Satellite Radio

My latest addiction is listening to really bad radio shows -- only because they are, well, really bad!

In the morning I listen to Mary Occhino who is a psychic and you can call her up and ask her one question. She has this crazy Italian New York accent and half the time I am rolling my eyes. And yet. Every morning Charlie and I turn it to her station immediately! What Mary really wants to do is talk about herself. It often intrigues me that people who tell you to follow the power of the universe and the law of attraction and who have psychic abilities would actually CHOOSE to work 18 hours a day, have no romantic love relationship and are actually concerned about whether or not their new business is going to fail.

Seriously? A caller will call her up and say that they are starting a new business and they want to know if it is going to be successful. ABSOOOOOOOLUTELYYYY she will say. And then go on to say just how successful. Another caller will call up to find out if the relationship they are currently in is going to result in marriage. I am seeing it! she will cry.

And so, I ask, why is she working 18 hours a day and worried about her business failing? Does she not believe? Does she not see it in the cards for herself? Do people who make these phone calls not think about these things? (Obviously I do!)

I am not saying that I don't believe in psychic abilities. I am just saying I find it a little odd that she hasn't manifested herself into some mansion where she can sit poolside and do her radio show with the cabana boy massaging her feet and ... well ... I want my psychic advisor to have it all figured out for themselves first I guess!

Then there is the Rosie O'Donnell show. Really Rosie or something like that. And she bitches that she has to follow the really bad accented woman Mary O-something, which makes me laugh, because let's face it, Rosie is no shrinking violet and is very much more successful than Mary O on a bad day (even though she fights the system and therefore can't work for a major network) but hell, that is what satellite radio is for! And yet, it's kind of mean to pick on someone who is on the same channel as you are! Anyway. Rosie's show isn't all that exciting, her topics are somewhat random and her guests are like her friends who have nothing else better to do. Today there was like five minutes of my life wasted while she and two other people discussed the man (in the room with her) being bored by the topic she was discussing. I mean seriously???

Oooooh, such bad radio. Then there are the Broadminded Broads (I think) and they go off on some tear about something and just go on and on and on. They were absolutely BESIDE THEMSELVES that Donny Osmond won the Dancing with the Stars show and well. They couldn't stop putting the poor windbag down. (They called him that, not me. I mean, he's a little bit rock 'n roll. A part of my childhood.)

And then Barbara Walters has some talkfest with her producer from The View, Bill Gedde. And she sort of kind of flirts with him, which is wrong on many, many levels, and it doesn't work, but she does interview celebrities. Woo hoo! I am never excited when she is on.

And then .... oh and then. There is that BITCH Dr. Laura Schlessinger. OHMYGOD. What is wrong with people? Why would they call her? She is so haughty and prissy and full of shit. Her sarcasm is so mean spirited and yet. And yet! She has a whole bunch of followers who think what she has to say has some merit. I mean, she is the poster child for someone you DO NOT WANT TO BE! Ever! EVER EVER! Why listen to her advice? It's like going to a junkie and asking them for a score and having them belittle you for being SO GODDAMN STUPID for even thinking you are worth the dirt you are standing on, much less worth THE SCORE SHE IS GOING TO DANGLE IN FRONT OF YOU THANK YOU VERY MUCH. Oh my. Really. She doesn't bother me at all.

No, really.

So, I am thinking. I should have a radio show. I can be a psychic and a broadminded broad and I can CERTAINLY hand out advice on anything from should I forgive my rapist step-dad and give him a loan to should I give away my sister's special-needs coke baby because my sister is in jail and my mother has no legs. Seriously. I can. How hard can that be if I introduce just a modicum of COMPASSION and RESPECT and CIVILITY to my answers?

Why oh why do I do this to myself?

Sirius Radio 102.

DO NOT go there!

A Beautiful Basement

I think I'm going to paint it white, he said. What do you think?

WHAT DO I THINK?

This is the wall. As you can see, a fresh coat of white paint would undoubtedly transform the appearance of the basement.

For the past three days Peter has been down in the basement making a lot of noise. It is very noisy when you demolish walls and then put up a new one. The basement is where he tunes skis during the winter. The rest of the year he rarely goes down there. But right now, in his head, it is his palace. And therefore needs to be beautified. Let me paint you a picture of the basement. It isn't finished, though at one time it sort of was. When we bought this house, one half of it was what you would consider finished. It had a bedroom with its own bathroom and fire place and the other room had a bar in it. Clearly the owners before us really loved their basement. Hallie slept in the bedroom and we turned the bar area into a playroom. On the other side was the washing machine and dryer and the usual basement appearance, icky concrete floor and walls. (The "finished" side wasn't that much better, with cheap paneling walls and the teeny tiny windows, but it had carpet on the floor.) Every time I walked down there to do laundry, I swore I would eliminate this floor from my life.

This is where Hallie's room used to be, the old fireplace is to the left.

Then came the floods. It seemed crazy, considering we live on a mountain, that we had floods in our basement, but we did, and more than once. When we changed the carpet there was a drain in the floor on the bar side, and we did what anyone would do, we cemented it up, leveled the floor and put in fresh new wall to wall. The first flood came pouring in and it was bright and sunny out. I was down there pulling up the carpet to try to save it and the water just kept coming ... through the wall. It was insane. I even found a big heavy metal pick thing and tried to break up the cement where the little drain was. I mean, why would you put a drain in a floor ... UNLESS OF COURSE YOU NEEDED ONE? When we were clearly having some supernatural occurrence where water just came flooding in for no apparent reason.

If you look closely you can see the patch where I attempted to smash through the concrete in search of the drain we had covered up! And this

floor is now in the "ski tuning room." which is shown below.

But of course, there was a reason. There was a problem with the well, which happened to be right outside the foundation wall and it was building up with water and then leaking into the basement. What a mess.

The insurance company paid for the repairs and new carpet and we were back in business.

Until the next flood.

Now, the chances of a well pushing massive amounts of water into a basement aren't very likely, but the next cause of the second flood was even more unlikely.

We had had a party. A big party. And the toilet apparently was abused (despite the fact we had rented those outhouse things). One day I innocently went down cellar to do laundry when I heard a noise. I went into Hallie's bedroom and there was water all over the floor and it was just pouring out of the bathroom. OH MY GOD. Not again! The water was pouring out of the toilet. Okay, I turned the valve on the bottom of the toilet and the water STILL kept pouring out. It was dirty water, now that I realized it, with bits of toilet paper floating in it. WHAT WAS GOING ON? I started pulling up the carpet and draping it over stools and throwing towels on the floor to stanch the flow, and more or less freaking out. Turns out that this time it was the sewer pipe backing up ... the other part of the basement was getting hit too. It was so gross. I really don't want to think about it any more.

So. We were at a crossroads. And as Peter and I stood there with shitty dripping carpet, I said that the universe had spoken. Clearly the fact that we had experienced TWO major floods in our basement was an indication that we were not supposed to be using it for actual living purposes. That event was actually the catalyst to beginning the major renovation (and addition of a third story) to our house with the intent to eliminate the basement altogether as an essential space.

The laundry room was installed on the third floor and we even switched the location of the cellar stairs -- with the new access requiring going through a bedroom as opposed to front and central in the main body of the house. For me, the basement was a distant memory ... a storage place for things you don't really need. Oh, and a place for Peter to hang out in! He even has a TV down there.

And because we had determined that it was being reformed into a true basement, the new furnace was installed in the bedroom part, with the fireplace being used as a flue. The bathroom was turned into Peter's paint room (where he rinsed paint brushes and stored such accessories) and the former bar/playroom was turned into the ski tuning room (with the skis actually on the old bar.)

So ... for the past I don't know, ten years, the basement (which of course never flooded again) has remained dry and non-essential (at least to me!) But Peter decided that he could gain some more space if he removed the shower from the bathroom. You can visualize how big a stall shower is, and that is exactly how much space he gained. He tore down the wall, removed the shower, and then pushed back the wall the few feet and put it back. Same wood. And he is thrilled beyond belief at what he has gained. I went down this morning and if I hadn't been privvy to all of the noise, I would have never guessed that anything had changed.

So, he says, I think I am going to paint this wall white.

I looked around. To the left of the potential white wall (which is some cheap paneling) is the cement block with two holes in it, kind of hacked up holes that provide access to underneath the kitchen, which does have a foundation, but really only a crawl space. (Which was added during the renovation). It is very attractive, and Peter uses the holes to store wood, so a lot of wood is sticking out of the holes. The floor is littered with paint cans and such, and is now a mixture of cement, tile (from where the bathroom part was) and bits of pieces of linoleum which was underneath the carpet, which is long gone. Some parts of the concrete wall are painted white, some are green. And yet, he believes that if he paints this tiny piece of wall, it will beautify the basement.

The mosaic of different floor treatments and if you look to the left where the foot of the desk is, you can see the drain hole for the now removed shower. The space gained is indicated by the amount of green tile that is showing. BONANZA!

And it's not as though he is a man who must complete every project he begins. In fact, to the contrary! He is a BIG project man -- who finds the finer details of finish work and polish inconsequential and pesky little items that he will surely get to later. So what is up with the desire to paint the one wall?

I don't know. I spent the past few days doing frivolous things like watch movies and read books and he created a few more feet in his beloved basement.

The one thing we have in common is that we both believed that the other wasted their time!

(I should state that since he was down there while I was taking pictures, he is quite certain that I am going to post them on the Internet and make fun of him. But no, that is not what I am doing, I am just cataloging an event in time ... a true example of life with Peter!)

How do you spell LAZY?

So. Yesterday. Raining. Pouring. Cold. Windy.

Woke up. Heard pouring rain. Closed eyes and went back to sleep.

Came to again. Same thing. Closed eyes and went back to sleep.

Hunger pangs. HUNGER pangs the day after Thanksgiving? Clearly I stretched my stomach. Oh wait. Its almost noon.

Go downstairs, eat, hang out on computer for a bit, eventually gravitate toward couch and watch a movie.

And then another movie.

And then another movie.

And then another movie.

And then another movie.

Went to bed (I was clearly exhausted) at about 1:00 a.m.

The best part? I already had my jammies on so I only had to brush my teeth before I climbed into bed!

Now. This morning? Kitchen a total disaster because Charlie was in charge of dinner. And there is NO WAY I can get back on that couch because my back is killing me, which is my first inclination because it is unbelievably windy, cold and nasty outside.

Though I just might, because there is no way I am going outside on purpose.

Movie time?

The scent of samadhi

So I thought I'd come up with this great plan of purchasing christmas gifts for people that were made by women (free trade) in third world countries who, with the profits of their sales could support their families. It feels right -- the whole idea resonates with me.

Then I purchased a bar of soap from a woman who lives in Vermont, but I didn't pay for the price of the soap. Instead I chose to become a "friend" of this woman, who has an idea of a way to change the way the world does business. In essence, I paid a lot for this bar of soap so that she would be able to continue with her business in the hopes of keeping her prices down and developing new products. http://www.truebodyproducts.com/

It just felt right. I didn't buy stock in her company, I didn't even really buy soap. I bought into the idea. From the company's mission statement:

We believe that generating wealth means producing healthy and useful products, creating good quality jobs, protecting the planet, and contributing to our community, as well as making money. By this example, we hope to change the way the world does business.

And then there is the scent of Samadhi. Oh my. I was sent a sample of this stuff from one of my purchases and was instantly drawn to it. Hallie and I both liked it, so we kept it in the car. When you climbed in, you were instantly breathing deeply to try to inhale the most amazing smell. I didn't really know what it was, but then I came across a blurb on it that said it was the best deodorant around. I have been searching for the right natural deodorant for ages. And just when I think I have found one (a lot of them cause rashes for me) I will catch a whiff under my arm and scream NOOOOOOOOOOOO! I stink! How did that happen? Good heavens. Oh no. I mean, not horribly, but you know that smell. And granted, after I've been out hiking or walking. But still.

So I decided to try this stuff. Oh wow. WOW WOW WOW. It makes you feel good just wearing it, but I think that is partly because it causes you to breathe deeply -- which also energizes you. Scent of Samadhi get yourself a free sample. And now when I burrow my nose into my armpits (which is far more than normal because I can NOT get enough of this smell!) I am just awash in smiles. This is good stuff.

The idea of wearing items and scents that are supposed to surround me in goodness, optimism, health and nature is so appealing to me that it reminds me of the J. Peterman catalog. I don't even care if it is true -- just the idea is enough for me.

And now I am putting on my whiffer. I will tell you more about this once I know more myself!

Rainy Daze

This morning before I woke up I was having a dream that I was on the phone with someone who was offering me a job. Except that I didn't know what the job was! I was playing a sort of subtle 20-questions with the person on the other end, trying to act as though I knew about this job while at the same time trying to find out what it was.

I felt surprise when I found out what it was (except that that part didn't come through in the damn dream!) and when I asked if I had to move or where the office was located, I was told I could work from home, which I experienced with great relief.

And then it started pouring like crazy and I woke up to the sound sort of feeling as though I was drowning. And I was frustrated because it felt as though I WAS GOING TO GET MORE DETAILS on this great new job I had, except that I woke up.

Then I found a link to this book in my email What Should I Do with My Life?: The True Story of People Who Answered the Ultimate Question, by Po Bronson and looked it up and found it is available on Kindle, so I am going to download it and read it because it is super rainy and it is clearly meant to be that I read.

Just following the signs of the universe here. One step at a time. Or is that one book at a time?

TWO HOURS LATER:

I just took a shower and before I climbed in I had the whole dream going through my head. And my next thought was "what is the point of thinking about it, it is just a thought," and then I climbed into the hot water of the shower and it hit me. (Well, the water yes, but another thought that actually caused me to laugh out loud.)

I thought: I know the reason I can't seem to "discover" what it is I want to do for a job.

The answer?

I DON'T WANT A JOB!!!!

It is so obvious that it's painful. I certainly have the power to manifest a job if I **WANT** one, but my consciousness is screaming NO NO NO in the background far more louder than my "true desire" to make money is, which really doesn't come from a pure thought, it comes from guilt because I have a core value system instilled in me that I have to be independent. To be independent you must make money in order to support yourself. But I manage to skirt around this issue by "reminding" myself that I worked and worked and also raised three kids and did the vast majority of the cooking, cleaning, etc. and so therefore I am OWED the ... the what? The privilege not to work?

When I decided that I wanted to do something in the restaurant business, when I truly believed that I would enjoy doing that, within literally moments an opportunity presented itself. It didn't pan out because it wasn't logical -- all part of the way things work, and I knew that was so because I only felt relief.

These are all my thoughts -- right down to feeling as though I NEED to get a job; or have that feeling as though it would be the right thing to do. All mine. Mine mine mine. No one is forcing me to do anything; no one asks me anything other than how was my day, in truth. So I have to remove these feelings and thoughts -- free them from their captivity.

How do you know when you are on the right track? Because you literally want to sing.

The hills are alive ... with the sound of music .... my heart wants to beat like a brook as it trips and falls over stones in its way ... la la la

Power of Retraction!

Right now I am in the midst of a bit of a dilemma -- centered around the Laws of Attraction. While I practice this theory to a certain degree all the time; I often forget about the powers I have at my fingertips. Why? I don't know.

One of the things I've never swayed from perceiving the same way on a consistent basis is in regards to money. A long, long time ago I came up with this idea that if I had $20 in my pocket, then I had money. I left $20 in my pocket (or pocketbook) all the time and if I happened to use it, I would replace it. This changed when debit cards came along, because if you have a debit card in your wallet (and an account with funds in it to back it up) then you always have money, right?

So, since I always had at least $20, I was never broke. I never used that term, it wasn't in my vocabulary. I have always believed I have enough money because if you spend more at a certain time, then you just don't spend for a bit. I am also not a born shopper and would rather be in the woods than the mall -- so that of course helps too! But my entire perception of money has always been it's not something to get all that concerned about. I don't know why. I have never wanted to be a millionaire, I never wanted to work in order to make a lot of money. I have had a lot of opportunities in which I could have used my skills in order to make money, but that never was a big enough carrot for me. The bottom line is, I don't care about money. No one ever believes me when I say this, or they will say that I have obviously never NOT had money because otherwise I wouldn't say it. Which is true. I always had at least $20. Always.

I believe that I can do anything I want and that money will never be an obstacle that stands in my way to prevent me from doing it. I believe this strongly, and therefore, it is.

So this is where it gets tricky. Somewhere along the line I developed this belief system (basically out of nowhere) and I have never had any negative thoughts in regards to money. (Right now I don't personally make any, and it took me a long time to feel okay about that, but that is a separate issue -- not necessarily about money itself -- but more about power and control.) And the key word here is ... control.

I've never controlled my feelings about money, I just accepted them. Why not? It worked ... there was always enough, I've always done everything I wanted, I don't spend countless hours worrying about how I am going to pay for this or pay for that because I believe that it will work out. And it does. That doesn't mean that there isn't someone else that worries ... but that isn't my problem! I worked for years and years and maintained the same belief system. You worry because you want to, not to create money for me.

But that is about the ONLY thing that I didn't try to control. Or don't try to control. I wouldn't say I am a control freak, but I'm not really good at following the leader. I far prefer to be the leader, the person in charge, the one who says go. And one of the principles of the law of attraction is that you have to surrender. And man, I don't like that idea one iota!

And yet ... I surrendered to the idea that money was always going to be there for me. So why can't I apply that to all aspects of my life? And maybe I do, to some degree, because I have a hard time coming up with things to manifest! A new car? Well, I have two. A big house? Hmmm, got that. Perfect children? Check. As far as things go, I have all I need or want and really have no desire to attract more. What has become a "situation" for me though, is a career. A job. A purpose.

And I'm not surrendering to it, I am trying to control it. I am coming up with all sorts of business ideas and opportunities and getting all busy and all and then thinking, well, I don't know, is that what I REALLY want to do? I could drive myself crazy, with all of my blessings cursing me (I have a huge creative streak, I love to cook, I am passionate about health and wellness, I love travel and encouraging and ...) well. The point is, there are so many different directions I could take. It's not like it's clear-cut and I want to be a fireman. Well, it is, I absolutely DO NOT want to be a fireman. But you get what I mean.

So, I know that I need to surrender to the universe. I know this intellectually. So, I drag out my many books on the subject in an attempt to begin the process once again. And then things happen, as they do when you are open, and what do I do? I fight it! I try to control it! And I am even aware of this, and yet, I get even more stubborn and dig my heels in even deeper, or try to reach the same destination by taking a circuitous route.

Let me explain.

I decide that I must begin to channel the universe in a higher frequency than I have been doing. In essence, I have been lazy, just phoning in. So, as I said, I read, I repeat, I go inward and I feel the buzz. It's all good.

Then a person who I met with in Arizona last spring starts emailing (not just to me, but to a list) that he is coming out with a new program on the Law of Attraction. Do I take this as a sign? Oh no. I start to pick it apart ... I become suspicious of the tactics -- I see "how to sell something online 101" in practice and I won't have anything to do with it!

The emails continue. My suspicion grows.

The last email is a video basically asking WHAT could possibly be standing in the way of my not purchasing this program, and to take some time and ask myself that question and see what happens. I do this. On my drive to pick up Charlie last night I saw this person's car about 10 times. The last time I actually laughed out loud. The universe was kicking me in the butt, and I was still like, yeah, well.

WHAT THE HELL? What is wrong with me? So rather than purchasing this program, I purchase another book on the laws of attraction. And there is a website that I am instructed to go to. So I think, okay, perhaps this is the path that I was supposed to take all along. But then, that doesn't make any sense, because in truth I am not surrendering, I am controlling. So that is my own mind making excuses and telling me that I have made the right choice, when in fact I know I am just doing the usual standing in my own way. And even better, I KNOW this, and yet, I let it continue?

So, I began this blog with the intention of having an answer at the end of it! And? I'm going to go buy the program.

Yes. I went inside and feel that that is the right choice.

Or am I controlling my thoughts?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH.

Bloggers Block

It is very infrequently that I don't have something to say or something percolating in my mind that I want to blog about. But I don't. I got nothing!

So ... since my other option right now is to clean the kitchen, I think I'll start typing and see if anything bubbles up.

We could, actually, have a 24-hour discussion on cleaning the kitchen because it seems that it is never really clean. The moment I walk away, things run from other parts of the house and jump on the counter, food containers mysteriously appear and condiments like to jump out of the fridge and remain topless with dirty knives nearby.

There are times I think I will lose my mind over that part of the house, I swear. But I don't want to discuss an unsolveable problem -- there's really no point. But let me tell you one way NOT to start out your day.

To dog throw-up.

I was biding my minutes before I REALLY had to get up this morning, when I heard a dog hacking in the hallway. Charlie was right there and I asked him to get the dog out. He said, "in a minute." A dog will not just hold their hacking/barfola-ing for a minute. I cringed and winced as I heard the dog yack again ... oh, the sounds. Then I went and put her outside, and then returned to clean it up. Sucked. Just what I wanted to deal with. Like the cat poop I had to clean out of the pantry yesterday.

Is there any particular reason to have pets? I am thinking not. Today I took two of the dogs (two out of three ain't bad) on a walk. For some reason they were not in the mood to listen. Instead of totally immersing myself in my surroundings and enjoying the blue sky and moderate temperatures, I was constantly yelling, "Lucy, Lucy ... come." Or, "Luna, Luna ... come." Lucy tears through the woods like it is her job -- and you can hear her crashing around -- but it is hunting season and it's really not smart to have no idea where your dog is. And I don't like it when they are so ... so fresh! They need to listen. First they barf on the floor and then no listening?

Wow, I really got nothing! So incredibly boring! I am truly only writing this blog because MY SISTER said I was getting lax. So tell me, do you like reading drivel or would you prefer that I keep my boring blogs to myself?

Ho hum.

I am now drumming my fingertips on the keys. I am not sure this has ever actually happened to me. I have .... BLOGGERS BLOCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Well, at least I have a title. Better than "blog about nothing and a dog barfing," don't you think?

Hum ho.

I tried to stay up to see the meteor showers last night. The sky was just FULL of stars. Before I climbed into bed I stood at the slider door and stared. Nothing moved. Twinkle twinkle little star, an occasional plane, but that was it. I then climbed into bed and stared out the window, but I was staring at the Big Dipper, and kept thinking that one of those stars wouldn't go. That would be bad. Bye bye big dipper. Then I kept waking up and staring out the window. At one point my eyes were so blurry I could have seen just about anything, but I don't think I did. And did you know that around 4:30 the stars are kind of low? Like they are touching the ground? Or maybe I was dreaming it, who knows.

I had an idea for a book today. And then had an argument in my head that I can't start ANOTHER book until I finish the three that I already have going. Maybe that's why I can't write -- my creativity is boycotting the fact that I won't let it go unleashed. That's like saying my creativity has free will -- or it's like saying I have it caged. Which is it? Exactly.

I'm going to go clean the kitchen. At this point it seems like more fun.

Teenagers

All week Charlie has been at school late because of the play. All week it has been late nights and discussions on how to fairly share the really crappy late night drives. (Between Maddie and I, Peter goes to bed and believes that this exonerates him from the task.)

So tonight not only did he have the play, but then he wanted to go to the dance afterwards. So Peter and I figure out what we can do to keep us out late and yet somewhere in the vicinity of his school? Let's put it this way, I was THRILLED to discover that Applebee's stays open until midnight.

So first we drive really far away to go see a movie. Which was Men Who Stare at Goats, and well, with a title like that, what could we really expect? It was moderately amusing if not just downright bizarre! I can spend hours looking at George Clooney, but he seems a tad anorexic.

Anyway ... then we drive from Manchester to Tilton and land at Applebee's -- with plenty of time to spare. We watch a bunch of seemingly teenagers at the bar acting, well, I guess acting young, no biggie. Not really that amusing to watch though, and one girl sat on her cell phone the entire time talking. Why go out? Then they left (you know it's bad when you are outsitting the young 'uns) and in comes another crowd ... but I was most captivated by the young couple sitting directly across from us. She was absolutely beautiful. I couldn't keep my eyes off of her, though I tried, because one doesn't want to just stare at someone. She had curly red hair and beautiful creamy skin (no seriously, I wasn't totally staring at her the ENTIRE time!) and the guy was pretty cute too, but no real match for her, in my opinion. They both ordered these huge beers -- but they weren't there for the beer. They were there to bide their time before they ended up in bed together. Ahhhh, Saturday night.

So how did I end up sitting in a bar on a Saturday night just wanting to be in bed ... ASLEEP? Ahhhh, the passage of time. Oh, don't get me wrong. I can always rally. But at Applebee's? No. I don't think so. So, at last it is five of 11 and we can go!!! Yahoooo.

And we pick up Charlie, he climbs into the car, and won't really speak to us. Okay. I know the kid is totally wiped out. But seriously?

We fricking plan our entire evening around him -- and it's just assumed that we will pick him up, no matter what. We asked him a few questions and he gave us a few short answers. But the kicker was when we got home and he sort of stomped up stairs with the most pained expression on his face. I felt like saying, if you're so damned miserable being at school, then do us all a favor and call us a little earlier, okay, so we don't have to sit around for hours watching people foreplay at a bar.

Geesh.

Even though I know he is tired and that he will be far more forthcoming in the morning, and so on and so forth, it still disgusts me that he doesn't take two seconds and just thank us for picking him up at 11:00 on a rainy Saturday night when I'd rather just be at home, sitting around a fire sipping a cocktail.

I am just saying. A little appreciation perhaps. Just a smidge. Just a dollop.

Or even a smile.

Collecting rocks and blogs

I have about a dozen blogs that I follow on a regular basis and it has seemed that about half of them have sort of slowed down in terms of how much they are updating them. I too, fall into patterns where I don't have much to say, and so I don't, so it's not that big of a deal, but I have found that when I go to a blog a few times and there is nothing to read, that I will click on links of their favorite blogs.

Well.

I really don't need any new ones to follow, but sometimes it is like reading a novel when you discover a new blog and start right from the beginning, and read to the present. I become as absorbed as one can, really, and I am always struck by how much talent there is out there, and also, how amazing this whole blogging thing is.

One man started a blog to keep his family updated on the pregnancy of his wife. matt, liz and madeline . Not much of a name, but to the point! He picked up a following and when his wife went into labor, he received requests to let his blog fans know the outcome.

His wife, who was young and healthy, delivered their first child, a baby girl named Maddie. She ended up having a C-section, and after she had been in recovery and at last moved to a room, she wanted to go see her baby. When she stood up, her last words were "I feel a little light headed." And she crashed to the floor, dead, from a blood clot that traveled to her brain.

The blogging community, which was updated by a friend, drew together and sent out as much support as they could for this widowed and single father. And they even started to collect money, which eventually Matt funneled into an organization named after his late wife, which supports parents who are left alone in similar circumstances.

There is no doubt, as you read through this blog, that a huge part of his recovery is due to the fact that he vents his frustrations -- not only to people that are now his friends, but to total strangers. It really is a fascinating thing. Right now he is in India, where he spent the first part of his relationship with his wife, writing a book about the events of the past 19 months. He takes photos of his little girl standing in the same places that her mother did just a few years ago. It is strangely haunting and yet poignant. I get it -- I get it because I know how therapeutic writing can be; and he is also creating a wonderful "history" for his daughter to look back on as she grows up -- without her mother -- and she will understand how truly her father loved her.

So instead of writing in my own blog, I have been exploring others. Blogs are kind of like rocks on a beach -- there are as many as the eye can see, but there are only a few that catch your eye. And after you pick it up and examine it a bit, you either throw it back down or haul it back to live with you. I guess you could say, I am a bit of a blog collector!

Is it just me?

This morning I ran up to the grocery and liquor store as I am having people over for dinner tonight and I wanted to get it done.

Well, I apparently had the same idea as the rest of the world -- place was packed. I was fairly patient as I kept getting blocked in aisles or someone would leave their cart in the middle of an aisle and then go someplace else. By the time I got to the checkout area, it was three people deep. Okay, whatever. I don't think people realize that Thanksgiving is a few weeks away, because that is how it felt! Crazy.

I put my groceries in the car and then walked to the liquor store. I didn't drive over because it is a nice day and I figured I could use the walk. Except that I'd forgotten that not only did I need a bottle of vodka, two bottles of wine and contreau -- but also two bottle of marsala wine for dinner! Shoot! So I ended up schlepping a huge box (and a heavy one at that) across the parking lot, waiting patiently for cars to pull out and so on. At last I made it to my car and rested the box on the side to find my keys in my pocket, and somehow I hurt my finger. I don't recall how, unlocking the door, opening the door, whatever. It hurt.

Put the stupid box into the car and climbed in. I started to back out and there was a woman pushing her cart behind me. I waited and realized she was still there. I looked closer and realized that she was texting on her phone! She was stopped directly behind me and I was obviously pulling out, and she was too busy fricking texting!

I said, out loud, are you kidding me? And of course assumed, as I inched my car out, that she would move. Oh, but I was wrong. She was NOT going to move for any car, oh no, she was BUSY. Fine. My car is bigger than you are, I backed up right against her. She gave me this WITHERING look, but not until she'd finished her stupid text and flipped her phone shut! Then, instead of moving, she put the phone back into her pocket and did something with her pocketbook.

I should have hit her. Just for kicks. And the thing is, I don't think she even felt as though she'd done anything rude! I think she was so into her texting world that it didn't even occur to her that SHE was in the path of a vehicle and since she wasn't anywhere near her car, had no real reason and/or right to stop there! Oh, but she did! She was busy!

As I finally managed to back out and drive away, as I passed her pushing her cart to her car, I wondered if it would make any sense to put my window down and inform her that texting in traffic was kind of, well, umm, fricking MORONIC if she was risking her life doing it! And I thought, nah, she had already put the rudeness card in my court, she truly believed that I was being pushy. When in truth I was just done with being around people who think the whole world evolves around them.

When HELLO, it evolves around ME!

This is it ...

Let me state first of all that I've never been a HUGE Michael Jackson fan. I loved many of his songs, and was amazed at his dancing talent. But for the most part, he didn't really rock my world to any great extent.

As the years went by, it became quite clear that this person was, well, a little more than ODD. I never paid a whole lot of attention, but things like "he bought the Hunchback of Notre Dame's bones," and he now owns the entire Beatle' catalog," would permeate my consciousness (that wasn't hunchback, it was something else. Can't recall exactly whose bones he had and it's not important enough to me to look it up.) Anyway, then I realized his physical appearance was changing ... A LOT. And then he was on an Oprah show and he said that he'd had NO plastic surgery and the reason that his skin had changed color so dramatically was because he had some type of disease. Ummm. No. Liar, liar, pants on fire.

He became a true oddity to me and one not worth much of my attention at all. Then I saw him I think on a Barbara Walter's special, or maybe another Oprah or one of those VHS shows, who knows, but something about him completely touched me. I realized that he was a product of what happens to someone when their world is completely wrong. He was, in essence, an abused child.

Now, how did I end up at that conclusion? He was a very young child when he was catapulted to stardom. He had more talent in his little pinky than any of his siblings, and his family capitalized on that ... if only to keep the older brothers working! There was footage of this little boy trying to get into a car and being completely MOBBED by screaming fans (which I so don't get, what are you going to do when you get to a person you adore, tear him apart?) And things seemed to click into place ... the fact that he lived on a ranch called Neverland, which created the perfect environment that a child would want to be in; or the fact that he hung out with children. I don't think he did anything pedophile-like to these kids, I think the problem was that he was emotionally stuck at about 10-years-old and that was all he could relate to. And think about it -- all adults would have treated him differently because of who he was. So he never had anyone treating him in a proper manner. I am sure he was always so confused. But children, children don't know how to act other than who they are (at least for a little while!) So he could be himself around them without being judged.

So here he was, alone in his castle, unable to leave without creating some kind of mob scene. It's really beyond sad. And when you are 10, you are not really ready to have sex or a relationship, so that kind of left him in a place of limbo -- because a part of him wanted to be "normal," except that he had no concept of normal.

So the people he bonded with were people who had experienced the same wacky and surreal childhoods -- people like Elizabeth Taylor and Brooke Shields and Lisa Marie Presley. I can just see him and Lisa Marie sitting around and talking, of course having the mutually exclusive "badge" of being different because of extraordinary circumstances, and just howling at how funny it would be to get married.

So this more or less 10-year-old is then accused of molesting children and I am sure that really took him from the edge of the precipice to a free fall into nowhere for a good long time. I don't think he ever recovered, and in truth, would any child?

I saw a different Michael Jackson in the film "This is It." It certainly didn't convince me that he was a full-fledged adult, but I sure did see someone who knew his stuff. You can say a lot of things about Michael, but you can't say he wasn't amazing at his craft. Amazing isn't a strong enough adjective ... in truth, there really are no words. (But don't you worry, I'll struggle along!)

First off, I never would have gone to see his concert. After seeing what it would have been like, I have no doubt I would have absolutely ADORED it. In fact, it made me very sad that the costumes that were custom-made for him that were "beyond anything that had been designed before," will never be worn by him. He had a real flair for the dramatic when it came to his wardrobe -- a true understatement!

The film is pieced together parts of his rehearsals and the filming of the various movies that would have been shown on the backdrop. He is involved in every aspect and the people in charge kind of treat him a bit like a God. I found that part a little distressing, I must admit, and that also reinforced my earlier feeling that no one ever treated him "properly." The director of the show and the producer of the movie, Kenny Ortega, sort of fawns on him ... "what do you want Michael, what can we do for you Michael, I love you Michael," to which Michael responds in a very weak voice, "I love you too."

Except that Michael doesn't really know what love is, I don't think. But man, does he know how to put on a show! His meticulous attention to detail is almost painful. You can see every cell of his being twinging when he tries to convey to the piano player what key he wants the song to be in, or how long he wants a note to be held. But he does get it across, and every single one of his band members and dancers knows they are in the presence of greatness and performs willingly. And the talent he surrounds himself with is just plain awesome. And he doesn't have that need to be the only person shining on stage, he very often wanders behind them or off to the side.

This Michael Jackson is someone you would want to know, because he is doing something that he knows. He is strong and confident and man could that guy move. But when he was doing a duet with a female vocalist, a love song, it wasn't believable. When he drew the woman to him, there was nothing there. I truly believe he was asexual. Even his signature move of grabbing his crotch and doing the grind ... has no sexual undertone to it AT ALL. Zip.

So here was this 50-year-old man moving around the stage like a teenager, rocking and rolling and creating a masterpiece. There has been speculation that he was anorexic, that he was doing massive amounts of drugs; that he had this or that.

There is no doubt that Michael Jackson was riddled with emotional and physical problems. I believe he is in a better place and I hope that this time around he stays under the radar and keeps his talents to himself. They ruined him for this life. How sad is that?

The power of cravings

This morning on my way home from dropping Charlie off at school, I had the most powerful and incredible NEED for coffee. All I could think about was a hot cup in my hand, sipping it ... I could imagine the aroma and the flavor. I drove into Dunkin' Donuts. I mean, wouldn't you?

The coffee itself was far too hot to drink, so instead of putting the craving to rest, I examined it. You see, I don't drink coffee -- at least not on a regular basis. I like coffee and for years on my way to work I would drive through and pick up my big cup of Dunkin' Donuts hazelnut with milk and one sweet and low. (Yes, that is what I ordered today!) I don't know whether it's because I drive by a Dunkin' Donuts every morning, or because I am in the car every morning at a "commuting" hour, but it seems as though it is unleashing some dormant need for coffee!

I have felt it before, but not this strong. I don't want to be a slave to my coffee addiction as I was before. After I stopped working and no longer made the regular commute past the addiction affliction coffee stop, it became a hassle to actually remember to drink it so that I wouldn't get a headache. So if I didn't remember to drink my coffee before noon, I was screwed, because if I drank it after that, I wouldn't sleep. It was ridiculous, so I went through a detox, it was horrible and I swore I'd never go near the stuff again.

And I didn't, for many years. But now I am, like many addicts, quite sure I can "handle it." This past summer while we were at the Vineyard, I had a cup of coffee nearly every morning for two weeks. I was aware that this could be a problem, so I would deliberately not have it some days just to make sure I could "get by." But everyone else was drinking it (I know, I know, terrible reason) but it's such a social thing, and I really like it! I figured what the heck, I was on vacation after all!

As soon as we returned home, I knocked off the coffee completely. And it was fine, no big deal. But not only do I like the taste of coffee, I like the IDEA of it. I like the idea of having something that "gets you going," that signifies a ritual that implies you don't really have to be yourself until you have consumed at least half a cup. When people say, "I can't deal with this, I haven't had my coffee yet," I think, "YEAH! I want that too."

Why?

You got me. Seriously, even re-reading that above paragraph I find it puzzling that I would actually WANT something that, well that makes me seem weak. I "can't" shouldn't really be in any of our vocabularies, and certainly not first thing in the morning!

Every morning I have a smoothie -- it revs me up and tastes delicious and it's all I need for hours. Sometimes it is fruit-based and other times it is green (with veggies). But I don't NEED it, but it makes for a wonderful and healthy breakfast. Coffee doesn't really fit that bill, though it does fill me up. I have now only had a cup of coffee this morning (large, hazelnut, with milk and sweet and low,) and I am stuffed. But what have I ingested that is going to do my body good? I can't imagine drinking a smoothie on top of it, so in truth, the coffee is a detriment to me.

(Talking myself off the coffee wagon here!)

What is most interesting about this whole thing is how the craving grew and grew until I had to listen to it. So, does my body actually NEED caffeine right now? Is that what it's all about? Another thing I am wondering is that I have this cream that contains caffeine in it, because it is made from a coffee bean. It smells absolutely AMAZING, and I put it on before I go to bed. So, could this be going into my system and I am waking up craving more of what I am smelling all night?

Well, that could be it! See, if I hadn't started this whole thing about craving caffeine I never would have thought of that. I am going to ditch the cream for a few nights and see if the cravings go away. Before I find myself between that fine line of NEED versus WANT!

White moon rises over sunset

First I started complaining because it was getting dark before 5:00. Then I happened to turn the car towards home and gasped at the sight of the full moon.

It was amazing.

I decided to take a long way home so that I could drive into the moon with the mountain behind it. As I started down the hill I gasped again and poked Charlie.

Look at that sunset! Wow. I nearly drove off the road gaping (and gasping) between the picture of the moon and the portrait of the sunset, obviously on different sides, it was like being in heaven.

I arrived home and went to take pictures.

But my battery died.

And I didn't even care -- so there!