I was just listening to the musical pieces on a blog called Monday Music Medicine Show, okay, so I’m a day late, but it doesn’t change what I’m about to say.

There’s no denying that music can calm the spirit as well as agitate it. But this blog today is about all the ways it calmed mine.

When my sister and I were caring for mother, who had Alzheimer’s, the emotional merry go round we were frequently on, would at times prove to be too much. There was many a time we wanted to shout! “Stop this merry go round, I have to get off!!” And it was those times when music saved us.

My sister loves her Christian music and I love it all.  But, the CD’s I listened to the most were ones I could sing to. If I could just belt them out, it gave me the most phenomenal release. The more dynamic they were the better. Aria’s are wonderful for that.

Now, mind you, I didn’t listen to country.  No, no, no. Sorry folks, when you’re down and out, you don’t listen to country, that’s all there’s to it. With country music, you lose the house, the car, the dog, you lose it all and the only way to get it back is to play the songs backward. Period.

I was fortunate at that time to have had a 45 minute drive to work, not to mention scenic country roads, so it gave me plenty of time to chill before getting to work and reinforce myself before returning home. I had the night shift.  One of my favorite (one of two) discs I played frequently were of  Il Divo.  Yup!  Il Divo.

There would be days I’d cry all the way to work singing at the top of my lungs, The Power of Love, Adagio, Hallelujah, La Promesa, All by Myself, I Believe in You and Amazing Grace. Their songs were in Spanish, Italian, German, French and of course English and I can sing them all.  If I needed extra cheering up, I’d listen to “Mama Mia!”.

When Susan Boyle came on the scene, I had to get her Cd. Listening not only to the words on her CD and knowing her story made it that more inspirational because that was how I felt. That was how we felt at the time. It was her too that inspired me to write again, and for my sister to draw.  I’m sure many other women our age were inspired and revitalized to go for their dream, just from watching her. Can you not see this wallflower, taking care of her mother, all alone, living vicariously through music? I did, because that was my story.

As a child, I lost myself in music all the time.  Interestingly, Daddy was the one who introduced me to music and sounds from all over the world.

I remember the first time I heard Ima Sumac, a Peruvian singer often rumored to be an Inca Princess, and who was famous for her 4.5 octave vocal range. Many attributed it to her having lived in the Andes and having well developed lungs because of the altitude. Neither here nor there. The fact remains though that when I listened to her music and learned her songs, I was lost in the Andes and it was me that was the Inca Princess. It was I who lived with the Jivaro tribes and yes, they were headhunters, but my head was exempt.

Then there was Miyoshi Umeki, an Arthur Godfrey find. A sweet, beautiful Asian girl. Her albums included many American favorites, but also songs from Rogers and Hammerstein musicals such as Flower Drum Song and Sayonnara. It is no wonder that musicals in general became my next love.

I remember always singing. If I was singing, I was entertaining my parents and if I was doing that, they were happy. Singing and music made my life joyous. I remember mom telling me once, that she liked how I was always happy. What can I say? I’m a half full kinda lady.

In times past and even now, I’ve been known to make long cross country trips driving. These started shortly after I lost my airline privileges.  And not always because I wanted to, but when money got tight, it was how it had to be. Nope, nope, nope. Roll that one back. Yes, and No. The truth is I’m too cheap. After having worked for the airlines and only paying tax fees or surcharges which were minimal, you kinda gulp big time to pay what the average person pays to fly from one place to another. Once I lost those privileges, I couldn’t see paying full fare. So, if it’s not an emergency and I have time, I drive.

But driving can be fun and I would use it as an educational experience and what better way to see and get to know this wonderful country of ours? So, after the divorce I started on these adventures with my girls. Bottom line it was fun too.  When it was just me and my two girls we often took trips cross country and on those trips, time went by far more quickly singing. To date, the only states I’ve not been to by car are, Alaska, Oregon, North and South Dakota, Michigan and the upper northeastern states of Massachusetts, Maine, New Hampshire, Rhode Island and Vermont.  I just have to see Vermont. So, I still have to get to 10 of the remaining states. Hmmmm

When I’m by myself, in a car, I listen to books on tape and sing. It was always my thought too that singing was a safeguard against falling asleep at the wheel.  I mean, how can you be singing and fall asleep? Well, you can. I’m proof of it.

One time a few years ago, my son’s newborn ended up in ICU.  It was his first child and only a couple of days old. I knew how much that child meant to those kids way before he arrived and it broke my heart that something could be wrong. When I heard, I just packed up a few things and left straight from work. When I was young, it was no problem driving for long hours without sleep. But, I’m not young anymore and I was already tired from a long day at work and having gotten up at six and now it’s a 12 hour drive ahead… you get the picture. I couldn’t fly into this little bodunk Texas town any quicker, not to mention the cost was horrendous and even more so last minute. I had no choice. I figured I could get there by about 6 in the morning.

At the time, I was rehearsing for our church’s Easter program and we had to have all these songs memorized. Perfect. Great opportunity. Easy -peazy. I would sing my way to Lubbock.  Not so.

At about 8 pm it started raining. Not always hard, but constant. By one a.m., I’m almost through Mississippi. Then it happened.

In the middle of “Welcome the King” I started to lose control.  I had just serviced my car and thought, oh no, they didn’t put something back together right. Something is wrong with the car, so I slowed down, listening and hearing nothing. After awhile I kept going but also thinking I’d get off at the next exit. I was sure there’d be a dealer in town that could check it in the morning. Plus, I knew I was tired but no way thought that was what was going on. So, I kept singing to stay awake.  The next thing I knew I was swerving all over the road. I panicked and the next thing I knew I was out of control. It was all I could do to keep the car upright, but I spun out and at one point on two wheels finally ending up in the far side of the highway median. Only I really didn’t know where I’d landed.  By now I was wide awake and there was a big semi truck heading straight for me.

Because my car had been completely covered in mud and grass from the heavily saturated divide, I couldn’t see a thing. Even though I only vaguely saw it’s lights, I knew he couldn’t stop safely in time or swerve away from me without causing greater havoc, so I awaited my fate.  There was just the haze of oncoming lights headed straight for me, so when he passed, I thought he must have changed lanes.  Right after that another semi came and I knew this would be the one, but he too went by. So, I tentatively opened the door and found I was on a curve in the road. My car was facing the curve just right to give the illusion I was in their path. What a relief!

Did my life pass before me? No. For a split second I felt sorry for the trucker and hoped he’d be okay and that no one else would get hurt. The only other thought I had was, “This is it”.  I was surprised later at how accepting I was about dying and I knew if he had hit me, I would for sure have died.  Thoughts that came after were different.

It wasn’t until later, quickly later that the full ramification of that night, had it gone differently hit me. I cried thinking of my poor son at his son’s side in ICU, losing his mom. He would have been devastated, making it the worst day of his life. But, gratefully, God had other plans. His son is now a healthy, beautiful 3 year old and I got to be there to help them get through a rough time and later hold him. Two years later we would welcome his little sister and I would get to love on them both.

Could I be right enough with God, that I was okay with meeting him already? Yes, I did wonder that. Or, was it the theme of our program and the songs I’d been singing that put me in such an accepting state?  I don’t know.

These days my life is relatively quiet.  I don’t generally listen to anything when I’m creating.  Part of it is, it might take away from the mood I have started out on.  For example, if my heroin’s child has been kidnapped and she has to go deep into cartel country, what puts you in the mood for that?  If a child is being attacked by zombies, where do I get that tune ?  The only one that could be set to music perhaps is, when my heroins husband disappears in “The Andes”, well then I just turn on Ima Sumac or there’s “The Chocolate Marble Gooey Butter Caramel Cake” Not much could squelch the mood for that one. So, no it’s pretty quiet right now. When I get back on those last two, it will be different.

BTW: The Mississippi police and Sheriff were amazing.  They stayed with me til I got towed out and didn’t give me a ticket. They just chatted with me, made sure my car could run, told me where the nearest car wash was and where to find the nearest hotel. Last of all, they wished me well and hoped little Hunter would be okay.

I have come to the conclusion that I’m a sun person.

I loved Colorado but to me it seemed there were just too many dark and cold days there, yet according to Wiki, it’s actually the sunniest state in the union with more days of sunshine.  Go figure.

ALABAMA BUGS AND SUN

I liked Alabama but it, for sure, was dark and rainy far more than any other place I’d ever lived or been to other than Hawaii. PLUS, it is damp and very cold in winter and in summer it can be suffocatingly hot and humid. It reminded me of Fiji and… well you do get used to it. At least your body gets used to it and after awhile you hardly notice, except for during it’s intense periods which are brief.

There was also soooo many bugs. The first year I was there I collected an innumerable amount of bugs and placed them in a box, neatly arranged and sent them to my grand kids so they could have a lesson in entomology. They were being home schooled at the time. I gave them assignments to research and discover what the different ones were. (Google: Bugs of Northern Alabama)

I wrote them a story about how when I was a little girl, my father showed us kids what was inside a dirt daubers mud tunnel and sent them one to see.  ( A dirt dauber is a wasp that builds it’s nest out of mud made from wasp spittle and soil.)

The dirt dauber builds a tube-like tunnel and places insects, mostly spiders in chambers.  These insects are not dead but drugged, put into a death like slumber  until the newly hatched larvae move through the consecutive chambers, basically, eating their way out. It was very interesting, because when daddy opened the casing I was amazed to see how many tiny spiders there were of every type, shade and color imaginable slowly awakening. Once exposed to air, the oxygen began to revive them. (I only wish I’d had an iPhone’s then) Unfortunately, once the larvae chamber was exposed, it pretty much resulted in their demise, but I was too young to take that into account or much less care. The point of my story was to impress how little we know of how many different insects there are in the world and how there are so many out there we never see or notice until they are snatched up by a predator and mummified. http://www.al.com/news/index.ssf/2015/04/from_black_widow_to_dotted_wol.html   (the link is of 58 dangerous spiders of northern AL)

Alabama also has a notorious bug called no seeum’s, actually all states seem to have a variety of some sort, but I only became aware of them late in life. (Perhaps a result of my aging body.) The Alabama no seeums, I must say, loved the back of my knees for some reason. What’s worse is they not only left welts that itch for way longer than any mosquito bite would but when it was over and done, it left a bruise like scar that would take weeks to go away. They seldom itched the first day. It would be like day two when the itch would start and it would get so bad at times that I felt like I would gouge the flesh away scratching at it and that would last three or four more days before just a tolerable itch took it’s place for an additional few days more. Nothing worked on them, no calamine lotion, ItchX, or camphor would help.  Once I tried nail polish, cement (works great on poison ivy)and baking soda paste to hopefully dry the sucker out but that didn’t work either.  I tried all the above remedies including facial masques. Nothing.  Then I went for a series and tried them in various orders until I landed on something that worked. The final solution was to avoid going out in the early morning or evenings and if I did, wear long pants and long sleeve shirts. After a few years, they stopped “bugging” me, it was like they got tired of me.

As for mosquito’s, they never seemed to bother me much.  They’d bite, but their bite lasted all of a day in most cases and sometimes only an hour or two. A little itchX and they’d disappear. Fire ants left blisters and hardened red bumps and scarring that also took forever to go away. I once stepped into a nest clearing out an area for a garden and in an instant they were all over me.  After that, I was careful to look for their mounds which are fortunately quite noticeable.  Nothing kills these things.  You poison them and they just relocate.

Although the aforementioned are the most noxious of the Alabama bugs. Annoying ones are termites, which love damp areas, earwigs, moths and the like. Then there are palmetto bugs, which are nothing more than giant cockroaches that fly and swarm. They invade the warm, damp areas especially under houses and become more apparent at night when they are drawn to the lights in your home or you can see them scurrying around at night on the roads and walkways as they avoid your foot fall. Yuck!  Then there are cicada’s, tree frogs and other night things which can make loud chirping and humming noises both day and night. As long as it’s a steady melodious drone, it can be quite pleasant.  When they stop, it’s like a warning that something, someone, a storm or tornado are imminent. There is one creature however that nearly drove me mad and which I suffered through one night at daddy’s place. I never heard it again  but at first I thought it was a bird but never learned for sure what it was; it had a song reminiscent of a hard rock band with no melody. Every few seconds it changed, so I couldn’t sleep. It would sing or at least it had somewhat of a tune, but it was a frantic cadence that would vary. A chirp, then squawk, song, then chirp, sing, squawk and so on. But no reliable sequence, making it impossible to be lulled into a pleasant slumber. It was loud too, like it was yelling at me and knowing my discomfort. I longed for a drug to put me out of my misery. I awoke the next day with a “hangover” as my aunt calls it, from too little sleep.

In Alabama I mostly missed the sun. The biggest reason we had less sun was not only because of frequent rains but it’s heavy foliage.  It is so dense and the trees so tall, you never saw a horizon. Not all of Alabama is like that but where we were it was.  If you wanted to see sky, you had to look straight up. It could be very depressing at times, especially for a California reared girl. Yet, I miss Alabama.

COLORADO

Colorado also has no seeum’s but they seemed to only attack my scalp, as if only were a mild thing. Was it my shampoo?  I don’t know, but they loved my scalp.  These no seeums were somewhat visible, but only when they came at you in a swarm. There was no time of day or predictability of attack but fortunately, it seldom happened.  Their bites would leave little red welts all over my scalp that itched and burned and these too would last for days. As I mentioned before, Colorado is known for having the most sunny days, but I think the reason it never felt like it was because it’s winter months and gloom lasted for longer periods at any given time, unlike California.

The best part about Colorado was, there were no FLEAS! We never had  fleas on our pets the whole time we lived there! I was told it was too cold. I guess if someone moved from a place with fleas with an indoor pet carrying them, they probably would and/or could survive indoors. No matter, our pets never suffered fleas and that was awesome.

There are a good many mountains in Colorado, but where we were was high desert, so we got our desert horizon and beautiful sunrises and sunsets over the mountains in the evenings. But there’s still nothing like seeing them anywhere else but facing an ocean where you can truly see a horizon that goes on forever. I missed that.

SUNNY CALIFORNIA

California has the fewest bugs I’ve ever seen and those are mostly spiders and like everywhere else, termites continue to plague houses. So much so that houses in the neighborhood are always being tented.

In some areas you can find roaches, we, fortunately have none. There are unfortunately silverfish, neither are wanted.

In my late teens and early twenties, we lived in Navy housing, and there were roaches. Both the tiny ones and the bigger ones, but none as big as palmetto’s.  My mother was immaculate, so it was not a sanitary thing, but I think it came more from living in “housing”. Once they infest, they are there.  I recall getting up at night to use the bathroom and walking with my feet curled on heel/toe in order to avoid stepping on them as they scurried around in the dark. I hated them!  I hated them so much I would scream because of them, not out of fright but out of total disgust.

That stopped however, after my little girl, who was maybe not quite two, came across one unexpectedly.

It was mom’s laundry day. Tina had been playing on the pile of clothes mom had sorted by colors. She was having the time of her life all by herself, throwing herself on the stacks of clothing. The rest of us were watching and enjoying her at play when suddenly she spied a large cockroach. She screamed like there was no tomorrow. “Keeka! Keeka!” she screamed, frantically trying to run from it, but the clothes kept slipping out from under her feet. It was like a bad dream where you run and can’t get away? She was hysterical.  What seemed like only seconds for me to get to her must have seemed like hours to a small child to snatch her up. Her little heart was beating so hard I thought it would burst from her chest, her face was contorted in sheer terror. I was frightened. Her lips were blue and she was gasping, trying to catch a breath but not able to get any; she was hyperventilating. I’d  never seen anything like it. I held her close telling her “It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s not going to get you. Keeka’s are yucky but they cant hurt you, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” All the while her little eyes were fixed in the direction of the roach. Her Nonie, (my mother) in the meantime was on the hunt, found it and was dramatically stomping it to death, telling her “it’s okay, keeka’s gone. No more keeka!”  As I think about it, I’m sure anyone else might have found the dramatics comical, even though it wasn’t. Once it’s demise was confirmed, she began to relax.

It was then, as a new mommy I realized how much and what an impression my reactions would make on my child. Even more so, how important to pay close attention to messages I might be sending her by my reaction to things. It was my fault. Inadvertently I/we, all of us had communicated our disdain for them and she interpreted it as fear. Wow! I would later explain to her how it’s a bug and it wouldn’t hurt her and that we scream because we don’t like them, but they really can’t hurt us, not bothering to qualify that statement either. She was very astute for her age and fully comprehended what I was saying. From then on, her fear was turned into an unexpected boldness so that upon spying one she would unhesitatingly go up to it and squash it. Oh well.

Sun, sunrises, sunsets, horizons and more sun.  I work best on warm and sunny days. Not too warm though.  Cali gives me the most. It is too dry most of the time, but I get sun. It does get too hot in August, September and in the early part of October. In those months, it’s just too hot.

When it’s gloomy, so am I.

I think it’s interesting how climate varies in different states. In September Colorado begins to get nippy, it’s hot days being the usual summer months, June, July and August; something you may not expect is by the end of August Alabama begins to cool, it’s hot period begins the end of May with on and off hot spells May and June but doesn’t truly get stinking hot until July, so basically two full months of painful hot;  California on the other hand is just barely warming up in July. Funny how that is.

I have often thought I could be a nomad.  Mother said we had a gypsy spirit. I’m inclined to agree.  Russ and I have talked about it, well I’ve talked about it to him and he says he’d go along to be with me but I know he agrees, it would be nice to wander between all these places we’ve been to and enjoy our favorite seasons in them.

Perhaps one day we will.

I once considered getting a tat about thirteen years ago. I didn’t. I thought I had a legitimate excuse for one though.  I had developed a scar from a chain ring scrape on my leg that didn’t heal properly and being the vain person I am, I thought I’d cover it with a pretty little tat. (My sister’s tat partially hides her surgery scar below)

As I debated it, I could never come up with anything that would be discreet enough, beautiful enough or one that would not make me feel or look like a hussy. It just needed to be something delicately classy if there was such a thing. I didn’t want a rose or flower or my spouses name or the birth dates and names of any of my children or any other loved one.

I would discreetly peruse the tattoo shop windows for ideas, while shuddering at their clientele but couldn’t find anything to fit my conservative nature, not to mention one that would not offend  my conservative,  Methodist choir friends. After all I was living in the Bible belt at the time.

In all fairness, my friends were not put off by it at all. I was from California after all and in truth I think they lived vicariously through my more liberal and vivacious nature. Not much I did would shock or surprise them, in fact I think they would have giggled, wishing they could be so bold. (I later learned some of them already sported a tat or two.)

The resistance did come though, but not from my southern compatriots so much as from a California relative!

I mentioned my intention to my mother in law one day in a casual, in passing manner and she about had a conniption fit. It so took me by surprise because her son and my husband once belonged to a punk rock band called, of all things, “Social Spit” (you can find them online) and that was okay. Granted he has no tats, but still, he wrote lyrics to songs like “Fuk Off Bitch” and “Eat Shit and Die”. They screamed out songs with F… this, F… that, were shaggy as hell, doped (briefly) and did who knows what all else and that was okay?! (In her defense she probably had no clue what he was doing in those days.)

My girls in the meantime have gotten several tats.  My husband dislikes them (the tats), period.

My model niece was the first to get tats and I distinctly remember my mother’s reaction when one, at the base of her spine, peeked out at my grandmother’s funeral when she leaned over to put a flower on the coffin. She also had one  on the center of her neck and probably several more but I’m not certain how many. My niece is of the Hollywood crowd and many of her friends also had them.

My youngest daughter has had one for years.(she’s the one above dressed as Inara from the Sci-Fi series “Firefly” for Comic-Con – her first was the white tiger, (she was studying ninjitsu at the time) followed by the dragon holding the hoop – nasty thing in my opinion)

Then came my grand-daughters. (More on theirs later.)

A few weeks ago I learned that my eldest daughter got a tat. I won’t give her age away but let’s say she’s not young. She was the last of the girls of legal age to get one. In fact, my two girls got matching ones, only the eldest, like her mom might have, went quite small (see the wrist below). Both tats are in Chinese and say “Serenity” or as one Chinese person translated it “harmony” which, for those of you who are unfamiliar with the Firefly series, is the name of it’s spaceship. (We are huge fans and if you haven’t seen it, weeeelll…)

As for the tats. Is it a big deal? I don’t know, I suppose not. I personally don’t like the number and size these girls opted for, but I did initially want one to cover up that scar which now is hardly noticeable and to be honest the scar was the excuse since tats became “fashionable” a few years back and it did seem like everyone is getting them.(think of lemmings) It seems that tats are the “in” thing right now even though my husband thinks not.  Why?  I’m not sure I know the answer to that.  Is it in lieu of jewelry? I believe my girls wear jewelry most of the time.  At least their wedding bands and earrings anyway. Neither of the girls own a lot.

I wear jewelry pretty much all the time. I have two rings and earrings I wear most everyday. I have lots of jewelry and this is about 1/10th of what I have.

Sometimes my youngest tells me I wear too much.  Too much is a couple of rings and sometimes a necklace, earrings and bracelet(s). I don’t think it’s too much. I tell the girls that as long as I keep the count to 13, I’m okay. No, not 13 pieces of jewelry but items on my body, which include shoes, stockings and other clothing including scarves, gloves and hat if I wore them. (Something I learned in charm school when they still existed)

The nice thing about jewelry is you can take it off.  You aren’t stuck with the same thing on all the time.

My grand-daughter opted for a swallow. She has one other, a match to the one her BFF got which is of an elk placed under opposite arms.

Her friend also has a beautiful bird on her back. (I did ask permission to use her pic)

My other grand daughter,the youngest of the bunch also has one. If she has any others, I am unaware.

Granted, I know my girls have a more active lifestyle and their work requires hands on with either patients or customers.  One daughter is studying to be a nurse, the other is a massage therapist as well as my eldest grand-daughter who did the above two photos, learning photography.   My daughter and grand daughter both work for a prestigious hotel, in a major city.

So, it is understandable that since their work requires hands on, jewelry would need to be minimal. I believe conservative earrings is all they are permitted to wear.

Now in case you didn’t notice, these girls are beautiful and although goofy,

they are not sluts. It has not made them less pretty, so what can I say?

In the meantime my niece, who started it all, got married and is now in the process of having all hers removed.

Isn’t that how it goes? Ces’t la Vie!

No, not the wedding ditty of “something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue”, just damn, can you believe I’m actually writing again!?

I found myself in a dead zone for awhile and in that dead zone, I began to question not only my writing ability but my purpose. Why do I write?

My self talk included words like, I’m mediocre at best. I don’t have the same command of the written English language other writer’s do, I’m not as intelligent nor am I as educated as many of them, so why do I want to write?  I was so uninspired. Do you ever get that way?

SOMETHING OLD…

Even through all the above self talk which although may be true, I came to realize I have a voice and I wanted it heard.

As a child I grew up being told for every “why” I voiced that “children should be seen and not heard”, so little by little my small voice began to settle itself and it’s curiosity subdued. Not really. The questions are still there, they just ceased being audible.

Is that what I was starting to do by such negative self talk? Squelch the little voice with all the questions and amazing propoundings? Hmmmm

SOMETHING NEW…

When I got on board (the computer) this morning, I hadn’t really meant to write about my lack of writing.  Oh, I’ve worked on a screenplay or two and I’ve been busy with rewrites.  They are not amazing yet and because I so want them to be amazing, I beat myself up over them. I don’t want to just tell a story, I want them to be more, to mean something. I want them to sell of course, I want them to be talked about, something to savor, regurgitated and re-consumed.

When I started this morning I had other things to write about but this is what came out.

I watched part of ARGO last night. I couldn’t get through it.  I bailed early on.  I saw enough to see it was a well made film and worthy of it’s Oscar for best picture. Any film that can make me feel like I was there and that I didn’t like it, well it’s a good thing to have in a movie. BUT, there was Paris last week.  How could I sit through a film of real life violence after that? I couldn’t.

Have you noticed how some films perpetuate or foment hate?  ARGO perpetuates. It tells a damn good story but I felt myself hating Iranians and hating governments, feeling powerless to fix what hurts this country and it’s people worldwide. HELPLESS!

My son was a Marine Security Guard for two embassies. He visited many countries and formed opinions of the people in those countries based on his experiences there.  He guarded many famous people including presidents, ex presidents, generals and diplomats. He saw sides of them we never see, which by the way was not bad. He saw them being funny and just being normal. Unless we are well traveled, opinions are generally (sadly) formed and based on what the media & social media banquets present us which are and can never  be the same as personal experience. Unfortunately, it can and is frequently skewed by political correctness or manipulated to serve a “favorited” agenda. (My word)

In this film, as the Iranian mob swarmed the embassy, I saw those young men trying to protect it, I saw the people inside depending on them and I wanted to cry. That could have been my son!  He was selected for and was in several “red” zones,  those areas considered most dangerous. I saw the out of touch bureaucrats flailing around to make a decision. I had to turn it off. I was engulfed and overwhelmed by sadness so much that I was gasping to breathe. I couldn’t watch. I guess I’m an ostrich  by heart.

Interestingly, my film is about the drug cartel and a young woman trying not to be swallowed up by the family business. Can I, will I make it inspiring, up-building? Or is it destined to be like ARGO, real? Am I up to it?

That’s my NEW. To make an old, tired, over made theme “new”, a story with a twist that can go either way.

SOMETHING BORROWED…

A lot of what I’ve got in my mental cache is borrowed.  Have you ever wondered why we continue to carry this toxic waste in our brain?  Think about it.

I didn’t get much in the way of positive affirmations while I was growing up.  Truth is neither did my parents, so they passed their “stuff” down to me and over the years I’ve been able to discard some of it. Other stuff I’ve passed down to my children and they their children and so it goes.

I remember my eldest daughter meeting her birth father for the first time. She was 34 or about that when she met him and she was astounded when she realized how many of his traits, mannerisms and quirks she had acquired genetically. Things that you would not think could be passed down were. She never grew up around him and yet plain as day she was a mini me of him. Funny how that works.

Okay, so now we not only have genetics to combat, which for some of us is an uphill battle but then toss in our environmental, cultural and social exposure and conditioning and it’s no wonder the world is a mess. The old saying that “when in Rome do as…”  Oh, if we could only be so flexible.

We are told we need to embrace our differences, which is easier said than done and not necessarily profitable to the human experience.  Point being, not all differences are worthy of being embraced or sustained.

I spent a few weeks with my great grandson and saw a mini daddy in him. I’m talking about MY DAD !!! He was four months old when they “met” for a five generation picture and two months later daddy died. He never lived around him. He is five years old now and yet five generations apart and I saw a stubborn, headstrong, ill tempered tyrant. I used to call it the “Brothers” trait, then decided it was time to dump the labeling.

Still… it kept coming to mind. A week into my stay, when I didn’t let him have ice cream minutes before we sat down to eat, he totally trashed my room and my stuff. https://youtu.be/xsIiEXzxJNc His mom and I inform him he has to clean it up.  He says, “I’m too little” (at this point he crosses his arms, mouth set and glares at me defiantly.) I say, “Not too little to make the mess, so clean it up!” Eyes fixed on one another and it’s a standoff. So I wait and after what probably felt like an eternity for both of us, he reluctantly begins to pick up as I watched. He was testing his boundaries. In my mind I was picturing my grandma facing off with daddy and wondering if this is what she had to deal with.

One time before daddy died (obviously), and we were still in Alabama, I was riding with Dad and it started to get dark. Cars without headlights are difficult to see, so I say, “Maybe you need to turn your headlights on”, I knew better than to say “turn your lights on”, knowing he doesn’t like to be “told” to do anything. Nothing. So now it’s dark. A car flashes it’s lights. Nothing. A car nearly hits us and lays on the horn. Finally dad turns them on, but I’d be damned if he was gonna do it on my say so. I say nothing, smirking inside while at the same time cursing his stubbornness. Two things were against me. For one: I’m a woman and second: I indirectly “told him” what to do. That’s not going to happen, not in his lifetime anyway.

Later my little “K” got into a dither because I was leaving, punched a kid in school because he was unhappy and cried when I left. We had another talk about that. I explained to him how our feelings do not have to control our actions, while guiltily knowing how often they do. He, like me wanted the “Why’s”. Genetics.

I was thinking too of how this little dickens needed an old fashioned spanking. But then knowing how violent daddy was and seeing the temper and tendency to lash out that this little guy already has, a “spanking” might only teach him that hitting is the way to get people to do what you want. I saw the conundrum. What a parental nightmare.

Today, in our politically correct world, that is the crux. The mindset of “live and let live”, free the spirit, loosen inhibitions, if it feels good-do it, where anything goes and there are no restraints, nothing governs us. To that end we are at the point where no one is free, we are instead living under the tyranny of someone else’s freedom, their right to do as they want.

It’s time to dump this ideology. It sucks.

SOMETHING BLUE…

I really don’t have anything for blue other than this litany.

But, how about what I was really going to write about? Me.

I discovered a short coming in myself.  Oh, I’ve always known it was there, but found it disturbing (blue) that it’s still there.

It’s very telling really.

Yesterday, I got a text from my husband that he hurt himself when he was moving something around in the garage. Apparently, a handle on something he was carrying broke off and  popped him on the nose and he was bleeding profusely. He thought he had a “concussion”.

I’m shopping and now leaving the store and reply flatly, “Oh, I’m sorry”.

Okay, know this about me. I am not a good “sick” person person. I do not do well with people who are ailing.  Maybe it’s because mother was a hypochondriac always needing ministrations for one false ailment or another or maybe it’s just some genetic trait I can’t account for, I don’t know, but if it’s sympathy you want, forget it!

If I find out it’s real, then I pony up and do a good job and do it for real.

So here I am now in the car rolling my eyes. What’s worse is I’m not thinking ‘oh poor baby, he’s hurt’. He said there was blood everywhere and he could have broken his nose and his teeth. No,

This is what went through my head…

First off I conjure up visions of his already large nose being magnified, his face bruised, his teeth missing and how ugly he would look for … Thanksgiving!!! What would people think? My niece and her husband don’t know him yet. What a first impression and why do I go for guys with big noses?

Yes, those are my thoughts.

I know you’re laughing right now but think about it, it’s funny but sad. How shallow! Bitch!

I call him back and tell him how he needs to get the Arnica out of the medicine cabinet so he doesn’t bruise and can heal quickly. He says it wasn’t as bad as he thought once he washed the blood off. (A sigh and smile on my end.) I tell him “head bleeds are worse, use the Arnica anyway because swelling and bruising may come later” I wasn’t totally heartless, but my head is still thinking aesthetics.

Truth is if it had happened to me and it was as bad as he had originally imagined, I would climb in a hole and never come out until I was better or when I could see a million specialists to fix me up good as new and yes, I was conjuring up a new and better face and making a case for while they’re at it, could they fix my boob? It’s near my face.

What can I say? GENETICS?

By the way I meant boob singularly, (breast cancer last year?) Just make them match.

Source: Leibster Award- What the Hell?