Can we entertain the thought of writing letters? The book I am reading is reminding me of how much I used to adore getting hand-written letters. I was always a good pen pal. Unfortunately, most others were not.
I am finishing up my last paper for Sensory Analysis. The window is open and the birds are busy chirping and twitting. The daffodils are up. I adore spring flowers. They have the most delicious earthy scents.
I remember this time right before Lilly was born (T.S. Elliot, The Waste Land), and the depression was pretty bad. Such a paradox, spring. It can be a pretty emotional time for me.
Synchronicity. My girl just texted and completed her MCAT practice test and she feels good about it. Only a few points away from the score she needs for her master's program.
Isn't it crazy the way the thing that almost kills you is the thing you can't live without?
I got the email at the studio last night--chalking it up to rain, lightning and 50 mpr winds. I was both let down and relieved. The gallery walk was unimpressive. Sis didn't have many pieces on display because they are in a gallery in India. Okay. It's fine. It gave me time to talk records with Dave and keep tabs on mom. I forgot how much she talks-- about nothing.
Lots of unexpected events lately that have thrown my rhythm. I noticed that I have been sighing a lot lately. What's that about?
After the trip downtown, my girl and Ronan ordered our Curry pizzas (and the usu for the rest of the normal folks), I was happy to see that Ronan, who is a food snob, LOVES the Curry House and we ended up ordering 3 differrent Indian pizzas to try.
Mom's friend (who is a mooch) called and I invited him over to finish off the leftovers. That gave we kids a chance to get outside the stifling house and take in the glorious spring night. We stared at the night's sky and breathed in the air. Lilly and I took turns rolling down the hill, pressing our faces into the earthy grass- just like we did when she was a girl. And for a moment, I was happy.
Mom has taken to smoking in the house again. I opened the front door and it took me back to my youth, when dad would light one cigarette off of another. The carpet and drapes are saturated with the sickly smell. My bedroom is just above the family room, where the smoke would rise and the ventilation is terrible, forcing me to leave the window in my bedroom open even in the winter just for some clean air. Back in the day due to my bedroom location, I was privy to many fights and late night accusations--I look forward to the day we sell this house.
This morning I woke to the whispering and sighing of the tires in the rain and thought of this song. Big Love.
My race is Saturday, but I just haven't had it in me to train as hard as I wanted to as of late. It won't be pretty--especially not in the pouring rain. Here's to hoping the energy of others will help me to POTTP (push on through the pain). Hell, if I can push out a baby without drugs and just a midwife coaching me, I can run 6 miles.
I am taking mom to Big sis's gallery opening tonight in Indy. It should be a helpful diversion, and I always like to see what she is working on. I have amassed a nice collection of art over the years. I think I have over 10 of Carolyn's pieces, along with 3 other local artists' works hanging at home.
It's important for me to know about a piece that I have up in my house, and I can say that I have had a conversation with the artists about every one of them. Besides my David Wade set renderings, my favorite piece is a Patricia Rhoden Bartels that I bought when I was pregnant with Lilly. I got to know Patricia in her Gnawbone studio and fell in love with her work.
My other favorite artist, who owns Clash Galery next door to Michael's Uptown, is Jen Mujezinovic. I have a few of hers in my office.
I am blessed to know so many talented artists and proudly hang their pieces in my space to remind me that beauty is all around me. Even when I can't see it. And especially when I can't feel it.
I'm sitting in a dark room with strangers listening to The Mountain. "The Hardest Thing" is playing right now. Ugh.
They don't even know I am here. To be fair, this is a better way to spend my time than sitting with my feelings at home. I can at least interact with others on a superficial level and possibly learn something new.
I feel like how it looks outside today.
PLENTY OF FISH
I started talking about some of the crazies I dated and wanted to circle back to Bachelor Number 1. We'll call him PLENTY OF FISH (POF) because I met him on the dating site. First rule of thumb--dating sites are the WORST. Don't do it. The men on there are gross. They lie about everything and seem to be seeing multiple people at once. So, POF was a mistake from the get-go, but I was lonely and I thought what the heck. Found out he was also seeing a hasher friend of mine, Dowell Rod, and when she found out, well, it was not pretty. Small Town Dating. Incestuous.
I guess I could also call him Pratfall or Pornpal.
We disagreed fundamentally on a lot of things. It was tumultuous and there were frequent breakups. Growing up with parents who smoked, the thought of dating someone who did was non-negotiable. It doesn't matter how many times you brush your teeth, you taste like an ashtray. But profiles lie. About so many things.
Dealbreakers for me: drugs, cigarette smoking and porn. Why didn't I question those "watch later" shower videos on youtube?
If that is your lifestyle and you are into that, cool. Just be honest on your profile. I'm sure there are plenty of women who would be into all of those things-- just not me.
He told me his first sexual encounter was a three-way. And his brother, who sounded like a bully, (later I learned big bro had schizophrenia) got POF high right before taking the SAT. At restaurants he would take napkins and wrap up any leftover food, rolls, chips, whatever and make me put them in my purse for him. He had 2 boys who pretty much lived with mom, as she kept the house, but on the few occasions she would leave town, he would stay with them in the house-- IN THEIR OLD BED. Am I crazy to think that is messsed up? When I saw he was talking to multiple people at once, I confronted, he denied. I could go on, but I think you get the guy by now.
One weekend he left his Maker's Mark in my freezer. After a Sunday rehearsal, I paid him a visit bringing his whiskey back and hoping that we could spend some time together. He knew I would be getting in touch after rehearsal, however I didn't call first. I was in the neighborhood, so why not? I knock on the door. No answer. His car is there, so I cross to the side door. I knock again, and try the handle. Unlocked.
I call in and no answer. So I enter, thinking something must be serously wrong. Well, it was wrong as he was jerking off to a video. I screamed, and opened the mostly full plastic bottle of Maker's Mark and dumped it all over him. Oh, I forgot, when I pulled the sheet back to reveal his actions, he grabbed my wrist with his lotioned hand. Gross.
Running to the car, tears in my eyes, I vowed to never go on a dating site again.
I laughed and cried about it on the way home- it was pretty stupid what I did. But hilarious too. Funny thing about living here. You can avoid running into ex's pretty reliabily--at least I do. Especially if they are creatures of habit and you don't live on the same side of town. They become complete strangers. Like we should have been the whole time.
New release from Goose, a band that has started to grow on me. It's an inspirational little movie and a gentle reminder that we evolved from shrews. Well played, Goose!
This thought came to me predawn:
Instead of an umbrella, I will hold up a mirror.
Not sure who needs to hear that today-- but there it is.
My intuition guides me and I trust it when making decisions. I learned that trying to control things always backfires for me. It's a delicate dance between control and letting go. A rubber band, no? Is it all predetermined or just chance? What is the old saying-- Man plans, God laughs? There has to be some truth to that. We have a finite number of days on this earth and part of the reason I jumped off the crazy train was to "live deliberately and intensely" as Whitman so aptly put it.
If you think about life and the good years, why do we toil endlessly at our jobs and then upon retiring can no longer do the things we wanted to do? Cancer strikes, dementia, our knees go, our mind goes, and we have nothing to show for it.
Maybe I was a fool for getting out early. I know that the next chapter is going to start soon.
Brian Eno and Daniel Lanois produced this incredible album when U2 was what kept me alive. I would add this one to my mixed tapes, as it evokes so much passion.
Today is my first day technically "off" since before Thanksgiving. Sadly, the weather didn't want to cooperate, offering a case of the SAD blues, so I lit a fire. Today is my last day of Sensory Analysis, and I have just one paper to complete for the class. I am sitting at a 97% and honestly don't care if I don't ace this one. In truth, I have learned a lot-- but I have been so busy with work that I feel much of it didn't take. Is this what retired people do all day? I don't like it all that much.
I've had more time to read this year compared to year's past, which was something that I wanted to work on. The book I am reading for club is meh.
The Correspondent by Virginia Evans is written in letters that lay out her story. Clever idea but I just don't like the protagonist all that well. I'll keep reading in the hopes it gets better.
Lost Man's Lane by Scott Carson (Michael Koryta), now THAT was a story. Our club is actually thinking about starting his new release, The Chill.
Earlier this fall I completed James by Percival Everett and thoroughly enjoyed it.
I heard an interview on Stephen Colbert with Jesiut priest Father James Martin and his new book, Work in Progress, which I need to tend to. Lastly, my media specialist gives me books for My Free Library and this one looked like a good read:
New York Times Bestseller In Five Years, by Rebecca Serle. So lots to read!
This is the time of year when I start to research places I would love to visit. With spring break coming up, it would be so nice to get away to someplace warm. I miss the ocean. I miss gliding through the water effortlessly. I miss....
Okay, I get it now. I'll just leave it here to rewatch later. My sister got to do her art in India last year, lucky duck. I should talk to her about that experience. I know it was life changing--but how much? It has been too long since I took a pilgramage to a far away place. just me. Getting lost in the country, in the culture, in the people, losing myself.
I hope the Legacy Award comes through for me. I have terrible Wanderlust.
While in London (the first time) I wanted to disappear. I didn't want to look American. I was there for a month, never spoke, for fear my accent would give me away, cut my hair, changed my clothes, smoked clove cigarettes and drank red wine in my flat.
I was training for a triathlon, so my day started with a jog from Bayswater through Kensington Gardens and then a swim and lift at the Y. I would order my flat white coffee take away and then plan my tour of the city, catching as many shows as I could. I think the most inspiring thing I saw was Stonehenge. So many mysterious stories about those rocks. It had me asking--why were they put there but, more importantly, why was I put here? Still working on both of those questions today.
I thoroughly loved the concept of Eat, Pray, Love and when times were rough, considered doing a similar trip-- I think I still will when the timing is right.
It took a 2-month leave of absence, Postpartem depression, and a legal separation to get me to Mexico for my first surrender trip. My boss was the one to suggest it. So from December 9 thru February 14 (OH IRONY, YOU SLAY!) I was in healing mode.
The first week I was off work, I tried to check myself into Meadows. I was there one day and saw some students that I knew from school, and a lot of serious mental health patients and said, "maybe I need a different kind of healing."
I had a weekly regimen of acupuncture, healing bowls, Reiki, workouts (where half the time I would just lay on the stretching mat and stare at the celing) and at the time daily thearpy, followed by a glass of wine at Uptown (before it was rennovated) or a vodka tonic at Trojan Horse.
There is a waitress that still works the bar at Tro-Ho that remembers me from those lost days. I had a drink there a few weeks ago and we had a great exchange. I can tell she liked me and is glad I am no longer in that painful space.
My apartment at the time was a low rent in Basswood (I called it Asswood). All the freaks and fairies lived out there at the time. I wasn't sure if I was going to be robbed or raped trying to get into that crappy apartment. I moved out the following May--hoping for a better place to raise my then 3 year old kid.
Back to Mexico. My boss suggested I go. He said, go to the beach, girl. Get better.
So I did. MLK jr weekend I booked a flight and stayed in a tiny little place in Playa del Carmen before they ruined it with those huge touristy all inclusives. The entrance was just a sandy trail and I stayed in a Cabana just footsteps from the ocean. I spent my days walking the shore and reading. It was a nice get-away, but I think now, I would have to join an ashram to really do the deep dive.
Someday.
Post Script:
My last Mayan ruin stop is Tulum. I've seen the ancient ruins of Caba twice and also have seen the ruins on Cozumel Is. My last stop is Tulum, where I found an Au Naturel Hidden resort! Who is in? (sorry I can't make this link work--you'll have to copy paste).
How 'bout them Hoosiers...Ugh. What a terrible loss last night. The boys just can't rebound..or shoot!
This weekend I watched this documentary about Paul (and Linda) and it gave me more appreciation for his musical journey. When at the rock and roll hall of fame, I picked up a McCartney t-shirt but usually wear it to bed. I think I'll do more promoting and wear it out more.
Another two hour delay today gives me precious time to hit the Y in the AM and knock out some miles on the treadmill. The weather this week is going to suck and my 6 mile run is Saturday. I really want to get outside! So, off I go.
Boy, are we having a WAG THE DOG moment now or what? If you've seen the movie (and I recommend that you do), what we are seeing is TEN TIMES WORSE than the comedy plays at.
Hey. It's been awhile.
I heard this song yesterday while driving. I played this record a lot. I had this bass line down, but it was tough. I think now it would hurt too much to play. I actually listened to the lyrics for the first time in awhile, ouch.
Where to start. And who to start WITH?
The guy who didn't pay his taxes in two years, and also forgot to renew his license plate? He got pulled over while we were on a date and the cop almost hauled him to the station. This guy also pissed me off by throwing a banana peel out my car window, when I specifically told him to wait until we got to our destination, but he did it anyway. Then he lost his wallet in the grass (we were at some outdoor event) and threatened to walk home.
The guy who almost got arrested for trying to get into the White House lawn while hopped up on opium and then gave me the cold shoulder the rest of the trip for not sticking up for him to the cop? (He also left me in The Smithsonian with my luggage locked in a locker that he had the key and left me stranded in D.C. to get home on my own.
That was a fun dude. I'm pretty sure his father(he was much older) was in the Nazi party and he learned some serious mind fucking torture games from him. He used them on me constantly.
Now, as I write this, both of these guys were pretty deceptive. Smart as hell, but manipulative AF.
And I haven't even told you about the narcisist.
All three of these guys fall into a strange pattern for me. I seemed to date people that had the same birthdays. The lucky numbers were October 5-7, December 4-5 and February 14-15. I've dated at least 3 people from each of these numbers--and married 2 from them. Strange, huh?
Thought that time was on your side/
But now it's time the avenger.
Hope you are well...
Ah a winter wonderland! I open the front door and the snow is falling silently, softly. Nature's beauty at its finest. And a 2-hour delay offers me time to write (finally!). I've been thinking about a few things to share. Not sure if it's too raw and real though.
Confessions of a Serial Dater
I have been considering writing a series about the men I dated and the trauma that came from it-- also, shining a light on how some men abuse their status and power, hang-ups, porn, online dating woes and a relationship that eventually led to my decison to stop dating altogether-- a 5 year hyatus. Yeah, some messed up shit. Sound interesting?
Another topic that I'd like to write about is my mom. I might start there today since she drunk called me last night.
Parents always say they don't have favorites, but I think most of them do. Lucky for me I only had one--and when you do it right the first time (or get divorced when she is 2) you don't need to have another. Well, I am the favorite. I may not be the one who files her taxes or takes her to the doctor, but I am the one she tells her secrets to. I am the fun daughter.
Yes, there is resentment from the other two. To be fair, I didn't choose to be the favorite-- it was circumstance that caused it. Plus, I look just like mom and we have the same quiet disposition. Plus, we both endured a lot of crap from our spouses. Only difference is I chose to leave.
And she stayed.
While I know her religion dictated that she couldn't leave a bad marriage, she was also of a generation that didn't know how to do those hard things. Dad threatened to take everything and leave us broke and destitute. I doubt that he would have--but it was enough to keep up the charade for many unhealthy and unhappy years.
Mom is down to 104 pounds now. When she called she was making home-made spaghetti sauce. Ok, so I know I didn't get the cooking gene and I like to say it skips generations (although my sisters are both amazing cooks), why on earth at 84 years old do you need to make home-made spaghetti sauce when you can just open a jar and heat it up? Just saying.
Anyway, I worry from afar and know that I will miss those calls, where she is beaming with pride telling all her friends what I am doing and what I have done. She loves to brag about me.
I will miss her when I have a question about gardening and I know that she would have the answer. Speaking of gardens--my girl texted me yesterday and said she wants to plant a garden. (Now I get to be the excited one). When Lilly was growing up, I taught her all of the things my mom did about herbs and growing veggies and flowers. We had a garden plot at our church where in the summer months I would take her up and teach her about how to maintain the plants--the labor of love that comes from weeding and watering. I would quiz her on the herbs and even would teach her about how to identify tree leaves--specifically sassafras-- and we would make tea with them. I told mom about it--and she was so happy to hear of Lilly's interest that she cried. Glad that I make her so happy.
This post is all over the place. I wanted to talk about the song I posted (you should really take a listen to these songs!). I found Marc Broussard in my DJ days, and he was on my mind this morning. I googled him and he is on tour--and nearby! When I first heard him I was stunned by his soulful voice--I almost thought he was Black. But he has such range-- blues to jazz-- You should check out more of his stuff! I hope to get tickets to the Lexington concert.
Here's hoping that you are practicing some self-care. I doubt that you are--so sending big love your way.
I'm not one to brag, but I am just a little bit today.
Feeling the good feels today here at work. I walk around and see the gratitude on all the faces. The smiles and appreciation for me are real. And it feels good to be respected. When I worked here in the past, it was a different feeling. Maybe I was so stressed out and stuck in my own shit to notice--but I think my coleagues really do think I'm something of a wonder. I can walk tall and proud. I know what I am doing. I am connected to this place. It still feels like home.
Just watched a great show on Netflix called Danny Collins starring Al Pacino, that is loosely based on a true story. Premise: After reading an interview by Danny Collins in a magazine, John Lennon wrote a letter to Collins (British musician Steve Tilston).
Tilston, who is the real-life inspiration for Pacino's Collins, was unaware of the letter's existence until 2005, at which time he was contacted by an American collector who owned the letter. Based on the true story of musician Steve Tilston, who received a letter from John Lennon 34 years late (in the movie it is 40 years). Danny seeks redemption by leaving behind his glamorous, empty life to find authentic connections and write new music.He rethinks his life, wondering how things would have been different for him if he received the letter at the time--what choices he would have made given Lennon's advice.
I think about my life, and I wonder what if I stayed on the path I was on, where would I be now. I don't think I would be as happy. I also wonder if I were to receive a letter by someone I admired, even if it were to arrive decades later, how would I react.
The soundtrack includes 9 Lennon songs. Pacino kills the role.
The snow falling outside is lovely. Once chores are completed, I am building a fire-- one of my favorite pastimes in winter. There is nothing like the sounds and smells of a crackling fire.
I haven't felt motivated to do much as of late. I think it might be some low grade depression. Not the best time for it, as my class is winding down and I have about 7 wine write ups to do. Those tastings started in January, and I have no idea what I tasted back then.
We went looking for kitties yesterday. It feels like a bit of a betrayal looking for a replacement so soon. I saw a few that were sweet, but I'm not ready just yet. I am holding a place for Perc.
So much to do today. That's what happens when you decide to enjoy your weekend and then wait to the last day to do all of the life maintenance crap. One more week of class for me--then what?
Good lyrics here. Great song. Has it been 7 months? Feels like an eternity.
as the Seasons roll on by
We go from a sunny 70 degree day back to frigid winter. The trees are starting to bud out and the bulbs are popping up. I hope the cold snap doesn't kill the new growth. You can always tell that spring is around the corner when there is an uptick of skunk spraying around town.
I am ready for new life and new beginnings. What about you?
Going to play some records and drink a little red wine tonight before the Hoosiers take on Purdue. Let's Go!
Today was one of those unusual days when I was thinking of an artist while driving to work, and when I changed the channel, that artist was playing. I thought, oh, well that's a coincidence and went on with the day.
But after the workout while driving home, it happened again--same song, same artist!
I love that musicians are standing up and writing/performing protest songs. First Bruce with "Streets of Minneapolis" and now U2 with "American Obituary." I personally like the Irish cover better, but you can take a side-by-side listen and decide for yourself.
How are you anyway? I miss our old playful banter. I really hope you are well.
I'm a windows down or open kind of person. Have you ever been with an A.C. person? Ugh, so awful. They HAVE to have the AC on, can't stand fresh air. I open the windows every chance I get.
Today, driving to work I was listening to Simple Minds with the windows down. The stale, stagnant air of winter swirled the dust around and the sweet, cool dewy spring air took its place. Did I meniton that I think Spring is Sexy?
I like having a place to write in secret. It's like a open road in the middle of nowhere. I can say anything and there is no judgment.
Here's another band from back in the early 2000's I used to dig. They hail from Canada, and Feist was a force for good in the group. I used to open every Womenspace show with a track from a different album. It was a breathy tune--I'll keep digging until I find it.
30 days until spring, and yet, it feels like it could come today. I make a practice of going outside in the morning to inspect the changes. It used to be to pick up the morning paper and let the cat roll around-- but I don't have either of those in my routine anymore.
I've been missing Percy a lot lately. I expect to see her waiting at the door when I get home, nagging me to let her outside, you know, all the things. I finally took the litter box out and took all the remaining cat food to the shelter. I suppose every day will get easier, but right now it still sucks.
I am wrapping up my long-term gig next week, and actually have mixed feelings about it. I've grown to really like these kids--10 weeks is a long time and well, you could say I've grown attached to them. Still, it will be nice to focus on the goals I was working on before and really prioritize my training and my studies. Last night's tastings had me drinking a Pinot Noir from Israel and a Primitivo from southern Italy. Both are wines that will stump you in a blind tasting b/c they don't fit the mold. I learned that the Primitivo is like an American Zinfadel but with less alcohol. (a new favorite).
* I found it! "Her Disappearing Theme" is the song I used in my opening music bed on WFHB.What do you think? XO
I had this album special ordered and it finally came in. It features one of my favorite guitarists, Bill Frisell, and includes a few tracks with Lucinda Williams. The title track, "Vanished Gardens" just sounds like a jam session with a bunch of guys vibing. A pricey little number, but worth it to have in the growing collection.
While at Landlocked, I inquired about the soon-to-be released Honora, Flea's solo debut coming out in March, and was added to the list! There is a great song on the record titled "A Plea" (well, the video is odd) which is, according to Warner Music Group's Blog:
A Plea describes the song’s lyrics, which reflect on the divisiveness in our country and our world, as “yearning for a place beyond, a place of love, for me to speak my mind and be myself..."
We could use a not-so-gentle reminder of where we are right now. So thanks for that, my dude.
I got ready for work with the window open and the birds are really active. Their tune has changed, giving a nod to spring's arrival. I see the tips of bulbs starting to appear in the dirt and smell the earthy wet promise of rebirth.
The sunrise was also tremendous, sporting puffy pink cotton candy clouds wallpapering the morning sky.
Let's just start by saying Dr. Winston, WHY NO 2-HOUR DELAY TODAY? I couldn't see 2 feet in front of my car this morning.
I heard this song driving into work today. With the right set of headphones, this song pings in all the right places. The new wave 80's synth, hand-clapping and digital sampling of frogs croaking (The Cure used bottles clinking in what sounded like an alleyway in "Love Cats") takes me back to those teen years when music was my savior.
I share a room at work with someone who likes to keep the lights really dim. I know the kids like it, but it's a windowless cell and the longer I stay in here the more oppressive it gets. It makes everything cloudy--and I like things crisp and bright.
Which got me thinking about people-- there are some people who look blurry to me. How to describe it-- it's like smeared lipstick, or a filter on your camera phone--just. not. quite. in focus. Hair is disheveled, clothes thrown together, a giant wrinkle, a wave of colors and patterns that are mis-matched. Maybe it's just working in a public high school and these kids are figuring out their creative individuality? I suppose it is better than all the trendy kids who look exactly the same. They mirror each other--instantly forgotten and lumped into the same person. The sweatpants and birks or brown lug sole UGGS. The boys all go to the same hair stylist.
It does bleed out into the adult realm. The blurs are out there, showing their mood on the outside.
I think I look rather androgynous--fluid. I wouldn't call myself feminine. But my lines are clean and my features defined. My colors are compatable.
The sun finally poked its head out just to tease us today. I've been holed up in my "little soma room" (Richard Buckner) for a few hours catching up on work and school. I have started taking the Sommelier practice exams and I find that only about 40% is sticking.
If you asked me at this time last year what I would be doing 1 year from then, I would have such a different answer from what is actually in play.
I recognize that taking a full-time gig at university would have been a huge mistake, leaving me little time to shed my skin. I've had time to be fully present for people who needed me, and have met a few who see me, and I see them.
I am grateful for the opportunity to help out colleagues in their time of need, have had a chance to reconnect with my music, reinvent myself physically and express myself outwardly.
I hope you are finding time to do those things as well. In the chaos of life, I see now that there is never a good time to do the thing(s) you want/deserve to do. There will always be something--some obligation, some excuse, some undeserving/unworthy/unselfish reason for not doing it/them. Retirement has taught me to go for it--I hope someday you will too.
I mentioned my affinity for bassists and trumpeters-- FLEA KILLS BOTH!
I found this one by accident, a 2026 release-- Flea's solo debut, Honara. So glad a hero of mine is still making great music at 63. Take a listen, it's a good Sunday vibe.
The drive home gave me time to reflect. A few times I laughed outloud replaying the interesting visit I had with mom and Lilly. Between DJT Damnit dolls, Epoch Times articles and her strange Valentine gifts she gave us, I don't know if the insanity would be worth writing down or if I should just save it for a future comedy routine.
I think she must have panicked when I told her I was coming to visit, and so she wrapped up anything that was there. My gift was an opened box of Tagalong Girl Scout cookies, a jar of honey (who knows how old it was) and an old candle in the shape of a pie. Most likely a regift from her 87 year old "friend" who shops at Goodwill and brings my clutterbug mother MORE dust collecting tchotchkes.
We were also given several "interesting" articles from her right wing rag, The Epoch Times.
I get profound pleasure from lining my Guiena Pig's cage with them. It's either that or lighting them on fire.
I found out that there is a Mini Series of races leading up to the Indy Mini in May. Unfortunately I missed yesterday's 3 miler-- but I ran 3 at the gym, so I count that as even. I signed up for the next 2--a 6-miler March 11 and a 10-miler April 11. I have some serious training to do. I asked Lilly if she wanted to do them with me, but she is so laser focused on the MCAT study, she doesn't even feel ready for the Indy Mini. I can tell that she is tired of the grind and is in a rut right now. As a mom, it's hard to see your kid in that place, but she knows it is only temporary. Her exam is April 10 and then she can get back to doing the things that she enjoys. I am proud of her determination and resolve. I can only hope she got some of that from me.
Just wanted you to know I'm Thinkin About You. Hope you can feel it.
A shout out to all the early risers, who , if you were lucky, got to see a glorious sunrise this morning. I was basking in its pink, orange and red hues, standing awestruck in my front yard as if I had never seen one before. The sun kissed the sky-- and just in time for Valentine's Day.
Ah, V.D.-- the one obligatory day every year when we feel required to buy a card/flowers/candy/balloons (who buys a balloon for their S.O. anyway?)/jewlery/dinner in exchange for affirmations of love and sex. So much pressure!
And to the Lonely Heart's Club schmucks and incels who have to endure going to the grocery store and are bombarded with this Valentine's Day vomit when all they came in for was a loaf of white bread and package of bologna?
It's not your fault you don't have a girlfriend. It's the womens' fault.
I'm driving up to see my mom and my girl today. God, has it been over a month since I have seen them? Time truly flies.
I'll take in the details-- any nuances of decline. I also succumbed to consumerism and bought mom a huge boquet of flowers. And why not?
A Rose for my Rosie.
Thinking of all my loves today. I hope it's a special one for you.
Light the candle, sage the space, find the feeling, match the song.
I no longer fear the mirror.
I face it, full front, shrouded in nakedness, unashamed, unapologetic. I'm not looking for flaws (ok, well, I still am), not counting the moles or freckles or extra weight that still lingers. I don't smile, but I do celebrate.
Put in the time. Do the hard work. Do it for you. Don't apologize. Make the time. Stop calling it selfish. Stop making excuses. Go through the motions until muscle memory takes over. Practice the skill. Keep going. You got this.
Actors know these mantras better than anyone. We know there is always something to improve the craft. You're never done. I don't miss directing, but I do miss the creative flow that comes with working on a show. I have an unrelenting work ethic. So back to the gym I go.
I have to pick up Percy's ashes today. I think I will scatter them in springtime, when the daffodils are in bloom. Deep sigh.
I'm revisiting I Can Hear the Heart Beating As One this morning. It's one of those that I put away because it brought back too much from the past. From start to finish, it evokes such melancholic sorrow.
I'm sitting in my grief. I don't want to share it with anyone.
I am pushing it into my workouts, taking it out on the treadmill, on the weights, and in my writing, but am unable to study and have little desire to even do simplistic tasks. I still can't seem to get her litter box out of the kitchen.
This guitar surronds me and soothes. Thankful for a short respite of time in my unsatisfying day to escape even if it's just for an hour. I learned a new concept yesterday from class, "Zeigarnik Effect." And while explaining it to my seniors, I almost lost it.
Love isn't over when the sheets are stained/
In my head there remains/
So much left to be said/
Make me laugh, make me cry, enrage me/
But just don't try to disengage me/
As a teen I spent a lot of my time listening to The Police. I admired bass players and songs with a prominent bass line. Sting, Paul, Van Morrison's David Hayes, Jaco...
The Police got a lot of play time, especially when the walkman came out. In order to escape the chain smoking monster, I took to the streets of Carmel with my portable pal. Zenyatta Mondatta was my favorite. Between Sting's bass lines and Stewart's amazing drumming, I was able to release the sadness and angst that I felt most of the time.
"Driven to Tears" and "When the World is Running Down..." are the best.
I recently learned that Stewart Copeland played on Peter Gabriel's "Red Rain" and "Big Time." Those are two of the best songs on the record. Go figure.
(beat)
Just watched a video about the superempath and the avoidant. It gave me some clarity and closure for how I am feeling. It's super fun to walk around trying to be positive when inside you are empty and confused and embarassed and can't explain anything to anyone because, well, just because. Hopefully the wounds will become wisdom as I move fwd more emotionally regulated. 28 days, right? Three down, 25 to go...
Somehow I managed to catch a cold. I am sure that it's from all the kids that spread their germs everywhere and never wash their hands. I have zero tolerance for teenage boy antics and called a few on their shitty behavior today. I am not a fun person to be around when I'm under the weather. Still, yesterday was a typical moody Sunday with the stress of life maintenance, prep for work and my class.
It's hard to be in this space. Something shifted. And it hurts.
Give it time/
Go ahead and give it hell/
Give it all you’ve got/
Or give it up for something else/
It’s a revelation/
It’s a hallelujah/
It’s the nature of the spirit running through ya/
So take it easy/
Just begin again/
Take a step back from the racе that you’ve been running in/
It’s the next song coming on thе radio/
Just when you need it/Turn it up and Lte it go./
The first time I heard this song I was driving to work-- it was a dark, cold February morning last year.
I was struggling with a student who had definite potential to succeed, but was checked out. A high school senior with no plan in front of him, and so far behind it would take a miracle ( or an understanding teacher) to get him across the finish line.
I found out that he was the oldest of 3, and a few years back his father was yelling at the kids for whatever odd reason--probably to clean up their messy rooms. Apparently his youngest brother, who was in middle school at the time, went to his room, closed the door, and killed himself.
James was the one to discover the body.
The whole family was wrecked by the tragedy. That certainly changes things when you know something so painful about a person.
Makes you want to fight harder for them.
James didn't attend graduation, so there was no proper goodbye, good luck from me, so I never knew of his wherabouts or future plans, if he made any. I hate not having closure.
Over Christmas while dining at Michael's Uptown, I saw him with his dad. There was a sadness about the two men quietly eating in silence, but when I greeted James, he was excited to see me. He spoke of his new life-- ranching out west somewhere. His dad beamed proudly. We hugged and I left, happy for that closure.
Maybe it was the obvious void of sound from a demanding cat, but no-- something else.
The birdsong has changed.
I hear the promise of spring in their song. And the sun is rising, bringing the most stunning light show. There is hope.
I seem to be outraged every time I turn on the news now. But this took the cake. Posting that video and the first week of Black History Month? My hatred for that man runs deep.So, here is a song to commemorate the memory of a great man.
I asked you a question
I didn't need you to reply
Is it gettin' heavy?
But then I realized
Is it gettin' heavy?
Well I thought it was already as heavy as can be
Is it overwhelming To use a crane to crush a fly? It's a good time for Superman
To lift the sun into the sky 'Cause it's gettin' heavy Well I thought it was
already as heavy as can be
Tell everybody Waitin' for Superman That they should try to hold on best they
can He hasn't dropped them Forgotten or anything It's just too heavy for
Superman to lift
Is it gettin' heavy? Well I thought it was already as heavy as can be Tell
everybody Waitin' for Superman That they should try to hold on best they can
He hasn't dropped them Forgotten or anything It's just too heavy for Superman
to lift
While I know there are newer, more user friendly platforms out there, I wanted to stay with my old reliable blogger. We have a history. But one feature I do not like about Blogger is it has no spell check. And as I write stream of consciousness style, it doesn't pick up the typos and spelling errors as I go.
I hate spelling errors.
You can't live it down being an English teacher and claiming that spelling is your Superpower and then finding glaring errors in your work--it is unacceptable. So this disclaimer serves as a blanket warning that I am not a sloppy speller. I do check my work--even if it is after the final draft has been published. And I want to thank my critical father for my perfectionist and OCD mindset for that.
Yes, this is the kind of thing that wakes me up pre dawn. More later.
Another super talented artist I love is Andrew Bird. I found him in 2004 with the album Weather Systems 2003 Foutunately for me, he played Bloomington frequently so I saw quite a few shows. Now he plays Indy--and I have tickets to see him play with the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra in April. And who doesn't like an accomplished whistler?
I wasn't going to post this song today, but as I was searching for a mood,
Nouvelle Vague popped up in my feed and it brought me back to 2004. They covered
THIS song by post punk band, Tuxedomon. The French collective (NV) album was a
favorite of mine, covering songs in a bosa nova-lounge style. They covered lots
of my favorite bands from the day-- The Cure, XTC, Joy Division, Depeche Mode
and more. Some of the songs included-- "I'll Melt with You" "Love Will Tear Us
Apart" "Making Plans for Nigel" "I Just Can't Get Enough""A Forest" "This is Not
a Love Song"
In 2004, I just started volunteering at WFHB, and I consumed copious amounts
of music at the time. My afternoon mix required me to play several new
releases per hour. While processing my newly acquired Legally Separated status,
music was a welcomed distraction. But songs like this one bring it all back to
the surface--so raw and full of truth--and pain. That was a painful time, for
sure.
I have the day off today, and I am enjoying the solitude. Time goes by at a
slower and more reflective pace. All the while, the world is running around
thinking that the work they do is so necessary and important. I used to be
such a productive little robot too. People live their lives in a constant
state of distraction. On days like this, I'm so glad I got off that fucking hampster
wheel.
Take a listen to these--side by side. What do you think?
What a powerful display of unity at the Grammy's this year. Well done, Bad Bunny and all of the rest of the artists who spoke out against tyrany and oppression.
Love watching her play. Especially this song. She is all over the guitar. The album is called Legs to Make Us Stronger, a record I wore out back in my DJ days. It is reminiscent of Michael Hedges Ariel Boundaries but more hip. Give it a listen, won't you?
Today has been a struggle to focus. The day has that old familiar Sunday Scary feeling to it. It doesn't help that I have planning to do and I'm not getting paid to do it. So I'll write instead.
Attachment is difficult for me. I don't like to get too attached to things--people, animals, things, because some day they will be gone. I guess that for people of faith--like I used to be-- there is comfort in knowing that you will see them again someday. And if there is a heaven, I know my cats will all be there waiting for me. Losing people is another level of loss that terrifies me. And as I move up the ranks in age and witness my aging, deteriorating family members in decline, I can see in relatively a few short months there will be some losses. How to cope? Detach? It's complicated because I love the shit out those who I let in. I give shamelessly to those select few.
Going through the divorce was the most painful life experience I have had. But from those hard things I learned the biggest lessons. It was necessary for my own personal growth. I look back at all the experiences I had simply because I didn't have to ask permission.
It taught me about self-reliance, accountability, and trusting myself. Living on my own really taught me how to detach. For 16 years I raised a super cool human, bought and sold my own house and condo, learned how to fix shit, had to trust my gut with big decisions, took chances and did some really cool and interesting stuff. Glad it played out the way it did.
I don't want to look back on my life with regrets. And so far-- I don't.
Lots of sadness in my orbit tonight. I had to step away from the double overtime IU game-- but IU DEFENSE was looking the best I have seen them since at Assembly Hall just weeks ago.
Melissa is a tough chick and I can't see cancer beating her--but the prognosis doesn't look good. She was at my crazy Bachelorette Party way back in the day when I had to exchange underwear with a dude. His were a pair of forest green Polo Boxers. Mine were probably something he put on his rear view mirror for posterity.
Ok I guess IU won.
Still, my sister is sad (and she is a force) and I am well aware of our short and fleeting time on this earth. I worry about sister number 3, as she does not take care of herself and almost died from covid--her lungs were basically soup. I am not prepraed for the loss of what was my closest ally and friend growing up in a turbulant household.
I love this song. If I had a mixed tape makeout playlist, it would definitely be on it.
More on Mixed Tape Playlists to come. What songs would YOU put on the list? POFN
Lots of music moving through the gray matter today. I was in a local record store a few weeks ago and found 2 Chicago albums that mom had in her collection. I was tempted to buy them--and should have-- but passed. I woke up in the dead of night and this specific cover was all I could see:
I decided to give it another listen today. Glad I did. As a 14 year old girl, I knew this was special. Now, as a 56 year old, I can really appreciate the musicianship. EX: Fender Rhodes Keyboard – THE instrument that sounds like the 70s! Man, Peter Cetera on Bass is phenomenial. The charts on these songs--the horns are so tight! The harmonica and pedal steel guitar in "Terms of Two"? Get Out.
Because of you
Because of me
The times are right
I disagree
Before you leave
I want you to see
Woah, what you've done to me
I may have to go back to LandLocked and get it--a must for my growing collection.
But waking me up in the middle of the night with a song in my head and not able to sleep until I connect with the artist is borderline insanity.
It was Clifford Brown w Strings and the song was
Laura
that had me up at 3 A.M.
God, what a silky album. Who knew a guy with just a trumpet could be so good.
Not that I want to make this into a review of the record, but the whole thing plays like a dream. Still,Laura was The One. Take a listen, won't you?
After further digging, Frank Sinatra sang it but I only know the instrumental version.
Laura is the face in the misty light/
Footsteps that you hear down the hall/
The laugh that floats on a summer night/
That you can never quite recall/
And you see Laura on a train that is passing through/
Those eyes how familiar they seem/
She gave your very first kiss to you/
That was Laura, but she's only a dream/
She gave your very first kiss to you/
That was Laura, but she's only a dream
This song is about someone searching for answers; answers to questions that we cannot possibly conjure up an answer for. The questions are from someone going through a hard time and questioning the meaning of it all. So says the interwebs.
A panacea for all of us today personally and all Americans as well. I never made the connection with 9/11 but got it now.
I did manage to grab tickets to Wilco in April--Fort Wayne-- of all places. It's a divey little standing room only theatre called The Clyde Theatre on Bluffton Road. What is now the seedier side of "The Fort" as my dad used to call it. Mom and dad grew up in Fort Wayne. I would have killed myself living up there.
From the outside, the theatre resembles The Vogue but not as cool on the inside. I mention this only because Clyde is 3-4 miles from my deceased grandmas' houses as well as my Great Aunt Polly (and who doesn't have an aunt named Polly?). I haven't been back there in decades.Ok Jeff. Let's see what the draw is, Buddy!
I have to work today, so this is a short one. And Hey, if you are seeing this,
Don't cry
You can rely on me, honey
You can come by any time you want
I ran into a few of my old colleagues today at the Y. Dan and Joel are two guys (Lilly calls them "two awesome dudes") that always ask about my girl and with real interest. Both said, "Be sure to tell her I said hello." It makes a mom proud when you know people see your kid as one of the good ones. In all of the things I have done in life, I can at least take pride in not fucking up my kid.
Yesterday's marathon shovelling offered time to go inward. The repetitive motion of hefting the shovel and tossing the heavily packed snow to the side while shuffling my boots along the drive was meditative. Still, thinking (or overthinking) ended up putting me in a funk, and in turn, has had me in low vibration mode ever since.
As a person who is hardly ever idle, these days are difficult. And not just the fact of being snowed in- I feel like my life is the spinning wheel on the computer screen waiting for the page to reload. Is this time a necessary respite for me to find my new identity? Am I paying enough attention to the people and opportunities that have stumbled onto my path? Am I utilizing all of my resources or is it all just random? I don't even know what I want to do. It will show itself when the timing is right. Ha. Me and timing. That's a laugh.
I did manage to write my paper yesterday. I chose Mosel if anyone cares. Learned a bunch of useless facts about Romans and steep slopes and slate. But in case you are wondering, they make the best Rieslings in the world.
I matched the man behind the bar for the jukebox/ And the music takes me back
to Tennessee/ And they asked who's the fool in the corner crying/ I say a little
ole wine drinker me/
While I like Dean's version, I think Merle really captures the essense of that
song. I need to seek out that record!
I've been spending lots of time (months,
actually) learning about wine, viticulture, terrior, regions, sensory evaluation of wine
and beer. I have tried over 100 different wines and beers from all
over the world. It's a tad overwhelming what it takes to be a Somm. It is an end
goal. It's like having a PHD in wine. The Intro to Wine class was a breeze
compared to Sensory Analysis. It is intense.
I have to choose a wine region to
research. I have narrowed it down to 2 regions not too far from each other---
Alsace (Northeast France) and Mosel (SouthWest Germany).
I dream of visiting
these places and taking it all in. In my younger years I focused primarily on
dry reds. People who drank sweet wines were uncouth and didn't have a refined
pallate. Man, I had a lot to learn. I used to think Kendall Jackson Chardonnay
was "the good stuff" when now I know that buttery malolactic fermentated oak fwd
stuff is trash.
Studying the whites has been pivotal in my wine journey. I never
knew that each region, the soil, the climate, the viticulture can change what
you see, smell and taste. In Intro to Beer, I learned that the water from the
region changes the end product too.
I am also dreaming of visiting Tuscany
again, but this time at a slower pace and more focus on the wine regions. I fell
in love with Florence and vowed to return. Venice and Verona were also stunning.
And now, with my ever-growing knowledge of wine, the trip will be more
fulfilling. I'll make it back there someday.
Well, so much for my resolve of blogging more often. It's been three months since
my last confession. I suppose being trapped inside after a 14" dump of snow and
now wind chills in the negatives is a good enough reason to pick it up again.
But seriously, there is so much shit going on in the states right now that I am
not lacking material. It's just too much.
I'm in a strange place. An unfamiliar
place. Looking back on these posts from 2007-2010 and the paralyzing loneliness
I was feeling, one would say I am in a better place. But this feeling of
uncertainty, lack of purpose, lack of cash flow to do the things I want to do
and with whom I want to do those things weighs on me. Am I in the right place?
Am I following (一期一会)? Am I staying present in the now--not looking forward
or back...
Remember to remember me Standing still in your past Floating fast like a
hummingbird.
Ha- I just looked back a few old posts from October-- Not much has changed!
Physically transformed. Mentally, not so much. FOMO is real when you retire.
What do I need to prove? Why do I feel stuck? Who is safe to talk to and who
will understand? Why do I need validation? From the outside I have everything I
need.
"Nothing that I want, but Everything I need," quoting Lord Huron. My
desire for travel to new places, to take a sledge hammer to my kitchen, to heal
my decimated mangy cat and prevent my mother from offing herself are in the
forefront of my mind.
But fostering friendships--my karmic debt-- has always
been my Achillies heel. So much betrail and abandonment. Who can you trust? I
guess this will have to do for now.
