Frequency: Too Often

When James Lipton asks "What sound do you hate?" I think Sirens.

As a child when the air raid sirens rang in the evening I remember thinking that it was time to run into the shelter that we didn't have, in order to be saved from the bombs that never came.

At the end of the "The Diary of Anne Frank" the German Police cars siren approaches and Millie Perkins looks into Richard Beymers eyes, they share a good bye hug to end all good bye hugs. What a gut wrenching scene, what a horrific sound.

Does any human think it a pleasant sound?

When I'm driving and I hear a siren, I check every possible angle in my mirrors. My heart pumps wildly. GET OUT OF THE WAY EVERYONE!

The sound of doom, but not the sound of death, there is no urgency to death.

One time I rode in an ambulance to the hospital, my daughter was only 6 months old and I sat beside her. I was too frightened to hear a thing but the paramedics calming me and my daughters cries. Maybe you can't hear it from inside the vehicle, maybe the sound doesn't penetrate the fear frequency in your brain.

It can add terror to any night and worry to the most glorious day.

What sound do you hate James?

The Heart Habit

My life long fascination with hearts is finally coming to an end.

I've spent a lifetime wearing hearts around my neck, in my ears, and on my fingers. I held my house key with a long chain of hearts, one chimed, one was plastic, most were silver, some were lockets. So many hearts dangling from chains. It was ridiculous, not to mention heavy.

Its ironic to me to have a key ring made of hearts.

There is no key that opens my heart.

Hearts made of any other substance can't replace the real thing.

I have collected hearts ~

well more like saved when accidentally found,

of various objects. There was a rock in the shape of a heart, shell hearts, several leaves shaped like hearts, even a potato chip heart. I remember presenting one to a male co-worker (a potato chip in the shape of a heart) he kept it for months on his shelf - also ridiculous.

I'm tired of keeping hearts on a shelf and I'm tired of making believe hearts around my neck, in my ears or on my fingers mean something.

I recently saw a heart cookie turned upside down and the heart was then made to resemble a womans bottom wearing fancy panties.

As many times as my heart has made me feel like an ass this seems quite fitting.

That's all I have left to say on the subject of hearts. I'm done with hearts.

State of Mind

I had a garden, it was my private sanctuary. In the early morning hours I sat alone on a hidden path of deeply embedded stones surrounded my moss. The birds would sing, the chipmunks would scurry, and the bunnies would stoically watch from afar. I was a Disney princess, sans the whistling and replace the dwarfs with garden gnomes. Content to plant, weed, and prune, I was calm and happy even when my life was not.

I left my animated existence. I moved, not only to another state, but to another state of mind.

Maybe if I sang.

You're no Fun

It's not that I don't know how to have fun, I just think my idea of fun varies greatly from the rest of the world. Take this evening for example: I am at a very popular sports bar on a Saturday night, the place is packed. There are miles of people drinking, eating, & making noise. The TV screens are as big as a twin sized bed and there are multi layered rows of Wii games being played by people who look silly.

I am bored. I want communication. I don't think I know how to have fun without conversation.

When I look at pictures of people having fun they too often have a beer in their hand. If I drank beer would I then know how to have fun? In fact, I don't like to have my picture taken, if I let people take my picture would I have more fun?

I am doomed to a pictureless, beerless, funless life.

Orange you Glad?

I wake up at 3 in the morning and eat oranges in my kitchen. Standing against the counter I think of the scene in Rosemary's Baby when she is eating chicken livers, or some disgusting red meat.

She sees her reflection in the silver toaster and gets a little grossed out. My toaster is white and eating an orange does not look quite as desperate through a white toaster. This my 5th orange in 24 hours. I don't know why I get these orange urges. I really don't know why I write about it.

Blizzard Conditions

This winter has brought a lot of snow and a lot of ice and the streets near my house are like an obstacle course. As I try to navigate them my tires fall into deep ruts made from icy layers.

I feel as if I am driving a bumper car.

My commute mimics my heart. It is old and layered with the icy ruins of relationships gone bad. The road to it has become an obstacle course for anyone that dares approach it.

I wonder when Spring breaks if love will course through my veins, or will bumper cars again just be passing in the night.

Alone in my Bed

I have been married 3 times. I will be 57 at the end of this year. I got married for the first time at 23. That's 57 minus 23 equals 34 divided by 3 equals 11.3333 yrs. The first one lasted 2 years, I'm giving myself extra credit for this, it was pure naiveté. Throw in the fact that those 34 years were not all spent married, albeit spent living with the future spouse. I will, with confidence claim to have 2 solid marriages lasting 16 years each. Which is not bad. One cannot say I did not try.

I am alone in my bed, again.