Part Two of Hollywood an Insiders View

OK folks, If you didn't read part one, just go back ( or should I say down) to the last entry. Read that first!

Those of you who know me well can imagine how I was feeling and looking when the big day arrived and I reported to the set at 6 am. I didn’t have to talk to anyone though, and that was good. They had a huge coffee urn, and that was good too. I just got in line, gave my name, and was ushered off to the wardrobe tent where two girls helped me get strapped back into my costume. Then I was herded over to “hair” and had my long hair tied into a knot, pinned, sprayed, and hid under a bonnet (which I thought was rather odd because I got the part so they could do western-y/victorian style-ish-y things to my long hair. However, when the sand storm started I was so happy I had a bonnet on, I can’t even tell you…)

Then I was shuffled to “makeup” where they said “no one gets makeup because this is a realistic period piece and only saloon girls wore makeup back then”. I was shocked! Here I was, about to have a real part in a real movie and I find I am to be forever immortalized on the silver screen with no make-up! How will my friends even recognize me? I try to talk them into “just shoring up my weak eyebrows and giving me a bit of concealer and some lip gloss” but it’s a no-go.

After that I was asked to hang out in the breakfast tent, eat, and listen for someone to call my name. I ate, but just a little because the corset was so tight, and promptly tried to fall asleep with my head on the table, but found it impossible because I couldn’t sit down all the way with the bustle and corset on. All I could do was perch on the very edge of a chair, and then I had to extend my legs down and back under the chair so my torso wasn’t bent because it wouldn’t bend! I was like Herman Munster- my body was ridged, there was no bend anywhere! Good God all Mighty, this was gonna be a long day.

After an hour or so, I was loaded onto a bus (I had to stand as sitting was almost impossible) with a bunch of other extras and we headed for the “lot”. If you ever saw the movie Wild Wild West, with Will Smith, you have seen the town we were filming in. I guess they torched part of it in that movie, and this movie was able to use the rest of the set for its short in-town scenes.

Any-hoo, we were deposited on the back side of the lot and told to stay in or behind this big old barn, and if we needed anything at all, talk to our keepers, a couple of young ladies whose job was to keep track of us amateurs. I walked inside the barn. There were tables and chairs and all kinds of snack foods and drinks and sandwich fixings, and I was thinking the caterers were the busiest people on the set.

So here I was, in the barn with about fiftey other extras, all dressed up in period costumes with no place to go. We sat, and we sat, and we sat, and …someone was calling my name! This is it! They want me on the set! They are asking for me by name! I went outside to find a woman yelling my name at the top of her lungs, and all the other extras looking from one to another baffled, trying to figure out who I was and why they were calling my name. But no, it wasn’t my call to greatness, it was just a friend of mine, part of the special effects team, wanting to have a word with me. He knew I was on the set and among the extras, so he had our keeper yelling for me. We had a nice chat, then I went back to the barn. It was noon by then, six hours on the set and I had done nothing but get dressed and eat, and I had seen not a single camera.

Pretty soon the keepers came and rounded us all up, put us back on the bus and took us off the lot, back to the entrance, costume and make-up area, back to the big tent of food because it was lunchtime. Now I mean it when I say I thought the caterers were the busiest people on the set. The breakfast had been full out eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, French toast, muffins, cereal, juice, milk- an all you could eat, all you could want breakfast extravaganza. The snacks in the barn were numerous and tasty and now- now the lunch was just as amazing!

It was like dining on a cruse ship, way to much food, to many choices (all of them good) and a full array of interesting characters to slide up to the buffet with. By that time we extras had bonded and were on a first name basis. We had our histories and had gravitated into little cliques like people do when they are in a big group. Of course we were all “in character”, being the professional novices we were, and it was hard to tell who was who or what was what. I sat with a “frontier family’ of dad, mom and daughter, a cattle rustler, the sheriff’s dog handler and a cowpoke. The “family” were repeats, they actually worked as extras on a regular basis. The rest of us were first timers. Most everyone I met said the same thing- they just wanted to see what it was like, to work on a movie.

When the lunch hour was up they herded us back into the bus and took us back to the barn, where an entire new array of snacks had been set up and – gasp- someone had set out decks of cards. This, I thought, does not look good. It looks like we are not going to get to the front of this barn anytime soon. OH-did I mention that from the front windows of the barn we could peek out and see the set just down the street? Did I mention that occasionally something on the set would cause a stir in the barn? Like- horses pulling at a wagon driven by Tommy Lee Jones tearing by the barn, or a horse galloping by with Kate Blanchett astride, or a whole group of outlaw-y looking guys riding by with dust clouds following. We knew there was action on the set, we just were not a part of it.

By mid afternoon I was so tired of sitting (actually, standing because, like Herman, I couldn’t bend) around, I was ready for a nap. The problem was, I couldn’t really sit down and I’m not good at sleeping standing up. There really was no place that I could lay down and not get up without dust all over that beautiful Victorian dress. I couldn’t sit and bend foreword with my head on a table, because, like Herman Munster, I couldn’t bend. And I couldn’t just sit back in a chair and just let my head drop to my chest, because I had on a bustle that I couldn’t sit back on.

My mind was playing through all these assorted western life scenarios I had seen on TV and I was wondering- how did women do that dressed like this?- and I came to the conclusion that women didn’t do much of anything back then, not dressed like I was anyway. They must have had looser “ at home” clothes to do the cooking, cleaning and baby raising in, there is no way they could have milked a cow or pulled weeds or plowed with a big draft horse dressed the way I was, I mean, I couldn’t even grab 40 winks or a deep breath.

I finally settled for backing a chair up near the wall and jamming chairs tight on each side of it so it wouldn’t move around. I perched on the edge of the chair, tilted it back so I could stretch my legs out and just touch the ground with my toes, and my head, well it was balanced on the top ridge of the back of the chair. I was a perfect straight line, no bends, just like Herman Munster. You can understand why I jammed those chairs tight on each side so the chair I was balanced on would not move. The only part of me touching the chair was the back of my skull and the bottom edge of my butt. I was a sleeping high wire act, and sleep I did for about an hour. I awoke to the sound of the keepers yelling everyone gather ‘round, it’s time to go to work.

Part three- on the set- coming soon.

Part One of Hollywood, An Insiders View- or- How I ended up standing next to and taking direction from Ron Howard.

I’m ruined for the movies. Much as I love a good movie, it’s impossible for me to sit through one now and just enjoy it. My mind is constantly critiquing the set or the special effects or the direction. For instance, did you notice in the scene in Marie Antoinette where Marie Antoinette was sitting in her closet loving her shoes, that there was a pair of white high top tennis shoes on the floor next to her? Yep, it’s true. What the heck! What were they doing there? They weren’t even invented yet! See what I mean? How can one possible get lost in a movie when one is noticing things like that? By the way, I loved the movie- it was like a punk rock version of the French queen and her court. (And we think kids today grow up to fast, imagine ruling a country when you are what? 15?)

My problem started years ago, back in Austin in the mid 70’s when the Armadillo had a world headquarters, the mayor carried a nickel bag, and outlaw country was king. The movie Out Law Blues, staring Peter Fonda and Susan St James was filmed in Austin.

http://www.awhq.com/

Honestly, I think I just had a flash back! I was looking up the Armadillo to find good links and I saw a photo of the painting of Doug Kershaw - the Ragin’ Cajin’- in the mouth of an alligator that was on the garden wall, and all of a sudden I was back in the beer garden, glass in hand.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Armadillo_World_Headquarters

The movie was about outlaw country music and weed, so it fit right in with the Austin of the day.

http://movies.nytimes.com/movie/36883/Outlaw-Blues/overview

There was a casting call for extras and my boyfriend, a very enterprising young man, decided we should show up, maybe they would cast us, and maybe we would get rich and famous. I went along out of curiosity although I thought the 7am start time was a little nutty. What the heck were big stars like Peter Fonda and Susan St James doing up at 7 am?

Turned out they weren’t up at 7 am, because they weren’t in the scene, but we were. Yes, my boyfriend’s hunch that the director would want some “normal down home looking Austin freaks, hippies, and outlaw country fans” for the movie was right on, and we were cast as “ the couple you see walking down the street when the truck careening out of control, flies through the intersection just before it crashes and dumps a load of pumpkins in the road.”

Fortunately they didn’t want to crash that truck more than once so we had just one take.For those of you not in the Biz that means we just filmed the scene once. We did a couple of practice walks up the street, from mark A to mark B and then they let it roll. Get the movie and when you see the big truck come over the hill, pause. Yes, there on the side walk, all denim and long hair, that’s us. My -at the time- boyfriend and I are now, forever hand and hand, walking on the silver screen.

That was my movie debut and I thought it was pretty cool, I mean, we didn’t end up on the cutting room floor! I’ve been intrigued by movie making ever since. My saga continues many years later in New Mexico. The film industry and the land of enchantment are sleeping together and that’s fine with me. It offers lots of fun job opportunities for movie fans, as well as lots of economic aid to New Mexico. I just happen to know a few people in the “biz” and when a casting call goes out for a “crime drama shot on the streets of Albuquerque”, I call one of my casting director type friends and find out it’s not her show.

She does, however, fill me in on how to make a good impression when you show up with 16,000 other people at a casting call. Well, I’m a busy gal and the casting call hours are not very convenient for me, so I ignore them totally and show up several hours after the call (I figure I will really stand out from the pack that way). I’m dressed for the part that I want to be cast in (attorney) in a spiffy stylish suit and carrying a briefcase looking all “serious young attorney out to save the world and put the bad guys in the can”-ish.

Tip: if you are filming in a hot climate in the summer, go to the casting call as someone who would be inside a building, like a janitor or a attorney, do not go as a street person or a traffic cop. You might wonder why this is so important but ask thine self this- if you have to be on set filming for 16 hours straight and it’s 99 degrees, would you rather be ready on the set inside or out?

Anyhow, they were all nice even though I did show up after they were officially closed. They took my information, took my photo and never called. Rats! My second shot at a plump movie career and I’m disqualified for unknown reasons. My friend assures me they are looking for certain looks or features and not to take it personally. I just didn’t have what they wanted at the time.

A few months later I hear through the grapevine that a friend of a friend is casting a “period piece starring Tommy Lee Jones”. I literally beg my friend, who will be speaking with the casting director later in the week, to mention that I’m free what ever dates they are filming, I’m very good at taking direction and I would do just about anything for a chance to be in Tommy Lee’s movie.

I didn’t know if this was going to work because just a month before I begged to go along with a friend who was visiting her husband who was working on Zorro with Antonio Banderas. My request was denied, they were shooting in a foreign country with a small revolution going on, so security was tight and the set was closed. DANG!

To make a long story even longer-

The casting director happened to stop by the office one day and told me she thought I would be perfect for this “period piece with Tommy Lee Jones” because it was a western, and it was hard for her to find any women with really long hair, which was the style in that period, and they were going for authentic. I was in! Thank you Joyce! This was the real deal! My name was on the list, I was official.

A few weeks before filming I was on my way to the costume fitting. I almost didn’t make it because I had just had the heads done on my car and you know how straight the road is between Albuquerque and Santa Fe and this cop came outta no where and eventually he caught up to me and well, really, that’s a whole ‘nother story, and it would make this long story even longer so suffice to say I did make it to the fitting.

It was very interesting to be in a warehouse full of antique clothes. If you can imagine a bigger closet than the one I have,( I use an entire room for my closet) this was it! I was in heaven. I was not at all impressed with the costume person, she was a mean, nasty woman and I don’t care if she did get an academy award for Freda. She was the only person among Ron’s crew (see how I slid that casual familiar reference to super star director Ron Howard in there?) That was not just charming to work with. Really folks, she was the only bad egg in the bunch, and she really was a stinky one.

Anyway, she did let me pick my dress as long as I stayed with brown ( which she said is my color) and I did get myself fitted for a beautiful Victorian dress with bustle and 300 tiny buttons and high collar and…corset? Holy cow, I was going to have to wear a corset because this dress had a 5 inch waist. So I got fitted for the corset too, and let me tell you it was exactly like you see on TV. I had two ladies helping to lace and tie the damn thing and one of them was holding it tight while the other stuck her foot against my back and pulled the laces with all her might. They kept saying don’t breath and I was squeaking don’t worry, I can’t!

I picked out my accessories, a cute bonnet, gloves, shawl, purse and shoes. I filled out a bunch of papers, put my name tags on everything, and was given my directions for the day of the “shoot”. So that was fun and I went home driving slower and wondering what the big day would really be like.

Part two- The Big day, coming soon...

Need I Say More?

Is It Monday Again Already?

I’ve been working on a new post, about my “Ron Howard experience”, it’s just taking a long time to come to fruition. (fancy word for “finish the dang thing”). It’s just that I’m meandering all over the place. It all connects though, and I thought this time, rather than try to cut it all down to a 3 minute or less read, I would just let it meander on and grow this way and that and see where it ends up.

It’s coming along fine, I’m just not done yet. Check back later in the week.

Oh, and thanks for looking and sharing and I hope this week is really kind and generous to you.

How do you spell W.I.L.D.?

Apparently there is a consensus that the word wild, when muttered in conjunction with or in the vicinity of the name Meandering; is an acronym- it stands for Wears Intriguing & Lithesome Designs. Case in point: Bright blue cowgirl boots. See the comments section, post entitled Important Life Skills.
Thanks go to J in S.C. and J4 in Pfville,Tx for clearing this up.

Dressing Was so Much Easier Before Victoria's Secret!

Recently I was getting ready to go out with some friends. I had lost track of time sitting at the computer percolating away and typing like a fiend getting my next blog article ready. There was a phone call, “hey” my friend said, “we’ll be there in 10, you ready”?
“No, I have to get dressed, but that will just take a minute”.

HA! It took me forever! Well, not forever but long enough for the party to start in my kitchen without me.

Used to be when a girl got ready to go out for the evening she could throw on underwear (sans bra), jeans and take a few moments picking out just the right rock concert t-shirt and wa-la! Ready to go and lookin’good. No more. Now it’s a whole complicated process thanks to Victoria and her little secret.

First, you pick the blouse because that has to be determined before you can pick the underwear. You have to do this because now, it’s not just underwear, it’s a “foundation for your look”. It has to be just so. You pick the bra before you choose the underpants because they have to match and the whole little outfit really depends on the appropriateness of the right bra.

You’ve got 1001 choices.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not talking about the surprise-your-mate-passionate-and-slightly -kinky type underwear you see advertised for Valentine’s Day, I’m not talking about the you-have-a-hot-date-and-might-get-past-second-base style underwear, no, I’m not even talking about the I’m-gonna-dance-up-a-storm, kick-my-legs-high-jitterbugging-and-somebody-might-see-my-underwear type underwear. I’m just talking about your plain old regular everyday under the clothing underwear. I’m just talking about utilitarian underwear. I’m just talking about the underwear that lays the proper foundation for the clothing and look of today.

It’s no longer just about what color goes under what color so “nothing shows” or carrying a small safety pin or two so you can corral that slipping strap. Nowadays it’s about a whole lot more. The entire decision making process involves a series of questions to narrow down the field of possible choices. It goes something like this:

Now, with that blouse do you need a racer back, demi-cup, full coverage, t-shirt, wireless, wired, convertible, scoop neck or sports bra?

Do you need a miracle bra? Do you need more curves or less curves? If you want more curves, how much more? Do you want the padded, push up, gel push, up-lift or air push up? (does this sound like a basketball shoe commercial?)

Do you need the slim strap, fat strap, front cross strap, back cross strap, over the shoulders strap, around the neck strap, waist strap ( ? yes, they make a bra with a waist strap! Don’t ask me, I have no idea how it stays where it is supposed to stay.), nude strap, acrylic strap, lace strap or signature Victoria’s Secret initials strap? Do you need one strap, two straps, or strapless?

Next the fabric must be considered. Do you want satin, velour, velvet, lace, cotton, microfiber, silk, nylon, spandex, lycra, polyester or metallic thread? As well as the construction; will it be seam free, stitch free, removable or stationary straps, clingy, cling free, low cut, high cut, wire, no wire, front pads, side pads, under pads, front clasp or back clasp?

You guys out there may think this is a little crazy, but think about it, if you wore a jock strap for 10 or 12 hours a day, wouldn’t you be a little picky about the construction?

OK, we are getting close now. We’ve got the basic make and model, now we just need to iron out the options.

Now consider the color. The color depends on a number of factors such as what the blouse looks like, what the weather is like, what season it is, how much bra will be showing, what is the occasion, what current fashion trends are, what time of the month it is and what the bra-ees mental state of mind is. Basic black? White? Nude? Off white? Or will it be colored, and if so are we going with solid color or print? If we are heading to print, what theme? Victorian flowers, stripes, polka dots, big cat prints, jungle greenery, Hawaiian tropical, geometric, hearts, country fresh gingham, or the ever popular VS initial design?

It’s gotten out of control I tell you! What we have to go through to get dressed! We are being enslaved by our underwear! I’m not blaming this all on Victoria’s Secret. They are not the only ones perpetuating this crazy-ness!

I spoke to one of my sisters just yesterday and she had spent a day and a half in 30 different department stores looking at 7000 different styles of bra just to find a basic, comfortable, everyday wear model that didn’t have a price tag more appropriate for a sold gold Mercedes.

It’s insane I tell you! We might as well be strapped into corsets as strapped into this gooey, sticky, love to pick it but once I start it just won’t let go- taffy-like relationship with our underwear. OK, maybe that’s exaggerating, I once spent 16 hours in a corset and bustle- on the set of a movie- and I couldn’t breath, couldn’t sit down and I had black and blue ribs for a month after! Maybe it’s not that bad.

I thought I had solved the dilemma a few years ago when I found the perfect fit of a bra, ordered one in every color and let it go at that. But wouldn’t ya know it, they discontinued that style and I had to start all over! I still haven’t recovered from that, I’m hanging in bra limbo trying a new model each time I order looking for my Mr. Right Bra.

Meanwhile it takes me several hours to get dressed and a full 30 minutes of that is just the underwear selection. Then of course, there’s the shoes…

My Own Good Advice for Writers- Part 3

Turn off the TV and the DVD player.
Disconnect from the internet.
Silence the radio, the stereo, and the MP3.
Put down the book.
Avoid the magazine, ignore the mail.
Don’t answer the phone. Don’t dial the phone.
No IMing either.

Now, just sit a while, in the quiet. Don’t try to still the mind. This isn’t meditation. Encourage the mind to meander, floating like a patch of seaweed, torn free and traveling the oceans tides. Watch it and listen. Listen for the next thing that you are going to write about.

Your story may be something shifting slightly at the periphery of your mind, just waiting for stillness to accentuate its movement so it can be noticed. It’s that connection that you did not make at the time, when you were sensory drunk on the information smorgasbord we all indulge in every day. Now it comes to you, meandering, an idea with arms outstretched. An idea looking right at you, waiting for acknowledgement.

It might be something you saw on TV, or realized as you watched a DVD. Maybe it was in the lead characters journey or in the scenic background of the adventure, maybe it was the heart beat of the movie that sparked your story.

Possibly it was something you saw on the internet, or in an e-mail from a friend. Now it pushes through your mind and reaches up, growing a tall reedy stem and a couple of leaves, now forming a bud about to open.

Maybe you heard it on the wings of a song, a song that floats in your mind like a gull on an ocean side air current. High into blue sky, then dropping to touch the water and catch a memory worth recalling and sharing.

Could it be that it was hidden in your favorite author’s style, the rise and fall of literature in general, or between the pages of the novel you just finished?

Possibly your launch pad was a look at the current news or entertainment magazines full of flashy political photo op’s, lots of smiling celeb’s and plenty of spin. Maybe a semblance of truth is picking at the back of your mind waiting for expression.

There is always the possibility that your notion of a story came in the form of a letter from a friend, or a bit of junk mail asking for a donation. Yes, maybe in giving you do receive, maybe your donation and you expanding understanding and compassion are the story.

It could be your story was born in the last conversation you had with a good friend.

The ocean of information that we swim in every day threatens to drown us as it presents numerous opportunities in the same towering wave. Sit on the beach of disconnected silence. Watch your story float on the waves. When it gets so close you can see the whites of its eyes, throw it a life preserver, and pull it to shore.

Even One Verse

One night without distraction,
I dreamed a vivid dream;
I saw a large and beautiful drum
Filling the world with golden light
And glowing like the sun.
Beaming brightly to all places,
It was seen from ten directions.

Everywhere Buddhas were seated,
On thrones of precious Lapis.
At the foot of jeweled trees,
Facing assemblies of hundreds of thousands.

I saw a form like that of a Brahmin
Fiercely beat upon the drum;
When he struck it,
These verses issued forth:
By the sound of this majestic drum of golden light,
may the suffering of lower migration,
Yama and the poverty of the three realms
Of the triple thousand worlds cease to be.

By the sound of this majestic drum,
May the ignorance of the world be dispelled.
With fears quelled, just as vanquishing sages are unafraid,
May sentient beings become fearless and brave.

Just as the Omniscient Vanquishing Sage in the world
Is possessed of every excellence of aryas,
May countless beings too possess oceans of qualities,
Concentration and the wings of enlightenment.

No, I didn’t write that, it’s six verses of the Golden Light Sutra.

In the introduction it says that there are many benefits to reading the whole text. In the Tibetan Buddhist system (the Buddhist system I’m most familiar with), books have great power and during the reading of a text you can actually receive life changing energy from the written words. Being as I am a Reiki Master, I can understand how this could possibly be true.

The introduction also says that the deva Hamachiwa Pala told Buddha that she will protect those “who read and try to understand even one verse, and will fulfill their wishes”. Those sentient beings who hear only one verse will never go to the lower realms. The Buddha told the earth goddess that “even if a person hears only one verse, the will be born in the deva realm”. Further the Buddha told the earth goddess “the non- virtuous karma of the person who hears even one verse will be eliminated and they will achieve enlightenment”.

There is no mention of what reading just six verses will do for you, but it’s got to be better than reading just one verse, wouldn’t you think?

So, now ya got that going for you.

Important Life Skills- Listen Up Kids!

This week my niece celebrates her birthday. She's not a kid anymore but she is still an adorable kid to me, as well as a beautiful, graceful, smart and compassionate young lady. I think her parents did a great job of raising her and she's done a great job of becoming. To celebrate, I have completed my list of important life skills for young people.

Dear Niece,

I know you all ready have some of these skills, and I'm happy to help you acquire the rest if you want assistance. In spite of the moniker "weird old aunt meandering", and in spite of the fact that your mom and Aunties insist on perpetuating the myth that I was a "wild one", I want you to know that the following list contains only things that can effectively help you move ahead in your life, the skills necessary to sail smoothly across the many challenging conditions found in the ever changing waters of life.

Important Life Skills- In no particular order and with explanations only when necessary. To be successful in life you should be able to:

Drive a standard shift (so when your date gets drunk and hands you the keys).
Play poker (so you don't get the wool pulled over your eyes in a friendly game, comes in handy in Vegas too).
Play 8-ball well enough to walk into a pool hall (if you can also play 9-ball and billiards it's a big plus).
Light a Cigar (no, you don't have to smoke it).
Pack a weeks worth of clothes in a carry on.
Figure how many drinks it takes to make you look stupid, and never drink that much. (If you don't know, get a sober friend to count for you. The next day they can tell you what your limit is. This experiment should be done at home, and only with beer or liquor, not both at once).
Balance a check book and be able to figure compound interest (always do the math before you buy).
Leave the house with just your wallet and phone (no, not purse, wallet. Nothing in your purse is gonna save your butt in a real emergency, unless of course you're packing heat, and seeing as you're a Texan I guess that could be the case, if it is, take the purse.)
Change a flat tire.
Find and ask for expert advice (somebody knows more about the project than you do, it's worth the money).
Start a campfire with matches and small twigs only (much easier than a magnifying glass or one of those bow thingies).
Play an instrument, even if it's just a tambourine.
Ski, sail and golf (never know when you are going to get an invitation you don't want to refuse).
Tell the difference between a water goblet and a wine glass; know the function of all 5 forks and what to do with your used butter knife (ditto).
Question your doctor intelligently and ask for a second opinion in a nice way.
Ask for directions to the rest room and for a drink in at least 3 languages (just a drink- you can always point to water, beer, something stronger if needed).
Play Blackjack (also handy in Vegas).
Make the 3 M's of cocktails- Margarita, Manhattan, Martini.
Dance (at least a traditional waltz and the Texas two step. In addition, an east or west coast swing would be good too).
Name at least two friends whose numbers are in your memory (not your phone's memory, your memory) who will come get you no matter where you are, what time it is or what the weather.
Point out at least a few stars, find the North Star and find north on a cloudy day. (Hint: check for moss).
Read a map and a compass.
Swim well enough to jump off a boat if you have to (it’s a long story).
Make small talk at a social event (hint: ask questions).
Put up a tent in the dark without directions.
Recognize the difference between fauvism, Impressionism, Neoclassicism, Romanticism (and other artsy-isms).
Tell a joke or entertain with a riddle.
Make a toast or give a short speech without sweating.
Make proper introductions (you know, who gets introduced to whom?).
Pick the correct shoe size.
Tell the difference between an antique and a reproduction.
Recite the current regulations for carry on luggage.
Take a quick nap in a chair (comfortably and without embarrassment).
Recognize names of Blues, Jazz, and classical musicians.

And last but not least- when your heart tells you the answer should be no, be able to say no, any time, any where, to any one, for any reason with out feeling bad about it.

Now, because you are a Texan, and excel at golf, I will leave you with the words of Roy McAvoy, the lead character in that classic Texas style golf movie "Tin Cup" -"Life is full of defining moments. When a defining moment comes, either you define the moment or the moment defines you."




Define your moments sweetie, and happy birthday!

A Goose, a Gander, and Some Real Fine Meandering

If you are a regular fan of my blog, you know that I recently spent a night out with some friends. We visited 18 Irish pubs and called it a early evening.

We gathered round my kitchen table with plates of potatoes, cabbage and lamb. ( OK, that sounded very Irish-y, but none of us would eat a lamb, so in truth we had the usual snack assortment). We cracked a few more bottles of Ale (finally! The designated driver gets another Guinness!) and I began dive into the deep philosophical psyche of my pseudo-Irish, under-the-influence friends.

At first it’s just a rambling, meandering, fast paced reel of things like- remember those fruit loops and sugar smacks in the little boxes you could cut open and pour the milk in, and don’t keep me outta the loop, I wanna know the poop, and why do they call it bat guano?

The conversation slows a bit as another round is opened and a jig replaces the reel, still on a jaunty note and meandering from this to that- I wanted a horse just like Mr. Ed and an uncle like My Favorite Martian, my yoga teacher beat the heck out of us this morning- wanna see the new move I learned? ( ankle behind neck, arms reaching for the ceiling), what the heck was my cat thinking when he sat in my windowsill pots of kitchen herbs, and have you been in that new gift shop up the street?

Then it turns into a slow Aire, full of emotion and expression of courageous deeds and times long past - remember the time we skipped high school to see the Grateful Dead? The school called our moms and although we arrived home at exactly the time we would have if we had taken the late bus and walked from up the block, they knew . What about that night we drove home in a blizzard, went off the road and didn’t freeze to death because, thank the lord, your mom left the porch light on and we were able to find the house once we got close.

Over time the conversation slows and burrows deeper. We are meandering into the realm of the very origin of Irish music, the single vocalist signing A Capella- a song from the roots of their being. One of my friends finds a lull in the conversation and announces-

“I’ve been thinking about this whole goose and gander thing”.
“What goose and gander thing?” I ask. (did I mention my friends tend to meander?)
“You know, the goose and gander thing. Did you know the female of the species is the goose?”

Now, I figure I can handle this, seeing how my friend has had 20 pints of Guinness and I’ve had but 2, and, as I really am of Irish descent, genetically I’m able to process Guinness faster than the average human and it doesn’t cause my mental capacity to be diminished by one iota.

“OK- yes, that’s interesting isn’t it?”
“The male of the species”, she continues,” is called the gander”.
“Hum, yes I think I have heard that", I say as I cautiously inch away taking my pint with me.
“So that old saying”, she proceeds between sips “what’s good for the goose is good for the gander?”

With a shrug and a roll of the eyes at my other friends, I tip toe onward, “Yes, that’s the saying as I remember it as well.”

“Some people”, she said, taking another sip, “some people, well they might think it means if the goose gets a pair of Manolo Blahnik or some Jimmy Choos, then the gander should have new shoes as well".

I’m trying to picture a big goose running around the yard in some Manolos. I may need another Guinness.

“And some might”, she continued “wonder why for so long, women resigned themselves to the idea that what was good for the gander, was good enough for the goose”.

Now I’m picturing a goose burning her bra. Definitely need another Guinness.

“I’ve been thinking about this and I believe I have found the true meaning to that old statement”, my friend says with a flourish as she waves her hand high.

Now she has everyone’s rapt attention. We all set our pints down and listen intently.

“It must mean that what ever the woman, judging with her heart, decides would make her happy, if the guy would just help her achieve it, well, her happiness would be so infectious that he would be happy as well.”

There is a long moment of silence, just as called for after a meandering A Capella performance. Everyone seems to be thinking deeply as the last note fades.

Hum, I never really thought about it before. “Yes, I believe you may be right with that fresh insight to an age old question!”, I proclaim as I lift my glass for a toast and we all clink, clink, and clink. There is laughter and applause and a whistle or two.

Then I realize I’ve found just the person to fill in for me when I’m on vacation and would like someone to meander on in my place.
“Talk about meandering!” I exclaim, “That was as classic a meander as I’ve ever heard! Can you be my blog ghost writer when I’m on vacation?”
“Ok” my friend replies” but first, mind if a take a little snooze on your couch?”
“Be my guest” I say as she settles onto the couch and falls asleep.

Beyond the Pale

This town has more Irish bars than Boston and Chicago combined. There is one on every corner. It’s the kinda town that has Guinness and Smithwick’s on tap all year around. It’s one of those places that you can get a shamrock on your Guinness even if it isn’t St. Patrick’s Day.

Around here it’s very fashionable to be Irish. Ya know how on St. Patrick’s Day everyone is Irish? Going round with “kiss me I’m Irish” buttons and those goofy green hats- well in this town, any day of the year you can ask someone’s name and have them reply- “me name is Paddy O’Martinez”, or “herself is Mary O’ Kczywinski”, or “I’tis Brendan O’Dusendorf”.

So a few nights ago I was out with a few friends. Our target was an Irish Bar that was hosting a fiddler’s weekend, and had a band from Canada playing. Now, you may not know this but Canada has some pretty fine traditional Irish bands. Canada also has some pretty fine non-traditional Irish Bands, techno-Irish bands, punk-Irish bands, modern rock-Irish bands, blue grass-Irish bands, classic rock-Irish bands and a few Rap-meets-Disco-Irish bands to boot.

So we get to the bar early thinking to stake out a good spot. But -by the saints- the place is already packed. It’s shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow, knee to knee and toe to toe. After cooing to a couple of “old dudes” who make room for us to get close enough to yell an order and stick a fist full of cash through the mass of humanity adhered to the bar, we are rewarded with three tall glasses of Guinness.

In the time it takes to drink them we are pushed and shoved and stepped on and elbowed and accosted by any number of roving Irish wanna-bes. Our ears are on the verge of bleeding the din is so loud, and the band hasn’t even started yet. The fire marshal(who’s probably Irish too) must be out of town because there are 654 more people in the place than there were when we ordered our Guinness, and that makes a total of 3278 people in a bar that the fire marshal’s sign says can hold 200.

Now, one of my friends starts getting a bit edgy. She’s not Irish. She’s not used to the amount of closeness among the Irish evident in the situation. She tries getting her back against the bar, but that is impossible. Next she tries to find a wall to back up to, but the wall space is taken. She hides in the rest room for a while, but even that is crowded. She ends up jumping up on the stage which is empty because the band still hasn’t arrived and it’s an hour past the time they were going to start. Pretty soon the whole lot of us are up on the stage and the crowd, apparently never having seen the real band before, thinks we are a Girl-Power-Retro-Glam-Irish Band.

The crowd is like a school of fish. The tip of the crowd near the stage decides we must be the band and the entire school of 3278 liquored up O’Bollingers and O’D’Adarios moves as one right up to the stage expectant and relieved that the band is finally starting. They whistle and clap and jostle around to get a better spot.

Then they seem to realize, in one large awakening moment, that we are not holding instruments. No, there’s nary a Uillean Pipe nor a fiddle in sight. What we are holding is almost empty Guinness glasses. A collective light bulb goes on over the crowd. They are not the band someone murmurs, and the murmur grows like wildfire as it spreads from O’Dingindorf to O’ Castillo and on around the bar.

Unfortunately, this incident of mistaken identity just served to alert the 3278 liquored-up- almost-Irish-previously-unaware ( gimme another Guinness) spectators to the fact that the band was not in the house and it was now an hour and a half past show time. The murmurs accelerate and changed into something like “where the *%*!#@%! is the %*&!^% ing band”. We figured this was the ideal time to exit stage left, which was just a few elbowed steps from the building exit.

Being early yet, we agreed to head towards the car, but on the way, pop into any pubs we passed, just to take a peek and have a quick Guinness. I was happy to be the designated driver because it turned out there were 17 Irish pubs along the 2 block walk back to the car. My pseudo-Irish party friends were three sheets to the wind by the time I delivered them safely to my front door where the “everybody’s-to-mature-to-take-unnecessary risks-and-try-to-drive-home” impromptu pajama party was about to begin. After all, the wee ones were tucked away with their Aunties and Nannas, the wolf hounds were fed, and the wind was howling across the bog. No need to go beyond the pale.

Say Hello to Monday

I woke to a noise, not a clang or a gong,
It sounded more like small voices in song-
It's morning I’m sure, there is sun through the curtain
That noise I’m hearing –it’s a song I’m quite certain
But why am I awakened by this wee little song-
I’m alone in this bedroom, no, wait am I wrong?

And that is when I saw them.

It was Monday morning, a week ago that I encountered the vision. It’s taken me a whole week to process this terrifying event and encase it in cryptic verse. I was minding my own business, getting a few extra Z’s before the week started.

I usually start Monday morning by giving thanks. Thanks for the warm bed I slept in, thanks for the roof over my head, thanks for the wonderful people in my life, you know, just to start the week in a positive frame of mind.

Well, this particular Monday I woke to a wee song, it started out low, and then it started to grow, and the room was filled with the sound of a vision, and there they were.

Da hoo dor-a, dah hoo dor-a
Welcome Monday, bring your light
Da hoo dor-a, dah hoo dor-a
Welcome in the cold dark night
Welcome Monday, ba hoo ram as
Welcome Monday, ba hoo ram as
Welcome Monday while we stand
Heart to heart and hand to hand
Welcome, welcome, da hoo dar-a
Welcome, welcome da hoo dor-a
Monday morning’s in our grasp
Long as we have hands to clasp

Every Who down in Whoville, the big and the small
Every Who down in Whoville, the short and the tall
Hands clasped in a circle, the notes just a ringing
Swaying to and fro, all those Who voices signing!

They were clear as day with their holly wreaths, big furry feet, and round little faces and big buggy eyes. I could see their furry butts, long feathery fingers and goofy bow ties. They were all there, everyone prismatic- the colors so bright - striped bellies, two toned tummies and spiky hair in a rainbow of colors. (Except of course, Cindy Lou Who-who was no more than two- she was almost human looking so I have to assume she was adopted- and what’s up with her feet? Does she have any or was she put up for adoption by mutant mermaids?).

Now, I’m not one of those people who loathes Mondays. In fact, I like Mondays. I actually take a few minutes out of my Sunday to make a list of things I want to accomplish in the next week. I like to hit the ground running on Monday, because I know that the more I get done on Monday, the more wiggle room I have at the end of the week, so mid-week, when the you- know- what starts hitting the fan, I’ve got it covered. I like to start the week off in a happy fashion.

But this, this was just too much. I was frozen with fear. Terrified by the implications.

How the hell did those Whos get in my house? Was I having a nightmare or did I eat a three decker toadstool sandwich with arsenic sauce from which I was suffering hallucinations? What would Freud say?

I hid under the covers and started my thanks, thank you for not making me a schizophrenic- You didn’t, did you? Thank you for my feet planted firmly on the ground, thank you for my sanity, thank you for the results of that recent brain scan that said I was perfectly normal.

I loosened the grip my lids had on my eyeballs and peeked out from under the covers. Nothing. It was quiet, they were gone, not a bistel bingler, or pan cuckler in sight to prove they had been here.

Now another Monday’s dawning, for me and for you
I hope on this Monday, you take a clue from a Who
If you’re one of those people, and get in that state
The start of the week, yes, Mondays you just seem to hate,
Take a moment to say thanks as the week ushers in
Let your heart grow three sizes and say "welcome" with a grin.

Aghast I Tell You, Aghast!

So I was real busy this past week, hardly had time to write a note to myself. In all the scuttling about I was having a bit of writers block. I mean, I was getting ideas alright, but I wasn’t able to sit right down, right then, and pay attention to them and they seemed to flutter away with indignation. When I did have time to sit down and pay attention, they were off on some exotic vacation. Yes, I jotted notes, but a note does not a blog article make.

Then, it seemed suddenly the ideas were gone. The well was dry. I was experiencing the proverbial writers block. Rather than fret I decided to take two hours off from the world and watch an old movie. Elizabeth Taylor, Paris, The 40’s, sounded just divine.

So I start watching and I realize right away this is a movie about regrets, as the star (Van Johnson) walks around Paris with a wistful look on his face. He’s remembering things lost. Well. OK, so it’s not a comedy or a light hearted romantic romp. Still, in the dark depth of someone else’s misery can’t one find redemption? (Wow- that sounded good didn’t it? I wasn’t really thinking that but hey, who would know, right? I was actually thinking dang, I picked a sad movie, it didn’t say sad on the cover). I decided to watch it anyway.

So I start getting into this movie and I am aghast (Aghast just popped in my head so I looked it up, the definition was “filled with consternation”- oh, that’s helpful. I looked up consternation, the definition was “surprise and anxiety or dismay” Perfect!), aghast I tell you, I was aghast to find that the central story line is about the failure of Van Johnson to become a successful writer!

OH you twisted fate! How could I have picked this movie? Could it be a joke of the Gods, are they sitting up there laughing?

I watched in aghast as the writer-guy typed ferociously, pencil in mouth for those frequent stops to cross out and note a change. (Can you imagine? No cut and paste? No spell check? ). Pile of crumpled papers at his feet growing.

Finally! He is finished. Celebration! Wine, song, dancing! But then, the rejections start coming in. No one wants his great novel. They all say Oh, very nice, but sorry, doesn’t fit our needs at this time.

Time passes in movie land, Liz and Van have a child, start getting older, he writes a few more novels. Rejections are raining down on him. They sprout up at every turn. They follow him relentlessly. No one wants his novel, nor his novel #2, nor novel #3. He’s loosing it. He turns to the booze.

At this point I pause the film and grab a bottle of wine and a glass- hey, at least I used a glass, he was swiggin’ right from the bottle!

In movie land the relationship is flowing down the drain; they both take up running around with party people. He can’t think of a sentence to put on paper, his well has been pumped dry from all the rejection.

OK, I’m fine I tell myself as I pour another glass, I mean, hey- I’ve only received about 168 rejections for my first book. And the second one? Well, that’s just a small handful- say 87. I’m sure my well is not dry dry; it’s just temporarily slightly evaporated. I heard that Margaret Mitchell had somewhere around 350 rejections for Gone With The Wind before it got picked up- do you think she was hitting the bottle? Wait, It’s only a movie for heaven’s sake!

So the grand finale is coming, the writer is careening around like a sports car that popped a tire on a tight turn. He gets drunk on a cold, dark, rainy, sleety, nasty weather night. The wife is out with a “friend” so he comes home, puts the chain lock in place and passes out on the stairs. She comes home, can’t get in, walks across Paris to her sisters, catches pneumonia and dies. Bummer.

Good Lord Almighty! Madre Di Dios! Is this the vocation I’ve chosen for myself? Is this what happens to rejected writers? Is this the result of the well going dry? Am I gonna end up on skid row, a rejected, alcoholic writer with an accidental murder conviction?

Calm, remain calm, it’s just a movie. A writer’s ghost, a vision from some (F. Scott Fitzgerald) twisted writers mind. I wonder how many times the MS (that’s Manuscript- for those of you who are not in the “biz”) was rejected? I wonder how many times the screenplay was rejected?

It’s just a movie. I’m sure my well is about to gush. At least I haven’t accidentally killed my loved one.

Send Samples

Ok, I'm already getting feedback in my e-mail box about my favorite chocolate post. Friends, relatives, strangers...please send your feedback to the comments section- don't be shy, we are all friends here!

Apparently I have less than stellular taste. I've committed grave errors in analyzing chocolate. My taste buds are all in my head. I wouldn't know good chocolate if I saw it on the street.

Chocolate fans are a devoted bunch, and they know what they like.
Now, if you happen to think I neglected to include some incredible very best chocolate, or you think you have found a better than anything on my list chocolate- Don't just send feedback, Send samples.

Maybe my list does need revising, maybe I just haven't tried the very best, maybe I'm chocolate ignorant! So help me out here.

Please send samples of the chocolates you feel I've neglected.
I will try any samples that ya'll want to send and get back to you in a new post about chocolate. I will announce the new winners, if their are any (note the subtle challenge here) by the end of the month. OK- on your mark, set, go! (to the chocolate store and to the post office!).

PS if you don’t have my address, e-mail me, I will send it to you.

Get Ready for Valentine's Day Chocolate Guide

Valentines Day is upon us and as far as I’m concerned that means it’s time to talk about chocolate.

Now, I would love to be the professional writer who gets an assignment like - taste all the premium chocolates on the market and write a nifty little article about the best ones.
I’m not a professional writer, and I don’t have an editor to give me a great assignment like that but hey- as my valentine to you, let me tell you what I’ve discovered in just a little searching.

Chocolate comes from the cocoa tree, it starts as a bean and is fermented, dried, pounded and made into a paste. Apparently the first chocolaholics were the Maya. Everyone, rich and poor, drank chocolate- the trees grew in the Maya region. They mixed the cocoa paste with chili peppers, cornmeal and other spices. They didn’t have sugar, so their cocoa was a bitter spicy drink.

Then the Aztecs arrived on the scene and took cocoa beans home. Because it was a fancy import, only the rich drank cocoa. Montezuma was reported to drink 50 cups a day, and his court consumed about 2000 cups a day! (How do those smarty pants archeologists know that?) The Aztecs drank their cocoa paste with vanilla and black pepper- they called it chocolatl.

Enter the Spanish who took the drink back to Spain, threw out the spicy stuff and added sugar and cinnamon. Remind me to call Haagen Dazs, their incredibly delicious special edition chocolate cinnamon ice cream should be called Spanish Chocolate, not Mayan Chocolate!

The Spanish seemed to have kept the lid on the cocoa for quite a while, but eventually Europe got wind of it and started making their own "white bread version" with sugar and milk. Chocolate snowballed from there, countries planted cocoa plantations and the industrial revolution made manufacturing easier. Now of course the next part of the chocolate revolution is occurring as science proclaims dark chocolate good for you and designer chocolates are being made in small shops all over the world.

Chocolate has signified devotion, passion, and health for centuries, and I think that does make it the perfect way to say I love you, to your self or someone else. To assist you in choosing just the right way to say I love you with chocolate, I’ve compiled this guide of my personal favorite ways to eat chocolate. Please Plagiarize!

When it comes to plain chocolate, I like the 70% cocoa, get into the 80-90% and I find it a little bitter. For a reasonable price, I think Lindt is one of the best. Compared to the 70% bars, milk chocolate and things like mass produced “chocolate” bars with fillings and crunchy things added are like eating a big block of sugar. The real chocolate flavor is lost, so why bother?

I love chocolate ice cream, and Haagen Dazs rules. Don’t boo! Let me explain! They make a killer Mayan Chocolate and the Chocolate Caramel swirl is pretty darn good to. Now, I know you all are gonna say Ben and Jerry’s, but they put to many chewy things in the ice cream. If God meant ice cream to have chunks in it cream would naturally freeze into cubes. Ok, Ok, I know some of you are thinking Blue Bell, but that’s hard to get in some places, and I’m sure there are other regional favorites as well, but I have to say, as much as I like homemade, I don’t think anyone does creamy chocolaty like Haagen Dazs.

When it comes to chocolates- meaning gobs of sweet stuff covered with chocolate, it’s Godiva all the way. Their Key Lime Truffles are the best, followed by any of their fruity in the center chocolates. I can do with out the chocolate on chocolate (to boring) and the chocolate on nut cream filling (their most popular, but in my book to bland.) Their hot chocolate is nothing to sneeze at either.

Now if you want to make your sweetie a chocolate surprise, make a cake. I will tell you how to make it with a dash of something extra that will warm the heart and lift the libido – does this sound like a scene from that movie Chocolat? Which, by the way is the perfect movie to share with your sweetie on Valentine’s day- that movie, a box of chocolates, a glass of a good spicy red wine and you will be set for an evening of romance!

Yes, I’m going to share the secrets to an extraordinary chocolate cake.
#1 Use only the best 70% or higher chocolate. Scharffen Berger is a good one; you can buy it in a block and grate it.
#2 - Red chili. Yes, red chili, preferably Hatch New Mexico hot. For all you Yankees reading, I’m not talking about chili with tomatoes, beans, meat and (GASP!) rice and a dash of chili seasoning. I’m talking about pure red chili pods dried and ground into powder.

Chili brings out the warm, earthy, raw flavor of the chocolate. Red chili, as the Mayans knew, and New Mexicans know, warms the heart and attracts love and passion. Try adding a few tablespoons of it to the cake batter and the frosting as well, you will see what I mean. If you follow this advice and use the best chocolate and red chili, it doesn’t really matter what cake recipe you use, your cake is gonna be the best your sweetie ever tasted.

Hope you get a bunch of chocolate for Valentine’s Day. Chocolate still signifies devotion, passion and health, and these are all wishes that should come from your self to your self . If you also get chocolate from a sweetie, well that’s just icing on the cake.

Speaking of Chocolate...

Remember that line from the movie Forrest Gump, where Forrest says his momma told him life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you are going to get? Well, I think it’s missing something-the second half of the line.

I recently bought a big box of chocolates. They were all pretty and yummy looking and I knew I was gonna love some of them and I would probably not care for some of them, but I was going to bite them all just the same.

And I did. I bite every one of them and I never did know what I was gonna get. Sometimes I was thrilled to find raspberry, mint, or caramel, some of my favorites. Other times I took a bite and found something that was good, but not great, like vanilla or chocolate cream. Those I put back. Then some times I got a bite of something that I really didn’t like, such as hazelnut or peanut or strawberry nougat, UCK. I spit out the bite as fast as I could and placed the rest of it back in the box.

Yes, back in the box. I was living every kid’s fantasy of taking a bite out of every chocolate in the box and being allowed to put the ucky ones back. When I was done with the box, which didn’t take long because I only ate what I really liked, about a third of them, I felt really happy with the candies I had eaten, and I was fine with the fact that I had tossed the rest of them out.

And I had discovered the missing line from Forrest Gump.
The complete line goes like this: Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you are going to get, but you can always spit it out if you don’t like it and pick another one.

If you need to practice letting go of what you don’t like, a big box of chocolates is a good place to start. Remember, just because you picked it up and took a bite doesn't mean you have to eat the whole thing. Now, spitting isn't always pleasant, in fact, you might consider it gross while you are in the process. Spitting often upsets the people around you, but don't you feel better after you "spit it out!" - Whatever it is?

In life, if you don't like the result of your choices, you can choose to move onto something that suits you better.

Oh, and if you liked Forrest Gump, try the 1970’s version, “Being There” starring Peter Sellers.

Jimmy Buffett, Margaritas and Beaches

OK, Y'all know I was thinking of beaches last week ( if you don't, go back and read TGIT? ) and the funny thing was, that very evening my friend called me and warned me that she was gonna drop by on her way home from work. Then she started talking about listening to Jimmy Buffett at work and how she was thinking about the beach and margaritas.

Talk about two people being on the same wave length!

Maybe we were having some kinda psychic connection or something, or maybe it's true that great minds think alike. Anyhow, she showed up at my house after work and had a couple of adorable margarita glasses in her hand- you know, the kind with the big cactus stem? Too Cute!

Anyway, I just happen to have a bottle of tequila, triple sec, some key lime juice, margarita salt and ice! Isn't that a strange concidence! Is this some amazing psychic phenomenon? Is it a case of the second sight? Some kinda leak of information from a parallel universe?

Is time just like a big old stack of pancakes that we can sometimes glimpse through and see the future? I don't know, but after a couple of margaritas we had all kinda theories.

Anyway, this post is for my friend and for everyone out there who is having a beach of a day. Come on back anytime ya feel like seeing the beach, and enjoy my photos of some of the beaches I've visited.

Big Island, Hawaii

Kona Coast Big Island, Hawaii

Long Island, New York

Oahu, Hawaii

Galveston, Texas

Cancun, Mexico

Key West, Florida

Isla Mujeras, Mexico

Oahu, Hawaii

Pensacola, Florida

Mensa Quiz- are you ready?

I've been fortunate in my life to collect a lot of friends. In fact, I've got so many friends I could probably easily spend the next 3 years just bumming around, sleeping on couches, raiding refrigrators and not doing nothin' at all, and I would see a large part of the world in the process.

Lucky me.

I was contemplating my friends the other day and in particular, my Mensa certified friends. Yes, you know, the smarty pants club. Some of my friends are members.

I'm thinking of one friend in particular. Very unassuming, you would never know looking at her that she's a genius. However, if you ask her a few hard questions and listen carefully you will get the idea there is something above average going on here. You do not want- I repeat- do not want to challenge this gal in a puzzle contest.

If you knew the number of times I've ignored good advice from this friend, you would understand why I'm not Mensa certified.

My mind meandered from her to all my genius -but -didn't -take -the -test friends, like my friend who is a rocket scientist. I just love going out with her (" well Mr. Smart Ass, as a matter of fact, she is a rocket scientist- and I'm a doctor, what do you do?") and the guy I know who figures out how to bounce lasers off weather systems and the guy who teaches advanced mathematics at the university level and the physicist who works with optics. All of them could be certifiable- oh, I mean certified.

Then I meandered on to my non-certified friends, the ones that wouldn't even think about taking the test but are "all smarty" just the same.

Like the entrepreneur who juggles 3 small business ventures, 2 teenage girls, 327 immediate and extended family members, 2 cats, a household, a church youth group, one ex-husband and a long distance relationship with a charming motor head. This lady still has time for prayers in the morning, home cooked dinner parties for her 327 immediate and extended family members ( on, I must add, 327 cute -as -a -bug vintage place settings), planting sunflowers, tending the garden and harvesting the seeds to store for winter baking projects.

She might not pass the Mensa exam, but put her eye to eye with a stranger and in five minutes she can ferret out a rat if there happens to be one hiding there. Does Mensa have a question to test an ability like that?

Well, that got me all curious, so I went out and got "Mensa Brain Bafflers" by PJ Carter and KA Russell. (" The Official Mensa Puzzle Book"! )

So, here is an example of what I found- This is gonna be fun, I mean, we are bright, aren't we?

Question 1: "How Old Is Mary?"
The combined ages of Mary and Anne are 44 years, and Mary is twice as old as Anne was when Mary was half as old as Anne will be when Anne is three times as old as Mary was when Mary was three times as old as Anne. How old is Mary?

Um, could you repeat the question? Is this an open book test?

Ok, let's move on, the next one looks easier-

Question 2 :"Dishes"
How many guests are there?" said the official."I do not know" said the cook, " but every two used a dish for rice between them, every three used a dish for broth between them, and every four used a dish for meat between them."There were 65 dishes in all, how many guests were there?

You gotta be kidding. Where are the warm up questions? Can I use a calculator?

Pretty much the whole book is like this. No, I did not find any questions to test your ability to negotiate a hectic lifestyle. No, I didn't find questions to measure you ability to be compassionate, although I find my Mensa friends seem to have both qualities.

I did not find questions that would measure your ability to answer the big important questions in life. But who knows? Maybe being able to ponder these comlicated problems, reguardless of whether or not you get the answer, can effect your ability to ponder your maker, or the reason you love someone, or how to handle the stress in your life. Maybe it's not the answer, but the pondering that really measures your intellegence. Or maybe it's just the fact that you would take the time and effort to ponder at all.

Then I start looking at my friends as a group and they all have a few things in common. Like a predilection for dry humor, and the ability to laugh at themselves. Like adventurous natures, open minds, and a willingness to take risks. They are comfortable with change and have the ability to empathise with others. They seem to ponder a lot. My friends are generous in nature, and certified, certifiable, or not, they are a bunch of smart, interesting people.

So, I will say it again, Lucky me.

PS Mary is 271/2 years old, and there were 60 guests (65x12/13=60)
Anyone with an IQ score in the top two percent of the population can join Mensa
(yes, they test you)- for more info go to www.us.mensa.org