A Unique Date Night Offering - Ignite Ann Arbor 11

A few years ago, I was looking for something unique to do for date night. I found this event called Ignite Ann Arbor. The premise sounded intriguing, a myriad of speakers and topics, and a time limit of five minutes for each speech as twenty slides advance automatically every 15 seconds.

I didn't know what to expect or knew about any of the subjects about to be presented. Without expectations, I was open to whatever was about to happen.

Not only did I find it highly entertaining, it was as educational, thought provoking and at times offered touches of drama, especially if an inexperienced speaker's timing mismatched the slides going by. We were all pulling for them to get back on track.

The dynamics of the evening was a surprise to me. The first speaker was by a professor that had worked on the Hubble space telescope. her talk was called, Peering Towards the Beginning of Time with the Hubble Space Telescope. I was so happy to hear from a person at the head of her profession, knowledgeable, professional, and as far as I was concerned, a rock star!

I heard from an 11 year-old girl that started a neighborhood newspaper called Murray Avenue Times. Her speech was called Why Your Street Should Have Its Own Newspaper. The poise of this young girl as well as her message was delightful.

The five-minute speeches ranged from a map specialist called Your World Crushed Flat, a teacher and tutor to underprivileged children in a powerful speech called They Can't See Me, and a law student's equally compelling speech called Unequal Justice for All.

Surprise after surprise with each speech presented. Topics ranged from How to Enjoy Shakespeare, Everybody Trolls Sometimes, I am the Commuting Pope, The Depths of the AADL - The Secret Lab, Changing the Way Fashionistas Pay It Forward, Crowd-sourcing your Job Interview and more.

Looking for a different and intriguing evening, then check out Ignite Ann Arbor 11. What is also wonderful about the event is that it is Free.

Run, Young People. Run!

Run, Young People, Run

By E. B. Ambrose

Young people, do you know that you are being played because you are the ones that have no experience or memory of what has gone before.

Young people, being groomed to be commoditized, to be the new feast before the greedy. 

Young people, do you know that a thought of your future was never been on the minds of the elders. 

Young people, do you see what is being hidden from you?  You that are buried with your head hung low, never looking up to see the boots coming your way. 

Young people, do you care that no one cares about you, or what will become of you?  Those whom in your name, cry, “for the children” are used to manipulate, subjugate, and eviscerate your very own futures. 

Young people, do you see them at the edges of your rug, preparing to pull it out from under your feet?

Young people, they played you when they stuck all those pieces of papers under your unsuspecting nose and you signed on the dotted line, without understanding or knowledge of the indentured life they want you to lead.

Young people, they ganged up on you; the mo’ bros and the uni’ cads, collaborating to take from you, your future livelihood. 

Young people, have you ever wanted to actually hold a hammer to build, instead of the abstract action of using the “craft of the mind.” 

Young people, do you see the uniform of uniformity, the helmets of white perfectly parted to the same side, strands never straying from their stations, the look of insincerity in their eyes, the fear and the drive to make the part they play appear true or real.

Young people, do you see and hear their plans for you as fodder, to be plowed under in their fields of unrest.

Young people, do you see they mean never to offer knowledge just to educate you by their own terms.

Young people, build a new world, build something yet inconceivable, establish a new norm, remove the shackles that are slowly and almost imperceptibly being placed around your feet. 

Young people, leave us behind, run as fast as you can away from the decaying, murderous, rotten plot of keeping you down here with us. 

Run young people, run.

Dave Helps Himself

Quote, “God helps those that help themselves.”

David in Paris
by Father Wheeler of Catholic Central HS

       Many people do not know how to put themselves in a position to receive. My son does. Of his many talents and traits, he wholeheartedly sets himself up to succeed. Beloved gives himself every chance he can make for himself. He makes his chances. He creates an environment of acceptance.

      He retired for about a month and traveled southward and westward to meet up with old friends and to see more of the United States. He went by himself - Guts. Another goal of the trip was to find a new place to settle. He would size up the cities he visited and then make a decision as to where his new home would be. He chose New Orleans. 

     What amazes me is his tenacity, his quest to find what he wants. He goes through a process of his own making, sizing up employment opportunities and housing possibilities. He’s out there doing it on his own. When he applies for a job, he scouts out the location, the atmosphere and vibe of the place, checks out dress codes, learns about the businesses he visits, checks out the menus for an idea of the direction of the establishment. 

     For the past number of years he has honed his skill sets and his marketability. He repeatedly has been validated, that he is excellent at customer service, offering his employer loyalty and devotion to carrying out the owner’s vision and style.  As an artist and writer, he brings romance and the love of artistry and craft to his every endeavor.  Believing in harmony, a cohesive work dynamic and the building of community, he elevates moral and the work ethic of those around him.  Believing that work even the trivial or mundane should be elevated to the state of artistry allows him the satisfaction and accomplishment he desires. His high work ethic and predilection for efficiency, practicality and simplicity makes him a favorite of his employers. His style and manner energizes the environment for both co-workers and patrons and creates a welcoming atmosphere. His ability to create a sense of neutrality allows those around him to feel secure and accepted.

      David’s confidence that failure (whatever it means to him) is not an option or even a factor makes him a unique individual who has a direct hand in creating his own future.  Even if he falls down, he picks himself up and gets moving again. No matter what, he is always striving forward. 

     He has taught me that a vision can be created and realized.  He is always teaching me things.

     I have no worries. Whatever he learns up to this point in his life will make him truly and wildly successful, not just monetarily but as a human being.

Coldcocked by Fear - When Growling Dogs Chase You Down

       I kissed my mother’s cheek and my father’s forehead. I gave my brother the head nod and told him, “I’ll see you later at home. I grabbed my hat and rambled down their porch stairs heading for my car. Good temperature for nine at night on an early November evening, Cool crisp, skies clear and pure, just beautiful.

       I hear a noise very close behind me, the sound of two dogs running and growling. The sound gets closer, inches from me now. The lizard part of my brain screeched a siren that shook me to the core and rang out, sounding like my voice screaming into the night. A fear and then terror in a matter of milliseconds took over. A quick glance revealed two pit bulls behind me. An ancestor of a hundred thousand years ago screamed up through the centuries at me, “You unaware ass, a predator is about to take you down!” My reaction was intense, instant and visceral. I turned and jumped away, the blood-curdling scream brought my brother out of my mother’s house instantly.

       When I jumped out of the way, I was standing in the neighbor’s sloping driveway, and I fell backwards into the street, my back hitting hard. I screamed again, when realization hit me that fending off TWO dogs meant the stakes had gotten excessively high, my vulnerability stabbed at my psyche, and I was on my back in the street about to mauled. The movie the Omen flashed in my head.

       I raised myself still clutching my purse in front of me, a shield, and my arm ready to be raise in defense, the first part of my body I surmised to be torn to shreds. I see him fully now, as he looks at me. In that second, I realized that my scream and the terror I felt was a sure way to trigger a predator to attack. I just released enough primordial fear pheromones, that surely it would awakened the dogs' primordial predatory wolf pack sensory to go in for the kill. Great, I just hung out a sign saying, “Wounded Gazelle, Come and Get Me.” I waited for the first sign of attack.  

        I get to my knee and the dog skips toward me. I realize my fatal mistake. By trying to get up, I was sitting on my legs. My leg was the only power weapon I could possibly use to kick this dog off. I was in a bad defensive position and could be knocked over easily if the dog attacked just them. I had made myself vulnerable again. Everything I did came back to me as a mistake. At the same time, I knew that the other dog might come at me too. I could only scream at the dog in front of me and forcefully as I could, “Get away from me!” And the dog bounded back from the direction he had come.

       Then I realize the dogs belong to my nephew who lived two doors down from my mother. I saw him, and then heard his voice calling his dogs. The dogs were not vicious. They would not have attacked me. But they had come up behind me growling in the dark and a fear I have never experienced took over my whole being.

       My brother came to me as I was getting up. The trauma about to hit, he hugged me and asked if I was all right. All I could say was yes, and then another realization kicked in, I’m wet.  “I have to go” and then whispered in a matter a fact voice, “I wet myself.”

This is how fucking scared I was. 

       My nephew came up, hugged me too and said he was sorry. I muttered “its okay” got in my car and drove away.

        With 20 minutes to drive home, I lift my ass off the jacket as much as can be possible while I drive a car on a four-lane road going 45 miles an hour.  My mind is racing between the memory, the shock of my reaction, the anger – because I have told my nephew more than once that, the dogs are required to be on leash, the fear, the heavy breathing, the adrenalin dump. I calm myself, telling myself that I was never really in danger. Although my body and mind understand the wisdom of that logic, they can’t process the logic, not yet.

         The door was locked which pissed me off. HEY! I AM VULNERABLE OUT HERE. STRAY DOGS CAN BE OUT HERE. WHY IS THE FUCKING DOOR LOCKED, WHEN YOU KNOW I WILL BE HOME RIGHT NOW. I slap at the windowpanes with frustration and hurt. When my husband opens the door, I fall sobbing into his arms. After a moment or two, I was able to answer his questions.

       “There were dogs”, uncontrollable sobbing, “They were growling”, uncontrollable sobbing, “pit bulls chasing”, uncontrollable sobbing, “I was so scared”, uncontrollable sobbing, “that I fell on my back”, uncontrollable sobbing, “I thought I was going to be mauled” … hyper-ventilating with uncontrollable sobbing.

       I know I will go over this, going over my reactions, marveling at the level of fear, and the analysis of a fear never experienced before. My indignation of the lack of common courtesy or acknowledgement of a neighbor’s sense of well-being and security around two unleashed Heraclians

of  the canine world, triggering a primordial fear of the passion play of death that has existed between predator and prey over milennia.  

I died four times in less than 10 seconds. 

• I was about to get mauled by dogs, death or disfigurement.  
• I fell onto the middle of the street hard on my back and imagined I was going to be run over, broken body or death. 
• I was about to fight for survival, with low probability of success, inadequate survival skill or defensive strength, and the dread of witnessing and feeling that first moment of the dog’s attack, the dread and anticipation of extreme pain and panic. 
• Then, when it was over, dying of humiliation  and unneccsary, preventable panic.

       This is what happens when someone who doesn’t feel that a leash is warranted or necessary because HE knows his dogs, that the law, this particular law is unnecessary and limiting. Well, I’m here to tell you. It can wreak havoc. It can scare a person to death. It may cause someone to fall into the middle of a street. It can result in injury. It can cause PTSD.  It can create ruin in the mind and havoc to the soul. Leash your damn curious, well meaning, beautiful, playfully growling dog monsters.

       Just imagine if I was not a relative. That I could have gotten hurt or worse. That I called the authorities and had your dogs removed and you ticketed. That I decided to make you pay. I don’t blame the dogs, but the dogs would have been the ones to pay with their lives. It was all so unnecessary, preventable.  Leash them.

Dude, you owe me a year of my life. Can I have it back? No, I guess you can’t really give it back to me. Not cool. Not cool at all. 

Barbie Dream Tool Shop - Women Equality? Say it with Tools!

 

Is this a thing?

  *Disclaimer: I am not a big fan of pink. It’s okay in small doses.

Just before leaving the store, I spied an unexpected color. Way in the back, in one corner of the tool department, a wall of color, in the shade of pepto bismol pink. I had to see what was on with this pink wall, a color so foreign to the typical tool department’s colors of gray and black with occasional accents of red.

I skidded to a stop and took it all in, a Barbie Dream Tool Shop, for grown ass women! A wave of pleasure and nausea hit me at the same time. I couldn't tell if I liked it or not? Talk about your mixed messages. What was this wall of pink tools trying to convey? Is this a thing?
Is this a great marketing ploy?

I can only imagine what was said in the boardroom,
"Females are drawn to anything pink guys. They will be tickled pink (Yeah, I went there) and will appreciate tools specifically made just for "her" to enhance her pink, pink female world".

Let's not get carried away here fellas. Let's hide it in the very back so its hard to see, or better off in a corner. Don't want to scare off our major demographic, "real men." Three steps behind me woman.

But then, Is this girl empowerment?
I believe in girl empowerment. That the roles for girls and boys are not fixed. And here was an example, speaking to that premise, a pink wall of pink tools. Girls can fix, maintain, and create using tools of all kinds, hand or power driven. Rosie the Riveter would love her some of these. You Go Girl!

But then, Pink? All pink? Really?

We are talking about tools for grown women here? Who are they exactly trying to sell? Do they expect little girls to stray by and "want the pink tools too, Mommy," And if they want to attract women, why is the display in such an out of the way obscure spot? And why is pink still used as the cliche universal flag of femininity? Why do we need to get into the metaphorical pink box? Pepto Bismol pink at that. No wonder I felt nauseated, the Pepto must have triggered some unhappy memories. Pretty In Pink.

But then, Does it really reflect equality for women?
The reality is that in this world, pink stuff means girls stuff. So what's a company going to do? How can it get across that buying tools is a women's game too and thereby, increase sales. By promoting, albeit the quietest promotion ever, using the color pink. Could I really blame them for using the obvious? The store is seemingly promoting and supporting the idea of tool equality for women. That's a good thing, right? Equal Rights for Women! Say it with Tools!

But then, What wafflers!

What cowards, hiding the pink tools way back there. The company is testing the waters. How will the pink wall of tools go over? Will the pink invasion annoy the dudes? Will women feel patronized? Will the pink be a winner? We will never know because it is hiding in a corner. Go Sit in the Corner Until I Tell You to Move.

But then - It did acually work?
Just as I was about to walk out of the store, I saw a wall of pink. It was unusual and out of place in this space. I am female. I became curious. I had to know what the hell all that pink was about. I headed toward it like a bee to honey. Was it good or was it going to be bad? Would I feel patronized or feel empowered. Aha! The pink wall. A fanciful wall of pink tools. Pink tools. Heavy duty macho pink tools. Sorta Awesome. I think. Almost.

P.S. But then later, My sister helped me feel better. One look and she said, “I like it. No one will borrow my tools if they're pink. I’ll always find them right where I left them." I was so proud that she owned her own tools. I was even prouder that all she saw was the practical use of pink, as a repellent, a way of marking her territory. Guys, Pink Tools Will Give You Girl Cooties.

Go Pink! I think.

Brainstorming Detroit - Detroit Music Museum Village

I have been waiting for inspiration for quite some time.  So my posts will be about my city, Detroit.

Queen Maker and I have been rediscovering our youth by visiting all our favorite places when we were dating.  Ours was a young love so transportation was an issue and so was money.  We quickly learned that the city offered  much and fun could be had with very little cash.

My love for Detroit is rekindled.

Today we went to the Detroit Historical Museum.  It's been over 30 years since I have been there. The museum was free.  It's Sunday so parking on the street is free.  Don't worry we made a donation.  The museum made me feel pride in my city.  So I was inspired to share an idea I have been kicking around in my head for a few years, just brainstorming here.

BRAINSTORMING DETROIT - Detroit Music History

With such a rich history as innovators in multiple music genres, why doesn't Detroit capitalize on a very proud lineage with an attraction that I think would draw many fans from all over the world.  Detroit is known and remembered for so many things and here is yet another facet of greatness, its extraordinary musical history that has not been fully recognized or honored in any tangible, concrete way. Concrete meaning a building. It reminds me of a big family where the accomplishments of the eldest children are well documented with film and tons of pictures but by the time the youngest child comes along parents have little time or inclination to document the newbie’s every move, no matter how great. Detroit’s music history reminds me of that child.

Detroit still has an energized music scene.  Musicians here have learned to create a synergistic and cooperative community that survives by helping each other and by creating their own opportunities. By honoring the Detroit music scene and history, we may well help in the revitalization of the city. It may also remind us to direct our attention to the talent still here making music in Detroit.  With a new focus on showcasing Detroit’s music, it may rekindle a sense pride in the citizens of Detroit past and present, musicians and audience, because we were all active participants in this rich musical history.  

CREATE A MUSIC PARK OR VILLAGE

My idea is to create a historical music park, much like a Greenfield Village, probably on a smaller scale.  But now considering the scope of the history involved it might be quite a large park indeed.  I suggest moving the Motown’s Hitsville USA to this new park, Bakers Keyboard Lounge, and other great venues if they still exist or to re-create them.  The park would represent the different genres of music that Detroit was at the forefront or originators such as Techno, Punk, Jazz, Gospel, Rhythm and Blues from the “Black Bottom” era to Motown, Pop, Rock and Rap. 

I'm not sure where the location should be, maybe not directly downtown. The music park or village should be strategically placed to help revitalize yet another area of Detroit.  We’ll let the planners figure this one out. Also I know this would be a costly project, and I don't have the funds to make it happen, so I will leave it to someone with access to major bucks.  Okay, maybe we could just put up a very nice Detroit Music Museum. Not as costly.

But hey, I'm brainstorming.

Historically accurate buildings or “clubs” built representing each genre or era of music or combine some genres.  Museums where fans can view memorabilia, artifacts, stand in recording studios along with actual music clubs that would draw music lovers from all over the world into the city.  Remember CKLW, the radio station coming out of Windsor in the 60's and 70's?  I can still hear the jingle in my head. Annual festivals or events, music centers, historic re-creations, rock schools, even a speak easy (to represent the prohibition era), club nights where patrons could “hop from club to club” to experience a great night of music.  Let's throw a little Salsa in there as well. My Latin roots require me to mention it. We could also honor so many great musicians that still live in the city before it is too late. I'm not even going to try to name them all. If you are from Detroit you know the list is impressive.

By creating a historical park or music museum instead of an entertainment center, we show the rest of the world how "Detroiters" value and honor the Detroit music scene past and present. It will trigger tourism in yet another area that is Pure Michigan.  So many people around the world view our musical history with admiration and are already great fans.  

When I travel and mention my hometown of Detroit, reactions are swift and my hosts blurt out their first impression of what the word Detroit invokes. Most are very positive which helps remind me of Detroit’s positive historical significance.  I hear enthusiastic phrases like: “The Motor City!” “The Car Capital of the World!”  “Ford Country.”  “Detroit is a great sports town!” “Go Red Wings, or Tigers, or Lions, or Pistons!” “Motown! Hitsville, USA!”  These people live hundreds or thousands of miles from Detroit, but all spoke of Detroit as the great city that gave them cars, great sports, and fantastic music.

I was recently made aware of a new book called Detroit Rock City: The Uncensored History of Five Decades of Rock, by author Steve Miller, coming out in April 2013.  Check out the Detroit Rock City page.  This is what I am talking about.  This is the type of historic documentation that needs to be done on a grand scale and in a very public way.

We have Greenfield Village and Henry Ford Museum. We have the Automotive Hall of Fame.  We have the Detroit Historical Museum, the Detroit Institute of Art, and other great historic villages and wonderful museums dotted all over the Metro Detroit area.  Belle Isle is a gem.  The river front revitalized.  We have new sports stadiums.  The theaters and music halls around the area have been renovated to their past glory.  They all send powerful messages that Detroit is still a great city and honor Detroit's accomplishment in art, culture, technology, and sports in a big way.  The one area that seems to be lacking is the historical significance of Detroit’s music scene, its originality and innovations, its artists, and their contributions to the pop culture of the United States and its influence on the world.

Some tourists make the pilgrimage to the little house on Grand Blvd to stand in the same studio where so many Motown greats have stood before, but I think we could give them more.  I believe we have so much more to offer.

Here is an opportunity to rekindle the pride we feel in Detroit’s contributions to music in a concrete way, to help revitalize the present Detroit music scene, bring in a new wave of tourism, and revitalize another area of Detroit.  Music is the universal language.  It unites people from different backgrounds, cultures, and race.  Detroit’s music history has its own voice, its own dialect and it should be heard again, loud and clear.

Pressure is This

Yeah! Day 5 of the blogging challenge, 1/6th of the way to go before I finish the 30 challenge.  We Work for Cheese has graciously given us a list of topics for the full 30 days.  So grateful, since I've been tapped out for weeks and weeks and weeks.  Today is all about pressure.

Well it's 11:45pm and I have 15 minutes to get this blog done. Hubby is in bed. Stephen Corbert is on the telly. And damn it, I want to eat something sweet.

I'm getting hot, because we haven't put the air conditioner in the window yet. Or maybe I'm getting hot because the menopause has gone from pause to full blown meno.

Or maybe its the glass of wine I just polished off. Yup, that must be it.

So the pressure is on to get this done in record time. So off the top of my sweating head, I'll have to write something quick. I feel the pressure to talk about pressure.

Pressure is putting the squeeze on. I used to do my best work in school when it was the eleventh hour. The deadline was looming and I would have to pull an all nighter. My best work would come at 3am when I was sure an F was going to meet me in the morning.  A+ after A+ gave me the false impression that I worked best under pressure.

Continuous pressure is not a good thing.  Hell! Look at the time. I've got 9 minutes left.

Anyhoo. I once took a health test on a medical website. It asked me all sorts of questions to gauge how my daily actions affected on my overall health.  The conclusion?  It stated, "You are VERY HARD on your  body." So the pressure is on. If I don't change soon, I'll be feeling the pressure under ground.

Oh no, I'm brain dead. Can't think of anything else and I only have four minutes left.  The only thing I can think of is totally inappropriate. The pressure I like is the pressure of my another human being leaning or lying near me. I sigh and feel the stress slip away.

Remember the squeeze is on and I'm going to go to bed and leave this pressure for a more pleasurable pressure, a quick squeeze.

Done.  Hands thrown in the air.

My Viewpoint on Spiders

Day 5 of the 30 day blog challenge inspired by We Work for Cheese.  

Spiders are lucky. They are very lucky. My mother told me that.  Never kill a spider, they bring good luck.

A creature that deals in silk must have good taste.

A creature that makes such a beautiful geometric pattern in web design has to be a mathematical genius and artist.

A creature that can get rid of other pests can't be all bad.

A creature that eats its mate after sex is a heroine we can all get behind.

Literally Road Blocks

Well my 30 day blogging challenge proposed by We Work for Cheese has been thwarted on my second day.  By roadblocks.  Many, many roadblocks.  How appropriate. What can you do?  Really.


On my way to write my second blog in so many days, I was filled with anticipation to get to my computer and type my brilliant thoughts "down on paper" so to speak.

I was happily driving my mom from my sister's when up in front of me was a roadblock of fire engines and police cars.  The road was closed because of an overturned truck and we were re-routed through a neighborhood full of dead ends and cul-de-sacs. What a tangled web those old urban planners did weave.

When we were close to reaching our destination, home, my mom in her sweetest asking voice, wondered if I was busy the rest of the afternoon. OH-Oh. That's means "Honey, I want you to be my slave and grant me every wish and drive me where ever I want to go. And oh yes, buy me lunch too."
Sorry, blog.  Another "roadblock" was placed in my path and this was a formidable one in the shape of a four foot ten, red-haired, 82 year old hobbit woman with expert guilting skills insisting on elevensies.

I am always willing to accommodate my lovely mother and have learned the great skill of patience from her. We shuffle slowly through the five stores we shopped. Lunch was an hour long affair since she eats very slowly and carefully. We stopped at two garage sales and she picked up every item on every table and scrutinized each item carefully like a forensics expert looking for the tiniest evidence of DNA.

Finally on my way to her home, another roadblock, more fire engines and police cars that blocked the divided highway I was driving. Through the neighborhood again, but this time on one way streets. The accident earlier that day at least gave you an opportunity to turn left or right. We were all doomed to go in the same direction causing massive back-ups no matter which way I turned trying to get away from it all.

Hours later, when I finally drag my butt into my own home, my roadblock is a mental and a physical block. My head is pounding and my leg is throbbing. I can't think.   can't move.  Pain relief isn't coming no matter how many 200mg of whatever it is I'm taking. My leg takes hours to calm down and finally I can go to bed.

Sometimes there is no roadblock for pain.

There are always roadblocks to overcome.  Roadblocks seem to appear every time you make a real commitment as though the mere mention of such commitment and resolve triggers the fates to mess with you just for fun. I was blocked thoroughly.

All I can hear in my head is a quote paraphrased from Wizard of Oz: "As coroner I must aver, I thoroughly examined her, And she's not only merely blocked, she's really most sincerely blocked."

Life is Good with Cheese

30-day challenge, a reason to live, a reason to blog.  Thanks to We Work for Cheese for the challenge and the daily assignments.  If I make it, I'll be very, very, surprised.  Now, day One.


Cheese - both wonderful and if you think about it a little disgusting
Cheesers - my favorite pretend swear word
Cheezy - tacky chic

Favorite cheeses - extra sharp cheddar, provolone, baby swiss, spiced havarti, mozzarella, feta, ricotta, smoked anything, parmigiana, edam, colby, muenster, gouda, cottage, tillamook, on and on.

Only one piece of cheese - no such thing.

Melted cheese - awesome.  Melted cheese with a slight crusty edge - heaven on earth.

Don't really want to be a wife of a cheese maker, and a candlestick maker sounds like a bore, but a baker, I would be a wildly happy woman, a very happy fat woman. Pastries - yum.

My daddy's daily breakfast - a chunk of cheese, a chuck of bread, and espresso coffee.

One of the best talents of the earthly creature called the human being is its ability to create, transform, and reconstruct in such variety and infinite artistry is its very sustenance - food.

Blessed are the cheese makers.

God I Love My Family

My mom, that lover of life, who gives her beloved dog away to a man who needed the companionship, and instead got herself a rooster, correction got two roosters.  She coos and strokes them as though they were puppies.

My sister who is downstairs cleaning the floor under the rooster, the one that brought a big bag of baking soda and vinegar, the one who donned her own makeshift hazmat suit, complete with gloves, mask, and wading boots, and keeps saying gross over and over again and finding great humor in it too.

My sister and her young daughter that spent two whole days and nights in airports trying to get to Florida on stand-by, both exhibiting such fortitude and cheerfulness in the face of adversity when the odds were monumentally against them, and finally realizing it to be futile, came home to only try again two days later and getting through.

My brother whose car was stolen and four weeks later his new car was stolen. The one that continues to try and works harder and harder than any man I know. The one that gets slapped down but always rises like a phoenix and starts again.

My sister that can find so many paths and alternatives. The one that is a secretary, a facilitator, a coach, a therapist, a caretaker, and working mother. The one that can patch and keep her family's life together with invisible duck tape. The one that can juggle so many balls that it amazes me that she hasn't gone nuts.

No matter what life throws at them, they never take it personally. Life is what it is. No reason to get too worked up over it. They live life with grace, humor, and an inner strength that I truly admire. They taught me so many lessons on how to live my life and I love them for it.

Short-Timers Advice - Time Won't Wait.

Time can not be wasted at this point.  It is running short.

To recognize this fact is to see all things anew.

I am surrounded by folks whose time is running short, my parents, my husband's parents. When I worked at the bank it was located near two senior citizen high rises. I met a lot people whose time was short. And they always had the same advice. And they gave it with a sense of urgency.

That's why I listened.

They will tell you the truth about time. Time should not be confused with the past or the future. Time deals strictly on a now basis. They will make you realize that time is urgent.

For some the urgency drives them crazy because they can no longer control what happens in time. They can't ignore it anymore. It becomes the elephant in the room.

Sickness and infirmity keeps them from spending time well. Time is fleeting and they don't have the strength left to capture it again. It becomes lost. And they want it back so badly. Some desperately. They want time back to show how much they appreciate it now.

For some, they look to others to give them or help them fill time. Sometimes, no one is willing to give their time. No one visits. No one is compelled. There are no hobbies or interests to create time. Time was not used wisely. Time was not honored for its potential to give and enrich. You did not take the time, so why should time or anyone else do it now.

For others, family and friends help to fill the time. Gifts of time are presented and offered with love and joy. Time was used more wisely, and is much more hospitable as it marches along. Time does not scare them as much. They resign themselves and step in line and march along with time, sometimes hand in hand.

Time is not to be wasted. That is their message.

Time should not be taken for granted. She'll bitch slap you when finally after years, you take notice of her. Time can also be very cruel. That is also part of the short-timers message.

It is an abstract idea at first - what time is exactly. Many look for a concrete example to understand it better. So people measure it. They put in on a scale. As long as the scale says lots of time, they ignore it. Time seems plentiful. There is no urgency. Time can wait.

The mistake is reading the measurement of time in this way. When time is at its most abundant is exactly when time is the most useful, the most generous, and most efficiently used. It's heavy weight signals you to use it to its fullest measure, not save it. Time is vibrant, healthy, and has great legs.   Use them. Use them now.

That is their message. And the short-timers always add urgently...    Please.  I beg you.  Don't wait. Take time now.

(Spending the weekend along the shore of Lake Michigan, a weekend I had promised to my 80 year old parents, a place they love but without the means to get there.  I had to take them, and take them now. There is no time to lose.  .... To report, we had a lovely time.  It was time very well spent.)

Handyman Love

What is it about a handyman husband that can fix all your stuff when it breaks down? Why do I find that so sexy?

It must be a throw back to when females chose their mates by their ability to provide, to hunt down the wooly mammoth and consistently put meat on the table.

He has skills.  

A man that can fix things.  

Successfully.  

Be still my heart.

Replacing things are costly. When he fixes the lawn mower, the toaster, my micro tape recorder, the washer, my hot rollers, the car, the plumbing, and my sewing machine, he saves us hundreds upon hundreds of dollars. Yeah, baby!

It's such a gift when something you think is dead and gone is suddenly restored and handed back with pride and love. When he says,"Let me see what I can do about that." My heart beats a little faster.

That's damn sexy.

My Eighty-Year-Old Heros

My mom and dad are 80 and 82. They still drive. They can still think.  

They are a marvel.  My parents are super-heroes.

Daddy is much thinner than he has ever been. He is underweight.

What I did not expect was to have him pick up a plastic bin filled with cookware, weighing at least forty pounds, and haul it into the house like it was nothing. I barely could get the thing up the porch steps, my elbows about to pop apart at any moment.

Mami is hurting more, more than she has ever been. I expected that, with her asthma, COPD, arthritis, and leg pains.

What I did not expect was her running house to house on Halloween with a blond Marilyn Monroe wig on, begging for candy. Okay... maybe I wasn't expecting it, but am I surprised? Not at all.

My Little Sister was the closest relative, living only two doors down from my parents. She has since moved away (I'm thinking running away), and it has been left up to me to be their "go-to" gal.  At first I was wary. Mami can demand a lot of attention. Papi usually doesn't speak at all (especially when Mami is around.)

But as I spend more time with them, I find that I really enjoy their company. There is a camaraderie. I make sure I take time to engage Papi in conversation, not letting Mami cut him off or take over the topic. Soon we are all conversing about world affairs, local news, their childhood memories, grandchildren and much more.

My parents are sentient, they're smart, they're passionate. Their life has been a hard one. They have lived all of their 80 years living way below the poverty line. They showed me that worrying does you no good. That money and  living can be difficult, but manageable even with five kids, a dog, and a parakeet.

They showed us that even without money, one can live a full and rich life, filled with love, without fear, without regret.

I look at them. I feel that there is decades in them yet.  But I know that life has a way of hitting you with the unexpected. My sisters and brother and I are so lucky to have them still.


Update: Six years later, my dear Papi passed away at the age of 88. I am a grateful to be his daughter.

What Am I Waiting For? - Spin Cycle

Waiting is a perpetual state with me. I'm waiting for the right answer to hit me or for the right moment or waiting for a sign. I'm waiting to become successful. I'm waiting for the indecision to leave me. I'm waiting for my gut to tell me, because damn it after decades of waiting, I've found that my past gut decisions have served me well. I'm just willing to wait.

Funny thing about waiting, it's an action word.   If I'm waiting, I'm actually doing something, right?

I used to feel guilty about it, as though waiting was akin to laziness. But things have happened in my life that has shown me that waiting was the right decision after all.


Is waiting, wisdom in patience?  Or is it the refuge of the indecisive?

Waiting is tolerable when it's my decision. But when it's out of my control and a required state of mind, it can be excruciating. Like the time I was sitting in a hospital waiting room with my mother and father waiting for the news on whether my brother was going to live or die. The rush of relief when the waiting was over is not one I will ever forget.

But as I get older, waiting becomes less and less appealing. Time is marching on. It used to be small thing, but my, how it has grown. It's legs have gotten strong and it's about to surpass me at a rapid pace. I hear the steps coming behind me in the distance. So I have got to pick up my pace. No more waiting.

Because I certainly don't want to have to beg as it tries to pass, "Wait!  I'm not fast enough!  Please wait!


Wait no more Spinners. Head over to Sprite's Keeper with Jen, your host of the Spin Cycle.

Reunited and It Feels So Good

OMG, Jen has brought back the Spin Cycle!  What could she be thinking? As an experienced "mother," I know that Sprite will become increasingly more involved in projects, parties, school functions,and major events that Jen, as the facilitator majordomo, just might need to put Spin Cycle on hiatus once more.  So I'm taking advantage of it now while the going is good.  Thanks, Jen. You're a peach.

This week's topic is Reunions.

Although I have over 45 first cousins, and who knows how many second cousins, a reunion of this magnitude will most likely, never occur.

I went to my one and only high school reunion at the five year mark, a picnic, cheap and easy. I know its a cliche, but the ugliest girl was a stunning, desirable beauty and the drop dead gorgeous and most desirable jock was unrecognizable with a paunch and hair line that resembled Friar Tuck. We grabbed the yearbook to figure out who this guy was.  After the initial shock, I felt a little guilty, which usually means I feel the need to go to confession, because I felt pleased at his demise. Wicked girl.

My five year high school reunion lesson - justice. To me this was a high water mark. No need to go to another.

My reunions are daily.  Every meeting is a reunion. I can't stand going too long without hugging a person I love.

There are those that I miss so much right now.  I've gone a whole month without hugging my son. When it hits two months, I barely can stand it. I've gone a whole three months without hugging my little sister.  I've gone a whole six months without hugging some of my "extended" children, not really mine, but they feel like mine. I miss them. I hope to fill these holes in my soul, soon.

Every day, I reunite with my mom who is eighty years old. For her, waking up every morning is a reunion with the sun, life, family and God.

I envy young parents. Because every evening, you still get to experience the reunion of your very own family together under one roof.  Rejoice. This is the most precious reunion you can ever experience.  Don't take it for granted.



And don't take for granted this reunion with the Spin Cycle. Off you go and don't forget to come back, because I need the hugs.

Random Happiness

I love being around little kids. The four to six year old set are the best. If only I could shrink down to their size and run around like a nut like they do, that would be heaven.

I held our annual Valentine' s parents night out and kid's sleep-over at our school. The school becomes an indoor playground and we set it up so there's cool stuff to do in every corner.  One of my five year old students, Maya, came running up to me and said, "This is the best time I've ever had in my whole life! In My Whole Life!"  I take being the highlight of any child's day as a real compliment, but of their whole existence. Now we're talking.

Speaking about highlight of the day, Smokey the dog was not left behind. Since he is our guest for three months, we didn't feel right leaving him home alone for so long. Besides he seems to me to be a dog that would like a good party. So Smokey went to the sleep-over too. With six Lil' Dragons constantly on his tail lavishing love and attention, he had a great time. He slept all day the next day. That's what happens when you party too much.

Speaking of partying, I plan to be celebrating this weekend for so many random reasons, yet still connected.

First:  Road Trip. Yeah!
QueenMaker and I will be hitting the road and I love it. A short road trip, only four hours, but enough time to have great conversations, break out some jams and a gigantic bag of trail mix.

Second: Going to Chicago.  Sweet!
Beginning to like this city more and more, except for the surprising thirty-one dollar parking fee. We've been to the Historic Museum, to the Aquarium, had Chicago style pizza, and checked out the University of Chicago. My son moved there almost six months ago, long enough to explore what the city has to offer. We're going to Chinatown, a jazz club, and checking out a Frank Lloyd Wright home in the area. We're looking forward to his tour.

Third:  My Son, Beloved.  (blinking back the tears)
My one and only and I miss him dearly. This is our reason for going, to see our son. Our friendship with him continues to grow. Since our parent/child relationship is partially behind us, we hope that he continues to turn to us not only as his parents but as his dear friends as well.

Fourth:  Permanent Full Time Employment. Yeah!
Beloved has been discovered!  He has part-time employment at a bookstore and was hired as a coffee barista, but he works in all the departments when needed.  His store is closing so he's been worried about finding a new job. A woman customer noticed that he was everywhere it seemed at once. She complimented on his excellent customer service and his willingness to help out his fellow co-workers.  And then she offered him a job. Full-time employment with benefits and a raise in pay.  Woo-hoo!

Fifth: My Wedding Anniversary! Kisses.
This is why I picked this weekend to go see our son. To celebrate our love, to celebrate what our union gave us, Beloved, and to celebrate the many years of happiness we have shared.



Speaking about happiness we have all shared, head over to Keely's UnMom and read the tales of the more random happiness happening over there.

Distracted Bitch - And It's Not My Dog

In this edition of Random Tuesday Thoughts, a secret is revealed, eccentric persona emerge, a geological phenomena simile. "Cats! Dogs! Living together...!", metaphors for life, and a husband gets a break.





Here's a little secret.  I've changed.

Inside this sweet, fuzzy warm, very loving person  I've become, was once a hardened, seething, anguished waiting-to-pounce bitch. She doesn't appear anymore.

Okay. Maybe a couple days of the month, she reappears, but really just a mere shadow of her past self and only for minutes at a time. Really. Take my word for it. She's hardly recognizable anymore.   Right Honey?

Now, where did he go?

But like the newly formed volcano, erupting angry lava carelessly in its youth, years and years of trials and tribulations, experience and wisdom have cooled down the exterior. It hibernates in the depths, underneath cool waters and spring meadows. No longer recognized as a volcano. Really.  Believe me. It's true.

But occasionally steam does rises. It's sounds like a slow hiss.

And it sounds like a cat's hiss.  And I am very much a cat. And cats usually don't get along with dogs.

Smokey, our temporary dog boarder, just wants to be loved. And loved. And loved. And loved.

His exuberance and "love-me" eyes were hard to resist, but now when I come through the door I find it maddening. So I have taken to ignoring his requests for instant affection gratification. Later on, he will insist that ignoring him is just out of the question. So I relent.

Now I'm not one that likes things that are too needy. Girlfriends who need to be pacified too much, boyfriends that need constant validation, folks that are touchy feel-y, arm tappers, wide-eyed dramatic people (besides myself), and delusional love starved dogs.

Because They. Want. Too. Much. And since I don't have the personality or fortitude to give it to them, I feel slightly guilty and put upon, and seriously, who needs that?

So the dog and I have been going through a ritual, a one sided conversation where I tell him all the things I won't do for him.  Telling him to stop watching me.  To quit following me around the house all the time. Don't you dare lick me. That I recognize his ploy of bringing me his toys. Interrupting conversations by chomping on his squeaky toy. That this is MY food and I'm not sharing. Sure he gets the occasional display of affection. But  I let him know that I am not going to sit there and pet him for hours.

As the dog and I were going another round, QueenMaker looks at Smokey and gratefully says:

"Dog, you don't know how happy I am to have you here."

Touche.  QueenMaker.  Touche.



So off you go to Keely's for more random happenings and distractions.  You'll find a lovely group of personalities there that you'll want to get to know. They don't seem too needy either.  Awesome.

Malapropisms and Mixing Metaphors - My Forte

QueenMaker walks up behind me while I'm doing the "financials" for our accountant and says, "That's wrong.  It should be 58, not 56."

Me: "No honey. That is 58.  See it says 58."

QueenMaker: "Oh.  Are you sure?"

Me: "Yes."

QueenMaker: " Oh, I guess I read it wrong. How about that one.  It seems wrong.  Shouldn't that read 184?"

Me: "It does silly.  See?  Are you wearing your reading glasses?"

QueenMaker: "No."

Me: "Well, people without glasses should not cast the first verbal stone."

QueenMaker: "Huh?

Random Words

Pressure - That's when you have six highly diverse projects with deadlines that fall within one week of each other in February.

Balance - That's when you help your sanity by staying on track, continue hacking away at the debris, to remove each item from the dust bowl in your head, and then, maybe, there's still a ray of hope that it will all get done and done properly - the Slow March of Progress.

Excuses - trying to stay away from the emotional, depressing, anger filled, distractions that can put a halt to the Slow March of Progress and turn it into the I Don't Give a Flick Anymore - Lying in Bed All Day Doldrums.

Weathered - Everything looks weathered. My car, my house, my poor coat, my boots, my life, my hair, my face, and my patience. Winter needs to pick up its long grey weathered coat and get out of here!

Space - Home on the range. Vast Space. Free range chickens. Space to run. Time to Run. Space time continuum. Time to spare. Time to think. Thinking freely. Running freely. Freedom. Space equals Freedom. I want a lot of both.

Distractions - Lots of them.  To stop you, to boost you, to help you weather the bad stuff, to keep you from doing the good stuff, to give you space, to give you excuses, to offer balance or to keep you off balance, or to take the pressure off or to turn up the heat.  It could go either way.

Either way, head over to UnMom for more Random Tuesday Thoughts.