Faith and my daughter Laura are currently (until tomorrow) in Seattle, Washington where the great U.S. Army base of Ft. Lewis is located - and of course, the great U.S. Air Force base of Ft. McChord! Faith was hanging out yesterday after being stranded at the Donald, WA Shell station when our good friend Pat McGhee of Ft. Lewis came by and scooped she and Laura up for a whirlwind ride to the base to visit patients in the hospital, staff both at the hospital and on the base at the PX where Pat is the manager. Laura called me to say "Mom, I was so dang tired, I was upset about having been left, I was embarrassed in fact because of the fact that I had not let anyone know where I was going, and it could have been so terrible - but then Pat showed up and took us to the base! We saw a million soldiers Mom, they were so beautiful, they were so happy to see Faith - Mom, it made everything OK again."
See, all you need in your daily routine is a little digital green and brown to make the blues disappear! Bring on the troops Pat! Hey, tell every military station out there within ear and eye shot of where Ozzfest is going to be to send out their own troops to see Sgt. Faith at the Big Tent with the Brothers Grim Side Show - they'll love her, she'll love them - and all will be well with the world...or at least that part of it. Seeing troops makes Faith feel as if she's with her boy Reuben, and it certainly lifts the spirits of my daughter who needed a boost from the scare she had - just hugging a few soldiers and especially those who have been hospitalized after defending us - can make the biggest difference in my life, so I know it has to affect Laura as well. Faith doesn't know the difference really between a hurt soldier and a healthy soldier, to her they're all just GORGEOUS - and they all have the same potential to feed her a little something under the table! She doesn't discriminate!
So, attention all Armed Forces Personnel - in and around the 48 mainland states - pay close attention to where the Ozzfest buses pull in to greet the fine citizenry where you may be stationed...you too could be a guest of the most wonderful Sgt on the planet - Faith the Dog! Go by and let her nose you to say thank you, thank you, thank you, but I will warn you - you need to be wearing your ACUs or she won't like you much if you're a guy - she's funny like that - in the greens you're accepted 100% - out of them, well, you're on your own - she likes girls though - it must be a predator thing. Just put on the uniform my friends - and again, I can't say this enough...THANK YOU for your service to me, to my family, my country, and yours! Thank you! It is an HONOR of mine to be able to share my family and my beloved dog Faith with you.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
No - Harry Potter Does Not Die in HPDH
Just to let you know - Harry Potter fans will be happy to realize once they've searched over the 800+ pages in the last and final book in the long anticipated series - that Harry Potter, our boy wonder does not die. People do die - people always die, but HEY, one comes back - doesn't that make up for the loss of the red-headed imp? Oops, did I do it again? Did I totally spoil your fun? Well, don't mind me, go right ahead and read the final book - can't hurt, you've already bought it, you've read the last 6 books, you've been like me, and you've scanned them all again in order just to be sure you have all of the clues in place.
Actually - did you know (rumor has it anyway) that JK has a team of readers and raiders pouring over every word in every line in every paragraph and page of every book she's written so as NOT to make the mistake she made in what was it, number 4, when she tripped over a fact or two? Harry fans beat her up over that one you know - couldn't go to the movies and really enjoy the plot for all of the whining in the audience - babies (fans) claiming this wasn't quite right, or that wasn't quite right - meaning, it wasn't EXACTLY as they had it in the book. I personally, don't care if the books and the movies don't match perfectly. It only makes me think that the creators of both were savvy enough to think we the readers and the watchers, are able to separate ourselves ever so slightly, and enjoy a diversion! Isn't that the point?
Well, ever since Birds and Animals Ltd. refused to allow Faith (my dog) to be in the 4th movie, Goblet of Fire, I couldn't really give a monkey's behind whether or not the boy wizard survives or gets his head torn completely off his shoulders in a vicious Quiddich game - oops, nearly spoiled another plot twist - he survives that one too. If you ask me, Harry's been a bit too lucky and he's been a bit too indulged - - but then again, look at the characters in CSI and ask yourself if they shouldn't have bit the dust a few more times too - Delco: gets shot in the head - back to work in what a week? Horatio Caine misses that silver bullet weekly - he's the guy I want to be standing with (except of course when the woman he married after knowing her 2 weeks was actually standing with him and got shot - Delco's sister, remember? Maybe I watch too much t.v. - as long as they leave Mac Taylor's happy butt alive and kicking, I'm OK. Peyton could bite the big one - I wouldn't care.)
So, no, Harry doesn't die - yes a Weasley does - and no Hagrid doesn't beat anyone up, not really - the kid that played Draco had the best idea - he got out when the getting was good. If he dies it won't be because he's a key player, but because in real life Tom's mom and dad took the money and got out of Dodge! At least he'll have a career when the 7th film is over and done with. Poor poor poor Dan Ratcliffe, the mark on his character's head - stained him for life as well I'm afraid - but at least his parents get to see him again - OOOOOOh, there I go again - spoiler, spoiler, spoiler! This book was just too predictable.
Actually - did you know (rumor has it anyway) that JK has a team of readers and raiders pouring over every word in every line in every paragraph and page of every book she's written so as NOT to make the mistake she made in what was it, number 4, when she tripped over a fact or two? Harry fans beat her up over that one you know - couldn't go to the movies and really enjoy the plot for all of the whining in the audience - babies (fans) claiming this wasn't quite right, or that wasn't quite right - meaning, it wasn't EXACTLY as they had it in the book. I personally, don't care if the books and the movies don't match perfectly. It only makes me think that the creators of both were savvy enough to think we the readers and the watchers, are able to separate ourselves ever so slightly, and enjoy a diversion! Isn't that the point?
Well, ever since Birds and Animals Ltd. refused to allow Faith (my dog) to be in the 4th movie, Goblet of Fire, I couldn't really give a monkey's behind whether or not the boy wizard survives or gets his head torn completely off his shoulders in a vicious Quiddich game - oops, nearly spoiled another plot twist - he survives that one too. If you ask me, Harry's been a bit too lucky and he's been a bit too indulged - - but then again, look at the characters in CSI and ask yourself if they shouldn't have bit the dust a few more times too - Delco: gets shot in the head - back to work in what a week? Horatio Caine misses that silver bullet weekly - he's the guy I want to be standing with (except of course when the woman he married after knowing her 2 weeks was actually standing with him and got shot - Delco's sister, remember? Maybe I watch too much t.v. - as long as they leave Mac Taylor's happy butt alive and kicking, I'm OK. Peyton could bite the big one - I wouldn't care.)
So, no, Harry doesn't die - yes a Weasley does - and no Hagrid doesn't beat anyone up, not really - the kid that played Draco had the best idea - he got out when the getting was good. If he dies it won't be because he's a key player, but because in real life Tom's mom and dad took the money and got out of Dodge! At least he'll have a career when the 7th film is over and done with. Poor poor poor Dan Ratcliffe, the mark on his character's head - stained him for life as well I'm afraid - but at least his parents get to see him again - OOOOOOh, there I go again - spoiler, spoiler, spoiler! This book was just too predictable.
My Family Gets Misplaced A Lot of the Time
So, you remember last February when American Airlines misplaced my dog Faith - sending her to Chicago I believe, rather than to our actual destination of Orlando, Florida. It was a newsworthy event. CNN picked up on it - the world, you know - a few interested millions called or e-mailed to say they were praying for us. We love and we thank them. Well, it's happened again.
This time, Laura and Faith are traveling with the Ozzfest group on their way through the U.S. to entertain the masses - they're traveling on the biggest, most sleek looking tour bus I've ever seen - and the driver (a fantastic woman) has left my daughter and my dog at a Shell gas station in Donald, Washington. According to Mapquest they're 154 miles away from their destination of Seattle - where the Ozzfest will begin in earnest tomorrow at noon. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine being 18, needing to poo, getting off the bus when it stops to refuel, but not telling anyone that you left - and then getting left?
Laura called me this morning at 7:40 a.m. my time, 5:40 a.m. her time, to tell me she was stranded, and that she was wearing a Lolita skirt on top of everything else. She and her new friend Stitch, a performer, were showing off their clothes and wearing various outfits which showed off various body parts when they both fell asleep in the early hours - and then it stopped and Laura left the bus with Faith without telling anyone...she won't do that again.
"Mom, the bus left me!" Immediately I went into crisis mode - which means I remained calm and made the appropriate calls. Not that calling anyone helped, no one answered their cells, but I made the calls. I texted, I called again, I even mentioned I would be calling the police soon - you know, if they didn't pick her back up, or if I hadn't heard from her. I got on Mapquest and looked up the reverse phone number option for the phone number that came over my cell - but oddly enough, it was a 702 exchange, which is Las Vegas, and it stated it was a land line. That wasn't possible. They were suppose to be in Washington state - nevertheless, I called the Las Vegas police just in case the bus had taken the wrong turn in Oklahoma.
While talking with Candance of the Las Vegas police, I got a call from Lucas, the manager of the Ozzfest and hey, he had just realized that my daughter and my dog weren't on the bus. Did I mention that it was a HUGE bus? You could misplace an elephant and no one would know for a while. Lucas' voice was groggy, sleepy, a little confused - but he assured me that he would have the driver turn the bus around and pick up my kid and my doggy. What a great man. He went on to say that Laura needed to tell someone she was leaving every time, and of course I agreed with him. When she called me back from another land line it registered as being in Washington state with a 509 area code - much better. I called her back on that line, as my phone wasn't accepting credit calls, and she informed me that she was not only wearing a completely inappropriate skirt at a truck stop in southern Washington, but that she was silly enough not to have dressed Faith properly in her therapy vest - so she couldn't go into the building to wait - she had to wait by the phones outside. Apparently, no one in the Shell station recognized Faith. (Too many OTHER two-legged yellow dogs running around I suppose.)
Anyway - the end is here. She was picked up by the monster bus, and scolded properly not only by Lucas, but by Stitch, and every other performer who had to be inconvenienced by turning around and losing about an hour's time this morning - aaaahhh, the joys of being on the road and needing to poo, but being too shy to tell the bus driver - now the world knows. (Hey World, my daughter Laura poos from time to time. If she's on YOUR bus, you may want to know that before you pull out and go on to your eventual destination.) Look for her - she may be the one inappropriately dressed and dragging a two-legged K-9 behind her.
This time, Laura and Faith are traveling with the Ozzfest group on their way through the U.S. to entertain the masses - they're traveling on the biggest, most sleek looking tour bus I've ever seen - and the driver (a fantastic woman) has left my daughter and my dog at a Shell gas station in Donald, Washington. According to Mapquest they're 154 miles away from their destination of Seattle - where the Ozzfest will begin in earnest tomorrow at noon. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine being 18, needing to poo, getting off the bus when it stops to refuel, but not telling anyone that you left - and then getting left?
Laura called me this morning at 7:40 a.m. my time, 5:40 a.m. her time, to tell me she was stranded, and that she was wearing a Lolita skirt on top of everything else. She and her new friend Stitch, a performer, were showing off their clothes and wearing various outfits which showed off various body parts when they both fell asleep in the early hours - and then it stopped and Laura left the bus with Faith without telling anyone...she won't do that again.
"Mom, the bus left me!" Immediately I went into crisis mode - which means I remained calm and made the appropriate calls. Not that calling anyone helped, no one answered their cells, but I made the calls. I texted, I called again, I even mentioned I would be calling the police soon - you know, if they didn't pick her back up, or if I hadn't heard from her. I got on Mapquest and looked up the reverse phone number option for the phone number that came over my cell - but oddly enough, it was a 702 exchange, which is Las Vegas, and it stated it was a land line. That wasn't possible. They were suppose to be in Washington state - nevertheless, I called the Las Vegas police just in case the bus had taken the wrong turn in Oklahoma.
While talking with Candance of the Las Vegas police, I got a call from Lucas, the manager of the Ozzfest and hey, he had just realized that my daughter and my dog weren't on the bus. Did I mention that it was a HUGE bus? You could misplace an elephant and no one would know for a while. Lucas' voice was groggy, sleepy, a little confused - but he assured me that he would have the driver turn the bus around and pick up my kid and my doggy. What a great man. He went on to say that Laura needed to tell someone she was leaving every time, and of course I agreed with him. When she called me back from another land line it registered as being in Washington state with a 509 area code - much better. I called her back on that line, as my phone wasn't accepting credit calls, and she informed me that she was not only wearing a completely inappropriate skirt at a truck stop in southern Washington, but that she was silly enough not to have dressed Faith properly in her therapy vest - so she couldn't go into the building to wait - she had to wait by the phones outside. Apparently, no one in the Shell station recognized Faith. (Too many OTHER two-legged yellow dogs running around I suppose.)
Anyway - the end is here. She was picked up by the monster bus, and scolded properly not only by Lucas, but by Stitch, and every other performer who had to be inconvenienced by turning around and losing about an hour's time this morning - aaaahhh, the joys of being on the road and needing to poo, but being too shy to tell the bus driver - now the world knows. (Hey World, my daughter Laura poos from time to time. If she's on YOUR bus, you may want to know that before you pull out and go on to your eventual destination.) Look for her - she may be the one inappropriately dressed and dragging a two-legged K-9 behind her.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Turning Your Back
You wake up one day and your kid is 21 years old, he's in the Army, he's lost 40 pounds, and he's riding a moose.
Well, at least he's smiling, and he looks happy.
If you ask me the Army hasn't really done their best to convince my son that he's suppose to be serious, tough-faced, hard, and stern at all times. The day he graduated from Basic Training out of Ft. Knox, KY his Drill Sgt came up to me and squared his shoulders about 8 inches from my face. He lifted his chin and spoke almost as if he were speaking to the air above my head - and he said "Ma'am, your son has been disgracing my platoon for several weeks. He has been smiling when he should be swearing. He has not let up, and when I tried my hardest to beat him into place, he has retaliated with gleefulness - something I find both irritating as well as challenging from the point of view of an Army Drill Sgt. Is there anything I need to know about your son that wasn't in his file regarding his inability to stop all that happiness?" (Of course, I'm paraphrasing the good Sgt.) My answer was simply - you guessed it - to smile.
If smiling can be used as a means of defusing the situation then Reuben has been a master of it for years. He used to smile through the mud and the rain at football practice when the other guys were cussing and running for the bleachers to take cover. I remember standing out in the rain myself during one game because it has always been a rule that we won't take cover unless there is lightning present. If its just rain - we stand and we watch the game. My son was playing, I was in the stands....and as it turns out, I was the ONLY one left in the stands - as literally every other fan, family member, follower, or friend of the players was huddled under the patio, the overhangs, and anything else that could cover them. My son looked up from the middle of the field - wondering if his mom had broken her promise. I had not. I stood there, and I stretched out my arm to him after having used my fist to pound my heart. My finger making the "one" sign to Heaven...our little sign of "I love you". We both stood in the rain - smiling.
So, whether he's tackling quarterbacks, moose, or just doing push ups for the C.O. my baby is usually smiling - something I have to say can be unnerving at times - but immensely rewarding when you consider the alternative. Because my baby is an Aries, he tends to smile more often than most others - he's unaware of his surroundings actually - never really grasping the full reality or the severity of any given situation. To Reu everything is new, everything an adventure, every event monumental - something to be savored...what a way to look at life. Sometimes just looking at my son can bring me such joy - making me forget all about the war, the hate, the hurt, and even the fact that I still owe more than I make - just to know that there is always something worth smiling about - and/or someone. I love that kid.
Dublin Dog Collars
Oh, have your heard about this? Dublin Dog is a great new company owned and operated out of North Carolina - its creator and operator is Jason Watson. I call him the Boss Man now, as Faith and I are a part of his effort to spread the word to as many people as we can about how great Dublin Dog collars are. Faith wouldn't use anything else! These collars are like - well, perfect! You can't get them dirty. We had fun last week trying. I took Faith to the duck pond and let her go. She ran into the water, got all mucky-dirty-gooey-gross from not only the mud in the water and on the shoreline, but you know what ducks do on the sand and dirt! They poo.
Faith was knee deep in the water, chasing, grabbing, fishing if you will for the bobbing and "ducking" ducks - but the collar stayed clean. I mean, it had mud all over it, but when I took it off of her and washed it with just the water from the hose, it got clean again. I imagine you may have to occasionally break out the detergent or something, but the best thing is - the collar didn't smell like swamp water. I let my friend's two year old chew on another collar (without the buckle) for a few hours just to see if it would tear - WAIT, did you think I meant a kid? No, she has a pit-mix and he absolutely loved the new chew strip. I may have to buy another collar for Faith to chew on too. I don't think you can destroy these things. They'll be around with the cockroaches in the year 3030. We'll be gone - but science will have proven by then that dogs in the year 2007 used to walk upright! They'll find Faith's remains with a Dublin Dog collar around her neck, and they'll swear that all dogs walked upright -without the technology to run our DVDs and modern devices, children will begin to believe that all dogs were bi-pedal in the year 3030...and they'll celebrate nearly 1000 years of using the same collars for the dogs that were in their family tree - having had them passed down to them over the many generations!
OK, maybe I'm going too far with the credit I should be giving to Dublin Dog, but you should be so lucky as to own one! Oh, wait, that's their slogan - "You Should Be So Lucky" - you can find them online of course, just google, or go to www.dublindog.com and order (I don't know, 10) give them as Christmas gifts and your friends will love you. No one else makes or sells this type of collar - you'll be special!
Thanks Jason.
Faith was knee deep in the water, chasing, grabbing, fishing if you will for the bobbing and "ducking" ducks - but the collar stayed clean. I mean, it had mud all over it, but when I took it off of her and washed it with just the water from the hose, it got clean again. I imagine you may have to occasionally break out the detergent or something, but the best thing is - the collar didn't smell like swamp water. I let my friend's two year old chew on another collar (without the buckle) for a few hours just to see if it would tear - WAIT, did you think I meant a kid? No, she has a pit-mix and he absolutely loved the new chew strip. I may have to buy another collar for Faith to chew on too. I don't think you can destroy these things. They'll be around with the cockroaches in the year 3030. We'll be gone - but science will have proven by then that dogs in the year 2007 used to walk upright! They'll find Faith's remains with a Dublin Dog collar around her neck, and they'll swear that all dogs walked upright -without the technology to run our DVDs and modern devices, children will begin to believe that all dogs were bi-pedal in the year 3030...and they'll celebrate nearly 1000 years of using the same collars for the dogs that were in their family tree - having had them passed down to them over the many generations!
OK, maybe I'm going too far with the credit I should be giving to Dublin Dog, but you should be so lucky as to own one! Oh, wait, that's their slogan - "You Should Be So Lucky" - you can find them online of course, just google, or go to www.dublindog.com and order (I don't know, 10) give them as Christmas gifts and your friends will love you. No one else makes or sells this type of collar - you'll be special!
Thanks Jason.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Another Human Moment
Every one of us, every last one of us has these moments from time to time. Things just happen. You have absolutely NO control really as to when or if things like this happen, but you can blog about it - and that makes it so much nicer for those who don't blog - because they realize that they are NOT the only ones experiencing these events. If I can spare a life, or make a smile just by letting you know how freakin' human I am, I have completed my life's tasks for the day!
I work in a building where the restrooms have little dial-up light saving mechanisms so that when you enter the restroom you simply turn a little dial (on the outside of the room) to turn on the light and the fan for a specified amount of time - not to exceed 5 minutes. I suppose if anyone was in the restroom for any longer amount of time it would be a real problem for the landlords and their wallets. When the timer runs out of time - you run out of lights.
I entered the room because that's what I do. I turned the dial -it's expected. Obviously, as it turns out, I didn't turn the dial far enough, because as I was .... well, you know ... making a decision about how I was going to change the paper roll from the right side to the left so that it could be utilized - pull down and actually used, as opposed to hidden behind a metal protector - the lights went out. OUT! Now, at first I thought it was my boss - young man that he is, he could have taken the opportunity to play a little joke on me. Hahahaha....no, I was as they say "You-know-what Out of Luck" - with my pants pulled down, on the toilet, no lights whatsoever, not even coming from under the base of the door because the lights in the hallway are also rather ergonomically designed to save the building owners a little money from time to time. If you're not in the hall the lights dim a bit - Fun times for me!
In order to move the toilet roll from the left side to the right side, one has to rip the cardboard roll off the right side. Not an easy task if you can't find the little roll-away corner that pulls and then easily unwinds the cylinder of the roll - making it an easy task. Then there's the little metal button that you push on while you slide the fuller roll over the metal bar to the right - locking it into place to use. I was still fiddling with the corner (are there corners on cylinders) of the little cardboard roll that wouldn't give up its secret edge so I could pull it. The event was coupled with a bit of irony because I came to work early to get some things done before my boss arrived, so I couldn't even call him on his cell from my cell phone because my cell was in my purse, which was on the cabinet, which was about 10 feet from the toilet. Eventually I had to make a decision to leave the toilet to retrieve the cell - which I ended up using as a pseudo light source so I could somewhat see the corner that I needed to pull. FINALLY - the task was accomplished, and FINALLY, I was able to exit the restroom - unscathed.
Upon my exit I ran into my boss - he was coming into the building - the lights came on in the hallway when he entered the door of the building - how special. I just nodded a good-morning nod, and told him I'd be back - I deserved a little Starbucks break after that one.
I work in a building where the restrooms have little dial-up light saving mechanisms so that when you enter the restroom you simply turn a little dial (on the outside of the room) to turn on the light and the fan for a specified amount of time - not to exceed 5 minutes. I suppose if anyone was in the restroom for any longer amount of time it would be a real problem for the landlords and their wallets. When the timer runs out of time - you run out of lights.
I entered the room because that's what I do. I turned the dial -it's expected. Obviously, as it turns out, I didn't turn the dial far enough, because as I was .... well, you know ... making a decision about how I was going to change the paper roll from the right side to the left so that it could be utilized - pull down and actually used, as opposed to hidden behind a metal protector - the lights went out. OUT! Now, at first I thought it was my boss - young man that he is, he could have taken the opportunity to play a little joke on me. Hahahaha....no, I was as they say "You-know-what Out of Luck" - with my pants pulled down, on the toilet, no lights whatsoever, not even coming from under the base of the door because the lights in the hallway are also rather ergonomically designed to save the building owners a little money from time to time. If you're not in the hall the lights dim a bit - Fun times for me!
In order to move the toilet roll from the left side to the right side, one has to rip the cardboard roll off the right side. Not an easy task if you can't find the little roll-away corner that pulls and then easily unwinds the cylinder of the roll - making it an easy task. Then there's the little metal button that you push on while you slide the fuller roll over the metal bar to the right - locking it into place to use. I was still fiddling with the corner (are there corners on cylinders) of the little cardboard roll that wouldn't give up its secret edge so I could pull it. The event was coupled with a bit of irony because I came to work early to get some things done before my boss arrived, so I couldn't even call him on his cell from my cell phone because my cell was in my purse, which was on the cabinet, which was about 10 feet from the toilet. Eventually I had to make a decision to leave the toilet to retrieve the cell - which I ended up using as a pseudo light source so I could somewhat see the corner that I needed to pull. FINALLY - the task was accomplished, and FINALLY, I was able to exit the restroom - unscathed.
Upon my exit I ran into my boss - he was coming into the building - the lights came on in the hallway when he entered the door of the building - how special. I just nodded a good-morning nod, and told him I'd be back - I deserved a little Starbucks break after that one.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Maybe I Just LOOK Stupid
It's funny. Nearly every week or so I get a phone call or perhaps an e-mail from a newspaper, a magazine, someone asking me to write for them on a weekly basis - without pay. Hello! Who in their right mind would write for anyone on a professional basis and not be paid? Well, obviously someone willing to sacrifice everything they needed in order to get exposure - but isn't that what these blogs are for? I don't get paid to write here - and here's the great part, I don't have an editor to please! It's me. It's just me. I always please me - well, most of the time. There are those moments when even I get angry enough to take myself out back - I threaten, but I don't actually do it. I'm not really all that scared of me.
This week it was a publication from a school - often it is. Being a professor of English has a great deal to do with that- they wanted me to write something funny, maybe add a little contest, a little work, a little adventure for the students - - and like every other college in the country, they didn't want to pay a penny for it. Just a smile, a thank you, perhaps a cup of coffee for me when they bag me someday and force me to come talk to their alumni group because of all the praise I was getting for the column. Oh, or maybe they believe that the exposure, the thrill of the ink will be my motivation. Nope - pay my bills thank you. Then we'll talk.
I'm not mean. I'm really not mean at all - if I had millions in my bank - if I had even hundreds of thousands in my bank (make it easier on myself), I would write for free. I would give it away more often, it would be a privilege and an honor to be hustled around the globe to talk for nothing - but that just isn't in the plans today....maybe the Vanderbilts will adopt me and keep me, then I can - I'm good for a few soirees and I can always hold my own in a well orchestrated conversation, be it religious, political, analytical - doesn't matter. I'll even discuss quantum physics with an air of authority - you just have to know more than I do to catch me when I lie through my teeth, or say something completely off just to watch your reaction. (Now, that's mean, but it's in me - bred that way.)
OK, so maybe I look sweet and people think that I'll be an easy pushover -which by the way, here's the secret, if you're a kid, or this is for an Armed Forces paper - I'm probably going to say yes. I'd write for the Stars and Stripes for nothing. I'd write for Highlights, kid's readers, maybe even some animal magazines - but not for long. After my work became so popular, so demanding, so incredibly irresistible, that the readers demanded more, more - got to have more they'd beg - then, I'd have to get compensation. The Army would simply have to fly me out to Ft. Wainwright to see my baby, or I could go to Washington D.C. and get over to the two major military stations there - see the boys and girls I love so much - I'd do that. (Anyone out there with that sort of pull? Call me!) Other than that, I do have a price - not a high one, I've done so much for so long with so little that I can do just about anything with nothing nowadays - old saying, but a good one.
Just pay me, OK. You'd expect it. I expect it. I have a teenage monster to feed. I was suppose to be emancipating her, but she's decided to hang on a bit longer. Work got in the way - in that it wasn't fun like she thought it would be. She's back home and I'm picking up the slack on that one. You remember the day you thought about growing up and then changed your mind don't you? It was a great day - I crawled back in bed and slept a little longer that morning.
This week it was a publication from a school - often it is. Being a professor of English has a great deal to do with that- they wanted me to write something funny, maybe add a little contest, a little work, a little adventure for the students - - and like every other college in the country, they didn't want to pay a penny for it. Just a smile, a thank you, perhaps a cup of coffee for me when they bag me someday and force me to come talk to their alumni group because of all the praise I was getting for the column. Oh, or maybe they believe that the exposure, the thrill of the ink will be my motivation. Nope - pay my bills thank you. Then we'll talk.
I'm not mean. I'm really not mean at all - if I had millions in my bank - if I had even hundreds of thousands in my bank (make it easier on myself), I would write for free. I would give it away more often, it would be a privilege and an honor to be hustled around the globe to talk for nothing - but that just isn't in the plans today....maybe the Vanderbilts will adopt me and keep me, then I can - I'm good for a few soirees and I can always hold my own in a well orchestrated conversation, be it religious, political, analytical - doesn't matter. I'll even discuss quantum physics with an air of authority - you just have to know more than I do to catch me when I lie through my teeth, or say something completely off just to watch your reaction. (Now, that's mean, but it's in me - bred that way.)
OK, so maybe I look sweet and people think that I'll be an easy pushover -which by the way, here's the secret, if you're a kid, or this is for an Armed Forces paper - I'm probably going to say yes. I'd write for the Stars and Stripes for nothing. I'd write for Highlights, kid's readers, maybe even some animal magazines - but not for long. After my work became so popular, so demanding, so incredibly irresistible, that the readers demanded more, more - got to have more they'd beg - then, I'd have to get compensation. The Army would simply have to fly me out to Ft. Wainwright to see my baby, or I could go to Washington D.C. and get over to the two major military stations there - see the boys and girls I love so much - I'd do that. (Anyone out there with that sort of pull? Call me!) Other than that, I do have a price - not a high one, I've done so much for so long with so little that I can do just about anything with nothing nowadays - old saying, but a good one.
Just pay me, OK. You'd expect it. I expect it. I have a teenage monster to feed. I was suppose to be emancipating her, but she's decided to hang on a bit longer. Work got in the way - in that it wasn't fun like she thought it would be. She's back home and I'm picking up the slack on that one. You remember the day you thought about growing up and then changed your mind don't you? It was a great day - I crawled back in bed and slept a little longer that morning.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Scorpio-Scorpio!
It's funny. I pick up a book about Astrology and find that I'm no longer a Scorpio - much like the planet Pluto is no longer a planet - too damn bad, after 45 years of being who I was when I was born, I have no intention of accepting the Archer's bow as my sign - I am the killer insect, thank you. Some of the newer books claim that November 21 is the last day of Scorpio - don't turn your back too soon. The books are wrong!
Born at 2:56 p.m. on the afternoon of November 22, 1961, I literally was born 4 minutes before the cut off of the great Western horoscope zodiac sign of Scorpio - but I am a Scorpio. Don't fool yourself, never try to outwit, outplay, or outdo me - you'll find my pyrate's smile to be somewhat flattering as I nod your way, pretending to allow you to pass unscathed - you won't pass at all, not without being stung first. I don't say that because I'm vicious, mean, nasty, outrageous, or evil - I say that because it is my very nature, down to my core, to be first - I push myself, I don't need anyone else to do it for me. I have this thing about losing, I don't do it well. I don't play chess - I devour. Therefore, I choose most often not to play anyone - except my son, because he's so tender - irresistible, and if he's foolish enough to ask me to sit across from him - I will stomp his heart out - and then buy him ice cream. I think the boy just probably likes his ice cream, and being the Aries that he is, he doesn't mind running fully into a hornet's nest to get it.
Scorpio just suits me. OK, you're not into it, but I am to a degree - I wasn't, not until I began studying it in college, and found that not only do I fit the mold perfectly for what the Zodiac calls the 3rd Scorpio, those born at the end of the time period reserved for the sign, I am also the epitome of the sign's femme fatale when it comes to getting exactly what I want, when I want it, because I want it, and the good thing is - I'll make you think and feel that it was your idea! Don't worry, I'm actually quite tame - when left alone. As a partner I find it absolutely imperative that my partner be as loyal, and as monogamous as I am - which if you had to rate it on a scale of 1-100 you had BETTER not be less than a 99, because I'm not about to cheat, and I'm not about to give in, and I'm not about to stop loving, caring, caressing, dancing, smiling, or making love at all hours of the clock, so you should know that you will be expected to return each and every ounce of devotion that I conjure up for you...but then again, I've been celibate for over 8 years - care to guess why? I haven't found anyone who would be willing to be as faithful as I would be - so I've just kept it simple - I'm with me!
Because so many legends and rumours fly over the internet and in books about the mystery of the Scorpio woman, her allure, her luster, her decision to become powerful, her will to stay at the top always - you would do well to read a few sections online before taking her on as your lover or even as your friend. Jeannie (my best friend) has been my best friend for almost 30 years and there's a reason for that - she's never stop loving me. She and I are both water signs, she being the nurturing of the two of us - she can tell you that I piss her off more often than not, but my will to survive and my devotion to her as a friend will always outscore the alternative. My other two best friends were both Scorpio women, make that three - and my best boy/friend, he was a Cancer, another watersign. Without exception, the Scorpio woman simply must be the hardest woman to get to know - but if SHE accepts you, (friend, lover, companion) you will be loved fully, always, and without ceasing - in fact, you may become so loved that you can't see straight, or breathe again on your own. Be very careful what you wish for.
There is a flip side - Scorpios, (and I am NO exception) will not forgive easily - not forget ever. You've heard that saying "Hell hath no fury than as a woman scorned" - it was written because of a Scorpio woman - and it is most actuate. There should be another saying, another proverb written for the Scorpio woman for when she chooses to love - that would be: "Eternity holds no time to that of a Scorpio woman's patience" we will wait - we will, and we're usually the one in the corner, wearing something slinky, something black, something just a little - interesting. Don't stare long, once your gaze is caught it's a lot like Hotel California - You can check out any time you like, but with a Scorpio woman, you can never leave.
Born at 2:56 p.m. on the afternoon of November 22, 1961, I literally was born 4 minutes before the cut off of the great Western horoscope zodiac sign of Scorpio - but I am a Scorpio. Don't fool yourself, never try to outwit, outplay, or outdo me - you'll find my pyrate's smile to be somewhat flattering as I nod your way, pretending to allow you to pass unscathed - you won't pass at all, not without being stung first. I don't say that because I'm vicious, mean, nasty, outrageous, or evil - I say that because it is my very nature, down to my core, to be first - I push myself, I don't need anyone else to do it for me. I have this thing about losing, I don't do it well. I don't play chess - I devour. Therefore, I choose most often not to play anyone - except my son, because he's so tender - irresistible, and if he's foolish enough to ask me to sit across from him - I will stomp his heart out - and then buy him ice cream. I think the boy just probably likes his ice cream, and being the Aries that he is, he doesn't mind running fully into a hornet's nest to get it.
Scorpio just suits me. OK, you're not into it, but I am to a degree - I wasn't, not until I began studying it in college, and found that not only do I fit the mold perfectly for what the Zodiac calls the 3rd Scorpio, those born at the end of the time period reserved for the sign, I am also the epitome of the sign's femme fatale when it comes to getting exactly what I want, when I want it, because I want it, and the good thing is - I'll make you think and feel that it was your idea! Don't worry, I'm actually quite tame - when left alone. As a partner I find it absolutely imperative that my partner be as loyal, and as monogamous as I am - which if you had to rate it on a scale of 1-100 you had BETTER not be less than a 99, because I'm not about to cheat, and I'm not about to give in, and I'm not about to stop loving, caring, caressing, dancing, smiling, or making love at all hours of the clock, so you should know that you will be expected to return each and every ounce of devotion that I conjure up for you...but then again, I've been celibate for over 8 years - care to guess why? I haven't found anyone who would be willing to be as faithful as I would be - so I've just kept it simple - I'm with me!
Because so many legends and rumours fly over the internet and in books about the mystery of the Scorpio woman, her allure, her luster, her decision to become powerful, her will to stay at the top always - you would do well to read a few sections online before taking her on as your lover or even as your friend. Jeannie (my best friend) has been my best friend for almost 30 years and there's a reason for that - she's never stop loving me. She and I are both water signs, she being the nurturing of the two of us - she can tell you that I piss her off more often than not, but my will to survive and my devotion to her as a friend will always outscore the alternative. My other two best friends were both Scorpio women, make that three - and my best boy/friend, he was a Cancer, another watersign. Without exception, the Scorpio woman simply must be the hardest woman to get to know - but if SHE accepts you, (friend, lover, companion) you will be loved fully, always, and without ceasing - in fact, you may become so loved that you can't see straight, or breathe again on your own. Be very careful what you wish for.
There is a flip side - Scorpios, (and I am NO exception) will not forgive easily - not forget ever. You've heard that saying "Hell hath no fury than as a woman scorned" - it was written because of a Scorpio woman - and it is most actuate. There should be another saying, another proverb written for the Scorpio woman for when she chooses to love - that would be: "Eternity holds no time to that of a Scorpio woman's patience" we will wait - we will, and we're usually the one in the corner, wearing something slinky, something black, something just a little - interesting. Don't stare long, once your gaze is caught it's a lot like Hotel California - You can check out any time you like, but with a Scorpio woman, you can never leave.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Mom, I got a TRUCK!
My son cracks me up! The boy calls me at the strangest of times, he's in the Army, he should be marching or something - it was 5:00 a.m. his time - he was too excited for his own good. He was telling me, in the overly hypertensive way that he explains any and everything new and exciting to him, that he was driving a new Dodge! A truck! He was driving it all over the town of Fairbanks, and he didn't have to give it back to its owner for 10 days. The boy was in Heaven. He's wanted transportation in the Klondike for months. Transportation other than the Stryker tank/vehicle that he drives when he's actually being the greatest soldier on the face of the Earth that is.
"Mom," he cried out "I'm in Anchorage." He's stationed 6 hours away in Fairbanks, this was a concern for me. He continued: "My buddy came through the dorm asking if anyone wanted to take him to the airport, he was going on leave - Hell yeah! I got out of bed faster than snot! (his words) I was there man! I was there!" Then there were some screaming noises, hoots, and a few more obscenities that I don't wish to bore you with - the Army doesn't curtail the language thing - and it's clear that they may actually encourage it. Reuben excels in explicit exchanges. What had apparently happened was simple: The buddy needed a ride to the airport, trusted my son to take him, handed his keys to my boy, and went to Birmingham - probably praying that his insurance carrier never got the call that he was filing a claim on an occasional driver from Fairbanks while he was doing a little R & R in Alabama. The minute the buddy stepped foot out of his truck, the truck was gone! Gone as in 10 days of wasting gas, driving endlessly through the highs and hills of the never-ending mammoth that is Alaska - Reuben's always wanted to see exactly how far it was from Fairbanks to Anchorage - June is a good time to test that in a borrowed truck.
Makes me think - would the Army buddy had been better off taking a cab? Doesn't Fairbanks have a metro bus that picks up and takes people from point A to point B when necessary? At least one thing is certain - the mileage on the Dodge will have increased and the smile on my son's face will not have decreased - not for some time.
"Mom," he cried out "I'm in Anchorage." He's stationed 6 hours away in Fairbanks, this was a concern for me. He continued: "My buddy came through the dorm asking if anyone wanted to take him to the airport, he was going on leave - Hell yeah! I got out of bed faster than snot! (his words) I was there man! I was there!" Then there were some screaming noises, hoots, and a few more obscenities that I don't wish to bore you with - the Army doesn't curtail the language thing - and it's clear that they may actually encourage it. Reuben excels in explicit exchanges. What had apparently happened was simple: The buddy needed a ride to the airport, trusted my son to take him, handed his keys to my boy, and went to Birmingham - probably praying that his insurance carrier never got the call that he was filing a claim on an occasional driver from Fairbanks while he was doing a little R & R in Alabama. The minute the buddy stepped foot out of his truck, the truck was gone! Gone as in 10 days of wasting gas, driving endlessly through the highs and hills of the never-ending mammoth that is Alaska - Reuben's always wanted to see exactly how far it was from Fairbanks to Anchorage - June is a good time to test that in a borrowed truck.
Makes me think - would the Army buddy had been better off taking a cab? Doesn't Fairbanks have a metro bus that picks up and takes people from point A to point B when necessary? At least one thing is certain - the mileage on the Dodge will have increased and the smile on my son's face will not have decreased - not for some time.
The Big House!
My friend Niki and I like to pretend. We like to go to open houses, not only on Sunday, but anytime we see an open sign, or sign showing that a home is a model home, and we like to go into it with the pretense that we're rich and famous and we'd like to consider it for a purchase. You know, for the kids, because we couldn't possibly live in such a small house of say 3000 square feet. We much have the Chateaux!
Going to model homes on Sunday must be a way of life for some families - a form of entertainment. I like to stand back in the dining area and listen to the families coming into the house and watch the kids screaming and running up and down the stairs "calling" rooms, and claiming their space. We did that. When I was a kid, we would go to homes on Sunday after dinner and we'd pretend it was our house - or going to be. Like the kid I was in the 1960's, Niki and I go and look, pretend, wish and dream - making statements to each other, but we don't even try to fake out the mortgage guy, the realtor, or the person showing the open house. We're beyond that. We just lie to each other, and try to out do each other when it comes to the lawn being just so, or the master bedroom's closet being far too small for all of our clothes. We can't buy this one I'll say, because the island in the kitchen is too close to the cabinet. We can't buy this one she'll say, because the fireplace doesn't have the right ambiance. Not conducive to the lifestyle we have been accustomed to. (Then we smile and giggle just a little before we leave)
Today's last home was a bit different - it felt like I could actually get it someday - someday meaning after the first of the year when my books are mainstream, and the contract for the next three books are picked up. Maybe, just maybe, we actually walked through my future home. If we did, I'll be living on Carriage Way in Oklahoma City, rather than in the high rise condo I have been so painstakingly looking for in Chicago - IT may become my fantasy home, the one that got away - or perhaps I'll end up subletting for a few months each year to write and/or get away from the brats. That's it - the house I looked at today was big enough, 3600 square feet, to be in the house with the kids, and not even realize it - not if they were on THEIR side of the house. We could draw a line really - they could have the South end and I would take the North. I guess the kitchen's island, which isn't too close to the Galaxy-Black granite cabinet, could be Base. We could keep our hands on it and be safe - like in that game Tag - you have to have a Base...never mind, I'm digressing, just trying to take you with me down that memory - you get it.
This house had 3 garages, but one of them was separate, apart from the house, had it's own drive to it - that's where the Christmas stuff would be stored. You have a 3600 square foot house and you're going to have a 12x15 storage unit for your seasonal needs. The 2nd living area is the "Christmas Tree Room" in our family - always has been. Recently the poor thing has been stuck in a corner, squashed against the bricks in the den, or between the dining room and the hall because there wasn't room to walk around it properly otherwise - not in this house, it has its OWN room - maybe I'll get another tree for the formal dining, just to keep the squishing tree tradition going! Family traditions shouldn't die just because I can afford a bigger house!
If this were, or going to be my new house - I'll be happy when I see myself in the overtly deep Jetta spa in my bathroom - candles burning, bubbles bobbing, steam rolling - and Buble on the CD...NO one better interrupt this woman's pleasure - well, someone, but not a kid! Like the moment the dog makes the sighing sound, the sign that they've retired for the night - this woman will make the aaaaahhhhhhhh "I'm-in-the-tub-now" sigh, and that's all she wrote. (All she wrote, get it, I'm an author - all she wrote! Never mind, it was funny, I laughed.)
Going to model homes on Sunday must be a way of life for some families - a form of entertainment. I like to stand back in the dining area and listen to the families coming into the house and watch the kids screaming and running up and down the stairs "calling" rooms, and claiming their space. We did that. When I was a kid, we would go to homes on Sunday after dinner and we'd pretend it was our house - or going to be. Like the kid I was in the 1960's, Niki and I go and look, pretend, wish and dream - making statements to each other, but we don't even try to fake out the mortgage guy, the realtor, or the person showing the open house. We're beyond that. We just lie to each other, and try to out do each other when it comes to the lawn being just so, or the master bedroom's closet being far too small for all of our clothes. We can't buy this one I'll say, because the island in the kitchen is too close to the cabinet. We can't buy this one she'll say, because the fireplace doesn't have the right ambiance. Not conducive to the lifestyle we have been accustomed to. (Then we smile and giggle just a little before we leave)
Today's last home was a bit different - it felt like I could actually get it someday - someday meaning after the first of the year when my books are mainstream, and the contract for the next three books are picked up. Maybe, just maybe, we actually walked through my future home. If we did, I'll be living on Carriage Way in Oklahoma City, rather than in the high rise condo I have been so painstakingly looking for in Chicago - IT may become my fantasy home, the one that got away - or perhaps I'll end up subletting for a few months each year to write and/or get away from the brats. That's it - the house I looked at today was big enough, 3600 square feet, to be in the house with the kids, and not even realize it - not if they were on THEIR side of the house. We could draw a line really - they could have the South end and I would take the North. I guess the kitchen's island, which isn't too close to the Galaxy-Black granite cabinet, could be Base. We could keep our hands on it and be safe - like in that game Tag - you have to have a Base...never mind, I'm digressing, just trying to take you with me down that memory - you get it.
This house had 3 garages, but one of them was separate, apart from the house, had it's own drive to it - that's where the Christmas stuff would be stored. You have a 3600 square foot house and you're going to have a 12x15 storage unit for your seasonal needs. The 2nd living area is the "Christmas Tree Room" in our family - always has been. Recently the poor thing has been stuck in a corner, squashed against the bricks in the den, or between the dining room and the hall because there wasn't room to walk around it properly otherwise - not in this house, it has its OWN room - maybe I'll get another tree for the formal dining, just to keep the squishing tree tradition going! Family traditions shouldn't die just because I can afford a bigger house!
If this were, or going to be my new house - I'll be happy when I see myself in the overtly deep Jetta spa in my bathroom - candles burning, bubbles bobbing, steam rolling - and Buble on the CD...NO one better interrupt this woman's pleasure - well, someone, but not a kid! Like the moment the dog makes the sighing sound, the sign that they've retired for the night - this woman will make the aaaaahhhhhhhh "I'm-in-the-tub-now" sigh, and that's all she wrote. (All she wrote, get it, I'm an author - all she wrote! Never mind, it was funny, I laughed.)
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