Well, One Thing Led to Another...

I was trying to find a few of my favorite songs by Etta James and this one, You Can Leave Your Hat On, has always been a favorite of mine. I met Joe Cocker in Santa Barbara--he was friends with a friend of... I like Joe Cocker, but I like Etta's version of You Can Leave Your Hat On better.

But then in the searching For Etta's version, I came across this. And it reminded me that I am a woman who likes hats. Yes I do. I like women and men who wear hats. This might account for the few number of friends of either sex I have. It isn't a requirement that everybody wear hats, but if you live in a place with snowy, freezing winters, and blistering hot summers and you don't wear a hat now and the, will you're just stupid. And you probably look nothing like Cary Grant. Damn.

I Used to be a Pitcher

I've written a book. I did it long ago and let it sit. Then, ten years ago or so, I pulled it out, dusted it off and started again. Then my mother's life unraveled, then mine, and now finally having dusted it of again I'm getting ready to send it off into the world to be more than likely rejected--it's the literary way. It is a longstanding tradition. Such is life. I know the odds are not in my favor. It probably doesn't help that I am not the hot young thing with the hip new thing. Enough of you have read it and left your comments that I believe my book has a certain universal appeal, if reliving your terrible childhood can be said to be appealing. Some of you have reached a certain point and been unable to read farther. I would so have wished that you could have told me what it was, exactly, that made you stop just then. Why there and not another place I wonder?

Now comes the very most difficult part of the project for me--the pitch. I have to sell a reader on picking up a chunk of the book and getting started. I have to do this quickly. 300 words or less. I have to say something about myself. Why did I write this novel? Oh yes, I am calling it a novel. It is a novel! Who are you to say it isn't? Did you lead my life? No? Well then...

Don't we all draw from life to form our characters? Did the real woman Madame Bovary exist? Did Flaubert know her, of her? Is Roskolnikov not based on a real man? Are you sure? Did you ask Dostoevsky?

I have removed the book called Maggy from this blog now. It may come back, but if and when it does, it will be tighter, and with fewer typo and grammar errors. It will be a bit shorter too. And almost everyone gets a new name. Isn't that festive? If you were reading it... and want more... Let's barter.

At Last

For the first dance at The Neighborhood Ball tonight (the first of all the balls tonight) the song chosen to begin The Neighborhood Ball is the song At Last. I'm most familiar with the Ette James version of this song, but for the Neighborhood Ball it is Beyonce who is performing it. But I'm a purist, and it is Ette James' song as far as I'm concerned. And what a choice. There is, of course, so much symbolism in the title of the song.

Oh Yes I will Party

I have to go to bed early tonight as there will be an early party at my little house. My friends from New York are in town and ready to be with me when we see President Obama sworn in the morning. I'm providing the espresso, the organic milk, an ashtray, and two screens from which to watch. They'll bring something to eat. We'll party here all day long. And we'll probably talk about it here and there and on twitter as the day goes on. See you tomorrow.

Chandeliers on My Ears

I am amazed at the generosity of bloggers. I received a lovely package on Saturday from my dear friend Ms Soairse who is a jewelery designer among many other things. She sent me a couple of lovely pair of earrings at Christmas and now again, for no reason that I can see, two more. I never feel deserving of gifts. I always wonder how I can ever repay such generosity. But these fears are the little remnants of a difficult childhood, and I need to learn that it is fun to give and fun to receive. Now what can I do for Soairse?

These earrings are the ones I think of as chandeliers for the ears, and I love the feel of enough weight to remind me that I am packing glamour. So it's taken me three days to get ready to model them for you. And all I had to do was peel my jammies off, take a shower, wash my hair and dry it, and add a bit of eye to make these earrings pop on the page.

Pair number two another day.

Thank you darling.

PS, she sells these lovely earrings from her site, visit and take a look. They are lovely gifts and Valentines Day approaches.

Roses and Other Fragile Flowers

No that anyone asked, but I don't like roses. Well, I don't like scentless hothouse roses that always seem to die in a day or two. I like to walk down an alley in late Spring or early Summer and come across the scent of roses. I like other's people's roses, but I'm not a big fan of flowers that have special needs. I have dogs with special needs. I have special needs myself. So if it's not hardy and capable of blooming in a less that ideal environment, if it's prone to attracting pests like mites and aphids, I'm not such a fan. The Vinca or Periwincle and bulbs do well here with no encouragement at all. The forsythia and mock orange do well with little fuss. I have one good spot for Halls Honeysuckel right outside my door; it always blooms.

Some years the fruit trees don't bear fruit, some years the Wisteria doesn't bloom. These are usually the years Spring comes early, and just as all the fruit trees are budding, or have just bloomed, it freezes.

It is beginning to feel as if this might be one of those years of early thaw. Or maybe it's just me thawing.

For Cal

Something unusual has happened. I'm getting sweet emails from a man I only knew briefly as a boy. I was the aggressor in my brief pursuit of this boy. He was sweet and obliging. Tender and willing. But I was too young and too damaged to know what a treasure he might have been had I the wisdom of age. And then the experience that might have matched my very youthful rebellious ardor. But he has found me. And I am, in this strange almost imagined relationship, like a character from a TS Elliott poem, ...when the evening is spread out against the sky like a patient etherized upon the table...

I have laid bare my life with all it's challenges and deficits for anyone to see. I have not been shy or hiding here. I do tell all. And then there is a novel. There are short stories, and poems. They say much about who I am. Are these stories real or fiction? Some combination of the two I suspect. Like most writers, I write about the things I know and tell my version of the truth.

However, it may not be true to you if you find yourself the character in someone else's fiction. So caution is in order. Because I don't know enough about you.

May I Borrow Your Man Today?

It's not a good idea to borrow a man to fix a pipe. But sometimes it's a necessity. Fortunately she doesn't need him today, and he's willing. I fixed a late breakfast and he gave me the running commentary on how each step worked, explaining as he worked, never realizing that I was really listening to the train ride from Pennsylvania to Washington DC. It's the beginning of a new era, and I'm not about to stop paying attention to it to learn a little about teh plumbing. Truth is I never will learn anything about teh plumbing. I am willfully ignorant about so many things. I do not need to know it all. My knowledege is speciallized too. I do not expect him to either follow what I'm doing or have any interest in having it explained to him in great detail. I know, he isn't asking for my help, but if he were--and I could write something for him, I'd do it. I did fix lunch. I fed him. I fixed him coffee. I looked for rags and tools, I pretended to understand. It's the best I can do. It's also the least I can do.

So the kitchen sink faucet no longer drips. And now you can turn off the water at the back of the area beneath the sink, instead of at the street in front of the main house.

And tomorrow we will tackle the same problem under the bathroom sink. And from there who knows?

My girlfriend, his paramour, called twice while he was here--she did not talk to me. I always worry about the insecurities and needs that go into relationships and make them mine-fields. I try to stay out of the lives of the men who populate the lives of women I love. It's just too tricky. But David offered, and my need was great, and he fixed the leak, and I'm glad.

Hiding Out

Darkblack has put one of those mysterious links in a comment on my tag of him for the current meme. I figured Darkblack might not want to play, but a woman can dream can't she? Here is the piece from the link and it is quite eloquent. Thank you Darkblack. I now officially have a blog crush on you. So are you male or female--not that it really matters? I have a girl crush on Freida of the Bees and an abiding love for Lisa. I've lusted after Tengrain, and even got a thrill or two from the attention of Kelso and his nuts. The one blogger who used to scare me when he left a comment was Fairlane, and he seems to have taken a long vacation. I hope he returns soon. I liked Jonestown a lot, especially when Fairlane was posting and especially when Scarlet Blue made an appearance. I swear he's kidnapped her and has her locked up somewhere, so hiding out might be a good thing for him.

For now, I'm going to be hiding out trying to finish the final edit on the novel, Maggy. Hang in there with me. I obviously like teh blogging or I'd shut the hell up and get to work.

Gran Torino: Eastwood's Swan Song

If you liked Clint Eastwood as Dirty Harry, you'll probably love Gran Torino. If the Spaghetti Westerns that started him acting with the snarl as a permanent expression on his face, you like Grand Torino. After seeing Gran Torino I'm hoping this is Eastwood's last staring movie role. I never liked stereotypes. Never liked the snarling male as icon. And this is a film about that stereotype and stereotypes in general.

Phillip of Sitenoise wrote a partial review of the film but hated the beginning half hour of the movie so much he couldn't finish watching it. It's received some good reviews but I'm betting these are reviewers who just loved the Dirty Harry snarling male stereotype.

I didn't become an Eastwood fan until he began directing. He made a couple very good films as a director--his western The Unforgiven was worth watching. It wasn't the best western I'd ever seen, but it was pretty good. But it was Million Dollar Baby was so good I was prepared to believe that he would continue to make great movies. I figured he'd learned something about getting nuanced, sensitive performances from the other actors he was directing as well as from himself.

If Eastwood continues to make movies I hope it's in the capacity of Director. Think Letters from Iwo Jima. I wouldn't mind seeing him in a small cameo role with a bit more nuance than the snarling old bastard he plays in Gran Torino. But I think his days as central leading character are, and should be, over.

All of that said, I did begin crying toward the end of the movie and wondered what is was about the character at the end that made me weep. Nick and I talked about that, and Nick said, "You're affected and moved by almost everything right now." And maybe it's as simple as that. But this portrait of a man at the end of his life who views everything through the prism of prejudice, cynicism, and alienation is so very sad and not in a heart warming way.

I'm guessing there were clues to Eastwood's career in things like the 1972 cherry Ford Gran Torino that is his baby in the movie. High Plains Drifter came out in 1973, so there might be a bit of symbolism that he was making that film when Gran Torino's mean old bastard character was supposedly working on the assembly line for Ford the year the Gran Torino auto of the film refers to was made, but I'm stretching to give it a reason to have been made at all.

It is only the Hmong characters who form the core of his changing neighborhood, his changing world, the world he does not recognize and has such disdain for, who give really good performances.

I'd only give this film 2 stars at best, and that's a stretch.

Darkblack Says This Is My Obamicon, Too

But why don't I recognize myself? I thought that this was Darkblack's Obmaican and that Darkblack is a nice looking younger woman. Humm. I liked her looks a lot. So this can't be me. But even if this isn't me, and is a trick Darkblack is playing on me, a through the looking glass experience like the early acid years, I don't care.

These Are The Rules

The Rules
1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself.
4. Tag six people at the end of your post and link to them.
5. Let each person know they’ve been tagged and leave a comment on their blog.
6. Let the tagger know when your entry is up.

Random things. Humm. My whole life is random. Only six--this should be easy.

Kulkuri is the guy who tagged me. That Yooper in Crackerland. Link that! I'm very fond of Kulkuri, but he's a tease. One of his random facts is the tease that English is not his native language. Yes? Well? Does he tell us what his native language is/was? No. He does not. Now I have to research Yooper. Ok, that's done. Pennsylvania Dutch? So where in America does this transplanted Yooper live now? Sunbelt, I'm thinking. His avatar has him in a Hawaiian shirt sitting in a beach chair, reading. Clues everywhere, but no real answers. Shall I just give you clues? No random facts, just clues? That doesn't seem fair or in keeping with the whole idea of learning more about the someone through random things. So, here goes.

Random Things About Me:

1. I'm very emotional, a very difficult woman. That could count as two random things, but they are so interwoven that I think of them as one thing--the intensity of my emotionality makes me a difficult woman to be around. I do everything too passionately. I'm easy to anger, too.

2. I was raised by a woman who had mastered the resounding verbal "bitch slap" to such an extent that living with her made it impossible to avoid learning this nasty habit. So, given the right circumstances, I can deliver a verbal "bitch slap" effortlessly and with no thought at all--like a reflex. Impossible to stop once begun. I have lost friends over this dubious skill. I have gone one bitch slap too far more often than is seemly.

3. I have missed out on the love of a man with the strength and patience to keep me from running, make me want to stay. I know this deep in my core. It's a wound so deep I see myself as essentially unlovable. Maybe I make myself that way on purpose. But I have tried at times too hard and for too long to make myself lovable when I had chosen a man so shallow he wasn't worth more than a tumble.

4. I will miss lamb chops when I have to give up eating meat. I know this day is coming. It's the right thing to do. It may also be the economically necessary thing to do. That said, I just picked up a five pack of rib eye steaks in the reduced meat department, brought it home, individually wrapped each steak and frozen all but one. I'm having steak and beans, and salad for dinner tonight.

5. I'm a political news junky. And I'm proud of my girlfriend, Freida of the Bees, for becoming a regular contributer to one of the really good news sources, The Daily Kos. Go Freida! Politics and journalism are a sexy combo. And Math too? You're unstoppable. You're on fire.

6. I got an email yesterday from a boy I tried to have sex with when I was fourteen years old. (I probably looked closer to twenty when I decided I wanted him to be the boy who deflowered me, so to speak). He read my letter to the editor after Obama's primary win in North Carolina. He says he's been reading my blog since then. He left his phone number in his email. I called him. I like the idea of him. There is a short story in that early encounter. I remember it in great detail. Poor boy. I took him into my parent's bed when they were up at the cabin. I have to admit I have thought of him now and then over the long years of my life. What if...?

Well, I've shocked myself. Now I'm hoping you're going to shock me a bit back. I want these random things to give me real insight into who you are. Oh, there are those of you I think I know, Lisa. But some of you are real mysteries. I know that Randal will be tagged and bagged quickly so no point tagging Randal. There are a lot of men out there unwilling to play. Too bad. You're missing an opportunity for a little self expression and introspection. But you have your dignity at least.

1. Beach, because he has the soul of a writer and will engage and think more introspectively than any other man I've encountered out here in this bloggy world. Is that a bitch slap I hear landing on some unnamed man? If you felt it, you know who you are.

2. La Belette Rouge, because she is ingaged in the search for answers to the mysteries in her life. She has inspired me to buy myself a bouquet of lilies today. I thought of her when I saw then and remembered her unraveling of the symbolism that accompanies the lillie. It's a good omen.

3. TheMom, because she gave me my Obamicon without request and I'm delighted with it. She has been ill, but is indeed TheMom as she insisted I bundle up for the Thursday Matinee Movie date today. Baby it's cold out there. God bless nurturing woman. I lost mine somewhere.

4. Giggles, who I envision as a young woman, but really it's just an impression. Giggles appeared as a very good commenter without a real blog. Thanks to the generosity and encouragement of Lisa and others, she now has a blog. I hope this is your first meme, Giggles. Tell all, darling, in six random things. Or leave us in the dark--your choice.

5. Darkblack, photoshopper to rival... Well I shall not say. Just this. Darkblack is very talented, and another complete mystery to me. I went to look at Darkblack's Obamicon and it's a poster of a good looking young woman. Did you know? Do you know? Is Darkblack a man or a woman? Does it matter? Only to inquiring minds I guess.

6. Comrade Kevin, because for the longest time I thought Comrade Kevin was a woman. And so I spoke to Comrade Kevin as a woman. Despite the podcasts of Comrade Kevin playing the guitar and singing his original songs, I thought that was Comrade Kevin's boy friend. Gawd. I'm so dense sometimes.

No rush. I do not wish to stress anyone or put you in a spotlight you do not seek at a personal level, but I am curious.

It's Thursday matinee Movie Day and Then Meme Time

Today Nick and I go to see Gran Torino. I love the title of the movie since in one of my stories, I drive a Gran Torino that pings when I turn off the engine. I called it a Grand Torino. Now I know I have to go back and fix that in the story. I'm sure the old bastard in this movie takes better care of his Gran Torino than I did of mine. Men sure do seem to lavish love on their cars.

Kulkuri that Yooper in Crackerland has tagged me. I thought I'd be able to duck and cover and miss this one, but no. Kulkuri, I'll get to you later. For now I have to get my huge dog to get out of his bed and go outside to pee so I can feed him. He's so neurotic he makes me look sane.

Here is your Gran Torino tease:

Let's See What the Super Rich Are Up To

Flinthills bailing out billionaires

An Update To the Citizens of Israel and America

With thanks to Freida of the Bees, who is now a regular contributer to The Daily Kos

Read it. Now. Seriously.

From My Friend and Fellow Writer, Naj

Naj writes a blog called Neo Resistance. She has asked for help from those of us willing to hear the cries of distress coming out of Gaza, so please follow this link and visit her here. She is far more knowledgeable about this horrible situation than I. I focus rather too narrowly on the politics that is my American life. I have Palestinian friends but rarely see them now, do to their family, social, work, and school commitments. But I love them no matter how seldom I see them.

Thank You, La Bellett Rouge

From The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton

'The darling!' thought Newland Archer, his glance flitting back to the young girl with the lilies-of-the-valley. 'She doesn't even guess with it's all about.' and he contemplated her absorbed young face with a thrill of possessorship in which pride in his own masculine initiation was mingled with a tender reverence for her abysmal purity. 'We'll read Faust together...by the Italian lakes...' he thought somewhat hazily confusing the scene of his projected honeymoon with the masterpieces of literature which it would be his manly privilege to reveal to his bride. It was only that afternoon that May Welland had let him guess that she 'cared' (New York's consecrated phrase of maiden avowal), and already his imagination, leaping ahead of the engagement ring, the betrothal kiss and the march from Lohengrin, pictured her at his side in some scene of old European witchery.

I received this lovely award, meme, honor and prompt to be reminded that reading is sexy and we shall indulge and encourage it when and wherever we can. I am now gifted with the passing this award along to five reading bloggers, who may do with it what they will. La Ballette Rouge is the one to see if you are confused about the meme. I am not all about the rules today. You will make of it what you wish.
1. Lisa
2. Liberality
3. Beach
4. Aphrodite
5. Dusty

My Obamicon and Me

Marie took the initiative and using my banner made my Obamicon. Thank you Marie. I look rather dour, but that's how the old ones sometimes look. Get used to it kids, it's barraling down on you faster than you think.

Mathman's High School Marching Band Goes To Washington

When I read this the tears started flowing and now all I have to do is think about it and I cry all over again. I could not be prouder of these young people, or more thrilled at their adventure, their participation in the most important Inauguration in my lifetime. How proud they all must be, their excitement must be near excruciating. And our very own Mathman, teacher extraordinaire, will chaperone this fine group of student musicians as they travel together to the nation's capital to march in the grand parade. Congratulations! We are all so proud of you young people as if you are our very own children. Thank you, Mathman for being the chaperone to take them there, to keep them safe, to shepherd them into this amazing moment in History. They will never forget it. They will never forget you.

The Generosity of Friends

There are so many of you who have helped and encouraged me as the fledgling blogger I am. You have taught me much in the past year and even given me awards. I'm thrilled and honored. Thank you very much. Linda Sama The Ageless Hippie Chick and Linda's Yoga Journey for another award. Your kindness from the beginning has been a breathtaking gift from a fearless woman. It was from you I recieved the Rebel Girrrl Award. I was giddy with delight, but didn't even know how to bring it home and post it. Now I can grab the prize and run home to post it proudly on my sidebar as I think about its meaning before I compose a fitting thank you.


I have become a reclusive old woman, hiding behind locked gates, unwelcoming of the real world, alone with my crazy self and my neurotic old dog. But through you, I think of myself as a woman with friends in far flung places, some of you teetering on the brink of big changes brought about by failures not of your making. We now see the possibility for a new start on reclaiming our collective integrity with the inauguration of a new president, a new administration. As I type these words I hear Hillary Clinton answer questions during her confirmation hearings in the background and just the sound of her voice, the strength of her words, her confidence in her mission inspire confidence from me. So maybe this will be the year that I feel safe enough to walk around my peaceful neighborhood and speak to those I never see, feeling less a stranger in the place where I grew up. I know all my neighbors though I seldom see them. I hope when spring comes this year I will take those first steps out into the larger world.

I am finishing a book, trying to meet a deadline to submit this manuscript I have dragged from Springfield, Missouri to Santa Barbara, California and back to Salt Lake City waiting for the moment to pass it off to someone else to judge its merits. That time has finally come. And with it comes new hope and optimism that we will all be able to heal the wounds to our collective psyche. We have lost much the past eight years. Now let us all roll up our sleeves and get together to work our way out of the troubles of this recent past, to learn their lessons so we won't be condemned to repeat the past's mistakes.