I'm Back...(I Think)

 Good morning! We apologize for the technical difficulties of the last 48 hours. The Management of this blog hopes it has caused no lasting trauma and will now return you to your regularly scheduled post. Thank you for your patience and have a wonderful day!

 “Holy crap-on-toast Batman! Is this why they say drugs are bad?”

 “Why yes, Robin. It is. Just look at the chaos it’s caused in the last week, and those drugs were legal!”

 You guys should have seen it around here yesterday. Because then, ya know…then you could tell me what the heck exactly happened! When my feet hit the floor this morning, it looked like a paper-sock-cat hair bomb went off in my living room, not to mention the obvious home invasion we suffered. (Someone seems to have broken-in and dirtied EVERY drinking vessel and plate in the joint!)

 Where was I when all this was occurring? OUT like my last hard drive! Drugs…are VERY BAD for Chris.

 Due to a wonderful “glitch” with the almighty Insurance guys, I was unable to refill my blessed, holy, beloved migraine rescue meds. (Ya think I like them much?) So, in all his infinite Med School wisdom, my Doc gave me a script for a different “preventative” bit of darkness-from-the-nether-world. And yesterday I had cause to ingest it for the first time! Oh my…That’s all I can say because I remember NOTHING else!

 Actually, I vaguely recall waking up to “eat” lunch. (And by “eat” I mean do my bestest impression of a Dyson Wind-tunnel thing…not even sure I actually chewed.) I sort of remember hubby getting home from work. I’m fairly certain I went to bed, since that’s where I woke up this morning…two hours late!

This is the visual representation
of a head that feels like GLORY!
AHHHHHH.......

 Oh yeah, them’s some REALLY good meds! You may have a migraine approaching at the speed of suck, but you’ll never know because you’ll have chemically lost a full 24 hours. (Why couldn’t I have had these things when the offspring were toddlers? There are plenty of 24 hour periods from those “good ole days” I wouldn’t have minded missing.)

 Fortunately, the only “after-effects” I seem to be experiencing is the feeling of being beaten with a lead-filled bat for 24 hours straight. But that’s cool…because my head feels like Glory! (Yes, a thing CAN feel like “glory” because I just said it could! Use your imagination, for cryin’ out loud!)

 So, this morning it’s off to an early Physical Therapy appointment (9-friggin’-30!) then running about 50 errands. After THAT, I’m free to come home, grab a snow shovel, and begin excavating my living room. *deep sigh*

 All I really want to know? Why did they have to wait until Mom was unconscious to have a rockin’ party? (Since, ya know…that’s the only explanation for the devastation I’m sitting here looking at.) I’m a fun gal…I like to celebrate. Or, do you think they were maybe celebrating my unconscious state? I foresee intense interrogations in their collective futures…

 May your day be filled with parties you’re totally involved in, friends and family that pick up after themselves *falls over laughing at the possibility of this one actually occurring*, and more happily conscious hours than those spent in med-induced dream-land!

Over The Hills...And Far Away

 Maybe it’s a song. Maybe it’s a smell. Maybe, it’s the way the light filters through the trees at just the right angle while the breeze is blowing a certain way at just the right time of year. Something triggers the gears, and suddenly the clouds part and you see it…the road laid out before you, beckoning you to wander down its forgotten paths.

 Memory Lane.

 Sometimes I think I spend most of my life retracing my steps, feeling the worn grooves beneath the calloused souls of my feet, in a vain attempt to find that magic point where the way forked. What If…it’s an ugly game to play with yourself.

 I accepted long ago that life isn’t like a movie. There’s no magic fairy dust, North Star, or wishing well that will take you back and grant you a “do over.” No, our lives are the result of every decision, good or otherwise, that we have ever made. Every wrong turn, pothole, and speed bump have come together to land us exactly where we are at this very moment.

 Yet, this is still where you find me today…standing at the intersection of What Was and What Is, looking over my shoulder at yesterday and wondering if I would even choose to go back if I could. Would I take the “do over” or face straight ahead and keep on walking…would I wander aimlessly over the hills and far away?

Sitting on the roof with my
walkman...one of my favorite
places that year...



 If I close my eyes for just a moment, I can smell the air…the way the murky water and moss mixed together to perfume the breeze coming off the river and separate “this” place where I am from “that” place where I came from.

 Right here and now? I’m sitting in the front room of a turn of the Century house in a tiny little town on the far outskirts of Indiana, listening to two friends strum on acoustic guitars. The air of the room is thick with the smoke of our multiple cigarettes, adding a blue tint to the mid-March light fighting its way through the never-ever-cleaned windows.

 Led Zeppelin. Oh, but this is different than all the other Stairway To Heaven’s you hear in dorm rooms over on the campus, being played by angst ridden, “guy with a prop trying to get laid” boys. This is Over the Hills and Far Away. (Still my favorite to this day.) And it’s so very slow and sweet…

 The two of them are working their way through the opening notes by ear, their fingers delicately caressing each string with the expertise of serious, anti-social musicians who are completely unaware that there is a female anywhere near the vicinity. I feel…I feel like I’ve been handed a gift few would see for what it is, just to be allowed to sit here on the edge of a thrift-store coffee table, chain smoke, and listen with my eyes closed.

 I really have to close my eyes. Watching the two of them is truly distracting me from fully taking in the complexity of the music. The way their hands hold the necks of their instruments like they were first time lovers in the beginning stages of fore-play. Their long fingers, tips stained with the after-effects of too much nicotine, nails slightly too long so as to be used as picks, deftly slide across the strings bringing to life the siren’s call of the song. It makes my heart ache and sing at the same time.

 The two of them sit so close the tops of their heads are almost touching as they parry back and forth, treating that first 50 seconds of the song almost as a round. One still wears his black leather, Misfits jacket, the other a faded green, wool p-coat, though I doubt either one has really noticed the early spring chill in the air. It’s more the fact that they are too immersed in the sounds to be bothered to remove them.

 Over and over they strum, picking up tempo and adding pieces of their souls into the music until it is almost perfect, quietly smiling and laughing to each other as the tune becomes more organic. Over the hills…and far away.

St. Patric's Day coatume party,
maybe later that night...

 One rest stop on my trip through life. One bittersweet moment captured in my mind, not remembering how long we sat like that, the two men in their early 20’s with their lives a yet-to-be determined mystery on permanent hold as they simply played. Me…an unnoticed observer to their moment of musical escape. What came before or after on that exact day, I can’t say. It’s been lost along the way in the fog of youth.

 As I sit here, 23 year later (Gawd! Has it really been that long?) still chain smoking the same cigarettes, the sweet strains of Led Zeppelin playing in my ears via technology we didn’t have then, I smile at the memory.

 Yes, Jimmy Page is one of the Gods in the Pantheon of Guitar Deities. Yes, in the recording his fingers move without the least bit of hesitation as he flawlessly executes what few realize to be an excruciatingly intricate collection of seemingly simple notes, putting them in an order that creates true, musical magic. But still…

 No matter how many times I listen to this particular song, the feelings of pleasure and happiness it evokes in me will always pale in comparison to what it felt like to sit on a thrift-store coffee table, my short legs swinging in time to the rhythm, my throat burning from one too many Marlboros as my entire, momentary existence was intertwined and immersed in the pure innocents and passion of those two amature musicians. Not playing for money or even to catch the amorous attentions of the chick-of-the-day, but simply for the love and joy of it.

 I think I'll sit here a bit longer and just enjoy the music...

I Just Got Weirder

 Good morning! Oh my…where the shiz-nit is Dr. Ruth when you need her? I am so confused right now and I need answers! This? Is just WAY weird, even for me. (Oh! Ummm…if any of you play the snare drums, please, STOP reading now…)

 OK *deep, calming breath* I have mentioned a “few” times that I am a world-class music junkie. No new news there. But what I discovered this morning is just plain STRANGE with a capital WTH? 

 There I was, doing the morning bird work, listening to my beloved mp3 player (the greatest invention in the history of the whole, wide universe!) and I stopped dead in my muddy tracks. I stood up as straight as it gets this early in the day, leaned my head back with my eyes closed and a tiny, wistful smile on my lips as I lost myself in a particularly powerful strain of a current pop song. (Hey, embarrassment at admitting I listen to this is preventing me from naming names here…) (OK, FINE! It’s “Some Nights” by fun. Go ahead and laugh…see if I care!)

Oh my!



 As the primal part of my brain was busy grooving, the more discerning part was trying to figure out why I dig this song so much, when the answer smacked me upside the head like my kids trying to casually toss a TV remote at my hands…SNARE DRUMS! I have a “thing” for snare drums! What the living heck!?!

 I quickly finished what I was doing so I could get in the house and scroll through my current playlists. Yep, there it was, all laid out for me in black and white pixels. Most of the songs I listen to for hours at a time (repeat is my favorite setting…) involve heavy snare drums.

 Then I saw the “others”…the songs that make Chris such a “happy” and “groovy” chick, that they almost require a call to hubby at work demanding he come home for lunch…These? Not just snares, but heavy bass or kettle drums as well. (This just keeps getting freakier!)

Upright bass?
Oh la la!



 I am not a woman who’s ever been the biggest fan of marching bands. (No offense to any current or former “bandies,” just sayin’.) Nor have I ever been a drummer-groupie. Actually? The drum part of most music annoys the be-jeepers outta me. (Now give me a good bass line, and I’ll swoon every time!) So you can see why this is such a bizarre revelation. 

 Where am I going with this? I have no flippin’ idea! Why am I sharing this oddity? Who knows! It was so…STRANGE! I just had to tell someone, and how do you initiate a conversation with a person who’s looking you in the eyes about the fact that freakin’ snare drums are an aphrodisiac? Seriously, this has got to be one of the most out-there things I’ve discovered about myself in a LONG while. And that my friends? Is a huge statement, since I am the Queen of weird-o behavior!

 So you see why I need Dr. Ruth. I simply must know the underlying cause of this aberrant behavior. (Is it some childhood trauma or repressed desire to march in a band? The need to beat the heck outta something with a stick?) Because really? I’m suddenly finding it necessary to ban myself from parades out of fear of losing control and rushing the drum section of some poor marching band who unwittingly decided to play something heavy on the rum-tum-tum…*hangs head in embarrassed shame and fear*

 Now, if you’ll excuse me, I just remembered I have Fleetwood Mac’s “Tusk” on a playlist somewhere…(I REALLY need a new set of earbuds with a heavier bass setting.)

 May your day be full of beautiful music that inspires you to sing as if no one were listening, dance as if no one were watching, and smile until your face hurts!

No! Not THAT!

 Good morning! First off, thank you so much for all the love and support yesterday. You guys are amazingly AWESOME! Thanks to your kind words (and a switch-up in the pain meds by the Doc) I'm feeling WAY better today. *deep happy sigh*

 So...a few days ago while I was at the mall with my daughter, I realized a little girl who probably two or three, was staring at me. What the fudge-monkeys? Then it hit me like a bag of wet corn flakes…we were wearing the same outfit, complete with matching piggy-tails. WOW!

Hey...my mis-matched nails and
pixie-tails ROCK!
(In a slightly toddler-like way...)

 It was an eye-opener for me. In that instant, I understood just how much of a big kid I really am! Then, the thoughts about why I hadn’t become a real, true grown-up began taking a leisurely stroll through my brain. Should I grow up? Should I make more of an effort to become a mature, responsible adult-type person?

 I shivered like a bald-butted penguin sitting on an iceberg at the thought! I shuddered as violently as I did the time my fuzzy-bottomed youngest accidentally mooned me! (Please, don’t ask. I’m STILL traumatized!)

 So today, the Friday Top Ten is just a few of the MANY reasons I came up with why I refuse to grow up! (I'm sorry, but the whole concept scare the Batman-style explicatives right outta me!)

 Top Ten Reasons I Won’t Ever Grow Up! (OR, Stuff Grown-Ups Don’t Do, So They Become WAY Too Boring!)

1)        If I grew up, I would have to paint my nails all one color. I mean, when was the last time you saw Barbara Walters with mis-matched nail polish, let alone nails covered in fairy sparkles?

 I plan on being 80 and still rockin’ the funky, sparkly nails! Not only is it FUN, but then I don’t have to decide on just one awesome color! (You know us Libras, we can never make up our minds.)

2)       If I grew up, I’d probably have to get a conservative hair-cut. And really? WHY would I EVER want to give up my anime piggy-tails? (You guessed it! The hairs have grown-out enough that the pixie-tails have returned! Woo Hoo!) Think about it, they’re cute, they’re whimsical, and when we go to the mall I’m the envy of every two and three year old in the place!

3)       If I grew up, I’d have to get an entire new wardrobe! (See? Growing up would be WAY too expensive!) I’m fairly certain real grown-ups don’t have a closet full of Tinkerbell clothing. (I am NOT obsessed! Most of them were gifts…)

 The Family Guy, The Simpson’s, and my wide selection of Super Hero shirts would probably need to disappear as well. *sigh* I just don’t think I could live that way…My soul? Would simply die. (No, I am not being a Drama Queen!)

4)       If I grew up, I’d have to start speaking (and probably writing) like an adult. All of my “colorful” language and inventive, made-up words would have to be eliminated. And I don't think adults insert “awesome” and “totally” into every friggin’ sentence either! (Oh yeah, “friggin,” “flippin’,” and “freakin;” would no longer get to be included either. How boring is THAT!?!)

 I would also be required to speak in complete sentences and encouraged to avoid the use of my hands for emphasis. In other words? I’m end up completely SILENT!

How could I trade this bit of
awesomeness for sensible flats?

5)       If I grew up, there would be no more tantrums, foot stomps, or squealing when I didn’t get my way. And I ask you this, people? If I gave up the tantrums, how would anyone ever know when they did something to displease me? Because you know, being the Queen of the House and all, MY pleasure is of the upmost importance! (Remember, if Momma ain’t happy, ain’t NOBODY happy!)

6)       If I grew up, I’d have to eat real breakfast food for breakfast. You know, the stuff with all the fiber and no colorful sugar coating? No fun shapes? No prize in the box! No more Extreme Dill Pringles or Hersey’s Chocolate for breakfast…Who would want to live like that? *deeply troubled sigh*

7)       If I grew up, I would have to learn to act like a “Lady.” No more big, belly laughs so loud that the entire room turns to look at me. No more kicking my shoes off at restaurants and sitting cross-legged at the table. No more belching contests…(I have to stop now, I’m scaring the crap outta myself!)

8)       If I grew up, I would never again be allowed to skip or bunny hop at the store when I‘m bored. (OK, I can’t really skip anymore, but I can still bunny hop like a freakin’ CHAMP!) Also? No more wandering the toy aisles when hubby isn’t looking. (Since, ya know…the toys I’m playing with are for me…I cannot wait for Grand kids so I’ll once again have a legitimate excuse to play in the toys!)

9)       If I grew up, I’d be forced to give up my dream of running away with the Gypsies. Also, my dreams of being a ballerina would probably be laid to rest. (Hey, it could happen! You just never know…)

 Adults dream of things like a new car with low interest, NOT of brightly painted wagons pulled by pretty horses. They dream of fixed-rate mortgages, not pink lace tutu’s and satin slippers…(BORE-ING!)

And last, but oh so not least…

10)    I don’t wanna grow up, ‘cause if I did, I wouldn’t be a Toys R Us kid! *falls over on table in a fit of uncontrollable giggles*



No more fairies with rainbow tutus?
I just couldn't live that way!



 I could probably come up with at least ten more, but I'm pretty sure you've already gotten WAY too much of an idea of what I’d be like to live with. *embarrassed grin*

 And as for all of the actual grown-ups in the crowd? I love you and don’t EVER change! Because us immature, over-grown kids? We NEED you to keep things running smoothly and make sure we don’t do serious damage to ourselves or others with our lack-of-forethought  and goofy hijinks!

 Just remember guys, you need us too, to make you look all responsible and stuff and to keep your lives interesting and (hopefully) make you laugh!

 May your day be filled with enough immaturity to remember to skip or bunny hop, a thought or two about pixie dust, and (as always) lots of big, LOUD belly-laughs!

Talking Through The Pain...

I may be down, but I am
so NOT out!

 Good morning! Take heed all ye who enter here, for today is dark and murky with a chance of right-hook and left-jab…

 In case you haven’t figured it out, I’ve been building up to a good, old fashioned flare. (I know, BORE-ING!) The flare and all it entails I could deal with…we all do. It’s the OTHER stuff that sucks major nad-age. The crap that doesn’t just hit ya when you’re down, it kicks you and even manages to feel like it’s tap dancing on your soul. That’s right; I’m talking the mental-emotional one-two punch combo!

 Look, I’m all about being all “real and honest” and today’s reality is, I’m hurting…more in the mind and soul part of the equation than the body. Flares can only be “controlled” by eating, living, and thinking “right” to a point, after that Mother Nature and your friggin’ over-achieving immune system take over and it’s on like Donkey Kong! Powerless…that’s where you’re left standing.

 And that, my friends? HURTS worse than the pain. It also happens to be the one thing I’ve come to realize is I am absolutely no damn good at, being powerless. It makes me angry (enter Chris-Hulk) and since there is NOTHING to aim the anger at other than my own body, it ends up devolving into depression…

 That is one vicious, dangerous loop to get caught in. It’s also one I’ve seen play-out in my life, as well as those of friends, over and over. (Which is why I’m abandoning the “funny” for today to share this un-awesomeness with you…)

 So what do you do when life drops an Acme safe on your head? First thing I usually do is cry. Sometimes a little, other times I turn into a Niagara Falls, but it’s a release of pressure before my head or heart explodes, so I cry. Then I take a deep breath and start talking.

 I talk to my family, I talk to my friends, I talk to my Doc. Hell, I even talk to myself! The IMPORTANT thing is I don’t try to deny how I’m feeling or why. (Denial is not just a river in Egypt folks…and it’s a dangerous place to end up.) I share EVERYTHING with those I trust and I know care about me…and it helps. A LOT!

 Then I usually cry some more. (What can I say? I’m such a girl.)

 Talking about it may not fix the flare, but others knowing how I’m feeling…what I’m afraid of…it means that they’re not only aware of my current physical glitches, but they can talk me through the roughest part of the depression. They can help “keep an eye” on my emotional state…and occasionally give me the kick in the behind to get to the Doc when the talking fails to jump-start my mood.



 Look, I know telling someone you’re depressed is way harder than telling them you’re feeling like crap-on-toast, but it’s just as important. We all know when we’re in physical distress…it’s so much harder to see when we’re in emotionally distress. That’s one of the miracles of support-systems! The help support us when we can’t support ourselves. Personally, I’m not sure where I’d be without mine…my friends and family are my freakin’ ROCKS!



 I’ve talked before (OK, typed, whatever…) about some of the other things I use to get me through a rough patch, (books, movies, artsy-crafty stuff, music) but truthfully, the most important thing for me is the first step of admitting I have a “problem” and talking it out…Kinda the concept of once you give the Monster a name and say it out loud, it loses a lot of its power and ability to scare you.



Getting caught by your
offspring? PRICELESS!



 So this morning I’m throwing this last thought out there, please please PLEASE! If or when you find yourself in the middle of a rough patch, TALK to someone! Name the monster and steal enough of his thunder that you can then proceed to kick his slimy, green ass! If that’s not enough, see your Doc, talk to a Therapist. (There is NO shame in that either.) Lean on your support network and find the love and laughter that’s waiting on the other end of the tears.

 And know you are not alone, my friends…You’re not broken and there’s nothing “wrong” with you, so reach out to someone and fight your way back outta the dark, murky depths. Because standing on the shore? Are people who love you waiting with outstretched hands.

Laundry Caused The Drought!

 Good morning! Yesterday evening I did this awesomely hot little mambo number in a dance-off with the Rain God…and lost! But it really wasn’t my fault; the dirty cheater had better music to dance to and an unfair advantage, since he is a God and all.

 I know I’m preaching to the choir (unless you’re living in Florida) about the current drought and weather insanity, when I say it needs to RAIN! So when the thunder started and the sky turned an abnormal shade of black for 4:00 in the afternoon, I was excited beyond words.

 My conundrum…(That? Is yet another word that is just plain fun to say…conundrum. *falls over laughing at own goofiness while repeatedly saying connnnn-un-DRUM*)…I had just hung two loads of laundry on the clothesline.

 OK, for those of you unfamiliar with clothesline etiquette and the rules of weather, here’s the deal-ee-o; if you leave clothes on the line and there’s a rain cloud within 100 miles, it will find your clothes and re-soak them, dragging them from the line into the mud if at all possible. If there’s a 100% chance of rain and you rush to remove your clothing? The Rain God will laugh at your valiant efforts and pass you by. He’s such an ass he’ll even rain on every other yard in your neighborhood, leaving you now-empty line dry as a bone.

 This whole empty line VS soaked clothes thing can and will become the epitome of a Mexican Standoff.

 So there I stood on the porch, wind actually moving my gel-cemented, spikey hair as the ground shook with thunder and the skies churned. (They really were friggin’ churning! Man, it was awesome in a really “Is this gonna turn into a Twister scenario?” kinda way.) I was so torn as to what to do. We NEED the rain, but I also NEED clean, non-mud-splattered clothing… I just KNEW that if I cleared the line, it would pass over us. Knew it!

 I think the trees playing along with Mr. Frost and bending to left and right across lines of straighter darker trees…that kinda spurred me on to grab the laundry basket and The Girl. Together we cleared the line in seconds flat and made it in the just in time…

 ...Just in time to watch the wind die down, the thunder roll into silence, and the clouds pull a Proud Mary and keep on rollin’…right into the next township. And all this without dropping a single flippin’ drop of moisture!

This? Is our grass...
or at least it was a few years ago.

 Folks living ten miles away were blessed with a much-needed soaking. Hubby, working less than five miles away, had done his part to call the Rain God and left his car window down. By the time he got home, his behind was as soaked as the laundry was not, seeing as it had rained cats and dogs at his place of employment!

 So to all the folks living in my neck of the woods, I apologize from the bottom of my heart. It is solely my fault that the rains passed us by last night. I promise, I will never remove the clothes ever again, when faced with the possibility of rain. Heck, I’ll even hang clean, dry clothes up next time it looks like a bit of a shower could occur! And I now understand, my lackadaisical (another hilariously fun word to say) laundry habits may actually be the root cause of the drought. *hangs head in shame*

 As for you, Mr. Rain God, I am forced to say, “Well played, sir. Well played…”

 May your day be filled with all the weather patterns your neck of the woods needs for a pleasant day! And also? If you live anywhere near Central Indiana and have knowledge of how to get grass to grow from a friggin’ rock, you could make a mint next Spring, since we’re all on water lock-down and everyone’s lawns now look like ours…DOA.

Voice Induced Trauma

 Good morning! Question; is there a moment in your life, an event…one thing you can pinpoint as being that defining “butterfly effect” that touched you so deeply it sparked a chain reaction which would shape your future? (What? Too deep for a Tuesday?)

 I love to sing. LOVE IT! I could have had an incredibly successful career as a smoky-voiced songstress had it not been for one, single event from my childhood that warped me so deeply and profoundly that I have never recovered. (OK, there were actually three or four, but who the heck is counting anyway?)

 *insert those weird, wavy lines from Scooby Doo that denote a flashback is about to ensue* It was my 5th grade year, the year I’d been waiting for so I could FINALLY join the choir. I loved to sing, just like my Mom did, so I figured I’d make her all proud and stuff by joining up and sharing my AMAZING set of pipes with the world!

You will notice a distinct
LACK of singing!

 When the time rolled around for our first (and only) performance, the music teacher Mrs. Hooker (I swear, that really was her name!) held auditions for several solo parts. I GOT ONE!!!! I was so friggin’ happy…excited…PROUD! I was gonna sing a solo in front of my parents...the whole school! (Shoot, maybe even the whole town!) This? Was going to be the debut of a life of envy and adoration in the public eye.

 After what seemed an eternity of rehearsals, the night of the performance finally arrived and there I was, stepping up to the mic and looking out over a sea of glowing Mommy and Daddy faces until I found those belonging to my parents. I stood straight and tall, a smile of accomplishment and total knowledge of my awesomeness on my face as I opened my mouth wide and belted out the notes of “Bibbity, Bobbity, Boo!” just like Mrs. Hooker had taught me.

 As I locked eyes with my "delighted" parents, so sure I was about to bear witness to their being overcome with joy, something odd happened. Were they puffed-up like the proud-peacock parents they obviously were? Not exactly…Were they elbowing the people in the next chair, pointing and proclaiming, “That girl? The one singing like a perfect angel? That’s our daughter!” No…

 What I saw was this; first my Dad’s face filled with air and turned purple at the effort of holding in his emotions. (Wow! I didn’t know I was THAT good!) My Mother had her hand covering most of her face and her shoulders were shaking in a really weird fashion. (Poor woman is so overcome she’s actually crying!) Then it happened, the dam broke and both my parents erupted in uncontrollable laughter. LAUGHTER!!!

The big guy who looked like he
could belt out a proper "Swanee
River"? (And he TOTALLY could!)
Yeah...that's the part I "doubled." 

 Oh, and they didn’t just laugh. Oh no! They doubled over in their chairs, tears streaming down their faces…LOUD laughter that drew the attention of everyone in the audience. Not even the grade-school PA system carrying my “angelic” voice into every conceivable corner of the gym could drown out those two heckling hyenas!

 Needless to say, I have ever since had some “issues” singing in front of people, made worse by each successive choir director and voice critic I was forced to deal with…

10^th grade: “Are you sure there isn’t a non-singing role you’d rather audition for?”

10^th grade boyfriend, on way home after the above-mentioned audition: “I felt so sorry for that poor guy. I mean, he had to listen to you sing a whole song!”

12^th grade: “Look, don’t stand right in front of the microphone. Actually, don’t even sing. Try lip-syncing the words. OK?” (The only person in a cast of close to 60 who was asked to lip-sync during the all-cast, grand finale, I might add.) 

College: “I’m not telling you not to sing really, I’m telling you to try the Bass part.”

        Me: “But isn’t that a guy’s part?”

               “Yes, but you really don’t have what anyone would call a pretty girl’s voice…”

Union Station Song and Dance Troupe:  “Look honey, we can work on your voice if you really want to…But the truth is your mic will never be turned on. We hired you to dance. After all, from your audition we all knew you weren’t a singer, right?”

My 2^nd son at the age of 3: I was singing my baby a soft, sweet lullaby as he sat snuggled in his blanket on my lap. This was actually said as he placed his chubby little, toddler’s hand over my mouth, “Mommy, don’t do that!”

 So you see…some bells? Cannot be un-rung!

 I‘m telling you, this is why I write…because no one want to hear me sing, and writing? Is WAY cheaper than therapy!

 May your day be filled with all the happy notes your heart yearns to belt out, an audience that appreciates the beauty you pour into your song, and critics that, if they can’t say something nice? They’re at least stricken with sudden-onset laryngitis!

It's My Fault...Again!

 Good morning! R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to me…I’d like to tell you I’m jamming to a little Aretha, but it’d be a lie. Instead, I’m chewing on a problem like a dog with Tourette's and a MEAN jaw-tick, working on a fresh bone.  And after “workin’ the bone over” for the last three days (yes peoples, I can obsess on RARE occasion!) (Hey! I successfully dodged the lightning strike! Yay me!) I finally realized that the entire “marrow of the bone” is made up of respect.

 There I was, minding my own business, bugging the be-jeepers outta hubby by relentlessly heckling Sports Center (yes, heckling IS my business.) when the phone rang. It was “Buddy.” (Some names have been changed to protect the author from nasty phone messages informing her of what an assuming B-word she is.)

How I spent my weekend...
Super Slug on the couch!

 I answered and made a bit of small talk until we got to the part where Buddy informed me that he and his beloved “Berttie” were heading outta town for the day and wanted to “invite” me to house and puppy sit for them. (Yeah, again with the whole “name change” thing. It’s called “plausible deniability.” Remember that…it could come in handy someday.)  

 After tripping over my tongue, feet, and scrounging to find a polite way to say, “I’m so sorry, but I can’t,” I made a little more small talk then hung up the phone. THAT was when the emotional loop-da-loop began.

 OK, I’ve already mentioned I’m NOT good at expressing my state-of-health to people. I expect everyone in my life to be like The Amazing Kreskin and know what I’m thinking and how I’m feeling at all times, and woe unto you if you failed to get this memo…And OBVIOUSLY? Buddy hadn’t checked his metaphorical in-box in a while.

 Here’s the thing…and yes, I’m gonna be an unrealistic, whiny baby for a moment-o here, so deal with it…Buddy and Berttie have had the whole “what’s going on with me” conversation. They should know. We had “the talk” about ALL of it!  I mean, I can tell you exactly what’s goin’ on with their health, household, and general state of their corner of the World. Is some common reciprocation too much to ask? (Told you I was gonna be all whiny-baby and stuff!)

Leg Lamp!
Yep, we've got one.

 But honestly? It’s partially my fault. I do NOT want people to look at me as “sick” because I’m not. I don’t want people to treat me with kid gloves, because I’m not a fragile Leg Lamp. (Bonus points if you get the “A Christmas Story” reference!) So what ends up happening is people who don’t actually live with me are completely unaware of my day-to-day state.

 The point that so often ends up lost in the laughter is that I may not be exactly “sick” but I AM slightly altered. I am the chiffon prom dress the Seamstress took in an inch too far, so you’re pretty much unable to breathe or even move in it without tearing something or other. As of right now, I am ever so slightly LIMITED in my “livin’ large” capabilities.

 And that, my friends, is what I so desperately wish folks would respect…my stupid limits. *deep sigh* (OK, it took me a while to get there, but I finally made the stinkin’ point. OK? Geeze!)

 The truth be told, I am frequently a physical mess. At times, I am an emotional wreck.  I am mentally…well, that’s a whole Chinese Puzzle Box that has yet to be deciphered. And maybe…just maybe I’m not respecting myself by not coming right out and telling people these things? Am I dissin’ my own body by not openly sharing my current limits? Am I setting extended relationships up for imminent failure by not being direct?

 Darn it! I HATE it when I write myself into an epiphany! This was NOT what I set out to write today. I wanted to make everyone ELSE look like the bad guy so I’d get all kinds of awesome sympathy and virtual pats on the head from all of you who could see just how deeply and profoundly I’d been hurt. Then? I’d eat some chocolate, have a good cry, and limp through my day with the smile of the “just” on my face. BLAH!

 Now it’s all ruined, because apparently it’s my fault. Thanks guys…just, thanks.

Told ya I wasn't a Leg
Lamp. I'm obviously a
stocking!

 I suppose now I’ve got a few phone calls to make this morning. There went my “watch mindless TV” time slot! (Sorry Maury…you’ll have to carry on without me.)

 May your day be filled with respect, both for yourself and others. For no matter what your limits or their limits may be, everyone walks their own bumpy roads, and just because we don’t see the cracks and dents on the undercarriage doesn’t mean they’re not there.

Return Of The Spam-Bot

 Good morning! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, back for another round of “What the Heck-ola” is our favorite Spam-bot, Chris! *insert loud applause tracks complete with “Whoops!” catcalls, and excessive cheering*

 I’d almost (almost, I say) gotten over the feeling that I had fallen asleep as “me” and awaken as a Spam-bot, somehow replaced during my innocent slumber by Aliens intent on repopulating Earth with annoying spam-belching internet hazards. Then, the “other stuff” began happening…

 Before I begin my tale of tragedy and heartache, sure to leave you as terrified to return to your computer as “Jaws” left a Nation in regards to the water, let me make one thing clear…I like making new friends! Yep, Mister Rogers worked his magic on me. Friends are good. You know, silver and gold and all that. But, hidden deep within the well of friendship lays a deep, dark secret…More Aliens!

 It was all fun and games at the start. I posted my Twitter and Facebook links on here in hopes of meeting new people and making new friends.  And it was working great! (OK, I assume it was working great, but for all I know people are finding me on the wall of a virtual bathroom stall that says, “For a good time, Follow!”) Then the Bots arrived!

 Bots…you guys know EXACTLY what I’m talking about! The Friends that tweet, post, and pin every 1.5 seconds, 24 hours a day! They post inspirational quotes, links, more links, best-of links, and tons of witty observations…every 1.5 seconds! 24 hours a day!

 Now, I’m no expert, but I’m fairly certain few humans could maintain that type of schedule for any length of time. Nor could most mere mortals afford to pay others to sit at a keyboard and do it for them. Which in my book, only leaves one explanation, Alien Bots! (They’ve even gotten to my Grammar check, since any time I mention “Alien Bots” in a sentence, it’s telling me it’s WRONG! Darn you Aliens! Darn you all to heck!)

 It both frightens and confuses me…(not that it really takes much to confuse me, but that SO is not the point!) How do I know if I’m "chatting" with a real person? How do I know if I’m preparing to “follow” a bot? Is Social Media their way in, preparing Earth for their final invasion? Does the Military know about this? The Government? Should I tell them? Are they in cahoots with the Aliens?

 Oh, the mental pain and anguish of it all!

 (Sorry…kinda got a bit carried away right there. I’m OK now. I promise!) I do wonder, though, if this is the future of all on-line socialization. Will it devolve to nothing more than one Bot tweeting to another Bot who in turn follows another Bot that re-tweets the last Bot? Will there remain any actual humans reading this stuff who really care?

 Does all this Bot-to-Bot communication really increase anyone’s on-line presence, or does it serve merely to annoy the shnikies outta the last remaining humans until they’re forced to un-follow just to get some peace and quiet on their pages?

 I would LOVE to get your thoughts on this, since I have always assumed that on-line Social sites were for being social, not for being spam-blasted. (Yeah, yeah. I know already! Assume…ass of u and me…I got it…)

 Or, and this is where my biggest fear lies, is it just me getting all the Bot-people…because I am, after all, a Spam-Bot!?! (And here I thought I was getting better at navigating the whole captcha thing!)

 May your day be filled with the safe and secure knowledge that all your “interwebs” buddies are HUMAN, your “friends requests” be true, and any “followers” be pure of purpose! Oh, and may the “Force” of Spam-Filters be with you!

Hippie Dippie

 Good morning! Just a thought to start the day…when you eat a bowl of Captain Crunch (with milk today….I’m switchin’ it up…living all crazy and unpredictable! I’m such a rebel…) Anyway, when you eat a bowl of Captain Crunch with earbuds stuffed in your ears, you cannot hear the music, only the mow-crunch-chew noises. Very frustrating when you are wanting a bit of morning tune-age with your sugary feast!

 Another thought for you to ponder…when you drive a vehicle with the parking brake stuck in the “engaged” position, it will eventually eat through the disk and you’ll find yourself riding shot-gun in your son’s 1977 Oldsmobile Omega that’s the color of a slowly-rotting pumpkin and due to the need for a new exhaust, sounds like an 80 year old chain-smoker when it’s fired up. (Oh yeah, people WILL stare!)

Too bad you can't see
my ankle length, BRIGHTLY
colored Gypsy skirt here.
It really gives you the FULL
Hippie-Chick effect!

 The awesome thing about this? When you dress like a color-blind bag lady with a drug-induced sense of fashion…you actually look like you BELONG in a 1977 Oldsmobile Omega! Especially when Migraine meds meet normally scheduled pain meds and what results is, shall we just say a very pot-like case of the giggles.

 The natural progression of this effect is you reach the point where you think (stupidly so) that carrying a 50 pound bag of bird food on one shoulder while using a cane is a great idea.( Or at least a “workable” idea.) Just try picturing THAT one! Hippie-dippie, giggle-girl with purple, sparkly cane, listing to one side like a fast-sinking ship…limp-hop-cane, limp-hop-cane, complete with multiple grunts, groans, and outbursts of, “Oh, sh#t!” in between fits of giggles.

 Of course, if you think about the fact that this all occurred in a local Mom and Pop Feed Store, well…sticking out like a sore thumb would have been an improvement! The owner, who’s known me for about six years, could NOT stop laughing! I thought the poor guy was gonna wet himself. *cringes just a little at thought of returning anytime soon*

 Yep. There are just some days when I REALLY have no business inflicting myself on the unsuspecting public. So, in order to make up for yesterday’s faux pas, I am officially vowing to spend the day in the relative safety of my own home, watching Masterpiece Theater with my daughter and eating microwave popcorn.

 May heavenly wine and roses seem to whisper to you…and may you smile! (OK, 10,000 Bonus points to anyone who figured out I was listening to “Sweet Jane” and NOT stoned!)

Guilt And Excuses

 Good morning! Last night my “Bubby” called and was dropping more hints for an invite than I drop crumbs when two-fisting a bowl of milk-less Captain Crunch! *guilty sigh* And I pretty much side-stepped every one. (Oh! The GUILT!)

Yes, when I'm feeling
rough, I will reuse pics.
Deal with it!

 You’re probably wondering why I didn’t just invite him over if I was gonna spend the next 24 hours wallowing in self-loathing, feeling guilty? Because I felt like crap-on-toast…that’s why! (I kinda “pushed” myself past the point of smart-i-tude at Physical Therapy yesterday. My bad!) Personally, I absolutely HATE telling people I’m feeling extra-non-crispy on “bad” days, so I tend to play the avoidance game.

 BUT *drum roll* since today is Top Ten day, I thought maybe I could take a step toward ending the guilt and create a list of reasons it’s not a good idea for someone to come over…

    

  Top Ten Reasons You’re NOT Getting An Invite…

1)       “I’m sorry, but I have an abduction scheduled for later this evening and due to the chance of anal probing, I REALLY need to do a colon cleanse. I mean, I really hate it when they probe and I’m all backed-up. It’s just such a mess and so BEYOND embarrassing!”

2)       “I’m REALLY sorry, but I was mauled by a bear earlier today and was thinking I might want to head to the ER and see about getting my arm reattached. If I’m done early enough, I’ll give you a call and we can get together then.”

The Rockettes with
US Navy Sailors.

3)       “I’d love to hang out, but I auditioned for the Rockettes earlier today and I think I pulled a hamstring when I did the last round of high kicks and need to spend the evening quasi-naked, icing my butt-cheek. Maybe tomorrow?”

4)       “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know anyone was gonna call and got myself sloppy-drunk. I’m just about ready to hit the “drunk-dialing ex’s from college” phase and crying about where it all went wrong and how I probably ruined my life by not getting a degree. If you wanna man the internet to help me find their numbers, I might be able to use you. Otherwise…”

5)       “Man! I had no idea you were free tonight! You see, I got a REALLY bad bikini-wax a few days ago and was in the middle of exfoliating my nether regions trying to get rid of all these clogged follicles. Maybe tomorrow? Although, I may still be walking funny…”

6)      “Shoot! You know, like…if I’d KNOWN you was gonna call…Umm…I think I accidentally took my…I think 3:00PM meds at, like…6:00PM? Maybe it was, like…the other way around? All I know…I am so TOTALLY…Ummm…fried? GOAT CHEESE!”

7)       Don’t say a word…just fake falling asleep during conversation and bribe Spouse or offspring to take the phone and make TONS of apologies on your behalf.

8)       “…Hold on a minute…DUDE! I friggin’ SWEAR I just saw Bigfoot outside! Seriously! Oh crap…he’s breaking in!...Wait! WAIT! Uuuuuuuggggghhhhhhh!!!!!!!......” Hang up after primal scream and fail to answer the phone the rest of the night. (Although, there’s a slight chance this one could back-fire a bit and result in a visit from the Police, who were called by panicked friend when you failed to answer their repeated calls. Use at your own discretion.)

9)       “My Therapist told me I needed to get in touch with my inner child so I’m planning on spending the evening in a diaper, playing with dolls, and watching Barney. Hubby’s refusing to “change me” so if you wanted to do that, you’re welcome…Maybe tomorrow would be better?”

10)    If all else fails, you could try this one…”I’m really sorry! I’d LOVE to see you, but I’m having an off day and I really need to get some rest. Hopefully I’ll feel better tomorrow and we can get together then. Thank you for being so cool and understanding.”

 I know, I know. That last one was kinda boring, but all in all, probably the best way to go. (Although, #1 is STILL my favorite!)

 May you day be filled with absolutely no reason to use any of these excuses and tons of good laughter and good food with good friends and family!

The Caravan's Call

 Good morning! Today my brain is about three steps BEYOND lost in the fog…The weather is finally cooled off a teeny, tiny bit and I’ve got “Can’t Find My Way Home” by Blind Faith stuck in my head. All in all, not a bad start to a day.

 The slight shift in the atmosphere coupled with the mellow, moody music does have an interesting effect. It reminds me of long-forgotten desires from childhood. It calls up the times I’d wander through the woods in search of Gypsies… You see, most little boys may talk of running away with the circus, but me? I always dreamed of running away with the Gypsies. And this morning? The Gypsies are calling me…..

 Their painted wagons, hidden deep in the dark and mysterious forests of Somewhere, are being expertly packed. The campfires that were used throughout the murky night to ward off the wolves are quietly being extinguished and all traces of their existence erased.  The ribbons that hung so joyfully in the trees and fluttered on the breezes are put away, to hang again at their next stop. Shadowy horses are deftly hitched with leather that’s been studded with magical bells….and as quietly as a dream, they move on.

 This is always how I pictured it would be…The women adorned in long gauze skirts that twirl as they whirl through a hypnotic dance around the fire, their arms bare except for the clinking bracelets that encircle their wrists. Their feet, of course, are shoeless so they can feel every inch of the Earth, tracing circles and spirals in the dirt as they move to the rhythms of the belled anklets they wear.

 Maybe the older ones wear colorful scarves on their heads, the ones with the tiny, gold coins sewn on the edges to make them look all the more magical. The younger girls let their silky hair flow free as they move about in the comfort of their own skin.

 Young or old, the Women are all keepers of the secrets of magic and the mysteries of life, as it has been handed down generation to generation. They know the art of fortune telling and making potions from herbs. No one bothers them since they can lay the “Evil Eye” on you, and you’ll be cursed forever! But, if you cross their palms with silver…cross their palms with gold, they might be persuaded to tell your future, or mix you a Love Potion to help catch your heart’s desire.

 The men are all strong and honorable…to their own. So maybe they’ll run a scam or card game on the occasional “outsider”.  The Outsider should have known better…

 These are people not bound by Modern Society or the rules of “Shoes and Shirt Required.” These mythical folk spend their lives living on their terms, always surrounded by the sheltering trees and hidden by curtains of dark, welcoming green leaves.

 In this world, there is always abundant music and laughter. Someone quietly caresses a fiddle as the caravan rolls out in search of its next camp or town. Someone strums a guitar, bringing forth its melodic voice to welcome the impending day as the Sun begins its ascent. Someone sings sleepy folk songs as the moon rises, sweetly lulling the men and women to their beds. For every peaceful moment in this life, there is a melody to celebrate its passing.

 This was…is…the world I dream about living in. This imaginary place where putting down roots and growing sedentary…where living a life like sand piling on top of sand until the weight crushes the bottom into rock…this is the nightmare.

 This world where your home travels from place to place with you always represented a freedom few people will ever truly know. This life of simplicity where “things” fail to hold the same allure as they do in our modern lives, where whatever can’t be fitted into your wagon, isn’t needed.

 In my dreams, this is the world where your children grow up, marry and raise families of their own and live full, complete lives in wagons of their own only a couple of horses away, as opposed to a couple of States away. Where everyone, generation after generation, celebrates the passing of the days together, gathered around the ever-present fires.

 This is a world where there are no televisions…no Nightly World News, no reality TV. This is a world where the best entertainment is the Old Ones telling tales through song and verse to pass the long, winter nights and remind all of not only where they’ve come from, but also the places they will go.

 This is a world where having “itchy feet” and wanderlust isn’t a bad thing. Where you can go where the day may take you and no one calls you irresponsible. Where the wind blows the same compelling calls of, “Come…move along…follow me!” A siren’s call to all the free-spirits…and it’s heeded!

Waiting for the Gypsies...

 Today, the wind is tickling my soul….teasing and taunting me, “Come! Play! Wander off and get lost!” My feet are itching, longing to feel the leaves crunch beneath their slightly-fallen arches….I so long to dance in the soft, cool loam in the deepest part of the forest.

 My secret self longs to throw its head back and laugh the full-bellied laugh of careless abandon! To sing the songs of life, and not worry if I’m on key or not…I ache to RUN, FLY...just be FREE!

 Today, my body may tell me I need to rest…to sit and give it the time it so desperately needs to work on healing itself, but my mind? Today my mind and soul are lost in the cool, hidden darkness of the trees…dancing to the rhythm of a haunting fiddle. In my heart, I am leaping and laughing around a fire, answering the distant calls of the Caravan…

 May your day be filled with magical mysteries, music that sets your soul free, and the little smile that come from remembering dreams from long ago and far away!