Ansapo's World

Memories of the Present

2012-02-08T19:41:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-25T10:35:00.000-08:00

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?

2012-01-16T19:30:00.000-08:00

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?

2012-01-13T13:59:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-07T18:04:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-01T11:01:00.000-08:00

Cowgirl Conversations with Maddie

2011-12-31T08:39:00.000-08:00

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

2011-12-31T03:09:00.000-08:00

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.

2011-12-27T03:04:00.000-08:00

Beth and Tina and a Waffle House Christmas

2011-12-24T17:24:00.000-08:00

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

2011-12-23T08:33:00.000-08:00

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

2011-12-15T00:21:00.000-08:00

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

2011-12-12T14:08:00.000-08:00

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

2011-12-02T19:40:00.000-08:00

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.

Pat and Kenny Read Oprah Transcripts - Tina Turner

2011-11-24T02:03:00.000-08:00

It took 12 years for me to see this, but Dave, Pat and Kenny succinctly describe how I feel about Oprah by simply reading a portion of her show's transcript out of context. Laugh-out-loud hilarious and profound.

Beautiful Words

2011-11-13T07:05:00.001-08:00

As you can see, by my description, I have a "terminally romantic heart". Well, I read these words today and just started crying. I wish I knew who the author was!! Maybe it is Rumi? Just had to share:

Without you, my heart would be empty.
Without you, I can not live.
Without you my life would barren.
Without you I would be lost.

Without you I could not think.
Without you, I no longer exist.
Without you I could not build my life.
Without you, I learn nothing.

Without you I can not smile.
Without you I would not have desires.
Without you, I would stop shivering.
Without you I would not be anything.

Without you my life would be nothing.
Without you, my happiness would not be fulfilled.
Without you, without you, yes, I would not be me.
I love you and love you till death ♥

Very Strange Medley - Barry Manilow

2011-11-03T05:20:00.000-07:00

Only Barry could get away with this and do it so well. Pure showbiz gold! Enjoy!

Vanessa, Kurt, and My Semi-Famous Back

2011-11-01T17:33:00.000-07:00

I realized yesterday that the back of my body has been in not one, but two movies!

In 1979, a film crew came to town to shoot the Nazi concentration camp made-for-TV movie, "Playing for Time" - based on a story by Arthur Miller and starring Vanessa Redgrave. I was a freshman at the community college at that time, taking acting classes. We found out about auditions for extras for the film. So, my sister and I went down to the Holiday Inn, where photos were taken and we were asked if we were willing to shave our heads and/or appear on camera naked. We both said a resounding "NO!" to each question. Apparently there were scenes of prisoners being gassed in the showers, and those scenes required nudity (even though it was only going to be on TV).

Surprisingly, I got called in and was cast as a 'background person' (a moving body shot through windows or doors, basically, a blur in the background) for a few days. I played a prisoner and since I didn't shave my head, I tucked my mane under a black and white cap. I wore a drab grey and white costume made of cotton - pants, shirt and longer jacket, and old shoes. The filming took place at a local military base called Indian Town Gap. The army barracks had been stripped of their siding so that only wooden slats remained, to closer resemble the gloomy concentration camp. To recreate a smoky atmosphere, large piles of burning tires were placed around the base and the acrid smell burned my nostrils with a nauseating scent I still remember to this day. I was joined on the set by lots of other locals, all of us looking sad and pathetic in our prison garb. It was on that day that I first heard the term "hurry up and wait," often used to describe how things work in the movie business. Hurry up and get the shot and then, wait around for the next scene to be set up. We "prisoners" were told to march in lines, mill about or, the worst, push a large metal pipe across the road. It was exhausting and I got pretty fed up moving that pipe because we had to peform take after take. So, I stood up. Well, some method-actor, playing a background Nazi guard, pushed me back down on to the ground so I would get back to work!! Boy did that piss me off!

There was a cold drizzle and my bones were chilled during those 2 or 3 days as a prisoner. In between scenes, we all hung out in an unheated empty barrack, with only a torpedo heater to take off the chill. We sat on metal folding chairs, as close to that rocket-looking device as we could. Our lunch was passed out in Styrofoam containers, and consisted of a ham or turkey sandwich, chips and a candy called "Now and Later" - similar to Starburst. I had never seen "Now and Later" candy before. Funny - the few times I've seen it since, I can't help but think of Nazi Germany (I'm sure the manufacturer would love that reference). Because it was so cold and uncomfortable, I didn't like being a prisoner extra. I was called back a few more times to do it, but turned them down!

However a couple of weeks later, both my twin sister and I were called in to be prison guards one day and we both said yes to that. As guards, we wore beautiful all-wool uniforms. Our hair was styled in buns or chignons and somebody applied make-up to our faces. We were also treated much better than the prisoners. Instead of eating cold sandwiches, we went to a dining room, where there was hot buffet. Also, we got to be in close proximity to the stars and I actually saw writer Arthur Miller hanging out on the set, not far away. Between takes, many of us stood around an oil can fire, to keep warm. I tried to act cool when Vanessa Redgrave walked right up next to me to warm her hands, too. When she looked at my sister and I, she said to me "Twins?" and I just gulped and said yes. Even with her bald head and no makeup, I thought she was incredibly beautiful; tall and regal with the most amazing blue eyes I had ever seen. I now realize I could have gotten into big trouble on that day. We waited around for what seemed like hours, as the assistant director set up the shot. At one point, he and the producers walked away for a discussion. I don't know what possessed me, but for some reason, I sneaked behind the camera, to the lens. I really wanted to see what things looked like from the directors perspective. I"ll never forget seeing the small stream and buildings in that frame. It looked so specific and artistic - so different from the 3-D real-life scenery around us. Luckily, nobody saw my crime. On that day, we only filmed 1 scene. We guards ran up a hill, with the prisoners in front of us. When the movie ran on TV the following year, I couldn't locate myself at all as a prisoner, but I think I saw my back headed up that hill.

In 1994, when the rock star Kurt Cobain died, a memorial service was held at the Seattle Center for the fans. Even though I had left rock radio a few years earlier, I really felt I needed to be there. I had just come from therapy (with the world's tallest therapist), and didn't have to be at work at the Adult Contemporary station for a couple more hours, so I got to the gathering a little early and stood pretty close to the front of the stage. Many members of the rock radio and music scene spoke to the crowd. There was a row of cameras about halfway back and some guys were milling through the crowd and filming. They kept asking my blue uncool Goretex-wearing 33-year-old self to step aside, so they could get a better angle on the young "Grunge" family seated in front of me - flannel-wearing 20-something mom and dad, with their baby. Courtney Love sent a recorded message, and we were all instructed to call Kurt an "asshole" as we looked heavenward. We all did. Then, we were given small candles to light. (I still have my candle in my jewelry box). Once the service ended, many in the group headed toward the big fountain, and that became a joyous celebration of the late musician's life. I wasn't about to get wet, as I had to cross a floating bridge and head to work. But, I remember it took me a while to leave the area, since so many mourners were making a mad dash to the water. I walked slowly away, taking it all in and honestly, I was not sure what I felt. I had no idea that the cameras were still rolling.

Just this past year, I was shown the Grunge documentary, "Hype". I could not believe my eyes when, towards the end of the film, the camera followed my blue Gortex coat leaving the scene. My back had once again been immortalized on film.

And nobody knows it but me. And now, you.

A Letter to My Mother's Priest

2011-10-23T09:12:00.000-07:00

Dear Father,

I have been acting as chauffeur and attending your Church with my elderly mother for a couple of months now. I sat inside, for a few weeks, until I felt that I was offending those around me by not sitting, standing and kneeling at the appropriate times and not reciting along with the congregation. When one woman glared at me, I knew I had to move. I now listen either on the back steps or in the hallway leading to the classrooms.

I am not a Catholic. But, I can see the beauty and love in the people who attend. I can understand how ritual and reverence gives humanity a deeper connection to Source and to their community. Also, I can see and feel the love within your heart, and I always appreciate your sermons. I once shook your hand and said "you are a good man" - because I can feel that you are truly filled with love.

What I don't understand is why the Vatican and the church's hierarchy insist on continuing to separate the people - who are really manifestations of God - FROM God. The recitations repeated by the congregation only seem to add to that separation. I sense a real dichotomy, between your sermons and the rituals and rules that you must follow, in order to comply with the diocese and Rome.

You see, I believe that we are all worthy. We are all God. We have all of the answers inside of us - there is no need to go outside to one day hope to find God. Having people say that they are not worthy and calling themselves "sinners" only brings feelings of fear and negativity to the soul, which contains the God spark. I understand why Jesus did what he did. But, his message was distorted. As a scholar, I'm sure you know how many times the words in the Bible were translated and misinterpreted. Entire chapters were hidden or discarded. The power of women was thwarted.(I must say, I am happy to see a feminine presence on your alter, though). All, in order to control the populace.

Again, though, I must say that I don't sense the negativity in you. In fact, I only see love and joy when you greet the congregation after the service. It warms my heart to see you talk to the small children.

My mother would be mortified if she knew I were writing this letter to you. She was raised Catholic and left the church but came back. Organized religion never "took", with me. This is a great shame in her heart. I wish it were not so, and that she would understand that I feel God's presence every moment I am alive.

I dreamed about you and the Church last night and awoke feeling it was time to write this letter.

Take care of yourself, Father, for you are a shining star.

This is a Singing Telegram

2011-10-19T16:42:00.001-07:00

I cannot believe I still remember the words to an annoying singing telegram I used to perform for the Melody-Gram Singing Telegram company of Harrisburg, PA nearly 30 years ago. I Googled the name recently, and it seems there are several Melody-Gram businesses across the US. I kind of doubt they are affiliated with the one I worked for, in the 1980's. But, you never know. In between my stints in road bands, I was an associate at J.C. Penney's, in the men's accessories department, and when I wasn't there, I was carrying helium balloons, silk roses and a little clip-board with the lyrics of the personalized tunes I belted out, acapella, for surprised (and occasionally humiliated) victims - er, recipients.

I probably answered an ad in the Patriot News to get the gig. I remember climbing up a flight of stairs into a tiny office and singing "Happy Birthday" to a rather nerdy-looking man wearing Bermuda shorts, a plaid short-sleeved shirt, black socks and loafers. I got the gig. In fact, for a little while, I was the only employee. To do my job, I wore a black skirt, white blouse (with a ruffled Peter-Pan collar), red suspenders, a red clip-on bow-tie and a bowler hat. I carried a black cane and was also instructed to rouge my cheeks with round red dots. This was called "The Charlie Chaplain costume". My other costume was for the "Bee Gram". Again, I wore a bowler hat but this one had antennae with black ping pong balls suspended on them. I sported a yellow and black striped shirt and put a big black ball on my nose. The "bee grams" were special, because I was required to "buzz" the middle verse of the song, instead of singing it. I had no sense of shame or public humiliation, in those days!

The owner of the company, Rob K., wrote all of his own telegrams. He changed the lyrics to well-known tunes, such as The Can Can or Jada or Danny Boy, to fit the special occasions, most often, birthdays. But, we had customized songs for sweethearts, mothers and fathers day and holidays. If I didn't know the tune, he'd sing it to me until I got it right. Before performing, I'd stop by the little office, in costume, pick up my balloons, the telegram and the customer's name and address and then head out into the city. Luckily, I lived close by and had a car. Once in a while, Rob would drive me to a nighttime job, so I would have a safe escort. I was always surprised that he listened to a police scanner as we traveled down the highway. When it was showtime, I was fearless as I strode into law offices or banquet halls or even on to the stage of a local dinner theater, to sing my songs. The people usually blushed or giggled as I sang. I mean, it is kind of embarrassing now that I think of it. Sometimes I sang into microphones but mostly, it was just a one-on-one or small group gathering.

I think I was paid about $10 or $15 per gig. It helped pay the bills, for sure. Plus, it was fun. And once, I even got to sing for a manager at Penney's, with the entire staff watching. They didn't know I had a second job and were a little stunned. Most didn't know that I was also a singer.

Melody-Gram grew and Rob K. had more ideas for costumes and characters. He went all out and bought a big "Miss Piggy" outfit, complete with full facial mask, purple dress and long-sleeve gloves. I only wore that outfit, once. On the dinner theater stage. I had to hold the mouth open with one hand, so the audience could hear what I was singing to the actor being "honored". Rob ALSO dressed as Miss Piggy sometimes and sang in falsetto. Thankfully, the budding business was growing and several more messengers were hired.

Towards the end of my stint, my sister Linda accompanied me to Rob's house to pick up an extra large bundle of balloons. He and his wife lived in an apartment not too far from the office. As we were leaving, Linda whispered to me, "that's the biggest fire extinguisher I've EVER seen" - as she pointed to the enormous silver canister next to the wall by the front door.

Here are the words to the birthday song, sung to the tune of the Can Can:

This is a singing telegram
To say how glad I am
That you are celebrating I'm relating
Best Wishes on your day of birth
I can't express my mirth
You are so special on this day.

Happy Birthday
One Year Older but don't doubt
Happy Birthday
Time to blow the candles out
Happy Birthday
Cake and ice cream all about
Happy Birthday
you'll have more without a doubt

So just relax and have some fun
The party's just begun
It's time to kick your heels and you will feel
So glad that your birthday once again has come
Its not time to be glum
You are so special on this day!

(and, if it were a "Bee Gram", I had to "buzz" another chorus).

Now, I may have mixed up the lyrics just a little bit - my high school friend, Jill, still remembers the words too, since she also worked for the company. But, just as the business was really taking off, suddenly we all stopped hearing from Rob K. Everybody was perplexed and we had come to depend on the extra money. A few weeks later, we saw his name appear in the Patriot News. Seems he had been caught at the scene of several late-night fires at local churches. He was convicted and sent to prison as a serial arsonist. Not sure what his vendetta was, against organized religion.

I was sorry to see that job end. He was always decent to me, plus, he was the only boss I ever had who gave me a Christmas bonus.

Stealthy Normalcy

2011-10-10T05:56:00.000-07:00

I am now back online, thanks to a little cigarette-lighter-sized device from my phone company that plugs into my computer. I notice that my entire mood has changed, since I am able to once again scroll through Facebook and listen to music and check my email several times a day. I feel hopeful and happy again. I have come to depend on the community I've developed via these bits and bytes. I look forward to the new photos of adorable animals and left-wing political statements from folks I know and also from those I've never met. New and old music via You Tube and other services soothes my soul and provides inspiration. Even though I am still mostly isolated here at mother's house, I feel like I'm part of the larger world again. Without actual human contact, I am starting to feel alive again!

Mother does not know I have the Internet back. It might throw her into a rage And, even though she does not have to pay for it, she will not be happy that I am footing the bill and I can expect a series of lectures about my "financial foolishness". So, I must keep this form of global connection secret from her, until the time is right. But, I am feeling free again!

Still no job or steady income, but I say my daily affirmations "I am open to abundance, money easily flows to me" and "all my needs are taken care of before I even ask - I am safe" daily. Also, "I have a comfortable, reliable, fuel-efficient vehicle". Still no form of transportation to call my own. But, I have been starting to ride a bicycle agian (after decades) - beginning very slowly and gingerly. Need to take it easy, for my back. But, it might provide me with a way to the land of the living. Slowly working on this. Plus, balancing on 2 wheels is strengthening my back and core muscles. And, my lungs feel stronger, too. Believe me, I am sick and tired of being flat on the floor and in pain!

So nice to feel hopeful again! God bless the Internet!

But, I must remember to be gentle with myself.

Mowed the lawn

2011-10-06T07:08:00.001-07:00

Just a quickie, in response to yesterday's post. Got the guy from across the street to start the lawn mower. No flirting or pretense of helplessness was required. Can't believe this healing body of mine was able to mow the entire top section of the lawn. A push-mower, not a riding mower. Mother sat outside and watched as I mowed the front yard. She pointed to spots with her cane and made me re-do several areas. The weather was beautiful and I did not let her critical perfectionism get to me (too much - I was muttering, under my breath, though).

How Do I Turn on the Damned Lawn Mower???

2011-10-05T09:51:00.000-07:00

As I've been getting stronger and am now able to walk longer and longer distances (nearly 3 miles!), I would like to be able to help around the house more. What needs to be done most, is mowing the lawn. A cherubic-looking 13-year old boy named John stopped by the house last week and for $15, he was going to mow the yard. I said yes (but perhaps I should have negotiated a better price). However, it rained most of the week and we cancelled him for the time being. When I suggested to mother that I call him to come back, she informed me that it was my responsibility to pay him the $15, since mowing the job was MY job. Funny, she never told me that before.

Now that I'm feeling better, I'm perfectly willing to do this. However, I can't get the blasted lawn mower started. I have tried several times - but a body needs to have exceptionally strong arms and upper body strength in order to yank the starter at the correct speed. I'm going to have to ask a man from the neighborhood to help me. I think my sister, Linda, has done this before. She is so much more forthright than I, but I'm getting better. "Please, Mr. Nice Man, could you pull this starter for me? I'm such a poor, helpless female and can't do it all by myself..." (although I don't think she's used those exact words, that is her sentiment - Linda is also a much better 'flirt' than I).

At any rate, I'm glad I'm getting stronger. Still using a back brace (from the drugstore) and still have to take Tylenol and the occasional 1/2 a Vicadin for the pain. Especially after sitting or driving for a long time.

Saturday Afternoon Church

2011-09-25T14:47:00.001-07:00

I have resigned myself to attending Catholic Mass with mother every Saturday at 5pm. But, I am no longer going inside the chapel or whatever they call the room with the stained glass where the service is held. I drive mom to the church and help her to her seat, next to the wall, behind the organist. She moves very slowly, with her walker, and sits throughout the entire service. I tried sitting in the pews but I had no idea when to sit, stand and kneel. I moved to the back so I wouldn't attract attention to myself, but there was a woman who kept glaring at me. How very "Christian" of her. I wondered if she might have been somebody from my high school. Anyhow, now I sit outside, in the hallway, where the service can be heard via a sound system.

I can't stand the music. Boring and uninspired. I'm sure the singing organist is doing the best she can, but I surely don't get any uplifting feeling from the songs. There are 2 priests. One who radiates (in my opinion), kindness, and another who seems like he has a closed heart. The good priest gave a sermon that was very authentic and human and at the end of that mass, I went up to him and shook his hand and said "You are a good man.". I don't know why - I just felt the need to say it. But I did. Of course, this mortified mother (this was when she agreed it was a good idea that I didn't sit next to her during the mass).

Last week, while resting just outside the doors to the chapel, I was, for some reason, focused on the monotone rote proclamations of the congregation, after several of the priest's statements ("and also with you", etc). I wondered if the people were "feeling it", when they said these words or were they just automatic responses like "have a nice day" or "you're welcome"? Just when I was having these thoughts, two little boys made a mad dash through the foyer. They were giggling and wrestling and having a grand time. They pressed the tops of several of the electric candles placed near the door, lighting up unknown prayers for the faithful. Their mortified mother tried to round them up and their very stern grandma took the older boy (maybe 3 years old) by the arm and he screamed "I'm sorry!!! I won't do it again!" as she lead him outside to the parking lot. I wondered if a spanking was on the agenda? Later, she lead him back inside and the two brothers giggled and continued playing.

Surprisingly, the priest's sermon (is that what they call it?) was about brothers and obedience to one's parents. The first son told his father he would do a chore but never did it. The second son said he would not do it, but guilt caused him to change his mind and perform the task. Jesus was the third son, who not only agreed to do the task but followed through and did it. That Jesus - always showing up his brothers.

I felt more inspired watching the little boys tussle and giggle in the foyer, than I did listening to the sermon. Aren't we all spirits having a human experience? Weren't these small children doing what came naturally to them? To me, they were being real and "living in the moment", instead of those inside the chapel, being on autopilot, robotically repeating words that were drilled into them. Their little faces expressed joy and they seemed truly alive. Unlike many who left the mass early, right after eating their wafer. They seemed to be there out of a sense of guilt and duty.

Maybe I'm totally wrong about this and I don't mean to offend anybody but I just don't get it, I suppose. However, mother was very happy after the mass.

Birds, Squirrels and Bunnies

2011-09-17T10:09:00.001-07:00

The most peaceful times at the house are when we are watching the creatures in the front yard. Mother has become quite the bird watcher. She keeps a ready supply of birdseed and suet on hand and I go out and fill 3 bird feeders, put a couple of piles of seed on the ground and fill up the suet holder. The squirrels LOVE the suet (a sticky mixture of seed and goo - probably lard or something). They scamper up the tree and balance, upside-down, on the branch, while they take a nibble. Blue jays also love the suet. The bunnies would give an ear, I'm sure, to be able to run up the tree and eat the sweet sticky stuff. But, they get their nutrition from the tasty grass and then chomp some of the seeds off of the ground from either the piles or the droppings from the feeders.

We've seen all kinds of birds: thrushes, "cat birds", woodpeckers, doves, cardinals and blue jays. There are several small ones, too. Chickadees, for sure. Maybe a finch or two. And yesterday, much to mother's delight, we had not one, but two hummingbirds come right up to the front window and hover, looking us both in the eye. I took this to be a very good sign - for, in the Native American tradition (at least according to the deck of 'animal cards'), hummingbirds symbolize joy and love. We sure could use a heaping helping of that in this house!

One more regular visitor that continually delights me is the groundhog! He is about the cutest thing I've ever seen. All chubby and wobbly as he waddles up to the seed pile to have his dinner. He takes a bite and then sits up and his little mouth and cheeks wiggle back and forth as he chews. I squeal with delight whenever I see him and mother disapprovingly says "he's so FAT!!! He's ugly! "How did he get so FAT?" Mother is unrealistically disgusted by fat. Amazing, considering she is no stick figure. Must be something from her upbringing. Her loving words to me often contain the phrase "Oh Anne Louise, I just KNOW you're going to lose 20 pounds this summer!" Wow. And when I say, Mom, I'm fine with how I am, she says "Oh no, you're NOT!" Sigh.

Anyway, back to the animals. There are, supposedly, a family of dear that roam through the lower back yard, but I've been here a month and have yet to see them. Tommy, the plumber, told us to get some cracked corn to throw down and we might get to see them on a more regular basis. Deer are so beautiful. I remember the last time I saw a white-tailed buck chasing a bunny, in front of a big water pipe in Washington state. I took it as a sign and it directed me to to the right spot I needed to be at that moment.

Perhaps the birds, squirrels, bunnies and groundhogs are also giving us a message. Relax, enjoy the scenery, slow down and find joy in the small things of life.

Dreams and Affirmations

2011-09-13T10:13:00.002-07:00

I am having a lot of dreams lately. Dreams about people I went to high school with, dreams about working in radio, dreams about reunions and losing jobs. I suppose, being in the old 'hood, I am churning up a lot of memories. Doing a lot of mental work at night - and sleeping many hours. I am glad I can sleep, bed is comfy and room is private.

I worry about my mother, though. Her health is not good and she doesn't sleep well. She turns up the television and radio very loudly (although, she can hear the tiniest noise coming from me and complains...) I am practicing affirmations (I love and approve of myself. I am a vessel for love and kindness - people treat me kindly) And also blessing my mother, encircling her in light and saying "my mother is kind and good - she is always cheerful and fun to be around - My mother is full of praise". This works now and then. Got it from the author Louise Hay.

Practicing other affirmations such as "the right job is coming to me that will use all of my talents in a creative way and pay me good money" and "I am full of energy and vitality. My body feels good and loves to move." I think I actually walked about a mile the other day. I am getting stronger. Still not 100%

And then I go to sleep and dream about high school friends and old jobs.

Love

2011-09-05T10:35:00.000-07:00

I need it - I want it.

It is inside of me, I see it everywhere, when I am not too tired. When I am tired, I don't see anything but - frustration. How does that serenity prayer go?

Patience - I need patience with myself. With others. With my mother.

Calmness. I need calmness in my life. I need happiness and joy.

And love. Lots and lots of love.

Too Empathetic

2011-09-02T16:40:00.001-07:00

So, I was told today that I better look for another job. After just one week on this new job. ONE WEEK.

I am "too hard on myself". I "want to know all the answers" and I am "too empathetic". It is a very complicated business and I deal with many, many poor people. I suppose I need to act like Patty and Selma from "The Simpsons", who work at the DMV. But, that is just not me. I want to do the best I can to help people.

I need a job where I can do a focused task, with few telephone interruptions, where I can do research (not scientific) and be in the back of the office, not the front. My boss is right. I am the wrong person for this job. But I am broke. And I don't know what to do. I am so sick of looking for work!!! And now, since I started a new position in a new state, I can no longer collect unemployment.

Maybe I'll learn not to care. But I don't want to.

Better than Yesterday

2011-08-23T14:54:00.000-07:00

Still not ready to take down yesterday's post but...things are a little better today. My back feels a little better and mother was more reasonable. We went for a drive up to the "mountain" and saw the beautiful green leaves. Also stopped by the river for a brief respite.

Kind of glad I haven't had the Internet for a while. Negative news really brings me down. Weird about that earthquake today, though.

Respite from Hell

2011-08-22T11:06:00.000-07:00

I'm trying. I'm trying to change my attitude and to surrender to God's will or whatever this is, that I'm in. I'm trying to see my mother for who she is - a very, very angry and sad woman, who still finds joy in small things like "butterfly bushes", birds out front eating from the feeder and puffy white clouds. She is in a hell of a lot of pain, from her hips and knees - which need to be replaced. She will only take aspirin which is a lot better for a body than the Vicadin and Tylenol I'm still on, for my back pain.

But she is mean. Really, really mean and says lots of nasty and condescending things to me (and my sister Linda - who goes back home to NYC today) all the time. We are completely under her control I am NOT ALLOWED to go to an acupuncturist - and since, she has the car and controls access to civilization, I must comply. There is a man she just met who does reflexology - and she trusts him. He is allowed to come over to the house and work on my feet. Please, let this work! We have found where the park-and-ride lot is for the bus to my new job which starts next Monday, and perhaps those hours at work will provide a respite from her point of view and allow me to connect with rational (?) human beings.

If she finds a hair in the sink, she screams. If I leave the bathroom closet open, she screams. If I accidentally forget to turn off a light switch, there is more yelling. And believe me, she is SURE that I have done all of these things specifically to piss her off. It is ONLY about her. She will not allow me to touch her food (even by mistake - trust me) because she will scream like a 6-year old. Seriously. I am afraid for her - she eats so much junk food and sugar. And she has diabetes. Her moods are like unpredictable roller coasters.

Oh - and I am being forced to go to her church with her once a week. All I could do this Saturday (she goes to Saturday night service) is sit back in horror when the Priest told everyone that Pope Bennedict was divine and that all "men" are foolish for wanting to believe in God their own way. It was so clearly a power-grab for Catholic Church control and a message to the congregation that "it's my way or you are going to hell". Yet, nobody questioned it. It took all of the control I had, not to stand up and scream out loud "You are ALL DIVINE!!! YOU ARE ALL A PART of GOD!!!!"

My hope is that I can see this situation with a new perspective and be embarrassed for posting this rant and will delete it soon. Oh, and the "community clinic" won't see me to test my blood thickness levels. They want me to go to some place that charges $68. I don't know what I'm going to do. Pray some more.

I AM GRATEFUL that she and Linda bought me a bed with memory foam. I AM GRATEFUL that I have a room to sleep in and a roof over my head. I AM GRATEFUL that I do think she loves me. But, it is like living with a child - perhaps she is the definition for narcissism. And, I think she also has some trace of autism. I don't know. Please God - help me find a way to get through this.

Gino Vannelli & Metropole @ The Hague Jazz 2011

2011-08-16T16:18:00.000-07:00

Don't Give Up On Me!!!!!

Pain and Preparations

2011-08-15T11:41:00.000-07:00

I have been checking into all kinds of services in Harrisburg. So far, I can't find a cheap place to get my INR blood tests done. People don't want to touch you if you don't have insurance. Even the Hamilton clinic has foisted me onto somebody else and they have not called back yet, with information. And now, I find I have to have another doctor's prescription in order to get the INR. How am I going to get that in one day from a community health clinic in Reno? Have figured out the bus park-and-ride schedule, found a yoga place with a teacher who understands back issues and have looked into a community acupuncture place.

I wish my back would get better, though. The pain can be so exhausting. I have cut back on the meds to 2 Vicadin and 2 1/2 Extra Strength Tylenol a day, but today I needed more. Am I going to be living in pain for the rest of my life? I am doing some stretches and strengthening exercises but I feel my progress is very slow. I walked for 10 blocks this morning but am now reclining on my bed, resting. Plus, I did a load of laundry and walked up and down stairs. I am doing better this week at not worrying, but I am frustrated, for sure. Tomorrow will be my last chiropractic appointment for a while. I have good days and bad days. Praying that the good outweigh the bad, very, very soon.

I am almost all packed. 1 suitcase and 1 duffle bag My 2 boxes arrived at mother's the other day. Somehow I will get these suitcases into a cab and to the check-in gate at the airport on Wednesday. Then, I'm doubling my medication for the flight. And, I may ask for special transport so I make my connecting flight on time.

I hope my new boss, Glenn, will be patient with me as I learn my new job and I pray that my mother and I can begin a new, positive relationship.

Bobby McFerrin - Don't worry Be happy

2011-08-11T17:16:00.000-07:00

Relax, Don't Worry...

2011-08-11T12:40:00.000-07:00

Seems that worry is one of the biggest traits I inherited from my upbringing. I know it is bad for me. I know it does no good. Still, I worry. Breathe in, breathe out, do EFT tapping exercises, say positive affirmations like "all my needs are taken care of, I am safe, everything is moving in the right direction" etc. Sometimes it helps. Well, the more I practice it, the more it helps. But some days, like today, when I have too much time on my hands and my back still hurts, the old circles of anxiety begin.

No expectations - I can't control the outcome - everything will turn out just fine. Focus on love. Focus on peace. Focus on positive thoughts. Take a little blue pill. Much as I hate to admit it, the anti-anxiety medication does work.

There are a lot of changes coming up and I haven't seen my mother in 15 years - now I'll be living with her for a while.... And she is a master worrier. How can I keep my balance and not get caught up in the downward spiral of her (and my own) anxiety?

Practice, Practice, Trust....

Hula Hoop Girl

2011-08-08T15:57:00.000-07:00

As my back continues to heal, I've been taking nightly 6 to 10 block walks down the street. There's one house, rather unusually built with what look like river rocks. A big white pit bull barks and wags his tail from behind the chain link fence. Recently, as I've slowly strolled by, there's been a young woman outside gyrating with a white-striped hula-hoop. As I'm somewhat mobility-impaired, at the moment, I find I am rather envious of her fluid movements. I'd like to stand and watch for a while but her dog keeps barking until I pass by. Since this is Reno, I can't help but wonder if this bleach blond tube-top clad lass is practicing for her act at the strip club. Maybe she works at Circus-Circus, though, and entertains the kids....

Or maybe I'm just being waaaaaaayyyy too judgmental and she has just found a fun way to exercise? Really - it does look like fun.

Good Things About Pennsylvania

2011-08-05T10:45:00.000-07:00

Trying to remember the things I liked about living in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania:

Fall Colors - trees are amazing
The Walnut Street Bridge to City Island
Rolling Hills
The train to Philadelphia
Shoe-Fly Pie (wheat. darn.)
Chocolate Easter Eggs filled with peanut butter or coconut
Old houses from the civil-war era
Hershey's annual antique auto show - hear they now have a museum
Hotel Hershey
Front Street and walking along the river
I have musician friends who live there
Main street of Mechanicsburg is pretty
Union Street in Middletown - wonder if Kuppy's Diner is still in business?
Amish country
Lancaster is pretty
Funk and Soul music - hope somebody still plays it on the radio!
Free orchestra concerts occasionally
The ceiling of The Forum
Other towns and cities are close by

These are things I remember. Don't know how much the place has changed. Visited briefly in 2002, before my Aunt Esther passed away. Saw her and my aunt Nippy for the last time - Nippy died the following June.

I hope I fit in. Always dreamed of returning home "triumphantly". Well, a young girl's fantasy, I suppose. Going back home and hopefully starting a new life.

Simple Life

2011-08-02T19:23:00.000-07:00

Lots of naps and 2 short walks a day. That is my main routine , as I heal from my "pulmonary embolism" and my back issues. So lucky that I'm living right across the street from a great chiropractor, "Dr. Mitch". He's been helping my L5 lumbar get back into position so it stops pinching my sciatic nerve.

I'm having issues dealing with the fact that I'm taking Vicadin and a blood thinner, as well as Tylenol. Trying to find the right combination so my blood hits the correct viscosity and I'm not damaging my liver with the acetaminophen and narcotics. Went from being totally drug-free, a few months ago to this. Trying to find the right mindset to deal positively with this as I heal. I do need the medicine to take away the pain, right now. But every day I am improving. I feel it.

Today, I got 2 boxes packed to ship to Pennsylvania. Yesterday, I got another bill taken care of (meaning erased!!!!!) from my hospitalization. Little by little things are falling into place.

I once again must thank Michelle and Steve for their kindness, patience and generosity with me over these several months. I know I have not been the easiest house guest. Now the Universe has opened up my next opportunity and I must take it. Flying out of Reno August 17th.

Tattoos behind bars

2011-07-30T12:12:00.000-07:00

While waiting on the number 6 bus yesterday morning, An older man wearing a matching tan shirt and pants came up to the bus stop. He was using a cane. He looked to be in his mid 70's. At first, we just nodded our cursory hellos. But, his arm and neck and some of his face were completely covered by tattoos. Now, I'm kinda creeped out by body "art". Have never responded positively to it. But, recently, I've tried to overcome my trepidation by asking folks about the marks all over their arms. They seem to like to talk about them. So, I said to him, "can you tell me a little about your tattoos? I've never seen so many on one person". And he said, "Well, I got 'em in the joint. I was in prison for 39 years. Just got out a month ago". "How does it feel to be free?", I asked. He told me he's had some trouble having to go live at a halfway house and dealing with the men who continue to choose to live their lives by dealing drugs and committing petty crimes, despite the fact they are no longer incarcerated. He has found another place to stay, part time, with an easier way of life.

We got back to the subject of his tattoos - they were not the most artfully rendered I had ever seen. He told me about an invention prisoners had come up with, involving an old tape cassette recorder. They dismantle part of it, use the motors and hookedthem up to ink pens. Apparently, they work very similarly to how a professional tattoo "gun" (don't know what they're called) works. He told me his ENTIRE body was covered in art and that they were his way of expressing his individuality behind bars. Let me tell you, he did look fierce. Must have been a scary mother in the joint who wouldn't be messed with. Turns out he got into quite a lot of fights and his parole was denied several times, accordingly.

His manner was somewhat sweet, but matter-of-fact with me, as I sat in the grass in the shade next to the bus sign. I asked if the tattoos hurt and he explained that the only ones that really hurt were the ones on his sternum, as this is the place in the body where all of the nerves and muscles came together. (I don't know if that's true, but it sure explains why I was in such agony after my open-heart surgery!). Maybe nobody had ever asked him these questions without judgement, before. To be truthful, I don't know if I was judging him or not. I just wanted to know about him. And then, he told me his age. He was 58 years old!!! This means he went into prison when he was 19 - almost an entire life spent in jail. I thought about the movie, "The Shawshank Redemption" and about the librarian character, old man, Brooks, who was finally released but could not handle life on the outside and wound up hanging himself under the words "Brooks Was Here" scratched on the ceiling beam.

I never got the name of the former inmate I spoke with, but then, he told me he had blood clots in his legs and was having difficulty walking - was taking aspirin to thin the blood. Well, then, I had a story to tell him, about my recent hospitalization, etc. I told him I was going to the county social services to try and get the medical bill reduced. At that point, he became almost fatherly in his advice and made sure I got on the correct number 2 bus, after I transferred and insisted that I pull the cord after the bus rounded the corner from Wells to 9th to make sure I got off at the correct stop.

We sat near each other on number 6 ride - my turn to talk, this time, describing the bizarre journey I had been on this past year (frankly - I'm sick of telling that story and am ready for a new one!) and he listened attentively. Once we reached our transfer point, he lead me across the street to the correct location for the #2 bus. All I said was "Thank you, sir", at the end.

Than I wondered when the last time was he had been called "sir" and I wished him well.

Hospital Bill - Vanished!

2011-07-29T18:14:00.000-07:00

It was a VERY long day. Finding the bus stop, lots of walking and making sure I transferred to the correct route to take me to the County Social Services office. They pushed up my meeting 23 days - to today, to show all of my financial information so I could have my 43 Thousand Dollar hospital bill reduced.

I arrived way too early, not knowing how the buses work in this town. Ended up walking up and down the long and narrow building and taking a rest on a circular bench for a while. Finally met with my case manager, who looked very carefully at my bank and unemployment statements, the bill of sale of my car, and some statements from Michelle, documenting my time living in her house and a utility bill. Ellen, the case worker, did some number crunching, scanned all of my papers and took my ID and asked some questions about my monthly bills, etc.

And then she said: "We are going to pay your bill"!!!!!!!!!!!!! "Now, this does not include attending physicians and radiology. Those, you will have to make arrangements for on your own, but fax them the form from us and tell them your circumstances and they MAY be able to work with you".

Such a relief, I can't tell you. Today was the hottest day since I've been here, 99 degrees and I was outside (under a traveling umbrella) for a good portion of the afternoon, so I am BEAT. I am going to wait until Monday to start working on the other bills and just collapse tonight.

What a day. Thank God!!!!!!!!!

Just Got the Preliminary Medical Bill

2011-07-28T18:41:00.000-07:00

You don't want to know how much the bill is. I don't want to know. Hey, it's more than I owe for college tuition.

Apparently, I spent nearly an entire day in Intensive Care. I had no idea. Guess that's what they call the place where the ambulance brings you. There were a lot of monitors but it was not nearly as elaborate as the cardiac ICU when I had my open heart surgery. Lots of folks milling about - lights, beeping, doctors grimacing and shaking their head at the foot of my bed. Rolling down the hall to cat scan and x-ray machines, back to the room with all the monitors. Guess that's ICU.

Tomorrow I meet with the county and show them exactly how much money I have. I sure hope they rule in my favor. I don't know what the heck I'm going to do. And, yet again, I'll have to do it alone. Times like these I really wish I had a husband. Or just a hand to hold. Or a pair of strong arms encircling me. Or a hug.

And in One Day, Car is Sold

2011-07-27T19:39:00.000-07:00

Couldn't believe it. Despite his hesitation and the flaws of my car, Steve sold it tonight to a nice man named Dave, for his daughter. And Steve made the profit I'd hoped he would. We did a bill of sale and except for the title, the car is now legally in the hands of Dave, who's going to fix it up.

Also tonight, made airline reservations to go back to my old hometown. Gulp. Harrisburg. I know. Had to make the reservation tonight because airfares are jumping up again for kids returning to school. Things are in motion. Wow. So fast.

My blood levels are not yet stable. Hopefully I will find a place to get INR tests cheaply. My back is still spastic but praying, oh dear angels help, that it will normalize soon.

Things are in motion.

It is All I Had - And it Isn't Even Worth Much

2011-07-26T16:42:00.001-07:00

Went outside this hot July afternoon after a nap and found Steve next to my 99 Sentra, cleaning out the rest of my car. He took off my KUOW and "Corporations Are Not The People" bumper stickers, as well as the one that said "Purr More, Hiss Less". He did a great job, the car hasn't looked this good in 4 or 5 years.

But, he didn't have a happy expression on his face. He's worried about the clutch (which was always a little tricky but has worked fine for me since I bought it) He thinks there might be the beginning of a hole in the floorboard and he said the engine sounds ticky. I told him it definitely needs an oil change. I can tell he is concerned. I thought that I was giving him a good deal on a very reliable car that he could either sell for twice the price or use for another 6 or 8 years.

Maybe some new floor mats will solve the problem with the floorboard. I could never use them because my size 13's would always bunch them up under the gas or brake pedal making driving dangerous. The clutch took me months to get used to, back in 2002 when I bought it - but now I never have a problem. And yeah, it does need that oil change.

But, I burst into tears. The one thing left that I own, my little car that I can no longer drive, isn't worth much. I couldn't stop crying. I couldn't help myself. It is all I have left. We threw out most of the stuff inside, except for the first-aid kit and jumper cables and a towel. Without a home, my trunk became a place for storage. A lot of the frivolous things like candles, colored markers, a 'space blanket' inside were from my trip to the desert last summer. It is best that Steve did most of the discarding. I was too attached.

But it makes it seem like this 50-year old life has not been worth much at all and I'm trying to "trust the Universe" but lets face it - I feel like shit.

Lower Back Pain Exercises

2011-07-24T16:56:00.001-07:00

Found these online. I'm going to try and follow them. Hope they work. No, THEY WILL WORK!!!!

SPECIFIC EXERCISES FOR LOW BACK STRENGTH
Perform the following exercises at least three times a week:
Partial Sit-ups. Partial sit-ups or crunches strengthen the abdominal muscles.
Keep the knees bent and the lower back flat on the floor while raising the shoulders up 3 - 6 inches.
Exhale on the way up, and inhale on the way down.
Perform this exercise slowly 8 - 10 times with the arms across the chest.

Pelvic Tilt. The pelvic tilt alleviates tight or fatigued lower back muscles.
Lie on the back with the knees bent and feet flat on the floor.
Tighten the buttocks and abdomen so that they tip up slightly.
Press the lower back to the floor, hold for one second, and then relax.
Be sure to breathe evenly.
Over time increase this exercise until it is held for 5 seconds. Then, extend the legs a little more so that the feet are further away from the body and try it again.

Stretching Lower-Back Muscles. The following are three exercises for stretching the lower back:
Lie on the back with knees bent and legs together. Keeping arms at the sides, slowly roll the knees over to one side until totally relaxed. Hold this position for about 20 seconds (while breathing evenly) and then repeat on the other side.
Lying on the back, hold one knee and pull it gently toward the chest. Hold for 20 seconds. Repeat with the other knee.

While supported on hands and knees, lift and straighten right hand and left leg at the same time. Hold for 3 seconds while tightening the abdominal muscles. The back should be straight. Alternate with the other arm and leg and repeat on each side 8 - 20 times.

Note: No one with low back pain should perform exercises that require bending over right after getting up in the morning. At that time, the disks are more fluid-filled and more vulnerable to pressure from this movement.

Wow. Living with Mother

2011-07-23T10:27:00.001-07:00

It appears that I'm going to have to live with my mother for the first few months of my life back in Harrisburg. This is not like living with somebody else's mother, believe me. Crusty? Yeah, that's a good word for her. Formidable might be a better word. I know she loves me. She has even said that she wants me to live with her as I heal from my latest hospital stay. But, mother (and I) have lived alone for about 25 years. We're set in our ways. She has her life and I have ..... well, I'm trying to regain mine.

I will not have a car, initially, when I move back into her house. She lives in a suburb without bus access. She will have control of the transportation. She wants to drive me to work and pick me up in the evenings. Her memories are of dropping her children off at high school. Perhaps those were good memories for her. I am thankful that she would like to help me in this way, until I can afford a car that will be healthier for my back.

Maybe God is orchestrating this reunion so mother and I can regain our relationship. We barely talk on the phone. One time I sneezed into the receiver, accidentally, and she screamed at me, accusing me of doing it on purpose. This is common behavior for her. Yet, Linda says she has mellowed a little in the passing years.

I wonder if there is any way to negotiate a calmer, more respectful relationship with this daunting Italian woman. Will I become stronger or merely cower in the corner, like I did as a child.

Perhaps my stay will help give mother purpose in her life for a little while? That is the best we can hope for. Give her purpose and heal our relationship. Pray for us?

OK - What to do next?

2011-07-22T08:52:00.000-07:00

The car - I'm going to have to sell it. My body is not able to make the trip - hip and thigh can no longer bend in the driving position for long periods of time. Steve may buy my car (for about 1/2 its value) and sell it - he deserves the profit, after everything he and Michelle have done for me. Duplicate car title is being sent to Nevada in several weeks.

The flight back to PA. Hoping Steve can help set that up for a reasonable price.

The apartment ... asking around, will be working for a property management place but I need a safe, small-ish and cute place for between $450 and $500 I think. Any Harrisburgians with any ideas on this? Pennbrook would be the easiest neighborhood for the commute, if I don't have a car.

Need to figure out how to get my few belongings back to the Keystone State for the cheapest price. Perhaps I could ship my duffle bag full of stuff via Greyhound a few days before I leave? That will leave me with a suitcase and small backpack.

Many more things to think of and to coordinate. Any ideas or help, please write me a comment. Thanks so much.

Still don't know what's going to happen with the medical bills etc.

Terrified

2011-07-20T17:29:00.000-07:00

You know what, guys? I am so terrified right now. I have been offered a job in Harrisburg, my old hometown, by an old school friend. He's being really, really kind and generous to offer me this position and I am so thankful and grateful for it.

But I'm scared. I have been through so damn much this past year, especially, and I'm just trying to calm down and see the good in all of it. I've just been out of the hospital for a few days, am trying to get my blood levels stable on blood thinners, have been living for far too long on the generosity of friends and I am so ready to stop sponging off of people and make my own way. Like I used to.

So, I'm just writing this little blog to tell the universe that I'm trying to trust you. I'm trying. I'm THRILLED to have been offered a job, believe me. No guarantees that it will work out. No guarantees in anything in this life. Thank you God for all of the blessings and gifts I have been given.

Is it ok to be thankful but still terrified?

Out of the Hospital

2011-07-18T18:00:00.001-07:00

Those were the longest 6 days of my life. I swear. I had no window to look out of. Had no idea where I was, logistically, in Reno. Thank goodness somebody had installed lovely photos of springtime trees and a blue sky above my bed. At least I had that. Loneliest days of my life, too. I broke down into tears when an old friend of my father's stopped by for about 5 minutes and handed me $100. It was almost as if my dad, himself, came by for a few. Paulette, dad's 3rd wife, Juanita's daughter, set it up. She was an angel and I can't thank her enough for that.

About a week before I called the paramedics to take me to the ER, I kept saying to my sister Linda (and also my friend, Angela) that I need to go to the hospital. I didn't know why. I thought it was just because I was depressed. I had no idea that life-threatening blood clots had made their way into my lungs. I did know that I had no energy and could barely make it down the stairs. I fell to the floor twice in the shower, didn't have the strength to bathe. I had no idea why. Sure my back hurt like hell but it was much worse than before.

My doctor at the hospital was bizarre. Reminded me of "Dr. Spaceman" on the TV show 30 Rock. Talked a lot of gibberish. I think he was trying to be funny or something. The nurses were very young - all under 30 years old. The nursing assistants (who took blood pressure and helped bathe me and stuff) were generally older - and mostly very, very kind women. It was difficult listening to my room mate Cathy Ann moan at night and I'm sure she didn't appreciate my tears, either. What could we do? Alone, in pain, our bodies out of our control. She was there for liver disease - alcohol related. She had a lot of friends and acquaintances visit her side of the room. Steve and Michelle were able to take time out from their busy schedules to visit me a couple of times and I'm so thankful for their support and the fact that they brought me the computer. Cathy kept that TV turned on all the time. Luckily, the sound volume was pretty low. I had to keep asking the nursing assistants to move the curtain so I couldn't see the flashing lights of the screen. So distracting.

The food - dear God, they had me on a renal (kidney problem) diet because when I was admitted, my fluid intake was pretty low. I never want to go to the hospital again, OK? NEVER NEVER NEVER want to be a patient. 2 times in 3 years is way too much.

Finally, Michelle deserves so many thanks for helping me during the discharge. We got my medical records rather easily, but the nurses screwed up and did not send my meds (that I came into the ER with) to the pharmacy, like they were supposed to. Michelle also pushed me all over the hospital. Strong woman, for such a small person. I wish her much good luck and happiness in life.

I am so glad I am out of there.

So Lonely

2011-07-14T13:04:00.000-07:00

Try to be brave. Try to be strong. Try to think positive thoughts.
God, I'm so lonely. This is worse than when I had open heart surgery. At least Lisa was with me and I had visitors. Here I am in this town and only know 3 people. And I have to be in bed all day. I keep praying I'll get better. I guess my lungs are getting stronger and they finally took that MRI on my back but no results just yet. "Trust in the process of life - that everything is moving towards the highest good. I have everything that I need and I am safe". I think those words over and over and then dose off to sleep. I have no idea what is next for me in life, if anything.

Today I signed a living will and did power of attorney paperwork. Linda will tell them to pull the plug, if need be. Figured Lisa has had enough of my burdens for a while. If they can't find her, I've told them to call Steve. Hope he doesn't mind. I asked to be cremated and have my ashes either kept by the family or strewn in the Puget Sound. Guess somebody's gotta make these decisions.

I had dreamed that by this time this year, I would have love. True love. Perhaps I lived in my head too long or made all the wrong moves. Perhaps I made too many wrong turns or was too stubborn in my life. Perhaps everything is going perfectly to plan and all of this will lead to something so wonderful I can't even fathom it?

Things are looking up???

2011-07-13T15:18:00.000-07:00

OK Found out who my Dr. is - Dr. Math. They found an additional blood clot in my LEFT leg - all of the pain is in my right leg and sciatica. He promises to schedule an MRI for tomorrow. FINALLY!!!! I will not be allowed to have any kind of surgery more invasive than a haircut while I'm on blood thinners and may have to stay on Kumaden for 6 months or so. At least now we know...He asked if I'd taken any long drives lately. So, I was right about my long drive leading up to the back pain. Just had no idea about the blood clots. Good thing I wasn't walking around much or more of them would have broken off.

Don't keep me alive by science

2011-07-12T16:45:00.000-07:00

They don't make it easy here to write a 'living will'. I have just jotted a letter saying I don't want to be kept on life support if they can't resuscitate me. Only resuscitate me once and then, if it doesn't work, just let me go, OK? Y'all are my witnesses on this. Date July 12, 2011, time 4:48pm Pacific.

do they have any idea????

2011-07-12T12:04:00.000-07:00

still typing with fingers and hands with tubes on them.

So, doctors are positive a massive blood clot passed THROUGH my heart, probably from my leg and into my lungs. They are waiting for the one giant clot to break up. I am still waiting for ultra sound to find clots in my right leg, which one of the doctors says is more swollen than the left leg. He says they might not find a clot in there, that it may have already passed upwards. But, I'm having a hard time communicating with doctors. They are finding me anxious and difficult to deal with. All I want are answers to questions and for them to consider other options. I'm not being difficult!!!!

I wonder if this is the end of my life or a new beginning?

Hard typing with tubes on your hands

2011-07-11T17:59:00.000-07:00

fMy right hand has a clear tube with a blood thinning solution seeping through it. My left index finger has some sort of monitor attached and my left wrist has a lot of puncture wounds covered by gauze. Blood clots of all things. In my lungs - one "massive" clot and several other smaller ones. And I originally called thee paramedics because my sciatic nerve pain down the back of my left leg has not healed and I could not even move off of the floor.

There's a lot to process - More larer

I need help

2011-07-07T09:34:00.000-07:00

This post is not going to get me a job. I am in dire straits. I have been taking the small steps I can, in order to help myself: Started attending CSL. Took a class in the EFT tapping technique to help reduce anxiety. Was taken to the emergency room to get anxiety and anti-depressant meds. Got into the state system to get these medicines for free, due to my impoverished state. Started feeling better. But, when I went for a drive, my back went out again and I am once again in very bad pain. Have gone to the chiropractor. Even went to an acupuncturist who did not help - he said I needed an MRI before he could get to the root of the problem, which may be bulging discs 4 and 5. I cannot afford an MRI - I have called many, many places - free clinics cannot help. They do not have the equipment.

Too much has happened in too short of a time. Last year, perhaps I did go "manic", as Dr. Cohen said. All I know is that after losing 2 jobs and a place to live, I kept getting progressively sicker and sicker, coughing, body swelling up in my hands and legs, even more. I heard a voice scream inside my head saying that it was mold and that I had to get to the desert. Which I did. When I got back, Lisa generously took me back in. But, I was unable to concentrate and could not find a job. After 6 months, the threw me out I had become too much for her. I went to Eireen and Phil's for a couple of days and then, Steve and Michelle generously allowed me to stay with them. It has been over 4 months now. I have been applying for jobs constantly and only have had 2 interviews - both unsuccessful. I have had my mental and physical health deteriorate. They did not sign up for this, for sure. This was just supposed to be a temporary place to stay until I got back up on my feet. But, it seems that I keep falling down. They have been very, very kind to me but I do not want to lose our friendship.

Today, I wanted to try and take further control of my situation, so I drove to the community clinic "HAWC" - when I got to the financial intake room, my back went into spasm and I was wheeled to a dr's office. They put me in a wheel chair and I waited and filled out papers, mostly by kneeling on the floor. They wanted me to go on Prednisone steroid packs but after checking with Linda and Angela, who both screamed "NO!!!!" I was put on muscle relaxants and a super kind of anti-anflamitory drug. I feel like a zombie - a drug addict. The pain i less, however. Lord - help me out of this, please!

I don't know what to do. I don't know where to go. I fear I may soon be out on the streets. I need serious help. Fast.

Woman on Top with the Metropole

2011-06-25T18:01:00.000-07:00

This has to be the best song he has yet to record. God I wish I was as confident as the woman he's singing about. Hell of a song.

Reno Rodeo

2011-06-22T13:07:00.000-07:00

This was one of my favorite parts from last night's rodeo. The free running of the mares and their baby colts. Such beautiful horses at the Reno Rodeo.

I don't consider myself a cowgirl (although for some reason, several people called me that, last summer, while I was in Angel Fire, NM) and don't know much about animals but I surely can appreciate the beauty of horses. And cattle. Love animals.

I didn't really understand most of what happened during the rodeo. Men took painful-looking rides on bucking broncos. I asked my friends if these men were ever able to reproduce. Surely their manly parts get knocked around and injured during the barely 8 second rides on top of those 4-legged beasts. You'd be surprised how long 8-seconds seems. That is the length required to stay on top of a bull, in order to have a qualifying ride. I'm not sure how long a cowboy has to stay on top of a bucking bronco in order to get points. There were several types of competitions. Roping calves, for instance. The cowboy rode up with a lasso and pulled down a running calf. Then, somehow, his horse walked backwards with the rope while the cowboy wrestled the calf to the ground and tied up his legs. Everything was timed to the second. 14 seconds was way too long. I think 7 or 8 seconds was the winning time.

And, there is a LOT of banter during the rodeo, to keep the crowd pumped up. A man on a platform and another man on horseback have a running commentary throughout the entire show. They discuss competitors stats and tell a lot of bad jokes. A jingoistic Patriotic theme runs throughout the proceedings. I sure get sick of hearing how great America is. I mean - aren't other countries great, too? Why do we keep having to remind ourselves our country is great? I think it is because people's faith in this nation is wavering due to corporate control. Or, maybe it is due to the fears about this economy - or perhaps just general prejudice. One man is employed as the "rodeo clown". He seems to have a tough job of not only making people laugh, but always being at the ready to rescue a cowboy should a wayward horse or bull cross his path. Plus, this clown was also a stunt motorcycle rider who jumped over a horse trailer and pick-up truck during intermission.

My favorite event of the rodeo was the one where several women rode gorgeous steeds at breakneck speed and then had them serpentine around barrels. The horses were majestic and I was thrilled that women took part in the contest. The winner was the oldest competitor and the commentators said she was a grandma. I bet she is one heck of a classy dame.

The grandstands were packed last night, in the 95 degree heat. Thanks to Michelle, we were in the shady grandstand. Saw a lot of cowboys and cowgirls walking by. Lots of blonde hair and short-shorts and cowboy boots on the girls. The boys wore mostly t-shirts and jeans and of course, cowboy hats.

I really felt like I had landed in an alternative universe last night. I'm glad I got to go and see what all the fuss was about.

Hypnotism

2011-06-12T15:24:00.001-07:00

Just finished the latest Richard Bach book, 'Hypnotizing Maria'. In the book, Bach discusses how we all hypnotize ourselves each and every day, by accepting a long series of suggestions about who we are and what are life is about. He postulates that we are constantly in the process of creating our own lives through a series of agreements. It is a simple little book, not more than 150 pages long. The story begins with a man volunteering to be a subject for an on-stage hypnotist, who successfully convinces the man that he is trapped behind a series of granite walls and cannot get out. Once the hypnotist snaps his fingers, the man realizes that he is on an empty stage and that the rocks and barriers were only in his mind. Bach says that all of us do this in order to create our existence. Through the course of the book, the man, a pilot - like all of Bach's protagonists - has a mystical encounter with a woman hitchhiker, who solidifies his theory. He has a series of epiphanies that take him further to his conclusion that we are all spirits, choosing to have a physical experience of life. Our lives are made up of the choices we make and the suggestions we accept and reject.

He discusses the law of attraction, at length. Our thoughts attract our experiences. There are no coincidences. We are what and whom we decide we are. Each life is made up from an infinite amount of possible choices. None of this is new material. It is Bach's latest take on ancient wisdom and ground he's covered, somewhat, in his earlier books like "Illusions" and "One". While I can sometimes be irritated by his writing style, his messages have always spoken to me. Perhaps 'Hypnotizing Maria' is just the book I needed to read today, to assist me on my journey.

If I am creating this life through the choices I make, than I have certainly created an interesting life. It has been filled with music, laughter and mayhem as well as boredom and sadness. I am visualizing a better life now. One filled with even more laughter and music and this time, I am bringing romantic love into my field of vision. I have had a vision for a long time now of a man, working in his music studio downstairs into the evening. He has to get his project completed. I clearly see myself preparing a grilled cheese sandwich for him and carrying it down to him on a plate. He looks up from his control board and computer and gives me a loving smile. He takes me into his arms and kisses me tenderly.

I like self-hypnosis.

You Can't Get Rid of Match.com!!!

2011-06-08T14:08:00.000-07:00

I have been trying to get off of this service forever. Steve even cancelled it. But, I received an email from a man and I sent a reply saying I was not interested. Apparently, this was enough to sign me up for the service again!! I can't afford it, I don't like it and I want it gone. I guess I should cancel my email account where the Match.com notices are sent. This is a giant pain. Yes, I want a man in my life. But no, I don't want to go through the computer selection process and deal with all of the fake scammers. Such a pain in the ass.

You know, I bet Match.com employs people to send out "winks" and emails to recently cancelled members, in order to con them into a renewed membership.

Who Am I Anyway?

2011-06-01T07:30:00.001-07:00

Am I my resume?

Those words are the first line of a song from the musical, "A Chorus Line".

They are also the reason for my malaise and doubt yesterday, as I tried to rework my resume to find a job in Reno. In yesterday's blog, I thought of myself in terms of the jobs I have held and the reasons I left them. I felt like a failure, having held so many positions in the past decade. So much emotion is tied up in the way we make money.

There's nothing like searching for a job to depress the hell out of you.

But, my resume does not tell the whole story. It doesn't mention my love of animals, and except for the fact that I made my living in the radio business, it totally ignores my passion for music. You can't tell that I am a kind person by my past jobs. A sequential listing of careers and places I've worked is just a way to market myself as a desired commodity or stereotype that will attract the attention of a potential employer. I have been advised to downplay those aspects of my personality that will show me as being too quirky and too much of an individual.

I was in my monkey mind yesterday. The endless swirl of thoughts and doubts and anxiety that make me crazy. Some days, it is so hard to find peace - peace of mind, especially. Even when I'm in a calm space - in the sunshine, surrounded by mountains and trees and flowers, I can be blind to my surroundings, only living inside my head.

I wish I could be totally dispassionate about this process. And have a positive outlook about my future.

Anne Goes to Church

2011-05-23T20:43:00.000-07:00

I really don't know if I am in the right town. There is so much natural beauty in this area - the mountains, Lake Tahoe, etc. But it is all so spread out. The town of Reno is kinda depressing. Or maybe it just seems that way to me because I have yet to find my place.

Stop the presses: I started attending the local Center for Spiritual Living church. I am not a regular church-goer. Ask anybody who knows me. I went to Seattle's CSL several times, though, to see my sister, Lisa sing. And, I always felt the message was OK. They are a non-denominational congregation that honors everyone's path to God. I like that idea. I have found that the sermons in both Seattle and Reno seem almost like therapy. Last Sunday, for example, the Reverend Liesa talked about self respect. That topic hit home for me. I like the music in the services, for the most part. And, some of the songs are familiar to me. I'm trying to find a community of like-minded people. The church offers twice-weekly t'ai chi sessions and has a once-a-month "vibrational healing with sacred gong" event.

But...I am not a "joiner". To me, spirituality is a personal thing. I have never felt comfortable talking to people about God. I have written about it a couple of times in this blog but for the most part, I keep it to myself. I am not a misanthrope. I like people. I like hearing their stories. I can understand people's need for community. Being part of a larger whole gives one a sense of place. I'm still sorting this out, obviously

I Gotta Ask - Why Did You Move to Reno?

2011-05-16T20:32:00.001-07:00

Yes, those were the first words the job counselor at the Nevada State job center said to me this afternoon. That sure doesn't give me much confidence.

After waiting nearly three hours for my intake interview into the Nevada "system", I was immediately told how bad the employment outlook is here. The next thing the guy said to me was "You graduated Magna Cum Laude? There's not much we can do for you here." Just what I wanted to hear. After a few very constructive critiques about my resume, I found out that my job counselor is retiring in 3 weeks. I think he mentally left the job in April. Because then, he started talking....and talking....and talking some more. I found out that he had one of the original gas lamps from the dining car on The Oriental Express. He had ridden the train three or four times and he got it as a gift from a porter. He was born in Greece and has traveled all over the world. His sister actually owns a patent on a genetically modified species of crab that is resistant to toxins in the Chesapeake Bay. I learned that this man can repair watches and then he showed me a silver ring he crafted. When he was a teenager, he traveled aboard the "Haunted" Queen Mary cruise ship and when I asked him if it was, indeed, haunted he told me about hearing the cries of a little girl near the ship's empty swimming pool. A couple of hours later, I found out that he has college degrees in biology and geology and a master's degree in education. The guy passed on his philosophy of living for today instead of dreaming of retirement. He was not shy when he complained about elderly couples who save their whole lives to buy a fancy motor home and cruise the country once they have rid themselves of their careers.

Did he ask me about my last job? Did I get a chance to explain to him why I loved producing Coast so much? Did he even bother to ask me why I was fired from 2 jobs in 2 months? NO. He could not have cared less, it seemed. Yet, he LOVED talking to me. He said what a pleasure it was to have an intelligent person sit in the chair next to his desk. I found out that he is 67 years old, single and lives with a dog. He pulled out his new Droid telephone and showed me how to scan a bar code and do comparison shopping - yes, they have an "app" for that. He also taught me how to encrypt my voice on his phone so that the CIA can't listen in on my calls. I learned about his visit to a monastery in Greece where he once held a scroll from St. John the Baptist in his hands. He described his trips to catacombs and funerarys in Rome.

He did ask me how much I got paid on my last 3 jobs. And then, he told me to expect at least $5 less an hour, here. And, oh yes, I can expect to pay close to the same amount for rent as I did in Seattle.

After my nearly five-hour stay in that office, I was exhausted, hungry and thirsty, so I went downstairs to the grocery store to get some beans and rice for lunch. That's where I encountered the former accountant who is now a deli-clerk. I mentioned that I had been up at the job center. She shared (to the point of exhaustion) that she has been unable to find work in her field for several years. She detailed how she was downsized at her government-run dream job and asked to work only an 18-hour week. She finally found another job but was micromanaged to tears within 2 days and quit. And now, she has become a barista and cashier.

Everybody has a story and it seems everybody is dying to tell it to me. Maybe it is not just me. Maybe people are desperate for a sympathetic ear because times are so tough. I figure these folks have been put in my path for some reason. I'm just not sure what that reason is.

It is Official

2011-05-11T11:09:00.000-07:00

I've made it official. I have alerted the post office of my address change. I am begrudgingly becoming a Nevada resident (for now, at any rate). I have found a lot of scenic beauty here in Reno. A different kind of beauty. Drier - much drier. I have also found a hell of a lot of strip malls. Seems the best way to navigate around these parts is to 'turn right at the Target' or 'go straight past the Win-Co and then you'll see it on your left'. Perhaps it is that way in most areas. Maybe once I familiarize myself with this town I'll see more than the casinos and big box stores. I can be an elitist, I guess. The Sierra Nevada's are beautiful and Lake Tahoe took my breath away. I'll focus on that.

I have applied for about 20 jobs, most of them online. So far not even a nibble. I have only met a few people since I've been here - part of the problem was that I threw out my back and barely left the house for about 3 weeks. When Steve signed me up for Match.com, I thought I might meet an acquaintance, at least, to help show me the ropes. Nope - didn't find a single "real" man there. Only Nigerian scammers. Sorry he wasted his money. I appreciate the sentiment behind his gift, however.

Haven't heard a peep out of my friend, Verna. But, I'm not surprised. I have never met anyone else who has as many jobs and works as hard as she does. Seven days a week she is a fitness instructor, personal trainer, community-college instructor and Pier One clerk and cashier. She needs all of those jobs in order to make her house payment and eat. And, oh yes, she's taking 2 college courses to complete her exercise physiologist certification. I saw that she was leading a fitness hike in Virginia City last weekend. Her objective is to make people have so much fun, they forget that they are working out. Great idea.

I have walked through 6 or 7 casinos in town. You know what job I want? Carpet designer for casinos. Have you ever looked at that stuff? Amazing array of colors and shapes and flowers. Wonder what kind of psychological research goes into floor covering decisions? Perhaps its purpose is to not only hide stains but elevate the mood of patrons, so that they feel 'lucky' and pump more dollars into the slot machines.

The casinos have been pretty empty, though, when I've strolled through. Maybe it is because I usually walk through during the afternoon. But, I bet business is way down from a few years ago. The cocktail waitresses I've seen look like the most senior members of the staff. They have been teetering on those 3 inch heels for many, many years and make it look easy. They still have smiles on their tired faces, though.

Never in all of my days did I think I'd wind up in this town. Perhaps the ghost of my father had something to do with it?

As if Nothing Happened

2011-05-03T14:19:00.001-07:00

I just got back from a great walk. A "walk for coffee" as I used to call it. I moved with ease and had ample breath for the hills. There was no discomfort in my chest. Not even the slightest bit of congestion. While my right hip still has a twinge of stiffness, my back felt fine.

I sat on a stool and drank a frozen latte granita from the deli about 12 blocks away. Didn't even give the high chair a second thought. There was no pain.

Yesterday, I drove almost the entire circumference around Lake Tahoe. My 12 year-old Nissan's bucket seats were not a problem. Nothing distracted me from that mesmerizing view. Once I got to South Lake Tahoe near the casinos, I decided to park in the Mount Bleu's lot and repeat the walk Verna and I took last August. Back then, I had to beg Verna to stop or slow down, several times, as I was gasping for breath. This time, I couldn't believe how quickly I walked the route. In fact, I extended it about a half of a mile.

The swelling has finally left my legs. I can actually see my calf muscles again. My body feels like it is finally returning to normal. Not the almost-normal of last fall. The "normal" of 2009.

It is almost as if nothing happened at all.

Learning to Meditate

2011-04-22T14:21:00.000-07:00

I've started practicing Transcendental Meditation again.

I think I mentioned before that I began meditating at age 14, on my mother's insistence. She initially wanted us all to learn the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi's technique because it would make us lose weight. The TM center used to place eye-catching ads in the Harrisburg paper and one day, mom dragged all of us to an informational seminar that was held in the basement meeting room of the John Wanamaker's (or was it Gimbel's?) at the Harrisburg East Mall.

About 60 people sat in some folding chairs as the buttoned-up and very normal-looking meditation teachers showed a video of the laughing Maharishi as well as a series of graphs and charts explaining how the technique was scientifically proven to reduce blood pressure, remove cravings of tobacco and alcohol and normalize weight. Mom was sold. The next week, we all bundled in the car for our first of many Wednesday night meditation classes.

The TM center was near The Polyclinic hospital, in a very nondescript-looking brick office building, and included one large meeting room. About 40 plastic stacking chairs were lined up in rows and a TV with an early VCR was up front. A message from the Maharishi was usually played during the lecture. I quickly developed a killer impersonation of the white-robe clad, smiling, bearded guy. All I'd have to say was "Eeeeeeh? hahahahahaha" in his voice and both of my sisters would be weak from suppressed giggles. I think my very first bad Indian accent was perfected in that room.

It was a big day when each family member got her own mantra.

The mantra ceremony was a little odd, especially for a 14 year old girl. I followed one of the male TM instructors up a flight of stairs and into a very small room. We sat on metal folding chairs facing each other. Part of me was scared that something untoward would happen. Thankfully, it did not. The teacher was a very kind man. I remember he chanted something to me, and then, he started repeating the same word over and over again. That word became my mantra. I remember it took me a while to catch on and the guy finally had to say to me "This is your mantra, Anne...you need to chant it, also". After chanting the word, it was explained to me that to properly meditate, I would not say the mantra out loud but repeat it silently, in my mind.

We had to sign a contract, saying we would never reveal our sacred word to anybody. But, I felt horribly betrayed when, a couple of years later, during a World Cultures class, I found out that my mantra was the name of the Hindu goddess of fertility. The LAST thing I wanted to be, at that time, was pregnant! I mentally changed the first letter of my mantra, from that day on.

While teenage meditators were rare, there was one other boy from my high school who also occasionally attended the weekly meetings. He had blonde curly hair and I don't remember his name, but I know he kept suggesting I listen to the band "Dan Hicks and His Hot Licks". He was right - I liked them. It was nice not being the only family of "weirdos" at Central Dauphin High.

And, now, after so many years, the one thing that continually amazes me, while deep in meditation, is the fluidity of time. Just the other day, during the afternoon, I began my mantra at around 2pm. When I opened my eyes and felt myself come back to "the present moment", it was 3:50. Nearly 2 hours had passed! I was incredulous. How could this be? Yet, it was definitely not the first time this has happened. I was certain I had just closed my eyes for no more than 20 minutes. And, yesterday, my meditation seemed never-ending. It was strangely torturous and labored. I was "under" for about a half-an-hour.

Because I have been meditating for nearly 36 years, just merely thinking about the practice puts my body in a somewhat relaxed state. Even here, as I type on my laptop in the back of a Starbucks and sip an afternoon cup of coffee, I can feel my body quieting. The place is packed, too. But, I am not irritated. Well, not yet, anyway.

And after all this time, I don't know if my blood pressure has been normalized by TM and it's been a long time since anybody called me thin, but I am sure practicing meditation has benefited me in ways I can't measure.

Thanks, Mom.

Walking, Stopping and Walking Again

2011-04-15T21:22:00.000-07:00

I began walking again this week.

I was able to take a couple of long strolls earlier in the week. The first one was down the street, up a hill and over to a shopping center to get a cup of coffee. See, sometimes I can motivate myself out for a walk if I have a destination. Coffee is always a good motivator and a Starbucks iced grande Americano with room for cream and one Splenda is reason enough to get me outside. It wasn't an easy walk, however. This back pain has made me move much slower. I try to breathe deeply as I'm putting one foot in front of the other. After a small back spasm 8 blocks into the stroll, I had to lie down on the grass and try healing visualization. I Imagined healing white light coming in through my forehead (third eye) and traveling down to the red-throbbing area of pain, mingling with that pain and then breathing out pink air (red-mixed-with-white) until the pain was manageable and I was able to hit the pavement again.

A couple of days later, I strolled a little farther and explored a few stores in the shopping center. On my way home, I walked past a house with a couple of cute barking Dachshunds. I was charmed by their over-stuffed sausage bodies. I said my "hello's" to their oh-so-threatening faces. Their owner was outside. She was a woman in a wheelchair who apologized about her dogs behavior and rolled over to the gate for a chat. We exchanged words for a good ten minutes before it dawned on me that she only had one leg. I swear I did not notice before - in fact, I distinctly thought I remembered seeing 2 somewhat shrunken legs. I was a little shocked when I saw only one pant leg, suddenly, reach the ground. We must have spoken for a good half hour. She told me she was a retired nurse. She explained that her leg had been amputated after 3 unsuccessful knee joint replacement surgeries. She described the pain and the grueling physical therapy she endured before finally making the decision to cut the leg off and learn how to use a prosthetic. I really liked her. Cathy's a tough gal and a survivor.

Today's walk was much shorter - only about 10 blocks and I didn't have the strength to go to the coffee shop. I got ambitious a couple of days ago and did some laundry. That entailed several trips up and down 2 flights of stairs. Right now, climbing stairs requires major motivation. It is amazing the little things that we take for granted when we're in good health.

Match Dot Crap

2011-04-08T15:29:00.000-07:00

Man, have I been wasting my time these past few days.

Match.com - are any men REAL on that site? Several of them have "winked" at me, and when I "wink" back, their profiles have suddenly disappeared. One man has been chatting with me and declared his undying love for me within about an hour of our chat. His English has been steadily going downhill and he keeps calling me "baby". I have suspicions that he is typing me from the library of the state penitentiary, surrounded by his prison buddies who are goading him on.

Really, if THIS is what it is like "out there", I'm more than happy to be inside. Once this back heals and I can rejoin the world, I look forward to face-to-face conversations. Sheesh!!!

Co-Creator Of This Mess

2011-04-05T20:56:00.000-07:00

I want to find a way out of this mess I have created. Why am I such a difficult person?

I don't mean to be critical - I just think we should question the status quo. We are all fed so much information. I can't help but wonder who's agenda we are all serving - the rich have gotten so much richer and the poor, so much poorer. Everything is profit driven. The world has been this way for a while, now, but it seems to have gotten so much worse in the past 10 years.

I remember when I worked at KLSY, my co-host, my ex-brother-in-law, was so eager to always go along with whatever crazy-ass market-driven scheme the wacko general manager was cooking up. Like forcing all of the employees to go to a Tony Robbins seminar. I think I was the only employee who refused to go. Just couldn't make myself attend the event (sponsored, of course, by KLSY) and then be subjected to "seminar high". Tony Robbins totally creeps me out. I don't believe a word he says. He's too shiny. I remember telling my ex-brother-in-law that he had no idea what it was like to be me. I am simply unable to fake a personality or pretend to believe in something in order to keep my job. I'm not sure I know who I am, but I sure know who I am NOT.

And, it has cost me dearly in life. I tried for years to be a morning person so that I could get up at 4am and work on the radio. But, I just couldn't. I hated waking up crying every morning. My body was never able to adapt to the morning radio schedule. So, my radio career lagged. But, the careers of most of the people I ever worked with in the industry have also lagged because radio is killing itself. With all of the obtrusive and blaring advertisements and promotions screaming for attention between a few paltry songs, it is a wonder that anybody is listening at all. I think the public has finally become so frustrated that they are tuning out in droves. The hosts of the talk radio show I used to work for are real sponsor whores. It sickens me the way they talk up the client. I know, I know. Commercial radio runs on ad revenue. The sponsor is the boss. Why do I have to keep reminding myself of this?

Why can't I just "straighten up and fly right"? Just get in line behind the happy-faced throngs and get along with everybody? Why do I keep digging myself deeper into this mess I've co-created? The good will of friends can't last forever. I certainly wore out my welcome with my sister.

Is this what it means to be a grown-up? To give in and compromise and get in line and get along? What's the point of living, then?

I think I've been spending way too much time alone and without a job. I need to co-create a solution. Quickly.

Watching TV

2011-03-28T20:23:00.000-07:00

They have great cable TV here at Steve and Michelle's. I've never in all my life seen so many channels. While I've been semi-laid-up with back pain, I've had the opportunity to watch shows I'd only read about, or seen maybe once before. Or, as in the case of the soap opera, General Hospital, catch up on after decades of neglect.

Did you know that Luke Spencer, played by Anthony Geary, is STILL the star of General Hospital? And he is still interesting to watch. Gotta give the guy props for keeping a job that long. The latest plot involves Luke finding out that he inadvertently killed his grandson with his car. Didn't even know he ran over the little boy. Now, of course, the family is grieving and tensions are growing. In a final act of heroism, the boy's organs were able to save the life of his own cousin (I think) who was hospitalized for cancer on her kidneys. Lots of tears in this show.

Not enough tears in the "dress for success" reality program, "What Not To Wear". In this show, the hosts, a Cruella DaVille look-alike and her very gay friend seek out regular women who have been selected by their families and friends for a complete wardrobe make-over. I'd be humiliated and crying outright if this happened to me. The victims I've seen have dressed like either tomboys or prostitutes in their world. By the end of the show, after trying on several different outfits, having their hair cut and colored and new make-up applied, they are contrite and thankful to the hosts for showing them how to best present themselves to the world. Now, I was very resistant to this show at first, seeing the hosts as highly judgmental people hell-bent on criticizing women who have a life they can't fathom. But, somehow, I've come to look forward to the chastisement. Maybe it is because the show finds women who have such horrendous taste in clothing.

A show I'm happy to watch again is Anthony Bourdain's "No Reservations". He makes me giggle with that sarcastic wit of his. His writing is first rate and I like traveling vicariously with him around the globe. I am not a fan of the gross-out, though, and usually avert my eyes while he's trying to kill some poor animal or eat seal brains or something.

I've also watched episodes of "Pawn Stars" and "American Pickers". These are two of Steve's favorites. Pawn Stars centers on a pawn shop in Las Vegas. In this one, a trio of shyster pawn brokers make deals with people who are bringing in stuff to sell. In an episode I watched last week, it seemed like everybody was hoping to get $5000 for their unwanted treasures. My guess is that there was a high-stakes poker game on the Strip that night. The pawn stars never give folks what they are asking. There's always a whole lot of dickering that goes on and people usually take the low-ball offers. Probably just so they can be on TV.

American Pickers is less oily. In this one, 2 men cross the country looking for Americana treasures to sell on online auctions. They wind up in rural barns and ancient hardware stores and find old gas station signs and wooden telephone booths and WWII memorabilia. I like this show. It reminds me of hanging out with my mom's old boyfriend, Cal. He was really into old trucks and signs and stuff. The "stars" on American Pickers are likable and I think it is neat how they find treasures in unlikely places.

Don't ask me what channel these shows are on, though. Except for Bourdain on The Travel Channel, I have no idea. There are hundreds of options on the channel guide. Usually I scroll down for about 5 minutes before settling on something. Nice to know that you can still find episodes of "I Dream of Jeanie" and "Star Trek: The Next Generation" every day. I can't tell you what time they're on, though.

I'm trying to not get too used to this decadence. What am I going to do when I eventually get a place without cable TV?

Gus-Gus and Kelpie

2011-03-23T11:25:00.000-07:00

Animals are the best. Here at Steve and Michelle's Gus-Gus and Kelpie are helping me find my way.

Gus-Gus is large, for a kitty. He weighs in at around 20 lbs, yet, like the person writing this blog, he doesn't eat all that much. About as much as an average cat. Gus-Gus has a very slow metabolism. It will serve him well, in times of crisis, should food become scarce. He has a very low center of gravity. His favorite places to hang are under the dining room table, and on the bed, in the middle of Steve and Michelle's comforter. He's a quiet cat but when he looks at you, his eyes seem to be desperately trying to communicate something. I'm trying to settle myself to figure out exactly what that is. Perhaps it is, "Do YOU speak my language? Will YOU understand when I need a cat treat?" He lets me pet him and brush him and scratch under his chin, but so far, Gus-Gus has not jumped up on my lap.

Kelpie is a red, medium-sized dog with the pointed nose and ears of a German Shepherd. That is not her breed, however. She has the mixed blood of a Sheltie, a Shar-Pei and a Mastiff. Michelle had her DNA tested. Steve is skeptical. Whatever she is, she is about the sweetest, best-behaved dog I have ever met. So calm and loving to her human companions. While she loves to sit under the dining room table during dinner and stare heavenward, hoping against hope for a wayward morsel, mostly, she is not a beggar. When you need a little bit of puppy lovin', just call her name and she'll sidle up beside you and let you have your way with her. She is, however, a very jealous and protective girl. If she happens upon me giving Gus-Gus some affection, she will demand some cuddling for herself. Also, she is not a fan of domestic discord. She starts to howl if voices are raised. Kelpie likes a peaceful home. Her doggie door provides her with access to the outside world whenever she wants and you can find her favorite napping places by looking for the dents in the lawn.

Getting to know two new animal friends helps make the uncertainty in my life a little easier to handle. I am once again putting food in their bowls and cleaning a litter box. I feel almost normal.

Paparazzi Photos of Me and Barry

2011-03-16T06:27:00.000-07:00

Click on the title of this post and you will be taken to a link of wire photos from the night of Barry's party in 1978. There, you'll find me, at 17 years old, in 4 of the photos!

I like how everybody is identified in the pics except for me. Unknown girl - who in the heck is this young woman? Pretty funny.

Something's Comin' Up

2011-03-14T16:24:00.000-07:00

Wise words from Barry

Back in Reno

2011-03-14T14:40:00.000-07:00

Recovering (again) in Reno at the home of Steve and Michelle. Such a lovely house. How lucky I am to have an "ex-boyfriend" who is such a good friend and even luckier, for him to have married a woman who likes me and welcomes me into their home!

Sweet pink-nosed kitty Gus-Gus and red dog Kelpie are helping with this transition. After 4 days of rest, I am slowly coming around to join the living. Clothes have been laundered. Groceries and 2 sun hats have been purchased. My body has been vibrating for several days. It is only now, that I am starting to feel some sense of normalcy. But I am still very tired.

So, from this new home, I try again. Tender-footed baby steps are being placed one in front of the other as I move toward life.

Little Bit of Judas - Gino

2011-03-10T09:39:00.000-08:00

Thought Ian, Tom D. and Dennis Kelly might get a kick out of this one. Same for my twin.

Barry, Belief and Reality

2011-03-09T02:46:00.000-08:00

When I was a teenager, I used to write letters to Barry Manilow. His music touched me so deeply that I was compelled to share my thoughts and feelings with him by putting pen to paper. I had a whole system: I used red envelopes and hand-printed the address on each letter by imitating the graphics on his albums. I numbered each letter I wrote. I wanted to make sure my letters stood out and I was very persistent. In my writing, I did not just praise Barry's music or tell him I thought he was cute. I could be a harsh critic sometimes, especially when he compromised his integrity by recording some vapid songs, that were, in my opinion, nothing more than thinly-veiled attempts to make a hit record. One time, I was especially stern after I heard his recording of "Can't Smile Without You". It broke my heart to write Barry that letter and to my surprise, he wrote me back saying he agreed with my opinion of his song. However, he fully stood by the production of the record and was proud of the results. Barry also called me his "most intelligent fan" and said he knew how difficult it must have been for me to write that letter to him. I was 17 years old.

I still have that letter. I still have all of the letters Barry wrote me. I think the first one written in his handwriting arrived in my mailbox when I was 16. His letters were almost all hand-written, and a paragraph long. Except for the "Can't Smile Without You" letter. That one extended on to a second page. Promotional people from Arista Records called my mom's house, three or four times, to offer me and my family free tickets to see Barry in concert.

I remember telling my friends about this. They thought I was crazy. My friend Sam's mom put unbelievable pressure on him and swore up-and-down that his poor friend, Anne, was making it all up, in an attempt to get attention. And then, this happened:

1978 -- 32 years ago
Moline High School student Anne Silberman left for New York this morning to go to a party at the St. Regis Hotel, at the invitation of her favorite entertainer, Barry Manilow. Miss Silberman has written 104 fan letters to Manilow. The party is honoring Manilow's return to New York, midway through his U.S. tour.

No, I was not a "Moline High School student", but my dad, never one to shy away from publicity, insisted that a reporter from Moline, Illinois take a photo and write an article for the local paper, stating that he and his darling daughter were flying to New York City at the request of Barry Manilow, to attend a party in his honor and a concert.

I was visiting my dad in Illinois, over the summer between my high school junior and senior year, when my mother, in Pennsylvania, got a gold-engraved invitation for me in the mail from Arista Records - all expenses paid. Mom got a phone call with an invitation, too. So, after buying a couple of new outfits, my father and I went to New York City and had limousines transport us from the airport to the hotel and later, from the hotel to the concert.

The real event, however, was the big gala held in Barry's honor in the hotel's grand ballroom. Arista had planned on having me sit next to the New York newspaper columnist, Earl Wilson, hoping I would provide enough juicy tidbits to ensure a swell human-interest story in the Times the next morning. However, once I got to the ballroom and saw Barry and his back-up singer, Reparata, enter the room, I walked right up and introduced myself to him. He hugged me and said "Where are you sitting?" and I pointed to my table way in the back. He then said "No! You're sitting WITH ME!!" And, he got the waiters to set up a place for me in between him and Reparata. The big round table was also populated by his songwriting partners.

During the course of that incredible night (especially for a 17-year-old girl from Harrisburg, PA) I met Ertha Kitt, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Roberta Flack and most of the amazing and creative people who helped Barry write and produce his songs. When Barry introduced me to Bruce Sussman, he told me he gave Bruce one of my letters praising a song he had written. At the time, I was so stunned all I could think to say was "You Gave Away My Letters?" I had never considered that anybody else would ever find my words valuable. Of course, I was immediately mortified I said such a thing to Barry.

And Mr. Manilow was incredibly kind to me that night, and all of the other times I got to talk with him. A few years later, after a concert in Maryland, he even had everybody else clear out of his dressing room and he sat down and spoke ALONE with me for about 15 minutes. Unfortunately, I had recently injured myself and had to sit down on a FRICKIN' DONUT CUSHION the whole time - Barry, again, was very kind. By that time, I had begun singing in bands. One of the problems facing a Top-40 cover band was how to end a cover song, that faded out on the record. I asked Barry how he got his ideas for song endings and he went over to the piano and explained why he modulated keys. He said you needed to let the audience know that the end was coming and that the endings had to be dramatic so that they would know for sure that the song was over.

I am remembering and writing all of this now, in order to explain to those who do not believe, why it is easier for me to firmly believe that many years ago, another famous, kind and handsome man and I fell in love above the city lights in Montreal. And I never knew (for sure) that it was him until this past Saturday night.

I Met God in a Dream

2011-03-08T08:48:00.001-08:00

Early this morning, in the very last dream before awaking, I met God.

He was sitting at a small round wooden table, in a coffee shop, in a little room up a couple of stairs and behind the barista's counter.

I was compelled to walk towards God because of his eyes. They were clear - almost luminescent. I recognized those eyes and knew I had seen them before in the face of my Beloved. God invited me to sit at his small table. I looked into His face. He appeared to be in his early 50's. His Asian/Caucasian face was a round face with a very kind and open expression. His grey hair was cut very short. God looked like a computer geek. And, as it turns out, that is who God is.

In just a few sentences, He explained to me that all that we see, all of creation and each one of us is part of a program He created (like The Sims). God wanted to experience everything - all emotions: happiness, joy, passion, misery, despair, enlightenment and sadness. So, He created a program inhabited by every kind of person He could imagine. Each person (or Avatar) would be guided and directed by God, but each Avatar would take a part in his or her own creation. Each Avatar would have the gift of free will - providing surprises that God hadn't anticipated and, therefore, more experiences and emotions.

In those few minutes I was filled with a sense of total completeness and peace. After our short conversation, I looked again into God's familiar glowing eyes and asked Him if he was, in fact, my beloved. And God said: "You are all my beloved ones. However, Anne, You are an Avatar. And all Avatars are beautiful. Your beloved is beautiful, to you."

Tears filled my eyes as I reached over and laid my hand on top of God's.

And then I woke up.

Current situation

2011-03-04T15:31:00.000-08:00

Currently, I am homeless. Some very kind people are putting me up for a few days.

And, someone stole my identity on my ATM card - and they took all the money I had out of my bank account. Best guess is that my pin number was stolen when I used it at an Arco am/pm gas pump. That's the last time I ever go there to buy gas. The bank will put money back into my account tomorrow while they investigate.

I don't know what to do. I'm trying not to freak out. Since I graduated from college, one rug after another has been ripped out from under my feet. Bankruptcy, crazy Nikki at the UW, Grad school, open heart surgery, the pizza place's non-existent health insurance plan, getting fired from 2 jobs in 2 months, nearly dying of toxic spore inhalation, having to give up all of my possessions, my cat running away, and now being tossed out of my sister's place and having my bank account robbed.

Stay away from me. I am nothing but bad news.

Pho-nominal

2011-02-23T17:54:00.000-08:00

Pho

Pho-Bac

The wonderful, fragrant, healing rice noodle soup of Vietnam is a Seattle staple. Than Brothers has 10 restaurants in the Puget Sound area that serve up this ambrosia seven days a week from 10 am to 9 pm. Each bowl of beef or chicken or pork pho (pronounced "fuh") comes with a little plate of bean sprouts, fresh basil, a lime wedge, some peppers and a small cream puff. Everything except for the cream puff gets added to the soup. I don't use the hot peppers. I do squirt some brown (hoisan?) sauce into my bowl, though.

Than Bros. does a brisk business in this well-worn room. All of the ripped aqua booths and off-white tables were full at 2:45. Most of the customers were young guys in their mid to late 20's slurping down their hearty $6.25 large bowls. I had a medium, $5.75 serving of chicken pho. Truth be told, I much prefer the beef, but I felt a cold coming on and wanted to stave it off with a Jewish mother-meets Vietnam home remedy. My bowl did not disappoint. Best cheap meal in the city, if you ask me. AND, it is wheat-free. Something very important to me these days.

Pho - pronounced "fuh". There's a pho place in Bellevue called "What the Pho?" Wonder how many Eastsiders get the joke?

Tax Time

2011-02-18T12:35:00.000-08:00

OK. Time to do the taxes again. Time to pull out the mental floss and dissect the strangest period of my life.

Once again, I am remembering this journey I've been on that has taken me from Boston to Taos and Angel Fire, New Mexico. From Reno to the Crystal Hot Springs. From Wallingford to Portland and Missoula, Montana.

This journey has lead me from financial independence to desperate dependency. From confidence and triumph to nearly living out of my car. A newly-stocked apartment was dismantled and my belongings abandoned. I said goodbye to a wonderful kitty and hello again to two fluffy Lhasa Apso nephews.

I've lost friends but found my voice again. No longer on the airwaves, I have stood on stages and sung with a power I'd forgotten I possessed. I've witnessed and felt the repair of something I thought was un-fixable. I have trusted my inner voice and have been lead to people who assisted me along my path. I have spent what little money I have on some frivolous trinkets like blue boots and purple rings that have become very dear to me. My sense of reason and caution have fallen by the wayside. After 25 years, former band mates have reentered my life and I have reminded them that music is what connected us.

Having lost nearly all of my material and superficial attachments, I found a flame that burns voraciously within. It has kept me going throughout all of this transition. It has rekindled forgotten passions and is gingerly nudging me along a fresh path. New friends, attracted to this flame, are also helping me along my way. My body's chemistry feels like it has changed. I can no longer eat wheat. Cookies, dear sweet chewy soft cookies have become the enemy of my intestines.

My life this past year cannot be summed up by a couple of W2 forms and balance sheets. The bureau of employment security's meager checks have been a lifesaver when I have been close to death's door and far too distracted to even think about how to pay my bills. The federal government's itchy palm is looking for cash back from me from my unemployment checks. Good luck with that.

2010 was a year I never anticipated. I had no clue my life would undergo such an upheaval. Perhaps I created all of this drama on my own. But, I am pretty sure I had help. Make that Help, with a capital H.

Last Chance for Romance Tonight

2011-02-12T14:56:00.000-08:00

I thought I was on my way to stardom, that's for sure. The Grantville Holiday Inn, in Grantville, PA. The band was given 3 hotel rooms during our stay and I never had to share my room with one of the guys. We lounged by the swimming pool and ate in the hotel restaurant.

Here I am in December of 1979 with my very first band, Rhythm Transfer. We're doing a cover version of Donna Summer's Last Dance. The extended disco version. And, I introduced the band. The end of our 3rd set of music. We used to do 4 and 5 sets a night. And we repeated Last Dance at the end of the 5th set. How I tried to make this tune "fresh" when I sang it. Especially when I sang it for years and years. But, oh how I failed! However, in 1979, the song was still new enough for me to enjoy. I don't know how pop artists can make their songs new after they've done them for 10, 20, 30 years. What's the secret? Maybe they find joy in the audience's faces? Maybe they remember the happiness the song brought to them at the time? By 1980 I was totally burned out on singing "Last Dance". Yet, I sang it onstage until at least 1983.

Violated and Hacked

2011-02-07T09:07:00.000-08:00

For a while, now, something hasn't been quite right while I've been on Facebook. I've thought I was communicating with one person but it seemed that person was not quite the same. The English was too good. The sentence structure was all wrong. I hoped to believe one thing, but I knew something was amiss.

I awoke with a name in my head the other night and put 2 and 2 together. Ah ha! This man (born and raised in Quebec) had the background, the education and the all of the information about me to pull off this dastardly deed. Plus, he has a very, very dark side. He has a very violent nature. But, I had no idea he was obsessed with me. None! Until the other night. I noticed he was ALWAYS on Facebook whenever I was, yet he never, ever commented or posted. He is a lurker.

A couple of months ago, I got an email to download a podcast from someone I thought I could trust. That podcast took forever to load. And, I listened to it. Immediately after I finished, the man messaged me, asking if I enjoyed the podcast. I couldn't help but wonder how he knew I had JUST finished listening to it. And then, other weird stuff began to happen. I would type something in my computer and it would not show up immediately on the screen. The letters would appear, one at a time, a few seconds after I had typed in my words. Weird.

Once I finally figured out who was playing this cyber game with me, I immediately "un-friended" him. About 2 minutes after I did it, my screen became dark and then, came back with the fonts and images larger. It looked weird. I became suspicious and rebooted. A few minutes later, I rebooted and the screen still looked strange. So, I took the laptop to a repair shop. After a quick check, they determined that some kind of "malware" virus had been installed, and that my keystrokes had probably been tracked. My hard drive had been corrupted.

Thanks, Brad. You sick fuck. You need professional help.

Working on the Podcast

2011-02-02T13:46:00.000-08:00

Future Frontiers Radio

How does that sound? I've (hopefully) registered a domain name and have a wonderful new friend helping out on website creation. Last week, I learned all about technicalities involved in creating a podcast. Equipment needed, websites to visit for support and what 'drivers' to download. I am pretty overwhelmed at the moment. My target date for the first show is February 21st, just 19 days from today. YIKES!!!!! I am nowhere near ready. Have so much to do before then. I have contacted publicists, however, and have received books from seasoned authors who would all be great guests.

What is Future Frontiers Radio?

My 'promotional positioning statement' is: Big Ideas that Break Boundaries.

Essentially, cutting-edge science (physics, neurology, astronomy,astrophysics, biology) as well as consciousness and meta-physics explained to a very curious non-scientist, such as myself. I wanted to do the show after conducting so many pre-interviews for Coast to Coast AM and being continually frustrated that the hosts on the show were not having the same conversation I was having with the guests. I always liked the journeys they took me on (or vice-versa) MUCH better than the roads the host traveled down on the air. I have a different angle. My angle. What I am not, however, is the type of person who can ramble on and on about herself. This will not be a show about ME. This will be a show about ideas. The big ideas.

Hopefully there won't be too many more bumps or bruises before I get it on the air.

I'll let you know when and where Future Frontiers Radio makes its debut.

From Junior High: NOT a 14-year old Psychopath!!

2011-01-28T23:16:00.001-08:00

Here it is! PROOF that I was not a psychopath in 9th grade. My family worried about the way I always killed off my characters while writing stories for Mrs. Barnet's Language Arts class. Well, tonight, I found a paper where I explained myself to Mrs. Barnett. AND, I can tell she read it due to the grammatical corrections in red ink!

Here I am in 1975, explaining myself:

Not Enough Time

Whenever I try to write a paragraph in this class I never have enough time to finish it. Thus, I never have what I call a good paragraph. I suppose I get so involved that I don't know that the period is coming to a close, so once I realize this, I have to either kill off my characters or give the story an ending that doesn't make sense. I like writing stories whether they are factual or not. I get most of my inspiration when I close my eyes for a few moments and just think.

Now I just have a few more minutes to write this properly. If I would be given more time I could really make this paragraph nice. If I do finish this paragraph, I will probably stay after class and hand it to Mrs. Barnet as I leave this class. I am right. The bell has just rung and I am not finished.

Phew! Don't need more psychotherapy after all!

From 1974: Me, Electricity!

2011-01-18T11:46:00.000-08:00

While sorting through some old papers my mother sent me, I came across this little story I wrote for my 8th grade science class. We were studying electricity at the time and I guess we had an assignment where we had to write about it. I chose to "become" electricity, and write about it from the first person perspective. Pretty amusing. I'm patting my teenage self on the back:

____________________________________

The other day, I was inside a lamp. I was just sitting there when all of a sudden, "Pling!" Out went all the lights.

The Mister of the family just got out of the tub and dripping wet he went down the long corridor, down the basement stairs, and straight to the fuse box. My sister was in there and you know women when they're mad - they sting! Well, anyway, the Mister was just about to put another fuse in, with his wet hand and ZZZZZZttttttttssssss!!! Ouch! God_____! By the tone of his voice, I knew my sister had stunned the Mister with all of her might.

Just then, all of my brothers and sisters went on, and so did I. I guess my sister didn't hurt the Mister with ALL of her might, just some of it. But the old goat replaced the fuse, anyway. At three o'clock that same day, I was humming in a toaster, quite content, when a grit got in my teeth. The Misses, or should I say Ms, put a knife, I think, in my mouth and she pulled me and pushed me and even pinched me. As you can see, I got pretty mad. As a matter of fact, I got really furious! So, when I couldn't bear it any more, I stung her like this: zzzzztttssss. She made the same remark her husband did. I care not to repeat it.

Just a few days ago, the Boy came home from school and just as usual, I was in the refrigerator when he opened it. Do you want to hear what he got out? Well, he got out one frozen pizza, two bottles of 7-Up, a box of cookies and two pickles. Just when he opened the pop, it fizzled all over him. He didn't bother to wash up when he opened the other one, either. When he was going to put the things away he touched me in the back and got a sting. "Ouch! God____ it!" he uttered.

The moral of the story is never touch fuse boxes or refrigerator backs with wet hands and never stick knives into toasters unless they are unplugged. And, never but never eat one frozen pizza, two cans of 7-Up, a box of cookies and two pickles. Cause you'll get sick!

Anti-Army Song

2011-01-14T15:07:00.001-08:00

Back in the early 1980's, I was trying desperately to make music my career. I was always learning new Top-40 songs, so I could find work in one of the hundreds (maybe thousands)of traveling bands that crisscrossed the USA and Canada, playing 5 sets of music a night in hotel lounges and nightclubs.

But, every band I joined only survived a few months. I felt like a bad luck charm. In between these nomadic journeys, I worked at J.C. Penney's, in the "men's accessories" department (I used to be able to guess men's neck sizes. HA! Great party trick). I also answered a lot of phones and sorted a bunch of mail in temporary jobs.

My mother hated my dreams and tried to get me to be sensible and apply for her ideal job: a State of Pennsylvania office worker. I wanted nothing of the sort. In her motherly badgering, she frequently suggested I join the military, so I would finally get some "discipline". As a response to this request, I wrote these lyrics:

____________________________________________________
Anti-Army Song by Anne Silberman copyright 1983

It's not that I am all confused
And it's not that I don't care
I just don't want to be abused
And shave off all my hair

Get up before the break of dawn
Then choke down awful food
Do calisthenics in the lawn
This stuff don't fit my mood.

Tell Uncle Sam it's not for me
I've better things to do
I'd waste away in your Army
Wouldn't be much help to you.

Don't want to be a kid no more
It's time now to grow up
But I don't want to fight no war
There's life to fill my cup.
_______________________________________________________

Found these today, after going through another box of old papers that my mom sent me.

Next, I'll post a short story I wrote in 8th grade, where I pretended to be electricity. Similar to Barry Manilow's "I Write The Songs", where he plays the part of "Music".

Stay tuned!

I Need Motivation

2011-01-10T16:08:00.000-08:00

After having been flat on my back with a slipped disc (or something similar - no doctor diagnosis) for a week, I find myself getting a bit depressed today. Physically, however, I am feeling much, much better. Perhaps feeling good enough to start feeling bad?

I need some sort of hope for my future. Hope comes and goes, in fits and spurts. My recent post entitled "2011 - Bring it On, Baby" was, obviously, written during a hopeful spurt. But, perhaps my dreams of the rosy future I was shown last summer are dying. There has been no tangible proof that a change will come. And I was promised proof - in January. OK, so the month's not over yet. But, I'm getting pretty discouraged. I have to take care of myself. I know this. I have always taken care of myself.

I just don't feel like dealing with the crushing disappointment of the "real world" some days. More and more, I don't like the "real world". I fit into it less and less.

I need a vision or a dream to materialize into a plan and a scheme. To give me hope for the future.

Somebody? Anybody?

Gino Vannelli - Right Where I AM

2011-01-03T11:04:00.000-08:00

I am pretty happy with my very first video of one of Gino's songs, "Right Where I Am". While most of the photos are from a fan website, my friend, Julie, took a couple of them and I even took one myself.

2011 - BRING IT ON, BABY!

2011-01-01T20:51:00.000-08:00

I am so glad 2010 is OVER!!! What a year. If you've read any of the postings from the past 12 months (God help you), you know what I'm talking about.

My Christmas depression lifted a few days ago and I am now filled with a new spirit of hope for the coming months.

We all need a new sense of hope. There is so much that must be corrected in this world. So many injustices to overcome. Huge money and power grabs that strip We The People of our God-given rights to a peaceful existence must be stopped. Somehow it must change. Hopefully the path to a new beginning will become clearer in the coming weeks and months. And somehow, we must find the courage to fight.

For, I firmly believe we were put here on this Earth to live harmonious lives, filled with joy.

Pass the peace-pipe, y'all!

Lisa's Tree

2010-12-21T18:34:00.000-08:00

Lisa put up the tree today.

It is a small artificial tree, maybe 4 feet high, sitting on a table. She strung lights and put on decorations. It looks pretty. Many of the decorations were mine, at one time. There were a few years that I didn't mind Christmas so much. My friend's grandmother hand crocheted a couple of small wreaths and I had a few wooden toys I bought back in the 80's. Lisa also hung ornaments signifying both of her marriages.

While she was decorating, FM 106.9 was playing holiday music. Every year they switch to an all-Christmas-music-until-you-puke format. That radio station always leads in the ratings during the month of December. I could not force myself up the stairs to see her handiwork until she turned off the music. Once she turned it off, I said "now I can come upstairs". I did not realize until that moment why I had locked myself in my bedroom.

She even hung stockings for both of us above the fireplace. And I bought her a couple of stocking stuffers. Trying to get into the spirit. Trying.

Sometimes I wonder if I manufacture my misery this time of year because it is a state of mind I am used to having. But, when I ponder this further, I realize that I just can't muster joy without just cause. The Biblical story does not fill me with peace or happiness.

If you've read this far, my apologies. On Facebook, I've taken to calling myself The Christmas Curmudgeon. But, looking at Lisa's tree again, I smile at the sparkling lights and can appreciate how it brightens up the living room.

Thanks Lisa - despite my crankiness, I appreciate your efforts.

Another Cloudburst "Hit"

2010-12-18T22:54:00.000-08:00

Found one more - my old band doing Christopher Cross' song, "Sailing". I always liked the purity of Bob's vocals. And, I think Ron and I sounded pretty good doing back-up. The band was solid on this one. I think Ron wanted to be a DJ - he always back-announced the tunes. Funny!

Holiday Blues

2010-12-12T00:42:00.000-08:00

I wish I knew what in the hell was wrong with me.

As far back as I can remember, I've gotten horribly depressed around Christmas. My mother usually made us clean house, as soon as the Christmas presents had been opened. Plus, she never really liked the gifts that we gave her. If we knew she wanted a bathrobe and we got her one, she'd say "Oh - I really wanted one with a zipper, instead of a belt" or something like that. There was always something wrong with whatever gift we got her. Mom sent Linda a box a few years ago, filled with all of the gifts Linda had sent her over the years. Unopened boxes. Mother never used Linda's gifts. I gave up giving her anything, years ago.

Despite these same memories, though, both of my sisters still like Christmas. Linda loves sending presents and Lisa loves playing Christmas music and giving cards to her co-workers. Not me. I shut down, become moody and cranky and cry a lot. This year is even worse. I'm off of "the feed". Off of antidepressants, fully, for the first Christmas in about 20 years, I think. My decent into the doldrums seems more dramatic this year.

What I don't understand is why I feel worse, after I've been shown love, caring and kindness.

Tonight, my very good friends, a gay couple named Don and Doug, took me out to a wonderful dinner. Then, they bought us tickets to see a local dance school's annual Holiday production of The Steadfast Tin Soldier. Afterward, we went out for mochas and desert. When I finally got into my car to leave, my battery was dead. Don and Doug made no fuss and just pulled out their jumper cables to get my car started. All of this, in the pouring rain. I felt loved. And then, I had to drive around for a half hour, charging my car back up.

I decided to drive around the North end neighborhoods, looking at lights. There were a lot of decorated homes. My favorite house was fully ablaze, with a giant blue star of David atop a myriad of multi-colored lights covering every square inch of property. I was listening to Gino's Nightwalker album. Good music, nice scenery and a full tank of gas. A pleasant drive. The rain was coming down in sheets but I was safe, warm and dry inside the car.

Once I got back home, though, I started feeling sadder and sadder. Was I blue because my evening was over? Because I was alone (even though the dogs were more than happy to see me return)? Earlier in the evening, I shed a few tears during the ballet performance. Seeing all of those sweet children in their beautiful costumes filled me with a feeling I have never had before. A maternal urge. My heart went out to those kids. I realized how hard they had all worked to make such a wonderful show and wished I had one of my own, to hug, after the performance! After the show, Don, Doug and I walked through the throngs of families looking for their friends. As I was passing the kids, I wanted to tell them all how great they did. But, they were all scanning the crowd for their own families and friends. I said nothing. I didn't want to be the creepy lady paying unwanted attention to strange children.

I remembered being in choirs and plays in high school and looking for my mom when the show was over. She came to all the shows. She even came to all of those ponderous, never-ending choir concerts we were in twice a year. She took photos (with her little pocket Instamatic )during her daughters' solos. She may have sucked at Christmas, but she always showed up for the shows. And, mom would always let us go off with our friends, afterward, to get pizza. She was good that way.

Maybe I'm finally ready to be on the other end of those shows. It has taken me nearly 50 years to get to this point. I'm sick of being alone. I want to share my life with somebody else and have my own family.

Maybe that is why I'm sad tonight.

In Da Hood

2010-12-08T23:16:00.000-08:00

Some new small businesses have moved into the neighborhood. A wonderful little Mexican grocery store run by a very nice, peace-loving man (whose name I forget!!! Sorry!) and a fantastic Thai restaurant called "Eddie's", owned by a man named Eddie. While I was walking the dogs today, I ran into Eddie, who is looking to buy a house close by, so he has an easier commute to his restaurant. He and his wife currently have to drive over a half-an-hour, most days and they are sick of it, even though they own a nice home on Mercer Island.

After I brought the dogs back home, I stopped into the little grocery store for some half-and-half and had a nice chat with the proprietor. I paid with my Visa debit card and the machine took several tries, before the transaction finally cleared. I wondered aloud if the "Anonymous" anarchists, were toying with the Visa payment system. These anarchists had been clogging the wheels of commerce all day, to protest the arrest of the Wikileaks founder. The grocery store guy shook his head and we talked about the importance of peace, in this world. We both used Rodney King's famous quote "Why can't we all just get along?" He shared a little story about being stuck in traffic today. He was trying to get onto the freeway and a woman driving an SUV refused to let him merge into her lane. Instead of getting pissed off, he instantly forgave her, figuring that her problems must be greater than his, in order for her to be so unkind. I mean, what a guy!

Two weeks ago, I knocked on the window of The Purple Store, opening up a few blocks away. I was surprised to see a store front for this business, as it has only existed online up until now. I knew about it because Adam, the owner, gave me great advice when I was planning a benefit for Art F/X after their Fremont gallery and gift shop went up in flames a couple of years ago. A wonderful reconnection.

I love the multiculturalism of this neighborhood. Sure, Aurora Avenue is not very glamorous. But, in a few short blocks there are great Vietnamese Pho, Thai, and Mexican Torta restaurants. A chocolate shop is next door to the Pho place. 2 martial arts dojos are less than a block away from each other. An Australian pub advertises Soccer games on its big-screen TVs. And, there is a religious place called 'I Am' just north of the PCC natural grocery store.

Small businesses, not corporations, are the real glue of a community. One-to-one connections with people who have a vested interest in the neighborhood are so much more fulfilling than driving to a big-box store miles away, and antiseptically purchasing groceries. It might be a little more expensive to shop locally, but in the end, the experience is much more gratifying.

Wistful

2010-12-05T16:13:00.001-08:00

Must be getting nostalgic and wistful after listening to and posting all of these old band recordings. Makes me want to go out and sing tonight. Hopefully "Rockaraoke" is playing tonight at the Snoqualmie Casino.

Last time I was there, they finally had somebody new doing the lights and sound. It makes a BIG difference having a professional-level person behind the board. Boosts your confidence!

Do I have to change clothes? Nah - just going to wear what I have on - jeans, tank top, denim over shirt and a scarf around my neck. Makeup? Yeah, I guess. I just don't wear much makeup anymore. A little mascara and some lipstick (which also doubles as blush and eye shadow).

Maybe the band's learned some "new" old songs that I'll know. Haven't sung there in a while. At least 6 weeks, I think.

Cloudburst ft. Ron Ricci - Too Hot 1980

2010-12-05T14:29:00.000-08:00

Ron does a great job on the vocal here. The band sounds pretty good, too. BK and I used to play around with the backing vocals. Instead of repeating the line, "too hot", we'd sing "whooo haaa"...

Ooooh ooooh Fire

2010-12-05T14:25:00.000-08:00

Last one I'm going to share from this era (as I don't have any more). Cloudburst doing The Pointer Sister's song, Fire. Always wondered why I sang with an accent...

Since I Fell For You 1980

2010-11-30T16:37:00.000-08:00

Since I've talked so much about singing in this blog but have never provided examples, the following 3 posts are the only digital evidence I have from the old days. I have some more recent recordings but they are all on cassette. So, a 19-year-old girl singer will have to suffice, for now.

I have to say I miss singing this song. Would love to do it again, some day.

Cloudburst - This Masquerade 1980

2010-11-29T22:20:00.000-08:00

I wish I could re-record the vocals but for age 19, I guess they're not too bad. Not sure where Bob Kissinger recorded this. I think it was at a wedding reception some place.

Singing in 1980

2010-11-29T22:14:00.000-08:00

Here I am at age 19, singing with my very first band, "Cloudburst". We did a disco version of "Runaway". I like our arrangement and I'm not cringing too much at my singing. My cowbell playing, on the other hand...

Resonance Frequencies

2010-11-29T17:29:00.001-08:00

I really believe that vibration and resonance hold the keys to life and existence on this planet, and maybe throughout the universe.

I came up with a theory, many years ago, called "The 12 Waves of Existence". In my theory, there are 12 basic vibrational waves that humans resonate towards. We are drawn to others who share our resonance frequencies and travel on similar paths.

What is my proof? Nothing. I have absolutely no proof. I've never done any extended reading on the subject and I don't know what kind of research has been done. It is just a feeling that I have.

Today I went to my weekly acupuncture appointment. Usually, I am able to relax and fall into a meditation almost as soon as the needles have been inserted. Not today. This time, I was unusually agitated and realized that my hands were almost gripping the arms of the recliner. I realized that the music playing in the treatment room was very irritating to me. I asked Jordan, the practitioner, to turn the music down, which he did. I also put earplugs in my ears. But, even that didn't help. The Chinese choir kept repeating the same phrase over and over and over. There was something about the chord changes and the notes being sung that grated on my nerves. I tried to breathe into my discomfort, accept and release my irritation. Nothing doing.

I ended my acupuncture session after only an hour. Usually it takes an hour and a half, to two hours to complete treatment. But, I could not take it any longer! After my session, I explained to Jordon the reason for my irritation. And then, I could not stop laughing about how pissed off I got, just because of the music.

I believe that the notes being sung were running counter to my body's own resonance. That is the only theory I can come up with. The recorded voices were in tune, the style of music was somewhat soothing (although very repetitive). There was just something about it that made me anxious.

Have you ever had that experience?

Stats and Cliches

2010-11-23T17:49:00.000-08:00

I've started looking at the statistics for my blog and I am amazed.

I had no idea so many people looked at this thing. I hardly ever post pictures or videos and I only write about my life. I thought maybe my friends and the 8 people who "follow" my blog might check in now and again.

Turns out I have had well over 3000 'hits' and you are from all over the world!!! Most people reading Ansapo's World live in the US, but some of you are from Russia, The Netherlands, Australia and Qatar! Canada is also represented as are China and Brazil. Who knew???

Looks like most people surfed in after looking for adorable photos of puppies. Sometime last year I made a post called "Running Fluffy Puppy" that featured a photo I found on the Internet of a white doggie with its tongue hanging out. But several of you have read my other ramblings.

Ramblings that, as I realize now, are filled with cliched writing. I've never considered myself a brilliant writer. Usually, I just jot down whatever leaves my head. I pray that it is coherent and mildly entertaining. I know that I write prose and definitely not poetry. I'm afraid my Capricorn sensibilities are far too pragmatic, for the most part, to invent intoxicating sentences. But, hopefully I am able to say what I need to say and get my point across.

I started keeping a blog during my senior year at UNCG, in 2005 I had gone back to college full-time in mid-life. A very un-sound financial decision, but one I have never regretted. I was finally able to prove to myself that I am smart (graduated Magna Cum Laude) and I loved attending classes. During my final semester, I took a long-avoided required English Literature class. To my amazement, I loved it. The professor, a man younger than I, selected fabulous novels for us to read by authors such as Jhumpa Lahiri, Michael Chabon and Joyce Carrol Oates. I found that when I read these books, it made me want to write. So, in fits and starts this blog was created. It has been over 5 years now and I am so glad I have a place to deposit my thoughts. The fact that you are reading them fills me with amazement.

Hope you don't mind the cliches.

A Good Night's Sleep

2010-11-22T03:56:00.000-08:00

I miss my old bed.

Not the bed I had before my life drastically changed back in August.

I miss the bed I had to leave in Greensboro, North Carolina back in late November of 2005. My Beauty Rest firm, 2-sided, flippable, queen-size mattress. No freakin' pillow-top on that one. The most comfortable bed I ever owned. I slept on it for at least a decade.

When I finally got a job after my grad-school debacle I was able to afford a new bed from the Sleep-Air company. My former boss gave the manufacturer high marks and said I'd get "more bang for my buck". And she was right - for about 2 years. The firm, pillow-topped, one-sided mattress was fantastic for a little while and then, it got strangely lumpy and a spring broke on the side where I normally slept.

When I bought the mattress, it came with a 10-year warranty. Unfortunately, The Spring Air mattress place closed down about a year after I purchased my bed. They'd been in business FOREVER in Seattle! They left town with no forwarding address. If I wanted to complain, I had to call Canada or Texas. So, I came up with a solution. I flipped the mattress over to reveal its very lightly padded side and bought a memory foam cushion to place on top of it. That worked out great for a year.

Did you know that it is nearly impossible these days to buy a mattress that can be flipped? They all had 2 sides made for sleeping up until about 10 years ago, apparently. Then, somebody in the bedding industry got wise and figured out that mattresses would wear out much more quickly if you could only sleep on one side. Prior to that, salesmen advised customers to flip the bed periodically, for better wear and tear. Good old planned obsolescence reared its ugly head.

And why am I writing this? Well, it is 4:15 in the morning. Once again, I have been awakened by aches and pains. Since I moved back in with my sister, I have slept on a futon (became way too lumpy), an air mattress (which deflated after it got a couple of leaks - my patch job was unsuccessful), and now a memory foam pad on the floor (the best solution but far from ideal). I don't want to purchase a used mattress due to all of the recent bed bug scares. Icky.

Times like these I'm glad I'm not skinny. At least I have a little bit of my own padding to soften things a bit.

Art Attack!

2010-11-14T23:01:00.000-08:00

I miss being an artist. I suppose I am still one but my creativity has been a bit lacking, recently. I won't beat myself up about it, though, because my life has been kind of wacko for the past several months and my living situation is not completely stable.

Happily, I have just recently started doing very small watercolor pencil works again. I probably got inspired when I picked up the check for a small piece I created about 5 years ago. It had been hanging at Art F/X for a long time. When I felt the creative urge, I went into Daniel Smith's artist supply store. If that place doesn't inspire you, I don't know what will! I think I finally found a solution to my paper problem. The handmade watercolor paper I used to use had been discontinued. See, I use a LOT of water when I make my paintings. I draw, add water, over soak and blot off excess paint and water. Then I start over later, with another layer. Adds dimension to a piece. Perhaps I'll complete a small (5 x 7 inch) painting tomorrow.

On Friday, I attended my second session of paint dancing, held in that cool studio in Wallingford. Matt had the 70's and 80's funk and R&B tunes playing and I was in a blissful state, painting with wild abandon and dancing like a fool. A fellow paint-dancer was mesmerized (or confused) by my movement and asked me why I was dancing like that (not the greatest compliment, I suppose). I answered "THE MUSIC!! It makes me move!" Really, I have to state again that I can't understand how people can NOT be inspired by music. I totally wore myself out that night and I made some colorful abstract pieces that I kinda like. Might try and frame them and put them up at Art F/X.

Saturday, as it turns out, I was called in to work for a few hours at Art F/X and then after a wonderful dinner with friends, I went to an 'open studio' in Ballard. A large building, that houses several artist studios had a monthly opening. I loved it. I got to meet several successful local artists and talk about their creative processes with them. One man, named A.J., distresses his canvasses, like I used to do. I did it with layers of paint and sometimes glue and putty and wax. He uses solvent and scrapes the surface up with Brillo Pads. Then, I found my old Art/Not Terminal colleague, Claude Utley. I've always been intrigued with Claude's work. Some of his work is very naive at times, but wildly colored. Some might call it child-like and abstract and absurd. But make no mistake, he is highly skilled and can work in a very intricate mosaic style, too. We had a very nice chat and I bought a very, very small piece that I quickly put in a frame and hung on my wall.

When I was a little girl, I was always drawing, making paper dolls, coloring, etc. Then, that side fell away, as art teachers demanded precision. It took an experimental drawing and painting class, when I was 31 or 32, to bring out my visual artistic side. I will be forever thankful for my wise left hand, that picked up the telephone receiver and dialed the number to sign up for Peggy Zehring's class. In just a couple of days, I learned to mix colors and experiment and trust my inner-guidance. We painted blindfolded and there was no place to judge ourselves. It was a life-changing experience.

I have painted off and on now, for about 18 years. I can't believe it has been so long! Back when I had my old condo off of Lake City Way, for years I had a clear plastic tarp covering the dining area carpet. Paints and brushes and canvases were strewn all over and there was always a painting in the middle of completion. It looked chaotic but I have many fond memories of waking up and feeling creative at 3am, getting out of bed and throwing paint at a canvas. It was very meditative and therapeutic. A couple of my pieces felt "channeled" Especially the one that looked like the Earth on fire. I don't have that piece now. Last I checked, it was trapped in a storage shed in Hillsboro, NC, behind Ginny Tyler's old rental home. The lock was jammed and we could not open the door when I moved back West. I don't even know if that place still stands (it has been 5 years now). I sure miss those paintings, though and wish I could get them back!