Dealing with Depression

Something personal has set me to feeling a bit depressed lately. I'm usually a happy lady, born with an overdose of endorphins, so when I get this way, I cannot stand myself. (Candy Minx can verify this; she caught me on the phone a few months ago during one of these low periods...I'm sorry Candy. Truly. It's not the norm for me.)

The fastest way for me to pull myself out of this rock-bottom mood is to get together with some of my friends. So that's what I did today:



Kelly, Chris, Aimee..an unidentified young guy whose name I do not remember and who was hanging out with Shawn.

Speaking of which, what the heck happened to Shawn?? He was there with us too but he disappeared, dang it! And my best friend, Cynthia, was there but she chose to stay inside and continue working on her thesis. (She has already defended her dissertation, so she is FINALLY! one step away from obtaining her PhD.) You might remember Kelly from the pictures of friends I had lunch with a couple of weeks ago. Oh yes..and Ashley was there but she was busy inside the bistro, where we met.

Kelly, as usual, the clown, said "Smile! We're going to be blogged again!!" (Half of the visitors on this site from my area are these friends, hoping to read about themselves. yeah yeah yeah, Kelly.. don't even TRY to deny it. You know you're an attention magnet!)

I am blessed with my friends. And am I still blue?

Well, somewhat...but I'm sure it will pass. Like everything else.

Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

Enter ROMEO
ROMEO
He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

JULIET appears above at a window

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
It is my lady, O, it is my love!
O, that she knew she were!
She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?
Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!

JULIET
Ay me!

ROMEO
She speaks:
O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head
As is a winged messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes
Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds
And sails upon the bosom of the air.

JULIET
O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

ROMEO
[Aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

JULIET
'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What's in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
And for that name which is no part of thee
Take all myself.

ROMEO
I take thee at thy word:
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

JULIET
What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night
So stumblest on my counsel?

ROMEO
By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee;
Had I it written, I would tear the word.

JULIET
My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words
Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound:
Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?

ROMEO
Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.

JULIET
How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?
The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,
And the place death, considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.

ROMEO
With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls;
For stony limits cannot hold love out,
And what love can do that dares love attempt;
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.

JULIET
If they do see thee, they will murder thee.

ROMEO
Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye
Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet,
And I am proof against their enmity.

JULIET
I would not for the world they saw thee here.

ROMEO
I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight;
And but thou love me, let them find me here:
My life were better ended by their hate,
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.

JULIET
By whose direction found'st thou out this place?

ROMEO
By love, who first did prompt me to inquire;
He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes.
I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far
As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea,
I would adventure for such merchandise.

JULIET
Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face,
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny
What I have spoke: but farewell compliment!
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,'
And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st,
Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries
Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,
And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light:
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware,
My true love's passion: therefore pardon me,
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.

ROMEO
Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops--

JULIET
O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,
That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

ROMEO
What shall I swear by?

JULIET
Do not swear at all;
Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
Which is the god of my idolatry,
And I'll believe thee.

ROMEO
If my heart's dear love--

JULIET
Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee,
I have no joy of this contract to-night:
It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden;
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be
Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night!
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.
Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest
Come to thy heart as that within my breast!

ROMEO
O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

JULIET
What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?

ROMEO
The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.

JULIET
I gave thee mine before thou didst request it:
And yet I would it were to give again.

ROMEO
Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?

JULIET
But to be frank, and give it thee again.
And yet I wish but for the thing I have:
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.

Nurse calls within

I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu!
Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true.
Stay but a little, I will come again.

Exit, above

ROMEO
O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard.
Being in night, all this is but a dream,
Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.

Re-enter JULIET, above

JULIET
Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.
If that thy bent of love be honourable,
Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow,
By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite;
And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay
And follow thee my lord throughout the world.

Nurse
[Within] Madam!

JULIET
I come, anon.--But if thou mean'st not well,
I do beseech thee--

Nurse
[Within] Madam!

JULIET
By and by, I come:--
To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief:
To-morrow will I send.

ROMEO
So thrive my soul--

JULIET
A thousand times good night!

Exit, above

ROMEO
A thousand times the worse, to want thy light.
Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from
their books,
But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.

Retiring

Re-enter JULIET, above

JULIET
Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's voice,
To lure this tassel-gentle back again!
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud;
Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine,
With repetition of my Romeo's name.

ROMEO
It is my soul that calls upon my name:
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,
Like softest music to attending ears!

JULIET
Romeo!

ROMEO
My dear?

JULIET
At what o'clock to-morrow
Shall I send to thee?

ROMEO
At the hour of nine.

JULIET
I will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then.
I have forgot why I did call thee back.

ROMEO
Let me stand here till thou remember it.

JULIET
I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
Remembering how I love thy company.

ROMEO
And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any other home but this.

JULIET
'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone:
And yet no further than a wanton's bird;
Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.

ROMEO
I would I were thy bird.

JULIET
Sweet, so would I:
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good night, good night! parting is such
sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

Exit above

ROMEO
Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!
Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!
Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell,
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.

Exit

One, Two, Cha Cha Cha II

(See previous post..)



Isn't this a gorgeous dance? And, of course, females need to wear those high heels. It's just not the same without them.

One, Two, Cha Cha Cha!

Just about everyone who knows me knows that I love to dance. And most of those folks can tell you I particularly love the Latin dances.

Yesterday I bought this:



This dvd is wonderful. Not only does it make it easy to learn the steps for the samba, salsa and the cha cha, it provides great music. In fact, the music was provided by a live band at the Conga Room in Los Angeles.

There's a little disclaimer at the beginning warning you to drink water prior to following the dvd, and to keep water near you because you will have so much fun that you will forget to rehydrate. I figured, "Oh, pshaw, that's hype." No it is not!
I love to stick this in my computer and dance my workout time away. What fun! And you know what? I had so much fun that I forgot to drink water.

Kathy divides the workout into three parts; the first is to learn the basic simple steps. the second to advance it a little, and the third puts it all together.

I make this promise to you; if you get this dvd, you will be dancing the samba like you were made to dance to samba, almost from the get go. You will feel your hips moving, your shoulders moving, your entire body moving. Glance into a mirror while doing it and you will be amazed with how great you look..nothing is as sexy as someone dancing the samba.




Man, I love this! Once you learn, let me know and we'll go cha-cha-cha-ing the time away. And don't forget your water bottle!

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
The wonderful, beautiful, sexy SAMBA!!

The Fabio Fan and the Bible

We've hired a couple of new kids to work at the bookstore. They're good kids, but they are in the process of being trained, and as such, they do make human errors. This is to be expected and their mistakes are to be forgiven, even tho some make for interesting results.

There are books that are labeled as 'strict on sale dates.' These books, universally, cannot be sold until a specific release date. one example would be the Harry Potter books. We would get those about a week in advance, tightly sealed in totes, which are kept against a back wall in our storage room until the release date arrives. With the Harry Potter books, employees are required to sign away their life, promising to not unseal the totes. This is serious business. A bookstore can be fined mega bucks if one of these strict on sale books finds its way into the hands of a shopper.

Well, one of the most common errors of these new employees lately is that a few of these books have been put on the shelf. Mostly its been paperback romance novels, the sort that might have a Fabio look-alike on the cover, the sort that has little literary value but is popular with lonely ladies who dream that they are the beautiful, lucky, seductress in these books.

This week, several of these found their way into the hands of customers. One lady in particular did not take the fact that I could not sell it to her very lightly. She came up to the register with her pile of romance books and as I began to ring her items up, a little notice popped up, telling me that book had not been released yet.

No problem; this lady seemed to be the typical middle aged southern gentlewoman.

"Honey, I can't sell you this book yet." (southerners love to use little terms of endearment.) I smiled at this very sweet lady and gave her a look that dripped of apology.

She did not say a word. She just stood there, staring at me, not blinking, not moving an inch, as if her entire being had been frozen in time. I set the book aside.

"I...have...been...waiting...for ..this ..book..and..I ..want..it." she could barely get the words out, such was her growing anger. She now looks less like Scarlett O'Hara's mother and more like Cruella De Vil's sister.

"I understand, ma'am. However, the book is a strict-on-sale book and i can't sell it yet..by law.." I am still smiling but I feel trouble brewing in the air.

"It was on the shelf." she informs me.

"Well, yes, i know but you see, we hired a couple of new kids and they did not realize that this book hasn't been released yet."

My gentle southern lady leans over the counter and stares at me dead-eye. Her voice lowers to just above a whisper.

"Give me my book." she whispers.

Jeez, I think to myself. This Fabio guy must be GOOD..

I do not answer her immediately because I'm half afraid she has a butcher knife in her purse and that she might use it on me.

"Ma'am.." I say
"What?" she answers, icily.

"I can't sell you this book."

She stands straight, holding her purse tightly to the front of her camel hair coat. She is in such a state that I notice her short salt and pepper curls on the top of her head are trembling with rage. This woman means business.

"If you do not sell me my book, I will purchase it from your competitor." She raises her chin in defiance and to be honest, I was relieved; turning away customers is not something I prefer to do, but its a whole lot better than having her jump across the counter and hurt me. and on top of that, she has now done thoroughly ticked me off.

I lean slightly toward this southern bitch.

"Ma'am you go right ahead and try that." I can hear my voice getting louder.

"THEY CAN'T SELL IT EITHER!!!"

She harrumphs and quickly exits the store.

The next customer approaches, a nice man with a big Bible in his hand. He sets it on the counter.

"Wow she was nasty!" he says. I just smile and proceed to ring him up..and then I see it, there on the front of his Bible..a 40% off sale sticker..on a book that I know is not on sale.

"Sir, I'm sorry but this book is not supposed to be 40% off."

He says nothing for a second.

"What do you mean, it's not supposed to be 40% off?"

"Well, we hired these new kids and they made a mistake..."

He leans a tad toward me.

"I..want...this...book..at..the...discounted..price.."His anger was such that he could hardly get out the words.

I looked at him for a second.

"Yes sir," I said, and discounted the book.

Fabio

FAT Can Kill You

Did you know you can kill someone and get off with a minimal sentence if you hire a really really fat person to sit on your intended victim and crush him or her to death?

350 lb. Mia Landingham from Cleveland Ohio got drunk and sat on the 120 lb. father of her three children, killing him. This week she was sentenced to a mere three years probation and 100 hours of community service.
Its wrong, wrong wrong!




Didn't she realise he wasn't moving? Or breathing? What did she do, back up on him as he was napping face down on the sofa, sit down while eating another bag of potato chips, not noticing there was a person underneath her?

Oh hogwash. She meant to kill him. She had to realize her weight had the potential to act as a deadly weapon. The guy was lying face down. He couldn't even defend himself by biting her sorry ass.

There is no justice here, none at all. You just can't smother someone by sitting on them, and get away with it. And what can she accomplish by 100 hours of community service? I think she ought to have to go around Cleveland and kill all the rats in town by sitting on them. Now, THAT would approach justice.

Lunch with the Girls

Alyson, Kelly, Tamura, me, Ashley



Tamura laughing at Kelly



Alyson laughing at Kelly



Beautiful Shaneka



Kelly and Alyson



Kelly, startled, when I came from behind and plopped a big kiss on her!

Kelly has a personality similar to Ellen DeGeneres so today's lunch was a two hour long 'laugh until you cry' deal.

Elmer Gantry and My Friend Dennis

My friend Dennis asked me to read Elmer Gantry (Sinclair Lewis,) with him. We didn't have a copy in our store so I ordered two copies and they came in this weekend.

Dennis is bright, bright bright. Capital B. BRIGHT. He doesn't simply read books, he pretty much memorizes them, or at least he memorizes long passages of them.

He is also an expert on 'To Kill A Mockingbird' and on its author, Harper(Nell) Lee. He not only knows her personally, he plays Atticus Finch in the play down in Monroeville (where he and Lee both live). he has played this role worldwide, including Washington DC for the US Senate, Carnegie Hall in NYC, and in London England.

One of the greatest thrills of my life was when Dennis placed in my hands an autographed copy of her book, personally inscribed to Dennis himself. I felt like i was holding the crown jewels. I was in awe.

Dennis, this is to you, my dear man. You have made the promise to me, assured me that you can be held to this promise, that you will appear here at my blog to talk about Elmer Gantry, since I have so graciously agreed to read it with you. Readers of this blog, you are in for a treat. This man is a born storyteller.



Dennis posing with the book.


I can always make him laugh out loud.


(Dennis, you had better get reading. You have an audience waiting..which you and I both know you cannot resist...)

Renascence; A Lesson On Living

I ran across a story on here that has deeply affected me, heart and soul. I stumbled upon it by hitting the 'Next Blog' button. I have not been able to stop thinking about it. I hesitated to address it here, because I wasn't sure if it was kosher to write about someone else's blog without their permission. But this is my blog, and I can write what I want, especially if it has affected me as much as this has. I am not going to include any names or any links, because I think that would be going over a fine line of decency and respect. And if the author of that blog does miraculously happen upon this, please accept my apology but your story is so touching and you are so open about it, and I think you deserve to have others hear and recognise your determination and courage.

This blog was written by a 29 year old woman. Actually, she's been writing in it for a few years and her story really began ten years ago when she was 19. It appears she met a young soldier online, stationed in Germany. They chatted for months before he phoned her and their friendship deepened. Eventually, they met, fell in love and married.

They went on to have four children who are now 3 to 8 years in ages. Our writer shares with us her excitement as she counts down days to when her young husband will return from wherever he was deployed. We share her joy, her strength and and her love for her family.

Most of her early blogging is the typical accounts of a young family. She cooks and shares her recipes with us. She tends to her house . She tells us cute stories about her kids. We read about her husband returning home. And then we feel her concern when he develops pneumonia and is hospitalized.

She writes almost daily. We travel with her as she hunts down people to tend to her kids while she visits the hospital. We read of her frustration with the doctors for not being able to cure her husband. We grow with her in the knowledge of foreign medical terms which she begins to toss out with ease. One day he is better, the next day he is worse. And she wrote it all.

She tells us her husband, tho extremely ill, remains lucid for the most part. She bounces back and forth and then back and forth again and again, one day saying he is well enough that they are considering sending him home, and the next, that numbers are askew again and he has been readmitted into ICU.

Then, just when we think he is out of the woods, and our lady shares with us her breath of relief, her husband develops a staph infection in his lungs.

Then we suddenly get the news, brief and stark;

"My husband passed this morning."

And if you are like me, you weep for her and her kids and for the husband who must leave his young family. She goes on writing daily. It is therapeutic for her. She tells us how, when her husband died, she went into a stairwell at the hospital and screamed so loud that her ears and the walls surrounding the stairs, rang. She shares with us her concern over her children. She even tells us how, the day before he passed away, he had become ill tempered and told her to leave the hospital and not return and how angry that made her. We go with her on her trip to the funeral director, and hear her choices, based on what little she can remember that her husband had said to her through the years about his wishes.

And then the hard part begins; her grief. She sleeps in his clothes. She washes her face with the cloth he used which she had left where he last put it. And day by day, she writes it all.

We are happy for her when she cooks her first turkey (a job that had always been his) and it turns out "awesome!" We mentally hug her when she writes that she is only in her twenties and knows she will find happiness again. We feel somewhat intrusive when we read her letters to her husband that she periodically posts, telling him how she misses the little things..like the "smack on her ass" as she walks by. We want to weep as she writes to him that she needs to move on but that she will always love him.

Her husband has been gone for just over a year now. And as her blog progresses, we learn that she is in the process of purchasing a house and planning a trip to Disney World for herself and her four kids. She still talks about her grief and longing but she has moved on to focus more and more on her present and future. And I admire her strength, so very very much.

Ever since I read her blog, I have lost patience with people. It makes me angry to listen to their complaints. I do not care that your husband had mean words for you or that you have gained weight or that your work sucks. I want to scream at you to shut up, to just SHUT THE FUCK UP! I want you instead, to read this poem, written by an eighteen year old Edna St. Vincent Millay, called "Renascence" (which means 'rebirth')


Renascence

All I could see from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood;
I turned and looked another way,
And saw three islands in a bay.
So with my eyes I traced the line
Of the horizon, thin and fine,
Straight around till I was come
Back to where I'd started from;
And all I saw from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood.
Over these things I could not see;
These were the things that bounded me;
And I could touch them with my hand,
Almost, I thought, from where I stand.
And all at once things seemed so small
My breath came short, and scarce at all.
But, sure, the sky is big, I said;
Miles and miles above my head;
So here upon my back I'll lie
And look my fill into the sky.
And so I looked, and, after all,
The sky was not so very tall.
The sky, I said, must somewhere stop,
And -- sure enough! -- I see the top!
The sky, I thought, is not so grand;
I 'most could touch it with my hand!
And reaching up my hand to try,
I screamed to feel it touch the sky.
I screamed, and -- lo! -- Infinity
Came down and settled over me;
Forced back my scream into my chest,
Bent back my arm upon my breast,
And, pressing of the Undefined
The definition on my mind,
Held up before my eyes a glass
Through which my shrinking sight did pass
Until it seemed I must behold
Immensity made manifold;
Whispered to me a word whose sound
Deafened the air for worlds around,
And brought unmuffled to my ears
The gossiping of friendly spheres,
The creaking of the tented sky,
The ticking of Eternity.
I saw and heard, and knew at last
The How and Why of all things, past,
And present, and forevermore.
The Universe, cleft to the core,
Lay open to my probing sense
That, sick'ning, I would fain pluck thence
But could not, -- nay! But needs must suck
At the great wound, and could not pluck
My lips away till I had drawn
All venom out. -- Ah, fearful pawn!
For my omniscience paid I toll
In infinite remorse of soul.
All sin was of my sinning, all
Atoning mine, and mine the gall
Of all regret. Mine was the weight
Of every brooded wrong, the hate
That stood behind each envious thrust,
Mine every greed, mine every lust.
And all the while for every grief,
Each suffering, I craved relief
With individual desire, --
Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire
About a thousand people crawl;
Perished with each, -- then mourned for all!
A man was starving in Capri;
He moved his eyes and looked at me;
I felt his gaze, I heard his moan,
And knew his hunger as my own.
I saw at sea a great fog bank
Between two ships that struck and sank;
A thousand screams the heavens smote;
And every scream tore through my throat.
No hurt I did not feel, no death
That was not mine; mine each last breath
That, crying, met an answering cry
From the compassion that was I.
All suffering mine, and mine its rod;
Mine, pity like the pity of God.
Ah, awful weight! Infinity
Pressed down upon the finite Me!
My anguished spirit, like a bird,
Beating against my lips I heard;
Yet lay the weight so close about
There was no room for it without.
And so beneath the weight lay I
And suffered death, but could not die.


Long had I lain thus, craving death,
When quietly the earth beneath
Gave way, and inch by inch, so great
At last had grown the crushing weight,
Into the earth I sank till I
Full six feet under ground did lie,
And sank no more, -- there is no weight
Can follow here, however great.
From off my breast I felt it roll,
And as it went my tortured soul
Burst forth and fled in such a gust
That all about me swirled the dust.


Deep in the earth I rested now;
Cool is its hand upon the brow
And soft its breast beneath the head
Of one who is so gladly dead.
And all at once, and over all
The pitying rain began to fall;
I lay and heard each pattering hoof
Upon my lowly, thatched roof,
And seemed to love the sound far more
Than ever I had done before.
For rain it hath a friendly sound
To one who's six feet underground;
And scarce the friendly voice or face:
A grave is such a quiet place.


The rain, I said, is kind to come
And speak to me in my new home.
I would I were alive again
To kiss the fingers of the rain,
To drink into my eyes the shine
Of every slanting silver line,
To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze
From drenched and dripping apple-trees.
For soon the shower will be done,
And then the broad face of the sun
Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth
Until the world with answering mirth
Shakes joyously, and each round drop
Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top.
How can I bear it; buried here,
While overhead the sky grows clear
And blue again after the storm?
O, multi-colored, multiform,
Beloved beauty over me,
That I shall never, never see
Again! Spring-silver, autumn-gold,
That I shall never more behold!
Sleeping your myriad magics through,
Close-sepulchred away from you!
O God, I cried, give me new birth,
And put me back upon the earth!
Upset each cloud's gigantic gourd
And let the heavy rain, down-poured
In one big torrent, set me free,
Washing my grave away from me!


I ceased; and through the breathless hush
That answered me, the far-off rush
Of herald wings came whispering
Like music down the vibrant string
Of my ascending prayer, and -- crash!
Before the wild wind's whistling lash
The startled storm-clouds reared on high
And plunged in terror down the sky,
And the big rain in one black wave
Fell from the sky and struck my grave.
I know not how such things can be;
I only know there came to me
A fragrance such as never clings
To aught save happy living things;
\A sound as of some joyous elf
Singing sweet songs to please himself,
And, through and over everything,
A sense of glad awakening.
The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear,
Whispering to me I could hear;
I felt the rain's cool finger-tips
Brushed tenderly across my lips,
Laid gently on my sealed sight,
And all at once the heavy night
Fell from my eyes and I could see, --
A drenched and dripping apple-tree,
A last long line of silver rain,
A sky grown clear and blue again.
And as I looked a quickening gust
Of wind blew up to me and thrust
Into my face a miracle
Of orchard-breath, and with the smell, --
I know not how such things can be! --
I breathed my soul back into me.
Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I
And hailed the earth with such a cry
As is not heard save from a man
Who has been dead, and lives again.
About the trees my arms I wound;
Like one gone mad I hugged the ground;
I raised my quivering arms on high;
I laughed and laughed into the sky,
Till at my throat a strangling sob
Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb
Sent instant tears into my eyes;
O God, I cried, no dark disguise
Can e'er hereafter hide from me
Thy radiant identity!
Thou canst not move across the grass
But my quick eyes will see Thee pass,
Nor speak, however silently,
But my hushed voice will answer Thee.
I know the path that tells Thy way
Through the cool eve of every day;
God, I can push the grass apart
And lay my finger on Thy heart!


The world stands out on either side
No wider than the heart is wide;
Above the world is stretched the sky, --
No higher than the soul is high.
The heart can push the sea and land
Farther away on either hand;
The soul can split the sky in two,
And let the face of God shine through.
But East and West will pinch the heart
That can not keep them pushed apart;
And he whose soul is flat -- the sky
Will cave in on him by and by.


And now, go outside and feel the sun on your face or the rain on your face. And then, if you're able, plan a trip to Disney World.

History and Regrets of a Reader; II

You know how you can be at the library and a particular book will call out your name? You might spend hours wandering up and down the aisles of books, but you keep going back to THAT ONE BOOK, the one you really have second thoughts about checking out, but invariably, you will pull it out and stick in the pile in your arms. That was the case with this book: 'Becoming a Woman: A Biography of Christine Jorgensen (Sexual Minorities in Historical Context).'

For those of you who might not be familiar with Cristine Jorgensen, here is an editorial blurb from Amazon.com:

********************


From Booklist
The most famous transsexual before the term came into use, Christine Jorgensen caused a sensation in the 1950s when newspapers headlined her as the "Sex-Change Freak." She would now be treated very differently, and the hook in Docter's thought-provoking, smoothly written biography is its portrayal of troubled young George, who struggled to accept what he first thought was his homosexuality and, later, gender identity issues (another term then unknown). So intent was he on denying attraction to men and suppressing "perplexing thoughts" that he presented himself "as a far more typical young man than he ever acknowledged to himself." After 30 months of surgery and hormone treatments in Denmark, "Ex-GI Becomes Blonde Beauty," the New York Daily News screamed on December 1, 1952. Pioneers, for that is what 26-year-old Jorgensen was, by definition descry no easy paths and must forge them. Nowadays, former NBA superstar Dennis Rodman can ride his motorcycle to a book signing while wearing a stunning wedding gown. A thoroughly understandable, believable retelling of a once-extraordinary story. Scott, Whitney

*******************

I was young and I decided the hell with it; I was curiouser and curiouser about his transgender business and I decided to find out what this lady..or whatever...was thinking. So, I took it with me to the librarian, turned it face down on the counter and checked it out.

This was years ago and I honestly have to tell you that I remember next to nothing about the author or her story. I do remember not wanting anyone to know I was reading it, however. But read it I did.

A day or so after I finished it, I came home and was horrified to discover that my new puppy had chewed off the entire cover. This was just my luck; I always checked out a fairly large stack of books. Why did this little beagle puppy have to pick that particular one to tear apart? I knew I would have to replace it.

I finally got up my courage and phoned the library.

"My puppy chewed up one of my library books." I said.

"Okay what is your name and the title of the book."

No way was I telling her the title.

"Oh, I think I have the wrong number.." I hung up the phone.

There was only one thing to do. I would buy the book and just turn it in with the others in the book return slot at the library. Whew. Problem solved.

Yeah sure it was. I had to go to the bookstore and buy the book. Unfortunately, they did not have it, so I had to order it. and I did, with much embarrassment.

This would not have been a problem for me today; I would have simply told the librarian, laughed with her about it, and written her a check. And then have waited a long time before going back.

Life is sometimes so much easier for a grown up.

History and Regrets of a Reader.

When I was a kid and I began to become more aware of the concept of death, there were particularly two times in life that dying seemed unbearable; one was Christmas Eve. I was a kid, after all, and the church of my childhood would offer prayers during mass for those in our parish who had recently passed on. This included Christmas Day mass and I would sit there just as sorrowful as could be that somebody died before they got a chance to play with their presents, and also as glad as could be that it wasn't me. (My gifts had long been unwrapped prior to services.)

The other bad time to die, in my estimation, was during the night after closing a book, especially one that I was good and hooked on and racing to find out the conclusion, and not being able to find out how it ended. This bothered me even worse than dying on Christmas Eve.

I was the youngest of three girls, and both of my sisters loved to read. I could not wait until I learned, too. Then I would be a 'big girl!' I remember starting first grade and the teacher gathered a small group of us in chairs placed in a circle and told us, "You are going to begin to learn how to go on adventures,"

I remember this. I remember my teacher telling us that. And I remember being so excited that I could hardly breathe! (I also remember this same teacher making me stand behind a door because I wouldn't stop talking, but that's a different story; and I forgave her because she taught me to read...)

Anyway, I was ready to begin my adventures. And I was a quick learner with a good memory, so it didn't take long for me to get into it. I have been 'getting into it' ever since.

I read all the time. I remember one summer after 2nd grade. we were told if we read something like 25 books during the summer we would win a prize. I read over 200, wrote down each of their titles, and bustled off to school to show my new teacher and get my just rewards. The teacher took one look at my list and told me I was fibbing. I was heartbroken. But all was rectified when my mother went to the school and assured the teacher I really did read them all. And I got my prize.

When I was in the 5th grade, I decided I was going to be the youngest psychologist on the world. I was going to straighten out all the troubled kids of all the most famous movie stars. I would become famous myself for straightening out these confused, spoiled rich kids. Only problem was, I didn't know a thing about psychology. So off I traipsed to the library and checked out several college level psychology books. I was determined to begin training for my illustrious career, raced home, ran into my bedroom and plopped on the bed. I opened the first book. (I believe it was on "Abnormal Psychology.") Whoops! Thee were some of the biggest words i had ever seen in my life. My spirits and dreams were wiped out. How can I treat these kids of the movie stars if I couldn't understand the books? It turned out okay tho, because within the next couple of years I decided I was going to be a nun instead. And I already knew how to pray.

By ninth grade, I fell in love with Shakespeare. I could not read enough of his works. only problem was, I had nobody to discuss his stuff with because kids my age did not have the same love for him that I did. In fact, they seemed to hate him.

As the years went by, I read more and more. I even took several psychology classes in college and understood perfectly what I read, and usually had a GPA 0f 4.0 (honest!) Now I work in a book store, know a few folks who love to read as much as I do, and all is well. And I even read all of War and Peace this summer, tho I do not think I understood it as well as I could have.

And now one of my biggest fears about death? It still holds close to what it did as a kid; that I will die before I read all I hope to read.

Life is just too short.

Pompeii

From the time I was a little girl, I've heard about Pompeii. I'm Italian and this took place in Italy, but my father's fascination with this city and its catastrophe went deeper than that. He owned a slew of books about it and often talked about it and the 'encased' bodies that lie there, right where they died.

Today I was talking to a young woman who had recently taken a trip there and she told me about one particular 'mummy,' that of a young pregnant girl:



I thought about this through the day. In fact it haunted me. The person who told me about her said experts did know a little about her history. I wanted to know more.

I found this, from msnbc.com:

'At around 1:00 p.m. on Aug. 24, 79 A.D., Pompeii residents saw a pine tree-shaped column of smoke bursting from Vesuvius. Reaching nine miles into the sky, the column began spewing a thick pumice rain. Many residents rushed in the streets, trying to leave the city.

"At that moment, Polybius' house was inhabited by 12 people, including a young woman in advanced pregnancy. They decided to remain in the house, most likely because it was safer for the pregnant woman. Given the circumstances, it was the right strategy," Scarpati said.

Once considered relatively innocuous by volcanologists, this first phase of the eruption in fact produced 38 percent of the deaths.

"Contrary to what was previously believed, a large number of deaths occurred in the first hours of the eruption. Many skeletons of those who tried to escape show fractured skulls, meaning that they died from collapsing roofs or large fragments falling from the eruptive column," Scarpati said.

By examining the density of volcanic deposits in relation to an accumulation rate of six inches per hour, the researchers concluded that it took up to six hours for the roofs of Polybius' house to collapse.

At around 7:00 p.m., by which time the front part the house had collapsed, the inhabitants took shelter in the rear rooms, whose steeper roofs had not been damaged by the falling material.

"There were three adult males, three adult females of various ages, four boys, one girl, one child and one fetus in the last month of intrauterine life. The fetus was associated with the skeleton of a young (16 to 18-year-old) female," Scarpati said.

Analysis of mitochondrial DNA, which is passed down through the maternal line, revealed that six individuals belonged to the same family.

"The age of five out of six individuals suggests that they were siblings. Another subject, about 25 to 30 years old, might have been a cousin. The three adult women were unrelated," molecular biologist Marilena Cipollaro, of the Second University of Naples, told Discovery News.

Cipollaro's analysis also revealed that two related subjects suffered from spina bifida, a birth defect resulting in an incomplete closure of the spinal column.

Most likely, the group of people in Polybius' house included the parents, their children, a cousin and his young, pregnant wife, plus a pair of servants.

They all witnessed the terrible evolution of the eruption. In the early hours of Aug. 25, a nearly 10-foot-thick carpet of pumice had already covered the streets and bottoms of buildings.

Polybius' family perished in their home's back rooms.'

So we know she was young, perhaps 17 years of age and she was in her eighth month of pregnancy. See how she lies there, as if trying to cover her mouth? Was she lying on her belly to try to protect her unborn child from falling debris?

She was creating life only to have it preserved forever in its death.

Why didn't they try to escape the ashes? It seems they were rozen in time, right where they stood.

This video is really good tho, for some reason, a bit of theological explanation is tossed in at the end. I wouldn't have posted it except, prior to that, there are some really good excavation shots:




This is my favorite, tho. I have the idea it was a video put together by an teenager. She did a great job.

One Glass of Red Wine

I received some wonderful..(I think)..news today; the doctor says a glass of red wine at night would be good for me. Now, I have not had a single alcoholic drink for the past ten years. Not that i had a drinking problem in the past. Nosiree. In fact, I was the happiest drunk on this big blue ball. One drink was all it took, and I was the life of any party.

I have never had a bad drinking spree in my life, tho I did bid a horrible farewell to half a bottle of tequila once. (My friends called me 'In/Out' for a month after.)
But even that wasn't why I quit; I quit because I had slowed down to drinking only once every other month or so and I found I simply could not hold my likker. One drink, one little glass of wine, and I became a clown. i would have a glass of wine and end up standing in the center of the kitchen dancing the can-can. In front of the kids. And I mean, one glass of wine. Of course, the kids thought that was the mot fun ever. But I felt ashamed. Well, after.

So, I decided if one glass of cheap wine could make me that silly, I didn't need it.

But tonight, I am having a glass of wine. On Doctor's go ahead. So off I trekked to the store to pick up my bottle of booze. I didn't realize there was such a choice at Winn Dixie! I had no idea what I wanted, only that it had to be red. Soon this guy turned down the wine aisle and stopped in front of the shelf where I was standing. He studied the labels so I figured he must know his wine.

"Excuse me, sir?" I said. "Do you know anything about wine?"

He looked at me for a second.
"Yeah i know to only get what SHE tells me to get."

i wondered if SHE was someone a whole lot more savvy about wine than I was. I imagine she was, because all I remember about wine in my past was 1.) Uncle Ernie made it in his cellar and 2.) my friend Debbie used to like to get a magnum of Blue Nun and share it with the rest of us in her parked car, until she began to weep over whatever boy was causing a crisis in her life at that given time and we would take her home drop her off, and ride off with her car and what was left of her Blue Nun.

This nice gentleman did help me choose a wine. A Merlot.


I had also picked up a prescription and half a dozen cans of cat food. But I was in my usual hurry and didn't stop to get a cart. It is not easy to carry a large purse, a prescription, six cans of cat food and a fairly large bottle of Merlot in your arms, sans a cart. And of course, there was a long line at every register.

I mad a quick mental evaluation of which line was the shortest, got behind the last lady there and prayed I did not drop the wine. Within a few minutes, a teenage couple got in line behind me. They began to whisper and I saw them eyeing my Merlot. (not that I'm paranoid over my booze or anything). The boy looked like he was thinking of grabbing it and running.

"Touch my wine and my foot WILL interfere with your puberty." I thought to myself.

By this time my arm was aching. I looked at the front of the line where an elderly lady was writing a check. The cashier told her there was automatic checking, but our elderly lady didn't want that; she studied the cashier for a minute.

"What did you say?" she asked. (Great. She can't hear..just as well, because I've started to cuss.)

By now I can feel the wine bottle slowly slipping. And as I feel that, my cellphone begins to ring. Its lost somewhere in the bowels of my purse and there is no way I can get to it. But then I start to think, what if its one of my kids and they're in trouble and mom cant help them because her arms are full of wine bottles. (ok, ok it was one bottle, but you get my point..)

I notice there is now a small edge of the counter available to me so I set down the bottle, which has already seemed to cause me trouble, and fetched the phone out of the purse's bowels. Sure enough, there is a message from my daughter.

"Mom,call me when you get this. Christy left a really mean message on my facebook!'

Good grief.

Anyway, now I am home, and I have my Merlot and tonight after dinner dishes are done, I am opening the bottle and having my first drink in ten years. I'm sure I'll end up online so if you're looking for some cheap entertainment tonight, look no further.

A Kiss Is Still A Kiss In Casablanca

Okay, so I wrote a few posts back that I don't cry; Negate that comment right now because I have just watched this movie and I have sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Poor Ilsa. She is destined to never be happy, destined to own a wretchedly stinging heart for the rest of her life. How can Rick possibly think she has no regrets now? He is clueless when it comes to a woman's heart.

I, Marshmallow

About a month or so ago, my son's girlfriend appeared at our door wearing a gorgeous white jacket, waist length with a big hood edged in faux fur. It really was beautiful and I not only told her how much I loved it, I also made her hand it to me so I could try it on.

A few days later my son and his girlfriend bounded up our stairs to find me,

"Mommy!" Kim exclaimed (yep, she calls me mommy and yep, I melt each time..) I looked up and the both of them were beaming. I noticed they had a very large bag in tow.

"Oh, guys, you didn't buy me something again, did you? I love you both but please don't spend your money on me."

They looked so crestfallen that I wished I had just kept my mouth shut.

'..But give it to me!" I grabbed it out of Kim's hands and, again, they beamed. Inside the bag was a coat, identical to the one I had admired on Kim.

"You liked it so much that we put our money together and bought you one." These two kids stood there looking soo proud of themselves.

I put it on and modeled it for them and gave them huge hugs. (I also offered to reimburse them for the cost of the coat, but they wouldn't hear of it, bless there hearts.)

Now, we are in the throes of an Arctic cold snap. I live in the deep south and we are not used to this sort of constant brutal cold weather. But, I am as snug as a bug in a rug while wearing my new white, puffy coat with the faux fur on the hood.
I was heading out the door recently when my son came out of his room and down the stairs.

"Ma! You look like such a cutey patootey in that coat!"

I stared at him for a sec.
"Ok, kid, what do you want?"
"Nothing. You just look so cute in that coat."

Well, that made my morning. When your 20 year old son tells you that you look cute, you must look, well, cute! I felt good. Real good. Until I ran into Robert.

Robert is this sweetheart kid I know who went to school with my kid.

"Hey Beej! Howya doin'?"

"I'm good Robert." I turned around in a full circle."How do I look in my new coat Ray and Kim bought me?"

Robert studied me thoughtfully.

"You look like a marshmallow." he started to walk away. "Gotta go to work. See you later."

I watched him walk away.

"You don't think I look like a cutey patootey?"

"You look like a marshmallow, all puffy and stuff." he says over his shoulder to me.

that night I enter my door and my son is standing there with a bag of cookies in his hand.

"Hey, mom."

"Hey..I saw Robert today. He said I look like a marshmallow in this coat."

My son grabs another cookie out of the bag.

"Well, yeah but you re a cute marshmallow."

Just goes to show you, pride truly does come before a fall. But, and this is a big but..over the last week I may resemble a marshmallow...BUT!...if so, I am a roasted one.. my new coat keeps me warm' And that's good enough for me.

Roll Tide

Lets get this straight right from the get go; I am not a football kind of person. I do not understand a thing about it. I do not know why grown men want to jump on top of each other over a stupid looking little ball. I mean, we women would reason it out.

"You want a turn to run with this ball? Okay! We share. Kids! Come see how we share in order to solve a problem. See? When you use your words, you don't need to jump on people and hurt their bodies!"

Its a game that seems to me should take maybe an hour to play. But then you have these guys in stripes jumping up and down, complete with silly hand signals, and they stop the game. I have no idea why they want to make it longer. But this game, which should take an hour can take four times that long. this is not bull; I really know nothing about the game. But I do know folks go crazy over it.

We moved here from Tallahassee Florida. Anne and Bobby Bowden lived down the road from my house. I had no idea who they were. The first time I met Anne, she was signing up for the gym where I was a trainer.

"Your name?" I asked, filling out her enrollment sheet.
"Anne Bowden."
"How do I spell Bowden, ma'am?" I asked without looking up.

I realized she did not answer. I looked up to see her a step behind where she had been standing, her hand on her chest, her mouth gaping, her eyes open wide.

She spelled her name for me and it wasn't until someone told me a little while later that I knew who she was. She was Bobby Bowden's wife.

"Who's Bobby Bowden?" I asked. Man, I had astounded the entire gym with that one.

Of course, Bobby is the coach for FSU football team, commonly called 'The Noles.'Now I know, and The Bowdens have forgiven me.. i think.. because they gave my kids Bobby's autographed photo.

Now I live in Alabama and tho I still have no idea what football is about, I am going to watch the game tonight. I don't know why, but apparently this is a big game and University of Alabama is playing Texas. I think it's called the BCS Championship game, whatever that is. But because I live in Alabama, I am all excited! So is everyone else in this state. As I said, I don't know why.

Anyway, it starts in a few minutes. I'll let you know if we win.

Roll Tide.
Whatever that means..

Phenomenal Woman

Phenomenal Woman

by Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

It Figures...

Miss Norma is an elegant, Southern gentlewoman who lives in my neighborhood and heads our Forsythia Club. At just about 80 yrs of age, she is a little dynamo; she and her husband Colonel Bill (A true, blue Kentucky Colonel) took a cotton to me almost since the day I moved here, most likely because I had been a lead teacher for Head Start and the Colonel had been commissioned to organize Head Start in this area.

Unfortunately, we lost Bill a few months ago, a great loss to the world. He was a genuine gentleman and we all loved him. I have not seen Miss Norma much at all, but when I have seen her in passing, maybe going by in her car or working in her yard, she's looked sad, of course, but seemed to be coping quite well.

Today, I ws standing at the door to my book store, greeting customers, when a little elegant Southern gentlewoman entered.

"Oh my goodness, it's Miss Norma!" I thought to myself.."she looks so thin."

She looked at me and smiled. I walked over to her, wrapped my arms around her slender body and hugged her. I did not want to let her go and she hugged me back. We stood there hugging away for a few minutes before I let go.

She stood there and stared at me.

"You DO look somewhat familiar.." she said.

And then realized..it was not Miss Norma. In fact, it was nobody I had ever seen before.

Boy, did I ever feel like an idiot.

'UM, ma'am, where do you live?" I asked, nervously.

She named a town about an hour up the road.

Nope, definitely not Miss Norma.

She stood there and smiled at me (thank God!). I explained I thought she was someone else and told her I was sorry. She patted my arm.

"It's okay, honey. Maybe we'll end up best friends.."

Unfortunately, a couple of our regulars witnessed this all and word spread quickly of my stupid move.

The ribbing has already begun and it'll be a long time before I live this down.

Rodrigo y Gabriela

About two weeks ago, we hired a quiet young man named Chris. He's an introspective kind of guy, my son's age (20) who talks little and would not stand out in a crowd in any way. In fact, I'm pretty sure he chooses to fade into the background, wherever he is. But he caught my interest one morning, not too long ago, when he came to work carrying a guitar case.

I am a sucker for this instrument. You play it, I am there, listening to your licks, watching your fingers. I grew up with a father who was a genius on the guitar so my love for it comes naturally.

I do not remember, offhand, what brand it was, only that it was a beautiful guitar and had a deep resonant sound to it. I watched Chris take it out of the case and strum it. I looked at this red haired young fellow play, his face lit up, his fingers moving rapidly over the frets. And he became my new best friend.

We talked a bit about guitars and players and our favorites and he wrote this on a scrap of paper and handed it to me:

Rodrigo y Gabriela.

"When you go home, look them up on youtube." he said.

So I did. And when I did that, I sat in my chair and wondered how in the world did I miss these two guitarists? Here's what I found:




And this made my knees buckle:



I could be happy sitting for the rest of my life, listening to these two.

The Gift

I think a flyer was handed out through my town:



ATTENTION ALL BITCHES, BASTARDS, MIDDLE AGED MEN
IN THE THROES OF HORMONAL ONSLAUGHTS, AND PHLEGM
FILLED, FAT, ACNE FACED, DEPRESSED ADOLESCENTS !!!



BEEJ WILL BE WORKING AT THE LITTLE BOOKSTORE
AROUND THE CORNER BETWEEN 9AM AND 5PM. THIS
IS YOUR OPPORTUNITY TO GO AND FACE THE CHALLENGE
OF TRYING TO MAKE HER CRY. PLEASE ARRIVE EARLY AS
WE ARE CERTAIN THAT THERE WILL BE A LARGE GROUP
OF PARTICIPANTS.

THANK YOU AND GOOD LUCK!!




Okay. first of all let me assure you, I refuse to cry. I do not care if you stick me with pins, kill my cat, spit in my face or love and then leave me, you will not make me cry. I have been close on several occasions during which I bite down hard on the insides of my cheeks to keep from crying.

But I came close yesterday.

I swear, they handed that flyer out to every nasty person within a 50 mile radius. I got them all. If it wasn't the pimply faced fat boy, nauseating me with phlegm sucking sounds, asking me to look up a half dozen books that haven't even been released yet while a line begins to snake through the aisles, then it was either the fat faced middle aged/elderly males hitting on me, or the women with rods up their youknowwhats, acting superior and snooty and downright insulting.

My last customer of the day almost won the contest. I was on the brink of tears by the time she left. It had become a contest; the nastier she became, the lovelier I became. She would hurl a hurtful comment as if it were a javelin and I would respond with a "Well, you have a blessed day, ma'am." I did this to piss her off. Big mistake, because it worked.

After dealing with her, I went outside to lick my wounds. Suddenly, I hear a lot of noise in the parking lot, and there are a half dozen or so young men and one lovely young woman walking toward me. the guys each have a musical instrument, mostly guitars but also one drum. I think it was a bongo, but I don't really know.

Anyway, they come up to me.

"Want to hear a song?" one asks.

"No." I say. I do not need this right now. I think to myself.

"Yes you do! Whats your favorite color."

"I don't answer for a second but then tell them, "pink."

They laugh and slap one another on the back.

"Our band is called Pink for President!" one tells me.

I ask them where they are from but they insist they are local. (It's obvious to me they are not.)

They set down in a semi circle around me. Next thing I know, they are playing and singing this to me:



So there I am, all by myself, surrounded by a group of young men who are singing to me while a young pretty girl is taking photos, and I can't help myself, I am smiling and then laughing and tapping time with my toes and dancing where I'm sitting. And you know what? They were good! In fact, they were GREAT! They had no idea that I had suffered through 8 hours of torment by a bunch of miserable bastards. And, at that point, either did I!

After they finished, I stood up and applauded and they gave me a group hug.

"What's your name?" one asked.

"Beej." I tell them.

"Cool name!" they agree.

"Y'all HAVE to be professional. "I say. "Are you playing around here?"

"yep, we're playing at Herman's on January 27th. Can you come?

"Will you dedicate a set to me?"

"You got it!"

"Theres a $10 cover charge." one warns me.

"I can handle it." I say and then I thank them and bid them goodbye.

$10 is nothing compared to what they gave me.


Here are 'my boys.'


putting together the studio.

World Less Bright

Princess on the Glass Hill

Here it is, 5:30am on New Year's day. I awoke early, thinking of the oddest thing. It's amazing, the things that are in our minds when we first awaken, isn't it? Who knows where these first thoughts come from? Perhaps a dream.

Anyway, I awoke thinking of something my mother used to call me, ever since I was a little thing, and my father and siblings picked up on. They would call me 'The princess on the glass hill.'

I grew up with this. I had no idea what it meant but I knew from my mother's tone of voice that it was not a good thing. and why I'm thinking of this the first thing in the morning, the very early morning no less? So I jumped on google and looked it up.

First of all, here is a picture of said princess:



How lonely she looks! I am not lonely. In fact, I love my rare solitary time and wish I had more of it. Okay, momma, strike one. This is obviously not me.

Then I remember what she would tell me;

"You sit on top of a glass hill and wait for others to climb it. People are only going to try to reach you for only so long. Sometimes you need to meet them half way."

Huh? I do not! I do not even know what that means.

Am I 'unreachable?' Am I unattainable as a friend? I don't think so. Not a all. I am quick to warm up to folks. I am outgoing and friendly.

Or am I? Is my subconscious trying to tell me I need to change, that I need to become more approachable? Is this what my new years resolution should be?

Heck, I'm not even sure of what this princess' story is about, so I googled that, too.

Click HERE to read the story.

Okay, now wait a minute. THE KING PUT HIS DAUGHTER THERE!! Aha! If I am the princess on a glass hill, it is not my fault!

And now that I have THAT settled, I am going to have another cup of coffee. And then I'm going to go eat all the apples in my house before they can roll down my glass hill.