Engrish Haaard

Do you ever have days like this? Days when just finding the correct word seems impossible? Conversations are very difficult today. Hell, I can't even update my Facebook status, without having to make corrections. What synapses aren't firing? Why do I get this way? I guess all writers go through this, which is why we are supposed to get up at a specific time each day and write through our blockages. Not supposed to post them on our blogs. But, I thought I would, anyway. Is 6pm too early to go back to bed so I can start all over tomorrow?

Memories of the Present

I am able to effortlessly walk one and a half to two miles at a time these days. Most often, I head out to the local coffee shop, have a cup and daydream while watching the world whiz by outside of the front window. I don't want to jinx anything, but my back is completely free of pain these days. My legs are much stronger as well as my lungs. It is in my nature to totally forget about this past year's health problems. I would like to keep the debilitating and excruciating sciatic nerve pain as a distant memory. Same thing goes for that very lonely week lying flat on my back in a Reno hospital, while blood clots were cleared from my lungs. It all seems like an uncomfortable dream today. I am only reminded of it now and again, and then, I hate to dwell on the memories and don't usually bring them up in conversation.

See, that's the thing about living in the "now". Yesterday and six months ago fade away as I make my life a "day-to-day" life, instead of a "plan and plot for the future" kind of life. For so many years, I was dissatisfied with where I was, always dreaming of a better job and hoping for a more 'successful' life. For a little while, things moved along at the pace I expected but that eventually changed, when I decided to chuck it all and go back to college. I was so hungry to learn and followed my heart instead of my head. After having the life I had rebuilt yanked from under me a couple of years ago, I realized that I was not the one in charge of my circumstances and just decided to let go of the reigns.

What a journey I have traveled. Never thought I would again live in the town where I was raised. But, I am glad I have had the experience of seeing this place as it exists, now, instead of just as an image from a traumatic memory. While I don't know if I will end up here, I think I have been able to work through some memories and make peace with parts of my past. Most surprising to me is how I have been remembered by old friends and classmates. I always felt like an outsider and somewhat ashamed of who I was. But, as it turns out, people's opinions of the teenage Anne were not the same as Anne's opinions. It has made me rethink the narrative I have identified with for years. It is time to create a new story for this new Anne. Perhaps my ability to block out recent health problems can be utilized to erase my version of my past.

I am a survivor and it is time to make some new memories that I, hopefully, won't forget.

Honkytonkin' Woman

Somewhere between Dayton, OH and Cincinnati I decided that I wanted to see if I could sing in Nashville on "Music Row" (I think that is what they call that street, named Broadway, with all of the clubs, etc.) I figured, "I'm 50 years old and a good singer and damn it! After this past year and all of the crap I've been through, I at least have to try!" I was planning on singing karaoke someplace just to say I'd done it.

So, I fortified myself with a bowl of Skyline Chili (not as good as I remembered - kinda runny), and headed South. Finally traveled through Kentucky - the only contiguous state out of the 48 I had not visited - and saw the sign for Big Bone Lick State Park. BIG BONE LICK State Park. Wow. The things I have missed in my life! Passed through the Great Smokey Mountains in Tennessee and turned right in Knoxville. A few hours later, I was in a Motel 6 outside of Music City. The next day. after getting lost a couple of times (seriously - when you work at a Waffle House with lots of tourist traffic, you'd think you might be required to know where the local hot spots are!) I found Broadway in Nashville and a parking space just  a few blocks away.

Not sure where to go, I started window shopping. Lots of cowboy boots for sale but not a single pair as cool as the lapis-lazuli-colored ones I wear. I was amazed at how expensive cowboy hats were. None of them looked quite right on my big ol' head so I moved on. I just had to stop into a used record store that featured the most classic of Country and Western artists and I had to buy a little book of sheet music featuring Porter Wagoner and Dolly Parton - if only for the cover photo alone. Porter was famous for wearing garish suits and Dolly was dressed in what looked like fancy lingerie. Then I stepped into a little shop to try on a blouse. Coming out of the dressing room, I spied a straw cowboy hat with a lapis-lazuli band that matched my boots. It was sitting on a high shelf.in the back. Low and behold, it perfectly fit my head AND it was on sale for 75% off! I didn't hesitate a second before I bought it and put it on. Now, I was ready to make my Nashville debut!

It was late on a Saturday afternoon but the strip was starting to come alive. The downtown arena was hosting a big hockey game in a couple of  hours and several tour groups were roaming around. Some places hired guys to lure passers by into their restaurants. Just ahead the blinking light stuttered "KAROKE!!" and I walked that way. But, just before I got there, I heard live music pouring out from the door of a club called Crossroads. I glanced in and saw a band (with a cute lead singer) and they sure seemed to be having fun on stage, so I took a seat on a bar stool to have a listen. The singer's name was Jason Link and man oh man could he sing! He could really play the guitar, too, and the band backing him was KICK ASS! In between songs, there was a lot of banter and foolishness. Politically incorrect jokes were flying from their mouths. The band picked on the customers, in a good-natured way. But, I think they were kind of bitter at their big break on Music Row. At the most, only about 25 people were in the club at one time. Folks kept coming and going on their way to check out other hot spots on the strip. But, I stayed - for 3 hours. They really held my interest. I noticed that there was a man at the bar who kept buying them drinks. Turns out he was their manager. I realized after about an hour and a half that the band NEVER took a break. In order for the drummer to use the men's room, Jason had to sit behind the trapset and keep the beat for a few minutes! Every now and then, he would walk through the crowd with a tip jar and CDs for sale. Due to the glut of willing musicians in Nashville, the clubs don't pay them! They are allowed to play for tips. I hope the band didn't have to pay for the "privilege" to be at Crossroads, but I don't know.

Anyhow, after about 2 hours, Jason and his Keyboard player, Tim, pointed to me and said "lady in the red shirt, you'll buy 2 of our CDs for $20, won't you?" I turned around. "You - sitting at the bar - I'm talking to YOU!" I only had a dollar on me but I did have a checkbook. And, remembering the main purpose of my Nashville visit, I shouted "I will, if you let me sing with you!!" They did NOT expect that, but half-heartedly said OK. And then, I said "Will you take a check?" - Reluctantly, they agreed. I wrote out the check and handed it to their manager (and he asked me if it was a good check). After another song, Jason hollered for me to get up on stage. And so I did. Not sure what I could sing until I stood behind the microphone, I turned to the piano player and said "Since I Fell For You in B flat" (That is pretty much the only song I know that I remember the key) the bass player said "It is in G" -" true - the record is in G but I sing it in B Flat", I replied. I told them that I do the prelude to the song "When you just give love, and never get love, you'd better let love depart" etc. And, I think they, and the audience, were pretty blown away when I opened my mouth to sing.

I was a bit raspy, but overall,  having a VERY GOOD voice day. And, the magical muse took over once I started. Tim, Jason and the bass player and drummer played a "bump and grind" version of the song. And I hammed it up like nobody's business. The crowd was cheering. I was having the time of my life, singing with the best musicians I had ever sung next to. Jason and I stood back-to-back during the line "Oh you love me, then you snub me". At the word "snub", I reached over and pushed him away. Their manager came out from behind the bar and stood in the middle of the dance floor with his mouth agape! This was the most fun I have had in years - my only chance to sing on Music Row and I enjoyed the heck out of it. Of course, the song ended way too soon. But those 20 or 25 people in the crowd were applauding like crazy. A couple of guys shouted "let me buy you a drink!!" (and gave the bartender some cash to pay for it)  One of them (a good 15 years younger than me) came over to me and said "Why aren't you and I making love right now? (!!) We didn't but it was fun to be asked.

I watched Jason Link and his band for another 45 minutes or so. During that time, I overheard the manager ask him and the piano player what they thought of me. The piano player told him that "she's just a cougar and this is how she meets men." Ha! I wasn't insulted. I think I was so good that I scared them a little. I'll never know for sure but what I do know is that I made a memory that will always make me smile. I moved on and waved goodbye to the band, grinning like a fool as I walked out that door.

Why Do I Get So Mad?

I did it again. Tried not to. Tried to control myself and not be judgmental. Tried to be "tolerant", once again. But, why am I always the one who has to be tolerant? Why, when confronted again and again and again by pomposity and smugness, do I have to turn the other cheek? I know these "opportunities" are thrown in my path for a reason but I am only getting angrier and not more compassionate. I thought I'd change, eventually. But no.

Since I was a very young girl, organized religion has been an extremely hot button for me. It began when I was seven, when I was given that stinking banana popsicle by the ladies in the Church of Christ during Vacation Bible School (a reward for being "saved") and continued a couple of years later when I chastised both the pastor and the youth pastor (at different times) for their hypocritical statements and blatant bribery at Decatur, Illinois' West Side Church of the Nazarene, until just this past Fall at my mother's place of Worship, St. Catherine's in Harrisburg. I have always thought that the church, in all of its denominations and divisions has misrepresented the Word of God. Heck, I had broken it off with God altogether, until July 19 or 20th of 2010 when, in a hilarious move, we made up in front of an ice cream truck in Portland, Oregon. God and I are good now.

But, apparently, organized religion and I have a loooooong way to go.

I did it again today. After a nasty head cold, I finally felt healthy enough to walk to the coffee shop about a mile away. I treated myself to a hot chocolate and sat at a cozy table towards the back, leafing through a big coffee table picture book about Italy. I was happily minding my own business and mentally traveling to Sienna  . The coffee shop was populated by adults, most of whom quickly left when a pack of about 20 college-aged kids started lining up at the counter. I noticed that they were dressed in school colors from a place I was unfamiliar. Couldn't read the emblems on their sweaters. But, I didn't have to. They were polite, thanking the elderly gentleman escorting them for the afternoon excursion. Very quickly, I overheard that this was a Christian group.

"Ah, no wonder they are so well-behaved", I thought. They were awfully perfect looking. 90 percent white - one black kid and one Latina in the bunch. They were quiet and good-natured - for a while. They were kids (a little too Stepford-looking for my taste) so there was laughing and joking. Some of their conversations were introspective and I thought that, "hey, maybe this religion thing has its place after all?"

Well, all it took was one boy to set me off. He started talking about the "burdens of being a Christian" and that, "as Christians, we need to set an example because people are looking to us for guidance..." My face went red hot and all I could see was my own rage.

NO THEY'RE NOT!!! The only people who are looking to you ARE YOU!!! YOU ARE MASTURBATING, you tool!!!! I did not say this.

But, automatically, I stood up and threw on my coat and gloves and said "IDIOTS. IDIOTS. WHEN WILL YOU PEOPLE REALIZE THAT RELIGION IS THE ANTI-CHRIST?????" I stormed out and slammed the door behind me, without even thinking.

I am sure they prayed for my soul afterwards. Well, at least I hope they did. You see, I feel guilty for my reaction (or over-reaction). I keep trying to live and let live. Since I have been back in Pennsylvania, I have happened upon many devout people and religion has been a major topic of discussion at the house where I am staying (not my mother's). I keep trying. Is it just a numbers' game? There are so many more of them and only one of me. Clearly, after 51 years, I am not going to change my mind on this. I have kept my mouth shut for so long about religion. I firmly believe that it is only a means to control people and gain power. As I have said in previous writings, I understand the need for community and connection. Most of the devout people I have spoken with seem filled with love and compassion. But put them in a group setting and I feel outnumbered and get defensive.

Maybe I am supposed to be a hermit and live in a cave?

This is Important - Voting Rights Corporatized and Stripped?

Bev Harris is a tireless voting rights activist and she speaks the truth! Please check out www.blackboxvoting.org! The headline reads "Global Internet voting firm buys US election results reporting firm". Holy crap. I did NOT know this: When you view your local or state election results on the Internet, on portals which often appear to be owned by the county elections division, in over 525 US jurisdictions you are actually redirected to a private corporate site controlled by SOE software, which operates under the name ClarityElections.com


PLEASE visit her site: www.blackboxvoting.org

Bed and Breakfast and Bail Bonds

It was dark and I was tired so I took the next exit off of the Interstate on a random Southern road. Just didn't feel like the usual Motel 6 or Super 8 that night and something kept me driving on the empty stretch and make a left. About a half mile later, I saw a stone building (with two Confederate soldiers flanking a cannon out front) that was lit up with about ten-thousand Christmas lights. One small sign said "Bed and Breakfast" and just below that, another read "Bail Bonds". Well, that was just too good - enough to pique my interest to take a look at the place, so I parked the car and went up to ring the doorbell. The  grandmotherly woman seemed like she was ready to head to bed, so I apologized for the interruption but asked if she had an available room for the night. She hollered for her husband.

Out from the back came a refined-looking genteel man with a voice that sounded like smoked hickory and honey. I could tell he loved to show off the place and was quite the talker. He began by telling me the mansion was built by slaves about one-hundred and fifty years ago, before the war(the Northern Aggression war, as he put it) and that all of the land surrounding the place, for miles around, was once part of the property. A famous Confederate General used to own it but I am not up on my Civil War history and couldn't place the guy. Then dollar amounts started to fly out of his mouth. "It took a million dollars to buy the place and another two million to renovate and I'm still not done". I was surprised that he did not seem to stress over that amount of cash and later on, pointed to his brand new Cadillac Escalade and Corvette, out front. I was shown the two available rooms for the night. The big one, downstairs came equipped with a jacuzzi tub and fireplace. The smaller room, in the back, had a regular bathroom across the hall and was much cheaper. Being the budget traveler, I chose that one.

After we had taken care of the bill, I was given a series of parting gifts: Two pens, one with a pull-out calendar for the new year, a key chain, several brochures, and a wall calender that included his Bed-and-Breakfast and Bail Bonds advertisement prominently placed, a NASCAR schedule, and local emergency numbers. Finally, I was handed a few business cards to pass out to my friends. On the front, was a photo of the bed-and-breakfast, complete with the Corvette and Confederate soldiers outside. But, on the back was a photo of a little kid in black-and-white prison garb looking glum behind bars!!! That side advertised the bail bonds half of his business. I thanked the man profusely for this priceless bounty! I was then escorted to the great dining room, which was festooned with holiday cheer. Tins and boxes of cookies and candies lined the walls (damned this wheat allergy!) and ceramic roosters shared space with Santa and Mrs. Claus. After being offered one of those Keurig-type coffees (I chose hot chocolate), the owner expounded on the virtues of the machine and mentioned that he was purchasing several others. By this time, it was clear to me that he and his wife were not in the hospitality business for the money, so I asked him why he rented out rooms? "Because I like meeting the people, and it helps offset the cost". Seemed reasonable enough.

Once I got to my room (very modest but did include a mini-fridge stocked with soda and bottled water, coffee maker and microwave) I knelt on the comfy bed and looked at the interesting painting on the wall. It was a copy of DaVinci's "Last Supper", except in this one, Jesus and the deciples were all either Middle Eastern or African-looking. Perhaps the owner was more progressive than his Confederate leanings suggested. Before I got settled in, I was given a tour of the back porch where a rangy stick-figure of a man was waiting to be driven home by the guy - he was the day laborer who was helping rebuild the porch (a forty-thousand dollar job to make it look authentic) and next to the parking lot was a trailer with a huge sign advertising the bail bonds. Then I found out that there was a prison just down the road. Ah hah!

After a night's rest, I declined the breakfast since my food allergy makes me travel with my own vittles. Mr. Owner started with more story telling. He asked me if I'd ever been to Colorado because he once had to chase down a man who skipped bail in that state. But, he assured me that he was definitely NOT like that Dog the Bounty Hunter guy from TV. However, tracking down (and shaking down) runaway scofflaws was part of his business. I looked over again at his nervous-looking wife. She didn't contribute to the conversation. Somehow, the topic changed to higher education and he informed me that after he was 50, he went back to college and got his Bachelor's, Master's AND PhD - in 6 years. Of course, his major was criminal justice.

I started counting backwards. I figured he must have held a government job and was able to retire early. He told me that he fought in Vietnam and had a gun put in his hand at the age of 17. My heart broke a little and I told him I was sorry he had to fight so young. But, his face never changed. There was no remorse or emotion of any kind at that memory. Then, I realized that his eyes stayed the same way throughout all of our conversations. While recounting story after story, his face was friendly, but immobile. This wasn't the case with his wife, who seemed to be glancing out the door every 10 minutes or so. Then it hit me. I knew there were "secret" underground government facilities in this part of the country. The interest in crime. The vast amounts of money at his disposal. The brilliant mind able to speed through three college degrees in six years and that immobile face. Now, maybe I spent too much time working for a late-night talk show but it suddenly seemed clear to me: This guy was maybe former FBI but more likely, ex-CIA!! That was it!! His calm demeanor was more robotic than human. The stories with that Southern drawl were a tad too perfect. In my mind, I saw him as a trained killer who obviously had an interest in criminal justice and after a lifetime of service, was now allowed to live out his life in peace, with the help of a generous severance package.

I had spent the night with the enemy.

Sometimes Wandering In the Wilderness Will Take You Far

Cowgirl Conversations with Maddie

About 10 years ago, when I was living in Durham, North Carolina, my great friend Bo adopted the sweetest, tiniest puppy I'd ever seen. He named her Maddie and she and I immediately hit it off. I spent many happy hours rubbing her tummy and sitting patiently with her while she gnawed a bone from my hand. We also played together in the back yard. Nobody had any idea she would grow as tall and stately as she has. I am so thrilled that Maddie and I reconnected during this road trip. As you can see, we had a lot of catching up to do!

Randy at the Daisy Dukes

I suppose I should have known better - I pulled off of the road to go to a Dairy Queen for lunch (a chocolate Butterfinger Blizzard was calling my name) but instead, wound up at the nondescript building across the way that looked like it might have some "home cookin'". The parking lot was huge and paved with stone. Big enough to fit several tractor trailers, and there was one pulling out of the lot when I got there. I remembered that  my dad said truckers knew where to find good food.. The hand painted sign above the door read "Daisy Dukes" and when I walked in, there was the waitress, wearing the shortest blue jean cut-offs I had seen in a long time and a tight little tank top. "Aaaaaaaaah! THOSE Daisy Dukes", I thought. Her red hair was in braids and she was just so darned friendly when I walked in, that I decided to stay and order lunch.

I had entered a low-rent Hooters.

The most offensive thing about the place was that they encouraged smoking. Ashtrays on every table, so I found a booth behind the fan, so I could breathe some cleaner air. Wasn't  too hard, as I was the only customer in the place. The young waitress got me a Coke and I ordered a Southern staple - 'meat and 3 sides'. The special of the day was either popcorn shrimp or a "chuck wagon" - a deep fried hamburger. I got the shrimp. Once I started eating, I looked around. The walls were decorated with photos of customers. Many of whom were women - wearing their Daisy Dukes - some had on wet t-shirts and others, bikinis. But, these were regular, real women, not the plastic pumped party dolls from Hooters. I even smiled a little as I scanned the pictures. The waitress and I got to talking. She had a long shift ahead of her and wouldn't get home to see her 6-month-old baby until after midnight. I noticed the tattoo above her left breast of a cross and a dragonfly. On her back were a pair of angel wings.

A semi pulled into the lot. A balding trucker with bloodshot eyes entered the restaurant. "Oh no. Hi Randy", she said, with a little bite to her voice. "Hey, baby doll, good to see ya", he replied, as he poked the girl in the stomach. Randy sat a few tables away from me and lit up his cigarette. He nodded his head in my direction and I was glad I was sitting behind the fan. After a couple of minutes, he asked me what I was eating and then if I'd like some company. I said if he put out his cigarette, I wouldn't mind a chat.

Randy stubbed his butt and slid into the booth across from me. It was clear that he'd been driving for many hours and maybe hadn't had a shower in a couple of days. Don't know why I decided to talk to him but he told me that he was hauling a load of some kind of coffee, headed for a Wal-mart. The waitress cautioned me to watch out for Randy, as she poured him a cup of coffee. He said, "hey, wanna hear a joke?" and I figured, what the hell? He grabbed the waitress around her waist as he relayed a very bawdy story about 3 nurses and a dead man with rigor mortis. I laughed and Randy took this as a sign of encouragement to continue with the jokes. But, they got bawdier and "randier" and I started to really lose interest in them.

After I had eaten a few more bites, he started asking questions about me. Was I married? Why was I on the road? Where was I from? Then, things started to turn. WHY had I not married? Was I a virgin? Then, "hey, I LIKE big girls - more fun to play with" (And, as a large woman, I guess he wanted me to know that he was not turned off by my size. Oh joy.) Then, he asked me if I could fill his coffee with cream FROM MY BREASTS. Of course, he used the word, "boobs" - I hate that term. Then he told me that they were awfully firm and high, but if I took off my bra, they'd probably hang down. Through my teeth I said "they will do what they will do" as I ate faster and asked for a to-go container for the rest of my shrimp. As I was standing up and getting ready to slap down some cash for my bill and run out the door, he said "Hey, how big are those things? What is your cup size?" When I left, he called me a "princess" and an asshole.

Is it any wonder I am still single???

This Stands the Test of Time: Barry Manilow - 1978 - Second Barry Manilow Special.

Beth and Tina and a Waffle House Christmas

While driving through Northern Georgia the other day, I realized it was time for some grub and a pit stop. Exited  at a Waffle House with a gas station nearby. I sat alone at the counter while glancing at the couple holding hands in the next booth. Nice, I thought. Decided to have the pork chops and hoped they would be edible.

My waitress seemed a little "goth" for this neck of the woods. A short-haired lass named Beth with the tips of her tresses dyed green and a pierced silver horseshoe extending from her nostrils. "Have another cup of coffee" she said as she tipped the carafe. "Today's my last day".  "Oh, why's that?" I asked. She explained that all Waffle Houses are open on Christmas (a good fact to know, while on a road trip) and it is mandatory for all employees to sign a waiver stating that they will either be scheduled for a shift on that day or work on call. Beth  really wanted to fly home to Texas to see her family for the holiday, so she had to quit, in order to schedule her trip. After she served my slightly burned lunch (while suggesting the chops be smothered in Heinz 57 sauce - a wise move) she went out for a smoke with the mouth-breathing-fetus of a manager. 

Then, Tina, a weary-looking 40-something took over. I immediately noticed her pretty purple ring and asked if it was amethyst. It was a gift from her parents and she was sure the stone was real. Then Tina asked me if I liked the rental car I was driving. I got lucky with that Nissan Versa. I told her that I would buy that car if I could afford it, since it was so much fun to drive and very fuel efficient. She pointed over to her identical car in the parking lot and said that she just got it. "I love mine", she said. Then she explained why she was driving a new car. Back in July, Tina, her husband and mother had pulled over to let an ambulance through when screaming from behind, came a big box truck that never even put on its brakes. It slammed into them and then jumped OVER Tina's car. Her husband wound up in the hospital with severed vertebra. Tina had suffered knee and back problems and also required hospitalization. Her mother escaped uninjured. Turns out the truck driver was on his cell phone and highly distracted. Yet, Tina had to hire a lawyer in order to get any money out of his company's insurance, to pay for the medical bills and get a new car. Her own insurance agent refused to speak with her as her old jalopy no longer required collision or comprehensive coverage. Tina had health insurance but it hardly paid for anything. While wrestling with the legalities of the situation, she had to continue working at the Waffle House, so that she could put dinner on the table. Her lawyer said it was best to quit her job - otherwise she could not prove that she had been injured in the accident.  I watched her limp up and down the aisle. 

Due to her legal battles Tina's family is barely scraping by, but she insists on working . Her husband, who had been laid off before the accident, must stay flat on his back for most of the day. And then, she looked at me with tears in her eyes and said "But the worst thing is, my family won't even have Christmas this year." Knowing what I learned from Beth, a few minutes earlier, I understood that not only were they broke, but Tina had to work. I asked Tina to tell me about her 3 kids. Turns out that they are all girls - the youngest is 15 and the others are 24 and 25. I told her that if I had anything to do about it, she WOULD have Christmas!

I ran to my car and to my suitcase, where I keep my little cardboard jewelry boxes. I explained that after my open heart surgery, the Prednisone I was taking made me do wacky things, like buy jewelry off of a web site. I found a few pieces that I have never worn: a silver garnet necklace and a gold sapphire one, as well as a man-made diamond and blue topaz ring. I asked if she thought her daughters might like them and she nodded her head while looking a little stunned. "Now you can have Christmas", I said. Her mouth-breathing fetus manager looked on, disapprovingly. I excused myself to the ladies room. When I returned, Beth and Tina would no longer speak with me, glancing over their shoulder at their 20 year old boss. "What a dick", I thought. I bet he'll go far in the Waffle House corporate culture. I wished them all a Merry Christmas and they smiled and waved me on my way.

House Guest from Hell

I have been truly grateful for all of the incredibly kind people who have let me share their homes this past year and a half. I realize what an inconvenience it has been for you, letting a stranger take up space and use your utensils and supplies, etc. Most recently, my friend-for-life (since high school), Bo - the oboist - has welcomed me at his partner Anthony's showplace. Now, I don't know what gene gay men have that I don't, but Anthony's house is picture perfect, with just the right decorating bric-a-brac on every surface, plus he has added unexpected touches like teak ceiling fans. And, you should see the Christmas tree that matches the living room decor. I'll never be able to furnish a house like this!

So, Anthony is the ultimate host and loves making folks feel welcome. He's been out of town the entire time I've been visiting, so Bo asked me to write something in Anthony's guest book (like they have at Bed-and-Breakfasts) to tell him how much I enjoyed my stay. Here's what I wrote:

Oh Anthony,
Your divine home has made me feel more than welcome! It is gorgeous!!! Sorry about the toilet and the bathtub...and the bed. Didn't cost too much, did it? As for the couch, I'm sure it will come out with a little elbow grease. Just a small fire in the kitchen, really. Only 2 firemen had to come out and they were so cute. I made them use their "hoses" a little more than they should have, but really, can you blame me? Hey, anyway, thanks for being such a good sport and I'll replace those ceiling fans one day. Love, Anne

Ain't I a little stinker?

Highway to HEALTH

My last blog, "At the Edge", discussed my actions during my sister's recent trip down the rabbit hole because I was the one who had to clean up the mess. I didn't go into details and I'm not going to describe the entire process as I have not worked through all of it yet. I don't know if I ever will.

She says that I am taking the focus away from her and trying to personalize HER experience, because it happened to HER and not to me. Well, unfortunately, our actions always affect others. She will (hopefully) never know what it is like to watch somebody you love move at 100 miles an hour, write on walls (like that guy in the movie "A Beautiful Mind), unpeel the layers of an onion and find lie after lie and discover addictions and illegal behaviors. Most importantly, I hope she never ever has to look directly into the eyes of someone she loves and think she is seeing the person she has always known but realize that nothing is getting through whatever windows and doors her mind has erected, to protect her from horrific memories. Yes, these are my words and interpretations of what happened.

I am not beating myself up for having to call the paramedics to take her to the hospital. It was the only thing I could have done at the time and I'm glad I did it, as I am sure she would have run into the street, torn off her clothes and been hit by a car, at some point. For some reason, she thinks I'm being hard on myself. I'm not. But, I have had a hell of a time these past 2 years and I am praying to God that this was the culmination of everything but it seems that as soon as I get done with one situation, another crisis arises. Now, the self-help books and the New Age philosophers and churches say that we create our own dramas in order to heal from past pains or because we are not living in "Christ Consciousness". Our ego takes over and when we are living right, our life is peaceful. I used to believe that too.

But after all of these experiences - especially this year - My back problems, blood clots, mold and other health issues, the loss of most of my belongings and being homeless - I don't know anymore. Seems I truly can only focus on one day at a time. I think it is natural for the residual of crisis to filter down - it can't be simply washed away. Truth will out, and it will come out in unexpected ways, sometimes.

I need some peace and quiet and to focus on myself. Which is why I'm on a road trip. I am broken and need some repair. Solo travel has always helped. I need it to assist me again. I don't have a final destination on this journey. Only my very modest income is determining how long and how far I travel. So far, my back is behaving well. I have groceries and a sleeping bag and pillow in the car. The rental is pretty gas efficient. Will I go West? South? Not sure at this point. Tomorrow morning the car will tell me which direction to travel.

At The Edge

I have been through so much lately. Well, this entire year, actually. But, the experiences of the past month have nearly pushed me to the brink of sanity. Which is where I had to rescue a family member from on Thanksgiving. It is no fun having to commit somebody to the psych ward. I struggled for at least an hour before I finally made that call to 911. When I described the behaviors I was seeing and the danger this person was posing towards themselves and others, I had no choice. Well, first I called the crisis hotline and described what was going on. They were the ones who told me to call the paramedics, who arrived with 4 cops and somebody from the fire department. They nearly had to break down the door but it was luckily unlocked at the last minute. Otherwise, property damage would have occurred. Even though I begged them not to, they would have anyway.

This was not how I had envisioned spending Thanksgiving.

Then, there were several visits to the psych ward, during visiting hours. It felt like visiting somebody in prison. My belongings were checked and I was taken to a common cafeteria and the patient was lead in to greet me. One time, another patient was acting out loudly and the whole place went into lockdown. Visitors were ushered out of the ward. I was traumatized by that experience, for sure.

Just getting from point A to point B, in the neighborhoods I traveled was an exhausting ordeal. I handled it all, at the time, but I am now falling apart. I realized that what I need most is a road trip. Calming pavement, stretched out for miles with very few scheduled stops along the way will heal me. So, I hope to get out of Dodge very very soon and hit the open road. I need it more than you can imagine, as I am totally at the edge of my sanity.

Dan Rather's Amazing Speech

I have been processing a lot of personal stuff lately, that I'm not yet ready to share. So, in the meantime, here is the text of an incredible speech Dan Rather made, recently, when he accepted The Committee To Protect Journalists' "Burton Benjamin Memorial Award" for 2011. Rather is a true patriot!


One of Bud Benjamin's dreams was to expand the CBS Evening News to a full hour. And Bud wasn't thinking of filling it with helicopter shots, celebrity gossip and punditry. He imagined an entire hour brimming with investigative reporting, exposés and dispatches from around the world.

It was a different time in journalism. A time when professional duty was patriotic, and the freedom of the press motivated and inspired newsrooms. I know it is hard to believe - but it's true - newsrooms were not supposed to turn a profit. Frankly, news was considered an acceptable loss on the balance sheet.

To keep our FCC license and the public trust, we had to use the public's airwaves in the public interest. Yes, that's a whole lot of "public." But that's the way it was. It's the way it should be again.

Today, how we look and how we "present" information has become far more important than how we gather it. It's upside down and backwards. And, the worst part is ... we have gotten used to it.

The caretakers of the Fourth Estate have, at times, left the building unattended. Public interest be damned.

It was Thomas Jefferson who noted in 1799 that, "Our citizens may be deceived for awhile, and have been deceived; but as long as the presses can be protected, we may trust to them for light."

Jefferson trusted the press - not to stir up heat, but to deliver insight.

Of course freedom of the press and of speech both come with pitfalls. People can peddle opinions as if they were facts. Those armed with the big, expensive megaphones drown out those blowing whistles.

But now, we see our fellow citizens taking to the streets. And, that my friends, is our cue to get back to work. As the People of our nation begin rising up, they expect the business of news to be about inquiry and accountability.

And, luckily for us, we can still do that ... but it may not be within the confines of big corporate media. As you know, we are living in an age when big money owns everything ... including the news.

That cash bought a lot of silence for a long time. Enough time for unchecked power to get this country tangled into messes all around the world. We all know that money talks. But, so do the people. They tire of conflicts at home and abroad ... conflicts that avert our eyes from the corruption and callowness that does little more than spill our blood and misspend our treasure.

"We had fed the heart on fantasies," wrote William Butler Yeats, "the heart's grown brutal from the fare."

In other words, we have gotten used to it.

What happens to a country when the press helps divide people into Us and Them? When it fans the flames of conflict and calls it reporting?

We need to restore, at some point, the teaching of the craft of journalism. The best way to protect journalists is to teach them how to do journalism and, therefore, protect themselves from becoming irrelevant.

I am reminded of the finest speech I ever heard on the subject of television journalism. It was given by Ed Murrow in 1958.

Murrow said, "This instrument can teach, it can illuminate; yes, and it can even inspire. But, it can do so only to the extent that humans are determined to use it to those ends ... otherwise, it is merely wires and lights in a box."

Dear friends, we must untangle the wires from the lights. We must halt the steady decline of broadcast journalism and the endless compromises to the boardroom.

Some say it is too late. That Congress wrote our epitaph in 1996 when they all came together and passed the Telecommunications Deregulation Act. Since then, the lights in a box have gotten brighter and flashier ... but the truth dimmer and dimmer.

And ... we have gotten used to it.

The late, great Molly Ivins used to tell a story about what happens when fear grips a country. Molly liked to tell the story about her late friend, the celebrated Texas civil libertarian John Henry Faulk, who, as a boy of six, went with his seven-year-old friend, Boots Cooper, to rid the family henhouse of a harmless chicken snake. From its high perch, the boys found themselves eyeball to eyeball with the snake.

Growing up in Texas, it's not uncommon to see a chicken snake ... but being close enough to spit in the snake's eye must have been quite disconcerting.

As Molly would tell the story, the two boys ran out of the henhouse so fast they nearly tore off the henhouse door ... not to mention doing damage to themselves in the process. When Faulk's mother reminded the boys that chicken snakes are not dangerous, Boots Cooper responded, "Yes, ma'am, but some things will scare you so bad, you'll hurt yourself."

That is what we have been subject to as a country. We have been so afraid; so hell bent on destroying enemies ... both foreign and domestic ... we have hurt ourselves and our democracy.

You are probably asking yourself now what you should do.

Well, it may take courage.

There are so many wrongs to make right, it is going to get messier before it gets better.

We have to begin asking the hard questions once again.


We have to demand and earn back the respect that gave us the right to ask them.


We must protect whistleblowers by using our megaphones to make their risky admissions even louder.


We must demand access to all those risking their lives to challenge power.


We must refuse to simply read press releases and rely on official sources.


And we must begin to enforce our own professional code of ethics. Refuse to compromise. Going along to get along is getting us nowhere.
Tonight, if I can convince you of anything, it is to buck the current system. Remember anew that you are a public servant and your business is protecting the public from harm. Even if those doing harm also pay your salary.

To once again quote Ed Murrow, "There is a great and perhaps decisive battle to be fought against ignorance, intolerance and indifference ... this weapon of television could be useful."

And wouldn't it be great if our country could get used to that.