The Meeting Will Come to Order

I woke up at 4:00am this morning extremely disappointed because my alarm was set for 5:30am and I was positive I would sleep no more. But I was wrong. I did go back to sleep and into dreamland. I was at a large meeting for work with several round tables and limited available seating. Someone was trying to convince me I should make room next to me for an adult baby (thank you, Dr.Phil) and I was afraid all that feeding and up-spitting would distract me from the keynote speaker. A classmate of mine from waaaaaaaaay back was also seated at my table. When we were in Junior High School, this guy gave an awesome demonstrative speech on the many amazing things he could do with a basketball. One of which was "Palm It". In Junior High I was extremely impressed with that speech. But all of that middle school glamour was moot last night, I must say, because whatever he was adamantly trying to tell me before the meeting began was completely mumbled and distorted due to his mouth being gluttonously full of blueberries.

Little Two Little Two

I often have a flashback at work. Like, every day. And I want to share it because, for me, it is a fond memory. But each time I try to write down my thoughts, it turns into a sad, sad story. My friend, Ric, thinks these are the times when I am in need of a good editor. I just think I need to figure out a way to tell my tale. So. 'Twas my 7th or 8th summer on this earth, and I spent the better part of it locked in a bedroom with my cousin. See? That doesn't sound good. But it was the 70s and long before we knew adults were not supposed to lock children in bedrooms. And I do remember our “warden” asking me if I wanted “a couple three pancakes” once, so I am sure we were fed from time to time … perhaps Sunday brunch? I must stress again, these are fond memories for me! My cousin and I had fun locked in that room! Although deprived of sunshine and fresh air, we were allowed considerable time to explore our imaginations! And we were extremely creative! We acted out commercials and skits and played them back over and over on a little tape recorder. We listened to records and sang along. We cranked up the swear word on Davy Crockett when the singers sang “he's a HELL of a song” because we thought that was absolutely hilarious. We invented press on nails using layers of Scotch tape and bright red nail polish long before Lee did. We wrote scary stories that would give Stephen King nightmares. And we designed a full line of fabulous footwear! That's where my flashbacks come into play. Who knew that so many years later I would be working in a fantastically huge shoe store, mesmerized by all the glorious shoes and designs before me? My cousin and I wrapped scarves, belts, ties, chains - anything we could find in the room - around our feet and modeled them for our shoe company, Little Two Little Two. They were beautiful! And the selection was endless ..... My cousin is gone now and I don't talk about those days with anyone anymore. But I do have a genuine passion for shoes, design and creating something from nothing. And I often chortle remembering the antics of two little girls and a summer of imagination, laughter, and incredible footwear! (If I ever own my own company, I will call it Little Two Little Two, and I'll probably make my own commercials!)

Sinking

Often my dreams will cut away to a birdseye view of the scene. Sometimes that is scary because I feel like I am being hurled through space …. other times it is lovely as I am simply floating peacefully above whatever is unfolding below. Overall, I would say I enjoy that my mind does this for me, allowing me to see things from another angle. Last night's dream began like many others with me wandering the twisting streets of an historic village. I usually believe I am in Spain, but that's rarely confirmed. This dream placed me in a bewitching evening scene with large white lights hanging from the trees and a warm breeze in the summer air. People were laughing and moving together in one glorious wave of movement. My male companion in this dream changed randomly and often. At times it was my husband, then an old high school crush, then a stranger …. there was really no rhyme or reason to his identity, he was just taking me to see a street comedian and I wasn't thrilled about it because I was certain it would be a hypnotist. The streets were extremely crowded and I was becoming irritated with all the walking and winding and bumping into people. We had abandoned the vehicle believing we could make better progress on foot, but I really just wanted to sit down and not be trampled. I flashed to an overhead view and it really was lovely. The crowd far less annoying and unorganized from this angle and my mood cheered considerably. However, to my right I noticed a dinner party happening on a delightful, romantic, patio with beautiful paper lanterns and charming people tittering and story-telling. They were my friends! I was immediately jealous and sad. Why were they having a wonderful party without me? Why wasn't I invited? My companion took me over to the party against my protests and I ran into my friend, Jenn, on the street with a pink bakery box and a beautiful smile. She seemed genuinely surprised to see me. “Oh”, she said, “I bought this amazing bread!” I looked into the box and saw what looked like 5 or 6 half-eaten large pretzels and many, many crumbs and loose sesame seeds. “Come on in”, she said, “there's plenty of food!” But there wasn't plenty of food. There were some pretzel remnants and weak Kool-Aid. My friend, Ric, was there and he told me not to feel stupid, “If you put a rock on a cloth napkin, it tastes just like a beignet.” I must have wandered off again, back into the crowd just for a moment. I turned back to the party and saw my friends on the street doing some organized Bollywood dance routine. Again, I felt sad and jealous. I wanted to dance! Jenn was wearing a grey and black tunic over grey tights and I knew that she had put a lot of effort into the look but I couldn't help noticing it was so incredibly drab next to the gorgeous Bollywood dancers. But her smile was as brilliant as the bright green scarf she was waving above her head and I was touched and heartbroken simultaneously. Again, I flashed to an aerial view and became unbelievably despondent as I noticed the entire village slowly, slowly sinking into the sea.

Hot and Cold

The 6:30am-3:30pm shift is not my favorite. I have to get up NLT 4:30am - that's if I'm really organized and plan my outfit ahead of time - which is pretty much the middle of the night. I feel tired all day and when I work that shift, it means a lot of physical work, as well. So, I am extremely tired by the time I leave. Additionally, I rarely get to leave on time, so the joy of getting off early isn't something I usually get to celebrate.
Today, I managed to leave shortly after 4:00pm, however, and that is quite an achievement! Due to my exhaustion (aka: laziness) and desire to avoid rush hour traffic, I left work without using the restroom, in spite of the tell tale signs that I should do so.
(Dumb)
On my way home, my car began to overheat. I turned on the heat, right? Because that's what you're supposed to do. But smoke was rolling out from under my hood and I was forced to pull over and call my husband for rescue service.
After an hour and a half of doing whatever it is boys do under the hoods of cars, I was on my way ....
.... still with the heat ON.
.... still with me having to pee desperately.
It was very hot in my car. Very hot. I had the windows down to get some fresh air. I had passersby pointing at the smoke coming out from under the hood as if I am too oblivious to notice such a thing. I had to undo my pants because my bladder was growing larger and larger with each painful mile.
I took a call.
That was a good idea as it took my mind off my troubles.
I was chatting away when I got home and decided to walk down the driveway to the street to check the mailbox. "Oh, it's nice and cool out here!", I exclaimed.
Nice and cool.
I mean, exceptionally cool.
Very nice.

I was all the way to my mailbox and happily waving at my neighbors when I noticed my pants were completely unbuttoned, unzipped, belt flapping at my sides....

I'm a real winner!

The Joke's on Me

I had a brilliant idea! I get so few brilliant ideas, I was extremely excited that I actually had one! I decided I would write down my dreams in the morning and post them for all my fans to analyze. It would be therapeutic! It would be interesting! It would be fun!
So, yesterday, I started a new category on my blog called "The Dream Academy" and I opened with a doozy of a nightmare. It was titled, luringly, "Analyze This"!
Although no one accepted the challenge, I was still excited and optimistic when I went to bed last night eager to fall asleep and dream the next installment.
Well! Obviously, The Weisenheimers in my head had other ideas! My dream last night was so insultingly filthy there's no way on God's green earth I would ever repeat it! EVER! I'm disgusted and embarrassed my head could even come up with such pure ... filth!
I feel like I even need to explain myself now and I've told you nothing! A. It was a dream. I was asleep. It's not my fault.
and B. Even in the dream, I had no active part in the goings on. I just made a phone call to a friend to tell her of the amazingly hilarious idea I had for a movie. Hilarious.
So the joke was on me last night. I guess The Weisenheimers did not want to be analyzed.
I'm not giving up on my brilliant idea, however!

Analyze This

It was raining heavily at 2:09am, but I was drenched in sweat, not rainwater, when I was jerked away from a disturbing nightmare. March nights in Maryland were absolutely contrived for perfect sleeping. The windows can be opened without the assault of humidity clogging your airwaves. The scent of freshness in the air is hypnotic and even the occasional cloudburst taps out a sleep-inducing tattoo.
So, under these ideal conditions, I fell asleep quickly and deeply.
In my dream, I was a little girl of about ten. I was dressed in old fashioned clothing, but I knew this was only dress up. I wasn't actually an old fashioned girl. I was sitting before a beautiful antique vanity applying makeup in the delightfully haphazard way little girls do wearing a lovely ivory dress and oversized matching hat. I marveled at the intricate stitching on the dress and each glorious bit of craftsmanship on the amazing hat. I could see the weave of the fabric and the silkiness of each thread. My lipstick was applied as if I didn't understand the difference between lipstick and Chapstick and my eyeliner was slightly too heavy for a girl my age, but I thought I looked rather comely, nonetheless.
In the mirror, I noticed my hat on the floor behind me, partially under the old iron bed, in the room that was quickly becoming too small for all that furniture. I turned to look at the hat, realizing it was actually pinned under one of the iron bed legs.
I was confused.
I looked back in the mirror to confirm that I was still wearing the hat.
How could my hat be stuck under the bed and on my head?
I went to the bed to lift it up and retrieve the hat then glanced back in the mirror.
I was still sitting there in my beautiful gown and glorious hat.
But it wasn't me.
The face was hard and distorted. She was older and angry. She looked vicious and mean. I was frightened.
Suddenly, she flew from the mirror and pushed me on the bed. She was strong and heavy. Her face was gruesome and evil. She pinned me on the bed with an anger I didn't understand causing me a great deal of pain and confusion.
I tried to scream, but you know how it goes with dreams and screaming ….
I thought she was going to rape me and I struggled feverishly to get away.
Her dense, beastly body moved across mine and I was horrified. Her pelvic area was nearing my face and I wanted to vomit. She urinated on my neck - I was panic stricken … frozen with fear and disgust, when, thank God, I woke up.
So my question is this:
Why? Why, on this night designed for peaceful sleep … when I am surrounded by downy pillows and fluffy puppies … when I am exactly where I want to be …. why does my mind take me there?

The Natural Anti-Depressant

Wednesday is our oldest girl. She's an almost-twelve year old border collie/hound mix with a LOT of personality! She's funny and smart and definitely in-charge of our household. She lost two of her "sisters" in two years and she's been our champ though it all. She's an absolute angel!

Puzzle is a not-quite two year old border collie rescue puppy.

While Wednesday is the picture of good health and energy ... she is nearly twelve years old and finds herself irritated by Puzzle's annoying love for her. Puzzle is literally in her face 24/7. Wednesday growls at Puzzle. Puzzle wags her tail. Wednesday tries a big girl growl, you know, with teeth. Puzzle licks her teeth.
Puzzle follows her, herds her, licks her, nudges her, pounces on her ....

Wednesday needs a break.
Puzzle needs a puppy of her own!
Enter Prozac!
Prozac is an 8 month old border collie who recently found himself without a home.
We have a home!

And so it begins ....
Puzzle still adores Wednesday, but she loves having a puppy of her own to play with! They love running through the yard and tugging on toys. They romp and roll and you have never seen so much tail wagging!!!
And Wednesday can take a break when she needs to without Puzzle pestering her. Although, I find Wednesday seems to have increased energy as well!
Maybe it's the beautiful spring weather .... ?
Perhaps.
But we think it's the Prozac!

Old is New

I've been thinking about my grandma a lot lately. I suppose because I somehow have found myself "her age". What?! Is that possible? My fondest memories of my grandmother were when my sister would go to school and I would stay home with Grandma while my mother was at work. So I would have been about 2-4 at that time, which would have made my Grandma .... *gasp* ... my age. I am taking back all those thoughts of her being "old", that's for sure!
I have many, many memories of my grandmother. I have precious little tangible evidence of our relationship, however, and that makes me sad.
For Christmas, my sister had some of my grandma's old linens made into a spectacular apron for me! It's funky and fun and absolutely beautiful! Sometimes I feel separated from my very tiny family because as much as I am the same, I am very different. My grandmother, my mother, my sister ... they all embroider - I do not. They all cook and clean and embrace domesticity - I do not.
I do, however, like a good party! I do so adore filling my home with good friends and good cheer. And I do love to look relatively stylish while doing so!
With all of that being said, the apron was the perfect gift for me. The perfect way to encircle myself with all those wonderful memories!!
But the most special part of this amazing gift were the beautiful words and photos shared by the remarkable woman who made them for us. Her passion for what she does (and what she does is amazing) and her understanding of the feelings behind the fabric made me completely cherish that my apron was made with love. The love of my grandmother, the love of my sister, the love of my memories, and the love of a very dear, creative woman.
And I will wear my fabulous apron with pride and whimsy and pleasure ... because that's what my grandmother would have done!

http://theemptynest-janet.blogspot.com/2011/12/tale-of-four-apronspreserving.html

(please take the time to cut and paste this blog address to see exactly how beautiful the apron is!)

January Fun Day!

Wordless Wednesday's Sister, Puzzle

After the Holidays

The Magic of Santa Claus

I used to get very excited to go see Santa .... until I actually saw Santa! I never really thought the dude in the red suit at the Elk's Lodge (we didn't have a mall back then) was the Santa Claus, but I still became very, very nervous (I mean, they were surely connected somehow, right?)! I suppose things don't really change that much for children, huh? And I suppose that's part of the magic of Christmas ...

My sister and I with "Santa" in the late 1960's.

My sister's grandchildren with "Santa" in 2011.

Is There Room for Us?

It Snowed!

At Christmastime of 2005, I worked at Mount Vernon Estate. Happily, today I found my Christmas letter from that year.

It snowed today! That big, beautiful snow that proves each flake is different. The kind of snow that makes you wonder why some people actually hate it. And if you catch a bit of it on your tongue ... it truly tastes like Christmas.
I was in the atrium at Mount Vernon when it started to snow. Sitting in the round, glass room made me feel as if I were caught inside a charming snow globe on someone's pine covered mantel. The trees and landscaping were absolutely, breathtakingly, incredible.
"No estate in United America is more pleasantly situated than this," is how George Washington described his home in 1793, and as Mother Nature wrapped a light, fluffly blanket of snow around Mount Vernon's shoulders ... I, too, can think of no more beautiful place on earth.
I drove down to Old Town Alexandria after work to shop and bustle as we all do this time of year. The lights through a wet windshield made the old-fashioned street scenes look like a picture postcard. I wish I could paint, because that would be my inspiration. On a night like this, I would like to bundle up, hop in the old convertible, and take a city sleigh ride, letting the snow gently fall into my hair...
Our house looked cozy when I arrived home. A dusting of white on the holly trees outside and a warm golden light peering out through the windows, like loved ones awaiting my arrival. Three dogs curled up by the fire were surprised to see me, as if they had drunk in the snowfall like warm holiday cheer. The house was quiet and peaceful in remembrance of the season.
One last look out into our beautifully picturesque Christmas neighborhood before I went to bed ... and oh yes, it snowed today!

O Tannenbaum

There is absolutely no rhyme or reason to the way I decorate my Christmas tree. I am not a perfectionist. My tree is not monochromatic, thematic, or even symmetrical. It's just my tree full of memories.
Each and every ornament has a beautiful glint of nostalgia for me. Even the newer ones that I purchased myself at Target, because I bought them the first year I could afford a bigger tree and needed more ornaments!
The only rules are that the angel goes on top, the white dove that was our wedding cake topper gets a prime spot in the front, and anything that makes noise goes on the bottom in hopes of catching a dog's tail from time to time.
Beyond that .... it doesn't matter. I don't care if they overlap and even the "holes" don't bother me too much. I'll hang an ornament that is broken. I still use the bread ties, pipe cleaners and curling ribbon on the oldest ones that we used in the lean years when I was a child. I still hang the ones that are so ugly we were allowed to take them to school to decorate the trees in our classrooms.
The antiques dangle in pleasant camaraderie next to the more modern pieces. My first Christmas out of the Air Force, I was broke. That year my friends, the brothers Wolff (heirs to Wolff Antiques), surprised me with a little tree filled with glorious ornaments circa 1970. I loved that surprise and I love unwrapping those ornaments every year.
No wonder a Christmas tree holds so much magic! It is filled with love and memories and reminders of yesteryear. And it absolutely glows with hopes and dreams!
Now, if I can just get Puzzle to stop being afraid of it and whip one of those low-hanging bells with her pretty little tail ...

You Better Be Good for Goodness Sake!

I've been listening to Christmas music on Pandora while getting ready for work the last several mornings. I am attempting to induce the Christmas Spirit, and I think it's working! I just heard Santa Claus is Coming to Town and started LOLing with myself.
That song used to scare the bejesus out of me when I was little! Seriously? He sees me when I'm sleeping?! He knows if I've been bad or good?
So, you mean to tell me, all my late night lobbying to Cher and Captain Kirk ... all my well-prepared presentations to God ...
.... all for nothing?!
Santa KNOWS?!?!?!
Ugh.

All I Want for Christmas is .....

A Really Good Girl

This was last year's Christmas card ....

Christmas Eve was always my favorite night of the whole year! As we get older, that night changes from time to time – perhaps New Year's Eve or Halloween – but when you're a kid, it's Christmas Eve! I would go to bed all nervous and jittery and wake up excited to find the evidence of my goodness under the tree.
In the evening, I would take a nice long bath, and believe me, I could spend hours upon hours in the bathtub when I was little. They would have to drag me out of there all shriveled and shivering and sutff me into a new pair of pajamas (another favorite thing about Christmas Eve) and when my teeth stopped chattering, we would have a treat before bed. On the evening news, the weather man would announce that radar had spotted Santa's sleigh somewhere over … Canada? “What?!” My eyes would grow into huge orbs as I looked at my grandpa for confirmation. We lived in South Dakota and even I knew how close that is to Canada! “You heard the man! You better get your little self to bed!”, my grandpa warned.
So I would scurry off to bed, unable to sleep for all the nervousness. Who could sleep? I had a year's worth of inventory to take on my Goodness Levels.
Was I good enough for a puppy? I don't think so.
Good enough for one of those wagons with a fence around it (perfect for carting around puppies)? I doubt it, and anyway, since I wasn't really good enough for a puppy, the wagon idea was kind of moot. Was I good enough for the Sunshine Family? You know, I think I actually was that good! Yes, I was!
And that went on and on all night. The visions I had were rarely of sugarplums. No, no! My visions were much grander than that!
And it's still like that for me. I still want an over-the-top Christmas. I want the fantasy … the magic. The Hallmark commercial. I still go to bed nervous and wake up disappointed that Santa and his elves have apparently, once again, put me on the naughty list.
This year, I promise to be different. I won't do that to myself. I won't expect a puppy under the tree, which is okay because I already have a puppy and I couldn't love her any more if jolly ol' Saint Nick had placed her in my arms himself (although, how adorable would Puzzle be bounding out of a brightly wrapped box with a big red bow around her neck on Christmas morning?!)
And since Cher probably never did tell God to tell Santa to tell Jerry that I really have been a good girl this year, the one little thing I want for Christmas – a BMW convertible – probably won't be waiting for me (although how adorable would that look in my driveway with a big red bow around it on Christmas morning?!)
So I will put myself to bed on Christmas Eve in my new pajamas with my three loveable dogs and my charming husband and keep my visions to sugarplums (honestly, though, I am not even sure I know what a sugarplum is …. ) and I will be content on Christmas morning knowing that my home is filled with laughter and wagging tails and warm cookies and good health and amazing friends and a family that remains close in spite of the miles between us and … and … and …
and … maybe Santa will bring me just one little surprise … ?!
I really have been a good girl this year!

How the Grinch Stole Christmas by Dr. Seuss

I wrote this last Christmas but never posted ....

Long before Jim Carrey offered up his version, and even before, believe it or not, it aired on television in 1966 (narrated by Boris Karloff, no less), Dr.Seuss wrote a beautiful little Christmas tale published in 1957 called, How the Grinch Stole Christmas.
And I just read it aloud to my three border collies. That is the magic of Dr.Seuss: the rhythm and rhyming is impeccable! My dogs were enthralled. One cannot help reading the tale with a delightful pace and animation in one's voice. It's the way it was meant to be. And I had three little dogs tipping their heads from side to side like Lassie, as I read the story of how the Grinch's heart grew three sizes that day.
I cannot remember a time when I was not deeply in-love with the storytelling genius of Dr.Seuss. In fact, when the singers sang of Rudolph the Red Nosed reindeer, "You'll go down in his story", I was absolutely positive they were talking about Dr. Seuss. And I thought, "Wow, Rudolph! That's pretty good! If you go down in HIS story, you really are something special!" Because there was no greater storyteller in all the land than Dr. Seuss, let's give him a hand.
How the Grinch Stole Christmas is the time-honored tale of a very nasty, cave-dwelling, creepy creature who hated Christmas and had the geographic misfortune of living three thousand feet above the happiest place on earth, Who-ville. And every Who down in Who-ville liked Christmas a lot. So the Grinch concocted an evil plan to steal Christmas from Who-ville in an attempt to turn their happy singing into sad, sad boo-hooing.
But his plan backfired and the Whos sang much louder ... and ... merrier. He had stolen everything from them and they were still singing and rejoicing. And the Grinch then realized (the most glorious realization any one of us could have),
"It came without ribbons! It came without tags!
It came without packages, boxes or bags!"
And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before!
"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store.
"Maybe Christmas ... perhaps ... means a little bit more!"
I think my own heart grew three sizes today, and perhaps, I believe, I like it better that way.

Merry Christmas!

Love at First Bark by Julie Klam

Exactly 19 days ago, I boarded a plane for New Orleans with my friend, Julie Klam's, new book under my arm. (She is my friend! I can prove it on Facebook!) I read Julie's first book, You had Me at Woof! last year and reviewed it for a little online newspaper. (You can find it under Dog-Eared or type the title in the handy "search" feature in the upper left corner.) I was excited to read Love at First Bark.
It's an easy read, even for the slowest of readers such as myself, and I was able to get to get about 100 pages in before I started the waterworks! I was sitting next to a, we'll politely say portly, gentleman who was sharing my armrest and a good portion of my seat and feeling irritated, but I quickly lost myself in Julie's adventures in dog rescue and began the tears for her dogs ... the dogs she rescued, the dogs she tried to rescue, the dogs she loved and lost and the dogs who are still there pooping and peeing on her rugs. I cried for the whole lot of them!
I enjoyed a lovely mini vacation in the Big Easy! I laughed and laughed and bought a few masks and laughed and laughed and drank a few hurricanes and laughed .... I resisted the temptation to buy the I Got Bourbon Faced on Shit Street t-shirt, but came home with one of Willie Nelson flipping off the world! Ha! (I just ruined my dad's Christmas present.)
I was treated to Julie's wonderful chapter on New Orleans on my plane ride home! It was amazing reading Julie's adventures in the city I was just leaving.
And I cried some more.
I don't honestly mind public weeping if it's for a good cause.
This time I cried for the Pickle Jar Puppy and wanted to kindly ask the pilot to turn around so I could go back and get her. (I wish I would have done that.)
Julie Klam tells a wonderful story and possesses one of my favorite qualities in people: the ability to laugh at oneself! Once again, after reading her tales, I wanted to rescue another dog. Although I already had three mixed up rescue pooches, I could make room for another, right? She has such a delightful way of expressing how so many of us feel about dogs. They need us and we need them. Period. And I thoroughly enjoy reading the lengths so many fine folks will go to to help our friends in need.
I went directly to work upon landing and missing my dogs was the only thing that kept me awake for a very long shift. Three happy pups met me at the door and I slept a baby's slumber with my companions by my side.
The very next day, however, my sweet Allie's little body finally gave out on her and we lost her the following day. While crying for Julie's dogs and the rescue dogs and all the little souls out there who need our help .... I had no idea I would soon be crying for my own little angel.
We are devastated and depressed at our house. Wednesday, Allie's biological half sister, is mopey and lethargic. Puzzle, the puppy, is confused and tender. Our house is dark and different.
But I will say again: the sadness and grief we are feeling are worth it. I would not trade this for anything because Allie brought us so much pleasure and love and laughter. She made our home warm. I miss her with all my heart, but I am so incredibly thankful for each and every minute of our nearly eleven years together.
Adopt a dog. Read Julie Klam's books. Hug your furry friends! And weep if you need to ...

Rest in Peace, Allie Precious

Allie
December 2, 2000 - November 17, 2011
A beautiful angel who loved to run and play ....
you will be forever missed ...

Allie

I am the Son and Heir

Remember that song?
The one that forced your barstool to eject you upon hearing the very first note?
The one that flung you toward the dance floor like your ass was on fire and your smooth dance moves were the only extinguisher?
That song was written and recorded just for you. That song made you feel alive. That song was yours! You owned it! And no other interpretive dance could truly depict the emotion of that song like your interpretive dance.
And you could dance the whole song without spilling a single drop of your beer …. or stopping to catch your breath …. or grabbing your thigh in agony ….
No wonder we were so skinny back then! We had five hours of aerobic exercise six nights a week!
But that song! Ahhhh, that was a great song!
Remember that song?
Yeah, well I heard it on the easy listening station in my car last night.

P.S.
No, I wasn't listening to the easy listening station! I was scanning the dial, heard the first note of that song and wanted to pull over, get out, and dance! Imagine my horror when I heard the Delilah-esque dj telling me I was listening to Soft Hits 104.7!

P.P.S.
Soft Hits. Now that's funny!

Sunday Best

There is a church in Old Town that I pass on my way to work. On Sunday mornings, I see distinguished gentlemen in tailored suits laughing and waving and clapping each other on the back. Military men in full dress uniforms, medals gleaming in the morning sun. And shining women with smiles as big as their hats.

I want to join them! I want to be them.

And I know without knowing that if the light would only wait thirty minutes or so before turning green, I would hear the most glorious songs of angels spilling out of that little church ...

And I, too, would raise my hands to heaven.

The Boys on 7th Ave

It truly is amazing how I know all the words to sooooooo many songs. I can't remember whether or not I ate breakfast this morning, but I can sing full albums in their entirety even if I haven't heard them in 30+ years.
So I really cracked myself up tonight while I was singing along with Simon & Garfunkel at the top of my lungs in my car on the way home! My WHOLE life, I thought the boxer took some comfort from the BOYS on Seventh Avenue.
And I remember thinking, even as a little kid, "Wow. That's so honest, man."

Asking only workman's wages
I come looking for a job
But I get no offers,
Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue
I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there
... la la la

Well, I still like Simon & Garfunkel. I'm probably gonna continue to sing it my way, though. Like how the Rocket Man keeps burnin' all the shoes off everyone, even after I found out he was burnin' out his fuse up here alone. I mean, it just works better my way!

We the Animals by Justin Torres

Some people believe in destiny. Fate. That our lives are predestined and we have few choices in the matter.
I don't know if I do.
I believe we are all faced with a series of choices and then faced with a series of consequences based on those choices. And each choice we choose presents a new set of choices and we go through life making choices and living with consequences.
I believe each of our choices stems from the choices of others.
And so on and so on.
I think that's life.
Maybe not.
I believe there are people who believe they have too few choices and I believe there are people who believe they have too many.
And sometimes I get caught up in these circles of thought and I make myself dizzy. Sticky with the webs I spin.
Some people settle into the life presented to them and some choose to make changes.
And this book made me think about these things more than ever.
“We the Animals” is an amazingly raw, heartfelt debut novel by Justin Torres.
It was edgy and deep.
This brutally honest book was so moving, I almost literally could not put it down. I completely enjoyed his writing style which was somehow revealing and emotional and vague all at the same time. I loved that this small book could absolutely cut me to the bone without ever being overly descriptive or gratuitous. The author compelled me to relate to a life that did not parallel mine in any way whatsoever. (Perhaps a little!)
I am actually slightly jealous of Mr. Torres and strangely proud of him, as well.
I loved this book unashamedly and positively cannot wait for his next novel.

Rainy Day at the National Zoo

Once

Once I thought
I had too much to give
and no one understood
and no one should receive
my heart
Once I thought
the world was much too cramped
would hold me in
and no one could believe
in my heart
I thought it would get better
I thought it would exceed
my expectations would outshine me
my apprehensions would concede
Once I thought
my life was so disordered
and no one understood
and no one could believe
my heart

It's a Bird! It's a Plane! It's a Bug!

An Afternoon Nap

My dreams can be vicious. Really, they are very frightening and surreal. They often scare me to the point where I have learned how to wake myself up when they become too brutal. I am somewhat convinced that my insomnia stems from nightmares.
Thirty years of insomnia as a defense mechanism.
The human psyche is a strange and baffling thing.
I walk around like a zombie due to lack of sleep most of the time simply to avoid dreaming dreams that I find far too horrifying.
Today, I am feeling under the weather. I have been working long hours and feeling an added burden of stress for the last four or five weeks. I am feeling defeated. I am feeling frazzled and exhausted mentally and physically.
So I have a day off and, as luck would have it, I am sick.
Seems about right.
I just took some cold medicine and turned on some bad television in hopes of inducing a long-overdue healing sleep.
I'm hoping for dreams of chocolate cake and apple pie ... of puppies and angels ... of green, green grass and weeping willow trees …