Saturday Song

The Novel Is Back Online

There are forty nine chapters in the novel Maggy. I now have thirty eight posted and will finish the rest of them today. I'm not sure why it's taken so long to repost them. Probably has something to do with the disappointment that Amazon didn't pick it as one of the finalist is their Breakthrough Novel Contest. I really need to toughen up when it comes to rejection. Otherwise I'll stop trying. I believe that this book is well written and worth reading. I know some of you have read it and left comments. And it's your comments that lead me to the conclusion that this book has several universal themes running through it. Most pointedly, it's the difficult relationship between mother and daughter that seems to strike a chord with a lot of you.

If you are new to my blog since I took it off the site, last January, the book will be new to you. I hope you will read it and leave comments. They are the bread crumbs that lead a writer to the final edit. It was the comments from MrMacrum, who left such sensitive and honest notes on every chapter he read, that made him the prefect editor for me. He was kind enough to do a very close edit on the first three chapters, which made up the bulk of my submission package. Thank you again, MrMacrum. I used every suggestion you made.

So now I will take the time to post the last twelve chapters. Sorry for my absence at your place lately. I have been pulled away from the blog this summer. At some point I will return to it as if it were my full time job. And then you'll wish I'd find something to do besides bug you with impertinent, cheeky comments.

Thursday Matinee Movie

Public Enemies is the movies today. I'm amazed how long it's been since Nick and I've had a Matinee Movie date. Z's situation has so completely taken over the time I would have spent with anyone else. So Nick and I missed my birthday. We were going to do lunch and a movie. There are several new restaurants in my neighborhood. A couple of them are getting rave reviews. Soon that will be on the agenda. But today it's just a matinee. The thing I'm looking forward to more than anything is conversation with Nick and the air conditioned theater. It's really hot in Salt Lake. It's going to get up to 100 today. On my porch it'll be 125.

Let This Be A Warning To You

My friend Z is doing amazingly well, considering. She is complying with her oncologists. But now that the radiation is burning her throat, and the chemo is making her queazy, the doctors are prescribing drugs that will alleaviate these problems. But Z doesn't believe in Western medicine and when it came time to sign up for Medicare she assumed that she would never get sick enough to ever need the part A, B and D of Medicare coverage. Now she needs them all and the enrollment period won't come around again until November. It is part D that would have paid for her drugs. It is part D that would make a drug that costs $150 at most $3.50. I audibly gasped when she told me that she didn't have part D. I couldn't help myself. I said, "But you need part D." She was furious and shouted, "Don't tell me what I should have done. That doesn't help me now." And of course she's right. Now that it's too late, it doesn't help to tell her what she should have done.

If you're healthy, you never think you're going to need insurance and prescription drug coverage. And if you're young you never think your going to get ill. But everyone needs insurance. That is why the healthcare debate is so terribly important. We need a public option. Please call your Congressional Representative and lobby for a public option for healthcare. We need you healthy. We need you paying attention to the issues that will make a difference in all our lives.

We are not allowed to drive a car without insurance and we don't think twice about that. But we are so careless when it comes to insurance for our own health. It should be mandatory that everyone is covered with health insurance.

Procrastination

I've quit procrastinating. Yes, you heard that right. I didn't put off quitting procrastinating until tomorrow though I could have. Technically I did finish on time if you live in the mountain time zone like I do. I actually posted the first three chapters of the novel, Maggy. The rest of the chapters are ready to go up, but I'll put them up later.

I Cut My Hair All By Myself

Yesterday when I got home from picking Z up, I wet my head and cut my hair. It took fifteen minutes to go from shoulder length to short. It's going to take a little snip here and snip there, but for the most part I'm happy with it, and I saved myself at least $40.00. So now all I have to do in the morning (11:00 AM for me) is wet my head and finger comb it.

I have to grocery shop and do laundry today. Then I swear I'm going to edit two chapters of the novel and start posting it again. I know you've heard that before, but this time I mean it.

Healing in the Time of Z

Z is chipper and upbeat. I picked her up at 12:30 at Huntsman. She'd just had two hours of chemo and she's chipper. She likes my Pucci top and asked me to take her shopping soon. I'm almost dumb struck. This is something I would never have predicted, but she has nothing but good things to say about her new internist, and the lovely people who are taking her through this Western medicine miracle. Maybe it's all the good vibes you send her way, but whatever it is, it's working.

She is wanting outings. She is looking ahead, toward winter and travel. She talks about the lovely view from the Huntsman rotunda, the cool breeze coming down the canyon on another hot day. I savor every second I spend with her, but today was one of the best. She wanted to stop at a little Mexican drive-through and pick up a cheese enchilada, a side of beans, and a flan. Wow! I got take-out too. Yes, I love cheap Mexican food. I take her home to eat her lunch and off I go to run some errands. Everything is nice today. It's all good. Is this me talking?

This Always Reminds Me of My First Love, My Last Love

He used to play this as an exercise, a practice piece, and it was always gorgeous. Watch the fingering. It's quite erotic to me.

Sundays were often spent doing nothing but practice for Tom and slow domesticity for me.
I think he has a new love. I hope so. He's happiest with an audience of one.

Yes, You Heard It Here; It's All About Me

Two of my very close girlfriends are dying. One fast, one slow. Yes, I know, we're all dying slowly, but MS isn't the usual slow kind of death the rest of us are experiencing, it's a slow agonizing loss of everything but the clear thinking functioning brain that notices all the rest of the profound loss that's taking place quite rapidly. Her diagnosis was the first blow. I was able to help her in small ways in the beginning, since I had gone through the disability hoops and knew the ropes. Trust me, it gave me no pleasure to be this particular kind of help to her. Yes, I'm glad there was something I could do for her, but her diagnosis was an agonizing death sentence with a long time locked up and waiting. It wasn't long after this diagnosis, her loss of the ability to work anymore, that her only child, her son, was stabbed to death in a downtown park. He was going to be her rock, her caregiver. He and his lovely wife were going to make her final long demise less painful. His death was not the first nail in her coffin, it was close to a stake in her heart. I don't know how she survived that loss, but she has always been one very tough cookie.

She was Salt Lake's own version of "The Devil Wears Prada." She was the fashion coordinator at Nordstrom when we were Salt Lake's version of the Fashion Police. It was her great taste and exacting standards that scared us all half to death and kept us always on our toes. I was her assistant. It was her direction and fabulous taste the determined my choices. She did the decision making on all the really big fashion shows. She hired temporary help to pull the clothes and accessories for those gigantic shows and extra help with the fittings. And then there were the terrifying rehearsals at 5 AM. And because of her, my modeling career took off in my late forties and into my mid fifties. Who would have ever imagined that there would be a market for old models? But it was a time of enormous change in the fashion industry. We hired plus-sized models, we hired petite models. It had never been done before. We were trail blazers, pioneers in the fashion industry. And she was our leader. This probably bores you silly if you aren't a fashionista, but it was our lives. Even if what you do is essentially silly, if you do it really well, it can be quite spectacular.

I called her today. It's been a couple of years since her diagnosis of MS, maybe more. And when she got the diagnosis, she'd been ill for a long time. So how long does it take for MS to kill you? When we talked today, she said she was no longer able to walk without a walker. She takes handfuls of drugs to keep her from having spasms and cramping and uncontrolled twitching. Not fun drugs. Not like the good old days, when we partied at the New Yorker. Not like the time she visited Tom and me in Santa Barbara. We were the only two women working at Nordstrom who didn't hide our cigarette smoking. We wore red lipstick and ran in high heels as effortlessly as breathing. Now breathing isn't effortless for her and it has nothing at all to do with smoking.

Z on the other hand never was a cigarette smoker. She didn't care about fashion. She lived for her children and lived the clean and very wholesome life of a woman with a real spiritual belief. I can hear you thinking "What did she ever see in you?" I realize I have made light of her need to believe in homeopathy and Chinese Herbs and acupuncture and a very pure vegetarianism to treat her symptoms for years. But I was desperate for her to fight fiercely to live. So now she's finally given in and like a very good patient is going for her radiation treatments and chemo therapy. But her odds are not good. If I had her cancer, I'd be putting notes on the very good jewelry and nice pieces of furniture so there'd be no bickering about who gets what when I'm gone.

The bottom line for me is that I never was a girl to surround myself with lots of close friends. I could hardly stand anybody. But I grew to love these two women who seem to have nothing in common. Without them I'll be lost. I cannot even imagine a life without them. We had all taken it for granted that I'd die first. Be careful what you take for granted. You may not get what you expected. But what you do get will test you. It will hurt so much you'll think it just might kill you. But it won't. That's the problem. You might end up the last one standing.

Man Walks On Moon (Deadwood Style)

Oh, if only the story had been reported this way: Deadwood Style.

Thanks Sitenoise, thanks. I need all the laughs I can get.

Simple Gifts in Honor Of Walter Cronkite

Walter Cronkite Dies Today

This may be the last serious broadcast journalist. It was at the end of his on air career that networks started demanding that the news had to make money. No longer would we get the news we needed to know, now we would get the news we wanted to know.

It's Too Damn Hot

An hour ago it was 123 degrees in the sun on my porch. The temperature in the house is holding at 83, but to me that's starting to feel hot. There isn't a bit of moisture in the air. So the swamp-cooler is doing it's job, but barely. I've just resorted to turning on the outside water, waiting the couple of minutes it takes to flush out the hot water from the hose and soaking the swamp-cooler pads to get a little extra cool moist air in the house. But damn, it's hot. 99 in the shade at 4 PM. It will be this way for weeks at least. Could be this way a month or more. I guess this is payback for that long, cool, wet Spring.

But now, it's just to damn hot for anything.

Morning's Not For Me

I wake up like a person who needs to know how to do everything again for the first time. Like walk. I stagger and weave in the morning as I make my way to the crapper. My brain doesn't work and usually actually hurts. My eyes won't focus. I've tried to write a brief answer to a comment on the blog before I've been up at least an hour and my fingers just do not work. Like little clubs with no memory of the keyboard. I hate mornings. I always have.

My mother claimed I was born a night person. She was always a morning person, so this was just one more way in which I was defective. But her assertion that fresh out of the womb I wanted to sleep in and stay up all night rings very true. I've had jobs that required 5 AM call times. The best thing for me to do was sleep most of the prior day, then just wake up in the late evening and then my call time would be at a reasonable hour, still part of the night.

I was an assistant to the fashion coordinator at Nordstrom in Salt Lake and Nordstrom likes to have very early morning meetings for management. I can remember driving down Emigration canyon road at 6 AM and not gaining consciousness until pulling into the parking garage. I call this sleep driving. I was completely on autopilot during all those early morning drives down that narrow, steep, winding canyon road. I know I drove the road asleep and speeding.

Now some jackass is calling me every morning at 8:01. This would be great if I really needed a wake-up call, but it's torture since I stayed up till 3 Am the night before. That is my normal bedtime. I know it's wrong to the rest of you that I have the luxury of living my life according to my own biorhythms, but that's the only good thing about being disabled--that and Medicare coverage.

So today I plan to make some phone calls. I will reregister with the Do Not Call Registry. That won't stop this asshole, but it's a start. I'm getting too many solicitations everyday and it isn't all that much fun fucking with the poor schmucks who need that work. The Diabetes Association has stopped calling me, but the person who is calling me is, I'm pretty sure the person who first called me for the Diabetes Association and got the angry bear that is me in the morning and decided it was fun to wake me up. Now I'll start disconnecting my phone at night.

A Poem For JoJo and Scarlet

We are sisters under the skin
We are not just invisible women
We are members of a tribe of knife wielding women
Fierce in our understanding of trust and what it doesn't mean
Betrayal becomes the thing we do to keep from ever being left again
Or vulnerable or lost or used again and tossed away like a used condom
Like the scalpel, like the stirrups, like the old man looking who says
"Mind if I give it a go?"

Responding to a Tisking

Darkblack darling, I didn't buy rum at the Utah State Liquor store today because I'm well stocked in rum. I also have odd things like a fifth of Pernod, a couple of inches left in a bottle of Wild Turkey Liqueur regifted to me by a man who obviously didn't think much of me because he obviously hated it. I offered him a glass every time I saw him. (I had a girlfriend in my modeling group of friends who was an alcoholic. She is probably the one who consumed the better part of this vile concoction when I ran out of everything else.) The only use I've ever found for it is in a barbeque sauce. I have things like vermouth for Martinis and Schnapps for hot chocolate. I have Sweet n Sour for Whiskey Sours. I have cocktail onions for Gibsons. I have olives for Martinis. I make a great Dirty Martini or a great Dry Martini. I can make a very fine Old Fashioned. I even have the right glasses for most things. But in the olden days when I drank, I liked my George Dickle neat. I liked my Laphroaig neat. I liked my Bombay Saphire Martinis straight up with two olives. And the best Old Fashioned I ever had was served to me in the bar of the Miramir hotel on the ocean side as you're driving into Santa Barbara from LA just before you get to Montecito.

I was trained by a mixologist named Bill Bailey. I was replacing him. He was retiring as head bartender at a little French restaurant and great piano bar in, of all places, Springfield, Mo. He was an exacting teacher. I could free pour a jigger of anything without measuring it. And I memorized his recipes. I still have my jigger, though I still don't need to use it. I have a shaker, a pourer, a waiter's pal, I can open a bottle of wine the old fashioned way. So when you come to visit me, know that I'll mix you a very nice cocktail or share a very good smoke. One could say I'm an enabler. I like to think of myself as hospitable. So when are you coming?

My Girlfriend Knows How To Do Lunch My Way

First we got the little dogs together for some exhausting sex. I keep trying to take pictures of this fun, but they are so athletic in their amore that all I get is a brown and black blur. They are now developing a new language of love--songs that are increasingly multi-tonal. I need to find out how to use the video camera part of my big fancy digital camera. One of the very funny things they do is whirl in a circle attached to one another's ears. Then Marley grabs one of her many bedraggled Mr Doodies and cuddles him as Segundo humps her from behind. Their special threesome. Then Marley chases him around the yard at breakneck speed until he gives up and hides in the vinca for a minute. When he reappears she runs at him full speed and tackles him. You can actually hear it when she knocks the wind out of him. If he seems to be slowing down, she throws herself down, spreads her legs and rolls her eyes at him. This never fails to work. I'm taking notes.

My friend T. brings the hubby's really good weed and we get very blasted before we leave on our appointed rounds. She tosses back a couple of beers and we're on our way. First stop is The Grove Market where we are looking for Roland's Pineapple chili sauce. No luck, but they're willing to order it for us. Then we hit the Utah State Liquor Store where I buy bourbon, gin and vodka. I don't drink, but I am a very good hostess. Then we head for the Utah State Wine Store where I buy a bottle of Rainwater Madeira, and a bottle of Sandman medium dry sherry. I am now stocked for the rest of the year. Probably several years in the Sherry department. I keep beer in my fridge for her, as her husband is a controlling prick (my words not hers) and counts her empties. I tell her to start counting the pipes he sucks away of the real expensive smoke, but she thinks it's all so petty, she won't tell him to go fuck himself with the beer counting. She may drink a lot of beer, but she always looks and sounds quite sober, but exceptionally fun and funny. So I keep beer here for her, and she brings Segundo over for sex with Marley. Works for me.

Our last stop before the restaurant was the smoke shop by the American Legion Hall. I buy the occasional carton of Carlton Menthol 100s there. Only good smoke shops carry them. They are expensive but very satisfying. While she sits in the car and has another beer, I stand in front of the smoke shop and smoke. Then we're off to La Macarena Cafe in Ivy Place shopping mall. It's the only Mexican restaurant I ever want to go to. The food is great and inexpensive. There is never another gringo in the place. Everyone in the place is speaking Spanish. The TV is on a Mexican soap opera. I feel like I'm on vacation. Oh there are some very well reviewed Mexican restaurants in town, but they're full of white people eating very expensive Americanized Mexican food. Fuck that! I want the food Mexicans love. So it's always La Macarena for us. So far we have kept La Macarena a secret, but if I have Salt Lake readers I've blown that now. We eat a leisurely late lunch. I always have the combo with two Chiles Riellenos, beans, rice, and guacamole. We pound back their chips and salsa. The chips are made there and taste like no other. The salsa is fresh and hot. Ummm. T. drinks a beer, I drink ice cold water. We eat until we're about to bust and then we come home about 5:00, and I plop down on my bed for some serious news watching. I taped CSpan's coverage of the Sotomayor hearings. First Pat, then Keith, then Rachel, then a peaceful evening of CSpan and the remote in my hand. I think I'm turning into a guy. Oh, I forgot. I'd be watching porno this evening if I were a guy living alone, doing what I rally want to do.

Sorry, no photos. I forgot to take my camera. Next time. I promise.

I'm Going Out for a Fun Time

I have a lunch date with a girlfriend. I'm thrilled to be leaving my house for an afternoon of fun. I'm taking my camera so there will be photos later. I get to choose the restaurant. We're also hitting the smoke shop and the liquor store. No, Randal, not a stick up. Just shopping. I'll be back later and I'll fill you in on what I consider a real good time.

Z Is Feeling Better

Z had her first chemo treatment Monday. I was scheduled to pick her up at 2:30 but she called at 2:00 to tell me to pick her up at 4:30. Just as I was looking for my keys, she called again to tell me she wouldn't be finished until 5:30 and her youngest son would be off work and able to pick her up. She sounded very tired and very impatient.

This morning I called her when I got up to find out if there was a schedule for today that I needed to be ready for. She sounded strong and bright. She said she was feeling much better today. I am amazed and ask her a couple of questions about the chemo. She says, she loves her assigned nurse. Aside from being boring, it wasn't that bad. She says their old family friend J will take her to all her radiation treatments. And all she'll need me for is to pick her up from chemo, one day a week. I'm amazed and relieved and so happy to hear her feeling alive again.

Now I have a crashing stress release headache. I know, it doesn't sound fair, but I'm so relieved I've been giddy all day. I tweeted throughout the Sotomayer testimony today on CSpan. I have eaten sensibly so far, but there is still a bit of cake and plenty ice cream.

Dear Diabetes Association

You are now trying to raise money for your very fine association by calling people on the phone. I'm sure the Diabetes Association does great things with the money you raise, but you have some stupid little pissant who, after waking me up at 8:01 AM on last Thrusday morning, much to my displeasure, has decided to wake me up every morning at 8:01 AM. The number this immature cretin is calling from is 703-398-0004. I'm sure this kind of behavior from your telephone solicitors is not what you encourage nor condone. But since you've had the poor judgement to hire someone who is stupid enough to engage in this behavior, I will cease to contribute to the National Diabetes Association.

I have called the number back to have my number removed from your call list but have been informed that it may take up to a 30 days for my number to actually be removed from your call list. So every morning I get another wake-up call will be one more year I stop giving my $25 contribution to your organization. If it takes 30 days that's $750 you will not receive from me. If this childish asshole is doing this to anyone else besides me, you may be losing a great deal more than my $750.

I'm on the National Do Not Call Registry. I have never responded well to telephone solicitations. I respond especially poorly to ones that wake me up when I could sleep in just 30 minutes more. So stop calling me. I don't know the cost benefit ratio on phone calls versus mailings. But if a respected and worthy cause such as finding a cure for diabetes sends me a mailing with an envelope in which to send back my contribution, I am far more likely to respond with a contribution than I am if I'm awakened by some immature crank like the one calling me first thing every morning. I'm sure it's gratifying to know your call staff is getting to work right on time, but not everyone is thrilled to get an early call. And though I do not reach thousands of people every day, twitter does. I will be tweeting this message. It has not been a pleasure doing business with you. I will now start searching for a better charity to send my $750 to. Have a nice day.