A phone tale

 

      Last Saturday, my husband woke up with a great idea. It was a beautiful morning and he suggested that we head out to Parke County, Indiana for the Covered Bridge Festival. I have to admit that the idea of seeing nature at it's most colorful, appealed to me. So we made our plans to go.

    As I was getting dressed, Philip - my husband, put his hand on his jaw (like he often does when he is hatching an elaborate plan) and said "We could go by that phone place I was telling you about and check them out. Squealing tire sounds could be heard in my head. "What....no, I don't want to go shopping!" I grunted. I know how he is when it comes to shopping - (it's an all day event).

    "This store is on the west side", and "We'd be heading that way anyhow," and "You need to pick out a phone," and "It won't take long," and "We'll get back home before dark (I have things to do in the garden)."- sales pitches came rolling from his mouth. He wanted to go look at phones. Me, being the easy mark that I am, said "OK, OK. I'll go but let's not spend all day looking at phones and phone plans.....UGH!" Then he does a turn around and says that he can't do it today because he doesn't have his latest bill with the account number on it and he was told he'd need a current bill. I breathed a sigh of relief.

     We get in the car, fire up the GPS/Garmin and set out for a beautiful day in nature. When we got to the west side of Indianapolis, Philip remarks "That phone place is right near here." I cringed. We have now started re-negotiations. "I thought you needed your bill with the account number." I argued.

"Let's just go look at the phones." he replied. And with that we programmed in the address for the phone place and headed their way.

      Right away we had trouble finding the place. It didn't have a store front. The shop was located in an old strip mall. We find the place. Amazingly enough, the parking lot was full. We park and head for the entrance. Let me describe what I saw. There were sliding doors, like you might see at Walmart, except these sliding, glass doors had metal strips (like you see in cabinets to support the shelves) screwed across the inside of the glass panes - thereby thwarting any attempt to smash the glass and break into the building.

    Inside the building, Mariachi music blared from the sound system. The carpet had given up being a floor covering and was now working on becoming part of the concrete beneath it. There were booths everywhere. Mostly marked by their chain link fence walls covered over with pure blue tarps. Most of the merchants were selling tatooey design t-shirts, moped equipment , fancy/frilly little girl's party dresses or big girl's 'party' dresses.

    We proceeded to the back of this lovely assortment to find the phone place. A guy who looked to be about 16 stood in front of the counter. Another man, behind the counter was talking to a customer in Spanish. Philip approached the 16 year old (he was probably actually 25 but everyone looks like a baby to us).

      He started asking a million questions of this kid. And the young man tried to answer all of Philip's questions. They looked at the various phones that would be included in this 'new' phone deal. Then Philip asked more questions - something about programming and something about flashing. They looked at the phones again. Then Phil asked more questions, the kid went in back and brought out another phone, which they looked at and more questions were asked and then they looked at the first group of phones that they had previously discussed. I was losing my mind!

   At one point, when the kid went to ask a question of the 'man behind the curtain" (wall) (and he did this several times), I pulled Philip aside and asked him "Honey, has it occurred to you that these guys could be gone from here, this time next week?" Philip shook his head in agreement and the kid returned with more phone information. Then, they looked at the phones again.

     We ended up buying one new phone which turned out at check out was actually a used phone and we had my phone reprogrammed to accept the new service. We had to leave these phones at the phone place for all the reprogramming. So two hours after we'd first entered phone world for phones, we left phone world without phones and headed to Parke county and all of autumn's natural beauty.

     Around 6pm we started back towards home. Phil tried to call his brother on his old phone (they told him at the phone place that if he used his old phone to try to make a call and it didn't work, that meant that his new phone was reprogrammed). We decide to swing by the phone place and pick up our phones. It was a mad dash.

     We get to the phone place with about 30 or 40 minutes to spare. Unfortunately, they had not ''flashed' the phones. We wait and wait. The entire mall had taken on the aroma of sweaty, gym socks and over the sound system the folksy music had changed to a more Saturday night leaning with a  rapper crooning on about "F this" and "F that" in a 'lovely' chorus that never actually switched from the chorus. I look around at all the young kids running around in the place. Children who have to hang out at this joint because their families are trying to make a living. An hour after our arrival, we leave with Phil's new (used) phone, leaving mine behind because they were having trouble flashing it.

    As we headed home, Philip began to grumble about the whole phone place experience. "Nobody told me that this was a used phone, I didn't want a slide/touch screen, I should have" blah, blah, blah. At first, I almost tried to console him but then I just sat back and enjoyed the drive home. It's like they say, "experience is the best teacher."

    

 

 

Make Out Sessions

Life sized cut out of David Duchovny and Juliana Moore 

playing the part of Charleston Heston and Lee Radziwill's stand ins.

 

    It happened last week. I was working away at my desk in Anderson, Indiana when I heard a  male voice, half yelling, "Come back here!" At first, I thought someone was in the building, maybe in the hallway. I got up and went out in the hall. Nothing.
    I went back to my desk, figuring that it was probably someone passing in the street. Then I heard more loud talking. I looked up again and noticed the top of a man's head, just above the bottom part of the window in the show room. I eased over to see what was going on.

    The man looked like a young Charleston Heston, except, without a visible gun. He had yellow hair that was cut into a peach fuzz, flat top. He was in a loud, heated discussion with a woman on the sidewalk

    I got nervous. Was a woman being accosted in the street? Should I call the police? Maybe I should call across the street to have the school maintenance guys come check on this. I was in a quandary.
     I went back to the hallway to peak out from the side. The guy had a yellow scooter sitting beside the sidewalk. It was the smallest scooter I've ever seen. Something a clown would ride.
    The conversation in front of the building continued. They were oblivious to the commotion I had started making in the building to distract them and perhaps get them to move along. After all, if I did have a customer show up to buy cabinets, would they be willing to interrupt this dramatic scene from As the Stomach Turns?"
   And then, things got worse. They started making out right in front of my building! He had the woman pressed against the building and the talking had ceased. Ugh!
    In an act of desperation, I went to the door, threw it open, and interrupted their lovely moment. Wanting to say "Get a room!", I instead asked in a voice sweet as an angel, "Are you guys waiting to get in the building?"
   They both turned my way, a little surprised, and said, almost in unison "Oh, no." without embarrassment or explanation. The guy immediately turned back to look at the woman.  I looked at her, too. She smiled at me, adjusted her sunglasses and gave a small shrugg of her shoulders - like 'that scene went well.' She looked like a movie star with those big, Lee Radziwill (Jackie O's sister) sunglasses and the lovely thin scarf around her neck.
   I went back to my desk and left them to settle up in the street and move on. Suddenly it occurred to me that some kind of soap opera was taking place right out front. High drama, free of charge and if they had waited until night time, the street light on the corner of the building would have lit the scene perfectly.

Return of the Permanent Records

 

     I mentioned last week that I'm looking for funny things in the day to day world. I asked my husband what he thought of my last blog entry describing the humor of middle aged aches and pains. His response, "It sounded like you were feeling sorry for yourself." Obviously, he "gets me."

   I was not feeling sorry for myself. I was just making observations that I thought were funny. And I could do this with any age group. Babies are hilarious because of the mind trapped in an evolving body. Teenagers are funny with their braces and pimples and OMG everything is everything thinking. Pick an age group, I can make fun of it. And I'm sure that in 20 years when I am forgetting names (including my own), it will be hilarious.

    Well, I had lunch with my son, Barnaby, this past Wednesday.  I asked him if he was keeping up with all the election coverage, especially with it being the day after the vice presidential debate. Nonchalantly, he says "No, I've not really been following it." Stunned, I asked why not.  And my Zen Master son lays it out very simply for me. "At this point, everyone has made up their minds. (Even the undecideds have decided.) There's nothing you can say to change anyone's mind at this point. I know who I'm voting for so what's the point of listening to anymore?" Case closed. I felt instantly better. The campaign season, which is way too long, just tugs relentlessly at our society. There's a sense of waiting to see which team will win out. Whose heart will be broken? Political ads in abundance. Businesses hold back, waiting for an answer. Election year is a slow death. With my son's Zen answer, I thought "yeah, there's peace in being decisive." So, I'm ready and waiting. Now if I can just stop checking the polls which scare or delight me on any given day.

     Later in our discussion, the topic of permanent records came up. I was telling him that "If I could go back in time to when I was a teenager in school and still retain what I know now, I would definitely be a handful for my teachers. If they threatened that my actions were gonna be recorded in my permanent records, I'd say 'make sure you get everything in there.'"

  Barnaby says "Mom, that comment's going into your permanent records! Everything you've done since leaving high school is in there! "

    I gave him a questioning look and said "The high school that I went to is no longer a high school. It's been closed down for years."

    He said "That doesn't matter, there's a file cabinet sitting out in an open field with your permanent records in it."

    We both burst out laughing!

 

 

 

Killer Comedy

 

     The above picture is me in my 1969 "going-to-prom" best. My mother paid for that Kardashian/Jersey Shore hair style. It lasted through 3 dance numbers and fell apart like the souffle that it appears to be. I am just posting it to announce my new love. Comedy.

    The dress was beautiful. It featured a gathered skirt that just barely touched the floor and sweet, puffy, 'poet' sleeves with see through dotted Swiss fabric. There was gobs of lace. I could have gone from the prom to my wedding and never missed a beat.

    Now, on to comedy. After I wrote that piece on Political Pon Farr (weeks ago), I felt free. It was my coming out party. In that entry, I may have revealed my last, personal secret - except for the stuff that you'll never get out of me! NEVER!  I've come to realize that I've spent this portion of my life on planet Earth in my "Fear Cave." Not wanting to step on any toes or raise anyone's blood pressure. Well, my parents are in heaven now, so who cares? Now that I am out of the cave and the sun is blinding my eyes, I am on the look out for funny things.

    And my timing couldn't be better. I am now entering a hilarious time in my life. My hair is getting thinner so parts of my scalp peak through.That's comedy tonight! And the hair that hangs from my head is brittle and breaks at the sound of a bird chirping.

    I've never had great teeth. I once had a dentist ask me if I smoke. I told him "no", since I in fact do not smoke. So he asked if I drink coffee. Well, me and coffee are like that (&) so he suggested that I use a straw to drink coffee. I can tell you that when I am dead and gone and my mouth full of teeth are slowly becoming a puddle of molecular goo in the Earth, it won't matter a hill of beans if they are pearly white or cracked mocha - I'm not using a straw to drink coffee.

        (Excuse me for the break, I had to go get a cup of coffee).

    I think the funniest thing that is happening now in my hilarious life is my walking. I get out of a car and give myself a second to let the hip bone re lock into my pelvis. I take a step just to see if all joints are engaged. The other day, it occurred to me that maybe as we get older we should disguise the re locking joints by doing the cool dude strut, similar to the one that Kramer did on Seinfeld when he walked down the street wearing the Joseph's Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat - dreamcoat. I was explaining this theory to my daughter in law and she laughed out loud. She later confessed that she thought when I said cool dude strut, that I was talking about the pants on the ground crowd who hold onto the front of their pants while the back of their pants let it all hang out. When I consider the acid reflux that occasionally grips my colon, that might not be a bad idea. 

                           Me, holding white gloves - with a long sleeved dress, ready for the
                             prom. We were a family of nine kids, so the door got a little wear.
                                             Note the square of silence around my head.
                         

Curiosity Has Landed

 

 

 

     A couple of months ago, the Curiosity spaceship was headed for a rendezvous with planet Mars. A lot of planning went into this meet up. As time got closer to the landing, more and more media outlets were reporting various aspects of Curiosity's journey; spaceship design, what the landing would look like, interviews with assorted individuals associated with the landing, etc.

     I've always been a bit of a space nut, so I admit that I was a excited for what was soon to happen. Then the big moment arrived. Unfortunately, since I live in the Eastern Daylight Time part of the country, I wouldn't be able to see the live broadcast of the landing unless I stayed up until 1 AM.

     Though I'm a big, space nut - I'm an even bigger nut for the restorative powers of a good night's sleep. I was in a quandary. Then my husband says "Go ahead and get a good night's sleep. You can always see the taped versions on tomorrow's morning shows."  So I agreed and went to bed.

    At approximately 5 minutes within the time that Curiosity was to land, I woke up - wide eyed.  I decided to get up and see if the wonder ship had landed safely and accurately or would NASA be crying buckets of tears.

     I turned on the television. None of the local stations chose to run the story - even at the 1 AM hour and since we don't have any type of cable television - I fired up the Internet.

     I came in on the scene with all these folks at the Jet Propulsion Lab, hugging each other, slapping five, fist pumping and some even tearing up. Curiosity had landed! And landed precisely! I was thrilled.

    I sat and watched the proceedings for about 15 minutes. During that time, the hugging, slapping five, tears and a bit of appropriate yelling took place. At about 10 minutes into the celebrating, all the JPL people returned to their work stations. And a disembodied voice started talking scientific lingo to them. 

     They had started a systems check. Everyone was in serious science mode! And the voice said something to the effect "science,science, science at 20 knots per second" (I'm making these words up because the science talk was Greek to me). And as soon as the voice said this the entire room broke out in huge laughter with more slapping fives.  It was like watching rats in a maze as I tried to figure out what they were saying. It was all over my head.

    They got quiet again. Paying deathly attention to their work. Then the voice said "Science, science, science 250 kill-o-vessels" -(or something like that - but not that). And again with the big laughter!

    This scene struck me funny. I was grinning about it as I made my way back to bed. As I lay down and was drifting off to sleep, another image came to my mind - an image that tells this story in a short, precise manner - and I did in fact laugh out loud right there in bed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Political Pon Farr

 

 

     The other night, as I was settling down to sleep, I started to think about politics. Well, what a way to ruin a good night's sleep! I couldn't help it. My brain had ceased up on the topic and there I lay, weighing it all out.

     I started to ponder why it is that people get so 'strident in their corner 'when it comes to the general election. Already this year, I've seen or heard tell of friendships ending over political views. Folks are being un-friended, right and left. My own, younger, sister 'very gently' told me of her love for Fox political news, adding that she doesn't like to talk politics. And she asked the question "Why can't people get it?" (it being, this view - her view - the real answer.) It's the same question I've asked as well with the opposite view in mind. How is it that I can take in all the information and come up with the reasonable, logical choice and yet so many around me choose the opposite or wrestle with indecision? Indecision! Are you kidding me? This isn't rocket science!

    I have to admit, my sister was not revealling anything new. This summer when I was in the mountains of North Carolina visiting my family, everyone was watching the FOX News, cable channel. It was almost cult-like. Every house I went to had the same FOX News channel on - every house! At some point, it felt like a scene from the Invasion of the Body Snatchers. I was kind of afraid to fall asleep, in fear that a life sized replica of myself would be the one waking up and tuning in to FOX - "All praise Chris Wallace! All praise Shawn Hannity!" I love my family to bits but I have to confess, it was spooky.

     Laying there, in my bed, I had a revelation. This political situation every four years is very much like the Vulcan - Pon Farr. If you're unfamiliar with Pon Farr, I refer to the Star Trek (original series) television show. Mr. Spock (the science officer) was a character in that show. He was a Vulcan and was at all times logical, reasonable and rock solid, reliable. Then the season of Pon Farr came upon him and he became a hot head! He got into fights, got aggressive with the women and just plain couldn't hold a thought. Then Dr. McCoy (down to Earth and folksy MD) explained that Mr. Spock was experiencing Pon Farr - the Vulcan mating heat. Spock would need to go to his home planet and mate with a predetermined mate - or die!

     So they take the big ship Enterprise to planet Vulcan. There, they discover that the predetermined mate is a floozy who has a lover on stand by. She chose Captain Kirk as the person who would fight for her. She would win out because she didn't have to mate with Spock (as the battle to the death would lift the Pon Farr)  and she would have her lover. A brilliant move! So Spock had to fight his dearest friend to the death.  Spoiler Alert - they faked the Captain's death, Spock came out of the heat and they flew off to their next adventure.

     Now tell me, isn't that just like the general election season? I mean really? It's like "Ugg, there's my friend - the Democrat - what a loser!" Or "There's Jim and Suzie with their ritzy-titzy Republican friends. They're so obnoxious!"  People get pissy with each other and yet, a week after the general election is over, the heat has lifted and you're thrilled to see your friends, the previous election - a distant memory.

     There in the darkness, I giggled a little at this line of thinking. That's when a new question popped into my head. "Why is it that I was born into a family of 9 kids and from all I can tell, I am the only Democrat among all these Republicans?" There I said it, I'm a Democrat. I don't talk a lot about it so the confession feels like an AA moment.  I have voted for Republicans before, so I'm no Yellow Dog Democrat. At least there's that.

     I began to think about my childhood. I will admit that I might have been a bit argumentative. (If my siblings are reading this - yeah, I said it.) My Dad and I argued politics all the time. He was a staunch Republican - a Yellow Dog Republican! As I lay there thinking back, counting back through the various administrations to my childhood. I arrived at Nixon. And then I remembered John Fitzgerald Kennedy. I was ten years old when he was shot dead in Dallas.  My fifth grade teacher came into the classroom crying and informed us of the president's death. The news was heart crushing. Especially since my Mama was hundreds of miles away, helping my oldest sister with her new baby.

     There he was; the president - young, handsome, articulate. A Dad. The following days were filled with TV images of the president, the assassin and the assassin's assassin. The president's funeral with the riderless horse and the president's son, saluting as the body of our slain leader moved through the streets. It still makes me cry. My Mom was home by then so that was some comfort. The Kennedy era touched me with it's big ideas for the nation.

     Then Nixon and Vietnam and women's rights and civil rights. My Dad and I had a lot of areas to discuss, heatedly. He once called me a "Commie Pinko," and "A Red Agent." He was always going on about the Communist lurking at every corner. So being called a Commie Pinko by him might have warped me.

      I'm saying all that to say this: When I turned 18 - voting age. My Dad drove me to register to vote. And in defiance to him, that great, big, Republican, know it all, I registered Democrat! When he found out, he was a bit shocked. I could see it in his eyes. He grimaced at me with a look of disbelief. Yet, there was a bit of a twinkle in his eyes. He knew defiance when he saw it. However, I don't think he ever got over it. He once told me "For one against me, I have eight with me." God, he took politics personally! In his later years, he use to kid me about our arguments, so I think we were OK with each other at the end.

      I was pondering this whole sequence, there in the dark of my bedroom and I had to laugh. Me registering democrat is my "tattooed forearms," it's my  "mohawk hair cut" (died red and yellow), it's my "goth look," my "pierced nose," my "boyfriend of a different race."  Registering democrat is my act of defiance to my Dad that lasts until this day.

      These revelations in the dark have been very enlightening! Ultimately, we're all in this together so whoever is elected in November, will be my president. That is what a citizen does, they accept the decision and move on. We've got a great country here in the USA so let's stay friends.

    

 

 

 

My Falls

                     

 

     Yesterday, at my studio in Anderson, I walked out to the dumpster to investigate a large, metal, door sticking out of the freshly dumped, dumpster. The door was wedged tight inside that metal box. It hung there, not all the way out - not all the way in, like some kind of weird passage way into a world beyond. I had no idea where this door came from but figured my local, trash pickers would be along shortly to pry it out and haul it away for the metal. Bless their hearts - they've saved me a lot of grief. 

     I was in a good mood. The morning had started at the end of a good night's sleep. I was ready to take on the day. I turned from the dumpster and started back toward the pavement. Suddenly, my right foot caught on a chunk of wood protruding, barely half an inch, from the dirt. I started to fall. Surprised, I remember thinking, "Can this be happening?" I moved my left foot into position to catch myself. That move might have worked too, if I hadn't brought my freshly freed - right foot - up to gain my balance but instead tripped on the edge of the concrete driveway. I was the victim of a double trip! The picture above is sort of what it looked like except I could see the individual specks of concrete particles edging closer to my face. For the life of me, I cannot tell you how this happened, other than pure instinct, but I remember thinking "Get your hand up to protect your face!" And my right hand slammed into position and saved my face and eyeglasses. For the rest of the day, my hand ached and could take very little pressure. Even turning the keys in my car's ignition brought grimacing pain.

     My loved ones all asked about me going to have my hand seen about but we all know how I feel about going to the doctor.  I said "I'll wait and see."

    This hesitancy got me to thinking about the last fall I had almost two years ago. My husband and I were walking our dog along a trail I'd cut through a thicket on our farm. He was telling me profusely how to train the dog to heal, sit, etc. At some point I'd had enough of his lectures. So I turned and huffed off back towards home. The sun was setting, I was pissed and hurrying. So I failed to see the small stump sticking out of the ground. Boom! I hit the ground like a sack of spuds! 

     My ribs were in pain for days. I eventually went to the doctor and got xrayed only to find out that these old bones can take a beating. Nothing broken, just bruised and radiated! 

     Yesterday, as I worked away on an art project that is weeks behind schedule. I started thinking about my falls. Suddenly I began to laugh out loud. My memory went back to my Grandma Stevens. She was always such a great story teller. She was born in 1893. She knew about life during the horse and buggy era. She told of mica mines in the mountains of North Carolina. And using dynamite boxes to make all sorts of play gear.  In her later years, she began to tell the stories of her various falls. When she was 9 years old, she fell as she climbed up to a cliff to gather hen eggs. A twig she'd been using to pull herself up, gave way and she landed on a big, flat, rock, on the back of her head.

     When she was 11, she made a sled and put it on a creek, frozen over with ice. As she started to climb into it - boom - down she went onto the back of her head again.

     And another fall she mentioned, happened when she walked out onto the front porch, fell off the porch onto her stomach and lost her breath.

     My grandmother wrote about her falls - among other things- and we were left with a nice journal of many of her trials and tribulations.  She chronicled about 15 different falls or accidents in her life. So after my falls, I got out her journal to reread about  some of her falls. The one below is a very significant accident. She was around 40 or 50 years old when it happened. She wore support hose for the rest of her days as a result of this and I can still see her changing her bandaged legs - some 30 or 40 years after the "9th accident" happened. In her own words:
 

 "Still at Clinchfield - I had a wash house out back yard had in a furnice a large black wash pot an old wringer washing machine started washing one day got them all through the first watter one of the children called me it was time to come in and make biscuits for dinner I then picked up an old 8 lbs lard bucket diped it in that old black pot got it almost in the boil come out and spilled that boiling water on my legs and feet had silk hose when I pulled them down part of the skin come off my legs I had to have a Dr that time it was 8 weeks before I walked this is my 9th acident.
I Remember."

     She was tough.  It made me feel sad for her, having to deal with such a horrible accident. My little trip is miniscule in comparison.  I woke up this morning with my right hand feeling better but because I took a tumble, and remembered her with her many falls, it was like having her here to comfort me.

Journey's End - Day 30

   Here we are at day 30. I have entered a blog post everyday for 30 days. I don't know if a writing habit has been established in me but I hope so. It has been an interesting exercise. I've learned stuff.

     First off, I've discovered that I write like a robot. I write like Data from Star Trek, speaks. He could not use contractions, so he always went the distance; is not, would not , could not, have not, etc. By using contractions, a sentence is softened.

     I also think I do better writing in the morning or early in the day. All the entries that I've posted, that I like the most, were written during the early morning.

     Writing helps me relax. To me it's like downloading a file. My brain is full of thoughts, fears, ideas and other such nonsense. So when I write about that stuff, it empties my brain. I think that's why counselors recommend a patient keep a journal. Put it on paper and walk away.

      As for the future, I am not sure about my writing. I'm starting a new challenge in about a week. This challenge has me listing at least 5 things on ebay each day for thirty days. I really would love to get this habit established. So maybe that will give me fodder to write about on this blog.

     In closing, I have posted the above video. It is actually a youtube video that had a lot of other stuff with it. I just got such a kick out of this sweet dog, riding by like he does this stuff all the time. Bye for now.

A Day's Work - Day 29

    The picture above is part of my latest project. It's a rental house in Anderson. It's actually an apartment in a house turned into doubles. Today, I was sanding and mopping this floor, getting it ready for stain and seal tomorrow. I came home tonight with every joint, muscle, tendon and ligament on my body, aching.

    On the way home, I called Kora to tell her that I would go to Ohio with her this weekend. We're going to a birthday party for her nephew. She needed someone to tag along to help with the babies. I am a good choice for that because my grand kids love me!

   Kora told me this cute story about my grand daughter. They were in the grocery and Korinne said "I love you, mommy." And Kora says "I love you too."

And Korinne says "But what?" She's just turning 4 years old and already she ponders the deeper meaning.

Rocky End - Day 28

    This is an old house in Anderson, Indiana. I took the photo because I thought the house looked like it could have been a stunner in it's youth. I liked the color, I liked the shapes, and I especially like the mysterious stairway between the two wings.

    I wanted to submit one more rock story because, well, I like it. Here goes:

Telling Philip -

     Before I told Philip my story idea, I had to prepare him. You see, he's a critic. He'd tear up an anvil just to see what makes it heavy. And I'm kind of sensitive, especially when it come to my creativity. If someone says or even hints at "dumb" - I immediately drop it.

   In a burst of enthusiasm , I say, "Phil, I've got this idea for a book." He listens.

"This is big, really big!. This may be the one thing I've been living my whole life to do. I may even need to get extra people to help me think it through. It's that big!"

    He says "Well, tell me this, what would be your father's reaction to the idea?"

So I think a minute and say "Girl, what's the matter with you?"

Philip says "What would be Kora's reaction?"

I say "Mom! That's a great idea! Go for it!"

So then I tell him about the rock stories book. He is grinning the entire time and when I finish he says "Just one thing, when you write it - change my name."

Trouble on the Mountain - Day 27

     I was in Anderson today. Phil asked me to help get an apartment cleaned up and ready for a renter.  So I was pulling what must have been 1 million nails, tacks, and staples out of the floor. I guess who ever installed the carpet, many years ago, must have worried about the carpet flying away because that thing was stuck down!
    Phil had come to Anderson too. It was beautiful outside, so he planned to do some patching on the roof of the Lincoln Street building.
    He came by the apartment to check on me and to invite me to lunch. I dropped everything and went to lunch with him.  After lunch he brought me back to the apartment and I got back to tack pulling.
     Shortly, my phone rang. It was Philip. He asked me if I was finished the tack pulling, There was a hesitancy in his voice. "Just about." I said. I sensed that something was bad wrong.
   "Are you OK?" I asked.
    "Yeah, I'm OK. I might need your help."
    He proceeds to tell me that he had gone up on the roof to find a section of the rubber roof sheeting blown off. As he tells me this, I could hear him breathing kind of heavy. According to him, a 6 foot by 78 foot section.  "Seven or eight foot?" I asked. He clarified "78 foot."
     I immediately headed over to help. I'll finish this story up tomorrow as we were working past sun down and I am bone tired tonight.

Motown - Day 26

     Detroit; the "Motor City," Home of Motown. We came into Detroit at about 6 PM on a Thursday night. Driving down Grand Avenue, we could see the towers of the city looming ahead. The Emerald City at the end of the rainbow. Yet, something kept catching my eye; trash! Everywhere along the streets, lay, debris. It moved in the breeze with a life of it's own. Piles of garbage, scattered bits of paper, drink cups caught in fences; everywhere. All in accent to the newly built (within the last 50 years) buildings that lined the path to the city.

    It made me sad. The ride along Grand Avenue should have been uplifting. Here we were on our way into the big town and yet the trash rushed our senses.

     At about this time, my teenage son turned on the radio. The Motown sound filled our van. Angels came out of the heavens. The trash stepped back. Voices soothed us. The city took on an entirely different look.

     Before, all I'd been able to see was "Cars Hand Washed," "Girls,Girls, Girls," or just generic graffiti.  Now, I noticed churches and groups of people standing on the sidewalks; talking and laughing while their babies kicked at imaginary objects from their strollers. It was just music, yet, what a difference the sound makes.

Rock Original - Day 25

The following bit is about the original rock idea. I found this a few days ago and this story triggered a couple of other stories. I'm a little out of sequence as the Anti-Lucy story came a couple of stories later.

(1996)

   I'd like to think that it all came about as a result of inspiration but in fact these very words that your are reading right now are a direct result of desperation.  My birthday had just passed and at 43 I began to think that perhaps the great wagon of doing something great and wonderful for the world had rolled past me while I slept. It probably came through here at about two in the morning and the hum of the air conditioner just smoozed out all the outside sounds as the fateful wagon moved on in the darkness.

   I pondered these things over my morning coffee. I wanted so much to write something. Many writing experts say write what you know. Fat Chance. I know nothing! My husband has all the brains, I just follow orders. I laugh at this as it's a running joke between him and I, except that, I'm the only one aware of the joke.

    Lately, he has had me helping him clean out this huge garage that he'd leased to scum, sucking morons, who happened to get behind in their rent, then packed up and left town in the middle of the night. Probably chasing after that wagon of fate that left me behind. Anyway, there were 240 used tires and three 55 gallon barrels of used motor oil to deal with. On top of that, everything in the building was covered with a film of grease. It was a gosh, awful, mess. In the middle of all this chaos and gunk, I felt sad. I felt that I would never actually write anything worthwhile.

     Later, I was setting at my kitchen counter thinking about my predicament and happened to notice the rocks sitting on the window sill. There are about 25 or 30  small rocks that I've gathered during various nature hikes. The colors, shapes, patterns, unique on each of them. As I looked closer, something stirred in the back of my mind. My eyes moved to a tiny rock that my friend, Ruth, gave me.

It had a gold and brown color with a spiral, wormlike formation in the center of it. As I looked at this rock, it occurred to me that perhaps this rock held the key to wonderful stories. I took the rock and put it in my sock, the pants I was wearing didn't have pockets. I left the rock there as I watched television. In the back of my mind, I began to think "What if this could work? What if I do get inspired by this thing? What if it starts talking to me? What if I end up in a mental ward, clinging to this stupid rock, like it was God or something?" I was thrilled! 

The Anti-Lucy - Day 24

   I was at work in Anderson, yesterday. I'd set about trying to find a specific file. In a box that smelled like mice had been using it for a restroom facility, I came across a file which contained several stories that I have promised to share, starting today.

    I pulled out a folder with Bud from Married With Children printed on it. Inside, I found this particular story:

  [1996]

     I was at the keyboard. I had just finished talking to my sister, Grace and the adrenaline pumped through my veins. I was electric! So, I sat at the keyboard, music played from my son's stereo. And it happened! I began to write!

     Not dry, forced junk but deep, soulful writing. The words came to my mind as if an outside force were spooning them into my brain. All Heaven and Earth could have disappeared on that morning and their disappearance would have gone unnoticed. Inspiration was mine. The rock was working!

     I wrote for what seemed to be minutes but was almost 2 hours. Suddenly,  the telephone rang. It was Philip's cousin. She and her family were coming by for dinner. She had called to make sure that was still the plan. I was so out of it that I barely could grasp what was being asked. I had to deliberately concentrate to make the correct words come out of my mouth.

     I got off the phone and tried to recapture the lost mood. No luck.  So, I go to print up these marvelous pages of thought put to paper. I highlight the words on the computer (a big mistake) - push one button and every single word disappears! Gone! Vanished! Lost forever; back to that point were all good things go when they die. I could have puked! 

   In a panic, I start pushing lots of buttons, thereby losing any chance to reclaim what was mine. This made everything worse.

     The phone rings. I answer. It was my daughter. She's in a good mood and tells me that she's had a brilliant insight!

     "Mom, you and Dad are the opposite of Lucy and Ricky!"

     So I'm thinking and say "What do I have in common with Ricky Ricardo?"

     "No, Mom, you're the anti-Lucy" she says.

     I then tell her how I, this day, lost the meaning of it all in seconds. She gives me suggestions, including:

     "Sit down and write down on paper, everything you can remember about what you wrote."

     I tell her that I have to go. My mind was shot. I was bereft.

     Later that same day, I started thinking about that phone conversation. "The Anti-Lucy? What does that mean? How would that apply to Philip and me?" Then I think about how Philip is always including me in all his "projects". I'm always working for a way to not be in his "projects"....that's anti.... "Yes, she's right! I am the Anti-Lucy!"

Philip (speaking in broken Cuban accent) - "Oh Lucy! You want to be in the show?!"

Me (Lucy)  "No, no, I don't want to be in the show! Waaaah!"

     My daughter is a genius!

 

StarGate 2012 - Day 23

    Today was an interesting day. I had every intention to get back to work on the Kickstarter Art Project that I am working on for my son's group. The frames were sitting there, waiting for my attention. I have hit a block that I want to call  "Let's question Sarah." And the questions start; "Is this something the recipient would want? Maybe this looks too, "old lady?" This is taking forever, when are you going to be finished?"

   I did what any artist worth their name would do, I took a break from the art work. I can't stand art, nagging me! Besides, I was looking for a certain file that had been placed in a box and stacked away amidst a lot of other stuff that had been placed in boxes and stacked away.  Trust me, I am trying to deal with my hording.

   I found the file that I was looking for but I also found a lot more. In a box of files, I found some stories that I had written in 1996. That's right, 16 years ago.

   I started looking through my writing. I came across a story that I will have to tell you over the next few days. I will clue you in that when I read one that concerned my daughter, I called her up, laughing, and we both ended up laughing.

   These stories started when I had the idea to carry a small rock around to use as a focus for daily stories. Stay tuned.

   In other news, I don't know if I have told any of you about what happened to me the other night. I was laying on the couch, it was getting late, and I called out to Philip - "Honey, would you carry me to bed?" I was just kidding. I had even stood up to go get ready for bed. Philip came in the living room and proceeded to pick me up in what I will just call "a bear hug." It was not pretty. My feet were about 12 inches off the ground and the human vise was doing his job of lifting me. I got scared that he might hurt himself so I said "Put me down. Ok, put me down." No sooner had those words left my mouth when we both heard a pop! It sounded through both our bodies and it felt like a twig had snapped in my rib cage. At first it was painful, then I suddenly felt great. I felt fine. At least until the next day when my left, lower ribs hurt.

    Last fall I fell while taking a hike and hurt my ribs. When I went to the doctor, I found out that I did not have broken ribs but the doctor told me that usually it's hard to break ribs. What usually happens is the lining is bruised and that is what is hurting.

   I was thinking about this today at the cabinet store. An older couple came in and bought 4 / 42 inch vanity bases. I was hurting but we had to get these cabinets loaded. So I was pulling and helping lift the cabinets into his van. I thought "This is gonna kill me!" But after they left I actually felt a little better. And it made me think of the story that, writer, Ann Lamott told about when she had her tonsils out. Her throat was in such pain. She kept telling the doctor that she needed more pain medicine. He refused to give her more pain pills. He told her that she needed to swallow her food even though she was in pain. The only way to it is through it. So now, instead of guarding my side, I am trying to stretch out the injured side. I think it's helping.

    So stay tuned for "Rock Stories - the series" beginning tomorrow.

New Day - Day 22

     It's been a good day!  The weather was sunny. Actually, it's been a mild winter here in Indiana. We haven't had more than a couple of inches of snow all winter long, at least not yet.

     You've probably noticed by now that I use a lot of nature scenes in this blog. The truth is, I love trees. Members of my family call me a "tree hugger." I assume that mantle gladly. I find more peace and serenity in the forest than anywhere else on Earth.
    I got to work this morning and talked at length with my best friend, Ruth. She is going through some worrisome stuff this winter. Yet, she has the best attitude. She inspires me to be a better person.
    I also did a lot of running around for Philip. He wanted me to check on a rental of his in Anderson. The young couple living there have moved out and he wanted me to check the condition of the unit. He also asked me to take a deposit by the bank; fifteen minutes before the bank closed, I am rushing across town to get that deposit made because that is when I remembered that I was suppose to make the deposit. Then he called me to take a key to a tenant who needed access to another area of their building.
    I had to take the key to the tenant's workplace, which was a nail salon. I walk in there and immediately regretted that I hadn't donned my has mat suit. The place was reeking of nail polish - or acetone fumes. I could have stripped a car in that shop. Then I noticed her school aged daughter sitting in one of the salon chairs. The girl must have been 8 years old. And I was freaking out. I told the lady that she needed to have better ventilation but she concentrated more on asking me if I knew anyone who could install shades in their shop. I thought to myself "It's gonna be shades for all of you if you don't get this place aired out!"

Steaming! - Day 21

    Hello again.  After I wrote that entry last night about the Kennedy assasination, I had trouble sleeping. I guess a lot of memories started floating around concerning that time in my life. Little details like the fact that after school that fateful day, my Dad had us girls (me and my 2 younger sisters), and my  older brother, gather firewood off the mountainside. We were throwing cut firewood down the mountainside and discussing the day's events.

    Anyway, not to get stuck in the past, today I was working on an art project. I go through this love - hate - love - hate thing with this art project. I want to chuck the whole thing and start over! What is the matter with me?

    I'll tell you what's the matter with me... I'm uptight! Yeah, you heard me. I am so up tight that it's a wonder I can even pass gas.

    I look at beautiful art on the internet and I think, "I can do that!" Yet when the rubber hits the road....I am lacking.

    You realize that this is just me cavetching about stuff. It really has nothing to do with what will get done. I will persist and get things done. I will do that! I just want to find something thrilling to make. Come on muse, get with the plan!  

Hello Love - Day 20

    I was thinking about my grandma Stevens today. To me she was awesome and I hope I can be as good as or better grandmother than her. She had great interest in doing things.

    The memory that I seem to be stuck on today was when she use to go black berry picking. She'd set out first thing in the morning and she would take any of us, who wanted to go, with her.

     She would be dressed from her head to her feet in anti-chigger / anti-snake gear; straw hat, long sleeve shirt, overalls, rubber boots.

     Off we'd go down the road and up the hill side, through a thicket of briars and into the berries. When the season was young, and we'd hit the patch, not a lot of berries would hit the pail. We'd be busy eating them. Fortunately, we had several places that we'd harvest from, so eventually, we'd get a decent haul of berries and head home.

     As I was thinking about this today, I remembered the summers when my  sisters and I would go on our own and pick blackberries to sale; mostly to our sweet aunts. We sold blackberries, returned drink bottles, and did chores to earn money to take on our trips to my sister, JoAnne's house.

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  I finished writing the above entry, and closed the laptop; finished for the day with 20 minutes to spare. Then, I started watching Charlie Rose. He had a round table of historians talking about U.S. presidents, as this is President's Day. And suddenly I remembered that my daughter and I started talking today about President Kennedy's death. I was ten years old and his murder scars me to this day. I choked up as I talked to my daughter. It's still hard to talk about it.

    I was in the 5th grade. We had come back from lunch and maybe even a short recess. I want to say it was around 1 o'clock. My teacher entered the room. She was such a beautiful woman; young, blond hair and such a good person to us. As she walked to the front of the class, she started to cry. This shocked me and upsets me, even now. And then she told us that the president had been shot and killed. There was a gasp among all us kids, except for one boy, whose name I will not mention here because he is a man now and may feel badly about his poor behavior at that time, anyway, he did give a "yay". We all looked at him immediately and I think the teacher scolded him - not harshly but more that he should show respect.

    It was a hard time in my family too because my Mama was gone to my sister, JoAnne's house to help with my new nephew, William.  Mama just knew how to soothe, sad souls. Dad was a Republican, he didn't like President Kennedy, but he never said an unkind thing about the deceased president from that time on. He fussed a bit about the constant news coverage but he was respectful and that now, means so much to me.

   There was a lot of news coverage. They covered the actual shooting, the grassy knoll, the shooting of Oswald, the First family, the siblings of the President. Anything and anyone they could think of to cover who might be even remotely associated with President Kennedy, was covered. It was a bit much

    But I do appreciate the coverage of the president's funeral. Jackie Kennedy did this nation a great service in planning things out so beautifully. The image that stays with me to this day is the riderless horse that made it's way down the street with the funeral procession. I cried and still do when I think of that man, losing his life, in service to this country. And his children, so young and now without a Dad. And me without my Mom. I was so glad when she came home.

Sunday, Sunday - Day 19

    Sunday night is always slow for me. I use to think that Sundays depressed me. I'm not the only one who has this feeling. My daughter says she feels that way on Sundays, too. It's the end of the week. Most of the television shows are sick dramas -Without a Trace, Criminal Intent, Booth & Bones (though that's not the name of the show, it's just the main characters). All about murder or horrible treatment of the victims.

     I don't spend a lot of time on this stuff. I can't handle it; though I do watch the Closer. I love Brenda Lee Johnson. Their show doesn't concentrate so much on the murder but more on breaking the case. Love Brenda!

     Recently, I was laying awake one Sunday night and another thought came to me in terms of that uneasy feeling on Sundays. There I was, in the dark and I started to examine just what I was really feeling. Was I depressed? No. It actually felt more like some weird form of excitement. I was looking forward to Monday!

    Sunday was more like running my motor in neutral; waiting to get back to work on Monday.

    You may think it strange but I'm feeling like it's a break through.

    

My brothers - Day 18

   How come it is that I walk around with all kinds of ideas to write about during the day, yet, when it comes time to start writing, my mind's a blank?

   I grew up in a fantastic family in North Carolina. It was a large family .. and well.. it still is. With a family like mine, there's always a story.

    My parents loved each other. And maybe a good love is not an exciting story. Perhaps a troubled love makes the better story, but their's was a good love story. Dad use to chase Mom through the house threatening to tickle her feet. I still smile when I think of the two of them and their innocent flirting.

   There's my three brothers, each of them perfect in their own ways. I always looked up to my oldest brother. He had courage and chutzpa. He was and is not afraid to stand up to any situation. He played baseball when I was a kid and we would go to the games and watch him and my other brother play ball. They were giants of the local baseball team .. at least to me.

    My middle brother was a fantastic athlete. He was over 6 foot tall in his teens. He had blond hair which he wore in a crew cut, and he had china blue eyes and was built like an Adonis. He was beautiful. He would step to the plate and you could see the outfield back up, not a few steps but by yards. The infield would get nervous, moving about, making ready. They all knew it was coming. Bam! You'd hear the crack of the bat and it was all over because my brother had hit another home run. I can still see his frame stretched out, making contact with the ball, like something you'd see in a "hitting the baseball" illustration.  I treasure my childhood memories of him because he's in heaven now.

     My youngest brother is next older than me. There was nine of us kids. This brother is father earth; he loves gardening. He is all about home and his family. He's a level headed, good counselor whom I was constantly squabbling with when I was a kid; always wanting to be the boss of me. It makes me grin when I think of it.