Sherlock Holmes To The Rescue!

Adventures / Murder-Mystery / Writer's Life

When we first started talking on Skype I never really thought he had much of an accent. So, how come now that we’ve been living together in the North for almost eight months, I’m starting to hear it?

As some of you know my boyfriend is from Texas. His father was in the Air Force for many years and the family moved around a lot. He’s lived in Germany, France, Colorado, New Mexico and several other Southern states but Texas was always home to them and it was to Texas they all returned and lived once Dad’s military days were over. Living in so many places as a kid certainly tempered the Southern sound of his voice compared to his parents. His mother, for instance, seems to think ‘Jim’ is a two-syllable name, Jee-im. Sherlock Holmes would have a field day in our house what with my mom insisting that the part of your mouth your teeth are embedded in are called GOOMS and that you can carry your lunch in a paper BAGE. WTH, Mom? Where’d you learn to talk? Oh, wait. Not even twenty miles from where I did. Go figure!

Shortly after he moved up here, he noticed how much I use the phrase, ‘what-not’. Apparently of all the BIG things they have in Texas, the phrase ‘what-not’ is not one of them.  It quickly became a joke and we started adding ‘what-not’ onto the end of as many sentences as possible. In exchange for him adding ‘what-not’ to his vocabulary it was decided I should start saying ‘fixin’ more often. As in, “We’re fixin’ to go down to the store.”  It has provided us with much more amusement than it probably should but we tend to be easily amused (and what-not).

The other night we were playing ‘Second Life’ and he started talking about a mutual friend of ours, Al – as in short for Albert. We met Al at a place called Crack Den. Fun to RP with but as we haven’t been there in nearly two months now, haven’t  seen him.  “Jee-im” says we’re going to have to get Al a motorcycle for the new area he’s been exploring lately. It’s a lot like Crack Den. I’ve not been there myself as of yet. Anyway… SL motorcycles don’t come cheap and I’m thinking, “Why would he buy Al a motorcycle when we haven’t even seen or heard from him in two months?”   I ask, “Is Al even there?” He shakes his head a bit and says he doesn’t know. And I’m like, “So, why would you want to buy him a motorcycle?” He replies, “As the new Sergeant At Arms in the MC he should have a bike.”  And then it hit me. He wasn’t saying AL at all. He was saying OWL.  I start laughing.  I know very well who Owl is and suddenly the whole conversation made sense. “OH! You mean Owl not Al, as in Albert.”

 He chuckles, “Sorry, I was speakin’ Texan.”  

 One of these days he’s going to say ‘awl’ or ‘oil’ that way and I’m going to end up lost… again.

In the meantime, I’m fixin’ to head over yonder to get some coffee an’ what-not.  I need someplace ‘quite’ to sit an’ think about how I’m going to get him to use the words ‘wubble’ and ‘squee-haw’.

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The Mother Within

Adventures / Just Plain Random Weirdness

It’s happening. I sense it peeking around the corners at me. It lurks in the back alleys waiting with all the patience of a cat watching a mouse hole. It smells my blood. It knows, oh yes indeed, it knows there’s no way I can escape my own mother growing inside me.

Don’t get me wrong, my mom is AWESOME! and to see those little sparks of her emerging from me during certain situations isn’t always a bad thing, unless it’s when that part of her is the part that wants to smack some idiot upside the head with a two-by-four. Not that mom ever did that of course, at least not literally – that I know of. Twice this week I have wished for said two-by-four. In fact, a large hammer and two shovels were given serious consideration late Monday morning by myself and two of my fellow co-workers.  Ah, yes. The joys of working with liars and thieves. Gotta love it! Said thief rather reluctantly returned the ill-gotten booty this morning. Guess there is some sort of guilty conscious in there after all. I made sure to thank the person for the return of the ‘mistakenly taken’ property.

But, in the heat of the  moment when I realized what had happened, my mother emerged in one of her darkest forms. You just don’t want to mess with Jackie when she sees an injustice being done ‘cuz she’ll damn well set you straight right to your face and not give a flying fu… erm fish, what you or anyone else thinks about it.  Right is right and wrong is wrong.

Mom came out again last night while Jim and I were at Karaoke.  I don’t drink a lot. When Jim and I go out I will have usually just one beer or mixed drink then go right for ginger ale on the rocks. Last night I indulged and was half way through my second beer when it happened.

Some dork had arrived earlier and was either smashed out of his mind or off his medication. I suspect both. Jim and I are sitting listening to the singers of wide ranging abilities croon to their hearts content and this dude is getting louder and louder and by his own mistake, he sat down next to me just moments before Jim went up to talk to the DJ about a song. Feeling pretty brave, ya know, with all of 1.5 bottles of liquid courage running like wild fire through my veins, I tried to very,  very hard to ignore this guy. I really did. But when every other word was spoken was the F-bomb and said less than a foot from my ear, Mom has her limits.

My mother turned on that bar stool I had sat so quietly at all evening and she looked at him through my eyes and said, “Do you mind? I am trying to listen to these people sing and if you say ‘f—‘ in my ear one more time I’m going to knock your ass off that barstool. Shut the f— up!”  *ahem* He looked back at me as if I’d suddenly grown a second head. “What? I wasn’t swearing.” I replied with, “Don’t what? me. All you’re saying to me is F-this and F-that. Say it again and I’m gonna smack ya.”  Apparently a friend of his overheard this and came over and said, “Is he bothering you.” I said he was and for the next five minutes or so she stood there talking to him telling him to stop cussing and leave people alone. I turned my attention back to the stage, took a deep breath and realized my heart was ready to leap out of my chest – or maybe that’s what it feels like when your mother releases her possession of you.

Just then Jim innocently and ignorantly strolls back and sits down beside me. He’s got his own beer buzz going on and the girl who has by now taken the offending Mother-rouser out of the picture comes over and says to me, “Sorry about that.” To which I nod and say thanks and we all go on our merry separate ways. Jim looks at  me, “Huh? What was she sorry about?” I told him he’d missed all the excitement and would tell him later on the drive home.  His remark later, “You shoulda said something. I woulda kicked his ass.” I snickered, “Nah, woulda been more humiliating to him if I’dda done that.”

So, *ahem* the part of my mother that speaks up and says something, the part that has a spine and doesn’t take crap from people is growing inside me. As I sit back and consider the situation and add my grandmother to the equation – oh yeah. I see where this is going real fast, kids!  “You kids! Get off my lawn!!” Just kidding, she never said that – but I’m getting the gumption of two of the most amazing women in my little corner of the family tree. And, woe unto the fella that messes with my daughter! She’s only 20 and she’s been displaying this trait for years! She’da kicked that drunk dude’s ass first and asked questions later.

So, thanks Mom and Gramma for spending a bit of time with me these past couple days. I can see so  much better where you’re coming from and where I’m headed and it’s not such a bad place at all.

 

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Top 5 Scary Movies I Will Never Forget

Horror / Movie Reviews

I still haven’t seen The Conjuring so shush if any comments in some way lean towards spoilers on that one. There are a couple haunted house movies on this list. I pay little attention to what the critics say about movies (or books or anything for that matter) so this is purely my personal list of the Top 5 movies that have scared the be-jeebus outta me over the past oh, 40 years or so.

#5: Aracnaphobia (1990)

I suffer from this phobia (fear of spiders for those who don’t know) and I tell you what, I could NOT bring myself to see this baby on the Big Screen. NO WAY was I going to sit through two-hours of GIANT spiders – in the dark. Instead, I waited until it was available in a rental and even then I was I not thrilled with the idea. A spider as big as my television screen? Are you serious?

Anywho – this Frank Marshall-directed film starred Jeff Daniels, John Goodman and Harley Jane Kozak and involves a spider from South American who hitches a ride via coffin to a small, unsuspecting town. Said spider is highly venomous and breeds with a standard American house spider. TERROR ensues. The two most horrible scenes for me are when one of the GIANT spiders (there is no such thing as a small spider to us Aracnaphobes) is crawling around on the inside of a lamp shade and you can see its cute little (GI-NOR-MOUS) shadow skittering along in there just as a hand reaches up to turn off said lamp. Mega-Spider drops down and that’s that. The other scene took place in the shower. I’m sorry, Norman Bates you ain’t got nothing on this, NOTHING! Another spider is happily skipping along the top of the shower rod while the innocent and oblivious, naked and helpless victim washes up below.  If I didn’t always check the shower walls, ceiling and curtain BEFORE this movie, damn straight I did after seeing it – and still do.

#4: Legend of Hell House (1973)

The screenplay for ‘Legend of Hell House’ was written by Richard Matheson and based on his own book ‘Hell House’ . It tells the story of the “Mount Everest” of haunted houses. In many way this is a classic haunted house tale in which five people walk in and not so many walk back out again. I won’t tell you how many or who makes it back out alive (sane is questionable). 

It stars my all time favorite actor, Roddy McDowall along with Pamela Franklin and Clive Revill.  McDowall and Franklin both play psychics. McDowall is a physical medium and has been to Hell House before. Franklin is a mental medium and foolishly goes against McDowall’s advice to “stay shut off” during the duration of their stay. The scientific mind is portrayed by Revill who is certain he can clear the house off all ‘spirits’ with his handy-dandy electromagnetic destroying machine.  The original owner of Hell House was Emeric Belasco who was well-known for his sado-mascochistic parties that were only made more lovely with excess drug and alcohol use. Belasco mysteriously vanishes after the discovery of a mass murder within the house which sets it up as a prime haunted real estate. It ain’t pretty in Hell House and it’s not portrayed as such. It’s violent. It’s sexual. It’s in your face haunting. I’ve seen it at least half a dozen times and will likely watch it again just as many more before my time here is through.

#3: The Other (1972)

Not to be confused with “The Others” (2001 – starring Nicole Kidman) these two movies have nothing in common but their very similar names.  No, my number three choice is set in 1935 and takes us on a dark ride through the minds of twin brothers, Niles and Holland Perry as they scamper and play tricks on their family and neighbors, deadly tricks.

Niles is the good brother while Holland is the little devil who comes up with all these schemes to scare people literally to death. Not only that, but Niles has come into possession of not just Grampa’s ring but a lovely finger wrapped in wax paper to go with it. Niles really tries to be good and is doted on my his grandmother who teaches him The Game which allows him to see through the eyes of other creatures – most dramatically illustrated when he gets a crow’s eye view of the farm on which they all live. But, something ain’t quite right with the Perry Twins – no, sir, and when their mother finds out exactly what that is she pays the price with a paralyzing fall down the stairs.  You don’t even want to know what happens to that missing baby but you’ll find out anyway!  Chris and Martin Udvarnoky play the fiendish twin brothers with Victor French and John Ritter in supporting roles. It was directed by Robert Mulligan and was adapted for film by Tom Tryon (who also wrote “Harvest Home” from which we got the warm and fuzzy film “Dark Secret of Harvest Home” starring Bette Davis) from his book of the same name. Also a good one but didn’t make the Top 5.

#2: Dark Night of the Scarecrow (1981)

This could very well be where my idea for Blood of the Scarecrow sprang from. “Dark Night of the Scarecrow” was a made-for-TV movie that aired on CBS and scarecrows were never the same to me after.

Bubba is a mildly retarded man who is befriended by a town girl by the name of Marylee and a good number of the town folk ain’t too pleased by this completely innocent friendship. When Marylee is attacked by a dog, Bubba comes to the rescue but is almost immediately accused of not just attacking the girl himself but raping her as well. The Haters quickly form a posse and decide if the law won’t take care of business, they will. Bubba’s mother gets word of this and dresses her son up as a scarecrow and instructs him to stand in the field very still to try and fool his would-be killers. Unfortunately the costume doesn’t fool the bloodhounds and Bubba is shot dead where he stands. The lead accuser, Otis, sticks a pitchfork into Bubba’s dead hand in an attempt to  make it appear as if Bubba was killed with that instead of multiple gun shot wounds.  But, gentle, sweet Bubba isn’t so kind in death as he was in life.  The stalking of Otis Hazelrigg begins and it’s all that you could hope for!

#1: The Haunting (1963)

The 1999 remake of this AMAZING film blows. I’m sorry, but it does and it takes such a HUGE swing away from the Shirley Jackson novel “The Haunting of Hill House” that it doesn’t even seem like the two movies could possibly be based on the same book.  Okay, the characters have the same names  and it’s in a haunted house but that’s where the similarities end.

The original movie stars Julie Harris, Claire Bloom and Richard Johnson and was directed by Robert Wise. It is told from the perspective of Eleanor “Nell”  Lance (Julie Harris) who receives an invitation to help investigate this alleged haunted location along with several others. Nell has spent most of her life taking care of her invalid mother and for her this is the chance of a lifetime, to do something,  to go somewhere and to be someone special. She’s special alright. Upon entry, Nell feels as if she’s finally come home and that may not be such a good thing. The best scene in the movie is when the spirits are walking up and down the hallway outside Nell’s room. Out of fear, Nell and Theo (Claire Bloom) are sharing a room by this point and though we never SEE anything ghostly, we hear it, we sense it, we see what it can do. Your imagination starts to go crazy as the doorknob turns and the door itself bows under the power of the entities on the other side. You know it’s bad when even the wallpaper starts to watch you and when someone you thought was holding your hand, isn’t. I’ve watched this movie many, many times and each time I’ve been spooked by it in some new and wonderful way. Maybe I’m just a masochist  but I look forward to the goosebumps I get every single time I get a chance to watch this.

In conclusion, I hold “The Haunting” on par for all other haunted house movies since I first saw it. I have some serious doubts that “The Conjuring” is going to be able to top it but I’ll give it a shot as soon as I can.

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A Haunting We Will Go

Adventures / Haunted / UrbEx

What with all the hoopla going on about The Conjuring, (which I have yet to see, btw) and the myriad of ghost hunting shows out there, I figured it was time I shared my own ghostly experiences. It truly makes no difference to me whether others believe in this sort of thing or not. My boyfriend is a total non-believer and I still love him regardless.

The earliest true ghost story I was told came to me from my maternal grandmother, Angeline.  She was visiting friends for the weekend and had been given the spare room to sleep in. This room was used by anyone who came to visit them, including numerous grandchildren. On her first night there, she was preparing for bed. As was her habit, she always read a bit before turning off the light for the night. She was doing just that when the door opened and a little girl entered the room already dressed in a simple, white nightgown. The child smiled at my grandmother and asked if she could sleep with her because there wasn’t any other place to sleep. Angeline, of course, didn’t hesitate to let the child hop into the big bed with her which the little girl did and wished her a good night. Gram finished her chapter shortly after, turned off the light and went to sleep herself. By the time morning came about, the child had already gotten up and left the room. Gram got herself up, dressed and headed out to the kitchen where coffee was brewing and breakfast was already starting to be made. As she got her coffee, she asked her friends which grandchild had come to visit. They shook their heads and denied that there were any grandchildren there at all for the weekend. Gram told them about her little night visitor. It was then that they both smiled and said, “Oh, that’s our ghost. She shows up sometimes.” Prior to this, they had never mentioned this presence to my grandmother.

My earliest personal experience I’d have to put around the age of 11-12. At the time my best friend, N., was living in a very large, very old house. Keep in mind the house had two staircases. There were the front stairs with a fancy carved, curved banister – lushly carpeted at the front of the house. At the top was her brother’s room, to the right was her parent’s room and her room was located through a doorway at the start of a long hallway.  At the opposite end of this hallway, that was lined with doors, was the bathroom. There were at least three more bedrooms they didn’t used up there. Beyond the bathroom was the second staircase that lead to the back of the house and the kitchen.

As we sat up in her room talking and playing records we heard someone come running down the hall, knock on her bedroom door then run back down the hall.  N. had an older brother and this sort of activity would be right up his alley so we didn’t really pay much attention. It happened again a few minutes later. The sounds were very clear and we both heard them. The second time she told him in true little sister fashion to “Knock it off!” as she pulled the door open. Of course, there was no one there but clearly he’d made his way down the front stairs quickly. N. closed the door and we went back to whatever we were doing but kept our ears open, determined to catch her brother in the act. Running footsteps, KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK… N. yanked the door open. The hallway was empty.

We went downstairs to where her parents and brother were sitting watching TV. N. said, “Mom, tell B. to stop coming upstairs and knocking on my door!” Her brother, who was sprawled on the sofa looked up, kinda confused, “Huh?” Her mother said, “He’s been sitting here watching TV with us for at least an hour.” N. and I looked at each other with surprise and retreated back upstairs to her room.  The sounds did not happen again that night.

Many years later when I was newly married, my  husband and I were searching for a house to buy for our new family. We wanted something old, with character and maybe a little bit out in the countryside. During our search we found a lovely house and prior to contacting the realtor we were having a look around the outside of the place. It needed work but it looked big enough and the location suited us. It was early Autumn and leaves were already changing and falling to the ground. The front yard was scattered with them and as you walked they made that lovely sound of rustling. I was on one end of the house, towards the front. My husband, R. was on the other side towards the back. As I stood looking up at the eaves and determining that a paint job would be in order, I heard the leaves moving as of someone coming back around to where I was standing. Assuming it was R. I didn’t pay too much attention. Movement caught my eye and I looked down to see a youngish woman in a white dress that dated around the turn of the century round the corner of the house. She had brown hair that was loosely pulled up into a ‘Gibson girl’ style. I looked right at her and she at me. Then she was gone. No fading away just suddenly not there.  Startled and excited, but not scared, I went in search of R. and told him what had just happened. Though we did not go on to purchase this particular house, we did find one more in town and where I still live, that is also haunted.

We bought the place in January 1995 and the haunted stories are too numerous to get into here in any great detail. Our first indication was within weeks of moving in when the back kitchen door opened several time on its own until R. said, “Okay, we know you’re here and you are welcome to stay, just stop opening this door and waking us up.” It never happened again. The porch light turned on and off on its own a lot at first. The television did the same.  Kids toys have rolled out of rooms in which there were no kids (or anyone for that matter) playing with them. Footsteps have been heard going up the stairs or walking across the dining room. I’ve heard the front door open and close thinking my son was coming home from work only to go say hello and find no one there. I’ve heard footsteps come up the stairs and a bedroom door close as if one of my kids had arrived home only to find myself still alone. We attribute all of this to a man named Hermann who – by his own daughter’s telling – died in the bedroom upstairs that we designated as the guest room. Over the past years, I’ve grown rather fond of Hermann’s visits. He’s never done any harm to anyone and as far as I’m concerned he can visit whenever he likes.

So, now you know why I’m A Believer. Other things have happened in other places. Not always pleasant things but each one has only solidified my belief that Spirit can and does return to this world and that we can interact with it.

 

 

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The Fine Art of Censorship

Writer's Life

It’s nice to know that Big Brother Amazon knows me so well that he has taken it upon himself to keep certain offensive books off my reading list. It makes it so much easier for me to have someone else pick and choose what I can and cannot read. Heaven forbid I should have to make up my own mind on this one. Ah, censorship.

Though it has been going on for years, I only recently learned of Amazon.com’s little foray into book banning and censorship and frankly, am not pleased. Makes me not want to do business with them at all. I will certainly think twice about ordering anything, books or not, from them in the future. Here’s part of the Policy that Amazon claims so many small, indie publishers of erotica are violating and thereby getting arbitrary books banned from sales through Comrade Amazon.

Pornography Pornography and hard-core material that depicts graphic sexual acts.
Offensive Material What we deem offensive is probably about what you would expect. Amazon Digital Services, Inc. reserves the right to determine the appropriateness of Titles sold on our site.

I respect their right to pick and choose what they sell but I can still go there and buy the Beauty Series by Anne Rice. I can pick up a couple copies of novels written by Marquis de Sade and while I’m shopping for my porn/erotica – maybe I’ll grab a copy of Shades of Gray, too. Oh, and remember that V.C. Andrews ‘Flower’ Series (Petals on the Wind & etc…)? Talk about INCESTUOUS!!  Yet, a copy of “Bound To Be Bitten” by Victoria Morris published by a small indie company called Pink Flamingo out of Michigan is not to be mine. Pity, looked good – sexy, motorcycle riding, bdsm-practicing vampires, ya know? Matter of fact, seems there a whole SLEW of Pink Flamingo books Amazon says I will find offensive. Founder of Pink Flamingo, Lizbeth Dusseau has a few words to say about this on her blog of July 17th.

And she’s far from the only one. Self-Publishing Revolution posted some commentary on this subject back in 2010. Joni Rodgers, another Indie author and booksellers spoke up in 2012 as did Seela Conner. Business Insider also published an article on this topic as have a myriad of other writer, publishers and business people.  

From my understanding, this ban rule only applies to getting the books on Kindle. Someone correct me if I have that wrong, please. So, I can still get any of the banned books in a regular book form just not on an eReader. Maybe Amazon is just trying to sell more of the hard copies of these books because they make more money on them? Their policy makes no sense and their selection process for banned titles is so random it’s almost humorous, save for the fact censorship is censorship is censorship and the freedom of speech and choice is being taken away by a bunch of faceless people who think they know what I want to read (or write for that matter!). As an author, I want to be able to choose my writing topics without the fear that Big Brother Amazon is going to work against me when I seek publication.

If Amazon is going to ban books that contain pornographic, erotic, incestuous and violent materials then they should ban ALL of it and not just the titles being put out by the smaller Indie Publishing houses. Course, that would wipe out a HUGE selection. Sadly, it seems all about money anymore and not the creative, unique works being put out by these smaller houses. Still… maybe being on the Banned Book List is a good thing. Check out some of these Banned Books (ironically on Amazon) and you’ll see what I mean.

Gosh, I hope this little rant doesn’t get found by those Amazon execs in charge of throwing darts at random book covers to see who’s next on the ban list, “Blood of the Scarecrow” might find itself up there on the board. (Despite having very little violence and virtually no sex at all in it.)  And just because I’m not feeling too warm and fuzzy towards Big Brother right now, that last link is a NON-Amazon one!

READ ON!

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Pass The Toilet Paper, Please.

Adventures / Family & Relationships / Mental health

They say the secret to living a happy life is surrounding yourself with the people and things that bring you joy. That’s not always as easy as it sounds and along the way you’re likely to lose a lot of people you once called ‘friend’.  We all know it only feels good when you are the one doing the dumping. Being the Dumper is so much more liberating than being the Dumpee.

As Dumper, I’ve known the reasons behind me decisions to rid someone or something from my life. If the Dump involved a person, I’ve tried to have the courtesy to explain to that person why. They may not have understood or agreed with my reasons but I have a clear conscience that I did my best to give them answers. As Dumpee I’ve not been so fortunate. There are a lot of unanswered questions in my mind about the reasons things went the way they did in some of my relationships. Learning to live with those questions hasn’t always been easy and in at least one case, I am still very confused about the whys. 

Maybe those involved feel that knowing the truth would hurt a whole lot more than having so many questions hanging in the air. Maybe they are ashamed of their reasons for dumping me. Maybe they simply don’t care. That’s what hurts the most, that and having it all happen so quickly and out of the blue.  You’re best buds for years and years then suddenly BAM! they won’t even speak to you or answer an email. They are just gone. If there had been the tiniest of red flags that things were in jeopardy, maybe there could be some sort of understanding but there wasn’t. It simply ended.

I’ve done some scrying in my day, read a few Tarot cards and rune stones but I’ll be damned if I’m a mind reader and I’m trying very hard not to assume what other people think because chances are pretty high I’d be wrong.  Yeah, being the Dumpee really sucks.

On the other hand, I try to imagine their reasons and see it as them letting go of something that no longer brought them any joy. I hate to think I have brought someone such misery as they’d quit speaking to me but maybe I have.  I want my friends to be happy even if in a couple of cases I’m not convinced these people have a clue what that means.  

All this hasn’t prevented me from being happy. These past couple years have been some of the happiest ones of my life. If not being able to share that happiness with a person or two is the price I have to pay, then it’s worth it. I am surrounding myself with the people and things that bring me joy and I will continue to do so even if it means I am the Dumper or the Dumpee.  I can’t be part of everyone’s life no matter how much of a shared history we may have. I do miss those people and the idea of growing old with them in some capacity. But, life is too short to dwell on what was and has been lost. I sincerely hope that those that have dumped me are doing the same thing – following and finding their bliss.  

In the end, the best thing to do for yourselves is use that little extra bit of TP you have, give your hands a good hard scrubbing and leave the bathroom and the waste behind. If you really needed that poo in your life it wouldn’t have left you, would it?

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I’m gonna write on… write on.

Writer's Life

I must confess I am at feeling overwhelmed. Maybe this is why my writing has suffered.

The passion to write has not gone away. If anything it has grown stronger and yet I find myself writing less and less despite my spoken and written statements that I will get more of it done. For the current novel I’d set my sights on having it done by the end of August. This doesn’t seem possible to me now. By the end of this month I’d hoped to have the submission papers ready for an agent. Although I’ve made headway on that, getting five of the six requirements done, my feet (fingers?) are dragging on the last one. I’m not sure why. This whole thing means the world to me. Writing is my world, my greatest passion and something I have longed to do but since I was nine.

I want to get ‘That’s What Shadows Are Made Of’ done.

I want to get the agent papers done.

I want to finish with the illustrations for “Bill, The Worm Who Ran Away”.

I want to work on the two ghost stories I have in mind.

I want to get “Speeding Chicken By Road” and “Cecil B. Snail” written down.

And with all this going on in my head, I can’t focus on the Top Two on the list. I gather my materials and I sit down at my desk then all the ‘oomph’ just kinda gets sucked out of me for some reason. It’s frustrating, at times to the point of tears. A perfect example is this very moment where I am blogging about not being able to work on the stuff I should be and blogging instead! Argh! Insanity!

I’m really liking how “…Shadows” is turning out so it’s not like I’ve lost interest in it. I wrote up some outline notes for future chapters. My constant thoughts of “Gotta get it done, gotta get it done…” have paralyzed me at the keyboard for anything beyond what I consider for myself to be fluff. Everyone else seems to have such interesting things to say in their Blogs. Mine feels more like a Blargh. Not sure what goes on in my life that anyone else would really be all that interested in knowing about.

And so.. I am overwhelmed. Everything feels like it’s on a deadline and if I don’t do it now, it won’t get done in time… in time for what? Mortality? Now, there’s a cheerful topic! NOT.

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The Secret To Life Is…

Adventures / Family & Relationships / Mental health

There’s a hash-tag thingy over on Twitter: #TheSecretToLifeIs I added my two cents to which I will tell you my contribution to at the end of this post.

My good friend Lily came over this past Saturday. I don’t get to see her and her husband Pete as much as I’d like. They are one of my most favorite couples. Of all the people I’ve known for more than twenty years, Lily is the one friend that I actually see the most. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t have Facebook. We can’t stay caught up on each other that way. It’s truly a blessing in disguise. We get REAL face time, sitting at the kitchen table noshing on homemade salsa & guacamole with chips and hot tea. It’s always ALWAYS a pleasure to spend time with her. Pity it only happens a few times a year.

We talk about a lot of things, Lily and I – pets, politics, religion, hobbies, work, family and etc. The topic of belief came up this time around. We share a very common belief system, it seems. That’s cool. I don’t find a lot of people that seem to get “God” along the same lines as I do. I’ve truly run the gammut when it comes to religion. I’ve been a Born Again Christian & a Satanist. I’ve been a Pagan & Agnostic. Today I classify myself as Gnostic which would take reams to explain so I will  merely suggest you take a gander over on that link to save me a whole lot of typing time & space.

When I was Christian – boy howdy was I ever Christian – I spent a lot of time wearing crosses and praying in churches and reading the Bible and singing worship songs. When I think back on those times I find it really hard to remember actually BELIEVING in what I was doing. I suppose I must have but somewhere in there I never had that JOY I’d heard so much about. I think deep inside though I simply felt those things: the crosses, the prayer, the Scripture – were just that… things. Maybe I was too young & inexperienced in life to grasp it all.

Let’s make it clear that the Satanic portion of my spiritual journey was very short lived. It was damn scary. You really don’t want t go there kids. ‘Nuff said.

I entered my Pagan path after that. I’d always been fascinated by witches and the like. I did my High School term paper on the different theories behind what had happened at Salem. I’m even a descendant of Rebecca Nurse. She’s like my 7th great grand aunt or some such thing. Yeah, the blood is thin but hey, it’s still fun to be related! I looked into Wicca and other variations of Paganism. None of them truly fit me so I ended up making my own version. It felt right at the time – sorta. But as with the Christian thing and the Satanic thing – this square peg never fit into that round hole. I couldn’t believe in the “power of crystals’ or any of that other stuff. To me the crystal was just a crystal. It didn’t contain any of its own powers but MAYBE it could be used as a focal point for a person’s own energies – much like the Crucifix I used to wear. Like in so many vampire movies, ya know? You have to BELIEVE in the cross for it to work against the Prince of Darkness.

I resigned myself to being a hermit as far as religion was concerned. Little did I know that even that was leading me somewhere else. I may not be seeing it by its technical origins but the word “Hermit” makes me think of “Hermetic” and/or “Hermes.” A few years ago a friend of mine asked if I’d heard of Hermes Trismegistus. I had to admit ignorance. He’d not really say a whole lot about it just told me to few books I might find interesting to look at. Being the research junkie I am and a big fan of the cross referencing of world theologies, I dove right in. And my keen interest in Gnosticism was born.

In as small a nutshell as I can explain we must go back to the beginning of my post and the Secret of Life. Remember the movie ‘Dumbo’ where he had that little feather held so tightly in his trunk? He believed that only while he held that feather, he’d be able to fly. Turned out that wasn’t the case. You don’t need the Feather. You don’t need that Cross, candle or statue. You don’t need that crystal or pentacle. They are just things of the material world. All you need to find and be with God is right there inside you. That is what Gnosticism has taught me.

And so… The Secret To Life Is You Don’t Need That Feather To Fly.

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I Now Pronounce You Hitched!

Adventures / Family & Relationships

It took almost 25 years but I’m pretty sure I finally attended a wedding and reception that beat the nads off my own a-way back in 1989.

Picture, if you will, a beautiful summer day in Upstate New York. It’s 11am and you’re in a huge backyard with 4 large tents, the mouth-watering aroma of BBQ chicken and a half a hog smoking waft your way. Casually and colorfully dressed guests are seated on bales of hay. There are a lot of bare feet. The table and chairs are dressed in simple white covers and decorated with clear vases of fresh cut flowers and potted Rosemary plants. Love & Joy are indeed in the air. The celebration is already starting. Of course, Janet the Bride, was radiant. Sam the Groom was handsome. As we sat and waited for the ceremony to begin Jim commented “This crowd is exactly like what I’d picture at a Grateful Dead concert. I’ve never been to one, but this is what I imagine it would be like.” And, he was right. 200+ people all gathered together in peace and love and joy. Wait.. that’s Woodstock,. Either way. You get the idea. And when Reverend Bob pronounced the couple married, I can honestly say that in all the weddings I’ve attended over the years, I’ve never seen a Bride actually JUMP FOR JOY before sealing the deal with a kiss.

Let the party begin.

14 hours, 8 kegs, 12 bottles of champagne and I dunno how many bottles of wine later – the celebrations were still going on. We dragged ourselves away at 1am Sunday morning at which time there were still about 20 people left jamming on guitars around the campfire.

This felt to me like the perfect celebration of Love for these two friends. I felt blessed to be there and part of their special day and night. And it stands in harsh contrast to more than a few other weddings and receptions I’ve been to where the music amounted to a cd player sitting all alone in the corner barely attended to and all was done with restraint and ‘proper’ manners. Some receptions you can hardly wait to get out of. This one, you regretted having to leave.

I’ve lived where I am now (about 1/2 mile from where the wedding took place) since 1995 and only now am I starting to feel like less of an outsider. I’m slow to make friends and slow to get out and about. I’ve always hesitated going to local events for some reason. In the past month I’ve met more people and made more new local friends than I have in the past 20 years of living there. What’s changed? This thing, called Love.

Rog and I went out a fair amount early in our relationship but we lived where he grew up. He knew people. When we moved to a town halfway between our respective home towns, we had to start all over again to get to know our neighbors. Rog was always good at that. I guess I’m just too shy sometimes. I try to be friendly but always feel odd doing it. Once the kids were in school we started to meet some other young parents. Then, sadly, Rog and I went our separate ways and though we have remained Besties! it’s not the same. The kids grew up and school functions ended. Left without anyone to aid me in my socializing, I fell into the life of a homebody. On rare occasions I would go out but it was nearly always awkward and uncomfortable. I couldn’t wait to get home. I constantly wanted to know what time it was.

At Janet and Sam’s reception, I didn’t have a clue what time it was most of the time. When Jim and I finally decided to call it a night, I was shocked when we got to the car and I found out it was 1am. I never felt bored or awkward talking to anyone and I am going to credit my new relationship with Jim for getting me get out there and doing the things I want to do again. By wanting him to feel at home, make new friends and be happy, I am also finding I am feeling more at home, making new friends and being happier, too.

Here’s to Janet and Sam whose weekend of peace, love and joy has surely spilled over not just into my life but into the lives of everyone else who shared it with you. Thank you and may your marriage be blessed and joyful!

 

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Strawberry Fields For Father

Adventures / Family & Relationships / Food, Glorious Food!

It was a weekend of firsts – well, A First. After living in the area nearly my entire life, I finally made my way to the Owego Strawberry Festival on Saturday. Was fortunate to get a parking space at the DMV Lot. The biggest reason I’ve never gone to this is I’ve never been with anyone who was in the least bit interested in going. Interested or not, Jim agreed to being dragged about crowded Downtown Owego. Trust me, he needs it to be socialized now and again. He’d be a hermit if I let him. In previous relationships I’ve always been the homebody-hermit half so it’s an adjustment for us both – a good one.

Anywho! The lure of strawberries and live tunes and whatever else they had there pulled us both away from our computers for a few hours and out into the sunshine amongst our fellow humanoids. Was a nice walk about, taking in the numerous tie-dye clothing vendors, jewelry hawkers, canned & baked goodies, arts & crafts to beat the band and oh.. yeah, strawberries. To be honest, had I not KNOWN it was a Strawberry Festival, I – erm – probably won’t have, well, known. I’m gonna guess there were a hundred or so vendors at this annual shindig. I think I saw five or six that were selling strawberry-related foods. Strawberry shortcake was there, of course. Strawberry Lemonade made a couple of appearances. The drink of choice at the two bars within the Festival Zone was – you guessed it, The Strawberry Daiquiri. Was hoping for a Strawberry Funnel Cake or maybe some Strawberry Ice Cream. Didn’t see any. The one place I saw that sold strawberries in the raw, as it were, was loading up their truck getting ready to leave as we walked by at about 4:00 on Saturday. I was hoping to see someone dressed as a giant strawberry making their rounds for silly pictures. Nope. *le sigh* There were a couple of good bands there, though and we enjoyed what we heard of them. Someplace you could get an air boat ride on the river but wasn’t able to really find out where it launched from.

We strolled outta there about five and ended up stopping in Candor at Iron Kettle Farm for strawberries. Was real quiet there – we’ll go back again and subject ourselves to their pumpkin madness in the fall.

Met my dad for breakfast on Sunday and after we’d solved all the world’s problems over coffee, we got onto the subject of local festivals. Owego has strawberries, Marathon has maple syrup, Newark Valley took the apple, heck even lil ol RIchford does a weekend dedicated to the potato. Binghamton has a Fairy Festival. In fact, I saw a few of their folks in Owego handing out fliers. It was REALLY hard to miss the 7 foot tall guy dressed in purple wearing matching purple fairy wings. No, he wasn’t a stilt-walker. Oh, and we can’t leave out the Scarecrow Contest held in Candor at their Fall Festival, laws no! M-O-O-N, that spells Scarecrow! Sadly, my own hometown is without a festival. Maybe Corn. They have a lot of corn out there.

A couple hours later, Dad and I parted company. I love spending time with my Dad. Always have. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become more and more aware of how blessed I am when it comes to my parents. I truly could not have asked for better people to raise me. Oh, sure, they MAY have had a wild party now and then and they MAY have been such regulars at a local bar that I, at the age of around 12, could go and order a round of drinks for them without the bartender batting an eyelash, but they were always good people and always treated my brother and I fairly. They were encouraging and loving and much to my mother’s dismay – Dad and I were perhaps a bit goofier in public than she would have liked us to be. That was only on vacations, of course *cough* where Dad would apply the ‘We’re never going to see these people again” logic when Mom would strongly suggest he and I calm down. I tried to use this logic on my own kids but they didn’t quite buy into it as much as I did when young.

I’m gonna start working on getting Jim to go for it a bit more… one festival at a time.

 

 

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