Dina won't you blow, Dina won't you blow, Dina won't you blow your hor-or-ornn.....

A very wise woman, lets call her .... Dina....., once told me, "Life isn't tidy." She's right. At least in my case. And , alright... in the case of my house. Now, at the time, she wasn't talking about housework, per se, but I'll get to that in a minute.

I do have a room in my house that is tidy. It moves around a lot. Sometimes it is the living room (with the exception of that one spot behind the sofa, where son #3 stashes his dirty sock, his homework from last week, his bowl of cucumber salad, and my daughters latest stuffed unicorn for blackmail purposes. This goes without saying). Sometimes, my bedroom is the tidy spot. This happens when i proclaim that my room is "my space", and all kids and/or husband has got 10 seconds to get their blankets, shoes, homework/work laptop, and swords out of it RIGHT NOW, or someone's going to get whipped with a wet noodle. And on rainy days when i get in a mood, the tidy spot could just be the kitchen, although i know that as soon as i clean it sons #1 and #2, along with the friends they have chosen for the day, will promptly walk through the front door, drop their backpacks/shoes/blades and/or boards, and raid my fridge of anything remotely resembling sandwich material. What's the point of cleaning it then? So it can be tidy for the minute and a half before the kids come home. Silly. You know, the calm before the storm? Sometimes the journey of getting the room tidy is satisfying enough, knowing it will be a memory before long.

And that is a good point that i missed, until Dina was kind enough to talk with me about it. Although life isn't tidy, striving for tidiness can be fulfilling. AS LONG AS we realize that we are fooling ourselves, JUST a smidge. Playing a practical joke on ourselves, really. We know we can't always be tidy, but tidying up a bit makes us FEEL like we are closer to the end result. And if we have 1 part of life that is tidy, well then that is the part we will show to the public, right?

Now, I come from an environment where perfecting ones self is just part of the package. It's what we do, it's who we are, it's how we roll. So perpetual guilt about falling short of that perfection is also part of the package. And so is tidiness. Or striving for tidiness. How freeing, then, for the notion that life isn't tidy can come into play. "WHAT?" i thought, sitting on the other end of the sofa as Dina dropped the bomb. " I have assumed that life WAS tidy, and i was the one dropping the ball!" WHEW!!!!

Did it occur to me that in an environment where we seemed to run around sweeping up after ourselves and others, that all these people occasionally dropped the ball? Nope. Not once. I assumed i was odd to not want to keep tidying up all the time. With plates of cookies for the downtrodden, and good-natured snooping on the police scanner,( just to see who's house the ambulance was going to, in order to keep them in our prayers, of course), the tidying up of self and others went on and i assumed the look of tidiness was real.

What a fantastic release to know that i could live next door to a freak, just like me, with a corner of the living room that has a hidden mess. Maybe they have a fridge that also has sticky chocolate syrup on the 3rd shelf, still not cleaned up after 2 weeks. ORRRR..... they might even have some lint behind the door of the downstairs bathroom. Gulp. Think of the possibilities!!!!! Well, its just a logical leap to think that the guy across the street may have a dark side too. Does it mean i will stop asking him for a cup of sugar? NOPE. After all, at some point i would have to supply my OWN sugar if i did that. Silly. I don't care if he brushed his teeth before bed last night. And do i keep myself awake at night about whether there is an oil spot on his driveway? um, no. I just think it's fascinating that it took me a while to realize that no one is caring whether my shed that has garden supplies in it is organized or not.

What the???? How did this happen?

Ever been in over your head? For me, I have never had the experience of diving in to something over my head. Ohhhh, no. It's usually something that i dip my toe in, decide to go thigh high because i can handle the gentle swaying on my....hips?....., have no problem with the tugging of the water on my...torso..., and then...gulp!.... How did i get to floating flat on my back, hoping the fat content in my body and visualization of me with dorsal fins will keep me afloat in this pooh-storm? Now that i think on it, it's kind of my signature. In fact, if you are a distant, casual, or recent friend/relative/parent, you will have probably pulled me out of the pooh a few times. And honestly, the ones i really should be thanking are any recent/distant/casual guardian angels i've had the privilege of burning out. No, No! I have no illusion about me burning out my share, believe me. The latest one was last night. I'm going to chalk that one up to the guardian angel, lets call him Stan. Stan and i went with a friend to a 5 band punk concert at a place i'm pretty sure my 2 oldest boys would think was Suuh-LAAAMIN. they would have been right. I ended up in a mosh-pit. I'm not dead, don't worry. But that was the time that i went, "What the??? How did this happen?" Again, i didn't walk in the doors, and stroll down the isle to the 12 men and 2 women/beasts that were a spinning vortex of smiles, booze, and aggression. No, i started out in a rational, mature state of mind. As a side note, I had no idea there was mosh-pit etiquette. It goes like this: 1. Anyone, of any age, may mosh. Assuming you are allowed into the establishment in the first place. Basically, if you have the guts, we have the slams. 2. A few elbows to the ribs and shoulders are perfectly acceptable to the outside crowd near enough to reach. This lets them know you are interested in another partner (as the previous one just slammed her head on the cement floor again, got up laughing, but is a bit more woozy than normal.) 3. If anyone falls, all slamming and pushing ceases around that person while the guy/girl is picked up, dusted off, and put back on their feet, or carried to the nearest chair so they can finish bandaging the puncture wound that was inflicted by the woman with 5 inch stilettos, the result of a playful step on the forearm RIGHT before saying sorry and helping the unfortunate up. (p.s. the polite thing for the victim to do is to bleed OUTSIDE, so as not to alarm the rest of the crowd that moshing might be dangerous. no one needs to see blood when they are having a good time. really.) 4. Shaking a beer in a bottle and spraying it into the moshing mass and/or crowd that might be watching in horrified fascination is perfectly acceptable. This is what makes the night....interesting.... Please watch your step. The logical thing would have been to get away from this if i was not interested. That would be logical, however, i was ALREADY IN OVER MY HEAD, being stuck between the stage, acting as bodyguard while my friend shot pics for the gig she had gotten, and the fight-or-flight-reflex I was supposed to rely on, being stuck in neutral. Again, this didn't start out with the mosh pit. This started out with the 2nd experience as my friend's (lets call her...Flo...) "assistant". Flo has the hookup to some great shows. 1 All-access press pass for her. CHECK. 1 evening of Look-the-other-way from the bouncers for me, the lucky friend that gets to schmooze backstage with the bands, joke with the M.C.'s and enjoy the music on the pretense of being an assistant to the "official" photographer for a local radio/internet station. CHECK. Now, as i didn't do the concert scene growing up, and feeling slightly ripped of for it, i had no problem living my teen years again, this time to see what i had been missing. (dip of the toe) Besides, i reasoned, it didn't hurt to know what my boys were listening to now. (and it reaches my thighs) Lastly, i had already done this once and was an immense help to Flo, keeping people at a reasonable distance while she used the inside of the crowd/cattle guard fence to snap shots of the lead singer, bass, and drummers. (And, up to my bellybutton.) A few differences this time around: A. I had my own press pass. B. I had more confidence. C. There was no safety rail between the stage and the crowd. D. Did i mention i had more confidence? OKKKK. The night starts off on a great note. And if by great i mean the bands of choice were local scream bands, heavy on the drums and light on any intelligible words, then yes, great. I'm not knocking this genre of music. It's just new to me. But, as an observer, i can handle this. (Key word in my sticky situations seems to be OBSERVER) The M.C. is hilarious and i'm enjoying an easy conversation with he and Flo, looking at potential spots for Flo to work her magic. As the night progresses and the booze begin to flow, i again observe the distinct differences in logical choices people make on their first beer and their fourth. This is not new to me. where i grew up, there were not a lot of teenage things to do, so LOGICALLY, the crowd would turn to booze/partying (and toilet-papering trees/cars/people. Why? because we were bold, but not THAT bold.) My known role in this was always to watch others drink. I've been told i don't need any alcohol for me to be a spaz. I think it's true. I think most of you reading this know it for a fact. ANYHOOOO..... Like i said before, enjoying the entertainment on stage, off-stage, and back-stage was great. I was not a mom, a wife, or a survivor of the days batterings of appointments, arguments, and daily decisions. Nope. I was just me, and living in the moment.... A moment that was lengthening into alarm. I'm thinking the haze in the air wasn't COMPLETELY from the smoke machine on stage after the 4th band. I'm thinking that front and center isn't always a good idea, when the casual observation is that we are the shortest, most petite, and sanest people in the crowd. and I'm thinking that the black broken-in casual boots (you know, the ones with the deep crack running the width of the shoe on the left side?) will soak up whatever is on the floor. Dang it. This is when i look around, and that tingling sensation in my belly tells me i'm probably the only one in this place that doesn't exactly fit. It's ok, i reason to my belly. I'm just OBSERVING. Calm down. Back to looking for good shots, nice angles, and oh-click-on-the-fan-that-is-over-the-top-excited-and-tries-to-clamber-on-stage-but-her-shape-and-current-state-of-mind-prevents-it. Fast forward to the last band. The headliner. The legend band that everyone has gotten keyed up to see. Silly me. I had NO idea what that meant. Did i put together the facts? nope. Did i put together the clues that were warning me to move to higher ground? NOPE. Lets recap, shall we? 1. lots of people, front and center, no safety rail whatsoever. 2. late at night/early morning, and lots of booze flowing. 3. 4 other scream bands to whip the crowd into a frenzy, waiting for the main attraction. 4. no body armor or spikes at ALL. Silly me. I'm just an observer. Plus i have Stan, my guardian angel, don't i? he's a good guy. The M.C. introduces the band, the crowd goes wild, and the snapping of pics commences. At first, i actually thought i'd look at the stage and see the band. Or at least get through the band because, lets be clear, i was deaf from the noise, blind from the smoke, and my taste buds had turned to ash from wondering what was on the floor. (did i mention seeing the nice girl alternately yarking and squatting at the bottom of the stairs? All in good fun, i'm sure. She probably won't even remember the reason i will have lengthened my therapy sessions by 3 visits.) I turn to the stage and think thoughts like, "As an observer, i think this guy had the best power scream of the night. I am a bit put off by the drummer with spittle flying from his mouth. So this is what would be fun for my boys...." when WHAM! I'm elbowed in the neck. all in good fun, by the way. I turn around and see that the entire crowd behind me, Flo, and the 1st row has moved to make room for 14 entertainers who are checking for any other takers (thus the friendly elbow to the neck check). My thoughts immediately turn to Flo's last statement, which was, "Can you create a bit of space on my left so i can concentrate and get steady shots without anyone jostling me?" and i think.........ummm lets see if i can do this or not. Side note. when getting ready to fend off a band of drunk hoodlums, do these things first: 1. plant your feet. check. 2. visualize the bubble of positive energy surrounding yourself and friend (learned in a moment of zen) Check. 3. get the attention of the woman next to you who, with 2 beers in her hand (drinking from both AT THE SAME TIME, might i add), readily decides to champion your cause by saying, "un gotcha baaak, yo." And steps behind the oblivious FLO in her 4 inch heels, pushing and jostling the swirling assorted limbs coming at us, causing the ENTIRE MOSH PIT to come attack her, and us by proxy. It was at this time that it occurred to me that i was no longer an OBSERVER. I was a PLAYER. Yo. I'm thinking the bubble of energy worked. Or maybe the moshers saw the deer-in-headlights look on my face, and being the gentle-moshers that they are, took pity on me. Or who knows, they could have been taken in by the miracle of a woman chugging 2 beers at once. I choose to believe that Stan did a stand up job. The crowd missed me (and Flo) by millimeters, the beating that 2-beer bula took was welcomed and reciprocated, and time started ticking again. My body regained feeling somewhere on the ride home. Now the interesting thing is that, looking back, i find that Stan, or his predecessors, do a fantastic job of keeping me afloat through the pooh-storms. I just can't figure out why i get so many chances. I'm thankful, though, don't get me wrong. I could tell you about the time the raft i was on flipped over and Flo and i went through the rapids on top of the raft, no handholds at all. (Flo still has the halo that was given to her for keeping me calm while my reflex was to splutter, cuss incoherently, and drown.) I believe Jethro was the angel on duty at that time. Or i could expand on the time that i went on a train, current occupation as a newly licensed financial adviser, to visit family, but ended up chatting harmlessly with a wealthy, bored elderly gentleman who wanted nothing more than to pick my brain, be fascinated that i could be a mom/wife/career woman, and ultimately frown when he was turned down as i was invited back to his "cozy little car up front". Note to self: Do not divulge you know anything about money to a stranger in a confident way with no thought as to whether they will ask your advice, invite your opinion, shoot the hypotheticals, and eventually have a cozy 3-way chat with just you, the nice gentleman, and his stock guy. Even if it is all casual, hypothetical, and entertaining. My guardian angel that night was Evan. Now retired. I could even touch on that one night as a teen in the back of a car with 2 very drunk just-turned-21 yr olds careening down a mountain path right through the surprised looks of 2 cops and 2 parents that just happened to be looking for us. this turns into a police chase and involves dumping 2/8ths of a ton of warm beer and other assorted alcoholic beverages on the front lawn of some lucky senior citizen, and ends with me eating mints on the doorstep of my mom's house and knowing i'll be yanked out of school. WISH GRANTED. Nope, again i didn't die, wasn't harmed in any way and came out the better. Thanks Ed, Joe, and Bob the current guardian angels pulled from nearby to assist angel Jack with my current situation. But, i won't bore you. Needless to say, I have a lot of thank you cards to write (FAX? PRAY? how does one get a thank you note to those shaking, retired angels from long ago? And maybe they would rather have brownies anyway....) Each time, my reflexes are getting better. By the time i'm 80, i should JUST ABOUT be able to listen to the tingle in my belly before the waves go over my head and i pray that the pathetic doggy paddle will hold out a bit longer than the lack of good sense i seem to have. HMMMM i wonder if i'll remember the doggy paddle when i'm 80..... Man i hope i haven't run through all the sensible angels by then. Maybe i'll get the goofy one that looks pretty but can only count up to potato.....

Life happens. I just talk about it.: Gratitude. It's the key to abundance. So why have i lost that key so many times?

Life happens. I just talk about it.: Gratitude. It's the key to abundance. So why have i lost that key so many times?

so about death and feet....

Ever had your weakness turn into your strength? It's a bizarre twist to me. Sometimes odd things happen in moments of ....panic....or grief even. To me, anyway. I tend to let go of the script about how things should look in society and just.....go. Sometimes that is good and sometimes is turns out to bite me in the hindparts. Look at this, for instance: I used to hate feet. HATE them. I used to fixate on how ugly my toes were, how yucky other peoples feet looked, and even wondered what sorts of oddness lived in between the 2nd and 3rd toes of the grumpy cat neighbor 2 doors down the street. So imagine my surprise when, years later, i embraced and loved on some feet at a nursing home. Hmmm. Some explanation may be necessary. Several years ago, I was in a nursing home hallway, getting ready to visit my grandpa. He had just had a stroke, and some of the family were gathering around. Clearly, it was a somber occasion. As i geared up for this I thought, "The same man that used to call me 'kiddledid' and sneak me out for ice cream was not the same anymore", and i knew i'd be crying soon. So this was the mood as I walked in, and saw the "RESPECTFUL" society space that people gave him. Then I got a look at my Grandpa, and all I could think of was this: "Sheesh. He needs his toenails clipped!", because he did. Here was this dignified, strong, amazing man, and the toenails, well, they were just hanging out on his bare feet, getting long and unattractive. Grandpa wouldn't want that at all! While people were shaking their heads, tut-tutting or wringing their hands, his toenails had been overlooked, and they looked like they must hurt. I just assumed he hated nasty feet as much as i did, and being the unwilling occupant of such was not ok with me. What I did then was something that crossed the line. The TABOO don't-touch-him-he's-dying line. I grabbed some clippers. They were conveniently at a shelf by his legs, and maybe this is what gave me the motivation. Now he couldn't talk very well, if at all, and people basically talked at him, or around him, so when i walked up to him and just started speaking with him a bit, touching him, and rubbing his legs and feet, people hushed up in a hurry. I didn't notice them till later, in fact. I just did the natural thing. I didn't worry that there was some shocked looks on faces as i joked with Grandpa, the patriarch of the family. I just gave him a quick touch up with the clippers. I just assumed he was ok with me touching his feet. His legs. His TOENAILS. I took that risk without asking. The unmitigated gall, eh? Seriously, if I would have been conscious of the looks I'm now pretty sure I was getting in the beginning, I probably would have stepped away and apologized. After all, who was this young whippersnapper, coming in and being so assumptive? A few years later, my mom let me know I was very tender with him and had a way with people. None of the perceived taboo backlash ever did happen, but I thought it was because my mom did damage control or something. Later I realized that it worked out well because it felt right to me. I didn't ask permission, I just went with it. Life lesson learned. wahooo! It is still odd to me that no one had thought of dealing with my grandpa's toes, and maybe they were icked out about feet too, but I'm thankful for the opportunity to get over myself by doing some service. He still passed away. I'm still sad, and I wish he were around, but I loved serving him. Strangely, that was a good memory for me. It goes against the ick factor directly, and yet, feels natural and right for me. OK.... it isn't like it was some heroic thing. I'm not saying it to be about Grandpa at all, really. I'm just saying that sometimes the things that we ick out about can be turned around and used as a growing point. I know now that I have no problem getting into people's space when others will back away. In fact, while some people bake brownies and funeral potatoes for life's tragedies, and to be of service, I am more at ease giving a back rub, or holding the hand, or listening to the heartache. I would not know that about me if I hadn't grabbed those clippers in the first place. I just had known, up to the clippers point, that I was uncomfortable in "old people" places, and hated feet. 2 very shallow ways of being, looking back. Now when life gives me an uncomfortable situation, maybe something that I would automatically discount with, "um I don't do...that", (cooking, for instance...), I can choose to take it on and looking for the good that comes in growing up. After all, who am I to say I don't cook well? My dog likes my cooking. Sometimes. Now if I can just clip the DOG's nasty nails...Hmmmm another opportunity. For later.

Gratitude. It's the key to abundance. So why have i lost that key so many times?

I think The Clapper is ingenious. You lose something, like light in a dark room. You clap for it, and BOOM! There is light! Now put it into play with my keys, which I am constantly losing. If I wasn't sure I'd look like a wilderness kid clapping to scare the bears away, I would hook the clapper on my key ring so I can hunt it down effectively at 6:33 AM when I'm running out the door to work. Hmmmm, now let's think about it for a second. I would be grateful for the Clapper, if it were attached to my keys. But, I would still trip over the cat, the last pair of jeans i wore, the unicorn Paint-By-Numbers set that my daughter was working on, and the book, "Dr. George Washington Carver" (it's a good read. i highly recommend it.). Because i still would run into the room, late at 6:33 A.M. and be in too much of a hurry to turn the light on! But that's just me. My common sense doesn't kick in until at least 8:07 A.M. i wish i had a clapper equivalent for gratitude. i mean, really, there are so many great things that come with life. Lessons, good or bad, have a consequence and a silver lining sometimes. But i find that the gratitude gets lost sometimes. Somewhere under the books, the pets, the business of life, the gratitude for those very things can get lost. And don't even get me started on lessons and gifts that are coming my way every day! The miracles that show up every day seem to fade into ordinary routine, until gratitude is factored in. For instance, I don't think about electricity, until a snow storm makes me frantically look for a flashlight (ANY flashlight, including the pink one under my daughters bed, or the pen light on my keys... which i can't find in the dark, without the Clapper). Also, I never think about the battery in Hoss, my ridiculous but comfortable vehicle, until I'm running out the door at 6:34 a.m., slide into the leather seats, anticipating the warmth of the bum warmer as i turn the key, and i hear the "CLICK-CLICK-C.L.I.C.K.-cli..." and then nothing. Then I'm thankful for the battery chargers that son #1 automatically has in his truck as he fixes me up and sends me on my way. You know, stuff like that. Gratitude is the key to abundance. It is just up to me to find the silver lining when the lessons that come my way aren't easy, or fun. Thus the Clapper idea. Of course, that would be too easy. When son #3 says he doesn't like my cooking (again), i could just clap at him, and I'd be grateful we had food at all. Or grateful that i didn't strangle him with a wet noodle. Maybe i should get a gratitude Clapper for him. Then he can be glad i didn't make him eat my hamburger/eggplant/noodle surprise.

So a trout walks into a bar, and orders some Spam....

INFATUATION. Yark. Not because it isn't fun. Yark because, well, infatuation is the limbo of the harsh reality of love. There is a start. There is a middle, and sometimes, there is an end. Infatuation comes in like, ummm, like...like the spam on a hook to bait the unsuspecting river trout. Trout: Just floating along, maybe looking for a bug, or a bit of Flotsom to chow on. Maybe just feeling out the current. Then WHAM!!!!! A bit of Spam is just dangling along in the current with him/her. "What kind of goodness is this?" He thinks....And takes the bite of apparent goodness. Only, after he takes that first blissful bite, with maybe a bit of perma-grin as he looks around at his trout-posse, knowing THEY don't have Spam in THEIR mouths.... does he realize that this goodness comes with some commitment. And that's what I'm talking about. The hook. Now this hook is just there, shoring up the Spam of love, at first. We may even call it fun, a tool, or no strings attached....Spam. But there is, each time, a leee-eetle bit of e-ouch!-what-was-that?...ness.... It may even be that as long as it does not start to pull too much ,too hard, or too many times, that we can get used to that Spam flavored hook. Ok enough with the fish stories. All hooked fish end up getting pulled out of the river of comfort to be dashed against the rocks of reality at some point. Depressing? YOU try having a spam covered hook in your mouth, with all your friends laughing at you..... I guess what i think about infatuation is this: It HAS to be that alluring, because if we knew or thought about what happened AFTER the infatuation, we may just pass on it and go back to the safety of our ho hum lives. OH YEAH..., our lives seemed so ho hum, before infatuation came sniffing around. All of a sudden, it doesn't matter how late we stay up, how little sleep we get, how many dollars we may spend, or how many daydreams float by at work, as long as we can get just a LITTLE bit more of the elixir of love. DANG IT!!!!! And while we are at it....Have you ever wondered about how stupid we look to others when we are infatuated? like the fish with a hook in his mouth swimming around looking smug. What his friends see is a fish that's going to get it in the end. But the hook guy is happy about it!!!!!! Ok well , the same thing happens on dry land. Our friends look over our heads at each other and roll their eyes. Or when we are texting with that stupid perma-grin look on our face?..... Yeah, they roll their eyes then too. Now why do they roll their eyes??? BECAUSE THEY KNOW THE DIFFERENCE between love and infatuation, apparently. The only ones that don't get it are the ones going ga ga in stupid meeting places, like across a crowded KFC to get together for 1/2 hr of what-if-ness. Like i said before, Yark.

If he laughs at THAT joke, he must be a horrible guy....

Always keep a quarter in your purse, just in case... Keep your ankles decently crossed.You never know who's looking..... Have a friend call with an "emergency" when you get in trouble.... Look in his bathroom medicine cabinet. THAT says a lot about him... If he goes for 1st, 2nd, or 3rd base on the first date.... RUN!!!! (and be very angry when he doesn't call later)... I have more. Every woman does. It makes us feel better when we are giving advice to an innocent woman. I think every teenage chick, and most pre-teens, have something like this in their arsenal. These are the tools that we have for the battle. Um, THE BATTLE.... The Battle Of The Sexes??? Yyeeah, it's still going on. At least that's what I hear. And fear. This is what I was armed with from the time Adrian B. got booted from my house because "girls don't play with boys" when I was ... 8? Little by little, Adrian, Matt, Steve, and...What's-His-Face... the guy with the curly hair and dimples????... got culled from the neighborhood play group and tossed into the boys club where trucks, trees, and anything that got them dirty and scraped up was acceptable. Us girls usually were led into Barbie play dates, dress up, and cooking. (For the record, I hated Barbies and cooking. My cooking attests to it.) I think it was just easier for moms of girls to get that look on their face... the one of disdain and just a leeettle bit of nausea, when boys got older (the unmitigated gall!) as their girls did too. And like a light going on around the neighborhood, mom's would tug on their daughters apron strings and tell them little things to make the culling a bit easier...."Well, you are getting too old to play with him. He is paying too much attention to you." And all of a sudden the question was, "Is that bad? Am I bad? I was having fun playing in the trees/scraping my knees/playing Barbie with him". The next thought being, "boys have fun this way, and girls have fun that way..." and never the two shall mix. All of a sudden, we were DIFFERENT. Instead of there just being friends, it was Boys, and it was Girls. We knew that already, of course, but suddenly it mattered to the moms, so it had to matter to us. The leap from friends to US VS. THEM looked like this: A. we are different from boys. B. mom doesn't like us to play with "different" anymore. C. Different must be BAD D. BOYS ARE BAD and must be watched out for.... I know. Guys, if you are reading this, you either have a story like this but it's turned around so the girls are the enemy, or you are scratching your goatee and saying, "what the?????" Does it explain why girls got so creepy from about 8 years old on? Now you know the secret. We were told you were the enemy. Its true. Ask any girl in G-ville. (They are all on Facebook anyway.) In fact, just look in my Facebook friends for the girl that was in your neighborhood. She's the one you used to hang out with, and then BAM!! kicked you in the shins when you passed them. For no apparent reason. Now you know.... Here's the reason I bring it up in the first place: I'm a little bit bitter about it. I lost some really good guy friends when I was 8. Well, I (being the stubborn girl I was) hung out with them, off and on all the way until high school. Maybe, Neighbor Friend Around The Corner, you were just as stubborn as I was, and that's why we didn't care what our mom's said, but still.... Guy Across The Street And 2 Houses Down, we got the short end of the stick because my mom and yours were of the same mind that we both were the devil to the other.... The point is...... Ladies....... What if the boys/guys/men in our lives weren't the horrible people we were supposed to watch out for? What if there are guys out there that are gentle, kind, and want whats best for them and us? What if, dare I say, we are so conditioned to watch out and identify the bad in the boy that we don't know what to do if a good guy walked up to us and treated us right? I'm pretty bold to say that there could be amazing men out there. I know it because at any point now I'll get some emails letting me know I've been brainwashed. Here is where I get really bold, though. What if it is the WOMEN who have been out of the loop? What if we are so worried, and freaked out about getting taken advantage of/ripped off/hurt (and sometimes for good reason), that we have forgotten how to be open to the good that a guy could bring to a friendship/relationship????? hmmm? I speak about this because..... well..... I was dumped. By a really good guy. A really really excellent guy. nope, not my hubby. although he is a good guy too. I'm talking about someone that is no longer able to talk to me because he has been forbidden. By his love interest. His love, lets call her Brenda, is not assuming I will seduce him, necessarily. She assumes HE WILL CAVE. For the reason that he is a man and therefore BAD, he must be reined in with the friends that he has. As in, no women friends. Did I mention I've known him all my life? No? Well, yeah, I'm bitter. But really I don't have anyone to blame but my womenfolk. Do we know lying, cheating jerks? yup. But the real question is, DO WE KNOW ANY GENUINELY GOOD GUYS?.....Cricket....Cricket..... These are guys that have been upstanding through life. Made mistakes, sure, like we all do.. But have learned from them and used them as stepping stones. Just like the goals the women who have struggled in life strive to reach. And here is the scarier question: Do I know any women who are genuinely good? OF COURSE..... (I look past my own flaws, don't I) :) And I look past the flaws of my friends and any woman I admire..... yada yada..... Do some of us women to know what to do with a guy that is just good? And, is it just me that flounders with how to treat a guy that isn't a perv, a creep, and a loser? I'm at a loss. Mostly because I realize that somewhere down the line, it went from guys hanging around and being in the club of life, to creating the "What does he mean by THAT comment" girl only club that turns everything into a nuance or need for a comeback. Not good. Not good for me at all, and Not good for us as the genteel, tender strong loving powerful compassionate ladies we are capable of. Competition and competitiveness just has it's drawbacks here. What if a guy wants in? What if he means what he says? What if he wasn't meaning what we thought he really meant? The questions all come down to this: Are we, ladies, strong enough to let that in? Guys, this might also answer the question of why, when you are being genuine, the lady you want to impress (or had no idea you were impressing) got that odd look on her face that says, "SURE your a nice guy. Sure I'll take what you say at face value" but the attitude is like being back handed by a tennis pro. I'd love the input, not from the moms that have never had anything go wrong with their kids, but the moms that were the kids. I'd love input from the guys that were put in their place by the women they unintentionally offended and didn't know why. Or the dads that have insight to us crazy women.... Or the men and women that know what to do when a nice guy/girl shows up in their space and they buy in. Not necessarily because they are infatuated, as this could be a co-worker, a potential friend of a spouse, or a waiter/worker/server that you see isn't out to make you bleed. But infatuation could play in just the same. Ladies? What input do you have as to knowing that there are jerks out there because we have all dated one, had one for a (possibly) brother/uncle/cousin/dad/grandpa/nephew..... but how to treat a guy that isn't a jerk? What if we have been conditioned to watch out for the bad so much that we don't recognize the good? Ever happened to you? And..... GO.

Even though life isn't tidy, on the whole, i still want it to be. I strive for it to be tidy, clean, and clear of .... ew-ness. Sometimes i win, sometimes i don't, and sometimes it's a tie. Today however, as i found the strength i'd been lacking when one recovers from an appendectomy, i won in a big way. I got up this evening and decided that the bathroom/kitchen buildup was not good for me anymore, and set about cleaning. hmmmmm back up. i never decide to clean. I do, however, decide to just pick up that one thing and put it back. That leads to another thing...and another... until the counter is clear. At that point, i can't just stare at a bare counter that has fuzz/goo/gunk/funk (and that toothpick that is always hiding behind the stuff) and not wipe it off! so out comes the spray, the cloth, and i just pick one spot at a time. the end result is the same, true, but i have to trick myself. Otherwise, it's just too overwhelming. Also, i can't just do one room at a time. when putting things away, i usually go up and down the stairs so while i'm up the stairs, i might as well work on that bathroom. and when i go back downstairs returning something else to it's spot, i work in the kitchen for a bit. did i mention i get bored easily? and distracted? and like bright, shiny objects??? Well, this is how i get things done at the same time. I trick myself. and as i'm tricking myself into getting what i want by doing the mundane, i allowed something in. I allowed myself to zen out, and just clean. no music to distract me. no talking on the phone....after a bit. i hung up and just cleaned. and, i noticed me noticing me. This is what i saw: me, cleaning the tile in the bathroom over the bathtub: "you know, this caked on, nastiness that has sat here for about 5 years..... how did i let it get this bad????" me, grabbing yet another wipe with bleach and some other mystical property: "Well, retard, you have been tricking yourself into thinking this is a fight with your hubby. it is a tug-o-war about who will break down and clean this particular spot." me, realizing i'm having a conversation with myself, but see a lesson coming: "no! i can't be that petty! really? really, i've neglected this particular corner, where the economy size shampoo and manly man body wash sit, just to make a point?" I had, in fact, tricked myself into letting my pettiness make that one corner into ew-ness. I thought that if i waited for him to get a clue, or get tired of it like i had, then he would just clean it (to my satisfaction, nonetheless...) and i could bob my head in "there now, that's more like it" arrogance. all i did, though, is close the curtain more. odd, that.

Have you ever googled yourself? We, as computer literate people, most likely have. I, as a busy person with life going on, haven't until tonight. Do you know how many me's there are out there? Apparently, i'm a singer, an executive, and a dorky student in texas that knows that it is " Deep Vein Thrombosis Awareness month" somewhere. Hmmmm, i should probably look up that need for awareness before i think of it as a dork trait to know about it. (maybe it's a life altering thing, and someone is suffering from it right now. i'm so insensitive. if so, my bad, and you may comment on it.) no wonder i can amuse myself so well. there are so many aspects of....well.... me. for instance, i had no idea that when i googled myself i would come across a blogspot, but not my blogspot. you know? i followed the link, and there my name was, but someone elses blog!!!! I got so excited!!!!!.... until i realized there was one and only one blog on this blogspot. "SUITCASES". um, yeah, the other me blogged about the correct way to shop for suitcases. How did i get so boring????? ye-ow-zah! of course, i'm technically talking to myself on here. a one way conversation, except for the nice guy, THEWIZARD, and thank you for making yourself known. Man, now i have competition, with myself, for THEWIZARD. It's between life not being tidy, or shopping for suitcases....... i'm worried. I hope you stay with the me me. I also didn't realize i was so many titles. mother, sister, daughter, granddaughter.... check. Now add to that GRANDMA (yikes, i'm not ready), publisher, caberet dancer/singer, talk show host, and trapeze artist. Yeah, i'm that good. So the next time you hear me say, "I'm every woman", I really am. :)

There once was a man from Nantucket.......

I could end that little ditty so many ways. But i'll just say things didn't go well for him and he said CRAAAAAPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!! He threw up his hands, and kicked the dirt a bit, and cursed his misfortune. I hear stories like that. I see life like that, sometimes, you know when i'm driving down the street, changing a dvd, etc.... I have even been that guy a few times. Now to be clear, this isn't about when there is a little boo boo that gets brought to light. I'm talking about the rug being pulled out from under me. On a tall set of stairs. With stilettos on. And an audience. The bouncing and rolling and sliding in a downhill spiral that ends with an expletive and a groan. And uncertain clapping from the jerk in the way back. Just so we are clear. When life gives me lemons, i make lemonade...... who comes up with this positive crap? :) It is something for Person A to say to make themselves feel better about the chaos that Person B is going through, you know? How bout this? When life gives you lemons....... Throw them around a bit, hitting a wall or two and listen for that thumping sound as seeds go everywhere. After that, try to hit a do-gooder that calls happily about the mess you are in. Then, and ONLY then, in the remorse that you feel about nailing the do-gooder in the forehead, giving them a lemon-size shiner, notice that usually life will also give you someone, a Person C, that makes you lemonade from the mess you find yourself in. They don't give you a pep talk. They just easily wipe up or sweep up the rinds, the pulp from the walls and under the sneakers, and take what is left to whip up a lemonade smoothie. No fanfare, no need for thanks or awe. Just pulling you up from where you have you head between your knees, trying not to hyperventilate. Why is this? How does it happen that, after we have run out of all ideas on what to do next, someone else can look at the situation and say, "HMMMM, that does suck. Here's a lemonade frappachino, and i noticed that this is working for me." No drama. No judgement. Just a different perspective. And as quick as that, or as simple as that, there is a way out. A way through. The key? It is a DIFFERENT PERSPECTIVE. There is a reason we can think outside the box for others, but not ourselves. IT is because we don't bring just ideas to the situation. We color them with our fears, assumptions, reasonings, and judgements about the ideas. This is what makes them OURS. It is also what makes them not always work. No matter how smart, intelligent, strong, patient, loving, amazing, talented, or adoreable we are, they don't always play into how to do life. No matter what we want to happen, the reality sometimes just doesn't go along with our personality, and our shoulds. Enter, The Outside Perspective. This is something that doesn't have to sift through our personality to make things work. No need to know our history, or drama. Just the facts, ma'am. Sound cold? heartless? Nope. i'm going to say EFFECTIVE. If we listen, that is. If we can get our ego out of the way....... And it's not easy, i'm the first to admit. I would just love it if all my ideas worked. In fact, i just assume they do, deep down. So when i'm struck by the reality that my idea isn't working, then my ego kicks in and says, "well if I can't solve it, how could anyone else???? I know the situation the best, therefore, i MUST know best....." Yeah, it's a load of CRAP. Sometimes we just need someone who doesn't buy into our drama. And i'm not saying our drama is not real, sad, harsh, or tangled. Just that it is OUR drama, and not that other persons, so they can think clearheadedly about it. Here's the point: Just because one person can think clearly about another person's dilemma and note a possiblity that wasn't looked at before, this doesn't mean that the clear headed person hasn't or isn't at the same time going through their drama. It's not that bad things happen to bad people, or unlucky people. Bad things happen. Period. But i don't see many ditty's about what to do AFTER the drama unfolds. Because not a lot of people get past the "DUN DUN DUNNNNN NNNNN NNNN" to see the "What's next?" in their own life. We, as people, are the ones throwing the lemons, sitting down trying not to hyperventilate, or digging a hole in the sand to place our head. It's usually others that notice that our bald head is getting sunburned while we sit there immobilized, or that a fire ant is ready to bite us on the butt if we don't switch positions. And that's good news. Trusting ourselves is huge. It is important as all get out when we are living life. But when the rug is pulled out from under us, it is also important to know the difference between the weiner that is spouting happy songs to you as he walks past, and the person that has a different perspective, letting you out of the chaos that has been created around you. How to do that? Listen to both people. Your heart and good sense will tell you which one to take aim at, and which to use as a sounding board.

Nevermind the mold spores... just keep working!

Most people I know have seen "The Wizard Of Oz", either because they had to, they were dared to, or they were drawn to it like a train wreck. Me? I just liked the 3rd munchkin on the left. The one in the Lollipop Guild. I always got a kick out of him. Munchkin-man reminded me of a guy i knew in 7th grade. Ron, i believe his name was. This guy moved in to our school, and got in with a macho group right away. But, he had kind of a baby face that off-set the sneer he would wear in public. I imagine it was like this for the 3rd guy on the left of the Lollipop Guild..... 1st guy.: (lick the lollipop) "Hey. who's the new guy?" 2nd guy.: (kick an unoffending rock off the yellow brick road) "Um. I think his name's... Jeff." 1st guy.: (lick. lick. lick) "Maybe we should ask him to hang with us. He looks tough-ish." 2nd guy.: (kick an unoffending daisy in the head, and jumps back as it bites him in the ankle) "Well, he does have a great curl, right in the middle of his forehead, but have you noticed he smiles every once in a while? Not a good sign of manliness. Plus, his name's.... Jeff." 1st guy. : (bites the lollipop, reaches into his back pocket for the next one) "Look, my name was Marvin when we first met up. want to make something of it?And yours was Reuben. REUBEN, for the love of chicken! We can make Jeff work into something else. How bout......Chet?" And so, there were 3. At least, that's what i am assuming, because Jeff/Chet was quite moving in that role. Riveting, really. The thing that was the most interesting to me about that movie, Jeff/Chet aside, was the dude behind the curtain in the Emerald City. You know the one? The guy that ends up being the big enchilada. And the famous line is, "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain..." Here's what is funny to me about this scene. It is still going on today, in so many roles. There is some dude or dudette behind a curtain, working knobs and levers feverishly, and what we sometimes see is the all important OZ of the corporate face. We say, "Wow. She/He went to Harvard/Oxford/BYU. She must be smart/intelligent/witty/sucessful...." And the followers keep following blindly. As for the dude or dudette running the show, he/she says, "Dang! All these levers and knobs. which one can make me look the best and still gives me the least amount of gas at the end of the day??" And life goes on living until ... SOMETHING... breaks the cycle. It could be flying monkeys, sure. Or...., it could be a curious, yet obnoxious girl on the cusp of independence that just happens to have an even more obnoxious pet, looking behind curtains and spilling dark secrets. In fact, if you live in my life, it could look like SOMEONE happening to, say, trip over a stray hose, and a bit of moldy tile that has fallen off the ceiling at work and ACCIDENTLY sends an offensive email up the chain of command. Possibly. ......And then going on a 3 month leave of absence. you know, I'm just saying hypothetically....Either way, someone, somewhere says, "UM, hang on.....something doesn't seem quite right. Why doesn't anyone else see that????" It seems to be that when people in charge say soothing words, the followers/workers/drones seem drawn to make the people in charge happy. Even when there are charging rhinos around. Don't get what i'm saying? Well, Ok, lets see at what point you might say the words, "WHOA!!!! This just isn't right...." About 6 months ago i was working at a place that had great team atmosphere, challenging work load and...... the work environment from a sitcom. We are talking cramped work places, faxes/copiers that were constantly breaking down, computers that were outdated, and software that was pathetically slow. Now you and I know that this alone is not enough for a sitcom. In fact, that could be any number of real life situations. What pushes it over is this: About every 3 weeks to a month, the old, rusty pipes of this place would break, leak, or bust. Who know's what triggered it? No one in charge seemed to know. It was always a surprise to them. What happened now? i'm shocked, they would say. It could be from the floor above us. It could be at the mens room across the hall. But it was always a flood. Luckily, there was always a plan for this. -ish... And the solution? FANS. Lots of fans. Fans to suck up the water, with hoses directing the flow. Fans to blow air on the waterlogged carpet, walls, and ceilings. Fans to keep us, seemingly, from talking to each other about how ridiculous it was to have to move past the morning yellow CAUTION tape, walk over the large hoses strewn around the halls, and slog past the puddles of shudder-to-know-what-is-in-the-water-this-time darkness throughout the workspace carpet. Oh, yeah. And fans to keep the smell...in?...out? around? As long as we kept our heads down and acted like all was normal, the fans were the only oddity in the office to the outside world of managers and uppers. No matter what, the fans kept the world running in our office. We just knew that if we had to step over or around a puddle or hose, we were supposed to keep working like everything was normal because "NEVER FEAR, HOSES ARE HERE TO CLEAN THIS UP". And you know what? Even though the look on people faces, across the board was disgust mixed with just a HINT of incredubility, we humored the guys behind the curtain!!!! We knew they were running out of options, and the veneer was wearing thin, but instead of pushing or asking questions, we wanted to sooth them. So each time a new leak/flood/waterfall/spark/drip would spring, and we got an email saying, "Nevermind the mold, just keep working", followed by a play by play of how things were not as bad as our eyes were telling us, so never fear and don't worry..... we would hunch our shoulders, look for a SARS mask, and trust that the big wigs knew what was going on and would protect us. Now i don't know how this happened, but i tried on the LEMMING route for about a week. It doesnt' fit me well, just so you know. I kept looking around and wondering, "Is it just me, or is this ridiculous?" I thought, well, i haven't been in the corporate workforce for a few years, so maybe this is normal. Who am i to rock the boat? No one else seems to be whining loudly about the stench, the look, the OSHA red light district here. I can just keep getting a paycheck and hope i don't get sick. are u alerted yet? yeah, me too. And, by the way, i did get sick. It took me 3 days to realize that while the fans were going as some kind of morale for us to know that things were drying out, i was nauseous and afraid of which barrel to barf in, for fear of what would splash back at me. No, i didn't call OSHA, but someone else did. thank goodness. I went to the dr. a few times and again, people were wondering why i was making a big deal out of it. sure things happen, ms. montgomery. Accidents happen. Have they said anything about mold? No? well, then, i'm sure it's ok...... we can just run a few more tests..... And off they went. So lots of co-workers were wanting the paycheck, and a few were grumbling. I simply took it up a notch. Was it rational? Probably not, but neither is wondering when i will get electrocuted as water is dripping out the light switches onto our computers. ew. Yes, i admit it. I did send an email up the chain of command that looked like this: "Lets go here, lets take this as far as we need to. We cannot keep this up. This has got to stop. People are looking to quit and it's becoming ridiculous. This is not healthy, fair or productive. Stop the glad handing and smiling and do something about this now!!!" No, i didn't want it to go to the v.p. and the 2 managers. Necessarily. Or, actually, i didn't want to be the only one to get slapped on the wrist, but hey, i'm a boat rocker. What came of it? Other than the email basically letting us know, "NEVERMIND THE MOLD SPORES, JUST KEEP WORKING!!!!", I yanked the curtain aside a bit and let others see the uppers scrambling for levers and knobs while looking panicky. I don't think they liked it a bit. I did end up on a 3 month leave to get my head straight, and they, with guidance from OSHA, moved buildings, fired a few knob turners, and brought back some dignity to the team. i'd call it a win. So now we have an orderly OZ back in place, but i am firmly in the relm of leaving the curtains alone for a bit. Unless mold comes into the scene again. That's just nasty. I don't care how far i have to follow the yellow brick road when looking for success, I'll know when to get off of it if i have to wade through mold to find it.

In the desolate places of life, sometimes you just run into a promising specimen.

Death Valley.... 4 Corners.... 3 miles past the Kansas/Colorado border.... The drive around the Great Salt Lake, after exit 91, going west.... I-80, from Rawlins to Rock Springs in Wyoming.... I would lump these places (and all others that have no food/water/or bright shiny objects to look at) into the DESOLATE folder of my travel-a-mony, shove it back into my file cabinet of boring memories, and go out to play. Except for this. In each spot, and for no good reason that i can tell, ( and when i was at my most mind-numbing, bored-out-of-my-guts part of the trip, wanting to turn around and never speak of it again), something amusing happened. I either saw, or experienced something that made it JUST worth it enough to keep going. Nooo, aliens did not abduct me, (although i was begging for it. I mean, honestly, when my option for music was the gospel/mariachi/medical channel, or the all-sound-effects-all-the-time channel, who can blame me, right?) What did happen is some ......SOMETHING........ happened to pull me out of my self pity, let me focus for a bit, and that solved the problem enough for me to move through to my destination. It could have been that concrete Tree of Life sculpture (you know, with the big ol balls hanging off it?), or what i swore was a 2 headed hawk circling over a dead deer in a field. It could have even been that cattle truck wreck caused by the high winds, bad roads, and curve at milepost 176. Good or bad, they were heavensent to me, because they let me move forward with something else on my mind. Interestingly enough, I feel that being put on hold, pressing 2 to speak in my native language, or having to repeat my issue to several people in a row makes me feel just as desolate. When i call a number to get assistance with an issue, I'm assuming that they can assist me, they are qualified to do so, they have already had their morning coffee, and no one has peed in their wheaties. It makes me guffah at my self a bit when i catch myself dumbfounded as i'm being put on hold with the 3rd operator, somewhere around the world, who is very politely and enthusiastically letting me know i don't have a problem at all, that it is all in my head. "Really?" I think. "Am i this crazy/stupid/out of touch?" Is this what the assistance number is for then, for us silly people to be enlightened as to the reality that we don't actually have a problem, that WE ARE the problem? I'm assuming, as some others do, that we have to fight through this muddled question to get to the end result. "ok, i don't care who's the idiot. i just need my ......(fill in the blank with what my need is here)....... to be better!" So i press whichever buttons on my phone connect me to whichever man/woman/child is smarter than me in this arena, and grit my teeth while i go through the song and dance that is the customer service phone call nightmare. No wonder i am feeling desolate. WHO CAN SAVE ME FROM THIS??? And then, SOMETHING happens. SOMEONE takes pity on me. for instance, Jerry in Kansas. he is my savior this week. I needed something, i didn't know how to get that something to work, and he did. Instead of sending me around the world and back just to see if i really REALLY wanted his help, he talked with me. mano y mano. Yeah, i just pulled out the mano y mano bit. Because i felt like a person to him. I felt like he wanted to solve my problem. I KNOW!!!!! ODD, that. It was like that wreck on the side of the road all over again. You know they are out there. You know that you could happen upon it at any time, and yet when you are lucky enough to see it, to experience it, you don't know what to do with it until you are past it and have to appreciate it in hindsight. "What was that?" you wonder, driving by at 80. "Was that a deer? an orangutan?" "And what was the truck it was hooked to?" All these things go by as you make sure you are not the rubber-necker that is holding up traffic, but in your mind, you think up a plausible story to go with the flash of what you saw. How the truck had to have run up the side of the hill to get that animal smacked just right..... How old the deer was.. did it have a family?..... ...... ...... What? you do'nt do that? You might not have gone the desolate places i have then. The same thing with the phenomonen of having a live operator actually know what he is talking about, and be polite, AND do what it takes to solve the problem. "WHO is this genius?" "Why is he talking with me? shouldn't he be in a board meeting or something?" "what kind of donuts does he like, and where could i send a shipment to say thank you?" "Does he have kids or a love life? No how could he, if he is this dedicated to knowing an answer on this line." .... ... .... And it keeps me going through all the hoops and beeps that it takes for me to get back to Jerry, just in case i drop the line. Not only that, it keeps me wondering all the next times that i have to go back into the land of service operators. "How bout now? could i be lucky twice in my life? could i get another Jerry?" No! of course not. those only come around every once in a lifetime. I get pandered back and forth from Noah, who has forgotten to be interested in me as a customer, and Patricia, who is actually picking her teeth while on line with me. I can tell from the sucking sound she makes when i'm talking. the "thwup thwup thwup" sound of air going through her teeth. The wet smacking sound of the finger in the back of her mouth..... ew. She's no Jerry. But , i reason, Jerry served a purpose. Jerry kept me going when i wanted to turn back. Jerry will keep me going when i have to travel back into customer service land as the elusive miracle. Thank you Jerry. you were my Tree of Life in the desolate places of phone land. Please let me know where to send the Krispy Kremes.

Where else can i be pulled to my limits, and still have permagrin???

I am usually a planner. OK that's total B.S. I am a planner when i need to be. It's what responsible people do. So i make a list before going to Sam's Club. I check out the movie times when i catch a flick with a friend. And i do get dressed in appropriate attire before heading off to work. I have also been known to get up and wear the same clothes as i went to bed in, meandering through stores and museums. Also, I do like getting a wild hair and just going to do something about it. YEAH....., i enjoy that a lot. Now, the good part of this would be being spontaneous, care-free, and thinking on the fly. The bad part is, i'm scrambling for the next solution. Can't really think about the end result, just going from step to step. And i'm fine with that when it comes to, say, an impromptu trip to Black Hawk for girls night out. Crab legs and the fine art of: gambling/boozing/people watching with faint distaste on their sneering face at the money going down the drain. What's not fun about that? Depends on which group of ladies i have roped in. And which mood i'm in. Note to self, never cross the 2 breeds. Unless you get a wild hair. Then, it's just fun to experiment. I like to watch all 3 breeds, actually. Not a drinker. or a harumpher. but i have done a bit of gambling. It's just so dang addicting to win!!!! CHURCH LADIES: Well, you can guess which category some fall into, complete with a *SNIFF* and a *HARUMPH*, completely ignoring the fact that they are in a Casino being part of the unstuffy side of Sears. CO-WORKERS: Oh my. They would be the ones to seek out the sniffers and harumphers just to plunk down some change and put on the most obnoxiously obsessive and downtrodden face to give the churchladies a good show. And let the drinking under the table begin....... Mostly when i go with friends, however, we just do the crab legs thing, and revel that no man we know or love can see the crab juice and butter running down our arms to the elbows, dripping off the table and onto our laps. We always order extra napkins, and then just dont use them. It's part of being able to say, "i'm every woman." We can be delicate, sensible, and responsible. And we can belch with the best of the menfolk. Mostly, Susie, i'm talking about you. Ok, and you, Debbie. I go through the night, regardless of which group of ladies i am with, and think, "what's next? how will this end? Lets get us all home safe and happy. Sometimes i can think an hour ahead, and sometimes i can't think to the end of the .....(round,belch,game,sniff/harumph). We just improvise. So i have, what i thought, was a good balance of adventure and responsibility...... What then, am i doing hanging by a rope across a river with just a helmet and harness letting me feel the illusion of safety? Getting some perma-grin, of course! I would not have gone, i don't think, if i knew what all my first rock climbing adventure would entail. Or if i planned the trip and knew what terminology to use. Someone else planned and i just showed up. Actually, I was lucky i stopped and got the right shoes (thanks patient co-worker with insight to the newbie state of mind). I got the treat of being a newbie and not knowing what i was in for. I showed up, they hooked me into a harness and then used words that i knew i should know, but had no clue as to the meaning. Carabeener. Top Rope. Trust. Stuff like that. "Are you ok using a (insert rope line of life, technical term) to go over the river?" Sure, i'm thinking. What is that, like a rope bridge? i can walk it with the best of them. Uh, No. Silly me. There's no walking in this story!!! Whenever there could be walking as a form of transportation, just know these action words will be filling in for them tonight: hanging, jumping, hiking hard core, and pulling your arms out of their sockets because that is the better thing to do than plunging to your death.... Why would you walk when you could do all that????? I had no idea . I was a newbie, after all. Just lloved being in the open air and nature. ok so back to climbing. We went over this river, right off the bat. Couldn't get to the mountain any other way, silly, so of course we don't wade through. We go over! It looked like this for me. i harnessed up and clipped on to a rope (3 ropes together, thankfully) over the river and pulled myself hand over hand to the other side. Such a piece of cake because i didn't think about what it entailed..... until half way across and i'm hearing the water rushing underneath me, and my arms aren't working anymore. But i just kept going hand over hand, pulling myself along. It was a rush! I put my thinker away and just pulled. I think i had a harder time getting my clip off the rope. Yeah, i'm that co-ordinated. :) Then there was an insane climb for me that i realized i am way out of shape for, but it was great. No rattlesnakes bit my shoes or legs. No bears ate me on the way. I did almost get my eye poked out by a ferocious branch. I emptied my pepper spray at it, and survived. When i looked up, all blotchy faced and puffing for my life, we were on the side of the mountain and watching a bunch of other climbers scaling the cliffs. We took a sheer granite face. What did i know? I just knew that we were going for "easy climbs". I was really scared because , you know, not a lot of handholds, it was looking like to me. "So this is a newbie climb, huh? ok then...." And i just didn't get into the details of it, again, otherwise i might have booked it back down the mountain. But Israel, the hubby of my co-worker, took top rope (is that what i'm trying to say? he scaled it first, did the rope secure things, then came down to let me on...) and just said, "it doesn't look like there are handholds or footholds, but if you get stuck, just stand up and reach, and they will always be there. So i did. I just believed. Put on my rented climbing shoes (which are magic, by the way. i can't believe they can stick so well to the wall!!!!) did the chalk thing, and i was on my way. and it worked. i just found a way. Nothing to focus on but the next step. not the future, not how i was going to get down (i had no clue, really) not focused on the top. Just the next handhold/foothold. mmmm ok, i did have one train of thought as i was on the wall. All the quick but amazingly accurate advice an old aquaintance gave me just kept playing in a loop through my mind. I kept my hips hugged to the rock, 3 points gripping it at all times, and trusting. Thank you, Jeremy. It didn't register that my co-worker was snapping shots of me, but i do have photos. wahoo! When i got about half way up, i slipped with my right foot. i just held on with the other foot and 2 hands till i could find a foothold, and it was there. It did not occur to me that i couldn't find another hand hold. Instead, it was, "where is it? Chalk on my fingers, look, look, look, feel, feel, trust that my muscles are enough and go! I forgot that i had a rope on, i think. Or maybe, i just didn't get the concept that a rope could hold me if i got tired. I just kept climbing and looking for the next crevice. I remembered the rope eventually, though. I distinctly remember a handhold not being as set as i thought, and i felt like i was just going to fall. "well, that was fun, and now the pain will start when i get to the bottom..." or something dramatic like that. Lightbulb goes on as i realized that that big beautiful man that was belay-ing me didn't let me die a painful death. I HAVE A ROPE!!! A lifeline. I get to keep going! Um, i got tired another 10 minutes later, and he just said, "lean back with you legs straight out. i've got you." I think that was the hardest part of the whole day. The trust that i could take my hands off the rock and not fall. Nevertheless, he assisted me in just walking down the rock face. Now this is very possibly an every weekend occurrence for rock climbing junkies, but when i got back on the ground, i woo-hoo'ed like i was actually the first one to scale that smooth face of rock. Like i had actually invented the sport myself. Like i had knitted the ropes and carved the clips myself. I felt like it. I felt empowered and a rush like any giving-birth-and-living-to-tell-about-it story in a women's circle. The thing is, I have taken steps in my life to move me forward. They have been risky, scary, and sometimes stupid. But it's paying off. And that's all nice, except that it hadn't had anything to do with me physically putting myself in danger, owning the wall, and laughing while I was scared spitless. (i was scared spitless. i tried. it just came out as a whistle. And a bit of hootzbah. Pathetic.) Being physically pushed and owning my 100% was something i have missed a lot. And is totally worth being so sore that my toe muscles need a massage. I'm going to the rec center and doing the hot tub soak. (Hope i don't get Foliculitis. Again.) And i will be downloading the pics to the computer because every time i see them i'll get perma-grin again. I'm ready for next weekend.

Happy D-Day!!!! No, no. The other one. Really.. But I will use that flag, thanks....

I celebrate V-day. I'm going to be celebrating D-day soon also, on behalf of a friend or two. Possibly P-day, for many friends. I've even done several H-par-tayz. I'm not a veteran, and although i have much respect for the ones that gave lives and limbs so i could have the freedom i do, this is not quite that dramatic. But essential, nonetheless. I'm talking about this type of celebration: Vasectomy. Divorce. Pap Smear. Hot Flashes. These are things that can usually cause shudders, tremors, or even one to run the other way. So when i say ..... a party???? odd that. This is what is true. Sometimes the things we don't want are the sweetest gifts of all. Even though they don't come in bows and ribbons. Or with anything sweet tied to it. Period. No sweetness. Usually, what IS wrapped up with it is some of those heart flutters that feel like a whole ice cube went down wrong and got stuck in your gullet. Or, possibly, ,a bit of mucus, caught in the back of our throat that we keep trying to "hhh-hhhmmm. HHH-HHHHMMM" free but never quite gets dislodged. Usually, it is accompanied by the fresh kick-in-the-gut feeling that stays with us for days, weeks, months, or sometimes years. Its known that the things we dont want happening in the first place, are not even convenient. There are not many times that i have seen a parking spot open for (CRISIS HAPPENING ONLY SPOT). I don't see many half off hockey tickets for (SURVIVORS OF ALMOST WENT BANKRUPT...AGAIN) groups, or any buy-1-get-1 free coupons for (HOW DID I GET MYSELF HERE?) clubs. Not to mention the real world that intrudes at the same time with official papers to sign, money to pay to others, aowee's to heal, and fans and/or air conditioners to turn on and off while juggling personal hygiene products in a professional yet non-existant looking manner. Births. Deaths. Holidays. Birthdays. Weddings. We all can run to a store for a card to acknowledge the good and bad, the yin and yang of these events, but what about the rest? Well, they got the short end of the stick, that's what. So i've decided that whenever prudent, i can give myself permission to tack a holiday or celebration to it. It usually consists of lava cake at Chili's, or a nice hike. But the point is, the coming of age stuff doesn't stop with the norm. or the pleasant. My whole outlook on my blossoming into womanhood thing-ee might have been an incredibly different experience, for instance if, say, i didn't think i had...... CANCER. Yeah. I remember it clearly. One day i'm doing my business in the privacy of the privvy, and the next thing i know i am bleeding. "WHAT THE?????" Now you know and i know what was going on, being the grown ups that we are, or the teens even, or the near teens, if you have any sort of reasonable parent. I had, as we have previously discussed, grown up in "The Sound Of Music" movie, and i'm preeetty sure that there was not a scene where Maria takes the budding 11 year old aside and gives her the feminine talk. Not even on an outtake. Not even on a cut scene. Nope. Nada. What i got was a book given to mewhen i was 10, with instructions that went like this, "Honey? (sad, odd little smile) Read this, and let me know if you have any questions (small smile again, only this time with a tinge that said OH-PLEASE-DONT-ASK-ME)" and my bedroom door was shut. I was alone with an odd book that scared me a bit, but confused me more, and no part of it addressed that I would bleed to death at the tender age of 11. ERGO..... I must have cancer! i'm a very rational girl, can't you see? When i plucked up the courage to tell my mom i was going to die, she happened to blurt the news to my aunt as casually as if nothing were wrong. "oh!, Sharon just got her womanhood....." yada yada yada.... and that was it! Um rip off? Oh yeah, yeah, i thought i was going to die, and she was fine with it. Talk about miscomunications! Yeah, i did resolve it eventually (with my therapist, thanks again, Matt), but the point is that some openness and enthusiasm to the victim....er, person, and some perspective about the positives would have done wonders!!!! I have a friend who celebrates the coming of womanhood with a literal party. Orders fancy food in, movies, lots of chatting and divulging of secrets...... The girls are literally let into the club. I find that FANTASTIC!!!!! I was much more interested in being invited to the womanhood party than the cancer party. at 11, i mean. I think cabbage-patch kids and toe-nail painting would have been a great trade-off to the "i'm really not ready for cancer. i haven't even kissed steven mondragon yet" club. Yes, steve. you were my first crush. in kindergarten, remember? Great eyes, great....hmmm...yeah, me neither, really, now that i think about it. But at 11, well, I still had hope. Hmmm..... lets talk about life changing things. The things you don't have the good manners to joke about because that would be in poor taste. Oh yeah, cancer. Well i got my scare later in life. I'm fine now, and it could have been worse. In fact, my dad can attest to that worse part for him. But he will also attest to this: The worst thing that happened to him was the best thing that happened to him. When he got to face the fact that he could die at any time, he learned. HE LEARNED. He opened himself up for lessons and gifts that he just wasn't open to before. What an incredible gift. And he got to share that gift with me. Lots of pain there, don't get me wrong. But also some serious fantastic-ness. So that's what this is all about. silver linings are not just for other people. "WHAT? EVEN....(insert your worst nightmare here)?" you say. "yup", i say. even that. "....and the good news is" is that there is always good news. Even, gulp, in the bad stuff. Give it a shot. Go ahead. I dare you. I dare me. Ok, how bout this? dina, you gave me permission, so here is your P-day story. And i guess, your D-day story, all rolled into one. So Dina's getting a P today (for you men, it means yearly exam. pap schmear/horror for women that we all hate, but endure because we hate the horror of the what- if- we- don't- have- them, even worse) It also falls on her 15th anniversary of the marriage that is getting ready to finalize a D-day (again, that is short for divorce finalizing). Now could this day suck any worse? YES!!!!!!!!! it could , and believe it or not, that is just part of the good news. She could have had a tumor. She could have used the sparkly washcloth to make herself all fresh for the dr..., or she could have even still had leftover foliculitis (or little zit-looking things that come from hot tubs and look like chicken pox, all over the torso and butt area), like me!!!! but no!, instead, She chose to celebrate by going to a favorite restaurant of hers, seeing a fun relative, and of course to top it off, talking with me. We laughed, smiled, and belittled the littleness of the worse half of her 15 years. (i'm biased, and have a bigger mouth than she does, so excuse me while i stick out my tongue. she is much too classy for that. Plus, he's a wiener right now. After the divorce stops hurting, he may not be. we'll see....celebration comes in many forms. ) Alright, i can make this about Dina all i want, really, but how bout this? I still celebrate V-day every year with my hubby. (girls, that's vasectomy day.) Now, it does fall on my hubby's birthday, so we think that's a bonus. Was it scary for him. yup. painful? He says yes, i say, eh... so-so (he was coaching a soccer game the next day, for chicken sake!), but it was a passing of a stage for us. It was about us letting go of little ones and moving forward with the ones we had. gift? oh yeah...... Plus, how bout no pressure that i'll have morning sickness after a night of fun? that is definitely a silver lining. Now some would whine and moan about the what might have beens, and what can't bee's and all that .....stuff. LOOK. The only way to appreciate all of who you are, and be able to give all of who you are to others is by appreciating the good AND the not so good that comes in life. it's a package deal. I have no idea what to do about hot flashes down the road. i have friends that are having them now. will it keep me up at night? nope, because i'm not them. I'm me. If i need a hot flash par-tay to help me through THE CHANGE, then i'll call on those lovely golden girls, and i'm sure as heck here for them now. but there will always be the good with the bad. the cream with the crap. so, i dare you. when you are having the worst luck, the worst thing happen, the most vivid nightmare come to life, just tack at the end of the whining, "and the good news is?" and then LOOK for it. Let me know what comes up. I'll be there to celebrate with you.

Please pass the ointment. And that flashlight......

We all have a butt crack. This is the blunt truth. Now, if you are reading on (knowing that my mother has, at this point, clicked the "off" button of her internet and switched to MA-JONG. We, in our house, did NOT speak of such things...) and am wondering why i would bring up the obvious, it is this: although we all have one, most people ACT like we don't. Some people don't want any reference to it, and although it serves a very important purpose, some think of it as separate and bad, sick or wrong parts of our bodies. Again, why would i point out the obvious? Because, life is like the butt crack. I received a sweet gift. I got to hot tub with Dina today, and during that short time we reflected on how, like some parts of our bodies that we may not be happy with, some parts of our past or present may seem distasteful, even if they serve a perfectly functional purpose. And we certainly don't want to TALK about something distasteful, for chicken sake. Even though it may be obvious to everyone else except us, we don't want to call attention to it. Story 1. I spent my growing up years fascinated by the knowledge that Thanksgiving Day would come around every year, and at that point a certain relative would come over. This relative was quite brilliant, loved to chat, and was also (to a 5 year old girl) ENORMOUS. The folds and curves of him were fascinating, but the Butt Crack that he toted over to the only chair that would hold him.... well, that was nothing short of miraculous. It went on and on. My brother and i secretly measured it once. It was exactly 3 blocks and a doll tall. (We were that good.) Now here is the thing. Although i knew it was an enormous butt crack to me, it was just part of our relative. It was ONE PART of this relative. With the same importance tied to it as the game he had so brilliantly taught me. The topics he bantered with me about. The laughs he laughed. It just was. But i did notice that he only made sure the chair was pointed in 1 direction, so his butt crack pointed to the wall at all times. Nor would he leave his post. He had some shame associated with his butt crack, or the fact that it was larger by far than his pants and shirt. Now did it stop us from playing or associating with him? Nope. But it did stop him from hanging out in the kitchen with the rest of the adults, and hey, i got to learn Othello because of it. Story 2. A man walks into a bar.... Ok, it wasn't a bar, it was a house. He asks his wife to look at his delicate area because he has some kind of .... fungus on it, and can't get rid of it. Now this is a man who is straight-laced, very successful socially, and cannot stand the fact that there is a flaw on his otherwise carefully cultivated and manicured image. Nevertheless, his body has made it obvious that there is SOMETHING that needs attending to. His wife, icked out as she is at the idea of the fungus, obliges her husband as he bends over, spreading wide, and shines a bright light in the dark recesses of his crack. The point? She wasn't icked, necessarily (NECESSARILY) at the bending and cracking, but at the fungus, which had gotten way past the point it needed to, because of his embarrassment of having anything wrong in the first place, let alone the location of the flaw. Needless to say, he did his own application of the ointment, and generously so. (Interestingly, he did not thank his wife for her dedication in partnership, but warned her of ever sharing this story to anyone. And, she doesn't do threats well, luckily for us :) Story 3. Me: After Dina and I get out of the hot tub, making sure i've secured the hot tub lid in place by balancing it on my back as i teeter over the side, climb down the ladder (did i mention they are still building the deck? um, i'm just that dedicated and excited to get in the bubbling mist of pleasure...) and walk through a bit of mud and grass up another deck and back in the house. It's been a good soak and we have solved all the mysteries of the universe. No, this isn't Dina's house. She was up for the adventure though, and let me tell you what. when i called her 3 days later with some news, she was rethinking the brilliance of my wild side. What news??? OHHHH That i had little itchy, red pimply looking dots all over my torso and BUTT! What i thought was hives brought on by a bout of stress at the thought of going back to a life less than ideal, turned out to be FOLICULITIS...... or hot tub rash, caused by not enough chemicals in the tub, mostly by 1st time owners who are newbies at it. hehehe And yes, yes Dina did get her fair share of them, too. :) On her birthday, no less. It's the gift that keeps on giving... We just got to own these little dots. with ointment, cream, and patience, letting our bodies tell us what it needed (chocolate, a good book, some sleep, and benadryl) it came to completion on it's own. And that is how life is also, i'm finding. Life is like a butt crack, or foliculitis, or any other odd fungal oddity. we don't always like what we find, or what we find that we have. but once we own up to it, and figure out what we can learn from it, we can move on, through, around, and forward. With or without the Othello. I choose just to lean in. I don't always choose the spiritual, mental, emotional, or physical fungus that comes into m;y life, but i can choose to suffer in silence, or get the best ointment out there, whether it is Othello, benadryl, chocolate, or even ....blogging about butt cracks.... it is what it is.

Ode To Bob....

Computers and cookies, dishes and dinner, That is just really what makes Bob a winner. The romance, the kissing, The phase 2, the wishing. Better than vampires, better than Pride. Strap on, my friend, you are in for a ride. This isn't about me. I know! What a shock, But for friends whose phase 3 is afar, you both rock. On the phone, by the way, I was nosing around, And my dear friend Georgina, her jaw hit the ground. So to you, Georgina, and mostly to Bob, Be careful of schmidtting, and corn on the cob. Although, insists Bob, it won't slow me down, You will need some floss on this side of town.

So about loose ends....

Nobody likes loose ends. Or any ends at all, really. It's why we have sequels, and prequels, as well as class reunions and Private Investigators, and haircuts. We can't have ends just.....hanging out there, can we? Well, not and be satisfied, at any rate. Take me, for instance. I'm on a current journey about tidying up loose ends. Taking a trip down memory lane to dig deep into old memories and jolt some meaning, some ...AHAA! That's why that happened..... so i can tuck it back into the recesses of my memory. And take comfort in the fact that there are no holes in that particular part of my life. Hmmmm.... I don't know of many people that like holes either. Potholes, black holes, even old comfy quilts that have worn holes in them. They all need to be patched up, fixed up and explained. Again with the tidiness.... Why is this? I think it is because we don't want to do maintenance. We are, as a human race, selectively lazy. Yup, i said it out loud. We will work and work and work very hard...... so we can relax. Let things build up, like laundry, dishes, unresolved pasts.....etc... and then have a desire in one weekend to tidy things up so we can put off the upkeep for a little bit longer. Usually it involves a pep talk (ok you can do this. you want a clean....insert untidy part....., so buck up happy camper!), a bribe (as soon as this is DONE, we can......insert motivation, usually including chocolate or spending money), and a trip to the chinese food restaurant for hot and sour soup. Bad-a-boom, Bad-a-bing. There is a start, and an end. Tidy, right? The question i am now wondering is, at what point is the cost of the tidyness worth the trip it takes to get to that point? How many bad memories need to be relived in order to find out what happened in one particular spot in time? Or, how many people does it take to track down the answer to the burning question you have always wanted to know? At what time does the burning curiosity just not get to be satiated, at the expense of time, money, and/or heartache? I'm going to say it depends on the burning curiosity. I, for one, was willing to track down a music teacher, hound his son, badger half of my hometown, and travel back and forth from state to state, in between snow storms, just to find the answer to these questions, "Where the heck did he go when he retired? How is it that he just disappeared? Is he dead? Does he still look like Indiana Jones?" You know, the regular burning questions that we all have. And i have no idea if it is worth it to anyone but me, and the faithful tuba player that sent his solo to me. Thanks, sir. It has been worth it to me so far, i guess, but i wonder if i will really get to the real question, "Do i matter to this person still?" That's the whole point of going down memory lane, right? The class reunions, the private investigators and the healing of self or others. It's about, "Do i matter?" I'm thinking that i'll find my answers when i'm ready to accept that question. I'm 35, for the love of chicken. It's about time. They say that when people write a story, it often gives more insight into the author than it does into the plot. You caught me. This is, in fact, about me. Again. I'm finding this in-SATIABLE desire to wrap things up. This is the first time, however, that i've wondered if i wrap the things up i need/want to, then what????? Well, hubby would probably say i'd move onto wrapping his things up. or the kids things. Basically get nosy and butt in more. Or, i'd just wander around the house, tweaking things juuuussttt a bit, here and there. just to give myself the satisfaction of still fixing something a bit. Maybe, as i talk to people, heal, clean up, and move forward, maybe it won't be about the tidying up anymore. Maybe it will just be a new beginning, which is much more desirable than an ending. What if the journey ends up being not a clean up of loose ends, but a start of a new journey in a different space, a whole, clean space? Welll-elll-elll! Then it might just be a jumping off point to see if i am about maintenance. I, in point of fact, do matter. To me. And that is what is needed for the filling in of holes, the mending of loose ends, and the moving forward.

The Bank Of The Universe is on line 1. Please hold.....

The thing with the Bank of the Universe (or as many call it, "one man's trash is another man's treasure") is that it doesn't have overdraft. No need for overdraft protection. There aren't even any fees attached. Just the realization that there is enough. BOOMM! Now, that's a pretty bold statement, i know. But lets just take a look at a few situations in my life. 1. I had acquired, through sad circumstance, a houseful of furniture, clothes, and various nick knacks. Much emotion was attached to it, and i had a hard time letting some of it go, but there was ONE thing that i had no problem giving away. (i ended up giving it all away, i believe, except some candles and a spatula....great spatula.) The thing i could just let go of, no problem, and even laughed about, was an enormous fur coat. It was a size 1, and lets be clear. i'm ....not. It was big, furry, and there is no way to hide the fact that, although luxuriously soft, IT'S A FUR COAT. I just happened to let it be known that i had an extra fur coat (really, i did use the term "extra fur coat") at a Sunday 3 hr long activity, and it just so happened that the person that talked about it with me was a size 1, couldn't seem to find a fur coat her size, and had always wanted a coat JUST LIKE IT. Really. There were tears and hugs. odd, that. Could be coincidence, but lets look further... 2. I was in a room once where we were asked to put on a piece of paper some things that we really needed, but were all out of ideas as to how to acquire. Then also, list all the things we had just lying around. things that were just "extra". no matter how small, how large, how expensive or cheap. alive or dead. didn't matter. just the extra. So after i thought for a minute, i put down the 2 tennis rackets, and the jewelry box in the closet. 7 sets of sheets that we were given for our wedding ( never opened), and the various fat/thin/short/tall clothes that are never quite worn. the shoes that look great but don't match anything. the lazy boy recliner in the garage. the non-running car that just needs some work, out at hubby's dad's place, and the 2 lawn mowers that, again, just need some work. you know, the normal. Again, the phenomenon: After going through the room and seeing the lists of needs and wants, all things extra, from pretty much everyone in the room, were called for, and all things needed were accounted for. down to someone's need for a college tuition, 3 cars, 5 cats, a parrot (alive, not dead), and 12 jobs. And my lazy-boy recliner. there were, of course, extra things that weren't needed, but it was amazing the amount of ABUNDANCE is in the world of us. 3. National Annual put-your-crap-out-on-the-curb-and-the-city-will-make-it--disappear day. Now, about 4 days or a week before this predetermined day, miraculous things happen. Stuff just appears out of nowhere. There isn't a time when i see anyone bring anything to the curb. it just appears. In fact, it looks something like this:

I drive down the street and notice a swing set just sitting on the curb. I turn the corner and see a 4 poster bed, complete with coverlet. Now, this is right next to 3 bundles of sticks and an upside down toilet. 2 houses down, the entire downstairs den has been remodeled because all the sheetrock and lumber is there on the curb, along with the computer desk, the computer, the lights, and a board game of "LIFE". At the next corner, I discover the curb decorated with no less than 3 dryers, a washing machine and 5 mattresses. The light comes on and i say, "ohhh! it's THAT time of year!" This is my cue to rifle through my back yard/garage/closets for the stuff that didn't sell at the garage sale, didn't sell on the "craigs list", or ended up in the rain for a week and a half before putting it under a tarp in the far corner of the yard. This year i was ecstatic to bring out 28 boxes we stashed in the garage, the trampoline frame with 11 missing springs (making the whole thing unworthy of the spot in the backyard), an old furnace, as well as getting rid of 3 computer screens, 2 large desks, and a partridge in a pear tree. Nothing out of the normal for the family spring cleaning, but here's the phenomenon. We had 4 days to go and in that time, my kids and i counted 23 trucks meandering by (none of them marked "City", and most of them with at least 2 kids and an in-law in the back. Oh yeah, and an impossibly high load of scrap metal already perched precariously around bike frames/major appliances, and toys), rifling through and gathering the things i had so carelessly thrown away. Anything made of metal or with cords on it made someone very happy. They knew just what to take, and what to leave. It was something they had planned for, counted on, and had a system of. RINGLEADER AND DRIVER OF 1987 FORD TRUCK, WHITE, WITH A TRAILER TOTED BEHIND IT: "Mother, you take the miscellaneous cords and any bike rims or frames. Sissy, hold baby Joe's hand while you dig through the rubble. We don't want to leave him behind like last time. Uncle Ed, wrap that bungee cord tight! it's got to hold up for 7 more trips. I'll take the scrap metal, major appliances and bed frames.". No kidding, within 5 minutes, anything deemed of worth was gently picked up, acquired, and the rest was placed nicely back. Not one out of 23 left my "junk pile" messy. What does this say to me? I have underutilized my junk, 1st off. Maybe it's made someone else's life a bit easier. don't know. I'll never know who they are. they smiled and thanked me, but that was it. I had extra, they needed what i had, and boom. a transaction was complete. no fees needed. That was the outflow. Now, during this same time of year, but a few years back, my boys (10,8, and 4 at the time) knew of something that i wanted. BADLY. A lovesac. Not a beanbag. A LOVESAC. They are enormous pieces of furniture, indestructible, and great for indoor flips/jumps/throwing pets/sisters/assorted missionaries coming for dinner, into. And quite spendy, at the time. Out of my price range if i wanted to have food, home, and other extras. So when the time came for all the treasures to come out of peoples homes, and very VERY unbeknownst to me, my 3 proud boys come up the street ROLLING AN ENORMOUS LOVESAC.... looking beanbag down the street. Bless their hearts. Neighbors were coming out of their doorways, dogs were barking, and some guy in a bathrobe was clapping like it's a parade. OHHH my boys were proud that they found what my hearts desire was. How did i dare tell them that the flotsom and jetsom from the street was all over it, or they had left a trail of little beanie things streaming from the zipper that didn't work, for the last 3 blocks, or even that it smelled like pickles,gasoline, and wet muskrat? I didn't. i was excited, and when they went to school, it got picked up with the rest of the stuff at the curb. don't ask, don't tell. (They wondered where it was for a minute or 2, but then got interested in grasshoppers, so i dodged a bullet.) At Christmas time, however, we did receive an actual LOVESAC, so all was well. We now have a rule that once something is on the curb, ANYONE'S curb, it stays there. no bringing things home. We can let someone else enjoy the muskrat scents. ew. So it brings me back to The Bank Of The Universe. It's waiting, on line 1. Would you like to take that call, or screen? I am learning i do a bit of both. I do not need a parrot, any more flotsom, or another bedframe. I will, however, be on the lookout for a trip to the beach, a job that doesn't involve flooded basements and OSHA visits, and also a girls night out. So if you are the Bank of the Universe calling, please leave your number at the beep: BEEP!

When high class takes a big crash...it looks like this.

One of the biggest pulls i have in facebook is that up to now i have not been bombarded with lewd or crass ads. I'm finding that part of that is because of the choices i have made as to whom i bring into my circle of friends, as well as who is able to see my facebook page. I could blithely send farm town requests, or whatever, as well as receive things and think, "um, do i REALLY want to be this froofee?" Sometimes yes, sometimes no, but no harm, no foul. Every once in a while i would go really wild and take a "which tic tac flavor are u" survey. I'm mint, by the way. Wint-O-green. The way i would find these novelty things is by seeing what others had put in their history, as we all well know. For the record, my stripper name is Lacy GlitzDixon, my superhero of choice is The Flash, and my color is RED. Lucky, eh? And i feel preety high falutin. Until this morning.My kids, 12 and 7, got a kick out of surfing the facebook with me for a few minutes when we ran across a little thing we could do. ..... sent a blah blah blah from yada yada yada gifts. We looked at the gift and laughed out loud. I thought, "we should go there and send a gift also. So as we clicked on the application, we picked out a lovely gift to send to 20 friends. The most well thought out friends that are probably reading this now. The gift of choice? of course it was a face to face toilet :) Who wouldn't want a face to face toilet as a gift? Think of the possibilities.... So as we finish our list and click send, the funniest thing happens. And when i say funny, i mean WHAT???? HOW DID THAT HAPPEN?????? Because a very large amount of lewd, crass and inappropriate material pops up right around the "thank you for sending this gift to your friends" note. The look on my kids face was priceless. It was that of confusion as i slammed the lid of the laptop down. "Hey! I was still looking at that!", and the look on my face was "I have just exposed my youngest kids to the porn industry!!!" So sure, you have now gotten the quirky toilet joke gift, but you have now also gotten the link that says, "please note, Sharon is a giver of the nasty. Please enjoy her new found sense of humor". For the record, I did not thoroughly look through the site before sending it. That would be my bad, and would make me the person that you hear about in the statistics that is the NEWBIE. Relatively so, i guess. If you see something that says sharon has sent a face to face toilet to..... 20 people, including my family, friends, and co-workers, please use your filter and your good sense. Or go right ahead and revel in the knowledge that I have brought the nasty into your life. My bad. My apologies. My goodness....