“oh shit it's shit” ― Stephen King, Different Seasons

You know how you run and run and run and you're always doing and when you finally stop to catch your breath, things around you are all different? No? Just me?

I've been soooo very busy. What with joining a band, and the radio show, and being a minister and the 40 hour a week job and the wife and the fuzzy kids. (not in order of importance, of course)

Now spring is upon us. Well...in upstate NY that means something very different from most. We have had 3 days of blowing, bitter snow and wind. Today it's stopped and tomorrow it's suppose to be 70 degrees. If I ever wondered why I developed seasonal allergies....duh!

Sometimes I think about taking a class on meditation. But I just can't sit still long enough. It would do me good, I know that. But really, who has time? I barely have the time to stop and look around me. Seeing how time is starting to change me physically. I'm not alone. Looking at my classmates on facebook and trying to see those kids of the 80's through grey hairs and gravity. I make the mistake of using the magic magnifying mirror. It's a horrifying lesson in 'time marches on'.

Friends come and go, the changing of the guard. Some friends are moving on to parenthood, which always means us childless couples get left behind a bit, in a cloud of protesting it's not going to happen and "folks with kids" on the other end. There is always the tiny cracks in the relationship that happen. Then there is the chasm that can never be crossed again.

Been there done that.

Changes....Every year the snow melts away and green shoots through the frozen earth and every year it amazes me. Rebirth. The mysteries of mother earth. She survives another season.

I'm doing my part with my electric car. 7,000 miles with no gas and no exhaust. A red Leaf, a white Leaf, a black one, seen around town. Catching on? Maybe. We have to start somewhere, don't we? Small steps.

Less bullets to kill the kids. That's a small step that would change so much.

A court that proclaims that all people are equal and religion has no place in our constitution.

A family copes with new dynamics, once a piece is missing. Growing pains?

Changes....baby steps towards change.

Maybe I don't have to stop too long, if the changes are small. I can pause, look, and keep moving on. Nothing else is stopping. Why should I?

"Fox News Stole My Mom!" ~Cabrina

I'm a small percentage. I had parents who were supportive and encouraging and loved to take part in all my crazy ideas.

The hours they spent listening to the squawk of my clarinet lessons, the money spent on tickets to plays I flexed my theatrical muscles in, and the time spent standing on a corner waiting for me to march in a parade dressed as a lumberjack. They put in their time more than most my friends folks.

I had pretty swell parents. My friends all wanted to come to my house after school. I had a mom, raised by 50's ideals and formed by the tumultuous times of the 60's and 70's. I had a dad, who was headed down the wrong path and put himself right through the military and becoming a "self made man", unafraid of hard work and getting his hands dirty.

Together they raised three strong, independent, smart women who are beloved by their friends and praised for their honesty and loyalty.

In other words....my conservative parents created liberal children.

And with the country, overwhelmingly voting in Obama for another 4 years, my mother has gone off the deep end. Much like her conservative pals, who have forgotten that no liberals succeeded from the union when Bush Jr got in for another 4 years, is having a temper tantrum of amazing proportions!

My youngest sister, who lives with my mom in CA, reports to me about how mom is going to sell the house and move to Texas and become it's own country. (she won't get on a plane to visit me in NY, so my sisters and I are pretty comfy knowing she won't get any further than about an hour away on her own.)

Sigh......

I'm going through kind of a health scare right now. And even at 45 years of age, needing your 'mommy' still kinda creeps in. Especially when you had a GREAT mom! You never wanted for anything when you were sick in my childhood home. Juice? yes. Toast in quarters with honey? Done! Grilled cheese and cream of tomato soup? You bet! Clean sheets after a warm bath? The best.

Now I find myself waiting for a call that doesn't come for hours after my procedure cuz my mom was changing her money into foreign currency so Obama couldn't take it from her.

I got more news yesterday that the procedure they did didn't work, so now on to more drastic methods. My childhood mom would have been calling me every day to check in. My Neo-Con mom not only didn't call, but told my youngest sister that she never knows anything cuz no one calls her cuz she's a horrible mother.

What do they say about self fulling prophecies?

" Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower." ~Albert Camus

There is a moment when the air is just a lil crisper. Smokey fumes curl through the bright blue skies. The tips of the trees appear to be dulling, just a lil. And the word on the street brings a pulse to my heart that makes it skip a beat: Pumpkin Spice is at Dunkin Donuts.

I had thee most perfect pumpkin latte yesterday for breakfast. It was hot and sweet and pumpkin-y. It's the indicator that we are entering into my favorite time of year. The season that I missed out on for 30 years of my life, living in Southern California.

Most the time, when we started back to school in the beach cities, you couldn't even wear your school clothes. It was still too damn hot! There was never a time where I kicked my feet through amber, orange, yellow and blood red leaves. You could go pumpkin picking in your shorts, if you wanted. And there were NO $1 pumpkin patches where I grew up. Although you won't find those much now either. We would pay HUGE prices for a big pumpkin. And never did we go to an actual patch, wandering the vines for the perfect squash.

My dad would get the biggest one out of the "patch" (re: over priced nursery). His job was to make the scariest pumpkin. I would usually make the most interesting face. My sisters more traditional triangle eyes and smiles. Then there is my mom. She would find the oddest shaped pumpkin and then try to make it into something. One year she scored a long, oval, dark green pumpkin, she laid on it's side, and it became a school bus.

Yes...I said a school bus. I don't get my creativity off the wind ya know.

There is just something about the tradition of the pumpkins that represent the fall season for me. Even on my trip to visit, my now wife, for my first October on the east coast, sealed the deal of my moving from my seaside home. We picked pumpkins and carved them, went apple picking. (it was the most amazing thing to pluck a delicious apple from a branch and eat it on the spot) and got fresh cider pressed on the spot. And you could keep things on the porch, cuz it was cool enough!

It was like my own lil autumnal Disney World! I fell in love. Halloween has always been my favorite holiday, but to be wrapped in east coast autumn only makes it even better.

"You know, a long time ago being crazy meant something. Nowadays everybody's crazy.". ~Charles Manson

The world seems to be going crazy! I know it makes me sound old, when I can't seem to wrap my head around what the hell is going on around me. I'm one fist shake out the window and "You pesky kids got off my lawn!" from being Mrs. Kravits.

But how else can I feel?

Men on the tv telling me that there is a "nice rape" and a "forcible rape". That my body has ninja warrior secretions that can kill "criminal sperm" when it enters my body. (Where the fuck did these idiots go to school and how did they get elected?)What I can and can't do with my girly bits, cuz they say so.

Tell ya what...if they put you in jail for flipping through your fetish mags, sitting behind the locked door of your senate office, in your secretaries underwear, jerkin your gerkin and spilling millions of possible babies all over the floor...then we'll talk.

Why do old, rich, white men think they can tell women what they have a right to do with their own bodies? It makes my head feel like it's going to split open with insanity.

Last night, the wife and I, had just got done OD'ing the Maddow and the likes, and went up to bed. There was our 15 year old cat, Ringo, falling all over the floor. Usually I'm the first one to react, and dive into the throws, to fix the situation. I stood in the hall, flapped my hands by my sides and repeated like maniac, "Oh my god...what do we do....what do we do?"

A trip to the ER vet, many sheets of itemized potions and screenings, and Ringo is STILL there today. True to her nature, confusing those around her by making them think outside the box.

So I sit at work, going a little out of my mind: can't really do anything, can't get any answers from the vet, can't go see her, can't go home.

"We'll call....."

Ok...I'll be here....going a lil nutty in my four walls. I've waited 10 years for my own office and now I feel like a moth inside a Ball preserves jar, batting around, senseless and without cause.

At the height of my self proclaimed crazy session, I turn to the one place that I can escape, that brings me joy, that makes me smile: HALLOWEEN. Life has been so busy, I'm behind on pumpkinrot.com. There, among the wonder and magic that is the 31st of October, 365 days a year, is the William Sanoma holiday link.

I think a frivolous purchase of cauldron mugs, during a time when my vet bills are choking me, would be just insane enough, to make me feel, a touch, less crazy.

Human nature is above all things lazy. ~ Harriet Beecher Stowe

I don't even like most the games they play in the Olympics. But there is something so strong that compels me to get a bowl of ice cream, camp on the couch in my BirkenCrocs and sit like a slob and watch amazing athletes grapple for gold.

What is it about the Olympics?

I saw, for the first time, competitive trampoline. It was the GREATEST thing EVAH! Handball....sucks. It's silly. Handball is for Al Pacino in a prison yard. One rubber ball and the hard concrete of his prison walls. That's handball people.

Dressage. Can't bare to watch it. In no other sport if the athlete breaks a leg, do they take them out and shoot them.

Gymnastics is one of those sports that none of us knows nothing about, but you watch a routine and say, "Oh mah gawd that was perfect!" and we are usually right. I also almost pass out from holding my breath cuz I just know they are going to end up with that wooden beam in their tender girly bits and it's going to H-U-R-T!

OK....volleyball I know a lil about. I'm from California so I'm partial to the beach v-ball, no doubt. We had a sand v-ball court at our high school for bejuzuz sake! And how can you not watch Misty and Kerri play for their last time and 3-pete?!?!

You have to get into it.

Everyday I can barely get out of bed to shower, make my coffee, walk the dog and head to work, again. Over and over, my personal ground hog day. To take the time out to watch beautiful bodies in motion doing one thing so perfectly, it's inspiring.

To compete on the world stage, even without the red menace to push us anymore, is still the drive that makes America great. The tearful movement of the anthem playing, the flag raising it moves us.

Pride and perfection. It's a designer drug that never goes out of style.

Birth and death; we all move between these two unknowns. ~Bryant H. McGill

It's ironic. I can see that. The day that hits me the hardest, since my dad has died, is the day of his birth.

I just spent a week in CA cleaning out 'stuff' in my mom's 'barn'. It's really not a barn. There is not one chicken or cow paying rent. It's really barn shaped garage. One that held the RV they were traveling in when my dad passed.

Now the RV is at a consignment lot, waiting for the winning bid on ebay. A curse and a blessing for my mom, I'm sure. Some of her happiest moments were traveling all over the US with my dad in that rig. But it's where he started feeling ill, suddenly. After a fun day with their traveling group.

Within 24 hours he was gone.

She wouldn't leave the RV until we had someone that would get it back home for her. How could anyone ask her to leave it behind. At that point my mom seemed like a lil girl who had left her favorite stuffed toy and didn't want to go till we found it for her.

Now the space in the barn, that the RV filled, as life continues to move forward, is finding substitutes quickly

My sister's move to England has filled space where the RV bedroom was. A car takes the place of the kitchen and bathroom. A patio set stacked neatly where my mom and dad would sit, side by side, miles of road passing under that 'rock star' size rig.

We cleaned and hauled and stacked stuff up. The Goodwill scheduled to come in two weeks and back a truck up to collect it. Things from before I was born, stashed away by my dad. And now what? Where does it go? Why can't we let it go? Why should WE keep it any longer? What would we ever do with it?

I started thinking about all the crap in my house. Who will sweep out the years of collecting when I'm gone? And they most certainly will look at it and say, "What am I suppose to do with it?" Maybe, just like me, they will feel that pull in their heart that says, "But why can't I throw it out?"

To grasp one last time at the physical, as the mental memories slip away every day. How did he use to smile? That lil chuckle he had....how did it go exactly?

Sand....draining from my hand, one grain at a time. Leaving nothing but the soft, dusty, residue clinging to my moist palms. It reminds, me my fist was filled to capacity, only moments ago.

Happy birthday dad. Your 'presence' are still in the barn.

Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life. William Faulkner

Time flies. During the in between. Where my favorite holiday is still too far off to even start dreaming of what fun things to create (not really, but I can't admit it or my wife thinks I'm insane). I try to busy myself with other things.

And busy I have been.

Life is at full speed ahead and all I'm trying to do is strap in and hold on.

My office is moving to a new location, and I'm excited at the thought of 'walls'. I've always been out in the middle of everything. Try and make a doctor's appointment for your girly bits, you'll find it is impossible. A door will be a welcome change.

I'm hoping to also decorate in football noir. I want to finally put my jerseys in cases and find a shelf for my helmet from the glory days on the grid iron. I'll dust them off and bring them up from my treasure trove (re: basement)

The new location is swanky. I'll tell you that! Polished floors, gleaming marble and granite. It's a step up and a distance away. I've been spoiled by my 3 mile drive to work. My Nissan Leaf very happy as well, with a small jog to and from. I'll have to plan accordingly if I need to get somewhere after work or during lunch.

I've insisted on an outlet by my parking space. I mean...come ohn! If you're going to have an employee who is trying to save the world on her own, the least you can do is put a plug in, right?

The wife's job, or 3 of them, keeps her busy and me holding a picture of her in my wallet to remember what she looks like. The animals run the house and destroy it a lil more everyday. (a whole other blog will be coming from that)

And in an effort to keep my sanity, I shall return to blogging. It's an outlet, no doubt. If nothing else, a fine way to count the in between days till the return of my burning grin.

"An artist is a creature driven by demons. He doesn't know why they choose him and he's usually too busy to wonder why." ~William Faulkner

The problem with trying to keep a blog is NOT keeping up with the blog. Then you find that there are too many topics to blog about and where does one even start?

Politics? Don't EVEN get me started! Where are we going and why am I in this hand basket?

The economy? While it looking up, I'm too broke to pay attention.

Work? I've been very busy with very little pay off in my commissions lately. And that makes momma angry.

My blog, for a long time was a place to come and spout my silly ramblings and vent my issues an I felt better. I didn't care who dropped by to see, if anyone did at all. It for me, about me, me me me. And I ask, "What's wrong with that?"

Nothing.

I guess, to cut through to the core of the matter, I don't have time for 'ME' anymore. Otherwise I would be on here shouting and stomping and kicking up dust. Maybe I would feel better if I did that. Maybe I would feel lighter and less burdened by thoughts that have no where to go than round and round my empty skull.

So a vow to myself - more blogging. More brain dumping. More letting my thoughts run free.

A man growing old becomes a child again. ~Sophocles

WOW! I flipped my calendar today and low and behold - February. I turn 45 next week.

Sigh.

I was told when I was a young thing that the older you got, the faster time sped along. Too true. Time is a blur now so I can only imagine what the next 20 years will be.

I caught Oprah's Masterclass with Jane Fonda the other night. (when you get my age you start watching things like Oprah's Masterclass) I found it fascinating. From the camera angles, to the cut-aways, to the casual feel that she was talking to the viewer. I know the older generation despises "Hanoi Jane". I found her charming and amazing during her interview. And it was so interesting to see where she had come from: her mother committing suicide and her distant father who could never really love her after that.

One of the points that stuck with me was her thought that our life is broken into thirds and she was entering into her final third, at 74 years old. I really shortened up our timeline for me. Instead of thinking of 80 individual years, if your lucky, it shrunk it down to just three wedges of time.

While I'll be smack dab in the middle of my second 'wedge' of time, my father had just started his third section when he died suddenly. And his mom, who just passed, had stretched her final third for all it's worth, at 98.

I'm at the age where the drinking age is flashed on cards with the DOB in '91 and it doesn't seem possible. Babies are being born around me by babies themselves. I think where I was in my last 20's and children weren't even a consideration for me.

Full families in their first third.

Time marches on. That's for damn sure. Sometimes it feels like it marched right over me and didn't even notice. So buckle up, put on a helmet and hold on. It only speeds up from here.

"Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work." ~Thomas Edison

I had to brush out the cobwebs and there was a homeless guy living in the entrence to my blog page.

Ok...it's been a while. A long while. I admit.

Holidays, new car, the passing of my grandmother, another Christmas without my dad, staying home for the holiday for the first time in 15 years and not being re-newed by the radio station after four years....

I've been busy.

My Leaf is a dream come true. Let's start with that. Runs great. Fun to drive. And I just love the look on folks faces when it dawns on them I never have to stop for gas again. Then the double shock that I never have to pay for another oil change or air filter, EVER AGAIN!

It's pretty spectacular, really.

Every time I start it up it's a shock to my system what I've done. Yes, it's on the pricey side, but when you think of the savings, it's really kinda equal. If you want to add the notoriety factor, being the only person in upstate NY to own an EV (electric vehicle), then that's a bonus!

The first question, guaranteed, is, "What if you run out of juice?" To which I have to ask them, "When was the last time you ran out of gas?" I have a charging station on the house now as well, that can 'fill up' the car in about 4 hours to 80% of the battery. (the suggested amount to keep the battery life mean and lean)

It doesn't like the cold tho. This weekend the temps hit 4 degrees and the wall charger wasn't having any of it. Luck for me the trickle charger, that you can plug into any 120v outlet, worked just fine and EVa, as I've named her, didn't miss a beat.

I'm sure as the adventure continues, there will be more about the car. I welcome questions as well. So let me have it. I've been learning as much as I can, since I had to wait since July 2010 to get this durn thing.

A new year and a new chance to kick my blogging back into gear. Until next type....

"Pooh-pooh to the Whos!" ~ The Grinch

I avoided a LOT of the holiday crush by shopping on line this year. I love that. No...really....I love shopping on line, cuz then it's like xmas when all the packages get delivered to me weeks before xmas. Yes, I know they aren't for me. But I actually like shopping for others, rather than receiving gifts for myself.

No, I'm not going for "most self-less act during the holiday season" award. I just really relish the challenge of buying something for someone that, when the open it, they have a tremendous reaction.

I can't tell you how many times, in my youth, I got stuff that was crap. There...I said it! It took me 40 years, but I've admitted it publicly. And this taught me that you need to make an effort when you buy. The following are examples that, not only scared me for life, but taught me to shop kindly:

There was a macrame belt weaving kit. Really. You can't make this up.

Magic sand that you poured under water and it never got wet. When they tell me I have cancer, years down the road....I'll blame that feckin' magic sand!

The Ant farm. NOTHING good comes from keeping bugs in your home and treating them like pets. Tiny ants came in from outside and actually killed the colony and made the 'farm' their summer residence.

A hamster. Ok....yes...I wanted it. I wanted it bad. And I loved it. But when you buy something that is 'food' for a larger animal, they are not meant to live long and it died a horrible death that was oozy and icky.

So during this holiday season, as you swim the gift buying tide with other Whos, remember to buy from your heart and not with the random coupon you might find. The receiver will appreciate the effort and you will always remember the look on their face that says, "You like me. You get me. You're my favorite."

That's xmas to me.

“Being crazy isn't enough.” ― Dr. Seuss

You know the drill. It's that time of year and the calendar is filling up scary fast. The end of another year is screaming towards us. I was shocked to flip the calendar, which I was already 3 days behind, and uncover the first of December.

Shocked!

I was told a looooong time ago, probably by a teacher that I thought was old as dirt and now I'm older than she was when she told me, that as you get older the time passes faster.

Holy Oprah pass the bucket cuz this motion sick momma ain't gonna handle the next couple decades well.

With the holidays comes the rush of shopping and wearing out the numbers on your plastic cards. Mine is almost see-thru at this point. Thank you Cyber Monday for on-line shopping deals. At least I got that taken care of, right quick. My office-mate scowled at me when I announced I was done shopping. I triumphant declaration with a fist pump for effect. But when your family is 3,000 miles away, you have to think ahead.

That doesn't slow down time either.

Looking ahead on the calendar is quite dizzying: trips are booked for Feb and April. The high holy month of March is stacked to the rafters already, with my lil Irish Radio show. That's as far as I dare to look into my crystal ball. If I know too much ahead of time I might just become a hermit and find a cave to crawl into.

I need to sit down. But certainly there is no time to do it. Maybe Santa will bring me a 13 month year! But knowing my life, I'll find a way to shove that full of 'to-dos' before you can say "I'm sorry, I'm busy that day."

Calgon take me away!

Electric Dreamin'

I have to take a break from my Halloween fever (I'm so far behind...what does it matter?)

The home inspector came this morning for my Nissan Leaf charging station. Yes....charging station. I'm going NO TAILPIPE people! All in, all electric. I'm so excited I I can't stand myself.

I fretted for days over this inspection. We have a 75 year old house, smack dab in the middle of the snow belt. (we have won the 'golden snowball' trophy for the past decade, I think, here in CNY) There is just no way a cutting edge car could be plopped down right here. Well....it can....and it will!

It's the worst possible time to spend money on a car. I know. We'll have to do a few upgrades to get the house ready for the station. I know. We will only have one car for long trips. I know.

But as I said to my wife this morning, "This is like an aquarian's wet dream!"

• A new car would thrill my jug bearing brother, James Dean (who shares my exact birthday).
• The cutting edge invention would have fellow aquarian Thomas Edison telling Watson to lift the hood to see inside.
• The sense of "freedom" from the pump from aquarian president, Abraham Lincoln
• The feel-good-for-the-environment whimsy from my January Aqua-sister Ellen Degeneres.(and birthday twin of my wife)
• And you can't leave out one of my favorite aquarians, Oprah, "You get a car...you get a car....YOU get a car!"

And while I've secretly been dreading that this purchase might be a divorce between me and my wife, she manage to blog about me this morning: HERE

And since she's the writer in the family...she did a much better job then I ever have on my blog. :)

Viva La Revolución

"IS IT SO SMALL A THING TO HAVE ENJOYED THE SUN?" ~MATTHEW ARNOLD

I love the beach. I'm a second generation Cali beach girl. My mom was the original Gidget: sand volleyball, hours in the sun, walking to the beach every day. My favorite moments were sitting at sunset, my toes curled into the cooling sand, breeze off the water, watching the sun slip past the horizon.

Syracuse...is landlocked. Yes, there are lakes, rivers, fake beaches with imported sand on bodies of water. But that's not the ocean. The mighty ocean. The rumble and roar of the surf, pounding the earth. I would roll in the waves until I was body tired, climb to the shore and crash on my towel. When my heart stopped beating so loud that was all I could hear, the voice of the ocean would replace it, through the towel, through the sand, just past the squawking gulls. The rolling thunder of the might ocean

When the opportunity came to stay at Cape Cod, the promise of laying on sand and playing in waves, was like a breath of life! When we got there, it was just like the pictures I had found on line: sea grass and grape stake fences. The sand, a lil coarser. The waves, a lil shallower.

But all in all, a fantastic replacement for my long lost west coast beach. After 8 years of visiting the Atlantic, I've created a new set of moments and memories. We got a puppy 7 years ago and now that beach will never be the same without Roxy running up and down it. Lifeguard towers, as only that Cape can do, now adorn our Christmas tree yearly as an ornament, due to the one right across from the house we rent. I can also say I've experienced 2 hurricanes there. (possibly a 3rd this year?) Never had to worry bout those on the Pacific!

And I can say I got married next to the Atlantic, on that east coast beach in the Cape. Our "first anniversary" this year, after said wedding, will be celebrated right where we stood.

I know the sun isn't good for you, but I just can't resist the warmth and berry brown glow on my skin that comes from it. So we go, as far east as we can, to find the beach once again.

"Shake, shake, shake, Señora, shake it all the time" ~Harry Belafonte

Yesterday a jolt in the earth in VA found it's way allllll the way up central NY. Pretty impressive! I didn't feel it, I was on my way into work, but everyone in the office experienced it. I sure heard about it when I got in tho. And I had the funniest reaction to it: I got homesick.

Earthquakes are so very California. I have been through a dozen or so, that were worth mentioning. Only one of them was really scary. Most of them were enough to say, "Meh....it will be over in a second."

I suppose one should fear the earth, taking it upon itself, to dance and flow as if suddenly liquid. The pictures on the wall, tuned askew and the various books and nick-naks flung akimbo.

Just another 6am wake up call for this second generation California girl.

I use to hear them, actually. Right before they would hit. A low rumble, the earth clearing it's throat, perhaps? Maybe it was more the vibrations that I could sense. But I could call them.

I remember working at Barnes Wholesale and I was sitting and jawing with a co-worker. There it was, the thundering moan of ancient earth turning under the crust that we call home.

"Earthquake." I said in almost a whisper.
"What?" said my co-worker
"We are about to have a earthquake."
"Shut up. You know if we did right now I would jump up an run my ass right outside screaming. I can't stand.......SWEET JESUS!"

I stayed seated on the small sofa in her office, she dove under her desk. When things stopped rocking, she poked her head out.

"Next time you get that juju thing going....walk away from me and don't say NUTHIN!"

I was in senior English when the class room started rocking. A scream from the class room next door and a thud. The sound of 20 sets of knees hitting the ground, shortly after. My teacher looked at us and we scooted back and forth in our desks. "Should we get under?" I reassured her, "It will end in a second." So we waited. And it did.

There was no way this 5'10" girl was going to squeeze under that tiny desk.

The teacher next door, poor thing, was from the middle of America and it was her first earthquake. She pretty much abandoned her class and dove under her own desk, leaving her students to follow on their own.

I've been in bed for most of them. On the toilet for one, when I was a lil kid. Walking across a college campus for another. The cars, bouncing and moving closer and closer to each other. Their alarms, defining. Their owners left to figure out how to get into the cars with the doors touching. I was in our family cabin in the mountains for another. The wagon wheel lights swinging.

There are two kinds of earthquakes: a roller and a shaker. One you can ride out, like being on a boat. The other will bring things off the wall. In 1994 the biggest in the history of my 44 years hit Northridge, CA. While it started out lightly waking me at 4am with its rolling action, it soon changed it's temperament to a shaker. So much so that I finally felt scared.

"HIT THE DOORS!" I yelled from my room. Instructions for my two sisters, who I could hear awake, next door to my room. They tell you to brace yourself in a load bearing door frame for safety. It was the first time ever that I had felt I needed to do just that. We camped out in our doorways like it was forever. 20 sec, tops. Pictures dropped, books flew, my parents scrambled down from upstairs.

We were fine, the house was fine, but a lot of other people weren't. The 6.2 magnitude quake was the worst on record since San Francisco.

Maybe I don't miss them too much. But they beat a hurricane or tornado, hands down. I mean, at least you know where you stuff is. In the other two you have to go two counties over to get it.

A grandmother pretends she doesn't know who you are on Halloween. ~Erma Bombeck

How early can I start talking about Halloween?

Well..it's my blog so I can start right now if I want too, so there :P

I'm already stalking my favorite sites that stock up early for the best holiday evah. I have a long history with Halloween. I think it might have been a favorite holiday of my grandmother. She loved to put on a mask to hand out candy. I have a picture of her with plastic, bloodshot eyes and vampire teeth.

On Halloween, we would hit our own neighborhood, but then it was off to my grandparents to really do it up right. Nan would put out apple cider and donuts. A long gone tradition of an older generation. Decorations that collectors hunt for now, adorned her house: The plastic arched cat with the pumpkin on its back that lit up, and probably a fire hazard. Paper pumpkin candy bags, in burnt orange,black, and a dash of bright yellow. It's googly eyes looking scared. Noise makers and rattles with sexy dancing witches on them, striped stockings and wide brimmed hats. Skeletons in the window, when you walked up to her backdoor, their joints sporting shiny brass brads that let them pose in a spooky greeting.

After bleeding the 'hood of all it's candy, we would travel across town to a family friends house, where 'Crazy Aunt Joan' would be in full wicked witch of the west garb. I would have to be ushered around back, too scared to go to the front. One year she let me pop the balloons on her back that made her witchy humps. Finally the spell broken, my fear gone with each pop.

When Nan passed, leaving a gaping hole in my life, my mom asked if there was anything I wanted, I knew exactly what I would like to have. I wanted the big orange serving dish she would put the candy on each year. It rested on the tall entry table, heaped with treats. She would answer the door, grab for the enormous plate and administer goodies to the kiddies.

We would root though our haul in our bags and sort out what we didn't want. A tangle of salt water taffy, DOTS, gum, black licorice, and donate it to the big orange plate. Then off we would go again, to fill our bags.

Halloween is in my DNA. In fact I think it was just last year, in a sad display of Halloween things in a drugstore, there were those same plastic, bloodshot bug eyes. And I smiled and thought of Nan.

The Devil came for me on a motorcycle

I was driving to work this morning. Earlier on Fridays, which is good for traffic. Very few folks are even going to work, let alone early, like me. My mind on the ice coffee and the breakfast panini I would be stopping off for in just a few minutes. Then I realized I was behind the slowest person alive.

My commute, while not a long one, was frustrating at 15 miles under the posted speed limit. As we plugged along up a hill, I took a glance to see if anyone was behind me, also annoyed.

There, staring back at me in my rear view mirror, was a man on a motorcycle. Gaunt, face half in shade from the morning light lifting over the tree tops. His eyes, piercing, even at the distance he was at behind me.

While he handled the bike smooth and even, he seemed so odd upon the seat. He didn't fit the type that would have that bike. It was unsettling to see his thin, pale frame controlling the iron beast that was the Harley.

77 degrees and it wasn't even 7 am yet.....a chill ran down my spine. "He looks like the Devil on a motorcycle." I said out loud, to no one.

He just continued his icy stare.

As we came around a bend to a stop sign, the light shifted and he appeared to have dark circles under his eyes, his old skin, worn with age, catching the light on the time etched crags.

Then I thought.....what if it was my time? What if the Devil had come for me? Working in tandem with the car in front to slow the traveler, so that Ol' Scratch could pull up along side of me at the next stop.

"Good morning miss," he would say with a Marlboro rasp and the smell, off his understated leather jacket, would be Old Spice with just a hint of sulfur and a touch of clove. "My name is Mr. Azazel, and if you would be so kind to hop on my bike with me....it's time to go."

And I would, cuz who can resist the Devil? And I would wonder, "What did I ever do so wrong? I thought I was a pretty good person." And he would read my thoughts and simply say, "They all think that....even the worst of them."

We came to the intersection that pitchforks into three paths. The slow driver continued right, the 'Devil' went left, and I continued forward. I got to the my lil coffee stop and was a bit hazy from my imagination. Bemused that I could even come up with such silliness.

"It's going to be hot as hell again out there today."

"Yes," I said to the owner, "hot as hell."

But, alas! what poor Woman is ever taught that she should have a higher Design than to get her a Husband? ~ Mary Astell

June 24th, it happened. After a failed attempt in 2009, 2011 brought marriage equality to NY.

Can you believe?

We had been married in MA in 2010, for fear a new NY governor would undo the bill that stated that: if you are married in a state that has gay marriage, NY will recognize your marriage.

So we played it safe. After waiting and waiting for our home state of NY to do the right thing, we wanted to get in, while the gettin' was good. So off to the Cape we went, to spend our money in another state.

Then it happened. The votes were there, in a state who's population is equal to all the other six states that have same sex marriage, combined! It was HUGE!

And while there were no new laws that would protect us. No new benefits to indulge in. There are over 1,200 laws protecting married couples: 100 are state, the rest are federal. We would have to be happy with the 100 while the federal end is not available to us.

It was, personally, a bitter sweet achievement. To be truthful, I really didn't expect to feel any different.

Then I drove to work that next Monday.

As I rode the streets of my lil town, with all the other cars, it dawned on me, "I'm equal to you. And to you. And yes...to you!" There was a new sense of "safety". That the laws, in this state, to a certain level, made me equal.

What a strange feeling that is, indeed.

How many people can say they feel like they are more 'equal' on a Monday morning?

Cleanliness is next to Godliness

It's a drive I take everyday. But last week I had one of those moments. You know when you catch some one's eye in passing and it feels like you've had a moment?

I was driving to work and my eyes landed on a lil ol lady, cleaning the windows of the funeral home. Working diligently from the inside of the entry way. She was on her tip toes, reaching with her paper towel, balancing the bottle of windex in her other hand. Trying to grip the bottle and the handle of the door for stability.

She made wide, sweeping motions and it struck me how someone has to keep the fingerprints of the living, off the doors to death.

The minute you settle for less than you deserve, you get even less than you settled for. ~ Maureen Dowd

Soooooo....say your paying for something aaaaaaand you don't get your moneys worth. You're promised things that don't come through. You're told it's all taken care of and nothing ever changes.

What do you do?

Let's say....you're renting a tennis court so you can play for an hour every week. Other folks use the court. You don't own it...you just rent the space once a week.

And it all starts out just fine.

Then one day when you get there, for your hour, there is another pair on there playing. They want to finish their set. So they eat into your time.

You complain to the manager of the facility. He apologizes and says he will let the boss know and this won't happen again.

OK....so what...who cares.

Then you notice the lines on the court are peeling and flaking up and you can't tell if the ball is in or out.

You complain to the manager of the facility. He apologizes and says he will let the boss know and this won't happen again.

But now you're really starting to wonder if the money that you are paying each week to be there is worth it.

Now you show up and the net is coming loose and fraying, the lines still aren't fixed and the couple before you seem to take more and more of your time.

This time, when you talk to the manager, you play a lil good cop/bad cop and try to drive the point home that you're not happy.

He apologizes and says he will let the boss know and this won't happen again.

When is enough enough and how do you get someone to care? (other than yourself, of course) Every where I look we are being taken advantage of: at the pump, in government, as a woman, in my paycheck, at my radio station.

Where do you go when your complaints fall on deaf ears? Do you go to another tennis facility and hope to get better treatment there? What are the odds they will be better? Especially in a world where customer service is dead and the client is ALWAYS wrong!

Some days...I just don't want to get out of bed in the morning. I have no more energy to fight the good fight. I use to write letters to companies that needed a good talkin' too. Now when I write, they can't be bothered to even send a form letter!

And the pang in my heart tells me that "If you don't complain, who will". All the while my head is screaming, "They just don't fuckin' care about people anymore."

My head is winning.