YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED, THERE MAY BE TRIGGERS HERE.

Almost 32 Years Ago.....

I think we were going to have pizza delivered for dinner, but we never made the call. Instead we stopped at the Burger King drive thru and ordered chicken fingers and nearly got hysterical over the name.  Then we drove from Half Moon Bay to the Redwood City Kaiser, I don’t quite  remember what happened the rest of the night. But here is what happened before that. 

For the past three weeks I had been living back with my mother because her breast cancer had metastasized to her brain causing seizures and stroke like symptoms. The past few days she had slipped into an incoherent twilight state.  I was no longer able to take care of her by myself.  One of my cousins had been staying with us after she got off of work to help me care for my mother.  A call had been made to my aunt and she was arriving in a couple of days to care for her younger sister as she died.  My older sister, a widow of one year with a 4 year old and a one year old, had been able to arrange for someone to take care of her children, and for the first time she and I would be staying with our mother at the same time.  We checked on her throughout the afternoon, dribbled water into her mouth, alternately turned her on her side and back to relieve any pressure points.  Pizza delivery was discussed and my sister went to check on our mother as I looked up the Round Table Pizza phone number.  I remember my sister calling for me from the bedroom, something was going on, something was wrong. I went back to them and saw my mother breathing in strange little gasps.  One of her neighbors was a nurse and told us to call her if we ever needed to. She came over and immediately told us our mother was dying. My instructions from her doctor had been, when this time comes, call the hospital for an ambulance and tell them what was happening and that it was a “no code”.  “No code” means no life saving measures. I called Kaiser, gave the information, gave the facts and hesitated for a moment. Then I made myself say it.  I told them that I was told to say “no code”.  I had just told them to not save my mother’s life.  My sister called for me to hurry up, something was happening.  Back in the bedroom, the neighbor stepped away from bed and pushed me into her place. She told us to keep talking to her, the hearing is the  thing to go.  We babbled at our mother. We told her we loved her. We told her to go into the light. We told her Bapak, her spiritual guru was there waiting for her. We told her it was okay to go. We told her it was okay. Her breaths came shorter and further between. Her eyes stared at the ceiling.  Her breathing stopped and we slowly stopped babbling at her.  Everyone was still. Everyone was silent. She gave one giant gasp, startling us back into our babbling. We kept at it, but that had been the last breath she ever took. I don’t remember if we cried then or not. I remember wanting to shut my mother’s open eyes and discovering it’s not as easy as it is in the movies.  That’s when the hysterical giggling started to pop out here and there.  My sister and I both remembered talking to the ambulance driver and he stood a little to close to the small mobile my mother had hanging in a door way. He would shift his weight and the mobile would get caught in his hair or bump him on the back of the head.  After they left, the neighbor made us promise we would stop and get something for dinner on our way to Kaiser. We promised. We stopped at Burger King and got the hysterical giggles about ordering food and wanting to punctuate every sentence with “and our mother just died.”  We laughed about chicken having fingers. We drove through the twilight past the fields and the farms and the hills. I was twenty three years old, I ate fast food and looked out the car window imagining my mother’s spirit was flying and swooping through the warm September evening, no longer in pain, free. 

“The last night that she lived,

It was a common night,

Except the dying; this to us

Made nature different.”

                                       -Emily Dickinson 

I. Am. Rapunzel.

I had been waiting about 45 minutes when a small beige woman opened the door and called my number.

"Seven hundred and seventy seven." She looked around the waiting room both expectantly and if I wasn't mistaken, bored. This rattled me, I had just spent the last 15 minutes pondering the fact that at 10:14 AM with five other people in the waiting room, the slip of now damp paper in my hand read 777. That's seven HUNDRED. Did they already see 776 applicants this morning? Or did they not start the numbering process over each day? If not, how long has it taken them to get to 777+ interviewees? I was lost down this rabbit hole in my mind when the beige woman with a tight bun and glasses opened the door. 

"Seven hundred and seventy seven." She said it louder and slower this time. I pinched myself on the inside of my thigh. Hard. The tall man sitting two chairs away from me followed my hand with his eyes. I ignored him.

"Here." I said, standing up. Then thinking that it sounded too much like a classroom reply, I tried again. "That's me."  I sang out. Gah, what's wrong with me. "I'm seven hundred and seventy seven." I clenched my jaw.  No more words, keep quiet!  The beige woman looked at me, nothing about her changed. No smile, no nod, no frown even. Do I go with her? Or do I wait for her to invite me in? Keep your mouth shut. She pushed the door wider and stepped back. That was enough of an invitation for me. I did my signature hair toss as I left the waiting room knowing it would intimidate the others, make them powerless. I followed the tight bun on the back of her head as she led me down a short open hallway with cubicles to the left. I imagined the inhabitants were sneaking peeks at their soon to be--. I pulled myself up short. I had nearly run into the woman who had stopped in front of me at an office door.

"Please go in." She gestured. My stomach flipped over, I was so excited to finally be here. At last I was interviewing with the top brass for my dream job. I sat in the chair she pointed me to and looked across a modest desk to an empty ergonomic chair.   Where was my interviewer? Where was he when I had made my entrance? First impressions are everything and he missed my signature hair toss. The beige woman shut the door and walked behind me, around the desk and sat down. I stared at her and tried to get myself under control. Shit shit shit shit, SHE is the interviewer. I had thought she was the… the what? Secretary? Receptionist? Administrative assistant? Shit shit shit.  Without looking at me, she deftly shuffled through the papers in a file in front of her marked with the number 777.

"My name is Khshayarsha." She made a small clicking sound at the front of her name. "I am head of acquisitions and applicants." She still did look at me, but continued to examine several items in my folder.

"Ahh… Nice to meet you… " I hesitated, then decided to not risk using her name and screwing it up. "I'm –" She held up her hand and I stopped mid sentence.  Her hand stayed there as her eyes zipped across a page of writing. I wished I had brought a bottle of water with me. She lowered her hand and looked up.

"I have your application, required paperwork and blood test results here, but we seem to be missing your references." Her eyes were bland and colorless.

"Really? What?" I stalled "They aren't there? Well, that's strange." I made my face look puzzled. "I'll get another copy to you ASAP. I hope someone didn't take them." I grinned charmingly, "They might get a mighty strange reference if they didn't know who they were. My references, that is. If they didn't know who my references were. That my references were for me." That had sounded cleverer in my head. I performed a small head to toss to cover my awkwardness. The beige woman just looked at me a moment and then went on.

"I will be asking you a few questions here. Then we will do a brief physical exam." She indicated a curtained off area in the corner of the office. "Then we will proceed to demonstrations of strengths and talents."

"Sounds good to me!"

"Yes, quite." She paused "Shall we begin?"

"Yes… Ma'am."  I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat and felt the corners of my smile quiver. Dammit girl, pull yourself together! She cocked her head a little to the side.

"Why are you here?"

"Uh, I'm applying for a position?"

"Of course you are. All the applicants are. Why are you here?" Her voice was even and smooth, her expression didn't change an inch. What does she mean? What does she want? Shit shit shit. Then it clicked, I sat up taller and lifted my chin.

"I am here because I have special abilities and I think-- No, I KNOW I can be a superhero. I have been helping and saving people my whole life and I am only getting better and better at what I do. Everyone tells me all the time that I need to apply here and get formally recognized and accepted by the league of superheroes so I can better fulfill my destiny."  OK, that last part isn't exactly true but I do tell myself that all the time. The woman across the desk listened to my statement, and still her expression didn't change.

"I see." She wrote on a notepad. I tried to read it upside down but it was in some sort of shorthand and just look like squiggles and dots.

"Go on."

"Well, my superpowers include-." She held up her hand and I stopped.

"No, you will show me during the demo part of your interview. I want to hear why you are here."

"Oh, yes, I see."  Actually, no I don't. "Well, my instinct is to save people, I am attracted to their need without them having to say anything. I can sense their need and so I have to… I WANT to… I NEED to save them."

"But why?"

"Huh?"

"Why do you do it?"

"Because I have to."

"Why do you have to?"

"Uh, because it is my destiny? It is my purpose in life."

"What is your purpose?"

"What's my purpose?" I frowned, this was going in circles. "My purpose is to be a Superhero. To save people."

"Why?"

"Why what?" I barely held back the snap in my voice. I licked my lips.

"Why save people?"

"Why save people?!" I was dumbfounded "Because that's what we do! That's what superheroes do, that's our destiny and it's imperative that we fulfill it." She was jotting down more notes and I noticed a lot of them were circles.

"To paraphrase you then, the purpose of a superhero is to fulfill their own destiny?"

"Yes, thank you!" 

"And what is the destiny of the people they are saving?"

"Huh? I'm not sure what you mean."

"Is their purpose, or their 'destiny', to be the recipient of your rescuing?"

"Well yeah."

"And the ultimate purpose, in your mind, the divine reason for the existence of superheroes is…?"

"...is to be all that we can be and live up to the recognition and adulation that is bestowed upon us." I finished triumphantly.

"What about to be of service to others and make sure their lives are secure so they can fulfill their own purposes?"

"Yeah. Sure, that too." We sat and looked at each other for a long moment.

"We can come back to that in a bit." She dropped her gaze and pulled out another form with my writing on it. "So, tell me your name."

"Which name?" Strangely enough, I saw she cracked a tiny, small smile at that. Whatever.  "Do you want my superhero name or my real name or my alias?"

"Let's start with your superhero name." I performed my signature hair toss and said,

"Rapunzel"

"And what is an alternative name?"

"What do you mean?"

"What other names could you use instead? Rapunzel is a bit too fairytale, but mainly it is already highly associated with a well known figure from regional folktales and a specific commercial conglomeration." She looked at me over the top of her glasses, her pen poised to write.

"I thought about 'Super Tresses'." I offered reluctantly, she nodded.

"That's a little better. What else?" I frowned. Rapunzel what is my superhero name. I didn't want to change it.

"What else?" She repeated. I thought for a moment.

"Madame Pompadour?"

"That has the same issues as Rapunzel."

"Uh, Goldilocks? No, never mind. Umm, Mohawk?"

"Better. But let's put a couple more down, shall we." My cheeks were hot and my hands clenched into fists. I took a deep breath and folded my hands in my lap.

"Razor-cut." I hoped she COULD hear the sarcasm in my voice.  Apparently, she didn't.

"Good! Another?" I began to mechanically grind out words, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Beehive. Dreadlock. Pixie. Chignon."

"Thank you, I think that is enough. I am highlighting the ones that are my recommendations." I saw that she had selected Beehive, Dreadlocked, and The Pixie. "I'm going to highlight Razor-cut also, but that may not be iconic enough." She looked at me over the top of her glasses, "I assume you're fine with adopting any of these hairstyles associated with your ultimate superhero name." I nearly choked and barely refrained from shouting at her. But the word came out much louder than I intended anyway.

"NO!" This time her expression finally changed…a little. Her eyebrows raised just a fraction and her eyes narrowed just a fraction. I felt the sweat beginning to form in various places. I heard my breath going in and out, sounding ragged, but my brain felt so very far away. She slowly set her pen down and her eyes never left me as she sat very straight in her ergonomic chair. She adjusted her glasses with one hand.

"I don't believe I understand."

"My hair!" I gasped "MY HAIR! It's… it's… my crowning glory! It's my superpower! I've used it a couple of times already! How could you not have noticed? Are you blind?" Her face slowly turned to stone, but I didn't care. "I'm sure you noticed. I mean how couldn't you not notice?" I waved my hands around my head "My signature move? The hair toss?" I shook my head at her knowing there were waves of golden tresses swirling around my face; knowing how impressive I looked. I shook my magnificent head at her. "No?" I couldn't quite repress the little 'tsk' that followed. Her lips pursed ever so slightly and I felt a thrill run up my spine. She placed both palms flat on the desk and leaned forward just slightly. I couldn’t look away from her.

"Let us be very clear here. You attempted to use an unauthorized, unapproved superpower during an interview for application for admittance to the League of Superheroes upon the entity interviewing you? Is that what you are telling me?"

"Yes. Well, no. I didn't ATTEMPT to use it. I did use it. How could you have missed it? Are you immune to us or something?"

"Us?"

"Yeah, 'us'! Super heroes?" I failed at keeping the unspoken 'duh!' out of my voice at the end of the sentence. But I didn't care. This bland woman was an idiot. What is this? Some sort of test? Combat and defeat the Mistress of Idiocy? She chuckled then, low and dangerous, leaned back in her ergonomic chair and folded her arms.

"OK, you win. It's demonstration time. Show me your super powered …hair."

"Finally!" I stood up, shook my arms and legs, and stretched a little side to side. These were unnecessary moves but I knew I look good doing them. I stared her straight in the face and ran my hand under my hair at the back of my neck. With rehearsed ease I gave my crowning glory a fantastic flip. And I waited. But the reaction wasn't what I expected. In fact, there was no reaction at all. The beige woman nodded encouragingly.

"Go ahead." She prompted.

"I just did!" I repeated the move with more force, directing it with everything I had full at her bland face.

"I. Am. Rapunzel!" I thundered. She looked at me. 

"Oh dear.  I believe I understand now." She picked up her pen and began making notes. My vision narrowed and became a little fuzzy around the edges. My heart echoed loud beats in my ears.

"How dare you! How dare-" She held up her hand without looking at me and my jaw clamped shut. She pointed her index finger at me and I sat down without intending to. I raised my hand to activate my hair again. She drew a vertical line in the air and my arms clamped tight to my sides, my knees and ankles crashed together and remained pressed tight. I growled low in my throat and then pitched it as high and loud as I could. She touched her fingertip to her lips and all sound disappeared from my body. She continued, at leisure, to make notes. When she finished writing, she put her pen in a cup filled with other pens and gathered all my papers in one neat pile. Slowly and deliberately she slipped them into the folder marked 777.  She sighed and I swear she looked at me with pity.

"I wish there were a gentle way to tell you this." She stopped herself and shook her head. "No, that's not true." She gave me a hard look. "It's people like you—. Listen to what I am going to tell you and hear me well.  You. Do. Not. Have. Superpowers. In. Your. Hair. You are NOT a superhero." She stared at me a moment. To my horror, I could feel a wave of pity wash over me. No! Don't you dare! Don't you dare pity me! Don't you dare do that to me! Do you know who I am?

"I know you are not a superhero. You are arrogant, entitled, narcissistic, and completely unaware. You cannot see the world beyond your own needs and wants. Your opportunistic manipulation of others is what you consider your 'superpower' and that goes against the entire concept of what we represent here." She made a quick flip of her hand and I was free to move again. I tried to speak but nothing came out. 

"Yes, I'm sure you've noticed that I haven't released your vocal chords yet. If you follow my instructions, I will. When you exit this building, which you will do quickly and quietly, stand on the sidewalk outside of the entrance to the building. I will be able to see you from this window." She gestured behind herself "Then and only then, will I release you fully. You will then leave the area immediately. I suggest you find employment elsewhere."  She looked me up and down, then rummaged in a drawer and handed me a business card.  "You may want to consider this organization."  I would swear there was a twinkle in her eyes.

"You can tell them I referred you." She indicated the door. "That is all." She picked up my entire file and slid it into the basket marked “Rejected”. I looked at the card in my hand. It was made from some sort of very, very thin and very, very cold metal. 

The Supreme Order of Super Villians 

Chapter House # 1499

“Semper Malus”

10 Whats

Give me a number between 1 and 10.

No.
Come on.
No I'm busy.
OK give me a number between 12 and 17.
No! Wait… What?
What what?

A number between what and what?

What what?

Knock it off. A number between 12 and 17?
Okay, 16. 

What?

What what?

I swear to God I'm never going to talk to you again if you don't knock that crap off!

Okay

Good
Mmmm hmmmm. 

God, now what?
What what?
Seriously?
No, never, when am I ever serious? Give me a number between one and 10.
Why? And don't say "why why" or "what why" or "why what".

Why would I say that?
Seriously I'm going to ignore you if you don't knock it off.
OK.
OK OK?
You're not as good at this as I am.
Shut up.
OK, fine.
Fine.
Give me a number between 1 and 10.
I said shut up!
So what? Give me a number –.
10! 10! The number is 10!

No, it's not.
What?
It's not 10. Try again.
OK, I'm ignoring you now.
I'll keep asking.
I'm putting on my headphones.
It won't work.
I'm turning up the volume. 

You can still hear me.
No I can't.
Then why did you answer?
Shut up! Leave me alone!
Okay...I love you… Did you hear me? I love you… OK, now you can't hear me. But you can't say I never tell you that, now can you? And I won't be lying when I say I've told you that already. So, HA! In your face!!
I hate you.
Wait… What!?

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Some people never change.  And some change constantly. Me, I change in these small bursts irregularly spaced through out my life. Not all change is good, nor is it bad.  And I've had chunks of both. Some people don't want you to change, even if it is better for you to do so. And maybe those people don't want to be "your people" anymore. They may not like the newer you, and sometimes the newer you may not like them anymore. Sometimes the parting is mutual, but usually it is not. So, I have changed a lot through my life, both for the better and for the worse. I have lost some good people and shed some bad. Ultimately I am the sum of my experiences, but "non sum qualis eram", loosely translated "I am not who I once was". And that, my dear, is simply reality. And I choose to see it. 

Turn and face the strange

The Smallness of the World

Coincidence? Or not. You be the judge.

There are these ideas of "pay it forward" and "random acts of kindness".  I try to participate in these when I can.  But this isn't about tooting my own horn. This isn't about me at all. It's about the how it all happened. So in that spirit....

I try to make it a habit that when I donate to someone I know on Go Fund Me, I find a stranger to donate to also. I don't chose someone haphazardly, usually I look through the creative category or the "near me" filter. I scan the funds and find something that resonates with me. A dancer with a scholarship to the Alvin Ailey school. An independent film maker invited to show at a film festival in Europe. A woman with health issues living in my city fixing an old car as therapy (same model car as the first car I bought).
This time I start with the "near me" filter and scan through several pages, click on a handful of "read more" buttons, looking for one that just "feels right".  The only thing that makes me click on this particular one is their first name...Kitten.  Not strictly local, it's in SF...but close enough to check out anyway.   A story of starting over, in a safe place, away from an unsafe situation. It stirs enough in me to check out any links to get a further feel of "rightness". There is a link to a Facebook account, so I click and read about his story, snooping through the public posts. There is a lot of love and support being offered and appreciated, so far so good, but I'm still not convinced this is the "right" one. I see a comment, a rather blunt one, in a tough-love kind of way. It's from a person with a very common last name, but a little unusual of a first name. It is also the name of someone I was acquainted with (but not FB friends with), funny that there might be two of them. I don't for a second think it might actually be the same person.  But then I glance at the "Friends" list and see that Kitten and I do have a mutual friend. And because of how small the world is, and because our mutual friend once did a cancer run event in my honor, and because our mutual friend passed away much too young, and because I went to a memorial service this past weekend for another woman who passed away much too young because of cancer, I give a small donation to help Kitten with his new life.






Life is not a Disney ride

X's and O's

 Stream of consciousness writing January 2004 (edited and formatted)

Begin. Be gentle, go slow. Baby steps, tip toe, tip toe. TicTacToe.  #  X's and O's  Hugs and kisses from an absent mother. Always a note, so I will always know.

"Don't be afraid, I will be back soon XXX OOO." 

One for each of us.  I didn't know, thought they were all for me (or if you were reading all for you.)  

X's are kisses, this is the love, the exuberant, messy "I don't care who knows".  But kisses can leave me cold. There are just too many ways to mess them up. Too slobbery, too hard, like a peck from a chicken, chapped lips, bad breath, have good aim or you'll kiss someone's nostril. The intimacy of allowing someone's lips to touch yours. Your breath, your words come out from your lips. Sustainance, food, drink pass through them. Such a symbolic area. Reserved for VIPS. Unless I have bad breath.
But the O's, the O's were for hugs, the quiet, the strong, wrapping around and holding me up. O's  can be anytime, happy, sad, anytime, long, short, soft, hard, half, whole, A frame, patting the back, side by side, heart to heart.  So versatile, those O's.  I liked them better, I knew I was loved with those.





Love, 
     Mom
     XXX
     OOO

High School English 1977

Word list:
recollect, compelled, retort, restraint, irrelevant, aspiration, seasonable, refiner, dispelled, pertinent, insinuating, concur, initiative, imparting, facilitate.

Assignment:
Use all of the words in a story.

My freshman attempt at being clever:
 I recollect a long time ago, when I was compelled to stay after school. My teacher told me to sit down, I answered with a retort. I should have restraint myself because sitting down is irrelevant. After school I had to write a composition on what I wanted to be. I wrote that my aspiration was to become a seasonable fruit refiner. Later that night I broke into school and dispelled her pertinent papers down the hall. Next morning when I went to school my teacher kept insinuating  that I broke in the school, but of course I didn't concur with her. Finally I took initiative and told her she was not  imparting good knowledge to the students. When I got home I got some ice to facilitate the black eye I got when she threw a book at me.

Really?:
Restraint does not equal Restrained
Dispelled papers...not so much.
Ice does not facilitate black eyes, but I think you see what I was going for there.

I could go on, but I think I'll just sit in the corner for a while.





A for effort?

What's Your "Thing"?

I know people who think going on Facebook is stupid; and Renaissance Faires are ridiculous; and Letterboxing is childish; and dancing is a waste of time; and anything Science Fiction should be dumped in the trash; and no one looks good in orange; and short hair on women is unattractive; and computer games are for idiots; and art is boring. In other words, they look down on me because I enjoy those things. 

I have my own list of "those are stupid (or pointless or boring)" things that other people like to do. And for the most part, I keep my lip zipped on my judgemental opinion around them BECAUSE I know they enjoy it and BECAUSE I know what feels like to be sneered at for liking something. 

So before you get all self righteous about a new craze and share snarky memes, ask yourself....what is YOUR Pokeman GO?







We all have a "thing", even if it isn't Pikachu.

Yoda Was Kinda Mean

"Do or do not.  There is no try."  -Yoda

I've seen this around for years and years and years and years.  It has been paraphrased all over the place, interpreted as having different meanings, depending on the context.
Here are some i.e.'s I see:

If you're going to fail, don't waste my time.

You either can or you can't, don't waste my time.

It's up to you, don't waste my time.

Trying is for losers, don't waste my time.

If you are unsure of your abilities, don't waste my time.

The learning curve is for sissies, don't waste my time.

Now, if Yoda, the Jedi Master of all masters, teaches this way...fine (because he's YODA and because he's muppet), but in real life, with real people, with real consequences, with real reality.... this is not cool.  Shaming, discouraging, and negative reinforcement are the teaching tools of bullies, the lazy and the incompetent.  Teaching is not a by-product of knowledge.  Just because someone is an expert in their field it is no guarantee they know how to teach it.
To teach is a skill (or talent) in and of itself.  Some people are naturals, some people learn it, some people are not good at it; just like singing, drawing, mechanics, languages, math, etc.  Teaching something based on your knowledge is an action performed.  It is what you say in answer to "Whacha doing?"  The two things are not mutually inclusive.  (i.e. just because you CAN do something does not mean you are good at it)
Is this all semantics?  Not in my world.  Not in the world where people's lives are altered because of that one teacher.  Not in the world where acceptance speeches are given and a TEACHER is most often thanked.  Not in my world, where my mother was a kindergarten teacher.  And who's former students, when realizing who I am, tell me how much they remember and loved her.  She died 27 years ago, so these are people who are long out of school.  So if a teacher can make a difference in a 6 year olds life, just think what a good teacher can do in an adult's life and what a bad teacher can do in a teenager's life.
So Mr. Yoda, big cultural icon master of all philosophy, I sure hope you didn't mean any of those things I listed above when you left your indelible stamp on the world. "Do or do not.  There is no try."   Because how will we know if we don't at least try?






i.e. id est, that is to say or in other words

You Don't Have To Wear Pink

You don't have wear pink to be aware of breast cancer. You don't have to participate in any activity to be aware of breast cancer. You don't have to give money to be aware of breast cancer. All you have to do is know what to look for and keep checking yourself. And if ANYTHING seems odd, have it checked out. Want to spread awareness? Tell everyone you know to do the same. Doesn't cost a you thing and you may have helped someone out. 

Be aware with education.

Insert Appropriate Post Title Here

I guess it's been a rough year.  Didn't realize it's been that long since I posted anything.  We haven't done much letterboxing (we haven't done much of anything really), and I don't know if that is going to change anytime soon.  I still check Atlas Quest everyday, I still compile lists of boxes to find when we take a trip and we eek out a find once in a while.  But isn't that the way life goes?  Ups and downs.  Roller coasters.  Mountains.  Bottomless pits.  Whatevers.  I'm making changes in my life.  I hope letterboxing doesn't become something that I once did.  That would make me sad.





This is my sad face  :'-(

Nice People

I have become a rather cynical (dare I say bitter) old bitch as I have gotten older. Pain, disappointment and betrayal will do that to you.  I see myself going down this unhappy, but most of the time amusing, road.  Then along comes a Nice Person.  Well dadgummit, you just ruined it, didn't you?  

I planted a letterbox in Hawaii a couple of years ago, in a very urban, busy, indoor location.  I didn't expect it to last long.  I had such a wonderful time that trip, I got to see my brother and his family for the first time in 10 years (they live in Germany)  I got to meet my very first great-niece and see my niece (her husband was stationed there) being a fantastic mother.  I went with my sister who I hadn't gone on a trip with in a million years, and we got along the WHOLE time.  Plus.... I was in Hawaii!  So, this box has a little bit of a special meaning to me.  I didn't expect it to be visited so much, to the point I was getting notes saying the log book was getting full.  My niece has since moved on to Georgia, so I couldn't ask her to help out.  I figured why not just ask a fellow boxer who lives in the city and who has found the box already.  I contacted Morgan Family Hunters introducing myself and asking if they would send me the box, then replace it when I send it back.  SMACK!   I ran right into a Nice Person.  Not only was she happy to help out, she told me what that box means to them.  Oh, the warm fuzzies peeked out of my bitter heart.  Quick as a flash she sent it to me with a lovely, lovely note and a package of chocolate covered macadamia nuts.  Don't get me wrong, the candy was a sweet touch, but the note was better.  It reminded me that Yes, Virginia, There is Such a Thing as Nice People.  Lookee, warm fuzzies exploding all over!  I'm almost finished with the box and I will send it back to her and it will once again be in place.  But no sweet treat I send back to her can compete with the gentle uplift she has given me...simply by being nice.

There are even fuzzies in my navel.

Condensed Milk

So maybe not condensed milk but here is my thought process:  over on FB I indulge in my fascination with words by periodically posting archaic/obscure/long/fun to say out loud words.  Since I haven't posted here recently, here is a condensed list of those words.  Feel free to use them in a sentence if you'd like:


ennui
soporific
trifecta
tympanometry
portmanteau
pinguecula
speculoos




This is my egress for today.

Cheers!

I created a cocktail out of the leftover alcohol  I found stashed in the house.  Its been so long since I've mixed a drink I have no sense of proportion.  So, it's written in my own vernacular, alter to suit your taste.


Gotelli Hammer*
¾ glass tangerine juice from Trader Joe's
1 huge splash of Absolut Citron
1 small drizzle of Orange Curacao
1 smaller drizzle of Kirschwasser


Raise a toast to absent neighbors.  Add more tangerine juice.   Ahhhhhh!








*You know... instead of a Screwdriver.

He Always Called Me "Doll"

On or about 1950, Mr. and Mrs. Gotelli decided to settle down and raise a family.  They picked a house in a new subdivision south of The City.  They ran their business, worked hard, raised a family and retired.  Life shuffled along as it does, neighbors moved in, moved out, passed away, had kids etc.  Mr. Gotelli was a bossy, nosy guy.  He had no problem telling anyone what's what, and he did so frequently.  Everyone knew him, he knew everyone.  He watched out for all the neighbors, told them when kids were throwing rocks at their cars, questioned the friends who would come by and feed pets while the neighbors were on vacation, alerted them when their back yard was on fire, wheeled in their garbage cans when they were too overwhelmed with caring for their wife who had cancer, yelled at them when they would park their to-many-cars so that driveways were blocked.  When Mrs. Gotelli died he told his neighbor that every morning he would go to the cemetery to visit her grave and yell at her for leaving him.  He doesn't have to do that anymore.  On Tuesday he will finally get to settle in next to her and neither one will be alone anymore.  The Mr. Gotelli shaped hole in the neighborhood is pretty big, about the same size as the one that's in my heart, but not as big as the one that is in my husband's. No more morning updates on the way out to work.  No more anything.  The S of GremLandS wants me to make a letterbox in his honor and plant it in the cemetery.  I will do it.  I can't think of anything at the moment that will do justice to the unofficial Mayor of our street.  But I will do it.

:-(

Hallelujah?

You know how when you are dreaming just before you wake up?  And the dream is SO significant, or insightful, or symbolic?  Almost a little too so?  Here is my story of this morning.  


:Start Dream State thinking:
All the activity associated with normal life are your standard notes of music and most people hear them as they are, the true sound of the note.  Some people are tone deaf and go through life completely out of sync and not knowing why things always seem to go wrong.  Somewhere in between are the people who, instead of hearing the true note, hear the harmony and these can range from hearing a third or fifth or an octave above, these are the lucky ones who are positive and motivated and uplifting.  Another type hears a full chord instead of just a single note.  Major chord being equated with a manic state, minor chord with a depressed one.  Now imagine that everyone's life wasn't like a book to read but a sheet of music to be played instead.  Now imagine a room full of people, everyone with a different instrument and playing their own sheet music.  At the same time.  Now, how in the world could we even stand to be there?  How soon before we'd run from the room with our ears ringing and eyes watering?  But also imagine how amazing it would be to find someone playing something that complemented yours.  
:End Dream State thinking:


I wake up thinking, ohmygosh, I'm BRILLIANT!  That is an amazing metaphor for life in general!  Where do these things come from?!?!  I'm a genius!  I also notice my alarm/radio is going off and I think, I better get up I've already hit the snooze button once.   Wait... hit the snooze button once...  Then I realize I have part of a song stuck in my head from when the alarm went off the first time.  The lyrics are rolling over and over and I can hear Jeff Buckley singing Hallelujah! perfectly in my head and it goes like this:


Well I heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do ya?
Well it goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah 


Oh, I'm NOT brilliant.  I just incorporated the song on the radio into a light dream state.  Sigh.  Well, it was fun while it lasted.












If you hum a few bars, I can fake it.

As If One Isn't Enough

I'm not sure how many (IF any) people read this blog.  If I am to judge on the comments, there are two (Hi WomanToBlame, Hi Wendy!).  So in case you two, or anyone else who stumbles on this blog, NEED to read more junkandstuff, I just wanted to let you know......I've got another blog.  Yep, as if one isn't enough.  I'm trying my hand at a different kind of blog, it goes along with my etsy/ebay selling and is called Her Maj.  If you have any interest in vintage, antique, odd, old stuff come on over.  I do a lot of research on my item because I'm kind of a slave to that kind of thing.  I only use a portion of what I find out, and sometimes I learn cool stuff that I thought it would be nice to share...and it makes me feel like all that research didn't go to waste.  So, this blog will still be the same random rant and letterbox love and silly soliloquy  kitty box it has always been.  
Soooooooooo, that's about it.  Yeah, that's all I have to say right now....yup.  Uh, now what....   Sooooooooooooooooo, how was your Christmas?






Mine sucked, as usual.

It's a Win-Win Situation

Got a new car, real live new car, the first NEW new car I've ever had.  I am now a moss covered hamster.  Can you figure out what car it is by that hint?  If you get it right, maybe I'll send you something...like a stamp I carved but never planted.





vrooom, putt, putt, putt

The Grem Of GremLandS

We are sad... Our cat Gremlin, the Grem of GremLandS is missing. :-(

The L and S want their Grem back!

Do Your Thing

Usually I hate commercials, but sometimes they nail it. Case in point, an ad running recently for Kaiser. Disclaimer here: I don't work for, with, patronize or utilize Kaiser. I just like the commercial, because it's...well... so ME, down to the expression on her face. And it does actually motivate me to "find my thing". It makes me smile every time I see it.





What's your thing?