Not China Made

Hey, I just found this great site that has lists companies and sites that feature products Made in the US. http://notchinamade.net/ Check it out, I added an active link down there, yes, down on the right hand side of the screen, yes go a little further down to my "meander over here a while" section which contains links to sites.

From The Same Flame.

I went to see “Horton Hears a Who” this week, and it was like licking a windowpane and I don’t mean the kind in your house if ya get my drift. If you don’t, well lets just say it was very colorful. I don’t remember the book really well, it was so long ago, but I can’t recall the part where the little yellow thingie (what ever it was) told Horton that she had an imaginary world where all the inhabitants were ponies that ate rainbows and pooped butterflies. Maybe I just don’t remember that part or maybe the film makers elaborated a tad. I did think it was interesting and entertaining imagery. Horton started questioning whether there might be something bigger than himself somewhere up above and that possibly his whole world was just a speck teetering on the edge of some huge flower. Yes Horton, we have all been there. So I was drifting off to sleep last night, with my bestest cat wrapped around my head like a furry thinking cap, and pondering that giant elephant in the sky. It got me to considering how we end up with our furry little friends. I imagined a huge being pulling hot coal out of the universal fire. The big being fanned the coal until a flame sprang forth. That was the human soul created. The being knew the heart of the human would long to return to the creator and would be lonely wandering the universe waiting for that day. The being felt compassion for the humans loneliness and decided to give the human a gift. The being held the flame in one hand and with the other pinched off a little piece of the flame and sent it spinning around the central flame. Like a little planet of fire orbiting a torch. Then the big being blew on the pair and sent them spinning off into the universe, one human and one pet soul, from the same flame. I think the being knew that the pet would not live as long as the human, and in making them from the same flame the being made them eternally inseparable. The pet soul would always return to the flame it was born of, life after life, and there by teach the human soul the truth of impermanence of all things and the true nature of love, ever changing but never ending. The human soul could also learn, if it were willing, the lesson that Horton and his friends learned. To be kind to all, for a soul is a soul, no matter how small.

My Own Good Advice for Writers- Part 4

I woke in the middle of the night, just drifted out of sleep really. There was no mysterious noise or startling dream to awaken, I just surfaced from the very top point of the sleep cycle. Yes, every hour you submerge and descend to a depth of really sleeping sound and ascend to the shimmering light of just barely asleep in a circle, over and over as you flop around under your bedsheets, (on the average,40 times) through out the night.

When you hit that ice burg tip of floating in the nightness, you often just wake slightly, for a moment. You may or may not remember it the next day. Even if you don't wake totally as you ascend toward wakefulness and the reality of your bedroom, (or someone else's bedroom, the living room, dorm room, hotel room, back seat of your car or the cardboard shack in rail town or the park bench you are sleeping on - really folks, we are all the same, all one-) your unconscious mind takes a minute to survey your surroundings.

Like the proverbial Loch Ness monster, your unconsciousness lifts its head from the water of sleep, stretches it's long neck upward and sniffs the breeze with nostrils the size of oranges. The mist filled night of your dreams shakes loose for long enough that you are able to discern if there is a threat in your immediate area.

Searching right and left, sniffing, listening, your unconscious mind classifies all the scents and all the noises and every little thread of the fabric of reality that surrounds you.

Click Click Click, all of it snaps into place and into categories like car passing, light from street, cats thundering up and down the stairs playing. All is well in your space, no intruders, no threats and no smoke. Your unconscious mind swings to and fro as it does one last check with quivering nostrils. It sniffs the air around you one last time then it slowly starts to submerge, long neck and shimmering skin and eyes that glitter with the light of your soul, it disappears under the surface of your descent to deeper sleep and the start of another cycle/circle.

As I was saying, I woke and as often happens in the clarity of just awakening, I had the best idea for an article pop right in my head. Three main concepts followed by a few gags that needed polishing and a final thought to tie it all together just flitted ( yes it's a word, meaning to fly or move lightly and quickly) right into my mind. I had an ah-ha moment, and thought of the accolades and awards an article of such brilliance and insight would bring me. I reached for a pen on my bedside table and found none. I declined to jump out of my cozy cave under covers to go in search of a pen. I burrowed deep and told myself there was no way I could forget such an incredibly outstanding idea. I joined my Loch Ness monster in the deep shimmering depth of my own sleep.

I can't for the life of me remember what my brilliant article was about. So, my own good advice for writers is to have a pen and paper near the bed. If you don't, make yourself go get one because you may not remember your award winning idea in the morning.

Did You Know...

If I were in Tibet, I would go to jail for a long time just for posting this photo or having this bumper sticker.







God Bless America!

I'm getting all political on ya, but don't worry, it's just a reaction to tax time.

The following post contains political commentary some (conservative and liberal) might find offensive. Continue at your own risk.

When I woke this morning my mind went directly to meandering into the events on my calendar for today. Or should I say the event. Yes, in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s that time of the year again. Tax time.

For those of you who draw a paycheck, get a w2 in the mail, scribble a few numbers on a e-z file sheet and pop it in the mail, tax time is no biggie. In fact, I know ya’ll hit the post office by the end of January and eagerly await your money back. I always wonder why this elicits so much joy, I mean, it’s not like the government is giving you a gift, it’s your money. Your money that the government borrowed with out interest I might add. Wouldn’t it be better to just put that money in an interest bearing account and then pay the government at the end? I don’t know, that’s just me.

Anyway, for those of us who are self employed, tax time is a whole ‘nother story. I have boxes of files, reams of paper, ledgers and receipts and notebooks. I have 327 categories for deductions and 857 receipts to match each one. I have 7 different forms and schedules to fill out and honestly, the whole thing is so complicated I have to hire an accountant to fill out the papers. The problem, of course, is that I have to have the numbers all carefully tucked away in their proper places so the accountant knows what goes where.

Personally, I think we should have a tax system based on what you spend, not what you make. You know, that theory was bouncing around a few years ago, I think it was called a luxury tax. If this were the current tax system, I wouldn’t be spending the whole day sorting through receipts. I would just turn in the stack of receipts from the liquor store and call it a day.

Now, I don’t mind paying taxes, I understand we have to have some money laying around to help those who really need help. I have no problem with making sure the elderly and the disabled have enough to eat and a place to live. I do however mind paying to care for people who could work but don’t.

It appears there are plenty of people living off my taxes who do so just for the hell of it. I've met a lot of people living on disability who were definitely fit enough to be working. My solution to that? Well, why don’t we just say that if you are physically able to work,and you still apply for benefits, then your benefits are based on your previous taxes paid. If you have never worked, and could have, you don’t qualify. If you are "disabled" you have to prove it and the testing is not done by doctors ( who make money off disability office visits) but by marine drill sergeants.

Now I know that opens a whole can of worms, but hey, it’s just my opinion.

Worried about the jobless? Well, lets all quit buying cheap junk made in China and insist on American made everything. Lets bring manufacturing back to the US and put these people to work. They can report to the factory instead of the benefits office each morning. Now, it may not be great work, but it’s a paycheck that doesn’t come out of my hard earned taxes.

Worried about the high cost of American made goods? I think the prices would go down if we brought manufacturing back and honestly, how many two dollar plastic gadgets made in a country that poisons our pets and kills Buddhist Monks do you need? Would one twenty dollar gadget make do if you knew it would reduce your tax burden by a large margin? Would you rather pay twenty dollars in taxes so some guy could sit on his butt watching TV all day except for his quick run to the mail to get his monthly unemployment check or would you rather pay twenty dollars for an item made in America?

Now some say the luxury tax would not support our government. Well, it would if they were more accountable for spending. I do not like my taxes being spent on war. I especially don’t like it when billions of tax dollars are spent to kill and be killed, meanwhile, my disabled from birth sister gets a measly few hundred dollars a month in benefits to live on. Something is wrong here. I think war is one of the things that politicians should pay for out of their own pockets. If they vote yes they should put their entire salaries into the pot.

Here’s a novel idea, why not make it mandatory that if we go to war, we have to use nuclear force? Wait, hear me out before you think I’ve lost it. How many politicians would want to go on record as saying yes to nuking somebody? How many American military lives would be saved if we never put troops on the ground? How many countries would try to kick our ass if they know there was just one way we would retaliate? I think it could be the start of some real peaceful times, and we would save a lot of tax money by not going to war.

I also do not like my taxes spent to care for undocumented residents. Now, don’t get me wrong, the US was founded in compassion for the “huddled masses”, and some of my own relatives were “off the boat”. They did however, come in the front door not the window. They went to work and paid taxes too. I say invite anyone to come in, but they must come in the front door and become citizens, and pay their share of taxes. If and when they really need help they qualify. Again, benefits are based on your previous taxes paid. If you have never worked, and could have, you don’t qualify.

I also don’t like paying taxes to support a bunch of people in prisons. My answer to this problem? If they killed, they get the chair, no questions asked. If they were white collar crime, we put them to work for the government where all the other white collar criminals are only they don’t get paid, they get room and board. All those violent but didn’t kill criminals? They get the chain gang and start rebuilding the infrastructure that once made this country great. All those people who are in jail for minor infractions, put them to work in the fields growing food so we don’t have to import so much. There will be no more sitting on your ass in jail for anyone. That right there would save so much tax money our tax rate would drop by 50% immediately

You know, I think it says in the constitution that we can’t be taxed twice. Wasn’t that the whole idea behind the constitution? To set up a democracy where the people are taxed fairly and represented well? Hum, seems to me that I’m being taxed on my earnings, and then taxed again at a state level on my earnings, then taxed again when I buy something, I pay county government taxes, town government taxes, taxes for water and sewer services, fire department taxes, school taxes,and library taxes and hell, that feels like being taxed more than once. Something’s fishy about all that.

Oh, I also heard that there is something about no tax without representation in the constitution as well. So I came up with another novel idea to solve that problem. Why not tax only those people whose political candidate wins the presidential election? I mean, my candidate never wins, so I don’t feel represented, so why do I have to pay taxes? Picture this: Everyone, and I mean everyone, registered to vote. If your candidate wins you pay taxes during their term. If your candidate looses you don’t. Simple,yes?

Honestly, if we just implemented a few of my suggestions the government would not have to be handing out economic stimulus checks, your taxes would be lower than ever and everyone who could work would be working. Now if I can just get my tax documents tied up in a neat little bundle as fast as I just solved the problems with the US government, I would have all day to relax!

Oh, and in case you forgot how it goes,
"I pledge allegiance to the Flag, of the United States of America, and to the Republic, for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."

Something to Think On

I’ve been reading Kurt Vonnegut’s first novel, Player Piano. It’s beautifully written. It was published in 1952 and is Kurt’s farsighted portrait of a society where machines have taken over the jobs of humans, leaving most of the population with nothing to do.

However, in the story, you can’t do “nothing”, so if your intelligence tests don’t define you as one who would be good at managing the machines, you are sentenced to life as a member of the lower caste. The lower caste is given most everything they need, including a TV in every room of their home and all the latest electronic gadgets, and kept busy doing grunt work. The challenge for them is to invent something meaningful to do in their lives. They reminisce about “when work was meaningful”.

Meanwhile the main character, who is among the ruling class, becomes painfully aware of the illusion of his existence and decides he’s not really living at all, just managing ( and not very well) to put up with his artificial existence.

It’s interesting that Kurt could see so far into the future and predict the real internal issues of our time. The book is 341 pages and what really struck me was this tiny part:

The main character is being questioned (with the help of a lie detector) as to his real opinions and motives, there is some question among the judges as to whether the lie detector is working. They ask him to state something false. He does and the detector goes to false. Then they ask him to say something true and he says “The main business of humanity is to do a good job of being human beings, not to serve as appendages to machines, institutions, and systems.” The lie detector agrees he is telling the truth.

I thought wow! A rare gem of truth set in a circle of high quality story telling, and really, something to think on.

Code Blue! My computer has cooties!

So I’m minding my own business, getting ready to work for the day. I turn on the computer and turn to the coffee making. My computer is in the kitchen, I find this is just so convenient when I need a cup of coffee, or want to check e-mail while I’m making dinner. Besides that, I can easily swivel my chair, roll a few feet and forage through the refrigerator with out ever leaving my seat.

I’m grinding the beans when I glance back at the screen to see how close I am to lift off. I am alarmed to find a message that doesn’t belong there. Something about Microsoft wanting to inspect and fix something or other which may have been damaged by a power outage. I’m scanning my own files to recall a power outage and realize the thing is ticking! It’s asking me to accept or decline in the next 20 seconds or it goes off automatically. The only problem is I’ve spent 19 and ½ seconds reading the screen and trying to figure out why that Windows flag is not the right color. Kaboom! Off it goes and I see it’s deleting!

Code Blue! I dive across the kitchen and hit the power off and shut her down, not knowing for sure if this will really help or not. What the heck- now if I turn her on what happens? Madre de Dios! I try to crush the panic rising in my gut. I’m not successful. I start running around the house screaming to myself, code blue! code blue!, while I search for my old issue of Psychology Today that has the great article on a new field of psychology.

There are actually psychologists who specialize in working with people who are experiencing separation anxiety from their computers when they are involuntarily unplugged. Turns out, they experience the 5 stages of grief identified with the loss of a loved one. I’m thinking I might need to call one of the people on their list of experts.

Meanwhile I’m cussing the software makers and the damn psychos who find it entertaining to plant things that wreak havoc on the internet. It appears I’ve skipped the first stage of grief - denial- and jumped directly to the second stage, anger. I try not to take it personally, I know it’s just chance, luck of the draw, but I’m pissed anyway. Why don’t these people channel their energy and intelligence into curing cancer or solving the age old riddle of why Twinkies have a half life longer than Krypton? (and by the way, if we know that energy is never destroyed, only changes form, where the heck are those bits of Twinkie going?) Why do these people have to f**k with the internet, and by extension, my computer?

I’m not having any luck finding that magazine and I return to the kitchen and the first stage of grief - denial.

Maybe it wasn’t a bug, maybe it was Microsoft doing something, I mean, sometimes it’s hard to tell, these machines are always doing something when you are not looking. I know that because I read Michael Crichton’s novel “Prey”. I don’t leave my computer running when I’m sleeping anymore. And I leave a night light on.

Maybe I should turn the computer back on and take another look. So I do and sure enough the message comes up again. The bomb is re-loading its self and I panic again. This time, however, it does not take me 19 and ½ seconds to read the screen so I click on deny.

I thought about my computer use and the last thing I opened before I shut down last night. A letter from a friend. I wondered if it was possible I got cooties from her? I called and asked her how her computer was running, but she had not been on line that morning. I tried calmly explaining the situation and urged caution when she went to fire it up, not even sure that caution would work.

My friend, noting the anxiety in my voice promptly went into action in my defense. She just happened to be in a church and she went right to stage three of grief, which is bargaining, for me. She said “call you right back” and hung up. She dropped to her knees, said ten Hail Marys, sprinted to the alcove and lit a candle asking Holy Mother Mary to intervene on my behalf.

She called me back and assured me that our Devine Mother was standing at my right hand ready to assist. I thought that possibly I should offer something up, you know, the other part of the whole bargaining thing, so I did. Can’t tell you what it was, it’s kinda like a birthday wish when you blow out the candle, if you share your wish it won’t come true. I said my thanks and promised my friend an update later in the day.

Then I started pacing around the kitchen, chanting WWJD? WWJD? WWJD?
No, not that J, I’m referring to my friend Jim. Jim is one of my Mensa certified type genius friends, and a really great guy. He also happens to be very skilled when it comes to computer related issues, he was the one who taught me how to add memory, change out drives, search effectively, stuff like that, and the guy does not panic. Seriously, he doesn’t panic.

One time we were driving to Santa Fe to ski and the transmission started to go on his truck. Me, I would have hyperventilated. But Jim, he was cool as the proverbial cucumber, he just took an exit off the highway, coasted into the dealership, which happened to be right off the exit (maybe he’s a lucky guy who does not panic), gave them the keys and a credit card and asked them if he could borrow a car big enough to put our skis in. Twenty minutes later we were headed up the mountain, skis stuffed in the back seat, and he had not even wrung his hands once.

WWJD? He would review all pertinent data, using Ockham’s Razor. Ockham's Razor is the principle proposed by William of Ockham in the fourteenth century: ``Pluralitas non est ponenda sine neccesitate'', which translates as ``entities should not be multiplied unnecessarily''. The Razor directs us to study in depth the simplest of the theories relating to any question, meaning we usually find that the simplest explanation is most likely correct. So, I had to admit that the pertinent data pointed to the fact that my computer had a serious case of the cooties. I skipped the fourth stage of grief, which is depression, and went right on to the fifth and final stage - acceptance.

I could accept the infection theory, knowing it was most likely true. I could also accept the fact that this was beyond my skill level. What I needed was a professional! I searched my memory and realized I had recently met a professional and I had a contact that could supply me with the professional’s number. I got on the phone and made a date to drop my baby off for a tune up. I was nervous, no doubt, I mean, I didn’t really know this professional. I did have a solid referral though and sometimes that is the best you can do. It’s very similar to going to a doctor, you just hope your friend who gave you the referral was really cured and not just in a short remission.

At this point you have probably assumed that all this meandering has come about because the professional was successful. That would be correct. Less than a week later I’m meandering like crazy, making up for lost time. My computer seems happy and healthy, I've recovered from my 5 days going "cold turkey" unplugged, and I've learned to recognize the 5 stages of grief. I'm sure that will come in handy someday. I've also learned a better way to back up data, I've made a new friend who knows his way around a computer,and I learned that I do have a following, thanks to the calls I got from people asking what was up, why hadn't I posted lately. All is well in meandering-ville.

Sunday Night

I'm still having "computer issues", someday I will tell you all about it. My machine is running at the speed of mole-asses in January. Tomorrow I will set up an appointment to take her in for a tune up sometime this week, so I may not post again for a few days. I did finish part three of Hollywood Insider for your reading enjoyment.

Hollywood, an insiders view- or how I ended up standing next to and taking direction from Ron Howard.

If you did not read parts one and two, go back, or I should say down, to the previous posts and read them first.

So we all gathered around to find out what our work for the rest of the day would be. First off, the keepers began, you have 10 minutes to do anything you need, such as use a restroom, smoke a cigarette or make a phone call. You will not have another opportunity to do any of these things again until we are done shooting, and there is no way to tell when that will be. It could be as much as nine hours, when dark falls, so do what you need to do now, meet us back here in 10.

Holy mackerels, no chance to hit the loo for nine hours? Outta the way, I’m coming through! How do they expect us to…oh, wait, it’s a movie set, we are officially professionals now and if the cast and crew can do it, so can the extras. I was trying to toughen up for the experience but my eye wandered to the back part of the lot where the huge motor homes were. Apparently if one of the stars or the director needed a potty break, it would be managed in luxuriant fashion and I bet nobody tells Tommy Lee he can’t take a leak if he needs to.

Ten minutes later the keepers explained that we were to become the town’s folk on an afternoon when the carnival was expected to come through town. The shops are full; it’s a happy, exciting, holiday atmosphere day for the people of this sleepy little town. This I guessed was the background information we all needed to get “into character”. They were setting the mood for us, there would be no extras walking around with frowns, or looking sad, we were to be jovial.

The mood was set, now the parts were cast. The keepers split us up, you three are friends in the scene, always stay together talking and laughing. You four are a family in town to see the show; you will be patiently waiting the carnival and wondering at all the improvements in the town since your last visit. You sir, are going to be walking with the dog and his trainer, just visiting, stay with the dog all day. Now all of you are my “street people”, so follow me. And away went the three friends, the family of four and the dog trainer’s friend. Presumably the dog and his trainer were in another holding tank for the talented animal stars in the film. The trainer’s friend would hook up with them on the street.

The second keeper split off another group of us and proclaimed us the “window people”. I was paired with a dapper looking gentleman; we were both the height of urban fashion for the day. We were “husband and wife going for a stroll”. We were to walk arm in arm, chatting and laughing. Other members of our group included a pair of “sisters on the way to the market”, a “cowboy and his horse”, (which galloped up behind us take after take after take) and a “young mother and her son walking to the square”.

We were escorted to the set and handed over to our director, a young lady with headphones. She explained that an important scene was being filmed right inside that building there and we would be walking by the window in the scene. We would be visible on film behind the main characters when all was said and done. She then gave us our “marks”. This means she showed us where to start from and where to go to when they called “action!” We were to return to our start point as soon as she called “cut!”, and be ready to go again. This is exactly what we did for the next five hours. We walked up and down that street so many times I lost count. Between takes we had time to visit, tell stories, and generally get to know each other. “My husband” was a very nice writer from Santa Fe who had worked on other movies.

Now, I must say the director did try to mix it up a bit, she had us do a few takes where we walked up the street and then crossed it, we walked up the street, stopped and chatted with another extra, we walked up the street and up onto the sidewalk, we walked up the street and jumped back when a horse and wagon sped by. So we did have some variety you see. Meanwhile the special effects guys and the lighting guys were scurrying back and forth between each take, changing light screens, angles, bulbs and adding water ( big trucks watering the street) to keep the dust down.

Now, this of course was funny because in New Mexico in the spring you are going to have some dust, and sure enough about mid afternoon one of our famous dust storms rolled across the plain. The US southwest has dust storms that will sand the paint right off your car. Those are rare, but even the everyday dust storms are nothing you want to be outside for. So the dust clouds started rising and all us sensible New Mexican extras were wondering when they were going to call it quits and let us go inside for a while, but those crazy California film makers were just enthralled with our dust storm and even said “ It’s so authentic! What a look! We love it!”.

Yeesh! These guys are nuts is what I was thinking as I pulled my cute Victorian bonnet tight around my head and covered my face with my shawl. Honestly, the storm was so bad I had to remove my contact lenses; there was too much dust in the air to wear them. I had dust up my nose and for days after I was digging dust out of my ears and I was wearing a bonnet! The storm lasted about two hours and they did take the animals inside for breaks from it but we extras stayed in our scenes the whole time.

Soon after the dust storm we did have a little excitement on the set. The “extras directors” came around and told us Tommy Lee was expected and not to talk to him or look at him or swoon over him or pay him no mind a’tall. He was going to be crossing the street and we were not, I repeat, not to stare at him. He was “just another town’s person going about his business”. Ok, I can do this, I mean it’s not like it’s Hugh Grant or Russell Crow or John Chusak, it’s just Tommy Lee, who is just about the cutest Texan I ever saw except for Matthew McConaughey of course. I’m a acting professional now for heavens sake!

So walk he did, across the street and into the sheriff’s office, right in front of me. He was every bit as tall and handsome as he looks on film. He was in character of course, so some of that confidence he exuded may have been an act. I noted him, as you would someone who crosses the street in front of you. I’m an acting professional by now of course, so I had to note him. I did not stare, drool, or swoon. My “husband” hardly even noted him and I’m guessing noting Tommy Lee is a “girl thing”. I also noted that Tommy Lee is such a talented professional they only had to film him walking across the street one time. They did not have to do 367 takes for him to get it right.

The rest of the afternoon wore on, us walking up and down the street. The extra directors yelling “action!” and “cut!”. The lighting and special effects guys scurrying about. The extras walking up and down the streets. The whole set had settled into its pace and though we could not see it, we could feel that we were contributing to the real action which was painstakingly being committed to celluloid for eternity inside the sheriff’s office.

Anyway, we had taken 3726 strolls up and down the sidewalk and finally were given a break to sit a minute. We were instructed to stay on the board walks, don’t wander off, don’t take off your costume and yes, there is a porta potty behind the general store and big cooler of drinks behind that large wagon. Be ready to resume working in 10 minutes. My gosh I think we were all so glad to step out of character for a moment and drink, pee, smoke, do yoga postures and just relax. It takes an amazing amount of concentration to follow a director for seven hours and we were all feeling the strain.

During our break some “extra wranglers” (I made that up, I just figure if the people who keep track of the animals can be called wranglers, than so can the people who keep track of the extras) came round and took Polaroid photos of us extras, and got our names and phone numbers so they could identify and contact us “in case we have to do a scene again and you are part of the background”. By that time my feet hurt from those almost-but-not –quite-my-size Victorian boots, my ribs and lungs hurt from the corset, my eyes hurt from the dust storm, and I was praying they didn’t mess up a scene I was in and have to bring me back for another grueling 16 hours the next day.

I guess you could say I was becoming a bit disillusioned with the whole Hollywood thing. Yes, it was interesting, but it was a lot of repetition and a lot of hurry up and wait. It was a long day becoming longer as each hour past my dinner time went by. I knew they had a whole barn full of snacks right across the lot, but they might as well have been on mars, I couldn’t get to them!

During our break a whole new set of characters arrived on the set. A complete traveling circus/sideshow with Snake oil wagon, a dancing bear, jugglers, gypsies and a guy on stilts dressed up like Uncle Sam. The dancing bear wasn’t real, after all, this is just a movie set, and it was an actor in a costume. Darn, I would have liked to be on the set with a real bear.

The sun was getting lower when the directors came and gathered us around to prep for the last scene.The fair citizens of this small frontier town were about to be treated to a sight that was rare. They were to be entertained by a traveling circus. The circus would announce its arrival by a parade through town, and then it would start to set up at the field. We, the jovial, excited and happy towns folk were to gather on the streets to watch the parade go by, waving to the dancing bear and laughing and making exclamations of joy and wonder. OK, the scene is set, we have our motivation, and we have our marks. My “husband” and I stand with the sun to our backs right at the crossing of the two streets. We are joined by a crowd of other towns’ folk and the parade begins.

Now the set is in a frenzy. We’ve done 15 takes already, the sun is setting; we are loosing the light and each time we do a take the whole parade has to hustle back around the backside of the set, re-group and start down the road to town again. At dusk the word goes round that this is about it folks, one more time and we are going to have to “wrap”. On your mark everyone. And then, it was then, just then that the door to the sheriff’s office, the building right behind me, opened. I turned at the sound and out strode Ron.

Yes, Ron Howard. In jeans, a jacket and a baseball cap he looked just like an older version of Opie Taylor. He walked right up next to me and started talking with the mobile camera guy. I was looking at Ron, but trying not to stare because by now I was a professional and seeing stars up close was old hat and and and… It was surreal…I felt like I was in a movie…Oh, wait, I was in a movie and not just any movie, but one directed by Ron Howard! It seemed, well,… odd to be standing next to someone I had been watching on TV my whole life. From Opie Taylor to Richie Cunningham to director in the news, Ron had been a part of my life for years. He was so familiar I thought I knew him.

My feet quit hurting, my lungs and ribs quit hurting and my eyes, well I guess they started to tear up a bit and the sand was washed away and they quit hurting too. There I was, working with and standing next to Academy Award winning child star/actor/director Ron Howard.

Then the unbelievable happened, Ron took a speaker and stood on the steps to the general store and thanked all us extras for doing such a great job. He told us how important we were to his film and how much he appreciated our patience, as film making took a lot of time. He asked us to be patient for a few more minutes, and then we were doing our last take. Then he started directing us, the lowly extras.

Ron asked us all to gather in a little closer for this scene, “be neighbors” he said, “it’s your town”. He asked for just a little more waving and smiling as the snake oil wagon went round the corner. He asked a few children to run after the wagon and a few parents to run after the children. He asked us to turn to one another after the wagon went by, as if to say “did you see that?” He thanked us again, and climbed down from the steps. He spent a few more moments with the mobile camera guy, explaining the angle he wanted to get on Uncle Sam, and then he disappeared into the sheriff’s office.

The final take went smooth, some one yelled “cut and wrap”, the sun set and all us actors ( notice we aren’t extras any more, we’ve taken directon from Ron Howard, we are actors now) headed back to the big barn to collect long ago abandonded cell phones, books, backpacks and toys. We climb on the bus that takes us off the lot, back to the entrance, costume and make-up area, back to the big tent of food, which, at this point is depressingly empty of caterers and food.

We are instructed by our keepers to head right for costume, change to our street clothes then report to hair so they can brush our hair out. We have plenty of keepers at this point, to help us remove our costumes and make sure no one steals anything. We are told we are not to remove a thing from the area, not even a hair pin. (I have to admit I removed a few of those hair pins, I had to because you are not going to believe the huge industrial size bobby pins these Hollywood types own, they even worked in my hair).

I am feeling a little tired and a little meloncoly as well, and I think I’m not alone. I see it in others eyes as they take off those high collar Victorian dresses and slip back into jeans. I hear it in the voices of people who were family for the day and now say a fond farewell.I feel it in the cool New Mexico night as I wave goodbye to my “husband” and the “dog walker” and head for the parking lot. It’s a long drive home after dark and I have plenty of time to think about the day.

I make a note to self to call Joyce and thank her for giving me the opportunity to be in Ron’s movie. I wonder when it will come out (about a year later) and I wonder if I will end up on the cutting room floor. I wonder if someone kept messing up in the sheriff’s office because we shot that scene so many times. I wonder if it was Tommy Lee, and I immediately dismiss the idea. It must have been someone else. I wonder what it would be like to live out on the plain where the set is, with such a big beautiful open sky and no light pollution. I wonder when I will have a chance to make another movie.

A few weeks later I get a check in the mail from the movie company. I almost don’t cash it. I want to put it in my scrap book. I compromise, I make a copy before I cash it.

Howdy Crazy Aunt Purl

My favorite blog that I follow on a regular basis is Crazy Aunt Purl.

http://www.crazyauntpurl.com/

(I added a link, look in the "meander over here a while" section)

Crazy Aunt Purl has really been an inspiration to Weird Old Aunt Meandering, especially when Crazy Aunt Purl was answering questions about how she got her book Divorced, Drunk and Covered With Cat Hair published. It turns out she was writing and writing and writing her blog and the publisher came to her. I was stunned and elated to hear this, I didn’t know publishers came to anyone and I figured if she could do it, I could too and I ran right to the computer and started a blog.

I enjoy Crazy Aunt Purl’s cat photos, and TV personality photos and her stories that often start crazy and end sane. I also enjoy her weather reports. Crazy Aunt Purl lives in LA or there abouts and sometimes she posts photos of the horrible weather they have, like when the sky spits and they actually have a drop or two of rain, ( yes, she’s posted photos of a drop or two of rain on the windshield or sidewalk), or when - heaven forbid- they have a cloudy day.

So I was thinking about Laurie ( aka Crazy Aunt Purl) this morning, wondering what she would say if her weather report for the start of the second week of March looked like mine:

Snow squalls, mainly before 6pm. Cloudy, with a high near 23. West wind between 18 and 25 mph. Chance of precipitation is 100%. Total daytime snow accumulation of 5 to 7 inches possible.

No, I’m not gonna post a photo, believe me folks, ya don’t want to see it!
Now people here don't rush around yelling "the sky is falling" when weather like this occurs, they just put on another sweater, fire up the pellet stove and talk about the winter of '93 which was really bad.

Personally, I'm a transplant and I say enough all ready! It's March, let it go and let's get on with spring. I’m tired of the boots and hats and mittens. I've had enough of the snow shovels, rock salt and windshield scrapers. I want to open the windows and breathe fresh air again. I want the sun to come back. Good thing I'm not a Mayan, or I would be sacrificing people left and right looking to appease the sun god and get it to return.

I think it's interesting to note that the worst weather of this northern winter comes when the light is returning. Not in the darkest dark of the shortest days of the year, but when the days are getting longer and the sun is on its way back. If I was Joseph Campbell I would say something about the myths of a struggle between dark and light, good and evil.

I would meander on about the bad weather being some kinda metaphor, how as we reach to become more enlightened beings our darkest coldest side often appears just as we think we are making the transition to enlightenment. Our dark side tries to draw us back into the winter of our soul. But, as any myth reader knows, with perseverance and patience and planning the "light" prevails and leads us from the dark to something warmer in ourselves. Spring comes.

"Computer Issues"

Hi Everyone out there in blogdom. Normally I would be posting some incredibly insightful writing today, however I am having "computer issues". The time I would have spent finishing my Hollywood post this morning was spent on "Computer issues". Check back this weekend, by then all should be well in my world, and you will find a new post for your reading enjoyment. Peace, Meandering

Redneck Highrise or Vintage Cute Meets Recycling Pinnacle?

My friend Bill sent me this e-mail entitled "Redneck Highrise", here's the photo:



Now call me redneck if you will, or even trailer trash, but isn't this cute? I mean, if the climate is nice you would get some great exercise climbing from room to room (I'm assuming this is one home) and think of the privacy. The walls are not connected!

I would furnish each of these trailer/rooms with vintage 50's adorable.
I think it's a great way to recycle as well, affordable housing is very "in" these days and what could be more affordable than recycled mobile homes?

Of course beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but to me, it's not a redneck highrise, it's a work of art. Thanks Bill!

Coming up soon, Hollywood- part three.

Is It Monday Again Already part 2

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