decoration?       Hell yeah!

It's yet one of the many things about East Tennessee that are (in my opinion) pretty cool.  A sort of unifying agent.

This came to me courtesy of my cousin (and isn't everyone here my cousin?) Pauline, whose sheer awesomeness knows no bounds...

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Forget Rednecks!  Here is what Jeff Foxworthy has to say about folks from Tennessee -- aka 'Orange necks.'

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If someone in a Lowe's store offers you assistance and they don't work there, you may live in Tennessee .

If you've worn shorts and a parka at the same time, you may live in Tennessee .

If your favorite season is called "It's Football Time in Tennessee !", you may live in Tennessee .

If you've had a lengthy telephone conversation with someone who dialed a wrong number, you may live in Tennessee...

If 'Vacation' means going anywhere south of Knoxville for the weekend, you may live in Tennessee...

If you measure distance in hours or minutes, you may live in Tennessee...

If you know several people who have hit a deer more than once, you may live in Tennessee ...

If you install security lights on your house and garage, but leave both unlocked, you may live in Tennessee...

If you own several articles of orange clothing, you may live in Tennessee...

If you carry jumper cables in your car and your wife knows how to use them, you may live in Tennessee...

If the speed limit on the highway is 55 mph -- you're going 80 and everybody's passing you, you may live in Tennessee...

If you find 60 degrees 'a little chilly', you may live in Tennessee...

If you know someone who has set the date of a wedding, a birth, or any other life changing event, only after consulting the UT football schedule, you may live in Tennessee...

If you actually understand these jokes you definitely live in Tennessee...

*********************************

So I've got yet another new thing to learn if I'm to hang out in the kitchen with the ladies in the family - while they watch football.

TFMR and Pauline, this one's for you....GO VOLS!

And so it goes...

Yes, it's been a while.

Miss Lillian passed away early on the morning of September 6th.  Yes, I was there.  Yes...I was terrified, but I received abundant blessings at the same time... I'm still not in a place where I can accurately write about the experience.  Maybe one day; there's just too much to chew on.

And so now I move on.

I am now a permanent resident of Johnson City, TN.  A place where it appears that I am related to EVERYONE... I can't go anywhere without hearing "are you one if the Ryans' or the Fields'?" Thank God both families have great reputations, or I'd be really nervous.  In one instance, one of my cousins (on Miss Lillian's side) married a distant cousin on my father's side.   Soon there won't be a family tree...it'll all be one stump.  It says a lot about how small the community here is - especially the black community, but that's a post for another day.

The JC in which I now reside is very different than the JC of my childhood, so it's a little like discovering it all over again.   Finding my way around isn't a challenge, because everything and anything is only 10 minutes from wherever you are - 15 if there's a traffic jam.  In LA I used to spend the hours on the road chatting on the phone, catching up with my friends; easy to do because I had the time.  Here, I do all my catching up in parking lots because I've already arrived at my destination.  The young lady at the Rite Aid now knows to wave at me from the store window.

What is there to do here?  Well, you have to shift your expectations a bit...the excitement of LA is a thing of the past; though I never really had the time to avail myself of all that LA had to offer.  But if you want a sweet, country festival...we've got them in spades!  I attended the Apple Festival in historic Erwin this past weekend, and (keep in mind that Erwin has basically one road in and one road out) I was stunned at the sheer numbers of people that came to eat fried apple pies made famous by the Mennonites.  It felt like New York on New Years Eve.  The difference is that when people bumped into you, they'd turn, pat your arm and say "Oh honey, I'm so sorry!" which would then turn into a long dialogue about how many people there are.

Anyway, I didn't get to experience the apple pies - they had sold 6,000 of them by 2:30 pm and were sold out; not a fried apple pie in sight.    And take note of the width of the street.  That's downtown Erwin, virtually unchanged since 1875 (and thank you to the Erwin Historical Society for the photo, which was taken in 1916).

 

Kind of cool, isn't it? You have to love the "old timey-ness" of it, as indicated by this sign:

                                                                                        

The Apple Festival happened to coincide with the International Storytelling Festival in Jonesboro (another 10 - 15 minutes down the road).  Please take a moment to wander around their website; I can't even begin to describe the awesomeness of Jonesboro, nor can I do justice to the magic of storytelling.  I'll just say this...I expect to see you all here next October, so that we can enjoy it together.

Well, it's getting chilly and I have to go turn the heat on before my fingers go numb...so until later...remember that I miss you all (of my personal peeps who are reading this).

Miss Lillian Preps For Her Grand Departure

At about 1pm I got a call from the Sharon, the Director of Nurses (who has become a good and loving friend) that Miss Lillian's skin has begun to 'mottle' and that she was asking for me. Sharon's exact words were "you need to come now". These are bad signs. Skin mottling indicates that her system is no longer able to transport oxygen to the her extremities, and her blood kind of begins to 'pool' because its so sluggish. It generally happens when death is eminent (the given range would be: 24 to 48 hours to 1 week).

What amazes me is that she is very aware of what's taking place. She feels herself leaving, and I wish I could have some glimmer of understanding of what that's like; but that would be like flipping to the last page of a book.

So when I arrived here at 'the home', (which has become my second home) she was serene and quiet. This is NOT her normal state, as some of you may know. I always greet her with "what up?"...instead of her usual snarky and generally inappropriate Sassy Southern Lady reply
she said; "I'm dying... and I'm so tired." I asked her if there was anything on her mind...anything she wanted to take care of. She wanted to make phone calls. This I can do.

Today has been spent doing the thing that I consistenely harangue and annoy you folks to do...letting people know that they are loved; saying what matters to those who matter.

We called Mr. Newby, the man who has been her close friend for many years, and who (I found out about 10 years ago) has been in love with her since 1946, but was man enough to let it be. She said goodbye to my sister, who is unable to be here - that was a hard one to sit in on
- and made us promise to take care of each other. And then one by one, the relatives started to file in.

We are a loud and raucus bunch; with the exception of yours truly, the women all sound like Reba McIntyre, and the men tend to sound like Tommy Lee Jones (as Doolittle Lynn in "Coalminer's Daughter").  Mourning isn't their style - these people are ALL about the funny;
sharing memories and ridiculous impressions of those memories is how they roll.

And yes, I am taking notes and the book will be forthcoming.

Anyway, as we were caught up in the business and nonsense associated with Miss Lillian's signing off; not one of us had noticed or commented on the fact that the staff had quietly removed her roomate (bed and all) and rolled in a cart with cookies, snacks, cups, flatware, sodas and coffee. The recliner that I sleep in when I'm here had been moved to a more open area of the room and had been stocked with a fresh pillow and blanket. A few more chairs appeared.

Now, the whole time I've been here, I've made sure to keep my 'clinically competent person' hat on. It makes it much easier to deal with the awful parts, the sleep deprivation, and witnessing the indignity of aging. But when one of the nurses came to me and asked me if there was anything else she could do for us...my 'daughter' hat appeared and I promptly burst into tears. Kindness does that to me.

Then we celebrated.

I stood back and marveled at how easy it is to forget that in the end, all we have is each other. I also discovered that forgiveness is easier than you think - you just have to take a baby step. Baby steps feel really good. To say that ML and I have had a difficult relationship would be a gross understatement. But in the end, we are the sum of our experiences, and in dealing with others we would be well served to remind ourselves of that - and then take inventory of
how we let our experiences shape us. In the end, we experience fear, no matter how tough we think we are. That has to be met with compassion as well.

So...after all that yammering (and thanks for getting this far) what did I learn about death and dying?
It can create close bonds, as well as belly laughs, and can reveal strength you didn't think you were capable of. That as we leave this part of the journey in preparation for the next part, we are similar to the way we were when we arrived.

I also learned that I'd better get my shit together and let SOMEONE know what song I want played at my funeral!! ('In This Life' by Collin Raye, in the event someone is taking notes). This began as a serious discussion and degerated into 'if Lillian were a country song, what would her lyrics be?'... we were like a bunch of frat boys who'd had a bit too much moonshine. One of the staff came and "shhhh'd" us.

In the time it has taken to write this she has gone from labored breathing to barely visibly breathing. I'm thankful for my Blackberry, but my thumbs are tired. Most important, I'm thankful that this is nearly over for her, and for the gift of experience...even the scary parts.

So...I've said it before, and I'm fully aware that I sound like a broken record, so let the eyeballing commence.

Say the words. Express gratitude. Hug a stranger (if you're in Tennessee it's a requirement. If you're in LA a pat on the arm will do). Write a letter (not an email) to someone you miss. Tell them that you miss them; that you just want to know they're ok. Love the unloveable. Like those baby steps I mentioned - it feels really good.

I've had my rant...now I get to have my rave.

"Home, sings to me of sweet things..." That's a line from a Bonnie Raitt song called "Home", and whenever I hear it, I get a visual of the road that led to our house in Abingdon, VA.

My father was raised there (his family having moved from Bluefield, VA shortly after his birth in 1910), and it was where I spent every summer - until he passed away when I was 19 - in the house where he grew up. He is buried there on Taylor's Hill next to his parents, and I'll bury my mom there when this is all over.

I've been really ill for the past week, so yesterday was the first time I was able to venture out of the house, and I woke up thinking - or more like hearing - "you need to go see Daddy, you gotta go to Abingdon" ...and so I did. And yes, 50 year old semi-Southern women still refer to our fathers as "Daddy". I just have to share with you what has always been so special to me.

A little history about Abingdon can be found here. It was always clear to my sister and I that our summers were special, I just never really understood how cool it was to be a barefoot kid, free to run around with my sister and my friends, in a town that is literally steeped in Civil War history. Let me show you around!

If you click on the map, it'll open in another window, and will certainly be clearer. But the green dot at the end of Leonard St. is our house. The orange dot across town is where I spent my formative years learning about the wily ways of boys...and I do mean ALL between A and B Streets! The Piggly Wiggly was at the end of Main St. as you head out of town; so was the Dairy Queen, which is still there.

Everything else was our own personal stomping ground. I was fascinated at a very early age by the Sinking Spring Cemetery, had many a ghostly experience there; some (in my poinion) real, others made up by boys for the sole purpose of...well, you know. And "The Tavern"...the oldest building in Abingdon...I crossed the street to avoid it when I was a kid, and found myself doing it again yesterday. Some things just carry what is imprinted upon them. Abingdon is a veritable playground for those who have crossed over, but just can't seem to stay there.

Abingdon always had a sort of "To Kill A Mockingbird" kind of groove to it, because gentrification hadn't set in yet. Because the town is so small, anywhere you walked was the 100th time you'd done it, which is probably why it's burned into my memory. The days were hot, the streets were dusty, and yes - you could ride your horse down any street you chose, including Main Street.

Whenever I walked past the Martha Washington Inn, where my grandmother and my father worked in the kitchen (she as a cook, she took him with her as a toddler and he would peel potatoes), I would tell myself that one day I would stay there. That one day I would sit on that huge porch in one of the wicker rockers, and I would watch the world go by...and seven years ago I did. I sat there on the veranda under the soft glow of the porch lights, watched the mountain mist settle over Main Street, and read in until I nearly fell asleep; it was that sublime an experience.

Across the Street is the Barter Theatre, where I believe (and there's no one around to tell me anymore) either my grandmother or grandfather worked. My sister and I used to crack each other up with the idea of people using sacks of potatoes and bushels of carrots to pay to see plays; but that's exactly how it got its name. We would crane our necks to try to get a glimpse of the Hollywood folk who came to perform in the summer...never did see one.

But that was what it was like in town. There was a clear separation of people by class and economic status.

My memories of the area near our house have become sepia toned versions of this...

and this...

and this

My purpose for going there was to have a long conversation with my dad. Just the two of us the way we used to; to apologize for staying away so long, and to ask him to help Miss Lillian acclimate, because she'll be joining him soon. There's no way to know for sure, but I felt that he heard me; that he understood about my long absence...and that he rolled his eyes because he knows he won't get a minute of peace with that woman there... and eternity is a mighty long time to listen to her yammering.

Shaking my head in shame...

I was going to write about my visit yesterday to Abingdon, VA; the little town that shaped my idea of what "home" really is. But that will have to come later...while checking my daily reading, I came across this little gem regarding the decision to let the push for gay marriage in 2010 slide.

I am beyond mortified and saddened. Then I remembered reading the post below (from the "Best of Craigslist Rants and Raves.) This poster said it better than I ever could, so I'll just let him express my outrage.

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California's Gay Marriage Ban: Disgraceful
Originally Posted: Tue, 26 May 20:37 PDT

First let me say I am NOT a mormon. Not everyone in Utah is mormon, in fact the percentage of Mormon to non Mormon is gradually declining as more folks move in from places like California, Nevada, Arizona and the Snowbelt states. So, while the Mormon church does still have some degree of clout here, to boycott Utah thinking you are boycotting the Mormon church, is kind of like the reverse of the Christians telling their congregations that if they go to San Francisco on vacation they are supporting the gay lifestyle. (Everyone with a brain knows that not everybody in San Francisco is gay, in fact it's only about 20% if that.)

I am a California native born/raised/bred, from four generations of Californians born/raised/bred in California, retired to the warm, sunny climate of Southern Utah. I was against the first "defense of marriage" thing years ago when that idiot Republican Peter Knight was on his diatribe because I thought it was divisive and redundant.

I was no longer in the state when this last initiative came onto the ballot. But I would not have supported the measure (meaning I would have voted NO on 8), not because I am pro-gay per se', but out of logic...because I think "marriage" is a religious institution and I don't believe it is the government's role to be involved in either defining, or protecting the definition of any religious institution, under the separation of church and state clause. (In fact, if you want my personal opinion, while I'm not anti-gay at all, I think that the word "marriage" should imply what it has implied for thousands of years, the union between one man and one woman. But, since it is a religious institution, the power to define what constitutes "marriage" should be left strictly up to the religious community for them to debate and discuss. And if I disagree with one religion's views on "marriage", I'm always free to choose another religion. But to have the government tell me who I can and can't "marry" is CRIMINAL. Plain and simple. We have established Government to protect our basic human rights, not to be allowed to strip us of them, and we should demand a redress of grievances immediately! If everyone in the state voted to send all gays to the gas chamber would that make it legal? God forbid!!)

What it boils down to is this: Since "marriage" is a religious institution, then according to Article III of the Bill of Rights, the Government has no business in the "marriage" business...for anyone. The Civil Union should replace "marriage" as the Government recognized legally binding agreement between two people, regardless of gender, and it should be performed by Justices of the Peace (or other appointed Government Officials). We have already established that Government must treat all individuals equally under the law regardless of gender. Therefore, Government should grant the same binding Civil Union to any 2 people who want to apply for the Civil Union, regardless of gender. Once this Civil Union has been performed (a formality), the 2 people can of course go to any church, synagogue, mosque, etc. of their choice and get a "marriage"in whatever religious observance or tradition they see fit. It can't possibly diminish the significance or symbolism of it because in order to get "married" now, a couple needs to obtain a Govt issued license. Essentially, the Civil Union process would just replace the license application process. A side benefit of this would be an added revenue stream to municipalities for the Civil Union process. It's not a tax, it's a fee for services. It would likely require more personnel in many city offices (which the fees would cover), but there would be jobs created. It's not rocket-science.

But here is the crux of the irony in this whole California ballot thing (and just one more reason why I was so glad to leave California because it's just gotten beyond ridiculous....) But it shows how backward things are. California can't even pay its own bills anymore...but it's worried about trying to "defend" the definition of "marriage". How rich is that?

I have to wonder how many of those people who went to the polls to vote for this poorly-written measure to "defend marriage" are not even "married" themselves, but rather just shacked up together? (Before you tell me it's a 'common law marriage', you can stick it. It's not the same as that legally-binding marriage certificate...you know, that little piece of paper that the lawyers use to take away half your assets when you want to walk out on your spouse. That's why, when you're shacked up it's a lot easier to bail, even if you've been shacked up for 20 years and have kids and property together.) How many of those who voted for the measure even have a religous belief about anything? How many of them could even stay in a long-term relationship, much less a "marriage" without cheating on a partner/spouse (e.g.: committing adultery)? How many of those worried about "preserving the sanctity of marriage" have already been married and divorced once, twice or even three times...or even perhaps more...and re-married? Or here's one that I really would like to ask the religious community, how many of those religious right wing nutjobs calling themselves Christians who went on a diatribe about this measure, have been divorced and re-married, when Jesus specifically condemned this, (except in certain circumstances)? Answer me that. There is so much muck in their own back yards to clean up, they should stick with that instead of worrying about what others are doing.

How does it make you feel to know that your school systems are among the worst in the country, so bad that the majority of kids aren't getting the same quality education as their same-age peers in most other states...but at least now your homos can't get married. Thank God for that, though! Right? Show them who's boss!

The schools are in shambles, the roads need paving, there is no money to pay the police, firefighters and teachers and hundreds of other state jobs, and tens of thousands of kids have no medical care. But you have just made it that much harder for the queers who live next door to you to visit each other in the hospital if they ever get sick. What a worthwhile accomplishment! Give them the punishment they deserve! They're just queers, who cares?

Your kids are graduating high school and they can't read or write, and yet you just spent millions passing one of the most hate-based, discriminatory laws since the pre-civil rights era. How does it make you feel now that you've gotten your way, all of you self-righteous Christians and Mormons and Jews and Muslims and Atheists and who knows whoever or whatever else is reading this (I hope the whole world)...who solicited funds to get this measure passed? Here's a novel question...WHY did you people donate time and money to pass this measure when you could have just as easily given the money and time and energy for a worthwhile cause like doing something about the collapsing school system? Or lobbying your state assembly to change an immigration policy that is collapsing the state budget? Or one of the LITANY of more truly important issues facing your state? Are those things not important to you?

Apparently, fighting the cause of homophobia is more important than any of those issues. Do you think homosexuality is some kind of contagious disease? Is it the next global pandemic? Is it going to rub off on you or your kids? Does it spread through the air? Is it in the water? Are homo germs going to blow east and "infect" the rest of us in the free world if you don't take it upon yourselves to stop them? Please tell me, because I would really like to know how you think. Because frankly I don't understand how anyone's choice of a mate (which is entirely someone else's personal matter) can possibly have an effect on you so much that you would go to such lengths as to try and deny others the right to a peaceful and loving co-existence.

What doesn't seem to add up here is that homosexuality suddenly doesn't seem so taboo when all you straight guys shut the door to your den (behind your wives back) and go onto your favorite dial-a-porn site and watch the lesbians licking each other for the camera while you pleasure yourself with a bottle of lube. But, hey, we won't talk about that. It's OK for beautiful girls with big boobs and luscious lips to do each other for your porn addiction, but just don't ever let two "faggots" get married and/or move into your neighborhood. That's not the kind of homosexuality we want. But it's fine if you want to try and talk your wife or girlfriend into doing it with another woman (or two) while you watch, that's somehow "normal"...but the thought of two "faggots" who love each other getting married and moving in next to you is "just unnatural". (BTW, In case you hadn't noticed, you are what's called a pathetic loser.)

I'm totally puzzled here, California. Not because I expect you to make decisions based on religion, but simply because California has always been the leader in civil rights, equality and justice for all, and most importantly a "live and let live" ethic. California is not perfect, but at least you had a couple of things going for you in the human rights category. However, I am disappointed. You have let the country and the world down. You need to go back to the drawing-board and re-think this one because you made the wrong decision...at the polls, and in the courts.

Location: I'm in Utah
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
PostingID: 1190733170

Meanwhile, back at the nursing home...

Over the last few days, I've gotten a serious reality check. Miss Lillian is a tiny shell of her former self in a sterile bed. And yet, I have to get my humor wherever I can find it; if you can't laugh at the hard stuff what's left to do? Cry. And I'm not ready for that yet.

If you have to make the unfortunate decision to place your parent in a place like this, you could certainly do far worse. It's clean, smells really nice, and the staff are fun and very caring. What makes the visits easier for me are the residents...they are the stuff that screenplays are made of!

There's Bob, who has Alzheimer's. Bob is very mobile but completely non-verbal, and never leaves his room without his "Tennessee Titans" ball cap, sometimes he wears two, one right on top of the other. And Bob loves to just stop in and visit. We're never sure who he's going to bless with his presence, or how or why he chooses the recipient; but he always has the sweetest expression on his face. I get the sense that he's always about to say something nice.

And there's the woman in the purple sweater, whom I have nicknamed "Gorgeous". She has no idea who she is, what her name is, or why she's there; but she always rolls up, grasps my hand and sweetly waves to me. I tell her how pretty she is in her purple sweater and she blushes to the very roots of her hair, says "Oh go on!" and then rolls away. She is adorable!

There's also The Cookie Man. A very dapper gentleman who always has a packet of Honey Graham crackers in his hand. He's never without them and always makes a point of holding them up, waving them, to tell anyone who will listen: "They're number one with me!" I think he's told me that 15 times in 4 days. But he's always smiling, which makes me smile.

But my favorite is...The Topless Woman. Every time I turn around, she's sitting quietly in her wheelchair, smiling peacefully, folding her shirt...and naked from the waist up. Yes, that's right...boobs flapping in the breeze, and obviously happy to be that way. I've gotten very comfortable with the staff as well as the residents, so if they're busy I'll just go help her get back into her top. Ten minutes later it's off again. Yesterday while in the middle of folding her top, the phone rang at the nurses' station and she thought it was her phone. She had her sweater in one hand, and her imaginary phone up to her ear and was very frustrated that she couldn't hear the person on the other end. "Hello? Hello? You'll have to speak up, I can't hear you!" She sighed and hung up. "I guess they'll call back", she said, and then sweetly and serenely went back to neatly folding her top.

It may sound sad or depressing, but it really isn't. Whatever their reality, they are happy and cheerful and well cared for. We should all be so lucky.

Begin at the beginning...

I always say that in my next life, I want to be a six foot tall redhead with big boobs. To that, I have to add that I'll be a long distance trucker. I totally get the lure of driving on roads that seem to be endless. I started this trip with two objectives: thinking and driving. Thinking about the situation I was heading into, and driving with one eye on the road, the other on the landscape. I wasn't disappointed with either undertaking. California is familiar to me; the landscape is no surprise, and I was mostly thrilled to view it from my rear view mirror. But to see this little gem...this rang my bells!


As I made my way across the US of A, I was so amazed at how the topography changed so radically as I pushed forward. Arizona was hot as hell for the most part (average 110 degrees), but the landscape was so different...so lunar...that I didn't mind. The sky goes on forever.



And speaking of lunar...remember this from 3rd grade science class?
I couldn't help myself and had to make the detour up the road to nowhere!

The folks I encountered were very friendly, and I discovered that you're liable to see anything on the road in AZ. This was my favorite, as was the car directly in front of it.

I also had the funniest encounter with a Native American guy at a rest stop; where I had a Sherman Alexie moment. Sherman Alexie is a Spokane/Coeur d'Alene Indian writer, and one of my favorite writers. The musical musings of two of his recurrent characters, Victor Joseph and Thomas Builds-The-Fire, are always wandering around in my head. But I digress...this guy was hitting on me at a rest stop, and he kept saying things like "you look nice"...and I hope I don't offend you, but you look nice."

I kept thinking, of course I look nice. I'm clean. I'm well dressed. Isn't that why you do those things? Then I remembered, long after I'd driven away: that's the way an Indian man tells a woman that he thinks she's hot. Simple and understated, right?

Anyway...tomorrow: New Mexico, my spiritual home.

Sissy Takes a Road Trip...For Reals!

Getting in the car and taking off in no particular direction is one of my favorite things to do. When I'm stressed, I drive. It's not unusual for me to find myself on the Riverside Freeway (heading to God knows where) at 2am, because I'm so freaked out/stressed out by life that I just have to soothe myself with the sound of the rubber meeting the road.

The past month or so has been enough to make a black woman want to take off her earrings and throw down with God. Job stress and craziness...money stress and craziness...and then I get the phone call that my mother is not well. At that point, I figured that one more thing added to the pile wouldn't break me; little did I know that her illness would be the thing to facilitate the road trip of my fantasies.

Miss Lillian (as she is known) is 88 years old, more than a little unstable - now with the added dimension of dementia. She has a myriad of age related health issues that have all decided to manifest at once. Independent well past the point of stubbornness, she has insisted on living alone; but that's come to an end, and her greatest fear - loss of autonomy - has been realized. Hence, her steadfast denial of the cancer they just happened to find while trying to manage her other matters.

Our relationship...well there isn't one...but personally, I think that since your parents were present at the beginning of your life; you should be there at the end of theirs. So it was off to Johnson City, TN for me. In fact, I've just arrived; and since sitting in a car for hours isn't conducive to my creative process, I've decided to give you the details once the wheels have stopped turning in my head. For now, I can take comfort in the fact that I'm on familiar ground...and that makes me happy.



It really does.

U Can't Touch This!

Honestly Ethel!

I work on a freaking movie lot and I never get to see stuff this great!!!

About That Hugging Thing...

In the middle of the night, I realized that I hadn't expanded on the the actual Free Hugs story. That video reduces me to tears every time I see it...check out the elderly woman as she pats his cheek; that small gentle gesture speaks volumes to me.

The fact that something as innocuous as a hug would be viewed with suspicion, and subsequently banned, says a lot about what we've become. None of what it says is good. I also find it interesting that information about Juan Mann (the man with the sign) is simple and low-key, much like Ammachi, the Hugging Saint. Hmmm...if you compare their work to any of the million dollar televangelists, I think you'll get my point.

Here's another Free Hugs video, this one shot in Scotland; which is one of my fave places on the globe, and home to the friendliest people you'll ever meet. The fact that the Scots jumped in and hugged apparently without hesitation reminded me of why I loved my visit there.
Enjoy.
Hug someone today like you really mean it.

Hug It Out...

This week I was liberated from a situation in my life that was a massive source of stress. Because I was so stressed and tense 99% of the time, it really showed in my face; in fact, not long ago one of my friends told me that she missed the "old me" - she said that I never smiled anymore. That really pissed me off.

One of the things that the "old me" did often was to hug total strangers. You know you've seen them; that person you notice in passing who just looks like they could use a big hug. I don't know if it's because I don't look threatening, or if it's because I just do it before they can react...but not one person has ever pulled away. And rather than look angry or embarrassed, their entire being seems to relax; then they say thank you, and that's my cue to leave. Generally, there's no discussion; no dissection of what had just transpired, as I believe we've communicated in a language that is understood by everyone. We, the recipient and I...we get it.

I LOVE the fact that the young'uns get it, as detailed in this awesome article from MSNBC. I think that Carrie Osbourne, a sixth-grade teacher at Claire Lilienthal Alternative School, says it best. She stated that "hugging was a powerful and positive sign that children are inclined to nurture one another, breaking down barriers. “And it gets to that core that every person wants to feel cared for, regardless of your age or how cool you are or how cool you think you are.”

I believe in the power of touch, and that in that tiny bit of contact lies a whole world of healing. The best part is that in the process, I'm healed and recharged as well. This coming week, I'll be spending an evening with Ammachi, the "hugging saint from India" who will be in LA next week for her yearly visit. You can read more about her here. She is an amazing woman put here for the simplest of reasons, doing work that is almost too complex to break down to an understandable level. And isn't that the way of mystery?

While in the middle of all my icky life-nonsense, I was surrounded by people who hugged me and told me that everything would work out. They were right, it did work out. And you know what? Watch out, because I'm back. Arms open.

We seem to be forgetting something....

Today is Memorial Day...right? The meaning of the day isn't lost on me, but it sure seems to be lost on more than a few people out there. As I recall, it's the day we honor all those who have died in service to our nation, from the Revolutionary War to the present. As much as I love to have another day away from the office, I can't help but think that we're not doing something right when Memorial Day becomes a hotlinks and Budweiser holiday.

I was with my volunteer organization (Soldiers' Angels) this past Saturday at the Highland Games in Orange County, doing what we do...educating the public about civilian troop support efforts and trying to enlist their help. At best, consciousness raising is the most you can hope for. What I found most fascinating was the reaction of the adults I encountered. At each booth we set up at a public event, one entire side of the booth is a dedicated letter writing area. We have note cards and pens (and crayons for the kids, but we'll get to that in a minute), and ask if they'd like to jot down a few words of encouragement to a deployed soldier. We vet them for hate mail at the end of the day; and yes people do write really horrible things and drop them into the box. I suppose they think we won't actually go through and read them. Once cleared, the notes are forwarded to CO's and Chaplains for distribution to those who don't get mail from home. And there are LOTS of them - as I write this there are 470 soldiers who are not hearing from loved ones and are waiting for adoption by one of you. But I digress...

Ah yes, the notes...adults who will stand and rave about what a great job we SA volunteers are doing, actually recoil in horror when we ask them to just write a little note. As if by doing so, they are somehow complicit in a wartime aggression and they don't want to soil their hands. Children on the other hand, become part poet and part Picasso. They have an understanding of missing your parents, of needing to be connected; and because writing to someone has not yet become an obligation, they are totally dialed in to the joy of sending and receiving a letter. Their artwork choked me up, their struggle to make it perfect because they understood that it was important, well... that made me have to take a walk.

So today I ask you to be get in touch with your inner 8 year old. Think about exactly what Memorial Day means. It means that someone will be missing someone today. That not everyone will be knocking back a beer, hovering over the BBQ, and laughing with their friends. Today is the day we want them to know that we acknowledge their loss.

To bring us together in remembrance, Congress officially established the National Moment of Remembrance in 2000. This act of reflection will take place at 3pm today wherever you are. Major League Baseball games will stop, Amtrak trains will blow their whistles, and 6,200 Buglers Across America will play "Taps." I hope you join them - and me - for just a brief moment.

Since we're on the subject of reflective silence and the military; I thought I'd leave you with a quiet and powerful performance by the Marine Corps Silent Drill Team. There's a mournful beauty in what they do that just seems to be kind of appropriate.

Oh..and the number is now up to 477.
Om Shanti, Shanti, Shanti

Hello In There

In my nocturnal wanderings, I came across a post on the Craigslist Rants and Raves site from a woman who is clearly psychotic and at the same time, is struggling so hard to maintain her sense of dignity and self. I ended up reading her blog from start to finish. It took me hours.

It reminded me of the time I spent in the Mental Health unit at tho hospital in which I worked, observing the "guests" in preparation for my "PART" instructor certification. "PART" (Professional Assault Response Training) is a system of crisis intervention that stresses deescalation of the event and the maintenance of the rights and dignity of the patient. Very humane and in a way deeply spiritual...but I digress.

There the day was spent with a lovely (and I really mean that) group of people with internal wiring that was somewhat frayed. And yet, in spite of their ragged edges, they were as aware as you and I of their most basic needs...the need to be heard, to be believed and validated, to express their fears in the hopes that someone would notice and maybe help, and most important - their need to feel safe.

My heart breaks for this woman. My heart REALLY breaks for her children. I know what it's like to grow up with a mentally ill parent. It's a special kind of hell you can't ever adequately describe to someone who hasn't experienced it.

The signature on my regular email contains the quote " Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some sort of battle." Reading her blog is a glaring reminder of that. She's not muttering and digging through the trash, she's not urine soaked and sitting on a bus bench shouting at the sky. She's a mom worried about her kids, trying to pay her bills and balance her life...all while wearing a fried egg on her forehead, unaware that we're the only ones who can see it.

Life is Precious

One of my co-workers attends the Sundance Film Festival every year, and every year he comes back raving about a film that most will never see. The trailer from this years selection reduced me to tears. If you think you're tough enough, I strongly suggest that you check it out if it comes your way.

The fact that the past few years have been beyond shitty for me is not news to those who know me. And yet, I wake up every day and put one foot in front of the other. That's what we're supposed to do, right? To do otherwise is just plain cowardice. But even when buried in all the icky stuff, I cannot help but hear the chant that shows up at the end of the trailer. Given how tough times are these days, maybe we should all learn the chant.

Life is hard. Life is short. Life is painful. Life is rich. Life is precious.

In Praise of Aging

I turned 50 this year, and though it was a bit of a sobering experience, I'm now pretty much digging it. I also just recently decided that it was time to stop coloring my hair, and so proceeded to instruct my hair-guy to take it all off, right down to the grey roots. Not only am I cool with it, but I can't wait until it's all grey. I also find that I seem to be dispensing more and more "wisdom" to the young people in my life, and that I sound suspiciously like someone's Grandmother as the words come out of my mouth. This too, pleases me. Apparently I've been paying attention as I make my journey.

And like my elders (who never missed an opportunity to tell me about it), more and more I am alarmed and saddened at the behavior of what I like to call: The Young'uns. Some appear to have no expectation of anything better happening in their lives, and so they don't try; but many seem to have the idea that they can have it all; that there are no sacrifices on the road to their goal. No sense of history, no recognition of the fact that someone paved the way for them to walk that road.

I work in a business that values beauty and youth over character and competence, and breeds an attitude of entitlement. Not a day goes by that I'm not standing in line somewhere that I don't want to just pimp-slap one of these young'uns. To tell them to buck up, learn to live on less; to listen and observe rather than talk. Mostly I want to remind them that the world doesn't owe them a damn thing.

As wordy as I can be, I could never have phrased it as eloquently as this individual did. In my insomnia-induced cruising of the Craigslist Rants and Raves section, I found this gem and I just had to share. It made me want to shake the authors hand, stand up and cheer...buy him/her a beer.

--------------
re: Old people please retire tomorrow (in your dreams, sonny.)
Reply to: xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Date: 2009-03-08, 10:31PM PDT

Genius wrote:

"I work at a company with alot of old people. Most of them are about useless for anything, and the company wants them to retire. Please give us 30 and 40 somethings a chance to move up and afford to have a family and house. Some of them are 67 and could get SS and 401k. But I hear them bitchin and moanin about how their 401ks lost soo much value and they will have to work till their 80s. Please just go away you old fuckin bag, and retire.

Dont you think us younger people deserve what you had in life?"
****
Actually, junior, those "old useless" people forgot more about business than you've learned. The odd thing is that many of the 30 and 40 y.o. people have never had to work in an adverse economy. Here's a lesson for you: Any idiot can look like a genius in good times... the bad times are what separates true talent from the wanna-be. In this climate, experience will come in handy. This is round three, or is it four... for me. I've seen this all before and I watch you flail, running in circles, yelling and screaming in panic - not having a clue as to what to do. It's actually quite amusing.

You claim to want a family and a house. Do what we did. Save and do without so you can afford one. No, it won't be in Santa Monica or Manhattan Beach.... you can have that later. Truthfully, you don't yet have either one because it's simply not important enough for you to make the necessary sacrifices to attain that goal. You want your iPhone, BMW and the house and family.

67? It's the new 50. Write it down. Advances in medicine, nurtured by those who now "fart dust", have made it possible for people to remain productive far longer than the previous generations. Social Security? Please. 401K? Punk MBA's and day traders have done their best to destroy that retirement vehicle.

Nope. Sorry. Stickin' around, much to your chagrin. You'll just have to either distinguish yourself by showing some true talent so one of us old farts notices you, or remain on the bench and wait. I just had another physical on Thursday and the good doctor says I'm good to go for at least another 10 years. Sucks to be you!

Oh.... and you don't "deserve" shit. That's the kind of self-entitlement that defines your generation. It's not flattering. And it's why you are destined to wait. In real life, no one gets a trophy for simply showing up. That was some concept some shit head came up with during the "self-esteem" days of 1980's education. It was bullshit then, and it's bullshit now.

Love, Actually...

Because I tend to boycott Valentines Day, I thought I'd sit on this for a bit and save it for a relevant moment. Well, today this couldn't be more relevant. As I write this, the California Supreme Court in session to hear oral arguments to overturn Proposition 8, the ban on same-sex marriage.

That something as simple as the right to do what we are divinely inspired to do (which is to love another human being) has to be legislated...well, I just can't wrap my mind around it. The fact that someone feels that they have the right to dictate happiness just about makes my hair catch on fire. Yeah Kenneth Starr, the Mormon Church...I'm talking to you.

I can only think that those who are in opposition must have lost the memory of the moment they realized that the person they are married to was "the one". Or the feeling they had as they pledged to be everything to the person who held their heart. It's a feelng that some of us may only get to experience once in a lifetime, some experience over and over, and others never allow their hearts to be open to receive. Gender does not make a family. Love makes a family. Let the couples and families who teach us by example that love triumphs over hatred, bigotry and adversity, continue to be shining examples of what all humans are designed to be. We are here to love and uplift each other. Can't that be enough? So watch the video below, send it to your friends today and remind them what this is all about.

Looks Like Wonder Woman Had Better Step Up Her Game!

A new superhero is born! Impervious to rain...impervious to humidity...impervious to, um...bullets?

Of course, I'm thankful that this young lady was unharmed, and I'm hoping that the shooter gets what he deserves. But honestly Ethel...her weave stopped a freaking bullet!!!!
I don't think there's much more that needs to be said.

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

The Bubble Project

Over and over again, I seem to be confronted with the evidence that so many are crying out to be heard. I have been a devotee of PostSecret pretty much since its inception. My friend Aaron (who is always way more dialed into the art world than I will ever be) sent me the link many years ago to Frank Warren's amazing project, and opened my eyes to a world full of people unable to speak to or share with each other. I am thankful that there are folks like Frank Warren, and Ji Lee, who understand the importance of having a voice; of having a safe place to reveal ourselves, or just a place to be silly.

"The Bubble Project" began as a local project, but has spread around the globe. I'm going to start looking for bubbles; maybe they've been here all along and I just never noticed. Perhaps I'll get my own kit and start spreading bubbles, and I'm hoping you'll do the same.

Apparently We Have A Long Way To Go

In my previous post, I pondered how we were going to move forward. We have a person of color in the White House. We are hopeful about our future, we appear to be behaving in a unified manner not seen since the days of the quest for Civil Rights. And yet, with people being what they are, I suppose we will always have folks like Ted Kefalinos, creator of the "Drunken Negro Head" cookie.

I am not kidding.

In my previous post, I reflected on what Dr. King would think of what lies ahead. In looking at the picture, I see now that he knew all along; you see it in his expression and his body language. As long as there are people like Mr. Kefalinos, the road we travel to become the best we can be is going to be a very long one. The part of me that practices mindful compassion will send out a request to the Universe that Mr. Kefalinos will coe to understand just how wrong this is. The part of me that grew up in the hood agrees with the commenter on Gawker.com (where this appears) who said:

"How wonderful it would be if Mr. Kefalinos got a visit from, oh, about a dozen big-ass brothers from uptown who didn't do anything, just stood there for the scariest fifteen minutes or so in his recent memory."

Peace out.

"Where Do We Go From Here?..."

I've been wondering what Dr. King is feeling about tomorrow's inauguration. Surely he is pleased. I also believe that Dr. King is quietly reminding us to be mindful; that the work to heal our country (and ourselves) is not over. Mostly I like to think that he goes about, quietly whispering our ears..."Hold on to the way it felt when Sen. Obama spoke in Chicago. Hold on to the feeling that we finally were able to address each other with joy and without agenda or preconceived notions."

I have this picture on the wall above my desk, just looking at it calms me when I'm worked up about people, things, the world. And when I am worried about what comes next, I am reminded that Dr. King knew what was coming next...and he never wavered from his path. I'm hopeful that in the coming years, we will do the same.

So in the spirit of today, in honor of Dr. King, here's your homework assignment: Give an unexpected hug today. Express kindness in response to anger. Hold the door for someone (I find people tend to be really shocked by that, for some reason). Tell a stranger how lovely they look. Mean it.

Dr. King asks, at the 10th Annual Southern Christian Leadership Conference, "Where Do We Go From Here?" I like his chosen path.

"...Darkness cannot put out darkness; only light can do that.

And I say to you, I have also decided to stick with love, for I know that love is ultimately the only answer to mankind's problems. And I'm going to talk about it everywhere I go. I know it isn't popular to talk about it in some circles today. And I'm not talking about emotional bosh when I talk about love; I'm talking about a strong, demanding love. For I have seen too much hate. I've seen too much hate on the faces of sheriffs in the South. I've seen hate on the faces of too many Klansmen and too many White Citizens Councilors in the South to want to hate, myself, because every time I see it, I know that it does something to their faces and their personalities, and I say to myself that hate is too great a burden to bear. I have decided to love. If you are seeking the highest good, I think you can find it through love. And the beautiful thing is that we aren't moving wrong when we do it, because John was right, God is love. He who hates does not know God, but he who loves has the key that unlocks the door to the meaning of ultimate reality.

And so I say to you today, my friends, that you may be able to speak with the tongues of men and angels; you may have the eloquence of articulate speech; but if you have not love, it means nothing. Yes, you may have the gift of prophecy; you may have the gift of scientific prediction and understand the behavior of molecules; you may break into the storehouse of nature and bring forth many new insights; yes, you may ascend to the heights of academic achievement so that you have all knowledge; and you may boast of your great institutions of learning and the boundless extent of your degrees; but if you have not love, all of these mean absolutely nothing. You may even give your goods to feed the poor; you may bestow great gifts to charity; and you may tower high in philanthropy; but if you have not love, your charity means nothing."

Doing The Right Thing

I have always told my kids that doing the right thing may not always feel like the right thing; it may not be recognized as the right thing, and it may make enemies. But in the end, what matters most is that you stepped up, and that you did so, knowing that it might cost you - but you did it anyway. Such is the case with Gen. Eric K. Shinseki.

Gen. Shinseki put his career on the line by telling the truth about the Iraq war; about what it would take to engage effectively, and what it would cost us. His reward was to have the White House version of the Cone of Silence lowered onto his head. In February, 2003 while testifying before Congress, shortly before the beginning of what we now know as The Long War, he stated that “several hundred thousand soldiers” would be needed to stabilize Iraq after an invasion." That our troops would encounter “ethnic tensions that could lead to other problems,” adding, “and so it takes a significant ground force presence to maintain a safe and secure environment.” Rumsfeld scoffed. Wolfowitz dismissed him and his testimony as "wildly off the mark." Gen. Shenseki's predictions were right on the money, and though he was eventually vindicated by the passage of time, it wasn't soon enough (for me anyway). He quietly retired from the Army in 2007.

I also believe that when you do the right thing, it does not go unnoticed. President Elect Obama noticed and has chosen him as the 7th President Elect Obama noticed and has chosen him as the 7th United States Secretary of of Veterans Affairs. A better, and more symbolic choice can't be found. He cared at the beginning, and he will now bring that thoughtfulness and kindness to the overburdened, injured, traumatized band of brothers and sisters he was charged with leading. At the outset his goal was to deploy an army that would fulfill their duties in the safest way possible. Given that the Bush Administration has so soundly failed them, it comforts me to know that he'll be able to make sure they're cared for now that they're home.
Hooah!

"Stifling an urge to dance is bad for your health ...

...it rusts your spirit and your hips. " So said Adabella Radici. I think there is truth in that.

Years ago, TFMR and I had a friend who had a Ford LTD...you know, the car. We nicknamed it the "Love To Dance." That totally worked for me, because I loved to dance; ironically I married someone who did not. Over the years, I learned to suppress the need (and the ability) to express myself through dance...it was only my major in college; but I always appreciated a man who could throw down on the dance floor. Now this fella, Judson Laipply is a force of nature. Judson's first video, "The Evolution of Dance" is one of the most viewed videos of all time. I'm happy to say that he has blessed us with with "Evolution of Dance 2". So come on and "slide" with me...it would make me smile like I haven't in years!

Oh Yes...You CAN Be Replaced...

I think we've all run into at least one...if not all...of these gentlemen from time to time. I know I have. But count on Finesse Mitchell, formerly of SNL and wicked funny, to put it all in perspective for you.

And the cop? That one takes me places I'd really rather not revisit.

Who's Crazy, Who's Not

Yet Another For The "WTF" File

Not a day goes by that I don't raise my eyes to the sky and ask (whomever may be listening): WTF is wrong with people?!

Call me silly, but I could swear that the purpose of divorce is to remove the person from your life; not create more anger and drama in your life. I cannot imagine hating someone that I once loved so much that I would actually lose my mind. I also can't imagine being so insane that I would forget that my kids are a part of the equation.

This man wants his money back. When he loved his wife, he loved her enough to donate a kidney to her. Now he hates her and wants his money back? He has three children who are well past the age of reason, and justice would be served if they never spoke to his crazy ass again. Knowing that your dad made the national news because he is such a petty tool; well...that's just sad.

Again, I say....WTF is wrong with people?!