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.

The Chess Player

So I'm at the bookstore ringing up customers' purchases and this lovely middle-aged woman comes up to the counter with a little boy and girl in tow. They plop their books in front of me and I notice these two:







"He picked his book out by himself." she said to me, pointing at the darling little boy.

I hold up the book for beginners.

"You are going to learn how to play chess?" I ask him.

"No. The other one is for me." he solemnly says.

I look at the Bobby Fischer book and then at his grandmother.

"He wants the Bobby Fischer book?"

"Yes, He picked it out himself."

I studied this serious little guy for a minute.

"How old are you?" I ask.

"Four." He says. But he is a very very small four year old. I wish I had my camera but I did not, but to give you some idea, here is a photo I found on the web of a child approximately this little guy's size:




I ask, "Well, who is the beginner book for?"

"Me." Grandmother says, sheepishly. "I figure if he can learn so can I."

I ring up their books and ask the boy, "Are you familiar with Bobby Fischer?"

"Yeah. I like his moves."

"Which is your favorite move of his?"

He studies me for a second and I can see a twinkle in his eye.

"Winning." he answers.

"Mine too. "I tell him.

I don't know what you were doing at four years old, but I can promise you, I was not playing chess.

Bugs. May They All Rest in Peace.

I am a lover of living creatures. For instance, you should all know by now how I feel about lizards. I mean, even my blog is dedicated to them by its very title. And I own two large dragons, indigenous to Australia. Even snakes have a place within my heart; put a large snake or a lizard or an armadillo in my yard and I'm in my glory. Add a fox or a large turtle and I am in heaven.

There are exceptions to my love for living creatures however. And I can sum them up in one word; bugs.

I hate bugs. Even ladybugs. Maybe especially ladybugs. (of course, the real list topper is the grasshopper, but that's beyond hate; that's a phobia..thank you, Eddie Margarvo. I still hate you)..We once went through a ladybug invasion; hundreds of thousands of them landed on the sides of every building, including my house. People double checked their meals in order to pick out the little red buggers before taking a bite and more often than not, would find them in their sandwiches. Window ledges everywhere were covered with the corpses of them. It was horrible.

Second in line on my list of most hated insects would be flies. From everything I've heard, whenever they land, they poop and barf. I do not care how small the amount might be. Poop is poop and barf is barf and I do not want them near my food. It doesn't matter to me how much they might adore our poop and barf..the feeling could not be further from mutual. I want them all dead. ASAP.

A close third is the ant, disgusting little lumpy balls of pure energetic filth. God, I hate them. I have a bug man (Jim) who comes monthly to spray my house and yard and what is the only bug to persist? Yup. The ant.

I have a cousin who loves to email me crap. And most of it, I delete immediately. But recently he sent me a video of an ant hill. I do not know why I watched it. But I did and it's appalling. Y'all know how much I love to share appalling stuff with you, so here it is. Enjoy:





How disgusting is THAT???