Sissy Takes A Road Trip

If I Could, I would...

2010-12-19T09:35:00.004-05:00

What a year it's been. A year with way more dark moments than light ones, a year of learning lessons good and bad. A year of change the likes of which I never knew I needed. Through it all there remained one constant...I missed my children. I ached for them. I cried weekly. And though we stayed in contact by text and phone, it only compounded the need to touch their beautiful skin, gaze into their gorgeous eyes; to laugh until we cried, the way we used to do. It has been a year since my son has laid his head in my lap while we watched TV. A year since my daughter and I have watched the sun come up as we discuss politics, social theory, and Lindsay Lohan's prognosis.

But they are coming tomorrow night, and if I could...this is how I would greet them.

Merry Christmas everyone.

From The Mouth Of Babes

2010-12-10T07:15:00.003-05:00

Who doesn't love Betty White?

I present to you...the reason I'm smiling on Sunday morning.

Strength

2010-11-14T12:15:00.005-05:00

I've been described as a "strong woman". That can have many meanings...to be strong and female is to be a bitch (said as if it were a bad thing), aggressive, able to withstand all manner of hardship and nonsense...I could go on, but I think you get my drift. This morning, while checking in on one of my writer pals on Open Salon, the place where I'm challenged to sharpen my word-whacking skills; I hit on the definition of strength.

It is defined by Scylla The Rock. Scylla is one of those writers whose prose leaves me weak-kneed and jealous - his writing is so lyrical that I swear a musical score swells in the background as I read. His subject matter however, is thought provoking beyond measure and not for the feint of heart.

Scylla's son was murdered several years ago. His wife is serving in Iraq, law enforcement was his career until he was disabled. Writing is his therapy to keep him here, as he is very vocal about his desire to end his life; because what good is a sheepdog who is unable to guard his flock? The events that have transpired in his life are all directly tied to the essence of who he is; he is awash in grief and survivor guilt. We at OS who have chosen him as one of our favorites are humbled to the core when he gifts us with a post. I worry when he is silent, I drop him a note now and then to say that he's on my mind, and I breathe a sigh of relief when he rings in.

Today however, I stood up and cheered and wept. Today Scylla gave us the best gift one could have receive on a Sunday morning. He is rising, preparing for battle. His son's murderer is going to trial on May 23, 2011 and his post can only be described as a description of a gladiator rising from the dust, ready to live to fight another day.

All this serves to remind me of the nature of struggle. My struggles are significant only to me, and God knows they weigh me down, grind me to a raw nub. But in light of Scylla's difficulties, I have to wonder how I have the nerve to complain. Today his post ended with this:

"I did try so very hard as a father to protect my 3 children. One night I was not there for my son and he died. I will be at this trial. This boy that went to war with my son, who lived with my son and I for months, this boy whom with whatever poor power my soul doth possess has forgiven, this boy that shot my son to death, this boy shall look at me and see my son. He will see Scylla the Rock.

To prepare I must turn my thoughts from death. I've given up the cheap whiskey. I walk and walk and walk. I spend hours now with the heavy iron. I will be off all this morphine in 100 days. It will take my all, it will take my life to travel these thousands of miles, sit day upon day, listen as my son is defamed, sit and control the evil and the anger. Use up the last of my life to give this ending, waning strength for my son. My son, my son. A pain without end. I will be strong. I will be stoic, I will be a rock. I will show the strength of my son. I will be prepared. I will discharge this last duty. I am a soldier with a mission. Though this be my last absolute act. My son needs his father one more time.

I will not fail him ever again."

Today, I am hoping that no one that I love ever has to find themselves in a situation where they have to dredge up this kind of strength. I pray that we are all gifted with small challenges, for challenge is really just a growth exercise in disguise. But knowing that life is what it is, I know better.

I hope that today you'll find someone to stand up and cheer for. I hope that you have someone to cheer for you as well.

And if you think your heart can take it, I hope that you can stop by OS, check out Scylla's journey (this will involve many tears, lots of tissues and walks around the block to clear your head), and send out a cheer and a prayer for him and his family as well.

Why I Write

2010-11-14T11:36:00.005-05:00

I write because I love music. To me they are the same thing. I'm not exactly sure when I had my "words = music" epiphany; nor can I remember the book. What I do remember was becoming conscious of the fact that I was "hearing" what I was reading.

The words were so beautifully strung together that I could count out the beat. I knew when to take a deep breath before diving into the next sentence, the next paragraph; when to let my shoulders roll languorously on the perfect phrase. And now, I know I'm onto something if I can "hear the music" when I begin to read. I'm not sure how to explain it in a way that will do it justice, but here goes.

If you've read Toni Morrison's "Song of Solomon" you must have heard it. That low hum, the deep and barely perceptible throb of the music spilling into the street from the speakeasy on Saturday night. The wiggly and discordant jazz that swoops and swells when the more than slightly unbalanced young woman begins to speak her mind. The tympanic power of the fathers rage. Surely you heard the hushed gospel choir whose chant is the background music of the entire book. Their sound reminds me that I am witnessing something so huge and so powerful that it will take me days to get it out of my mind.

In "We Need To Talk About Kevin" by Lionel Shriver, I struggled to find the tune. I nearly put the book down until I realized that I was listening/reading for music; but was hearing quietly whispered white noise, sotto voce hyperventilation, the muttering of unbridled fear. I tucked myself in and was swept away by the rhythm of her solitary terror. And when the music stopped abruptly and the cymbals crashed (just once) revealing all...I kid you not, I was so shaken that I had to take a walk around the block.

Now, I can carry a tune in something a little larger than a bucket, but I cannot read music, can't play an instrument. With words, I don't need to. I sometimes sway as I write. I conduct as the the words float around in my head, trying to find the moment at which they will land on the page just so.

If I'm lucky, and if I really do my job - you might sway as you read them too.

Originally published on OpenSalon 3/12/10. Revised 11/19/10

Johnny Weir...

2010-02-26T22:47:00.007-05:00

...is made of awesome.

Johnny Weir is what you get when you raise your children to strive to be the best human beings they can be; when you accept them for who they are...and love them out loud...they learn to express themselves so eloquently. JW on his parents:

"I hope that more children have the same opportunities as me, with the same parents as me, that let me be an individual, who gave me freedom, and taught me to believe in myself before anyone else would believe in me.

I hope more young boys and girls can grow up to have that love and support from their families, and it's very clear to me that those two men talking on that program did not have that kind of upbringing."

"The 25-year-old athlete was referring to observations made about his skating style and costumes by Claude Mailhot and Alain Goldberg of RDS, a French-language sports channel in Quebec.

"This may not be politically correct, but do you think he lost points due to his costume and his body language?" Mailhot said.

Goldberg responded that Weir's graceful mannerisms take the muscle out of male figure skating and damage the sport.

"They'll think all the boys who skate will end up like him," he said. "It sets a bad example."

The controversial commentary continued about the skater whose life is chronicled in the Sundance Channel documentary "Be Good Johnny Weir."

The men suggested that Weir, a three-time U.S. national figure skating champ, should take a gender test — and that he should skate against women."

We should all be free to be so comfortable in our own skin. I love that he lives his fabulousness and genuinely seems to enjoy himself while everyone else worries and frets about the 'effect' of his sexuality. Surely that explains placing 6th after skating a routine that reduced him to tears...as it did me. Dude was totally robbed.

This is a guy that I would love to hang out with. Good on ya, Johnny

Free your secrets...

2010-02-21T09:40:00.002-05:00

For years I have been singing the praises of Frank Warren and the Post Secret project; I can't say enough about it, or him. Having given up his private life to be the protector of secrets, the virtual shoulder for the world to cry on, the trusted friend for those who feel they have none; Frank Warren has taken his show on the road, generally to colleges across the country, and I am lucky to be in one of the target cities. Heck, I'm literally around the corner from the venue, so you can bet I'm going to be in that auditorium.

There are certain schools of thought that suggest that periodically 'messengers' are sent to us from whomever is watching our drama unfold. They rarely choose the 'messenger' role, and in fact seem thrust into it and seem powerless in the face of the magnitude of their task. But they're here to remind us to have hope, that we are powerful and amazing beings, and most important...that love is all there is.

I believe that Mr. Warren is one of them. His gentle demeanor certainly suggests that it may be a possibility; and in watching the video below what I find most striking is his voice. It speaks to me of safety. It sounds like compassion. It sounds a lot like my 'good medicine' blanket from New Mexico feels - but that's another story for another day.

FREE YOUR SECRETS AND BECOME WHO YOU ARE

Ok, I'm heading to Iceland

2010-02-19T20:58:00.004-05:00

I've been floating around in the erotica world for a long time and there's not a lot that I can't wrap my head around when it comes to fantasy. Interspecies sex? No big deal. I once attended a great workshop given by the lovely P.C. Cast, on how to write interspecies sex that was um...illuminating (the trick is to start with the animals mating style - then let your imagination go buck wild). I was reading Vampire erotica light years before "Twilight" surfaced; before anyone even knew that there was such thing as vampire erotica.

Aliens with dual penises that can grow to accommodate any position and/or body type? Been there, done that. Shapeshifting big cats? Oh hell yeah! When I see a tiger, I see something entirely different; but I think that I've only encountered one Elf-themed book in all this time; and none of it was written from personal experience - as is apparently the case with this young lady. So take yourself over to The Frisky and check out Elf Sex in Iceland.

No - not that elf...

After doing some digging around, I even managed to find the blog of the young lady in the video, and for once - I'm kind of speechless. In any event, if you don't hear from me for a while - it's because I've gone to Iceland.

For research...yeah, that's it! Research!

2010-02-13T15:04:00.005-05:00

Happy Valentine's Day!

A David Duke WHAT???!?

2010-02-11T19:53:00.012-05:00

THIS is what happens to children who grow up too fast; to children who become media darlings before they've even graduated from high school. High school is boot camp for the rest of your life, and if you find yourself out in adult land with no structure and no boundaries, you'll never learn stuff like...don't pull the pin on that hand grenade and just stand around holding it. There will certainly be consequences if you do.

John Mayer was a Grammy Award winning artist at 17, and I remember watching his self-conscious geeky performance on Saturday Night Live and thinking "wow what a heavy load to bear when you're just a kid." I was also amazed and impressed with his talent. But John didn't complete boot camp, and if you read his Playboy interview you'll get a glimpse the hazards therein.

Narcissistic, seemingly unable to manifest positive connections with other human beings, and clueless to the impact of his words on those who (at the very least) loved his music; say nothing of those women who shared themselves with him - and I'm not gonna jump into that mess - I'm guessing that somewhere Jennifer Aniston is trying to keep Gerard Butler from going all Leonidas on his ass.

This is the result of youthful entitlement coupled with poor social skills and way too much weed:

PLAYBOY: If you didn’t know you, would you think you’re a douche bag?

MAYER: It depends on what I picked up. My two biggest hits are “Your Body Is a Wonderland” and “Daughters.” If you think those songs are pandering, then you’ll think I’m a douche bag. It’s like I come on very strong. I am a very…I’m just very. V-E-R-Y. And if you can’t handle very, then I’m a douche bag. But I think the world needs a little very. That’s why black people love me.

PLAYBOY: Because you’re very?

MAYER: Someone asked me the other day, “What does it feel like now to have a hood pass?” And by the way, it’s sort of a contradiction in terms, because if you really had a hood pass, you could call it a nigger pass. Why are you pulling a punch and calling it a hood pass if you really have a hood pass? But I said, “I can’t really have a hood pass. I’ve never walked into a restaurant, asked for a table and been told, ‘We’re full.’"

Anytime you see "That's why black people love me" in a sentence, be prepared to be horrified.

Seriously John?! The guy is a BLUES musician! I'm sure his idols would totally understand his reference to a "nigger pass" coming from a coddled, wealthy white guy; because nothing shows homage to your influences like the use of the "N" word.

And then there's this little gem:

PLAYBOY: Do black women throw themselves at you?

MAYER: I don’t think I open myself to it. My dick is sort of like a white supremacist. I’ve got a Benetton heart and a fuckin’ David Duke cock. I’m going to start dating separately from my dick.

We all have our preferences when it comes to dating, there's no denying that. But to invoke David Duke when referring to what may or may not come in contact with your dick...well, that sends an entirely different message. I heard it loud and clear, and so did a nation of black (and white) women who are commenting ALL over the interwebs. Latoya over at Jezebel sums it up nicely(but for some reason the link won't embed, so here it is:http://jezebel.com/5469484/its-impossible-to-have-a-benetton-heart-and-a-white-supremacist-dick?skyline=true&s=i)

"Racism is not clever. Trying to lampoon racism by perpetuating racist stereotypes about black women, using racial slurs, and claiming to have a pass is just idiocy masquerading as wit. Or, as Farai Chideya explains at the Huffington Post: "The reality is that, it's insulting to say black people love you and then profoundly misunderstand the difference between entitlement and humor."

Note to John Mayer...a person who claims to have a Benetton heart would welcome all colors of vajayjay...and in fact, would revel in it.

Of course, he's backtracking and apologizing all over town. Last night in Nashville he waxed poetic to his fans about his attempt at being "clever." Good for him. Farai Chideya over at The Huffington Post brings up a critical point by reminding us that "not one, but two of Mayer's songs (including "My Stupid Mouth") contain the line "I'm never speaking up again," and now he may well feel like taking his own advice. But that would be a shame. Sometimes the only way to learn is by messing up, getting checked... and then learning to check yourself."

I've always said that what's in your heart will always eventually come out of your mouth. I think the gentleman below says it a whole lot better than I ever could.

The Space/Time Continuum

2010-01-24T12:25:00.003-05:00

There's a great line in "Close Encounters of The Third Kind", where one of the scientists points skyward and says ..."Albert Einstein was probably one of them". I have to agree - and I'm not about to go into a Quantum Physics rant (though I'd love to! That kind of stuff totally rings my bells). But Professor Einsten made time and the fact that it doesn't make sense...well...make sense. If you care to jump into the subject and let your brain be swirled and agitated like a clothes in a washing machine, may come to see that the sensation of deja vu makes perfect scientific sense.

Case in point...Conan O'Brien, 1998. Discuss among yourselves.

...Gives me hope

2010-01-20T19:29:00.002-05:00

What a week it's been. I don't know what they put in the water down here, but the whole country should be drinking it. I am once again humbled by kindness on a daily basis.

When I left LA, it was because my very ability to survive was in question. I don't even want to consider what would have happened to me if I had gone back after Miss Lillian passed away. That, like LA as I was crossing the desert, is now in my rear view mirror. I had only hoped that by staying here, I would learn to breathe again. That was all I wanted. Such a simple biological act had become nearly impossible to do without panic; not a morning went by when I didn't cry in the shower. Who knew I would learn to smile like a Texas beauty queen?

I had turned into an angry, bitter, cynical uber-bitch and didn't even realize it. Here in East Tennessee, it's a challenge to not greet everyone you encounter. And it's uncomfortable for me, which is really sad. I had perfected the art of scowling and not making eye contact; refusing to connect. It appears that these folks are bound and determined to cure me of that. Lucky me.

I have recently settled into my new gig as the assistant to a health care executive. She is amazing - normal, kind...human. And rather than be viewed with suspicion and held at an appraising distance as "Lynn's new assistant"; I have been so relentlessly welcomed by so many total strangers that my smile muscles are damned near paralyzed. I'm talking about people coming over to my office just to introduce themselves, offer assistance should I need it, and then end with my favorite local expression: "We're so glad to have ya!" There's no such thing as sitting alone in the lunchroom. If you're in it, you're part of the conversation whether you want to be or not.

While watching the Golden Globes this past weekend, I kept waiting for the moment that I would feel a twinge of nostalgia for my former studio life...it never came. This morning when I heard Cathy yell across her cubicle "Becky, did ya get those roosters yet?" I just had to pinch myself to stop myself from smiling. The conversation then drifted to the weather, and how cold it's been (7 degrees last Thursday morning) and how hard it's been to keep the pipes from freezing so that the cattle could get water.

This gives me hope. I had come to view the rest of the world and my life through perpetually narrowed, angry eyes. I had no idea that you could be content just to be content; but I'm bound and determined to learn.

And speaking of hope...PostSecret.com is where I go to pray and meditate on Sunday mornings. To witness a bit of the collective consciousness of a weary and difficult world, and then send out a bit of healing light when I'm done...GivesMeHope.com is where I go to remind myself that it's working.

Go and be renewed. You'll smile like a Texas beauty queen.

Buttery Ass Funny

2010-01-16T17:17:00.001-05:00

Nothing of major importance...I just love me some Triflin Toons and I had to share the love.

A seat at a table in the Gratitude Cafe

2010-01-10T13:01:00.005-05:00

I am surely old enough to be his mother...but Jason Mraz trips my triggers in a way that one might consider downrighty pervy. Why? It's simple...he's sexy without being creepy, spiritual in a way that resonates with me, smart as a whip, and most important...funny. Funny always wins the day (see below... and there are plenty more where that came from).

We should all be chilling at a table at the Gratitude Cafe. In fact, it's place we should be visiting weekly (if not daily); and I don't mean Mr. Mraz's website either...

I came across this very cool iPhone app: the Gratitude Journal. I really like the idea; all you have to do is list 5 things you're thankful for, once per day. I do this in my head every day just before I go to sleep, especially if I've had a bad or challenging day; but I like the idea of writing it down. I believe that writing things down makes them so; gives the Universe the message that you're serious, that you want to be heard, and can kick start the process of making things manifest. So...does my writing this mean that I get to have my wicked way with Mr. Mraz' partner in crime, Toca Rivera, should I encounter him? Hmmmm....but I digress.

Below is just for a taste of his wordsmithing and vocal abilities...this one is full of humor...

and this is just lovely - and true. Enjoy.

Turn the page...

2010-01-05T23:20:00.004-05:00

Enough time has passed, a new year has begun, and I'm finally ready to close this chapter in the ever evolving book of my life. Mainly, this post is for the rest of the family members who were unable to be there; but it's also for friends who have listened to my harrowing/wacky Miss Lillian stories for years. This is the last one I have to tell. I'm ready to move on; ready to write new ones.

Unfortunately, the event was not recorded, and the sheer hilarity of Miss Lillian's funeral has not been preserved, but I think the eulogies below say quite a bit about her and how she was regarded by those who knew her. One of the many things I learned from her was that funerals could indeed be funny...it's all in the delivery.

ML and I were never close; we didn't have the kind of mother-daughter bond that I longed for, but I learned not to expect it, and that made the ride somewhat less jarring. You can't miss what you didn't have. But if I were writing the screenplay of our story, in terms of sheer character development...she's a veritable goldmine, so I have that to be thankful for.

And thanks Mom, for bringing me home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eulogy for Miss Lillian by MHR

September 11, 2009

As men, we are all equal in the presence of death. - Publilius Syrus

When I started thinking about all the things that I could say about my mother, I realized that I had a lot to wade through. But the word that kept coming back to me over and over again was “character”. Not character as in: that thing that makes each of us unique, that defines who we are. No, I meant character as in: "my mother was a..."

And she was such a character. A master storyteller. A woman of infinite mystery. She kept the details of her life very carefully guarded, and many of you here know her better than I ever will. If you have anything you want to share, any insight you'd like to give...I'd really appreciate it.

My mother believed in maintaining connections with people, and in her own unusual and intense way, she cultivated her relationships. I’m so pleased to see those relationships represented here. I can tell you that she is pleased as well.

*****

If you look up the word "diva" in the dictionary, right next to that picture of Mariah Carey – you'll find a picture of Lillian Ryan. They both shared a love of drama, of an adoring audience… and a near psychotic need for bendy straws. I think my mother would be pleased to know that she’s been giving the ultimate Diva a run for her money.

When I was going through her belongings, I found a poem that she had written many years ago, called “Things I Have Taught My Children.” Well, let me tell you about the things that I learned from my mother.

First and foremost, she taught me to love Shakespeare, which turned into a lifelong love affair with the power and rhythm of words. For that I am forever grateful.

She taught me that if you look at it in just the right way…pretty much anything can be funny. That has gotten me into trouble more times than I can count. It still does.

She planted the seed for my love of comparative religions and methods of worship, by exposing us to as many as were available to us in our area. She showed by example that it doesn’t so much matter how you seek your higher power – what is critical is that you do.

She taught me that you get what you give.

And in these last few months she taught me about selflessness, compassion, and the healing power of forgiveness. Those things are far easier than we think they are, and it feels really good to carry them around in your heart.

I know that my mother walked a hard road for most of her life; some of it by circumstance; a good deal of it was self-imposed. But I also know that her current road is one paved with unconditional love and grace; and I know that it feels good to her. It's about time.

Thank you for coming.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

…On Being Aunt Lillian

By Evelyn Debro

September 11, 2009

This week Aunt Lillian has dominated my thoughts. My earliest memories of her are of thinking she was beautiful and rich. I thought she was rich because she didn’t work and she came in several times a year and stayed as long as she wanted to. I remember receiving a box of clothes before school started; at least twice. Thelma and I called it our “care package.”

One summer she took Thelma and me to Akron for the summer; but when we learned that Margaret was born, we didn’t want to stay any longer. Aunt Lillian and Uncle Sam weren’t coming back until the end of the summer; but we were so unhappy she explored her options and the only way we could travel alone was by plane. In 1952 there were very few people flying in this area – and definitely no black children flying alone. But Thelma and I did.

Thanks to Aunt Lillian, we were treated like celebrities. We were allowed to go into the cockpit and sit in the co-pilot’s seat. We were given wings and certificates, and nicknames: Mamie and Flamie. Aunt Lillian was like the Pied Piper, collecting children wherever she went until she had children of her own.

*****

Aunt Lillian always tested your love for her. She pushed you to your limits and beyond, and if you did come back…you loved her; and she kept testing us until the very end.

She was a very intelligent and crafty person. She was the first black person in Lebanon to graduate from high school. The black school in town only had a junior high…and she demanded more. She was informed by the school board that there was no money to send her go boarding school in Christiansburg. She informed them that was ok... because she’d just attend Lebanon High on Monday, but by Sunday funds were found to send her to Christiansburg where she graduated.

Her Daddy – my Granddaddy Charlie – was very political and passed his passion to all his children. All 5 boys were named for politicians. Aunt Lillian was always involved in politics, running for office or fighting for some cause. When she was working here before her marriage, she was a member of the NAACP when it was first organized.

When her eyesight was failing to the point that she could no longer read, she found a way to cope. Since she never trusted anyone completely, she would call us to come at different times and each of us had to read the same mail. That way, if you lied, she would know. She even signed her own checks until the last two months.

I would rather be hunted by the FBI and the CIA than Aunt Lillian. She found out whatever she needed to know, long before the internet. If she had looked for Bin-Laden, she would have found him.

Aunt Lillian had a friend in Jack Ashby, who called her daily to read the Akron Beacon Journal to her. And Mr. Newby, who had known her since her 20’s, said she stopped traffic when she walked down the street.

Mrs. Annie Ruth Gillespie was her dearest friend in Johnson City. At Aunt Lillian’s 80th birthday party, she was still living in Ohio, but her party was in Lebanon. Mrs. Annie Ruth said they had been friends for 60 years. We all laughed knowing that would change when she moved here.

She was always the Devil’s Advocate. If you were a Democrat, she was a Republican – and vice versa. She lived to debate you, and if you didn’t argue with her, she didn’t respect you. She talked to us, and knew us until two days before she died, and before she left she told us all that she loved us.

She always quoted the last stanza of this poem by William Cullen Bryant –

“Thanatopsis”

“So live that when thy summons comes to join

That innumerable caravan that moves

To that mysterious realm, where each shall take

His chamber in the silent halls of death,

Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,

Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed

By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,

Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch

About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.”

This one's for TFMR

2009-11-28T09:39:00.004-05:00

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...

2009-11-25T19:57:00.002-05:00

...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

2009-11-08T15:08:00.002-05:00

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

2009-10-22T21:39:00.003-04:00

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

2009-10-11T10:05:00.004-04:00

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...

2009-10-09T19:20:00.000-04:00

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...

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

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

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

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...

2009-10-04T20:17:00.001-04:00

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

2009-09-03T23:18:00.001-04:00

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.

2009-07-27T22:05:00.000-04:00

"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...

2009-07-27T11:41:00.000-04:00

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.

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

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...

2009-07-13T15:00:00.000-04:00

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...

2009-07-13T01:00:00.000-04:00

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!

2009-07-09T00:13:00.000-04:00

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!

2009-06-17T00:16:00.000-04:00

Honestly Ethel!

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

About That Hugging Thing...

2009-06-14T14:28:00.001-04:00

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...

2009-05-28T18:27:00.000-04:00

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....

2009-05-25T06:03:00.000-04:00

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

2009-05-16T11:40:00.000-04:00

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

2009-05-14T12:40:00.000-04:00

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

2009-03-09T12:03:00.001-04:00

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...

2009-03-05T13:51:00.000-05:00

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!

2009-02-22T11:35:00.001-05:00

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

2009-02-01T11:46:00.000-05:00

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

2009-01-23T12:32:00.000-05:00

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?..."

2009-01-19T11:28:00.000-05:00

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

2009-01-14T14:44:00.000-05:00

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 ...

2009-01-13T01:44:00.000-05:00

...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...

2009-01-10T19:09:00.000-05:00

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

2009-01-07T17:15:00.000-05:00

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?!

Happy New Year....Seriously!

2008-12-31T13:59:00.000-05:00

In a tarot deck, the Death card is surely the most misunderstood. When one draws this card, there is a tendency on the part of most folks to freak out a little, based simply upon the way they conceptualize death.

This morning, when I did my morning drawing of the cards, this was the card I drew. And you know what? I was excited! This is why…

“Here we see the face of our deepest fear - our greatest unknown. We recoil from Death because we think of it as annihilation. In the tarot (and in life I would suggest) Death is not a permanent end, but a transition into a new state. Life is eternal in its essence, if not in its form. To grow, to move, to live - we must "die" to the old to give birth to the new.

It is a truism in tarot work that Card 13 rarely has anything to do with physical death. A responsible card reader never interprets Card 13 in this way because this view is too limiting. Death is not something that happens once to our bodies. It happens continually, at many levels and not just in the physical. Each moment we die to the present so the future can unfold.

In readings, Death often represents an important ending that will initiate great change. It signals the end of an era; a moment when a door is closing. At such times, there may be sadness and reluctance, but also relief and a sense of completion. Death also suggests getting down to basics. Dying has a way of making you concentrate on what's important. This card reminds you to cut out the unnecessary. Death can also mean you will experience an inexorable force. Death is inevitable, and sometimes there are events that are inescapable as well. When these moments occur, the best approach is to ride your fate and see where it takes you.”

I don’t know about you, but this has been a year to remind of constant reminders that I am not driving this bus; a year of daily reminders of the things that are most important. This past year has been a bitch for virtually everyone I know. It’s been a time of systematic “tearing down” for friends and family; for the whole country and the world at large. But the great thing is that we get to rebuild, and when our old structure no longer works, it's nice to think about considering a radical new set of blueprints.

My New Year's wish 2009 is this: Let this be the year you meet each challenge with your chin up and your eyes on the horizon, and hope rather than fear. That you were take each bit of adversity thrown at you, turn it over in your heart and in your mind, absorb the lesson(s) presented to you; and then you pass it on. Perhaps in doing so, you’ll smooth the path for someone else.

Me? Think this will be a good year. I am embracing the image of the scythe and the rose.

The Christmas Truce of 1914

2008-12-24T16:08:00.000-05:00

It's Christmas Eve; we are safe and warm in our homes, hopefully in the embrace of loved ones. My prayer for today is that somewhere on our troubled planet, someone's heart will be made lighter by a gesture of peace by another.

"Friday, January 8th, 1915: A Christmas Day Scene

Rifleman J. Reading, writing to his wife, Mrs. Reading, of Germain Street, (Chesham) refers to the fact that the English and Germans fraternised on Christmas day.

Referring to the Christmas fraternising he says: "I hope you all had a merry Christmas; let me tell you how I spent mine. My company happened to be in the firing line on Christmas eve, and it was my turn - with a non-commissioned officer and four others - to go into a ruined house and remain there until 6.30 on Christmas morning. During the early part of the morning the Germans started singing and shouting, all in good English. They shouted out: "Are you the Rifle Brigade; have you a spare bottle; if so we will come half way and you come the other half." At 4 a.m part of their Band played some Christmas carols and "God save the King", and "Home Sweet Home." You could guess our feelings. Later on in the day they came towards us, and our chaps went out to meet them. Of course neither of us had any rifles. I shook hands with some of them, and they gave us cigarettes and cigars. We did not fire that day, and everything was so quiet that it seemed like a dream. We took advantage of the quiet day and brought our dead in."

As far as I know, nothing like the Christmas Truce of 1914 has taken place since. And there is a wonderful group in the UK who has put out the call for letters, some of which can be found here. The most spectacular is what is known as the Heath Letter; it tells an amazing story, and serves as a reminder that we all want the same things in life, we just have to remind ourselves that the other guy does too.

I first became aware of the Christmas Truce via Garth Brooks "Belleau Wood", and I weep every time I hear it. Given that we're still firmly entrenched in Iraq and Afghanistan, I think it's appropriate here. So when you wish friends and family a Merry Christmas, maybe you'll whisper a silent holiday wish for those far from home.

Take it away Garth!

Last Time I Checked, This Was Illegal

2008-12-24T12:52:00.000-05:00

The last thing I need is to get all riled up and cranky first thing in the morning...but this nonsense just about made my hair catch fire. Naturally, I have to rant.

Dennis Prager, radio talk show host, columnist, author, ethicist, and public speaker; in his recent Town Hall publication set out to remind the fellas just how powerful their "package" can be - and just how foolish we ladies are for not falling to our knees and worshiping said package "When A Woman Isn't In The Mood." And yes, that really is the title of the article. But I'm not going to turn this into a "marital rape is illegal" rant. We're all smart enough to know that no means no, even when the parties are bound to each other legally.

"A husband knows that his wife loves him first and foremost by her willingness to give her body to him. This is rarely the case for women. Few women know their husband loves them because he gives her his body (the idea sounds almost funny). This is, therefore, usually a revelation to a woman. Many women think men's natures are similar to theirs, and this is so different from a woman's nature, that few women know this about men unless told about it."

I must say, that was all a revelation to me.

Now I will be the first person to admit that men and women have communication issues. I have often said that it's a wonder that humans have been able to continue as a species, as it's like mating cats and dogs. We barely speak the same language and yet we're driven by the desire to mate, and if Mr. Prager is to be interpreted correctly, mate often. Oh...wait...I have that wrong. Only the MEN get to mate often. Apparently we ladies are just too delicate to comprehend how difficult it must be to walk around with a Ford 427 Cammer engine tucked in their pants, and if we know what's good for us, we won't upset the delicate balance of that fine tuned machine.

There are several instances in the article in which Mr. Prager reminds the reader that more often than not, a woman is clueless about her man. He's such a mystery; such a mass of complexity, that we're really not equipped to handle it. The only solution is to submit. Just give in.
You know you want to.

Well...here's the thing. I'll happily "submit"; hell I'll willingly throw down... when the fellas understand that our engines are built for comfort, for long, lazy road tips. We don't need horsepower and torque. We just need someone who knows how to shift our gears, when to let it idle, and when to let it rev.

Stereotypes...

2008-12-18T17:49:00.001-05:00

Stereotypes are funny things. They (hopefully) inspire dialogue in some cases, hide ill will in others; often they are shrouded in humor. What makes them interesting is when the private perpetuation of a stereotype is suddenly thrust in our faces in a loud and public way.

In every subculture we have our own private way of parodying our identity, and I believe that those who would deny that are fooling themselves. My beloved Psycho Mike at The World Famous KROQ, the master of parody, has gifted us with yet another topic of discussion. You will either be mightily offended....or you will nearly wet your pants laughing, as I did.

Grape Soda.wav

Happy Holidays...and let me borrow that top!

2008-12-18T17:17:00.000-05:00

This Christmas feels a little different. I don't know about you, but I'm just not feeling it. Times are tough for everyone I know, the country is reeling from any number of blows; the world is wary.

The next few years are going to be even tougher; but maybe this will teach us that we need to be gentle with each other. Perhaps in doing so, we will learn to be gentle with ourselves.

So to the people I love, and the folks who may be reading this that I don't know (and love anyway)...Merry ChristmaHannuKwaanzakah...though I think the fabulous "Kelly" says it best.

Dissecting a layoff...

2008-12-04T18:24:00.000-05:00

The fine folks at Gawker.com are masters at dissecting the obvious. I may or may not work at one of the studios mentioned in this piece. I am fortunate to only have been a recipient of the warning emails, but not of the resulting pink-slip. As you can imagine, folks around here don't have their usual freakishly cheerful groove on.

My neighbors at the hit television show (which was just cancelled last week...wtf?) are packing up to leave, and now so are a slew of others.

Ho...Ho...Ho....

Don't Get No Jizz Upon That Sofa....

2008-11-24T19:08:00.000-05:00

...ok, now that I've got your attention, the addendum to the title of this post is "...Where Music and Memories Can Take You."

Apparently, 50 is the age where you start looking backward. Because you've acquired life experience that you had no idea was relevant as you were going on your merry way, you can't anticipate those moments when you're figuratively standing on your path, looking backward and reflecting on where you've come from. And then you suddenly find yourself sounding like your grandparents. This weekend, at a performance of "Joe's Garage" (produced by the Zappa Family Trust), I had the immense privilege of being led back down that path by Frank Zappa.

For many, Zappa is an unknown entity, for others (like me) he is burned into our consciousness. If you've spent any time around musicians, a tour bus, groupies or roadies, you'll know what I'm talking about.

He passed away on Dec. 4, 1993, but Until Dec. 20th he is alive and well at the Open Fist Theatre in Hollywood. I attended the show with The Former Mr. R. and our bro-in-law Bill; the only two people I know who would get it.

We were blown away by the interpretation of the content and the level of skill of the musicians (Zappa music ain't easy). Near the end of the show, as I sat in the darkened theater with TFMR listening to "Watermelon in Easter Hay", one of the 3 songs that Gail Zappa will never allow to be reproduced by anyone, anywhere, in any way (thank you Gail), I realized that for more than 25 years the language of Frank, which is like no other, was the language of our relationship. With divorce, the dynamic of that relationship has changed, but we are friends and the language remains the same.

If he sings the first few bars of "Crew Slut", I automatically chime in. At Christmas, I still sing-sing "I've got a present for youoooo"; and we both still think that "Fuck me, you ugly sonofabitch!" sung in German, is hysterical. And only those in the know will know what we mean when we say..."It looks just like a TeleFunken U-47!"

So as I sat in the dark with tears in my eyes meditating on Frank; I said a little prayer of thanks. I'm thankful to be able to look back on an interesting life; one filled with a love of wacky verbiage that we have passed on to our kids. For having the privilege to raise two extraordinary human beings who have a sophisticated sense of humor, who seek out and embrace the ridiculous and the obtuse; and who also have a healthy love of politics, and willingly question authority.

Thank you to the Zappa Family Trust.
Thank you Frank.

Thank You, Merci, Danke, Gracias...

2008-11-11T12:44:00.000-05:00

When we are mired in distress, as we are in the Long War, it is so easy to distance ourselves from those who are doing the work. The Bush Administration has made sure that they remain invisible and far from our consciousness.

One of my greatest joys of the last two years has been to serve as a Soldier's Angel. My adopted soldiers made it home safely to their families, but they came back changed men. I always say... and believe with all my heart... that love heals all. Maybe you'll find it in your hearts to adopt a soldier; maybe you'll just send a letter to let a young man or woman, far from home, know that they are not forgotten. Maybe when you're out and about today and see a veteran, you'll just shake his or her hand and say "thank you."

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

A Day of Remembrance, and Thanks
By Laughing Wolf

Today is a special and unique holiday. It is a day of giving thanks, not for all blessings, but for one. It is a day not of fireworks and revelry, but of quiet celebration. It is a day not focused on an event, but on the people who have made the events of our lives, and the freedom in which we -- and others elsewhere -- live them, possible

It is not a day for politics, causes, or debates and any who would make it so do nothing but show ignorance and contempt for those Men, male and female, who are the focus of this day. Such creatures who would hijack and defile this day with such crass self-interest and -absorption are but soulless shells bereft of dignity, integrity, courage, and honor. They are unworthy of any strong emotion, even contempt; are worth contemplation this day merely for comparison to and with those we honor; and, deserve only pity, for they too could have been Men.

For today, we honor those who have stood in defense of our freedom; and, most of all, we honor those that fell so doing. Most have indeed been male; but, more than many realize have been female. From Molly Pitcher to the women who masqueraded as males to fight in that war between the states; from those that disguised themselves to sail on ships of wood and sail to those that fight this day we have always been blessed with women of courage, integrity, and bravery. Gender matters not; nor does it matter if one stepped forward or was summoned, for all answered the call. They joined that thin coloured line, and stood fast.

What cowards would abandon, and tyrants destroy, they saved. Their shoulders have truly held our skies suspended, and their blood has paid the price of freedom for us and for others.

The ideals, the slogans, and ultimately even home and hearth were not why they stood. When the bugles call, the bullets fly, and the bombs burst such things become of minor import. What matters then is love and duty. Not a duty to some higher power or state; rather, the duty one has to one's brother in arms. What shell they inhabit means naught at such a time, and what they were before means less than nothing at all. The only thing that matters then is that they are with you and you with them, and the love and duty that exists between at that moment is all. They will not be failed. So Tommy steps forward unto the breech, Molly takes over the cannon and fires, and unsung heroes step forward into the fire.

Some walk among us now. Others lie with Brothers amidst peaceful grass. Still more rest where they fell, unmarked on land or sea.

Today is not a day for torrents of praise or empty posturing. It is a day for but two words and two actions.

Those two words are "Thank You"; and, the two actions are to say them to those who have stood and stand among us, and to remember those who stand in memories forever green. They saved things not for the sum of pay, but for each of us and all who come after. They saved them for the higher things, and for that Band of Brothers to which they for eternity belong.

Take the time today. Quietly say the words to those who serve, be they old or be they young. Take time throughout the day and remember their sacrifice, and most especially remember those who have paid the ultimate price for freedom and are not here in flesh to hear your words.

LW

Exactly where are we headed?

2008-10-27T17:18:00.000-04:00

What a long strange trip it's been. I view life as one long road trip, as you might gather from the title of this blog. And the great thing about road trips is that if you're vigilant, and remember to take lots of pictures, you'll have interesting stuff to look back on.

I was six years old when President Johnson's Civil Rights Act of 1964 passed, and I remember very clearly, watching the world change. But, I also have been aware that as things changed, some stayed the same - they were just more covert.

I never have expected to see an African American elected president in my lifetime, so that says a great deal about how far we've come. And yet, the more things change, the more they remain the same. There will always be those who feel disenfranchised, and rather than working to change their lot in life, they take comfort in striking out. Maybe it's a lot easier to blame others and to be angry than it is to work hard; I wouldn't know. According to my Dad, there was never any other option.

But I suspect that should Sen. Obama settle in at 1600 Pennsylvania Blvd., we will be seeing a lot more of this kind of nonsense.

Kudos to the ATF, and throw a bunch of prayers into the ol' prayer bucket for the safety of Sen. Obama and his family; they're going to need them.
As do we all.

"Hold on to your butts!"

2008-10-24T16:10:00.000-04:00

This, as quoted by Samuel L. Jackson, in "Jurassic Park", should be our election drama-mantra.

Every family has a knucklehead. Take John McCain for instance. This is the first we're hearing about his brother Joe McCain, but from the looks of things, it won't be this last.

I cannot wait to find out what shakes out of the Obama family tree.

My American Prayer

2008-10-24T15:08:00.000-04:00

I am rarely at a loss for words, but nothing can shut me up better than the power of music.

We live in trying times, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that we're in for more. I'm also a big believer in the power of prayer...and that prayer comes in many forms. This is my favorite kind.

Enjoy.
And pray.

Rod Serling was no fool...

2008-10-24T14:45:00.001-04:00

Came across this today. It pretty much sums things up, don't you think?

"The tools of conquest do not necessarily come with bombs and explosions and fallout. There are weapons that are simply thoughts, attitudes, prejudices, to be found only in the minds of men.

"For the record, prejudices can kill and suspicion can destroy, and a thoughtless, frightened search for a scapegoat has a fallout all its own -- for the children, and the children yet unborn."
~~ Rod Serling
Epilogue: 'Monsters Are Due On Maple Street'

One for the "WTF" file

2008-10-09T20:02:00.001-04:00

You know, I believe that one man's pain can certainly be another man's pleasure. We're all wired however it is that we're wired, and who am I to judge or begrudge anyone what they find titillating.

I also believe that no one has any business in anyone's bedroom/dungeon/woodshed, where said behavior is consensual. In BDSM relationships, that tends to be the case.

So I find it fascinating that the Dept. of Justice finds it necessary to proceed with criminal prosecution of someone who produces said material, produced for consenting adults. At the same time, they absolve themselves of any wrongdoing when it comes to DOJ sanctioned torture of detainees.

Restraint, roleplay, sensory and physical manipulation for sexual release in the privacy of your abode = BAD

Restraint and roleplay, sensory and physical manipulation to get information = GOOD

Am I missing something here?

Dating in LA

2008-05-02T13:25:00.001-04:00

Dating in LA...or should I say, dating at MY age is very much like being the last kid picked for kickball, in grade school. The ads read..."where are all the normal women?" or "must be thin (size 0-2), fit, love sports, not be a gold-digger, be sensual, willing to accomodate my massive tool, intelligent, blonde, busty, NOT A BBW, able to carry on a conversation, deeply spiritual, 420 friendly...and willing to swallow." Pretty simple, right?

Well, this is how I see it (and how I responded to the inquiry quoted below):

That woman you're looking for…the "smart, centered, compassionate woman age 25 to 40 looking for a SERIOUS relationship? A strong, independent woman with a good heart who embraces life? A woman who totally Gets It -- Capital 'G', Capital 'I'. A woman that a man can BELIEVE IN, who understands that the ultimate goal is lasting love and a life well-spent?"

Well, let me tell you about her. She's actually a bit older now. Surely she's wiser. Between the ages of 25-35, she was participating in, or on the receiving end of all the childish b.s. out there. She probably married the perpetrator. She may have had children with him. She was pretty sure that she had found the guy you describe yourself to be, but time, growth, and life experience has a way of tweaking our expectations.

If she was smart, somewhere between 35 and 40-something, she finally grew a spine and made the appropriate changes. If not, well….we all know how that ends up. I'm sure you've encountered her once or twice.

So now she's either single again, or still single. Still funny and sexy (if not sexier); still looking to get together with someone; even if it's for nothing more than just to pass the time. The men she meets that are her age have more issues than Life magazine, and are more than a little scary. She tends to attract younger men as a general rule, which is great (and she's thankful) but that comes with its own set of land mines. If she has children, and is attentive to the issues inherent in bringing someone else into the mix...the dating pool narrows significantly.

She's self supporting, so she works a lot, doesn't have many opportunities to meet and greet. She then takes a deep cleansing breath and jumps on the internet dating bandwagon. There, she is amazed and appalled at the number of men who are married, but sem to have forgotten that little fact; the men who think that sending pictures of their "package" is the way to her heart. Because she's a funny person, she collects them and plans to animate them (with little mouths so that they'll sing) for future use on a website she hopes to put up about the wackiness of internet dating. She's witty and wise, silly, sarcastic, insightful, intelligent; someone you'd be happy to have as a friend, proud to have as a partner.

You've been looking for her everywhere and she was right there all along. You just have to look a little closer at the expiration date on the package.