Silent Absolution

Forgiveness - Patty Griffin

We are swimming with the snakes
At the bottom of the well
So silent and peaceful in the
darkness where we fell
But we are not snakes and what's more
We never will be
And if we stay swimming
here forever we will
Never be free


I heard them ringing the bells
In heaven and hell
They got a secret
They're getting ready to tell
It's falling from the sky
Calling from the graves
Open your eyes, boy, I think we are saved



Breathe

I haven't thought of myself as a fragile person. It usually takes quite a commotion to ruffle my feathers.  I have worked hard over the years constructing a suit of armour, yet gaps remain like cracks or fissures through which afflictions sometimes seep.  The armour seems to seal up tightly after an attack letting little, if anything, back out.  The germ boring it's way deeper, spinning, digging and festering. 

It was a helluva weekend thanks to my armour malfunction and I write in attempt to open the armour and let it out.  After a couple of days of self-exploration, deep thought and observation I have come back to the realization that we are all so much alike.  We all have our armour and our fissures. We can choose to hold each other up, help build strength and unity or stab violently away at one another's armour spreading disease in the form of discord, hostility and division.

It is through the power of intention that we approach each and every thing we do.  A simple thought in our heads can drive us to success or defeat.  A simple action or word between us can affect our thoughts and the wheels of process begin to spin in motion.  We each affect each other, in the smallest or greatest of ways.  A subtle smile from a stranger, as tiny as it may seem, may turn a disavowing attitude in the opposite direction - in return causing a very slight vibration of positivity.

Take a minute, close your eyes and take three deep breaths.  Focus on the sensation of the air filling your lungs, then push the air out of your mouth.  Think about the other human beings on this planet.  Think about them breathing the same air you just pulled in through your nose to your lungs and exhaled.  Think about it again, and you are breathing the same air they breathed.  Go deeper, think more, breathe more if you need to.  We are the same.  We all have cracks in our armour.

Why can't we lift each other up, rather than try to pound each other down?  There is no one of us that is better than the other.  We are the same and our words and actions are like dominos.  And your ego - well, it's the same as the next person you meet.  Let's face it, we could all use some stroking.

Canadian geese fly in a Vee formation to maintain flight longer and move faster than if each goose was to fly alone.  They move in formation, taking turns being the front-runners while the geese behind honk to encourage the ones flying ahead.  When the point goose gets tired, he drops back in the formation and another goose takes the lead position.  Finally, when a goose gets sick, or is wounded by gunshot, and falls out, two geese fall out of formation and follow him down to help and protect him. They stay with him until he is either able to fly or until he is dead, and then they launch out on their own or with another formation until they catch up with their group.

We should pay more attention to the geese, strive to be more like them.  Cheering each other on, working in accord to go faster - go further, taking turns being the leader and coming to the aid of the ones in need.  Breathing the same air in alliance, unity and harmony.

melodia

Summer Light

Soaking up the last of the summer light, I tried my best to say goodbye to summer.  Labor Day weekend here and gone and I'm still not ready to bid farewell to bright sun and warm breezes.  A friend of mine recently mentioned how the end of summer somehow seems to mark the beginning of another year to her.  I never really thought about it before, but I feel much the same way.  Winter is not completely horrible, it's just my desire to hold on to the last bit of what I consider the end of another year. 

A year ago, I was still smoking in my car and my house.  Although I have not managed to quit officially, I have managed to keep my habit outdoors with no plan on returning to my old ways.  A year ago, a good friend of mine was coping with an incredibly hard time in her life.  I have watched her grow and blossom in so many ways this year - and that makes me smile on the inside and the outside.  A year ago, I had an old and broken dog who I loved dearly and still miss everyday.  Now, I have a wild buffalo of a young dog who keeps me busy on a daily basis, picking up and repairing the day's destruction.  She is growing on me despite her frequent psychotic episodes. 

Maybe it's not so bad.  The end of another year.  Things changed, decisions were made, lessons were learned and in turn - growth.  It's the beginning of another year, the beginning of who knows what.  Goodbye summer light, hello tomorrow.

melodia

Days Go By

Ok, now who is the big procrastinator here?  For real.  I have been telling myself that I'm gonna write for almost 3 months.  I think it was the utter guilt that I felt after catching up on a good friend's blog that got me to post.  I think she has written nearly every day in the last three months.  I thought I was gonna do the same thing.  I can't even offer an explaination why I haven't other than I have been busy being 'in the moment' and in true Gemini form I have been letting good ideas live and die in my head.
I'm not even sure where to start with the catching up.  I'll just say that things are fine and my head is one swirling hot mess of randomness that could use sorting as bad as my sock drawer.  It has been a long, hot lazy summer.  My garden kept me busy until it burned up in the heat.  I made salsa, fresh tomato sauce for pasta, fried squash and re-discovered fried squash blossoms (OMG!) I pushed aside the yarn and the knitting for the more fitting warm-weather hobby of jewelry-making.  I made a few pretty killer pieces and as a result have a local gallery wanting some of my work.  Lily is tipping the scales at nearly 100 pounds and for the most part remains out of control.  I got new glasses which I despise, but the optician insists they lift my face.  Which, by the way - I learned a phrase never to say to a client.  I got a new oven and a new refrigerator.  I was really tempted to get the oven that had the 'chicken nugget' button on it.  Yep, honest-to-god, there is an oven that has such a button.  (Expect to hear more on this issue at a future date.) I ate enough sushi and drank enough margaritas to last a lifetime, although I know better than that.
The most exciting event of the summer is that my new art studio is in the making.  In a few short weeks, I will once again have a place of my very own.  A small, humble room with a little window and plenty of shelves.  It is the one thing that makes me ready to say goodbye to the summer sun.  The place where I will spend my spare moments getting lost in the process.  And with that, I'll say that I'll write again real soon.

Plastic Beach

Plastic Beach
Originally uploaded by Zuzu Pelous

Not quite angels, not quite devils......

Flickr

This is a test post from , a fancy photo sharing thing.

Message In A Bottle

Dear Mike,

It's been over a month since I wrote you and still no response.  I have anxiously awaited a word from you, in hopes that you have escaped the Black Death.  I have lost hope, but in one last attempt I am writing this letter to you.  If it should reach you sealed in this glass bottle that I will be tossing in the water, I feel it will be something short of a small miracle.

Mike, I hate us.  The humans.  Our idiotic greed and our unquenchable desire to have more, make more, do less, go faster, build higher, be stronger.  Be stronger.  Hmm....are we really now?  We make stuff to do things for us so we can do less,  tasks become less labor-intensive, take less time.  We make stuff so we can have more time to do things we like to do rather than things we need to do.  We make stuff that is more comfortable to support our big, fat lazy asses.  We make stuff to slather on our ugly, dimply asses to smooth them.  We make messes making this stuff.  We have become lazy.  We have lost the ability to think clearly.  We are too brain-dead and lethargic from all the spare time created from said stuff to clean up our messes.

So, we build this bigass monstrosity that has the potential to produce a catastrophe.  There should be a contingency plan in case of a disaster, but nah.....it's too complicated and too much trouble.  Fuck it, who needs a contingency plan?  And our government, shouldn't they be concerned about such a potential disaster?  Shouldn't they want to make sure that there's a plan in place if the bigass monstrosity blows up and spews vile black goo into our water?  Too many details, too many impractical details, too much trouble, too many words, too much typing.  First response, "in-situ" burning plan, firebooms - sounded like a good idea years ago but NAH!   Too much trouble, too much work, too many words, too much typing.   So much better dusting the US Government comfy chairs with our big, fat political asses scratching my back while I scratch yours.

So, it blows.  Spill, schmill - let's call Wile E. Coyote and see what he thinks we should do.  Throw some golf balls at it, poke it with a giant straw, put a top hat on it and see if it changes it's mind.  Where the hell is Little Jack Horner when you need him most?  Maybe he works for BP and is prancing around in his Ferragamo loafers and Armani suit, proud as punch that his investment has not yet been destroyed.  Occasionally pulling the fat stack of sweaty money from his pocket to hold it up to his nose, with a glimmer in his eye to take a long sniff.  God forbid, should the regulators have bitten Mr. BP's hand and made him fix the quirks on the bigass monstrosity disaster-waiting-to-happen. God forbid we should implode the damn bigass monstrosity calamity, thereby shitting on Mr. BP's loafers to save the water, the shore, the wildlife, the citizens. God forbid we should try the option with the best odds.  NAH!  Let's try to hit a target the size of a dinner plate from two miles away, while Mr. BP reclines in his leather chair wiggling his toes as Stimey madly polishes his loafers.

Yeah, I'm pissed off.  40-something days later and the Black Death continues to spew.  Things are dying left and right, people are getting sick, jobs lost, land and business owners suffering loss and the most beautiful water and shore in the US is being defiled.

Mike, I'm sorry.  I'll miss you.

Love Language of the Yellow Butterfly and Lil Bee

I have a special friend who gifts me with music.  The most recent was a three CD mix and as usual, she saved the best for last.  With the top down, I rode home to this.  It was so fantastic, I have to share.

melodia

Mental Note

"Some things in life you must do on your own," he said to a motherless, childless only child. I let my father speak his peace, responding with no more than a slight nod of my head.

I write these words tonight not for sympathy, not because I’m having an emo-moment, not to lash out or bitch, gripe or complain. I write to clear my head, mostly. To have the ability to read back at some future date. Sort of a way of checking up on myself, I guess. Call it a sanity check, if you will. And as alone as I might feel right now, I am not. The alone thing is a feeling I perpetually perceive to tackle. Real or imaginary.

I’ve been well-acquainted with the solitiary life since I was a kid. Countless hours spent in the creek at the base of the ravine behind my childhood home, fishing with a net for salamanders that would eventually end up whirling around the ceramic bowl to their final destination. Alone, carving "seats" in the dirt on the bank by the water, covering them in moss that I harvested from halfway up the hill. Two seats. The extra one being for whomever I could coax to join me, if only for a little while. Up the hill on the other side of the creek was another wonderland for a little kid with a big imagination. The second phase of my subdivision still under construction, full of materials. Give an 8-year old a hammer and nails, a stapler, some elastic and paint, add some building material scraps and there you have it. I could make just about anything I desired. Ok, so the 2x4 high heels were more than a little crude and less than sturdy, but this girl couldn't care less. I wore them anyway.

As time passed, the loneliness began to fade at some point and became solitude. Peaceful moments spent creating or just simply being alone with my mind, at ease in my skin. These moments have become vital for me to maintain my sanity. Places that that slow my spinning head. A special rock down by the river, a hammock hanging from the ceiling, a mountaintop spot on a rock wall, a quiet bench, getting lost in my art studio, a cozy firepit in a quiet backyard.

Chance, opportunity, gamble, risk. Persevere, insist, adapt, resolve. Confuse, experiment, fault, exhaust. I’ve done ‘em all. Alone. Not without fear, but without pause. Direction not constant, not always lucid. In ceaseless motion I remain.

Unaccompanied. Unaided. Single-handedly. On-your-own. Alone. It’s what I do. It’s what I’ve done.

Why does it feel so different now?

“I was lost then and I’m lost now
And I doubt I’ll ever know which way to go.”
-Broken Bells, “Vaporize”

I Think They Call It Nosh

Mother's Day

I picked up my phone.  New text message.  "You have mail."

"In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out.  It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being.  We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit." - Albert Schweitzer

These were just a few of the words, all of them unexpected and each one of them treasured deep in my heart.  I can honestly say that I disconnected myself from Mother's Day a long time ago.  Trying my damndest to ignore that it exists, for many reasons. 

Thank you, Pales.  Honestly, I feel like I owe you thanks a thousand times over.  It is not lightly that I say you are as much inspiration to me as you say I am to you.  When something is broken, you bring the glue.  When something is lost, you search.  When something is missing, you fill in the blank.  When the sink clogs....ok, I'll leave that part out.

It is a pleasure to watch you spread your wings and fly.  I know you will reach the highest skies and when you need a little grounding, I'll be right here. <3

Thinko de Mayo

Not right. Good, but not right at all.

Deepwater Horizon

Dear Mike,
I am writing in hopes that this letter will reach you in time.  I hope it's not too late and my warning will spare your life, as well as the life of your friends and family.  If it hasn't reached you yet, it's coming.  The ooey-gooey black slime my brothers and sisters accidentally spilled in the water.  Fly hard, fly fast and fly far.  When your wings tire and you think you cannot fly any farther, fly some more.  When the air becomes almost as hot as hell itself, take a sharp left and land on one of the dotty patches of land that we call the Carribean.  I'll meet you in Barbados, with a big bag of Doritos and some of those oyster crackers you so much enjoyed.

I'm sorry my people have done this.  They didn't mean to.  Really, they didn't.  It was an accident causing human fatalities and the loss of millions and millions of dollars in equipment, contracts and product.  It's a sad day.  It's just that we have created all these things that we think we need.  Things to make our life more comfortable.  I am just as guilty as all the rest, wanting all these comforts.  The only part that makes me feel terribly guilty is that all this that we do, affects you.  I would like to say that we should stop all of this illusive urgency to have more, be more, make more, eat more, see more, get more.  In the end, I can't say that I'm any better than the next person.  I'm sorry, Mike.  I want more.

I spent five days with Mike last summer. He was different and distant from his friends, appearing to be the outcast.  He didn't run or fly with the group, instead holding his place on the beach all day long.  His feathers were a bit rumpled and he looked sort of dissheveled.  No matter what time of day it was, Mike was on his spot on the beach.  While I had my morning coffee on the deck, Mike was there.  In the afternoon, while I sprawled in the sand in a tequila-induced slumber.  In the rain, in the wind Mike was there.  I even spotted him one night after dark, still in the same spot.  Looking back at the pictures from that trip, I laugh as I see almost half of them are of Mike.  I hope he has some sort of bird-radar that will tell him it's time to move on.

I'll miss going to that beach this year.  I'll miss Mike. I'll miss Gulf Shrimp and Gulf Oysters.  God, will I ever miss the oysters.  I'll be cussing when the price goes up at the pump.  I wish I was one of those die-hard environmentalists that could get really pissed off at Transocean and BP, point my finger in their direction and rant and raise hell.  I wish I could paint a sign on a piece of cardboard and protest my little heart out, feeling like I was taking a stand.  I wish I had a giant straw that I could have lent to President Obama so he could have quickly and personally sucked up the oil himself, avoiding blame for his lack of an immediate solution.  I wish I could be happy and fulfilled living in a yurt, sans electricity and plumbing.  I wish I got as much joy as riding my bike as I do driving my car.  I wish I believed that those eco-friendly cleaners work as well as their chemical-laden courterparts.  I wish I could do without anything plastic.  Think about that last one.  Plastic. Glancing around the area immediately surrounding me this very minute, I would be seriously lacking if it weren't for plastic.  I wouldn't be typing this blog, as a matter of fact.  I wouldn't have a phone, a calculator, a pen, the fancy-dancy plastic filing cabinet.  Looks like I'd have a wood desk, some books, paper, pencils, paperclips and staples with no stapler.  That's a lot of petroleum.

I'm sorry Mike.  I want more.

melodia

To Live Is To Fly

Did you ever come to a point in your life, a seminal moment maybe, where paths seem to lead off in every direction? Leaving you standing alone in the crossroads wondering which path is the one to take.

Standing in the middle of nowhere, wishing someone or something would just push you in a direction. It seems huge, the choice of direction.  The bigger question is, "How do you know when you get there?"  And yet, "When do you get there?"  It seems to me that the road ahead is endless, crossroads upon crossroads.  The directionally-challenged, like myself, remaining in a constant state of quandary.  After these years, it seems to me that all that matters in the end is the journey.  Turn around, take a look back down the road.  It's the trip. That's what you take with you.

"Days, up and down they come
like rain on a conga drum.
Forget most, remember some
but don't turn none away.
Everything is not enough
and nothin' is to much to bear.
Where you been is good and gone,
all you keep is the getting there.
To live is to fly
Low and high,
so shake the dust off of your wings
and the sleep out of your eyes."

The approach of my birthday always takes me back down the road.  This year, I keep going back to a time when I survived a meager existence full of emotional turmoil, physical and mental exhaustion, endings, beginnings and simplicity.  Sitting on the porch of my doublewide in the middle of nowhere with my Red Ryder BB Gun taking aim at the hundreds of summer-blooming orange daylillies.  Working in a factory as a production artist by day, doing design work and folk art by night.  Wedging my car between the pines after the call from the Repo-man.  Spending weekends being eyes for my sightless mother.  Snagging rare precious moments sneaking across the pasture, eating wild strawberries and floating in some stranger's pond.  I had practically nothing and virtually everything, with a thousand roads leading in a thousand directions.  I picked one, and here I am. Living a very different existence in so many ways.  Good ways.  Still, the crossroads appear.  I still have no idea which way to go, but have a peace within that each path will make a great story.

It's no secret that I have always found my solace in music, one way or the other.  The "Trailer Days" as I call them,  were no different.  For many reasons that are strange and wonderful, Townes Van Zandt was my saviour.  Don't feel left out for not knowing who he was.  He lived in the background, most likely due to his drinking and drug habits, making him no less in my eyes.  A lyrical genius, who probably found himself in the same tough crossroads as we all do - he just decided to check out in the only way he knew how. 

“Townes Van Zandt is the best damned songwriter in the world—and I’ll stand on Bob Dylan’s coffee table in my cowboy boots and say that.”  -Steve Earle

"Artists as diverse as Mudhoney with Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Norah Jones, Son Volt, Doc and Merle Watson, Evan Dando, Nana Mouskouri (in French, no less), Dashboard Confessional, Counting Crows, Glenn Yarbrough with the Jimmy Bowen Orchestra, Bob Dylan, Peter Rowan and Tony Rice, Cowboy Junkies and Robert Plant & Alison Krauss have all embraced his singular sense of how a lean lyric stretches over the essence of melody, the naked intensity of emotions distilled to their purest forms."  -American Songwriter

Townes is one of the musicians and lyricists that make my skin turn to gooseflesh.  His songs have been covered by a long list of musicians including Willie Nelson (Pancho & Lefty), Robert Plant & Alison Krauss (Nothin'), John Prine, Norah Jones, Lyle Lovett, Emmylou Harris, Be Good Tanyas, Nancy Griffith, Steve Earle and of course Cowboy Junkies.  I was lucky enough to see him perform with the Cowboy Junkies just before his death on New Year's Day, 1997. 

So, here I am.  Years past.  Turning around and looking down the road and finding the same person that was there nearly twenty years ago.  The road, it's been a good one.  Memories of the choices along the way hardly remain.  The journey, well, it's one hell of a story.
melodia

Cowboy Junkies pay tribute to Townes Van Zant part 2

Buddyassholes

The proper terms are Hair Stylist, Hair Colorist, Hair Designer.  If you're in the salon it's even appropriate to drop the 'Hair' prefix resulting in Stylist, Colorist or Designer.  I am not a Hairdresser.  I do not "dress" hair.  I do not fit hats or tie bows on the end of pigtails.  I am not a god-forsaken Beautician.  I don't do roller sets for blue-hairs, nor do I know shinola about those horrid rinses that rub off on pillowcases at night.  I don't work in a beauty shop.  It's called a salon.

I am capable of giving you a damn good haircut and color.  I am not capable of giving you the face of the celebrity of your current obsession. 

I work in a salon.  I have worked in a salon for years.  I use salon-quality products.  I have no freakin' idea what products they sell at the drugstore, let alone which one is the best.  Most drugstore products contain sulfates (salt) which damage your cuticle and strip the color you pay me dearly for.  Almost half the products contain waxes that coat your hair and can cause a multitude of issues in regards to color and condition.  I also have no knowledge of box haircolor from the drugstore and I'm not gonna tell you which color you should buy or how to apply it to your hair.  If you are gonna brave the territory, you're on your own.

When I ask you direct questions in regards to your cut or color, please don't answer me with "I don't care" or "It's up to you" unless you really mean it. 

My expertise is in the hair department, not below the skull.  I am not a head doctor.  I cannot fix your problems.  I don't want to hear about the bad thing you did that you don't want anyone to know.  The details of your Irritable Bowel Syndrome gross me out.  So you have a vertical hood piercing.....Do I really need to know that to do your hair?  When I nod my head and smile that means I have tuned you out.  I will tune back in when I see your hands reaching up to the level of your head, signaling that you are again talking about your hair.

A trim takes just as much time and effort as a cut, in some cases more.  It is what it is and the cost is the same.

I am on a schedule.  I devote my full attention to you when you are in my chair.  I will schedule you as soon as my schedule allows, and if I'm booked and say that I cannot 'squeeze' you in, I honestly cannot.  I give myself 2 days off a week and I am not willing to come in on Sunday or Monday to do your hair.  I do not 'do hair' at my home, and if I did it would not be at a discounted rate.  It would cost at least times as much.  My time is as valuable to me as yours is to you.

I don't carry my cell phone with me at work.  Once again, I'm on a schedule.  Please, at least, wait until your processing time to talk on your phone.

My job can be fun, yes.  It is a job, no less.  I stand on my feet all day, rarely get an official lunch break, try to meet each client's needs and honestly desire that each person that leaves the salon has a smile on their face.  The hours I spend behind the chair, I leave my personal life, my ego and often times my needs at the door.   It's a job that I take very seriously.

Hair color takes formulation.  I can't just put the color of the swatch on your head and it magically turn that color.  There is this thing known as the color wheel that applies to paint.  The same theory of color applies to coloring hair.  The current hair color has to be taken into consideration, and then there is the law of hair color that unwanted tones appear with each level of lift.  When a dark-brown is lightened it will go through stages of red, orange, gold and then yellow.  These tones are most often referred to as "brassy" and must be counter-acted with a complementary color.  With that I will say one more time,  some hair is not ever meant to be blonde.  Hint....if your hair is damn-near black, give up on the blonde.  Unless you don't mind brassy, unnatural tones or hair damaged beyond recognition.

Ok, bitch session over.  It has been a week, and obviously retrograde is kicking my ass.  Tomorrow's another day.  Thank you, come again.

Lily

Goodbye nothing.  Hello Lily.

I knew before I took the three-hour trip to meet her that the odds were good that I would be bringing her home with me.  It was the look in her eyes, detectable even through a picture.

I stepped from the truck and waited by the fence.  After a few seconds I saw her bounding from a pond then rambling through the horse pasture. Less than a minute later I was tackled to the ground by a wet, slobbering dog and it was over.  I fell in more ways than one.  I signed the adoption papers, dried Lily off and we made the journey home. 

Home.

Canis Familiaris

It's been five months in a dogless house, which doesn't seem that long and at the same time feels like an eternity.  Every morning as I awaken and gaze across the floor to where the dog bed used to be, I am reminded.  The dog bed where my sweet girl used to sleep that is no longer there.  An empty spot left behind.  As I turn around to pull the door shut on my way to work, I now say goodbye to the house because Maple is no longer there bobbing her little tail.  When I walk through the door in the evening, there is no jumping, squealing and licking.  Just cool, quiet, lifeless hardwood floors.  There is no playing catch and there are no half-eaten stuffed animals laying about.  There is no warm little furry body to curl up beside me as I laze in bed on Sunday morning.  There are no beady little eyes staring me down for a bite of my bagel.

There's no dog hair.  There's no worry about getting home in time for the dog.  There's no worry someone will leave the fence open.  There's no barking, no 'accidents' and no dog snoring.  There's no pre-planning required for staying out all night or going away for a few days.  There's no need to stop at the store on the way home to buy dog food.  There's no need to give the dog a bath.  There's no reminder on the calendar for flea preventative.  There's no vet appointments or vet bill.  There's only quiet.  There's only nothing.

I think I'm done with the nothing.  It's time.....stay tuned.

38

The last of the cold is gone.  The sun is shining.  My skin is a nice pale shade of pink and everything else in sight is covered with a heavy coat of greenish-yellow powder.  I'm so thankful winter is over, although I do feel pretty guilty even complaining at all.  Comparatively speaking, the winter here was mild eventhough it was the coldest and wettest winter in nearly twenty years.

The change of weather brings about the seasonal change of my closet.  It's a huge deal and takes at least 2 days and usually more like 2 weekends since I can't devote full days to putzing around with my wardrobe.  Things get washed or dry-cleaned if necessary, folded and packed away in rubbermaid containers and hauled to the attic.  Containers are categorized by item and then color - just like the closet.  The new season's containers are hauled down and things are freshly laundered, pressed if needed and folded or hung up according to category.  It's a disease I don't know the name for. 

Then there's the shoes.  I quit counting them this year, but I did count the boots as I packed them away this year.  Yep, you guessed it -thirty-eight pairs of boots.  I have to admit there's two pair that should really go to the Goodwill, but I'm just not ready to part with them yet.  (See sweatshirt post if you have any doubts about me parting with my favorite things.)  There's the quintessential boots that I bought in NYC - knee-high, pointy-toe, stilletto, buckled and studded.   My favorite of the bunch is a pair of black cowboy boots that are a half size too big, making them extremely comfy.  Four pair are classified as punk boots, with my favorite pair of that bunch being a red tartan and black lace-up.  There's bronze boots, green boots, leopard print boots, embroidered boots, studded boots, thigh-high boots, ankle boots, quilted boots and those damn godforsaken sheepskin boots.

Most of the boots got lovingly packed away not to be seen again until the cold arrives.  Most of them.

Yellow Brick Road

As the Mayor approached me with his beady-eyed grin and open arms, a fondness exploded in my heart.  I smiled wide as I wrapped my arms around him in an intenful, warm hug.  So, he's not the mayor anymore. I'm not who I was anymore.  Things change, and it's all good.
The Mayor came along in a time in my life when almost all things were running short - money, time, luxury and pride.  I had no idea he was the Mayor at the time.  I just knew he was the owner of an old, run-down building that for some reason I found myself drawn to.  I was working two full-time jobs at the time, production and design for two companies.  When I found some spare time, I would just get in my car and ride around discovering new places (as I still do).  I happened across this building and I just felt like I had to have it for my art studio.  I asked around and found out the owner had an office not far from the building, and I went directly to call on him.  He looked at me like I was half-crazy when I told him my dream of renting his building.  All I asked for him to do was to add electrical and plumbing and I would do the rest.   I nearly begged, but he laughed and shook his head, and I shrugged my shoulders telling him I'd see him next week.  For weeks to come, I stopped by his office every friday after work asking to rent his building.  I can't honestly remember how long it was before he gave in, but he did.  Somewhere along the line, I learned that he was the Mayor of the town and as much as it surprised me, in another way it didn't surprise me at all.
Three years later, the Mayor decided I needed to buy the building. After going through a pretty nasty divorce and completely wrecking my credit, I could see no way this could happen.  I confessed my credit sins to the Mayor and he cosigned my note.
I miss that old building, even the trains that ran hourly and blared their horns on the track just out the front door. The inside was like a giant canvas, painted from top to bottom.  My backyard was a parking lot where we spent quite a few evenings grilling out on a hibachi grill.  I also kinda miss being the weird artsy girl with the Shar-Pei walking on the tracks. 
Upon further thought, I feel incredibly nutty and lucky all at the same time. I'm pretty sure that was the message from the Mayor tonight as he kissed me on the head.

melodia

Is It Ever Gonna Be Enough?

melodia

I'm Always In This Twilight

So, this odd habit of multi-tasking sometimes finds me in the weirdest ways.  Mondays are days that are intended for me to do my paperwork.  I've never liked Monday's much for this very reason.  Although, I admit, occasionally I slack on the work and wander off in another direction entirely.  As I sort through the papers, enter receiveables and write checks I have other things going on in the background.  Usually, I am listening to Pandora, Slacker or some off-beat mixtape site - jotting down names of songs that I want to download.  I catch up on blogs, research, look up recipes, download knitting patterns - all between crunching numbers and working on ad sheets. 

Thanks to a good SL friend I found myself on a little 2 hour tangent today.  She recommended that I check out "Florence & The Machine" and after I started digging around I was swept away.  (Cheers VK)  To the point that I found inspiration.  For the first time in quite a while, I was lost in a rhythm, emotion and the peaceful calm of creation. 

I did a little research on Florence and I think she might be my new best friend.  A quote from her blog, "Florence writes her best songs when she’s drunk or has a hangover, because that’s when the freedom, the feral music comes, creating itself wildly from the fragments gathered in her notebooks and in her head. “You’re lucid,” she explains, “but you’re not really there. You’re floating through your own thoughts, and you can pick out what you need. I like those weird connections in the universe. I feel that life’s like a consistent acid trip, those times when things keep coming back.”

melodia

And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat
I tried to find the sound
But then it stopped, and I was in the darkness,
So darkness I became

The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart

I took the stars from our eyes, and then I made a map
And knew that somehow I could find my way back
Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too
So I stayed in the darkness with you

Red

I'm feeling a bit slackassed after spending the entire day doing absolutely nothing besides catching up on shows I DVR'd during the week and catching up on laundry.  I did manage to build a small fire in the pit outside only because, still in mid-march, it's cold as all hell. 

One of my promises to myself for this year was to give back.  I have always donated my time in giving cost-free haircuts for donations to "Locks of Love" and  "Beautiful Lengths."  I have often felt that that was not enough.  So, I have been putting myself out there to help.  It's turned into a beautiful thing.

March is National Hemophelia Awareness Month. My salon is raising money by donating 100% of the proceeds from red haircolor to the National Hemophelia Foundation.  We have added red to our hair to show our support and others in our community are following suit.  Hemophelia is a bleeding disorder in which it takes a long time for the blood to clot after trauma.  In more severe cases, serious bleeding may occur without any cause. Internal bleeding may occur and bleeding into joints is common.  Treatment is to replace the missing factor that causes the blood to clot, usually by injections.  Most often, Hemophelia is a condition that is passed down genetically.

 I have involved myself to help the cause because I have a client who has two young boys with Hemophelia.  She has had to inject them with factor every 36 hours since the day they each were born.  Not only do these boys have to endure shots, but their activities are limited due to the disease.  Although, I have to admit you'd never know it by meeting them or interacting with them.  The youngest told me, when I was putting red streaks in his hair, that he wanted to play football but his dad wouldn't let him.  I don't think there's much out there that scares either boy.

Donations can be made at:  http://www.hemophilia.org/NHFWeb/MainPgs/GeneralDonation.aspx

Change

This world we're in, constantly spinning in a never-ending state of flux and change.  With a little luck, it will slow long enough for you to catch your breath.  Go too fast and you start reeling backwards.  Too slow and stagnation sets in and you flounder about in an abyss of humdrum.  After a couple of years off, my brain is bouncing around somewhere between.  Sometimes too slow, often too fast.  The difference lately is that in between the extremes, I settle in my groove.  If I could find my seatbelt I'd strap myself in and just enjoy the ride.  The peace comes with the realization that it is possible to come back after an extended cognitive sabatical.  My skin tingles as I feel it.  I'm on my way back and ready for the change.

Man said "Woman I'm a little tired of you"

And she said "Don't leave me baby
I'll do anything you want me to"
And he said "Can't you do something
About the mess around this place"
She said "Anything baby, anything,
I'll cover my face"

melodia

Firecracker Chocolate and Morning After Dark

Hard to believe that I was laying in the sun just two weeks ago.  Now, I finally get my snow day.  No work. No expectations.  No responsiblity.  Takes me back to the old days and I am totally digging every minute of it.

I took a walk to my favorite spot today.  What a different scene from spring leaves and clear water spilling over the rocks.  The usual paths covered with snow and a bit difficult to navigate, but still manageable.  It got cold and wet so I ran home in the snow witha asong in my head, a smile on my face and my heart racing.  God, I love snow days.

Abandon

I've been called "Type A," "hyper," "spastic."  When I was a kid I called myself "Busy" and my friends have nicknamed me "Bee."  I don't like to sit still.  I  have a hard time concentrating because there's always at least 5 things going on in my head at all times.  Things that happened already.  Things that need to be done. Things that I forgot.  Things I could have done differently.  Things that made me happy.  Things that I loathed.  Things that might happen.

You learn something new everyday, or so you should.  Today I hit 6th gear, purely by accident and it was if myself and my ride connected on a higher level.  Speeding home at dusk, speeding....speeding....speeding.  Then, an undiscovered gear.  Steptronic, I think they call it.  Whatever it is,  the lesson becomes much more obscure.  My lips curled into a slight smile as awareness filled my being.  Sixth gear....find it in myself, settle in and enjoy the ride.

melodia

Ta-Da

Feb 4, 2010
Mood: Anxious
Ciggies:  7
Glasses of Wine:  4
Dum-Dums:  3
Burnt bags of popcorn:  1        

Doing your taxes sucks, and I've spent the better part of my day catching up on my general ledger entries for the year.  I am no where near finished, so the brain-fry has just begun.  Every year I say I'm gonna keep up with it monthly and I never do.  Guess you can say that I never learn.  I wonder if the wine and cigarettes that I am finding necessary to get through this task are tax deductible.  Hell, I'm saving the receipts and entering them in the damn ledger under insurance.  Insurance that I don't friggin lose my mind.
So....as I am sifting through mountains of paper, making piles and keying numbers in a ledger I am listening to my ITunes.  I started to wonder if I had to pick my top 10 songs of all time, which ones would make the list?  To supress the dreadful boredom of data entry, I started to make a mental list which I think I finalized tonite.  Maybe I've over-looked a song.  I just kept writing and striking off the list until I felt I could no longer strike a single song on the list.  I had a majorly difficult time picking just one Stones song.  Truth is, I could almost devote my list to the Stones.  Some of the songs have sentimental meaning, as a friend pointed out about some of my sexy foods.  And, yes, I did notice that the major part of the list is classical rock and that I didn't include any of the genres that I listen mostly to these days.  I fully expect debate on the list to follow, and I don't mind one bit - although, I will not be striking a thing from it.

10.  "Lentil" - Sia
9.   "Everlong" - Foo Fighters
8.   "Florida" - Patty Griffin
7.   "All Along the Watchtower" - Dave Matthews (killing 2 birds with one song)
6.   "Sitting Still" - REM
5.   "Speak To Me/Breathe" - Pink Floyd
4.   "Bargain" - The Who
3.  "Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You" - Led Zeppelin
2.  "Locomotive Breath" - Jethro Tull
1.  "Gimme Shelter" - Rolling Stones

One of these days, I'm gonna learn how to pop these suckers out in a separate window (help, KC). In the process of trying to figure it out, I saw that Kurt Cobain's daughter is going to be making her musical debut.  I named a dog I rescued after her once, 'cause I thought the name "Frances Bean" was funny.  The dog was funny, so it fit.  She left my house with a young couple, headed for North Carolina.  I have no idea where Frances Bean is today.  The dog, not the singer. Cheers!

D-Day

It was exactly 5 years and 5 days ago that I last laid eyes on him.  Tired and dirty from a long day of work, albeit the ever-present twinkle in his eye illuminating his smile.  He requested that I bring home some dinner, and since I was without cash and tired I turned him down.  Instead, rustling up ingredients and throwing them together, calling it a meal.  French-bread pizza, and it was surprisingly good.  We sat on the back porch after eating, DMB playing loudly and the wind blowing causing the motion-sensor floodlight to come on and go off.  I honestly can't remember what we talked about, but I recall a moment when he turned to the side and stretched.  I had a flash for an instant and wondered if he would look like his dad when he got older.
Five days later.  Car, tree, flames.....he was gone.  I trembled but I did not cry.  The tears came upon waking the next day and lasted for months.  As I write now they return.
His girlfriend found me at the funeral home.  We escaped the crowd and went outside to have a smoke together.  They say all things happen for a reason.  It didn't seem obvious at the time, but looking back I have much clearer vision. Some events link you to other people despite the past and regardless of things that may happen in the future.  You walk through the fire of hell together, still holding hands when you come out the other side.  All events that follow seem to solidify the bond.  Before long, you know this person so well inside and out that even the simiplest look can take the place of words.  You know exactly the thought, the feeling and they know the look you give them in return. 
On the 5th anniversary of our D-Day, I look into my Monty's eyes and she's right there with me, holding my hand once again.

melodia

Hot, Hot Sex

Dark green, smooth leaves with light green veins against dark red leaves with pale green centers.  Lacey frisee interspersed with shredded carrots and dotted with sweet red grape tomatoes.  Sprinkle some adzuki sprouts and feta cheese.  Drizzle with Lemon Goddess Dressing.  It's a beautiful, sexy sight.  It got me thinking about sexy food versus non-sexy food.  And that's the way my brain works.

Not-so-sexy foods:  Corn dogs, pudding in a cup, pork skins, peanut brittle, rice crispy treats, yogurt, felafel, bbq pork sandwich, sweet and sour anything, fried chicken (anything chicken and anything fried), cole slaw, cornbread, black-eyed peas, pimento cheese, cheese whiz (is it food?),  fried pies, twinkies, moon pies, Chef Boyardee anything, country-fried steak, turnip greens, cream of wheat, grits, oatmeal, chicken livers, calamari, meatloaf, stew, biscuits, pickles, fig newtons, bean dip, fruit roll ups, beef jerky, vienna sausage, baked beans, pickled eggs (just eww)

Sexy foods:  cupcakes ;P, olives, almonds, anything tapas, fondue, brick oven or grilled pizza, caramel drizzle, oysters, lobster, clams, mussels, snow crab, sushi, sashimi, shrimp cocktail,  artichokes,  heirloom tomatoes, sugar snap peas, grapes, strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, gooey dark chocolate, chimichurri, mojo, eclairs, shrimp fra diavolo, panaang curry, cotton candy, thick filet mignon with a glass of good dark red, eggs benedict, lox bagel, ceviche, gelato,sorbet, mango, hand-cut chips with maytag blue cheese, carpaccio with freshly-shaved parmesan, coq-au-vin, marshmallow creme, fresh roasted beets, artisan lettuce, fresh organic carrots, avocados, grapes, tiramisu

And just because a food is on my not-so-sexy list doesn't mean I don't eat it.  Some things are better left untold.

melodia

Tax Candy

Every morning on my way to work, I see people dressed in Uncle Sam and Lady Liberty costumes standing on the edge of a busy street and waving their little hearts out.  It is beyond disturbing that a tax preparation company would go to such gimmicky lengths to advertise their services.  If you've ever thought you had a shitty job, think again.  Honestly, am I gonna hire the agency with corner tricks to do my taxes? 

It bugs me and I just had to say so.

melodia

Transference

It's like I stepped in a time-machine and transported back in time.  This feeling started unconsciously thursday night, when I had snuck outside to grab a smoke.  The wind was blowing something fierce and in the not-too-far distance I could hear wind chimes clanging madly.  From inside the house, Spoon's new release "Transference" was blaring.  Since I don't smoke so much anymore, I copped a pretty decent buzz from the smoke.  Reminding me of a time when I was much younger, hanging in the back yard of a little house in a college town, listening to incredibly talented musicians jam.  One, in particular, who would never remember me in a million years - but hit the big time.  He would remember a friend of mine, I have no doubt.  Although I've lost contact with that friend too.  So, for all I know they are still hanging in some backyard somewhere jamming.  This tangent has a point, and that is "Transference" takes me back to precisely that time.  Which is really ironic.

from Wikipedia:   "According to The Source published in June 2001, "During transference, people turn into a 'biological time machine.'" A nerve is struck when someone says or does something that reminds you of your past. This creates an "emotional time warp" that transfers your emotional past and your psychological needs into the present."

Friday night was spent at the firepit in the back yard with two of my best friends, and still....."Transference" playing in the background.  I was feeling exactly like I did in the days of hanging out by the river with a campfire burning, and watching the flames dance - in search of answers to questions I had about  my future.  Interesting how those questions never seem to be answered.  We keep on keeping on. We keep having a future and we want to know how it's going to go down. Some things never change and that isn't necessarily a bad thing.

Saturday morning I went to my first official knitting lesson at the coolest little yarn shop ever.  Not just a yarn shop, but a boutique as well.  Even cooler is they carry one of my favorite perfumes that I had been looking for for a while now.  A scent that takes me back - inhaling it and evoking feelings of fearlessness and pure abandon, unlimited creativity and adventure. Sitting at the table were 3 other women who were a good bit older than me and while I was enjoying myself and learning a lot, I was feeling out of my element.  I was wondering how in the hell I got to this stage of life that I am sitting with older women knitting.  Me.  The wild child, Buckhead Fuckhead (a whole other story), once starving-artist turned quasi-successful, offbeat hairdresser.  I am knitting, in public....frigging taking a class.  Just as I reached the edge of a panic attack, a punky young girl walks in.  Early twenties with black scene hair, Killers t-shirt and skully sneakers with a 5-foot long scarf in tow that she is still working on.  She took the seat next to me and we both smiled.  I was instantly back in high school.  All of a sudden, knitting was cool again and my new friend and I talked about coffee shops, hair, bands and gaming on the net.   I'll be going back.  Cool kids can knit too.

Saturday night was Cuban food and a movie.  We were the only Americans in the restaurant and I was reminded of the days when I hung out with my Greek friend in places owned by her friends and family.  Me being the only non-Greek.  It's a role I felt incredibly comfortable in.  Looking back, it's a role I've found myself in repeatedly.....the only "non-whatever" in the place.  I like being the 'non'.......'Non is Good."

Post-movie was spent drinking Cupcake Cab with my bud. "Transference" once again playing in the background while we gave each other assessments from an old book I found about self-discovery.  To be completely honest, I don't remember much due to the wine - but I can tell you that I am an "11" which is a good thing I'm told.  I can't help wondering if 11 is the number of 'non'.

So many things this weekend took me back in time.  I have no idea if the new Spoon release had anything to do with it.  It's nothing new and different from the band and seems like a sampling from previous albums as far as lyrics and melodies.  The thing that took me back was the sound, the "unfinishedness" of it, jumping around from one thing to another which is apparently what the band was going for - to sound more like a demo than a final production.

melodia

Love is in the Air

It seems to be going around....love.  Love lists.  Here's mine:

My Yale sweatshirt. Sand between my toes and the sound of surf.   Crystal clear water and powdery white sand.  Music. Music. Music. A fine red wine.  Patron Margaritas.  Cupcakes - key lime is my most favorite.  Cold dog noses and warm dog hugs.  Bonsai trees.  Funky, creative art.  Faces.  Illy espresso and cappuccino.  Steamed Oysters with lemon-garlic-butter. Sushi. Panaang Curry. Fire-grilled pizza. Carpaccio.  Chimmichurri on top of Cuban Steak or Snapper.  Intimate music venues.  Jasmine Pearls Tea.  Yogi Tea.  Caramel Sauce.  Acoustic guitar up close and personal.  Damn-good-fitting blue jeans. Expressive color in hair.  Scene hair.  Long virgin hair.  Short, funky, spiky hair.  Sunsets in the back yard.  Fire-pit chats.  Dinner in the hot tub.  Game night.  Driving curvy mountain roads with the top down and the music blaring.  A day in my art studio when it all goes right - flinging paint on canvas and stepping back wondering where that 'came from'.  Laying on a quilt in the middle of a field on one of the first warm spring days.  The Red Bar.  Randomness. Mick Jagger.  Roger Daltry.  Jim Morrison.  Jimmy Page.  Elvis Costello.  Dave Matthews.  Michael Timmins.  Tori Amos.  Patty Griffin.  Enigma.  Madonna.  KT Tunstall.   Imogen Heap.  Leela James.  Neko Case.   Blondie - friggin Blondie!  Dark blue or purple toenails.  Massages.  The act of smoking, even if i never do again.  Losing myself in the piano.  Meaningful and original tattoos.  Quirky stories and books.  Confident-enough women.  Hot baths. Eucalyptus-Spearmint or Lemongrass Peppermint.  Tiger Balm.  Words.  Humor. Light breezes.  Warm sun on my skin.  Smiles. Hugs.  Love.  <3

I Believe In You

Family.  You are either born into it or you build your own.  My genetic family consists of my dad, for whom I am incredibly grateful.  He is a constant reminder of persistance, kindness, of good and laughter.  The rest of my family, I spent a lifetime gathering - here and there. Friends who have become so intertwined in my life, that the description 'friend' just doesn't cut it.

These are the friends with whom I share pizza in the hottub at sunset.  The friend who teaches me how to use an axe to split wood into kindling.  (Yeash)  The friend who doesn't mind if I beat her shamelessly in a game of cards.  The friend who is willing to brave the Korean Sauna with me.  The friend who makes sure I am not alone when I face tough times.  I'm no where near done, but you get the point.

So, I have this window card one of my friends gave me at Christmas time.  She gave me two and I opened one immediately, saving the second for a day when I needed some extra inspiration.  On the front, it reads "I Believe In You".  I popped it open this morning, as I was facing a day I was feeling uneasy about.  The words couldn't have been more perfect.  "The easiest thing to be in the world is you.  The most difficult thing to be is what other people want you to be."  -Leo Buscaglia

I forgot to mention the window card when we were catching up on the phone tonite.  But, she knows.  She knew when she gave it to me.  That's why she's my family.

So pay to ride the ferris wheel
Smile, all that you can feel
Is gratitude for what has been
-Conor Oberst

melodia

Grace

Creativity and expression through creation mesmirizes me. By disconnecting from one's humanity and allowing the inspiration, the vision and mostly the passion to flow through oneself to culminate in a 'product'. The product being what it is whether a work of art, a structure, a story or a song. The act, the flow of energy from the creator to the creation, is what I consider grace.

Admire the products, be in awe of the grace.

“Gracefulness has been defined to be the outward expression of the inward harmony of the soul” - William Hazlitt

melodia

Treading in the Deep End

Well, it happened - I climbed aboard the Wacko Train. It's a lot more decadent than I thought it would be and I got a nice, cushy window seat in first class. I'm sitting on the edge of my seat, with a racing heartbeat and sweaty palms. Wondering if I will be showered with gifts and prizes by sexy girls in bikinis and high heels as the obnoxious music blares and confetti floats through the air. Or if I will soon find myself sweating, bug-eyed, struggling and tangled in the base of my seat as the train topples over the edge of the Huey P. Long bridge and splashes in the water.

It's not the first time and I'm pretty sure it isn't the last. In order for things to change, you have to open yourself and let it happen. Sometimes you find a beginning and sometimes you find an end. But, all ends lead to a beginning. It's time, I'm ready and I'm open. It's been barely over 24 hours since I quit resisting, and it has brought me great humility and a little pain. Even so, there's this little flutter in me - of relief and of excitement - the cessation of stagnation.

I reach out with my left hand to grasp the hand propped on the armrest and wonder if it's the hand of an angel or the devil. I twine my fingers with the being, take a deep breath and sink into my seat......

melodia

The Indian Princess, Mrs. Piano and The Wacko Patrol

OK, this post isn't intended to make sense - which is partly the point. It is also intended to be a starting point of a series of posts to come. Posts which I hope will help me in sort things out in my head. Nothing earth-shattering, just the sort of sorting I think 'normal' people do on a daily basis. The sort of sorting that I seem to need to schedule time for.

I've thought and said for almost as long as I can remember that I seem to attract weird. If there's a weird person at a party, they talk to me. If something weird happens at a party, it's next to me. Then it seems like the weird will follow me and I will find myself unrealistically linked to that person or event for a while through other people, other events that somehow point back to the original weirdness. The weird starts to snowball, one thing linking itself to another and it becomes almost like a theme. I can look back at my life, whether it be weeks, months or years, and refer to each time period with a name. If all of them had names, that is - because I haven't given them all names. This is just something I started in the last ten years or so. To name a few, there were:

1. The clueless, car-less, dry-cleaner years
2. Wooden Turtle and Wood Heat Period (which overlapped a little with)
3. Don't Fuck With the Worley's Winter
4. Billy, Do You Want Some More Peas?
5. Three Doors Down from the Carny Steakhouse

Anyway.....you get the point.

The weirdness has started again and people and events just started linking today. I've been told that I should blog about the salon and the weird, random stuff that happens. I've got a lot of stories and not so much time to post. I worked 12 hours while the weird swirled around me. My brain is fried and I can't make sense of it and besides I won't figure it out until it is all over. You know, you look back and realize how and why things happened the way they did. Hindsight, they say, is 20-2o. I have no idea what this period will be named, so the remainder of this post will be the phrases that are swirling around in my head. Little tags I've mentally put on events or people. They don't make sense yet, and each has a story which will I will hopefully post at some point. So, now for the debris spinning in my headstorm:

dog-walking Bob and his window-licking dog . stalker of the future Indian Princess . wacko parade of elsie and mrs. piano . wuss hands are a dead giveaway . renters 4 ways . joangie - trading off . angel or gypsy? . fasting ones are standing idle . hungry ones too busy to eat . shock the monkey . 6th gear . food supply . seven ways to sunday

Je T'aime

My problem is not that I don't like anything. My problem is that I like almost everything. I don't have a favorite color. I don't have a favorite song. I don't have a favorite scent. I love photo-realistic to impressionistic and even modern art. I love yarn as much as I love paint. I love digging in the dirt as much as I love baking cookies.I love broken, chipped pieces of indian pottery as much as I love Czechoslovakian crystal buttons. I don't know if this is a healthy mental state or if it's eccentric. I just is.

I love purple for it's mystery, seduction and warmth. I love yellow for it's warmth, vividness and cheerfulness. I love squares for their symmetry, for their equality. I love spirals because they look like they are spinning out-of-control. I love cold, hard, shiny stainless steel. I love a warm, cozy mohair sweater. I love the smell of fresh cut grass on a hot summer day as much as I love the smell of wood burning in the dead of winter.

I love Patty Griffin for her soulful voice, and for the ability to belt out heart-wrenching lyrics with no abandon. I love Neko Case for her "my give a damn just got up and left" approach to lyrics and song, as well as for her haunting voice. I love the Killers for their orchestral masterpieces that meld punk with classic rock, tossed in with just the right amount of blues and even a bit of drama and suspense. I love Angus and Julia stone because they are pure, raw music, emotion and soul....simple. I love K.I.A. and Shinjuku Zulu for the complexity and technicality of their beats and sound, for their creative ability to bring sounds and voice together in a kooky sort of way that just 'works'. I love Carla Bruni for her grace, and her soothing voice singing words in french that I barely understand. I love lyrics, I love beats, I love to hearfingers dance across strings or keys.

I love the vibe, the energy - some call it spirit or soul. The feeling I get when I look at something, when I touch something, when I hear a song. I guess it's the feelings more than the tools. I'm in love with feelings.

melodia

Nee-Nee

Baby Mamas, please. I cease to find the so-called "beauty" of breast-feeding. I don't want to see it taking place at a table in a restaurant. I don't want to see it on a bench in the middle of a shopping mall. Above all else, as a hairdresser, I don't want you to pick up your nearly 2-year old, sit her in your lap and stick her head under the cape while I'm cutting your hair! Seriously, don't. Take it as a hint when I excuse myself immediately after this happens and walk at a quick pace to the restroom. Get a clue when I stay in the bathroom until my assistant knocks on the door signaling to me that it's over.

Honestly, it takes from an hour to an hour and a half to cut and style your hair. Couldn't you take care of the baby before you visit the salon? Can't the baby wait until you are finished? Hell, if it's that necessary at that mintue - go to the bathroom for god's sake. Don't make us who have never had babies (and some who have, actually) watch. Don't make us pretend there's not a child sucking on a tit in the room. A child who will soon be having her 2nd birthday and is walking around and talking. A child who asks for "Nee-nee" should be smart enough to comprehend "Not now. Wait" .......Seriously, really!

HALF INCH

A half-inch isn't much, but it was enough to totally disrupt the entire north portion of my state today. Schools were closed, businesses were closed, the streets were empty and the local news frantically reported all day. Because of a mere 1/2-inch of snow. Granted, the temperatures here have been in the teens and some of the snow turned to ice. But I was not considering it such a big deal. Until I realized that I was one of the very few that ventured out. I looked out the window this morning and saw the light dusting thinking what a pretty ride to work it would be. Never ever did I imagine we were in the midst of Snow Jam 2010.

My assistant called saying she couldn't get out of her driveway. My associate hairdresser called saying the same. My clients called and rescheduled. I shrugged my shoulders and took the rest of the day off. Happy Snow Jam 2010!

LIMITED EDITION

Since I quit smoking, I have acquired a few new habits. One of which is replacing my 6 or so cups of coffee a day with hot tea. Well, not all of them - but quite a few. In the morning I used to fill a Starbucks Travel Mug to the brim with the strongest coffee known to man - and off to work I would go. Now, I fill my to-go mug with hot water and take a hot tea for my morning ride. I have been trying all kinds of tea and when I saw the tea that is good for detoxing your liver and kidneys, I thought to myself "God knows I could use that." It's called Yogi Tea and each teabag has a different (sometimes enlightening) saying on the tag. Like some of my friends (both RL and SL), I have a quite the addictive personality and the Yogi Tea has replaced my coffee and cigarettes as my morning ritual. I have come to refer to the saying on this morning cup as my daily "Yogiscope."

Unlike previous Yogiscope's, today's saying has bugged me all day, It said, "You are not unlimited". My first thought upon reading this was, "Hell yeah I am. I can't get one fourth of my 'to-do' list done in a day. I can't take off work whenever I want. I can't lay out in the sun today. (I could, but who the hell would want to in 20-degree weather)." The thoughts kept coming all day in relation to 'You are not unlimited'. Yes, I have many less limits than a lot of people and not as many more than others. I consider myself to be in the exact middle of the scale of limitation. And I'm not so dense that I don't understand that this Yogi stuff is supposed to have deeper meaning. Even on my deepest level, I still cannot find my way around limits.

I avoided the Yogi tea for the rest of the day, sticking to Tazo instead because it doesn't have any profound little statements attached to it anywhere. Once home, I even brewed a cup of coffee to avoid tea alltogether. Figuring the whole tea habit was now forcing me to be such a deep thinker that I would soon quit brushing my hair and wander around in my fuzzy slippers all day muttering bits and pieces of Socrates and Confucius. I even had the thought that I might need to start smoking and go back to the world of nicotine and caffiene. Pondering this thought, I picked up my mug with both hands to admire it. It's my most favorite mug and has been for about 8 or 10 years. It is big, but not too big. It is hand-painted in cheerful bright tones and signed on the bottom. The handle is perfectly shaped like it was made exactly to fit my hand. It is chipped here and there and I have looked for a replacement for it for a couple of years now. I have purchased a few that I thought could take its place, but they let me down for one reason or another. Mostly I think it's the shape of the handle and how it feels in my hand. Rather than drink my coffee or tea from a pretty, new mug - I pick the chippy old mug. I pick the handmade mug, the unique mug. The mug that is not pretty and will soon be in such bad shape it will need to be discarded.

If Yogi had been sitting in front of me at that moment, I would have thwacked him between the eyes and said....."The tag should have read, 'You are a limited edition.'

Unless It Kicks

It's 7:45 pm, and two glasses of Dr. Jebidiah Drinkwells later I am incredibly happy. Why? Because I hung my 2010 calendar and it makes me smile, and laugh and run around the house blurting useless information - acting smarter and more informed than any of the other occupants of the house. That makes me happy. Inconsequestial bits of useless information....one of the many things that makes me happy. It has nothing to do with the wine....honest.

My favorite pizza place made a calendar and it's quite possibly the coolest thing of 2010. Mellow Mushroom and I go way back to the days of my childhood, bare feet, hippies, love and damn good rock'n'roll. (All you need, really.) Every birthday dinner, my choice was Mellow Mushroom. The last day of school was celebrated at Mellow Mushroom, and every adolescent sorrow was eased by the comfort and pure love of Mellow Mushroom. There was a toilet by the front door with a live, growing plant in the bowl. Is there anything that could make a person happier? Mellow Mushroom had Pac-Man and smelled like incense and all the employees wore shoddy clothes and bandanas and had either long hair or dread locks. Mellow Mushroom was and always will feel like home.

Today's Mellow Mushroom is much more modern, and has expanded into a chain. Now, I live in the boon docks and have a serious drive ahead of me for what I consider quality cuisine. There are a few places within 15 miles or so that I truly love and have excellent food, but they are few and far between. I'm pretty sure it was just for me that Mellow Mushroom bought a really cool old house less than 20 miles from me and opened a fancy pizza joint. The house was formerly a landmark fine-dining restaurant that had been operating for nearly 30 years and has closed. It was uber fancy for this area and now it's an uber-fancy Mellow Mushroom. I have no idea how I manage to luck-up, but I do quite often. All I can say is I must be living right.

And now, there's a Mellow Mushroom calendar. Just when I thought life couldn't get any better. There will not be one single day in 2010 that I won't at least smile at my calendar. Elvis' birthday is coming up on the 8th of January and Jimmy Page (from Led Zeppelin in case you don't know) was born on Jan 9th in 1944. Be sure to get your birthday card in the mail for Rob Zombie so it arrives by the 12th, and don't forget to wear your hat on the 15th for Hat Day. Add popcorn to the shopping list so you can celebrate Popcorn Day on the 19th, and get your arms in shape for World Hug Day on the 21st. There's also Kazoo Day on the 28th and Yad Sdrawkcab(read it backward) on the 31st. Oh...happy Trivia Day, which is today :)

For Reasons Unknown

Happy 2010! It’s a new year and a time for renewal, rejuvenation, new things, new songs, new words and hope for a an even happier 2011. I planned on starting to write (on the urging of a very good friend). I was not, however, planning on it being in the form of a blog. Sometimes you gotta just take what you can get. Other times, one thing leads to another. Life is full of surprises. It was an online friend that led me to the world of blogging, which I immediately jumped on as a not-so-serious form of writing. Somewhere that I can just ramble on in my ‘stream-of-consciousness’ way and possibly get some of this useless minutiae off my lil’ pea brain.

I am more than hopeful for the year ahead of us. For so many reasons, both personally and globally. I sit here smirking as I think, “It can’t get much worse.” While at the same time, thinking - “Oh hell yeah, it can get soooooo much worse.” Occupationally speaking, it has been and with the slightest shift it could be again. It’s been a rough year. Last year was a rough year. Not just for me, but for the majority of the masses. That being said, so many people have it so much harder than I. I am so grateful that I still have a business, a job, a house, a car. Actually, not much of my life has been affected and for that I am supremely grateful. Comparatively speaking to my late teens and most of my twenties, I am rich. One of these days, I might go into the stories of my meager and penniless years. Trust me, there are chapters upon chapters. As far as our economy goes, our current state has been in the building for years upon years. It’s a result of greed and nothing else. And in case you have forgotten or have been mislead - our economy is not determined by one man - whether his nickname is “W” or “O”, whether he is black or white. I could throw in “whether he is intelligent or not” - but I’ll leave that to the political ‘experts.’

I could write tonight about my recent accomplishment of knitting my first scarf. Honestly, that was gonna be the debut story of my blog. I am so proud of not only finishing a brand new project, but also of the thought behind it and even more so the accomplishment behind knitting in the first place. After 27 years, I’ve managed to quit smoking, and I feel good about it. My house and clothes are starting to smell good and I’m happy about it. I’m happy that I’m not jonesing for something that I know damn well is no good for me. I breathe better. I taste better. I smell better. I feel better. Life is freakin’ better! Indeed.

Now for my rant…..my Erin Brockovich moment, or one of many to come. I started my own business nearly 7 years ago. Upon the advice of financial guru, Suze Orman, I financed my business on credit cards. By the spring of 2008 I was over $60,000 in credit card debt. Just shortly before the beginning of 2009, I received notices from all three banks that my interest rates were being raised to 29.99%. Which I would argue even if I had been late on a payment, or missed a payment. Funny thing is (as I bite my cheek) I haven’t been late. One of these accounts I’ve always paid on time for almost 12 years, and the other two accounts for 5-7 years. I made a payment under 30 days late one time to one of these banks - as it is noted on my credit report. I must have just screwed up. I don’t remember making the payment late and have no idea why it was late. I digress…

Take $60,000 and add in 30% interest. Imagine the monthly payment. There was no way I would survive. My business was down, I had already surrendered my paycheck to my company, absolutely no way I could make any more money than I already did. I called the banks and begged and pleaded for them to reduce my interest rates, even telling them I’d settle for 18% even though my previous rates had been lower. I just wanted to be able to pay my bills and stay in business. All three companies informed me that it was nothing personal and was no reflection on my excellent credit history - that it was just an across the board interest hike. I was told there was nothing they could do about it.

Funny thing is, as predicted, I was not able to make a couple of payments and it’s amazing how my interest could be lowered then. One account was lowered to 0% for 6 months, after which the interest would be 13.99% and the other lowered the rate to 16.99%. ( .99, I’m convinced is because 13 sounds so much better than 14 and 16 sounds so much better than 17...pfft). One year later, I can proudly say that I’ve reduced my debt in half - paying off $30,000. Actually - I’ve probably paid more off by now. I haven’t added it up lately. I have paid two Citibank accounts off and I have reduced my balance with Chase Bank from $27,000 to $2300 - technically $3445, let me explain…..In June of 2009, my balance with Chase Bank was approximately $22,000. In July ‘09, my husband and I put a 2nd mortgage on our house and I sent them a payment of $18,000. With the business expenses I had to charge in July, my ending statement balance on my Chase account for July was $2388.42. In case you were wondering, that’s about 10% of the previous month’s balance. Wouldn’t you be happy if a debtor paid you 90% of their balance? I would. But Chase…..no. Not enough. Not even close.

Less than a month later an account assessor from Chase called my business to reassess my credit. I was so excited, thinking that the company was finally seeing that I was serious about paying off my debt and was going to at last lower my interest rate. Um, no. After asking me a few questions about my business, this man (I use the term very loosely) asked me about my personal income. First of all, this is credit account was opened in my business name, based on my business income. No personal finance information was ever requested or provided by me to Chase Bank. When I told the man that I had no personal income due to the fact that I surrendered my paychecks to my company, he told me that if I did not provide personal income information that he would be lowering my credit limit from it’s current amount of $30,000 to my current balance of $2300. My blood started to boil, I admit and I got a little combative at this point. The conversation between us was much longer and much more heated than I’m going to go into. I have no shame in the fact that I got irritated, angry and unpleasant. He was much the same toward me, and I’m pretty certain a lot of the things he asked and things he said were against the policy and procedure of Chase Bank. The conversation came to an end with him reducing my credit limit and also closing my Pier 1 credit account that I have had for 15 years. I spouted off “I will not send your damn company another penny” before the line went dead. I am a woman of my word.

Six months later, I have still not sent Chase another penny. My balance has risen to $3445 from penalties and interest. I ignored their phone calls for a couple of months, but it got to the point they were calling several times every day and I couldn’t take it anymore. I have been talking to Chase Bank representatives on at least a weekly basis for at least 3 months now. Most of the conversations become pretty heated, because I won’t cave a millimeter and these folks have the goal of collecting money. I got so overwhelmed with daily life and business a couple of months ago, I offered to settle with the company for the amount of $2388.42 - the amount I owed in July. Which would be less any penalties and interest since I made my last payment. I was told that my account in not eligible for settlement, and when I asked why I was told that they didn’t know. They couldn’t tell me. That my account would never be eligible for settlement and they can’t tell me why. I think I can sum up in a few short thoughts here:

1. Thank you, Chase Bank for allowing me to have a credit account with you for 6 years, and for rewarding me for my perfect payment history with you by raising my interest rate from 9.99% to 29.99%

2. Thank you, Chase Bank for taking my countless proactive calls requesting my interest rate not be raised and for giving me absolutely no valid reason for the increase other than ‘everyone else’s interest was raised too”

3. Thank you, Chase Bank for happily accepting my $18,000 check and applying it to my balance, reducing it to $2200

4. Thank you, Chase Bank for reassessing my credit line with you and reducing my credit limit to $2200 and closing my Pier 1 account. God knows, you are saving me from myself and my inability to manage credit.

5. Thank you, Chase Bank for your weekly calls to check in on me. As entertaining as your representatives can be, I’m afraid that I can’t pay you, I can’t tell you why and if it makes you feel any better…’no one else is getting paid either’.