Looking Back

The years 2000-2009 made up my 5th decade of life. For me (and probably for the entire world), more changes happened during that time than any other decade so far. But every single one brought me here -- to the last day of the first decade of the 21st century.

Some of the changes affected all of us as a people: 9-11, the internet, global warming, Y2K, our inclusion into several wars overseas, the election of our first black president, the 2nd "great depression", swine flu and mad cow disease, terrorism, the tsunami in India, Katrina, pyramid schemes, cell phones, globalization, etc.

Other changes between 2000 and 2009, of course, were more personal. And by personal, I mean they affected me and my loved ones. I believe that every change, from the tiniest to the largest, happens for a reason. I spent this morning making snap-shots in my brain about the big changes that occurred in my little world during the last decade.

My kids grew up into adulthood: yay! They are smart and funny and healthy.

My sister's family had a devastating house fire: the good news is that everyone got out alive, and they have moved into their newly rebuilt home.

Charlotte, my goofy black German shepherd, came bounding into my life. She has proven to be an awesome roommate.

My nephew suffered a life-altering spinal injury. Yet, he has dug deep to find strength and bravery, and everyone gets the blessing of witnessing this.

After 20 years, my marriage ended in unexpected divorce. Although a difficult adjustment initially, the end result is a new and wonderful life.


Looking back helps me look forward, since I can't choose where I'm going if I don't know where I've been. My reactions to previous changes (both tiny and large) have surprised me at times, but I figure looking for the good is better than clinging solely to the bad. Perhaps this happens if we are lucky enough to reach five decades.

And while technically, the decade doesn't end until 12-31-10, I don't care. I am going to consider tomorrow to be the first day of the second decade of the 21st century -- which will mark the beginning of my 6th decade. Woo Hoo! I can't wait.

State of the State

Ok, by state I mean Western North Carolina:


The views are magical, every second of every day.
The cool city of Charlotte is only 2.25 hours away, and the Atlantic ocean is just a couple hours further east.
It's legal to haul your dog (or your friends) in the back of a pick-up.
The local grocery stores carry "sugar free" Redman chaw.
"Wendy's" has issued a new meal for the states of North and South Carolina, called "the Carolina burger" -- a beef patty, chili and cole slaw.
The deli in the local grocery store carries "Amish Cole Slaw." It consists of cabbage, special sauce and carrots. No carriages involved.
Some of the people here still have lovely Ashevillian accents, but the "quacking" of the northern folk is being heard more often.
There are hide-aways in this area about which only savvy people know.
I am savvy. And I quack.

Serendipity

def: "Making fortunate discoveries by accident."

Probably everyone has experienced this. You know how it goes; you are searching for one thing and suddenly something completely different and unexpected pops up in front of you. And it's fantastic! Or sometimes when you aren't looking, some wonderful thing all of sudden appears. Sometimes it's small and sometimes it's big. The important thing is that you realize that it's right there, in front of you.

A very memorable serendipidous event happened to me in 1994. On a Friday morning, I packed up my bags, my tent, and a case of beer, and headed to a secluded campground in the thumb area of Michigan for a girlie weekend with my sister and long-time gal-pals. After a night of way too many alcoholic indulgences, we crawled out of our tents, terribly hungover, and went on a hunt for a farmer's market that we'd heard from the campground owners was nearby. The gravel roads we travelled were often unmarked, and we found ourselves seemingly in the middle of nowhere, with no farmer's market in sight. Suddenly, a huge iron dragon came into view: it sat in front of a hill, 30-feet in height, with perfectly-welded scales, metal claws attached to upright forearms, and a long curly silver tongue thrusting from a huge gaping dragon mouth. Of course we all walked toward it (what WAS it doing in front of a hill in the middle of nowhere?). And then, without warning, a door opened right out of the grassy hill. A DOOR! A smiling woman came out, explaining that her husband, a metal artist, built the dragon and would we like to come in her house and see her pottery studio? It was too magical to refuse, so we followed the woman into the "house." This house was built into the berm, totally unseen from the road and covered with grass. It was a geodesic-dome style house, with hand-made mosaic countertops and stained-glass windows. And, a pristine vintage cherry-red 1966 VW bug Volkwagen in the garage. The owners were lovely and sweet, and we spent an hour chatting and marveling over their house. I remember we left being overwhelmed at the surprise "find", and to this day the four of us still talk about our serendipitous find on that beer-filled camping trip all those years ago.

How did this happen? Was it because 4 women, who shared a love and history that was almost magical, came together and caused some kind of serendipitous energy? Yes, I think so.

Some people just bring that energy into our lives. Those special people help us realize that wonderful and unexpected experiences are right outside our door and are available everyday if we just look for them, and we shouldn't be afraid to realize what we've just seen.

It happened again to me just this weekend, with a man who has helped me see just what beautiful and amazing things are waiting for all of us every single minute of our lives. We saw 20 minutes of surprise fireworks (right outside my kitchen window) and a parade of 500 motorcycles vrooming downtown, whose riders threw candy and toys to little kids on the street. And we thought we were just going to leave the restaurant and drive home! Instead, a wonderful event unfolded right in front of us.

So, watch carefully when seredipity appears magically in front of you. Stay close to the loved ones who help you realize that it can happen every day. And watch carefully, because an iron dragon or a parade may appear right in front of you when you least expect it.

Thanks

So what if I fall into the trap of writing lists of those things for which I am thankful? It's Thanksgiving! When my kids were small, I always asked them to tell me and their dad the things that made them thankful. We did this while all sitting at the dinner table with once-a-year champagne and Weber-grilled (charcoal, of course) turkey. My favorite answer from my 9-year old son was: "I am thankful that I got to see Green Day". My daughter was a bit more worldly and often said things like: "I am thankful that the polar bears still have ice to live on.".

My list this year? Not very worldly, probably not complete, and not in any particular order. But for each and all, in different ways, I am thankful.

My kids, my doggie, jezebel.com, my down blanket, Mr. Burch, the rubber frisbee that I throw to Charlotte 247 times a day, 1st-class international KLM seats with Xanax and a hand to hold, the stone bungalow at 100 Buchanan, The New Yorker, trust, my girlfriends in Michigan & New York & Charleston, my sisters and mother, my health, my NOLA pals, Ingles Grocery Store, sourdough Melba toast, my 1980's Canon camera, my 1940's all-metal sewing machine, my Kut blue jeans, Reggie the Handyman, kilts, my Toyota Tacoma, my former mother-in-law, Bojangles biscuits, Black Beauty electric Epiphone, Asheville Tourists and my neighbors.

100 %

What is it that makes me feel 100% of myself? Is it when I am around my family? or completely alone? with one friend or many friends? making love or just playing a part in a fantasy? walking through a white-birch Michigan forest? sitting in a Baptist church? when the moon is full and orange? when I think I'm maybe in love? When my heart has been broken into a thousand bits? on the noisy street downtown? When I realize the truth? When the rain is pelting on the roof or the snow is settling quietly on the streets? at a loud concert with dancing co-horts? When a loved one has died or is very ill? while staring at the stars? when standing in a cornfield? in front of a dancing campfire or blind in the darkness of the moonless night? driving on a gravel or a tarvy road with hundreds of miles in front of me? In the ear-popping mountains or the horizontal flatlands? With an acoustic guitar singing in front of hundreds of people or just one person? or singing by myself? Talking to the bathroom mirror? or to one stranger at the local grocery store? Walking my big black dog? smelling sawdust? breathing in cool Fall and Winter temperatures? Or typing on my computer? Or sitting on my front porch or back patio? When I am talking with my grown-up children or Northern sisters or mother?

All of these. At one time or another.

Missed Connections

Craigslist calls itself a website for "classified ads for jobs, apartments, personals, for sale, community and events". I read it several times a week, and have recently stumbled across an interesting local subsection entitled "missed connections." This, apparently, is a place where folks can write a message and try to connect with someone they met, or saw, or knew in the past.

Some posts are short and to the point: "you were my blond waitress last night at Denny's. You are so beautiful." or "to the girl with the throat tattoo: last night on the street, we held each others gaze for 30 seconds and I wanted to say something but I didn't."

These little posts make me wonder: why didn't the restaurant customer just compliment the waitress in person? Why didn't the other guy stop and talk to the tattoo woman when he had the chance?

Other posts are long, rambling diatribes about lost-loves. One man has written many poetic posts giving clues about a woman he knew in the past, still loves and wants to marry. He intentionally leaves out her name, physical attributes or where she lives, and invites any woman to respond to see if she is whom he seeks. The responses are often: "Is it me? petite, brunette, 36?" or "too bad it's not me. You sound wonderful." So far, all the hopeful respondees are not "the one". Does this man really have a lost love somewhere, or is he just trying to briefly connect with anyone who will respond?

I find this way of "connecting" interesting. Is sending a Craigslist post out into the internet world really a way of connecting? Does the anonymity aspect bring
courage to the postee who would otherwise be fearful? Maybe those initial brief connections were supposed to only be brief, since even a short-lived connection can be succinct, complete and meaningful.

Perhaps many people have a fear of connecting, even briefly, with not only strangers but loved ones. Or they only have enough courage to hold a gaze for 30 seconds instead of for a full minute. Or for a life-time. We have the opportunity to connect with others every single day: we can exchange smiles and small talk with strangers, wave to a neighbor, or tell someone for the first or the millionth time that we love them.

I'd like to send my own message to those Craigslist postees and respondees in a way they will understand (via my computer!): turn off your Mac, leave your lonely livingroom, get out into the world and connect.

See you out there.

The Day After

I love this photo of my parents. It was taken the day after their wedding, September 24, 1949. The photo is great in that it captures precisely their apparent states of mind.

There's Doris, decked out in her finest (borrowed) dress, with matching short-veiled hat. She's twirling her new ring with a twinkle in her eye that says something like
"Guess what I did last night?"

And then there's Jack. His outfit is just as fine with those wide lapels and that fancy tie. His face and posture seem to be saying "Oh my god, what did I do last night?"

Rite of Passage

I realized the other day that 33 years have passed since I got my first driver's license and first car. That rite-of-passage at age 16 is something everyone goes through -- the lessons from dad, the driver's ed course, the first car, and that fabulous shiny little card that allows you to drive off ALONE and see the world.

My father was under the impression that if you started out learning to drive a huge truck with a camper and a standard transmission, then every thing after that would be a breeze. I remember clearly the first time I climbed behind the wheel of his 1972 goldenrod Chevy pick-up with 3-in-the-tree shift. The intricate footwork of letting up on the clutch while pressing down on the accelerator was mind-boggling! After practice-driving down countless gravel back roads, I was ready to head uptown with Dad to park in front of the Elsie post office. Apparently, you have to leave your foot on the clutch while simultaneously depressing the brake as you turn off the ignition or else the truck will lurch forward and jump over the curb while the locals watch and laugh. Not that I would know...

The lessons with Dad ended up fine, and I signed up for the official driver's ed course with Coach O'Donnell. He was also our high-school business teacher, the coach of the Ovid-Elsie High School Varsity football team, and my long-time school bus driver. Coach was fearless and also expected everyone else to be. An example of this (and to outline the non-litigious world of the mid-1960's): one day, the engine of our big yellow school bus kept stalling if the bus came to a complete stop. Coach was driving and decided to just roll up to the designated drive-ways, open the bus doors while coasting and yell to the kids waiting: "Just run and jump onto the bus"! It was great fun, and no one slipped.

He was just as laid-back when it came to Driver's Ed., and encouraged his students to "take it up to 80 on the highway" (even though the law had just changed to a maximum of 55). He bestowed upon me a passing grade, I got that shiny little card, and now it was time to bargain with my parents for my own car.

The deal was, if I got a job then I would get a car. I wanted something sleek, something dark and something fast, like all the other seniors at my high school. They all had 1977 Monte Carlos and shiny Ford pick-up trucks. After I secured a job, my dad came home with what at first appeared to be my nightmare car: a 1968 robin's egg blue/white Rambler sedan -- With plaid seats! And automatic transmission! And a hand choke! It took me about 2 seconds to fall in love with this quirky grandma car and we quickly became fast friends. And I never told my father that those plaid front seats folded back into a perfect 90 degree angle, making a bed-like formation with the back seat.

In the 33 subsequent years, there have been no accidents and not a single speeding ticket, so Dad and Coach must've done something right. The cars I've owned haven't quite lived up to that first '68 Rambler, but they got me through about a zillion miles of highway and back road driving. And in one of those great life-circles that happen to us all, I now drive a pick-up truck.

24 Years

The Kabbalah teaches a lesson about how to think in positive terms: blessings not chaos; who does love us and not who doesn't; what we have as opposed to what we do not. All good things to think about, if you're in the right frame of mind.

It took me a long time to embrace anything close to these teachings after my father died. I couldn't think of anything positive coming from his death when he died at such an early age. It sure felt like chaos to me. Who would I call when I got an "A" on a 19th Century Literature paper? Why couldn't he be here to give me away at my wedding? Why isn't he here? What would my children do without a Grandpa Jack? And while I always knew he loved me, he wasn't there to love me anymore. Essentially, all I thought about for many years after his death was what I no longer had. That seems pretty selfish when I think about it.

Then one year on July 22 (the anniversary of his death), I realized that I needed to remember not what I didn't have after he died, but more importantly what I have now because he lived: great and happy stories from my childhood, a strong work ethic, the ability to observe and marvel at the world around me, the knowledge of wood and tools, a wish to connect with my neighbors, a strong kinship with nature, and the capability of love toward many.

I need only to glance in the mirror to be reminded of him: the same red hair, the same crooked smile and green eyes. And many things I do each day are because he either taught me these things or I learned them by observing him.

And while I miss him terribly, even after 24 years, I can honestly say now that I realize what I had when he was alive. And what I have now that he is not. And I'm completely thankful.

The Waitress

Everyone should be one, at least once. Or twice.

Angelo's Restaurant, Ann Arbor, 1981:

The aprons were beyond cute -- black acrylic with double pockets: one for tips and one for straws or little packets of mixed-berry jelly. Specialty of the house was home-made raisin bread prepared daily at 4 a.m. by Angelo, a 60-year old Greek immigrant whose thick accent never waned even after 40 years of being on American soil. The diner consisted of a counter with navy-blue-naugahyde twirly seats, 12 booths and 4 tables. Most of the customers were UM students or hospital employees.

His nick-name for me was "kokino malusa" (red-haired girl), and my waitressing abilities were forever compared to "Tdess" (Tracey), my older sister who worked at Angelo's for 2 years as a UM student and who got me the job. She assured Angelo that I had previous experience even though my resume clearly stated that my previous employment had been as a shipping clerk, a tree-nursery accountant, a corn-tassel puller and a librarian's assistant.

I had heard about Mr. Angelo from my sister -- he was a no-bullshit man who wasn't known to dole out compliments of any kind. He ate lamb-chops with raw onions each afternoon after lunch rush, shouted Greek profanities when the orders got mixed up and constantly wiped off flour and grease from his white apron.

Thinking this was perhaps the dream job I had always wanted, I pulled up stakes from living on Lake Michigan and moved into an unknown life in Ann Arbor, all in a 24-hour period. I had one Wednesday evening in my sister's small campus apartment to learn the intricacies of holding 3 dinner plates and 2 coffee cups (with saucers, of course) on my left arm and serving with my right before I started my first day as a real waitress the following Thursday morning from the 8 a.m breakfast rush ridiculousness until the post-lunch at 4 p.m.

That first day was long, made more difficult by the fact that Angelo's held the tradition that their waitresses memorized the orders as opposed to writing them on those silly green pads. This meant that I had to "hold" orders in my head for, often, 6 or more tables when the kitchen was over-run. Thankfully, Mrs. Angelo taught me her memorization system. It had something to do with dividing the number of eggs by the total number of plates for each table, then adding in the bacon. But it worked like a charm.

She ran the cash-register and counted the money each evening. Mrs. Angelo was endearing, and read the newspaper constantly. We secretly called her Mrs. Malaprop, since she often used the wrong word when describing things: "Don't tell Vickie, but I'm buying her stimulated pearls for Christmas"; "Oh how exciting, the first space shuttle-bus just landed safely!"; and when the hospital CEO came in for lunch one day, she whispered conspiratorily to me: "He's the head poncho!". We loved her. She would, without hesitation, tell the hippies in the front to put out those damn clove cigarettes, give each cancer-patient child from the clinic up the street a reason to laugh when they came in for ice-cream, and loved her children and husband unconditionally.

I did finally "get" the memorization system, learned all the orders the quirky regular customers had, never dropped a single dish, and rarely forgot the daily soup specials: Monday was chicken noodle; Tuesday was barley; Wednesday meant bean; Thursday was split pea; Friday was vegetable which I always called "week in review", because it was composed of whatever was left in the refrigerator from the previous week. I even learned how to eat lamb chops with raw onions.

I spent 2 1/2 years at the restaurant before heading to college. During my time as a waitress I met scads of fun people, including my future maid of honor. I learned how to deal with impatient customers, regulars who were going through final exams, exhausted families whose very ill children were in the hospital up the hill, and the weekly garbage men who sang songs and snuck in the back door. And I cried and cried as I sat in the Greek Orthodox church with all the other waitresses for Angelo's funeral a few years later.

Angelo's Restaurant is still a landmark in Ann Arbor, although it is now run by Angelo's son, Simmie. The naugahyde seats and blue-plate specials are all gone, replaced and updated with specialty coffees and stream-lined furniture. The raisin bread is still made, and I'll bet the waitresses still roll up the quarters and count their dollar bills each night.

I miss it sometimes. And always, to this day, overtip the waitstaff.

Leisure time in the 1960's

I was in picturesque Haarlam (The Netherlands), minding my own business at 7 a.m. one morning on the front porch of my hostess's house. The alleyway was quiet except for a bike rider or two whizzing by. Suddenly, two little honey-haired Dutch girls wandered into the alley and started kicking a ball to each other, with intermittant time-outs to display their cartwheel abilities. This wheeling and kicking and giggling went on for an hour, then they wandered back inside.

This made me think of the games I used to play as a kid in the countryside of Michigan in the 1960's. It was pretty boring living among cornfields and gravel roads, and playmates were always only my two older sisters unless our passel of cousins came to visit.

Besides "Tag" and "Hide and Seek", we did have some favorites.....


Beautiful Statue

At least 4 kids are needed: one is the "statue maker" who presumably is the strongest and biggest kid in the yard. The statue maker grabs the arms of another, twirls her around in a dizzying circle, then lets go unexpectedly. The twirl-ee, discombobulated from all the swirling and throwing, must land on the ground and freeze into the most interesting and beautiful position she can. When all the kids are frozen into statues, the statue maker chooses the most beautiful. This game only stops when someone throws up.

Catch

All that's needed for this game is two kids with over-sized baseball gloves, the north 40 and a ball. A dog is usually involved, who will chase the ball if it's not caught, but will only bark at the missed ball and not retrieve it. If you're lucky, someone will bat the balls which, theoretically, will strenghten catching abilities greatly. It helps considerably if you have an ambidextrous dad who can bat both left and right-handed. When this version gets lame, it's time for another type of catch. One kid stands in front of the house and the other stands in back. The ball is thrown over the roof by the kid in the front, with a fore-warning yell of "annie eye over." Presumably, this exercise helps with catching pop-up balls but should not be played at dusk, since the chances of one kid getting konked over the head rises exponentially.

The Witch, The Babysitter and the Gravity Box
(aka "I'm Going Downtown to Smoke my Pipe")

This weird and somewhat gruesome game consists of a cast of characters: the witch, the babysitter, Sister Sue, her mother and a snake. If you can actually play this game in a gravity box (surreal piece of farm equipment that is nearly impossible to stand up in), then it just adds to the fun. The game starts by "mother" announcing that she is "going downtown to smoke her pipe and won't be back till broad daylight". The babysitter is instructed to watch Sister Sue carefully, or face being
"spanked black and blue with an old rubber shoe". But the babysitter is tricked into letting a stranger (the witch) come into the house, and only by facing
dire consequences can she oust the witch and keep Sister Sue safe. Of course, the players can decide just what consequences will be faced, but some include:
getting bitten by a snake, cutting off toes, using wax paper and a rubber band as a tourniquet, walking through a swamp, etc. Somehow in the end, all turns out well and mother returns to a happy household.

Even after 40 years, I can still throw a ball and probably turn myself into a statue. But where can I find a gravity box?

Bowling May Be Hazardous to your Physical and Mental Health!!

I made a surprising discovery during a visit to the local bowling alley. Before one can proceed with the game, a waiver must be accepted by each customer which states that Bowling Can Cause Physical Injury and that The Establishment is Not Responsible for Any That May Occur. Whew! I was so happy to learn of this possibility and I did accept the waiver, gratefully acknowleging that a broken leg or sprained wrist was possibly lurking in my future.

I went on to play three games but alas, Dear Local Bowling Alley, I encountered some hazards of which you may not be aware! Therefore, I am outlining further practical waivers you should put into place so that your customers know exactly what they cannot sue you for. As you know, the lawsuit possibilities are endless! My sincere wish is that no other unfortunate soul has to go through what I did, but more importantly I would hate for your establishment to close because you did not have the forethought to stay liability free! So, Dear Local Bowling Alley, take my advice and seek legal help so that you can draw up the following waivers immediately!

The Emotional Damage Waiver:

After accidently stepping on the black line, buzzers and bells sounded which alerted me to my error. Such embarassment and shame I felt! These feelings were not alleged, they were real! All the other bowlers stared and pointed!! Even worse, the pins that fell during said frame were NOT COUNTED. I feel that I may never be able to throw a ball down an alley again! This, of course, continues to cause me heavy emotional damage which is all your fault.

The Social-Anxiety Waiver:

Although I searched carefully, your establishment did NOT have a ball that was perfectly colored to match my outfit. My lime-green-colored shirt screamed with the only ball available that was the size and weight I needed -- a teal-tinted monstrosity with pale-blue marbling! My disgrace was palpable as I witnessed the other bowlers secretly giggling at this fashion faux-pas! I believe this was the direct cause of my high score being only 123 when, clearly, my established average is 168. How can I ever appear in public again when I am so obviously such a social outcast?

The Mother-Son Psychological Damage Waiver:

Because of the social and emotional damage I received while at your establishment, my scores were dismal. In fact, my son got a higher score than I did. How can I face him when he now realizes that he can actually beat me in a sports competition? In his eyes, I am less of a parent now that he realizes I am not perfect. Again, this is all your fault.

Since I am hardly the litigious type, I do not plan to contact my lawyer concerning the obvious damage that was inflicted upon me while bowling at your establishment. However, Dear Local Bowling Establishment, keep yourself free from all those valid lawsuits and heed my advice!!

You're welcome.....

Mama, Mother, Mutter, Moeder, мать, Mère, 母親

Nobody can sing a tribute to mothers better than Madeleine Kahn did on Saturday Night Live in 1976. Here are the lyrics. Happy Mother's Day.

M is the many things she gave me
O is for the other things she gave me
T is for the thousands of things she gave me
H is for the hundreds of things she gave me
E is for everything that she gave me
R is for the rest of the things she gave me
P is for the presents that she gave me

Put it all together it spells "motherp"
The one who means the world to me.

Pandemics, The Arts and Youtube

Pandemics have been sneaking around this earth for a long time, and people have been writing about them for centuries. The great 17th c. metaphysical poet, John Donne, described "plagie bills" (as in Bubonic) in several of his works. Even children have a nursery rhyme describing the effects of small pox ("ring around the rosie..."). And during the 1918 Spanish Influenza pandemic, a little ditty made the rounds about a bird named Enza (as in, influ"enza").

The current frenzy over the much-hyped swine flu pandemic has brought the songwriters out in droves. And, thanks to youtube, every person on the planet has access to these thrilling songs! For your listening and panic-filled pleasure, I have added a few of the lyrics and well as the youtube links. Enjoy!

Swine Flu Blues (deep Delta version)
"I like bacon and I like ham
never knew pork could kill a man
read your bible and see what it say about
cloven hooves -- stay away...."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cw3gLFQXB-4

The Swine Flu Cumbia (danceable South American version)
"All the particles are out, so you better not go outside
this is just like in the movies but we are no superstars
you better do the dance of the swine flu, you better do the dance
If you feel a little sick then you'd better dance around with me"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Auy3mnCgPF0

Swine Flu Song (U.S. Emo version)
"Please don't touch me if you're infected
And if you're not, then I stand corrected..."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DrCAzo-Qeek

Swine Flu Song (Great Britain jazz version)
"I ain't got no flu-like symptoms
It ain't the swine that has captured me..It's my OCD
It's how a hypocondriac reacts"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=43adkHiOMBM&feature=related

More songs you probably haven't heard but should

"JIQUE" by The Brazillian Girls -- yes, it's sung partly in other languages, but you'll get it http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OfZAYQv1J0o

"SECRET HEART" by Ron Sexsmith --for every awkward person out there (meaning -- everyone) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fYrX3SOf6ds

"SWEET OLD WORLD" by Lucinda Williams -- The most beautiful ballad ever written about loss and gratitude http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SBDEX_DKWaA

"ABSOLUTELY SWEET MARIE" by Jason and the Scorchers -- 150 times more rockin' than Bob Dylan's version http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p-cF40OWeak

"WHISTLEBAIT" by The Collins Kids -- these kids could've been Joey Ramone's older cousins and rocked as teens in the 50's http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lcl4sQMoJjk

"AL OTRO LADO DEL RIO" by Jorge Drexler -- the most glorious Uruguayan voice you'll ever hear http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x2m3mM5mAaw

"YEAH, YEAH, YEAH" by The Blazers -- air-guitar worthy and a barnburner http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-1Y8R79cLtU

"RED-HEADED WOMAN" by Bruce Springsteen -- ummm, perhaps I'm biased.... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8bfPZQBWa5k

"ME AND MY CHAUFFEUR BLUES" by Clifton Chenier, or Memphis Minnie or The Appellations http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-1Y8R79cLtU

A slight re-definition....

To clarify from the earlier post: We don't just have a "personal" universe. Instead, it's how we personally respond to the universe that is true and essential. Be kind, loving and thoughtful in your response. Walk your dog and the dogs at the shelter! Call your mother! Visit the graves of your loved ones! Thank the volunteers at the hospital! Plant those spring flower! Notice the trees on the hiking trail! Kiss and hug your fabulous children! Say "I love you" to those whom you secretly or openly love! Wake up early to check out the pre-dawn stars! Welcome the sunrise and say thank you to the sunset! Turn off the TV! Reconnect with your college room-mates! Use your blinker! Download your favorite song! Write a note to your elderly relatives! Open the window and feel the breeze! Wave to your neighbor! Continue to seek what you desire! It's all there in the big, wonderful universe. If you choose to notice with kindness and with light and love, the balance will come.

Perfectly-balanced Universe

A personal universe is really the only thing each of us has. Usually, it's slightly or terribly skewed, to the left or the right or to the north or to the south. At times, it's so misaligned that it's difficult to take a step forward or even sideways. But sometimes, if you're really lucky and mindful, you realize that your personal universe suddenly has become completely balanced. And if you are totally aware of what is happening around you, and you listen and watch carefully, your intuition will tell you when it's about to happen. One event can tip another to the right and another to the south, and then suddenly, balance occurs and your personal universe is flawlessly and perfectly aligned. Just be sure to write about it, or burn it into your brain when it happens. It's remarkable, valid, and highly inspiring.

I'll Take the Poet-guy

It was different when I attended grade school in the late 60's. Mrs. Heinrichs (5th grade teacher) reminded us on February 10th to bring in a shoebox, which would be decorated with thin scarlet tissue along with as many pink contruction paper heart cutouts we could glue on. And don't forget to make a slit in that top so the Valentine's cards can be dropped in! The absolute rule was that everyone in the class had to bring a card for everyone else.

Because of this rule, my girlfriends and I always got cards from boys, an exciting and mysterious thing for 11 year old pre-pubescent females. After the cards had been slipped into the shoeboxes, it was time for the reveal. The girls would clump together in the corner with their respective shoe boxes, scrutinizing each and every envelope and its contents. Was there a hidden meaning behind the angel card from John Salisbury? Why did Mike Bensinger write his whole first and last on the back when he was the only person named Mike in the entire 5th grade? And the best surprise of all was when a girl got a card from a boy with no signature at all! All of these mysteries apparently must have meant something romantic! Or were we just little kids who were doing what the teacher asked?

What is it about February 14th? Some people intellectualize Valentine's Day by viewing it strictly as some historical battle in some long-forgotten Roman war, or they may dismiss it as a marketing ploy by Hallmark. Others romanticize the day by believing in Chaucer's love poems and in the cupids who decorate all the heart-shaped cards at the drug stores. Perhaps how we view this day depends on where we are in life, who is standing next to us (or who is not), if we feel some obligation or something else.

Obviously, we aren't in 5th grade anymore. And now that we are all grown up, we do not have decorated shoe boxes on our wooden desks, and there's no teacher to demand we give a Valentine card to every boy and girl in the class and receive one in return. We can decide to forget the silly holiday altogether, or we might choose to send Valentine greetings with total abandon to absolutely anyone we wish, whether they're lovers or friends or family.

And just because we might not receive a special romantic red envelope from some boy or girl on February 14th, isn't it just as wonderful knowing that you sent a love greeting that might make someone else feel great?

Well, almost as wonderful.

Little Darlin', Pal of Mine

Not only is that a remarkable song by Doc Watson (and Lucinda Williams and many others), it's the anthem I shout about my wonderful friends.

How I love these folks who stick by my side and want me to stick by their side (some for decades) through so many trials and pleasures, who make the time and expend the energy, who call knowing I will answer (and answer my calls even in the wee-hours), who listen and really hear, who spill, who talk about nothing or something, who debate and share, who let loose and judge, who aren't afraid to expose all of the fabulousness and ugliness that makes us who we are.

I think you know who you are, and you are little darlins' and pals of mine.

What Can You Do With Snow?

Write your name in it, check it every hour to see it magically pile up on the porch, watch it implode and turn yellow when the dog pees on it, pack it in a cup with milk and brown sugar, catch it on your tongue as it's falling, laugh at it when it shuts an entire city down, photograph it, miss it when it melts.

Self-Estimation

What makes a person arrogant? Money, power, beauty, fame? Sometimes none of these.

Arrogance is conceit -- a self-aggrandizement of the worth a person feels about her/himself and a pretention that their own thoughts, needs, beliefs or stature somehow are superior in quality to anyone else's. Arrogance and egocentrism go hand in hand, therefore the person who has both of these unfortunate qualities cannot even begin consciously to realize how they appear to others. Ultimately, the arrogant person's undue degree of self-importance results in a feeling of pity (not jealousy) from those witnesses who stick around long enough to form an opinion.

People who worship only themselves eventually get a hard, matte-finished look, like cold marble statues. And observers tend to visit them only once.

Scented Wind

I don't have any pine trees in my backyard, but the breeze coming into the open window smells like pure pine sap and needles. It smells like late winter.

25 Random Things about Me

This silly e-mail arrived asking me to list 25 random things about me. But I did it anyway....

1. I get up ridiculously early every morning, and can't stay in bed when there's a moon and pre-dawn stars to see
2. I have a gray streak in my hair like Bonnie Raitt, but I'd rather have her talent
3. I am so lucky to have the most wonderful, longtime girlfriends ever (Jane, Naomi, Lisa, Laura & Lee), plus two fine sisters
4. I am afraid to get on an airplane. Perhaps it's because the last time a bird flew into the engine (no, really)
5. I love the owl that talks to me from outside my window nearly every day at 4:45 am. He is not a boring even-toned hoot-hooter, more like a RHEE-hoo crooner.
6. I hate heels higher than 2" (or taller than 5' 11")
7. My favorite candy: Hot Tamales and Heath bars
8. If people don't swear, don't love music or don't like dogs, I don't trust them.
9. My favorite smells in the whole wide world are: campfire smoke, sawdust, pipe tobacco, coffee
10. I love the fact that Southern men call women Darlin'& Baby, open car doors and hold the umbrella
11. I miss my father even after 23 years, and wish I had a recording of his voice.
12. The only thing I miss about Michigan: my kids, my sisters and my big dog, Johnny
13. I always wear shoes, even in my house (but the heels are less than 2")
14. I always drive with my window open and my arm out, unless it's below 34 degrees.
15. I watch closely how people physically talk: how their lips and tongue move when they speak, if and why they have a lisp, if they make a repeated facial gesture, if they show their teeth or not.
16. My dream job would be working for Matt Groening, Jon Stewart or Tex Avery.
17. My motto for this year is "be brave" and "never say never."
18. I never recycle (see #17)
19. I visualize a broken heart fixing itself by patching the cracks with gold. Then it's easy to remember how shiny and strong it is. And how much it's worth, and worth showing.
20. I collect scarves and antique satin slips
21. I realize now how lucky I am that my childhood was safe and happy, and that growing up on a dirt road in east jesus nowhere had many more pluses than minuses
22. The middle finger on my left hand has always been curved outward. This causes a split between my fingers when I hold my hand out to reach for change and the dimes always slip through. But I can do Spock's Vulcan greeting with ease....
23. Diet quinine water and prune juice make a very good spritzer
24. I think music is a balm and appropriate for any situation whatsoever
25. I am conceited about my red hair.

The Owl is Talking

Sure enough, the owl was talking again this morning around 5:15 a.m. Even Charlotte hears it, and she and I stare at each other and listen. When I crack open the dining-room window, the owl is the only thing making any noise in the entire city: no traffic, no sirens, no dogs barking. The owl didn't have much to say on this cold morning, but he came through loud and clear for 15 glorious minutes.

Songs you have probably never heard, but should

"Lover's Prayer" by Gillian Welsh -- lovely and romantic http://www.last.fm/music/Gillian+Welch/_/I+Made+A+Lovers+Prayer

"Feeling Good" by Nina Simone -- a fabulous personal anthem
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6xtaa_feeling-good-nina-simone_music

"Who Knows" by Marion Black -- should've become a household name
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ZF_ZItsh6o

"Good Morning Little School Girl" by Muddy Waters -- the right mixture of steam & blues
http://www.last.fm/music/Muddy+Waters/_/Good+Morning+Little+Schoolgirl?autostart

"Now at Last I Know" by Feist -- thought-provoking, buttery-voiced & sad
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u1bM_7kW0fk

"These Arms of Mine" by Otis Redding -- get out the tissues
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7pVWBKqFFLw

"Real Love" by Lucinda Williams -- cupid's arrow has landed
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1oPgZoXZ1Z0

"You Sure Look Swell" by Sondre Lerche -- slow dance to this, sweetly
http://www.last.fm/music/Sondre+Lerche/_/You+Sure+Look+Swell?autostart

I'm Feeling the Clarity!

Was it a full moon? A change in atmospheric pressure? Something whispering into my ear as I slept? I don't know, but I woke up at my usual 5:17 am on January 5th and something was different. Decisions about which I had been waffling were instantly already made; a clear vision of what I want in 2009 was in my head; and I swear the pre-dawn stars were winking at me. All this before my first cup of coffee! How does sudden awareness and absolute clarity just decide to show up? I didn't do anything new or unusual the day before: no change in my herbal tea brand, no sudden flash of insight, no new haircut, no booming voices from on high.

Whatever the hell caused it, I am thrilled at its surprise arrival and plan to work hard to keep it from leaving. woo hoo!

My Favorite Colloquialisms

I love the way people talk. I love their accents, the way their lips and tongue move when they are forming sounds, the words they say and what's behind the meaning of those words. Colloquial speech is especially remarkable. As a former midwesterner, a current southerner and evidently a linguist in a former life, here are a few of my favorites:

"That smells really loud." Meaning, that has a really strong smell. (North Carolina)

"Searcy." A friendly little gift given for no reason at all. (North and South Carolina, Alabama)

"The Devil is beating his wife." Said when it's raining and the sun is shining simultaneously (North Carolina)

"A Red Bic Lighter." This is terribly bad luck to have and must be disposed of immediately. (Wisconsin)

"How you gonna show?" Meaning, what are you going to do in this situation? (Northern Ohio)

"Don't send a boy...." (to do a man's job). Used to describe when someone is unqualified to do a particular task. (Michigan)

"Szepicsam" (tzay-peecham). If you ask a Hungarian-speaking woman very sweetly, perhaps she'll tell you what it means. And if you're really lucky, she might show you.

"Plumnilly." Meaning, right in between. (North Carolina)

"Tsotski". (chaaats-kee). Meaning, those crappy, dusty brik-a-brak things that covered every shelf in your grandmother's house. (New York City).

"Pa-diddle". What you must say when you see a car on the highway coming toward you with only one headlight. (Michigan)