Toes curl around the edge....breathe...spread your arms...now....JUMP!

How long have you ever "done" anything? Held your breath, held a job, held an image in your mind? Been friends with someone or maybe lived in the same place?

My honey has been a print jounalist for almost 20 years. And 13 of them, at thee local paper in town, ends today.

13 years...walking into work the same way every day. Parking in the same spot every day. Saying 'good morning' to some of the same faces every day.

13 years > 4,745 days

Our relationship is short 6 months to beat her releationship with that job. She's scared. I don't blame her. It's a long time to be doing something you love, fight for, frett over.

After much deliberation and heart tugging discussion, she decided to take a 'buy out' offered by the paper. Seeing the state of print journalism, she plans on taking a course in writing her first book and freelancing along the way to discovering her creative freedom that comes with freeing ones self from the confines of a cubicle.

And while she has her doubts....I know she'll be just fine. Cuz you can't contain her kind of talent in such a small space like an office, working for the man. Much like the plants that grace our yard, that she grows so well, her life is about to take blossom and grow.

How Grey is Your Garden?

"But you see in dealing with me, the relatives didn't know that they were dealing with a staunch character and I tell you if there's anything worse than dealing with a staunch woman... S-T-A-U-N-C-H. There's nothing worse, I'm telling you. They don't weaken, no matter what." ~Little Edie Bouvier Beale

Have you seen Grey Gardens? I have. It haunts me on a regular basis.

Maybe it's the documentary style. Maybe it's the grainy film. Maybe it's the lost era of the 70's. Or maybe it's just that rich folks, left unattended....melt into what they are at the core: simple and crazy.

The stars of the documentary are Little Edie and Big Edie, daughter and mother. The Edie's are cousin and aunt to Jackie O. Film makers heard about their 28 room mansion on Long Island about to be closed down for the condition is was in, when Jackie and her sister Lee came to the rescue to get it up to code. These to 'stars' were high society back in the day and are now bag ladies with a bankroll. Cats and crap piled to the ceiling included.

If Jackie had been left in one of her mansions, forgotten by her family, would she be eating Friskies with a dash of lemon and calling it "Pate"? Would any of the rich and famous be who they are, without the public lifting them to heights that no human can withstand the pressure?

Brittney Spears, who moves from mansion to mansion in Beverly Hills, can sleep on mounds of money she's made over the years. But how do folks describe her? "She's just a barefoot, hillbilly that made good!" For sure, without the money, she would be just that. Three or four kids, playing out back of the trailer park, BritBrit cooking up greens and waiting for her man to come home for the mines. Broke, happy and now it makes sense that she doesn't wear undies...she can't afford them.

A talk show host was talking about this the other day. His example was Angelina Jolie. If it wasn't for Hollywood turning her "quirks" into tabloid hoopla, she would be a receptionist who everyone would talk about was 'c-r-a-z-y'. It would probably be her fourth or fifth job in a year. Meanwhile her neighbors worry cuz she keeps too many knives and someone said there was blood in her fridge.

The FBI would be at her door in a heartbeat.

"Shame....she was such a pretty girl. Probably had the world at her finger tips...but she was just so....so....strange!" ~one of her neighbors on the six o'clock news.

The Edie's seem crazy enough. Sweet as pie, but durn right crazy. Crazy like a train wreck you can't turn your view from. I had heard that was the story, but it still caused me to stare, open mouthed, at the TV in awe.

On the extras they show the following this film has. Fans watching it over and over again. Memorizing the lines. Talking about how Little Edie would be a fashion maven today instead of the crazy girl with the sweater for a turban. I thought at the time, THAT'S crazy! I mean, once you see it, is there really a reason to see it again? CAN you sit through it again?

Then......I got my own copy.

Feeding the Troops

Just up north of us is Fr. Drum. Home to the 10th Mountain Div. These are the kids that are down on the ground in the Middle East doing the grunt work.

And I do mean kids.

We have, for the past 3 years, participated in Riverfest. It's a big festival they put on for the troops and their families with a carnival and a boat ride around an area called the Thousand Islands. They end up on Heart Island, home to the Bolt Castle http://www.boldtcastle.com/ where volunteers cook and serve enough food for 5500 folks.

That's where we come in.

While it's awesome to support the troops, to meet the Generals that lead them, and get a handshake and a thank you from them, you can't help noticing that none of them are anywhere close to being my age.

Person after person passed by my station, I was in charge of sporks and plates, with a "thank you mam" and a look on their face that was humble and downright sheepish. Most of them had a spouse in tow and a couple kids. Some of them with mom and dad. Some, gaydar told me, were DADT (Don't Ask, Don't Tell) and would ultimately catch my eye, with a knowing nod.

One couple's tot dropped their place setting, the father, an obvious soldier with his buzz cut, looked at us embarrassed, "I'm sorry mam. Honey you have to hold on to it, now pick it up." I smiled and grabbed it from the ground first, "It's OK...we have tons of them! Have a clean one and you," I squatted down to her eye level, "Tell the food servers that you get whatever you want." The little girl, who had to be two or three looked at me, "Anything?" I looked at her dad, who had to be just out of high school, he nodded and smiled. "Yep...anything!", I assured her.

She beamed. It was priceless.

I imagined, a military family, probably was on budget, without each other for months on end and moved often, the thought of "anything your heart desires" was probably a big deal, even for a child.

But I couldn't help thinking....so young. They were all so fucking young!

The oldest among them may have been nearing 30. Those 'older' had a bit of a swagger to them. I wondered silently what they had seen. If the younger crowed was still basic training, had they been over there? Could these meek, mild mannered, men and women actually be the gun slinging heroes that face death every day? Watch their friends get ripped apart by enemy fire. Hold an open wound with their bare hand, the blood seeping between battle torn fingers that rest upon gun oiled triggers.

Off to the side a couple of boys walked away from the crowd. They were darker figures, even from a distance. Their posture, their walk, their shoulders hunched. You could tell they had seen some action. Would they be able to have a normal life. Night times free of horrific dreams and cold sweats brought on by the raging battle that still plays out on the back of their eyelids? They already stood off alone from everyone else.

My guess was no...they were damaged. Damaged so young, so early in life. Protecting a country that would probably not take care of them when they were done.

Is war so important? To send a 19 year old father into a place that, while physically they might return, mentally they never will.

What price is freedom?

For me...it was to stand for 5 hours in chilling rain, soaked to the skin, smile on my face, handing out sporks. And when they said, "Thank you mam." I said, "No......thank YOU."

The sound.....of silence....

There is nothing sadder than getting ready for lunch, deciding what you're going to get, walking to your car, putting in the key....and NOTHING.

Not start. No turn over. Dead.

The silliest part of all? I have to call AAA and wait an hour for them to show up and tow my car, literally, across the street. They almost didn't come get me cuz there wasn't enough miles for them to tow.

"Are you within your 5 mile limit?"

"I'm 1/32 of a mile."

"Pardon me?"

"I'm looking at the dealership as I talk to you."

"Well...I guess that's within your 5 miles."

Really? You're just guessing that? Amazing.

The next part of this equation is that I never actually got to lunch. Something happens to your mind when you were off to find lunch and now, not only aren't you going to lunch, but you probably aren't getting lunch at ALL today.

That...for a big grrl that loves food as much as I, is torture.

While I'm waiting for A3 to show, I'm surfing on line and low and behold, every pop up ad is for some fast food restaurant. I decided to stop surfing and stared out the window, under the guise of looking for the tow truck. A large van parked outside from a grocer with lovely four color rendering of their sub shop on the side of it.

I would stare at my shoes, but even those are toasty brown like a loaf of bread.

See...I'm a mess!

I sent out a S.O.L (shit! out of lunch) text to co-workers out in the city, who owe me favors like you wouldn't believe. It's funny how, when folks owe you something you never seem to hear back from them. Hmmm.

Ever notice how a fire truck looks like a hot dog?

AAA better get here soon. My wallet looks like a hamburger and my AAA card is inside....looking like...mayo.

What's your price?

How much would it cost for you to sell out? Position? Power? Money? What would it take for you to betray your party, your ideals, the people that put you in office?

But more than that....will it be worth it?

There are two Democrats in NY today, that will know that answer at some point and time. Anti-American, greedy, power hungry, back stabbing, assholes. And while they can probably fess up that they are every one of those things, it's the moment they awaken and find that they have, indeed, been played.

I want to scream my throat raw about what happened in Albany yesterday. I want to curse the sky. I want to throw and tantrum and kick lil fuzzy forest creatures, I'm so mad.

Shame on the republicans in Albany. Shame on you for taking the constitution, the very piece of paper that you hold in front of liberals faces and say they mock, and wiping your over fed, rich, privileged, asses all over it.

If no one else will tell you, let me have the pleasure....YOU LOST! You can't take the ball and go home. You have to give the ball up. You have to play nice. You had your chance to be QB and the team decided that you SUCKED! So they bumped you to 2nd string.

Can you imagine if you were watching a football game and the 2nd string jumped from the bench and mauled the 1st sting on the field and then claimed that they were now taking the field and playing the last quarter.

Those players would be suspended and fined.

Let's hope that's the case tomorrow, when the legislature reconvenes.

patato - patahtoe

A radical Shiite cleric has called for the "depravity" of homosexuality to be eradicated but his spokesperson later said that that the remark should not be taken as a fatwa to kill gays. ... Moqtada Sadr made the call on Thursday during a seminar of clerics, police and tribal leaders.
There has been growing anti-gay violence in Iraq. Last month another Shiite cleric, Sattar al-Battat, repeatedly condemned homosexuality during Friday prayers, saying Islam prohibits homosexuality. Homosexual acts are punishable by up to seven years in prison in Iraq.

Can I just ask....who said being homosexual was wrong? And don't bring up the bible. Can anyone give me a good reason without the bible? Cuz...well...the bible is not a legal document, or scientific in any way. It's pretty much hearsay jotted down decades after events happened, then rewritten for centuries, till it pretty much, isn't the original text, which was just a bunch of guys telling a story by a campfire, to begin with.

Let's look at it this way....bicycle or unicycle. Now, while the bicycle is more common and more folks ride them, it certainly doesn't mean that the unicycle is wrong. It's certainly not as common, it's more difficult to learn, and I guess folks would look at you funny if rode one. But bicycles and unicycles both can share the roadways, follow the same laws and get a license, if they wanted.

But one or the other is not wrong, just different.

Heterosexual and Homosexual are different sexualities, but neither is wrong. Nature doesn't think so.

There are many creatures that are not only homosexual, but some even reverse what we call "normal". Take a seahorse...the male has the babies. There is a female bird that gets pregnant, lays eggs, then plops the male on the nest while she goes and gets knocked up again. You can find lists of creature that are homosexual.

(Interesting Note: Since gays cann't technically breed....STRAIGHTS are the one's having the gay babies. Think about that over your cheerios!)

And yes....I know all about "we were put here to breed". Does that mean that a het couple that finds out they are sterile should then get divorced? If an widowers decide they want to get married, they can't? Honestly, in this over populated world, can't we have a few couples that DON'T need to breed? Or do we proceed down the slippery slope that if you are going to get married, now you have to take a test to see if you CAN breed? And what if after the test you find out you can't? No wedding for you!

You know what I really think it's about: acceptance.

I hear it all the time, "They want us to accept a behavior that is wrong." Or maybe.....if we DO accept homosexuality for what it really is, just another way we were born to be, that would make it very uncomfortable for all those folks that have hidden away their homosexuality and live under the mask of heterosexuality.

All the preachers that have never accepted who they are. All the congress men who smuggle hot interns into their campaign HQ. All the talk radio hosts who want something, something they have never dared speak it's name. What would happen if, finally, it was "normal" to be a homo?

I guess they would have to admit that they had spent a lifetime lying to themselves, their spouses and their children. That it would have been OK to be gay.

Oh what a different life they would have had.....an honest one.

A lil dab will do ya

Much like a tree, with aged rings inside it, you can count how old a woman is by the amount of creams she puts on her face. Being in my 40's, I now have 4 products I'm loyal to in my night and day regime.

I've never been one to use a lot of face products, maybe a simple moisturizer in the morning. Moving to the east coast learned me tho. Winter months dry you out like a piece of leather in a desert B movie (sheik included). I took to slathering on the lotion in between my usual applications. A bottle of lotion in the car, the desk drawer at work, the bar where my hands go in and out of hot water all night.

But I've not always been good to my skin. A history, as many California beach girls will admit, of hours on end in the sun. "Thermal Nuclear Tanning Oil" for that "Get down brown tan", was my weapon of choice for many years. At SPF O it was really no more than Wesson oil, which puts a lovely brown on the Thanksgiving turkey.

My sisters called me "Cocoa Baby" my mom said I looked like a migrant farm worker. That didn't stop me from basking in the sun.

Till now. My days of power tanning are over!

Last year I finally went to a dermatologist. I had funny lil dark patches on my cheeks. I wanted to know if the "big C" had finally caught up to me. It ended up a combination of skin damage and the use of birth control and a bill for $400 worth of creams and prescriptions.

They worked! The spots faded and my skin felt divine. Then I went into the sun a couple times and the patches floated to the top again. I guess the dermatologist wasn't lying about a "wide brimmed hat", which I can see myself getting right after carrying a purse: it's NOT going to happen.

So I guess I will continue to do my best to stay out of the sun and rotate my creams and potions to hold onto whatever youth still clings to these bones. If you got it, flaunt it....just in the shade.

A 3 Hour Tour

We have friends that stumbled on, what I consider, a fabulous find. There is a man made island 15 minutes from our house. Even some locals are surprised, that on that island, are 7 shacks: some in absolute disrepair, some 80 years and counting filled with happy camping memories.

They invited a dozen folks to come out and enjoy the Memorial Day weekend. And while everything hinted of perfection, a drama was brewing deep in the sun, sand, and surf.

With eye-floating amounts of alcohol and bonfires worthy of tribal dancing, we forged a dream that we all buy shares of the island and dub it "Gay Island", the get-a-way for queers and closeted celebs. We had bars for girls; The Whisker Biscuit Bar. And bars for boys; The Monkey Knuckle. We had afternoon tea dances, gift shoppes and cafes. Guests would arrive at Rainbow Pier and be escorted to one of our lovely cabins. Each section of the island, color coded, in the colors of the gay flag.

Sigh....if only.

Back in real time....out of the dozen inhabitants on Gay Island that weekend, only one couple was of the straight and open minded. Brought into the fold, a casual joke about the hets being among the mo's, but nothing mean spirited.

What makes drama? 2 parts alcohol, one part insecurity, one part crazy.

Enter the straight girl, with the above concoction mixed to perfection and ready to rumble!

It started as just a simple conversation between two folks, one my girl, the other a friend. Then Miss Crazy steps up! Jealous her sister is talking with my girl? Feeling slighted cuz she isn't the center of attention? Hopped up on beer and mood changing prescription drugs? We might never know for certain. But what happened next was her saying my girl was inappropriate. Her sister making excuses for her address being in Crazytown, and my girl in tears.

After one of the hosts came and got us from the safety of our tent, explaining that said crazy person is in the wrong, we tried to mingle again, and found no one really wanted to chat, so we exited, cabin left, to our tent once again.

The next morning Miss Insanity 09 left the island and gossip followed. It was said that she had at some point referred to my girl as a 'bitch'.

Oh....No...Sha....Didn'!!!

I got a serious problem with THAT! I'm thinking there better be a nice fat apology somewhere, or someone is going to get a punch in the neck next time I see them. Serious!

It just goes to show that you can't invite breeders on Gay Island. They don't know how to behave. The can't take the love and joy that it is to be gay.

After all.....gay does mean happy.

Who ya gonna call.....??

My grandmother told me a story long ago, about one of her ladies bridge club meetings, back in the fifties. For kicks, they invited a medium in the mix to read palms. You can imagine, back then, giggling housewives in a circle, such a taboo thing. The medium taking each of their hands in turn, time etched, pan scrubbing, floor mopping, hard working hands.

When the medium got to my grandma, she looked up at her, held her gaze and said, "You have the gift.....why don't you use it?"

Maybe it was that story that always kept the door open that it was possible. Maybe it's my love for a spooky story and a haunted house. I believe that everyone has the power to "see". Some stronger than others. Some forget they have the power. Some don't have time for such silly things.

It's been said that, such a gift, is passed from generation to generation. When you've seen something that you can't quiet explain. When you've heard a whisper in your ear in an empty room. Or known a truth with just your gut, it's easy to believe that genetics are a powerful thing.

It had been a while since I had an 'experience'. Not since we lived in our apartment in the university area. We were house hunting and there was a house just a block from our apt for sale. It was adorable and quirky. Then the realtor took us in the basement.

That's when I felt it.....like a prickling feeling. Then an uneasiness. Then, sometimes, someone is there. A boy..standing in the corner. And horses. I kept seeing big brown horse eyes in my mind. Then the realtor explained that the house was once the stable and was converted when they divided up the expansive farm property.

My younger sister decided to start on a path of understanding these things. We call her the lovable kook. Always outside the box, that one. So it was to her I went when, at my second job bar tending, I felt something.

It was a presence of a man, watching me in the basement, as I was storing the bottles from my shift. I told him to stay his distance, and he did. But in my head popped the name Eugene and an image of a 1920's factory worker in bib overalls and Irish cap.

I left some of the bottles and hurried from the basement.

After asking the owner if anyone had "experienced" anything, and getting his excited answer in the affirmative, my sister went to the historical society with an address and the name. The historical society answered:

Eugene Riley lived in that building in 1917. His daughter was killed in a collision with a train downtown and the car she was in, driven by Eugene's brother.

You can't imagine the chills that ran through my body!

When the medium asked my grandma that question, way back when...I wonder what the medium's answer would have been if my grandma asked back, "But what do I do with it?"

It's only just a matter of trust

It's a big one. I'll tell ya that right now. Maybe the universe is trying to send me a message, but the trust issue has come up a few times lately.

I just found out some artwork I did for someone who I was working on a project with, was presented in a fashion that my name was left off said project. Wasn't mentioned AT ALL. Lucky for me some friends were at the presentation and could tell it was my handy work on the art.

So they know I did it. Now what do you do with the liar?

I have the kinda of job where I had my work to sales men who go to the client and get the comments, compliments, and feedback. When the designs march back to my desk, all I get is a, "Order it up." or "Fix it."

Since I answer the phones, as I have mentioned here, I trip over a customer once and a while that, upon finding out I'm the artist, rave about the work I've done for them! I mean...really...like they LOVE it!! My usually response is, "Well thank you for telling me. I don't usually hear back from the sales guys." To that most clients say they had told the sales guys to tell me.

Ya...well all they heard was the sound of cash registers clanging in their wallets.

Another example of stolen genius was an idea for a local Irish music fest here in town. They were in need for a new mascot. My idea was a saucy cartoon cutie with red hair and beer mugs. Really BIG beer mugs (wink wink)! As I handed the idea to my pal who is on the committee I said, "You know....if you had the woman mascot you could have contests to look like her!"

"I like the way you think!" He said to me...visions of hot girls dancing in his head.

After the meeting, he was all fired up, as he is want to do. "You will never believe what we have come up with....A Ms. Guinness and Mr. Toastmaster beauty contest! I'm brilliant!"

Yes...yes you are. CUZ YOU LISTENED TO MY FECKIN' GENIUS IDEA AND STOLE IT FOR YOUR SELF!

I wish I could say that was the first time he did that to me, but shame on me, it tizn't.

I need to learn to keep my yapper clapped shut or just realize that my payday will come from karma. Cuz it ain't gonna come from my ideas.

Calgon....take me away....

Breaking points. How much can a person take? It's a personal measurement, I'm sure. Some take more than others. One person's flip out is another persons small nuisance.

Personally I feel that I have a high breaking point. Then I get PMS and the cat getting underfoot is, all of a sudden, reason to rant every dirty word I know. I also think I handle stress pretty well, for the most part. Emergency situations....got those down pat. I get faint after the fact, but during that "superman" moment, I'm the go to girl.

I'm even good in handling other people's flights of panic. I can mediate, break up altercations, or talk someone down. I even got a good friend to therapy who I thought was suicidal. That takes some wrangling!

When you step out of your life for a minute, and you look at all the things life throws at you, it's never as bad as someone else's problems. But it seem like the end of the world sometimes.

Kind of like that dream, that makes you sweat and kick your feet. You wake up with a start, your heart pounding out of your chest, your eyes moist from tears. Yet when you remember the dream later, it was so silly and non-scary, you can't imagine why you were so scared. But at the time, you were so horrified, it caused physical reactions in your body.

They say, 'Stress is a killer'.

Let's hope "they" don't know what they are talking about.