Pieces of me....

 

I'll always choose the adventure. 

I'll never hold back.

 

You only get one chance at this.

One. 

I BeLIEve an Apology is Owed

     Ugh, I feel the need to apologize to a certain Vegas magician.  See, about 14 years ago, this guy was on some obscure TV show, and I was blown away by him.  I thought his style was fantastic, and I went so far as to find his website and send him an email saying that he should come to Vegas.  He responded with a "Thanks!" and other stuff that I don't recall now.  Fast forward a few years and a few more TV spots later, and low and behold, there he is...right on the Strip in big letters!  Headlining his own show.  Wow! 

     I was able to see this show and well... lets just say it did not meet my expectations.  Maybe it was an off night.  Maybe it was the dove that crapped on my friend's leg during the show (yes, that happened).  Maybe it was the fact that our seats were positioned in the wrong part of the theatre and we could actually see the strings.  Whatever the case... I was not blown away.  I was embarrassed. 

      Since then I have made vague negative comments regarding his show and his "new" persona to people when his name is mentioned, always feeling a twinge of guilt.

     Then I started realizing all the things that he does for Las Vegas.  Sure, he may be a goofball, and his tricks may have looked better on TV, but he uses his success to help others.  I heard today that our local women's shelter was in need of kitty litter (they not only house women and children, but also their pets - which I think is awesome), and who was down there within an hour with about 30 bags of litter?  This magician!  Of course he was.  He cares, and in this day and age, that's a magical thing. 

      I apologize for making fun of his show.  I've heard that it's been revamped, and I hope they used invisible strings now...and potty trained doves! 

Peace Out, Man!

     It’s true that we are all unique products of special ingredients (genes).  In theory there are an infinite number of alternate universes out there where each one of us have grown up under different circumstances, but, we will never be able to know if the other “us’s” turned out different or the same.  The idea that our environment alters our course through life is an inaccurate theory because, as of yet, I don’t believe that anyone has successfully ventured to another dimension and back to find out if this is true. 
 
     That’s where the idea of a collective unconscious comes from.  There are things that societies in general seem to agree upon, no matter what society that is.  Child abuse is bad – everyone tends to agree on that for the most part (yet, it still happens).  Cruelty to animals is bad (again, most everyone seems to agree on that) but it still happens.  The collective unconscious of the entire body of living people that have walked the earth, or are currently walking it, seem to be in the constant pursuit of peace.
    
     So, why is violence and chaos still rampant?  Because “peace” is a matter of personal definition, and the path to peace is as varied as the definition.  No one likes to be uncomfortable.  And, what one person may find uncomfortable, someone else may find comfort in.  

     So, I submit there will ultimately be no world peace.  None!  And the reason is because we cannot agree on a definition.     

Texting

     Communication used to take weeks, or even months.  Now, it’s instantaneous.  But, have we accepted it?

     I have to share a story that’s been nagging at me ever since it happened over a year ago.  I received a text message from a guy-friend one afternoon.  It was a joke.  As I was busy, I didn’t reply right away.  Later that night, around midnight, I tapped out a reply then went to sleep.  The next morning I woke up to no less than 8 missed calls from his phone number, and a recorded message from him that morning.  Apparently, his new wife had wondered who would be sending him a text at midnight and completely flipped out that it was a woman.  She proceeded to call me at least 7 times, but left no message.  That morning, he woke up, checked his phone, saw my text (and her return calls), and braced himself for the onslaught of her coming wrath.  The voice mail he left me that morning was an apology; he was quite embarrassed by her behavior.  It’s no surprise they aren’t together anymore.

     I view texting as a placeholder for conversation.  We’re all super busy, and personally, if I don’t write something down as soon as I think of it, it might not be there when I finally have time to call someone.  So, I text.  It might be midnight, it might be 5am.  If you’re on the receiving end of one of those messages, and it happens to wake you, then you should have had your notification dinger turned off.  Do you not realize that you are in charge of your phone?  Turn it off at night if you don’t want a text.  The “placeholder” text I sent will be waiting for you in the morning. 

     Back in the days of the Pony Express, do we really think that people wrote letters only during the hours of 8am until 8pm?  I think not.  I imagine people wrote letters by candlelight in the middle of the night, when their minds were clear and the house was quiet.  Just like me….texting a reply to my friend about his joke at midnight.  Innocently. 

     Technology is moving forward at a pace that people with small minds can’t keep up with. 

(No, this is not me.  I got this image at: http://www.zenbedrooms.com/blog/index.php/is-sleep-texting-the-new-sleep-walking/)

 

 

40

I think there’s some mistake.  I feel 26…maybe 28, but not 40.  What happened? 

I can’t say I’m disappointed with the ride so far though.  But, then again, I do love roller coasters!

 

As I write this, my life has come full circle.   I am living in my childhood home, and my son is sleeping in my childhood bedroom. Life is sweet. 
 

I’ve seen amazing things and met amazing people. 

 

And, I'm speechless.

 

Ambien and Lortab

     I recently found this email from about a year ago buried in an account I no longer log into.  Apparently, I had sent this note to myself in a stupor fueled by a monster migraine that I self medicated.  No, this is not a regular occurrence.  So...here is the actual text of the "note to self" that I sent a year or more ago...and I actually had some pretty good thought patterns at the time...

"This is going to be interesting. Iam in an altered brain state writing this. I had the headache from hades earlier that persisted through lowly devices, like tylenol and forehead tapping and pushing. Damn, still there. Concluded the event was worthy of a lortab from my slendering supply. Also, figured an ambien was useful too, as lortab usually makes me wide awake. I haven't seen Golum this time, maybe I won't. He is nice enough.
So, essentially I wanted to walk up a few steps, seee if I got a good view from my parking spot. Look ay whats going on with other people. I've never understood weapons collectors. So crazy. Always a family. Ultimate peer pressure there. My family has many diverse interests. We each pursue them alone. So, the official approach is rathet lonely but less distracting
So, in concussion  drugs arent really bad. It's alll in how you use then and what you do with them. you can be magical!!!!!
Sent from my Verizon Wireless Phone"

A Letter to the Moon

Dear Mr. Moon,

     You see it all, don’t you, you peeping tom?  Some nights you wake me by staring in my window wearing a big mischievous grin.  Other nights you study me with a magnifying glass held up to your wide open eye.  You are so obtuse, and impersonal.  Should I call you Dr. Moon?

     But, you see all.  Who sleeps?  Who doesn’t?  Who reads (and what)?  You see my dad getting up in the middle of the night and pouring Pepsi into a half empty jar of mayonnaise, only to place it back in the fridge and not remember it in the morning. You know all of our secrets, even the bad ones.  You spy on lovers, and forbidden lovers.  You see kids clutching teddy bears, afraid of the shadow that your light spells across their bedroom walls.

     You see red and blue flashing lights, with flares.  You also see headlights of taxi cabs, and blinking lights on airplanes filled with passengers that pull down the shades to block your access (how rude of them).

     Mr. Moon, I would love to have coffee with you sometime.  Share your stories with me, all of them.  I want to know of the secret things you see… the polar bears, and the sleeping elephants.   I want to know of the sad things you see, the reality that we weak little subjects always shut out.  Don’t mince your words, tell me what you see!  But also, tell me the beauty.  Tell me of the lovers.  Tell me of the waves lapping on the forgotten shore lit by the gleam of your face.  Tell me of the lioness fearlessly giving birth to her cubs under your shield, far away from her pride.   Give me hope, Mr. Moon.

     Share your stories with me.  I’m hungry for them. 

Sincerely,

An Admirer

Dream House

So, my "home" situation has been in flux for awhile, but I am finally settling into a routine and am finally feeling like I have a "home" again.  Home is important.  It's a place where you can truly be yourself, and it's important to decorate and furnish your home in a way that makes you feel relaxed and recharged while you are there. 

My home, although I love it completely, is not in the geographical location that I would prefer.  It's in a dry, hot desert.  Ugh.  The changes I'm making to it are changes that will make it more reflective of me, but because of its location, it's never going to be precisely what my heart desires.  That's where my "dream house" comes in.

Last night I dreamt of my dream house.  It's a house I've dreamt of many times, and I can see it perfectly in my mind's eye.  In this dream of it, I'm driving along a two lane highway next to a river, and I look up, and there it is, off the side of the road, with a "For Sale" sign in front.  Holy Cow!  I pull over and go right up to the double wooden doors and knock on the gothic brass knocker.  An older lady with white hair answers and welcomes me in to look around.  I pretend like I haven't been there before (hey, it's a dream).  She shows me around all the rooms that are already so familiar to me.  We go out the back door to look at the pool and gardens.  Then, we go upstairs to look at the master suite.  This is my favorite part.  The circular bed is in an alcove separate from the main area of the suite, and is surrounded by floor to ceiling windows that look out onto the most beautiful expanse of mountains and valleys imaginable.  I start crying.  The lady is concerned and asks what is wrong.  I say it's just that it's so beautiful and I can't believe that the house is finally for sale and I have the opportunity to buy it.  She is touched that "her old house" seems so special to me.  I ask her how much the house is.  She tells me and I offer her $80k OVER that price for it, in hopes of insuring that I be the one she picks to sell it to.  I'm sure there will be other offers. 

The dream ends as I attend the open house, along with many well-off snooty looking people that are interested in the house.  And, I wonder if the owner is going to pick me and my offer as the one that wins.  But, I wake up before she states her decision. 

Does this house exist?  Here is an approximation...

Imagination

Love this...

"If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales.

If you want them to be more intelligent, read them more fairy tales."

- Albert Einstein

If only...

I was lucky enough to see Billy Idol perform recently.  I’ve always loved him and it was a great show.  Plus, he’s almost 60 years old (I’m guessing) and he looks AMAZING!  I mean, he is in SHAPE.  But, I don’t want to blog about that.  What I want to blog about is the mindset about the relationship between being in shape, and being rich.

See, as I was excitedly telling a friend about the show, I also mentioned that he was still in incredible shape.  Her reaction? “Well, that’s what money can buy for you.”  Ummm, I had to pause at that and change the subject.   There is something so wrong with that statement, in my opinion.  Money cannot buy health (or happiness for that matter).  On the same note, being poor doesn’t make you unhealthy.  I realize these are general statements, but for the sake of this blog I’m going to pretend that we’re only talking about people living in the United States.

Being healthy is a choice!  It’s a mindset.  There are no magic pills that melt fat (yet).  I’m willing to bet that even if you are on a limited income, you can eat healthy.  Eating healthy is cheaper than eating poorly.  You could even grow your own produce from scraps.   And, as far as working out…running, squats, pushups, sit ups, dancing, walking, all of these activities are free and easy to do wherever you are.   Drink lots of water!

My point is that being healthy and fit has very little to do with your income.  I have known “rich” people that are unhealthy and poor people that are healthy and happy.   It is a mindset based on self discipline. 

No doubt Billy works hard on his abs.  Money can’t buy someone else to work his abs for him.  They’re his!  I can’t help but wonder what he would say to someone who said that his body looked the way it does because of his money.  Would he be offended?  Nah, not Billy!  He would probably curl his lips up into his signature sneer, nod his head, then turn and walk away. 

Defining Art

Art is subjective, in its many forms, whether it be painting, sculpture, drawing, dance, theatre, writing, or any other form of creative expression.  Therefore narrowing down a specific definition is just as subjective, but I am going to refer to an article entitled “A Naturalist Definition of Art” by Denis Dutton that appeared in the summer 2006 issue of The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism.  In the article he says “characteristic features found cross-culturally can be reduced to a list of core items”.  He went on to describe twelve key items, or characteristic features, that should be present within the questioned work for it to be considered a work of art.  These characteristic features are summarized here:

·         Direct Pleasure – the work should be a source of immediate, experimental pleasure for the viewer.

·         Skill or Virtuosity – specialized skills were required or necessary to create the work.

·         Style – a recognizable style can be easily discerned that sets the work apart from similar works.

·         Novelty and Creativity – the work stands alone as a unique creation or idea even if based on existing ideas or similar creations.

·         Criticism – critique of the work should be elaborate and detailed, the critique is required to compare and contrast the work against similar works in a sophisticated fashion.

·         Representation – a clear, concise idea is represented.

·         “Special” focus – the work should seem “bracketed off” from the ordinary, and will demand unique attention.

·         Expressive Individuality – the work should reflect and be representative of its creator’s unique style and discernible as such.

·         Emotional Saturation – the work should invoke varying degrees of emotion to the viewer.

·         Intellectual Challenge – the work should present a mystery or puzzle to draw in the viewer.

·         Art Traditions and Institutions – the work should be recognized as having value by institutions such as museums, galleries, and the artist’s peers.

·         Imaginative Experience – the work should stand as a “presentation” of the imagination of the viewer.

 

It's a Little Stuffy in Here

Without going into an elaborate explanation of why this technically is or isn’t true, I’ll just say that I’m an only child and an only grandchild.  I’ll also say that I have no cousins.  All of this has changed within the last 4 years, but for simplicity, we’ll leave it at that.
 

With the above being stated, there comes the avalanche of “stuff”.  By “stuff” I mean, the various things that end up being passed down when someone of the older generations passes away.  “Stuff” flows downward.  Sometimes its good stuff, sometimes its weird stuff, but most of the time, it is “stuff”.  The question is what to do with this stuff?

I’m a great organizer.  I sometimes have trouble sleeping at night thinking about how to organize stuff (my stuff, your stuff, her stuff, his stuff, their stuff, etc.)  I also tend to play Sudoku and Search-a-words in my head, but that’s another topic entirely. 

As the only child, and only grandchild, and having no cousins, all the family “stuff” is in a continuous flowing motion toward me.  I’m kind of like a water detention basin.  Add my only son into the mix, and I realize that the stuff will eventually flow to him. 

I want to spare him the avalanche.

So begins the process of sorting the stuff.  Sorting involves tossing and/or donating lots of stuff (hey, I can’t keep every ceramic swan, can I?).  Thus enters the GUILT.  Guilt, guilt, guilt!  So, I pick some stuff to keep, and put into a box to look at once a year. 

Ahhhh!

So, what to do?  Seriously.  If it’s not the ceramic swans, wood carved ducks, novice paintings, then its jars and jars of buttons.  I have to get rid of the stuff.  I can’t keep it all, can I?

The Rules

It seems as if there is a secret club the majority of people belong to, that I am either not welcome in or not privy to the secret code of membership.  You have to follow the rules to belong to this club, rules that I do not know because I am obviously not a member.    

Membership cards to this club are passed out as frequently as social security cards, based upon the statistics of the people that seem to belong to it. 

So, what club is this?  It’s the "People That Know the Rules, and Live By Them" club..  It’s the people that look at me like I’m crazy if I say or do something that doesn’t fall within the lines of the rules set forth by their club.  It’s the people that seem amused by my struggle to understand some concept that they take for granted because they live it every day. 

And, where did these rules come from?  I have some theories.  One theory is that the rules came from church.  Notice, I didn’t say that they came from the Bible - I’m pretty familiar with those rules.  No, the rules in this club seem to have come from some religious organization.  Either that, or they have been passed down from generation to generation, the foundation of the rules now as barren as the land on the family farm that’s been handed down with them.  But, by God, the members will follow them anyway because they are The Rules!
 
To the members – I don’t know your rules. Besides, who says your rules are right?  Who says I'm not as good as you are, even if I don't follow the "Club" rules?

I AM NOT a member.

 

 

Orion

No light but the moon

Illuminating my way.

Trees embrace me

There is nothing to say.

 

A rustle to my left

Should cause alarm.

But my breath is steady

There’s nothing to harm.

 

A moment of peace

When everything is known.

Mysteries unveiled

Destinies shown.

 

Orion guards the scene

From his post in the sky.

Fragile human and demi-God

Alone, him and I.

 

There’s no better classroom

Than the woods at night.

Only when fear is conquered

Comes the gift of sight.

 

Virgo

I was going to write a long diatribe outlining the good and bad points of being a Virgo (listing things is a very Virgo thing to do) and thus explain why I have decided to start this blog up again. But, I have started and stopped about 8 times so far. Which, by the way, is one of the bad points of being a Virgo…we are such damn perfectionists. We know exactly what we want to say, but putting it into words is...scary for us. Good thing I decided to become a writer! Haha.

We always face the wrath of misinterpretation. Always.

So, etc. etc., I wish you, dear reader, could jump inside my head so you could know exactly what I'm meaning to say here. But, you can't. That is physically impossible. So, I'll just say it... I'm starting this blog up again. (yes, I'm keeping my "other" one, for those of you who know my "other" one.) I don't know how often I'm going to update this one. And, there I go again with my Virgo-ness. Ok, in a nutshell (and, where did that saying come from anyways?)... I am starting this blog up again.

Peace out.

"Virgo" by artist Josephine Wall

Maybe...

I just may start this ramble on again. I might.