Popular Author Found Meandering After Long Unexplained Absence

Well, you may have been wondering where I have been, and I will tell you. Working. Gasp! OH MY GOD! She works!

Yes, and thanks to our current challenging economy, she now works two jobs to make half as much as she used to make in her one job. But hey, I think most of us are challenged one way or another at this time, and I don't want to be moaning and groaning about my misfortune. I just don't have the time. Nor do I have the time to write as much as I would like. I'm also going to admit that although I like to think of myself as a good writer, I have been challenged to come up with story ideas that are funny, enlightening and entertaining, which, if you remember, is the goal behind this blog.

Nuff said. Any-who, I am starting to get used to my new schedule and hope to be reporting in more often in the near future.

Now, in the thick of all this, I keep reminding myself to be thankful for what I have and to appreciate the little things. Like the fact that I took a walk yesterday in sandals. Yes, my feet are finally free from woolly socks and big boots. I'm soooooo thankful!

I also have reminded myself that when the going gets tough, the tough play. Play is the ultimate stress reducer, so I have been hitting the golf ball (it doesn't cost much to go to the driving range) I signed up for horse riding lessons (I'm bartering with the barn owner), and I have added a few games of pool to my crowded schedule each week, just because I truly love the sport.

I hope if you are under stress you will take a few moments to be thankful, to play, and, because laughter is the best medicine, continue reading.

I spent the day yesterday on a bird watching expidetion. It was my first, and I was amazed to find that bird watching is such a social sport! We were out in the middle of no where, miles from a main road, in a field on top of a bluff,near a great lake, and there was a major party going on. Dozens of people with lawn chairs, coolers and big binoculars were sitting around chatting. We settled in among the crowd and waited. Every now and then someone would point up and start yelling and "the bird guide guy" would take a peek through his binoculars and announce the birds name, rank and serial number. He would then give coordinates for spotting the bird, just in case you were bird viewing challenged and could not spot the literally tiny spot in the sky.

This went on for hours, and we did see a few big birds, however I swear the largest flying thing I saw was the big bumble bee that flew in the car window when we were leaving the bird viewing area. Of course, when it flew in the window I did not really see it, I just saw something big coming at me out of the corner of my eye. I screamed. I think that must be a defense mechanism, because honestly, I did not mean too, it just came out. I must have thought, way back in my unconscious reptilian brain, that a cobra or a scorpion or some other deadly thing was coming at me. I just saw movement and screamed. The driver of the car was so startled that she screamed, and swerved, which caused me to scream again.

Then, the driver looked to see what I was screaming about and she let out a world class shriek when she saw the giant mutant bumble bee flying around my arm, and by then I figured out what had flown in the window so I screamed again, again by accident, really, I know a scream is not going to chase off a giant mutant bumble bee. Meanwhile I had tried to hop over the gear shift. Which caused the driver to swerve even more which caused us both to start screaming and shrieking again.

In the back seat, things were lively too as the passengers back there started yelling at us for screaming and shrieking. They were oblivious to the fact that we were under attach by a winged 14 pound aberration of nature. About that time the humongous flying devil flew back out the window and I started yelling "roll up the windows" and "did it fly in back there?", meanwhile the driver was trying to get us back on the road and the two people in the back seat were still trying to figure out what had happened. It was exciting- really- we could not stop laughing so the driver had to pull over while we regained our composure, meanwhile the back seat drivers were still wondering what the heck happened.

I'm thankful for laughter. Hope you have a good week, Meandering

Painting a Life

I was working on a painting over the weekend. It's a landscape of a tropical island with turquoise waters, a little boat beached as if someone just landed, and palm trees. The palm trees are vexing me. I just can't seem to get them right, although I have worked them over and worked them over, changing techniques, colors, stroke patterns, all to no avail. Yes, they are looking better, but still not right. Meanwhile I'm happy as a clam with the beach and the water and the vibrant blue sky.

I got to meandering about how creating a painting is like creating a life.

First, I picture what I want to appear. Then, I start the process by asking what do I need to make this happen? Do I have the right colors on my pallet? Do I have the right brushes? Is my canvas big enough? Is my vision clear enough that I can see the finished painting? Where will I find the time to work on this?

Then, I pick a starting point and work on one area at a time, just to get some background color on the blank canvas. As the painting progresses, I find myself working primarily on one area at a time, while making slight adjustments to the rest of the paining as I go along. Right now I think the sky is fantastic, the gently rocking sea is beautiful, the multi-hued sand of the beach is stunning, but those darn palm trees leave a lot to be desired.

Each time I start working on the painting, I spend a few moments examining my previous work. I look at each area of the canvas and ask myself, what does it need? Does it need any changes in relationship to the progress I've made in other areas of the painting?

Like life, this painting has to be balanced. Like life, sometimes there is an area that needs a little more work than the others. Maybe you have your own personal palm trees. Maybe your palm trees are your personal relationships that are rocky. Maybe your palm trees are your financial situation, or the job you don't care for. Maybe your palm trees are your health that is suffering from your bad habits. We all have our palm trees. We all try to balance our lives in a constant stream of tiny adjustments of this and that. We all have areas of our life that we are just in love with, and areas that need more color, more balance, more style.

In painting I work on the whole painting at once, but focus on one area at a time. It's like juggling. I got the water just right, but the sky needed more light. I got the sky just right but the water needed more motion. I got the water just right but the beach needed more color... and those palm trees, they need a lot of work.

My painting evolves each time I work on it. Each time I look at it I see something new, something different about it. Each time I view my painting I ask myself if this is exactly what I wanted or are there areas that need more work? There are almost always areas that need more work.

Today, as you view the canvas of your life, I wish you a insightful eye to see the delicate colors of your painting. Give thanks for the areas that are really quite perfect, and be honest with your self about the areas that are not. If areas of your painting need more work, I wish you a steady hand with your brush as you make the adjustments that will turn the problem areas of your painting into the brilliant, balanced landscape you picture in your mind.

Casserole Ladies

My good friend passed away at the age of 88. She told me she was ready to go, had lived a good long life and now, just wanted to get on with it. She was ready to go home. My friend knew in her heart that she was going somewhere better and would be reunited with her loved ones, where she would wait with them, preparing to welcome those she had left behind. My friend was a woman of faith.

My friends passing sparked a scandal. She was a very active member of the community for all of her life, and gossip has it that the church auxiliary, the VFW auxiliary and the volunteer fireman's auxiliary are fighting over who gets the honor of feeding the crowd of people expected at the funeral. Meanwhile, the town had to call an emergency board meeting to approve funds for a county sheriff to direct traffic on Main street during the calling hours because of the expected influx of visitors to a one stoplight town. The final estimate was somewhere near 8,397 callers and just as many flowers. My friend was well known and loved in her community.

Casserole ladies have started arriving by the droves as we sort through boxes of photos, discuss which dress she looked best in, and pass a box of tissues. I have to ask myself – Am I living a life that will bring droves of casserole ladies to my doorstep after I pass? I hope so.

My friend believed in the Bible, she asked me if I had read it, I think she was surprised when I said yes, I had, twice. She said I should read the Bible more, there is lots of good stuff in there. Then she said she figured I was doing pretty good for someone who had only read the Bible twice. So Hey, I got that going for me.

Runaway Buckboard!

The buck board had been piled high with supplies when I left the town a few hours (or was it a few life times?) ago. The sun was shining, birds singing. The horses sauntered along, the rhythmic clip clop of their hooves causing the relaxing alpha waves to enter my brain. I was awake, aware, but very relaxed as we sailed along across the expansive dry open desert. A luminous turquoise sky above stretched from one horizon to the other, suggesting the immensity of the ball of dirt, hurtling through space, that we call a planet. Wide open was what came to my mind, that feeling of growth and possibility and freedom - wide open.

I can’t say I know what spooked those horses, but spooked they became. One moment we were sailing like a boat on a calm lake and the next we were rough shot right out of a cannon and hurtling forward at a speed that felt like something Einstein imagined. I was holding the reigns as best I could, as I struggled to stay in the seat. I was sliding back and forth and bouncing up and down so fast I wasn’t sure what was up and what was down. I held those reigns but just, I certainly wasn’t in control of the wagon. The bushes and rock formations seemed to speed by, it was as if we were still and the world was moving way to fast. I guess a jolt of adrenalin will do that to you, change your perspective and maybe switch things around in your head.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw the load on the back of the wagon begin to topple. No wonder, we were plummeting down a narrow lane, bouncing every time we hit a rock or stand of sage brush. With every bounce, the wagon gave a shudder that became a bone rattling jolt, then, sighed like a forty year veteran of door to door sales. At any moment I expected to see nails start rocketing out of the wood rails of the buck board, shooting up like popcorn popping in a pan with no lid. At any moment I expected the wagon to wrench apart, boards screaming, nails popping, splinters flying, just like a big whaler on the open ocean caught in a category 4 hurricane.

As the load teetered on the edge and then fell, I saw my things flying off into the dirt, bouncing, and bouncing again, and rolling away. The dust was so thick and I was going so fast that I could just make out the shapes of my things, just for a moment, as they bounced away behind me, left on the trail for some future passer-by to pick up. My half finished children’s book, my illustrations for another book, my paintings of vacation spots I have loved. My yoga workout and my bike rides, my hours of reading mystery novels. My time to write interesting, entertaining, enlightening articles for the loyal readers of my blog. All, all, bouncing behind me down the lane.

Honestly my dear readers, I’m sure things are going to calm down here soon, I will get used to the new job, it will get easier and less time consuming as I go along, and soon, very soon, I’m sure I will have my life reigned back in to a meandering pace and I will re-claim my time to write.

Spinning

I’ve been percolating for a few days on this idea of change. Why are most humans so uncomfortable with change? One of my friends recently told me she did wash, not because she was out of clean clothes, but because she was out of her favorite clean clothes. See what I mean? We like to get cozy with certain things, places and patterns in our lives and just stay there. Like our favorite clothes, our patterns are our comfort. That is, until our patterns become a rut. That, how ever is a whole ‘nother matter and I’m just contemplating the why of change in the here and now. (Remember, I’m really practicing being rather than doing, and being means just being here and now).

So I watched a good movie a few nights ago, Martian Child. I got it because that handsome guy John Chusak is in it and I figured even if the movie was a bomb the scenery would be great , and the movie was actually good and John was looking great. He’s aging with style and I’m looking forward to the release of the movie he wrote and produced called War Inc., due out in October. Originally scheduled for release last spring, now it won’t be out ‘till after the elections- geeze, wonder why? Dan Ackroyd will be in it as well, it’s a follow up to the movie Grosse Pointe Blank that they did together way back when, so that right there makes it worth seeing.

Any-hoo, in Martian Child John’s character makes a long speech about how weird this whole life is, we are spinning on a planet ( 700 to 1000 miles an hour depending on if you are at the equator or the poles), around a spinning star ( the sun spins at a speed of 4,400 miles an hour) in the spinning arm of galaxy ( our galaxy spins at 140 miles a second) that’s spinning across the universe ( at 190 miles a second), meanwhile every atom in our body is spinning and I said Eureka! That is it!

Maybe we all cling to our favorite clothes because we are so tiny, little, small. We are to small to actually see and feel all this enormous movement that is going on all around us but maybe at some instinctual level we know, we can feel, our DNA twirl, our atoms spinning, our earth revolving around the sun which spins in a solar system, spinning in a galaxy that spins out across the never ending void of the universe.

Just look around you, every moment is change and every season is change. Just sit in the yard and watch the lawn grow, the flowers bloom and die. Or drive around your favorite town. Homes go up, buildings come down, business opens and another closes. Look at your photo album, you once looked like that, every day you changed a little, now you look like this. It can’t be stopped.

You are constantly changing, as your cells die and new ones are replacing them. You think you have the same body your whole life, but really, all your cells are replaced many times over your life so even your same body is an illusion. No wonder we are grasping for a little stability!

We are so little, tiny, small that we can’t feel the earth spinning, but maybe we know. Maybe somehow we do feel all this never ending motion that makes up our very being and our whole incredibly humongous environment. Maybe at some level all that large moving stuff makes us feel like an ant holding onto the branch of a tree in the fall wind. Holding on for dear life as everything swirls on around, holding on just trying to remain with feet planted .

Maybe we are just craving some small spot of stillness. A place of no movement. A place to hold on. Maybe our favorite clothes, the painting that has hung on that wall in that house for 30 years, the favorite recliner tattered and worn, the familiar grocery store with every item exactly where we expect it to be helps us to forget for a moment that we, just like everything else in existence are spinning. Maybe we can’t help this clinging, maybe we think if we let go of our familiar, our routine our same whatever- maybe we think we are going to spin right off into space.

And even though a favorite shirt lasts maybe 8 or 10 years, and that is an amazing infinitesimal amount of time when it comes to the span of time in space, maybe because we are so small, just having that same thing, place, person or routine for ten years makes us confident, gives us stillness and a thread of consistency to hang on to. Maybe it makes us feel like we are moving in the stillness rather than still in the movingness. Maybe it gives us a feeling of rest.

Maybe we are resistant to change because if we can just hold a few things still in our tiny lives, we can feel like we are bigger than we are. We can feel like we are in control. Then maybe our intuitive understanding of the vastness and the speed of it all won’t be quite so scary.

My Meandering Tale of My Love Affair With Pool

I remember the first time I became aware of the sport of billiards. I was captivated from the start. I was only a child, in grade school. Our math teacher entertained us with a movie about geometry. Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck played pool on a big green table. The commentator explained angles and fractions and all kinds of mathematical relationships illustrated by the loveable cartoon character’s billiard shots. There was something special about the way those beautiful colored balls could be sent spinning around from one rail to another and actually land where they were supposed to. It seemed like magic! I never forgot it.

My Love affair with billiards sprouted when I was a teenager. My best friend’s dad had an eight foot table in the play room. He and his sons would piddle around with the game. I suppose it was a male bonding thing. Meanwhile my friend, the only daughter, was excluded because they said, “pool is for men”. Of course this attitude just made us more curious about the game and we took any opportunity to mess around with the “men’s game” when no one was looking. We carefully replaced the sticks, chalk, and balls when we were done so her dad didn’t think we had become too masculine for his tastes.

When I went off to college, half way across the country, my friend went with me, just so she could escape from home. We got an apartment just blocks from the college and I spent all my time there, rather than in the dorm. Being recently freed from the yoke of parental supervision, we did what any other almost legal young’ins would do, and took to hanging out at the local honky-tonk. It was cool, dark, had cold beer, and a few pool tables.

It was there we met a bunch of brothers, recently released from the army and pretty darn good at the game of pool. I learned that the army will teach you how to play pool, because every rec center has tables. I quickly caught on to the basics- how to hold the stick and make a few balls. The bar, and then with the brothers tutorage, the pool halls became my home away from home. They were a haven from the heat of the southwest back when air conditioning was a luxury that none of us could afford.

Over the years we all drifted our separate ways, but my way always seemed to be in the direction of another pool table. When I moved another half way across the country to go to another college, I found pool had become something I could always count on. It filled the space between classes and gave me an opportunity to focus on something besides books. I also found practicing the sport to be relaxing, so it gave me a break from the stress of graduate school. There was a pool hall just moments from campus where I led an alternative life away from my classmates. None of them played and that really didn’t matter, pool, after all, is the perfect solitary sport. Even when you are playing against others, you are really playing yourself. The competition is between your last best game, and your current game.

I graduated and moved again and for a time, gave up playing. Most pool players will tell you there have been spaces in their lives when they didn’t play. Sometimes spaces of years. Life happens, and jobs, kids, family stuff can tend to cut into your time for sports. Some players just get fed up with it and have to take time off. I’ve never met anyone who said they never went back to it. I found myself living in an area where there were no pool halls, and the bars were just crowded, dark and unfriendly. I took a few years off.

My next move, as luck would have it, took me straight into the arms of the most pool friendly community I had ever known. I could not have imagined it when I moved again half way across the country. I found myself a nice little apartment just a block from a library (I always look at proximity to libraries when I rent), and it turned out, just a mile from a pool hall. I got busy building my new life and found again, that pool was my close companion. I had moved to a town where I did not know a soul, I started filling my lonely time with racks of balls. I had a new home away from home, and an old love to focus on in that stressful time of starting my business.

Around that time I met two people who would change my view of pool forever. The first was a handsome pool player with a very serious game. I started hanging out watching my sweetie play and I was amazed at the depth of his game. I hadn’t even begun to scratch the surface of playing pool. I spent hours watching “money games’, and afterwards would ask “How did you do this shot?” or “Why did you make this shot?” or “Why didn’t you make this shot?”- a really important question in the real game of pool.

I also met a woman who was to become a good friend, a professional player and director of one of the leagues in town. It turned out the town was a breeding ground for female professionals and had leagues playing almost every night of the week. She encouraged me to sign up to play in a league and even hooked me up with a team willing to take on a beginner. I’m forever grateful for her kindness, and the kindness of my first team mates who encouraged me and taught me and put up with me when it was apparent I was way “out of my league’.

My first season was a complete disaster. First I showed up for league only to find it was a 9-ball league! I had never played 9-ball, didn’t even know the rules, and was certain that it took a lot more skill than 8-ball. I was so nervous I couldn’t hit a ball, and when I did hit a ball, they never went where I intended. I took a severe beating every time I played and pretty soon I was sure I couldn’t play. I was ecstatic when the season was over because although I was a terrible shot, I definitely am not a quitter and I hung in there for the entire embarrassing 16 weeks. I went home, hid my cue in the back of the closet and vowed not to show my face in a pool hall for at least a few months.

My vow didn’t stick and I was soon up early every morning to take advantage of the opening silence of the average pool hall. By then, another venue had opened just blocks from my apartment and I went every morning to practice. I was soon joined by a group of retired gentlemen who met there for coffee each morning and then wiled away their hours betting small change on a variety of pool games I had never heard of. Again, the kindness of the pool community drew me back in as the “old Guys” gave me tips on my stance, stroke and aiming techniques.

The more I learned, the more I realized I didn’t know anything and that I needed the help of a professional. I decided to get serious and made the call. The call to the guy who was teaching the female professionals in town. I set up a time to go hit some balls with him and talk about what I didn’t know. I think his first reaction to my demonstration of my abilities was “Holy Mother of God, what am I going to do with this one’, only I’m not sure because he was muttering in Spanish which, at the time, was still a foreign language to me.

After thoroughly assessing my lack of ability, he agreed to take me on as a student- with four conditions. I had to pay for a month up front, two lessons a week. I had to show up for the lessons, no misses. I had to be willing to let go of everything I thought I knew about pool, ( hey, I read Carlos Castanda, I was sure I had hit pool consciousness pay dirt here), and last but not least, I had to practice. He assured me he would know if I had not, and I knew he was telling the truth.

Agreements made, he gave me my first practice drill. Hit the ball down the rail, on each side of the table, as many times as it took to make the pocket 100 times. Sounds simple, is incredibly hard for a beginner, and makes a good bar bet, ( “bet ya can’t make this shot 3 times in a row”) because you just can’t do it if you don’t stroke straight. After a few gazillion rail shots, I was feeling like the little kid in that Karate Kid movie. When would I ever see how this seemingly mindless task was going to make me a player?

Again, I had met someone who changed my view of pool forever. I remained steadfast in my practice, up to 30 hours a week at one point, and I fell even more in love with the game. My teacher became my friend, and we remain close to this day. He challenged me to be the very best that I could be. Over the course of six years, he patiently set up thousands of shots for me, and coached me in all things pool, and a few things about life in general as well. He never wavered in his faith that I could be a great player, and his faith helped me achieve more than I thought I could.

My teacher had advised me not to play, just practice for a year. This I did, and at the end of the year one of my coffee club friends set me up with an all female 8-ball bar league team that was looking for another player. I figured I was ready to get back in the game. The team took me in like a long lost sister. I started loosing my competition jitters and started making a lot of friends. I was winning enough to make me feel like I belonged on a league and having a great time to boot.

Over the next few years our team roster changed a bit and we worked our way up the roster to become one of the top teams on the league. Meanwhile our venues seemed to be working their way down the list from friendly bar to hole in the wall in dangerous neighborhood. My last season on the league we played a team housed in a notorious biker bar, and although the team was nice enough, the guys riding bikes through the bar and the questionable activities in the restrooms became too distracting and I bailed out.

By that time, I was already playing on several “big table” leagues as well, in the much safer pool halls.

Now you might find this confusing, since pool halls tend to have a bad connotation, but honestly, in my opinion, most of the trouble in pool halls comes from people who don’t really play pool. The guys out on a Friday to hit a few balls and get stinking drunk are a problem, and they aren’t players. I’ve heard rumors as well, about late night big money games becoming something like an incident from a crime novel but I’ve never seen it myself. Overall, pool halls are safe family fun, and on league night, usually no problem. OK, I did see one good fight one night at league, but that’s one fight out of hundreds of nights of play, and I have to say, the guy deserved it!

At that point I was playing on two all female teams (including the infamous “Ball Busters”) and subbing on another, I was deeply entrenched in the pool hall scene. It was time to start playing tournaments. I started playing mixed tournaments and always ended up going home early. I was learning my game though, how to “not react” to a bad shot, how to remain calm when I was down a few games, how to remain focused between sets, how to be a kind winner and a gracious loser.

I was also making new friends, as some of the tournament players were not on leagues. I met one of my closest friends at a tournament. I showed up early to practice, I’m a slow starter, I need to warm up for a while before I play. In walks a woman I had never seen before, I was the only other woman in the hall so she sauntered over and asked if she could hit a few balls with me. I was impressed with her skills and we had a lot in common, both from the northeast originally, both with fancy degrees, and both with a Wiley dry sense of humor. By the end of the day I had asked her to join one of the all girl teams I was on. We’ve been close ever since.

The first woman’s tournament I played, I actually won. After a grueling 10 hours in the losers’ bracket of a ladies B-player 9-ball tournament, I double dipped the defending champion and walked away with the cash. Well, actually, I didn’t walk away with the cash, I donated it back to the pool organization that sponsored the tournament. I did however walk away with the official bracket sheet with my name in the top dog spot. It was worth every minute of that long day.

I was getting comfortable with competing (vs. playing) pool, and somebody noticed. I got a call from the top ladies team in town, would I like to audition for a spot. Now, usually a team forms based on friendship as much as skill. This team, however, was bound for glory and they knew it. They had a history of graduating professional players. They were looking for skill first, steady nerves second, and hopefully, friendship would follow. I got the spot, and friendship did follow. These ladies were not only some of the best players in town, but some of the nicest as well.

I was in over my head again, and I knew it. Apparently they didn’t though, and I started practicing with one of those girls (who took me under her wing- thank you!), and my game took off again. I was the weakest player on the team, but their strength pulled me forward. They advised but never criticized, they laughed at my mistakes but never unkindly. They, like my teacher, challenged me to be better than I was. Playing with these ladies really helped me to develop the confidence to start playing in the Hunter’s tournaments, part of the pro-qualifying circuit, which they all played, and where I would meet my team mates as competitors over and over.

At the end of that season, I went to Las Vegas for the first time to play in the Billiards Congress of America National 8-ball Championship. I went with one of only five ladies teams in the country powerful enough to be ranked masters. Now, I have to tell you I was still the weakest link, and because the competition was so close, I never did play in that tournament. My team played beautifully, only losing one match, and I was proud to be there with them. I went back the next year, as a sub for another team and I played every match. Both times, I was happy to be there. You can’t imagine what it’s like to be a serious player and be in the middle of a huge tournament like that. It’s heaven.

That season was the end of a long run for the ladies team, they decided (maybe?) to quit while they were ahead and we scattered to other teams. I think that may have been the first year I put together my own team.

Some teams are formed just for power, team captains invite only the strongest players. I wanted a team that was strong, but fun as well. I knew a lot of players by that time, and being pretty easy to talk to, I had a good idea of who was happy with their current team and who might be interested in switching to a new ream for the next season. I started looking for great players who were fun to be around and had winning attitudes. Of course I went to players from past teams first, and hooked up with a few great players who would remain with the team through all its incarnations.

Over the years I made a few mistakes, but when I did I made sure to change the roster before the next season. I actively recruited players during the summer break. Twice I got to the start of the season with out enough players and ended up inviting a player I hardly knew to join us, that was always risky, sometimes it worked great and that guy became one of our best and most reliable players. Sometimes it didn’t work and the person dropped out or was not asked to play again.

Occasionally I tried to steal players from other teams. I’m so darn cute and persuasive, it usually worked. I got some of our best players that way, including one really fine player who put up with me begging him every time I saw him for several months before he finally agreed to play with us. He got to the point were every time I walked up to him he rolled his eyes and tried to walk away, but I persisted and finally found a few things we had in common to build a friendship on- science, music, humor-and eventually won him over.

I think I spent five years as team captain. As a team we grew into a winning one, taking first place in our league the last two years we played together. As friends, we grew as well and I came to love everyone on that team. As team mates you support, encourage and depend on each other. We shared our lives tales, our happiness and our woes at least once a week for years. I rarely saw my teammates out side of the pool hall, none of them had ever been to my home, but I could not have been closer to them. They were my family and I think most people who play on leagues would say the same thing, their team is like family.

I’m coming to the end of this great meandering tale now, I made another cross country move and for the second time I ended up in a place with just a few pool halls, none of them friendly to ladies. I’ve decided to take a little time off, learn to write, paint a few landscapes, stuff like that. My pool cue case sits in the corner in the living room, I see it every day. I know playing pool is like riding a bike, once you know how, you never forget. I know my love affair with pool is not over, I’m just on hiatus. Some things in your life are sure. The sun is going to rise, taxes will be due, death is going to knock at your door, and for me, pool is always going to be there, to keep me company, to amuse me, to challenge me, and to lead me to great friends.

My Big Fat Yard Sale

Well it was a fine weekend for my largest in the universe yard sale. I’m really trying to simplify my life, and that was the first step. See my post dated Friday May 2nd 2008 for details on how I decided what to part with.

Now some people think a yard sale is a way to make easy money, but I have to say it was a lot of work.

First I had the weeks of looking at every one of the 18,000 items that I own, and trying to decipher what was what, where it came from and pondering what the heck I was doing with it. Honestly, I think some alien force was making items manifest out of dust bunnies and planting them in my home.

Then there were the days of categorizing items and placing them in boxes- the vintage clothes I no longer wear box, the long ignored Christmas decorations box, the odd remnants of some long forgotten lifestyle box, the overdue to be retired books box, the interesting but never used kitchen gadget box, the forgotten media box, and on and on.

Then I went through the whole -how do you price these things?- dilemma, with great advice from my sister, whose mother-in-law is a yard sale professional – mark everything with a price that is more than you want- then make a deal with shoppers. If you have something you want a good price for, mark the tag with the name Betty, and when people ask to pay less for the item, just tell them “ Oh, I can’t change the price, that belongs to Betty, she’s not here right now”.

The night before the big event, signs were made complete with big smiley faces and slogans such as- “find what you want! Right here, right now!” And “No Junk! Just great Stuff!” And “Slow down you maniac! The speed limit is 35mph and you are about to whiz past the world’s greatest yard sale with out taking the time to rubber neck!”

The most agonizing work was preformed the morning of the event- that would be the work it takes to get butt out of bed at the crack of dawn. Yes, there is no such thing as sleeping in when you are having a yard sale. Urban myths have long flourished which lead people to believe the early bird gets the worm. Early bird yard sale shoppers are legendary in themselves. Who among us has not heard the story about early bird shoppers showing up at 5 am and expecting to look through your yard sale items while they are still sitting in your living room?

I set the alarm for 6 am, and was enveloped in setting up shelves and carrying things out by 6:30. By the way, the shelves and tables needed for a large yard sale are a bit of work in themselves. If I had enough shelf space to put everything in its place, I might not be having a yard sale to begin with! I had to improvise with milk crates and lumber and what not.

Now I was getting down with the really heavy work, lugging boxes from the attic upstairs, to the yard down stairs. I had packed light, but honestly, how light can a 36 volume set of books be? How light can a box of LP’s be? (If you don’t know what I’m referring to, better find out, my inside sources tell me they are on the way back in. Imagine a hard, thin, black, burnt pancake emitting squealing sounds as it goes round and round on a carousel). How light can a built-to-last dresser be? And hey, even if the boxes are light, 3476 trips up and down the stairs is a lot of work!

I was exhausted before the sale even began!

By 7:30 the signs were up, the yard was full of artfully displayed intriguing items, I had a cup of coffee in my hand and was sitting in a lawn chair just waiting for the action to begin. Now, I have to tell you, I live on a very busy street. Night, day, summer, winter, mid-week, weekend, doesn’t matter, it’s almost always busy. It had been busy since 6 AM, and I was pleasantly surprised that no early birds had stopped and tried to run off with the proverbial worm before I was set up. Now I was willing the masses to come.

It didn’t take long for the crowds to arrive. I think some of them, being polite and not wanting to disturb, had parked up the street and been watching with binoculars. As soon as they saw my ass hit the chair, they descended like a cloud of locusts. There was pushing and shoving and elbows flying. Offers were shouted and the bargaining began.

Customer-“What will you take for this pristine art deco wine cooler?”
Me-“Does it have a tag on it?”
Customer-“Yes”
Me smirking -“ I will take thirty dollars over the marked price.”
Confused customer- “What? I will pay the marked price, not a penny more!”
Me smirking more- “All righty then.”

Customer- “Nice purse.”
Me- “Thank you, it’s a 1940’s wool covered box purse with lapis inlay on the clasp.”
Customer- “and this one?”
Me- “ Mid 1950’s alligator skin Kelly purse made in Florida and complete with complementary rain bonnet in original gift packaging.”
Customer- “ I will give you a dollar for both of them”.
Me grabbing said purses from said customers hands- “ Honey, the dollar store is across town. Just take a left out of my driveway and cross the bridge, you can’t miss it.”

Now don't get the wrong idea, I'm not a yard sale elitist. There were shelves full of 50 cent items. I had a slew of 1 dollar items. I had hundreds of items in the 3 to 5 dollar range. I know people stop at yard sales to find a deal, and by golly, I want them to find a deal and go home happy! I did have a few choice vintage items nestled among the junk-em, I mean- less costly items, and I was not going to take a dollar for two vintage purses! Folks, offer me a dollar for a 3 dollar item, I might say yes. Offer me a dollar for two 20 dollar items and I'm definitely saying no.

That’s pretty much how it went for the first 4 hours. About the time I needed a potty break so bad I was contemplating the lilac bushes along the side of the house, where I figured I could pee and watch the hordes at the same time, a friend of mine showed up and offered to set her butt in a lawn chair and give me a break.

Thank Heavens! I’m telling you folks, this yard sale stuff is serious business. You can not just up and walk away from your goods, any more than a major player in the arms race can walk away from a United Nations Inquiry. There is no time for breaks. You have to be on your game the whole time or some nice little granny is libel to take off with your antique candle sticks and leave a one dollar bill in their place.

Now I have to tell you the other urban legend about yard sales. “All the good stuff is gone early”. Hogwash! Misinformation if I ever heard it! It’s just not so! I had so much stuff out in my yard that if a constant procession of lose-fisted obsessive shoppers came by for three days in a row, I would still have plenty of good stuff for them to choose from!

Alas, as we all know, urban legends are bigger than life, and harder to kill than a cockroach. Just ask anyone in New York City about "the alligator in the sewer that comes up through your toilet and drags you into the plumbing" story, they will swear it is so, they know someone, who knows someone , who knew someone, who is now missing.

By one o'clock in the afternoon the flood had dried up and the yard sale became a dry cracked lake bed. I sat for another hour, reading a book and watching the traffic go by. I tried re-arranging items to make the display look bigger. I tried moving choice items closer to the road. I tried projecting an urgent need to stop into the minds of each driver coming along. I tried disguising my self as a yard sale shopper and pantomimed my joy at an amazing find, thinking this might overcome the urban myth.

But alas, it was not to be. They yard sale had come to a screeching halt. It was time for the next phase of real work to begin- the pack up. I had already scripted my early withdrawal contingency plan. If I had anything left over that was not vintage, it was going into the trunk of the car and straight to the local thrift store. I stuck to my plan like a duck on a June bug. I didn’t even look as I boxed everything up and set it in the car. By this time it was about 110 out and I was sweating a river. I decided it was a good thing the sale had ended, I was beat.

Like I said, this easy money is a lot of work, and I was not the only one working that day. I pulled up to the thrift store drop off door and there was a line of post-lawn-sale people de-cluttering their lives. The chatter among them was something about how many people stopped, what part of town the sale was in, and the odd balls who were looking for specific items like an easy bake oven light bulb, size 23 purple crushed velvet dress pants, a turquoise toaster oven and old fishing hooks.

While I waited in line I managed to sell a few items to people who, unlike myself, were not able to un-clutter with out instantly cluttering right back up. I then dumped the goods and made my way home. I counted the money, smiled and thought of all the open space in my house. I swear, it felt expansive and I felt lighter. I was on my way to a clutter free life.

PS Today I found this interesting related article in Time magazine. Some guy named Dave is challenging people to de-clutter until they have just 100 personal items. Seems this movement is catching on, I’m not the only one looking to simplify my life and become a more conscious consumer. You can check out his website at www.guynameddave.com

I Don't Have The Answer.

Did you ever feel like you were having trouble staying focused? I mean on life?

Being the highly educated type person that I am, I remember being at say, year six, of my continuing education process and walking into class asking where am I? What quarter is this and which class am I in now? What book am I supposed to be reading and when the heck is that lab midterm test?

What? It was yesterday morning? Yesterday? The day I skipped class to have breakfast with my friend Laura because it was her birthday and she had no one to go with because everyone else was in the lab class? Oh God! And I never did get along with the lab instructor, do you think if I cry and make up a story about "female problems" he will fall for it? (he did).

Did you ever feel that way about life? Sometimes I find myself just tooling along doing a comfortable cruising speed, thinking I'm seeing all the signs, following the mapped out route, taking the planned turns, not missing my exits and everything is kosher and wham! Out of no where a cruiser is on my tail with lights flashing. Maybe I wasn't focused enough.

How the heck are we supposed to navigate this life with so much going on? You almost have to ignore a large part of it just to tend to the basics - work, pay the bills, do laundry often enough to have a good supply of clean underwear and all that. Add a few moments of personal time here and there and you are about maxed out. How can we stay focused on the necessities and still have the attention to notice the flowers blooming, the beautiful sunset, the bird nesting in the tree right above our head?

I don't have the answer, it's just a question.

As a writer sometimes I must focus on the tools of my craft, get serious and edit. It's so much easier to let the words spill out than it is to clean up the overflow. Yesterday morning, however, I did just that. I got focused and looked at my last article with an editor's eye. I knew it could be better, flow smoother and sound more balanced. I chipped away a little here, added a little there. I tweaked a bit, exchanging one word for another. It's hardly noticeable when you re-read the finished product, but it does make a big difference.

Now if I could just edit my life, chip away a little of the "not so important" stuff to make room for a little of the "more important" stuff. If I could tweak it a bit, keeping the main structure and meaning, but leave it more balanced and flowing smoother. If I could just focus a little more on the underlying story, the main point, and shed some of the trappings that come from living in a world where we are so influenced by society that is constantly moving faster and wanting more, would I find a richer story of my life?

I don't have the answer, it's just a question.

Stars Dancing on Water

Today I spent some time cleaning out a closet. I am planning the biggest yard sale in the universe and I figured that closet held about a gazillion things that would make some yard shopper really happy and make me a bunch of loot to boot!

While I was rummaging around in that closet looking for discardable treasure I happened upon a box of papers. There were newspaper clippings of interest-
Berlin Wall Falls! (now that is exciting!)
White Buffalo Born! (Praise the Great Spirit)
Visit The Real Hotel California! (It’s in Todos Santos and Don Henley was part owner).
Retired Nomads Parked in Paradise! (Bisbee Arizona’s own time warp- a campground where you can stay in the retro luxury of a 1950’s travel trailer decorated in vintage fabulous style! How Cute is that?!).

I also found all kinds of cards sent to me from a whole bunch of you, from as far back as 1979, I found photos also, but don’t worry, I won’t post them.

When I dug a little farther I came up with some writing I did many years ago. I found this one piece that I think is rather nice, so I’m going to share it with you. I remember the day well, I took a break from Atlanta,the big city I was going to school in, and drove a few hours north to the mountains to sit by a lake. Being the serious, dedicated student that I was, I also took my books. I sat by the lake, books cracked, sun warm, sky blue above and pine trees on the breeze. I watched the sunshine reflecting off the ripples created by the breeze across the lake. Then I got all creative and wrote this:

The stars fell right out of the sky, and landed in the lake. They are hiding from the sun, but I can see them, like a huge swarm of fire flies dancing. They gather around my toes on the wake of the water. They fall from my fingertips, white light dropping back into the lake. They stick to my hair until I shake my head and they are flung away, now shooting stars. Stars riding, like tiny bright surfers, disappearing into the crest of the wave as it meets shore. They are dancing now, dancing just for me and I watch, mesmerized by their beauty, their light, their easy motion on the water.

My brain starts to melt into deep relaxation and my eye lids become heavy. My body becomes light, and the wind blows through me. I float like a feather on the wind. I float up, into a cloudless sky to a place where everything I dream is real, where my thoughts are heard and my feelings known. My hand touches my heart and it touches me back. The trees sing to me and I know where I come from, where I am and where I belong.

As the day lengthens, the sunlight softens and the stars in the lake flash with a different rhythm. I am awakened from my aware slumber, changed forever.

The Elephant Tamer

I’m comfortable in the ring, intent on just being there, relaxed. With a thundering run that shakes the ground the lumbering beast appears. The whole floor shakes as the beast comes close, with a leap he lands right next to me in the ring. He circles, circles, circles about. I turn and twist, keeping the beast in front of me. I remember all the times I have seen the elephant tamer gently nudging the great beast into submission.

There is no way to rush a beast of this nature, you must await the beasts’ own time. And time it takes, as the beast circles and sniffs and hops about. He comes close and sniffs at my ear, barely missing landing his great paw on my face. He comes around the other side, leans in and places a slimy tongue across my face and my lips are covered with his saliva. He enjoys this and I twist about, trying to protect life and limb as I wipe his spit away with the back of my hand. The beast sniffs about and circles more, stepping over me as if I’m a crack on the sidewalk.

Whip you ask, why don’t I use a whip? Well, you wouldn’t know that with a beast of this nature, a whip does no good. No, a short stick works best. I can tap at the beast and slowly, gently direct him to the place I want him, a tap on the leg, a tap on his side, a tap on his rear. One tap at a time. I wait until he is close to the position I want him in. It takes some time as he has to plod about, sniffing my hair and clothes. He stretches a few times, great tail in the air, big body arched, long legs splayed in front and behind. At one point he drops like a rock, and rolls onto his back, huge paws flailing about in the air. He rolls, side to side for a few minutes and rights himself. This I know to be a sign that the beast is about to settle down.

I carefully give him a nudge on a back leg, moving him along to a position closer to where I want him. The trainer in me is on full alert as I know, one nudge to soon, to hard or in the wrong place will send the beast into another frenzied dance in circles and we would have to start all over again. I nudge, nudge, nudge the beast slowly in a circle and then a tap behind the leg and he starts to lower him self to the ground. A tap on the other leg brings him a bit closer and a tap on his side and he rolls over, onto his side, his great head just an inch from mine. He is not quite settled in as he must stretch his great paws and grab my hair, tousling it into a rats nest of tangles, this I have learned is a sure sign of affection from the beast.

He seems calm and just wiggles about for a few more minutes, actually wedging himself against my shoulder, his nose just inches from my ear. For a moment there is silence, then a great rumble erupts from the throat of the beast as he starts to serenade me with a purr.

Only an elephant tamer knows. Knows how to settle a great beast, one who can not be intimidated, nor threatened. One who cannot be beat into submission. An elephant tamer works with the natural instinct of the beast, and a lot of patience, as they gently nudge the elephant to do as they wish. The use a stick, and tap a signal on the elephant to indicate what they wish the elephant to do, a tap on the leg they wish the elephant to raise, a tap on the shoulder when they wish the elephant to kneel down, a tap on the side they wish the elephant to turn to. Only the elephant can decide if the wish will come true.

Signs of Spring

I saw the first signs of spring yesterday. They were all over town, on every corner, signs that said yard sale and garage sale and estate sale. Signs that appeared to have grown and bloomed overnight in profusion. Big signs and little signs, hand made signs and store bought signs, in a rainbow of colors.

Yes, it’s definitely spring and time to shake out the closets and unclog the garage and rid your self of all that winter gain. I’m jumping on the bandwagon and planning my own yard sale.

I don’t know how all this stuff gets in my house, it seems to grow of its own accord and spread like some all climate ivy. One day my closets are empty and the next they are overgrown. When I moved into my 1900 square foot house it was so empty, with my 600 square foot apartment furnishings. Now it looks like I have lived here for 300 years and developed some obsessive packratting skills.

I’m going to start with the clothes closet. One of my friends said to me one time “ You have a lot of clothes, you know?” Really? I do? Doesn’t everyone use one entire spare bedroom for a closet? Doesn’t everyone have 3 dressers, 2 wardrobes, 5 closets (2 just for coats), dozens of shoe boxes and a shelf unit designed specifically for purses? Doesn’t everyone get calls from major motion picture studios asking to borrow when they are out fitting 3000 extras?

I’m determined to trim down, remove the excess and get all Zen with my wardrobe. I’m tossing anything that is not a perfect fit, does not wash easily, and isn’t museum quality vintage. I’m tossing all artificial fabrics and anything made in china, even if I did buy it secondhand. By the way, if you buy vintage or consignment, most of your choices have nothing to do with China.

When I’m done with the clothes closets I’m moving onto the Christmas decorations. I’m culling it to the ones that fit on the tree, and again, vintage. Last year I tried to save trees by buying vintage Christmas cards at an antique fair. Watch the envelope size if you try this, one style I bought was such a cute but odd size I had to put them in new envelopes to get them past the post office inspectors. I’m going to go natural with my holiday decorations from now on and stick to pine cones, pop corn strings, cranberries, greenery and hot house poinsettias. None of which will be sitting in my attic come July.

Then on to the book shelves, which, over the years and numerous moves are already less crowded then in my past. I still think I can do away with some of the books I’ve collected since my last move, like the one on making candles (to complicated, messy and time consuming) or the one on quilting (already used it once and remember how), or the pile of novels that I bought for next to nothing and already enjoyed ( I seldom read a novel twice). I have very few books that would be hard or impossible to find again if I really wanted to re-read them.

Next I will delve into the linen closet because I’ve finally come to understand the universal truth that the curtains from one home never fit the windows of the next home. Hopefully this realization is fully rooted and has grown to the point that when I move again I will be smart enough to leave the 3 tons of curtains from my current abode right where they belong- hanging in the windows. I’ve also come to realize that no matter how cold it is outside, nobody really needs 14 blankets, three sleeping bags and 2 comforters.

I think I’m gonna have the grand daddy of all yard sales!

Now I come to the perilous part of the unloading- the kitchen. I admit I’m an addict. I can’t pass a cute vintage dish or kitchen utensil with out cooing to it. My cupboards are so full they are pulling away from the walls. I have enough place settings to supply the Waldorf Astoria during wedding season. It’s funny really, because my table only seats 4. I have dishes from the 1800’s to the 1960’s. I have every color of the rainbow and some. I could open a vintage dish store to rival patterns.com. I have enough vintage covered casserole dishes to supply an Amish barn raising party. And I seldom cook. I have no defense, just a newly conceived offense- if it’s replaceable, get rid of it. I’m sure someone else would love to attend a potluck with one of those vintage casseroles, and I hope they stop to shop at my humongous yard sale.

After I recover from skinning my kitchen I’m heading with gusto onto the big ticket items. Every yard sale has to have big ticket items to attract a crowd. Last time I had a sale I dragged half my furniture out to the yard and put “sold” signs on every piece just to attract attention. This time, if I drag it out, it really is for sale. I’m thinking things like my bar stools, which have been floundering around since my last move because this house has no bar, and my telescope that has not left it’s box in a few years. I have more chairs than asses in my house so I think a few of those could go. Things like that, handy when you need them, but honestly, how often do you need them?

So, my battle plan is drawn, a date circled on the calendar and numerous prayers for good weather already offered. I hope this helps cure my compulsion to fill my space with stuff. After all, it’s a lot of work to carry all that stuff out to the yard, set up a nice looking sale and sit in a yard chair all day making small talk and change. In this area, yard sales start at the crack of dawn and traditionally last just one day- after all, Sunday is for church, not shopping. When the last sale is done, and the crowds have dispersed, I’m committed to loading every last item off the yard directly into the car for a short ride to the local thrift store. Then I’m gonna count the loot and breath in my new found wide open spaces.

Three in One Post

Well, it’s been a very busy week and I’ve had numerous ideas for posts flitting through my mind and no time to stop and pitter pat on the keyboard. Now here I am, on Thursday morning feeling like I haven’t earned my keep, haven’t provided enough entertainment for my blog readers this week, and I know ya’ll are missing me because you have said you do when I don’t post on a regular basis.

So a smattering of ideas for posts have come in the past week and of course I’ve kept notes. I noticed the article on the internet a few days ago, John Cusack has a stalker! OH MY GOD! Well, can you blame her? I mean he is without a doubt the handsome-ist movie actor. Oh, and did you see him in “Identity”? No more mister nice guy and what a shocker of an ending. I can’t say, in case you didn’t see it.

Anyway, poor John, he has some crazy girl following him everywhere he goes. He had to get a restraining order, and now she’s violating it. It must be creepy to have to wonder if “she’s out there” every time you leave the house. He’s gotta be wondering if she adores Mark David Chapman too. If you don’t recognize the name search John Lennon + NYC + assassination.

Meanwhile the lady has to be really nutty, I mean she apparently throws bags of rocks over his fence that contain love letters and screw drivers ( hint, hint) and the last time she was arrested ( for what it does not say) she gave Mr. Cusack’s address as her home address. Now that’s a novel way to impress a guy and get him to notice you. You can get a print out of your arrest record and show it to him, “see Honey, how much I love you, we belong together, it says so right here!”

Meanwhile it’s rumored she also has a stalking relationship with Tom Cruise. Now I know she’s crazy. I say “honey, wake up and smell the coffee”. I mean, have you ever, has anyone ever, seen so much as one photo of cutie pie John Cusack with a girl? Yes, on movie posters maybe, because he’s one of those romantic hero types but honestly, in any other photo has he ever been captured in the presence of a girl? I think not, and what is it about that guy friend who always ends up in his movies as his sidekick? He’s cute too if ya know what I mean.

Crazy stalking girl- Get a Life, Move on, he’s not for you.

Then we have idea # 2 from this week:

I happened to see a couple of kids outside the library this week. They were young teens, both very stylish. One boy, one girl. They were obviously together, but not together because although they were throwing sideways glances at each other, and standing close enough that they occasionally touched shoulders and giggled a bit, they were not together because each one had a phone in hand, screen flipped up and they were intent on typing.

Interesting way to “court”. Be in presence physically, but keep your eyes on the screen and talk to someone else. I don’t know, it seems to me like the divorce rate will go up when this wave starts to marry. Either that, or stock in companies that produce gadgets that allow us to not be with the person we are with will go up. What’s gonna happen to these poor kids when they have to talk about job choices, where to live or the baby?

Are they going to have sex while they IM or watch TV? WHAT? People already do?

Madre De Dios! Am I that old? I’m starting to think the world has gone crazy, so I must be old, that’s a sure sign, right? What happened to talking to the person you are dating? Giving your attention fully and gazing in sublime pools of honeysuckle water eyes? Holding hands instead of mini computers? Actually talking with the person you are standing in front of? All I can say is Bless the Beasts and Children.

Idea # 3 for this week:
I was watching an old video tape of Doctor Quinn, Medicine Woman. Remember her? And the 3,456, 347, 678 little girls named Michaela spawned during the mid-eighties?

I always watched that show. That was back when I still watched TV. No, I don’t watch TV anymore, I had my cable unplugged in 2000, when I was writing my first book and I never had it plugged back in.

If I want to stare at the tube I do what I was doing last night, watch a videotape or DVD of a movie or TV program. I never have to watch a commercial, I have no idea what the idols are doing and I’ve never seen a celebrity dancer. I don’t think I’m missing much. If I hear rumors about a great series, I can always watch it on DVD later and do it in my own time, not once a week at the networks time.

Any-hoo, I was reminded of how peaceful the fictional Colorado Springs of Dr. Quinn’s time was. How much the towns folk cared for each other, and the allowances small town folk have to make for each other. I mean, if you live in a small town, you are pretty much stuck with every one else there, like it or not. You can’t just blend into the crowd in a small town, you have to deal with your neighbors on a regular basis, like it or not. Maybe you learn to ignore. Maybe you learn to accept. Maybe you learn to support. Maybe you learn to ride a horse and get the hell ‘outta Dodge, I mean, Colorado Springs.

I had a little trip down memory lane because the tape I was watching had the commercials on it as well as the program and the news breaks were from a station in Austin. So the tape has to be pre-1986. It was Christmas time, judging from the holiday ads. It was cold, the storm center was flashing a tape of letters across the bottom of the screen. A freeze warning for Central Texas. Gadzooks! That is cold for Austin.

Dominos Pizza was spending billions on their holiday advertising campaign and those old phones with a portable hand set, remember them? The ones that had a recharge base with an answering machine (and everything!) right there in it? They were a hot Christmas item.

Someday archeologists will just watch old commercials rather than have to get all dirty digging up ruins.

OK, Idea # 4- well, that one is so good it needs a post all its own. The weekend is coming. My taxes are done. Check back next week. Peace, Meandering

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.

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.

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…

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!

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

My brush with death, what death looks like, and why I don't think we should call him the grim reaper.

I recently had a brush with death. I don't know why they call it a brush with death, I don't think I brushed by him like you brush by others in a crowded store aisle. It felt more like I was a fish who happened to slide off death's line while he trying to reel me in.

I didn't exactly see the face of death, I mean, I was unconscious through most of it, except for a few times I surfaced and yes, it was like swimming up from a dark depth, just like they say on tv. Three times I surfaced long enough to think things like- what am I doing on the floor? What is that buzzing in my head? This must be a nightmare, but I don't remember going to bed. This can't be good. Oh no, what am I doing on the floor again? What is that buzzing in my head? I better call an ambulance, hope I can remember the number for 911. What is that buzzing noise? Damn, it happened again. I better call an ambulance. Oh, I'm in an ambulance, good idea.
So I didn't actually see the face of death but I'm pretty sure I felt his presence while I was laying on the floor. He was tip toeing around trying not to wake me.

At the hospital they figured I was a rather young ( and charming) cardiac case and they did all kinda scans and tests and what not and found nothing. So then they figured I was a head case and they did all kinda tests and scans and what not and found nothing. I had to wonder about their accuracy when they told me my brain was perfectly normal.

I let them them fish around for an answer for about a day and a half. I had to draw the line a couple of times. "No, you can't inject my blood stream with dye and send me through a tube with super magnets that make all the hydrogen atoms in my body spin on their axis. What? You want a better view of blood flow to my brain? Well, sweetie, you seem like a nice young doctor, why don't you just run down to the library and look up what all they did do to see brains better before they invented that MRI." ( answer: ultrasound of the carotid artries, non invasive, simple, and quite revealing). I figured they did the best they could and I checked myself outta there. I'm feeling fine now, I still don't have any answers, and I have to admit it got me thinking about death.

What happens when we die? Do we go somewhere? If we do, can we choose where we go? I'm just asking because I figure if we get to choose I want to go to my photo albums. I mean, think of it, that is where you have all your loved ones, your happy times, your wonderful vacations, every person and event you enjoyed enough to want to remember.

Do we just become nothingness? Return to the void? Sit at the right hand of God? Become one with all things? ( I thought we already were one with all things...) or is it just a blank?

Then I started thinking about the grim reaper. That's a name for death, right? "Death comes to get you". Well, if he's gonna escort me to my photo albums I don't think it's gonna be all that grim. Yes, I know it's really sad for those we leave behind, I know this because I've been left a few times, but grim? I've never seen what I would call a grim face at a wake. ( and why do they call it a wake? That's a whole 'nother article)I've seen sad, and tired, and distraught, and calm and pained and radiant and even cheerful but not grim. So I'm thinking it's a misnomer and theres gotta be a better name for the grim reaper.

Then I saw death. It came to me in a flash, a vision really. And to me, death looked just like a rodeo trick rider.

I swear I saw death ride up from behind me on a huge brown horse. Hooves thundering and kicking up clods of dirt, mane flapping, nostrils flaring, death's horse came at me like the devil himself was chasing it down. Death rode like a expert. He was dressed in faded jeans and leather chaps and worn, dusty cowboy boots with silver spurs shining. Death had on a denim shirt and a buckskin vest, a bandanna at his neck and big leather gloves reaching almost to his elbows, with fringe swaying up the sides. Death had long hair tied in a pony tail and a real fine brown suede cowboy hat. No, I didn't see his face.

Death and his horse came thundering up behind me and death let go the reins and slid off the saddle so he was hanging on just one side of that horse. His weight was balanced on one stirrup, his other leg gripping the horse and saddle. Both arms were out stretched and as he passed I held up a hand and he reached out and grabbed me by the hand and around the waist and flung me right up on the back of that big horse without slowing down one bit. A warm, dry wind was flowing through my hair and I put an arm around death and looked up to take in the brilliant sunset we were heading into. I was thinking this is gonna be fun.

So maybe the grim reaper should be called "Billy Bob" or "Tex", or "Alabama Slim", or "Ol dog eyed Joe" or some other fine cowboy name. "yep, siree 'Ol Bobby Sue come and took grandmammy home last night". See, doesn't that sound better? And maybe we could leave out piles of oats for death's horse like we leave straw for santa's reindeer....ok, now you think I'm crazy...but really....

Now, I'm not sure when that 'ol cowboy is gonna show up, but I'm not worried about it and I'm certainly not afraid. I've always liked cowboys, and that whole riding like the wind, get along little doggies, where the deer and the antelope play thing, and if my vision has shown me who's gonna escort me to the afterlife, I'm sure it will be a really fine ride.