Hard to See

A hand full of people can see it in my face or hear it in my voice, but for the most part it is invisible.

Holidays are a hard time to hide it. I try, but at a gathering you will usually find me silent in the same
spot I sat or stood in since I came through the door. When I try to add to conversations my voice is
not heard, when I walk toward the middle of the action, I am not seen. My small steps become big failures and I retreat, 

I am alone, but not by choice. It's similar to the scene in the movie where someone is at the end of the corridor and the hallway grows longer and longer. If I made it to the end and opened the door I would surely fall into oblivion. This thought gives me comfort. 

People that don't suffer from depression don't understand it. They think it's weird, and it is. It overwhelms me sometimes unexpectedly. Even if I know what brings it on it doesn't mean I can control it.

Next time you see someone sitting alone or silent take two seconds to acknowledge them. So they don't start believing they are invisible. 

Feeling invisible is a side effect of depression. If you don't exist, you cannot be loved or appreciated, heard or validated. You feel as if you don't belong, you are not necessary. 

A simple look, smile, wink, touch, or word can make a difference.

Feeling unnecessary leads to hopelessness and despair.

I will be here when you are ready.

Taking Off

It couldn't have been easy for my mother, raising an eleven year old and a fourteen year old alone after her husband died, but she did the best she could. It was the sixties and she was just a mere forty herself. What I remember was a lot of yelling, until one night she literally kicked him out. At the time I was just happy to finally have my own room and not have to share it with my mom.

For years I never gave any weight to the situation, I just dusted myself off and put on a happy face despite my needs for guidance and attention. Looking back now as an adult to the me as a child, I can see the struggle and the pain clearly. There have been many aftershocks.

After losing my father at eleven and my brother at fourteen, you might say I floundered a bit. My mom was constantly out dating, while I was alone with my headphones and alcohol. I was clearly lost. I had relationships with boys, then I had relationships with men. I'm sure any shrink would say I was just in search of my father, or mother, or brother for that matter.

When my mothers brain tumor was diagnosed as terminal, I brought her to my home, and helped her die. That brought my brother and I back together, I was hopeful, but it was brief.

My brothers wife died six months ago. He is lonely and lost, so of course I have opened my home to him. He has been here for only one week.

People have commented on how generous I am, how wonderful it is that I have done this. It makes me uncomfortable to hear these words. It is he who has brought the comfort to me. Knowing that he is now here for the long hall brought me a peace I haven't known. I am finding myself again, that person who poked herself out on good days, seems to be slowly emerging. It's such a submerged feeling I'm not even sure what it it is, but I think I'm finding my wings.

Soon I should be ready to take off.

I'm Ready to Take a Chance Again

Well, its been just about four weeks, one cat scan, one MRI, and two neurologist visits later and I think my symptoms of a concussion are all pretty much over. Still some issues with my typing (but I was never that good anyway). No more nightmares, far less headaches, no problems rounding corners walking or driving. Concentration level returning. Ready to put my life on the line again with you.


I think.

Blowing Kisses

My daughter and I had been up for a few hours, I fed her breakfast, she blew kisses to her Daddy as he went to work and we were getting on with our daily routine. There was a play area in the basement for her, I had NBC in the background with Katie and Matt. While she played, I did laundry.

As I walked over the wooden gate between the laundry room and play area, the television was showing footage of billowing smoke coming from one of the World Trade Towers. There was talk that a plane had crashed into it. I thought that's one hell of a freak accident, I called my husband who was at work in Philadelphia, we pondered how this could "accidentally" happen. I informed him I would continue to watch, said "I love you", and we would check back later.

I stood transfixed in front of the TV, and minutes later I saw something flying around the tower in the distance, I held my breath. Within moments the second tower was hit, I watched it live on TV, but couldn't believe it happened. That's when I picked up my one year old daughter and held her close to me. My husband called and we both agreed it must be a terrorist attack. Then there were scattered reports of the Pentagon being hit. This was it, I thought, every major city has been targeted and the news reports would just keep coming. It was time to put my little one down for her morning nap so I did, because I needed to.

I called a girlfriend who worked in DC, she informed me she was safe and on her way home. Then, from the safety of my living room I watched the towers fall, the debris barreling down the streets of the city, the wounded, the people walking home over the bridges. The thick grey despair that fell over everything in the city. The wreckage of the plane near Pittsburgh.

I watched for days. The images I saw will haunt me forever. The way the photographs of the missing grew and grew along the walls at Ground Zero. All the while the rescue personnel continued searching. Interviews of people talking about the ones not yet found with hope in their hearts but anguish in their faces.

Knowing children just like mine had blown kisses to their Daddy's for the last time that morning.

Concussion

I feel down last sateuday night and my typing id atroucoius. The proff is I''m not editing anything i'm writing., my biggest badeest syptom aside form my headached ia my inability tio use the keyboead proberly. bear with me i shall return when it becomes less of a struggle. I think my mri is scheduled for next week of the week after. the sooner the better. wish me luck , and don't leave forever. thanks!
Carol

I Kissed Billy Joel

It was after the success of "Piano Man" he was hocking "Streetlife Serenade." I had a copy of "Cold Spring Harbor" which proves I was a big fan. He was playing at the Academy of Music, in Philadelphia. Great acoustics, these days only used for more high end entertainment. It's the Opera house used in "The Age of Innocence".

Janis Ian was the opening act, who I also liked a great deal. I loved her songs "At Seventeen"and "Society's Child". The thing I remember most from the concert is the anticipation. Once he came on the stage in his velveteen jacket he wore on his album covers, I remember little else. The encores had been played, and we all slowly headed out the doors to our vehicles.

It was the night of Thanksgiving and it was cold, I had left my family dinner to see Billy Joel live, with no regrets.

My date was 6'3". (this comes in handy later on) As we walked by the side street of the theater toward the lot were our car was parked, I notice the door that was clearly marked with the words "back stage" just like in a movie.
We stood for a moment, looked at each other, and although we really didn't believe that entertainers would actually leave through that door, we decided to stick around. Well, low and behold, out came Janis Ian - she's as big as me (under 5') we joked about it, I told her she's brilliant and I asked for her autograph. She giggled and said "you don't want my autograph, you want the guy in there". That's when my tall friend peeked into the narrow very high windows and saw Billy Joel with about four girls surrounding him. 

Next time that big locked stage door opened we did something crazy. We walked right it.

There I was standing behind Billy Joel (who isn't too tall himself) I was so close I was breathing on his black velveteen jacket. I could smell him. He WAS real. But I stood quietly. While the other girls talked, I listening. Then one girl gave him a rose and he kissed her on the cheek. I made my move....I tapped on his velveteen shoulder, he turned to look at me and I said: "Could I have one of those?"

He said: "Sure" just like that. He kissed me on the lips.

HISTORY WAS MADE! I KISSED BILLY JOEL! ACTUALLY BILLY JOEL KISSED ME.

I was in heaven for weeks.
Two things plagued me for a few years after that.
1. If I had not been with my boyfriend would I have a better story?
2. How could I forget about the camera I had stashed in my coat pocket? 

No More

When I was 18 I met a boy
When I was 21 I got pregnant, and had an abortion
When I was 31 I met a man, the wrong man
When I was 41 I met another man
When I was 46 I got pregnant and I had a daughter
When I was 48 I got pregnant, and it died inside me
Soon I will be 58. No more men, no more pregnancies.

No more.

Isolation Chamber

My new term for my room/bed.

That express train at the dead end of my street sounds sweet at night.

It echos hourly in the dark. Calling me.

I Still Need Mascara

Just because I can't pay my bills doesn't mean I don't need mascara.
It makes me feel pretty.
Anyway how do I pay for a seven dollar item on a two dollar budget?

When I went to the drug store today, to pick some new meds, that were actually old meds, meaning they had been around for years and only set me back three dollars and change.

I walked over to the make up aisle to see if any mascara was on sale. Zero.

I bought a three pack of bubble gum. One for me. One for my kid and one for my co-worker.
It made me feel generous. Besides bubble gum tends to brings smiles out in people.
Which totally trumps feeling pretty.

D is for Dead

Guinea Pig Found Dead:
Reaper Strikes Again on Facebook!


Actual Facebook Post
Dale's post: We lost our little guinea pig, Rocky, today. He was a sweet little boy and will be surely missed by all of us. RIP Rocky xoxo
1 person likes this (?)
Diane: SO SORRY TO HEAR THAT. HOW ARE THE KIDS TAKING IT??
Darcy: Rocky was lucky to have had such a great family to love him while he was here... ♥ RIP Rocky, so sorry Smith crew.. xo
Dale Smith: We all are taking it hard...Rocky was a sweetie... He always greeted me every morning and every night. every time he heard my voice, he would sqeak a greeting. I will really miss him.
Debbi:  I know how you all feel. they are like family
Doris: Sorry Dale
Della: Sorry to hear that Dale! Guinea pig, cat, dog, hamster, what have you...they're all a part of our family and are missed when they are gone. The "tough" part of loving a pet! Hang in there!
Dale Smith:  Rocky was a very interactive member of the family...loved to be held and cuddled.
Dale Smith: You're right Della. They are all treasured members of the family. My 'babies' are all very special to me (us).
Dale Smith: Thanks everyone...It has been a rough day...
Dorothy: Dee never said a word when she cameover??
Dina: awww, sorry guys. i know how attached we all are to your piggies.
Dana:  Awww, so sorry gf!
Demi:  so sad - I am sorry
Donna:  OH sorry to hear about that...its hard to lose a pet.
Daria:  I'm so sorry to hear this Dale. He was a charmer for sure. I'm so glad I got the chance to meet him. I know how much the Smith family loves him and it sure did show!! RIP Rocky. If there is anything we can do for you, we are here for you all! Sending our love and prayers during this sad time. XOXO
Last comment I could stomach to copy: How sad! :(


Two days later I found myself at PetSmart watching a Guinea Pig behind glass still wondering what all the fuss was about.

More posts about Facebook: In your Facebook Death and Facebook

Interview Attire

I was recently coached by an employment recruiter as to the proper attire for an interview.

I had a pair of black dress pants which I wear to almost everything. Funerals, lunches with dignitaries, other interviews. I thought if I could find a top to go with it that would be peachy. I went to the mall and tried on a million things. I don't really enjoy shopping. I am thrifty by nature and like to use things up before I buy something new. The venture seemed successful and the next day I texted pictures to the recruiter of what I had purchased. The response I got was an emphatic NO! I received a detailed text of what I should wear. The consensus was:

A sweater set with pearls.
Who am I? June Cleaver?

So, I returned to the store where I purchased the less than elegantly perfect interview attire and keened my search. I tried very hard to step out of my box. I pulled things off of the racks and carried them to the nearest mirror. Too hip, too square, too young, too old, not me! Finally feeling dead ended and drained, I started to ask the advice of fellow shoppers. I shared the June Cleaver pitch and my new friends gasped at the thought

I took my new choices and went into the dressing room.

There as I tried on my four selections I again enlisted the help of the women in their stalls. They came out one by one, timid at first, but once they saw my exasperation they took me to their bosoms and extended big girl advice. God Bless them everyone! They all really liked a casual trendy suit jacket, which I wasn't completely sold on. It needs something one women said, "pearls" she uttered. My shoulders slumped.

I choose one trendy, not really me but not so obviously not me that I wouldn't feel like a jerk, blousey knitted top thingy. Then feeling positive, I ventured on to find the perfect top for a second interview.

The day of my appointment I had no clue where I was going and needed to use my GPS for the first time. My interview went well and I walked out of the building feeling confident, sure my attire was no hindrance to the impression I had made. After receiving positive feedback from the recruiter, my second interview blouse hangs limp, tags still attached. Waiting, along with me for the final word.

I spoke to my recruiter yesterday...
Today I will head to the mall to return the second interview top.
Or maybe not.
I kinda like it and it doesn't require pearls.

Feeling Like A Criminal

Last week on the twenty eighth day in a month of thirty one I realized my drivers license was due to expire. This year I was given strict instruction that I had to appear IN PERSON. DO NOT RENEW ON LINE. Naturally I waited until the last minute (almost). They open at 8 am, I arrived at 7:50am.

The doors were open when I arrived and the line had about ten people. I inched my way up only to find out that the two point ID I had with me was not the correct copy, luckily I was carrying a bank card and insurance card which allowed me to meet the new six point system of identification requirements needed for proof of mere existence. I was given the number eleven handwritten on a 3x5 card and asked to sit and wait.

We all sat and stared at the empty booth for the first thirty minutes or so, then a women appeared calling number's one, two and three. It took about one hour to complete the first three people. Apparently our proof of mere existence needed to be questioned one last time. There was no help in sight, by this time the inmates were talking to each other. I was sure someone would share Facebook information.

Before the fourth set of three number's were called a second person came out to help. When my number was finally called, number twelve and I had our very own individual license giver-outers. The two of us decided to be cohorts in crime and not renew our photos, therefore speeding up the laborious process for the remaining convicts. While waiting in the trenches I had had a conversation with number thirty one, who had at least a two hour wait. It was the right thing to do.

While we were standing waiting, number twelve mentioned that being there made her feel like a criminal, I had to agree. The whole burden of proof process was very uncomfortable to me also. I have to admit I was very relieved when I was given the okay and told I could leave.

Unfortunately I also noticed that morning while walking to my car that my inspection sticker said six. We were at the end of the seventh month. On my way to the inspection station I bought a tin cup.

Alone in my Bed part deux

It's been a couple of years that I am alone in my bed. It's been dandy - but the past few days I've been waking up feeling lost and a bit blue. In the middle of the night I miss the toe touch, the arm rest or the hand rub. I miss the quiet little "good morning" or "you up?"

I don't miss fighting over blankets.
I don't miss no room to sprawl.

But once in awhile a little cuddle would be nice.

The Boy

There is a boy I work with, by boy I refer to an eighteen year old. He resembles a young Paul Newman, but for green eyes. From his work persona, he seems like a good kid. Does his job, helps when he sees the need without being asked, quiet. He has a steady girlfriend of quite some years whom he seems to be thoroughly in love with. He wants a career in art, God bless him.

What draws me to this kid is his freedom of speech, at least to me, when we are speaking alone. He has no inhibitions being complimentary to me, even though I am old enough to be his Grandmother. No, I'm not attracted to him, he is a child. I am fascinated by him, I watch this behavior in an almost clinical way.
I wonder at what point in time, when a boy becomes a man, does he start to hold back his thoughts?

I've had very little experience with men who compliment women with such ease. I see it in movies, but most of the men I've encountered have excuses why they cannot give so freely. Scarred by past relationships, fear of rejection or humiliation. Just generally not comfortable with saying what they are thinking or seeing no reason why they should.

When his girlfriend stops by work he tells her he likes her shirt, she looks cute. She seems to take it for granted, I don't even hear a thank you from her lips. It looks as though he is given nothing in return, but what do I know? Maybe this will cause him to stop giving as he matures.

The other day I was just going through my daily routine, when we passed each other. He said "We're you goin lookin all pretty?" It made me giggle. I had gotten my hair colored but had no make-up on, nor was I wearing anything other than my normal work attire. For every women this boy encounters through-out his entire lifetime...I hope he never losses this charm, sincerity, and ability to give simple compliments.

How many lives could he touch, how many frowns could he turn around, how many days will he have the ability to "make" for someone along the way? What a loss it will be if he ever grows up.

Still Insecure After all These Years

I met my old lover 
In the mall last night 
He seemed so glad to see me 
I just smirked 
And we talked about some old times 
And we shed ourselves some tears
Still insecure after all these years 
Oh, so insecure after all these years 


I'm not the kind of gal 
Who tends to socialize 
I seem to lean on 
Old familiar ways 
And I ain't no fool for love songs 
That whisper in my ears 
Still insecure after all these years 
Oh, so insecure after all these years 

Four in the morning 
Watchin movies, yawning 
Longing my life a--way 
I'll never worry 
Why should I? 
It's all gonna fade 


Now I sit by my window 
And I watch the cars 
I fear I'll do me damage 
One fine day 
But I would not be convicted 
By a jury of my peers 
Still insecure after all these years 
Oh, still insecure 
So insecure 
Still insecure after all these years

I Saw Nude People

I remember our first male model in art school who looked really cute when he walked through the door, until he took his clothes off. I remember the old man and old women who modeled nude together and looked beautiful. I remember April who wasn't much older than me. She had a tiny heart tattoo near her breast, I thought it was cool, and then I wanted one too.

I remember avoiding the genitalia of the male models. If it was an all day pose I would move my easel so I could avoid it completely, if we were doing quick sketches croquis as my instructors referred to them, I just made a line or two. In the beginning it was an embarrassing process for me. By my third year I would strike up conversations with the models.

Forcing a person to stare at the human figure in all forms is a sobering experience. When people are stripped of their clothes, many of our assumptions are removed, therefore there is less to judge. When they are speechless before you for hours, you begin to wonder what skin deep really means.

I saw nude people. A lot of nude people. I learned to appreciate the beauty of the human form in all shapes, sizes and colors. I consider it a special gift that came with my art training.

I needed it after being traumatized by my Nana making me take a bath with her when I was six or seven.

Thanks to Art school, I'm no longer traumatized. 

Holly Crap, Literally

Let's talk about kitty litter.

Have I got you thinking about a box of kitty litter, maybe one that needs cleaning?

I've had cats as pets for most of my adult life. At this moment I have three. We have two litter boxes.
I can't even begin to tell you the pounds of crap I put into the trash each week. When my last two cats died I swore I was done with it. I was inundated with requests from my family, begging and pleading for a new kitten. I finally gave in and I swore this would only work if I didn't EVER have to clean the litter.
Guess who cleans the litter?

I've heard of people who teach their cats to use the toilet and I'm sure this is possible. We only have one bathroom in my modest home. I am not ready to share my toilet during the learning curve.

So here I sit with a multitude of yucky stuff. Along with three cats who go there independent ways and don't even have the decency to sit with me and purr.

shit, turds, piss

Chain Letters

When I was a kid I remember my mother would occasionally get something in the mail she called a chain letter. It warned you to copy the letter (by hand) mail it to ten people (addresses from the phone book) and send it off. If you did, surely fortune would find you. I don't remember that any evil thing was going to happen if you didn't obey. I was a kid

When I got older, I too, received chain letters, the difference was, by that time you had the ability to photocopy the letters. I felt a little apprehensive about breaking the chain, but still, I threw the letters away.

Once email chain letters started is when I remember that they began to get nasty. They may have always been mean spirited if you chose not to reply, I just don't recall. When I got an email it would tell me to send it to ten friends. "Don't break the chain" it warned. Bad things would happen. I had no choice ~ at the time I didn't even have ten friends.

Well, now my ten year old daughter gets them in text messages from her silly little friends. Which really annoys me. She is growing quickly, but she is a young ten. The first one she got was detailed with directions. I tried to explain the whole thing to her, but she was still totally freaked. A week later she mentioned that because she didn't pass the text along she would have a horrible week. Then she proceeded to list why each day of the past week was horrible. She bruised her knee, her hair looked stupid, she lost something, etc. I called her little friend and politely told her to not forward these texts again.

A few years back an old friend contacted me through one of those classmate sites. We spoke a few times and then the only time I heard from him were when he sent silly chain emails. Finally I sent a nice letter saying I enjoyed talking to him but please stop sending me chain letter emails. He sent me a nasty note back, called me a name and said he didn't want to speak to me again. Maybe what I sent wasn't so nice.

Um, okay.

So whatever you do: Do not forward this blog.

but ~ nothing will happen either way.

Kids!

Village of the Damned 1960

I don't know what's wrong with these kids today!
Kids!
Who can understand anything they say?
Kids!
They are disobedient, disrespectful oafs!
Noisy, crazy, sloppy, lazy, loafers!
While we're on the subject:
Kids!
You can talk and talk till your face is blue!
Kids!
But they still just do what they want to do!
Why can't they be like we were,
Perfect in every way?
What's the matter with kids today? 


lyrics by Lee Adams

Blogging Obsession

I think I've become obsessed:

Enjoy it while you can ~ Burnout: imminent

Love in the 21st Century

During the 17th Century the average life expectancy in Colonial America was under 25 years of age.
The average 21st Century American is expected to live until the age of 78.


Now let's talk about this "Until Death Do Us Part" stuff.


Anyone who knows me, knows I love love. 
What's not to love about feeling like crap half the time and elated the other half? I even love the concept of marriage. In fact, just to prove this I have tried it three times. I have come to the conclusion that not only is marriage illogical, but it is also not meant to last forever. Maybe back when people lived to the ripe old age of 25. But today? I think it isn't natural. People change, situations change, needs, desires, expectations, all change as we age. It's very difficult to change at the same rate as your partner or in the same direction. 


I know couples who have been together for what seems like forever. These couples usually hooked up in their teens or early twenties. Had kids, went through ups and downs, and are still together. Some look quite happy. Who am I to say they are not? Still, I'm guessing there is a fair portion of long time married couples who are very comfortable with their double incomes and joint properties. At this point they don't want to forfeit the lifestyle they have become accustomed to. No one wants to rock the boat, so they've pretty much accepted their lot in life, or marriage as the case may be.


I believe that romantic love can last forever. It ebbs and flows but once you really love somebody whether having been in love or not, you don't usually stop loving them. You may stop liking them, but like it or not you'll always love them. 


Which brings me to a series of question I ask myself:

1. If I no longer feel love for someone I once loved, did I ever really love that person?
2. How do I define romantic love?
3. Can romantic love change to just regular everyday, run of the mill love?
4. What is "run of the mill" love?

Each question on its own could most likely be a stand alone blog.
For now I'll just fain a headache and move along.

Sneaker Doodles

You need at least one pair of sneakers. I have one pair I use for walking. At least I will use them for walking as soon as I start walking again. One beat up pair I use around the house who's brand name is non-existent. An old pair of converse high tops in light purple but not quite lavender.

I have, just because I can't get rid of them, an old pair of what used to be white Keds. Unless I'm walking I prefer to wear sneaks with no socks. Also, I have a pair that have grey suede like cloth and pink something on them that I got at a BOGO sale at Payless. Oh and a very expensive pair of KEENS which I find incredibly UNcomfortable.

It's really hard to throw away an old pair of beat up dirty sneakers. I become so attached to them and they are just so darn comfortable. 

And, after all, some of the stains have memories.

I wish I had saved my daughters toddler sneakers as she grew out of them. There was a time when her feet grew so fast that they were hardly worn. I would keep one size up in the house at all times for that morning when the shoe would not fit. Little girls sneakers are just so darn cute.

That's all I have to say about sneakers.

Compliments

I have always appreciated beauty, but I really learned to "see" in Art School. The teacher instructed us to look at our palms. "How many colors do you see?", she said. After that my eyes opened wider.

I don't remember when I started giving compliments away freely to complete strangers.

I think I started after my Dad died. When I learned life was too short. Someone could be gone before you tell them what you wanted to. People need to be told the good things, or they may never know. Once I started appreciating more of what I was seeing, there was more to compliment.

So I became the Pied Piper of compliments. I still do it all the time, but it makes some people uncomfortable. For that reason, I try to keep it to a "drive by" compliment. I say it as I'm walking by them. "That color is fabulous on you", "you look lovely", "cool shirt". I do it slowly enough to be able to see a reaction and most people seem to appreciate it, and that makes me feel good too.

I never get tired of hearing compliments.
John Lithgow  

There are only three things women need in life: food, water, and compliments. 
Chris Rock


I can take criticisms but not compliments. 
James Taylor


I don't take compliments so well. I always hang my head and shuffle and kind of try to immediately forget.
Laurie Anderson 

Stubby Little Toe

I got a mosquito bite on my stubby little toe. It's been three days and it's still driving me crazy. I have the teeniest tiniest little stubby toe, with a barely there nail and right now it's so darn itchy and has been for three days its making me insane. I tried an emery board to stop the itch, but mostly I just keep rubbing against the toe next to it or on to my other foot. In reality I'm rubbing it on anything it gets next to.

At this point I want to cut it off.

Seriously, if the central air hadn't broken two days ago, I would be totally fixated on my little stubby toe.

I Almost Saw Paul McCartney

When I watched the Beatles consecutive appearances on The Ed Sullivan Show I was ten. When they left the stage after the last song on the last night, a few tears rolled down my cheek and my Dad made fun of me.

I had nightmares and would sleep with a nightlight on. My Mom was a waitress and sometimes she worked at night. When I woke up in the morning I'd find things she brought home for me sitting on the floor by my nightlight. Beatles magazines, Packs of gum that contained Beatles cards, Beatles buttons, a 45rpm.

I favored Paul, he was cute and he seemed nice, my second fave of the fab four was George, he was cute too and he seemed like a bit of a loner (always went for the loners). John always seemed too full of himself and Ringo just a bit silly. But they were a group and that's usually the way I thought of them.

I never saw the Beatles live, but I did see The Dave Clark Five at the age of eleven. I went to concerts, not as many as some peers, but enough. It was exciting when I was there, but at this age it's mostly just a blur. I still enjoy any kind of live music and will occasionally attend a concert out of nostalgia. I tend to avoid crowds nowadays.

Paul McCartney played in Philadelphia a few years ago, I thought about going, then forgot about it. The concert came and went and I was sad I hadn't even tried to get tickets. It may have been my last chance.

Regret sucks. I let it go.

Last summer he returned. Tickets were exorbitant and I think they sold out rather quickly. The idea of seeing Sir Paul left my brain, but still unbeknownst to me the idea never left my heart.

A couple of days before the concert a friend called and asked what I was doing on a particular night. I rambled on, I don't remember what I said. Then I heard my friend say; "You're going to see Paul McCartney". To say that I was dumbfounded would have been an understatement.

Somebody couldn't attend due to a business trip, so they asked my friend, my friend already saw McCartney, thought I would want the ticket, blah,blah,blah. Long story short, the friend of the friend of the friend went. Not me. It doesn't matter.

For twenty four hours I thought I might see Paul McCartney.
My heart was happy.

Just like when my Dad made fun of me for crying when the Beatles played their last song on Ed Sullivan, but my Mom brought me trinkets to keep the happy feeling alive.

In this instance too,
it most surely was
the thought that counts.

Arsenic and Old Feelings

Someday's I feel empty (negative), other day's I feel full (positive). We all have days that aren't so great, sometimes they come in a long string of days. The kind of day when nothing goes right. On the other hand, some of those days ~ when nothing goes right....I still feel full and complete.

Sometimes I love to be alone and other times it drives me nuts. I roam from room to room and I just don't have the energy to do or create anything. Jeez I even lack the concentration to watch a new film. On that kind of day I need to watch a movie I've seen a million times, eat pizza and have a glass of soda, preferably Black Cherry.

Then there are the times I've got that creative bug. I sketch ideas, I make lists of things to do and then I do them. I even run all of my errands. What gives?

I have cultivated good friends over the years. These people "get me" these are the friends who understand that on the day I feel full I say yes. They understand on the days I'm empty I need to say no, even if I've already said yes. I can be a pain in the you know what. Old feelings, old reactions, effect me when I least expect them, like poison.

If only I could bury my old feelings of negativity in my cellar.

Little Lawrence of Arabia

This is my daughter about eight years ago on a windy day at the beach. Today was such a day, but much worse. Today when you looked out across the sand you could see a thin mist. Today the lifeguards had long pants and long sleeves. Today the sand stung.

The minute I walked on the beach I remembered the time I was with my parents during a "sand storm", I was five and that's what I referred to it as my whole life. My Dad had several Restaurateur's in his family and one owned a place in Atlantic City, NJ, another owned a juice joint on the Boardwalk. The restaurant was a nice piece of real estate on a corner lot and had lodgings on the floors above, which is where we stayed most summers.

I don't remember much of the day just that my mom kept me wrapped in a towel. What I remember most are the stories I had to listen to about my reaction to the windy day at the beach.. How I whined, cried, was generally miserable and ruined everyone's fun.

Well, today I was not about to ruin anyone's fun!

I hung in there, my daughter and I walked up and down the beach, she played, I sat all the while with the sand pounding, getting into my eyes, my hair, and everything in the beach bag was covered with sand. My towel could have filled a child's bucket. But I waited until she said "Okay, we can go." I asked if she was sure and we walked back to our bungalow.

I think I can stop feeling guilty now.

The Dragonflies

My Small homage to Alfred Hitchcocks "The Birds"


My girls and I took a leisurely ride on Saturday to our vacation spot for the week. From our house it's normally a ninety minute ride. On an average Saturday in the summer if you get too late a start you can hit some bumper to bumper traffic as you get closer to the island and we did.


Aside from noticing the same vehicles moving ahead and behind, behind and ahead, over and over. I noticed an abundance of Dragonflies. As I looked closer I noticed most every dragonfly seemed to be flying atop another dragonfly. They were mating.


Boy were they. Once I became aware of it, I noticed hundreds of dragonflies, more than I'd seen in my entire life as a whole. Obviously delirious, there sex drive pushing them into over drive, they seemed to be flying with a devil-may-care attitude nearly dive bombing the car several times. It got to be like a seen from "The Birds" Everywhere I looked more dragonflies.


"Ristle-tee, rostle-tee, hey donny dostle-tee, knickety-knackety, retro-quo-quality, willoby-wallaby, Now, now, now!"


I was thankful that day that I was not driving a convertible.

Teen Guide: How to Hook up w/a Lifeguard

Me and my eleven year old daughter went to the beach early this morning like we've done every morning this week. We get there before the lifeguards set up. It's a ritual for the two of us. This morning we were running a little late and shortly after we arrived the lifeguards got there. About every two blocks there are different lifeguards.

This morning the Greenhead flies were all over, they out numbered the dragonflies and they were relentless. There was no way to sit comfortably or stand still without flies swarming. So we went for a walk along the beach. We had walked about two blocks when my daughter got a bad bite that started to bleed. I wiped it with my finger which made it look as tho I was the one bleeding. We were very close to the lifeguards, and the blood kept flowing, so I walked her over and asked if they had a band aid.

The tall bench held two male lifeguards, one seemed more in charge than the other, they pulled out the first aid bag and searched threw to find what they needed. Then the more senior lifeguard jumped off of the high chair and started caring for my little girls wound. He wiped it with a piece of gauze, cleaned it with antiseptic, and told her it wouldn't hurt, when it did he said "not for long". He dried it with another gauze pad and gently placed the band aid on her shin.

This guy was every teenage girls dream. Built like an Adonis, sandy blond hair, perfectly bronzed, sweet, caring and calm. Did I say handsome? My daughter kept her cool, but as we walked off waving our thank you's, I noticed my little girl grinning from ear to ear. I said "He was pretty cool huh?" her reply: "OMG!" She may have been swept off her feet. This was a moment she would never forget.

I tried to explain to her how teenage girls would have envied her position, had there been any on the beach. I joked that I was surprised that more girls don't make themselves bleed just for the attention. Lord knows I never thought of it when I was in my teens.




There is no real moral or point to this tale other than to mark this day in history by posting it on my blog.

Just because I can.

I Don't Think I Like You Very Much

I got a GPS (Global Positioning System). My car is fifteen years old. The idea of getting lost and the fear of breaking down if I'm lost was starting to freak me out a teeny bit. So I gave in. I've been in cars with people who use them, they didn't seem perfect, but neither am I.


And they got pretty cheap.


Today was the first time I used it, I had a few errands to run so I just programmed in "home" and went from there. I think it told me to turn left when I needed to turn right, and it just stopped doing its satellite thing for about a minute. Aside from that it worked fine. Oh, and it can't read traffic signs like "no left turn".


Later that day it was time for the big test! I needed to travel to unknown parts. But I had my GPS so I had no fear. Right as I turned off of my street "she", after all it is a women speaking, started to act weird, so I calmly restarted her. She was doing fine until I reached the highway, maybe I just wasn't listening carefully but I didn't see the exit she told me to take. I saw the one with the number 13A, but I didn't see 13B. Once I passed the exit I didn't see, she said: "recalculating".


I had to be somewhere at a certain time, but I gave myself an extra half hour, so I wasn't too worried.. Well, once we were on the recalculation route things really got fun. I had no clue where I was, I missed one turn because I didn't see the street sign and was too out of my safety zone to make an executive decision. Long story short, I got where I needed to be, on time and in one piece. I had NO IDEA where she took me but, I was happy.


Then came the rain.


I got to my next destination with only a slight hitch. By the time I returned to my car the rain was more like a torrential downpour. I get nervous driving in the rain, the radio station was talking about flash floods and traffic issues but I knew how to get home. For the fun of it I left the GPS on. I was alerted that there was a traffic jam and another route was suggested by my new friend. I figured this thing is run by satellite so it must know better than me.    


I followed her commands.


About two minutes after I got off at the exit she "suggested" I use, I knew I was going to be headed towards my own personal "Twilight Zone". It was loaded with cars, trucks and super huge trucks...and traffic was not moving. I will not bore you with the gory details, let me just say that my thirty minute ride turned into a 2.5 hour ride because of the rain, but more because of my new friend. 


Thinking back over the day and my "Twilight Zone" interlude, I have fondly dubbed her Talking Tina (Tina for short). Because on that day she proved she did not like me very much.

Men in My Boudoir

Are you decent?
Honestly if I was decent why bother coming in?

I jest ~ they just want to talk and I'm a good listener.
I'm a problem sponge, when they leave they feel better.

So take a number...put your feet up, get cozy.
I'll stop doing whatever I'm doing long enough to talk to you.

Spend the night if you like, just not in my bed.
Then we can have coffee and chat.
After that you're on your own.

Y'all come back now ya here?

The Grim Reaper on Facebook

It really gets me going when someone posts about death on Facebook. I have no desire to see the Grim Reaper on Facebook, or anywhere else. He even scares me when he shows Ebenezer Scrooge his future grave.

Whether a victim of a crime, an accident, a sudden death or a long drawn out illness that takes ones quality of life and what dignity remains and throws it to the wolves. Death sucks, we all know it, we've all experienced it. But it isn't about us is it? It feels to me that some people insist on trying to make it about them and it isn't.

If it's someone close to you chances are your friends are aware of it. You can write, talk, comfort, hug, yell, scream, cry, whatever in private. I think it's fine in a united effort to memorialize the person when you are all sharing in the pain of loss. I myself have posted on pages about someones loss. You can tell when it's a heartfelt cry or pure despair. It's when it's used as an announcement of some sort, like "look at me, I deserve attention, I know someone who died" "poor me" I call it sympathy votes.

Maybe I'm a cold hearted bitch, or maybe I just started young with this death business but when I hear someone over 90 has passed away I feel sad, but not too sad. If they lived a full life, got to watch their children grow, had some success, enjoyed life, etc. Well, death is part of life. Isn't it?
If they are young, it's very, very sad. I have a difficult time not thinking about it and the family they leave behind ~ BUT it's still not about me.

The facebook responses are many, and almost all the same. I think this stuff is just too personal, I'm a private person. The reason I got so irked and needed to write about this is the following post. I'm only quoting part of it to protect the author.

"Saddened by the impending loss of my beloved mother in law...",
Wait a minute, so she's not even dead yet? Obviously this one is gonna be milked for everything they can get out of it. This has gone too far. Yeah ~ I'm saddened by the impending loss of every man. Consider yourself fortunate that you get to say everything you never got to say and spent part of your life time with this person.
"I keep vigil every night after work by her bedside"  "You a remarkable", writes a friend.
"My husband's lovely mother died this morning, we will miss her always."
Does this mean we don't have to hear about it anymore? Christ, I surely hope so.

Sincerely,
Your average cold hearted cynical bitch

P.S. We all know how it sucks to have a pet die too. Man up, keep your memories, if you really miss cleaning up shit, get a new one. But do you have to post it on Facebook?

Disclaimer: someone I love recently lost someone they love ~ this post is not in anyway a reflection of anything posted on Facebook by you, your family or friends.